The final trial was the most perilous.
Elaine stood before a bridge of black stone that stretched over a chasm filled with writhing shadows.
The air was cold, and the sound of whispers filled her ears.
Ronan's voice echoed behind her. "This bridge will test your resolve. Each step you take will weigh on your heart. If your will falters, the shadows will claim you."
Elaine took a deep breath and stepped onto the bridge.
The first step was easy enough, but with each stride, the whispers grew louder. They weren't just meaningless sounds—they were voices she recognized.
Her father's voice, harsh and dismissive. "You're not ready for this, Elaine."
Her sister's voice, filled with pity. "You'll always be second, no matter how hard you try."
And then Ronan's voice, soft but cutting. "You will fail. You are not strong enough for this realm."
Her legs trembled, but she pushed forward, focusing on the goal ahead. "I won't let fear stop me," she muttered, each step heavier than the last.
When she finally reached the other side, the whispers ceased, and the shadows retreated. Ronan was waiting for her, his expression more open than before.
"You've done what few mortals have managed," he said quietly.
Elaine's chest heaved, but she stood tall. "Was it enough?"
Ronan studied her for a long moment before nodding. "You've earned the right to ask your questions. And perhaps, in time, the right to claim the answers you seek."
The orb pulsed, and Elaine's vision shifted. She saw her kingdom, Babylon, as if from above.
The once-fertile fields were withering, rivers drying to dusty veins, and the people struggling to survive.
A voice, deep and resonant, echoed in her mind. "The land withers because the balance is broken. Much have been, and the realm of men grows heavy with greed."
Elaine's hands clenched on the orb. "But how do I restore the balance?"
"The balance is tied to the ancient bond between the mortal and fae realms—a bond forged with trust and shattered by betrayal. To mend it, you must repair what was broken."
The vision shifted, and she saw her father, Gilgamesh, cutting down a great tree in the heart of a glowing forest. Its fall sent ripples of pain through both realms.
"My father…" she whispered. "He broke the bond."
"Not alone," the voice replied. "But his actions tipped the scale. To save your land, you must replace what was stolen "
"what was stolen?"
Then chains.
But far below them, in a cold, iron cell, Elaine sat wide awake—her mind racing, heart aching, and determination hardening.
Because now she wasn't just racing to save her brother.
She was standing in the shadows of a life that should've been hers.
The dungeon door creaked open.
Elaine blinked against the sudden light, flinching slightly as the silhouette of the fae king stepped into view.
"Apologies" he said quietly, unlocking her chains with a flick of his fingers. The bindings hissed and vanished in a shimmer of fae light.
Elaine stood, rubbing her wrists. Her gaze never left him.
" What about my brother."
The king's expression didn't change.
"You know something," she pressed, stepping closer. "You wouldn't have come alone if you didn't."
He hesitated.
Then, with a silent gesture, he turned and began walking. "Follow me."
They descended deep into the castle's foundations, stone archways narrowing as they passed torch after torch. Eventually, he opened a set of ancient doors—tall, vine-covered, and sealed in gold glyphs.
The forbidden archives.
Inside, the air was thick with time. Dust swirled like memory, and massive tomes rested in alcoves made of living root and stone.
He led her to a pedestal at the center, where a blackened book waited, humming softly with old, dangerous magic.
"This," he said, "is what I couldn't show you when we were kids."
He opened the book.
And spoke.
"Your mother… and Morgonna… were not always enemies.
Once, they were sisters in arms—magically bound. But Morgonna's thirst for power grew out of control. She uncovered a spell meant to unravel kingdoms—meant for your mother."
Elaine's breath caught. "What…?"
"Gilgamesh came to stop her. He killed our king—his blade struck down the monarch who had sworn to aid Morgonna. He saved your mother from a fate worse than death."
The king looked down.
"After that, the realm needed leadership. The previous king had no heirs… and I was the strongest fae alive. So I was chosen."
Elaine's voice was barely a whisper. "And you couldn't come back."
"I wasn't allowed to. Bound by crown, by law, and by grief."
She swallowed hard. "And Morgonna?"
"I banished her," he said, a shadow crossing his face. "But not before she helped bring Mordred into being. It was the previous king's dying vow—that the child of destruction be born. I was too weak to stop it. She fled, but her spell took time to mature. Years passed. Then…"
He paused.
"Your brother came."
Elaine's blood froze.
"He came seeking knowledge. Power. Help to stop what he feared was coming. And I… I turned him away. Just like Morgonna. I thought it was another trap. I thought—I was protecting the realm."
Elaine's voice shook. "He didn't come back home."
The fae king's eyes lowered. "Then he must've found her."
A beat of silence.
"You led him straight to her," Elaine whispered.
She turned.
Started walking toward the exit, the pain radiating off her like wildfire.
"Elaine—" he called after her. "Where are you going."
She didn't stop.
The flickering candlelight danced across a sprawling hand-drawn map as Elaine dragged her charcoal across the parchment, the outline of the Deep Forest taking shape beneath her fingertips.
Fae glyphs marked the boundary lines—wards, traps, and cursed roots.
Her brother was out there somewhere.
She barely looked up when Ronan's voice came from the doorway.
"Elaine Pendragon."
She stilled.
"Where are you going?"
She didn't pause, not until she pressed the last symbol down with a final, frustrated flourish.
"You know," she said, rising, "sometimes I feel like when I speak, you just don't listen. Never have."
Ronan stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "That's not true."
She grabbed her satchel and slung it across her shoulder. "Forget it."
She turned toward the door, only to nearly collide with him—he'd moved faster than she expected, standing square in her path.
"Seriously?" she said, incredulous. "You're holding me hostage now?"
"You're not going off to fight Morganna alone," Ronan snapped. "It's dangerous."
Elaine's jaw clenched. "Even if I cared enough about your opinion, I'm a Pendragon with a damn good shot. Move."
His brows furrowed, shoulders squaring.
"It's like you can't see the crown on my head," he said. "So you do and say whatever you want."
"I don't have time for this," she spat. "Get out of my way, Ronan."
She pushed past him.
"I forbid you to take another step toward that door."
Ronan's voice cracked through the twilight like thunder.
Elaine froze, her fists curling at her sides.
She turned slowly, a fire blazing in her eyes. "Ahah, you can't tell me what to do. You're not my father, Ronan."
He moved before she could react.
Grabbed her.
Spun her sharply, pressing her back against the smooth crystal wall of the corridor.
Their faces were inches apart.
Magic sparked between them like lightning caught in a storm.
Elaine's breath hitched. "Let me go"
"You don't get to tell me what to do," Ronan growled, his hand braced beside her head, his jaw clenched tight.
Her eyes narrowed. "Does your fiancée know you touch other women like this?"
His voice was a low snarl. "It's called discipline."
Elaine laughed—sharp and bitter. "And what, pray tell, have I done to deserve it?"
His stare turned wild. "What haven't you done?"
Silence.
The kind that ripples under your skin, aching to be broken.
Then Ronan's voice dropped—raw, ruined.
"We're realms apart, and I see you everywhere."
His hand curled against the wall. "I hear your voice in the wind. I smell your scent on my sheets."
His breath hitched, just once.
"When I should be fucking my fiancée, all I see is you."
Elaine's breath caught.
Time stopped. Even the walls seemed to hold their breath.
She stared at him—really saw him—for the first time since they were children.
And in his eyes, there was no crown. No throne. Just a boy still haunted by the girl he lost.
And maybe…
Just maybe…
He never stopped waiting.
But it was too late.
"I waited for you."
But he steps closer, his voice cracking with the weight of what he's about to say.
" Leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done."
She turns sharply, her eyes blazing with anger and pain.
"Hard for you? Every month, I went to that forest. Every time, I thought—'Maybe this time he'll come.' But you didn't. You disappeared without a word, as if I meant nothing."
His expression crumples at her words, the guilt he's carried for years now laid bare.
Neither of them moved. Then both of them did. Her hands reached for him at the same moment his found her waist—and just like that, the years of silence shattered. Their lips met in a kiss that tasted like old wounds, stolen time, and something that had never stopped burning.
"You meant everything to me, Elaine. You still —I never stopped caring for you,."
She backed away from his touch .
"If you did you wouldn't have turn away my brother ."
"I had no choice.."
"Yes you did "
The room was still.
Gilgamesh stood alone in the old armory, the torchlight flickering across rows of polished weapons and relics of battles long past.
Dust had begun to settle on some of them, but not on the golden armor that stood mounted before him.
His armor.
The last he ever wore into war—the one he hadn't touched since the day he married Arturia and laid down his sword in the name of peace.
He stared at it for a long time. The pauldrons, etched with dragon runes.
The breastplate, forged with the insignia of the ancient kings. It still gleamed with reverence… and restraint.
He didn't move to touch it.
Not yet.
Behind him, quiet footsteps. Then a familiar voice.
"I hope you can forgive me for my poor judgment."
Gilgamesh didn't turn. "She's not a child anymore," he said. "None of them are."
Rhysand stepped beside him, gaze settling on the armor too.
Gil continued, voice quiet. "I raised my children to look after each other. I knew the day would come when I'd have to let go of the sword. But… someone has to say no. Someone has to be the one who bears the weight."
He turned to Rhysand, studying him—not as the king, but as a father.
As a man.
"I'm entrusting this family to you now," he said. "To govern. To protect. Whether they want it or not."
Rhysand's throat tightened, but he forced a smile. "You speak as if you're not going to be here for the next three generations."
Gil's eyes softened. "Everyone dies, Rhysand. You don't need to candy coat it. I've made my peace with it."
A beat.
Then, together, they looked toward the armor again.
Gil reached forward—and this time, his hand didn't stop.
His fingers grazed the golden surface, and the weight of a thousand memories returned in a heartbeat.
Rhysand nodded, solemn. "To war, then.
His voice was steady."To war."