“How do you know this one’s better?” Arthur asked, curious.

“It has a vibe,” Merlin insisted, waving a hand airily. “Like, ‘Hello, I am ancient and very magic, please tremble in fear.’ ”

Arthur snorted. “Yeah, that’s Excalibur all right.”

Merlin’s eyes went wide. “Wait, you mean the Excalibur? The unbeatable sword that’s been lost for centuries?”

“So you’ve heard of it,” Arthur said with satisfaction.

“And she just gave it to you?”

“Not exactly.”

Arthur explained about the cave and the tomb, and Merlin’s eyes grew even wider. It was a hell of a story, Arthur had to admit. And telling it made him feel a little more worthy of wearing the ancient blade.

“You had to face your insecurities,” the wizard summarized, looking thoughtful.

“Something like that. Highly not recommended, by the way.”

“I’ll bet.” Merlin hesitated, as if deliberating whether or not to say something.

“What?” Arthur prompted.

The wizard grimaced and looked down, tracing a silvery scar on his right palm that Arthur hadn’t seen before. “The Lady of the Lake says that my father is dead,” Merlin said quietly. “I mean, I knew that. I’d just—I’d just hoped.”

“It never gets easier, does it? Losing a parent,” Arthur replied with a ragged sigh. Some days he missed his mother so much that it was unbearable. On others he forgot to be sad, which felt even worse.

“Try losing both.” The young wizard offered him a pained smile.

Arthur was suddenly very glad that Merlin had come with him. That they had both faced the strange magic of Avalon. That, for once, he wasn’t alone on his journey, but traveling a parallel path with a friend.

“Now how about you show me this extremely magic sword?” prompted the wizard.

Arthur unfastened the sheath from around his waist. “The Lady of the Lake said the blade glows for any who are worthy,” he warned, holding out the scabbard.

Merlin hesitated a moment, then drew the sword. The blade flashed bright as sunlight.

Interesting, thought Arthur. Somehow, he’d expected as much.

“It really does glow, like in the stories.” Merlin let out an incredulous laugh, high and clear as a bell.

He looked well, holding the sword. His slim shoulders curved forward, and his dark hair ruffled in the breeze off the lake. There, in the mist, he was like something out of a legend.

Sard. Arthur had never noticed anyone like this before. His gaze was constantly drawn to Merlin’s smile, and to the wicked glint in the lad’s eyes, which he was starting to suspect was magic bubbling to the surface.