“You’ve really managed to ruffle her feathers, haven’t you?” Morgan remarked as they traversed the corridor.
“Quite the achievement, I must say. The angrier she becomes, the more delightful it will be to catch her off guard in a fight,” Burn replied, his smirk as sharp as his blade. “And let’s not forget, she seems to underestimate me.”
“But this Mahkato, I think she’s around my age,” Morgan pondered. “One might even think she possesses fighting experience comparable to warriors who had fought countless millennia.”
Burn frowned, resisting the urge to inquire just how many candles adorned her last birthday cake. Did he really want to know, though?
“Aside from that, Caliburn, can I show you something?” Morgan asked, dragging him toward the palace’s physician office. This was a level of randomness even Morgan rarely achieved.
Upon entering, the physicians stood frozen in horror. Burn recalled meeting them when Morgan fainted in the treasury during the last loop. It wasn’t exactly a flashback filled with peaceful associations.
“Hello, do you have a weight scale?” Morgan asked sweetly, flashing a smile that sent the staff into a flustered frenzy.
“Oh, yes, Your Majesty, it’s over here,” one physician sighed in relief, realizing the imperial couple was merely entertaining a casual weight check rather than a medical crisis.
In the far corner of the room stood a mechanical weight scale that looked well-loved by patients and ignored by bed rest. Morgan promptly took off her shoes and beckoned Burn to witness the scale’s dramatic dance.
As the needle flicked up, the physicians lined up beside them like soldiers on parade, bracing for whatever might come next.
“See? It’s 115 lbs now!” Morgan beamed, that smug look firmly plastered on her face. “I gained weight!”
Seeing their empress’ delight, the physicians couldn’t help but feel a surge of happiness too. They nearly broke into applause when Burn, towering behind her like a shadow, inexplicably decided to lift her breasts with his hands.
Morgan gasped—a lovely, shocked little gasp—and naturally, the scale’s needle dipped dramatically, just like everyone’s eyes now turned to. Down. Low. Why, the floor looked positively inviting today.
“6 lbs of it is just your tits,” Burn quipped, his tone dripping with indifference.
“Caliburn!” Morgan shrieked, her face flushing a hue that could rival ripe tomatoes, vividly creeping down her neck and shoulders.
Without missing a beat, Burn halted her frantic embarrassment, lifting her entirely off the ground, trying to gauge her weight in detail. “Not bad. You’re definitely heavier than when I first lifted you off that coffin.”
This was quite the progress report, wasn’t it? The physicians evaluated the scene, wondering if they’d unwittingly stumbled into the absurd drama of royal relationships—weight and all.
“But why the sudden interest in body weight?” he inquired.
The room fell into a weighty silence before the woman finally responded, her voice barely above a whisper. “So I can try to mend my reproductive organ,” Morgan admitted, a flush creeping across her cheeks. “I heard being too thin can stop menstruation…”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
At that revelation, not only did the physicians nearby gawk, but even Burn raised an eyebrow. She was serious about wanting his blood and flesh.
“And let’s not forget stress,” Burn added. “That should be your first priority. Your body will eventually catch up.”
But what was Morgan Le Fay without her special brand of stress? As if five centuries of relentless purification wasn’t a hefty enough burden.
“I also want to learn Force soon,” Morgan pressed, her determination unwavering.
“Fantastic. Now, do me a favor: actually finish your meals and stop sneaking your food onto my plate,” Burn relented, gently placing her back above her towering heels, his grip steadying her as she clumsily maneuvered into the shoe box.
“I can really learn it, right?” Morgan asked, a hint of desperation creeping into her tone.
“Of course,” Burn asserted, confidence bleeding through. “You’ll master Force magic, and your body will gradually come around, little by little. One day, you might even get pregnant.”
“...promise?” Morgan repeated, her eyes searching his, as if awaiting validation from the universe itself.
“I’ll make it happen,” Burn said. Miracle medicines were practically his side hustle. He had a treasure trove stashed away in his special storage room. “But you must have ‘intention.’ Remember how I drummed into Yvain’s head that intention is the heartbeat of Force magic?”
Morgan nodded.
“You need to intentionally learn about your body and aim for recovery,” Burn emphasized, an earnestness creeping into his voice. “Do you understand?”
The woman smiled, and he sighed.
“You want to learn about Force, and I want to learn about Vision,” Burn reminded her as he pulled her back toward the corridor. She waved cheerfully to the physicians seeing them off.
“Do you think it will be hard for me?” he asked, turning to her. “The way you explained how to manifest it is too simple. But despite my efforts, I can’t seem to grasp the concept.”
“Well, I heard,” Morgan replied, “that the more you’re accustomed to Force art, the harder it becomes to understand Vision. And guess what? Since you’ve managed to master the Force beyond anyone's wildest dreams, it’s probably going to be a Herculean task for you to manifest Vision.”
Manifesting Vision wasn’t as straightforward as flipping a switch, after all. It was not about what you aspire to become; it’s about who you were inherently designed to be.
If Force was how you saw yourself, Vision was how God viewed you. And well, God always had quite the knack for perspective, judging by the mess we humans often make of things.
It was a contrast from how Morgan changed her mind about her life, now wishing to learn and recover her body through Force by intending it. Burn needed to understand that, different from the ever-changing Force depending on one’s intention, Vision was the constant truth of one’s existence.
“There’s a theory that because God is all-knowing, God already knows our truth before ourselves. And since we are created as equals, we have the same potential. And this truth and potential is our specialty,” Morgan said.
Burn narrowed his eyes. “I don’t get it. Vision is not what God willed us to be?”
“No,” Morgan chuckled as they passed by the palace’s garden, and the late afternoon light filtered on the leaves, casting on the open corridor. She raised her hand to ‘touch’ one string of the filtered light and it started to swirl around her finger.
“Vision is the faith that you are already created as you. He’s God, after all.”
Defying logic and understanding, Vision already existed in one’s soul. Despite the equal potential it granted to all creation, it was something he couldn’t change no matter how he intended it. And he just needed to connect with it—
“All-knowing, all-powerful,” Burn muttered, reaching out to light. His finger slowed, and then stopped at the boundary beyond which events cannot affect an observer. “All-present…”
Event horizon.
“AHH!”
SLAP!
Burn returned to his senses when the pain from Morgan’s hard slap on his hand attacked his nerves. “Are you trying to destroy—Caliburn, what was that?!”
Morgan’s face was a mix of horror and amazement. “Did you just…”
The man blinked at her. “Bitch?”
Morgan slapped his mouth as she burst out laughing.
“You’re banned!” she pointed her index finger at him, shaking her head, her smile full of fear and anger. “No! You are banned from Vision art.”
“But I just manifested something,” Burn felt a surge of excitement for himself and amusement from Morgan’s reaction. His heart was beating so fast seeing his wife walk away, goosebumps all over her. He smiled in disbelief, “Madam, I just manifested something.”
“I’m fucking magic—”
“No!” Morgan yelled, seeing him chasing after her. “Don’t ‘Madam’ me.”
“Morgan, praise me. I’m a good student.”
“You almost killed us! And everyone in the world—”
“I love you.”
“Don’t ‘I love you’ me! Stop chasing me, you monster!”
“I know you love this monster’s massive di—”