CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT #2
My reflection shimmered.
Then changed.
Mist reached out from within the mirror, and from it stepped a woman—a vision wrought of water and moonlight. Her back was facing me as she stood by a still lake, blue-haired, her arms raised as the waters obeyed her command. Waves circled her like dancers, held aloft by will alone.
She turned around to face me then, and my breath caught.
The Lady of the Lake.
Not legend. Not metaphor.
Blood of my blood, the words echoed through my head.
Magic rippled outward, stirring the air. Around her, the lake sparkled under moonlight, the water bending and lifting at her command—graceful, powerful, eternal.
It could only mean one thing—she was my lineage, my ancestor.
My legacy.
But how was that possible? Was it the Caliope playing tricks on me? Was it my own protection magic spinning artifice? Was it the reaction of the Caliope and the Veilwood? Were they doing such a good job of covering my truth that new lies were being spun instead?
But I knew the answer. It was none of those things.
Because it was the truth.
The realization struck me with the force of a crashing tide. My water magic—the pull I’d felt toward water all my life—now it all made sense. My water magic was her water magic.
Behind her, more figures emerged—men and women, some armored, some robed, each wielding water with reverence and fury.
Battles surged, kingdoms rose and fell, all shaped by their hands.
Every image bore the thread of the Lady's lineage—my lineage—stitched like silver into the fabric of history.
Nowhere was there any hint of my parents, though, the dairy farmers who had raised me in Eldenvale.
I didn't understand.
My throat tightened as the images shimmered around me—stories in blood and water. I felt their triumphs, their grief, their sacrifices—all the weight of a legacy I hadn’t even known I carried. But still, it felt like home.
The whispers of ancient bloodlines folded around me as I realized I was an heir to incredible magic. Powerful magic. A magic that had existed for seemingly ever.
And then, a new thought struck, cold and sharp: if my protection magic failed, if the Veilwood failed, if the Caliope failed, Arthur would see all of this. He would know.
There is nothing to be done for it now, I told myself. If your magic fails, then all is being revealed.
But I didn't believe it was failing. Why? Because no one was uttering a sound. There were no yells of "Arrest her," no shocked gasps or angry outbursts. There was nothing but silence. And that had to mean one thing—I was safe.
More and more images continued to blur into one another before me—all revealing a magical lineage that was completely impossible to accept. And still, nowhere was there any representation of the people I'd believed were my father and mother. Had the Riddle of Blood made a mistake?
No. Because the pieces were finally falling into place.
And the truth, once I looked at it, wasn’t surprising—neither of my parents had ever revealed the faintest spark of magic.
This trial was meant to reveal my ancestry, to draw from my blood itself those who had shaped my path.
My parents were the first people in that line.
So why weren’t they represented here? Why did the mirror pass over them entirely, as though they’d never existed?
I didn't want to face the answer.
Before I could fully process this revelation, as well as that of the Lady of the Lake among my lineage, the vision shifted. The air rippled, and the world blurred.
Suddenly, I stood beneath a twilight sky, the light dim and dreamlike. Magic vibrated through the air. Even though I could see no distinguishable features of this place, I knew it like the back of my hand. Or rather, my magic did.
Then, in the shifting haze, a figure emerged—Merlin—though younger than I’d ever seen him.
His white-gray hair was swept back from a face that radiated strength and conviction.
He moved like a force of nature, unburdened by the years and regrets that weighed on him now.
The elements bowed to his will—water curled around his fingers, lightning sparked above his open palm, and wind swirled around his form.
I stared, caught between awe and rising dread.
Was anyone around me witnessing this? Was Arthur seeing what I was seeing? Was Lance? Mordred? I didn't imagine so because there were still no sounds of shocked outrage, no orders to seize me.
Still, my stomach churned.
The vision continued. The air shimmered—and she appeared once more: the Lady of the Lake. She approached Merlin, her presence as luminous as moonlight on still water. Magic bloomed around her feet, rippling through the mist, soft and powerful.
They reached for each other. Hands clasped. Foreheads touched. Their magic surged, intertwining, amplifying. They kissed. Merlin held her, and there was an expression on his face I'd never witnessed before—contentedness.
And then—between them—a sphere of pure energy formed. It pulsed with light and color, growing until it revealed what it cradled within: an infant. A child wrapped in radiance. White-silver hair. Violet eyes. Tiny, curious hands.
Me.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn't even think.
I just—I didn't understand.
And yet, I did understand. All too well.
I was their child.
Merlin. The Lady of the Lake. Their blood. Their magic.
The implications struck me like a bolt of lightning. My parents—the dairy farmers from the borderlands—weren’t my parents at all. Even if they had raised me, they weren’t my blood.
Even though I wanted to argue against the thoughts that were now plaguing my mind, I couldn't. Because this was the truth.
I felt dizzy. The mirror hadn’t just revealed my ancestral connection; it had torn the veil from my identity. I wasn't just a woman in disguise. Not just a spy. Not just someone with untamed water magic who’d learned to survive.
I was the daughter of two of the most powerful magical beings in history. I was legacy itself.
More images flashed. Battles. Incantations. A hidden cradle. A whisper of names not meant to be spoken aloud. A farewell. A promise.
The Lady’s eyes shimmered with sorrow as she kissed the child’s, my, forehead. And then I felt the weight of the spell that transferred to me as soon as her lips touched my face. A binding—something that ensured my magic would not manifest until my twentieth year.
Merlin was suddenly nowhere to be seen. As I watched the visions unfold before me, the Lady placed the infant in the care of a childless couple—my parents. There were tears in her eyes when she left me.
Something flickered.
A new vision emerged.
Merlin stood at the borders of a realm veiled in mist—desperate, searching.
His storm-gray eyes scanned the shifting fog beyond the ancient Standing Stones.
Arms outstretched, fingers splayed, as if he could reach across the veil and pull me back to him.
His midnight-blue robes whipped around him in an invisible wind, the constellations stitched into the fabric shifting restlessly—as if echoing his anguish.
And suddenly, it all made sense.
The moment I'd arrived at Caer Gwyll, Merlin had said he'd been expecting me.
His odd questions, the way his eyes lingered on me, the unspoken weight behind every lesson, the way he'd secreted me away from everyone else in Annwyn—how he'd placed Corvin as my constant chaperone, my shadow. He'd known. Merlin had always known.
I was his. His daughter.
And yet Merlin had never said a word to me. Never even a hint at the truth. And neither had Corvin. Did that mean Corvin didn't know? Or had they both been keeping this truth from me?
The realization struck like a hammer blow.
I wasn’t sure how to feel—my mind reeled as three and twenty years of belief collided with a hidden truth.
I'd lived a life built on love, yes—but also on lies. The kindly couple who had raised me, who had loved me, were not my parents. Not truly. They were protectors. Caretakers. Pieces in a greater game I hadn’t even known I was playing.
As the vision settled into stillness, a glowing family tree manifested before me—two radiant bloodlines converging at my name, forming a starburst of light so bright it nearly blinded me.
I wasn’t just magical.
I wasn’t just gifted.
I was a living legacy. A vessel of twilight and water, of light and shadow. The child of the most powerful sorcerers—and perhaps the greatest magical force born in generations.
The vision dissolved into the air with a faint hum. The blood stilled on the altar. Magic withdrew, like the tide retreating from shore. And I stood at the center of it all, my heart thundering, my secret unraveling with every breath I took.
Had anyone seen it? Or had the Caliope worked? Had the Veilwood covered my truths?
I didn’t dare turn around to look—not at Arthur, not at Lance, not at Mordred.
I simply stood there, still and silent, with a single truth echoing through every inch of me:
I am their daughter.
Their child.
The weight of my existence settled on my shoulders like a heavy mantle.
Suddenly, everything made sense—and yet, nothing made sense at all.
This union between two powerful beings had birthed me: a girl who had never truly known her birth parents and now felt confusion bubbling up within her.
The truth of my lineage both liberated and imprisoned me in the same moment.
And what of the people I'd called mother and father?
I shook my head violently, as if I could dislodge the vision; beneath my sorrow, something darker stirred.
Anger. Hot. Sharp. Undeniable.
How could Merlin—my father—have looked me in the eyes and never told me the truth?
How many times had the truth trembled on the edge of his lips, only to be swallowed back for the sake of…
what? Some greater plan? Or was he ashamed of me?
Is that the reason he'd never formally claimed me?
Did he consider me his bastard daughter?
As far as I knew, Merlin had never fathered children. Well, other than me.
He'd prepared me for Camelot, trained me for the danger I would face. But he had never given me the one thing I'd craved my entire life: the truth.
And what of the fact that my mother—the Lady of the Lake—had bound my magic until my twentieth year?
I felt the phantom echo of those bindings unraveling even now—the way my powers had surged in recent years, chaotic and wild.
It all suddenly made terrifying sense. My magic hadn’t just been growing—it had been waking up.
I could feel the truth in my bones, in the blood that ran through my veins—the Lady's binding spell was a mother’s shield. Not a cage, but a sanctuary, crafted from a love so fierce it made my chest ache.
My mother had hidden me to protect me.
My father had trained me to survive.
But neither had ever told me why.