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Baobhan Sith had not been summoned yet, and Morgan felt resigned.
A denizen of a Lostbelt entering the Throne of Heroes was, in some sense, a miracle by itself. The transformation of Faerie Britain into a Lostworld had made it more feasible, but even then, Morgan could not claim to understand the exact mechanics of what did or did not constitute a proper Heroic Spirit despite her reverse-engineering and deep familiarization with Chaldea’s Summoning System.
The Throne of Heroes was a space which inscribed existences which reinforced greater human history… and Fairie Britain, to its end, rejected human history with ferocity. Almost as much as it rejected itself.
This many Lostbelt denizens surviving erasure through escaping to the higher plane of the Throne was unprecedented, as previously only one or two had accomplished such a feat, if any at all, in Chaldea’s previous excursions. Morgan, her knights, her successor, even that detestable insect… all had answered Chaldea’s call.
But if Morgan had to issue a guess as to why it was the case… it would be because all of them were exceptions to the rules in some fashion. Morgan and Artoria were Avalon le Fae, existences who were not truly part of Faerie Britian from the start, agents of the World’s soul in a similar vein as Heroic Spirits. Gawain, Lancelot, and Oberon were stranger cases, but all three of them were tied to the Calamities rather than being normal fairies. Existences who could be construed as ‘heroes’ to the Throne for their predestined roles in correcting history by destroying a Lostworld.
And if Morgan’s theory was correct, that left no room for Baobhan Sith in the Throne. Just like how Chaldea’s attempt at summoning Totorot brought forth an existence from Proper Human History with only the thinnest of connections to the companion Morgan had once cherished… Morgan couldn’t imagine, couldn’t see a way for Baobhan Sith to have reached the Throne.
Yet, that only made sense. Morgan was used to disappointment by now.
But if her spouse and Mash would choose to invite her to join them in the chamber as they attempted yet another summoning…
With it being made in good faith, why bother to disagree?
It was cruel of the Throne of Heroes to offer this possibility, in Morgan’s opinion.
If a Lostbelt is erased, then everything within it is erased with it. A crushing thing to realize, to have to live with… and yet, that loss of control, without ability to change it, still informed one’s existing progress. Her spouse was used to moving forward, no matter what, so without the control to change it, the situation was cruel, but it was reality. Moving on and forward, holding onto those memories, was all there could be then.
But if a denizen from a Lostbelt could transcend that fate, could reach the Throne of Heroes, and continue living even if their world was gone… then that gave hope. And a hope that things could change, as Morgan was painfully familiar with, was much crueler than immutable despair.
It was obvious, even if the two of them hadn’t said anything, that what her spouse and Mash wanted was to summon Baobhan Sith. That was why they had invited her to witness the summoning, too. Even after Faerie Britain was worse than destroyed, completely gone… they were hoping to ‘save’ even a handful of the inhabitants, by offering them new purposes and lives amidst Proper Human History.
But it wouldn’t matter, if the Throne hadn’t recorded Baobhan Sith to begin with.
It had been almost two weeks since that disgusting insect had been summoned, and since then, not a single summon had succeeded. Faerie Britian had nothing left to offer Proper Human History now, it was clear. Mash had lost hope a few days ago, Morgan could see, but that girl would still support Morgan’s spouse nonetheless. And even her spouse now, inexhaustible in will and hope as they usually seemed, was clearly on the brink of giving up.
Morgan did not relish it, it was too bitter to her senses, too familiar. But she would neither revel in it, nor seek to give comfort. For a witch like her had nothing to offer in that regard.
And so, Morgan found herself watching impassively, on one of, if not the last days of summoning in Faerie Britain’s wake, while her spouse and Mash set things up. Their motions on placing down the shield and offering magical energy showed their practice, but their tiredness bled through to Morgan’s eyes nonetheless.
As the shield slotted in place at the center of the chamber, and the machinery in the walls whirred to life, her spouse and Mash returned to Morgan’s side. The panel emerged from the ground underneath, lever at the ready.
“All systems looking green… okay!” A voice came out from above, transmitted from the control room overlooking the chamber. “Everything’s ready when you are, Ritsuka!”
Morgan watches her spouse swallow from anxiousness, and walk forward and put a hand over the lever in front of the elevated platform. Turning and exchanging a quick nod with mash, they pull, and the whole mechanism whirs to life.
Morgan watched dully as the geyser of magical energy built up and raised as a pillar at the center of the room. The spectacle, the anticipation of it all… she could only find herself unmoved. She already knew not to expect anything.
And so, she found herself surprised as she felt the geyser of energy begin to shift in front of her, compressing. Her brow raised as the energy coalesced and stabilized, shrinking inward and inward until it began to take shape as a recognizably humanoid form beneath the current.
And then, the curtain of energy began to disperse and vanish, leaving the only sound left in the chamber the hum of electronics… until the silence was cut through by the sound of clacking on tile. A specific footstep which Morgan was oh-so-familiar to Morgan’s weary ears.
“Baobhan Sith in red heels,” The presence announced itself, stepping out of the cloud of smoke from the summoning. Her hair, unbloodied and cleanly styled, her favourite dress untorn. Her voice carried the same cheerful, if sneering sound… and her eyes shined with life, unclouded by despair as they always had been at the end of her life. There was no doubt, this wasn’t a look-alike from Proper Human History or any sort of other approximation or illusion. This was Tam Lin Tristan, Baobhan Sith… her successor, her daughter. Here. Before Morgan stopped herself, she found herself walking up to the raised platform of the chamber. “Hello, or something like tha- m-mother?!” Baobhan Sith cut herself off as she registered Morgan’s presence.
“Baobhan Sith.” Morgan said. “I am… pleased to see you again.”
Morgan let out a grunt as Baobhan Sith leaped forward, pulling her into a hug with such force Morgan was almost knocked off of her feet. Yes, she had grown up so strong now, stronger than Morgan herself by a wide margin.
“Mother! You’re here, you’re here! I can’t believe it, this is amazing!” Baobhan Sith cheered, so overwhelmed with happiness she outright lifted Morgan off of her feet with her hug and began to twirl around.
She was here, this was no illusion or cruel trick. And beyond that… the last Morgan had seen of her had been her beaten on the ground, eyes drained of hope, happiness and will. Morgan had wanted to spare her from an end like that ever happening again… and she had failed, all the way up until both of the two’s end.
But here Baobhan Sith was. Her smile, her laugh, her hope… was the same as it ever was. She wasn’t gone forever. And she was still herself.
Morgan felt something wet on her face, around the corner of her eyes, and for a moment she was deeply, deeply confused… until it slid down off of her and dripped down, landing on Baobhan Sith’s face, who stopped her twirling as she noticed it herself. After a moment more of wondering, Morgan realized.
Ah… she was crying.
How many centuries had it been since that had last happened to her?
“Wh… wh…” Baobhan Sith blinked. “M-mother? This is… why…”
Morgan felt herself lowered, toes touching the ground again, as Baobhan Sith crumpled in on herself.
“No… why are you crying?! Did I do something wrong? Please mother, don’t cry, I can’t…”
Ah. It seemed Baobhan Sith truly was the same as she ever was… both for good and for ill.
Well, as her mother, it was Morgan’s job to alleviate that.
“Raise your head, Baobhan Sith.” Morgan said, placing a hand onto the girl’s head. “Do not weep with me. My tears… are those of happiness. I simply find myself… very, very pleased to see you once more, both as my daughter and as my Tam Lin.”
Baobhan Sith looked up at Morgan standing above her, and as she processed the truth of what Morgan was saying, her smile returned… but it remained shaky, insubstantial, and her eyes did not dry. After a moment more, Baobhan Sith wrapped her arms around Morgan in another nearly painful hug, and buried her face in the crook of her neck, letting out a wet, very loud sob which rang through the chamber.
Morgan slowly, methodically held her daughter, patting her on the back at a slow rhythm, and turned to face her spouse and Mash. Smiles were still something which did not come naturally to Morgan after everything, so she could not communicate her feelings that way… but she hoped the look she gave communicated the depth of her gratitude well enough. It seemed effective enough, with her spouse smiling at her with watery eyes, and Mash giving a slow nod with a small smile.
Morgan was used to disappointment, for Faerie Britain was a world which held no room for miracles. But Proper Human History… perhaps it could be different.