The Story Written by the Victors
Annabeth met Mordred's gaze and began to tremble slightly, which made Dred let out a quiet sigh.
"Relax. I won't hurt you. I don't take my hatred out on the children of my enemies," he said calmly before shifting his gaze slightly away.
Annabeth's expression didn't seem convinced.
"So the one who cursed you was Athena," Percy said, realizing this for the first time, since Mordred had never actually said it before. Or rather… it had always felt like asking that question wouldn't end well. "At least that clears up one mystery," he added.
But the calm way he said it seemed to irritate Annabeth.
"Did you not hear what I just said, seaweed brain? His title is the Executioner of Champions. The man who killed Athena's Perfect Hero. He earned that curse by killing her perfect champion, her prodigy… one of the most beloved heroes among the gods after Perseus. The King of Camelot himself. Arthur Pendragon."
At those last words, Mordred's gaze hardened for just a moment, as memories seemed to surge through his mind, filling him with a quiet, endless sorrow.
…
"Why are you doing this? Why did you betray her? Why? Tell me. She gave you everything. You wouldn't be King Arthur without her magic. The very magic you claim to hate," Mordred shouted, standing beneath relentless rain as the world around them burned with war.
Men ran in every direction.
Knights pushed forward, trying to breach the city behind him, while witches and wizards held the line with everything they had, defending against catapults that hurled fire and stone through the air.
In front of him stood someone identical… but older. Sharper. Surrounded by something that almost felt divine.
King Arthur.
Blond hair. Gray eyes. Silver armor that seemed to shine even beneath the weight of the storm-dark sky.
Behind him stood the finest of Camelot. The Knights of the Round Table. They looked uncertain for a moment… but still followed their king without question.
At Mordred's side stood only one other man.
Striking. Beautiful, even. Perhaps second only to Arthur and Mordred themselves. Black hair. Brown eyes that once carried warmth… but now held nothing but cold restraint and exhaustion. Guilt clung to him like a shadow.
His hand rested tightly on the hilt of the sword at his side, its sheath completely black.
"Arthur… Guinevere doesn't love you. She just wants to be free. I only helped her leave, nothing more. Whatever Agravain told you—"
"Enough, Lancelot. I don't want to hear it," Arthur cut him off, his voice cold. Dismissive. His gaze swept over both of them briefly. "Do you really think I would do all this… for a woman?" he said, shaking his head slightly before letting out a faint, almost pained smile.
But his eyes…
His eyes held something else.
Something only Mordred seemed to notice.
"Avalon is dangerous for this world. Too many dangerous powers lie within its walls. Uncontrolled magic is a threat to the world itself. You know that. That child… carrying that parasite… we cannot allow more like him to exist," Arthur said, his voice steady as he shook his head.
Those words seemed to steady the knights behind him, who accepted their king's reasoning for the attack without hesitation.
"And as for your mother… I owe you an apology. Mor… she was responsible for the creation of those aberrations. We found proof. We had no choice. Whether you believe it or not, Merlin himself was there when we uncovered it. We had to seal her, Mordred."
Mordred let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
"That's the excuse you came up with. You know perfectly well whether she was capable of something like that or not. You're just lying to all of them… so they don't see what you really are."
"Where is he? Where is Merlin now? I want to hear it from his own mouth. How he betrayed his friend. How he betrayed the person who trusted him the most," Mordred roared.
"It was a heavy blow for him," Arthur said, shaking his head slightly. "Just surrender, and it will all be easier. Hand over the mages, and the rest will be spared. Once we cleanse the world of magic… everyone will be—"
The memory shifted.
Further ahead.
Mordred stood there, locked in battle with his father, both of them exhausted.
Wounds covered his body.
Arthur was no different.
And the battle that had been raging not far away between Lancelot and the Knights of the Round Table… fell silent in an instant.
Mordred glanced to the side.
And his eyes widened.
For a moment, they opened so wide they trembled…
his jaw shaking.
Lancelot was on his knees, the rain pouring down over him.
His body had been pierced by every weapon of the knights he had faced.
His head hung slightly forward, hiding his face, but the drops of blood falling from him looked almost as if the blood itself was weeping.
His black armor was stained crimson, not only with his own blood… but with that of his enemies as well.
Those same enemies now lay scattered around him, no longer breathing, all of them dead at the hands of a single man.
And yet, in the end… they had still managed to bring him down.
"Brother…" Mordred said as he looked at him, no longer moving, holding back with all his strength the tears that threatened to fall as he saw him lying there, dead… dying as a knight, trying to protect his kingdom.
But his gaze shifted.
Toward the kingdom.
Now nothing more than burning ruins, where the screams of the civilians had long since vanished, and the magic of its defenders no longer shone.
It had ended in mutual destruction… with Camelot's army.
"So this is what you wanted… isn't it, father?" Mordred shouted, his voice filled with rage as he looked at the man still standing before him.
The rain fell over him as well, but his face was now as cold as ice.
He looked at him directly… yet his eyes seemed to drift across the battlefield for a moment.
No guilt.
No pain.
No regret.
Just cold indifference.
All the emotions he had shown before now felt like nothing more than a false mask.
The sword in his hand shimmered faintly with a silver glow, and when he moved it even slightly, it felt as if the very air itself was being cut.
Excalibur.
The sword that could cut through anything.
Mordred's body was covered in wounds.
Arthur, in contrast, looked untouched.
Even so, Mordred had held him back long enough to stop him from slaughtering the entire kingdom with his own hands.
And yet…
The kingdom had still been slaughtered.
And not only that.
The enemy army as well.
Mordred's jaw began to tremble.
"Then at least let me die on my own land. Out of respect for a knight." he said, forcing his emotions down as he looked toward what remained of the kingdom… now stripped of its walls, long since reduced to rubble.
Arthur watched him for a moment… then gave a small nod.
So the two of them walked.
Straight toward the center of Avalon.
As Mordred cast one last look back at Lancelot.
While walking, he let go of the sword that had accompanied him the entire way, now completely destroyed, with only a fragment of its blade remaining… sliced apart by Excalibur.
Then he raised his hand slightly toward the sky and murmured:
"Accio… Clarent."
And a sword flew toward him at high speed.
Then Mordred opened his eyes… as if he had only blinked for a moment.
And he was still there, sitting in the same place, while Percy watched him carefully.
Annabeth had gone completely silent, swallowing hard as she felt the air grow colder.
"Yes… the history written by the victors is rarely the real one," he said simply before standing up and walking away at a slow pace.
Percy raised his hand to stop him…
But felt that maybe he needed a moment.
So he lowered it again.
Percy glanced at Annabeth for a second, his eyes drifting slightly.
"Yeah… well… I kind of figured," Percy said, letting out a small sigh.
Of course he knew who Mordred was.
Even if he didn't know the full story, he and Harry had looked into it… but stopped when it all started to feel more like a fabricated tale.
Because his aunt and his cousin were clearly nothing like how they were portrayed.
Annabeth was about to speak again—
But suddenly, Harry shot up from the couch and said, his expression suddenly serious:
"Grover. We're missing Grover."
And both Percy and Annabeth froze, their eyes widening as they looked around in every direction—
Finally realizing…
They were missing a member of the team.