Merlin had been warned that this could happen in the not-so-distant future.
In the Crystal Cave, he had witnessed it all—every detail, every possibility of what might one day come to pass. And he had done nothing to stop it. In truth, he had never had a choice. Not even with all his faith could he have prevented it. It was either this or his mother's life. Some might call it selfish, choosing his mother over all of Camelot, but that wasn't really the case. He had sworn to the dragon, on his mother's life, that he would release him. And even without that oath, Merlin would have been bound by his word. He had promised to set the dragon free. And he had done it.
The scene before him was devastating: all of Camelot, the city he was supposed to protect with his very soul, was burning. The same dragon who had told him, time and again, that his destiny lay in defending this city and, above all, the now Prince Arthur, was the one setting it ablaze. How ironic that the dragon who had constantly spoken of Merlin's duty to safeguard Arthur—essentially to protect Camelot—was now the one destroying what was meant to be saved. It was deeply unfair. Merlin had spent days and nights tirelessly shielding Arthur and Camelot from harm, only to watch it all go up in flames at the hands of a talking dragon who claimed to be essential to fulfilling his destiny. What a bitter disappointment.
And the worst part was that Merlin had no idea how to stop him. He had spoken to the creature, tried reasoning with him, but the dragon refused to listen. He was consumed by a thirst for vengeance, slaughtering and burning innocent people for the sake of one man: Uther. And vengeance, as Merlin well knew, was rarely a wise guide. But it seemed to be in the dragon's monstrous nature to destroy, to burn, to kill. Kilgarrah showed no sign of remorse for his actions. All he could focus on was his hatred for Uther. Nothing else mattered. That hatred drove him, clouded his judgment, and blinded him to the fact that he was killing people who didn't deserve to die.
Merlin realized, without a doubt, that he would never truly understand Kilgarrah. He had always thought that despite being of different races, they were alike in some way. But he had been wrong. Merlin would never do such a thing. Never.
And now Camelot burned, partly because of him. He had to act. And fast.
