From within a tower that seemed like it should've fallen into ruin ages ago, two voices droned in unison. Amongst the syllables of the ancient language, one word was jarring in its familiarity: Camelot.

Two hands hovered over a clear stone set on a pedestal while two hands were joined, linking the pair as their eyes glowed amber. With the final word, the stone flashed so brightly that the two had to shield their eyes until it faded once more.

"It is done." The woman smiled at her accomplice. "Well done, Mordred."

He kissed her hand. "Thank you, Lady Morgana."

From the shadows, there was an ominous rustle of feathers.

O~O~O~O~O

Leagues to the south, Branwen sat on the floor of the hidden room within Geoffrey's library, contemplating the box she'd discovered weeks ago.

She'd been helping Merlin clean and organize the space when she'd come across it, tucked away on a high shelf. It was a perfect cube, about a foot across on each side, and a smooth, seamless black.

She'd showed it to Merlin and he'd offered to toss it out for her. She'd declined, clutching it to her, knowing beyond doubt that there was something significant about it and wondering that Merlin didn't seem to see it. She'd kept the box near her, only to have him make the same offer several times over the course of the afternoon. It was almost as if he didn't remember the box from one moment to the next, and it made Branwen deeply suspicious.

She'd put it back where she found it, mostly to keep her husband from trying to take it, but she'd been sneaking back almost every day to examine it, the mystery of it a relentless call.

There was a way to open it, she was sure, but it had so far resisted every spell she'd crafted for it. Whoever had sealed it had been very, very good and her magic itched to counter it.

At the moment, though, she sat and simply stared at it in frustration. Inspiration had hit in the small hours of the morning and she'd been sure she'd figured it out, only to have the new spell fail like all the others.

She held the box up and scowled at it. "Why won't you open?"

Her brows rose in surprise as something touched her magic. Runes glowed faintly in blue over the surface of the box, then faded again.

She tilted her head. That was new. "So, what?" she asked it. "You want me to have a conversation with you?"

The box didn't answer.

She shook her head at it. "I must be hard up for company if I'm talking to a box." But all of her increasingly complex spells had failed and she wondered if the solution could really be so simple. She squared her shoulders and pronounced in her most authoritative voice, "I say to you, open!"

The runes flared again, but still only faintly. It was still more progress than she'd had since she started, though.

She shook her head, brows furrowing. She chewed her lip, thinking. "Please open?"

The runes flashed and she dropped the box, scuttling back to put some distance between her and it. She watched in fascination as the box folded itself into nothing, leaving behind what looked like a ball of fuzz. It wasn't until it uncurled itself and turned to fix her with an emerald stare that she realized what it was.

A kitten.

She tilted her head, blinking in confusion. She studied the creature, noting the burgundy stone that winked at her from around its neck. It seemed harmless enough, but she knew enough to be cautious. She watched as it closed its eyes and inclined its head.

'Mistress.'

Branwen started at the voice in her head. It was male – deep and melodious and utterly at odds with the tiny ball of fur before her. "What?" she choked.

The creature ignored her question and stood, scenting the air. His hackled rose and his ears flattened against his head. 'Mistress, there's no time. You must take this jewel and put it on.'

Branwen shook her head. "No. I'm not putting anything on until I understand what-" she stopped as a connection she didn't even know she had was severed.

"Merlin," she breathed.

She was scrambling to her feet when pain crashed over her, followed by darkness.

O~O~O~O~O

Outside, the day was progressing much like any other in Camelot. Arthur and his knights were practicing on the training field, with Merlin and his cadre of battle mages assisting.

Merlin was working with a younger knight, helping hone his dagger skills. The young man was attacking while Merlin dodged and weaved, a magic shield lighting up when a blow found its mark while keeping the warlock from harm.

Suddenly, white-hot pain flashed through Merlin's head, then a line of fire burned across his ribcage. Vaguely, he heard the knight's triumphant cry of, "I got you!" followed by a horrified, "Oh, gods! I got you!" He felt himself falling as the knight shouted for Arthur.

A/N: Because there's nothing like starting things off with a cliffhanger, amiright? Now, if you'll excuse me, I feel the need to go and laugh in an evil sort of manner.