The broadcast drew more and more viewers. Survivors watched through Aslan's perspective as they approached the ruins of Jerusalem.
Despite the wars, some wells still offered clean water. Some ruins even had arable soil. Ironically, life in those shattered cities seemed easier than life outside the gates of Camelot.
Little did they know—if ever branded as rebels, the Holy Lance would obliterate everything. All that would remain was scorched earth and eternal flame.
Perhaps, in the original story, word of the Selection's truth had somehow leaked, triggering rebellion.
As the sun dipped low, the crowd began to gather. Parents comforted children. Anxiety mixed with joy. For many, this felt like a sacred date.
Arash shed his wind-cloak, which had hidden his features. Among the refugees, he and the others still stood out too much—but they did their best.
Servants, after all, manifested at their peak. Only rare exceptions were summoned at different ages.
"It's cruel," someone muttered. "They give hope only to destroy it. Not even death is peaceful—it comes after betrayal."
Gilgamesh had told Uruk the truth. He let his people choose their fate.
The Lion King? Now deified by the Holy Lance, she saw humans not as people but as specimens. Preserving humanity like butterflies pinned to a board.
In other cities, viewers watching the screen gasped in awe at Camelot's walls. Towering, flawless. Unassailable.
Children dreamed of going there someday. Bread, wine, peace—it must be paradise.
And then, a figure emerged.
Blond, in white armor and a black cloak, flanked by solemn knights. Gawain.
Gareth recognized her brother instantly.
"Do you want to sit this out?" Aslan asked gently.
Gareth clenched her cloak. "No… I'll fight. I have to wake him up."
Arash rested a hand on her shoulder. He had no siblings—but he would stand with her.
"Thank you, Mr. Arash… You really are like a big brother."
She smiled faintly, but her gaze was resolute.
The crowd stirred. Voices called out:
"Sir Knight! Please look at me! Will I pass the selection?"
Gawain's smile was gentle, almost paternal. He had done this many times. Even if it burned his conscience, he could still kill with a smile.
His pity was real. He mourned for those about to die.
"Don't worry. The Selection will come to you, no matter where you stand. Be calm. Those chosen will find peace and glory. I promise, as a Knight of the Round Table."
The crowd quieted, hope shining in their eyes.
Then Gawain turned to Camelot.
"My King. The people for this Sacred Selection have gathered. Please lower your eyes and choose those worthy to enter the Holy City."
Everyone looked up—those before the gate and those watching from afar—hearts filled with hope, unaware of what was to come.
-End Chapter-
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