Two weeks later — North Atlantic Ocean
Aboard the M.S. Valiant
Rain hammered the steel deck as wind howled across the gray sea. Waves rose like towers, smashing against the hull of the repurposed British research vessel. Lucian gripped the railing, his knuckles white, as lightning cracked across the sky and the ship tilted dangerously starboard.
"Tell me again," he shouted into the gale, "why we're sailing straight into a superstorm?!"
Yena's voice cut through the roar, steady and unshaken. "Because Avalon only reveals itself during celestial convergence—when the stars align over the western horizon and the Sea Gate opens."
Lucian narrowed his eyes, wiping seawater from his face. "Right. The mythic island that appears once every seven years under a magic storm. Totally normal."
Below decks, the rest of the crew—an elite team of hand-picked researchers, ex-special forces, and esoteric historians—worked around the clock. Arcane instruments hummed with energy. One of them, an old man with wild gray hair and bronze rings on every finger, muttered incantations in Latin as he mapped leyline currents through an ancient compass.
"The portal is near!" he cried. "The veil is thinning!"
Lucian descended the ladder, meeting Yena and the eccentric scholar in the control chamber, where an ancient map was projected across the table in glowing gold lines.
"The Sea Gate opens in three minutes," Yena said. "Coordinates shifting northwest."
Lucian tapped the map. "That puts us just past the Ridge of the Serpent's Spine."
The scholar nodded fervently. "Exactly. Where the Lady of the Lake drowned the last king."
Lucian raised a brow. "We're meeting her, too?"
The ship shook violently, and suddenly a new sound pierced the storm—a haunting song, ethereal and beautiful, echoing across the waves.
Everyone went still.
Yena turned pale. "Sirens."
---
The Veil Breaks
Above deck, the storm intensified. Lightning slashed in circles overhead. The sea began to shimmer—not from reflection, but transformation. The water was glowing.
Lucian rushed outside, eyes wide as the ocean's surface split like cracked glass, revealing a massive whirlpool beneath.
A tower breached the water first—white stone, covered in green moss and gold inlay. Then another. And another. A vast circular structure—a city—rose from the sea, ringed with jagged cliffs and floating runes.
Avalon.
But beauty wasn't all that came.
Dark shapes emerged from the water—figures with silver eyes, pale skin, and long claws. The sirens.
They sang again, and one of the crew walked straight off the deck into the sea.
Lucian gritted his teeth. "I hate magic sometimes."
He raised his hand. Fire roared to life, illuminating the storm. The sirens shrieked, recoiling—but not retreating.
Yena unsheathed her curved blade, stepping in front of the fallen crewman. "Lucian, we need to get inside the gate. The city's magic will repel them."
"How do we get there?"
"Follow the flame."
Lucian's palm flared—and a line of glowing fire lit the path over the water, forming a narrow bridge that led toward Avalon's towering gate.
Without waiting, he ran.
---
Avalon — The Forgotten Kingdom
They crossed the bridge under attack, fire and steel pushing back clawed hands and shrieking voices. As Lucian reached the gate, he turned—Yena right behind him, two more crew scrambling across.
Then the gates opened with a thunderous groan.
A pulse of energy swept out, knocking back the storm. The sirens screamed and dove beneath the waves.
Silence.
The wind died.
Lucian stood in awe.
The city was like something out of myth. Spiral towers of marble and crystal. Bridges of light. Trees that shimmered with starlight in their leaves. A domed palace rose in the center, its roof crowned by seven burning stars.
Yena exhaled. "We made it."
Lucian nodded. "So where's the third shard?"
A new voice answered.
> "You carry it already."
They turned.
A woman in a robe of silver silk approached, barefoot, her eyes glowing blue. Around her neck hung a pendant shaped like a crescent moon.
> "Welcome, Phoenix. I am Nimue—last of the Lady's Circle. Keeper of Avalon's heart."
Lucian felt the shard in his chest pulse.
> "You must walk the path of memory," she said. "And reclaim what you gave away."
---
The Sword and the Shard
Nimue led them into the palace, where the walls were lined with relics of myth—shields that sang when touched, banners that shimmered with long-dead empires, a harp that played itself when the wind passed.
They entered a vault.
Inside, upon a pedestal of glass, floated a broken sword—its blade cracked in two, its hilt wrapped in charred leather.
> "This," Nimue said, "was once yours. A gift from the flame. When you ended the last war, you shattered it to bind the Crown's power."
Lucian approached.
The sword glowed.
His mark ignited.
And from the broken sword, a red shard lifted—the third flame.
It shot into Lucian's chest.
He didn't scream this time.
He stood tall as the crown shimmered above his head again—three points glowing now, blazing brighter than ever.
---
The Others Stir
Far away, across the world, others felt the surge.
In a frozen cave in Siberia, a girl opened her eyes, frost forming on her lashes.
In a jungle temple deep in Brazil, an old god stirred in his prison.
In the city of Tokyo, a young boy collapsed as a mark shaped like a thundercloud appeared on his arm.
The Mythborne were awakening.
And the war… had just begun.