Kingdom Come

by VellichorNovelist

A dead king steps out of the water, into a world he barely recognises. But even fifteen hundred years after his death, there are still prophecies. There are still sorcerers and magic. In the backdrop of everything, shadowy figures lurk and whisper. Destiny, it seemed, was not quite done with him yet. Rating won't go above T.

2. Coven

A/N:

And... 9 months later, here is chapter 2! Sorry for the wait. At least it wasn't 2000 years though, eh? Also if you see any mistakes please say! I didn't proof read this as much as I could've oops.

'Coven'

A candle glints into life. It fills the room, glaringly harsh, muffling the quiet whispers and quiet footsteps that had occupied the space before.

They are standing in a circle- five figures, each shrouded in long, black cloaks and silky veils. Something interrupts them: a noise, a shout. They pay no attention.

The candle is passed around them, and they each mutter blessings too quiet to hear.

Around them, the room seems to draw together, as if the very walls themselves are watching the spectacle.

As the candle finishes its lap- the wax is hot, and drips with sneering fury- it is lifted into the air with shaking fingers. Solemnly, like a promise.

Suddenly, a basket.

It is small and woven, filled with sultry spices and pots. Stinking and putrid, the smell seems to linger in the air. It sticks to their clothes.

Stepping forward, another veiled person takes a pot. He lays it on the ground, shaking the grains into a glistening circle of silver around them.

All the while he mutters a phrase, too foreign and strange to catch for the untrained ear: "Fram beneoðan uncer, hit gefeorme."

From beneath you, it devours.

"Fram beneoðan uncer, hit gefeorme."

From beneath you, it devours.

The man's voice is loud now, and is joined by others. They rise in a chorus- of love, of plotting, of anger and cruelty.

""Fram beneoðan uncer, hit gefeorme!"

There is a flash, like lightning.

The five rip off their veils, mouths gaping and contorting at what lay before them, their faces stark and white in the gloom.

The candle is dropped to the floor, left to roll in smoky embers and salt, and a shadow falls across the stone. It looms, a dark interpretation of deathly desires, as still and as solemn as the night.

The witches' eyes are lit with glee and-

Merlin pauses the video.

Sitting in his chair, he thoughtfully leans back, watching the computer screen. Outside, the sunlight glimmers through the window.

He stares into the faces of the practitioners and they stare back, albeit a bit pixelated.

Their eyes, gleam with a golden hue he has not seen in centuries. He feels his heart race a little, his hair stand on end as goose bumps crawl across his skin and red hot blood roars through his ears.

The video, uploaded only a week ago, had already gained global recognition on YouTube and Instagram. Merlin might've laughed at the absurdity of the situation, if it hadn't been so close to home.

Slowly standing up, he strides out of the room, his feet padding down carpeted stairs.

A few seconds later, there is the slamming of a door. The house returns to a state of silence, the only noise the creaking of floorboards- although no one is in it.

For a tiny second, the eyes on the screen seem to flicker.