The interior of Morgan's wooden house was absolutely unlike its warm and quiet exterior. Instead, it brimmed with that unique atmosphere possessed only by magi of the Age of Gods: a beautiful fusion of the mundane and the mystical.
A blue fire was perpetually burning in the warm hearth, casting a glow over the room like a great undersea abyss.
There were no modern paintings hung upon the walls. Instead, there were immense tapestries depicting the mountains and rivers of ancient Britain, and countless magical scrolls written in old Celtic script.
The air was filled with an exotic aroma, thick as if a hundred rare herbs and brewing elixirs were blended together.
This place was less a home, and more like a living magical workshop that had been operating for millennia.
Sitting comfortably upon the only lengthy, shaggy sofa in the living room, Steve seemed as if he had returned to his own home—utterly at ease, without a hint of hesitation.
Meanwhile, the sisters, Artoria and Morgan, sat stiffly like two statues petrified by magic in the armchairs opposite Steve, each maintaining a subtle distance, neither willing to be the first to break it.
Morgan's expression remained one of incredible contradiction. Mechanically, she served tea to Steve and Artoria, along with some delicate tea snacks that glowed softly, as if made from morning dew and flower petals.
Those slender hands that once set all of Britain astir now lightly trembled with tension, and the teacup made a soft but clear clink as she placed it on the table.
With her head lowered, she couldn't bring herself to meet her younger sister's gaze.
Artoria sat up ramrod straight, back taut as a spear, hands gripping tightly together atop her knees. She said not a word, simply staring at her sister with emerald eyes—eyes filled with hatred for betrayal, questioning the kingdom's collapse, and confusion over her fate.
Yet beneath these tangled feelings, there lingered a faint, unadmitted longing towards her elder sister.
Time passed, second by second, in this suffocating silence.
The blue flames crackled quietly in the fireplace as the steam from the teacups on the table gradually faded away.
No one uttered the first word—as if whoever spoke first would lose the momentum in this thousand-year opposition.
"…Well then…"
Steve picked up his teacup, took a small sip, and deliberately broke the silence with a sigh.
He found this heavy atmosphere harder to endure than meeting the seventy-two demon gods.
As the sole guest, and the one responsible for mediating this meeting, he felt obligated to host this family reunion, even if it was 1,500 years overdue.
"The tea is delicious, and the snacks are truly unique."
He placed the teacup down and smiled at the sisters, speaking in a low, clear voice.
"But I didn't come here to enjoy the Lady of the Lake's afternoon tea."
His gaze first fell on Artoria.
"Today, I brought you here because, before you return to Avalon, I want to help resolve the last lingering regret within your heart."
"A regret that, even after ten years in this peaceful age, still prevents you from sleeping peacefully."
Then his eyes moved to Morgan—whose body had visibly tensed up.
"And I believe, Lady Morgan, that you hold the key to unraveling this regret."
Steve's tone was calm and objective, like an academic posing a question. But what came next hit both sisters like a hammer.
Long ago, there was the Lady of the Lake, Vivian, who bestowed the holy sword upon Artoria and led her to the throne.
At the same time, Morgan le Fay—her half-sister by blood—should have been her greatest support, but was also the cunning, traitorous concubine who was the mastermind of plots leading to the destruction of the Round Table and Camelot's downfall.
As Steve uttered the names "Vivian," "Morgan le Fay," and "Morgan" in succession, Morgan's body began to tremble violently.
She suddenly lifted her head, and in her deep blue eyes flickered undisguised fear and disbelief.
These three identities were her life's greatest secret—a triple mask worn to deceive the world, her sister, and even herself.
Who on earth was this man, and how did he know so much?
Steve ignored her shock, continuing in a voice as emotionally detached and clinically precise as ever.
"You gave her hope, then snatched it away by your own hand. You were her first guide—and also her ultimate destroyer. This complex contradiction stands as the greatest mystery in all the legends of Britain."
"If you could tell us in detail why you did such things back then, your sister might finally come to understand the torment she has suffered for thousands of years."
He paused, then glanced at Morgan's shocked, ashen face, quickly extending an olive branch.
"Of course, this is also an opportunity you've long yearned for—the chance to finally seek atonement and reconciliation with your only remaining blood relative in the world."
"---Atonement and reconciliation."
These words pierced through the icy defenses Morgan had built over a millennium of loneliness and regret, with the power of a divine command.
Her body began trembling once more.
For the first time, Artoria's emerald eyes, once filled with hatred and suspicion, now shifted ever-so-slightly, the ice slowly melting away in the warmth of the sun.
And in their place, an unbelievably intricate, faintly hopeful expectation shimmered, almost unnoticed by even herself…
She too wanted answers.
She wanted to know why her sister, who once wove garlands for her, had become the witch intent on her destruction.
She wanted to know if, under all the boundless hatred, even the slightest trace of familial love survived.
Fixing her gaze upon Morgan, she infused that look with all the complex feelings in her heart.
Sensing her sister's gaze, Morgan's taut body collapsed, as if her strength had left her.
She realized there was nowhere left to hide—in front of a man who saw through everything, and the only sister to whom she owed everything.
She slowly closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, the fear and panic in her deep blue eyes had vanished, replaced by a sea of endless exhaustion and sorrow.
She sighed, as if releasing 1,500 years of loneliness and regret.
"…Very well."
"If you want to know—then I'll tell you everything."
…