Alaric circled in the night sky.
He did not descend, for he had no wish to crush the fragile, toy-like houses below, nor did he make a sound, unwilling to disturb the dreams of humans who had toiled all day.
"Good evening~"
Moments later, Artoria emerged from the small wooden cabin, having finished her duties.
She looked up, her face alight with joy as she gazed at the dragon she hadn't seen in so long… No, he could no longer be called a young dragon. He was now a majestic colossus, a true divine being.
Yet, in Artoria's heart, he was still that young dragon who had burst from a stone, clutching two rabbits to share with her.
"You want me to come with you? To where?"
Artoria looked puzzledly at the direction Alaric's claw pointed... his back, where two indistinct figures sat.
One she recognized: the girl Alaric had saved and later taken as his vassal. But who was the woman beside her, seemingly unconscious?
"Why?"
Artoria pressed her right hand to her chest, her voice tinged with confusion.
"Just seeing her… makes my heart race?"
…
Following Artoria's lead, Alaric flew onward.
His speed was such that, in mere minutes, he crossed countless mountains and rivers, arriving at a place Artoria once knew well but now found strangely unfamiliar.
"This is… that valley?"
Passing through familiar rocky crevices, Artoria gazed doubtfully at the scene before her:
In what should have been a pitch-black night, countless fireflies seemed to float, emitting faint glows. Drawing closer, Artoria realized these were no fireflies but tiny spirits radiating light. They drifted freely in this valley, which, though once narrow, now seemed vast and boundless, illuminating every corner cloaked by night.
And the Dragon Temple, built by the young dragon's own claws and adorned with her carved idol, glowed with a pure white fluorescence in the darkness. It stood there, forming a moon and stars on the earth alongside the surrounding spirits, as if placing one within the Milky Way.
"Yes, this is that valley."
"I just made some temporary renovations."
Alaric landed on the grass... though he tried to be gentle, his descent stirred a gust that inevitably sent a cluster of spirits scattering. They cheered as they dispersed, like a burst of radiant fireworks.
"I see. This is your sanctuary, isn't it?"
After a brief moment of astonishment, Artoria began to grasp what was happening.
A sanctuary... or a semi-mystic realm... was a place connected to yet independent from the real world.
Britain was rife with tales of sanctuaries: for instance, the great Celtic hero Cú Chulainn had honed his combat skills in the famed [Land of Shadows], earning his legendary renown; or the Irish hero Oisín, who stumbled into the sea god's sanctuary, married his daughter, and lived briefly in bliss... only to find, upon leaving the fairy isle, that three hundred years had passed in the outside world.
This was why Merlin had once warned that "rashly entering a god's domain is a dangerous affair."
"Won't it be that when I leave, three hundred years will have passed outside?"
Artoria asked, then quickly answered herself.
"But skipping three hundred years might not be bad… That way, I wouldn't be the last monarch but a true restorer of glory, right?"
Alaric glanced at her... he noticed that becoming a king had its perks, at least teaching this ahoge girl to lighten the mood.
"It wouldn't be hard for you to become a restorer of glory now."
"You'd only need to kill her yourself."
…
Morgan tumbled from Alaric's back.
She landed on the soft grass, unharmed... but dirt and grass clippings inevitably clung to her, making her already pale face, drained from overexertion, look even more disheveled.
Artoria studied the woman with curious eyes, but her gaze soon turned grave as realization dawned.
"She's… Mother?"
…
Well, it's hard to blame her for the mistake.
After all, that magus had never told her anything about King Uther or the Pendragon family. She had no idea she had an older half-sister, let alone one more than a decade her senior. In an era of early marriages and childbirth, seeing a face 99% identical to her own yet far more mature naturally led her to think of a mother.
…
Upon hearing this awkward address, Morgan froze.
Just moments ago, she had been glaring at the girl with icy disdain... no explanation was needed; a single glance at that mirror-like face told Morgan exactly who Artoria was.
"Damn illegitimate child! Vile usurper of the throne! Ignoring our nation's grudges to ally with the White Dragon King!"
"Father must have been blind to choose her as king!"
The more Morgan thought, the angrier she became, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted nothing more than to purge this shameful "traitor" from the family.
But for some reason, when that word "Mother" Slipped from Artoria's lips, all her resentment suddenly dissolved.
"What an… idiot!"
She looked at the girl before her, eyes clear, face caught between anticipation and hesitation, and muttered a curse with faint disdain.
She was cursing herself.
She scrutinized the girl again... despite bearing the noblest bloodline, she stood barely five feet tall. Her chest was utterly flat, showing no signs of development, and aside from her slender limbs, she looked almost indistinguishable from a boy.
Morgan had reason to suspect her sister had never eaten a proper meal.
"What am I doing, squabbling with an illegitimate child who's never even met her own mother?"
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