"Merlin?" Arthur asks one morning, sitting across the small kitchen table in Merlin's tiny apartment.

"Hmm?" Merlin hums, looking up from his tea. He's been staring into it since the meal began.

"Why . . . Where are all of the other sorcerers? I've been back for almost half a year and, granted I still don't entirely understand this world, but . . . I thought . . . I thought Albion was suppose to unite upon my death. Why is it that there seems to be no magic left on Earth?"

Merlin's eyes were wide, looking away from his king in thought. Arthur had come a long way since he'd returned. Not only was he understanding of the new world, but he was also more than accepting of Merlin's magic. That, and Merlin had been broken when Arthur found him. He was lost, unsure of his sanity. But Arthur was lost too. In a way, they were both guiding each other back to who they used to be.

"Merlin?"

"Oh," the warlock said quietly. He stared back at Arthur. "Oh, you did. You did bring peace to Albion. Gwen became high queen of all the realm. But . . . after a while . . . p-people became more advanced, more intelligent. They were more focused on moving on from the dark ages than using magic. Some say their goal was to a-a-abandon magic—make it so that men no longer had to call upon the gods for help but could live as their own. Then . . . then the art became devilish again. Geoffrey's records. Most of them burned."

Merlin was staring at an image in his mind, a haunted look on his face. Silence plagued the room as his memories came back to him in gruesome visions.

"What of those with magic?" Arthur questioned eventually. "What happened to them?"

Merlin began to rock slightly where he sat, wringing his fingers together beneath the table. "They came to me—they came—they asked for my help. They wanted to st-start a war between them and those who opposed them. They p-pled with me, wanted me to lead them. People are stupid, people are so, so st-stupid!" Merlin's face contorted into something crazed as he continued on. "I thought of the purg-ge, of Morga-ana. They wanted to-to-to repeat it! They wanted to—I couldn't Arthur! I-I just—but they all wanted it, they all were so damn vengeful!" He squeezed his eyes shut and banged his fists on the table, breathing heavily. Arthur held his breath. He'd seen Merlin behave this way before. Some things were too much for his mind to handle, especially after several generations of therapy, mental institutions, psychologists, and doctors poking and prodding at his brain, trying to convince him that his past was all just a delusion. "I wouldn't do it," he continued in a weary manner. "But if I didn't do something they would simply start a war anyway and it would go on and on and on and on and on and I couldn't let that happen! So, I selected a few very powerful ma-mages and we studied the magic of cre-creation and-and w-we built a world—a new realm. The witches, the sorcerers, all creatures of magic ventured there for safekeeping on Mab's chariot and they rose a new life up from the dirt in their own pocket of reality! And they were safe there. They were welcome. But now, everyone is segregated and, the war still goes on—it's simply the mind's bi-bigotry creating st-stereotyped pawns to battle thoughts of peace, possible unions . . ."

"Why do you not go to them now? Show them that there is hope? Show them that I am here? Returned. Merlin, I will help in any way I can. All I want is peace."

Merlin scoffed. "You and me both . . . I fear it will be difficult for them to trust mortals again. I fear it will be difficult for mortals to accept their existence. You see, because of this world, the people here, in this realm, no longer believe that these creatures were never even true beings. They exist now only in myths and campfire tales—they exist now only in costumes and motion pictures. To unite them would take years of teaching and nurturing the people, eradicating the bigotry on both ends, in both worlds. And I believe, Arthur, that that is why you have returned."

"What?"

Merlin stood, his gaze maddening as he leaned over the table, looking so deep into Arthur's eyes that he felt as though he were trying to climb into his soul. "The world, Arthur! It's dying! For centuries and centuries it has kept these people safe, but now, it weakens!" The way he spoke made him seem like a serpent, his voice raspy and his words hissed. "Something so grand and raw cannot last forever! It's old! It's-it's aging! It's withering at the seams and soon it will fall away from this world and decay, taking everyone within along with it!"

Arthur held Merlin's gaze as the warlock lowered himself back into his chair, huffing with exhaustion. He balled up his fist and pressed it against his brow, face scrunched up as if it pained him to think at all. He began to rock again, swaying to and fro.

"Merlin," Arthur breathed, still not entirely used to his friend's shattered mentality, yet determined to hold him together with all of his might. "Merlin. I will come with you to this world. I will. Just, tell me what it is you want me to do."

Merlin groaned, bringing up his other hand and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, still rocking. "The legends still reign, Arthur. These people; they still believe in us, in your return—in both worlds." He looked up, eyes glazed over, peircing blue and desperate. "We must go to each of them and lay ourselves out bare before them, hand in hand, and show them that peace is still possible."

Arthur mulled it over for a moment, thoughts of revolting and wars battling against hopes for harmony and amity between the two worlds. Poor Merlin sat before him, torn into staggering pieces of himself that fought valiantly to hold onto one another, the thread for stitching woven in dreams of unity and the promise of Arthur. After all of this change, the king found he still, somehow, knew Merlin, could see his old, cheeky smile reflecting back at him in the shards of who he had become over the years. Still, there was hope in him. Arthur merely needed to uncover it from beneath his woes.

"Where do we start?" he asked, finally, wanting to fix Merlin, help him to feel more certain of himself.

He froze for a moment, as though he hadn't expected Arthur to ask such a question. He blinked once. His shoulders sagged. "The Cromwells," he uttered.

"What?"

"They regularly travel between the worlds," Merlin explained, looking as though he'd been put out of place, shouldn't be talking about these people in this realms. "They've begun to advocate for our cause. They strive for the same goals we do. It was their ancestors that helped me create their world."

"They would be able to help us?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Where are they?"

"One of them is here, in this world, by the name Dylan Piper. He kept his mortal father's name. If we find him, we can get into contact with his sisters."

"Sisters?"

"Yes. Marnie Cromwell and Sophie Piper. They reside in the other world, Halloweentown they call it—named after some holiday they have here, a poor replica of Samhain. Marnie changed her name to honor her ancestors after the death of her grandmother. Even now, she is working to take magical beings back into the mortal world, slowly integrating them into society."

"So it's working?" Arthur questioned. "There's hope?"

Merlin's lip twitched towards a grin, but his eyes remained sad, the images of wars and struggles to come reflecting in the depth of his pupils. "Yes," he confirmed, "there is hope."

Arthur sighed, sitting back and running his shaking hands through his hair. He looked at Merlin, looked at how small he was and how crumbled his soul had become, but also his eyes and how big they were and how huge that slight glint of hope seemed, lighting up all of the darkness that had smothered them for lifetimes. He took a breath. "Then we shall make it certain."

At last, Merlin smiled.