In the morning light, Artoria looked especially fragile, a leaf tossed about in a storm, her shoulders shuddering as she struggled to hold in her emotions.
Steve watched her calmly, waiting for her final verdict.
He understood: For this girl with king engraved upon her soul, facing the one who was both her greatest enemy and stain was like standing alone — sword drawn — against the whole of the rebellion.
Time itself seemed to halt.
The wind in the courtyard stilled.
Even the birds fell silent.
It was as if, behind tightly shut eyes, Artoria fought a mortal battle against the evil dragon called the past lurking deep in her heart.
At last, she let out a long sigh.
In her breath was the scent and dust of that sword-buried hill, stagnant across fifteen centuries.
Slowly, she turned around. In those blue eyes, pain and conflict, hatred and confusion battled, until, at last, all were gathered and resolved into the unshakable will of the King of Knights.
"I… will go see her."
Her voice was still hoarse, but every word sounded as though forged from steel, carrying an undeniable weight.
"Excellent."
A look of satisfaction spread across Steve's face.
He stood up, and, without another word, simply said, "Then let's get going."
He led the still-distracted Artoria out of the Emiya residence.
In a deserted street, Steve snapped his fingers casually.
With another crisp sound, the very air before them rippled like the surface of water after a stone skips across it.
A moment later, a massive, fully armored black vehicle — loaded with technology from the future — silently materialized before them. This was the Shadow Border, the ultimate weapon that would see them traversing countless Singularities and Lostbelts going forward.
The car door opened automatically. Steve got in first, sliding into the driver's seat.
After a brief hesitation, Artoria slipped into the passenger seat.
"Hold on tight."
Steve cautioned as he activated the Imaginary Submarine.
The Shadow Border's engine throbbed with a low growl; the car shivered faintly.
The world outside the windows transformed in an instant — into an indescribable, chaotic stream of shimmering light and color.
Here, the boundary between time and space dissolved; bands and fragments of data flowed past the car windows, like the blinding arms of a galaxy.
Artoria stared blankly at the scenes beyond, but her mind had already passed beyond chaos, floating back to the distant, mist-shrouded Camelot.
Memories of Morgan tumbled through her thoughts, furiously, like pages from a book flung into a whirlwind.
She recalled her elder sister patiently teaching her to read and write as a child; and how, when she spilled tea and soaked her books with tears, her sister would awkwardly conjure a crystal blossom with magic and give it to her.
She remembered the unspeakably complex look that crossed her eye the day Artoria was crowned, standing behind the crowds.
She remembered the witch, hidden backstage, planning the collapse of the Round Table, smiling with equal parts madness and sorrow.
And finally, she remembered lying in a sea of blood atop Camlann's hill, and, drifting up from the horizon, a barely audible, endless sigh, heavy with regret.
"We've arrived."
Steve's voice drew her out of her thousand-year reverie.
All the chaos and shifting lights outside blinked away, revealing an utterly dreamlike landscape.
They stood on the shore of a vast lake. The waters, clear as the finest crystal, reflected a spectacular violet nebula overhead, making the place seem almost otherworldly.
The air was thick, almost liquid with ether; with each breath, her magical circuits seemed to fill and hum with comfort.
Close to the lakeside, a small wooden house sat quietly. Its roof was shrouded in thick moss, a wisp of smoke rose from the chimney, and nameless flowers bloomed around, shedding a faint, magical glow.
This was the Edge of the World —
the eternal hidden domain of the Fairies of the Lake.
A place long since vanished from the surface of the planet, lying closer than ever to the Inner World.
Steve and Artoria stepped out of the car.
As Artoria set foot on that land, she felt her very soul resonate in strange harmony with the place.
The dragon's heart within her rejoiced, sensing the primeval aura of Britain lingering in this space.
Together, they walked toward the inviting little wooden cottage.
Steve reached out, rapping gently three times on the simple front door.
Thunk, thunk, thunk—
In the preternatural peace of that fairyland, each knock rang out clear and loud.
A hush fell — so deep it was as if the very air was frozen.
From within came the faint crash of teacups and saucers.
After a moment, the wooden door creaked slowly, slightly ajar.
On the other side was a face very like Artoria's, but more mature, more beautiful in a breathtakingly adult way.
She wore her long, molten-gold hair draped carelessly over her shoulders.
Her eyes, a deep blue like the night sky.
She wore a sumptuous white and purple long robe, both shrine maiden and warrior, her presence infinitely more sensual and mature than Artoria's.
Her appearance closely resembled that of Savior Aesc from FGO's second arc.
She was Morgan.
Or, as she was better known—Morgan le Fay.
At that instant, her face was filled with such a storm of emotions it defied description.
Shock. Panic.
A millennia-old guilt. Bewilderment. And, in the depths of her heart, a joy that could not quite be hidden.
When the Shadow Border entered this secret domain, she had already sensed it coming.
No matter how strong, the absolute barrier she herself forged to resist even the Grand Magus' gaze would instantly lower all its defenses upon sensing the familiar dragon's heart imprinted on the soul that had just crossed the threshold.
And thus, after fifteen long centuries, the two sisters stood reunited.
The air itself froze.
Artoria fixed her gaze on the face in front of her — so familiar and yet so strange. Her body trembled. Her lips moved, but no words would come out.
Morgan, too, stood frozen.
She stared at the sister she had loved and hated all her life, gripping the doorframe so tightly her knuckles whitened.
"...Morgan."
At long last, Artoria squeezed out those words — heavier than the true name of Excalibur itself.
"...Artoria."
Morgan's voice was just as dry and shaky.
Then —
An oppressive, deathly silence fell.
The two women stood at the doorway, statues turned to stone by magic. With a single look, they seemed to try and make up for fifteen hundred years lost to time.
Ahem…
It was Steve's soft cough that at last broke the painfully awkward ice.
He looked exasperated at the sisters, who seemed as though they might remain standing at that threshold forever.
"Ladies, if you have something to say, wouldn't it be better to come inside and talk? We can't stay at the doorway forever."
That seemingly ordinary sentence was the key that undid all barriers in an instant.
Morgan, as if waking from a long dream, drew a slow breath as though preparing to quell her emotions.
She glanced aside, and—still somewhat stiffly—murmured,
"...Forgive me, that was discourteous. Please, come in."