When had Morgan first sensed the sword's existence?
She couldn't say for sure.
She only remembered waking up one morning and suddenly being aware of it.
Like something once buried deep beneath the earth had been unearthed by an earthquake.
A power waiting to be claimed.
Regardless, this was fate.
He needed a sword—and she could get one.
Everything lined up perfectly.
Morgan wasn't the type to second-guess fate.
"A trip to the lake, huh?" Ian asked.
"Mhm," Morgan nodded.
"Alright, I understand."
Under the knights' astonished stares, Morgan casually led Ian out of the city.
Once they were outside Camelot, she moved without hesitation.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him gently.
"You're a dragon, aren't you?"
"Then—show me your real form."
Her request was answered almost instantly.
A burst of wind swept past.
A great black dragon soared into the sky with Morgan on its back, streaking across the heavens.
Swoosh—
The dragon flew with breathtaking speed.
Morgan's hair whipped around in the wind like crashing waves.
But she didn't mind her windblown state.
Lying on the dragon's back, she ran her fingers across his scales,
tracing every ridge and groove.
Her ear pressed to his side, listening to his heartbeat.
A real dragon—right beneath her.
"How... can I make sure I never lose you?"
The thought echoed through her heart.
They flew for who knew how long, until Morgan raised her hand, and the dragon came to a stop before a dense forest.
"This is the place," she said.
Noticing Ian preparing to rip the forest open, she quickly stopped him.
"Don't go tearing through the trees—change back and walk in with me."
But when Ian transformed back—and stood there entirely exposed—Morgan couldn't help but cough awkwardly.
Quickly, she took his hand and said,
"Just like this is fine. After all... I'm the only one who'll see."
"Alright."
Together, they walked into the forest.
Ian began to notice his body growing warmer.
"Your Highness, this place… feels different from Camelot."
"I told you to call me Morgan-neesan in private," she muttered, correcting him.
Then she added:
"Of course it's different."
She pulled out her staff.
It had been a long time since she'd used this treasured item.
But today, she brought it out for Ian.
"This forest is filled with magic.
Way more than anything around Camelot."
"But... can a place like this really have a sword?" Ian asked, puzzled.
"It looks like nothing more than a forest."
"It will. Don't you trust me?"
Ian didn't argue further. He just nodded silently.
As they moved deeper into the woods, the ambient magic became thicker.
Eventually, a clear, glassy lake appeared before them.
Morgan glanced at Ian's lower half for a moment and smirked slightly.
"Your body sure reacts strongly to magic."
"Does it?"
"I didn't really notice."
"No worries. It's enough that I notice."
She released his hand and walked to the lake's edge.
Though she had never been here before, the place felt eerily familiar.
Closing her eyes, Morgan whispered softly:
"I've returned."
Those simple words stirred the entire forest.
Soon, several faint, shimmering figures appeared before them.
Spirits—residing deep within the lake and the woods.
"Vivian. It's been a while."
"You've come here to..."
"I want to retrieve the sword," Morgan said, recalling the image from her dreams.
"Is that okay?"
The spirits glanced at each other, then nodded.
"No problem.
That sword was yours to begin with.
It's simply returning to its rightful owner."
As they spoke, the surface of the lake rippled.
Water parted outward, revealing a radiant beam of golden light rising into the sky.
Then, a beautifully crafted sword—glowing faintly—emerged.
Morgan reached out and grasped it without hesitation.
"Sword of Promised Victory... Excalibur."
She knew its name the moment her fingers wrapped around the hilt.
Ian stepped forward.
Without a moment's pause, Morgan handed it to him.
"Take it."
Ian held the Excalibur in his hand and could immediately feel how different it was from any other weapon.
Unlike the others, this one didn't crack or break under his strength. It felt… like it recognized him.
As a dragon, Ian sensed something deep within the sword the moment he touched it.
"This was meant for Artoria, wasn't it?" he asked.
Morgan, surprised, looked at the spirits nearby. They nodded.
"Yes. This sword was originally meant for the King."
"But—since Vivian is here, it rightfully belongs to her now."
Morgan clutched her chest.
Artoria again.
It was always Artoria.
No matter where she went, no matter what she touched—it always came back to her.
Morgan could feel herself spiraling.
She gripped the sword tighter and summoned a torrent of magical energy, enough to resonate with the entire land of Britain.
"This isn't yours, Artoria!"
"It's mine!"
"You're not taking it!"
With a fierce surge, the light of the sword was swallowed by darkness. When the magic finally settled, the blade had transformed completely.
The Excaliburhad become the ExcaliburMorgan—dark, powerful, and hers.
Morgan gasped for breath. The magical toll was great, but the result was undeniable.
"This is my holy sword," she said.
"Not Artoria's."
Her voice echoed through the forest, full of sadness and defiance.
And then—Ian pulled her into an embrace.