The knights of Camelot smiled as they watched the golden light of the Holy Sword illuminate the skies. For many, that sight brought pride, nostalgia, and a renewed sense of purpose. The light of Excalibur was not just power — it was a symbol — of protection, of hope, of everything Camelot stood for. However, among all of them, only one did not share that moment. Mordred looked away, unable to face that radiance. It was not fear… it was something deeper. Something she herself avoided naming.
Suddenly, a hand rested on her head. The touch was gentle, unexpected, yet firm enough to stop her from simply pulling away. Nathanael stood beside her, his calm presence contrasting with the turmoil within her.
"I don't know what is going through your mind, but I can see how heavy your heart is, Mordred." His voice carried no judgment, no imposing authority. It was soft, almost… human.
Even so, Mordred did not react. Her head remained lowered, her fists clenched, as if any movement might cause her to break apart.
"Neither I nor your mother are angry about what you did in the past," Nathanael continued, not removing his hand. "Your mother was immature at the time. She didn't know what it meant to be a king… and neither you, nor that witch, understood it either." He referred to Morgan without hesitation. "But that is in the past. She is willing to forgive. And I… I forgave you long before your summoning."
There was a brief pause, as if giving those words time to settle.
"So, my daughter… let go of that weight in your heart."
Mordred reacted. Slowly, she raised her head, but not enough to meet his gaze. Her eyes remained averted, avoiding both Nathanael and the golden light in the sky.
There was conflict there. Pride, pain, regret… all intertwined.
"I am still not worthy of your forgiveness…" her voice came out quieter than usual, almost restrained.
Before any response could come, she took a step back, distancing herself. Her posture hardened again, like armor being hastily reconstructed.
Internally, Mordred wanted to run.
She wanted Nathanael to stop.
To stop speaking like that. To stop acting like… like a father.
Because those words… were everything she had wanted to hear for years. Everything she had desperately sought under Artoria's command. And now that they were finally being said… she didn't know if she could endure it.
Without looking back, Mordred moved away faster.
...
On the ground, on the outskirts of the green fields surrounded by mountains, General Keith Falcon remained still, completely incredulous.
First, that invisible barrier surrounding the white city. Then, human figures crossing the skies like living comets, wrapped in lightning and light, destroying tanks as if they were toys. Chains emerging from the ground, crushing military vehicles, and now… now he had seen with his own eyes a nuclear bomb being erased by a golden beam from a sword.
None of it made sense. There was no logical explanation. It wasn't technology. It wasn't war. It was… something beyond.
Even so, instinct spoke louder. Fear finally settled in his chest. He needed to get out of there. He needed to report, he needed to survive. Without wasting another second, he quickly turned, ready to retreat, each step filled with restrained urgency.
Tap.
The sound of a single step echoed behind him.
Simple. Light.
But enough to freeze everything.
Keith's body locked up instantly. It wasn't hesitation. It wasn't ordinary fear. It was as if something had imposed itself directly upon his existence, crushing his will to act. His heart raced, his breathing faltered, and an indescribable sensation ran through his soul.
"Where are you going, General?" The voice came calm, almost casual.
Keith didn't need to turn to feel it. And yet, he forced the movement, slowly turning his head.
And then he saw.
A man with white hair, golden eyes shining with an intensity impossible to withstand for long. His silver armor reflected the surrounding light, with blue details that gave it a serene… yet imposing contrast. He did not appear threatening in the conventional sense.
He seemed absolute.
'My body… won't move!' The thought screamed within Keith's mind as he desperately tried to take a step—any step. But nothing responded. His muscles ignored his commands, as if they no longer belonged to him.
Because before him did not stand merely a man.
It was a King.
And as long as that King stood there… no one would leave without his permission.
"General Keith Falcon, it would be wise to start talking." Nathanael's voice came calm, yet carried a weight impossible to ignore as he slowly walked until he stood face to face with the soldier. "My subordinates are not as gentle as I am."
Keith trembled slightly, his body still rigid under that invisible pressure. His mind screamed for him to resist, to maintain the posture of a general… but before those golden eyes, all his authority felt meaningless. He took a deep breath, gathering what little control he still had, and began to speak.
With the sudden emergence of Camelot in English territory, the government fell into internal collapse. This was not merely a strange event — it was a public humiliation. International organizations applied pressure, allies questioned them, and the population demanded answers. How could something of that magnitude appear within their own lands without any warning? The government's credibility had been irreversibly stained. The decision was swift, almost desperate: destroy the city before the situation spiraled completely out of control.
Keith had been chosen to carry out that order.
Full authorization. No restrictions.
Any weapon necessary.
Including… nuclear.
"So that's it? Hm…" Nathanael murmured, turning his back with an almost disinterested calm. "I have always despised democracy."
He began to walk away, as if the conversation had already lost its importance. "You may go. I already have what I wanted."
For a moment, Keith couldn't believe it.
But when he realized his body was responding again, immediate relief washed over him. His muscles relaxed, air rushed back into his lungs, and for the first time since that man appeared… he felt that he might actually leave alive.
But then—
"But your importance is not over." Nathanael's voice stopped him once more, not by force… but by the weight of his words.
The King slightly turned his head, glancing over his shoulder.
"I want you to deliver a message."
The silence around them seemed to deepen.
"Tell your former rulers: their time in power has come to an end. The rightful King of England has returned. Camelot shall rise once more under the command of its monarch… King Nathanael Pendragon."
The name lingered in the air.
Keith frowned, confused, still trying to process everything.
"Who…?"
Nathanael fell silent for a brief moment. Indeed, that name did not exist in this world. Not yet. But that did not stop him.
"Ah, yes..." he said, as if recalling something from a long time ago. "Years ago, I had another name; you of this era must know me by that old name."
His golden eyes shone intensely.
"Arthur Pendragon. The King of Camelot."
____________________________________________________
Damian Magnus here, in the voting DC won with more than 20 votes, I wasn't surprised to be honest, well I'll see the ideas I have saved and then separate them, if there are difficulties in choosing I'll do a vote, or would you prefer the vote right away?
Just say the word and that's it, see you next time!