I watched from atop my tower as Steve Rogers left Camelot, leaving Albion and returning home, his heart filled with new doubts.
He had come here with questions, and he had asked them of both me and my people. Now, those answers weighed heavily on his mind.
He experienced what many did as they entered my lands — and what many who did not enter could never understand. The world outside liked to tell their story, spin their tale, their lies.
Yet in this world, this age, with the internet and smartphones, it was not so easy to keep people in the dark — not if they sought the light.
Despite what the media might say, what governments said, and what their propaganda proclaimed, the truth still had a way of getting out. It was no easy feat for China to keep its masses suppressed, to silence free speech. And if the rest of the world wanted to achieve the same, they would face a far greater challenge.
So yes, the truth did come out. People who visited would share it, and my people, too, were all too happy to speak up.
Steve might be the world's greatest super soldier, but he was too old to fight in the war of information that was fought online.
No — much like how he acted when suspicious aboard the flying aircraft carrier of SHIELD, he wasn't the type to sit around and wait for answers, or to trust technology to find them for him.
He was someone who trusted his own eyes, who worked best in the field — someone who got his hands dirty.
So he came here… and I admit, he was indeed different from most people.
I had met many people in my role as King of Albion. I had even met gods, such as Thor and Loki, and while everyone was different, most fit neatly into a few categories.
The first are the Fools.
They are the ones who believe in things that do not matter, who mistake rules for strength and paper decrees for order. They are men who think the strong must bow to parchment, as though words alone can bind gods and legends.
Such people cannot see that, to the strong, rules are but toys — and power decides whether those toys are broken or upheld.
I have seen many such men. Senator Stern, puffed-up and smug, thinking his tongue and his gavel could bind warriors. General Ross, so obsessed with taming weapons he does not understand that he becomes a greater danger than those he hunts.
Obadiah Stane, who thought greed could outmatch vision. And the World Council, hiding in their dark chambers, still clinging to the illusion that they hold the reins. Fools, all of them.
Then there are the Followers.
They are the majority — the common man and woman, who want only to live, to eat, to laugh, to sleep without fear. They do not seek to rule; they do not dream of reshaping the world. They ask for so little, and if you give them safety and bread, they will follow gladly.
These are the people I have chosen to build Albion for. To them, it matters little who wears the crown, so long as their children may smile and grow.
And yet… some among them become Ungrateful, spitting upon the hand that shelters them, demanding more while giving nothing. But those are rare. Most simply wish to live in peace, and I find no fault in that.
The third are the Dreamers.
These are the ones who imagine the world remade, who see not what is but what could be, and pursue it with steel in their hands and fire in their hearts. They can be inspiring… or dangerous. Thor belongs to this group.
For all his flaws, he still dreams of honor, valor, and brotherhood.
Magneto too — though his dream is painted in blood, for he would see his people safe no matter the cost to others. Victor von Doom dreams of a world forged in his image, where order reigns absolute beneath his hand.
Even Stark, though he cloaks it in pride and jest, dreams in his own way — of leaving his mark upon eternity through invention. Dreamers: dangerous and necessary both. For without dreams, the world would never change.
There are also the Tricksters.
They weave their influence not with the sword but with the tongue, bending truths, slipping between loyalty and ambition like smoke. Loki is the most obvious of them — the god who hides lies within truths and truths within lies. But he is not alone. Most of my Veiled Hand play such games with a smile sharper than their daggers.
Nick Fury too, though he cloaks it in duty; he is a man who sees more of the board than most, but still prefers his pieces blind. Tricksters are dangerous, for their wars are fought in silence and shadows, where a single whisper can topple armies.
And finally… the Monsters.
These are rare, but unforgettable. They seek not order, not dreams, not even stability, but domination. Power for its own sake, cruelty as their nature. The Red Skull was such a man, who lusted not for peace but only for conquest.
Selene Gallio, a witch who devoured simply because she hungered. And I sense more to come — creations like Ultron, who may rise not from hatred of others, but from hatred of existence itself, seeking only to unmake it. Monsters cannot be bargained with, nor reasoned with. They can only be destroyed.
So yes, Steve Rogers was different. He did not fit neatly into any one category.
He was no fool, though he still bore the heart of a follower, fighting for the simple man. He was no dreamer, though he carried within him the shadow of a dream long past — of a world that believed in simpler virtues. Nor was he trickster, nor monster.
No — Steve Rogers was something else entirely.
I could only assume it was due to the nature of what he was: not a normal man, not truly. The serum he was given didn't just affect his body, but also his mind. It pushed everything to the super level, the peak of humanity and a bit more. So it wasn't just that nice became nicer. No — it was everything, even the dark parts. Yet because the good in him was so strong, he remained a good man.
He was, without doubt, an interesting man… and yet, at the same time, utterly boring.
Loki was a trickster, a fool of a man dancing like a jester — but entertaining. He always wove together grand tales of his glory, all lies no doubt, but even knowing that, it was impossible not to give him attention.
Stark too was interesting. I didn't understand all his technical jargon, but he had grand ideas. As did Magneto, and that idiot Doom. They all had grand dreams, ambitions — and that alone made them interesting in one way or another.
Thor did not share that. Instead, he was entertaining in ways similar to his brother. He didn't weave tales; he was a tale. He was entertaining to watch, bumbling in the dark, and honestly, he wasn't unpleasant to look at. As men go, he was among the finer ones, for sure.
Steve, however, lacked that. He lacked grand dreams, or even hidden depths. He was what you saw: a simple man, kinder, better than others, far too righteous still.
He would need time — time and trials — to grow into what he would later become. For now, he was closer to being a fool than anything else. He didn't fit neatly into that category, but he wasn't far off.
But I knew. I knew he would change. There would come a day when he would boldly defy the will of the world, the will of the UN, and stand tall and proud.
Suddenly, my gaze was pulled away from the departing back of Steve Rogers, and instead, I looked toward the sky.
"Seems like today will be a busy one indeed, Your Majesty," Sir Bedivere said from behind, his voice steady even as the heavens blazed.
The sky split open in a riot of color, a rainbow of light spearing down to meet the earth. The ground trembled, the air thundered, and for a breathless moment the world seemed bound together by that bridge between realms.
"Indeed," I answered, watching as the light faded to reveal new figures upon the grass. "It would seem we have guests. Come, Bedivere — we must prepare to greet them."
"At once, Your Majesty."
-----
Outside, it might look chaotic, but for Loki and his escort, traveling with the Bifrost was easy and quick. It was but a moment since he stepped into the light, and now his boots stood on the soft green grass.
A smooth, cool wind brushed against his face, and beyond a small knee-high stone wall, hordes of mortals stood watching him in awe.
And Loki, master and ruler of the Nine Realms, soaked in their awe.
Within moments, a blur rushed out from the city, and Sir Lucan the Butler appeared from within the great walled city of Camelot.
"Your Highness, Lord Loki — a pleasure to see you once again," he greeted with a kind smile and a light bow.
"Ah, Lucan, many thanks for coming to greet me. I know I didn't give you much warning, but I trust it isn't too much of a problem, is it?" Loki quite liked this man, and had even tried to recruit him. He could use people like that by his side.
Sure, he had the Asgardians — but while they served him, he knew their true loyalty wasn't to him, but to his father, and to Asgard itself. He desperately wanted people loyal to him alone. And those should be at least on the same level as those who served Arthuria.
Yet he understood that the very reason he wanted them was the reason they would never serve him: their loyalty to Arthuria.
Still, he respected that.
"Not at all, Your Highness. His Majesty just saw off his last guest, so there is no reason he cannot see you. I imagine the castle is preparing to welcome you right now." Lucan didn't know what Loki was thinking, but he still answered with his ever-present smile.
Loki raised an eyebrow, curious about who could have earned an audience with Arthuria. Yet he didn't ask; he figured he could get it from the Goddess herself.
"Very well. In that case, why don't you lead the way?" He returned Lucan's smile.
Indeed, Loki loved visiting this place. Here, he could freely bask in the awe of mortals. Here, he didn't have to worry about anything.
If only his mother would stop her attempts at giving him so-called advice on how to win Arthuria's heart every time he returned — or interrogating him about how it went.
He used to laugh whenever Thor received that treatment. But now, being the one under the spotlight, he couldn't help but almost feel sorry for Thor… almost.
Since bringing up Thor still seemed to be the best way of getting her to back off.
Indeed, Loki had already decided that he would keep Thor in exile for now, and invite him back only after he had found a match for him — making use of his authority as Regent of the Nine Realms to arrange their union.
Now he only struggled with finding someone ugly enough, yet still a good enough match for their mother to approve of… or some other way of getting his revenge on Thor.
It was these thoughts that brought a real smile to his face as he walked through Camelot, waving to the crowds along the way.
(end of chapter)
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