Daytime is filled with the sunlight of spring and the breath of summer; nighttime is draped in the air of autumn and the starlit sky of winter.
This is a land devoid of human presence, an isle at the farthest end of a land eternally forbidden. A world untouched by the ceaseless decline and ruin that plague the surface realm.
Though it accompanies the history of humankind, it remains entirely unrelated to them—an otherworldly land.
Its name is Avalon, one of the many resting places for souls arranged by the planet called Earth.
Under the night sky, with thousands of stars calling above, a white-haired girl, humming softly, strolled to the lakeside while twirling her staff. She cupped the starlit waters of the lake, reflecting the Milky Way, in one free hand.
The water shimmered for but an instant before falling like scattered tears.
"Almost turned the whole place upside down. Does that sword really even exist?"
She tapped the falling droplets lightly with her staff and murmured.
In that moment, a path rose from the river, and Merry stepped onto it.
Since the day she struck her bargain with Avia, she had returned here at once, searching beneath the lake for the sword he mentioned. But after days of fruitless searching, she began to doubt whether Avia had simply misheard some legend. After all, he had never once set foot here—how could he possibly know of a sword hidden under these waters?
As for the idea that he might be deceiving her—Merry dismissed it. There was no point in such a trick, and when he spoke, he had been entirely earnest.
So even though she expected this attempt to end as fruitlessly as the last, she felt nothing. She was used to it.
At the bottom of the dim night lake, the small phantasmal creatures that dwelled there continued their quiet lives, surviving past the end of mystery.
And waiting for the white-haired girl was not some ordinary, indifferent clear water. Instead—what lay before her was a sword, born of the planet's breath itself, warm and gentle.
Suspended high upon a rock within the lake, its brilliance was faint, yet dazzling and heavy all the same.
A sword forged when the world was undone by giant gods, within the inner seas of the Earth. Whether named by human, god, or something else, it was called the Holy Sword.
It was the crystallization of humanity's prayers, refined by the planet itself—the strongest of phantasms, a fragment of the star's light, transcending time and space, the very embodiment of the dream mankind could never achieve. It was hope incarnate, meant to save the world in times of crisis.
"Whoa… so it really does exist. This sword…"
As Merry marveled aloud, the holy sword slid free of the rock on its own and floated before her. She reflexively grasped it.
"You've already chosen the one to entrust it to, haven't you?"
A gentle voice sounded. Merry's eyes shifted.
There, in the faint shadows cast by starlight at the lake's bottom, stood a splendidly dressed woman.
Merry knew this face well—this was the fairy who had cared for her after her parents left her here. She was the Great Mother of Fairies, highest among the pure-blooded fairies born within the star's inner sea, an existence equal to the gods.
In later ages, Morgan would be born a half-blood fairy of Great Mother class, and simultaneously known as Viviane, Lady of the Lake, embodying also aspects of Morgause and Morrigan.
"Well… how should I explain this…"
Merry realized this sword, powerful as it appeared, surely fell under the domain of the Lady of the Lake. To take it on her own—it was no different from theft, and now she had been caught in the act.
But seeing Merry's expression, the Great Mother seemed to understand and explained:
"For now, it is simply here. The Ladies of the Lake are not its keepers."
"That's good…"
Merry exhaled in relief. In her memory, dealing with the Ladies of the Lake was always troublesome—their many aspects made them insufferably complex.
"But Great Mother, why are you here?"
"You're not yet mature. The illusion you cast can deceive me only briefly. Now I see—you returned these days just to search for this sword, did you not?" The Great Mother's voice was as gentle as ever. "That sword was meant to be delivered a century ago. Yet its delivery was delayed until now. For you to take it now—there is no injustice in it. Have you someone to give it to?"
"Uh… a human asked me. You could call it an exchange…"
The Great Mother's gaze softened as she recalled a distant memory.
"Great Mother, I entrust my child to you."
A nightmare bowed his head as low as he could, with a formality he had never learned, voice breaking with tears.
"You shouldn't get involved. This time, you will truly die."
"Yes… but I was already near death. And I must still save my beloved."
A dazzling banquet, filled with people dreaming of the future and speaking of their hopes—the brighter their light, the darker and heavier the shadows crawling at their feet.
"How strange. That human woman was able to stir such feelings in you?"
The union of human and phantasmal kind could only end in tragedy. Yet still, they came together. For a pure nightmare, to have a child was to die swiftly—passing on all their powers, bit by bit, to their offspring.
"Will this child be like you?"
"This child is different. Born of human and nightmare both—she bears her mother's kindness and her father's coldness."
The nightmare looked steadily at the Great Mother.
"Light in kindness, weight in sin. Weight in evil, light in punishment. She will judge these things as I do, always from outside, detached, even if the subject be a god. She will, as her mother hoped, climb the sand-heaps of time, ever higher, seeing more with each step. Joy, delight, affection—she will discover them, remember them, perhaps even warm her frozen nature. One day, she will stand on her own. She will fly to worlds beyond our knowing… though she has left our hands a little too soon…"
"If this is your wish, then I can only watch you go."
And in the final moment before the Great Mother's gaze faded, the nightmare spoke:
"Please… take care of her."
The wind rose, brushing soft across drifting clouds.
There were no signposts. Yet the river flowed onward.
How long would those ancient footprints endure? Even now, it was impossible to know whose they had been.
"…I see." The Great Mother smiled, then turned to leave. "Since it is you who carries it, Merry, then even as an exchange, it is fitting."
And for that very reason—
One must cherish the guiding star already found.
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