“The Sword in the Stone is a very famous, and very popular amongst children, retelling of the first King’s life and his rebellion against the forces of Camelot. Even I, a man well into his years, cannot help but feel my soul burn at the thought of chivalrous adventure and a warrior’s romance. I may be an Astrologian, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a good epic.

“However, the story is not all that it seems. Of course, you have the fabled Seven Knights of the Round; the dread lord Mordred; and the esteemed Comet Ladislava, but there is one figure shrouded in mystery. They are only mentioned in brief: at the King’s highest rise, and most notably, his tragic end. What records I’ve managed to salvage only speak about them in passing references, which is quite odd. Quite odd indeed, for you would think one so intertwined with Arthur’s fate would have much more known about them. But, nothing. Not so even as to where they may have originated from. It is as if the keepers of that age were attempting to hide something—something that must never be revealed to the world.

“The name of this mysterious being is Nimue. Lady Nimue of the Lake. She was a dancer - a beauty from foreign lands whose performance was said to be as refreshing as the morning dew - and on the night of the King’s wedding ceremony, she laid upon his bed… and silenced him forever.”

- Arch Magus Faust, Ruler of the Augurium Thaumaturgy

———

The Knight

Sometimes, the Knight wonders what it would be like to dream. When it must rest, it does so in an instant: the body automates - the mind shuts down - and then it blinks. That split second of darkness is all that is needed for the world to age and for the Knight to remain timeless. In the midst of that boundary, between the waking world and the long quiet, there is nothing. So it has never understood dreams. Imagination. What exactly is it that mankind experiences? Is it the mind’s conjuration of random memories and emotional stimuli, or are they truly transported to an alternate reality? One where their fate has diverged, a possibility realized. A better life.

Aegis dreams quite often. It cannot see exactly what transpires inside his tiny little head, but at moments he experiences a wide range of feelings. When there is fear, he squeezes the Knight’s hand and cuddles close. His face then softens, as if the he of that differing world can feel its embrace from the beyond. Other times he will have a great big grin of satisfaction and wriggle restlessly around the bed.

It does not understand what can be so entertaining: Is it not terrifying, to lose control of one’s will? To be subjected to the whims of that other self? It has asked this question to many others, and every time it receives the same answer: that it is not them. Those ethereal beings may look similar, act familiarly, or talk in the same manner as them, but there is always a faint sensation of disconnect. They wake up, and the dream is over. Whether it be a pleasant one or a nightmare, there will always be an end, so they are not frightened. To them, dreams are a form of escape from the troubles of reality.

Unfortunately, the Knight cannot partake in that escape. Perhaps things would be different if it could. If - in those long aeons of unconsciousness - it could immerse itself in a blissful illusion, would it not be so cynical towards the conflicts of man? No, it cannot say that it is truly apathetic: these days are filled with such confusing emotions. Ascalon is the source of this change, but it does not understand why. He has no power of seduction. He does not force it to do his bidding. Even though he has seen the Knight at its most vulnerable, he does not attempt to pry any further than it wishes.

Instead, he simply waits. He accompanies the Knight throughout the day, and he waits for it to open up on its own. Always patient. Always understanding. It is baffling he hasn’t yet sought to mold it into the Lorelai he so clearly loves. Are his words really true? That he would accept it no matter how its character changes from the beloved of his memory?

How idiotic. That timidness will lead to his nation’s downfall. How is a leader like him so hesitant to have distrust in others? He should have realized that something is different about me, and I would have responded in turn with a more elaborate hoax. This is how it has always been with these types—figures of authority. Paranoia clouds their thoughts. Their rule is one always subjected to uncertainty.

But he is different. He is not like a ruler at all. I do not need to even attempt to behave like Lorelai anymore for him to grant me access to his most precious possessions. This is all too simple, too convenient. I should be ecstatic about this development, so why am I overcome with infuriation instead?

In a sense, Ascalon is a bit similar to his hero: King Arthur. That man was also rather naive, but not to this extent. His philosophy was simple: treasure those who treated him well and bring swift punishment to his enemies. No matter how close he was with someone, if they showed any hints of betrayal, he would cut them down without a second thought. And then he cried. He weeped when others had forced his hand, but he still faithfully did his duty. He did not hesitate to do what was necessary for his people.

In comparison, Ascalon is strange. He is not a perfect man, but there is something about him that unites the hearts of others. Even his sister who claims to despise his very existence secretly fosters a desire to make amends. I have seen him converse with others, and there is nothing special about the way he carries himself. So how? How has he achieved what Arthur could not even after laboring so desperately?

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The more the Knight thinks, the more frustrated it becomes. If only I could dream. I would hide somewhere in a little corner of the world, and I would lose myself in the life I could never live. Awakening every few ages to slay the Comet would not be so monotonous, for I would have an eternity in-between to be happy. But I can’t. I am cursed to be trapped in a constant stream of consciousness.

The night is my only relief, a time where I may push aside my worries and stare aimlessly at the sky. Drifting, drifting. Until the sun rises once more, and I am forced to continue this never-ending facade.

Perhaps the Knight should just slay Ascalon now. It would be a shame to lose such a useful pawn, especially if it wishes to eliminate Grand General Xeros as well, but is it truly worth being subjected to this uncomfortable vexation? It already has his trust; all it needs do is entice him to the bedside and then strike him at his lowest. Simple. Quick. It can do it even now if it desires so. A brief trip to his chamber and a few honeyed words will have him yielding in an instant. Never has slaying one of the Inheritor’s been so straightforward.

But, it falters. It takes a step towards the door, and then it takes a step back. When did I become so irrational?

It sighs. No, I am better than this. I cannot be impulsive now, not when I have finally resolved to end this cycle for good. Aegis must become the one who stands above all. I know not if there shall ever be a time again where I may discover the Comet in their infancy, so if there exists a less arduous path, then I must take it. Polus shall be my vessel, and it will war against the world in my stead. I would be a fool to give it up now.

The funeral presents an opportunity, a chance for the Knight to enrapture this nation once and for all. Therein lies no better moment to sway one’s heart than when they are at their lowest, and the people of this city have already been consumed by futility. They drown themselves in drink. They revel in a ceaseless consumption of festivity and art. But it is all a distraction, a way for them to forget the worries of tomorrow. In truth, they are awaiting the end.

And yet, they still hope. They desperately search for the tiniest glimmer of light, and so they shall find it. The Knight will become their new god. But to do so, it will need a spectacle. It must ingrain its figure into the memories of all in attendance. Only one being is capable of aiding it now, and that being is Aegis.

“Come to me, Satanael,” it commands to the empty room. The Knight waits, motionless, twitching not a muscle, until eventually a floral scent begins to waft from beneath the door. A pale, golden light gently trickles forward, and the knob turns by itself to reveal the visage of a man who’s carcass resides in the castle’s keep. Only he is here now, and he is very much alive.

“It is ever a pleasure to answer your call,” Satanael says with a deep bow. “Pray, what do you wish of this humble servant?”

“First of all, I am rather curious. Do you really need to speak with such formality? I thought it part of your beguiling act, but you have yet to stop even now. It is… interesting, especially as you are not even a citizen of this nation—much less a noble.”

He chuckles and leans back with a mock gesture of astonishment. “Whatever do you mean? This is no mere act, mine Constellation. But a virtue, a way of life. It is my firm belief that a gentleman must always conduct themself with grace. It matters not if you are before an urchin from the streets or a dignitary of higher standing: Respect is paramount. How can I dare spread beauty if I am not beautiful myself?”

The Knight delivers upon him a sharp, unamused glare. “For your sake, I hope you have not obtained any more ‘seeds’ since our encounter. You have not forgotten my words, have you? The Polus must believe you dead for my accomplishment to be of worth.”

“Perish the thought! While it is a shame I cannot lead these poor, lost souls to my paradise, I understand your intentions. I really do. Rather than spiriting away a few odd souls now and then, it is much more efficient to wait until all of humanity can be reborn in one fell swoop. Worry not, I shall always adhere to your command.”

It is almost impressive how he can bend my words to fit his own narrative, but there is no need to correct him. To try and reason with a madman is a fool’s errand. I do not particularly enjoy wasting my time.

“Besides,” he continues. “Have I been naught but faithful to you since then? I followed your word and recreated the bodies of my victims. I even allowed those brutish knights to take away all my lovely blooms in the boutique. I put in quite the effort to decorate that abode, you know. The composition, the layout… all reduced to a barren, empty space. But I did it for you. Does that truly not show the depths of my loyalty? My love for you?”

His whiny voice resembles that of an abandoned pet, and yet it is not nearly as charming as he believes. To have such words be spit forth from a grown man nearing his forties is certainly a jarring experience. Still, the Knight humors him. For all his eccentricities, Satanael is a very useful tool.

“Alright, speak no more. I can see your devotion, clear; let us move on. How goes the child’s progress?”

“Aegis? He is doing just fine. No, more than that. The boy is a true prodigy, but I expected as much from the avatar of Cosmos’s Will. Rather than beckon Creation for assistance, it is as if the divinity is begging to be of use. I am truly honored to witness his growth thus far.”

“Is that so? Good, I knew your garden would serve as a suitable environment. Your training shall be essential for the day he must become independent.”

Though, perhaps I should not allow him too much time alone with the child. It would be my greatest failure if I allowed Aegis to become as twisted as this abominable artist.

Hm, on second thought, I suppose it doesn’t matter. What he does once I find eternal rest shall be his own affair. Yes, it concerns me not: Paint the Stars and humanity in blood if you so wish. My involvement lies only with making you indomitable.

“… But that is a future still far away,” it says. “My concern is with what he can do now. Will Aegis be ready for tomorrow?”

Satanael bursts out into a most pompous little cackle and waves towards the door. “Would you like to see for yourself?”