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The wind continued to howl through the corridors of the dungeon, carrying with it the stench of blood and death; she marched through the carnage with an expression of detached indifference, her visage remained hidden beneath the metallic sheen of her helmet—a mask concealing the emotions that had once been long forgotten. Her fingers, gloved in ice-cold steel, clung to the pommel of her hallowed blade — an instrument of war that had yet to taste the crimson life force pooling beneath her feet.

There was no hint of remorse in her eyes, no trace of empathy left in her heart. She was a vessel — drained of human value and reason — her purpose reduced to a single, relentless goal... or at least, that's how it should've been.

'... yes. I have committed a sin... a completely foolish, and incomprehensible sin.'

With a languid gesture, she conjured another tempestuous squall, a furious gale that tore through the forsaken passages, carrying with it the tormented wails of the fallen. They perished in a chorus of agony, their desperate cries unheeded by the relentless harbinger of their doom — a stalwart figure moving amidst the chaos, her steps measured, her intentions clear. The dungeon, a wretched abyss, bore witness to her solemn march; every footfall reverberated like a mournful funeral dirge, the sound echoing through the very marrow of the earth.

A small, yet warm ember stokes within the depths of her unfeeling heart. It was a place where there was no joy nor satisfaction, only a cold, unyielding determination to fulfill her purpose — a purpose devoid of honor and stripped of glory...

'In order to make up for that sin, I looked for you...'

Once more, the wretched spawn of darkness clawed forth from the abyss — twisted monstrosities driven by mindless hunger for her demise. She disposed of them with the same ruthless efficiency, the howling tempest becoming an extension of her unyielding will — a lethal zephyr that carved its way through their chalk-white frames, leaving behind only a void of silence in the wake of their demise. Their hollow eye sockets stared into nothingness as they crumbled, their futile resistance extinguished like fragile candles snuffed out by a relentless gust.

'This whole time, as if trying to find an invisible shadow...'

Memories, once buried beneath layers of indifference, resurfaced like ghosts in the night. She remembered their faces — the faces of the condemned who had been vanquished as a result of her actions. Their mournful lamentation, their tearful supplications for mercy; in the end, they had all been sacrificed in the name of what she had believed to be the greater good... a parade of innocents whose pleas had fallen on deaf ears — a macabre masquerade orchestrated by her very own hands.

The weight of their deaths rested heavily upon her shoulders, a burden that she could never hope to escape from. It was a heavy yoke; each step she took akin to a journey through the abyss of her own guilt — a spiral staircase that led into the darkest recesses of her soul. Yet even so...

'I... I have the duty to stop you!'

The echoes of their cries, the haunting specters of her past... they resonated with the flicker of humanity that had been re-ignited within her depths — a symphony of sorrow and despair that refused to be silenced. Her emotions, once locked away in a distant vault, stirred from their slumber — a dormant tempest threatening to consume her yet again; glimmers of something long-forgotten danced behind her cold, steely gaze, like feeble lights in the midst of an all-encompassing, stygian void.

'I am Bedivere! A Knight of the Round Table!'

No matter how much she had tried to deny it, the 'Holy Selection' had been nothing more than a farce — a grandiose euphemism for a massacre; it was a bloody, senseless act of violence that had ultimately achieved nothing... for each life snuffed out in the name of preservation had been a drop of crimson in an ocean of desolation.

'As someone who is righteous, I must strike you down! For you are evil !'

In the end, it had all been a grotesque charade — created in the name of an ideal; it was a fool's errand that had brought naught but suffering... and she stood as the most responsible of them all.

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The room was bathed in a soft, melancholic light, the gentle raindrops pelting against the glass panes in a delicate symphony of nature's sorrow. She sat at a wooden table by the window, her silhouette a portrait of elegance and poise amidst the muted ambiance; dust motes danced lazily in the dim light, creating a fleeting illusion of scattered stars against the canvas of the room. Her lime-green eyes, once devoid of emotion, now held within them a faint spark of curiosity as she observed the figures scurrying down below — they moved with purpose, their lives a tapestry of mundane struggles in a world far removed from her own.

In her delicate hands, she cradled a porcelain teacup, the steam from the fragrant brew curling upward in sinuous wisps. Her tall and curvaceous figure continued to exude an aura of authority even as she lifted the cup to her lips — a charisma that surpassed even the most revered of kings. The warmth spread through her like a gentle caress as she took a small sip, her long, blonde hair — tied in a bun — revealed the graceful curve of her neck.

A long red skirt — adorned with subtle golden highlights — flowed elegantly down her legs, while her black and white shirt — immaculately pressed — hinted at a sense of formality that was as much a part of her as the air she breathed. A green tie rested in perfect symmetry beneath the collar, its intricate details adding a touch of color to the otherwise monochromatic ensemble; her brown knee-length leather boots — polished to a gleaming shine — hinted at the ever-present readiness for action beneath her composed exterior.

'How quaint...' The woman allowed herself a silent, contemplative thought as the soft chime of the doorbell reached her ears.

She had been aware of their arrival, of course; her senses — honed through countless battles and trials — had detected their approach long before they had reached the door...

The tea, a comforting blend of herbs and spices, flowed smoothly over her tongue, coaxing a slight upward curve at the corners of her lips — a mere suggestion of a smile, an acknowledgment of the triviality of the situation. Her eyes remained focused on the streets, watching as the world unfolded before her; the two individuals that had entered the house were given no more attention than the rain tapping on the windowpane — their presence an expected yet ultimately inconsequential interruption in the rhythm of her thoughts.

She knew precisely who stood behind that door, and what purpose that had brought them here. There was little need to turn her gaze away even as the door to the room creaked open, revealing the figure who had once been her mentor — a mage of unprecedented power that had ultimately became one of her closest advisors, his wisdom invaluable to the ruling of her Kingdom.

"Ah, to think that the heavens would choose to shed its tears," the man exclaimed with a theatrical sigh as he entered the room, his voice filled with mock exasperation; his modest robe — woven with the finest fabrics — flowed down his lithe frame like a waterfall of silk, his long white hair appearing with a kaleidoscope of colors under the subdued sunlight that filtered through the rain-drenched window. "Truly, what a sad plight we find ourself in today." he began to approach the table where she sat, his voice taking on a more melodramatic tone as the scent of fresh flowers mingled with the aroma of the tea — a peculiar contrast that seemed to mirror the complexities of their relationship. "Don't you agree, my King?"

"..." She offered him nothing more than a sidelong glance, her eyes locking onto his with an unspoken understanding as he took a seat; the man leaned back comfortably, his robe settling around him like a regal mantle — a sly grin played at the corners of his lips as he began to pour himself a drink.

There was no need for pleasantries or false courtesies between them; their bond had long since transcended the need for such trivialities. Instead, she chose to respond with a subtle arch of her perfectly sculpted eyebrow — a gesture that conveyed both amusement and acknowledgment — before she returned her gaze back to the outside world.

The other individual — smaller and much less whimsical — was a creature of peculiar charm — a squirrel-like entity that scampered into the room with boundless energy. He proceeded to run around with a flurry of tiny paws, his fluffy tail bobbing with each joyful leap; his thick white fur — kissed by a hint of blue at the tips of his ears — looks almost radiant against the dimly lit room.

"Fouu~!" The creature exclaimed in his peculiar, high-pitched voice as he rushed towards her; with surprising agility, he leaped onto her shoulder, declaring his right over his newfound perch by smacking one paw against her cheek. "Fou fou fou! Fouuu~!"

"... behave thyself, Cath Palug," she spoke in a calm, and measured tone, her voice carrying a tranquil authority as her eyes remained fixed on the rain-soaked streets beyond. "Tis unbecoming for one such as thee to act in such a manner..."

The fluffy creature, undeterred by her words, continued to frolic on her shoulder — his soft fur tickling her cheek, determined to capture her attention. With a few more playful leaps and joyful 'Fou~s', he hopped from her shoulder and to her head, his tiny paws barely leaving a trace against her golden hair.

She paid the disturbances no mind, her placidity unwavering. Her fingers — gloved in fine silk — delicately placed the teacup back in its saucer with an almost absentminded grace. It was only when the Cath Palug jumped and attempted to steal a small pastry from a nearby plate that she finally acted. In a movement so fluid it seemed almost choreographed, she calmly set her cup down and reached out — her hand capturing the small, fluffy creature with a gentle yet firm touch.

"Thou art quite a handful one, art thee not?" The woman admonished, her tone carrying with it a certain tranquility as she held the creature's scarf delicately between her fingers; she proceeded to lift the little beast from the table with a grace that mirrored her every movement, cradling him in her arm before placing him on her lap. "It would be to thy best interest to refrain from engaging in such mischief."

"Fou~?"

The small creature squirmed for a moment, his curiosity remained unabated for but a few seconds longer; he settled into his place, his fluffy tail twitching with uncertainty as she began to stroke at his thick, white fur — her touch as tender as the first rays of dawn. His eyes, a deep shade of purple, reflected a mixture of curiosity and contentment as he began to nestle comfortably in her lap; his stubby claws retracted, and his playful demeanor gradually subsided under the gentle sway of her soothing caress.

"Well... you two have certainly become quite the pair," her advisor commented, the melodrama in his voice giving way to a hint of genuine amusement; he took another sip of his tea — seemingly unfazed by the proceedings — his smile widening ever so slightly. "Hmm.. tastes just like the one Sir Kay used to make."

"..." She raised an eyebrow once more, her gaze flickering briefly to the mage — her face a mask of composure; the woman's lips remained sealed in silence, but the subtle arch of her brow conveyed more than enough.

"It truly reminds me of the time when the two of us used to mess up only for your brother to intervene and save the day." He continued, his eyes alight with nostalgia as he gazed at the tea in his cup, a bittersweet yet faraway look in his gaze. "Why, I recall that he once tried to impress the visiting dignitaries with yo-"

"... Merlin." She interrupted him with a calm yet decisive tone, her gaze locked onto his with an unspoken message — one that spoke of boundaries were not to be crossed; her fingers continued to stroke the now docile Cath Palug as she beheld her advisor in his entirety.

"Now, now... I merely thought it would be pleasant to reminisce about old times. Still," he placed his teacup gently on the table, a heavy sigh escaping his lips before he leaned forward, his chin resting on his hand as he met her gaze — a subtle sadness replacing the once mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "I find myself pondering a rather... inconsequential matter in our current circumstances."

"..."

It was a blatant shift in the conversation, she noted — a maneuver that the mage executed with all the grace of an inept rhetorician. She recognized the transition but did not let it show in her demeanor; her fingers moving in a rhythmic motion, a tranquil counterpoint to the brewing discussion.

"Have you..." A pause — brief and controlled — hung in the air like a delicate thread; the half-incubus' eyes bore into hers with a seriousness that was a stark departure from his usual playful act. "... have you ever considered calling forth the rest of the Round Table?"

A moment of silence stretched between them, as if the room itself held its breath in anticipation of her response — her lips parting for a fraction of a second as she contemplated the question.

The Round Table — one of the few symbols of her past, her reign, and her fall...

In this quiet interlude, her thoughts wandered inward, touching upon the memories of her comrades — loyal knights who had fought beside her... they who had shared her ideals even unto the bitter end. She remembered their faces, their camaraderie, and the honor they had upheld as Knights of the Round Table... and yet, she also remembered the pain and the sacrifices, the anguish of betrayals, the sufferings they all had to endure, and the tragedy that had befallen them... everything, because of what she had allowed herself to become.

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"... I did." Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke — her voice betraying little of the turmoil that churned within her. "... and I am... uncertain." She allowed the words to linger in the air, each syllable measured and deliberate.

"Oh?"

"... uncertain," the King repeated, as if testing the word on her lips. "Whether it would be a blessing or a curse to summon them into this world."

"... I see," Merlin leaned back in his chair, his expression a mix of understanding and resignation. "That is... unfortunate." A faint, and wistful smile bloomed on his face; it was a smile that seemed to carry the weight of their shared history — a history marked by both triumph and tragedy. "Though I would have thought that they would be quite eager to be called upon once more... to stand beside their beloved King and to champion the cause they held so dear."

"... even after everything I've done?" The words that came out of her lips were laced with a subtle undercurrent of self-reflection — a hint of vulnerability that she rarely allowed to surface; her gaze remained steady, neither seeking absolution nor offering excuses for her past actions.

"Especially after everything you've done..." He responded softly, his voice carrying a note of sincerity that cut through the subtle tension in the room.

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"... perhaps," the King paused for a moment before she let out a forlorn sigh — a mere wisp of sound that seemed to linger in the air like the remnants of a long forgotten dream. "Yet I cannot be certain if that is what they would truly desire. The weight of my sins... they are not easily forgotten, even by the most loyal of hearts."

"... do you truly believe they would forsake their loyalty to you over the mistakes of the past? Is your faith in them so lacking that you would doubt their capacity to forgive?" His words, though gentle, held a hint of reproach. "The Knights of the Round Table knew what it meant to serve under your banner... to follow your ideals, and to stand by your side. They understood the sacrifices demanded by such service." He leaned forward once again, his voice taking on a more serious tone, his eyes unwavering as he locked his gaze with hers. "Do not belittle their devotion, Artoria, for there is no doubt that they would have stood with you even in the face of your transgressions. You — of all people — should know the strength of their convictions."

She contemplated the mage's words in the stillness of the room, the sound of the rain outside serving as a backdrop to their conversation; her expression remained stoic, but there was a flicker of something deeper within her lime-green eyes — a glimmer of uncertainty that belied the composed facade she presented.

"... I do not doubt their loyalty, nor do I underestimate their capacity to forgive; it is merely a question of whether I am fit to lead them once more." She began, her voice as calm and measured as ever, her fingers momentarily halting their gentle ministration of the Cath Palug's fur. "... I have, for so long, walked a path stained with blood and regret... consumed by my own ideals, and blinded by my own sense of duty." Her words were a reflection of her turmoil — a candid admission of the doubts that had taken root within her heart; it was a blatant expression of her weakness, of her vulnerability... and yet, even now, she cannot find it within herself to care. "One would have to wonder if I can truly be the King they deserve, or if I would only lead them to further suffering."

"Even so... there was a meaning in the Lion King. Your words; not mine." He paused, the room enveloped in a profound silence, broken only by the soft patter of rain against the window. "... this is unlike you, Artoria." The mage spoke with a hint of sadness as he leaned back — a shadow of something deeper than the lighthearted facade than he often wore; his gaze remained steady, his eyes holding a rare sincerity that sought to pierce through the layers of her composure as he considered her words. "You have been given a second chance — the opportunity to write your own story, to chart a new path for yourself. Still, whether you choose to embrace it or not is a decision only you can make."

"That may be so..." She acknowledged his words with a soft, and serene smile, her lips curling just slightly as she resumed her gentle caress of the Cath Palug's fur. "Nevertheless, I am no longer the King I once was. The mistakes of my past remain, and to cast them aside without so much of a thought would be the height of foolishness — a disservice to those who had suffered because of them." The rain began to fall with an even greater intensity as she contemplated her response, her thoughts as inscrutable as the ocean's depths. "I require more time to contemplate this matter; it is not a decision to be made lightly, and I prefer not to be hasty in my judgment."

"Then I suppose there is little I could do at this moment to sway your decision." Merlin conceded with a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as he reached for his teacup once more, his demeanor returning to a more familiar air of nonchalance. "Though I would advise against dwelling too long in the shadow of your past. After all, it has been said that even the most... tarnished, of souls can find redemption if they are willing to seek it. I mean, I've seen it before, so..." He trailed off, his attention going towards the array of items laid out in the corner of the room — an assortment of relics of various kinds. "Anyway, what do you plan to do with those?"

She followed his gaze, her eyes settling on the aforementioned objects — a collection of items that held within them the weight of memories and mysteries alike. Among them, the most prominent was a sword scabbard made of gold, its surface adorned with blue enamel; it was an artifact that seemed more like a treasure meant to show dignity and nobility rather than a weapon. The fairy letters engraved on its center hinted at its otherworldly origin — a creation beyond the craftsmanship of mere mortals... and even then, there's no changing the fact that she knew the item for what it is; the presence it exuded... it was an object both familiar yet strangely foreign at the same time.

Beside it lay a broken white staff, its once-pristine form marred by the passage of time and the trials it had undoubtedly endured. The energy it emanated was akin to the staff her own trusted advisor possessed; its fractured form spoke of battles long fought and power long expended, yet there was an undeniable presence that clung to it — a lingering echo of ancient magic and the wisdom of ages past.

Her gaze shifted further down the line of relics, coming to rest upon a fragment of a black gauntlet adorned with golden accents. The object lay partially concealed beneath a silken cloth, with several intricate jewels embedded into its surface — each one a glimmering testament to the craftsmanship of its creation. It held an air of both elegance and secrecy, as if it were a relic of power and authority that had once been wielded by a figure of great significance.

And then... there was the single, plain golden ring — unassuming in appearance compared to the other relics. It sat alone, its modest design standing in stark contrast compared to the ornate scabbard, the fractured staff, and the jewel-encrusted gauntlet; the ring's surface held no intricate engravings... no dazzling gemstones... just a pure, simple band of gold...

"Well? I'm quite confident that you won't have any problem in calling them forth."

"... I was under the impression that you would not approve of their presence," she replied with a calm and measured tone, her gaze still fixed on the relics. "Especially considering the nature of the ring."

"Now, now... that is a matter of perspective." Merlin's tone took on a more whimsical note as he leaned back in his chair once more, his eyes holding a glint of mischief. "While I may have had my reservations about Solomon, it doesn't mean I didn't respect his abilities." He chuckled softly to himself, as if recalling a particularly amusing memory. "Besides, considering the world we're in, it wouldn't be fun otherwise, right?"

"... is that so?" She responded with a hint of resignation in her voice, her eyes going back towards the figure of her advisor. "Nevertheless, summoning a individual as powerful as a Servant would require am-"

"Ah, I forgot to inform you that I had converted the basement into my own little workshop... and I also prepared some bounded fields... along with a Magic Circle..." The half-incubus interrupted her with a wry grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "You know... just in case."

"... I see; should I assume that you will not be dissuaded from this endeavor?"

"Nope~"

"..." She said nothing in response, allowing a moment of silence to pass between them; her gaze shifted once more to the relics, her thoughts swirling within the quiet depths of her mind — turbulent and uncertain.

The room remained still, immersed in the soft, somber ambiance as the rain outside persisted in its melancholic symphony. She contemplated the relics before her, each one a remnant of a hero long past — they who had made their mark in the annals of history — a history that was not her own, but one that she had found herself entangled with.

Her gaze lingered on the objects as she considered the implications of summoning those powerful beings into this new world — a world that bore little resemblance to the one she had known. Once more, her thoughts turned inward, pondering the weight of her decision, the consequences it might bring, and the responsibilities that she would bear; in that quiet moment, she reflected on the significance of her choices, not just for herself, but for those who would be called forth from these relics.

There's no denying the fact that every single one of them held the potential to reshape the destiny of this world... and yet, even so, despite her own misgiving, the Lion King made her decision.

'Beyond the skies, and to the far side of the earth... may the phosphorus light of the stars shine upon them all.'