She wore a crimson dress, riding side-saddle atop a sleek mare as she slowly wove her way through the beechwood grove. The sunlight filtering through the leaves made her silver-white hair and pale skin glow, almost translucent, like a gossamer veil drifting through the mortal world. She tilted her head up, dewdrops clinging to her long lashes, glistening in the morning light as if she were immersed in the delicate symphony of newly sprouted leaves. She was a flame flickering amidst the emerald shadows, gliding through the fallen foliage.
Scattered solitary trees dotted the grassy clearing, while heather and rock roses lined the edges of the untamed forest. Maple and fir trees stood alone along the Thames, a verdant oasis amid the bustling riverbanks. For 152 years, no footsteps had disturbed these once-abandoned woodland paths.
The mare carefully stepped over clusters of calcareous moss and Mediterranean shrubs before stopping in front of Solomon. Jeanne gazed down at the magus, bathed in a soft, hazy light, as if she had carried the morning sun into the shadows. Without waiting for Solomon to state his purpose, she gave the reins a slight flick, and the gentle mare took a few more steps forward, treading lightly upon the black humus, as though moving in rhythm with an Aeolian mode scale.
Solomon reached up, wrapping an arm around her waist while his other hand slipped beneath her legs, effortlessly lifting her from the saddle—handling her like a delicate porcelain doll.
"I'm naming this horse," Jeanne declared, holding the reins with an air of unquestionable authority. "Ines. She's a gentle mare."
"That's your choice."
Solomon's hand lingered on her slender waist, and Jeanne had long since grown accustomed to his affectionate touch. Her other hand rested lightly atop his, their fingers brushing ever so shyly, wrapped in the luxurious black silk of her gloves. Their shared warmth floated between them like the dappled golden sunlight streaming through the leaves, projected from an ancient star 150 million kilometers away.
"Bayonetta picked a thoroughbred," Solomon remarked. "She's currently racing around the stables with Pegasus. Hopefully, that horse doesn't get too startled by the sight of enormous wings flapping beside it."
This estate had been uninhabited for over a century and a half, its buildings falling into disrepair after serving as a U.S. Air Force convalescent center during World War II. Extensive renovations were required, and while the manor itself would take ages to restore, the witches—impatient as ever—rushed to the property as soon as the stables were refurbished, eager to ride.
"She named her horse Vernier Caliper," Jeanne noted. "I'm fairly certain that wasn't to flatter your love for science."
"Don't expect me to thank you."
"It's my pleasure."
"You—!" Jeanne's pale green-gray eyes scrutinized the magus. "Normally, this is when you'd try to argue with me."
She lifted the end of her sentence in a teasing lilt, like a feather brushing against the air.
"Did Cereza whip you a bit too hard yesterday? Poor little thing… Are you here begging for a kiss?"
"You know exactly how our little game works, Jeanne," Solomon chuckled. "And you always seem eager to join in."
"Only if you want to get shot."
Jeanne withdrew her hand from his, lifted her chin, and started toward the manor's stables, tugging gently at the reins.
"What do you want to talk about?" she asked, pearl-white hair fluttering in the breeze. "You wouldn't come to me without reason."
"I already told Bayonetta," Solomon said. "I'm heading out—an outer-dimensional journey. Dangerous, but not too dangerous. The real threat isn't the bizarre magical realms but rather a certain traveling companion—a half-blood Nightmare whose pranks could drive an ordinary man insane.
"And while it's generally bad form to speak ill of one's elders, that particular elder deserves every bit of mockery he gets."
"You're going far? In the Kamar-Taj sense of far?"
"Yes." Solomon shrugged. "I suppose you could put it that way."
"When will you be back? Wait—"
She suddenly stopped, casting him a peculiar look.
"You don't actually think I'd be sad about this, do you?"
A wicked smile spread across her lips.
"I imagine Cereza understood your responsibilities when she decided to be with you. Witches aren't the sentimental type. As for me? I just happen to live under the same roof as her.
"I'll admit you're impressive in bed—Niemand kann dir das Wasser reichen—but do you honestly think this is my way of expressing feelings for you, man?"
"I assure you, I've never entertained such thoughts."
Jeanne turned forward again, strolling leisurely while lazily flicking her riding crop.
"Aren't you coming?" she asked after a moment.
"I'm quite certain Cereza is very eager to vent some emotions on you—in that special way witches do."
"And you?" Solomon smiled.
"You still want to get shot, idiot!?"
"Ready to go?"
The old man in the mustard-yellow jacket and plaid scarf bustled about excitedly, waving his hands in grand gestures. However, the two young men standing before him showed little interest in his antics.
One, the taller of the two, was murmuring an incantation over the other, who looked far less enthusiastic about the whole affair. The taller one tapped the sword at his waist, offering silent reassurance, and the anxious young man relaxed—if only slightly.
No one quite understood why this damned old man insisted on such elaborate theatrics, but everyone knew that Merlin had his own agenda. Even the Supreme Sorcerer had accepted it—because Merlin's students were never weak.
He was the greatest teacher in history.
Some lessons were simply better taught under his guidance—to prepare these two young men for the burden of humanity's fate.
Solomon was already well on his way.
In Merlin's eyes, he was destined to bear all the suffering, to fulfill his eternal duty. He had accepted this cruel mission, forging ahead without hesitation.
He was the most perfect tool Kamar-Taj had created in millennia.
Dave, however, still needed training.
In the grim and brutal future, his strength and wisdom would need to rival Solomon's. He had to endure the harshest trials in N'Garai, safeguarding the Earth Mother's seal. Only then would he truly inherit the core teachings of the Merlinian Order and rise as its High Priest.
It was a long, arduous journey—even the Ancient One's magic could only mitigate some of the time discrepancy.
Separation was the cruelest part of it all.
Especially for someone as young as Dave.
This was Merlin's test.
The destiny he had inherited upon taking the ring.
It was harsh—but it was the duty of a Merlinian heir.
No one could escape their responsibility.
Not even Veronica's protests could change that.
She had tried to confront Merlin, but the slippery half-Nightmare had avoided her at every turn—until the day of departure finally arrived.
"Don't be sad, little Dave!" Merlin beamed, showing no shame over the predicament he had placed the boy in.
"We'll stop by Xandar for some food before heading off!"
With infuriating familiarity, he threw an arm around Dave's shoulder and dragged him toward Kamar-Taj's permanent portal.
"You'll have such a great story to tell when you come back! Imagine how many girls will love hearing about your alien adventures!"
Dave cared about none of that.
He only wanted to know if the Supreme Sorcerer's spell would actually work.
Meanwhile, Solomon had already arranged for the Eternal City to run smoothly in his absence.
He wasted no time, took only what was necessary—
And stepped through the portal first.
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