I rise to meet him. “They are figments of what has already happened. So, I think they see them, not us.”

“Arthur!” A voice pulls my attention to the center of the circle. Merlin, chest heaving. “It is time.”

I glance at Nick. He pushes at my shoulder. “Go.”

It is strange, remembering something that didn’t happen to you, but I let the impulse to call back take over. “Very well.” I step as Arthur stepped, past the stone, to the grass, to his sorcerer.

Merlin throws back his hood to reveal a wild shock of black hair, long enough to touch his shoulders if it wasn’t lifted up, swaying in mage flame. He is a handsome man—half incubus, so that makes sense. A strong jaw, a face both old and young. A full mouth and narrow nose. But his eyes are like nothing I’ve ever seen: red like Erebus’s, but rimmed with yellow.

He bows slightly as I approach. “This last strike will crack the boulder. When it opens, take the blade.”

Arthur nodded, so I nod. With a mighty, final blow, Merlin’s hammer splits the massive stone in two—revealing Excalibur in its first form. Long, near transparent, and missing the center diamond. Smaller crossguard, rougher edge, but still the sword I know. My hands itch to hold it.

My fingers have to dig around the crumbling bits of stone caked against the hilt to get a grip on it, but when I lift it up, Excalibur sings in my hand, a primal scream I would recognize anywhere.

“Rhyfelgri,” Merlin whispers.

I raise the blade high, and my knights roar in response. The aether streaks down my hand and into my chest.

Merlin beckons the others down from their perches. “Into the circle. Kneel. Pledge yourself as knights once more, and your power will be multiplied, and woven into your bloodline for all time.”

Nick climbs down, watching me with something like pride, like awe, like fierce joy. He is the first to kneel. The first to take the flat side of Excalibur to his shoulder, and, gasping, receive the jolt of aether it sends through his body. The first to look up at me with glowing silver eyes.

“The Table,” he says. Because it is what Lancelot said.

“Forever,” we say together.

The Spell of Eternity weaves through all thirteen bloodlines like living lightning, leaving everyone near drunk with magic, covered in it, made of it. Nick and I included. After it is done, Merlin bids us all farewell, walks alone to the foot of the mountain, and disappears.