[Location: Camelot – Lower Hall, Morning]
The great hall buzzed with tension. Servants moved faster than usual, eyes lowered, voices hushed. The clinking of armor echoed as knights gathered near the steps leading to the throne. Uther Pendragon's shadow fell long across the chamber as he rose from his seat.
"Another druid encampment found near the forest," one knight reported. "They claim to have seen strangers practicing magic near the stones."
The King's expression hardened. "Then we'll root them out. Burn the camp if you must."
Ren stood toward the back, half-hidden among the gathered servants. His hood was drawn low, but even that couldn't disguise the faint hum of mana he worked so hard to keep contained. Every time the word "magic" left Uther's mouth, he felt a quiet pulse from the amulet around his neck — a precaution Gaius had given him to mask his energy signature.
Across the hall, Merlin met Ren's eyes briefly, his face tight with unease.
"Careful," Merlin murmured later as they slipped out through the side corridor. "The King's been restless for days. He's seeing magic in every shadow."
Ren nodded. "I noticed. He keeps looking at me like he's trying to remember something that's just out of reach."
"That's because you don't quite fit," Merlin replied. "Even the air feels strange when you're near. If I can sense it, Uther's court magician definitely can."
Ren frowned. "So I'm the foreigner that makes everyone nervous."
Merlin's tone softened. "You're not the first. But the others didn't last long."
[Location: Gaius's Chambers – Afternoon]
The workshop smelled of herbs and smoke. Scrolls were scattered over the table, most of them detailing ailments, but a few marked with faint runes.
Gaius leaned against the counter as Ren explained what had happened in the hall. When he finished, the old physician let out a long sigh.
"Uther's fear of magic is not just superstition," Gaius said quietly. "He's seen what it can do — what it's cost him. That fear keeps Camelot from tearing itself apart. But it also blinds him."
Ren crossed his arms. "And people die because of it."
"Many have," Gaius admitted. "That's why you must stay hidden. You've drawn attention already, more than you realize. Morgana has asked questions about you. Even Arthur mentioned seeing you in the lower wards."
Ren tensed. "Morgana?"
Gaius nodded, his tone unreadable. "She has an… unusual sense for such things. You'd do well not to give her reason to dig deeper."
Ren didn't answer, but the thought stayed with him long after he left the room.
[Location: Castle Gardens – Evening]
The fading light caught the red in Morgana's cloak as she walked among the hedges, her expression calm but distant. Gwen trailed behind her, carrying a basket of herbs.
"Is something wrong, my lady?" Gwen asked softly.
Morgana paused. "There's something in the air lately. I can feel it — like a heartbeat that doesn't belong to this place."
Her gaze shifted toward the lower wall, where she'd seen Ren speaking to Merlin days ago. She didn't know who he was exactly, only that his presence tugged at the edge of her senses — faint, like a whisper just out of hearing range.
"Keep this to yourself, Gwen," Morgana said, turning away. "Whatever's coming… I'd rather not be caught unprepared."
[Location: Druid Encampment – Outer Clearing, Night]
The forest was alive with quiet movement. Aglain stood by the fire as Ren practiced forming energy into a stable projection. Sparks flickered, dancing between his palms. His control had improved since their first session, but the strain was visible — his arms trembled as if resisting some unseen current.
"Enough," Aglain said at last. "You're bleeding energy again."
Ren exhaled sharply and let the spell dissolve. The glow faded into the mist. "I thought I had it this time."
"You do — for a moment," Aglain said. "But your mana isn't native to this world. It adapts, but it resists alignment. Every time you use it, you risk tearing the balance."
Ren wiped his brow. "So I'm the magical equivalent of a bad import."
Aglain's mouth twitched. "More like a storm that doesn't belong in this sky."
Ren chuckled faintly, then fell silent. His gaze drifted toward the horizon — toward Camelot's distant lights. "How long before they come looking?"
"They already are," Aglain said. "Your presence ripples through the ley lines. Uther's magicians will sense it soon — and when they do, they'll assume the druids harbor a new weapon."
Ren clenched his fists. "I didn't come here to start a war."
"Intent matters little to kings," Aglain said quietly. "They see power, they fear it — or they covet it. Both are dangerous."
[Location: Camelot – Morgana's Chambers, Late Night]
Morgana sat by the window, unable to sleep. The moonlight cast silver lines across her table, illuminating an old book half-hidden under a cloth.
Inside were sketches — runes, ancient circles, fragments of a language she didn't understand but couldn't ignore.
She closed her eyes. The vision from her dreams replayed — a flash of light in the forest, a voice like thunder whispering her name. And standing at the center, a figure surrounded by blue energy.
It was Ren.
She shivered, unsure whether the feeling that followed was fear or curiosity.
[Location: Druid Encampment – Forest Edge, Pre-Dawn]
Ren stood outside the camp, watching mist roll across the fields. The world felt quiet, but the silence wasn't peace — it was the kind before a storm.
He reached out, letting a faint pulse of mana flow through his hand. The energy shimmered, stable for only a second before flickering again. He sighed and let it fade.
In the distance, the first rays of dawn brushed over Camelot's walls.
Merlin's warning echoed in his mind: You don't quite fit here.
Ren looked down at his trembling hand and whispered, "Then maybe it's time I learned where I do."
[Author's Note]
This chapter sets up the next arc of tension and fallout in Camelot. Uther's paranoia grows, Morgana's curiosity deepens, and Ren's unstable energy begins drawing attention from every corner of the kingdom. The next chapters (32–35) will escalate toward the inevitable confrontation — where the world itself starts rejecting him