The moonlight filtered through the dense canopy of the woods, casting a silver glow on the young man who stepped forward to greet Morgana. His features were familiar, and recognition dawned on her face.

"Mordred," she breathed, her eyes widening. "I can hardly believe it's you."

"I've missed you," Mordred said, his voice carrying the warmth of long-held affection. "It's been too long, Morgana."

She studied him, taking in the changes that time had wrought. "You've grown so much," Morgana replied, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I remember you as a boy, and now look at you."

Mordred's eyes held a depth that spoke of experiences beyond his years. "I've learned much since we last met," he said. "And I've heard tales… tales of a sister I never knew you had."

Morgana's smile faltered. "A sister? No, that cannot be. I have no siblings."

But before more words could be exchanged, a rustling sound announced the arrival of another. A woman emerged from the shadows, her bearing regal, her gaze piercing. She stopped before Morgana, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

"Morgana," the woman said, her voice rich and confident. "I am Morgause, your half-sister."

Morgana stared at her, a tumult of emotions churning within. Denial, curiosity, and a flicker of hope danced in her eyes. "My half-sister?" she echoed, the words foreign yet strangely fitting.

"Yes," Morgause affirmed, stepping closer. "Our paths were meant to cross, just as our fates are intertwined."

Morgana took a hesitant step forward, the pieces of a puzzle she didn't know existed beginning to fall into place. "How can this be?"

"All will be revealed in time," Morgause promised, extending her hand. "For now, know that you are not alone."

As Morgana placed her hand in Morgause's, a new chapter in her life began—one filled with the promise of answers and the peril of truths long hidden.

The forest around them seemed to hold its breath as Morgause spoke, her voice a whisper that carried the weight of untold secrets. "Uther Pendragon, the man you know as king, had an affair with Gorlois' wife—our mother."

Morgana's hand trembled in Morgause's grasp. "No, that can't be. Uther… he couldn't be my father. Why would he not tell me?"

"Because our mother was a witch," Morgause said, her eyes locking with Morgana's. "And Uther's hatred for magic is surpassed only by his fear of it. He could never accept that his own blood carried the gift he despises."

Morgana's heart raced, her mind reeling from the revelation. "A witch," she repeated, the word foreign yet familiar. "That means… we are witches?"

Morgause nodded solemnly. "Yes, Morgana. It is our heritage, our birthright. And it is time you embraced it."

"But it can't be," Morgana gasped, shock etching her features. "All my life, I've been taught that magic is evil, a force to be feared and controlled."

"Magic is not evil, Morgana," Morgause insisted, her voice firm. "It is a part of us, as natural as the air we breathe. It is Uther's laws that have twisted its perception, turned it into something to be shunned."

Morgana's mind spun with the implications of Morgause's words. If what she said was true, then everything Morgana knew about herself, about her place in the world, was a lie.

Morgana's breath caught in her throat, the night suddenly closing in around her. "If what you say is true," she began, her voice a mere whisper, "then my entire life has been a lie."

Morgause reached out, her touch gentle upon Morgana's shoulder. "Not a lie, but a truth concealed," she corrected softly. "You have always had the power within you, Morgana. It is time to claim it."

The words resonated within Morgana, awakening a part of her that had long been dormant. She felt the stirrings of magic, a pulse of energy that coursed through her veins. "And what of Uther?" she asked, her newfound resolve steeling her voice. "What will he do when he learns of this?"

Morgause's expression hardened, the moon casting shadows across her face. "Uther's reign is built on fear and suppression," she stated. "But fear can only hold power for so long. We will show him, and all of Camelot, that magic is not to be feared, but celebrated."

Morgana nodded, the pieces of her past slotting into place with a clarity that both frightened and exhilarated her. "Then we must act," she declared, her decision firm. "We must bring the truth to light and free those who have suffered under Uther's tyranny."

Together, they turned their gaze to the stars, the constellations above a map of fate and destiny. "We will need allies," Morgause said, her eyes reflecting the celestial glow. "And we will need to be cautious. Uther's spies are many, and his wrath is swift."

"I understand," Morgana replied, her determination unwavering. "We will gather those who are loyal to our cause, those who yearn for a kingdom where magic is not a crime but a gift."

"We will speak more of this," Morgause said, releasing Morgana's hand. "For now, you must process what you have learned. But know this—you are not alone. You have me, and you have Mordred. We are your family, and we will help you find your way."

As Morgause stepped back into the shadows, Morgana was left standing in the moonlit clearing, the truth of her lineage heavy upon her shoulders. The revelation that she was a witch, that magic flowed through her veins, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Morgana lingered in the clearing, the moon casting a serene light over the scene of her awakening. Mordred stood a few paces away, his youthful face etched with concern.

"I must return to Camelot," Morgana finally said, her voice a mix of resolve and turmoil.

Mordred nodded, stepping forward. "Will you be alright?" he asked, his eyes searching hers for any sign of doubt.

"I will be," she assured him, though her heart was a storm of emotions. "Thank you, Mordred, for everything."

With a final embrace that spoke of shared histories and futures yet unwritten, Morgana turned away from Mordred and began the journey back to the castle that had been her home, and now felt like a prison.