Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The world seemed as though it had been split in two by a sharp blade. On one side lay fertile lands; on the other, that colossal wall rising toward the sky like a spear, impossible to cross… Right at the edge of this wall stretched Lake Avalo, protected by the whispers of legends. The layer of mist above the lake concealed not only the water, but also an ancient secret. According to legend, the lake never revealed itself to those who carried darkness in their hearts or to the Ezaki consumed by ambition; as they approached, the mist thickened, and the lake withdrew like a phantom.

The village of Ealdor, however, was a quiet and humble refuge caught in the middle of this immense tension. Merlin lay in the attic bed of a small, old house whose stone walls still breathed the coolness they had absorbed throughout the night, struggling with the last fragments of his dreams. In his mind, there was that enormous dragon again; its golden scales rivaled the daylight, and its vast wings tore through the sky. The heavy sound of its claws striking the earth still echoed in Merlin’s ears.

The young man’s eyelids trembled. When he sat up, his famous black curls were scattered in every direction, a complete mess. As he rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the dream, he heard his mother’s soft footsteps coming from below.
Hunith climbed the wooden stairs slowly. She paused at the doorway and watched her son for a moment. Merlin’s disheveled hair and bewildered expression always reminded her of a little child. She stepped closer, sat on the edge of the bed, and placed her hand on Merlin’s forehead, then gently into those stubborn curls.

“The dragon again?” Hunith said, her voice as soft and soothing as a stream. “I could almost hear its breathing from here, Merlin… Come now, wake up, my beautiful son. The day has already climbed over the mountains.”

Merlin smiled at the warmth of her cool hand. “It feels like it’s trying to tell me something, Mother… It’s so vivid, as if I could reach out and touch its hard scales.”

Hunith hid her slight worry with practiced ease and smiled. In their small world of two, Merlin’s strange moments were both her greatest joy and her quiet fear. “Perhaps it’s just telling you to wake up,” she said with a light chuckle. “I’ve prepared some fresh bread and honey for you downstairs. Eat quickly, because your uncle Gaius will need you very much today.”

Merlin jumped out of bed, trying to straighten his old shirt, but his mother stopped him. “But first…” Hunith said, handing him an old cloth shopping bag. “I want you to stop by the Bazaar and buy a few fresh vegetables for dinner. Make sure the tomatoes are fully ripe, and don’t forget to choose fresh leeks.”

Merlin was used to his mother’s carefulness. He leaned in and planted a big, clumsy kiss on her cheek. “As you command, my queen. I’ll pick the best ones!”

As Merlin stepped out of the house’s heavy wooden door, the cool morning air hit his face. He had taken only a few steps along the dusty village road when he saw the familiar duo waiting for him ahead. They stood on a large rock by the roadside as if they had stepped out of a painting.

Lancelot, as always, was flawless. His white linen shirt somehow remained brilliantly clean despite the dust of Ealdor. The laces at his collar were neatly tied up to his throat. His hair was combed so carefully that not a single strand moved in the wind, and the scabbard at his waist gleamed solemnly in the sunlight. Even without a title, his upright posture carried a nobility that did not belong to these lands.

Beside him, leaning against—almost sprawled across—the rock, Gwaine was the complete opposite. His long, wavy hair was tangled and unkempt, as though it hadn’t seen a comb in days. The top three laces of his shirt were undone, and the medallion on his chest completed his disordered look. The sharp, sour scent of wine that surrounded him was strong enough to overpower the fresh fragrance of the morning flowers.

“Merlin! Finally!” Gwaine roared. His voice was slightly rough, as if a blacksmith were working inside his head. As he tried to stand, he staggered and nearly toppled onto Merlin.

Merlin stepped aside skillfully, watching his friend stumble into empty space. “Stay back, Gwaine! Which cellar were you searching for ‘truth’ in this time? Your smell could reach Lake Avalo from here.”

Gwaine regained his balance and placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “A cellar? Merlin, I cannot allow such genius to be reduced like that. I was at the center of a very deep, existential debate last night. I was testing whether the last drops at the bottom of a barrel could fill the emptiness in a man’s soul. Conclusion: they can!”

Lancelot crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “I heard that ‘test’ ended with you breaking the tavern table and shouting a song at the top of your lungs. Honestly, you do test our patience sometimes.”

“Ah, Lancelot… you and your wrinkle-free shirt,” Gwaine said, slinging an arm over Merlin’s shoulder. Despite the smell, Merlin smiled; no matter how messy Gwaine was, he knew the loyal friend beneath.

Merlin shook the bag in his hand. “There’s a stop before the river, boys. I need to go to the Bazaar and get vegetables for my mother. You can go ahead—I’ll catch up.”

Gwaine’s half-closed eyes suddenly widened. “The Bazaar? Never! I can’t leave you alone among those cunning vendors to be swindled. Besides…” he added with a mischievous wink, “there’s more than vegetables there, Merlin. I can’t miss the chance to see those lovely girls drifting between the stalls, smelling like spring. Maybe one or two will take pity on this disheveled hero and grant him a smile.”

Lancelot smiled faintly and shook his head. “Gwaine, really? Do you think there’s a single woman left in this village you haven’t flirted with or bored with your made-up heroic tales? Even the old ladies at the market ask not for vegetable prices, but when you’ll leave.”

Gwaine burst into laughter, pulling Merlin along. “My dear Lancelot, your noble posture only inspires admiration. But women adore my… ‘wild and untamable’ nature. Not just women either,” he added, blowing Lancelot a joking kiss. “Even the vendors sometimes give me extra tomatoes just to make me stop talking. That’s talent!”

Merlin laughed along with his friend’s shameless cheer. “Right now, your ‘wild’ nature just smells like a wine barrel, Gwaine. Come on. First tomatoes, then your famous flirting operations… if we manage to buy anything before the vendors throw you into the river.”

The three friends walked on through Ealdor’s peaceful greenery, trading jokes and playful jabs, disappearing into the lively chaos of the market filled with fresh herbs and colorful stalls.

For those who had grown up on the peaks of the Misty Mountains, where even the wind could freeze one’s bones, fertile lands were nothing more than a tale. But today, that tale had become reality. Through a crack that had somehow opened in that supposedly impassable wall rising like a spear into the sky, three shadows had slipped through and set foot on lands where no Ezaki had walked for centuries.

Arthur walked at the front of the group. He had slightly pushed back the hood of his dark navy robe, made of heavy fabric and resembling nothing more than the garment of a wealthy traveler from the outside. His golden hair caught the daylight and shone, while his deep ocean-blue eyes scanned the surroundings with the precision of a hawk. His tall stature and upright posture revealed an authority that could not be concealed, even beneath the robe.

Right beside him was Morgana. Beneath her black cloak, her skin appeared as smooth and pale as porcelain. The dark, smoky tones around her eyes made her emerald-green gaze sharper and more captivating. A few strands of her carefully braided, night-black hair spilled over her shoulders from beneath her hood. Even in these lands she found “ugly,” Morgana did not compromise her elegance.

A few steps behind them, like a silent shadow, walked Gwen. As Morgana’s loyal servant, she had been drawn into this dangerous journey almost by fate. Her head was lowered, hidden beneath her hood. Unlike Arthur and Morgana, Gwen did not look at the people around her with disdain; she simply chose silence in the face of this unfamiliar world.

Arthur inwardly grimaced at the feeling of the soft, damp soil beneath his boots. It was nothing like the harsh and honest ground of the Ezaki lands. Yet when they entered the village of Ealdor, he hesitated. The monstrous descriptions of humans he had been told since childhood did not match the peaceful scene before him. These people were far from the terrifying creatures he had imagined; though the resemblance sparked a brief doubt in his mind, Arthur quickly pushed the thought aside.

“Stay focused,” Arthur whispered, his voice low enough for only those behind him to hear. “Smile and act as if we are one of them.”

As they stepped into the marketplace, Arthur’s entire demeanor changed instantly. The cold, distant warrior from moments before was gone, replaced by a warm and polite young man. With a flawless, charming smile placed upon his face, he approached an elderly woman standing before a stall of fresh greens.

“Hello, ma’am. How are you?” Arthur said. His voice was so warm and sincere that there was no room for suspicion.

The woman smiled cheerfully, clearly charmed by his handsome and courteous manner. “Oh, I’m very well, my son, thank you. Are you strangers here? What lovely clothes you have.”

Arthur inclined his head slightly in response to her compliment. Though inwardly he thought, “Even our clothes are worth more than your miserable life,” he showed only politeness outwardly. “Yes, ma’am, we’re a bit weary from the road. Thank you, we’re doing well. We heard there is a famous, cool river nearby—somewhere people go to rest. Could you tell us where it is?”

The old woman pointed toward the forest beyond the hill. “Of course, my dear boy! Follow that path. It’s the lifeblood of Ealdor. When you hear the sound of the water, you will have found paradise.”

At the word “paradise,” Arthur paused for a brief moment. The blue light in his eyes hardened. Paradise will come when this wall falls and these lands return to their rightful owners—to us, he thought.

But to the woman, he only gave a polite nod. “You’ve been very helpful, thank you,” he said, then gestured to Morgana and Gwen, leading them through the colorful crowd toward the path that led to the mysterious cave by the river.

As they drew closer to the market square, the scents of fresh coriander, newly baked bread, and earthy vegetables grew stronger. Merlin twirled the empty bag around his finger when Lancelot suddenly stopped and gave him a suspicious look.

“Wait a moment, Merlin,” Lancelot said, slightly frowning. “Don’t you hate tomatoes? I remember how you couldn’t even stand near them during last summer’s harvest festival.”

Merlin shrugged with a smile. “True. I actually have a mild allergy—if I touch them, my skin starts itching and my nose starts sneezing. But my mother loves them. She wants to make her famous tomato soup for dinner. If it makes her happy, I’m willing to sneeze or itch all day.”

Lancelot gave a respectful nod at Merlin’s quiet sacrifice. Just then, Gwaine—still slightly unsteady but eager to join the conversation—grinned.

“Allergy?” Gwaine leaned closer, draping an arm over Merlin’s shoulder and whispering as if he had the funniest idea in the world. “Merlin, my friend, I don’t think your real allergy is tomatoes. Your real problem is that handsome blacksmith’s apprentice at the other end of the market! Every time we pass him, you turn red like a tomato and start sneezing. Maybe it’s not the tomatoes making you blush—maybe you’re making them blush, eh?”

Gwaine burst into laughter at his own joke and slapped Merlin’s back. But the reaction he expected never came. Merlin merely rolled his eyes, while Lancelot grabbed Gwaine by the back of his neck and pulled him slightly away. Even a chicken in the middle of the market could have made a more meaningful sound than that joke.

Lancelot calmly adjusted the cuffs of his white shirt and turned to Merlin. “You know, Merlin, sometimes I think Gwaine’s jokes are like your tomatoes. Both irritate people unnecessarily—but at least tomatoes have some use.”

Merlin stifled a laugh as he bought some wheat from a narrow-eyed lady, likely of Göktürk origin from afar. Ignoring Gwaine’s ridiculous remark, he replied, “Absolutely. Gwaine, let’s bury that joke right there in the muddy pit at the entrance of the market and never dig it up again. Otherwise, our intelligence levels will start dropping before we even buy vegetables.”

The vendor greeted him politely. Another seller, one who looked Chinese, cast a rather unpleasant glance.

Gwaine pouted as if offended. “Oh, come on! ‘Blushing Merlin and Blushing Tomatoes’ was a profound observation. You’ve both forgotten true humor while chasing nobility and duty.”

“Humor?” Merlin teased, pushing him toward the stalls. “What you call humor is as stale as falling asleep at the bottom of a barrel. Now go on and help me pick those ‘allergic’ tomatoes—if your eyes can focus well enough to see the stalls!”

The three friends disappeared into the lively chaos of greens and colorful tents, accompanied by Gwaine’s grumbling defenses of his failed joke and the quiet laughter of Merlin and Lancelot.

At the same time, Arthur and his companions moved through the crowd like ghosts.

As Merlin reached into his pouch to pay, the two groups crossed paths in the narrow market street. At that exact moment, the copper coin slipped from Merlin’s fingers and rolled onto the dusty ground. He quickly bent down to retrieve it.

At that very second, Arthur was passing right beside him.

Arthur’s steps slowed instinctively as Merlin bent down. Turning his head slightly, from beneath the shadow of his hood, he saw Merlin’s messy black hair, his lean yet broad shoulders, and the innocent, hurried expression on his face as he reached for the coin. For a brief moment, something froze in Arthur’s deep blue eyes.

He felt a strange pull in the center of his chest—something he could not understand—as if a fragment of his soul was right there, beside this village boy choosing tomatoes in the dust. This sudden sense of familiarity toward a complete stranger struck his mind like lightning. And that he was human… it stirred something unsettling within him. Hearing those beside him call out, he caught the name—“Merlin.” Such a human name.

The invisible threads of fate had tightly bound the souls of the two young men together in the dust of the marketplace, though Merlin had no awareness of it.

Morgana noticed Arthur falter and lightly touched his shoulder. “Arthur? Is something wrong?”

Arthur quickly shook off the haze clouding his mind. He pulled his gaze away from Merlin, his expression hardening once more without the slightest crack.

“It’s nothing,” Arthur said coldly. “Just a momentary distraction. Let’s move on.”

Without deviating even a fraction from his purpose, he continued forward with firm, dignified steps. Merlin, meanwhile, had found his coin, stood up with a small sense of victory, and handed it to the vendor—completely unaware of the storm that had just passed behind him.

Yet for those left behind, another silent storm was unfolding.

Lancelot, standing firm amidst the chaos, locked eyes with Gwen as she adjusted her cloak. Her hood had slipped slightly, revealing her pure, gentle beauty, which touched something protective within him. Seeing the quiet kindness in this stranger’s eyes, Gwen did not give in to fear; instead, a faint, peaceful smile appeared on her lips. Lancelot responded in kind, bowing his head slightly, as though he had been waiting for that moment for a thousand years.

Of course, the only person who could ruin such a moment was Gwaine.

“Ooo, looks like someone’s surrendered their fortress!” Gwaine said, taking a large bite from an apple and nudging Lancelot. “What is it, Lancelot? We were just talking about tomatoes, but your face is redder than the ones on that stall. Did your allergy start too? Or was it that girl’s gaze that made your skin ‘itch’?”

Lancelot tried to recover, averting his gaze. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gwaine. I just… saw a stranger, that’s all.”

Gwaine laughed and crouched beside Merlin. “Did you hear that, Merlin? Our noble knight turns into a tongue-tied lover at the sight of a stranger. Careful, Lancelot—flirting here isn’t as easy as you think. Look at me; earlier, I told an old woman selling leeks that her eyes were like the sky today, and she nearly hit me with the thickest leek she had!”

Merlin laughed, suppressing a sneeze. “Gwaine, she probably thought you were asking for the price. Your stale compliments don’t work in Ealdor anymore.”

“Not true!” Gwaine protested, tossing his apple core into the air and catching it dramatically. “The problem isn’t the women—it’s the men! Last week I complimented a vendor’s hair, and it turned out he was bald—it was a wig! It took him three full minutes to throw all his potatoes at me. One of them might still be lodged in my ribs.”

Merlin shook his head and began walking toward the market exit. “Believe me, Gwaine, you deserved every single one of those potatoes. And if you let Lancelot chase after that girl, you’ll probably ruin his chances by telling everyone your ‘market philosophy.’”

Gwaine looped his arm through Lancelot’s and dragged him along. “Come on, Lancelot, don’t be sad! If she doesn’t want you, the leek lady is still there. At least she has leeks—you won’t starve!”

As the three friends turned onto the path toward the river, accompanied by Gwaine’s endless teasing, Arthur, Morgana, and Gwen had already entered the dark trail leading to the cave.

Merlin had no idea what had just passed behind him—but from that moment on, his heart was no longer entirely his own, sealed by a bond deeper than he could ever understand.

Chapter Text

As Ealdor’s peaceful green fields drew closer to the river, they slowly gave way to steep cliffs and the roaring echoes of wild waters. But for Arthur, Morgana, and Gwen, this natural wonder was nothing more than an irritating obstacle that needed to be overcome.

Arthur folded the old piece of leather resembling a map with visible irritation and fastened it to his belt. As he wiped away a bead of sweat slipping beneath his hood, the cold blue light in his eyes sharpened even further.

“This is impossible,” he hissed, his voice like a blade sliding from its sheath. “The woman at the Bazaar said the path led to the river. But all we have ahead of us are impassable vines and bottomless cliffs. Now I understand why people call these lands ‘fertile’; even their lies bloom like flowers.”

Morgana wrapped her black cloak tightly around herself like armor and scanned the surroundings with her sharp green eyes.

“Perhaps the woman lied, Arthur,” she said in her icy tone. “Perhaps these lands wish to keep ‘outsiders’ like us away.”

Standing a few steps behind them, Gwen silently observed her surroundings. Morgana’s hateful words did not echo within her heart. On the contrary, she watched the wild fruits hanging from the hollow tree and listened to the melodic sound of the distant river as though enchanted.

“Maybe we’re simply not looking from the right place,” Gwen murmured softly, her voice as light as a breeze.

But the moment she noticed the harsh look Morgana threw at her, she immediately lowered her head and retreated into the shadow of her hood. It was not her duty to ask questions. She had been created to be Morgana’s shadow.

As Ealdor’s peaceful greenery neared the river, it gradually gave way to steeper cliffs and the roaring sound of wild waters. The three friends left behind the exhaustion of the Bazaar and their filled bags beneath the shade of a tree by the river, stretching out upon the cool earth. Tomatoes and leeks waited nearby for dinner, but the real entertainment was only just beginning.

With his usual dignity, Lancelot carefully placed his sword and belt upon a rock as though they were sacred relics. Meanwhile, Gwaine had already loosened the laces of his shirt so roughly they nearly tore apart before throwing himself into the river’s shallow waters.

Merlin untied the blue scarf around his neck and carefully placed it atop his shirt. Only his trousers remained. As he stepped toward the riverbank and let himself fall into the cool water, he suddenly rose back to the surface with the agility of a fish. He harshly swept his wet black hair back, pushing the damp strands away from his forehead and revealing the striking and pure lines of his face beneath the daylight. The sun gleamed against Merlin’s wet skin, and for one brief moment, the innocent yet breathtaking beauty of his features overshadowed even the scenery of the river itself.

Gwaine lifted his head out of the water, stared at Merlin, and whistled.

“Hey! Merlin, my friend, what exactly are you doing?” he shouted while splashing water everywhere. “Are you trying to impress us? Look at yourself! You don’t look like someone who came from the dusty roads of Ealdor—you look like someone who fell from the heavens.”

Merlin laughed lightly, blushing at Gwaine’s exaggerated praise, and threw a handful of water at him.

“Don’t exaggerate, Gwaine! My hair was only getting in my eyes. Look at yourself—you look like a bear that drowned in the river.”

Gwaine resurfaced again, still staring at Merlin, but this time his teasing tone shifted into something almost resembling a warning.

“Be careful, Merlin,” he said. “One day someone may notice that beauty of yours and take you away from us. They could carry you off to some distant land…”

He paused briefly, a dark grin forming on his face.

“Who knows? Maybe even an Ezaki could kidnap you! They’d come from beyond the Wall and carry our most precious treasure away to those misty mountains, hm?”

The cheerful atmosphere above the river shattered instantly.

Lancelot’s expression darkened, and his gaze drifted toward the nearly invisible Wall stretching across the horizon.

“I believe love should not care about things like religion, language, or race, Gwaine,” Lancelot said calmly, though there was a trace of concern in his voice. “But being with an Ezaki? That only brings disaster. In the end, it’s always the innocent who suffer. The farther away we stay from them, the better.”

For a moment, Merlin fell into deep silence. The horrifying stories he had heard since childhood resurfaced in his mind.

“Don’t stay outside at night, or the Ezakis will take you.”

“If you don’t eat your food, the Ezakis will find you.”

To the people of these lands, they were no different from monsters.

But everyone knew one truth:

It was impossible for an Ezaki to enter these lands. Avalon’s protection had turned this place into a safe haven.

Trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere, Merlin forced out a laugh.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Merlin said while splashing water toward his friends. “It’s impossible for an Ezaki to come here. The Wall isn’t just a pile of stones—it’s a protection. We’re safe.”

Uncomfortable with how serious everything had become, Gwaine quickly changed the subject.

“Yeah, true! Besides, what do you think the Ezakis would even want with you? They’d probably prefer someone more… ‘well-built’ and eye-catching, like that girl from the Bazaar. Lancelot, admit it—even her stare was more dangerous than an Ezaki attack, wasn’t it?”

Lancelot dipped his head beneath the water and completely ignored the question. He preferred speaking with fish over arguing with Gwaine.

Merlin slowly drifted away from them. Their voices no longer reached his ears.

The invisible medallion within his chest trembled insistently, pointing toward the darkness hidden behind the waterfall.

“I’m going to investigate the waterfall,” Merlin said, his voice suddenly serious.

“Go on then, ‘Pretty Boy!’” Gwaine shouted while preparing to grab Lancelot again. “But be careful—if you find a giant mirror behind that waterfall, don’t fall into it!”

Leaving Gwaine’s laughter behind, Merlin swam toward the heavy curtain of water. When he reached the strongest point of the waterfall, he held his breath and forced himself forward despite the crushing pressure.

Suddenly, he found himself inside a narrow hidden cave behind the rocks. As his feet touched the damp and slippery ground, water streamed down from his soaked hair and across his bare back.

The cave entrance welcomed him with a darkness that felt like the complete opposite of the lively world outside.

Along the wall, Merlin found an old dried-out torch that looked untouched for years. He held his fingertips near its tip and focused only on the ancient warmth within his mind.

Without any visible magical glow, the torch burst into flame on its own, filling the cave with orange light. All Merlin had to do was extend his hand and whisper.

Holding the flickering flame, Merlin walked deeper into the cave. With every step, the warmth of the outside world faded into a cold that seeped into the bones. The sound of water droplets falling from the ceiling echoed like thunder through the silence.

Despite the freezing wind brushing against his bare shoulders, Merlin did not stop.

The passages of the cave opened silently before him, as though the doors of a home were welcoming him inside.

With nothing but his torch as a source of warmth, Merlin walked toward the sharpest turning point of his destiny.

Very soon, another set of footsteps and the metallic scent of a stranger would disturb this ancient cold.

Arthur examined the old map once more while struggling to keep his balance upon the slippery rocks with his heavy boots. His face carried that familiar tension born from his need to control everything. Even the overwhelming brightness of the sun in these lands irritated him; every beam of light seemed to make his armor shine and reveal their position.

“This much silence is a bad sign,” he muttered while studying the river twisting beneath the waterfall. “The people of Ealdor are far too comfortable. As an Ezaki, living this openly and defenselessly still makes no sense to me.”

Morgana freed the edge of her black cloak from a thorn and exhaled sharply in irritation.

“Because they do not ‘live’ like we do, Arthur. They merely exist. The smell of magic in these lands is so strong that their minds are probably numb from it.” She paused and fixed her sharp green eyes upon him. “The only reason we found this place was because of those inscriptions. If there truly is a weak point in the Wall, then it is hidden inside the legends of rust-covered peasants.”

Standing a few steps behind them, Gwen waited silently while Arthur prepared the torch. Her silence was not born from fear, but from the indescribable sadness these foreign lands awakened inside her.

The moment Arthur lit the torch with flint, the cave entrance opened before them like the mouth of a gigantic beast.

“We’re going inside,” Arthur ordered firmly. “Morgana, stay behind me. Gwen, follow the light.”

The cave swallowed the spring sunlight within seconds, replacing it with a damp and suffocating darkness. Arthur’s torch cast enormous trembling shadows upon the wet walls. The air inside was so heavy that every breath of freezing moisture felt like a warning that they did not belong there.

As Gwen followed behind them, her steps gradually became heavier. The low ceiling and the stalactites hanging above felt as though they were pressing against her chest.

“I can’t breathe,” she whispered weakly. “The walls… it feels like they’re going to collapse on top of us.”

Though Morgana hid her emotions behind armor-like composure, seeing Gwen’s pale face caused a small crack to form in that icy shell. She cared for her, but an Ezaki princess—especially one of royal blood—could not tolerate weakness.

Still, her authoritative voice softened into protective harshness.

“That’s enough, Gwen. This place isn’t suitable for you,” Morgana said. “Go back. Wait at the entrance and keep watch. That is not a request—it’s an order.”

Gwen shook her head quickly.

“No, my lady. I can’t leave you here alone.”

“You’re slowing us down!” Morgana snapped, inventing excuses only to push Gwen away from the suffocating darkness. “Get outside and breathe fresh air. Guarding the entrance is more important for our safety. Go.”

Seeing the unyielding determination in Morgana’s eyes, Gwen reluctantly obeyed and retreated.

As she disappeared, Arthur and Morgana continued deeper into the cave’s silent corridors.

Passing through a narrow passage, Arthur’s thoughts drifted briefly back to the chaos of the Bazaar. Amid all that dust and noise, he remembered the peasant boy bending down to search for a fallen coin…

Merlin.

Immediately, Arthur frowned and crushed the thought.

“Humans are untrustworthy,” he reminded himself. “No matter how innocent their eyes appear, their souls are full of deceit.”

“Something wrong, Arthur?” Morgana asked, noticing the hesitation in his steps.

“Just… this land’s air clouds my thoughts,” Arthur replied, hardening his voice once more. “We must focus. Our task is to uncover the truth behind these pathetic people’s legends and destroy the Wall.”

“Exactly,” Morgana said, lifting her torch toward strange markings carved into the wall. “Personal feelings or the temporary beauty of these lands must never blind an Ezaki’s vision. We came here to bring salvation.”

As their conversation continued beneath the cold weight of duty, an ancient mechanism hidden within the cave silently awakened.

The faint click beneath Arthur’s foot was the herald of disaster.

“Get down!” Arthur shouted.

Poisoned arrows burst from hidden holes in the walls, slicing through the air. With incredible reflexes, Arthur drew his sword and deflected the arrows mid-flight. But at that exact moment, a deafening roar erupted from above.

The mechanism had triggered more than arrows.

A landslide crashed down between Arthur and Morgana. Tons of stone slammed into the ground violently, shaking the cave and filling it with dust.

Arthur lunged toward the rubble, but it was too late. The passage had been completely sealed.

“Morgana! Morgana, can you hear me?” Arthur slammed the hilt of his sword against the rock, but the thickness of the stone swallowed his voice.

“I’m alive!” Morgana shouted back, her voice muffled but steady. “I’m unharmed. But this path is blocked now, Arthur. Find another exit on your side! Don’t stop—the inscriptions must be further ahead!”

Alone within the cloud of dust, Arthur swallowed the dryness in his throat. His torch cast a trembling yellow glow across the damp walls.

Every ancient illustration illuminated by the flame seemed to awaken before his eyes, fueling the rage buried inside him.

Massive dragons tore across the walls with outstretched wings. The carvings told stories of Dragon Lords who transformed from dragon to human form or controlled the great beasts with a single word. Arthur knew such creatures no longer existed in this land; when dragons vanished, the powers of their masters became nothing more than dead legends.

Further ahead, the imagery shifted—spells cast through words, ancient staffs, potions guiding dark and light energies alike.

To Arthur, every symbol of magical diversity represented weakness.

Ezakis did not use magic.

To them, magic was the cowardly force that had stolen their rightful lands and plunged the world into chaos.

They would reclaim what belonged to them—not through trickery, but through steel and willpower.

Arthur passed the carvings without a trace of reverence. They were remnants of a past that deserved destruction.

The cave eventually opened into a vast chamber with towering ceilings. The sound of dripping water echoed eerily through the frozen emptiness.

Cold seeped into Arthur’s bones, and he tightened his cloak around his shoulders. His hand instinctively rested upon the hilt of his sword.

Then he noticed another light source emerging from a distant tunnel.

The glow slowly approached, stretching a stranger’s shadow across the damp stone floor.

Arthur partially drew his sword into a defensive stance. His heartbeat thundered in the silence.

As the distance between the torches closed, the lights merged together—

And Arthur found himself staring directly at the face he had just forced from his mind.

With soaking wet hair, water streaming down his bare shoulders, and an expression frozen in shock, the peasant boy stood before him.

Merlin gripped his torch tightly, staring at Arthur with those ice-blue eyes as if seeing a ghost.

Arthur could not understand why this boy’s beauty unsettled him so deeply. The gaze he had tried to erase now looked even more striking beneath the orange glow of the torchlight.

“You…” Arthur thundered, his voice echoing through the cavern. “What are you doing here? No peasant could possibly descend this far into the cave alone!”

Startled by Arthur’s booming voice, Merlin instinctively stepped back—but the strange, unfathomable light in his eyes remained.

Arthur tightened his grip upon his sword.

The disturbing feeling that the young man before him was far more than an ordinary “peasant” echoed through him sharper than the cave’s cold itself.

At first, Merlin flinched beneath Arthur’s sudden fury, but he quickly regained himself. Arthur’s arrogant, commanding tone awakened the stubborn defiance within him.

“And who exactly gave you the right to raise your voice at me?” Merlin replied coldly, yet unwaveringly. “How I entered this place is none of your concern. The real question is what you are doing in Ealdor’s sacred and dangerous waters… especially dressed like that.”

Arthur paused.

He had expected fear, expected the peasant to flee—but this defiance stirred something strange within him.

His eyes traveled over Merlin’s trembling figure.

He was shaking… yet refusing to retreat.

Arthur couldn’t understand how this drenched human could still carry himself with such pride.

Then he noticed Merlin’s gaze fixating upon the armor beneath his cloak.

Merlin focused on the intricate silver embroidery across Arthur’s chest: a majestic dragon stitched with remarkable precision.

The crest of Pendragon.

The royal bloodline of the land beyond the Wall.

Merlin’s breath caught.

For the first time in his life, he stood face-to-face with an Ezaki.

They were supposed to resemble monsters.

But the man before him looked like the most flawless—and most dangerous—statue the world had ever carved.

“You…” Merlin whispered, his voice trembling with shock. “You’re an Ezaki. The Pendragon crest… You came from beyond the Wall.”

Arthur swallowed slightly at how accurately and directly his identity had been uncovered.

Every instinct drilled into him screamed:

Silence this human immediately.

And yet Merlin’s ice-blue eyes—filled not with hatred, but curiosity and fearless wonder—stopped him.

All his life Arthur had been taught to despise humans.

Yet there was nothing hateful in this boy before him.

Only curiosity.

And Arthur realized he was trapped in a similar fascination himself.

Could human skin truly be this pale? Could human eyes truly hold such depth?

“Yes,” Arthur admitted, discarding the final traces of his traveler disguise and speaking with the full authority of a prince. “I am an Ezaki. And the fact that you’re here proves you know far more than we anticipated.”

Merlin quickly recovered from his shock and straightened defensively.

“We?” he demanded. “Why would anyone travel this far from beyond the Wall!?”

As they studied one another, the tension between them warmed even the freezing cave air.

For a brief moment Arthur found himself distracted by the droplets glimmering in Merlin’s wet hair beneath the torchlight.

Merlin, meanwhile, tried to unravel the mystery hidden beneath Arthur’s armor.

Then the light from their torches struck an enormous carving upon the wall.

Arthur slowly turned his gaze away from Merlin toward it.

A lake.

A stone.

And a sword embedded within the stone.

“Look at that,” Arthur murmured, momentarily forgetting Merlin’s presence.

Both of them abandoned their argument and began reading the ancient inscription together, as though trying to understand why fate had brought them to this chamber.

“In that sealed realm where sky and earth were separated, balance was entrusted to the hilt of a single sword.  If a human should attempt to draw the sword from the rock, the seal will be locked forever, and the two worlds will be preserved eternally, never to be reunited. However, if an Ezaki were to remove that sword from the heart of the stone, the ancient Wall between the realms would crumble to dust and equilibrium would be disrupted. "

A fierce light ignited in Arthur’s eyes.

The Ezaki destined to draw the sword had to be him.

Merlin, however, finished reading and looked toward Arthur with deeper suspicion than before.

Arthur and Merlin slowly shifted their wary gazes toward another series of runes.

Without loosening his grip on his sword, Arthur began reading aloud with the dignity of an Ezaki prince, while Merlin rolled his eyes internally at the commanding tone and continued reading silently.

Upon the wall was carved an ancient poem adorned with Roman stonework and opened toward the eastern sun:

“Beyond the mist lies the hidden lake,
Found only by the mind of Mesopotamia.
The world’s greatest library rests within the heart of the sands,
And the compass you seek sleeps deep inside that silver vault.”

When the inscription ended, silence swallowed the cave.

Arthur lifted his torch closer to the wall.

“Gundishapur…” he murmured. “The heart of the Sasanians. That endless library where all the world’s knowledge was gathered.”

As the prophecy echoed through the chamber, the shock on Merlin’s face transformed into horrified realization.

He tore his gaze away from the wall and stared at Arthur’s ambition-filled eyes.

Everything had become clear.

“The Wall…” Merlin said accusingly, his voice trembling. “You truly intend to destroy it. Not merely cross it—you want to erase the boundary that has protected this world for centuries!”

Arthur hurled the torch toward the ground and fully unsheathed his sword. The sound of steel scraping against stone screamed through the cavern.

“Protected?” Arthur roared. “That Wall imprisoned us! It was built so weak, cowardly humans like you could thrive upon lands that belong to us! The seal will break, and the Pendragons will reclaim what is rightfully theirs!”

Merlin refused to step back beneath Arthur’s arrogant claim.

“Yours?” he shot back. “You bring nothing but chaos!”

A spark of ancient magic flickered within Merlin’s ice-blue eyes.

“You’ll never reach that library or that lake. I won’t allow it.”

Arthur laughed mockingly.

“You won’t allow it?”

He stepped closer until almost no distance remained between them.

“Your kind only knows how to kneel, Merlin.”

The moment Merlin heard his own name spoken from Arthur’s lips, his heart pounded violently.

“Have you ever knelt before anyone?” Arthur asked.

In the torchlight, Merlin’s ice-blue eyes gleamed.

There was no fear in them.

And still, he did not step back.

Instead, he smiled.

“No,” Merlin said softly. “But if you’d like to show me…”

The magic within him stirred restlessly.

“Then don’t hesitate to try,” Merlin hissed.

And in that moment, one thing became certain—

Someone would kneel.

But neither of them yet knew who it would be.

Chapter Text

Arthur lunged with the speed of a lightning bolt. His sword tore through the air, swinging toward Merlin. However, Merlin shifted aside with a reflex no human could possess. As he raised his hand, the damp air of the cave suddenly grew hot. Merlin uttered no incantation; he simply channeled the rage within him. A wave of force blasted Arthur back several steps.

When Arthur’s back slammed against the hard rock, his face showed not pain, but pure fury and bewilderment. "So that’s how you were able to seep through these seals, Merlin," he hissed through his teeth with hatred.

Arthur lunged again. This time he was more controlled, more lethal. Sword strikes clashed against the invisible shields surrounding Merlin, sending sparks flying through the cave. Every move Arthur made backed Merlin into a corner, and every magical defense Merlin mounted only fueled Arthur's ambition further.

"Sorcerer!" Arthur roared. He made another rapid thrust with his sword; this time, Merlin could not evade. Arthur broke Merlin’s defense harshly with the hilt of his sword and pinned him against the damp cave wall like a sledgehammer.

When Merlin’s bare back made contact with that ice-cold, moss-covered, and jagged rock, a shiver ran through his entire body. The cold moisture seeping from the rock cut through Merlin’s warm skin like a knife. Arthur pressed the ice-cold steel of his sword against Merlin’s throat; the pressure was so firm that the steel sank deeper into his skin as Merlin swallowed.

Despite the pressure on his throat, Merlin did not take his eyes off Arthur’s. "My name..." he said, his breath tightening but refusing to back down. "How do you know my name?!"

Arthur ignored the question; his focus was not on Merlin’s query, but on the strange reality before him. He had never seen a human being before in his life, and to be honest, it had never even crossed his mind that a human could be this flawless... Merlin’s snow-white skin, the wet black hair falling over his forehead, and the blue eyes challenging him from beneath long lashes... Arthur collided with the internal truth that "it is impossible for a human to be this beautiful." Unwittingly, Arthur’s gaze flickered to Merlin’s lips for a brief moment. It was a pure, raw fascination toward this species he was seeing for the first time.

Noticing that split-second shift in Arthur’s focus during this close contact, Merlin felt his cheeks suddenly burn. Overwhelmed by the stress of being in such dangerous proximity to an Ezakis for the first time, a flash of shame washed over him. "Perverted Ezakis!" Merlin shouted, gathering all his strength to break free from that closeness.

With a stupid grin—truly stupid—Arthur pressed the sword a bit harder. "I will either bury you here in the earth along with this secret, or you will be my slave, peasant. There is no other way out of this cave."

The corner of Merlin’s lips curled up mockingly. "Who is becoming whose slave?" he murmured. Without using his arms, Merlin delivered a strike using only that massive concentration of energy in his mind, hitting Arthur right in the center of his chest. While Arthur was hurled back, stunned by what had hit him, Merlin didn’t just push him; with a flick of his hand, he pinned Arthur’s back against a giant pillar on the other side of the cave.

A curse escaped Arthur’s mouth as his back hit the stone, but he recovered instantly, swinging his sword as he lunged at Merlin again. With a single word, Merlin sent sharp shards of rock torn from the cave wall flying through the air, directing them straight at Arthur. Arthur parried the stones as best he could with his sword.

Now, because of the situation they were in, it wasn't just hatred between them. There was also a display of their powers. Arthur might have been a highly accomplished warrior. In fact, Merlin would even admit that this Ezakis's swordsmanship was better than Lancelot's. But Merlin had no need for a sword. And there was no need for mercy toward the person facing him.

"Leave this place at once!" Merlin shouted, clapping his hands together in the air to create a wave of pressure that cracked the cave floor.

Their battle was so violent that the ancient drawings and priceless inscriptions on the walls began to crumble from the debris falling from both sides. Merlin’s heart ached as he saw a thousand years of history being destroyed, and this grief made his magic even more destructive. Sword strikes and magical explosions shook the cave to its foundations.

"The cave won't hold!" Merlin thought.

Just as Arthur swung his sword with a final surge of ambition, the ceiling cracked with a great roar. Merlin sent all the power in his hands toward the ceiling like a pillar, accelerating the collapse; it was the only way to separate the two. As massive blocks of stone began to fall between them like projectiles, the gallery was buried in a cloud of dust.

"Merlin!"

Arthur’s voice echoed through the noise of the falling rocks with a strange ambition, like a command. But the path was completely blocked. The probability of Merlin being trapped under the rocks was very high. Arthur took his torch and turned his face toward the dark tunnel leading to a different exit. Though his stomach churned, he moved toward the outside of the cave with a sense of duty.

Merlin, meanwhile, was thrown toward the path leading to the waterfall by the tremor. That redness in his cheeks hadn't quite faded yet; he wasn't sure if it was the stress of battle or the effect of those strange looks from that Ezakis. But he knew one thing: he had learned a great secret, and this situation was a catastrophe that needed immediate intervention.

"Gaius..." Merlin murmured, breathless as he pushed through the water curtain of the waterfall and let himself fall into the cool waters. "I must go to my uncle at once. I must tell Gaius everything."

As Merlin moved swiftly through the river, he tried to cast the image of that golden-haired, rude but striking stranger out of his mind. But the dusty roads of the Sassanids were already etched into their fates.

Downstream, the roar of the waterfall had turned into a peaceful murmur. Lancelot had just emerged from the cool water and was pulling his wet shirt over his back under the sun. As the wet fabric clung to his body, there was that usual dignified but tired expression on his face.

Just a few steps away, Gwaine, sprawled among the roots of a massive plane tree, had a piece of straw in his mouth and was waving a half-finished wine skin in the air.

"You know, Lance," Gwaine said, gesturing with his flask. "I've seen those massive pillars and marble roads of Rome. I haven't seen people as disciplined or as tough as those bastards in all my travels. But believe me, friend; this wandering peace of Ealdor is a thousand times better than that Roman grandeur. At least here, no one asks you why you didn't polish your armor."

Lancelot laughed softly as he fastened his belt. It was the laugh of someone accustomed to Gwaine’s jokes but genuinely amused every time. "If you had stayed in Rome, you’d likely be in trouble not for failing to polish your armor, but for breaking into the Emperor’s wine cellar."

Gwaine burst into laughter, leaned his head against the tree trunk, and closed his eyes. "Perhaps! But look at me; I came with a wind, was blown away by a storm, and finally settled in this green paradise. Fate, I suppose." He set his sword aside in the shade of the tree.

Lancelot shook his head at Gwaine’s carefreeness. There were endless stories echoing throughout the village about Gwaine’s swordsmanship and adventures. "What you call fate," Lancelot said in a soft voice, "usually ends at the doorsteps of the village aunties, Gwaine. But the way you move like you're dancing when you use a sword... I must admit, you have no equal in these lands."

Gwaine opened one eye slightly and smirked. "So you’ve finally admitted it! Lance in silver armor bows before the traveler Gwaine. I must note this day down."

Ignoring Gwaine’s childish sense of victory, Lancelot gathered his things. "I’m heading up toward the side of the waterfall. I need to gather those rare Blue Cornflowers for Gaius’s potions. If it were up to Merlin, he’d get distracted by a butterfly and forget them again."

"Flowers?" Gwaine grimaced, chewing the straw in his mouth. "Our beautiful knight is going to pick flowers. Off you go then, Lance. I shall stay here under this magnificent tree and perform the most important task in the world: I shall sleep. Do not wake me unless there is an army raid or something."

As Gwaine threw his arm over his eyes and reached the brink of a deep sleep within seconds, Lancelot moved with light steps into the depths of the forest.

The forest was adorned with the most vibrant colors of spring. Sunlight filtered through the dense layers of leaves, creating golden glints on the damp earth. The air smelled of fresh pine needles and the coolness of distant water. Lancelot climbed toward the waterfall, listening to the crunch of dry twigs beneath his boots.

In the shallows right where the waterfall tumbled down, he saw those bright blue flowers wedged between the rocks. He leaned down and picked a few without damaging them. As he gathered them into a bouquet, he noticed movement on the rocky terrace just above.

When Lancelot climbed the rocky path with the Blue Cornflowers in hand, the cool mist of the waterfall hit his face. The moment he parted the branches and stepped into the clearing, he felt a sensation like the magic he had witnessed a few hours ago. Long curly hair swayed in the light breeze, hanging over her shoulders as she leaned down.

Gwen was leaning over a shallow pool by the riverbank, washing her face. Lancelot stood still so as not to startle her, but the snap of a twig broke the silence. "Dammit."

Gwen jumped to her feet, wiping her wet hands on her skirt and immediately taking a defensive stance. However, she paused when she saw this man before her, his white shirt glowing under the sun and his gaze devoid of any aggression. Lancelot approached with slow steps, as if entering the presence of a queen.

Gwen didn't know what to say for a moment in the face of the stranger’s deep and respectful gaze. Lancelot, for his part, was spellbound by the purity he saw.

"Am I dead?" Lancelot whispered with slight wonder and admiration.

Gwen paused for a second in surprise at this absurd yet gentle question, and then that famous, soft smile appeared on her lips.

"Not yet, sir," Gwen said, smiling slightly.

Lancelot shed his tension at Gwen’s sincere reaction and took a step closer. He looked at the bouquet of blue flowers in his hand, then back at Gwen’s eyes. "Forgive me," Lancelot said, his voice smooth and deep. "To expect to encounter such grace among these desolate rocks... could only be the work of a dream."

Since Gwen was usually just a servant who took orders, she wasn't used to being treated with such "ladylike" courtesy. She lowered her gaze bashfully, but curiosity won out.

"What is your name?"

Gwen wasn't sure whether to tell the truth or a lie. Lying didn't suit her at all. "Guinevere. But... my friends call me Gwen."

Lancelot fell silent for a moment as if weighing the name in his mind. Then, bowing slightly, he held out the fresh bouquet of Blue Cornflowers to Gwen. A noble smile appeared on his face, erasing all his fatigue.

"Thank you, Guinevere," Lancelot said, bowing with slight gratitude.

Gwen froze as she took a stem from the bouquet. No one had addressed her by her full name as if she were a noble. And the person she received this compliment from wasn't even of her own race...

Lancelot succumbed to his curiosity while giving the flowers. "I haven't seen you around here before... Where do you come from?"

Gwen felt a flash of panic at this question. Their identities had to remain secret, as did their ties to the Ezakis realm. Just as she was about to give an evasive answer, that sharp voice echoed from the upper parts of the cave:

"Gwen! Where are you?" Morgana’s voice rang out among the rocks.

Gwen gripped the flowers in Lancelot’s hand tightly and startled like a child caught red-handed. "I must go," she said hurriedly. Under Lancelot’s bewildered gaze, she began to run toward the rocks.

"Will we meet again?" Lancelot called out, his face falling with sadness yet happy with the excitement of the moment.

Gwen didn't stop, but before she left, she gave Lancelot a look over her shoulder that carried more than a thousand answers for him. As Gwen disappeared into the dust and the mist of the waterfall, Lancelot was left alone with a single blue flower in his hand and the name "Guinevere" echoing in his mind. In that moment, he served a mission far more important than Gaius’s potions.

Morgana had collapsed onto a flat rock at the mouth of the cave, her trembling hands resting on her knees. That disconnect she had experienced inside with Arthur and the eerie whispers of the cave had brought to light the anxiety she hid beneath her noble stature.

Gwen approached with quick steps, pressing the blue bouquet to her chest. Her face was flushed from excitement and the climb. Noticing Gwen’s approach, Morgana fixed her gaze on her; in this look, there was both a demand for an account and a secret sense of relief at seeing a familiar face.

"Where have you been, Gwen?" Morgana asked; though she tried to maintain the authority in her voice, her exhaustion was palpable. "And what are those in your hand?"

Gwen bowed slightly and held out the blue cornflowers to Morgana. "My Lady, I was wandering around while waiting for you. These flowers caught my attention... Such flowers don't grow in our mountains, and their colors were so vibrant... They reminded me of you."

Morgana paused for a moment at Gwen’s unexpected gesture. She looked at these strange but striking flowers she was seeing for the first time in these lands. As she took the bouquet, she looked into Gwen’s eyes for a brief moment; the servant-lady distance between them stretched for a second but did not break.

"Thank you, Gwen. A beautiful choice," Morgana said with a short, clear expression.

Gwen sat down beside Morgana, leaving an arm's length between them. She handed her the water. As Morgana drank, Gwen spoke in a low voice to comfort her lady: "Arthur will find a way, My Lady. He is a Pendragon; no pile of rocks can stop him."

Morgana nodded slightly and looked toward the waterfall. "This mission... will be more complicated than we thought, Gwen. You must be prepared." Gwen accepted her lady’s warning with a silent nod.

Just then, a massive roar from deep underground shattered the silence. Clouds of dust billowed out along with the sound of a collapse from within the cave. Morgana sprang to her feet. "Arthur! He's trapped inside!"

Both of them ran in panic toward the rocks surrounding the cave. Morgana looked as if she would claw at the stones with her fingernails for fear of losing her brother. Just then, a dark figure burst out from a narrow crevice on the right side of the waterfall, covered in dust.

It was Arthur. The red linen shirt beneath his armor had turned gray with dust and was torn in places. His hair was a mess, and his arms were still tense from the adrenaline of battle. There was an indescribable expression in his eyes as he sheathed his sword.

"Arthur! Thank God, you're alright!" Morgana shouted, taking a step toward him. "What happened in there? What is this state you’re in?"

Arthur paused as fresh air filled his lungs. In his mind, the image of that black-haired sorcerer who had blasted him back against the cave wall, Merlin, came to life. A pang formed in his heart. But he immediately suppressed this weakness.

"There was someone in the cave," Arthur said, trying to downplay the incident with his cold voice. "A sorcerer. I have no idea how he got in there or how he bypassed those seals. We had a brief confrontation, but the cave collapsed on us. He likely didn't make it out alive from under those rocks."

Morgana frowned. "A sorcerer? Here? If you're alright, nothing else matters, Arthur. But what about the inscriptions?" Morgana showered him with questions, extremely stressed by excitement and concern. "Did you find them?"

Arthur shook off the dust with a single movement and looked into Morgana’s eyes. In his gaze, there was no longer hesitation, but a devastating plan.

He gripped the hilt of his sword, his gaze locked onto the distance. "That wall is not a border, Morgana, it’s a prison burying us in these barren lands," he said with icy determination. "But today, that seal cracked. The inscriptions are not wrong; Lake Avalon awaits us behind the mists."

The sun was almost setting; Arthur turned his back to the sun and his eyes drifted to the east. Arthur paused for a moment; the image of that black-haired sorcerer, Merlin, appeared in his mind. He truly could have remained under the rocks there; he felt a complex ache but buried it immediately into the darkness.

"We are moving out," Arthur said, riding his horse into the depths of the forest. "We must have crossed the river before dawn." In a deep voice befitting a prince, he commanded: "Prepare the horses. Our first stop is that magnificent city where continents meet; Constantinople! When the sun rises next, we shall be on the road to the heart of the East."

As Arthur strode down the rocks toward their horses without looking back, Morgana and Gwen followed him with a terrifying excitement growing inside them. Now they were in pursuit not just of a lake, but of a storm that would change the world.

As the misty peaks of Ealdor remained behind them, each merged into the darkness with their own secret. A single flower in Gwen’s pocket, the ambition for power in Morgana’s mind, and those blue eyes sealed into Arthur’s soul... They were all now flowing in one direction, toward the unknown of the East.

Chapter Text

The peaceful evening silence of Ealdor was shattered as the door to Gaius’s stone house swung open with a great crash. Merlin burst inside, staggering and leaning his hands against his knees as he gasped for air. He was a complete mess; his shirt was caked in mud, his neckerchief hung loosely from one shoulder, and his hair was matted to his forehead with sweat. Even Gwaine and Lancelot, following close behind, had struggled to keep up with his pace.

"The Ezakis..." Merlin said, his voice muffled and ragged. "In the cave... Gaius, they were there!"

Hunith bolted from the hearth and rushed to her son. She placed her hands on Merlin’s deathly pale face, her expression one of pure terror. "Merlin! Heavens, you’re as white as a sheet... Wait, catch your breath, my boy! What is happening?"

Merlin gripped his mother’s hands, but his eyes remained locked on Gaius. "I’m fine, Mother, I’m not hurt, but—" He paused, swallowing hard. "There was a man, Uncle. I encountered him in the depths of the cave. He was no ordinary traveler; beneath that navy-blue cloak, he wore armor, right here..." Merlin pointed sharply to his own chest. "Etched upon his collar was a massive, glowing dragon seal." Merlin swallowed and lifted his head, strands of damp hair falling over his face. "A Pendragon seal."

The parchment in Gaius’s hand fell to the table. "The Ezakis..." the old man murmured. The room fell into a state of total shock, the only sound being the crackle of sparks in the hearth. "That is not just a rank, Merlin; it is a bloodline... An Ezakis bloodline."

Gwaine stepped forward with a serious expression, though he couldn't quite abandon his usual biting tone. "So, you’re saying you played hide-and-seek in a cave with a royal and he didn't take your head off? It’s your lucky day, mate."

Merlin didn't even hear him; he was still reeling from the moment. For the first time, he had seen someone who was not of his kind, someone so powerful and so different. "There were writings on the wall," Merlin continued, his voice now deeper. "It told of the ancient legend. It began like this:

'In that sealed realm where the sky and the earth are divided, the balance is entrusted to the hilt of a single sword. If a human attempts to pull the sword from the stone, the seal shall be locked forever, and the two worlds shall remain protected, never to unite again. However, if an Ezakis draws that sword from the heart of the stone, the ancient Wall between the realms shall turn to dust, and the balance shall be shattered.'"

Gaius approached the table, listening with bated breath. Merlin continued: "But something else was written beneath it. Like a map of some kind...

'Beyond the mist lies the hidden lake, Found only through the mind of Mesopotamia. The world's greatest library sits at the heart of the sands, and the compass you seek sleeps within the depths of that silver chest.'"

Lancelot intervened, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword. "They are trying to tear down the Wall." The atmosphere was flatter than Gwaine’s flirting skills. "They intend to remove that legendary boundary and annex this world into the Ezakis realm."

Gwaine frowned, looking out the window at the silhouette of the massive Wall stretching toward the heavens. "Isn't it impossible to move that Wall? It’s stood there for decades."

"It didn't seem impossible to that man," Merlin said dreamily. "He cracked the code in a second. It was as if he knows this place, these lands, better than we do."

Gaius began to pace rapidly across the room. "If he is of the Pendragon blood, he knows history and ancient languages as well as he knows sword training. What we call legend, they call a plan." Suddenly he stopped and turned toward the shelves. He scooped up a heavy, leather-bound book of magic and thudded it onto the table. "We are going!" He began to line up his strongest healing potions and the parchments needed for the journey.

Lancelot frowned as he watched Gaius’s frantic preparations. "What are you doing, Gaius? What is this for?"

"We are leaving, Lancelot," Gaius said without looking up.

Gaius quickly spread a map across the table; his fingers traced over old roads, rivers, and boundaries that now stood like ghosts. As Merlin watched Gaius’s trembling but determined hands, he relived the moment in the cave.

"The mind of Mesopotamia..." Gaius whispered, his eyes fixed on the map. "This is not just a riddle, Merlin, it is a location. They are talking about the world's most ancient treasury of knowledge: The Library of Gundishapur. In the heart of the sands, one of the places hiding the deepest secrets of history. If the compass is there, they are heading there too."

Merlin bolted upright, his excitement overcoming his fear. "Yes! That is exactly the place that blonde man mentioned! He struggled a bit when pronouncing the name 'Gundishapur.' That royal bastard knew exactly what he was looking for."

Gaius straightened up, taking a deep breath. The heavy air in the room had now been replaced by the weight of irreversible action. "Then we haven't a second to lose. They are one step ahead, but we know the spirit of these lands better than they do."

Looking at everyone in the room with the air of a commander, Gaius began to distribute tasks:

"Lancelot! To the stable at once. Choose the four hardiest horses and check their shoes. Load the saddlebags with only the bare essentials: dried meat, water, and durable blankets. The horses' load must be light, their legs fast."

"Understood, Gaius," Lancelot said, heading for the door. His honor and loyalty were written in the serious lines of his face.

"Gwaine! Go to the village blacksmith or bring the sharpest steel from your hidden stash. Arrows, bows, and swords... Our path will cross not just sands, but Romans and Sassanids as well. Do not take anything that adds unnecessary weight. We can never know how they might approach us. We must not cause alarm, or the people will rise up. Do not speak of this to anyone."

Gwaine tightened his belt with a crooked grin. "Discretion is my middle name, old man. We’ll be ready like a fighting army within three hours."

Gaius finally turned to Merlin. His gaze softened, but the seriousness in his voice remained. "You stay with me, Merlin. We will pack the spellbook, copies of the ancient seals, and the special potions we’ll need along the way. The time for hiding the power within you is passing; on this road, our true shield will be your magic."

After shooting a brief look at Hunith, Gaius added: "We must leave this village in three hours at the latest. Darkness is our greatest ally. No one must know we are hunting the Ezakis until we reach Constantinople and slip from there into the heart of the East."

The room burst into motion. Everyone knew what they had to do. As Merlin took one last look at the old map on the table, he felt that his fate had already been sealed with that ice-cold-eyed Ezakis in the cave. There was no turning back.

Merlin straightened his collar, noticing his heart was racing; he couldn't be sure if this strange impatience came from a desire to save the world or the ambition to settle a score with that arrogant Ezakis. All he knew was that the thought of seeing that blonde man’s icy gaze again stirred a dark excitement within him.

At the foot of the old stone bridge on the edge of Ealdor, Lancelot and Gwaine were balancing the horses' saddlebags for the last time. The evening mist settling over the village was like a reflection of the approaching uncertainty. As Lancelot checked the horse’s stirrup, his mind was in turmoil.

"Can you believe it, Lance?" Gwaine said, tossing an apple in the air and catching it. "You can't leave our Merlin alone for two minutes. We send the lad to the forest to clear his head by the waterfall, and when he returns, he bursts in like his world has collapsed. I’ve never seen him so shaken. His eyes were red, as if from shock and shame."

Lancelot nodded slowly. He was trembling, but not because he feared that man’s sword. It was the tremor of seeing an Ezakis, of standing face-to-face with the flesh and blood of those old legends. "Merlin is a sorcerer; that must have made this Ezakis even more aggressive."

Gwaine took a bite of his apple and smirked. "You're right. But his real shock will begin when we reach the gates of Constantinople."

Lancelot asked curiously, "What does that mean?" Lancelot raised an eyebrow, looking at Gwaine. "Is it not Rome? What kind of place is it? Have you been there before?"

Gwaine took a deep breath and leaned back. "Rome? Ah, my friend... Rome is beautiful. The architecture mesmerizes you; those massive marble columns look as though they might reach the heavens. The wine makes flowers bloom on your palate; the women and men are so handsome, so alluring, that for a moment you think you’ve fallen into heaven. But beneath that beauty lies a decayed structure. As for the government... I’d say it’s terrible. The city is never free of war or intrigue. People go there for espionage so often that it is actually the most crowded yet most treacherous city in the world. Still, if we want to cross over to the Sassanids, we must pass through that city of marble."

Lancelot realized he had fastened his saddlebag incorrectly to the horse’s saddle; he couldn't focus. He didn't know if it was because they were embarking on a massive undertaking or because he might meet the girl from the Bazaar again. Likely both. His mind was snagged on that face he had seen in the desolation of the forest.

Gwen.

The girl had said her name; her voice was clear, and her gaze was calm enough to pierce through even the center of that chaos. However, whether from the weight of the moment or the strange energy radiated by the sinister blonde man beside her, Lancelot had completely forgotten to say his own name. He hadn't even introduced himself. This thought knotted in his chest like an unfinished sentence, creating a strange void.

"She doesn't even know who I am," he murmured without realizing.

Tightening the cinch of the horse next to him, Gwaine turned to him with raised eyebrows. "Who doesn't know what?"

Realizing he had spoken aloud, Lancelot smiled slightly with a flash of embarrassment and looked away. "Nothing... It’s not important, forget it," he said, brushing it off. It wasn't as urgent as the situation they were in now.

"These noble-souled knights," Gwaine thought, a mocking but affectionate curve appearing at the corner of his lip. Gwaine noted his friend’s distracted and thoughtful state. Though he wondered about the reason behind Lancelot’s stillness, he didn't push it. Likely just nerves for the road. "Anyway," he thought, pulling another apple from his bag and polishing it on his jacket. He looked at the walls on the horizon, the ones they said would never fall. "Bloody hell."

Inside Ealdor’s small, soot-stained hut, time seemed to slow down in defiance of the storm outside. As Merlin placed a few pieces of clothing (which he could have actually produced with his magic) and the herb pouches Gaius had given him into his old leather saddlebag, his hands moved heavier than usual.

As Hunith watched her son from the hearth, she tried to hide the tears in her eyes, but her trembling hands betrayed her. She approached Merlin, and they tied the mouth of the bag together. Hunith gripped her son’s hands tightly.

Hunith couldn't hide the trembling of her fingers as she placed her hand on her son’s arm. Her eyes wandered over Merlin’s face as if to memorize every detail; she swallowed heavily, looked away for a moment, and took a deep breath. "Merlin..." she said, her voice so thin it seemed it might break into a sob; the words spilled from her lips with difficulty. "The place you are going... it is not like here, not like Ealdor, my son." She paused, her gaze drifting into the distance as if she could already feel that marble coldness. "Even the shadows... even the shadows will be watching you."

Merlin held his mother’s hand tighter, but Hunith forced herself to continue, the fearful glint in her eyes deepening. "Most of all..." she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, as if even the walls had ears. "Your magic... I want you to be careful most of all with that, Merlin. Use it not just to stay alive..." She paused once more, swallowing painfully. "You must use it to hide. Trust... trust no one, my son. Your secret... it is your only true shield in this world."

A single tear slid down her cheek, but she wiped it away instantly. Though her shoulders shook, the protective maternal strength in her gaze did not fade. Merlin felt his heart tighten at his mother's desperate yet loving warning. His mother was not just afraid of a Ezakis; she was afraid of the world.

Seeing the deep concern on his mother’s face, Merlin set the saddlebag aside and turned to her. He took Hunith’s tired but affectionate face in his hands.

"Don't be afraid, Mother," Merlin said, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. He took in her scent one last time; she smelled of fresh bread and the earth of Ealdor. "Gaius will be with me. Nothing will happen to me as long as he is there. I promise, I will be careful. And more importantly... I will finish this and come back to you. No matter where Ezaki and the walls she's chasing lead us, the road will end here."

Hunith hugged her son tightly; a fear had pierced her heart, as if she might never see him again if she let go. Merlin stroked his mother’s hair and slowly pulled back.

Gaius, waiting in the corner, cleared his throat and intervened. He took a step toward Hunith—his sister. He took her hands in his and squeezed them reassuringly.

"I swear upon my life to protect him, Hunith," Gaius said, his voice as solid as a rock. "Merlin is not just your son; he is like a son to me as well. Do not worry; I will be both an uncle and a guide to him."

Hunith smiled at her brother through tearful eyes. "I trust you, Gaius. I entrust him to you."

Merlin and Gaius shouldered their bags and stepped out of the hut’s door into the cold and misty Ealdor morning awaiting them. Standing at the threshold, Hunith pressed her apron against her as it fluttered in the wind and watched them leave.

As their figures disappeared into the horizon, she opened her hands to the heavens and whispered silently:

"Stars, please guide my son. Protect his fate. Do not leave him alone on this dark journey. Give light to his steps and patience to his heart."

Hunith did not close the door until they were out of sight. Before mounting his horse, Merlin looked back one last time; the small figure of his mother was etched into his mind as the most sacred thing he possessed in the world. Now, the great journey from which there was no turning back had begun.

As the evening blue painted the sky navy, Arthur halted his horse. He looked at the point marked for Constantinople on the map.

"We are almost there," Morgana said, hiding the exhaustion in her voice. They were a few days' journey away. "Will we be able to hide in the crowds of Rome?"

For a moment, there was a depth in Arthur’s mind that unsettled his soul. Suppressing his emotions, he narrowed his eyes and looked ahead.

"We have to get lost. We were trained for this mission. It is the only chance for our people."

Chapter Text

The massive walls of Constantinople rose before them like stone giants piercing the very sky. Arthur had spent his entire life taking pride in the fortifications of Camelot, but this... this was a different world entirely (discounting, of course, the cursed walls of Avalok). The hellish crowd at the entrance of the Golden Gate was a swarming mass of merchants, beggars, and armored guards from every corner of the earth. The inspections were so meticulous that passing through the shadow of the spears seemed an impossible task.

Arthur gripped the hilt of the sword hidden beneath his cloak more tightly. "They’re demanding a seal," he muttered through gritted teeth. "We can’t pass through as ordinary travelers."

Morgana stepped forward, that dangerous and clever glint sparking in her eyes. "We don’t need a seal, Arthur. We only need the protective instincts of foolish men."

As they entered the entrance courtyard, the scent of dust and spices stung their nostrils. At that exact moment, Morgana let out a piercing shriek as if the world were collapsing. She clutched her chest, her breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps. "No... No, it can't be! It’s gone!"

"My Lady! Please, stay calm, just breathe!" Gwen caught Morgana’s arm just in time. Her voice was so thick with panic that every guard in the courtyard fixed their eyes on them. "Help! My Lady’s bags, filled with her jewels... all our belongings! They’ve been stolen!"

Seeing a noblewoman in such a distraught state, two guards broke formation and rushed toward them. Morgana, feigning a fit of hysteria, collapsed into the arms of one of the guards and wailed through her sobs: "Everything I owned was in that bag... Please, I can’t breathe, it’s too crowded!"

To rescue the noblewoman from the crush and take control of the situation, the guards ushered them toward a narrow passage leading to the main street. While Morgana acted as though she had fainted and was in extreme distress, Arthur moved into the widening space. Once they reached the processing area where the passage opened up, Arthur struck. Springing forward, he delivered a powerful shoulder barge to one of the guards, sending the man reeling into an alleyway without a word.

"There he is!" Morgana shouted, snapping back to life and pointing in the direction Arthur had vanished. "He’s got the bag! Quick, catch him!"

"Stay here!" one guard barked at his partner, leaving him to watch over the ladies while he dived into the alley after Arthur.

Arthur was lying in wait in the shadows of the street. As the guard rounded the corner, Arthur lunged at his throat. With the lethal precision of his unarmored combat style, he struck the guard’s pressure points in one fluid motion. He didn't crush the skull, but the force of the blow was powerful enough to cause immediate unconsciousness. The guard slumped to the ground.

Meanwhile, back in the street, as the remaining guard leaned down to console Morgana, she reached quickly into her hair. She pulled out a metal hairpin—not a mere ornament, but a blade sharpened to a razor's edge—and plunged it like a scorpion’s sting deep into the side of the man’s neck. The guard’s eyes froze, his body went rigid, and he collapsed onto Morgana’s feet without making a sound.

Gwen and Morgana quickly dragged the unconscious man into the alley toward Arthur.

Arthur straightened his cloak and looked down at the two unconscious soldiers. "We should put you on a stage, Morgana," he said, his voice dry. "Your performance almost convinced even me."

As Morgana fixed her hair, the feigned sorrow was replaced by a cold resolve. "Welcome, Arthur. This is Rome. Here, the survivors aren't kings—they are good actors." She winked at him, and he responded with a mischievous grin.

The team hid the unconscious guards behind piles of refuse and merged into the vast, cacophonous, and magnificent crowd of Constantinople. They were finally inside.

The queue in front of Edirnekapı, one of the city's main gates, stretched for miles. As the sun beat down from above, Merlin shifted the heavy satchel to his other shoulder. They had been on the road for a week, and when they finally beheld the massive walls of Istanbul, the feeling they felt was not just awe, but the fear of being caught.

"Easy, Merlin," Gwaine whispered, noticing Merlin’s trembling hands. "We’re just four travellers. If you look that nervous, the guards will think you're hiding magic, not gold."

"I don't have any gold anyway," Merlin muttered, wiping sweat with his sleeve. "But I do have magic, Gwaine. Just another reason for them not to let us in."

Lancelot leaned forward, scanning the crowd. "Look, there’s a system. They aren't just letting in merchants and nobles, but also craftsmen who can serve the city."

As they approached the checkpoint, the armoured and sweat-drenched Byzantine guards scrutinised the people like livestock. When it was their turn, a burly guard held his spear horizontally against Gaius’s chest, halting them.

"Hold it! Who are you, and where do you hail from?" The man was clearly a Roman soldier, spear in hand and helmet on head.

Lancelot stepped forward, meeting the guard's gaze with honest eyes. "We come from a small settlement in the east of Britain, sir. We have been travelling for seven weeks (though it was only one, thanks to Merlin's magic). This gentleman is Master Gaius; he is here to assist old friends and the hospitals within the imperial palace. We are his guards."

The guard looked at Gaius’s dignified face, then turned to Merlin. "Is this skinny thing a guard too?"

Gaius coughed slightly, interjecting: "He is my assistant. His hands know nothing of the sword, but he knows well which herb will break a fever."

The guard took Merlin’s hands and turned them over. The palms were smooth and soft. "So it seems," the guard said dismissively. He then moved to Gwaine and looked at his calloused, scarred hands. "And what about this one? These hands look a bit too... acquainted with blood for picking herbs."

Gwaine wore his signature, annoyingly relaxed smile. "Ah, you’re right, officer. But these hands don’t just pick herbs; they also pick the pockets—or rather, the noses—of the bandits who try to steal them. Believe me, the latter takes much more effort."

The guard’s brow furrowed, and he began to search Gwaine. "You talk too much," he said, roughly patting down Gwaine’s armpits and legs. Gwaine smirked, momentarily tickled. "Hey, steady on! At least take me to dinner first!"

Lancelot gave Gwaine a look that commanded silence. Meanwhile, the other guard began to empty Merlin’s satchel. Dried herbs, tincture bottles, and old parchments spilled onto the table. The guard’s hand moved toward the thick book with silver-embossed covers, adorned with ancient runes.

"What is this?" the guard asked, suspicion in his voice. "Magic is forbidden in Roman lands, you know? These letters... they don't look like Latin."

Gaius went pale. He shot Merlin a momentary "do something" look. Just as the guard was about to flip the book open, Merlin narrowed his eyes slightly. He felt a hidden warmth in his fingertips. An illusion and a simple displacement...

When the guard opened the book, the pages that had contained strange symbols just seconds before suddenly filled with drawings of medicinal herbs and Latin medical terms. "Just... anatomical drawings, sir," said Merlin, his voice confident. "Gaius's old lecture notes."

The guard examined the book, and finding nothing, tossed it back to Merlin in disappointment. He then turned back to Gwaine, pushing him hard in frustration at not finding the hidden dagger beneath the man’s cloak. "Get inside! But I’ve got my eye on you. Don't let those seven weeks of walking from Europa be for nothing. Careful this city doesn't put a spell on you." The man chuckled under his helmet. "Welcome to Constantinople."

Gwaine just grinned to avoid punching the guy.

The moment they passed through the gate and stepped onto the main street (the Mese), the infernal crowd and the sheer grandeur of Istanbul crashed down upon them. Merlin, looking up to marvel at the gargantuan domes, nearly ended up under the wheels of a horse-drawn carriage.

Gaius grabbed Merlin by the arm and pulled him quickly to the side. He lowered his voice so only Merlin could hear: "What you did... Merlin, it was too risky. This isn't Elador. Here, it isn't just the swords that are sharp, but the eyes as well. There is an ear in every marble block of Istanbul. You must forget about magic, at least until we find a safe haven."

"I understand, Gaius," Merlin said, still mesmerised by the structures he saw. "But this city... it’s as if it were a spell itself."

Gwaine smiled and turned to Merlin, whispering like a light breeze. "My friend Merlin, the real magic is you, and the women and wine of this city are surely more magical than the legends." As Gwaine drifted toward the sound of laughter coming from an ornate tavern by the road, he grinned, "I’m going to go sniff around; maybe there’s an innkeeper who’s heard something about the Ezaki."

Just as he headed for the tavern door, Lancelot moved like a shadow and caught Gwaine by the collar with an iron grip.

"You’re going nowhere, Gwaine," Lancelot said, his voice as low as a whisper but as sharp as a blade. "We’ve been on the road for seven weeks, we’re covered in dust, and we’re all dead on our feet. We came here for a mission, not for your evening's entertainment."

"Just one cup, Lance! My throat is parched with the dust of Constantinople," Gwaine groaned, trying to wiggle free of the collar.

"We find an inn first," Lancelot said, shoving him firmly forward. "Gaius needs rest. And Merlin needs to gather his magic and be sharp to track down this Ezaki fellow. If you go off on your own, they’ll slit your throat in this foreign city and toss you in a well before we even know you're gone."

Gaius nodded in agreement. "Lancelot is right. We must not draw attention. For now, we are merely humble healers from Europe."

They turned off the Mese, the main street of Constantinople, into the Coppersmiths' Market area, where the wooden houses stood so close their upper floors almost touched. Here, the noise of the city gave way to the sound of hammers and a more sinister silence.

"We can’t stay here," Merlin said, looking around. "Everyone is looking at us."

"They aren't looking, Merlin, they’re measuring us up," Gaius said in a low voice. "Calculating who we are, how many coins are in our pockets, and whether we’re worth slitting the throats of in the night."

Gwaine pointed to a dilapidated building by the road with an old owl figure on its sign. "There... The Night’s Eye Inn. At least the name is honest. You either stay awake or close your eyes forever."

As they entered the inn, they were greeted by the smell of heavy damp and cheap wine. Gwaine drifted toward the counter where the innkeeper stood and smiled, saying, "Hey friend, we need two rooms and something strong enough to wash away seven weeks of dust from our throats." His gaze caught a group of thugs sitting in the corner, who were giving him a far from friendly look. Just as he was about to toss a remark their way—perhaps starting his first fight in Constantinople—Lancelot grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him toward the stairs.

"Rooms first, Gwaine," Lancelot said through clenched teeth. "We haven't been in the city an hour and you've already provoked a guard. I have no intention of spending tonight in a dungeon."

"I was just going to say hello, Lance! What a rude city this is," Gwaine grumbled, still looking back as they climbed the stairs.

Merlin set down his things and looked out the window. This might be the most crowded city he had ever seen. For a moment, he thought he saw a silhouette in the crowd. A silhouette wrapped in a cloak, shoulders squared, gliding through the throng like a knife. But it vanished in the blink of an eye. He had probably misseen. He never thought he would be looking so expectantly for someone.

As the innkeeper pushed aside the heavy supply cabinet at the back of the kitchen with a great groan, a dark and damp void leaked out from behind it. Arthur, Morgana, and Gwen followed the innkeeper’s signal and entered the narrow passage. As they descended into the depths of the tunnel, the suffocating heat and dust of the city were replaced by a biting chill and the sound of dripping water.

They walked through long, winding, and humid paths. With every step, the roar of Constantinople grew more distant. The place they reached at the end of the tunnel was breathtaking.

This was a massive basilica, built by the Romans as a water reservoir. Hundreds of marble columns rose from the darkness like giants, while the flickering light of torches danced upon the shallow waters on the floor. But this was no longer merely a place for water; it was the sanctuary of the Ezaki people. The Ezaki families, who had remained behind the walls long ago, had transformed this pillared kingdom into a secret living space.

In the middle of the void, a silhouette emerged from the shadows of the columns. Arthur slowed his pace. The man before him waited with a steady and unshakable dignity, as if he had been expecting this moment for centuries. Arthur was seeing this man for the first time; yet, in the man’s stance, the legendary loyalty of his kin was instantly recognizable. This was Leon, the son of one of his brother's most trusted knightly families. For years, he had lived among the people as a Byzantine, known as Leon, yet he had never lost the Ezaki honor within him.

Time seemed to stop as Leon and Arthur stood face to face. Leon knelt with respect and bowed his head.

"My Lord," he said, his voice echoing against the high ceilings of the cistern.

The stagnant waters beneath the columns reflected this moment like a mirror. As the torchlight bounced off the water and illuminated Leon’s face, the scene took on a quality as sacred and honorable as a knighthood ceremony.

"You may rise, Leon," Arthur said. His voice sounded clearer and stronger than it had for days.

A sincere smile appeared on Leon’s face, and Arthur responded with equal gratitude. Leon looked at each member of the team, observing them one by one; he bowed again with special courtesy, particularly before Morgana. When he stood tall, he spoke with an inviting voice that embraced them all:

"Welcome to Constantinople."

For Arthur, this was a moment of salvation. For days, his spirit had been stifled, caught in the middle of endless bickering, emotional storms, and hidden tensions between the two women—Morgana and Gwen. Leon's arrival felt like the first raindrop falling on a parched field. At last, he had a soldier he could trust, a comrade to develop strategies with, and a man who spoke his own language.

That night, to avoid drawing attention, Leon guided them back to a luxury inn. In a secluded room on the top floor, they gathered around a table under candlelight. There, they began to lay out the plans for the perilous journey they would undertake into the depths of Anatolia, toward the East. Arthur was no longer alone; behind him was a friend who knew the veins of Constantinople, and before him lay new roads to be conquered.

Chapter Text

The mist settling over Constantinople had shrouded its colossal domes and marble columns like a host of ghosts. In the damp room of the Night’s Eye Inn, sleep eluded Merlin. His mind was noisier than the fading clamour of the street vendors outside. Silently, he rose from his bed, wrapped his cloak around him, and slipped out like a shadow, gliding down the inn’s creaking stairs.

The streets were nothing like the nights in Ealdor. Every corner, every darkened niche felt sinister, as if concealing a dagger. As Merlin moved through the narrow, stone-paved alleys, a strange prickle rose on the nape of his neck. He had gone but a few streets when a faint rustle emerged from the darkness directly behind him.

Merlin stopped dead, his heart leaping into his throat. Just as he was about to spin around and summon his defences, a hand was placed gently but firmly on his shoulder.

"Aren’t you a bit too bold for a healer’s assistant, Master Warlock?"

Startled by the voice, Merlin jumped and recoiled in fear. His eyes were wide, his hands already weaving magic beneath his cloak, until he discerned the calm and protective silhouette of Lancelot.

"For heaven’s sake, Lancelot!" Merlin hissed, struggling to catch his breath. "You nearly stopped my heart. This isn't some village; one expects an enemy to spring from every shadow here."

Lancelot offered a thin smile, though the gravity in his eyes remained. "That is precisely why I followed you. You surely didn't think I’d let you wander these treacherous streets alone?"

The two of them pressed on through the fog, eventually hunkering down behind a portico. In the wide courtyard before them, torches cut through the night like blades. Dozens of Roman soldiers were engaged in feverish preparations. Spears were being polished, and heavy supply wagons were being loaded with a great din. Merlin leaned in to overhear the soldiers’ hushed, tense exchange.

"Why are we still here?" grumbled a soldier as he donned his armour. "Justinian has sent all the elite units and Belisarius to Italy to fight the Goths. We’re nothing but a handful of watchmen!"

The other shook his head. "They say the Sasanians are at the Syrian border. Shah Khosrow I has unilaterally broken the 'Eternal Peace'. The Emperor trusted that scrap of paper, cut all the eastern budgets, and emptied the forts. Now, we shall be the ones to pay the price for that so-called 'eternal' peace."

Merlin and Lancelot listened from behind a pillar. They knew Rome was embroiled in many wars, but was the situation truly this dire?

"Khosrow won’t stop," the first soldier said, lowering his voice further. "They’ve reached the borders of Oriens. We must get reinforcements there before the Sasanians enter the city, or the East will be nothing but ash."

Merlin and Lancelot exchanged looks, realising how dangerous the military vacuum had become. With Rome’s power scattered across Italy and Africa, even Constantinople sat vulnerable to this sudden onslaught. Deciding it was too dangerous to stay longer, they moved away quickly.

When they reached an empty square in the city, they sat on the steps at the base of two great, lonely marble columns. Merlin leaned his back against the cold stone. Constantinople looked magnificent from the outside, but inwardly it was writhing with the agony of war, betrayal, and strategic blunders.

"The city is truly complex," Merlin said, surveying the silent square. "The sheer intensity of conflict... in Camelot, everything was clearer. Here, you hear from the very mouths of soldiers that even peace is a lie."

Lancelot sighed deeply, toying with the hilt of his sword. "It seems this 'Eternal Peace' they speak of is merely a silence that lasts until one side grows strong enough to strike. Tell me, Merlin... do you think we are truly the right people for this adventure? Can we really change destiny?"

Merlin looked up at the pale moon and smiled. "Destiny assigned this task to us, Lancelot. It winked at us and gave us our turn. If we weren't the right people, we’d be sleeping in our safe beds right now, not standing in these dusty streets."

Lancelot’ed nodded. Both fell into silence, lost in their own dreams. Then, at the exact same moment, both opened their mouths to speak.

"You know—..." "I wonder—..."

They looked at each other and laughed softly. Merlin gestured for Lancelot to go first. "Back in Ealdor, in that crowded market, there was a girl. Gwen. We met by the river. We spoke for a short while, but I completely forgot to introduce myself. Pure stupidity. I hope fate brings us together again, because I cannot forget that face." Lancelot looked at the stars and smiled, perhaps nursing a flicker of hope.

Merlin watched Lancelot’s rare romantic turn with a smile. Then, he shared his own thought: "I was wondering if an Ezaki’s mind could ever be changed. They divide the world into 'us and them'. Our land, their people... Could we not live together in prosperity? Without shedding blood, just as human beings?" Merlin posed this, thinking of the man in the cave.

Lancelot replied gravely: "As a warrior, Merlin, I can tell you that man learns first to draw a border, and then to die for it. But perhaps, because of people who think like you, that cycle might one day be broken."

Just then, as the wind whipped through the mist, they saw the flicker of torches in front of an old, wooden stable in the distance. The orange lights danced ominously in the fog. They looked at each other instantly. The emotional atmosphere vanished. Without a word, they signalled to one another and began to glide silently through the shadows toward the source of the mysterious light. Chariots?

Leon pressed his finger onto the centre of Constantinople on the map. "The road to Gundeshapur is long and perilous, my Lord. Ordinary merchant horses will fail you halfway. We need the best."

Arthur frowned. "And where are we to find such horses on such short notice?"

"My Lord," Leon said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "In Constantinople, the races are not mere entertainment; they are a religion. At least twenty or twenty-five times a year—during great religious festivals, victory celebrations, or whenever the Emperor is in good spirits—massive races are held. Thousands of gold pieces are lavished upon them."

Arthur asked curiously, "And then?"

"In Rome, horses are bred for generations to be as hardy and swift as the legendary 'Heavenly Horses' of the Han Empire," Leon explained. "Just like those fabled mounts of the East, these horses can travel for days without ceasing and will not flinch even in the heat of battle. But the problem is, you cannot buy these horses with gold. They are the property of the great political factions—the Blues and the Greens—or the Emperor himself."

Leon leaned over the table. "When the races conclude, the winning horses are bathed in gold, while the losers are sometimes sold off. But we need the winners. If the owners refuse to sell—which they likely will—our only chance will be to steal them in the midst of that infernal post-race crowd. We are talking about stables guarded by Rome’s most elite sentries."

Leon spread a parchment across the table, revealing a rough map of the world. Certain ports and cities were marked, while others were crossed out in red. He placed a thin wooden rod on the map, tracing the vast lands stretching east from Constantinople.

"My Lord, we have three options," Leon said, weighing the risks of each.

Plan A (The Overland Route - Primary Plan): "Leaving Constantinople and heading straight through the heart of Anatolia, then south through the Middle East to reach Gundeshapur by land. This is the longest path, but it is the one where we are most independent. We won't rely on a ship, a captain, or the whims of the wind. Our own horses, our own pace." Several points in Europe were marked with an 'X'.

Plan B (The Hybrid Route): "Travelling into the interior of Anatolia and taking a ship from the southern coast for a short sea voyage to shorten the journey. This is the fastest, provided nothing goes wrong, but the sea is swarming with Roman patrols. And we would need to find a vessel."

Plan C (Safe but Long): "If the Anatolian roads become impassable due to clashes between the Sasanians and Romans, we loop around the Aegean and down into the Mediterranean. This would delay us significantly—it's even longer than Plan A—but it keeps us far from the armies, through the safest waters."

Arthur scowled at the map. "Trusting a ship is like handing your fate to a man you’ve never met. Plan A is the clearest for us." The team decided on their path; all that remained was the preparation.

Morgana looked at the complex lines on the map and the ceaseless din of the city outside, her face contorting in distaste. "All this talk of 'humanity', this chaos, and these wretched people... It truly turns my stomach," she said, her voice like ice. "Endlessly warring amongst themselves."

As if breathing the same air were an insult to her, Morgana stood up abruptly. Gwen, accustomed to her mistress's sudden outbursts, followed closely behind as they retired to their chambers.

Leon remained silent in the face of Morgana’s harsh words. He was a seed planted in this land long before the walls touched the sky. He had never seen the Ezaki realm, that "perfect" world they spoke of; his whole life, he had breathed the hardship, the cunning, and the struggle for survival in Rome. He did not offer a rebuttal to his own people judging the outsiders with such disdain. He was not without honour, nor was he driven by hate; he was simply a soldier forged in the harshness of this realm, performing his duty.

Arthur noticed Leon’s silence but did not press him. "Tomorrow," Arthur said, folding the map. "Tomorrow, I shall scout this city with my own eyes. I want to see the horses, the weapons, and the arena where these games are played."

Leon acknowledged with a short bow and left the inn to conclude the night. Arthur was his Master, and he would take pleasure in showing him Rome.

The night had settled over Constantinople like a wet cloak. A fierce south-wester from the Sea of Marmara carried the sound of waves crashing against the massive stones of the walls into the city’s narrow streets. When Merlin and Lancelot fled the damp air of the inn and stepped outside, they saw the cobblestones gleaming with the sea's moisture. Among the piles of refuse at the corners, dozens of cats—the true masters of Byzantium—watched the two strangers with glowing eyes before vanishing silently into the shadows.

As they neared the Hippodrome stables, the scent of salt in the air was replaced by the pungent aroma of hay, leather, and horse sweat. The wooden door groaned like a giant with rusted hinges as it swung open, the torchlight inside beginning to dance with the wind.

A man lunged from the darkness, a rusted pitchfork in his hand. His face was like an old map scorched by Aegean winds, full of deep lines and sunspots. "Stand your ground!" he bellowed. His voice echoed off the ceiling of the empty stable. Merlin and Lancelot stopped instantly, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Who are you? You don't look Roman, but a thief has no nationality. Don't come any closer!"

Lancelot raised his hands slightly to show they were empty. "We are no thieves. Just travellers passing through. We don't know our way around here."

The man scrutinized them, looking at their trousers, their simple boots, and Merlin’s peculiar neckerchief. "It’s plain you don't know your way. Where in Europe did you break away from? Which village?"

"Ealdor," Merlin said, looking at the horses with curiosity.

The man laughed mockingly, his belly shaking. "Ealdor? Never heard of it. Likely isn't even on a map. Why would a man come from the edge of the world all the way to Constantinople?"

Instead of answering, Merlin walked slowly toward a magnificent mare standing in one of the stalls, snorting angry steam from her nostrils. "Hey! Don't go there, that beast doesn't care for strangers!" the man shouted, but Merlin didn't stop. He placed his fingers behind the horse’s ears, on that soft patch of skin, and made gentle circular motions as if stroking hair. The mare, which a moment ago had been thundering with rage, suddenly became as docile as a cat and leaned her head against Merlin’s shoulder. Another horse approached Lancelot, and the animals grew calm.

The pitchfork in the man’s hand slowly lowered to the floor. "How did you do that? That animal is from the imperial stables... she bows to no one." Merlin simply smiled. As he brushed the dust from the horse’s mane, the man sighed, his previous hardness replaced by a profound weariness. "My horses are my everything. I can't sleep a wink in this great city for fear of something happening to them. By day I fear the shouting of thousands, and by night, the shadows of thieves."

Tyr Seward, his massive frame silhouetted in the dim light of the stable, took a deep breath as if carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. His eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion.

"I am Tyr Seward," he said, his voice mingling with the rustle of straw. "These horses are my only possession. But without a rider, they are nothing more than the dreams of a man in debt."

Lancelot had developed a genuine admiration for the horses. "I am Lancelot, and this is my friend Merlin." It was clear the horse felt a sympathy for him as well; both of their eyes were shining. "May I try?"

Lancelot and Merlin felt a pang of pity for the big man’s desperation. However, the thought of offering to be riders hadn't even crossed their minds; they had a whole continent to cross and the "Ezaki" to find. They had enough on their plates. Yet, as Lancelot looked at the first grey light filtering through the stable door, he couldn't suppress his passion for riding. The unexpected affinity the horses showed for the duo—especially Merlin’s touch—had completely broken Tyr’s rigid defence.

"Since you aren't thieves and my horses have taken a liking to you..." Tyr said, setting aside his pitchfork and wiping sweat with his sleeve. "Right then, stranger. Since you’re so curious, I’ll let you take a turn. But be warned, these beasts are like the winds of Constantinople; if you slacken the reins, they’ll toss you aside."

A faint smile appeared on Lancelot’s face. "Don't worry, Tyr. I know how to dance with the wind."

As the sun began to rise slowly from the waters of the Bosphorus, painting the sky in shades of purple and orange, Tyr threw open the massive stable doors. Lancelot leapt onto Tyr’s most imposing thoroughbred in a single motion. Merlin stood at the stable door, watching his friend’s noble posture.

They moved silently into the vast, empty arena of the Hippodrome. The sands shimmered like a silver river in the first light of morning. The massive stands, where the cries of tens of thousands usually echoed, now rose like silent witnesses. When Lancelot gave the reins a light shake, the horse’s hooves made a sound like thunder against the sand.

Lancelot sat proud upon the stallion, like a statue. As the first rays of sun hit his unarmoured shoulders, he truly looked like a hero; right until he asked the question.

"So... what exactly am I supposed to do?"

In the vast silence of the Hippodrome, the question rang out like a sword stroke. Tyr Seward froze where he stood, mouth agape, staring at Lancelot with his massive frame. Merlin, standing behind, had already turned his back. His shoulders were shaking, his hands covering his face. He certainly wasn't laughing—or at least, that’s what Tyr was supposed to think.

"You..." Tyr said, his voice hushed with horror. "You don't know how to ride?"

Lancelot frowned, looking almost offended, and immediately denied it. "No, no! Of course I know how to ride. I’m good with horses. But I don't know these games , what the Quadriga is, or how one is supposed to turn around those great marble pillars. You understand, where we come from, we only ride to get from one point to another."

Merlin couldn't hold it any longer and let out a silent burst of laughter, though he quickly coughed and turned serious when he caught Tyr’s furious glare. At least Merlin hadn't thrown himself into a job he didn't know like Lancelot had; he certainly had the right to laugh at his friend’s predicament.

Tyr gave a long, lung-burning sigh and smacked his palm against his forehead. "Lord, help me... Fine, since you won't let go of the reins, listen, stranger. In the heart of Constantinople, the game played on these sands is not just about speed; it is a struggle for survival."

From the dusty shadows of the stable, Tyr hauled out that light but lethal vehicle: the Quadriga.

It was less a carriage and more a wheeled shield. It was crafted entirely of light oak, but the front was reinforced with polished bronze plates to withstand impacts. The space where the rider stood was so narrow that two people could barely fit side-by-side, consisting of a low platform entirely open at the back. There was no seat, nothing to hold onto; the rider had to draw all their strength from their legs.

The wheels on either side were small but thick, tightly bound with iron hoops. The long wooden yoke connected to the centre was strong enough to shoulder the reins of four horses at once. When Tyr struck the polished bronze edge, the dull thud echoed through the silent arena.

"When you board this, you must become one with the horses," Tyr said, gesturing to the vehicle’s temperamental nature. "It’s light, it flies like the wind, but one wrong move and it will hurl you off."

Pointing with his whip toward the empty arena, Tyr began his explanation:

The Spina and the Laps: "See that massive marble barrier in the middle? We call that the Spina. The race lasts exactly seven laps around that set. Every time a lap is completed, one of the seven dolphin figures or seven eggs at the end of the Spina is lowered. Counting the laps saves lives; slow down too early and you’ll be crushed, stay too late and you’re finished."

The Meta (Turning Points): "The most dangerous spots are the turning pillars at either end of the Spina, called the Meta. You must turn the horse so tightly that your wheel grazes the marble, but you mustn't hit it. If you turn wide, your opponent will squeeze you inside and pin you against the wall. That’s where you hear the sound of snapping bones."

The War of the Colours: "There are four factions here: the Blues, the Greens, the Whites, and the Reds. We are independent, which means they are all our enemies. When the race begins, the other riders don't just lash their horses; they’ll whip your eyes, your horse’s reins, or your very ribs. To fall is to be ground into dust under twenty hooves following behind."

Speed and Balance: "On the straights, you must let the horse run free, but on the bends, you must wrap the reins around your arms. If you fall from the chariot, the reins will drag you through the sands; keep your knife at your belt at all times. If you can't cut yourself loose while being dragged, you’re a dead man."

Tyr looked Lancelot in the eye. "This isn't just a 'riding' job, stranger. This is the art of being the fastest while trying not to die in front of thousands. Now... do you still want to take that turn?"

Despite Tyr’s terrifying warnings, Lancelot gripped the reins tighter. His gaze was locked onto the vast field of sand shimmering under the morning sun. This city, these massive marble structures, and the dusty air he breathed were all foreign to him; but that unstoppable urge to leap forward was as familiar as ever.

"I may only come here once in my life," Lancelot said, his voice ringing out like steel in the arena’s silence. "And I will not leave without feeling that wind that burns the lungs of Rome’s fastest horses." With a determined, almost heroic air, he turned his head to Tyr. "I am ready. Release the horses."

Merlin gave a slight nod to his friend’s boyish yet noble excitement. He had stopped laughing. He walked toward the high marble steps of the Hippodrome, leaning his back against one of the stones now warming in the sun, choosing the best spot to watch Lancelot.

For Tyr Seward, this moment was more than just a test drive. Deep in his heart, beneath that massive frame, a tiny seed of hope had begun to sprout. This stranger was fearless, as a rider ought to be, standing as unshakable as a piece of rock atop the horse.

Tyr checked Lancelot’s posture one last time and moved to unfasten the four thoroughbreds at the front of the Quadriga. "So be it," Tyr grunted, a flicker of excitement crossing his face. "Let’s see ne well the wind of Ealdor blows through the sands of Constantinople!"

The ears of all four horses pricked up. With a single signal from Tyr, the silence was about to be shattered by the savage sound of thundering hooves and spinning wheels.

Chapter Text

As the morning sun of Constantinople seeped into the inn’s damp room, Morgana looked at her reflection in the mirror with disgust. The coarse, undyed linen “commoner clothes” that Gwen had somehow managed to obtain the night before lay piled in the corner. Morgana had not even touched them.

“I will never wear this, Gwen,” Morgana said, her voice carrying an icy determination. “A lady descended from the Ezaki bloodline does not wrap herself in a human peasant’s rags. This is an insult to my honor.”

Gwen knew her mistress’s pride very well. Arguing was pointless. “You are right, my lady,” Gwen said in a calming tone. “But Leon and Arthur are right as well; walking outside draped in Imperial silks would put legionaries on our trail. We need a middle ground.”

Gwen opened another leather satchel she had brought into the room. From it, she pulled out garments that were not as crude as the rags, yet far removed from yesterday’s “noble lady” splendor. She had selected pieces from Morgana’s Ezaki wardrobe that would not attract attention but would still reveal their quality.

Morgana disguised herself as the wife of a wealthy merchant in a dark navy linen tunica and a plain yet high-quality silk stola draped over it. The dark gray woolen palla wrapped around her shoulders concealed the shimmer of the silk, giving her the appearance of a devout Byzantine lady. After hiding her heavy jewelry and tying her hair back in a simple braid, she looked at her reflection in the mirror and finally gave her approval. “At least I don’t smell like a peasant.”

Gwen, adapting herself to her mistress, abandoned her servant clothes from Camelot and dressed like an ordinary Roman woman who could blend into the crowds of Constantinople. She wore a simple tunica made from durable dark green linen, with sleeves extending to her elbows. She tightly fastened her waist with a leather belt to increase her freedom of movement.

Morgana and Gwen walked away from the dusty, spice-scented chaos of the bazaar toward the southern walls overlooking the Sea of Marmara. The endless roar of people in the city center slowly gave way to the inviting murmur of the sea.

Morgana stood as proud as a statue in her navy silk stola and heavy woolen palla draped over her shoulders. Gwen, in her dark green linen tunica and brown shawl, walked a step behind her mistress, curiously observing the foreign texture of this city. When they reached the foot of the walls, the sharp salt of the sea struck their faces; it was a wild and free scent, far different from the forest smells of the Ezaki lands.

“Look, Gwen,” Morgana said, fixing her gaze on the horizon. “These waters, these massive stones... No matter how crowded and filthy this place is, the sound of the sea drowns out everything.”

As the waves crashed against the walls, their sound echoed through the stone streets, while the skinny stray cats sunbathing along the shore perked up their ears with every impact. Gwen adjusted her shawl as the wind whipped it around and watched the dance of turquoise and deep blue across the sea. “It looks so powerful, my lady. Just like this city, no matter how old it is, it still feels alive.”

The two women walked silently along the narrow path by the shore, breathing in the magnificence of the vast empire surrounding them and the endlessness of the sea. As Constantinople’s famous lodos wind swept their cloaks behind them, these two strangers from Ezaki forgot, for a moment, all their plans and dangers and surrendered themselves only to the sound of the waves. The noise of the city was now far away; all that remained was the whistle of the wind and the fury of water crashing against the rocks.

For the first time after such a long road, Morgana felt at peace.

When Gaius opened his eyes with the first light of dawn, he searched the room for Merlin’s usual messy yet energetic presence. But the bed was empty. With a speed born of panic and confusion, the old man leapt from his bed despite the ache in his bones. Driven by the sudden fear of not finding his nephew beside him, he harshly flung open the door and moved to rush outside.

Yet the moment he reached the threshold, he found himself face to face with Gwaine leaning casually against the wall, grinning as though he had been standing there for hours. Seeing Gaius in such a frantic state amused Gwaine greatly; catching the old man so unprepared and frightening him was entertaining.

Gaius furrowed his brows and opened his mouth, ready to demand answers—“Where is that boy? Has something happened to him?”—but before he could thunder the words, Gwaine moved swiftly forward. Pressing a single finger against Gaius’s lips, he silenced him.

“Shhh... Hold on, calm down old man,” Gwaine said in his usual mocking yet reassuring tone. “Merlin and Lancelot went out to do a little exploring. Nobody kidnapped them, don’t worry. They left me a note.”

With his other hand, Gwaine extended a small piece of paper scribbled on in haste toward Gaius. As Gaius took the paper, he let out a deep breath, the heavy burden on his shoulders easing for a moment. But the relief did not last long; he felt a dull ache in his heart. He thought of Hunith, Merlin’s mother. He had sworn to protect him, yet in this enormous, foreign city, it felt as though the reins were slipping from his hands.

Gaius tucked the paper into his pocket and fixed his gaze on Gwaine. This time his voice was more serious. “I need to go out as well, Gwaine. There are some old friends in this city I need to see. I’ll return to the inn in two or three hours.”

In response to Gaius’s serious tone, Gwaine raised his hands in the air and adopted the expression of someone receiving a great secret.

“Old friends?” Gwaine said, narrowing his eyes. “Look Gaius, if you’ve got a secret lover somewhere in the backstreets of Constantinople and you’re going off to drink wine with her, I’ll be offended. Don’t deprive me of adventures this exciting.”

Gaius rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “Gwaine, at my age my only adventure is climbing stairs without my knees aching!” When Gaius heard the “secret lover” joke, his face turned pale as chalk for a brief moment, then quickly flushed red. Clearing his throat and trying to maintain his seriousness, he thundered, “Don’t be ridiculous, Gwaine!” even though his voice rose an octave higher than usual. “We are only going to... discuss business.”

Seeing the old man’s exaggerated reaction, Gwaine raised a brow. “Of course Gaius, of course... Just don’t drink too much wine while you’re ‘discussing business.” he said with a wink. As Gaius hurried out the door and disappeared into the crowds of Constantinople, Gwaine continued grinning after him.

But Gwaine had no intention of sitting in that narrow, damp inn room either.

Gwaine adjusted the rough-fabric vest on his shoulders, tightened his boots, made sure the sword at his waist was still there (wandering around Constantinople without a sword was like handing a lamb over to wolves), and stepped out into the street. To him, a city meant adventure, a good meal, and perhaps a few hard fistfights.

“Well then, Constantinople,” Gwaine muttered as soon as he stepped into the street and faced the overwhelming crowd crashing against him. “Let’s see what sort of tricks you’ve got that Merlin’s books never mentioned.”

As he walked down the Mese Avenue, crunching an apple in one hand, he observed the shops around him. Passing by a fishmonger’s stall, a stray cat sprang out from beneath the counter and wrapped itself around his leg. “Hey! Easy there, little one,” he said, stroking the cat’s head. “You looking for breakfast too? Here, have a piece of this apple... No, I suppose you’d prefer silverfish.”

After giving the cat’s head one final pat and taking the last bite of his apple, Gwaine straightened his posture. The joking demeanor vanished, replaced by the sharp professionalism he was accustomed to. Gaius and the others might have gone out to explore, find old allies, or ride horses, but Gwaine’s task in this massive labyrinth was different: to sense danger before it arrived.

His gaze drifted over the roaring tide of people on Mese Avenue, scanning everything around him. Yes, everyone here was suspicious; the merchants, the laborers, even those scrawny cats... But Gwaine’s eyes were searching for something absurd amidst the familiar crowd, a contradiction that did not belong to the city.

When his gaze shifted toward the harbor and the silver shimmer of the Sea of Marmara, he found that contradiction instantly. Of course, it was not something anyone else could have noticed. Gwaine’s observational skill and his ability to read people were sharpened many times over by the life of a wanderer.

There, right beside the foul-smelling fish stalls and the fishermen shouting while repairing their nets with rough, calloused hands, stood a silhouette as though it had stepped out of another world. This woman, gazing at the violent waves of the Marmara, was a lady. Even the layered dark navy stola made of rich silks and the thick woolen palla draped over her shoulders could not hide her nobility.

But what truly caught Gwaine’s attention was not her clothing. As the wind swept her cloak aside and she turned slightly in profile, Gwaine saw her face: a complexion as smooth and pale as marble, completely at odds with the sunburned, weathered people of Constantinople. And within that pale face were vivid green eyes that seemed to shine even from a distance. What business could such a pale woman possibly have in lands so far away?

“Well then,” Gwaine muttered with a grin as he tossed away the core of his apple. “Now this is the sort of trick Merlin’s books never mentioned. Why would a lady watch the sea so absentmindedly among fishermen, with so little protection?”

Blending into the crowd behind the fish stalls, Gwaine began shadowing the woman from the cover of the masses. For him, the morning walk was over. Now, as Constantinople’s famous lodos wind whipped at his cloak, a new route and a new game had begun in pursuit of this mysterious green-eyed woman: tracking.

After several hours spent upon the endless sandy grounds of the Hippodrome, the sun now blazed overhead with all its intensity. Lancelot had learned to dance with the wind atop the Quadriga, to command four horses with a single will. When he finally slowed the horses and came to a stop amidst a cloud of dust, there was a wild and liberated smile on his face unlike any he had ever worn before.

Tyr ran toward Lancelot, kicking up sand with an agility impossible to expect from his stout body. The horses were panting heavily, and Lancelot was drenched in sweat, yet he still stood tall.

“You didn’t fall! Damn it, you didn’t even stagger once!” Tyr shouted, clapping his hands excitedly. He was mesmerized by Lancelot’s noble bearing, by the natural authority in the way he gripped the reins. “You’ve got real talent, my friend. You look so noble... Your control is incredible, as if you were born on that chariot!”

Merlin rose from the marble steps where he had been sitting and approached them. Though he brushed the dust from his clothes, the position of the sun reminded him how much time had passed. “We should start investigating the city, Lance. Half the day is gone,” he murmured.

But Tyr had no intention of letting them leave. Grabbing Lancelot by the arm, he stared directly into his eyes. “Listen to me... There’s a grand race in two days. How about becoming my driver? With talent like yours, you’d shake the whole arena!”

For a brief moment, Lancelot’s eyes lit up. He could almost imagine the roar of the arena and the possibility of glorious victory, but remembering their mission, he politely shook his head. “Your offer honors me, Tyr, but we did not come here to race. Our road is long, and our purpose is different.”

Tyr refused to give up. Lowering his voice, he sweetened the deal. “Look, it’s not just fame... Depending on your ranking, you’d earn such a share from the bets that your pockets would overflow with gold! I’ll give you fifty percent of the winnings!”

Lancelot hesitated. Fifty percent was an enormous offer, and truthfully, they always needed gold in this foreign city. Seeing his friend’s hesitation, Merlin stepped in:

“Master Tyr, we understand you, but we are wanderers. We do not even know how long we’ll remain in this city or where we’ll be tomorrow. We do not wish to make a promise we cannot keep and leave you stranded.”

The cheerful expression on Tyr’s face immediately faded, his shoulders slumping. “You’re right...” he said in a hollow voice. “But know this; if by chance you are still in this city when the race day comes, please come. Please! If I can’t win that race, I’m ruined. They’ll take my horses away from me... And if they go, I won’t survive either.”

Tyr’s sincere and desperate plea touched Lancelot’s heroic heart. He exchanged a brief glance with Merlin before turning back to Tyr and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Alright, Tyr. If we are still in this city that day, I will ride on that track for you. I promise.”

The sun seemed to rise once more upon Tyr’s face. He escorted them all the way to the stable doors with prayers and endless thanks. Merlin and Lancelot left the Hippodrome covered head to toe in dust, sand still falling from their hair.

“We look wonderful, Merlin,” Lancelot said as he tried brushing the cloud of dust from himself. “If Gaius sees us like this, he’ll think we’ve been cleaning Constantinople’s underground tunnels.”

Merlin grinned. “At least now we have a racehorse and a stout friend who could go bankrupt at any moment.” Both of them chuckled and headed toward the square. “Now it’s time to search for that blonde Ezaki without drawing attention in our dusty state.” Merlin was no longer stressed about this matter. On the contrary, he was becoming rather excited.

Elsewhere in the city, Gwaine sat in the waiting area of the inn, sipping his drink while everything around him felt fake. The forced smile of the girl he had flirted with moments ago, the polished smell of the inn’s wooden furniture, the cheerful cries of merchants outside... It all felt like a curtain.

Exactly forty minutes had passed.

That heavy door behind the counter had swallowed those two women like a black hole. Not a single footstep, not a creak of hinges... It was impossible for two women who had gone into an inn’s kitchen or cellar to remain unseen for this long. As Gwaine swallowed the last drop of liquor in his cup, even the taste of the drink seemed corrupted by a metallic sense of unease.

“A normal inn does not keep its guests in the cellar for an hour,” Gwaine muttered, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“There’s something wrong here,” he whispered, fixing his gaze on the door behind the counter. “That door doesn’t just open into a cellar. It opens somewhere else.”

He could not remain there any longer. Ignoring the confused stare of the serving girl, he tossed a silver coin onto the table and stood up. When he stepped outside, Constantinople’s famous lodos wind struck his face, but this time it did not cool him; instead, it sounded like the ominous whistle of an approaching storm.

As Gwaine decided to circle around the inn from outside, he noticed the sky suddenly turning gray. Merlin, Lancelot... He sensed a darkness in this city unlike anything he had felt before. There was definitely something inside that inn. For the first time, Gwaine feared that his sword might not be enough to cut through this darkness.

The massive dome of Hagia Sophia loomed over Gaius like the lid of a tomb. Inside, unlike the lively city outside, the air was cold, damp, and filled with the scent of ancient dust. As Gaius walked through the dim corridors, the echo of every step against the marble sounded like the final seconds of some ancient clock.

When Alice led him into a hidden chamber where even candlelight struggled to reach, her face was pale as chalk. The warmth of their old bond had been replaced by an icy tension.

Gaius took Alice’s trembling hands into his own; they were freezing cold. “The Ezakis are here, Alice,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet sharp enough to slice through the silence of the room. “They are thinking of bringing down the Great Barrier... the Wall.”

Alice’s pupils widened in fear. “This is madness, Gaius.” Her eyes grew larger. “That’s impossible—”

“I want you to do something, Alice,” Gaius said, his voice as dense as the darkness enveloping the chamber. “In this city... among the shadows, within the whispers, there are others living here as well. Just like you, just like us. The ‘others’ whom Rome’s iron fist cannot reach, the ones allowed to breathe only as long as they remain ignored...”

Alice paused for a moment, her gaze frozen upon the dangerous implication spilling from Gaius’s lips. Beneath Constantinople’s glittering face, there existed a hidden community lurking in the shadows of bans and punishments. Their existence was no more than a whisper, and their power only sparks glowing in the dark.

“You must find them,” Gaius said, tightening his grip on Alice’s hand. “No matter how many remain, no matter how deeply hidden they are... You must reach them all. Time is running short, and when the Wall begins to shake, it will not be Roman swords that protect this city.”

Alice understood what Gaius meant and how dangerous this request truly was. In the heart of Rome, where even the smallest spark of magic and forbidden power was intolerable, awakening this sleeping force meant placing her own head upon the gallows.

Outside, as the lodos wind blowing from the Sea of Marmara struck against the walls of Hagia Sophia, the two old friends looked at one another like nothing more than shadows. The sun had begun to waver in the sky. Gaius’s request was simple, but what it implied was the possibility of the Wall collapsing...

Chapter Text

When Arthur left behind the heavy air of the inn and stepped into the labyrinth-like streets of Constantinople, he knew Morgana and Gwen had gone out to wander the city, while Leon had arranged to handle matters of his own. He had exchanged his noble garments for ordinary clothes that would allow him to blend in among the common people. Yet no matter how much he tried to hide himself, his marble-like face and sharp eyes did not escape the notice of the women in the streets; though he could feel the admiring glances and whispered gossip trailing behind him wherever he passed, he did not care for the attention in the slightest.

Even beneath simple clothing, it was impossible for Arthur to suppress the authority that seemed woven into his very soul. In Camelot’s marble corridors, he had long grown accustomed to admiring gazes directed toward him; there he had been a prince, while here he was merely a foreigner. Yet little had changed for him. Neither in his kingdom nor in these dusty Roman streets could the whispers of women or the curious stares of men disturb his focus. The harsh discipline instilled in him since childhood and the heavy sense of duty resting upon his shoulders had always come before emotions or the shallow admiration of those around him.

As he moved through the waves of the crowd, his gaze froze for a moment. In the middle of the sea of people appeared the silhouette of a boy with short black hair and pale white skin. Arthur’s heart faltered for an instant; that face looked so much like the mysterious sorcerer he had encountered in the damp darkness of the cave. His hand instinctively drifted to the hilt of his sword, but when the boy turned his head, Arthur realized it was nothing more than an ordinary spice merchant.

Still, the unease inside him did not fade. Ever since that encounter in the cave, the image of that boy had lodged itself in the hidden corners of his mind like an unwelcome guest. Whenever he remembered him, he felt not merely as though he were thinking of an enemy, but as though he were contemplating an unresolved fragment of his own fate. “Just an illusion,” he muttered to himself, pulling his hood a little tighter.

He decided to drift among these people—future subjects or future victims—as though he were a ghost. When he walked toward the harbor, the salty breeze of the Marmara mixed with the smell of fresh fish and seaweed, burning at the back of his throat. He watched the calloused hands of fishermen repairing their nets along the shore, the greed of merchants shouting at one another, and the riot of colors spilling from stalls filled with exotic spices. The place resembled a giant anthill; thousands of people, each lost within their own little world...

As an Ezaki, he looked upon this human crowd with both disgust and a strange curiosity. To him, these people were nothing more than obstacles to overcome, yet his military training had taught him never to underestimate an enemy. His steps slowed as he passed Roman legionaries striking their spears against the ground in the city squares. He studied the gleam of their armor, the way they held their spears, and their disciplined yet arrogant bearing through the eyes of a strategist.

As he listened to the soldiers speaking among themselves, proud whispers carried by the wind reached his ears. A group of legionaries laughed while adjusting their helmets, speaking of the lands of Hesperia—Italy. “Not much longer now,” one of them said proudly, puffing out his chest. “We’ve nearly taken the entire peninsula into the palm of our hand. Rome’s eagle soars above every hill now!”

Arthur’s jaw tightened. The people of these lands were intoxicated by the pride of conquest. But there was one thing they did not know: the Ezakis were at the gates. He knew he would have to bring this military discipline and this colossal city to its knees in order to complete the legacy of his father, Uther. It was what he had been taught since birth. To fulfill his father’s wishes.

After these observations, the unease within him and the ancient pull radiating from the Obelisk once again became overwhelming. Breaking away from the crowd in the square, he headed toward the Obelisk of Thebes, whose shadow fell across the city like a sword. The energy radiating from that ancient stone seemed to silence all at once the soldiers’ voices and the market’s noise he had just heard. The moment Arthur stepped into the cold shadow of the stone, he felt with every fiber of his being that he was approaching the first great trial of his fate in these foreign lands.

Merlin and Lancelot practically threw themselves into the inn, exhausted from the dusty training at the Hippodrome and the city’s endless roads. Covered head to toe in sand, dust falling from their hair, they were just about to collapse onto their beds when Gwaine planted himself in front of them like a barricade.

“Whoa, whoa! Not one step further!” Gwaine shouted, throwing his hands into the air. “If you touch those sheets looking like this, the innkeeper will make us sleep on fishing boats in the harbor tonight. Don’t touch anything—you’re cleaning yourselves first!”

Merlin and Lancelot froze in place as though enchanted. Lancelot, still buzzing with the adrenaline and joy of his success at the Hippodrome, grinned. After changing clothes and shaking the worst of the dust from themselves, he couldn’t resist teasing Gwaine.

“What’s wrong, Gwaine? We’re used to you being the only filthy one in this group. Did the disruption of the natural order frighten you?” Lancelot said with amused energy.

Gwaine paused for a moment before slipping into his famous grin. “Listen, my friend, my filth is the product of hard work,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “These stains carry the memories of the finest wines from three different inns, a kitchen brawl, and probably a spice stall I accidentally collapsed onto. This is style—this is experience! But what’s on you two?”

Once Merlin had finally managed to rid himself of most of the sand and dust, he stretched out fully across the bed. With his head still hanging off the side, he muttered, “You know, Gwaine, jokes aside, something truly unbelievable happened today.”

Lancelot sat at the table, still trying to calm the dusty excitement coursing through his veins. “We went to the famous Hippodrome,” he began, his eyes shining. “There we met a man named Tyr, whose body was nearly as wide as the chariot he rode. But the horses... Gwaine, I have never seen such purebloods, such creatures that raced the wind itself.”

Gwaine took a massive gulp from his jug and interrupted. “A fat man and horses like the wind? I’m sure the man doesn’t ride them—he probably just rolls after them while they flee in terror.”

Merlin snickered upside down from the bed. “Actually, quite the opposite! The moment Tyr saw Lancelot handling those horses, he nearly swallowed his tongue. Lancelot grabbed the reins and guided all four horses as though they shared a single will. He made such a turn through the sands that Tyr started shouting, ‘There’s true nobility in you!’”

“Nobility?” Gwaine burst into laughter. “Lancelot’s ‘perfect knight’ posture probably disciplined even the dust of Constantinople. The man likely got so intimidated by your posture that he offered you his entire fortune.”

Lancelot nodded, embarrassed but smiling. “He actually did! There’s a great race in two days. He said if I become his driver, he’ll give me half the winnings. The man was so desperate he practically begged me. ‘If you don’t race, I’m ruined, my horses are gone, and I may as well die,’ he said.”

Gwaine waved his mug dramatically. “If you win, we can buy the finest tavern in the city and put this innkeeper out of business. Merlin can hang from the rafters and entertain the customers.”

Merlin shook his hanging head lightly from side to side. “At first we politely refused and told him we were travelers. But Tyr insisted so much that Lancelot finally gave in and promised. If we’re still here that day, he’ll race for him.”

“Of course he promised,” Gwaine said while draining the bottom of his cup. “Our Lancelot could never say no to a crying fat innkeeper or a desperate horse owner. That’s his curse. But hey, at least we’ve got ourselves a race! I’ll be in the stands with a drink in hand, shouting, ‘The most handsome one in that cloud of dust is my friend!’”

Merlin finally lifted his head from the edge of the bed, his face flushed from the blood rushing to it as he sat upright, still laughing. Lancelot, meanwhile, was wiping tears from his eyes from laughing so hard he had to pound the table.

“Laugh all you want, you sand rats!” Gwaine declared. “But the real bombshell is mine, so open your ears!”

“I was down by the sea,” he said, making a broad gesture with his hands to imitate the waves. “While the salt of the Marmara was stinging my nose, a woman passed through the crowd. But what a passing! The fabric she wore shimmered as if to say, ‘I may look common, but I am not.’ There’s no way she could’ve been some merchant’s wife. Her face, her posture... definitely not from around here. Her gaze was so sharp it felt as though even the marble beneath her feet obeyed her. And there was another woman beside her, almost like a servant.”

As Gwaine paced around the table dramatically sweeping his cloak, Merlin sat cross-legged on the bed and leaned forward. “Wait a minute,” he interrupted. “So this woman was shining so brightly that only you noticed her in the middle of the harbor crowd? Or were you once again under the effects of your famous ‘I drank too much and saw a beautiful woman’ syndrome?”

Gwaine frowned and pressed a hand to his chest with mock offense. “Ungrateful wretches! Here I am risking my life, being dragged through mysterious alleys in pursuit of Indian silks, and all you can do is question my drinking!”

Lancelot straightened with interest. “So what did you do next?”

“What do you think I did?” Gwaine replied, placing a hand over his heart and bowing slightly. “Naturally, as a gentleman—and a curious drunk—I followed them. She stood out so much she practically glowed! I followed them all the way through the city to one of those very luxurious-looking inns.”

Merlin asked, “Did you at least see anything?”

“And that’s where things got strange!” Gwaine exclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically. “I ordered a drink, a girl brought it over, and I was doing my usual charming routine to warm the atmosphere. But forty minutes! Forty whole minutes passed, and neither that noblewoman nor the one beside her came back through that door. It was like the door swallowed them into a black hole! After a while I noticed the girls at the counter had vanished too. I felt like I’d spent forty minutes flashing my best smile at an empty doorway. But I’m telling you—there’s something rotten in the walls of that inn. Whoever that woman is, she didn’t come to this city merely to sightsee.”

Merlin and Lancelot grew more serious and thoughtful. “So you’re saying there’s something suspicious about this woman?” Merlin asked, sitting upright now.

“Definitely. There’s something about that woman, and the inn is involved too. Honestly, her skin didn’t resemble any complexion I’ve ever seen in the East,” Gwaine said, growing more animated as he pointed a finger at Merlin. “In fact, Merlin, my handsome friend, she looked a lot like you. Same pale white skin and jet-black hair!” He began messing with Merlin’s hair. “Merlin, are you sure Aunt Hunith wasn’t lying to you? Maybe you had a sibling after all, eh? Could be—”

Without warning, Merlin slammed an object from across the room straight into Gwaine’s stomach—using magic so quickly Gwaine couldn’t even tell where it came from. Gwaine instantly doubled over, clutching his abdomen.

“Merlin, I never expected this from you—ah! That village old man who threw potatoes at me hit me there too!”

Lancelot and Merlin burst into laughter, though it quickly faded.

Lancelot spoke again, as though something still troubled his mind. “So you think this woman and the inn are suspicious? Should we investigate?”

Still lying on the floor, Gwaine nodded. “Then let’s do it tomorrow. First Gaius should return. We ought to discuss it with him too. That old wolf knows this city’s stones and dirt better than we do.”

Groaning as though burdened with a thousand years of exhaustion, Gwaine slowly climbed back to his feet. Holding his stomach, he turned to Merlin with that familiar mischievous grin that always made one suspicious.

“By the way, Merlin... your uncle apparently has a dear old friend here. He went to meet them—he should be back soon.”

Merlin did not question Gwaine’s strange behavior too much. He knew his uncle had acquaintances in other lands, and given their current situation, it was perfectly normal for him to seek help from someone. Of course, Gwaine’s grin carried an enormous implication behind it. Merlin grabbed the first pillow he could find and hurled it at Gwaine’s head, and for a brief moment the absurd conversation about this “old friend” lightened the atmosphere in the room.

Arthur’s steps carried him toward the enormous Obelisk of Thebes that rose in the center of the square like a spear. He had just reached out toward the hieroglyphs to feel the ancient energy within its shadow when the atmosphere shattered with a loud voice.

“Well now! Are you one of those looking for the hidden gold inside this stone too, lad?”

Arthur flinched and pulled his hand back. Beside him stood an old man wearing a colorful but tattered cloak. In his hand was a greasy, messy fish wrap whose smell assaulted Arthur’s nose like a physical attack.

“Gold? I’m only... studying the history of this place,” Arthur replied, trying to conceal the princely tone in his voice.

“History, my foot!” The old man burst into laughter and shoved the fish wrap practically into Arthur’s face. “Take a bite, your face looks pale as chalk. Finest oily bonito from the Marmara—cures all troubles!”

As Arthur stared at the soggy fish waving before his nose, he felt nausea twist in his stomach. Never in his life had anyone so crudely offered him something so filthy. To him, this was not merely hospitality—it was an insult to all his nobility. He wanted to reach for his sword and force the man to his knees right there in the square, but the place was packed. One mistake would expose everything.

“No,” Arthur said through clenched teeth. “Keep it for yourself.”

“Don’t be shy, blond boy!” Suddenly the old man grabbed Arthur’s cloak. “Look, soldiers are coming. That handsome face of yours will get us into trouble. Come on, I’ll show you where the real treasure is!”

Before Arthur could even react, the old man yanked him with surprising force. Losing his balance, Arthur stumbled and was forced to follow. The old man dragged him away from the Hippodrome’s grand marble avenues into damp, narrow alleys and the most dangerous corners of the harbor.

“Let go of me! What are you doing?” Arthur growled, but between the crowd and the old man’s agility, he suddenly found himself standing upon a slippery, algae-covered dock overlooking the sea.

The moment the old man abruptly released him, Arthur’s footing slipped on the slick wood beneath him. In one terrible instant, the glorious Ezaki prince plunged straight into the filthy, freezing waters of Constantinople with a loud splash.

When Arthur resurfaced, gasping for breath, he was drenched. His perfectly groomed golden hair—hair that not even the wind could displace—was plastered to his face, while his soaked cloak had turned into a leaden weight dragging him downward. He struggled back onto the dock and collapsed against a stone at its edge, fury coursing through his veins like poison.

The old man stood frozen on the dock, staring at Arthur with an expression caught somewhere between horror and shock. All traces of his reckless laughter had vanished.

“Oh dear! Lad, I... I only wanted to help!” the old man stammered, throwing his hands helplessly into the air. “You shouted ‘Let go of me!’ so I let go! How was I supposed to know the ground was this slippery? I’m sorry, blond boy, honestly, I didn’t mean to feed you to the fish!”

Arthur slowly lifted his head from the stone and gave the man such a look that the rest of his words died in his throat. In the prince’s eyes burned the cold, deadly gleam of a man who had commanded thousands of armies. Had they not been standing in the middle of Constantinople, that look might have been the last thing the old man ever saw.

“Leave,” Arthur whispered, his voice sharper than the cold sea itself. “Now.”

Feeling the dark authority in Arthur’s voice, the old man wisely did not push further. “Alright, alright! I’m going! But look, I’ve still got the fish wrap in my pocket—might come in handy once it dries—”

Before he could finish, he noticed Arthur’s hand moving toward the dagger at his belt. “Right then, stay safe!” he yelped before vanishing into the shadows of the alleyways without another glance back.

Arthur remained seated there, drenched atop the stone. He had arrived in this city as a prince, as a future conqueror, and had ended up accidentally thrown into the sea by a beggar. Never in his life had he felt so small and vulnerable.

Just then, from the shadows of the harbor, a little girl appeared. Her clothes were old, but her face was clean. She did not come too close; several steps of impassable distance remained between them. There was neither fear nor admiration in her eyes—only the cautious distance this city offered strangers.

The little girl held out a white handkerchief toward Arthur, its edges slightly worn but clean. Even as she extended it, she seemed ready to snatch it back at any moment.

“You can wipe your face with this,” she said softly, her voice thin enough to disappear into the wind, yet strangely firm. “Sea water burns your eyes.”

Arthur hesitated before this sudden and distant kindness. “I don’t need it. Leave,” he said, trying to regain his usual authoritative tone.

The little girl neither stepped back nor came closer. She simply bent down and placed the handkerchief on a dry corner of the stone where Arthur sat.

“My mother used to say that if you don’t wipe away the water, your soul grows cold too,” she whispered. “People get sick faster when they’re alone. Be careful.”

Without another word, she slipped back into the shadows as silently as though she had never been there at all.

Arthur stared at the small piece of white cloth resting on the stone. He had come to conquer Constantinople, to force the world to its knees—yet at that moment, the tiny handkerchief left behind by a little girl felt heavier than all the swords he carried.

When he picked it up and wiped the salt from his face, the faint scent of soap lingering in the cloth reminded him, for reasons he could not understand, of the mother he had lost and the peace he had never truly possessed. Arthur rose and straightened his shoulders, but now there was not only fury in his eyes; there was also that strange strength carried even by the quietest souls of this city.

Arthur burst through the inn’s door with enough force to nearly rip it from its hinges. As he entered, muddy, wet footprints followed every step across the floor. Leon, who had been sitting at a table in the lobby writing notes, looked up and froze at the sight of him.

“My lord? What happened to you?” Leon hurried over, lowering his voice so the others wouldn’t hear. “Did someone do this to you?”

“Not an enemy, Leon—just the lunatics of this city,” Arthur growled through clenched teeth. His voice carried both anger and a trace of humiliation. “Some madman in the square latched onto me, claimed he was protecting me, dragged me through the streets, and I ended up in the sea. He literally threw me into the water!”

At that moment Morgana appeared at the top of the stairs. Holding a silver goblet in her hand, she stopped the instant she saw Arthur soaked from head to toe, water dripping from his hair. Surprise crossed her face for a second before her famous mocking smile spread across it.

“Oh, would you look at that!” Morgana said, taking a sip from her goblet as she descended slowly. “Magnificent Arthur—I thought you came to conquer Constantinople, but apparently you decided to acquaint yourself with the famous Marmara fish instead. Is this a new battle strategy? Will you defeat your enemies by drenching them?”

Arthur shot her an irritated glare. “Morgana, this is not the time.”

“Why not? It suits you,” Morgana replied, circling around him. “The smell of the sea has softened your noble arrogance a little. Next time let us know so we can buy you a fishing rod. At least then you won’t return empty-handed.”

Turning to Leon, Arthur made it clear he wanted the subject dropped. “I don’t want to talk about it. Just... where is the bath? This salt is burning my skin, and I can’t endure the weight of these clothes any longer.”

Leon stepped forward, trying to ignore Morgana’s laughter. “Right this way, my lord. There’s a private bath prepared for you in the back. I had fresh water brought in. No one will disturb you.”

Accompanied by Morgana’s laughter and her cheerful, “Enjoy your swim, champion!” Arthur followed Leon down the marble corridor. When he entered the small marble bath where warm steam curled through the air, Leon stopped at the doorway.

“Lock the door, Leon,” Arthur said, his voice echoing against the marble walls. “Especially don’t let Morgana in. If she mocks me one more time, I’ll personally throw her into that sea.”

When Arthur entered the small marble chamber with Leon standing guard outside, the thick steam and damp air struck his face like a slap. He locked the door behind him. The noisy Constantinople outside, Morgana’s mocking laughter, and the fish-scented breath of that mad old man were finally shut away beyond the door.

His footsteps echoed wetly across the marble floor as he approached the basin. It was time to rid himself of those soaked garments clinging to his body. First he cast aside his heavy cloak; the fabric hit the marble with a loud slap. Then he removed his damp tunic and wet leathers one by one, all saturated with cold saltwater deep into their fibers. As his bare shoulders met the humid air, warmth rose from his body into the steam-filled room.

Arthur sat on the edge of the marble basin. Resting his muscular arms on his knees, he lowered his head. The rhythmic sound of hot water pouring from the brass faucet into the basin slowly quieted the chaos in his mind. The moment he poured the steaming water over himself, washing away the salt of the Marmara and the filth of the streets from his skin, he drew a deep breath.

When he closed his eyes, the vast square of the Hippodrome appeared once more before him.

That enormous Obelisk of Thebes...

Normally he was not the sort of man to attach meaning to a mere stone monument, but there was something leaking from between those hieroglyphs. The old man’s words echoed in his ears: “That stone is a magnet.”

Despite the heat relaxing his muscles, Arthur realized his mind had become sharper than ever. That stone was not merely a monument—it felt like a seal binding all the secrets of this city into the earth itself. Within the silence of that stone, he had felt his father’s obsession with this city, and why the Ezakis had no choice but to come here.

“You didn’t come just to look,” he muttered to himself, splashing a handful of water onto his face. “You came to take.”

As he sat there upon the warm marble lost in thought, his curiosity toward the obelisk slowly transformed into obsession. During the day, amidst the crowds, the madman and the soldiers had distracted him. But once night fell and the streets emptied, he was certain the stone would reveal another story to him. That strange pull surrounding it was almost calling him back.

His body had been cleansed, but his mind was now filled with cold strategy. As Arthur reached for his dried clothes upon leaving the bath, his thoughts had already returned to the colossal shadow standing in the square. When the sun sank and Constantinople’s golden light gave way to darkness, he would return to the obelisk alone—not as a refugee this time, but as though he were the true owner of that stone.

Chapter Text

The door of the inn room creaked open slowly, and Gaius stepped inside, undoing his cloak as he let out a deep sigh, utterly exhausted from weariness. When the old man collapsed beside the table, everyone in the room turned their full attention toward him.

“You finally made it back, Gaius,” Merlin said, sliding the empty chair at the table toward him. “Another minute and Gwaine would’ve finished the entire wine stock here under the excuse of ‘analyzing Constantinople’s culture.’”

Gwaine sat up on the bed with a shameless grin. “Please Merlin, respect my craft. A conqueror must first know what the people he intends to conquer are drinking.”

Gaius pressed a hand against his forehead and rubbed his temples before lifting his head, the mocking tone vanishing from his voice and replaced by seriousness. “I found nothing. I spent hours watching the people entering and leaving the city, observing the activity at the harbor, but there wasn’t a single suspicious or noticeable man. It’s as if the earth swallowed him whole.” Gaius turned his eyes toward Merlin. “And you, Merlin? Did anything catch your attention in the square?”

Merlin hesitated for a moment. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze drifted toward the floor as the image of that blond Ezaki and those sharp eyes suddenly flashed through his mind. He knew the man was somewhere nearby, but he had no idea how to explain that strange intuition inside him. “No,” he answered quietly, thoughtfully. “Nothing... tangible caught my attention either.”

At that moment, Gwaine swung one leg off the bed and cut in. “You’re searching for one man across an entire city while letting the prey right under our noses slip away,” he said, turning toward Gaius. Gwaine briefly summarized for him the suspicious woman he had seen by the sea during the day—the luxurious lady who so obviously did not belong to this city—and the secretive dealings she seemed to be whispering about with the innkeeper.

Hearing this, Gaius furrowed his brows, stroked his beard thoughtfully, and frowned. “Even for a place like Constantinople, what you’re describing is far too strange,” he said in a contemplative tone. “Tomorrow, the first thing we do is circle around that inn and see what’s happening there. If necessary, we’ll disguise ourselves and sneak into the back through the servants’ entrance. We need to know what kind of schemes are being spun there.”

Lancelot leaned over the map, steering the conversation back toward their true purpose. “And what about that Ezaki? We still assume he’s only one man, and we don’t even know his name. He moves through the city like a ghost. Once we find him, we should already be thinking about how to escape this place. Our goal is to capture him and leave the city.”

“The great horse races begin in two days,” Lancelot continued, a tactical gleam in his eyes. “The square will turn into a madhouse. That mysterious Ezaki will probably hide himself within the crowd as well. It’ll be our best chance to study faces and watch people closely. In that chaos, we can grab him by the neck.”

Gaius nodded in approval. “Logical. Until race day, we’ll keep our eyes wide open.”

A pitch-black darkness had settled over Constantinople. Merlin looked out the window into the cool night beyond. That relentless feeling of pressure inside him had returned, his mind filled once more with the blond Ezaki. “I’m going outside for a bit to get some air,” he said as he headed toward the door. “Maybe walking around the square will help clear my thoughts.”

Gwaine instantly leapt from the bed as though he had been waiting for that very moment and threw his cloak over his shoulders in one smooth motion. “Excellent idea! I’m coming with you.”

Merlin had just opened his mouth to object when Gwaine had already reached the doorway and turned back. He flashed a mischievous grin toward the utterly exhausted Gaius sitting at the table. “Well then, old man... Get some proper rest while we’re gone. You never did tell us how your day went, but are those old legs of yours still holding up? Or did your knees start trembling the moment you saw your old friend again?”

Without even giving Gaius the chance to respond, Gwaine grabbed Merlin by the arm, dragged him into the corridor, and slammed the door shut behind them. While Lancelot stared in stunned silence at Gwaine’s sudden recklessness, Gaius tilted his eyes toward the ceiling as though praying for patience.

Merlin and Gwaine quickly descended the inn’s stairs and stepped into the cool, windy streets of Constantinople. As they walked side by side, Gwaine rested one hand upon the hilt of his sword while scanning the inn signs hanging in the half-dark streets. Meanwhile, the strange, invisible force within Merlin pulled him like a puppet directly toward the enormous Hippodrome Square and the ancient obelisk from Egypt they had seen earlier that day.

As the city sank into deep silence, Merlin unknowingly quickened his pace beside his lively companion, unaware that destiny was leading him beneath the shadow of that stone—to stand face to face with the very Ezaki prince occupying his thoughts.

When Arthur emerged from the warm steam of the inn’s small marble bath, the heavy, humiliating salt of the sea had finally been completely washed from his body. After drying himself, he slipped into the clean dark linen tunic and leather vest Leon had brought him. The dry, light feeling of the clothes reminded him, after his earlier drenched condition, that he was finally a prince once again.

When he returned to the inn room, he eagerly ate several spoonfuls of the hot soup and fresh bread waiting on the table. As warmth returned to his body, the fog clouding his mind finally began to clear.

Leon stood over the map, waiting for Arthur to finish eating. The moment the young man placed his cup back on the table, Leon leaned forward without wasting any time. “My lord, I observed the movement throughout the city. The great horse races begin at the Hippodrome in two days. The entire city will descend into complete chaos. Guards, nobles, refugees... everyone will be there.”

Arthur tapped his fingertips against the table thoughtfully. “That’s the perfect opportunity for us, Leon. In that crowd, nobody will be searching for an Ezaki. While everyone is blinded by the rivalry between the Greens and the Blues, we can achieve our true goal within the city. Until race day, we must keep our eyes wide open.”

Leon nodded. “Absolutely, my lord. Until then, we must not draw attention to ourselves.”

Arthur looked out from the room’s high window toward the night descending upon Constantinople like absolute darkness. The full moon illuminated the massive shadow looming over Hippodrome Square—the Obelisk of Thebes was visible even from afar. That relentless pull inside him had not left him even during his bath. He needed to look upon that stone again at night, when nobody was there.

“I’m going out for a while, Leon,” Arthur said as he draped his cloak over his shoulders.

Leon frowned with concern. “At this hour, my lord? The city is dangerous at night. Let me come with you.”

“There’s no need. Alone, I’ll move faster and quieter,” Arthur replied, placing a hand upon Leon’s shoulder. His gaze grew serious. “Morgana and Gwen are in your care, Leon. Until I return, do not allow them to leave the inn and do not take your eyes off them. Their safety is more important than anything right now.”

Leon bowed respectfully before his lord’s command. “Do not worry, my lord. They are safe here with my life.”

Arthur quietly closed the inn room door behind him and stepped into the corridor. Using the back exit of the inn so as not to attract attention, he entered the cool, windy streets of Constantinople. As the night wind brushed against his face, his steps carried him almost without thought toward the enormous Hippodrome Square—the very place where his pride had been shattered earlier that day, yet which had utterly captivated his mind. The streets were empty, the city silent, but the voice within Arthur kept growing louder, whispering about what awaited him in that square.

Even a great warrior like Arthur failed to notice the woman who had left the inn behind him.

As Arthur strode swiftly through the lonely streets filled with the howl of the wind, he could not hear the faint footsteps or the rustle of a cloak behind him. The wind swallowed every sound completely. His mind was consumed entirely by the stone. Soon, the vast marble grounds of Hippodrome Square stretched before him. There was no trace left of the daytime crowds, guards, or shouting voices. The square was utterly empty and disturbingly silent. At its center stood the massive Obelisk of Thebes, rising toward the heavens beneath the full moon.

Arthur directed his steps toward the monument. The closer he came, the stronger the strange invisible pressure inside him became. When he finally stood at the base of the stone, he lifted his head and stared up at its enormous body. Strange symbols covered its surface—birds, eyes, bizarre lines... Ancient Egyptian script. These writings did not belong to Constantinople; they came from lands far beyond these shores. Of course, Arthur could not understand a single thing written there.

“What exactly are you?” he murmured to himself.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His gaze shifted toward several stones near the base of the monument that seemed slightly more worn and protruded faintly compared to the surrounding marble. Driven by instinct, as though the stone itself were compelling him, he reached out. His fingertips brushed against the cold, rough ancient surface.

The instant he touched it, something like a faint electric current surged from his fingers up through his arm.

And at that exact second, the enormous marble ground beneath his feet trembled violently with a thunderous roar. The sound of gears that had not turned for centuries and rusted chains grinding against marble echoed across the square. Before Arthur could understand what was happening, the massive marble slab beneath him suddenly collapsed downward. Losing his balance, the young man fell rapidly into the dark void below, only a brief cry escaping his lips. The moment he disappeared beneath it, the marble lid slammed shut again with a deafening boom. The stone had returned completely to normal.

From behind a pillar several meters away, Morgana burst forward in horror. “Arthur!” she shouted as she sprinted toward the obelisk. Reaching the base, she slammed her hands against the hard, impenetrable marble where Arthur had vanished moments ago. The stone stood solid and unmoving, as though nothing had ever opened.

“Damn it! Damn it, Arthur!” Morgana hissed through gritted teeth.

Desperately, she looked around. The ground was solid; she had no idea where the mechanism was hidden. The thought of leaving to fetch Leon crossed her mind, but she could not bear the idea of abandoning Arthur here alone. Gripping the collar of her cloak tightly, her green eyes filled with both fury and fear. Leaning her back against the massive obelisk, she fixed her sharp gaze upon the darkness of the square and decided she would remain there no matter the cost, searching for any hidden entrance.

As Arthur left the inn through the back door and walked alone toward the square beneath the cold night wind, a completely different chaos was erupting in one of the narrow streets leading toward Hippodrome Square.

Merlin and Gwaine had originally only intended to walk after leaving the inn. However, the moment Gwaine spotted the dimly lit Byzantine gambling den, from which the sounds of dice and shouting spilled into the street, he ignored every warning Merlin gave and barged inside. Before Merlin even understood what was happening, he found himself surrounded by the thick smell of wine, sweat, and tobacco. Gwaine immediately dropped into a chair at one of the tables and began testing his luck. A few rounds later, Merlin was nervously scanning the room. He was just about to grab Gwaine by the arm and drag him outside when a familiar carefree and cheerful voice rose from a table in the corner:

“Hello, gentlemen!”

Gwaine flashed a shameless grin as he swept every Roman solidus from the table toward himself in one smooth motion. However, the large Greek gamblers seated opposite him, their faces covered in scars, clearly did not share his enthusiasm. As they rose from their chairs with loud screeches, the heavy hilts of daggers became visible beneath their robes. Gwaine sensed the danger instantly but did not lose his composure for even a second. His eyes shifted toward Merlin, who stood frozen in disbelief near the bar. As casually as though they were taking a peaceful stroll on a sunny afternoon, he waved cheerfully.

“Merlin! How are you?!”

Slipping through the furious men, Gwaine strode over to Merlin and wrapped him in a tight embrace. At that moment, the leader of the gamblers stormed toward them, nearly overturning the table as he roared:

“Give me back my money!”

In mere seconds, Gwaine assessed the situation. Pulling out his heavy coin pouch, he hurled it directly into the man’s face. The pouch burst apart against him, gold coins scattering everywhere, while Gwaine seized Merlin by the arm and shouted without even pausing for breath:

“Alright. Run!”

At that exact moment, absolute chaos erupted inside the establishment. Before Merlin could even understand what was happening, he found himself sprinting wildly behind Gwaine toward the exit. Wooden chairs flew through the air behind them, amphorae shattered, and furious screams echoed everywhere. The moment they burst through the door, a full marathon began through Constantinople’s narrow stone streets.

The gamblers chased after them wielding cleavers and clubs. Gwaine led from the front, overturning market stalls to create barriers behind them. Merlin struggled both to preserve his breath and to avoid the vegetables flying through the air as he shouted furiously over the chaos:

“Gwaine! I came outside to clear my head, not to train for a race!”

Gwaine kicked a garbage basket directly into the men chasing behind them and looked back with a shameless grin. “Sorry Merlin, what can I do? I live a very exciting life!”

“That exciting life of yours is going to get us killed one day!” Merlin shouted, barely dodging a flying piece of wood.

“That’s how gambling works, my friend!” Gwaine continued while turning sharply into another narrow alley. “You make a fool out of a man, and suddenly he calls you a thief!”

When they turned into yet another street, the massive empty openness of Hippodrome Square suddenly appeared before them. In the darkness of the night, beneath the full moon, the Obelisk of Thebes rose like a lone giant. The square was so deserted that the sound of their footsteps echoed across the marble.

Gwaine and Merlin reached the very front of the obelisk with the furious crowd close behind them. Merlin was completely out of breath, his lungs burning. “Gwaine, we’re finished! There isn’t a single place to hide in this square!”

But at that exact moment, a strange mechanical scraping sound rose from the massive marble ground beneath their feet. It sounded as though some ancient mechanism hidden beneath the stone—centuries old—had suddenly awakened. At the very base of the obelisk, a marble slab that would normally have been impossible to notice abruptly collapsed downward as the mysterious ancient counterweight system beneath it activated, opening like a pitch-black passageway.

Unable to stop their momentum, Merlin and Gwaine, along with the gamblers behind them who still had no idea what was happening, plunged straight into the dark void below.

Immediately afterward, the massive marble lid slammed shut again with a deafening boom, as though it had never opened at all. Seconds later, when the furious crowd arrived beside the obelisk, the square was empty. While the men stared around in confusion, Merlin and Gwaine had already fallen deep into the vast mysterious world beneath the earth.

When Arthur fell through the marble slab into the darkness below, he found himself landing not upon hard ground as expected, but atop an enormous mound of sand. Coughing through the cloud of dust, he pushed himself upright, brushed himself off, and instinctively reached for the dagger at his waist. When he lifted his head, he saw that the hatch through which he had fallen had already sealed shut and not the slightest trace of light filtered down from above. Yet the place was not entirely dark; strange pale blue moonlight shimmered across the walls of the chamber from an unknown source.

This place was completely unlike the marble and brick architecture of Constantinople. Arthur began moving from chamber to chamber. Each hall he passed through was supported by massive marble pillars, but instead of Roman eagles, they were carved with the strange Egyptian figures he had seen upon the obelisk—hieroglyphs and depictions of jackal-headed gods. The rooms were utterly empty; there was no furniture, no chests, not even the slightest trace of another human being. Only ancient dust crunched beneath his boots and enormous hollow echoes drifted from the walls.

When Arthur finally reached the last of these interconnected Egyptian-style chambers, he paused. Before him rose an enormous stone door bearing the relief of a gigantic sun disk. And directly before that door stood a guard wrapped in a cloak, abnormally short in stature—almost dwarf-like. Leaning calmly upon a long staff, the strange figure watched Arthur emerge from the darkness of the chamber. He saw the exhaustion in the young man’s eyes, but also the unbreakable Ezaki resolve within them.

When Arthur took a step toward the door, the small guard asked in a deep voice far louder and more resonant than his size or age suggested:

“Who seeks passage through this door?”

Arthur assumed the proud, upright posture expected of a prince. Lifting his chin, he answered, “A warrior on a mission to reclaim the ancient legacy and rightful inheritance of the Ezakis.” His voice echoed across the empty stone walls.

Grett seemed pleased by the answer and smiled faintly, though the mischievous wisdom in his eyes remained. “Then you must be ‘Courage.’”

Arthur disliked immediately being spoken to in riddles by this strange man. He had no tolerance for anything that insulted his pride or diminished him. Hardening his voice further, he introduced himself:

“No. I am Prince Arthur of the Ezakis.”

Grett tilted his head slightly and examined Arthur once more from head to toe. A teasing yet oddly endearing expression appeared on his face.

“To be honest, you’re not nearly as short as the stories made me imagine.”

Arthur furrowed his brows, feeling his patience rapidly reaching its limit. Between the gamblers’ shouting, falling into the sea, Morgana’s mockery, and now this dwarf, he had no time left to waste. “Are you going to let me pass or not?” he snapped, tightening his grip upon the dagger at his waist.

Grett struck his staff sharply against the hieroglyph-covered floor and stepped closer. “Before I allow you through, let me offer a small piece of advice, Courage. To complete your mission, to tear from this city the thing you seek, you still require two more things: Power and Magic.”

The very mention of “Magic” was unacceptable to an Ezaki prince raised with strict beliefs and deep suspicion toward sorcery and mysterious powers. Arthur’s face instantly tightened, and he waved a dismissive hand.

“I will never approve of the use of magic. We fight with our own strength and our own will.”

Grett let out a deep sigh, seemingly disappointed by the prince’s rigid convictions and blindness. This time, his voice lost its teasing tone and became far more serious—almost like a warning.

“You would have done well not to dismiss it so easily, young prince. The rules of these underground lands you now walk are very, very different from the rules of the world above. Here, it is not swords that speak, but ancient bonds.”

Arthur tried to process the strange dwarf’s warning, but his mind was clouded by the exhaustion of the entire day. After throwing one last hard glare toward the guardian, he stepped forward to open the door and continue deeper into this ominous realm. He had no idea what awaited him within these Egyptian corridors, while behind him Grett watched his footsteps with a deep, wise smile upon his face. The first piece of the trio had begun walking toward the door.

When Merlin and Gwaine tumbled down through the marble hatch, just like Arthur before them, they landed atop an enormous mound of sand. As Gwaine spat out the sand that had filled his mouth, coughing heavily, Merlin quickly offered a hand to help his companion up. Brushing the dust from their clothes, they looked upward and realized the hatch above them had sealed completely, leaving no trace whatsoever of Constantinople above.

Yet the place was not entirely pitch black; strange pale blue light leaked from the torch holders embedded in the walls, dimly illuminating the chamber. Gwaine looked around in astonishment. “What is this place? Did the Byzantines bury an entire palace underground?”

“Egypt...” Merlin murmured. His eyes drifted across the giant hieroglyphs, the jackal-headed depictions of Anubis, and the ancient marble columns lining the walls. “This isn’t Roman work, Gwaine. These halls are as old as that obelisk itself.”

Together they began walking through the vast interconnected Egyptian chambers. With every step, the invisible force within Merlin grew stronger. Eventually they reached the final hall—the same one with the enormous stone door carved with a giant sun disk. But they were not alone. Standing directly before the door was the small cloaked guardian leaning upon his long staff.

Grett calmly watched Merlin and Gwaine emerge from the darkness of the chamber with wise, tranquil eyes. Moments ago, he had described Prince Arthur as “Courage.” Now, the missing pieces of the puzzle had arrived at his feet.

In a deep, resonant voice, Grett whispered:

“At last, Magic has arrived.”

Merlin visibly flinched at the man’s immediate and direct observation. Since Gwaine already knew about his powers, there was no need to hide them from him anymore—but hearing a complete stranger beneath the earth recognize it at first glance unsettled him deeply. Taking a cautious step forward, Merlin asked, “What is this place? And who are you?”

Sensing the unease in Merlin’s voice, Grett smiled faintly. “There is nothing to fear. For that mysterious Ezaki, that blond warrior, to succeed upon this path, your presence is necessary.”

Merlin frowned in confusion. Gwaine and Merlin exchanged glances. “Ezaki? What is that man doing here? How do you know him?”

“I am the guardian of this door,” Grett answered calmly. “I merely wish to see the ancient balance beneath these lands restored once more. Until you fulfill your task, that cannot happen.”

Merlin still could not fully comprehend the situation. “We don’t have any task. We only... fell down here by chance. In truth, we’re searching for that man.”

Grett smiled wisely. “You choose to believe that. But that Ezaki choosing this path, or you arriving in the same square and falling into this void alongside him, is no coincidence.”

At that moment, the old dwarf’s gaze shifted toward Gwaine, who instinctively rested a hand upon the hilt of his sword behind Merlin. Grett’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Ah, at last, Power has arrived as well. The trio is complete.”

Gwaine clearly disliked being spoken about in riddles by this strange man. Frowning deeply, he whispered toward Merlin, “Who is this guy, Merlin? Is he insane or something?”

Ignoring Gwaine’s harsh and mocking tone entirely, Grett said calmly, “I have no wish to harm either of you. And by oath, I hope not to receive harm from you either.”

As Gwaine finally grasped the seriousness of the situation and reached fully toward his waist, his fingers met only empty air. With shock and anger, he shouted:

“Where’s my sword?!”

The sheath at his waist was completely empty. And what had replaced the sword in his hand? A flower.

Grett gestured toward the enormous stone door behind him with his staff. “Once you reach the other side, your sword shall be returned to you. This sealed gate has waited many long years for this day. Do not deny it what it desires.”

Just as the pair began stepping toward the door, Grett suddenly stopped them and delivered one final mysterious warning that lingered heavily in the air:

“Remember, nothing is as it seems. Especially...” Grett locked his eyes directly onto Merlin’s blue gaze. “Even you may not be what you appear to be, Emrys.”

The instant his words ended, Grett vanished into the pale blue light and shadows of the chamber. As Merlin and Gwaine stared at the colossal stone door before them, they realized this adventure had become something far greater, more ancient, and far more dangerous than simply hunting down an enemy Ezaki.

And who? Who was Emrys? Why did he address him that way?

Merlin slowly reached out toward the stone door and pushed. With a thunderous groan, the door began to open, revealing within the dim light of the chamber beyond a familiar blond silhouette waiting inside.

Arthur.

At last, they stood face to face.

Chapter Text

When the massive stone door adorned with a solar disk creaked open with a resounding roar, the pale blue light leaking from within struck the faces of Merlin and Gwaine. Stepping inside, they found themselves leagues beneath Constantinople, standing in what seemed to be a colossal Egyptian temple forgotten by time. The ceiling of the chamber was so high that it vanished into the darkness, while the walls were covered from top to bottom with hieroglyphs, depictions of jackal-headed gods, and ancient inscriptions. Right in the center of the room stood a massive pool structured from smooth black marble, its interior shimmering like still water.

Yet, neither of their eyes registered the architecture nor the inscriptions. For right beside that black pool, with damp clothes and a sharp posture, stood a silhouette with its back turned to them. At the sound of the door, the figure spun around swiftly.

Time froze in that exact second.

As the pale blue light struck the man’s golden hair and blue eyes, the relentless tightening in Merlin’s chest suddenly ruptured. The man standing before him was The one they were looking for was Ezaki in the cave.. At the same moment, Arthur looked at the black-haired youth entering through the door, his eyes widening in utter disbelief. When that cave had collapsed upon them, he had thought this boy’s breath had been snuffed out beneath tons of rock. The guilt and unexplainable sense of absence that had been gnawing at his mind for days was now standing right in front of him, flesh and blood.

Both cried out at the same time, unable to conceal the deep shockwave in their voices:

"You?!"

A faint bewilderment, akin to relief, flitted across Arthur’s face, momentarily dropping his arrogant mask. His eyes scanned over Merlin. However, it took him only a fraction of a second to remember he was an Ezaki prince; within moments, he reclaimed his stern, prideful expression. "You are truly alive..." Arthur said, his voice echoing off the marble pillars. "When that cave collapsed, I thought you would never make it out from under those rocks."

Merlin smiled faintly as he watched the astonishment of this arrogant prince before him, but it was not a friendly smile. The desire for vengeance and the weight of his duty flared up instantly within him. "I am sorry to disappoint you," Merlin said, making no effort to hide the veil of hatred in his voice. "But I knew you would survive that wreckage. And you should have known I would come all this way to find you."

Gwaine watched this electric atmosphere and the invisible sparks flying through the air with amusement. Shifting his gaze to Arthur, he stepped forward mockingly, resting his hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist. "Oh, so this blond boy is the famous Ezaki ghost we’ve been chasing for days, the one we’re supposed to capture?" Gwaine said with a patronizing glance. "Honestly, I had imagined something a bit more formidable."

Arthur bristled at Gwaine’s reckless and disrespectful demeanor. Instantly reaching for the sword at his hip, he puffed out his chest and hissed with rage: "Just an Ezaki? You stand before the great Ezaki Prince Arthur himself! Know your place, man!"

Oh, he really was a prince.

Gwaine burst into a hearty laugh, completely disregarding Arthur’s princely nobility. "Oh, what a profound honor we have been bestowed upon! Forgive me, your highness, but up there, we bring even kings to their knees. Your fancy title doesn't carry much weight seven floors beneath the earth."

"Watch your words, or I shall be forced to tear out your tongue!" Arthur snarled, unsheathing his sword from its scabbard as he took a step toward Gwaine. Gwaine did not hesitate for a second, drawing his own sword with a sharp clang. The environment had instantly turned into a powder keg; both took their guards, ready to rip each other apart.

Just as they were about to lunge at one another, Merlin’s eyes flared a brilliant, molten gold.

The air inside the room grew heavy in an instant. A massive, invisible wave erupted outward from Merlin’s body. A powerful blast of wind tore the swords right out of both Arthur’s and Gwaine’s hands, sending both weapons clattering loudly across the marble floor into the far corners of the room.

"No, Gwaine!" Merlin shouted, his voice ringing with absolute command. "You must not kill him!"

Gwaine stumbled back, startled by his suddenly empty hands. Arthur, looking past his discarded sword, stared at Merlin with wide eyes.

In that moment, Merlin and Arthur's gazes locked fiercely. An indescribable, sinister aura drifted between them. The exact same strange, relentless electrification Arthur had felt when he touched that stone in the square was now pulsing in the eyes of this sorcerer boy, and it unnerved him deep down. As the golden hue in Merlin’s eyes slowly faded, he could not tear his gaze away, as if trying to decipher the unknown behind the proud stance of the prince before him. Leagues beneath the earth, the two enemies fell into a deep silence, as if trying to read each other's minds.

When Gwaine noticed this intensely heavy, electric silence, his face tightened with irritation. He detested the strange tension between the two. "Listen to me, princess!" Gwaine roared, and despite being weaponless, he made a savage plunge with his bare hands, launching himself directly at Arthur. "Even without my sword, I’ll gouge those eyes out with my bare hands! You will pay the price for crossing my path!"

Arthur did not back down either; he clenched his fists and lunged forward. The two were about to lock hands around each other's throats when, at that very second, everything came to a halt.

From one of the dark openings in the ceiling, a colossal and brilliant beam of light struck down at a sharp angle. The clock had struck exactly 00:00 midnight. The full moon in the sky had aligned perfectly with a hidden aperture above, casting its light directly onto the black marble pool in the center of the room.

The moment the moonlight touched the water, some of the hieroglyphs and various inscriptions on the walls began to illuminate with a glowing blue light. The grinding mechanisms within the ancient marble echoed once more. Those inscriptions on the walls flared up, as if wanting to show them the path they needed to take.

The first inscription to light up was a massive circular schematic. In its center was a large compass drawing, carved with sharp lines. The moment Arthur saw that compass symbol, his brow furrowed. This was the drawing of the mysterious Gundeshapur compass mentioned in ancient legends—the very artifact the Ezakis were trying to reach. The secret of the distant destination they sought lay right before them as a mural.

"This is impossible," Arthur muttered. "What is a drawing of the Gundeshapur compass doing here?"

Gwaine crossed his arms over his chest and smirked from the corner of his mouth from his spot in the corner. "It seems the secrets of your supposedly impenetrable Ezaki legends have long since leaked into the sewers of Rome, my dear princess. Perhaps you aren't as unreachable as you think."

Just as Arthur was about to turn back in anger, the profound silence where Merlin stood drew both of their attentions. Merlin stood as if turned to stone before the next inscription. On the wall was an immense drawing of a dragon, spewing carved stone flames from its maw. Feeling as though he was standing directly in front of the colossal shadows he constantly saw in his dreams, Merlin experienced a strange, eerie tremor. Instinctively, he reached out, placing his fingertips into the grooves of those ancient dragon scales.

Noticing Merlin’s state, Arthur intervened, maintaining the sharp tone in his voice. "The Dragon Lords are no more, Sorcerer. That inscription likely speaks of an era long buried in history. They are nothing but memories." Whether it was because dragons concerned him, or simply because Merlin had piqued his interest, it did not matter. Ultimately, knowledge was knowledge.

Merlin remained silent. He slowly withdrew his hand from the stone, but his eyes did not leave the drawing. He did not care what Arthur thought. In this room, Merlin was thinking neither of that compass nor the approaching war; there was an abstract, invisible sensation wildly drawing him toward the darkest final point of these catacombs. It was as if a piece of his soul awaited him at the end of this temple, and to reach it, he had to walk alongside these two men.

The gazes of all three shifted to the next large wall illuminated by the blue moonlight. Painted on the wall was a scene where the Ezakis and humans were tearing down the insurmountable border wall between them with their own hands. The two peoples were depicted as having laid down their weapons, building a shared life in peace and prosperity. At the very top stood the depiction of a powerful sorcerer, whom both peoples bowed to in reverence.

The moment Arthur saw this painting, he let out a scoff mixed with disgust. "Utter nonsense. This is likely an absurd fairy tale concocted by a mad sorcerer," he said harshly. "That wall is a prison where humans confined us. And I will tear that wall down not with peace, but with blood and my own sword."

Truthfully, this depiction had brought comfort to Merlin and sparked a glimmer of hope within him. Perhaps it was possible for the two races to coexist.

Yet, just then, the moonlight fully illuminated the largest wall of the chamber. A massive Egyptian pyramid spanning the entire hall and an imposing pharaoh sitting on his throne appeared. In the pharaoh's hand was the vivid depiction of a weapon forged from a meteorite, sporting an ivory hilt and a curved blade. Directly beneath the weapon, a rhyming prophecy schematic carved in the ancient Ezaki language began to glow.

Arthur caught his breath the moment he saw the text. The legendary lost piece he had heard of from his ancestors, from his father Uther, was right in front of him. He began to read the inscription aloud:

"The glory stolen centuries ago, believes it hides behind this stone, Forged with iron fallen from the sky, piercing the enemy's marrow. The moment the great war knocks at the gate, whoever holds it shall decree, Only the worthy hand shall end it, directing the fate of kings to be."

Arthur’s eyes gleamed with passion. "The Kingslayer..." he whispered, his voice trembling. "The first sacred dagger of my ancestors, stolen from our people centuries ago. It is here... This weapon belongs to my lineage by right. I will bring it to the surface and ignite the vengeance of the Ezakis!"

Seeing Arthur’s ambitious obsession with this weapon, Gwaine immediately cut in. Stepping forward out of pure spite against Arthur’s pompous attitude, he spoke. "Hold your horses, princess," Gwaine said with a mocking but dangerous grin. "I don't care who stole it a century ago. Whoever it serves best in the great war, that weapon should rest in their hands. And to be perfectly honest, that razor-sharp toy looks a bit too big for your delicate hands."

Arthur turned to Gwaine, grinding his teeth. "That weapon obeys an Ezaki king, not a mercenary like you!"

Just as the quarrel between the two was about to reignite, Merlin intervened sharply. He pointed to the seal mark at the very bottom of the prophecy.

"Quiet!" Merlin shouted, his voice ringing with an authority that silenced both men. "Even if you kill each other, that door will not open. Look at the inscription. A single person cannot enter there. There is only one way to cross into the chamber where the weapon rests: The three elements—or as the guardian at the gate put it: Magic, Courage, and Strength—must cross that threshold together at the same time. Whether you like it or not, the three of us have to walk through that door together."

Arthur and Gwaine looked at the triple seal symbol Merlin pointed to. They despised each other, and they had sworn to be each other's executioners above ground; yet right now, they understood that they were chained together in this underworld to reach that ancient secret and progress to the end of the catacombs drawing Merlin in.

When the sealed gate opened upward with a heavy rumble, a long corridor emerged before them, its floor entirely composed of massive square marble tiles. Atop the high pillars lining both sides of the corridor, dozens of arrow-launching mechanisms made of rusted iron were aimed at them like gun barrels in the dark.

On the wall right next to the entrance, a clear hieroglyphic script appeared, shimmering under the blue moonlight. The text did not hide what needed to be done; everything was explicitly stated:

“Magic shall choose the path, Courage shall take the first step, and Strength shall bear the weight. If even one breaks the chain, death shall consume this vault.”

After reading the text on the wall, Arthur threw a distant and skeptical glance at the duo beside him. He was outnumbered two to one, and entrusting his life to these men was the last thing he wanted. Fixing his gaze on Merlin, he squared his jaw and spoke in a commanding tone: "Walk ahead, Sorcerer. I assume those eyes of yours are good for more than just making swords fly through the air. The text is clear; you shall choose the path."

Before Merlin could even open his mouth to fire back a sharp response, Gwaine took a step forward, placing himself between Arthur and Merlin. That dangerous, mocking smirk was plastered across his face.

"Hold on a minute, princess," Gwaine said, recklessly raising his voice. "Watch how you talk to people. This isn't your fancy palace or the Ezaki realm you rule over. No one is your slave here, so stop giving orders."

Arthur clenched his jaw at Gwaine’s insolent outburst, sparks virtually flying from his eyes. "I am a prince, thug! Know your place, or I will tear your tongue out when we get out of here."

"If we get out, you can try," Gwaine countered, refusing to back down. "Furthermore, trust me, you wouldn't even want to attempt tearing my tongue out with those delicate hands of yours."

Merlin took a deep breath in the midst of this bickering. The man he had been searching for in his dreams and in this ancient city for weeks was standing right in front of him; his purpose was not to kill an Ezaki prince, he simply wanted to reach that mysterious calling at the end of this temple. Touching Gwaine’s shoulder, he gently pulled him back. Darting a frosty look at Arthur, he said, "I am not walking ahead, Arthur." His voice was clear and unyielding. "I will only show the path; you are the one who will take the first step. You heard what the text said; courage takes the first step. That is, of course, if you aren't afraid of those arrows."

Arthur looked at Merlin’s defiant stance and the strange seriousness in the way he uttered his name for the first time. Despite all the distrust within him, driven by the ambition to reach that dagger, he took a deep breath and stepped onto the designated stone. "Ezakis do not know the meaning of fear," he murmured. A sorcerer had wiped away his titles in a single breath and addressed him merely as a man.

Arthur remained silent in the face of Merlin’s authoritative outburst; the arrogant prince mask he wore had been slightly shaken. He swallowed, attempting to suppress the complex emotion rising within him. "Lead the way, Merlin," he said, his voice less hostile this time, carrying a tone of caution instead.

Merlin’s eyes immediately turned a molten gold. He had begun to see the magical, dangerous currents running beneath the floor marbles. "Step on the third stone from the left," Merlin instructed.

Without hesitation, Arthur stepped onto that stone. The stone sank down with a loud crack, and the arrow mechanisms on the walls tensed. Constant pressure was required to keep the stone from springing back up.

Gwaine immediately lunged forward, slamming his boot down onto the weight mechanism at the edge of the stone. "Hurry up," Gwaine grumbled, his eyes still locked on Arthur. "I’m not playing sentry for you here, tell us the path already."

Arthur shot an icy glare at Gwaine while trying to maintain his balance. "Shut your mouth and hold that weight. I have no intention of being riddled with holes here because of your impulsive movements."

Merlin pointed to the next safe stone: "Diagonal right, the second stone."

Arthur took another step. The stone sank, and the mechanism tensed even further. Gwaine was forced to transition to the other weight plate. However, the gloomy atmosphere of the temple had stretched Gwaine’s already fraying patience to its breaking point. Arthur’s condescending, noble posture was getting on his nerves. "Stop ordering me around, blondie!" Gwaine snapped, and in a sudden fit of anger and impulsiveness, he pulled his foot off the plate.

"Gwaine, no!" Merlin screamed, but it was already too late.

The moment the weight lifted, one of the massive mechanisms on the wall triggered with a resounding boom. A sharp, colossal iron arrow tore through the air, hurtling directly toward Arthur’s head. Without his sword, Arthur could not parry an arrow at this speed; his eyes widened in horror.

In that fatal split second, Merlin thrust his hand forward, his eyes burning like embers fresh from a furnace.

"Fliege!" Merlin roared.

The massive arrow flying through the air froze dead in its tracks, inches away from Arthur’s temple, as if hitting an invisible wall. The iron arrow suspended in mid-air vibrated for a few seconds before crashing heavily onto the marble floor as Merlin lowered his hand.

An unyielding silence fell over the room. Arthur was breathing heavily, feeling the chill of death that had just grazed his cheek. He shifted his gaze first to the arrow on the ground, and then to Merlin, who had just saved him. For the first time, his eyes held not just hatred, but a profound bewilderment he could not decipher, alongside a guarded sense of gratitude.

Gwaine gritted his teeth, his expression tensing as he realized the seriousness of his mistake. "Well..." he muttered, this time in a mocking tone. "The spell worked, didn't it?"

Merlin turned to Gwaine, absolutely seething with rage. "If you ever prematurely pull your foot away like that on your own whim again, Gwaine," he hissed, "I will personally throw you in front of those arrows. Now stop bickering, both of you, and do exactly as I say."

Arthur remained silent against Merlin’s authoritative outburst, the arrogant prince mask he wore slightly fractured. He knew he had no choice but to trust Merlin. "Lead the way, Merlin," he said, his voice less hostile this time, sounding more cautious.

Coloring his eyes with gold once more, Merlin pointed out the safe stones one by one. This time, Gwaine did not lift his foot, nor did Arthur hesitate. With absolute silence and utter focus, skimming the edge of death with every step, they progressed flawlessly until they reached the large grated gate at the end of the corridor.

When they stepped onto the final stone and reached the end of the corridor, the massive grated gate before them slid upward with a heavy mechanical groan. The moment all three hurled themselves into the spacious chamber inside, the gate behind them descended with equal speed, slamming shut with a loud crash. They were now completely trapped.

Right in the center of the room, atop a high marble pillar, gleamed the curved dagger forged from a meteorite with its ivory hilt. The ancestral relic sought for hundreds of years lay right before them. However, on the right wall of the chamber, three mysterious doors carved from stone stood side by side. As the runes atop the doors glowed with the moonlight, a deep, echoing voice from the ceiling of the room whispered along the walls:

"Here you may stand, claim the relic, and return to the darkness from whence you came. Or you may cross through these three doors and draw back the veil of the future. The choice is yours; but destiny opens its doors only to the brave."

All three paused for a moment. Taking the dagger and leaving was the safest path. Yet, as Gwaine looked at the mysterious glow above the doors, a reckless smile surfaced on his face. Seeing what lay ahead in the future was a gamble too good to pass up for a lawless rogue like him. "Seeing what awaits me in the future?" Gwaine said, shrugging his shoulders. "Honestly, I'm certain I won't have a boring life. I'm in."

Arthur, on the other hand, stood with knitted brows, staring at the three doors. As an Ezaki prince, the future of an entire people and the weight of the looming great war rested heavily upon his shoulders. Deep down, he was dying to know what lay ahead for him on this arduous path, and what kind of king he would become once he emerged from his father’s shadow. "I am not one to flee from my destiny," Arthur said with noble resolve in his voice. "Whatever lies in the future, I am ready to face it."

Merlin looked at the two of them. The abstract, powerful sensation drawing him to the end of these catacombs lay precisely behind those doors. Nodding his head slightly, he fell into step with this dangerous game. They had to take separate paths, heading through doors opening to their own respective destinies.

Before walking toward his own door, Gwaine stopped, turned around, and shot a dangerous look at Arthur. "Listen to me, princess," he said, wagging his finger toward Arthur. "If I don't see you there when I come out of that door, or if you attempt to take that toy and run off, I will find you wherever you are on this earth and pluck out those blond hairs of yours one by one. Do we have an understanding?"

Arthur tilted his chin up defiantly. "If I were the type to yield to the threats of a thug, I wouldn't be standing before you right now," Arthur snapped back. "You just worry about saving your own skin. If you're still alive when I get out, we'll settle our score above ground."

Merlin did not remain silent this time to the never-ending bickering between the two men. Stepping in, he threw a stern glance at both. "If you two don't want to kill each other right here before even seeing what lies behind those doors, shut your mouths and start walking."

Gwaine smirked at Merlin’s outburst. "Alright, sMerlin. See you on the flip side," he said, and the moment he finished his sentence, he plunged into his own door, vanishing into the darkness.

Only Arthur and Merlin remained in the chamber. A relentless silence fell. After staring at the closed gate for a while, Arthur slowly turned around. He fixed his blue eyes on Merlin. He scrutinized him from head to toe with deep curiosity and questioning. This sorcerer, who had just stopped a massive arrow in mid-air that was about to pierce his temple, was shattering everything he thought he knew.

Arthur took a step toward Merlin. The arrogant tone in his voice was completely gone this time, replaced by a strange sincerity.

"There is something about you, Merlin," Arthur said, his voice echoing like a whisper through the temple.

Merlin paused, locking his eyes onto Arthur's.

Arthur lingered for a moment longer; during those seconds their eyes met, the expression on Merlin's face seemed as if he was waiting for the rest of the sentence. Arthur narrowed his eyes, adding as if trying to solve the mystery before him:

"I can't quite put my finger on it... but there is definitely something extraordinary about you."

Those blue eyes slowly broke away from Merlin’s eyes, which had only just lost their golden gleam. Without uttering another single word, Arthur turned toward his own door and stepped through the dark threshold, going inside.

Left entirely alone in the center of the chamber, Merlin took a deep, shaky breath. He tried to shake off the strange, foreign emotion he had felt when Arthur addressed him by his name just moments ago, looking directly into his eyes as he spoke those words. Now was not the time to question it. Focusing on what lay ahead, he paced toward his own door and took his first step into the unknown darkness of the future.

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