When exactly had he fallen asleep? Shirou couldn't answer that question.
Just like during his usual nightly magecraft training, he had practiced until he was utterly exhausted... and then naturally drifted off to sleep, clutching the Holy Lance in his arms.
And then—he dreamed.
But this time, the dream was not of the golden sword, nor was it the devastating fire that had consumed his life ten years ago.
What Shirou saw... was a scene he had never witnessed before—
A misty morning, serene yet faintly chaotic, in the heart of a forest. A dying king, collapsed against a great tree, having fallen unconscious after a fierce battle.
Even with no awareness left, the king's hands still tightly gripped her weapons: a sword in one, a lance in the other—both soaked in blood.
"Your Majesty, please stay here. I'll summon the knights immediately. Just a little longer. I promise I'll bring them back. This civil war caused by Mordred will be over soon. You will still be the King of Britain."
The knight who stood before the king spoke quietly, head bowed.
With the king unconscious, the knight turned to mount his white horse and leave.
But suddenly, the king's eyes opened.
"——Bedivere."
"My king?! You're awake?!"
"I had... a little dream. Bedivere, take my sword. Go through the forest, across the bloodstained hills. There, you'll find a lake... throw the sword into it."
"Your Majesty! That's—!"
"Go, Bedivere. And once it's done... come back and tell me what you saw."
The dying king closed her eyes once more, speaking no further.
The hesitant knight eventually accepted the command. He took the sword, crossed the forest and hills, and arrived at the lake.
Shirou's perspective followed the knight. He watched everything—witnessed what the knight did next.
But... the knight didn't follow the king's orders. He returned, claiming that he had returned the sword.
The king did not open her eyes. And the knight knew—his lie had been seen through.
So began the second journey to return the sword.
And once again, the knight failed to go through with it.
The king still did not open her eyes.
Only on the third attempt did the knight reach the lake again— but even then, he couldn't bring himself to let go. The sword remained in his hand.
When he returned to the forest again... the king was gone.
Time—froze.
"Without the sword returned, the king cannot die. She can only wander endlessly... clutching the Holy Lance Rhongomyniad. And eventually... become a goddess in the sky."
A gentle voice whispered in Shirou's ear.
It sounded... familiar.
He turned quickly—and saw the source of the voice.
Amidst a blooming field of flowers stood a stunningly beautiful woman. Her silver-white hair shimmered under the light, and her enchanting face carried an air of mystery and allure.
But even more than her appearance, Shirou was struck by her voice.
"You're... the woman who gave me the bracelet at the bar."
"Only fulfilling a request, Shirou." The mysterious woman smiled lightly, waving her staff. The field of flowers expanded and swallowed the dream's forest whole.
"Since you know the tale of King Arthur,
I imagine you understand what you just saw."
"...Yeah, if I'm not mistaken, that was Arthur's final moment— the dying King Arthur ordering Bedivere to return Excalibur so he could finally pass on. But wait, something's off... Isn't King Arthur supposed to be a man?"
Shirou said what he knew of the legend— but as he reached the end of his thought, he realized the image he saw was completely different.
King Arthur ... was a woman?
That couldn't be right. It was too absurd.
"Historical records often differ from the truth. King Arthur is one such case."
The mysterious woman answered his confusion. By now, the flower field had completely overtaken the dreamscape— a dazzling display of colors, surreal and otherworldly.
"As you saw, Shirou— because Bedivere failed to return the sword even after three attempts,
the king could not die. She eventually transformed into the Storm King... the incarnation of a goddess. This diverged from the true legend, creating a new path, and even... a Singularity. Merlin's been having quite the headache because of it."
She spoke as if it were a casual anecdote.
And her identity remained as elusive as ever.
Shirou knew of Merlin, the legendary magus from Arthurian lore. But he had never heard of Merlin having... a sister.
"Honestly, Shirou, I didn't expect you to see this so soon. So that's why... because you projected the Holy Lance, your connection to the goddess was activated. Hmm... I didn't anticipate Viviane's presence either. That's my mistake. But I can't interfere with her. Otherwise, I'll end up like big brother Merlin—locked away, and that would be troublesome."
"Hey, hold on. You've been talking all this time... Just who are you, really?"
Shirou cut her off. He had the feeling that if he didn't, she'd never stop talking.
But the woman didn't get angry. Instead, she gave him a playful smile.
"Oh right... I never did introduce myself, huh?I'm Merlin's little sister. You can just call me... Lady Avalon. Mmm~ The dream is almost over now. So I guess... this is where we part for now. I'm looking forward to our next meeting. Goodbye, Shirou~"
Smiling warmly, Lady Avalon bid Shirou farewell.
And just as he was about to ask, "What are you talking about?"— he vanished from the sea of flowers.
When his consciousness returned, he found himself staring at a white ceiling, his hands still gripping the Holy Lance, its subtle warmth lingering in his palms.
"...That dream... Lady Avalon... and the King Arthur who could not die... Just what... is happening to me?"
Troubled by the visions within his dream, Shirou had no answers—only more questions.
But he was awake now. And with that came the need to focus on the present.
Today was the day of departure.
——Morgan, true to her unexpectedly impulsive nature, had decided to leave Orkney with Shirou only a day after forming their magical bond.
Shirou didn't mind. In fact, he welcomed it.
The sooner Morgan began her journey, the sooner he might find a way back to his own world.
"——Still, Arthur... a woman? How much suffering must she have endured... in that time between being unable to die, and finally becoming a goddess?"
Even now, Shirou's mind would involuntarily drift back to that scene in his dream— the image of a king who could not rest, wandering endlessly with the Holy Lance.