Arthur spent centuries in this place, only ever seeing the real world when he Awakened, when Camlann came, when the Table of Scions needed him to lead.

But like so many things in the Legendborn world, the Spell of Eternity wasn’t designed with me in mind. The magic didn’t plan for me or what I can do. Or what Arthur can do, has done.

I am a Medium and Arthur’s Scion, and my connection to him works both ways. His spirit has been in my mind, and I’ve been in his. Over and over again, for months. He tricked me into trusting him, and eventually, I caved. Which was all he needed to force us to switch places.

Panic slips between my ribs. My eyes squeeze shut, tears hot at the corners. A low, fearful whine escapes me before I can stop it, but the knights can’t hear it, can’t help me, keep laughing. My pulse picks up. I breathe deep, force it to slow.

“This… this isn’t real,” I whisper. “It’s just a dream.”

Abruptly, the world around me shudders and blurs, then grows dark. Thunder growls outside the windows, as if rumbling in response to my words. Like the dream itself heard me.

“What—”

A great ripping sound, like thick fabric torn apart. A sizzle and deep pop, like a log in a fireplace. Then, lightning slices through the room from above.

I leap back just as the bolt hits the center of the room, and with a teeth-rattling boom… it cracks the Round Table in half.

The two heavy semicircle slabs collapse inward, slamming onto the ground with enough force to shake the floor.

I am so stunned it takes a second to realize two things: one, that the knights are still in their chairs, as if nothing had happened, and two… the lightning is not done.

Smaller strikes hit the floor in rapid-fire succession, so loud I have to cover my ears as I scramble away. They surround the Table, inching closer with every bolt.

I watch, helpless, as twelve bolts strike at once—directly hitting each and every knight in a single blink—and leave cobweb-covered skeletons behind.

This isn’t Arthur’s dream anymore.

No, this… this just became his nightmare.

Crackling above is my only warning before a bolt strikes closer to me, splitting the stone six feet away.

Real or not, instinct takes over.

I sprint to the farthest wall, to the doors Arthur used to enter the room, heart thundering. Please have an exit. Please—

I reach for my root, but nothing responds. My root doesn’t exist here, either—

Clang! Clang! The metal candle stands fall as the floor breaks open.

I’m running too fast to stop, and skid shoulder-first into a door. Only when I grasp the door handle with both hands do I risk a glance over my shoulder.