IBHJ 1128

"Our duck has slipped away," Ector said as he knelt by the shore, letting the seawater run over his hands.

"I'm sorry..." Guinevere stood behind him, her voice shaking.

It wasn't Ector who scared her - it was Apostle Pendragon standing beside him.

Once, she had loved reading "The Tale of the Holy Sword" that Morgan wrote. Now, the author only filled her with dread.

This Morgan was nothing like Shirou. Where he balanced strength with kindness, a firmness that somehow made Guinevere both nervous and at ease, Morgan showed nothing but violence. No warmth, no mercy.

Ector wouldn't punish her for letting Shirou's group escape, but Morgan... Guinevere's hands trembled at the thought of what the Apostle might do.

But Morgan only gave her a brief look. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault."

Eh?

Guinevere could only stare, too shocked to speak.

"We made the mistake by not taking your suggestion seriously. That's why they escaped. It wasn't your fault." Morgan glanced at Ector. "So keep your anger in check, Ector."

Ector met Morgan's gaze, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You're right. We're the ones who failed here."

Guinevere's eyes darted between them, not quite believing what she was hearing.

After a moment, Ector said. "But if we don't catch them soon, we'll have problems. The Emperor's Eyes can't find their hiding place."

"Places beyond the Emperor's Eyes... it has to be one of the fairy sanctuaries. Avalon, or Tír na nÓg," Morgan frowned. "But His Majesty forbids us from entering those places unless absolutely necessary."

"Then we wait for them to show themselves."

Morgan nodded, then walked over to Guinevere and pinched her cheek.

Ow, ow, that hurts!

Guinevere's eyes filled with tears.

Morgan grinned. "Well, well... you're more useful than I thought. Better than your father, at least."

Her voice had lost its edge, and even her movements seemed gentler than before.

"Time to go," she said, finally letting go of Guinevere's cheek. "Should we split up and head back to Londinium, or stay here and wait for word from the Capital?"

Guinevere rubbed her sore cheek, watching Morgan through watery eyes.

Now she understood - Morgan only despised those who were weak and useless. Her plan and insight must have impressed the Apostle, and that's why Morgan's attitude had changed.

Maybe the fearsome Apostle wasn't so unapproachable after all?

"Um... Lord Pendragon?" Guinevere gathered her courage. "Would you sign my copy of 'The Tale of the Holy Sword'?"

Even though Morgan wasn't quite who Guinevere had imagined, she was still the author of that beloved book. Surely asking for a signature before heading back to Camlann wouldn't hurt?

"I could sign it, but..." Morgan's brows drew together. "You don't really believe I wrote that book, do you?"

"Eh? But didn't you?" Guinevere was startled.

"No."

"T-Then who..."

"Think it through." Morgan smiled knowingly. "A story about building a nation, wrapped in the tale of a hero - yet not one mention of His Majesty the Emperor. Any Apostle who showed such... questionable loyalty would end up in the Eternal Coffin. So why is this book allowed throughout the Empire? Why has it become such a beloved tale?"

"Y-You mean..."

Guinevere arrived at a frightening realization and her face instantly turned pale.

"That's right. The book wasn't written by me or anyone from the Pendragon family. His Majesty the Emperor created it himself." Morgan's eyes glinted with amusement. "Still want that signature?"

With a deathly pale face, Guinevere frantically shook her head as she stuffed the book deep into her pocket.

"Then let's head back."

Guinevere fell into step beside Morgan. After a few moments, she spoke up quietly. "Um... Lord Pendragon? I saw something earlier. A witch who looked just like you. She cast some kind of protection spell on Lord Shirou's group..."

Morgan stopped in her tracks. "What did you just say?"

…

Back in her tent, Guinevere held "The Tale of the Holy Sword" close. The ambush might have failed, but she'd seen a new side to Morgan today, one she hadn't expected.

But that wasn't what made her heart race.

She'd finally learned who had really written her favorite story. "His Majesty the Emperor wrote this..." The words felt strange on her tongue.

She'd fallen in love with this story long ago. Each time she opened its pages, the words would draw her in completely, until nothing else existed - she'd weep silently at the hero's losses, feel her heart soar with his victories. All these years, she had believed it was Morgan who had brought this cherished world into being. But now she knew - it was the Emperor himself, the very god of their world, who had created these adventures.

"But why would His Majesty write an adventure story like this?" She traced the book's spine. "Could these be His Majesty's experiences? From before the Empire?" She paused, frowning. "But I've never heard of such history..."

Then it hit her.

The Empire had no historians. No one kept records of the past.

When life stretched on forever, history lost its meaning.

Time itself became meaningless when it had no end.

…

From atop the train car, Shirou listened to its wheels thunder forward with that familiar "whooo-whooo." As he watched, the world around them began to shift. The endless sea they'd left behind melted away into something far stranger - a place where light and shadow twisted together in impossible ways, just like the ancient paths that led to the Root.

They weren't taking any normal route. Their train was cutting through reality itself, making its way toward Tír na nÓg, a sacred realm that had lived only in Irish myths and fairy tales until now.

Most people knew the stories of Avalon, but Tír na nÓg was like Eden in the Bible - nothing more than a name, a setting that storytellers mentioned in passing. Even the ancient Britons and Celts who passed down these tales had never known the true nature of this mystical place.

But now, this forgotten realm had found a new purpose. In their desperate fight against the Eternal Empire, the Council had made this mysterious land their home.

The train carried them through a place beyond ordinary sight, where boundaries between realms and dimensions crossed and overlapped, defying what humans knew as reality.

It reminded Shirou of Avalon's power, of how its fairies had blessed the scabbard that housed the Holy Sword. That blessing had sealed Avalon's very essence into the sheath, creating a protection so absolute that not even the Five Magics could breach it.

Tír na nÓg held that same sacred power. As a realm that stood equal to Avalon, it shared those same extraordinary qualities that let it exist outside normal space and time.

Perhaps this was only natural. After all, these realms were the legacy of those who had sealed away the Lord of Salvation. Their descendants had inherited more than just stories - they had inherited the power to bend reality itself.

Shirou heard soft footsteps on the metal roof behind him. When he turned, he saw Mordred slowly making her way toward him.

"Father, are you thinking about the Eternal Empire?"

He nodded slowly. "The Eternal Empire... I think we're connected to how this world came to be."

"What makes you so sure?" Mordred's brow furrowed.

"Look around you. This place... it's like seeing our kingdom in a mirror. They even took my life and turned it into their bedtime story."

He reached into his clothes and pulled out a book he'd taken from Camlann. He held it out to Mordred. "See for yourself."

He turned to climb down from the train's roof, but Mordred's voice stopped him. "Father, wait!"

Shirou paused, looking back over his shoulder.

"If we really are tied to this empire somehow..." Mordred's fingers tightened around the book. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I may lose my way at times, but I always remember my destination."

He climbed down into the train car, leaving Mordred to stare at the book in her hands.