I stared at the insignia carved on the dark wood of the double doors.
Arthur Pendragon.
I'm finally going to meet him.
A myriad of emotions swirled in my head, ranging from simply acknowledging his presence to dropping an anvil on a part of him where the sun doesn't shine.
"Are you okay?"
Morgan's question snapped me from my thoughts. Concern passed over her face like a cloud. "Perhaps we can postpone this meeting?"
I shrugged. "I'd rather get this over with as soon as possible."
"He's right, Your Highness," Alisax added.
We shared a gaze before Morgan nodded. "Very well."
She lightly knocked on the door.
"Father. We're here."
There was no response from beyond the door, but as if reacting to her voice, the doors swung inward.
For the ruler of one of Asteris's superpowers, Arthur Pendragon possessed a surprisingly modest office.
To my right was a fireplace surrounded by comfortable sofas and a coffee table. A television that looked more like a picture frame hung above the fireplace mantle, displaying pictures and artwork in its idle setting.
To the left stood what appeared to be a long, sleek black table surrounded by office chairs. Its matte surface rippled occasionally like the surface of a black lake.
I'd seen similar smart furniture in the Shield, used by Deathwalkers to observe battlefields and terrain in real time through satellite feeds and cameras.
But this one seemed more advanced.
I guess this would be quite useful for the High King.
Apart from that, there wasn't much else other than a few storage cabinets and a painting hanging on the wall.
And finally, my gaze moved forward.
To the man sitting behind a massive desk, his attention fixed on the huge, slim monitor perched beside him.
I knew breathtaking beauty seemed to be a default setting in this world, making many people appear like models.
I'd seen plenty of beautiful faces.
Most of the time, I was looking at one in the mirror.
But the man sitting at that desk was, by far, the most beautiful person I had ever seen in this world.
Raven-black hair, carefully combed into a controlled mess, swept down to his nape, framing an angular face that was equally beautiful and devilishly handsome.
His fair, slightly tanned skin was devoid of any blemish, eerily resembling porcelain.
The well-fitted white shirt he wore wrapped perfectly around his slim, athletic, and possibly tall frame. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing faint scars and a familiar branding on his left arm.
The draconian serpent of the Pendragons coiled around a shield, its fangs bared, with five vertical lines beneath it.
A Deathwalker's brand.
So it was true.
Arthur Pendragon was a Deathwalker. For five years, he had served in the Shield.
Honestly, for an X-ranker like him, surviving there should have been quite easy.
My gaze eventually settled on his eyes.
They were a vivid red.
Not crimson, not scarlet.
A vivid amalgamation of every shade of red, glittering like jewels yet filled with an unsettling void, similar to mine.
But this was much deeper.
Much deeper.
It was unsettling.
Yet what struck me the most about Arthur Pendragon was what I felt from his presence.
Nothing.
With the Saintess, I'd felt the effect of her presence immediately.
A pleasant breeze that carried a sense of calm, something that revealed the immense power hidden beneath her gentle demeanor.
From Arthur Pendragon, I felt nothing.
Nothing that even hinted at the fact that he was the most powerful being on Asteris, an existence that seemingly stood on par with the gods.
And it was deeply unnerving.
His cold gaze swept over Morgan and Alisax before resting on me.
My body tensed.
It was as if he were peering deep into my soul, studying every part of me without saying a word.
He tilted his head slightly.
"Hello, Mordred."
His voice was calm, sophisticated, and carried no warmth.
I stared back at him.
"Hello, Your Majesty," I replied calmly.
Yes, I was unsettled by him, but I wasn't afraid of the man.
"No longer calling me father?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I figured that title was reserved for those who do actual fathering."
I could feel Morgan's worried and slightly panicked gaze from beside me.
Arthur sighed.
"I guess you are right."
His gaze moved to Alisax.
"You have an interesting expression on your face, Miss Alisax."
I followed his gaze.
Alisax was staring intently at him, her silver eyes narrowed. There was shock in her expression, along with curiosity and something darker simmering beneath it all.
I kind of understood why.
She had told me about the man who caused Phoebe's fall. Even after all these years, the memory of him still carried enough weight to stir something deep within her.
"Do I?" she asked, her silver eyes narrowing further. She studied Arthur's face for a moment.
"I noticed the resemblance in Mordred, but you, Your Majesty…"
She paused.
"You strongly resemble that man."
"Unfortunately, I do," Arthur's answer was polite.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
"The man who caused Phoebe's fall."
My gaze shifted between the two of them. Arthur knew exactly who she meant.
But there was something about the way he spoke of that man that I couldn't place.
Opening his eyes, his gaze held a steely resolve.
"I assure you, Miss Alisax."
His voice remained calm.
"That man is long dead."
Alisax stared at him with narrowed silver eyes before closing them.
A soft sigh escaped her mouth.
"Very well. I will take your word for it, Your Majesty."
She gave me a small glance before speaking.
"Your son is a remarkable person. He saved me, a daemon, and liberated my queen from her endless suffering."
She closed her eyes with a small bow. "I am forever indebted to him."
"You should tell that to him, not me," Arthur replied. "I had no part in saving you and Phoebe."
The way he said Phoebe's name was… surprisingly casual.
Alisax didn't seem to notice it.
Or perhaps she simply chose to ignore it.
"Well," I interjected. "You did send me to the Shield. That led to me finding Phoebe."
"That's just how the future works, Mordred."
Arthur's crimson gaze swept over me.
"No matter how accurately one predicts it, there is no guarantee that it will be the future that actually comes to pass."
He turned toward Morgan.
"Morgan. Can you please show Miss Alisax the rest of the Crystal Palace?"
His gaze returned to me.
"Mordred and I have some catching up to do."
Morgan looked worriedly between us before nodding.
"Very well, Father."
She took Alisax's hand with a smile.
"I really wanted to show you our gardens. Shall we go?"
Alisax's silver eyes fell on me before shifting toward Arthur.
For a few moments, she simply stood there.
Then she turned to Morgan with a smile.
"Sure. I would love to."
As she passed me, she spoke softly. "Keep calm, my friend."
Morgan escorted her toward the doors, but not before glancing back at me. She mouthed silently.
"See you soon."
The doors closed behind them, leaving a brief silence in their wake.
"That part about the future..." I said, looking at Arthur. "Was it about Merlin's prophecy?"
"Merlin's future sight is flawed."
His voice remained clipped and professional, almost unnaturally so.
"Among the plethora of possible futures, she can only perceive the one she considers most catastrophic. And she fears it."
I frowned.
"So you had me confined to the Dawn Palace just because of the worst-case scenario Merlin saw? The one where I destroy the Kingdom?"
"That was the only future she saw about you," Arthur replied. "And it was the most vivid vision she had ever experienced."
"And so that prompted her to isolate me in the Dawn Palace?"
I stared at him.
"To put me in a gilded cage tended by servants who never cared for my survival?"
My voice remained steady, but the words came faster.
"To be ignored by you and Morgan, and tormented by Elaine and cruel nobles?"
I shook my head. "You even barred Mother and Gawain from visiting me."
My fist clenched.
I didn't raise my voice. The Abyss had hollowed out my anger, leaving behind little more than embers.
But those embers still burned.
Arthur sighed.
His expression remained unreadable.
"It was a precaution. What Merlin sees tends to become true. She only suggested your isolation. I was the one who enacted it."
"As to why I ignored your existence…"
For the first time, his voice faltered ever so slightly.
It was so subtle that I almost wondered if I'd imagined it.
"There were reasons."
I narrowed my eyes.
"What reasons?"
Arthur's gaze remained fixed on me.
"Reasons I cannot discuss with you."
I stared at him.
That wasn't an answer.
But the look in his eyes told me I wouldn't get one.
"So that's it?"
Taking a step forward, I narrowed my gaze.
"You sent me to the Shield to appease the fathers of those utter bastards that insulted Mum."
Arthur didn't react.
With the desk between us, I looked into those cold, empty eyes.
"You let them insult your late wife, the High Queen, and instead of punishing them, you sent me away."
"They could never touch you in the Shield," Arthur replied. "Not with Kay and Minerva around."
His voice remained calm.
"And when you leave," he continued, "I suggest you look into what happened to the Sleveria, Lear, and Orvis families."
The way he said it...
I didn't want to know what happened.
"Besides," Arthur continued, "you were incredibly weak."
He tilted his head slightly. "The Shield was a place where you could grow."
"Grow?"
I asked, the word escaping me like a bitter laugh.
Memories flashed through my mind.
Of the pain, the screams, the madness, and the Abyss.
Clutching the stump that used to be my right arm, I struggled to keep my voice even.
"All these scars, all that pain, all that madness…"
My voice dropped to a whisper.
"Was for my growth?"
The objects on the desk trembled.
Ardor pressed down on the room. I couldn't tell whether it was mine or Arthur's.
I didn't care.
"I got my mind flayed, my soul scarred, and my flesh riddled with trauma by the Abyss…"
I met his gaze. "Just for my growth?"
Arthur remained silent.
I tilted my head, unconsciously matching the mannerism he'd displayed earlier.
"Now that I'm powerful…"
I paused.
"Does that mean I finally exist to you?"
Arthur's red eyes remained unchanged, like his expression. Yet for the briefest moment, something almost imperceptible moved behind those crimson depths.
Then it was gone.
"Yes," he said.
That single word struck harder than I expected.
"And now you dare to be a father?" I asked quietly.
He held my gaze for several seconds before closing his eyes.
"No."
He opened them again.
"I cannot be a father, Mordred."
There was something odd about the way he said it.
It wasn't rejection or hatred. Rather, it was something closer to resignation.
"But I can be a competent ruler."
His gaze remained steady.
"And I must reward you for your growth and achievements. I must compensate you for the suffering you've experienced."
He leaned forward slightly in his chair.
"So tell me, Mordred."
His enchanting jewelled eyes met mine.
"What is it you wish for?"