Summary
Aithusa's startling transformation fulfills a long-awaited prophecy for the lost dragons, but Morgana senses an ominous future for all.
Chapter 79 Quest for Evanescen: Aithusa
A blinding flash of light forced Morgana to halt mid-stride through the dense foliage, shielding her eyes with a hand, the unexpected brilliance burning even behind closed lids. Around her, dragons scattered with startled screeches and bellows, their cries vibrating through her body.
When the glare finally faded, Morgana lowered her arm, blinking away dancing spots. The air crackled with energy—simultaneously icy against her skin yet warming her very core. There, in the center of the clearing where Aithusa had fallen, a magnificent dragon stood. Morgana drew in a sharp inhale, unable to release it. Merlin came beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers, he too transfixed.
Wisps of silvery steam rose from the white dragon's transformed body, curling around her like spirits paying homage. This creature towered half as tall as Kilgharrah himself, her ivory form crowned with graceful, pulsing wings that spanned wider than a lookout tower.
Morgana stared at the dragon, her lips parting in silent wonder. The creature's body seemed to shimmer with every subtle movement, the auroral glow of Evanescen illuminating each glistening scale, changing them into a living canvas that reflected the vibrant hues around them.
"Aithusa?" Morgana uttered, her voice trembling with awe and disbelief as she reached for Merlin's hand. He grasped it instantly, his grip comforting and firm, their fingers entwining instinctively.
A tremor ran through her when Aithusa reared back her head, revealing rows of dagger-like teeth and releasing an earth-shaking roar. She unleashed a torrential blast of icy vapor, her crystalline breath sweeping across the clearing like the sound of breaking glass. Every plant and flower it touched became delicate sculptures of frost, nearby leaves suspending mid-flutter, frozen in time.
Merlin's fingers tightened around hers as a chill traced its path along her spine, not from fear but from witnessing raw magic manifest before her eyes. For long moments, they remained motionless, words failing from the wonder of Aithusa and the verdant clearing she'd transformed into a wintry, ethereal dreamscape, impossible and breathtaking.
When at last the dragon turned her slit-pupiled gaze upon them, Morgana gasped. This was no hatchling. The young brimmed with newfound wisdom and power – the living essence of this mystical realm made flesh. "Yes, Morgana," she spoke, her voice melodious and resonant. "It is I – Aithusa. Evanescen's very magic now courses through my veins, granting me knowledge and abilities far beyond my years."
Aithusa unfurled translucent wings, the delicate membranes pulsing with a soft, inner glow that projected shadows across the frost-covered ground. A gentle breeze stirred, the air bearing the scent of winter—clean and sharp—causing the icy leaves to chime like crystal bells, creating a haunting melody that embodied the very essence of Evanescen.
A disbelieving laugh escaped Morgana as she tilted her head back to take in the full majesty of Aithusa's new form. Her fingers—still entwined with Merlin's—tingled with mystical energy radiating from this extraordinary moment. "I can understand you," she breathed, shaking her head in wonder. "You're... beautiful. Magnificent." This was something she could scarcely comprehend, even after all she had seen.
Morgana moved from Merlin's side, releasing their grip and extending an arm outward as if drawn by an invisible thread. Aithusa lowered her elegant head, permitting her trembling fingers to alight on cool, hardened scales. The surface felt smoother than polished marble yet retained a subtle texture like finely worked metal. Pure exhilaration coursed through her as she looked into Aithusa's brilliant, fathomless orbs – the same yet not. In those endless emerald depths, Morgana sensed untold ancient wisdom and cosmic power incarnate. She released another breathless laugh, equal parts awe and euphoria.
"Hello, Aithusa," Merlin said with a smile. He stepped forward, his boots crunching on the frosted earth, each step releasing puffs of crystalline dust that swirled around his ankles. He tenderly laid a hand upon her snout, and for a moment, time itself seemed frozen as dragonlord and dragon bonded through thought and touch.
Against the pristine white landscape, his obsidian cloak and fitted tunic absorbed the light rather than reflected it, creating a striking figure of shadow amid the brilliance. The silver clasps bearing the mark of the Old Religion caught the ethereal light, glinting like stars against the darkness of his attire. As he caressed one of Aithusa's horns—now gleaming solid ivory and nearly as tall as Merlin himself—a warm smile softened his usually solemn features.
Morgana's breath faltered at the sight. This was not the fumbling servant boy she'd once known in Camelot's halls. Before her stood a sorcerer in his full power, his magic visibly threading through every gesture, every breath—unrestrained and unapologetic. An unexpected reverence blossomed within her chest, intertwining with a bewildering sense of possibility that quickened her pulse. This Merlin moved with a confidence that both captivated and disarmed her, like witnessing storm clouds massing on the horizon—magnificent in its brewing might, yet concealing forces that could strike without warning.
Kilgharrah landed beside them with a rush of displaced air that sent Morgana's hair whipping across her face, his massive claws carving furrows in the frozen ground. "This is unprecedented," he rumbled, his voice vibrating through the earth as his gaze fixed on Aithusa. Vyransa alit beside him, her large pupils dilated with wonder. "Never before has a dragon grown in such a manner."
"It's Evanescen," Merlin said after a moment, still caressing Aithusa. Merlin's evolution seemed as complete as Aithusa's, though achieved through different means. Both had become what they were always meant to be, and the parallel left Morgana contemplating her own path—what she might yet become when freed from the shadows of her past.
"Yes," Vyransa replied, her voice suffused with reverence. "The magic of our realm has responded to her presence. Evanescen recognized her – accelerated her development and awakened dormant abilities. Legends speak of a white dragon of untold ancient power who would be reborn in a new form – her rebirth the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy long-awaited."
Kilgharrah's rough scales rasped against one another as he shifted his bulk, producing a sound akin to stone grinding upon stone. He turned his ancient gaze toward Vyransa, his nostrils flaring. Merlin exchanged questioning glances with Vyransa and the great dragon. While Aithusa's metamorphosis surprised Morgana, the existence of a foretelling did not. Events of this magnitude always tied to ancient predictions, the threads of destiny weaving patterns long before they revealed themselves.
"Could this be what you also spoke of, Kilgharrah?" Merlin asked. "That Aithusa was the key to bringing balance to the realms of magic?" The younglings Aithusa had played with earlier darted back into view, their brilliant colors streaking through the air as they twittered excitedly around her. Morgana's lips curved upward as Aithusa, despite her newfound majesty, patiently allowed the small dragons to nip and flutter about her.
"Indeed," Vyransa affirmed as other dragons began to circle overhead and gather around them, their wingbeats creating rhythmic currents that stirred the frozen foliage around them. "The legends foretold that her emergence could only happen through the unlikely convergence of a dragonlord, priestess of the old religion, and a white dragon. And you are here. Your arrival heralds a bridge between our worlds, for the white one carries within her the power to…"
Vyransa's voice trailed off as a flash of crimson streaked across the skies above, a swift shadow sweeping over the clearing. Morgana's focus was drawn upwards by the persistent flap of mighty wings, each beat pulsing through her chest like a battle drum's call to arms. She couldn't breathe, the air thickened around her. The temperature rose with the newcomer's approach, melting the frost into tiny rivulets.
A powerfully-built dragon easily twice Aithusa's size came into view, descending towards them. His scales shone with the intensity of polished rubies, refracting the medley of colors from the ethereal aurora into a shimmering crimson halo. As he swept his wingspan forward to decelerate, the force pressed against Morgana's body like an invisible hand, nearly causing her to step backward.
With a final, earth-shaking thud, the dragon's clawed feet struck the frozen earth beside the Kilgharrah, sending fissures sprawling like spiderwebs through the frost-covered ground. Crystal shards leapt upward, capturing light before settling again. Though smaller than Kilgharrah, he emanated an aura of raw, primordial power, charging the air and raising the hairs along Morgana's arms and neck.
The fearsome dragon fixed them with a piercing blue stare, his ridged brow jutting like ancient battlements over his eyes. He angled his arrowhead skull toward them, each scale along his facial contours capturing the light individually. Morgana's breath caught in her throat beneath that ancient, appraising stare, nodding respectfully to Vyransa to receive a subtle tilt of the female dragon's head in acknowledgement.
A memory stirred deep within Morgana's mind—illustrations in ancient texts she'd studied during her priestess training with Morgause, a chill of recognition coursing through her veins. "I know this dragon," she whispered to herself.
"Nazares?" Kilgharrah gasped, his voice uncharacteristically fragile as recognition and affection fractured his normally stoic demeanor. "Nazares! You survived! How?"
"As did you, old friend," he intoned in a voice that seemed to reverberate through Morgana's very bones. "When my dragonlord fell beneath Uther's blade, I fought until my wings were torn and my scales pierced by a dozen spears. I fled into the aether, each breath agony, until the veil between worlds thinned and I, like many others, was welcomed in this sanctuary." His massive head lowered slightly, ancient grief momentarily visible in his piercing gaze. "Evanescen healed what mortal weapons had broken, but could not restore what was truly lost. Many of us carry such wounds, Kilgharrah. But let us speak more of our trials later, for I yearn to hear how you endured in the world of men."
Nazares turned his attention upon Aithusa, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled her scent, emitting a sound like wind through mountain passes. He studied her with an intensity that seemed to penetrated beyond the physical, before he bowed his great head in reverence, the gesture fluid despite his imposing form.
"Now, we must all grasp the true significance of what unfolds before us," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "Vyransa, for ages you have spoken of this day, and though it has finally arrived, many among us remain shadowed by doubt where you see only promise."
"That is so," Vyransa replied. "This convergence sunders the tethers that have bound both our realms for centuries. It heralds a new era—one where dragonkind could at last return to the realm of men without facing fear or hatred. An era that might restore the primordial balance to all domains of magic."
Morgana unexpectedly shivered, a foreboding sensation seizing her like the premonitions that once haunted her dreams. Dread trickled through her as she watched Nazares' gaze returning repeatedly to Aithusa, studying her with keen interest.
Ancient lore surfaced in Morgana's mind—a prophecy of a red dragon and a white locked in ceaseless combat until one emerged victorious. She cast a furtive glance at Merlin, seeking in his face any recognition of this ominous portent, but found only wonder as he observed the new arrival. Kilgharrah remained spellbound, his expression still revealing rare amazement. Her gaze traveled across the assembled dragons. Could she alone perceive the shadow of conflict looming over this momentous occasion?
The opposing positions where Aithusa and Nazares stood made Morgana tremble. From their first meeting, she'd seen only a trusting, vulnerable soul in Aithusa. Now, this young dragon's radiant form seemed to embody the magic of Evanescen itself, power and wisdom emanating from her in waves that made the very air crackle with energy. But what future did Aithusa have if Nazares was destined to be her adversary—perhaps even her executioner?
When her fingers had connected with Aithusa's cool scales, an ancient consciousness brushed against her mind—vast and unfathomable as the night sky. Fleeting images had cascaded through her thoughts: countless dragons soaring through the heavens across millennia, wisdom accumulated through eons beyond mortal comprehension. Abilities long dormant had awakened in Aithusa, unleashing profound forces that could reshape the very foundations of their worlds.
As discourse continued between the dragons, Morgana reached out with her thoughts, focusing only on Aithusa to prevent her mental voice from reaching others. The familiar path to the young dragon's mind now felt strangely altered—like walking a known trail suddenly transformed by snowfall. She wondered what new abilities might have awakened alongside Aithusa's physical appearance. Aithusa, can you hear me?
Melodic laughter streamed through Morgana's head, not the simple chirps of before, but a symphony of harmonious notes that cascaded through her consciousness, drawing an unbidden smile to her lips. Yes, Aithusa replied, her mental voice rich and textured. You and I share a special bond, Morgana. I shall forever be in your debt for the compassion and love you have shown me.
Morgana's vision blurred as tears gathered, Aithusa's words reaching into forgotten chambers of her heart she'd long sealed away. For so long, she'd clutched at mere fragments—fleeting images and impressions from the youngling's mind. Each connection had served as a precious lifeline during her isolation. Now, hearing Aithusa's voice, articulate and affectionate, flowing through her thoughts, fulfilled a yearning she'd never dared acknowledge even to herself.
It is I who must thank you, Aithusa, Morgana replied gently. Without you being there, I know I would have died of loneliness. For that, I am grateful.
Aithusa's warm laughter echoed through Morgana's mind once more, rippling like sunlight on water. You give me far too much credit, my dear friend. I was merely a hatchling finding joy in the simplest of things—chasing butterflies, soaring on the wind, lying beside you.
Morgana struggled against the tightness in her throat as memories flooded her thoughts—nights when Aithusa's warmth had softened the cave's unyielding stone, long days when Kilgharrah had left the youngling in search of the lost dragons, rare moments in sunshine when they dozed by a lake under the great dragon's watchful eye. Those precious instances amid their mutual confinement now belonged to another lifetime—delicate treasures from a simpler past.
The young dragon let out an amused snort, tendrils of frost crystallizing in the air before her muzzle, forming delicate patterns that hung suspended for a heartbeat before dissolving. Though I must admit, those days of innocent bliss seem ages ago now. She gave an elegant stretch of her wings, the translucent membranes shimmering like cosmic dust in the ethereal light. Morgana's breath caught, conflicting sensations of warmth and cold cascading through her.
As puffs of mist escaped Morgana's lips in chilled air, fleeting visions of pathways between worlds briefly manifested in her magical awareness. Images at the edges of her perception flickered: gateways suspended in the aether, passages between realms that neither existed nor didn't exist. Was this what Vyransa had hinted at? Aithusa's power forging new connections between separated domains?
Oh my, Aithusa continued, tucking her wings, gracefully stretching her long, elegant neck from side to side, how quickly one matures when infused with the ancient magic of the dragons! But, Morgana, let us rejoin the others before they wonder if we've strayed too deeply into our private thoughts."
She fixed Morgana first with an impish look, green depths glittering with bemusement, then extended that same mischievous glint outward, sweeping over the gathered dragons watching them with open curiosity. After all, Aithusa projected teasingly into Morgana's mind, it seems our private conversation has become the subject of quite a captive audience.
Morgana glanced around, cheeks warming as she realized the other draconic presences had indeed turned their full attention towards her and Aithusa's silent exchange. Merlin's expression held a knowing look, a broad smile lighting his features.
She gave Aithusa an exaggerated roll of her eyes, a gesture laced with fond amusement rather than irritation. In that playful moment, she marveled at how quickly she'd adapted to this new Aithusa—still recognizable in spirit despite her transformed form. The young dragon's humor, once expressed through playful chirps and head tilts, now manifested in this more sophisticated teasing.
Merlin stepped forward as he scanned the growing assembly of dragons. He bowed his head deeply in reverence, a gesture that transcended species and conveyed profound respect. After a moment, he straightened, his gaze rising to meet theirs, a palm extended. His entire bearing shifted as Morgana witnessed the dragonlord within him emerge—not merely Merlin the man, but Emrys, inheritor of an ancient lineage that he alone was destined to bear.
"Great dragons of Evanescen," he called out, his voice strong and unwavering. The frozen flowers and crystalline leaves, sculpted by Aithusa's icy breath, glittered like diamonds in the ethereal light, generating a medley of colors across the ancient beings. Omens loomed once more in Morgana's mind—but for now, they had dragons to persuade. "A great prophecy has been fulfilled by our arrival. Aithusa's splendor heralds good fortune for you and for Camelot, for we come to you as allies seeking to mend the bonds that have been broken far too long."
A low rumble traversed the assembly of dragons, their scales glinting like faceted jewels in the ethereal light. The vibration passed through Morgana's body as she moved to stand beside Merlin, her heart quickening and her resolve solidifying. She offered Merlin a reassuring smile, which he returned with a warmth that stirred a quiet yearning—the gentleness in his features still unfamiliar territory after their years of enmity, yet increasingly welcome.
"We understand your fear and mistrust," he continued, his words reaching to every corner of the clearing as he slowly turned to address the entire gathering. "The time has come for us to look beyond the past. We offer you a chance to reclaim your rightful place in the world of men, where you may live in harmony with those who once sought to destroy you."
Aithusa lifted her head, frost glinting along the ridges of her neck as she drew herself to her full height. Her cat-like pupils gleamed with determination, scanning the assembled group. "We have the power to shape the future, my brothers and sisters," she said, her mellifluous voice clear as a clarion call, each word crystallizing in the cool air. "Come with us. Return to your home – where you truly belong. Evanescen will forever be here if later you choose to return."
Kilgharrah and Vyransa both nodded their approval at the young dragon's words as the other dragons stirred around them, wings rustling and tails shifting, their movements causing the ground to tremble beneath their feet.
"If there is only one dragonlord who walks among men," called a voice from the assembly, "how can we return?" The question was echoed by murmurs throughout the gathering.
Before Merlin could answer, Nazares' voice rolled like distant thunder. "That mystical bond serves as our anchor in the human realm. Without a dragonlord's guidance, our instincts might overwhelm reason, our primal natures unleashing devastation upon the very lands we seek to rejoin."
"Through me, the sacred connection can be reforged," Merlin declared, the silver clasps on his obsidian cloak glowing in the ethereal light, power radiating from him in invisible waves. "I will bear the honor and responsibility as your guardian and protector."
Kilgharrah dipped his great head in solemn agreement. "The dragonlords of old kept the balance, an eternal partnership of magic and dominion. We have reason to believe there are many survivors lost just as you were. We will find them as well. For now, with Merlin at our side, we can still walk that path once more, ensuring your return heralds a new era of harmony between our kindreds rather than sparking fear and chaos."
"They speak truly," Vyransa's voice rumbled, her tone pensive. "This is what many of you have yearned for across the endless cycles. What reason is there to linger in self-imposed exile any longer when the path home now stands open before you?"
A weighty silence fell over the clearing as the dragons seemed to consider Vyransa's words. Morgana observed their reactions shift—narrowed eyes and tensed muscles gradually yielding to thoughtful tilts of massive heads, their scales rippling with subtle movements that exposed inner conflict. Some exhaled plumes of steam that coiled upward through the frigid air, while others exchanged glances with kin they had known since before Uther's Purge began.
Aithusa unfurled her majestic wings, her head lifted high. Frost shimmered along the edges of her wings, catching light in hypnotic patterns. "The old ways can be rekindled," she said, her dulcet tones carrying wisdom beyond her years. "But first, you must open your hearts to trust again, shed the shackles of the past. Only then can we truly begin to mend what was once shattered."
After Aithusa's impassioned plea, silence blanketed the clearing, broken only by the occasional leathery rustle of adjusting wings and the delicate chiming of frost-covered branches stirred by a gentle breeze. Morgana held her breath, acutely aware of standing at the precipice of history as the dragons regarded one another. Their thoughts flowed between them in an impenetrable current—a communal meditation from which she remained excluded.
Merlin, having joined the dragons in their private exchange, turned to Morgana, his destiny visibly settling upon his shoulders like a mantle. Between them passed a shared understanding of the immense responsibility they both would carry. She gave him the faintest nod, her expression blending pride with newfound allegiance—former enemies now united by a shared purpose.
Finally, Vyransa spoke once more, dissolving their intimate moment. "We must deliberate among ourselves," the ancient dragon stated, her tone solemn. "This decision to remain in our domain cannot be made lightly. We must consider all the advantages."
"And the consequences that await if we abandon Evanescen," Nazares added, his challenge rumbling forth like approaching thunder, blue eyes narrowed with ancient caution.
Morgana understood their hesitation, sympathized with the pain and suffering of their past. Yet to shed decades of deeply-ingrained mistrust and rejoin a world that had once hunted them to the edge of oblivion would take time to reconcile. After all, hadn't she herself nurtured resentments for far less? Patience was essential now.
With a respectful dip of his head, Merlin replied, "We shall withdraw and allow you to confer freely. However, I urge you not to tarry overlong." His expression grew troubled as he glanced skyward. "Much has happened in the world beyond these shores. I must soon return."
Watching shadows of concern cross his features, Morgana realized how far his thoughts had strayed from Evanescen. Arthur's disappearance, Camelot's vulnerability, Gwen's solitary rule—all weighed upon him even in this mystical realm. Every moment they lingered was another moment Camelot faced its trials without its most powerful defender.
As if sensing the growing urgency, Aithusa rustled her wings and moved to stand beside Morgana and Merlin. Morgana felt an unexpected surge of possessiveness as the magnificent dragon turned away from her kin, followed quickly by a flicker of guilt. Aithusa had found her true people, yet chose to stand with humans. This choice belonged to her alone, Morgana reminded herself, though she couldn't deny the warmth that spread like a reassuring blanket around her at her friend's loyalty.
They made their way through the frozen glade, their footsteps crunching through frost-covered ground while crystalline branches tinkled like wind chimes around them. Only when they reached the tree line where frost had touched it did Morgana speak.
"How long do you think they'll take?" she murmured, casting a glance back over her shoulder. In the clearing, the dragons had begun to disperse, taking to the air or slinking into the shadowed tree lines. They didn't have to congregate to communicate their opinions. Perhaps by dispersing to familiar ground rather than conversing in Aithusa's icy landscape, they could better share their feelings and thoughts.
Merlin shook his head, his expression inscrutable. "However long it takes for them to overcome a lifetime of fear and betrayal." He drew a hand across his brow. "We may be here awhile."
Morgana's stomach rumbled then, reminding her it had been hours since their last meal. "Well, I don't know about you," she began wryly, "but all this diplomatic speechmaking has left me famished. Perhaps we could forage for something edible while we await their decision?"
Merlin nodded, placing a reassuring hand on her back as they ventured further into the crystalline forest. His touch sent warmth cascading down her spine, her shoulders loosening momentarily, though her mind remained alert to the ominous portent the crimson dragon represented.
They foraged in silence, Morgana discovering vine berries that glittered like jewels on one side where frost had touched them, while finding plump, fresh ones just beyond the frost line. She hesitantly placed one of the unfrozen berries on her tongue, eyes widening as flavor burst across her palate—sweeter and more complex than any fruit she'd encountered in Camelot, with notes of honey and spice that seemed almost otherworldly. The juice stained her fingertips a deep azure as she gathered more.
As she collected the fruit, Morgana contemplated revealing her fears about Nazares. The dragons' reaction would be unpredictable—some might rally to protect Aithusa while others might defend their long-lost kin against a human's accusations. A prophecy from a High Priestess would not be easily dismissed, but neither would centuries of dragon loyalty.
Her gaze drifted to Merlin's profile as he examined a cluster of berries. Perhaps he should hear her concerns first, before they potentially fractured this delicate diplomatic effort with ancient prophecies of conflict. In recent months, he had shown her nothing but kindness—even when she'd severely rebuffed him. Now it was her turn to demonstrate trust. This prophecy might be nothing, but if it threatened Aithusa or their fragile peace, Merlin deserved to know. This sharing of vital information felt like another step toward the warmer alliance forming between them.
"Merlin..." she began hesitantly, a mix of frozen and ripe berries in her hand as she drifted closer to him. "There's something I must tell you. About an ancient prophecy I cannot help but recall." Her focus strayed back towards Aithusa, who was delicately selecting berries with the tip of her snout, her reactions—like Morgana's—showing delight in flavors she'd never before tasted. "Have you sensed nothing… foreboding about the course we've begun?"
Merlin paused mid-bite, azure juice glistening on his fingertips. His brow furrowed as he turned to face her fully, curiosity in his eyes. "Portents? What do you mean? This place is… magic. Look what it's done for Aithusa. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. She thrives in Evanescen with this rebirth..." His voice trailed with genuine wonder as he glanced toward their white dragon.
"It's about returning to Camelot." Morgana touched his wrist lightly, drawing Merlin's attention from Aithusa as she moistened her lips. "I too, am mesmerized by the magic of Evanescen, and I could never have imagined the possibility of Aithusa's sudden growth and innate abilities. I'm happy for her, but I feel there's a danger, Merlin. Another prophecy has resurfaced—one I didn't recall until I saw Nazares."
Merlin moved closer, lowering his voice. His eyes, moments ago filled with wonder, now darkened with apprehension as he searched her face. "What prophecy? What have you remembered about him?"
"By the goddess," she exhaled, her breath trembling, her fingers crushing berries, the juice running like blood between her knuckles. "Merlin, there's an ancient prophecy about a white dragon and a crimson one waging an eternal struggle." Morgana shook her head slowly, frost-dusted strands of hair brushing against her cheeks. "I was certain Kilgharrah knew, yet he remained… entranced by his friend's survival..."
Merlin's creased brow and narrowed eyes revealed both his disquiet and his unfamiliarity with the prophecy. He stepped closer to her as if physical proximity might help him grasp the severity of her words. "What does it say?" he asked, his body radiating heat against the cool air surrounding them. "This prophecy?"
Morgana's throat tightened as she summoned her courage and haltingly recited the ominous verses, each word forming visible puffs in the cold air:
"The time of the blood-red ruin is nigh,
When two dragons, pale and crimson, take wing and fly.
Only joined as one can the realms be free,
Or all shall fall to eternal enmity."
Merlin's hand fell slack, his forgotten berries tumbling to the frosty ground with soft impacts, bleeding pools of deep blue into the white crystals. The ominous words of the prophecy hung suspended in the stillness. "How could this be?" he asked, his voice tight with dawning apprehension, pulse visibly quickening at his throat. He repeated the third line as if testing its meaning: "'Only joined as one can the realms be free...' "
Morgana flinched at the terrible truth between them, her eyelids stinging with unspent tears. "One dragon must fall for the other to reign supreme," she translated, heart-broken realization in her voice. "If Aithusa is the 'pale' dragon..." Her voice faltered, the remaining words too painful to voice, as if speaking them might make them real.
"If she falls," Merlin added solemnly, his words settling like frost between them, "then so does Albion."
The statement landed between them with a terrible finality, the harsh revelation settling with merciless clarity. If the prophesied red ruin defeated Aithusa, the living embodiment of the old magic, it wouldn't just mean the permanent severance of the dragon's connection to this realm. It would be nothing less than the death knell for Albion itself—the dream of ushering in the golden age of unity between the old ways and the new world. All that Arthur and Merlin had sought, fought, and sacrificed would dissolve into ash and memory.
Morgana reached for Merlin's hand, an instinctive gesture in the face of such dire revelation. As his fingers entwined with hers, their shared warmth defying the frozen landscape surrounding them, she saw the same questions reflected in his eyes, the same haunting awareness:
To save the dragons, had they unwittingly set into motion a series of events too vast for even the powers of the last dragonlord and the last High Priestess to control? Or was there still a destiny interwoven in the fabric of this ancient struggle that could guide them to salvation?
"What can we do?" she whispered.
Merlin drew her closer, his arm sliding around her waist. The commanding presence that had addressed the dragons moments ago now enveloped her like a shield against the uncertainty ahead. His obsidian cloak billowed slightly to encompass them both as he gazed toward the clearing where the dragons had been.
"I don't know," he admitted, pulling her into an unexpected, yet comforting embrace, his voice low and steady against her hair. "Right now, we just wait." But the set of his jaw as he gazed toward the empty clearing revealed the quiet resolve beneath his uncertainty.
Morgana nodded against his shoulder, her own determination rising to meet his despite the chill of foreboding future that lay ahead.