The great doors creaked open.
Arthur entered first, quiet and composed, leading the old woman forward.
Her steps were slow but sure, worn boots clicking against the marble. Candlelight flickered along the walls, casting long shadows across the pillars and the towering throne at the room's end.
Gilgamesh sat upon it, one hand curled on the lion-engraved armrest, the other pressed to his lips.
His golden eyes narrowed—not in fear, but in restraint. His presence was like a storm barely held back by a dam.
The woman halted a few steps from the dais.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty," she said, voice raspy but strong, "these knees are far too old to kneel."
Gil's jaw ticked, a muscle beneath his cheek twitching.
He raised one hand slowly and flicked his fingers outward—a silent command.
Everyone leave.
Even Arturia hesitated, but one look from her husband, and she departed without a word. Only Arthur lingered by the wall, silent and watchful.
When the room was empty, Gil leaned forward.
"I'll allow it. Speak. What do you know?"
The woman exhaled slowly. Her eyes, ancient and misted, turned reflective.
"I found her… your daughter, the Princess. She was deep in the forest, past the crossing of the Seven Oaks."
Gilgamesh's jaw clenched again. He raised a single hand and motioned toward the high window.
From behind the curtain, unseen, the silent watchers of the Council understood the signal:
Get ready.
The old woman smiled, catching the gesture as though it amused her.
"My, my… how you've grown, Your Grace."
Gil's gaze sharpened.
"You speak too familiarly."
She gave a dry chuckle.
"I suppose I do. Old age, and all that. Is that all, Your Majesty?"
There was a pause—brief, but heavy.
Gilgamesh's face faltered, if only for a heartbeat.
"Did she look… scared?"
He didn't look at the woman when he asked. His voice was lower now, as if the air might betray him.
"Or… frightened?"
The old woman smiled, then added softly:
"She looked calm. As if her mind was made up. Who am I to stop her?"
Silence hung like thick smoke.
Gil closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, as if trying to ease an ache buried deep in his chest.
Then he straightened, mask returned.
"You are dismissed. My guard will escort you to a wing of the castle. You may rest there until the end of your days."
She bowed, but only slightly.
"Your Grace is too kind… but I move with the wind."
She turned without another word and walked back the way she came, her shawl fluttering like a ghost through the vast, echoing hall.
Arthur stepped out of the shadows, watching his father closely.
" Farther—who was that woman."
Gilgamesh remained seated, silent… but his hand curled tightly on the throne.
Silent.
Across the realm The first trial took place.
in a grove of ancient trees, their bark shimmering with a metallic sheen.
In the center of the grove stood a mirror, its surface rippling like water.
Ronan had explained little.
"Step forward, and see yourself as you truly are," he'd said before vanishing into the shadows.
Elaine approached the mirror cautiously. As she looked into it, the reflection shifted. It wasn't her usual appearance staring back, but a version of herself weighed down by her insecurities and doubts.
The mirror spoke, its voice a blend of her own and something deeper.
"Do you see what you are, Princess ? A shadow in the light of your sister, a child begging for scraps of your father's attention."
Elaine's heart clenched, but she didn't look away. "I am more than their expectations," she said firmly. "I've fought to be heard, to matter. And I will prove it."
The mirror rippled again, showing her standing alone, the land behind her withering to dust.
"And if you fail? If your efforts bring ruin instead of salvation?"
Her hands trembled, but she raised her chin. "Then at least I'll have tried. At least I won't have stood idly by."
The mirror dissolved, its voice fading into the wind. When she turned, Ronan stood at the edge of the grove, watching.
"You did well," he said, his tone neutral. "Many falter at the sight of their flaws."
Elaine met his gaze. "I've lived with those doubts my whole life. The mirror didn't show me anything I didn't already know."
Ronan inclined his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Then you're ready for the next trial."
The second trial was more insidious.
Elaine found herself in a labyrinth made of shifting stone walls, the air thick with an unsettling silence.
As she wandered, memories from her past began to play out before her. Moments of joy, pain, and regret unfolded like vivid illusions.
She saw herself as a child, standing in the shadow of Artizea as their father praised her sister's magical prowess. She felt the sting of her own inadequacy all over again.
Then the scene shifted, and she saw her mother, Arturia, teaching her to ride in the meadows outside Babylon. The warmth of her mother's laughter filled the air, but it was fleeting, disappearing as quickly as it came.
At the heart of the labyrinth, Elaine found a version of herself, seated on a throne of thorns.
This version of her looked weary and bitter, the weight of her crown pulling her shoulders low.
"Do you see, Elaine? This is your destiny," the illusion said. "A crown that will bring you nothing but pain. Turn back now, and you might still find peace."
Elaine clenched her fists. "Peace is not what I seek. I want to save my people. I want to fight for a future worth living."
The illusion smirked. "Then fight, but know this: every choice you make will demand a sacrifice. Are you ready to bear that burden?"
"Yes," Elaine said without hesitation.
The illusion faded, and the labyrinth dissolved into mist. Ronan appeared once again, his expression unreadable.
"You walk a dangerous path," he said.
Elaine met his gaze, her voice steady. "I knew that before I came here."
Later that night, in the King's private chambers…
The Fae King entered in silence, the weight of the day bearing down on his shoulders.
The silver torches glowed low with lavender flame, casting his chambers in warmth and shadow.
And there she was.
Lying on his bed, draped in silks the color of twilight. Her gaze slid lazily to him, calm and expectant.
"My King," she purred, sitting up slightly. "You said you'd come."
He said nothing, beginning to remove his outer robe.
She watched him carefully. "You seemed… different. After the trial."
He paused, back still turned. "An old memory."
Her tone sharpened, but she masked it quickly. "The girl?"
He didn't answer.
She slid off the bed, walking barefoot across the velvet carpet, placing a gentle hand on his back. "You've known her before, haven't you?"
His body tensed.
"Yes."
Silence stretched.
"This isn't just an alliance," she murmured. "I've known you longer than most ever will. And I know the kingdom needs a queen. But if your heart is—"
"I made peace with it " he said, turning to her. "Our people need stability. Something to believe in"
She nodded slowly, but the flicker of uncertainty remained in her eyes. "Indeed they do, my King."
They stood in quiet, the air thick with unsaid things.