[Third Person's PoV]
It took Arthur a moment, but he gradually began to recover from the overwhelming attachment he'd felt through the bond he once shared with the dragon before him.
To his surprise, he found himself shedding tears. He softly wiped the wet streaks from his cheeks and bowed his head toward the divine beast.
"I hope you can forgive me for showing you such a sight," he said quietly. "You were just so beautiful and divine… I suppose I couldn't help myself."
The dragon laughed—a deep, rumbling sound that echoed through the cavern. Nudging Arthur playfully, she said, "Worry not, child. There is nothing to forgive. I thank you for such a compliment. It has been a long time since I've heard words like those."
"Woah…" Arthur breathed. "This LeFay bloodline skill is so busted. I'm actually talking to a dragon. How cool~"
The dragon scoffed, a flicker of disdain in her expression. "Oh, please. Your connection to the Fay has nothing to do with our ability to communicate. That is thanks to the blood of the Pendragon."
"What? Really?" Arthur blinked in surprise. He had assumed the Pendragon blood would allow communication with dragons eventually, but he thought the LeFay line—being magical—would have similar capabilities.
"The Fay may commune with lesser dragons," she explained, "but not with us. We do not allow it. That is simply how it is."
The contempt in her voice toward the Fay made Arthur curious. What history do they share? he wondered.
"Wait," he said, tilting his head. "Lesser dragons? I mean no offense, but… what are you then? What makes you special?"
The dragon's lips curled into a grin, her white fangs gleaming. "I am not like the common dragons that roam your world. Those are lesser beings. They are known as Low-borns. I am what's known as a True Dragon."
"I see… And what exactly is a True Dragon?" Arthur asked, eyes shining with curiosity.
"I'll leave that explanation to Merlin," she replied with a mysterious smile, glancing toward Merlin and nodding.
"Oh God. Then I'm never going to find out, am I?" Arthur said, looking dejected.
The dragon threw her head back and roared with laughter, while Merlin shot Arthur a deadpan look.
"I see Merlin still hoards her knowledge and takes her sweet time sharing it," the dragon said wistfully. "Some things never change."
Then she looked down at Arthur, her tone softening. "Well then, young Art. I'll leave you to the task you came for. Enjoy yourself—it was a pleasure to see you again."
She gave him a long, wet lick, running her rough tongue over him like a giant dog.
"Ugh! Yuck! Hahaha!" Arthur laughed, now soaked in dragon saliva.
As she looked down at the boy laughing and wiping the thick goo off himself, a blurry image flashed through her mind: a taller blond man, his face indistinct, standing where Arthur was now, laughing the same way.
Her great eyes brimmed with tears once more, and she smiled warmly at the memory.
Arthur, using a bit of magic, cleansed himself of the slime and turned back to the golden-white dragon.
"Before I go… if it's not too much trouble, may I ask your name?"
"Seraphinix," she said gently. "You may call me Seraphinix."
Arthur nodded with a respectful bow. "It's an honor to know one as noble and elegant as you, Seraphinix."
"Likewise, young Arthur," she replied.
He didn't question how she knew his name—assuming it was just another form of her ancient magic.
Turning to Merlin and Goburk, Arthur said, "Alright, let's head into the vault."
"I'm fine," Goburk said, raising a hand. "This is as far as I'm permitted to go. I'll wait here for your return, young lord."
Arthur nodded, taking the lead with Merlin close behind. They soon arrived at a massive golden archway sealed by an enormous vault door.
The door itself was oddly plain—no handles, no valves—only a single keyhole placed directly at the center where the door's two sides met.
Arthur held up the key and, using his limited skill in wandless magic, performed a levitation charm.
Goburk watched in stunned silence. Despite Arthur's young age, he was already performing feats that few could. But then, he remembered who Arthur truly was.
Arthur guided the key toward the lock, brows furrowed in concentration. With a gentle push of magic, the key slid in—and to his surprise, that was all it took.
The key turned on its own, and a golden radiance pulsed through the vault door. Thin strands of multicolored light began to spread outward from the center, where the key was inserted, carving intricate patterns that traced a path for even brighter light to follow.
Arthur stared, slack-jawed, as he realized the light wasn't spreading randomly—it was forming an image. A crest slowly took shape, encompassing the entirety of the vault door.
The image was that of a radiant sword, its blade surrounded by luminous lines to show it was glowing. The hilt bore two feathered wings, intricately detailed, and behind the sword stood a red Welsh dragon, its maw open in mid-roar as it breathed fire.
"That…" Merlin said, drawing Arthur's attention, "is the Pendragon's crest. Remember it well."
Arthur nodded solemnly, just as a long, screeching sound echoed through the cave. The vault doors began to slide open, splitting the crest down the middle. A blinding light burst forth from the widening gap.
Arthur raised a hand to shield his eyes, and what he saw beyond left him speechless. An audible gulp escaped him. Mountains of gold coins, overflowing treasure chests, glittering jewels, ancient crowns, and ornate jewelry lay scattered before him.
It was paradise.
He quickly composed himself using oculomancy. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. When he reopened them, his gaze sparkled—not with greed, but with determination. For what, he didn't quite know. He took a step forward, then another, striding into the vault with Merlin close behind.
As Arthur walked deeper into the chamber, he was bathed in golden light. He moved slowly, his head turning left and right to take in every detail. Shelves lined with ancient tomes and books greeted him on one side, while racks of weapons—swords, spears, staves—lined the other.
Merlin observed him quietly. But then she noticed him stop. Arthur stood still, his head lowered, shoulders trembling.
"Art?" she called out, her voice laced with concern.
Arthur slowly turned, one hand covering his mouth, tears brimming in his eyes. "Merlin…" he croaked, voice cracking.
"I… I don't ever have to work again," he said, trembling, "I could retire right now. Is this what they mean by generational wealth?"
His hand moved from his mouth to cover his eyes as he wept.
Merlin raised a brow. "You do know this is all fake, right?"
Arthur froze. Slowly, he lowered his hand, his expression falling. "W-What?" he stammered, dread washing over him.
Merlin rolled her eyes. "It's all an illusion. A glamour, meant to keep up appearances. To convince others that the Pendragons are still wealthy and powerful—keep would-be enemies at bay. None of this treasure has any real value."
With every word, color drained from Arthur's face. A single tear slid down his cheek. The grief on his face was so profound, it looked as if someone dear to him had died.
"Pfft—I'm joking," Merlin said with a grin. "You should totally see your face right now. It's hilarious."
"WHA—YOU WERE JOKING?!" Arthur screeched. "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?"
Merlin burst into a fit of laughter, doubling over and clutching her stomach. "You were actually crying! That makes it even better! Oh, your face—gods, it was priceless!"
Arthur stood trembling, his face beet red as a storm of emotions washed over him—relief, joy, fury, frustration.
"Y-Y-You… you devil!
You demon!!
You vile witch!!!"
Merlin, utterly unbothered, wiped a tear from her eye and puffed out her chest proudly. "All extremely accurate. I accept your compliments."
Then, with a mischievous grin, she added, "That's for the comment you made earlier about my teaching methods."
Arthur huffed and spun around, stomping away in a fit of rage. His arms swung wildly as he stormed down the golden path.
Merlin hummed cheerily to herself as she skipped after him.
Arthur's furious expression slowly softened as the path came to an end. His heavy steps grew light, then hesitant. His eyes widened, and he came to a stop.
He stood, stunned into silence.
Before him, at the end of the golden road, was a stone—an ancient, weathered boulder. Embedded within it was a sword, its hilt gleaming in the light, pointing skyward.
It was the sword:
Caliburn
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