Of yellow leaves and gossamer

in autumns that there were,

with morning mist and silver sun

and wind upon my hair.

********

If she could sweat, Medea would be dripping with it.

So intense was her concentration that all else faded.

She saw not the room around her. All senses were focused on her craft. One wrong move, one errant twitch, and the consequences would be disastrous. A mistake at this juncture would set her back days, to say nothing of the frustration and pain it would cause.

Success would bring glorious achievement.

Failure, utter ruin.

But she was Medea!

One of the greatest witches to ever live.

She had carved her name into bloody legend through her deeds and actions.

So with a hand that did not shake and a gaze that did not waver, she carefully slid the last piece into place. The Witch of Betrayal stepped back to admire her work.

"Finally," she whispered to herself almost reverently.

After weeks and months of toil, her masterpiece was complete.

"It is an impressive beast."

Medea, the Witch of Betrayal, one of the most significant magic users the world had ever seen, the figure of awe and terror, let out an undignified 'Eep' and tripped over herself as she fell backwards in surprise.

"The detail work on the scales is exquisite, and its eyes hold the ferocious cunning I would expect of a dragon," Artoria continued, unmindful of her friend's unexpected fall. She continued to eye the construct appraisingly. "I feel that the scale is a bit off, however."

"I couldn't keep it at a 1-to-1 frame. Otherwise, it would throw off the composition. Mikeal's body is just too large." Medea wiped herself down as she stood.

Though surprised, the witch appreciated the blonde's silence while she worked. Unlike her workshop, this room wasn't kept locked. Had the King interrupted at the wrong time, her magnum opus could have been damaged.

She really needed to practice with Haki more.

The diorama stood exactly six feet tall, a few inches taller than the King of Knights and several more than Medea herself.

It depicted a tremendous white dragon suspended in space, floating through magic. Its wings were unfurled, and it roared in triumphant ecstasy. Clutched in its claws was a great jewel.

Two figures sat atop its back, between the two great wings and nested in an opening of spikes. One was a blonde woman in armour wielding a spear. Behind her was an elfin woman with blue hair in a white dress, clutching the blonde in an embrace.

Medea stared at her creation with pride.

This sculpture would have been impossible in her original world. She never had the time she wanted to indulge in her hobbies, unlike on the Island. Not only that, the material used was frightfully indulgent.

The jewel, the size of her head, was made of a composite of gemstones and enchanted to refract light in a beautiful spectrum. It had been formed by feeding a crystal lizard all those gemstones and mana over months. It was a material never seen on earth before.

That was the least costly part, being nothing more than a shiny rock that trillionaires would fight over.

Each scale of the dragon, thousands of them, had been carved from actual drake scales.

Modern magi would have sold their heir, crest and all, to get a handful of them. Its fangs, proudly displayed as it roared, had been formed from those removed from one of the hydra's heads.

Medea had asked Scathach to carve runes on each scale and fang. Enchanted for durability, blessing, and retaliation.

Its body could stand up to one of Artoria's attacks, and should anyone touch the mouth unprepared, they would die a slow and excruciating death.

Its eyes were formed from the actual eyes of the Hellkite Drake, shrunk and repurposed. Though they possessed no unique ability, they had been enchanted to follow the path of anyone who approached, making the dragon come alive.

The figures on the creature's back, barely a few inches tall, were also made from expensive materials.

Artoria's hair was literally spun gold threads. Their clothes were made using the magic-infused silk of the spiders that had appeared on the Island. The 'space' the dragon floated in was made from cut 'darkness' Raven had provided. Every 'star' and 'galaxy' on the tapestry was woven from crystalized starlight.

Astromancers would weep at the sight of the background alone.

The materials alone would have allowed Medea to purchase a country. And not a small one, either.

Altogether, using magic long thought lost and made by some of the most extraordinary women to walk the world?

It was quite literally priceless.

"I spoke of my figure," Artoria explained as she gestured to the tiny knightess. "I do not believe them to be that prominent."

It took a moment for the witch to understand her friend's focus. Once realization came, Medea turned from the depiction of King Arthur to the actual woman and stared at her.

At her chest in specific.

"They're to scale," Medea said, her eyes not leaving the mounds that had attracted her attention like gravity. "Trust me, I was very... thorough."

"If you are sure," the blonde did not seem to notice the focused attention of her friend. Instead, she continued to look over the diorama. "And what of this figure. Who is this meant to represent?"

Not understanding what Artoria was talking about, Medea, with great effort, turned her attention to where the Lancer was pointing.

There, in the great beast's mouth, was a third figure.

Unlike the two women on the dragon's back, it had been created with little care. Dirty blonde hair, and ragged clothes made from scrapes, it could have been a handsome man had its face not been painted in a rictus of agony.

"Oh, ignore that," Medea said casually. She reached up for the little blond fop of a figure, removed it from the dragon's jaws, and tossed it over her shoulder with little fanfare. "I use it to help me focus. It always lightens my mood." As Artoria did not look convinced, the witch promptly changed the subject. "So, what did you need me for?"

"Yes, well, ah, that is...," Artoria stammered, her face flushing red at the question. She averted her gaze but managed to continue. "It has come to my attention that I have been neglectful and ignorant. I seek to rectify that at the earliest convenience. I would ask your aid with this task."

"Sure. What can I do to help?" Medea answered happily. She hoped this was going where she thought it was. Could the day get any better?

"I shall just speak the truth then." Artoria took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and looked into Medea's eyes again. "I have discovered I have romantic feelings for Sir Mikael. I do not wish to be left behind when we are free. I intend to court him with the intention to wed. I need your aid to do so."

It was all Medea could do not to squeal in joy.

As it was, she had to physically restrain herself from pupping a fist in triumph.

She settled for grinning happily.

That earnest delivery, those deep green eyes set in resolute determination. Medea felt her heart flutter at the sight but managed to squeeze out a response.

"What brought this on?" She asked instead of squealing about how cute the King looked.

"I admit, I have been fond of Sir Mikael for a while." Medea had noticed that Artoria had taken to calling the man with that respectful title since they had held that meeting weeks ago. She thought it was due to the blonde's subtle competition with Priscila. "While lesser men would have decried the injustice of his plight, he has never maltreated us. He is steadfast in his quest and has become a valiant fighter. Had he been present during my reign, I would have been proud to have him counted among my Knights of the Round."

"That is high praise." For a person to be worth joining the Round Table of legends by King Arthur themselves was a high honour. Especially if they came from the modern world. It would mean he was guaranteed a place in the Throne of Heroes. "But I meant, why the sudden romantic interest?"

"Ah," Medea noted, due to academic curiosity only, that the flush this time crept all the way to Artoria's chest. She should study this phenomenon later. For science. The King continued her explanation, unmindful of the witch's hungry gaze. "I had been talking to Diana, and she mentioned that the impetus to venture from her home island had been an encounter with a man washed on the shore. They later were romantically entangled, though not wed, and I inquired further about any current object of affection she might have. She mentioned in jest that the only options she currently had were the ten of us women and Sir Mikael."

Medea blinked at Artoria in surprise.

Did the blonde not understand that Diana meant she was interested in Mikael?

Also, did she not realize the amazon had also declared her interest in Artoria?

"That response caught my attention." Heedless, the King of Knights carried on. "I spent some time pondering the topic and why it disquieted me. I then realized that my emotions toward our summoner differed from those I held toward my knights. While I knew this, their exact nature eluded me until I remembered Sir Lancelot's poems regarding his love affairs. The desire to remain close to him. The intention to hold him in my arms. The aching pit the idea of his departure leaves in my stomach. All these and more have led me to conclude that I wish to court our summoner."

"Then why come to me?"

Not that Medea was opposed to it.

Far from it.

She would have to thank Diana later. This put her ahead by months of her initial estimation. The only unfortunate thing was that she kept her documents on the 'The Plan' in her workshop. She would have to revisit them at the earliest opportunity.

"My marriages did not end on a particularly happy note," Medea pointed out.

"I am seeking all the advice I can receive," the blonde admitted with shame creeping into her voice. "Though I feel bad to say it, especially considering the tragic result of your first marriage, I still feel your experience would be of more use than mine. Had I not been such a terrible spouse towards Guinevere, perhaps Camelot would have continued for centuries. Even then, it had been a union for politics rather than love. I have no experience with romance at all. Considering my masculine form, I am not in a position to turn down aid."

Medea stared at her friend, her eyes roaming over her form in disbelief.

Legs that carried on for miles, thick thighs held up wide hips that, in turn, supported an ass you could bounce a coin off of. Her waist was trim, her stomach lightly toned from exercise, and her breasts were the stuff goddesses were jealous of. Her long hair flowed like silken gold and framed a face that was prominent with a hint of softness. Her eyes were like emeralds glowing with golden light.

Saying nothing of her cute personality, Artoria was a figure countries would war over.

Coming from a greek, that was quite literal.

Medea laughed.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

She couldn't help but do so.

The juxtaposition of the severe mood of the knight and the humour of her last words set the witch off into a fit of giggles.

Artoria did not look amused.

"I'm sorry about that," the witch apologized, still giggling behind her hand. Artoria's eyebrow had twitched, but she showed no other response. "I simply found your last statement to be too amusing. You are a gorgeous woman Artoria. Anyone would be lucky to call you their own."

The King's annoyance was gone instantly, and her blush had returned to full force.

"I appreciate your words Medea," the blonde looked away in embarrassment. "However, I must make all efforts to convince Sir Mikael of that. Many of my knights have likened love to a battlefield. It is a battlefield I am unfamiliar with. I am severely unarmed and understaffed and would ask your aid in the coming conflict."

"Hm," Medea hummed playfully. Finger on her lips, she smiled up at the blonde. There was an opening here. "Are you aware of the other generals on the field?"

"Excuse me?" Artoria looked perplexed at her words.

"Indeed," the witch nodded sagely as if revealing the world's truth. "I cannot speak to Robin, Raven, Emma, nor Tsunade, as they keep their battle plans to themselves. Yoruichi and Scathach have already stated their war aims, however. They intend to take Mikeal to bed at their earliest convenience. Glynda, a new general in the field, has developed a crush on the target. Though inexperienced, she calls on Scathach for aid. They make a powerful coalition. Priscila has already staked a claim. Diana, despite her desires, can be swayed to our side."

"So many strong foes," Artoria whispered as she stared into the distance. Then her eyes widened, and she refocused on Medea's own. "And your intentions?"

"I, of course, remain your ally in this war." Medea smiled guilelessly up at her friend. "Not only will I help Diana come to our side, but I shall act as your leading advisor in the conflict. Together, we shall form a triumvirate and be triumphant."

Artoria's eyes shone positively with competitive joy before they calmed and were serious.

"If this leads to discord, it might be more prudent to hold off on the attempt." The blonde looked pained by the admittance but continued on. "My kingdom fell due to infighting. I do not wish my actions would again lead to such an event."

"Ah, but my king," Medea practically purred as she sidled up to her friend and crush. "That is all within my plans. I aim not for a drawn-out war but a bloodless victory."

"Is it possible to learn such tactics?" The King of knights looked so hopeful Medea almost 'squeed' at the cuteness level.

"Some may consider my tactics to be... unnatural," Medea admitted slyly. "But those are only for those too ignorant of the world. I am sure you have heard of romances between two women. Diana was not joking when she listed the other women on the Island as possible interests."

"Such a thing is possible?" Artoria's face was a deep scarlet, and she hung wide-eyed on every word.

Had she known of such things, perhaps her marriage with Guinevere would not have ended so tragically.

Luckily, Professor Medea was here to teach her.

"Not only possible but common," the witch explained. "During my time, heterosexuality was mostly the norm for procreation, and the same sexes were meant to find pleasure in each other. Without men for thousands of years, I imagine that was all Diana knew before leaving her Island. Even here, I have noted Yoruichi and Tsunade disappearing for a while for some... intimacy."

"Re-really?" Artoria gulped. Her entire body was now the colour of a beet.

"Indeed," Medea whispered. She was practically flushed against her companion. "I know Diana has taken Scathach and Yoruichi to bed on occasion. I suspect our dear Celt has also been teaching Glynda a few things on the joys of sapphic pleasure."

"How does this help us win over Sir Mikael?" Artoria asked, intrigued but staying on task.

"Why fight an enemy when we can turn them into allies?" Medea asked rhetorically. "Our victory condition is getting Mikael to be interested romantically in you, is it not? To have him take you with him once we are free?"

"It is."

"Then we shall use honourable diplomacy to negotiate with foreign powers to achieve a common purpose. Some concessions will have to be made to ensure all parties receive appropriate benefits, but such is the nature of war!" Medea said with finality as she stepped back from the Lancer.

Artoria was still flushed red, but she looked resolute and determined.

"I shall thank you in advance, Medea. With your wise counsel, I see us winning a complete victory!"

"Of course we will. But first, we must arm ourselves." The greek stepped further from the blonde. Behind her new diorama was a pair of doors that she threw open. Lined on each side were numerous articles of clothing in various styles and colours.

Coincidently, they should all fit Artoria.

"As a Caster, I should always be prepared. My armoury is at your disposal, my King."

What perfect timing.

Medea had just been thinking she needed a new project. Forget a diorama or lost magic; this would genuinely be her pinnacle achievement.

********

"Time is weird here," Mikael explained.

The pair sat atop a tower overlooking a ruined fort of sorts. The belfry commanded an excellent sea view as the full moon illuminated the couple.

Medea had been ecstatic to have such a romantic spot for their meeting.

Granted, Mikael made a point of showing the more beautiful areas of the world to all the women on the Island. She suspected that he wouldn't allow them to see the worst parts.

Still, Medea would take what she could get.

The pair had spent the last few hours talking, laughing, and (to her not-so-secret delight) bashing all the gods they knew about.

As it turned out, Mikael was philosophically an agnostic but realistically an atheist, as he put it. He did not deny the possible existence of gods, merely that humanity would be better off without them and that, if they did exist, mankind should act like they don't.

The topic had turned from Cronos and why he was an idiot to the nature of time in this world.

"It has degenerated and warped. Take this belfry, for example," Mikael explained. The way he talked about his passions enthralled her, and he was just as engaged when she spoke of magic. "No matter how long we rest here, the full moon will never rise nor fall. Other places are perpetually bright or bathed in the setting sun. It was the same in Dark Souls 1."

"Is this related to the convergence?" Medea subtly leaned closer, trying to show off her curves and make it seem accidental.

The greek hadn't known where she would be summoned, so she had gone for a catch-all outfit.

A dress that showed generous cleavage but wouldn't be out of place on an afternoon stroll. Medea had been trying to draw his attention to her curves for the last few hours with limited success.

"Maybe," he shrugged. He either didn't notice Medea's movements or pretended not to. "Things are different than they were in the games. Larger, more complicated. In the game, the degeneration of time was used as an excuse for multi-player and summoning aid. The areas didn't change because they had not been programmed to. What is natural and a byproduct of an end of a cycle is hard to differentiate."

"If time has deteriorated to the point where its natural flows are disrupted, then it would follow that space would too." Medea pointed out while casually brushing a lock of hair behind her ears. "If the cycle of destruction and repair happens enough, it would eventually collapse from a build-up of damages. As it nears the end, revolutions will happen quickly, and past events and people will overlap with present ones. If hollows do not need sustenance and lack a will, they probably would not even notice."

"Something like that happens in the third instalment," Mikael nodded. "Not only do all time periods converge, but old Lords of Cinder rise from their graves."

"You've used that term before, 'Lord of Cinder.' What qualifies one for the title?" Medea asked, trying to learn more about the worlds Mikael found himself trapped in.

If she had tried harder in the past, maybe she would have noticed his plight as an undead or the inconsistencies of the time dilation before Priscilla had sprung it on them.

"The basic requirement is to link the flame." At Medea's expression, he continued. "That essentially means defeating all who stand between you and the Kiln where the First Flame resides, absorbing their souls in the process and making your own much greater for it. There are other ways to do it than fighting, but they all boil down to having a powerful enough soul that can act as kindling for the flame to last an eon."

"Like you?" Medea asked softly.

Though her partner couldn't feel it, she nonetheless put her hand on his.

"Like me," he nodded while grimacing. A full-body shudder ran through him at the memory. "I have died a hundred different ways, none of them pleasant. The First Flame, becoming a Lord... it's something else entirely."

Mikael stared out over the moonlit sea, his gaze distant as he recounted the experience.

Medea wished she could do more than sit and listen.

"It burns not your body but your soul. The stronger the soul, the longer it lasts. It is a searing agony, torture so extensive that it drove gods mad. It goes on and on for centuries, millennia. You do not notice the time passing. You do not see the world changing. All you can feel is agony. Your body only moves instinctually because your mind is so consumed with pain. It only ends when someone comes to kill you and take your place. It drives everyone hollow eventually."

"Not you," she tried to reassure him.

"I would have," he admitted, shame filling his voice. "Had I not had out-of-context benefits from... my elements driving me forward, I would have given in like all others. I am not special in that regard. I do not even know who replaced me. I was too blinded by the pain to see. I do not think my body put up much of a fight."

"And you have to do this two more times?" Medea asked, fist clenched in anger and frustration.

She relaxed when she saw him shake his head.

"I know I won't have to in the third game," Mikael explained. "I am going to put out the Fire for good then. I hope I won't have to in this iteration, either. In these games, there are always at least two possible endings. You link the Fire and become a Lord of Cinder, or you walk away and let it fade. Even if you walk away, someone will eventually come and link it because it will never go out completely. Gwyn ensured that."

"Then why didn't you do that last time?" Medea asked hotly.

She hated seeing him in pain.

The first time she had been summoned after his fight with Gwyn, he had been a wreck of his former self.

Medea had been helpless, unable to aid him in any way. It was one of the worst experiences of her life.

"I didn't know it would work out like that," he defended. While he had recovered somewhat since, he was still far less prone to laughter and jokes than before. "The games end after you link the fires. Yes, you get burned, but it fades to black afterwards. I've been burned to death dozens of times. Once more would have been a small price to pay for freedom. On top of that, the other ending is even more ambiguous. It is just walking away. There is no explanation for what happens. It is supposed to be an 'age of darkness,' but that never happens until the third game. I couldn't take the risk that it wouldn't qualify as 'completing' the game."

"I hope you know that if I could hit you, I would." Medea took a deep breath to calm herself. "I know you do not want to die. I know you are doing the best you can. But we care about you. I care about you. Seeing you like this, throwing yourself into danger and pain while we sit on the side, drives us mad. So please, take whatever steps you need to but try and keep your deaths to a minimum."

"I'll try," he looked uncomfortable at her earnest plea.

Medea cracked a smile.

Despite his prickly sides, sarcasm, and dark humour, Mikael was weak to positive feelings directed at him.

He used his personality like a sword and shield, never letting anyone in.

Earnestness, the witch had found, would be the key to his heart.

"Good! I do have a question, though."

"Shoot," the man looked relieved at the change of subject.

"If you were conscious and 'alive' for that whole process, how come none of us were summoned?"

"I wasn't in the right frame of mind to catalogue things, you understand," the witch rolled her eyes at his sass but smiled. "I think it's based on how I learned to delay the summonings. Much like you all, I can feel a summons coming before it happens. I have to be looking for it, but it is there. It starts to build up like a well of energy ready to burst. It gives me about a day's warning at that point before any of you appear."

"It is the time dilation between places," Medea confidently said. "A few seconds on the Island is a few days here. The ratio is inconsistent except for whenever we are summoned. I have been able to measure that on our end. I think whatever is causing the summoning is doing it when the flow of time is closest. That happens when the sun is up on the Island at three-hour intervals."

"When did you figure that out?" Mikeal tilted his head in question.

"I had the data I needed within the first week," Medea waived off. "I was only missing the knowledge of how much more time passed on this end compared to the Island. If only someone hadn't lied to me about it only being a week." The greek playfully glared up at Mikael.

The man only turned to the side and whistled innocently.

"In my defence," he said with a guilty smile. "When we started, it was only a week between summonings, as far as I could tell. It is only when I consciously delay it that it roughy quintuples."

"You never finished explaining how you delay it," Medea pointed out.

"Right, so a well of energy starts to build up about a day before a summoning," Mikeal conjured a small flame in his hand as an example, slowly making it grow. "Essentially, I try and focus on not releasing that energy. It is annoying, like having gas in your stomach but no release. After about an hour, the feeling goes away, and the energy subsides."

The flame in his hand shrunk to only an ember.

"It will stay with me for the next few weeks, not making any movement, but eventually, it starts to build again. It gets to the point I cannot contain it and have to let it out."

The ember grew larger and larger, then burst with a sizzling 'pop.'

"That energy never built up while I burned," Mikeal finished, dissipating the magic.

Medea stared up at him, searching his eyes for any indication that this was another one of his pranks.

There was no humour in them.

"So," she started slowly as if talking to a child. "We are being summoned across time and space, likely through some use of the second True Magic, by a magical fart."

Mikael raised his finger to defend his point, lowering it again after a moment of thought.

"You know, I never thought of it like that. You are right." Realization seemed to dawn on him, and he smiled widely. "Are you saying my farts are the farts that will pierce the heavens? That it is the one fart to rule them all?"

Medea collapsed into a fit of giggles.

It was low-brow humour of the worst sort. Childish in the extreme.

It was such a Mikael thing to say, to make something so serious sound silly.

Medea loved it.

"You are the worst," she said between chuckles.

"I think I'm funny, and that is all that matters," he pouted at her before grinning.

"I'm glad," Medea said after her laughter died.

"Hm?"

"That you are no longer pushing us away," she explained, sliding closer to him.

Since he returned from the Kiln, he had stopped trying to shoo them away. Before, he would talk to them for a bit and then leave. While they could follow, he clearly didn't want them to.

Now, he spent time with them. Not only Medea but everyone from the Island would spend as much time with him as possible before being called back.

"I'm sorry," he winced, looking down at her. Medea hated the pain in his eyes but loved the concern they showed when they looked at her. "I'm being selfish. I just got so lonely and missed you all."

"No, continue. In fact, I wish you would go back to the three-hour interval summonings."

Mikael shook his head at her words.

"I won't. Then it would take too long on your end. As it is, you all will be trapped there for at least another month more for this game, and who knows how long for the 3rd."

"Fine, but at least take breaks. No matter how long it takes, I'll be waiting for you." She stared deep into his eyes.

He looked away.

"You know I cannot return your feelings."

He said the words softly to her.

In other circumstances, Medea would have felt hurt. She would believe it was due to her past as a witch. That she was being judged.

Medea knew Mikael enough that he meant it literally when he said he could not return her feelings.

He physically could not return her feelings.

The exact reasons continued to elude her, but she suspected it had to do with whatever Emma was still commanded not to reveal. The greek was already working on that.

More than that, Mikael had chosen her.

He had known her history, her deeds as the Witch of Betrayal. He knew that her Noble Phantasm was the one thing that threatened his Command Seals, the only means of control he possessed.

He willingly gave up on multiple forms of mind control that would have made what Aphrodite did to her seem like a child's prank.

Despite all that, he had still chosen Medea.

Is it any wonder she would feel this way?

"You can't return them for now," Medea corrected. When Mikael tried to respond, she held up her hand. "As I said, I'll be waiting. We will. I look forward to the day you can look me in the eyes and say these words to me."

She stood, opening the portal back to the Island. She looked at him as he stared at her in shock.

She needed to be blunt and earnest.

Otherwise, he would continue deflecting.

So Medea said the words that she knew to be true within the first month of the summoning.

"I love you."

Medea would deny it till her dying day, but she enjoyed leaving him speechless for once.