"Mother wants to knight me?"
Mordred asked as they teleported back into Arthur's office.
It was still quite a bizarre experience for him to have the world shift around them instead of experiencing the usual sensation of teleportation.
Arthur nodded, his face stoic as ever. "Considering your accomplishments, not making you a knight would've been a crime."
"Guinevere has decided to do that for you," he said, frowning slightly. "She was quite adamant about that."
Mordred looked at him and shrugged. "I guess I should get my suit ready."
"Just ask her for the details," Arthur added, his gaze firm. "You have earned it."
They met each other's gaze for a second before Mordred turned around. He casually swung his new sword through the air.
"So only I can use Clarent?" he asked as he balanced the sword on his index finger.
Arthur nodded. "Only you and those whom you have allowed can use Clarent. Even if you lose the sword, it will always come back to you, no matter where you are."
Mordred let out a low whistle. "That's quite handy."
He threw it into the air and held out his hand. The Divine Instrument fell straight down and seamlessly slipped into the storage ring he had received as a parting gift from Master Lorvar.
"I guess we're done here?" he asked, looking back at Arthur, who gave a silent nod.
Mordred gave him a dry smirk before striding towards the door.
"Let's try not to have regular meet-ups."
"I'll try," Arthur replied plainly.
Those words hung in the air as the doors closed, separating the two of them.
Arthur gazed at the doors for a moment before sighing and returning to his desk.
He had work to do.
But before that, there was one more thing left.
Approaching the huge window, he sighed again.
"Give me one good reason why I should draft a letter to Michael for you, Uriel."
He turned around.
Phoebe and Uriel were standing there, their appearances as gorgeous as ever.
Uriel smiled warmly, lighting up her face as the rings of fire in her bright orange irises flickered.
"Hello, Arthur!" she waved enthusiastically.
Phoebe, however, simply stared at him with her blank, crystalline eyes.
Arthur scowled.
"That is a sickening sight."
"Oi!" Uriel pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips. "I'm trying to be friendly here!"
He gave her a deadpan stare.
"Do you want the letter or not?"
"Yes, I do," she immediately replied.
They stared at each other.
"Please?" Uriel smiled awkwardly.
Silence lingered between them.
Arthur finally walked over to his desk.
"I'll get your letter ready."
Uriel grinned.
"Have I ever mentioned that you are my favorite human?"
"Zip it."
Arthur settled into his chair before turning his attention toward Phoebe.
"It is an honor to meet you finally, Lady Phoebe."
"Likewise," Phoebe replied in her emotionless voice.
Uriel looked between the two of them, shock written all over her face.
"Arthur Pendragon addressing an Incarnus with respect?" she asked, giving him a concerned look. "Are you going to die?"
"I am not," Arthur replied with an exasperated sigh. "Phoebe is someone I have decided to show respect to."
Phoebe suddenly spoke.
"You have his eyes."
Arthur's expression changed.
"Pardon?"
"Your eyes." Phoebe tilted her head like a lifeless doll controlled by strings. "They look just like his."
Arthur stared at her.
For the first time since they had entered the room, he said nothing.
Phoebe continued looking into his eyes, her crystalline gaze devoid of emotion.
Then she spoke a name.
Arthur went completely still.
Uriel's smile disappeared.
For a moment, nobody said anything.
"I never thought I would hear the name of that sinner again," Uriel said quietly.
The warmth that had filled the room only moments ago was gone.
"I could say the same," Arthur said, his voice colder than usual.
He met Phoebe's soulless gaze. "Unfortunately, I have inherited these crimson eyes from that man."
His gaze hardened. "That man is long dead, if it's any consolation."
"Oh."
That was Phoebe's only answer.
Arthur placed the letter inside a royal envelope and sealed it with wax.
The letter levitated over his hand and flew toward Uriel, who caught it.
"There's your letter," he said. "Next time you descend, inform Michael beforehand. You have no idea how many Ardor sensors we had to recalibrate and replace."
He frowned. "The arrival of an Incarnus is a global situation. You increased the number of Incarni on Asteris to three the moment you descended. Do you have any idea how much stress the planet and its Ardor had to undergo?"
"Yeah, I know." Uriel shifted uncomfortably, her expression sheepish. "Sorry about that. But hey, at least that number has decreased now that Cruor is gone."
"Yes, I noticed." Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Seems like it had something to do with your visit?"
"It was." Phoebe nodded mechanically. "She went to settle her debt."
"Is that so?" Arthur sighed. "I will not pry."
"But..." He lifted his gaze and met hers. "Now that you are bound to Mordred, what do you intend to do, Lady Phoebe?"
Phoebe tilted her head again, seemingly lost in thought.
Several seconds passed.
"Well..."
*******
[Back to Mordred]
"You made an interesting decision."
Morgan said as we found ourselves standing in the throne room.
It was a large hall, with elegant pillars rising high toward the ceiling and intricate chandeliers hanging above us.
Apart from these features, it looked quite simple for a ceremonial hall of such importance.
"Now that I have renounced my claim to the Black Throne, you must be relieved," I remarked.
Morgan gave a small smile. "To be honest, I am quite relieved. I am already on my toes with Gawain. Having you as a competitor would've been a nightmare."
"But," her gaze softened, "I am also relieved that you won't carry the burden of being heir."
I shrugged. "You could've stepped down as well if you considered it a tiresome burden."
She chuckled. "I wish, Mordred. But I am in too deep now."
"And it is difficult to escape that," Alisax added as she held Clarent, her silver eyes wide with awe and reverence.
"What a beautiful sword," she said, carefully sliding a finger over the blade before holding it out. "And terribly well balanced."
"You have chosen well," she said with a smile, handing the sword back to me. "Clarent was made just for you."
"Thank you."
I placed it back into my storage ring before looking at Morgan.
"His Majesty said that only those I have permitted can use my Divine Instrument. Does this mean I can use your Rhongomyniad as well?"
"Maybe?" She crossed her arms with a rather smug smile. "But can you handle the All-Piercer? It is a difficult weapon, even for me. I put holes in so many of my clothes that I had to replace my entire wardrobe."
"Yeesh," I grimaced. "Perhaps at a later time."
My gaze then drifted toward the main attraction of the magnificent hall.
The Black Throne.
It was carved from a smooth, glossy black material that almost resembled marble, its imposing back rising high above the seat.
Serpentine dragons were engraved across its surface, their bodies twisting around the throne alongside intricate chains.
It was elegant.
Yet imposing.
"So that's the chair I've refused," I muttered, my gaze lingering on it.
For a throne I had just rejected, it certainly knew how to make an impression.
"Quite a sight, isn't it?" Morgan asked, turning to me.
"The Black Throne," Alisax said in awe. "Carved by Bran the Conqueror from the bones of the dragon lord Azerion, the White Cataclysm."
A hint of sadness passed over her silver eyes. "Alexander once told me about that terrible entity and the man who slew it."
"A massive dragon with pure white scales. His six writhing tails pulverized mountains, his six wings were so large, they blotted out the sky, and his six eyes glowed with pure malice."
Her expression turned grim.
"He was a creature that even the dragons feared. He was less a living creature and more a natural disaster."
I looked at Alisax, then back at the throne.
"And Bran killed that disaster?"
Just how powerful was my ancestor?
Morgan nodded. "One of the greatest feats of humanity. Despite being a dragon half-blood, Bran saw himself as a human through and through."
"Most of Azerion's remains were handed to the dragons," she explained. "His corpse was simply too large. Bran retained some of the bones and, with the help of skilled Crafters, carved the Black Throne out of them."
"And the bones were blackened by fire?" I asked, genuinely curious.
Those bones were totally black, as if subjected to intense charring.
She shook her head. "Azerion had a genetic mutation that caused his bones to be pure black."
"A white dragon with black bones," I frowned. "That is quite weird."
"Dragon bones are quite durable," Morgan added. "They can last for millennia. Perhaps that was Bran's wish. The eternal continuation of his legacy."
"Just as the throne is eternal, so is the duty of the Pendragons," Alisax remarked.
"You are right about that, Alisax," Morgan said with a nod.
She then looked at me.
"Tell me, Mordred. What is the throne to you?"
I frowned.
"Pardon?"
She smiled.
"The Black Throne has no special powers like the Divine Instruments. It is simply a fancy, well-designed chair made from a mystical and durable material."
"Yet," her ruby-red eyes seemed to sparkle, "this throne is revered and even feared more than weapons and tools capable of impacting the very fabric of reality."
She tilted her head.
"Fascinating, isn't it? Many have their own ideas of what the Black Throne is. I want to hear your thoughts. About the Black Throne, or any other throne in general."
I stared at her, trying to process her question.
I understood what she meant.
I knew the answer.
I just needed the words.
Letting out a deep breath, I gave my answer.
"To me, the throne is a line. A tightrope, strung across the center of two valleys."
I paused.
"Order and Chaos."
Morgan and Alisax watched me closely.
"A ruler is the one who has to walk that tightrope, maintaining a delicate balance between the two."
I activated Haema.
A small stream of blood swirled through the air before forming a needle, which balanced precariously on the tip of my index finger.
"Lean towards Order, and we get stability."
The needle tilted slightly to the left.
"But lean too far, and stagnation occurs. An invisible rot that brings about a slow, excruciating end."
The needle wobbled dangerously.
"Similarly, lean towards Chaos, and we get change. It could be a subtle ripple or a revolution."
The needle tilted sharply in the opposite direction.
"But lean too far, and we get anarchy."
Bloodfire suddenly erupted from the needle.
"Anarchy that will consume and destroy everything."
I closed my fist, extinguishing the flames.
"Becoming a king or queen is a balancing act. You have to know when to lean toward Order and when to lean toward Chaos."
I glanced at the needle before letting it dissolve into blood.
"And the one walking that tightrope has to do it carefully, especially when the winds of discord are trying to push them in either direction."
I smiled faintly.
"The tightrope remains, no matter how many people walk upon it. On its own, it's just a line. But the moment you step onto it, it becomes a test."
My gaze met Morgan's.
"And Morgan, if you become High Queen, you will be the one walking that tightrope."
My expression softened.
"And I am sure you will balance quite well."
"That," Alisax said, looking amazed, "was quite profound."
She turned to Morgan. "And what is your view of the throne, Princess Morgan?"
The two of us looked at her.
Morgan smiled.
"To me, the Black Throne is a symbol. A reminder of an unspoken promise, an ancient, invisible agreement between Bran and the people who crowned him king."
"What was that promise? What was that agreement that endured the sheer weight of millennia?"
She shrugged. "We don't have the answer to that question. Every Pendragon and every ruler who ever sat on the throne had their own answers, and to me, all of those answers felt correct."
Her eyes rose to the throne.
"When I gaze upon the Black Throne and the High King, I do not see my father, the ruler, or even the magnificence of the throne."
"I see the promise of duty that has defined the Pendragons. To be shepherds who protect and guide our people."
"People look up to us and are reassured of our competence. Hence, we must become what they envision."
She sighed.
"Unfortunately, that duty also shackles us. Eventually, the Pendragons have grown used to those shackles and have chosen to accept an illusion of freedom."
Morgan gave me a sad smile.
"I am now shackled by that unknown and unspoken promise, and I must find the answer."
"But you, who understand the consequences of walking that tightrope, have already found your answer and freed yourself."
"If those shackles remain, the Pendragons will eventually end up like Queen Phoebe," Alisax said.
She looked at Morgan.
"Please let the fate of my queen be a cautionary tale for you, Princess Morgan. Do not end up like her, forever bound to her duty until it finally brought her down."
"Like Mordred, you must find your answer, Princess." Her silver eyes flickered with a determined glow. "Only then can you make your decision."
Morgan smiled. "Thank you, Alisax."
She chuckled. "My thoughts aren't exactly as philosophical as yours, Mordred, but they resonate deeply within me."
"Perhaps that's why Father asked you to step in when everything comes to ruin. Even if it means ruling a world of ashes, at least there will be someone to guide the survivors, even if only one survives the ruin."
I couldn't help but laugh. "You're putting a rather huge expectation on me, Morgan."
She nodded with a smile. "I guess I am."
Her gaze returned to the Black Throne, standing majestically upon its podium as it had for millennia.