1 MONTH LATER
Arthur had barely set foot inside their home before he knew something was wrong. Cesealia was cleaning.
Not the usual tidying up—the kind of cleaning that was frantic, desperate, as if scrubbing the floors hard enough would erase whatever pain she was trying to bury.
Arthur's stomach twisted.
Elizabeth was already asleep, snuggled beneath her blankets, blissfully unaware. But as Arthur turned back toward the main room, he could hear Cesealia's uneven breaths, the quiet sniffles she was trying to hide.
He stepped forward carefully.
"Cece?"
She didn't stop.
She kept wiping the same spot on the table, over and over, her fingers gripping the rag so tightly her knuckles were white.
He tried again, gentler this time. "Cesealia,"
He moved closer, placing a hand on her back. She flinched at the touch, then—before he could even process it—she turned and collapsed against him, her body shaking with silent sobs.
He barely caught her.
"Hey, hey, what's wrong, love?" he murmured, his arms wrapping around her tightly.
Cesealia pressed her face into his chest, gripping his tunic as if she were afraid to let go. She tried to speak, but all that came out were choked, broken sounds.
Arthur's heart pounded.
Something was wrong.
His eyes flickered over to the table, where a folded cloth lay stained with red.
No. No. No.
His grip tightened, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Ceseelia," he breathed, forcing himself to remain calm.
She shook her head.
Arthur cupped her face, tilting it upward. Her eyes were red, her cheeks damp.
And then she finally said it. "I lost the baby, another one…"
Arthur stopped breathing.
For a moment, the world just—stopped.
He could hear the wind outside, the distant waves against the cliffs. He could feel the way she trembled against him, her body barely holding itself together.
But all he could focus on was those four words.
"I lost the baby."
Arthur exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against hers.
" love…" His voice cracked.
She let out a broken sob. "I was so careful, Arthur. I swear, I didn't do anything wrong, I—"
He cut her off immediately, shaking his head. "No, no, Cece. Don't do that. This isn't your fault."
Her cries grew heavier. "I wanted them. I wanted them so badly."
Arthur's chest ached.
He wanted them too.
They had only just begun planning. She and Artizea had talked about the baby shower that morning. They had laughed about baby names.
He had thought—he had believed, and now it was gone.
Arthur kissed the top of her head, pulling her closer, rocking her slightly as if it would keep her from falling apart.
She gripped him tighter.
For a long time, they just stood there.
No words.
Just grief.
Just loss.
Just love.
Cesealia had always been strong.
But this—this was something different.
Arthur had noticed it in the days following their loss. She was weak, more than grief alone could explain. She barely ate, barely had the energy to get out of bed some mornings. When she did, it took everything in her to do even the smallest tasks.
It was like something was draining her.
And Arthur knew.
He knew it wasn't just grief. It wasn't just heartbreak.
It was Excalibur.
He had ignored it at first, clinging to the hope that it was just the toll of losing the baby, that time would heal her. But time only made it worse.
One night, after tucking Elizabeth in, he went to the palace.
Straight to his mother.
Arthuria studied him carefully, sensing the tension before he even spoke.
Arthur didn't waste time.
"I need to know about Excalibur."
Her brows furrowed. "You already know about Excalibur—"
"No," Arthur interrupted. "I need to know what happens when someone unworthy touches it."
Arthuria's eyes darkened. "Arthur."
He clenched his jaw. "Please. tell me."
Arthuria exhaled slowly, studying her son carefully before stepping closer.
When she spoke, her voice was quiet.
"Excalibur does not take lightly to those who are not chosen," she said. "It will allow itself to be wielded… if the cause is just. But a wielder must be worthy. If they are not, the blade does not strike them down—but it takes. Slowly. Quietly."
His stomach twisted.
"It drains them," she continued, "Not all at once. Not even noticeably, at first. It starts as exhaustion. Weakness. A slow decline."
Arthur's fists clenched. "How do you know this ?" he asked, already dreading the answer.
She looked at him. "That's how your grandfather died."
Arthur exhaled sharply, turning away.
"Arthur."
He didn't answer.
"Who used the sword?"
He shut his eyes.
He had known. Deep down, he had known. Elizabeth's birth had taken everything from Cesealia. But the truth was—Excalibur had taken it first.
Arthuria placed a hand on his shoulder.
"What happened?" she asked softly.
Arthur's voice was barely above a whisper. "We lost the baby."
Arthuria inhaled, "I'm sorry for your loss." Her grip tightened slightly.
"She held the sword. It let her wield it. It helped her bring me back. But now…" His throat tightened. "Now it's taking her from me ."
Her expression softened.
She knew exactly what he was asking.
"What do I do?" He finally asked. "How do I fix this?"
She exhaled slowly. "There is a way."
Arthur's head snapped up. "Tell me."
She hesitated, then sighed. "It's not that simple."
"I don't care," he said immediately. "If there's a way to save her, tell me."
"If you want to save her, you have to sever the bond."
He frowned. "The bond?"
"The connection Excalibur forged with her," she explained. "When she wielded it, even for that moment, it claimed her. And now, it's draining her to sustain its power."
Arthuria's eyes darkened.
"It must have gotten worse when you came home and fused with he real Excalibur. It was fused with your essence, and then it was taken from both of you now— it's just her."
He exhaled sharply. "How do I break it?"
She hesitated again.
Arthur's patience snapped. "Mother."
She sighed.
"You have to find the sword," she said finally. "You have to find Excalibur. And destroy it "
Arthur froze.
No.
No, no, no.
It was gone. Lost beneath the waves. Arthur's heart pounded. 4 years
He had to get it back.
He had to save her.
Morning came too soon.
Arthur sat at the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing over Cesealia's frail hand. She was getting smaller by the day, and somehow, he hadn't realized it until now.
Every sharp bone beneath her once-strong skin was a reminder that he had failed her.
He clenched his jaw, forcing the guilt down.
If she had never met him, she wouldn't be sick. She wouldn't be dying.
A soft rustling pulled him from his thoughts. Tiny feet pattered against the wooden floor, and when he looked up, Elizabeth stood in the doorway, her stuffed chicken, Hope, clutched to her chest.
"Daddy," she asked, her voice quiet. "Where are you going?"
Arthur wiped at his eyes before she could see the tears. He turned to her with a small, reassuring smile.
"Hey, Liz…" He opened his arms, and she immediately ran into them, wrapping her little arms around his neck.
He inhaled deeply, pressing a kiss to her head. Breathe. Stay strong. "Daddy has to go on a trip, love."
Her tiny fingers gripped onto his tunic. "Why can't I come with you?"
Arthur exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment before pulling back to cup her cheeks. "Because I need you to take care of your Mom while I'm gone. You're the bravest girl I know, and she needs you now more than ever."
Elizabeth frowned. "But… then who's going to take care of you?"
Bless her heart.
Arthur swallowed against the lump in his throat. He didn't deserve her.
"I'll be alright," he promised.
Elizabeth buried her face into his chest, and he felt her shoulders shake as she whispered, "I don't want you to go."
Arthur shut his eyes tight. He had to go. He had to fix this. But Gods, it was killing him inside.
"I love you, Elizabeth," he murmured, pulling her even closer. "So much."
After a long moment, he set her down, stood up, and left.
Arthur boarded the King of the Seas with heavy steps, trying to force himself into captain mode.
He had a mission. He had to focus. He had to find Excalibur.
But then—"Arthur."
The voice froze him in place.
His hands curled into fists before he turned, almost afraid he had imagined it.
Standing on the dock, arms crossed and eyes unreadable, was Gilgamesh.
His father.
And beside him, leaning casually against the ship's railing with a smirk, Rhyssand.
"And your favorite brother," Rhyssand drawled lazily.
Eugene, appearing from behind him, sighed. "In-law."
Arthur blinked. "What are you doing here?"
His father stepped onto the ship, his gaze never wavering.
"What does it look like? Helping my son do the impossible."
Rhyssand clapped a hand on Arthur's shoulder, grinning. "You didn't think we'd let you have all the fun, did you?"
Arthur opened his mouth, but Eugene cut in, groaning, "Can we just go already? This ship is way too alive—" He turned green and promptly vomited over the railing.
Arthur shook his head in disbelief, a ghost of a chuckle escaping him despite everything.
How could he forget?
The Pendragons Stick together.
"Captain—?" the Second Mate started, now his First Mate.
Cesealia usually gave the orders.
"Ready the sails," he ordered, already heading to his quarters to grab his maps. "We set sail immediately."
The crew exchanged glances before scrambling into motion.
Arthur placed his hands on the wooden table, taking deep, ragged breaths.
Then he looked at the map.
The last place he saw Excalibur.
The last place he was willing to go back to, and thanks to Mandrioya, he has an exact location.
Arthur closed his eyes. Then he turned to the crew.
"Set course for the Sunken Ruins of Atlantis."