In a realm of untime and unplace, where the boundaries of reality danced to a discordant tune, there floated a lone figure.

Regardless of your individual choice of reading matter, movie experience or breadth of imagination, you would doubtless recognise this figure as Merlin. Or Santa Claus. But most likely, Merlin.

He was unmistakably Merlin from the root of his long white beard to the tip of his pointy hat.

If he seemed more discombobulated than in more traditional depictions, that was probably due to the recent death of his corporeal body and the subsequent banishment of what remained of his spirit to this strange place.

I am getting too old for all this.

For someone who had just died from old age, this was a pretty solid description of his current situation.

The space that held him was a curious blend of the forgotten and the unachieved. Vague echoes of long-lost spells drifted through the air like the ghostly mutterings of a somnolent librarian. Half-formed dreams and unrealised aspirations floated past him, each a bubble of possibility, tantalisingly close yet now to be forever beyond his grasp.

He was in the place where reality came from. All realities. All the time. This was really not somewhere he should be.

It should have been impossible for a baby cultivator to so much as direct him to sit down, much lest banish him to this part of existence.

All very interesting. There is far more to Morgan than meets the eye. However, unless I can get back to her, there will not be much I can do to explore it further.

Merlin closed his eyes and sighed, feeling himself adrift in this unplace. He was not too proud to admit he'd made mistakes with Morgan. You'd have thought he'd have learned his lesson, what with dying and all.

If - no, when - he made it back, he needed a sign made: 'Sometimes you do not always know best.'

The gambit with the dragon had been foolish, the sort of 'all-in' move that should have been beneath him but to which he so often resorted. After all, how many apprentices had Vortigern's Dragon chomped down on over the years?

Ultimately, things had not worked out too poorly, and they could have been much worse. But what had been his plan in the event of history repeating itself? There were no potentials left, after all. He'd hazarded everything on being smarter than the dragon.

Reckless.

That it had worked did not make it less so. Sometimes - and it hurt him to admit it because it was one of his favourite sayings - the ends did not justify the means.

Even though he'd kept Morgan alive after she'd ingested far more Qi than she could possibly handle, he could see she'd been right to be angry with him.

He was just so focused on getting her ready for the challenges to come that he was not adequately giving her time to adjust.

He needed to remember that she too had died—and in far more traumatic circumstances than simply ageing out of existence.

It was hardly surprising, when forced into such a terrible situation, she had lost her temper. And then he had pressed buttons he should have been wise enough to know should remain untouched.

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Daughters and their fathers.

No, he could not blame her for sending him here. He just wished he had a better handle as to where 'here' was.

And some plan for how he would get back would not hurt, either.

He moved his arms around experimentally and found, with not too much effort, he could move through the nothingness.

With no real sense of up, down, left or right, that was, of course, of limited benefit. But he had always felt that acting was better than staying still, so he kicked his feet and started swimming forward.

He was in the place where the tapestries of reality intertwined with the threads of possibility. All very interesting, but how on earth Morgan had the strength to push him here, he could not conceive.

He drifted along for a few centuries (or minutes, who knew? Was time even a thing here?). The mists of the space swirled around him like spectral tendrils, whispering secrets and riddles alike. He recognised that spending too long in such a formless environment would doubtless send a lesser mortal mad.

Fortunately, he had already crossed that bridge, burned it to the ground and urinated on the ashes.

Reality would have to work much harder if it hoped to cause him any bother. In fact ...

I appear to have found myself at the nexus of all that is and might be, Merlin mused aloud. He assumed someone, something, was observing him to see what he would do. A less benign soul than I could do some severe damage here. A wise astral being would probably want me as far away from here as soon as possible.

The space swirled as if reacting to his words, and a doorway formed ahead of him.

Wise choice.

With a flourish, he extended his hand - he still had hands, right? - towards the door, his fingers suffused with an ethereal glow. The door, an archway really, its boundaries as fluid as a river's current, responded to Merlin's gesture and surged towards him.

It was not just a door, he knew. It was a gateway between the realms, a passage to domains where the fabric of reality could be reshaped. He assumed when she told him 'fuck off', Morgan had unknowingly ripped one of these doors open and pushed him through.

Within this realm of mists, the journey is not one of mere chronology but of growth. He rubbed his hand on the door frame. I am both here and everywhere at once. Imagine what I could have achieved had I found this place whilst alive.

As if in response to his words, the doorway opened, and he felt a tug from within it.

Do not worry; I will soon be on my way. I will not linger here any longer than necessary.

His form melded with the mists, and he stood for a second on the threshold between this space and the 'real' world from which he had been expelled.

Everything was telling him to step through, but he sensed there was more to this doorway than met the eye. With a significant effort, Merlin's awareness expanded, and he felt the currents of Qi surging all around him. It was as if the mists themselves were an intricate web of energy waiting to be harnessed and refined.

Merlin closed his eyes, his consciousness delving into the currents. It caused his spirit physical pain to be so close to all of this energy and to be unable to make use of it. Even disembodied as he was, whilst standing in this doorway, he felt connected to the very heart of creation, his presence resonating with the echoes of countless souls of existence.

I would have made my breakthrough if I had found this space while alive. If I'd even known it had existed, that might have been the last push I needed. He was unsure if that knowledge caused him sorrow. Sometimes it just is your time.

The mists responded to that thought, swirling with a renewed pull of intensity as if anxious to be rid of him. Each breath he took seemed to draw in the essence, infusing his very being. He was sure he felt his awareness expand, his senses heightened to perceive the energies that flowed through all things.

But no. Of course it didn't. He did not have channels of his own anymore. He no longer had Qi to cycle. He was a parasite on someone who knew no better. But I am a parasite who still has a role to play.

In this interstice between existence and ascension, Merlin sensed he could become a true conductor of cosmic energies should he abandon his final quest and leave Morgan to it. As if in response to that line of thought, the archway pulsed, its light intensifying until it was as blinding as a star at its zenith.

You want me to leave. I will not disagree.

With no further thought, Merlin stepped through the archway with purpose and poise.

He could do better. He would do better. He had a purpose. And he had Morgan.

The mists embraced him, their currents carrying him across realms uncharted and possibilities unfathomed.