Late at night.
"By the way—"
"You've never told me what kind of person your mother is, have you?"
Peeking her head out from under the blanket, Artoria looked at Ian on the other bed.
"I'm really curious."
After all, Ian was so strange already.
So how incredibly tolerant would his mother have to be to raise someone like him?
"My mother—"
Following Artoria's lead, Ian thought carefully about Tiamat.
"Hmm…"
"She's very powerful."
"I can see that." Artoria nodded thoughtfully.
"After all, you're quite strong too."
"And she taste good."
"Yeah, the taste—"
"Hm?"
Artoria was about to go along with his words but suddenly realized what she'd just admitted to.
"'Taste'?"
"You mean…"
"Your mother was actually the first one—"
"Yes."
"…"
Artoria leaned away slightly.
"She doesn't hate it?"
"No."
"She likes it."
"…"
Sensing no trace of a lie, Artoria relaxed a little.
"So, the way you acted before… it's because you were used to it?"
"Yes."
"I see…"
Artoria rubbed the spot Ian had bitten before.
Even though he'd broken the skin, after just one day it was almost completely healed.
It seemed he didn't just have strong healing abilities himself, but could also pass them on through contact.
"So that's how it is."
"Then why did you suddenly fall from the sky that day?"
She finally asked the question that had been pressing on her heart.
Everything pointed to the fact that Ian wasn't someone ordinary.
"I was running away."
"Running away?"
"Yes."
"My mother didn't want me to experience the outside world. She thought… as long as I stayed by her side, that was enough."
Ian still remembered the look of obsession on Tiamat's face before he left.
If she had been fully conscious when he tried to leave, she probably would have stopped him on the spot.
"So…"
"You don't like your mother?"
"No."
Ian shook his head.
"Of course I like her."
"But—"
"I don't want to live my whole life at the bottom of the sea."
"So I ran away."
"…"
There were still many things that didn't make sense—like what "the sea" truly referred to, or how that connected to him falling from the sky.
But Artoria could feel the conviction in his voice.
She pulled her blanket tighter and stared at the ceiling as she responded.
"I understand."
"If that's the case, then go out and experience more of the life you want."
"I'll try to help you!"
"Eh—"
He was asleep.
He had been talking just a moment ago, and now he was fast asleep.
Artoria felt like she'd just been splashed with cold water.
But soon, she accepted the reality.
More accurately, she realized the underlying problem.
Ian didn't seem adapted to the land and rivers of Britain.
So of course he'd be tired.
Artoria sighed helplessly and closed her eyes.
But then—
The next moment, what appeared before her was a scene of devastation.
The earth was cracked and dry; the seeds sown showed no signs of growth.
The lakes had dried up. Fish, now homeless, lay motionless, turning to bone.
The malnourished Britons leaned against collapsed buildings, holding empty sacks in their hands.
Hopelessness filled their eyes. Even speaking seemed like a luxury to them.
Artoria had never seen anything like it.
Her legs went weak and she nearly collapsed to the ground.
"Where is this?"
"The future of Britain."
On a land of deathly silence, a voice echoed:
"A land without a king is destined only for ruin."
"…"
Artoria's pupils widened slightly.
If the prophecy about choosing a king had been vague before, now its importance was painfully clear.
"Is this... our future?"
"Yes,"
The voice in the dream grew clearer.
"Scary, isn't it? A future where no one has any hope."
Artoria's chest tightened.
Deep down, her kindness couldn't allow her to ignore this.
"Then... if there's a new king, won't that fix things?"
"Isn't that what everyone believes?"
"Sure. But who will be that king?"
"I don't know... but someone will rise to it!"
Artoria's voice was filled with urgency.
"There has to be someone!"
"And what if I told you that someone is you?"
"...Huh?"
Artoria froze. After confirming what she heard, she finally replied,
"I don't think I can do that…"
"You can, Artoria. You're the one most suited to be Britain's king."
Petals fluttered down from the sky.
The cracks in the earth began to mend. Seeds sprouted fresh green shoots.
The dried-up rivers were filled again with clear water. Dead fish regained their flesh and swam gracefully.
Collapsed buildings stood again—taller and stronger than before.
Bells rang.
The empty sacks in people's hands filled up with ripe, healthy grain.
"The great king—"
"The noble king—"
"The king who will save Britain—"
Voices of praise rose one after another. Joy was etched into everyone's faces.
Hope filled the air.
Then that mysterious voice returned.
"See? If you become Britain's king, everything will be better."
"Everyone needs you, Artoria."
"Go—be the hero who saves them all."
"You'd be willing to do that... wouldn't you?"
A faint, phantom hand appeared in the air—reaching toward Artoria.
"I... can save everyone?"
She whispered, her green eyes glowing with something new.
Little by little, Artoria reached out toward the hand.
Hope seemed within reach—
But just before their fingers touched, a burst of flame surged from behind her, breaking the ritual.
ROAR—!
A terrifying bellow shook everything.
A massive dragon appeared behind Artoria.