A Rise of the Cursed [Epic Fantasy | Arthurian Myth | Destiny as Choice | Slow-Burn Stakes]

As Becca led Albion, Adele, Winston, and Sebastian deeper into the heart of the Magus Order, the world around them stretched and bent in defiance of all logic. The Coven Hall—seemingly vast from the outside—unfolded into a realm unto itself. The air shimmered with latent power; every breath resonated with the energy of thousands of mages, their robes alive with shifting magical auras.

The circular hall was immense, its tiered rows of seated mages rising like a colossal stadium. Every eye was fixed on the group stepping into the center, where reality itself appeared malleable. Albion felt the disquieting pull as walls and ceilings bent inward then stretched outward—a disorienting, yet thrilling, distortion of space.

At the center stood a grand portrait of Adele, radiant with magical energy. Albion's gaze was immediately drawn to the image—Adele, regal and commanding, rendered in strokes of light and power.

"Looks like you're more popular than I thought," he murmured, a wry smile crossing his face.

Adele glanced at her own image, lips curving into a subtle, knowing smile. "I didn't exactly ask for the portrait," she replied dryly.

Becca, walking just behind, allowed herself a private moment—a flicker of admiration mixed with a touch of apprehension. In her mind, she wondered briefly if the return of Adele had awakened something within her that she'd long buried, a realization of the heavy mantle the Order now bore.

"The Grand Magus always gets a painting. It's tradition," Becca teased, her tone light though her eyes betrayed the gravity of the moment.

Winston chuckled beside Albion, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Next you'll tell me they've carved a throne just for you."

Adele's smile was wry as she replied, "I was the Director here. Thrones are not our way."

As they advanced deeper into the hall, the assembled mages parted silently, their awe a palpable current in the charged atmosphere. Adele's return had sparked an almost religious fervor—a belief that she alone could rally them in this dire hour. The weight of their expectations pressed down on both her and Albion.

"No pressure, right?" Albion ventured quietly, catching her eye.

Adele's expression softened in acknowledgment, though her attention shifted as the figure at the hall's head radiated undeniable authority. Taliesin, her former advisor, stepped forward. His silver hair shone in the ambient glow, and his violet robes, etched with pulsating runes, commanded immediate respect. With a simple raised hand, silence fell as if the very air had bowed.

"Adele," he intoned, voice firm and resonant, "it has been too long."

"Far too long, Taliesin," Adele answered, stepping forward. Their brief, heartfelt embrace spoke of a history steeped in both loss and hope. When they separated, Taliesin turned his gaze to the assembly, and the hall erupted into cheers that shook its ancient foundations.

Albion surveyed the throng, feeling the power and resolve of each mage—a force that rivaled even the mightiest warriors he'd known. They looked to Adele as their beacon, a leader ready to face an overwhelming threat.

Raising his hand once more, Taliesin silenced the crowd with practiced ease. His eyes swept over them, pausing on Adele before addressing the gathered mages. "The Grand Magus has returned to us in a time of great need," he declared. "But before we celebrate, we must grasp the gravity of our situation. Avalon stands on the brink of a war unlike any before."

A subtle shift occurred as his words sank in. The celebratory mood dimmed, replaced by a chilling awareness. "The Celeste Empire," Taliesin continued, "is not merely a threat to our way of life. They wage a war of extermination—a campaign to obliterate not just the Magus Order, but every trace of magic. Their aim is not conquest; it is eradication. Their methods are brutal, their resolve, unyielding."

Adele stepped forward, voice steady and strong. "We must unite. Divided, we fall. We must rally the seven kingdoms, reclaim Camelot, and restore balance to Avalon."

At the mention of the Celeste Empire, Albion's gut tightened. He recalled the grim accounts of towns razed and lives lost—not for power, but for survival itself. This was a battle for existence, not merely for territory.

Taliesin's tone grew more somber. "After you vanished through the rift, Adele, the Empire's ambitions swelled. They prepared for something far beyond our expectations. Allies fell; bloodlines were purged. And now, aligned with the Pope—who deems magic an abomination—they seek to cleanse Avalon of heresy."

Murmurs of anger and fear rippled through the mages, the ambient magic sharpening like a blade with each word. Albion clenched his fists. He'd seen the cruelty in Charlevoix, but hearing it spelled out as genocide elevated the stakes to an existential crisis.

Winston stepped forward, his tone resolute. "So, what are we waiting for? With the Magus Order and Adele, it's time to bring them down."

Taliesin's eyes darkened. "It is not that simple. The Empire has allied itself with Morgan le Fay—now the puppet on Camelot's throne—and she is no foe to be dismissed lightly."

At the mention of her half-sister's name, a storm flickered in Adele's eyes—a mix of determination and pain. Taliesin continued, "That is why brute force alone will not prevail. Alliances are required. Camelot is critical, but the Magus Order must merge with the other kingdoms if we are to survive."

Sebastian, who had hitherto remained silent, finally spoke in a tone as cool as it was calculated. "We must act with precision. The Empire's spies lurk in every shadow. A rash move, and they'll crush us before we can even reach Camelot."

Adele's gaze sharpened on him. "And what exactly do you propose, Sebastian?"

He met her eyes without flinching. "We must rally the Magus Order, the Order of Pendragon, and the remaining kingdoms of Avalon. I have moved discreetly to stall certain factions within the Empire—but that reprieve is temporary."

Winston's eyes narrowed. "And how do we trust you aren't still playing both sides?"

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Sebastian's slight smile held no warmth. "You don't. But in this crucible, mistrust is a luxury we cannot afford."

A hush fell over the room as the weight of Sebastian's words mingled with the fear and determination in the air. Albion looked to Adele, awaiting her verdict. He trusted her judgment implicitly; if she believed in this course, he would follow without hesitation.

Adele's eyes briefly met Taliesin's, receiving a solemn nod of approval. Then, turning back to Sebastian, she said firmly, "I'll consider your plan—but the Magus Order answers only to me. If we act, we do so on our terms."

Sebastian inclined his head, conceding, "Of course."

Albion broke the silence. "We've a vast distance to cover, and the Empire waits for no one. We must move—now."

Adele's gaze flickered toward Albion, igniting a familiar fire in her eyes. She was ready, and so were they all. Yet before the tension could shatter completely, Taliesin's voice echoed inside her mind once more.

"Meet me in the Nexus office. Bring them all. There's more I need to show you."

With a resolute nod, Adele gestured for the others to follow. As they exited the Coven Hall, the roaring cheers receded behind them, replaced by the heavy reality of the task ahead.

In the quiet sanctuary of the Nexus Office, Albion felt the profound shift—the familiar world was now balanced precariously on the edge of destruction, and every decision here would reshape Avalon. He glanced back at Adele, pondering if she, too, fully comprehended the weight of the crown of Camelot.

The Nexus room of the Magus Order felt like a trap closing in. The high ceilings, once a symbol of grandeur, now loomed oppressive over the gathering—a stark reminder that safety had long since deserted them. Faint pulses of magic from runes on the walls barely lit the room, their eerie glow deepening the shadows of betrayal.

At the head of the long marble table, Adele's knuckles whitened as she gripped its cold surface. Her magic buzzed just beneath her skin—a restless, almost dangerous energy—as she fixed her gaze on Taliesin. He stood at the center, cloaked in an air of confidence that now bordered on the deceitful, his eyes betraying nothing but the practiced calm of a master manipulator.

Beside her, Albion's hand hovered near the luminescent runes on his forearm, his silent tension palpable. Winston, leaning against the far wall with arms folded, exuded a seething anger. Becca lingered by the door, her restless glances darting between Taliesin and the others, while Sebastian remained a dark figure in the shadows—ever the silent witness.

"You used her," Adele spat, her voice trembling between fury and disbelief. Blue sparks of her magic leapt along her skin, echoing the pulse of the runes. "You used Becca to twist Albion, Winston, and me. You turned her into a martyr—nothing more than a pawn to force Albion into wielding Excalibur. Was it ever about saving me, or was it all about you?"

Taliesin's head bowed slightly, his response rough yet calculated. "It wasn't merely about saving you, Adele. It was about rescuing Avalon. Albion wasn't prepared, and neither were you. Without the push—without the pain—you wouldn't have made it out of the dungeon."

Adele's fists clenched, her magic snapping dangerously around her. "You didn't just push them, Taliesin. You orchestrated everything. Becca's death, Charlevoix—every single loss!" Her voice rose, the anger slicing through the room. "Charlevoix bled out under your scheme! You twisted our lives, turning our magic into nothing more than instruments in your game—as if we were expendable."

Becca stepped forward, her tone soft yet defensive. "I suggested it. My death—it was meant to drive Albion and Winston into action. We needed a catalyst, something that would force them to move."

Albion's voice cut in, sharp and bitter. "No. Don't try to justify this, Becca. You let him use you. You let me believe you were gone forever—while you watched as he manipulated us all."

Becca's eyes fell, guilt and shame written across her face. "I thought… I thought it was the only way."

Winston's low, seething tone added, "You didn't just think, Becca. You allowed him to play us like pieces on his board. Lives were lost because of your silence."

"And you didn't just push us to save Adele," Albion interjected, his voice quivering with both rage and hurt. "You used us as bait—to further Taliesin's twisted agenda."

Taliesin finally met their stares, his eyes a mix of sorrow and the cool detachment of someone who had long perfected the art of lying. "I did what I had to do. Albion needed loss to embrace Excalibur. Becca understood the stakes. Yes, sacrifices were made—"

"Sacrifices?" Adele interrupted, her magic exploding in a burst that sent tremors through the room. "You call the carnage of Charlevoix a sacrifice? You engineered the death of hundreds, perhaps thousands—just to mold us to your will! To save yourself, not us!"

Taliesin flinched visibly, though his face held no remorse. "The Celeste Empire would have annihilated us if we hadn't acted. None of you were ready for what was coming."

Adele rose abruptly, her eyes aflame with indignation. "Who gave you the right? Who are you to decide the value of our lives? You cast Becca to the wolves, let half of Charlevoix burn, and reduced us all to mere chess pieces in your personal war!"

Her magic surged, flooding the space with a piercing blue light as the weight of Taliesin's lies and deceptions pressed down on every soul in the room.

Taliesin's voice cracked as his carefully constructed façade began to crumble. "I didn't want any of this. I was trying—trying to protect all of you."

"By lying to us?" Winston's tone was icy, each word a deliberate dagger. "By treating Becca as nothing more than a disposable piece in your grand scheme?"

Unable to hold back any longer, Becca's voice trembled as she added, "I chose this path. I believed in the cause—that we needed to drive Albion and Winston to act, to save Adele. I thought…"

"You thought wrong," Albion snarled, his voice raw with betrayal. "You allowed him to use you, and now the blood of the fallen stains all of us."

Adele's voice was final, cold. "You didn't just break me, Taliesin. You shattered us. Our unity, our purpose—all sacrificed for your grand design. Was any of it truly worth it?"

For a long, excruciating moment, Taliesin stood silent, his once-proud bearing now a portrait of defeat. Finally, Adele's voice softened but retained its unyielding edge. "Leave. I don't want to see you again."

Taliesin hesitated, sorrow and a trace of something like regret flickering in his eyes. With a slow, deliberate nod, he turned toward the door. Just before departing, he glanced back—a haunted look that spoke of lost battles and irreversible choices—then left, the door's closing echoing like a final verdict.

Silence, heavy and suffocating, enveloped the room. Adele lingered by the door, her magic still humming faintly. Albion stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"We'll find a way through this," he murmured. "You're not alone."

Adele's eyes remained fixed on the threshold, and in a near-whisper she replied, "I know. I just don't know if it's enough."

After a long, heavy pause, Albion broke the silence with a revelation that deepened the mystery. "Adele… there's something you must know."

Her gaze sharpened. "What is it?"

"Nimue," Albion began steadily. "She's alive—or at least, part of her is. She's bound to Excalibur."

Adele's shock was palpable. "Nimue? The goddess of magic? How can that be?"

"She told me herself," Albion explained, his eyes briefly catching the glow of the runes on his forearm. "Her essence is fused with Excalibur. She mentioned a purpose—a task involving the Pendragon sigil. And it's linked to my father's grave."

Adele's fierce anger gave way to a heavy seriousness as the new truth sank in. "This is monumental, Albion. Why wait so long to tell me?"

Albion sighed, the tension easing ever so slightly. "Chaos has clouded everything. I wasn't sure when—or if—the moment would be right."

Adele nodded slowly, her mind racing with the implications. "You must find that sigil. If Nimue claims it's crucial, then it is. Sebastian might know more than he's revealed. But tread carefully."

With a final, reassuring nod, Albion touched her hand briefly before turning to leave, Winston trailing silently, still burning with unspoken rage. As they exited, the room remained laden with the whispers of betrayal, revelations, and the turbulent promise of a storm yet to break. Outside, the world spun on, indifferent to their grief. But within those walls, something greater than kingdoms had fractured — and nothing would ever be the same.