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Wake up, Silver the Hedgehog.
Wake up. This is not a dream.
… Or is it? The space between worlds must look like a dream to you. To me, it is just a page yet to be written—and yet so full of words, one would hardly notice its original color. But I digress. Fear not. I will return you to your own world very soon.
I have summoned you, Silver the Hedgehog, for I need you to perform a role in my story. I need you to be my Galahad.
The name is familiar to you, yes? I know it is. After all, you know all about the heroes of the past. You admire them, you strive to be their equal in your Time, to use your power to save your world from the ravenous flames of Iblis. An admirable goal, really. Galahad was the same. The other knights even dubbed him Galahad the Pure, as naïve as it was. His sword, he only drew to face the monsters born of Dubnos, those that wanted to stop his quest for the Holy Grail. Never its edge had been used against an innocent. Never his hands trembled with doubt. And, for that, he had never lost a single fight.
Yes, Galahad was once the greatest knight in the world, and would be the greatest knight for millenia to come; even greater than Lancelot du Lac could have ever hoped to be.
(The only things Galahad did not inherit were his father’s eyes, so light a hue of brown, one could have mistaken it for melted gold. It seems you did inherit them, while your ancestor was cursed not even remembering his own name. Alas, it is but a natural design flaw. No creature like him is supposed to live that long. You will see in time. Just do not think about it too much.)
So you may wonder, Silver the Hedgehog: why was I chosen to be your Galahad? You do not see yourself as the greatest knight. Or the greatest anything, for that matter. Surely, there must be a mistake. But learn that, unlike the Oracles of your Time (unlike Them ), Merlin does not make mistakes. And there is something you share with Galahad. Something fundamental.
It is not your aspect, mind you. Merlin would not be so foolish as to account for something as superficial as aspect. Even if that were, there is no glory in the purity of your untainted white quills, no pride in your stainless hands, where your power glows like blue sunrises over hills you have never known. These flames, these burns, rightfully belong to another.
(Percival, at least, will be able to bear Galahad’s own scars for all of Camelot to see, so the Table knew not to search for him anymore. She never had that opportunity; all that remains of her is an absence, a missing fragment of your own soul forever astray. But to leave that realm for another, just to save you—it is a choice she made against you. Do not dwell on it again.)
So, what? What do you share with Galahad?
Is it your strength? Even though you may not see yourself as such, you are strong, possibly the strongest creature still alive in your Time. You have learned to shape space to your will, to move objects with nothing but the push of your mind. Galahad would have never been capable of such a feat—in his Time, it would have been regarded as witchcraft. But he was capable of other miracles. He healed the sick with just a touch, and swallowed the lasting pain of their scars with a single kiss. The source of his blessings is not the same as yours. Galahad was offered his blessings to pursue his quest for the Holy Grail; you honed your power out of necessity, for your own survival.
Is it your hope? I know everything you have done, you did it for your Time. For a better future. How long has it been since you were able to fly over your city, just to feel the wind against your quills, and not to escape a perpetual fire? Cold itself might be a foreign sensation to you. Yes, you are fighting for what my Time would call your hiraeth—a nostalgia for a home you have never even known. Galahad did not have a hiraeth; he had grown up in the forest, next to the sea, and even those luxuries left him unsatisfied.
(Those were luxuries our King Arthur fought hard for. His hope was merely to have that world, rid of war, to give as a legacy for the children he could never have had, and their children after that. You cannot be blamed that you would not understand how important, how essential, the present is—but I am sure, when you will really meet him, you will. The one chosen in your Time to be our Arthur.)
You share one fatal flaw with Galahad: your selfishness.
Because, at the end of this tale, Galahad knew full well, holding the Grail in his hands, drinking inside the cup the pure water that flowed from Dubnos to Sarracs; that he would also steal its light from the rest of the world. That he, alone, would start the downfall of the Round Table and the ideals it meant for the age. And he still did it, with a smile on his face.
And, as difficult as it may be to hear, you are selfish, Silver the Hedgehog. I already know what They told you: by killing the Iblis Trigger, you hope that the evil plaguing your world with eternal flames will never be born. I also know you do not fully believe it, but that is a chance you are ready to take. Maybe it is an act of desperation; maybe it is an act of love. But in your eagerness to save your future, you will become Their instrument to destroy the past.
(Someone else will come to save that world from Them. But that someone will not be you.)
Yet, it is a fate you cannot escape. You will try to escape it, mind you, but you won’t. And, for what it is worth, I am sorry. Merlin’s prophecies can be as kind as they are cruel. To be the greatest knight in the world… It is a title that cannot be borne by the egotist. If you do not destroy him first, then just ask your Lancelot, for that statement is inscribed in his flesh. It is not a gift I give you, but a burden. A sacred duty.
… Oh, you ask what I am?
Ah! You’ve got quite a suspicious inclination, don’t you? That’s good. Perhaps, if desperation had not long dulled your senses, your Time would have been spared of— ah, but I’m not supposed to tell you that yet. All you need to know is that I’m a story once told, and a story waiting to be reborn. And I’m only doing all this to ensure that my world survives. A cause, I am sure, you can sympathize with.
Once you leave the space between worlds, you will wake up in this Soleanna, ready to go on the quest that They put on you. Until we meet again, I wish you good luck, Silver the Hedgehog. Your Pantheon knows, you will need it.
Wake up.
