The Wizard led him through the gates of the outer city, just behind the great wall. Beyond the crowded streets, two more colossal walls loomed in the distance, each dividing the metropolis like concentric rings.
"A magnificent sight, is it not?" the Wizard asked, his voice warm with empathy. "I myself spent days wandering here, marveling at its grandeur." His eyes lingered on the exquisite architecture as much as on his companion's reaction.
"Maeyon is divided by both river and wall," the Wizard continued, slipping into a teacher's cadence. "This outer city is called Calinor. The middle city is Minara. The innermost, Ultronei. Each quadrant belongs to the Alliance rulers: the Elves hold the north, the Humans the west, the Dwarves the south, and the east belongs to Rosun. For now, we stand in Calinor — the heart of the Human realm." He gestured toward a busy street. "Ah! And here is the best tavern in the city. The food is without equal in this realm."
Inside, a tall, lean man hurried over and bowed low.
"Greetings, Grand Wizard Caled. Allow me to lead you to your table."
"Greetings, Anlo, my old friend. Please, lead the way."
They followed him upstairs to a polished redwood table set before a tall window overlooking the city. The servants arrived without taking orders, setting steaming bowls before them and vanishing again with Anlo. Clearly, the Wizard's presence was enough to dictate the menu.
"Beautiful, is it not?" Caled said, eyes on the city walls. "But wait until you taste the food — it rivals the view." His voice dropped, serious now. "You don't have much time, so let us speak plainly. Why are you here?"
The Dark Lord turned sharply from the window. "I don't have much time?"
Before he could press further, the Wizard gestured to the bowl. "Taste it." His tone was calm, but the command beneath it was unmistakable.
Suspicion prickled. Poison? No. The Wizard had sacrificed his staff to save him; murder would be a waste. Besides, he could always sunder another avatar. He lifted the spoon and tasted. The broth was strange, but rich. One spoonful became another, then another, until the bowl was scraped clean. He looked up, startled by his own hunger.
"The taste lingers, does it not?" Caled asked, his own bowl empty. Then, more gravely: "Remember this tavern. If ever you need my aid, send word here. Now—why have you come?"
"I want to open a merchant store in this city," the Dark Lord said.
The Wizard's brows rose. "You will need a sponsor. After your duel with young Lucas, he will try to block you at every turn. May I ask what you intend to trade?"
"I have associates who can supply ores and food. I will hire blacksmiths and alchemists to provide weapons, armor, and potions. Not only here — my associates are already preparing to expand to other cities."
Caled laughed softly. "Then you shall have me as your sponsor. But I will require one thing in return." His eyes sharpened.
The Dark Lord blinked. His vision spun. Déjà vu.
Sweat trickled down his spine. He was certain — he had been here before, spoken these very words.
Caled's smile was almost kind. "Do not worry. I've already taken care of it. That future has been… delayed."
The Dark Lord surged to his feet, muscles coiled, senses screaming for fight or flight. Their table was secluded; no one noticed.
"Who are you? What have you done?"
"Peace, Master Sun Tzu. Proper decorum in a place like this." The Wizard's tone never changed, calm as still water.
The Dark Lord's nerves burned. Every instinct screamed retreat.
"There is something I must do. I have to leave." His voice was low, frayed.
Caled smiled disarmingly and returned to his meal, as though nothing had happened. "I only came here to talk, you know." He savored a spoonful. "Delicious, isn't it? Are you sure you won't eat more?"
"I don't want a fight," the Dark Lord muttered, backing away.
The Wizard didn't look up. "You value strength. That means a fight is inevitable."
The Dark Lord had heard enough. He vanished, sundering his avatar back to his throne in the Dominion.
Relief hit like cool water — until the voice followed.
"So this is your Shadow Realm. Have you yet discovered its true nature?"
The Dark Lord's head snapped up. His blood turned cold. Caled was there, strolling casually toward the throne.
"Quite the seat you've built," the Wizard observed, eyes tracing the bones that littered the ground.
"Impossible," the Dark Lord whispered. His Dominion hadn't even stirred at the intrusion.
"No welcome? No greeting?" Caled's smile was faint, his voice amused. An ivory armchair appeared beneath him as he sat, its brilliance clashing against the Dark Lord's black throne.
Scarlet fire burned in the Dark Lord's eyes. His voice rolled like thunder: "You are not welcome here… Myrddin Emrys."
Caled closed his eyes, savoring the name. Then he laughed. The tension shattered.
"I would very much like to meet this… Dumbledore." He smiled warmly.
---
Dark Lord POV
Every bait I laid before him, he consumed without hesitation. From the very first moment I met him upon the Gallan Wall — with that foolish alias I had chosen, "Merlin."
The elves had laughed when I claimed the name "Merlin of House Sylvetrus." They told me it already belonged to another. Could it be? Could this man be that same Merlin — the mythical wizard of my old world? A figure of books, plays, films, and games?
I pressed Michael about it when he swore allegiance to me. He confirmed that a Merlin had come to this world through a portal long ago — and sealed it behind him.
When we met at the Gallan Wall, he looked at me knowingly. He laughed at my name. He even asked about Excalibur. And when I gave the answer — the Lady of the Lake took it — he laughed again, as though amused by a private joke.
And I think he knew more! He even brushed aside and joked about Dumbledore! which I mention to him at the Gallan Wall. Another favorite character from a favorite book!
And now… now he has torn through the veil of my Dominion, naming it Shadow Realm as though he were entitled to it, flaunting his power while I sat frozen in horror.
Can it be? Is he truly that Merlin of old?
There was only one way to know. I would have to cast his true name. But Merlin is so mythic that he wears a dozen names across time, like cloaks over the same body.
Fortune favors me. I've read every book, seen every film, played every game. I even used "Merlin" as my pseudonym when I played. Still, it was a gamble. I couldn't rattle off every name like a child chanting. One shot — that's all I had. One true name.
Not the common ones. Not "Merlin." Not "Ambrosius." No, it had to be rarer. Older.
Myrrdin Emrys.
The risk was staggering. Naming someone by their true name is power — but to name falsely? The backlash could destroy me. So if I was going down, then I would go down with style.
I drew on one of my favorite lines from The Lord of the Rings. The original: "You shall not pass, Gandalf the Grey."
But I twisted it. My spell, my gamble.
"You… are not welcome here… Myrrdin… Emrys."
I spoke the name into my Dominion, into the bones and shadows, every syllable laced with dread and anticipation. Sweat clung to my skin as I watched him pause… savoring the spell.
And when he laughed, when he laughed, I wondered if the world itself had just shifted.
Could it be? Is he truly Merlin? The Wizard of Legends?
---
For the first time since his rebirth, he felt true fear. Not the thrill of danger, not the risk of defeat in a duel — but fear. The Wizard had walked into his Dominion as if it were a garden path, sat upon his throne room floor as though he belonged there, and yet… had not lifted a hand in attack.
If Caled — Myrddin Emrys — had chosen to unleash his power, the Dark Lord knew he was still too raw, too unseasoned, to withstand it. That truth hollowed his pride and left a cold weight in his chest.
And yet the Wizard had not struck.
Was he mocking him, biding his time? Or had he spared him, holding back when he could have ended everything? The questions festered like embers in the dark.
Threat. Ally. Enemy. Mentor. The Dark Lord could not yet decide. All he knew was that Merlin's laughter still echoed in his ears, and with it came a certainty he had never admitted before: his path was no longer his alone.