“Caliburn Soulnon Pendragon!”

The painting was almost a carbon copy of Morgan, as seen through Burn's eyes, right before she cried his name. Evidently, this was the most indelible image he could conjure up of her.

And now, confronted with a painted echo of herself, Morgan couldn't help but wonder what had been coursing through her mind in that frozen moment.

"You had the power to kill him," Morgan mused under her breath, "Yet, you chose not to."

After everything that happened, Morgan had made the decision not to forsake the world—or him. For if she had, she would be bereft of any purpose in this world.

Yvain was no more, and the world had lost its luster, especially after what happened that day...

As the memory of the sky tearing open invaded her thoughts, Morgan clenched her eyes shut. Her face riddled with sorrow and rage.

But…

"You have seen with your own two eyes what the world will be three years in the future," Morgan sighed, lifting her head to face the painting again. "The world Caliburn created."

Morgan today had seen it too, as she read through Burn’s mind. The world after he took it over was…

Not bad.

"You didn't kill him because you had seen it from your own perspective, and then watched him finish it all by himself?" she asked.

The man standing alone on that battlefield that day, after defeating and killing everything in sight, painted as the ultimate villain of every soul’s life…

Was lonely.

Even though what he did—every single thing, was… necessary?

"You stood in front of him, with hatred seething in your heart, yet you saw how he would fix this world," Morgan murmured. "And you sent him back to me to help him perfect it."

A man stained with sin, and she baptized him anew. Simply because she could, and out of sheer spite.

Morgan suddenly smiled, crossed her arms and cocked her head sideway. “Ck, ck,” she hummed, “I’m proud of the shit I do.”

But most importantly…

In the future, on that same battlefield, wouldn't it be a hoot if she could spot them huddled around that lonely man?

On that battlefield, where the only color in the palette seemed to be shades of carnage—it'd be just peachy if he was grinning arrogantly like he was always, and not a soul would call him a villain.

Morgan chuckled, "...even though he might deserve it."

To be called a villain.

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Suddenly, Morgan felt the urge to return to the banquet hall and chat with him again. She couldn't deny how much fun she had discussing seemingly mundane things with him.

Not that the White Dwarf and the future of the war were mundane, but... she giggled again.

Wait a minute.

She had lost her veil, hadn't she?

Immediately, she stopped. Her awkward pose, stopping mid-step as she sighed helplessly, looked quite silly, but in no way did it diminish her beauty.

She scratched the back of her head. “He did tell me that I am too distracting…”

The dress and the veil had been prepared by Galahad because she couldn't access her own treasures yet, and her personal belongings were gone at some point.

"Hmm, I didn't even get to drink anything," she murmured. But then, she shrugged. "Oh, well…"

She turned in the opposite direction and raised her hand as if holding a wine glass. "Well, a toast to myself, for saving the people of Edensor and Elysian from Burn the Villain."

Though most of the unlucky ones ended up as slaves…

On that thought, Morgan lowered her imaginary glass, wearing a weary smile. But at least, they were alive! Haha…

As she ambled down the grand corridor, Morgan considered retreating to the solace of her room.

The ornate, towering doors and flickering wall sconces cast a hypnotic dance of shadows that guided her path. The banquet's past echoes were now replaced with a hushed silence, wrapping the castle in a comforting blanket of tranquility.

Just as the thought of her cozy room began to lure her, something curious caught her eye near Burn's chamber.

She decided to indulge her curiosity, pressing her boot lightly against the room's slightly ajar door. The room was dim, save for the moonlight that filtered in through the window—and her face morphed from casual curiosity to shock in an instant.

***

Burn decided to grace the party with his fleeting presence, offering up a toast to his loyal men. It was a strategic move, really. A sprinkle of charisma here, a dash of camaraderie there, and voila—he'd successfully stoked the embers of their loyalty, all while ensuring they didn't feel like neglected houseplants.

He surveyed the room, his gaze falling on each of his knights in turn. Even Yvain seemed to be relishing his moment, drinking his own orange juice on the table in front of him. Nothing was out of order when it hit him. Morgan was yet to return.

Perhaps that was for the best.

Even with her face entirely hidden and modestly dressed, her striking presence was undeniable. Amid the lively music, carefree laughter, and grand pomp of the party, her voice remained distinct, melodious, and smooth.

The way she carried her words was impeccably graceful, even when she spouted words like 'bollocks' or 'fuck', or her casual exit line, "I'mma dip."

"Pfft," Burn masked his laughter with a sip of his wine.

He pulled his wine glass away from his face, his thoughts turning to the fact that she hadn't even had a drink yet. Burn raised his eyebrows, but shrugged it off just like that. Maybe she—

Oh.

That's when he spotted the noblewoman who had been accompanying him, reappearing in the hall carrying a cloth awfully similar to Morgan's veil.

Burn strolled back to his former seat, pouring himself another glass of wine. As the noblewoman cheerfully settled back down beside him, the cloth was nowhere to be seen. It could've been discarded somewhere on the dance floor between the entrance and his seat.

Morgan didn't return because of him.

Even when she stood there merely sipping her tea, she would divert the attention of the men delivering reports for him. Even when she sat there simply admiring the flowers, the servants and the gardener would gather and watch her from a distance, abandoning their duties.

She was a fucking nuisance. And the worst part was, it wasn't even her fault.

Now, with her veil snatched away, she might have opted to retreat to her room instead of returning here. He should have appointed someone who could provide her with a replacement veil in such situations.

"A maid... no, a lady in waiting would be more suitable," Burn muttered.

Marissa raised her eyebrows at Burn's sudden, unprompted words. "...For what, Your Majesty?"

"For our little Miss Momo," Burn sneered. She wasn't even capable of finding a new veil herself. Not that Burn would want her to wear a tablecloth on her face.

As he teased Marissa's chin, pulling her closer and delighting in her puzzled response, he hummed. His voice was low, dark, and thick like black honey, "You are perfect. From now on, you will be her servant."