Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Long ago, there was a man named Merlin. He walked before the first sunrise. He wove riddles into the stars. He taught the winds to whisper Avalon’s name.

None could rival him, save fate itself, but even the greatest seers are not spared the madness of knowing too much.

In Camelot’s golden age, when the halls rang with laughter and steel, visions came to Merlin like thunder before a storm. 

He saw kingdoms burning. Arthur’s crown falling to ash. A shadow spreading across the land, not from without, but within.

He didn't know how, why, or where it was coming from. All he knew was that Camelot's end was in the future.

Again and again, he tried to change the weave, but fate is something much grander, and the more he pulled, the tighter it bound.

So he turned to the unthinkable.

In secret, Merlin forged a spell, the spell of no end, a magic that could seize the river of time and force it still. 

It was a way to maintain the peace and prevent the future. He would tear out the roots of destiny. He would make a Camelot without end. 

A kingdom untouched by ruin… even if it meant wounding the world itself, but Avalon is not a beast to be tamed. The land howled. The balance cracked, and the king, who once called Merlin a friend, took up his sword.

Arthur, King of Camelot, rode with his loyal four: Lancelot, brave as fire, Gawain, unshaken by storm, Percival, steady as stone and Galahad, the pure.

Not to battle a tyrant, but to stop a man they admired. A man they thought they could trust. They found Merlin at the cliffs of the Outlands, where the veil thins and time breathes slow. 

He stood wrapped in wind, eyes burning like frostfire. “You would strike me down? When I only wish to save you from what waits in the future?”

Arthur raised Excalibur. “You are not a being who holds the power over our world, so let the future come. Let us face it with our own hands.”

With those words, Merlin… broke, felt both sides of him twisting. One part of him knew Arthur had reason, but the other part of him? He knew what needed to be done to save Arthur. “If you strike me down, then only darkness will come, and that will be your undoing.”

Thus began the Battle of the Endspell. Sword against storm. Flame against fate. 

Lancelot shattered the shields of light. Gawain cut through spells born of stars. Galahad, though bleeding, shattered the runes beneath Merlin’s feet. But in the end, it was Arthur, not just with his blade, but with will, who struck the final blow. “I choose freedom!”

The spell shattered as magic screamed, and Merlin, torn by love and regret, began to splinter. He did not die. No, instead, he fractured his soul first. One half, bitter with failure and longing, drifted into shadow. The other, aching with sorrow and love, vanished into light.

They scattered across time, but fate did not forgive. In slaying the seer, Arthur did not just end a life.

He broke a bond older than time. A bond that had kept darkness at bay, and in that breaking, the king sealed his own doom.

A curse fell silent and deep, etched not into stone, but into soul... for the next life of King Arthur would wear a crown imbued with darkness, and when it rose, the world would not cheer. It would tremble.

One Hundred Years Later

In another lifetime, two souls rise. One who dreams of saving a world that never asked to be saved. One who fears they were born only to destroy.

Merlynne and Myrddin. They do not know they were once a whole. They do not know the blade that struck them down now wears their curse, but the world will remember, and when it does… So will his knights.

Chapter Text

Arthur had always known the weight of a crown long before it ever touched his brow. It was something he never had a choice in. All past generations ensured that. As a child, he had worn the mantle of prince with quiet pride. It was what was expected of him. He was taught education, discipline, and more, but especially to train.

His days were filled with training in the sunny courtyards, sparring with the other knights under the watchful eyes of seasoned trainers, but it was Lancelot, always Lancelot, who stood beside him, who matched him swing for swing, who understood him the most. Who he trusted more than his own family.

Even back then, the nightmares came. They began when Arthur was only nine years old. Terrible things, fires devouring nearby towns, voices whispering in languages he didn't understand and worst of all? The nightmares showed the faces of those he loved twisted by some unseen force. By some damn dark magic that he could never make sense of. He thankfully didn’t always remember all of it upon waking, only fragments... a small kindness in his fate.

However, the colors of his dreams were always dark. Black violet and red, filled with images he wasn’t sure were from the past, present, or future.

He would wake up gasping in the middle of the night. Soaked in sweat, his hands trembling as if he’d been holding a blade too tightly. Lancelot would find him in the training yard hours before dawn, practicing drills in solitude.

“Have you had another nightmare?” Lancelot asked once. He could usually tell when Arthur did. He always found him training and could see the tension he held in his body.

Arthur didn’t answer. He only gripped his sword tighter. He didn't want to talk about it, as if speaking about it would only will it into existence.

They sparred that morning, as they often did, but something had changed.

Arthur moved faster, hit harder. Each blow came with a desperation that startled even the instructors. Something they had never seen... When Lancelot parried and countered, Arthur dodged with feral grace and came back harder. It was unlike how he had moved before. He moved as if he were a puppet being controlled to be more aggressive and then, his blade sliced across Lancelot’s cheek.

It was not a superficial wound. The cut bloomed red, streaking down Lancelot’s jaw, making the knight stagger, hand flying to his face.

Arthur froze in shock at what he had done. Something was wrong. His body felt too hot, his vision too sharp and he looked down at his hands as if they had betrayed him. He didn’t understand… why his hands felt like they weren’t his own. It seemed as though someone was playing tricks on his mind.

Lancelot’s eyes widened. "Arthur... your eyes—"

Arthur turned to a nearby mirror embedded in the wall of the courtyard. For just a second, his reflection stared back with violet eyes. A second later, they were green again. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees as tears spilled down his face before he could stop them. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t! Lancelot, I swear, I don’t know what that was.”

Lancelot crossed the distance and cupped his face despite the blood. “It’s okay. It’s alright. I’m not afraid of you.”

But Arthur was. He never told anyone else, not about the dreams, not about the color in his eyes and deep in his chambers, buried under stone and spell, Merlynne watched silently.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

Deep in the northern woods, where the trees grew thick as iron bars and the air hummed with old enchantments, there stood a cabin no one could find and not because it was hidden, but because it did not want to be found.

The trees around it bent unnaturally, their roots twisted in runes older than Camelot itself. Not even the people who lived here fully understood the magic in their own home. The wind never touched its door. Birds flew wide of its roof. And anyone who came too close found themselves turned around, wandering back the way they came, certain they’d taken a wrong path like an endless loop that never had a finish line.

Only three souls ever crossed its threshold.

Inside, the air had a strange ethereal glow. A glow that seemed pure but wasn't. Every particle, whether it was the house structure or the air around them was heavy with protective magic. Scrolls and dark relics lined the walls, and a fire burned blue in the hearth, casting flickering shades across shelves of preserved herbs and ancient bones. It did not feel like a home. It felt like a curse.

At the center, seated beside the fire, was Myrddin.

The once-great mage looked like a man who had long since shed any need for warmth. His eyes, sharp and cold, reflected only calculation as he traced symbols into a floating map of Camelot. The map pulsed with red light around the throne, Arthur’s seat, and with every pass of Myrddin’s hand, the color deepened.

“His thoughts drift toward suspicion,” Myrddin murmured, half to himself. “But the guilt still binds him. So long as he questions his sanity, we remain safe.”

He touched the map again, and somewhere in the castle, Arthur would feel a headache blooming, like thorns under his skull with doubt and paranoia. Myrddin’s favorite seeds to sow.

Behind him, a tall boy was locked in silent drills. Ruthra, sixteen and already hard-eyed, swung a sword nearly as tall as himself in rigid patterns. Sweat rolled down his brow, but he didn’t stop. Myrddin didn’t allow him rest. Not until every strike was perfect.

“You’re slowing,” Myrddin snapped without looking, and was full of irritation as he usually was. “Again.”

Ruthra gritted his teeth and obeyed. The sword moved faster.

In the far corner of the room, tucked near the window, sat Merlynne, and she watched them both. Once, she had worshiped the ground Myrddin walked on. She used to believe in his vision, the idea of reshaping Camelot... to break the old world and build something better. She’d believed his words when he whispered that Arthur was never meant to be king, that the knights were blind, that magic had been betrayed by the crown.

But that had been before she saw what Myrddin was willing to become.

Before she saw how he treated Ruthra, not as a child, not even as a son, but as a weapon, Myrddin had never explained who Ruthra’s mother was, only that the boy existed because “a strong heir was necessary.” He trained the boy with spells of pain, left bruises with his mind as well as his hands.

Ruthra never cried, and that, more than anything, unsettled her. What child in their right mind doesn't cry? She didn't know if this was something nature had written or if the lack of nurture had ruined him, and then there was the magic. The spells Myrddin cast over Arthur. The way he’d gaze into the flames with eyes blackened by prophecy.

“He’ll never be the same again.”

Merlynne wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the chill of the magic press against her skin. “What are we doing?”

Myrddin heard her, but he didn’t turn. “We are correcting fate,” he said. “The world does not move on kindness, Merlynne. It moves on to sacrifice.”

“You’re breaking him,” she said with quiet horror and rose slowly. 

“I am making him.” Ruthra paused mid-swing, and Myrddin’s eyes snapped to him. “Did I tell you to stop?”

Ruthra resumed, faster, making Merlynne look away, and her throat felt tight. Doubt began to cloud her mind and she no longer knew what to believe.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

Years passed. Arthur became King as destiny promised, and the kingdom, for a time, thrived.

Camelot stood tall, its banners bright against the sky. Arthur ruled with grace, and his knights, Gawain, Galahad, Percival, and, of course, Lancelot, stood by him through war and peace. He fought for the people. He listened to them. His nightmares had ceased… for a while, but something began to fray at the edges.

The nightmares came back. They grew stronger. Sometimes he’d wake and find runes burned into the stones near his bed. Other times, voices whispered through the window when they couldn't get through his mind. Arthur felt like his mind was splitting, every day a wonder at what type of personality he would wake up with.

Lancelot always noticed. “You’re slipping,” he said one night, when Arthur refused to leave the war table. “You haven’t slept. You don’t eat. You keep speaking of threats no one else sees.”

“There are forces moving against us,” Arthur snapped, eyes rimmed red. “You think I’m imagining them? You’ve seen the forests dying. You’ve heard the screams at night. The druids are hiding something.”

“We’ve always lived near things we don’t understand,” Lancelot countered. “But that doesn’t make them enemies.”

Arthur stood, hands splayed against the map of Avalon, “They are against me. I feel it in my blood.”

That was the first time he used 'I' instead of 'we'.

The years that followed were harder still. Villages that once pledged fealty began to break away, their people vanishing into the wilds. In response, Arthur ordered sweeps, cleansing missions. They were meant to be peaceful, but more often than not, they ended in fire and screams. The knights obeyed, at first, but then resistance began. Gawain voiced concern over a town that had housed women and children. Percival refused to carry out a sentence on a druid healer. Galahad requested reassignment to the northern borders.

Yet Lancelot remained. He watched as Arthur grew more distant, more desperate. He saw the council halls empty of old allies and filled with new ones, men who bowed too quickly, who smiled with teeth too sharp. He saw Arthur stand alone too often, yet Lancelot stayed. He couldn’t say why. Maybe it was duty. Perhaps it was something else. Something neither of them had time for but was always there, lurking beyond loyalty and reason.

Then came the final fracture after another village was lost. A child returned from the woods raving about monsters and a burning tree with a face. Arthur took it as proof of treason. He rode out himself. Ordered the destruction of the glade. When the knights hesitated, he raised Excalibur and said, “Follow me, or fall.”

Lancelot did follow, but after that night, something in him broke.

He began sleeping apart from the others. He stopped laughing. He avoided Arthur’s gaze. It was like everything he knew and admired about Arthur was slipping away. The prince he knew as a child was gone, locked away in a closet where a monster stood in front of it. Lancelot tried, Gaia did he try. To talk to Arthur to be there for Arthur to live for him, when everyone else gave up on him. Though he would never admit it, he felt the absence like a blade in his side. Lancelot had always been by his side, but even his admiration and closeness to him weren’t enough for Arthur’s mind to stop.

He sat in his chambers some nights, Excalibur across his lap, and asked the sword to speak. He thought of Merlynne, but she had grown silent, withdrawn. Her warnings now only came in riddles, but the visions were louder than ever.

Myrddin’s voice, though Arthur still did not know it, spoke in them. Urged him toward greatness, toward sacrifice. Toward purity of purpose, and Arthur, exhausted and alone, listened.

It was Galahad who told Lancelot of the final decision. It was a planned purge in the western hills, which contained the last known fairy enclave.

Lancelot didn’t sleep that night. He confronted Arthur in the throne room at dawn. The room was cold and silent, the braziers barely burning. Arthur stood before the platform in dark armor trimmed in purple. His crown had been reforged, jagged now, like antlers or thorns. At his hip, Excalibur hung, a formidable presence, its blade now corrupt. No longer the golden sheen it once was, but a dark violet tinged with smoke.

“You cannot do this,” Lancelot said, a thread of desperation woven into each word.

Arthur turned to face him, his eyes piercing through him. “You came alone.”

“I always come alone,” Lancelot replied bitterly. “You made sure of that.”

The weight of Arthur's expression shifted, hardened like the very steel he bore. “You doubt me, too, then.”

“I don’t doubt your strength,” Lancelot countered. “I doubt what’s left of your heart.”

Arthur stepped down from his throne, each footfall echoing ominously in the vast silence. “You speak like a traitor.”

“I speak as a man who knows you,” Lancelot snapped, “We grew up together! You were never meant to be this. You were never meant to be a tyrant.”

“I was meant to bring order."

“Order without compassion is nothing more than control,” Lancelot shot back, his chest tightening under the weight of their shared past.

With a swift motion, Arthur unsheathed Excalibur, the blade glinting menacingly in the dim light. “You would raise your blade against me?”

Lancelot stood resolute, unmoving, his demeanor unwavering. Lancelot, despite everything, had never feared Arthur. He just hated who he had become.

“I won’t raise mine,” he said, pain lacing his words. “But I won’t let you do this.”

“Then you are in my way,” Arthur declared. The first strike came like lightning.

Lancelot blocked, barely. The clang echoed through the chamber. Arthur came again, relentless, each blow infused with power that shook the stones.

They fought across the room, memory and fury in every clash.

“You stood by me,” Arthur snarled. “You held me when I broke. You said things would be okay.”

“I believed it,” Lancelot shouted. “But you changed.”

“You left me first!”

“No! I never left you! Even when I wanted to, you killed so many innocent lives. I waited for you to return, to bring back the prince I knew before! I waited longer than anyone! But you—”

Hw couldn’t finish. All Lancelot saw was red on one side of his face and Excalibur struck true. The blade slashed across Lancelot’s left eye. He screamed, stumbling, blood flooding his vision.

Arthur froze, and something in his chest cracked. Lancelot fell to one knee, gasping, his face a ruin.

Lancelot looked up through the blood. “You were supposed to be good.”

Arthur took a step forward, sword lowered. “I was...” He turned and walked away before the shaking in his hands could be seen.

Rain lashed the courtyard as Lancelot stumbled out, past the guards who didn’t meet his gaze. Gawain attempted to call after him. Percival also tried to stop him, but he walked past the gates, the past the broken statue of the First King. Something in him had died that knight and Arthur, watching from the high window of the throne room, felt that death inside himself too.

It was odd, devastating even. The two had always found each other in the past, but in this lifetime, it felt impossible.

He looked at his reflection, violet eyes staring back, and though Lancelot may have left in that moment, Arthur was never alone.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

Green Hills, Present Day

This day would be a day written in history. Something Sonic and his friends never expected.

What began as a clear summer morning over Green Hills was overcome by a storm of fire and metal. Clouds of smoke curled upward, blocking out the sun. Birds and animals scattered. The ground trembled beneath, sending a signal to the heroes.

At the center of the canyon, a gigantic machine stomped the land. It appeared like an armored colossus on spiked legs, spitting missiles and flame. Its core pulsed with an energy source unlike any of its previous inventions. Veins of green energy lacing through its hull like a living heart. It was an abomination born of genius and madness.

Only one person was capable of this monstrosity.

Eggman’s latest creation: The Omega Reactor, and standing against it, in the destruction, was Sonic.

His chest heaved and blood trickled down the side of his face, matting his fur. His quills, once slicked back with speed and confidence, now bristled with soot and static but his eyes, they still were a brilliant bright summer green.

“Sonic! Status report!” Tails said through the comms, frayed with static.

Sonic jerked behind the remains of a broken rock formation, shielding himself from a barrage. Explosions ripped the earth behind him, hurling up chunks of grass and soil. ”Yeah… I’m still breathing,” he said, grimacing as he wiped blood from his brow. “Barely.”

“The reactor’s output just spiked! I—I’ve never seen numbers like this before. If it keeps climbing, Sonic, it’s gonna blow. We’re talking full meltdown. A chain reaction from here to all of Green Hills!”

“How long do we have, Tails?”

“...Maybe ten minutes. Maybe.”

Sonic clenched his jaw. “Then let’s buy ten minutes.”

From the ridge to his right, a red blur slammed into a metal drone, tearing through its hull with brute force. Knuckles landed beside Sonic with a snarl, fists pumping, eyes alight with fury. “This thing’s not going down easy. It’s like punching a mountain.”

“I've done worse,” Sonic muttered, catching his breath.

Behind them, a loud BOOM cracked the air as Omega landed hard enough to crater the earth, chain guns already spinning. Rouge fluttered down moments later, wings singed but eyes sharp as diamonds. “Hey, hun,” she called, lips curled into a grim smile, “you owe me dinner for this.”

“Only if we live,” Sonic replied.

Shadow arrived last, stepping through smoke like a ghost. His eyes locked onto Sonic’s immediately. The tension between them didn’t need to be said but was understood. Shadow’s face, usually a wall of cold indifference, now twitched with something like worry and rage.

Amy appeared beside Tails in the background, hammer glowing with light, her face streaked with grime. “We’re not letting you do this alone, Sonic! You hear me?!”

Sonic gave her a thumbs up, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

The ground shook again, and from the heart of the machine, Eggman’s voice boomed. “Do you fools still not understand?” His face appeared on twisted screens embedded into the Omega Reactor’s plating. “You’ve already lost! This world will be reborn, from the ashes of your failure!”

The Omega Reactor opened like a flower. Its core, a black hole of swirling red energy, pulsed with unnatural heat.

Tails gasped. “He’s drawing power directly from the Chaos Grid! That’s insane! That much chaos energy-”

“Will tear this whole place apart…” Shadow finished.

The battle reignited, and Omega let loose with a barrage of gunfire, driving a swarm of aerial drones back. Rouge soared high, striking them down with precision. Amy and Knuckles hit the ground, tearing through enemy units with a coordinated force. Tails ducked and weaved, relaying commands while trying to upload a virus into the Reactor’s outer defenses.

Sonic ran across the battlefield like lightning, using his energy to bounce off broken metal and debris, striking where the armor thinned. Yet beneath the adrenaline, beneath the drive and fury, there was something else. A feeling. A pull in his gut that was... wrong. Something felt wrong.

He didn’t know when it started, maybe the moment the Reactor opened, or the second Eggman spoke, but something had shifted. The wind felt thinner. The light stranger.

The world felt off-balance, like standing on the edge of a cliff and realizing the ground beneath him was already crumbling. He paused for a breath behind a toppled mech carcass. Shadow appeared again beside him, silent, close. They didn’t speak for a second.

“You feel it too,” Sonic said solemnly.

Shadow didn’t answer immediately. Shadow’s instincts were never wrong, but chaos did he wish they were right now. “Yes..."

“Six minutes,” Tails reported, panic starting to seep in. “That’s all we have until a full failure!”

“Then let’s move!” Knuckles roared, taking down another drone.

Amy followed, unleashing a spiral shockwave that blew back a wave of enemy constructs. Sonic surged forward again, but his unease continued to grow. The reactor’s core was exposed now, visible from the ruined ridge. It pulsed with light, but that light wasn’t steady. It was as if it were alive.

Rouge cut through. “I’ve breached the eastern tower, uploading now!”

Tails cheered. “Yes! That should drop the shields for five seconds. Sonic now’s your chance!”

“On it!” He launched forward so fast his legs were a blur. The world narrowed around him, but the moment he reached the base of the Reactor’s core, an overwhelming wave of energy enveloped him. His vision pulsed violently, and for just an instant, there was an intense, blinding flash that seared through his consciousness. In that split second, reality seemed to fracture, leaving him disoriented.

He stumbled. Just a flicker of something, but it was enough, and in that flicker, he saw himself, standing in fire, alone. The world was gone, and that realization made him skid to a stop, panting.

“Sonic?” Tails wavered. “What happened? Are you—?”

“I…” Sonic shook his head. “Something’s wrong. I don’t think this thing is just a power source.”

Shadow landed beside him. “What do you mean?”

“I think it’s feeding.” Sonic met his eyes. “Off the planet, off of us, because chaos energy doesn’t just act like this. It doesn’t...feel like this.”

Shadow frowned. “We need to retreat.”

“What?” Amy questioned, sounding more frantic now. “We’re so close! We just got the core open!”

“No,” Sonic said. “We’re walking into a trap. I don’t know how I know. But I know.”

Knuckles growled. “We don’t have time, Sonic! If that thing blows—”

“I know!” Sonic snapped, spinning but that was when it happened. The core surged and a pulse of darkness exploded outward. It was a red, black, unnatural color.

In the crossfire, Rouge wings crumpled midair as she tumbled from the sky, and Shadow caught her mid-fall.

Amy shouted in horror. “What was that?!”

“The Chaos signatures just spiked! They’re...they’re mimicking our own energy!” Tails yelped.

Sonic stepped back. “Everyone! Fall back! Now!”

But it was too late.

Chapter Text

The Omega Reactor groaned beneath their feet. Its core, once pulsing with controlled Chaos energy, was now a screaming vortex of instability. Sparks tore through the air like lightning whips. Everything around them cracked and trembled. The whole thing was going to explode in seconds.

Tails cut in through the static-laced comm. “This isn’t good, you guys! It’s gonna blow! I think we’re too late!”

“No,” Sonic breathed, his gaze locked on the core, glowing with violent, blinding energy.

Sonic couldn’t give up he could never let his friends or Green Hills be destroyed. Not while they were still here. Eggman had gone insane, and needed to be stopped.

A choked cough came from behind. He had practically taken the hits for all of Sonic’s friends, pushing himself hard so no one got hurt but it came at a price.

Shadow stumbled forward, battered but not down. “I’m going in with you.”

Sonic turned fast. “No, you’re not.”

“I’m faster, stronger. I can stabilize it while you help them escape—”

“Shadow,” Sonic said, stepping into his path. “Stop… This thing’s like hooked to me. I don’t really understand but that’s what Tail’s said. It’s reacting to my Chaos signature. I can guide it. You’ll just make it worse.”

Shadow’s eyes were blazing looking more pissed off than he usually was. “Don’t you dare do this alone.”

“I can handle it.” Sonic grinned, well, he tried to make it reach his eyes, but he was 99% sure it didn’t. It was weak, worn, but still Sonic.

Then, in one swift motion, he shoved Shadow back with a Chaos burst to the chest.

“NO!” Shadow screamed as the blast sent him skidding across the broken floor.

Before anyone could react, before Shadow could stand again, Sonic surged into the air, his body already beginning to crackle with radiant, chaotic energy. His fur lifted in slow motion, his form outlined in gold and white. His eyes glowed red. Around him, wind and force screamed like a hurricane of power.

“Sonic! Don’t!” Amy screamed, sprinting forward.

Knuckles grabbed her, holding her back. “You’ll die if you get too close!”

Rouge covered her mouth, eyes wide and wet while Tails ran up beside Shadow, trying to push himself back to his feet. “We have to stop him!”

“There’s no time,” Shadow breathed. “He’s… already gone.” He didn’t have enough energy to chaos control and teleport to him. They were out of options.

In the heart of the reactor, Sonic hovered, his arms spread wide. Chaos energy flooded into him, ripping into his bones, burning through his chest, his limbs, his soul but he held it. He took all of it and that was when his thoughts began to blur. He saw Tails, barely ten, looking up at him in awe. Amy, hopeful. Brave Knuckles, always ready to fight beside him. Rouge, smirking like she knew something no one else did while Omega was silent and loyal.

He finally saw Shadow then and he was the clearest. He was stern, strong like always, but there was a kindness beneath it all. He was someone Sonic trusted to take care of them... So, he smiled, just a little, with tears in his eyes. He could feel it. He knew what was coming. The reactor screamed its final cry and Sonic released everything. A blinding column of light tore upward, bursting from the core and splitting the sky.

The clouds opened. The Omega Reactor imploded with a roar, and the energy killed Eggman, along with his reactor.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

The dust settled slowly and Green Hills was scorched. The air shimmered with a fading energy. The Omega Reactor was gone; nothing remained of Eggman’s masterpiece but smoldering debris. In the center of it all, amidst the devastation, was Sonic. On the floor, not moving. His body was crumpled, chest rising once, then not again.

Shadow reached him first. He dropped to his knees beside him, gathering Sonic into his arms. His gloves were scorched, the hero’s quills burned, his face pale, lips parted slightly like he had one last thing to say, but the words never came.

“Sonic,” Shadow rasped. “No. No, no, no—” He shook him gently. “You stupid, reckless idiot… why would you—?” He pressed his forehead to Sonic’s, a tremor in his hands. “I told you I’d help. You didn’t have to… damn it, Sonic.”

The others came, and they were all feeling emotions that were beyond broken.

Amy fell to her knees beside them, sobbing openly. “No… it can’t be, please—”

Tails crumpled into Knuckles’ side, shoulders shaking with silent grief. “We were gonna go back to the workshop… he said he’d help me finish the new flight stabilizers…”

Knuckles clenched his fists. “Why’d it have to be him?”

Rouge crouched beside Shadow, silent, solemn and even Omega dimmed his optics, standing with bowed head.

Shadow held Sonic tighter. “You did it, you idiot. You saved everyone.” He looked down at Sonic’s still face, his eyes closed. “Rest, now... I’ll take care of them. All of them. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

He didn’t cry... yet, at least, as a breeze rolled through the broken hilltops, soft and slow, brushing Sonic’s fur, as the sun pierced the clouds above, golden light streamed across the battlefield.

Sonic the Hedgehog was gone, but the world was safe because of him.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

But another world burned.

The skies of Camelot, once blue and endless, were now choked in smoke. What was once a prosperous land in all the kingdoms had become a hollow ruin of its former self. The stone towers were scorched and broken, their once-proud banners in tatters. Screams echoed across the blood-soaked courtyards and fires consumed the golden halls.

The final war had come, not from foreign invaders or beastkind, but from within because King Arthur had brought ruin to his own kingdom.

He stood at the top of the burning gate tower like a god descending into hell. Armor of corrupted obsidian clung to his form, charred crimson where the magic had fused into the metal. His eyes were no longer green, and instead burned with glowing violet light, like twin orbs of a cursed flame. The once sacred Excalibur was now unrecognizable, the blade snarling with dark purple veins of magic that pulsed with each breath he took.

Below him, the knights stood shoulder to shoulder, surrounded by flames and destruction.

Gawain had his twin blades gripped in shaking hands, teeth bared. Percival, who had taken a bad hit, was already bleeding and stood beside Galahad, whose leg was twisted unnaturally from a collapsed archway. Galahad could barely lift his sword, but his eyes still burned with an ache, and at the center of it all was Lancelot.

The hedgehog was now a scarred warrior with a half-burned cape and silver-edged blade, stood with his feet rooted in blood-soaked cobblestones. The wind blew ash across his face, tangling in his fur and catching on the faded bandage that covered the ruined side of his face.

The scar itched. The memory burned and never left, but nothing stung worse than what stood before him now.

“Arthur,” he called up. “This is madness.”

The king tilted his head, lips twitching in something that was not quite a smile. “This is destiny.”

“You’ve slaughtered the people you swore to protect!”

“They were weak!” Arthur’s said and he sounded so insane his voice reverberated like thunder. “Their fear, their resistance. It was a sickness. I cleansed it.”

“You enslaved entire provinces,” Gawain shouted, barely containing his rage. “You let Ruthra’s beasts roam free in the east. You murdered the old sages, Arthur!”

“They conspired against me,” Arthur said, as if the thought were an aftertaste. “They feared the age I would bring. The order I would create.”

“There’s nothing left of you,” Lancelot said. He was so angry. So angry and in grief. He couldn’t believe Arthur had gone this far. He couldn’t believe he didn’t try to stop him sooner, and his heart cracked while a single tear left his helm.

Arthur’s eyes caught his knight’s. “You mourn me? After all this?”

“I mourn the king you could have been.”

They fought beneath the crumbling spires. The battle began with a single step. Arthur launched forward, descending from the tower like a meteor. Excalibur crashed into Lancelot’s sword with a shriek of magic and steel and sparks burst around them. The ground quaked underneath their onslaught.

The two were equal once. Lancelot was trained alongside Arthur, shaped in his image, but now, Arthur was stronger. Empowered by the ancient dark magic Myrddin had seeded within him, his strikes were devastating, each one intending to kill, but Lancelot was faster.

He danced around Arthur’s fury, deflecting with grim focus, every movement lined with pain. The rhythm was familiar, and well too familiar.

They had trained and fought together like this for years. Thousands of strikes were exchanged in practice. Even more so in battle. Dozens of close calls, laughter and anger echoing in their history, but there was nothing now... only grief and flame. Arthur yelled as he swung for Lancelot’s side, only for Lancelot to pivot, slide beneath his guard, and drive his blade across Arthur’s chest plate, scraping metal.

Arthur snarled. “You hesitate.”

“I remember who you were,” Lancelot spat.

“I remember who we were,” Arthur snapped, slamming his foot into Lancelot’s gut and sending him flying into a fallen pillar.

Lancelot groaned but rose quickly, sword held tight.

“You think I don’t still feel it?” Arthur said, stepping closer, dark energy pooling behind him. “Every night. That weight. That want.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing… It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me!”

“I couldn’t be the king this land needed and love you.” Arthur bellowed. The admission landed like a spear in Lancelot’s heart. Neither of them had ever talked about it. There was never time or space in either of their minds or hearts...

Lancelot shook his head. “I loved you once, but I can’t let you continue.”

So he charged. The duel turned brutal, and there were no more words or pleas. Lancelot slashed deep into his shoulder. Arthur answered by knocking his sword free with a blast of dark magic, nearly taking off his arm. The stoned castle collapsed under them. They fell into the lower hall. The great stained-glass windows exploded outward from the force of their magic. Rain began to fall through the open ceiling, hissing as it met the fire. Blood coated the ground. Lancelot stumbled to his feet, retrieving his second blade from his back, smaller, but faster. Arthur rose slowly, staggering slightly. The wound in his shoulder leaked black magic and blood.

“Yield,” Lancelot whispered. He was desperate for Arthur to stop.

“I never have,” Arthur said, and he lunged.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

Upstairs, Gawain screamed as a column collapsed beside them. Ruthra’s beasts, dark hounds with skeletal faces and venomous claws, had breached the castle walls.

One lunged for Galahad, but Percival threw herself forward, shielding him. Only for the beast to freeze mid-pounce, then implode. The magic that had been controlling him went to Arthur. His magic... The cursed magic let him control him.

Escaping from Lancelot Arthur was now above. The corrupted king descended in a shroud of violet flame. His armor was even darker now, any golden sigil masked with blood and sickly magical tendrils. Smoke began from his fingertips as he raised his hand again, preparing to strike.

“NO!” Lancelot called out. He saw everything… saw Gawain bleeding against a pillar, Percival barely upright, Galahad just behind her limping. He saw Arthur… his king, his friend, a stranger now with violet eyes glowing like cursed stars. His hand pointed at them. He was about to do, he really was going to kill them.

Something inside Lancelot snapped. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing his three fellow knights. Even after everything, the guilt, blood, and loss on his hands. The innocents he watched Arthur murder. Lancelot should have drawn the line long ago.

He roared, charging through the ruined threshold. His armor scraped the stone, slick with blood and rain. Their swords met in a collision of ancient steel and fury. This was no knightly duel or elegant contest. This was survival. No…

This was heartbreak.

Steel sang as Lancelot struck again and again, dodging tendrils of dark magic, parrying unnatural strength. Arthur fought with elegance still, but it was hollow and soulless. A cursed monster in the king’s shell.

Lancelot twisted past his defenses, and was close enough now to see the sharp cut of Arthur’s jaw, a slight bunch of dark blue quills coming out of his helmet. He drove his sword forward, and it pierced the king’s chest, through blackened armor and into flesh. Arthur staggered, his breath escaping him. He fell to one knee, Excalibur slipping from his fingers.

But Lancelot didn’t let go. His fingers, still wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword, trembled violently. Blood soaked through the gaps in his gauntlets. Arthur’s blood, warm and thick, smearing across him. He dropped to his knees before him, the metal of his armor crashing against the soaked ground with a dull, defeated thud. He was breathing too hard to speak. His chest heaved with every ragged inhale, as if his lungs were fighting to keep his heart from breaking.

The battlefield blurred beyond them. Smoke rose from scorched soil and they could hear distant cries pierce the air. Camelot could hear Percival yelling for help, Galahad sobbing so hard it sounded like he might break apart, and Gawain crawling across broken stone.

Lancelot saw none of it. He heard none of it. He saw only him. Only Arthur.

With trembling hands, he reached up and removed his own helmet, dropping it beside him in the mud without care. Then, slowly he reached forward, brushing blood away from Arthur’s brow, and lifted the heavy golden helm from the king’s head. It came free with a rasp, revealing a face soaked in rain, blood, and sorrow.

For one breathless moment, the war fell away. There was no magic or even corruption. No kingdom. It was just them... just Arthur and Lancelot, kneeling in the ruin of a dream they’d once shared.

Rain streaked down their faces, cold and sharp as knives. It mingled with blood on their armor, streaming down the curve of Lancelot’s muzzle, over Arthur’s cheeks like tears the king could no longer shed, and then, just then, Arthur’s violet eyes fluttered open and he gave a breath of recognition. It sounded like a dying candle fighting against wind. Like a man who had been gone too long, finally, briefly, returning to himself.

Not the tyrant or the hollow vessel Myrddin had twisted, but the true king. The one Lancelot had once pledged his sword to in love, not obligation.

Lancelot’s next words came out with a deep somberness. “Please,” his eyes were wide with desperation. “Don’t make me do this...”

Arthur’s hand weakly rose from where it had fallen. He gripped the hilt of the blade embedded in his chest. The action made blood spill anew from the wound, fresh and red, staining his armor, and Lancelot’s eyes widened in horror. “Arthur don’t—”

Arthur looked at him with something like peace, like a softness behind the violet, even if his expression didn’t smile. “You always knew… my dear knight that you’d have to.”

Without flinching, he pushed the blade deeper, making Lancelot cry out, from a grief so total it hollowed him out.

Arthur’s eyes never turned green again. They stayed that haunting, cursed violet as he died. Then they closed, lashes heavy with rain, and his head tilted forward, resting gently, wordlessly, against Lancelot’s chest. The breath left his lungs, and the light left his body.

He was gone.

“I’m sorry,” Lancelot whispered, forehead pressed to Arthur’s. “I’m so, so sorry I could never truly help you more…”

He held him there, in the mud and the ruin, with the rain drenching them both and the last echoes of battle vanishing into silence. One hand clutched Arthur’s back, the other still wrapped around the sword’s hilt, as if letting go would make the loss more real.

Behind them, the knights stood in stunned, reverent stillness. The monsters had vanished with Arthur’s final breath. The cursed magic, for all its poison, had died with its vessel, but no one felt like they had won.

There was no victory in something like this... Only the sound of Lancelot breaking.

A scream tore from his throat, but it was not made of sound. It was made of everything he couldn’t say, of love lost, of duty fulfilled too late, of watching the one he cherished fade into something he no longer recognized… It was a scream that tore through his soul and left him raw.

Rain fell heavily. The storm did not end, and Lancelot held him for a long time. Perhaps it was minutes or hours. Time no longer mattered.

The knights gathered around him, keeping vigil. Not out of protocol, but out of pain, and no one spoke. There were no words for what had been done, even if it had been necessary for years, so when the moment came, when they could no longer stay, when they could feel Ruthra rising in the distance, and another whispering lies of power and legacy into his ear, the knights finally stood.

They took Arthur’s body with them and wrapped him in a silver cloth, careful and gentle, the royal crest still smeared across his chest.

It felt wrong to leave him, but worse to bury him in the place where everything had gone so wrong.

He did not seem like the tyrant in death. He was something else again. Perhaps in some cruel, twisted way, at least his body was still something worth saving, but the people, nor the mobians, would not see it that way. They were scared, angry, but grief always needed somewhere to go. The knights fled before that grief turned to rage.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

They rode for hours. Hours that had felt like days, never stopping, through burning villages, screaming woods, and forgotten roads, each mile carrying the weight of their memories and the ache of their losses.

It was all thanks to King Arthur. There was so much grief, the four of them wondered, if it was even good that they made it out alive. They couldn't help it.

How were they going to come back from this? How could Camelot ever return to something stable?

Percival, Galahad, and Gawain still had injuries from the battle with Arthur and Ruthra’s destruction. Yet they pressed on. Despite the sorrow, survival was still at play. They were determined to escape and find some form of safety.

Finally, when they arrived somewhere deemed safe enough, a forgotten castle, Elysia's Keep.

They gathered around a fire, its light flickering against the darkness. They took turns tending to their wounds.

It was helpful that Percival learned about herbs and how they can aid in treating wounds. She spent much time in the Camelot library when she needed time away from their evil king. She brewed a wrapping using wildflowers and roots they had foraged during the day. She mixed the ingredients, creating a balm that would ease the pain and help heal the torn fur and flesh on Galahad’s arm.

“This should draw out the infection,” she murmured, applying the mixture to the wound with careful hands.

Galahad, ever the optimistic light, tried to help. He teased Gawain about being too reckless in battle, trying to lift the heaviness of their reality.

“You can’t fight a whole army by yourself, you know,” he joked lightly, though the laughter felt hollow.

Meanwhile, Lancelot sat apart, his back against the cold stone of the ruined castle. The night air was still, yet the weight of Arthur’s body nearby pressed down on him. His aura, despite being dead, was heavy and unyielding.

His sword lay at his side, forgotten, as he stared at the lifeless figure in front of him.

“I didn’t want to,” he whispered hoarsely, “I didn’t want it to end like this.” He had no tears left because all his tears were wasted on his king’s lifeless body.

Around him, the castle creaked, as if disturbed by the very grief that surrounded them. The wind outside began to stir. Lancelot clenched his chest, feeling the ache resonate within him, every beat resounding his regret. He didn't know what to do or what to think. He was at an utter loss.

Gawain caught a glimpse of Lancelot's solitude and turned away from his makeshift bandaging, a worry crossing his features. “Lancelot, you must—”

“Let him grieve,” Percival stopped him, understanding despite everything they had gone through, Lancelot wore the deepest scar, literally and figuratively.

It was Lancelot who had the hardest time giving up on Arthur because, having been friends since childhood, it was a bond not even death could break.

Chapter Text

Rain whispered against the broken stone of Elysia’s keep.

Outside, the forest murmured with wind and secrets, the remnants of old magic still tangled in the roots of trees and bones of the fallen walls. Lancelot sat silently near the body, his sword across his lap, his mind caught in memory.

It had been three days since he killed King Arthur. He hadn't slept. He couldn’t eat. There was too much weight behind his eyes, and when they closed, all he could see was the look on Arthur’s face when the life had left him. It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t even sorrow.

It had been… understanding?

Lancelot gritted his teeth and looked down at the body lying before him. Arthur looked almost peaceful now but that didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Arthur’s fatal wound to his chest had somehow closed up. Lancelot had checked his pulse a thousand times. Nothing about why his body hadn’t decayed made any sense to him. His face was cleaner, the grime wiped away, the scratches fading into his still-warm blue fur, but he was still... dead?

What dead body is still warm yet with no heartbeat?!

Lancelot hadn’t spoken in days. His grief had soured into something sharper. He wasn’t sad anymore. He was furious at the world and fate... At the gods that let things unravel this way. At Arthur, for dying, and at himself, for killing him.

Why did things have to be this way?

Lancelot’s hands tightened on the hilt of his sword, but suddenly, Lancelot’s sharp ears heard something. A breath. Lancelot’s crimson eyes snapped open. He immediately put his helm over them as if it were instinct. He rose sharply, staring at Arthur’s body. The air around him shimmered faintly with a white ethereal glow.

Another breath and Arthur’s chest rose, making Lancelot step back, his pulse erupting in a roar inside his ears. He drew his sword without thinking, eyes locked on the impossible.

Arthur's body moved, his fingers twitched, his chest lifted higher, and his eyes shot open, and they were still violet.

Arthur—Sonic gasped and sat up like a man drowning, and Sonic felt everything at once. The cold stone beneath him. The aching weight in his chest. His limbs were unfamiliar and wrong. The world spun. “What? What the hell—?”

His voice sounded so different... richer? His body felt… wrong? He felt pain all over and had the worst headache. There was a silver blanket of some sort on top of him, stitched with royal sigils. He reached up, brushing trembling fingers along his face, and felt a strong jaw with a scar above his left brow. Even when he moved his head, his quills felt heavier, longer perhaps?

This wasn’t— This wasn’t what? Sonic tried to remember what happened, but he didn’t; he couldn’t. He could only remember darkness, and now this? “What is this—?!”

Then suddenly, a sword was at his throat, and Sonic immediately froze. Before him stood a knight covered in dark armor. He couldn’t see his eyes, barely a flicker, or what looked to be red? He stood rigid, like he hadn’t slept in days, like he was a moment away from shattering into rage. The blade pressed closer to Sonic’s neck.

He looked familiar… Sonic felt he almost recognized him… sort of, but he didn’t know why or who he reminded him of, but Lancelot didn’t speak. He only stared, feeling a multitude of emotions at once: disbelief, grief, but above all, anger, and he lunged, a growl tearing from his throat.

“You dare crawl back from the grave?”

Sonic barely had time to gasp before Lancelot slammed him down, blade to his throat. The strength in the knight’s arms was monstrous, weight driving into Sonic’s chest like iron.

“Wait what!?” Sonic choked, struggling.

“Arthur!” Lancelot’s voice cracked with fury. “You think I’d forget your treachery so quickly? Is this your punishment? Your curse?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Sonic shouted, grabbing Lancelot’s wrist, pushing the blade aside.

“I’m not—!” Sonic paused, thinking, Arthur? That felt wrong… His memories may be lost, but him being called by that name felt like a complete lie. “I’m not Arthur!” 

“Liar!” Lancelot shoved harder. “You wear his skin! You died in my arms!”

“I didn’t—! I don’t even know who the hell you are!” Sonic’s foot came up and slammed into Lancelot’s side, making the knight grunt and stagger. Sonic rolled, gasping, and scrambled back, only to have Lancelot close the gap again in a flash and his sword arced downward.

Sonic raised his arms and caught the blade between his gauntleted forearms with an unnatural strength that shocked even him. “I said—I’m not him!”

Their eyes locked, Lancelot’s burning with grief and fury, Sonic’s with raw panic and confusion. Sonic pushed forward, forcing Lancelot back a step but he didn’t press the advantage and honestly he in a weird way couldn’t. His body felt foreign, movements sluggish, instincts unfamiliar. Chaos his head felt like it was splitting. Lancelot didn’t give him a chance; he swiped at him, forcing Sonic to leap back and stumble. He barely caught himself on a broken pillar.

“I watched you die,” Lancelot said through clenched teeth. “You forced me to kill you. You betrayed everyone.”

Sonic panted and had sweat beading down his temple. “Look dude… I’m sorry but you got the wrong guy. I don’t know how I got here, I don’t remember anything... all I know is waking up literally right now to some damn knight who is trying to kill me!”

Lancelot’s ears twitched at the odd language that came out of Sonic’s mouth. “Explain yourself at once.”

“Did you not hear anything I just said?! How can I do that? If I don’t know what is going on! I don’t even know who I am?”

“You are Arthur!” Lancelot snapped, stepping forward because Sonic’s denial only pissed him off more. Arthur had done this once, pretending he had lost his memories to only trick Lancelot and the others. Lancelot, despite his grief, wouldn’t… couldn’t let it happen again. “Don’t play games with me! What have you done? What dark spell have you invoked? Are you possessed?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Sonic shouted. “I—I just I woke up like this! I don’t know who Arthur is! I don’t think this is my body. I feel weird!” Sonic didn’t know what to believe, but if anything, some small part of him knew that everything he was feeling and seeing was just wrong.

“You expect me to believe that?” Lancelot’s voice rose. “That one of the greatest yet evil swordsmen in the realm, King Arthur himself, was replaced by a stranger who just happened to fall into his body?”

“I don’t care if you believe it or not!” Sonic pushed him back despite the aching in his limbs. “I’m telling you the truth, and if you’d stop yelling at me for five seconds, maybe we could figure this out!”

Lancelot got up right to Sonic’s face. “Do not test me for I will make you pay for what you’ve done.”

“I’m not lying,” Sonic breathed and now his body was suddenly trembling with exhaustion and confusion. His body felt like it was falling apart, and all the yelling and fighting were only making his headache worse.  “I just want to go home… I don’t even know what home is, though.”

That struck something deep inside the knight and he hesitated again. He had rarely heard Arthur speak like that. He wasn’t sure if he ever had. Not since he was a Prince… But Lancelot didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. He surged forward again, grabbing Sonic by the collar and slamming him back onto a stone wall. Sonic cried out, pain spiking through his shoulders, and Lancelot straddled his chest, sword again pressed to his throat.

“I should kill you, again,” Lancelot snarled, eyes wild behind the helm. “Whatever you are. Whatever trick this is.”

Sonic was furious the knight wasn’t listening. He used what little strength he had left and twisted his legs so he was on top. He pinned Lancelot’s wrist that had the blade, but Lancelot grabbed Sonic’s neck, holding him away, but he was shaking. Not only that, but he was also bleeding. Lancelot had cut him, a thin line blooming across his neck from where the blade kissed his skin, and the blood fell on Lancelot’s armored helm.

Sonic didn’t really realize it at the time but he felt scared. “Please... I-I’m—.” But before he could do or say anything else, he went limp and fell on top of the knight.

Lancelot immediately sat up and held him, checked for a pulse, and felt one this time.“What is Gaia’s name?” 

But before he could think any further, the three knights had returned. Galahad stepped in first, arms full of cloth bandages, followed closely by Gawain, limping beneath the weight of a crate of dried meat and berries. Percival brought up the rear, her armor streaked with mud, a satchel of herbs slung over one shoulder. They were speaking in hushed urgency. Then they saw him.

Lancelot was still on the floor with Sonic in his arms. He was pale and breathing and... Awake?

“S-Stars,” Galahad nearly dropped his bundle.

Gawain cursed and dropped the crate outright. “What the hell—?!”

Percival’s hand went straight to the hilt of her weapon. “Is this a trick?”

“No,” Lancelot said hoarsely and he looked exhausted. “He… he woke up.”

The place fell into silence save for the soft sound of rain against stone.

Galahad took a cautious step forward. “He’s awake? But… he’s supposed to be dead…”

Lancelot nodded slowly, his arms still holding Sonic’s limp form.

“His wound… healed, scar is there, but he… woke up.”

“That’s impossible,” Percival said flatly.

“I know,” Lancelot said. “Yet… it happened. He looked at me and didn’t know who I was. He said his name isn’t Arthur. He seemed afraid.”

“Bullshit,” Gawain spat. “That bastard doesn’t get to play innocent. Not after what he did.”

Percival’s eyes were hardened from her own grief. “Whatever’s going on, he’s dangerous. We should lock him up until we know more.”

“Agreed,” Galahad growled. “Before he snaps again. Before he burns another village. Or kills more children.”

Lancelot winced at that, his grip tightening. The memories were too sharp, too recent. Arthur’s sword went through innocent flesh. Screams in the fire. He was so confused. He grieved Arthur, but the moment he awoke, Lancelot only saw red and now knowing he is alive, breathing in his arms.

Sonic whimpered slightly in his arms, burying his face in Lancelot’s chest. That image didn’t fit. Not with the tyrant. Not with the monster he had fought and bled to stop. This version of him was afraid, and the last time Arthur had ever shown fear… he’d been a boy-a child, trembling after his first vision, his first taste of power. Lancelot had held him then, too.

For a moment, something dangerously hopeful twisted in Lancelot’s chest. That perhaps the man in his arms wasn’t the monster after all. That maybe… the king he once believed in had been reborn, but he crushed the thought before it could take root.

No… He couldn’t trust Arthur. Not again. Not after everything. Not after what his trust had cost all of Camelot.

“Lock him away,” Lancelot said at last, quietly. “Somewhere secure. He can’t be allowed to roam freely. Not until we know what is going on.”

The others exchanged glances but nodded, and they didn’t question him but Lancelot felt the weight of their eyes on him. They would contain him because they had to.

But a part of Lancelot already feared what he would find if he let himself believe again and worse… what he might lose all over again.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

When Sonic awoke again, he was in a dark place and this time he was chained up. He tried to get up, but the pain in his head made him hesitate, and he could barely walk without stumbling. His body felt too tall, too heavy. His muscles moved with strength he didn’t understand, and the scars across his chest ached when he breathed. He sat on the edge of the cot, utterly confused by everything.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself. “Think. Think.”

But as hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember anything. He wanted to scream, his whole body ached, and now here he was, chackled in some damn place he didn’t recognize, but then, suddenly, a memory did come back.

“You’ve done enough,” someone had said. “But one more world needs you.”

Sonic clenched his fists. “What the hell did you mean by that…?”

His head throbbed again when he saw a flash. A throne room with a voice barking orders and then he saw blood splash on marble…? “What—?” There was another flash. A blade in his hand and Lancelot kneeling and screaming?

Sonic got off the cot, wanting to run away, but the chains made him stagger back until his legs hit the wall. He panted, shaking because the memories weren’t his, but they were inside his head and everything just made him pass out again.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

Down in the main hall, Lancelot paced. Percival and Galahad were getting food. Gawain was coming up with next moves on what to do to save Camelot from Ruthra and Myrddin’s rule and Lancelot couldn’t stop thinking of Arthur.

It wasn’t a spell. He would have sensed it. It wasn’t necromancy… Arthur’s body had never decayed. No dark aura lingered on the figure now sitting upstairs, no cursed magic, but something had happened... and when Lancelot looked into Arthur’s eyes, he had seen something else.

Something… innocent. Something not Arthur, but it was still his face, voice, scent, and Lancelot wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill him or collapse. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. “I can't trust a monster... Not again.”

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

Three days passed.

Sonic hadn’t seen the sun, only gray streaks of light filtering through the shattered stained glass above his prison cell. The ruined tower wasn’t much to look at, but it was dry, and the crumbling fireplace in the corner had been lit every evening.

The shackles, though… Those were less charming and even worse... still on him. Thick iron cuffs circled his wrists, enchanted with some kind of runic binding. A long, rusted chain connected them to a steel bolt in the floor, giving him just enough room to pace which was barely any.

Lancelot had not left the castle. He had come and gone from the room, always silent, always observing. He brought Sonic food, mostly bread, dried meat, and sometimes warm broth, and left it without a word. Watched as Sonic ate. He waited and studied because he was watching for a slip.

He wanted to see if there was a crack in Sonic’s story, but the blue hedgehog didn’t have a story to crack because he had no answers. No idea how he’d been dropped into this life, this body, this nightmare kingdom of ruin and rage.

Before he could think further, he heard boots round the corner. It was the knight again, and Sonic looked at him with frustration. “Any chance you’ll loosen these?” He asked, lifting the shackled wrists. “Kind of a buzzkill.”

Lancelot didn’t answer, but noticed the strange speech again immediately. He leaned against the stone archway, arms crossed, eyes cold.

“You still think I’m lying.” Sonic said.

“I know you’re lying,” Lancelot said flatly.

“Oh, come on—”

“You know nothing. You have Arthur’s voice, but not his words.”

“I told you—”

“Everything about the way you look is still him. Why should I believe you otherwise when all you have done is betray everyone?”

Sonic faltered and looked down at the cracked floor beneath him. “I’m not him. I don’t know how I know that, but everything you're saying. It just doesn’t sound like something I’d do." Lancelot stared, unsure of what to say to that. He turned to walk away, but Sonic stopped him. “Wait… I don’t know your name… I would at least like to know who is holding me prisoner.”

Lancelot looked at him a bit dumbfounded. It’s like his head and heart were waging a war inside of him. Every time he heard his soft voice, his resolve wanted to break. He had never seen Arthur this way, speak this way, and it only caused turmoil inside of him. But then his head always reminded him of everything Arthur had done, everyone he had killed, how he almost killed the other three knights, his closest of friends. His only family left.

“Please. At least give me that.” Sonic said.

“What does my name matter?”

“It just does… I'd tell you mine if I could remember.”

Lancelot sighed. “Lancelot.” Then he turned away, unable to look at him anymore, but just before he walked away, Sonic’s voice stopped him.

“Huh.. Lancelot…” Sonic continued, “What an odd name, I like Lance more. Rolls of the tongue better.”

Lancelot walked away, gripping his chest because everything only made something inside of him ache more than it already did.

Damn it all.

Chapter Text

It had been ten days.

That’s how long it had been since Sonic woke up and couldn’t remember anything.

Ten days in that room. Ten days shackled to the back wall like a dangerous beast. Ten days of listening to the scuff of armored boots outside his room. It sounded like some other knights, but he never met them. They never said a word or visited, not once, and whoever this Arthur guy was…?

Sonic hated him... Because whoever he’d been before, he’d left Sonic to clean up the mess and left him hated, feared, and chained like a monster.

Sonic’s foot bounced restlessly, twitching against the stone floor. He couldn’t stop it. He needed to move. Needed to run. He didn’t know why he did, he just did. The dizziness had dulled a bit, and the headache had lessened. The constant pressure in his chest had thinned to something he could grit his teeth through.

This meant he was no longer completely physically hindered from leaving. He was done.

Lancelot hadn’t even given him a straight answer, hadn’t listened, no matter how Sonic begged or yelled or pleaded to be believed. He wouldn’t. Sonic could see the glint of red eyes behind his helm, so familiar and infuriating, flicker with doubt only a few times. And then he’d shoved it all down again.

Last night was the last straw.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

It had started like the others… quiet, taut, full of the same brittle tension that always filled the space between them. The stone walls of the small chamber might as well have been iron bars. Sonic tried to pace with what little space his shackles allowed, like a caged animal.

Lancelot stood near the door, arms crossed tight over his chest, still clad in his helm and armor. His shoulders were set in that stiff, knightly way, like he had to brace himself against every word Sonic hurled.

“I’m not him!” Sonic yelled. “How many times do I have to say it? I’m not Arthur!”

Lancelot’s jaw clenched. “Lies.”

“Dude, I swear!” Sonic snapped, turning on him. “I just can’t be! I don’t remember your battles or your wars, or your fucking tea rituals or whatever the hell you’re mad at me about! I don’t remember anything!”

Lancelot’s eyes darkened. “You don’t remember, or you refuse to?”

That made Sonic stop cold and t he pain that surged into his face was instant and naked. “Why would I lie about this?” he said hoarsely. “You think I want this? To be stuck in some weird body? I don’t recognize how I feel or anything here?!”

Lancelot didn’t answer, he just stared, silently, with only the slight tremble of doubt in his jaw betraying him.

Sonic took a step closer. “You said Arthur would never plead. That he never apologized. That he never listened. Well, I’m doing all three. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

Lancelot’s voice was strained slightly as he spoke. “It tells me you’re good at pretending. I could never trust you again.”

Sonic’s eyes lost their light. That… broke something. His lips parted, but no sound came out. His whole body shook as though his legs couldn’t quite hold him anymore. His fists trembled in the shackles, and then slowly, hopelessly, fell open. It had been days of this, some more than others. Some days, Lancelot barely said anything, some days he yelled back, but the finality of his words… felt worse.

Tears slipped down his cheeks before he could stop them. “I’m not pretending… I don’t know how to convince you. I don’t even know who I am...”

Lancelot’s eyes widened behind his helm. The fury in them wavered, then extinguished like a flame meeting water.

Sonic crumpled back onto the edge of the bed, hands over his face, and then came ragged, broken sobs. He made no effort to hide it. Maybe he was too tired or maybe he just didn’t care anymore... and it killed Lancelot to see him that way.

So, without thinking, his boots shifted on the stone floor. He stepped towards him slowly and his hand rose, hesitating midair, fingers trembling just inches from Sonic’s shoulder. He almost touched him, almost... but then his mind was overcome by all the terrible visions and nightmares Arthur forced on Camelot over the years. The towns he destroyed, everyone he killed… how he was about to kill the other three knights in their final battle. His only family left, and t he hesitation turned into fear, and he pulled back like Sonic’s body would burn him.

Lancelot’s expression crumpled, only for a moment, and then he turned sharply away and left, the door swinging shut behind him with a muted thud. Outside, he leaned against it like it was the only thing holding him upright. The silence beyond the wood gnawed at him. He pressed his head back and finally let the tears fall, hot, silent, but ever so insistent. He didn’t wipe them away.

He hated this. He hated how much it hurt to see Arthur cry, because Arthur never cried. Arthur never could and that only made it worse.

Was it a trick? Was it real? Had the world truly twisted so far that his once-hated king could look so small?

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

Back in his room, Sonic shook the thoughts of last night away.

He had tried being kind, tried being patient, even thought finally letting himself sob in front of Lancelot would help. But no, he was still here, chained and hadn’t seen Lancelot since, and Sonic was done, so now he was going to claw his way out.

His eyes landed on the silver blanket crumpled in the corner. It was filthy now, crusted with dried mud, dust, and whatever else clung to these ancient castle walls, but it was soft enough. Thick enough. He grabbed it and bunched it in his mouth, taking a deep breath, tasting iron and grime.

What he was about to do wasn’t going to be pretty. He stood. Stared at the shackles that were rune-forged chains, bolted into the stone and designed to restrain chaos knows what.

He braced his legs, let his anger take over, sucked in a breath, and yanked his arms hard in a brutal pull, twisting, wrenching, ripping… and a wet crunch followed along with searing white pain. His vision exploded into stars, and the scream that tore from his throat was swallowed by the blanket jammed between his teeth.

He collapsed forward, gasping, the blanket slipping out of his mouth as he choked on saliva and spit. His thumbs were… he didn’t even want to look at them… but he was free. He knew they must have snapped, both of them, and he couldn’t feel them now except for the heat of pain echoing up his forearms.

Didn’t matter because right now he was free. Sonic staggered to his feet, almost falling over. His body wasn’t at full strength, not even close. The pressure in his chest flared but he didn’t stop. He limped to the window and stared down. He was on the second floor, which was probably good enough. So he squeezed out, arms shaking, fingers barely able to grab the ledge, braced his knees on the wall, shoved himself up, and jumped.

The impact jarred up his legs and into his ribs, but he tucked and rolled, groaning as he hit the cold grass outside. Dirt smeared into his fur. His hands were in so much pain, but he was out and then he ran. Chaos, did he feel slow. Not that he necessarily knew he should be fast.

Every step felt like sludge. His legs burned. His chest ached. His vision wavered. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He sprinted into the forest, every tree blurring past in a smear of green and grey.

He didn’t look back. Not once. He didn’t want to think about the knight behind that mask. Didn’t want to remember the way Lancelot had seemed at times, he almost believed him, or wanted to, almost reached out, only to turn cold again. To walk away and leave him in chains.

Sonic had pitied him at first. He seemed so heartbroken underneath his anger, but not anymore.

Lancelot was the enemy now. Just a knight who thought he was a monster.

Well, fine. Let him think that.

By the time the trees gave way to scattered farmland, Sonic was panting so hard he could barely stay upright, but in the distance, there it was... A town. Or at least, what used to be one.

The buildings were half-collapsed, some burned out, while others leaned with broken rafters, resembling the skeletons of homes. The roads were muddy and worn. There weren’t many people or mobians. The few he saw had thin, rag-wrapped faces hollow with exhaustion, they didn’t scream or run when they saw him.

They looked at him like he was just another ghost, half of them were. Sonic limped toward the center, his feet dragging, his body numb. He was sure he looked awful. Bloody, dirty, and probably exhausted, but no one asked questions. No one shouted “Arthur.” They just stared blankly.

A child peeked out from behind a crumbling stone wall. Their eyes were too big for their face. Another adult turned and coughed violently into a cloth.

Sonic’s chest twisted because this looked so horrible... Was this what Arthur had done?

He collapsed onto a broken bench near the edge of the town, every muscle in his body singing with agony. His hands lay limp in his lap, thumbs bent at unnatural angles, but they seemed to be slowly healing.

Odd… he supposed his body had some healing capabilities. However, it seemed unnatural and slow. He stared down at them. Sonic bared his teeth in a bitter grin.

“Fine,” he muttered under his breath.

He glanced up at the shattered village around him. Something in him hardened. “I gotta figure this out myself.”

Sonic pulled himself off the bench with a grunt and began limping through the muddy streets, arms curled close to his sides. The raw chill of the air seeped through his body. Every step made his body ache, but he didn’t stop. He couldn't afford to take too long a break.

He passed by a toppled cart, which might’ve once sold grain or vegetables, now half-splintered and rotting. He ducked between burnt homes and hollow buildings. He was beginning to think he could slip through unnoticed. 

“King Arthur?!”

Sonic whipped around just in time to see a stocky, older Mobian backpedaling in fear. The man’s eyes widened with pure horror, his feet stumbling against cracked cobblestone and then he turned and ran, disappearing between buildings without another word. “Damn it...”

The guilt hit hard... He didn’t know this Arthur guy, didn’t remember anything, but seeing the fear in that man’s eyes… genuine fear, was like a slap in the face. He had an idea of what the king did, but Lancelot was too angry and didn’t say everything… Sonic could tell he struggled to even speak with him or look at him and how could he convince others he wasn’t… him?

Though Sonic was getting worried, his memories still hadn’t returned and it began to gnaw at him.

Sonic ducked his head, looking for cover. The buildings were too ruined to offer real shelter, but eventually, he slipped into one that had most of its roof intact. Dust and mildew choked the air, and an old cabinet sat in the corner with its doors hanging open. A moth-eaten cloak was crumpled on the floor beneath it.

Good enough. He picked it up, sniffed… ugh, and threw it over his shoulders anyway, tugging the hood low over his face. His hands trembled under the fabric. Everything hurt, but the guilt of the unknown and the possibility hurt worse.

He wrapped the cloak tighter, shoulders hunched and set back out into the town. There had to be something here, perhaps food, a quiet place to rest, anything.

His nose twitched. Something warm, faintly spiced, and his stomach growled loudly. He followed the scent like a bloodhound, weaving through narrow streets until he came across a tiny building with light inside. The wooden sign above the door was half-burned, but the windows glowed orange with heat. It was a soup shop.

Not a single chili dog in sight. Wait… what?

The scent of meat, spice, cheese. Soft buns and tangy sauce. Chili dogs?!

He blinked rapidly, startled. That... felt real. Stronger than any other memory he’d had since waking up in that cell. He didn’t know why, didn’t know how, but his mouth watered and his chest twisted.

“Chili dogs...” he murmured with a faint smile. “Guess I really liked those, huh...?”

But the smile didn’t last. He slipped into the shadows outside the soup shop, leaning against the broken stone wall. Inside he could hear more murmurs, muffled and warm. He edged closer to an open window, keeping his hood low.

“…good riddance, I say,” a woman snapped. “That tyrant finally bit it. If I’d known Arthur was dead earlier, I would’ve danced in the square.”

“You and me both,” a younger voice muttered. “First decent winter we’ll have since the fields burned.”

“I heard Ruthra’s taking over Camelot,” an older Mobian added. “Swore to rebuild. Help the towns that Arthur ruined.”

Dead? Sonic’s ears flicked up. If King Arthur was dead… and everyone believed that… Then who the hell was he? Lancelot had mentioned back from the grave…

But it was hard for Sonic to trust Lancelot, considering he locked him up and never believed in anything he said.

The wind whistled through the broken overhangs. Sonic leaned back from the window, heart pounding. He hated how people Arthur... him. Like a ghost, a curse, a legend that never ended, some damn evil king.

What if… what if Lancelot was right? What if he was Arthur? What if he’d done all those things… burned towns, started wars, hurt people, and now he just couldn’t remember?

His stomach twisted. “No… No, that doesn’t make sense.” If Arthur was dead, really dead, then Sonic should be, too. Unless… Unless? “…I came back,” he said under his breath. “Without memories. That’d explain it a bit more…”

A cruel magic. Some curse, perhaps. A second chance at a life he never asked for.

Sonic’s legs shook as he stumbled away. Dust and rust coated everything, but he found a mirror propped in the corner, cracked down the middle but still intact. He stepped in front of it and for the first time, he saw himself.

He was tall, regal in a way that felt unnatural. Muscles honed by war. His quills seemed too long…? And his eyes… the look of them made Sonic suck in a breath. His eyes were wrong. They weren’t just purple they were this piercing, sinister purple. It was wrong.

He stumbled back a step, heart racing. “No. That’s not me. That’s not—”

He dropped the cloak, letting it fall off his shoulders, baring himself fully to the mirror. He had a peach chest with a horrible scar with broad arms. He didn’t recognize a single inch of himself.

The door creaked behind him, making Sonic whip around as three Mobians stood in the threshold. All men. Soldiers, maybe. Worn leather armor. One of them carried a jagged blade. They stopped when they saw him and their eyes widened.

The shortest of them whispered it like a curse. “…King Arthur.”

Sonic’s heart dropped.

The tallest took a step forward. “You shouldn’t be alive.”

The one with the blade raised it slowly. “But you are.”

They advanced and began to corner him, and this time, Sonic didn’t have the strength to run.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

The water in the clay pitcher sloshed against the sides as Lancelot carried it down the hallway. His gauntlet-clad fingers gripped the handle tightly. He could hear the echo of his footsteps bouncing off the cold stone. Elysia was always quiet this time of day, but today the silence carried weight.

He hadn’t heard anything from the small chamber in a while and Lancelot didn’t trust it.

After dragging Arthur back from the cliffs, broken, silent, bloodied, and dazed, he had locked him in one of the small chambers rather than a cell. A strange decision, one he hadn’t explained to the others. Gawain had questioned him. Percival had frowned. But none had pressed.

Truth be told, Lancelot couldn’t bring himself to cage Arthur.

He would’ve liked to say it was strategy. That it was about gathering information and seeing what the King would do when left alone. But it wasn’t that. It was guilt. He hated it and he hated himself more for it.

He didn’t even want to think about how he felt last night after seeing him… sob. Lancelot couldn’t sleep all night because of it. Everything inside of him was pulling him in different directions, and he felt hopeless.

He reached the door and balanced the pitcher with one hand while twisting the handle with the other.

“Arthur,” he muttered flatly. “You’re drinking this, whether you want it or not.”

The door creaked open, and the room was empty. He saw that the blankets were pushed aside, and the narrow window hung open.

Lancelot stared. Stared longer than he should have. The pitcher tilted in his hand, and then it shattered. Ceramic shards exploded across the floor, water seeping into the rushes. He didn’t move, and for a second, all he could hear was the wind.

Shit.

“HE’S GONE!” Lancelot roared down the hall like a warhorn and within seconds, boots thundered.

Gawain was first to arrive, sword half-drawn, eyes wide. “What happened?!”

“Arthur’s gone,” Lancelot snapped, already striding past him. “The bastard escaped.”

“What?! But, but how?” Gawain gawked at the window. “He could barely stand!”

“Apparently, he could,” Lancelot growled. “He must have left during the night. Or earlier. He’s been gone for hours.”

He turned sharply, fury crackling in every motion.

“We need to go. Now!”

Lancelot’s jaw was clenched. His hands shook, not from fear, but from barely restrained rage.

Fool, he thought. I should’ve gutted him the second he blinked, but he hadn’t, because during their first fight, Arthur was just so… not himself. He really did look scared, and during his imprisonment, he seemed different. He wasn’t cruel. He pleaded for days, and still talked strangely. Then last night happened as if he were someone…

No. No!

He slammed a gauntlet into the stone wall beside him. He wasn’t going to fall for it becaause Arthur was a master manipulator. He could feign kindness. He could stammer and pretend to forget the atrocities he’d committed, but Lancelot knew better. He had to know better now.

If Arthur had reached one of the towns by now, if he'd spoken to anyone—

Gaia help them.

He could already imagine it. A farmer's corpse, throat slit for asking the wrong question. A child wounded for looking him in the eye. Silver-tongued lies infecting the people. Whispers of false repentance. Of peace.

“Not again.” Lancelot growled. “Not ever again.”

Galahad approached from the stables. “Horses are ready. We’ve got a trail of broken branches to the east. He’s not being careful.”

“He never has been,” Lancelot spat. “He never needed to be.”

Percival strode toward him, mounting her own horse. “What’s our order if we find him?”

Lancelot didn’t hesitate.

“Bring him down. Alive, if you can. Dead, if you must.”

There was a pause. No one questioned it. No one wanted to, but as Lancelot stepped into the saddle and pulled his cloak tight against the wind, his mind was already racing, because despite everything, despite all the fury twisting in his chest and the blood he’d spilled for that man’s crimes.

Part of him still hoped he was wrong.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

They scoured towns for hours.

Rain misted in and out of the clouds as the day dimmed. The knights, cloaked and wind-chilled, questioned everyone, children, guards, anyone who might have seen a strange Mobian matching the royal description. Most shook their heads or slammed their doors. A few whispered curses under their breath.

Then finally, outside a crumbling tailor’s shop, a hunched elder pointed a gnarled finger toward a craggy side alley.

“Spotted him earlier—blue fella in a cloak. Three lads followed him soon after. Said they were gonna finish what the rebellion started.”

Lancelot’s heart dropped and he didn’t wait for his horse. He ran.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

Lancelot turned the corner with his sword half-drawn, but then stopped. He took in a sharp breath. There was a fight, but not the kind he expected.

In the middle of the alley, three hulking figures surrounded a fourth. The fourth was thinner by comparison, bleeding and staggering, yet still standing. Slouched in a defensive crouch, fists raised, and without a sword in sight.

Arthur—Sonic.

Lancelot stared, rooted in place.

Sonic’s breathing came in shallow, ragged gulps. Blood matted one side of his muzzle. He had on a ratty cloak and seemed exhausted.

The fox with brass knuckles lunged.

Sonic twisted, just enough to let the punch glance off his shoulder. He responded with a shaky left hook that barely made contact, but it stunned the man just enough for Sonic to drop into a crouch and roll forward in a sudden, weak spin dash. It lacked the ferocity of a true knight’s technique, messy, unrefined, but it was enough. He crashed into the fox’s legs, sending him sprawling with a surprised grunt.

The other two rushed him.

Sonic ducked beneath a wild swing from the porcupine’s rusted sword, moving on instinct. He kicked upward, catching the weasel in the chest, but winced in the aftermath, pain flaring up his leg. He could barely stand on it now. It was clearly injured, maybe broken, but he pushed himself upright again with clenched teeth and bleeding hands.

No one fights like this. Not a king. Not Arthur. He was so unrefined about it.

Lancelot’s feet wouldn’t move. His mind screamed to act, to interfere, but something held him there, caught in that chaotic moment as he watched his supposed king fight like a feral, cornered animal.

Then he heard a scream, and Lancelot’s head snapped toward the sound.

A young Mobian, no older than five, stood frozen at the alley’s far end, wide-eyed and clutching a wooden toy, and she was too close, in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The weasel turned, spotted the child, and with a malicious grin, he yanked a spear off the wall and threw it.

“No!” Sonic’s cry broke like thunder. He turned, not to dodge, but to run in between.

Lancelot’s heart stuttered as Sonic flung himself forward, arms wide, throwing his own body in front of the child. The spear hit with a wet crunch as it buried in Sonic’s side.

The young child screamed and stumbled back, unharmed, but Sonic collapsed to his knees, gasping, one hand clamped to his ribs, blood spreading fast across his body. He didn’t cry out. He didn’t curse. He just smiled, faint and relieved. “Okay… that’s good…” he mumbled. “She’s fine…”

Arthur would never have done that.

Not for a child. Not for anyone. Lancelot’s paralysis snapped and he moved, faster than thought.

The porcupine raised his sword again, but Lancelot was already on him. His fist struck like lightning, shattering bone with a single blow. The sword clattered away as the thug crumpled, groaning. The weasel barely turned before Lancelot seized him by the throat and slammed him into the wall. The brick cracked but Lancelot didn’t stop. His gauntleted fist came down like a hammer, once, twice, until the man slumped, twitching. The fox tried to crawl away. He didn’t make it far. Lancelot grabbed him by the back of the neck and drove him face-first into the cobblestones with a second blow knocked him out.

The alley fell still and only the sound of breathing, shallow, rattling, remained.

Lancelot turned slowly, and Sonic was on his side now, one arm wrapped tightly around his middle, curled protectively over the child even as she whimpered and tried to help him sit up. Blood oozed between his fingers, and Lancelot crossed the distance in three strides.

“A-Arthur,” he breathed, kneeling.

Sonic blinked blearily up at him. The world must’ve been spinning because his gaze kept drifting. “Shit it… It’s you…” The words were quiet, almost disbelieving. Then his body slumped forward, too exhausted to stay upright.

Lancelot caught him, arms sliding under his shoulders and back, drawing him in close. He was light. Too light. He was bruised and had matted fur. His breath ghosted weakly against Lancelot’s neck.

The child stepped back, silent with fear, and Lancelot barely spared her a glance because all of his focus was on the trembling figure in his arms.

“…You saved her,” he whispered.

Why? Arthur wouldn’t have. Not in a hundred years. This wasn’t cruelty. It wasn’t duty. It was compassion and it made absolutely no sense.

“Don’t speak,” Lancelot murmured as Sonic groaned again. “You’ve lost too much blood. I’m taking you to the keep. Don’t argue with me.”

Sonic chuckled, just once, a sharp breath that ended in a wet cough. “I don’t want to see you, you're mean to me,” he whined. Lancelot looked at him incredulously. He sounded like a child, and then softer. “…Don’t lock me up again, stupid knight.”

Lancelot ignored the insult and looked down at his king, his broken body, his scraped hands, his blood-soaked side, and thought again of who Arthur was and this new version... He felt like his heart was torn in two and for the first time, he began to believe him.

“…You truly don’t remember anything?” Lancelot whispered, unable to contain the doubt with anger anymore.

Sonic didn’t answer because by now, he had passed out cold.

Lancelot held him tighter. This was the second time he had fallen on him. He glanced once more at the ruined alley, at the scattered bodies and the still-trembling child. Then he stood, with Sonic in his arms and fire in his chest, and he walked towards his horse. He needed to get him back to Elysia’s keep. He needed to find answers and figure out the terrifying truth he no longer wanted to deny.

⚔️ ⚔️ ⚔️

Sonic was carried in through the gates, slumped against Lancelot’s chest, his head lolling but his eyes open, dulled by pain but still searching for something, anything.

He looked up at Lancelot’s face, half still covered by his helm like always, only inches away, the knight’s jaw was clenched. Sonic couldn’t help the odd feeling that passed through him, strange and sharp, like warmth tangled with shame.

“You're… close.” He managed hoarsely. His throat was dry, but the words tumbled out anyway. He tried to squirm out of Lancelot’s arms, some stubborn part of him unwilling to be held, unwilling to appear weak in front of him. That was a mistake because immediately after, agony tore through his side, and his limbs trembled.

“Stop,” Lancelot said sternly.

Sonic winced and let himself fall limp, shivering in frustration and exhaustion. He hated this… being carried like some broken prince, helpless in arms that felt both foreign and painfully familiar. He wanted to stand, to walk, to fight, to matter, but his body betrayed him. He bit his lip and looked away.

Lancelot kept walking, his grip gentle but unwavering. He looked down briefly. Seeing him, like this, chest rising weakly against his armor, eyes half-lidded in pain, evoked a multitude of emotions. Too many. He wasn’t sure which one spoke the loudest: the aching loyalty to his king, the echoing grief of betrayal, the strange and maddening fondness he tried to bury, or the guilt gnawing at the edges of his heart like rot. He hadn’t protected Arthur from getting so injured, and had immediately assumed he would hurt anyone in town.

Not protect a child with his body. Not smile when he noticed she was safe. This wasn’t the Arthur he remembered. Not in his voice, not in his eyes, despite them looking the same. That made it worse. Or maybe better. He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.

“I hate this,” Sonic muttered, just barely loud enough to hear. His voice trembled, from pain or shame or something else entirely. “Being weak. Being a burden.”

“We’re almost there,” Lancelot said too quickly.

Once they were back at the keep, Lancelot put him down near a stone wall just outside the castle. His knights had all regrouped. They looked down at Arthur and were frozen.

"Percival," Lancelot said, and she knew what he meant immediately.

Percival rushed in. Bandages were wrapped. Ointments pressed into shallow cuts. Broken ribs were treated. The bruises would remain for days, but he lived. They knew the king had healing properties from his cursed magic and could see it working, just oddly slower than usual and as he sat propped on the wall, his bruised face turned to the three knights who were next to Lancelot.

“Who are you guys? Ughhh, how many of you are there?” Sonic narrowed his eyes at them. But then Sonic realized something…

There was something about them, something that made his throat tighten. Familiar, like a song with forgotten lyrics or a dream just out of reach. He looked at each of them slowly.

“…You guys look important,” he muttered. “Familiar. I don’t know why.”

“Maybe because you commanded us,” Percival said coldly.

“You burned half of our homes,” Gawain snapped. “You executed my friend.”

Sonic winced and didn’t argue.

Galahad, less jaded, knelt beside the chair. “…He really doesn’t seem like he remembers?”

Sonic turned to Lancelot, eyes narrowed, sounding more dry now. “Are these the guys gonna kill me now?”

“They’re my knights,” Lancelot said tightly. “They may want to, but no. They listen to me.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring.” Sonic rubbed his face. “Chaos, I could really go for a chili dog.”

There was a pause as all four knights looked at him.

“…A what?” Galahad blinked.

Sonic groaned. “You’re kidding. Nobody here sells chili dogs?”

Gawain crossed his arms. “Is that a spell?”

Sonic stared at him. “No. It’s food. It’s the best food. Man, I really miss them."

Percival stepped forward. “What game are you playing, Arthur?”

“I’m not playing anything,” Sonic muttered, not meeting their eyes. “If I really am Arthur, then I know now I can’t go anywhere. People want me dead. I saw it. I felt it. I don’t remember anything, but… If I was really that guy… maybe I deserve it.”

Everyone fell silent and even Gawain didn’t speak for a long moment.

“I didn’t ask to wake up like this,” Sonic continued, quieter now. “I don’t feel like some king. I just feel lost. And tired. I won’t leave again, cause chaos was that a bad idea. Just… don’t chain me again. Please.”

Galahad’s face creased. “He truly doesn’t know…”

Gawain scowled. “Or he’s lying very well.”

Percival hesitated. “Either way, we can’t let him out of our sight.”

Lancelot was silent as he stared at Sonic. At the way he sat hunched over, exhausted but not angry… Wanting an… odd food item, and thought of everything that has happened since he awoke. He wasn’t the king who had betrayed them. Not right now, at least.

“…We’ll test him,” the knight said at last. All eyes turned to him. “We put him on trial. Not of steel, but truth. Questions only Arthur would know. Traps only he could escape. Let the facts prove who he is.”

“And if he passes?” Percival asked.

“Then he’s Arthur, and we decide what to do with him.”

“And if he fails?” Gawain said darkly.

Lancelot looked away. “…Then we pray he’s telling the truth.”

Chapter Text

The town burned, and the sky above was ash-choked and purple, like a tainted sunset. Screams echoed through the narrow alleys, the smell of blood thick in his nose, clinging to his armor. His gauntlets were slick with it.

Lancelot couldn’t move. His sword was drawn, and the king stood ahead of him, armor cloaked in black and deep violet, eyes glowing with the same color and with a corruption so horrid and ancient it churned the very ground beneath their feet. The townspeople had tried to flee, but the gates had already been sealed. Their pleas meant nothing…

King Arthur turned, lifting a hand and with a single flick of his fingers, a wave of dark magic erupted from his palm—shadowy tendrils snatching a dozen villagers into the air like dolls. Their mouths opened in silent screams as the magic consumed them from the inside out, twisting bone and burning flesh, until only soot rained down where they had stood.

Lancelot stood there and did nothing... because he couldn’t. Because his oath bound him. Because he was loyal, but Gaia… he could feel it… His body screaming to move, to strike, to stop him, yet his feet were frozen to the stones, sword shaking in his grip.

Then there was a voice, “Help me—please—” A woman who was young, clutching a child, both filthy with ash, running toward the knight, and something snapped in him then. He dropped his shield, rushed forward, and caught her by the arm, shielding her from the next wave of dark magic that cracked the ground nearby.

“Run,” Lancelot hissed. “Take the child and run.”

He turned to face the king. One final act of defiance, but Arthur was already there, standing just behind him. His eyes were glowing even more vivacious now… like amethysts dipped in venom, and his voice, always so cruel now, curled against Lancelot’s ears like smoke.

“Do you really think saving one life will cleanse your soul?”

Lancelot’s heart dropped further than it already was, like it was wrapped in the darkness. He had grown used to being the king's right hand for so many years now… He didn’t answer right away, and his fingers trembled.

Arthur only smiled. “You followed me into death for years. You watched as I laid waste to kingdom after kingdom. And not once did you strike me down. Not once.”

The air felt poisoned, and every word from the corrupted King's mouth only added to Lancelot’s suffocation.

“You didn’t stop me because you believed in me,” Arthur whispered. “Or maybe… because deep down, you liked it. The blood. The power.”

Lancelot gritted his teeth, finally moved, and stepped forward. 

“That’s not true,” he rasped, but Arthur moved with him. He was always ready to engage...

“Oh?” Arthur taunted. “Then why did you stay?”

The world trembled as purple twisted fire and unrelenting guilt bled together.

“You think you’re better than me? A knight of Camelot, pure of heart?” Arthur’s laugh was twisted. “You were my most faithful. My sword in the dark. You killed for me. Lied for me. You wore the ruin I gave you like a crown.”

Lancelot turned to strike, and Arthur grabbed his wrist. “You deserved to die with me,” he whispered, face mere inches away, warped and flickering with chaos. “Don’t you think so, my loyal knight?”

Lancelot couldn’t breathe. At first, it was just the sharp inhale of shock—but then it stuck in his throat, locked there like a blade turned sideways. His vision blurred, the edges of the world going dark and unsteady, like ink bleeding across water. His knees threatened to give beneath him, legs trembling not from pain, but from the weight of everything he’d never spoken aloud.

The grip Arthur had on his wrist burned like frozen fire and magic searing through his veins, making his heart pound too fast, too loud. He could feel it crawling up his arm, into his chest, wrapping fingers around his lungs and squeezing.

He was choking. He was drowning. Not in water, but in guilt and memory. In that monstrous voice that whispered every fear he'd ever buried: “You wanted this. You served me.”

“You did nothing for so long.”

His sword slipped from his fingers, and he dropped to one knee and just screamed.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

The ruins had settled into their eerie quiet.

The only sounds were the occasional creak of shifting stone and the low groan of wind threading through the cracked arches above. The knights were asleep or pretending to be… only one figure remained restless.

Sonic stirred in his bed, brows pinching faintly. He was so… annoyed. He tried to escape, and that ended up being a terrible idea, and now he was stuck in a world he hated… Chaos… this really sucked.

But before he could think further, a sound had cut through his thoughts. Then again, and this time it was louder as he heard a choked scream.

He sat up quickly, heart thumping in the dark. He knew that voice, it had only ever aggravated him the moment he woke up in this god forsaken place. His ears twitched toward the source.

Without thinking, only acting on instinct, he ran out of his room, down the corridor and found a small chamber not far from his. There, against the far wall of the room, was Lancelot… beneath a dark wooled blanket, body locked in a twisted, pained position. He wasn’t just talking in his sleep. He was screaming.

Sonic looked at him. “Lancelot?”

There was no response. Just a guttural cry that was so broken, like something was being ripped out of him. Sonic approached carefully at first, his feet light against the stone floor. “Hey. Uh… Knight dude... Wake up. You’re—”

A snap. Lancelot jerked upright with a violent start, and Sonic instinctively reached forward to place a hand on him too fast.

“Lance, it’s okay—”

But the nightmare hadn’t left him. In one brutal motion, Lancelot lunged, and before Sonic could blink, he was seized by strong, gauntleted fingers clamping tightly around his neck and slammed against the crumbling wall. Sonic’s breath vanished in an instant. The impact jarred his skull. His legs kicked, heels scraping stone. His hands flew up to Lancelot’s forearm, trying to pry it away. The knight’s face was hidden behind that ever-damned helm, but Sonic could feel the heat radiating off him… feelings of panic, fury, and grief.

“You—!” Lancelot snarled. “I hate you! Why did you do this to me?! Why did you make me—”

Sonic gasped, clawing at the pressure as his vision blurred. He couldn’t even speak—just a harsh rasp of air trying to claw its way in. His legs flailed, one-foot catching Lancelot’s armor with a weak kick.

He thinks I’m him, Sonic realized. He thinks I’m Arthur…

Finally, with a wheezing breath, Sonic gathered his strength and kicked hard, right into Lancelot’s thigh where the armor separated, making the knight stumble back a step, shocked. His grip loosened, and Sonic fell forward onto his knees, coughing violently. His throat burned and every breath rasped like broken glass. He looked up through watery eyes. “What… the hell, man?!”

Lancelot had frozen, his chest heaving, hands shaking. His sword was still at his side, but his whole body was drawn tight like a bowstring. He didn’t speak.

Sonic, still on the ground, wiped at his mouth. “Yesterday, you saved me from a bunch of thugs who were gonna gut me and today? You wake up and try to kill me?”

Still, Lancelot didn’t speak. He could barely hear the words. Not with his heart pounding like this. Not with the echo of his nightmare still blaring in his skull… Arthur’s cruel voice whispering, “You deserved to die with me.”

He stared at Sonic, and his anger lingered, but guilt seeped in slightly. Then, his voice came out rough and distant. “Why were you in my room?”

Sonic gaped at him. “What?! You were screaming your head off! I thought you were dying! How the hell am I supposed to sleep when it sounds like someone’s being tortured?!” He rubbed his neck again and scowled.

“…You’re lucky I didn’t kick you harder.”

Lancelot stood there, the ache in his chest spread outward, tight, suffocating. The cold air pressed heavier now. The coming sunlight caught on the edge of his armor, outlining the sharp silhouette of a knight who never let himself rest.

Sonic noticed that he was still wearing his armor. Even while he slept? Always guarded.

A silence stretched between them until Lancelot turned, finally, back toward the darkness and his words were barely more than a scrape of breath. “No matter.”

Sonic blinked. “What?”

“It’s time for your trial,” Lancelot said. “Dress accordingly. Eat if you must. You’ll need your strength.”

Sonic pushed himself to his feet, rubbing his neck again, and watched the knight walk away with stiff, mechanical grace.

“You seriously almost murdered me, and now it’s just back to business?”

Lancelot didn’t answer, and he was halfway to the keep’s far archway, boots echoing off stone like a judgment. Sonic narrowed his eyes and grumbled under his breath.

“Stupid knight,” he muttered, brushing dust from his legs. “I try to help him, and he nearly breaks my neck.” He followed him anyway because he wasn’t sure what had hurt more... The grip on his throat…or that look of recognition in Lancelot’s eyes when he choked it. It made Sonic’s worry only worsen.

Could they ever fully trust him?

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

The old council chamber had once held the weight of nations. Now, it was just crumbling marble, rotting wood, and silence, just like the entire keep. It all felt like a mausoleum… forgotten, lifeless, echoing with ghosts of its past.

A fitting place, Sonic thought dimly, to put a dead king on trial.

Sonic stood in the center of the circular dais. Lancelot remained just outside the ring, arms folded tight across his chest. Percival, Galahad, and Gawain formed a loose triangle around them. No one spoke at first. Not until Galahad stepped forward and raised a dusty scroll in one gloved hand. His voice, normally gentle, was now edged with formality.

“This is a record of the King’s victories. If you hold your memories, you’ll know what each means.”

Sonic looked at him slowly, dread crawling up his spine.

Galahad read aloud. “At the Battle of Raventhorne, what tactic did the king use to split the enemy phalanx?”

Sonic definitely had no idea what he was talking about, but he knew they were expecting some sort of reply to their question. “Uh… took a gem… maybe and… used that? Sorry, I have no clue.”

Galahad glanced at Lancelot, whose gaze was unreadable.

Gawain scowled. “Fine. What about the riddle of Dural’s Crypt? Only the King knew the answer. What was it?”

“Uh… blue hedgehog?” Sonic tried, then tried to laugh, but no one else did. “That was a joke, I’m sorry, I really don’t know…”

Percival stepped forward. Her sword wasn’t drawn, but the weight of her presence might as well have been steel.

“What does the first sigil of the royal seal represent?”

Sonic stared at her blankly. “The what now?”

Silence… Lancelot said nothing, red eyes flickering like they were cataloguing every motion, every breath Sonic made.

“Try this,” Gawain said grimly. “Where was the king born?”

Sonic hesitated. A thousand lies ran through his mind. He could’ve tried to guess. Could’ve made something up. But instead…

“I don’t know,” he said softly. “I… I see a field sometimes, with flowers. Daisies. I hear laughter. But I don’t know if it’s mine. Or his.”

Gawain’s jaw tightened, Galahad looked away, uncertain, and Percival’s brows furrowed in frustration. Sonic’s shoulders sank, and his voice cracked.

“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you what you want to hear. I can’t prove I’m not him. All I know is… I hate this place. I hate how everyone looks at me like I’m going to destroy everything. I hate waking up in a body that doesn’t feel like mine. And I hate not remembering anything that makes me feel real... I remember chili dogs. I remember running. I remember laughing so hard I fell off a roof once. But… none of it matters here, does it? Because that’s not what your king knew. So, it’s not what you need.” He swallowed and thought of how yesterday, everyone’s faces from the random town filled with horror when they recognized him.

“…I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t trust me either.”

Another long silence, but this time, Lancelot inhaled sharply. “Questions don’t seem to be doing anything, let's test his strength… see what abilities perhaps lie dormant.”

♡ ༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

It was afternoon by the time they stepped into the overgrown courtyard beyond the broken archways of Elysia’s Keep. Moss covered most of the cobblestones, weeds pushing up between cracks, but there was still enough open space to spar. The air smelled of old stone and dying leaves.

Sonic stood in the center of a worn dueling circle, a wooden training sword in hand, which felt more like a gardening tool than a weapon. His fingers shifted uncomfortably on the hilt. He held it sideways. Then backwards. Then flipped it again.

Galahad raised a brow. “Have you ever held a sword before?”

Sonic gave a weak smile. “Uh… once maybe? In a dream?”

Percival cracked her knuckles, stepping into the ring with confident ease, armor creaking softly. She twirled her own sparring blade once and leveled it at him.

“Three of you, one of me…” Sonic said quickly, glancing at the others stepping into place. “Isn’t this just a little unfair?”

Gawain snorted, arms folded from where he leaned on his own training weapon. “The real King Arthur could’ve beaten us all with a broken dagger.”

“Easily,” Percival agreed. “And blindfolded.”

“Cool,” Sonic muttered. “No pressure.”

Galahad handed him a practice shield, which Sonic immediately dropped with a hollow clunk.

“I’ll just… stick to the sword. Or… stick adjacent.”

Lancelot watched from the shade of a broken archway, arms folded, unreadable behind his helm. His gaze never left Sonic.

“Ready?” Percival asked, stepping forward, blade held with elegant precision.

Sonic took a breath. “Sure.”

It lasted twenty seconds. Percival’s first strike knocked his weapon clean from his grip. Her second clipped his shoulder, spinning him sideways. The third—mercifully pulled—landed flat against his ribs and sent him stumbling backwards. She caught his wooden sword mid-air and handed it back without a word.

Sonic winced, rubbing his side. “Oof. Okay. Ow. Yeah. That was definitely educational.”

Before he could breathe, Galahad stepped in. Sonic tried to use his speed—darting to the left, then feinting right—but Galahad merely side-stepped, calm and measured. With one swift sweep of his foot, he caught Sonic’s heel and sent him crashing to the ground with a grunt.

“You’re quick,” Galahad said, helping him up. “But you don’t think like a swordsman. You think like a runner.”

“Running is more fun!” Sonic huffed, brushing moss from his knees.

Then Gawain stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. The moment Sonic picked up the sword again, Gawain walked straight toward him.

“No technique,” he muttered.

Sonic swung and Gawain didn’t bother to block. He just kicked the sword clean from Sonic’s hands and shoved him back down. Hard.

“You’re nothing like Arthur,” he growled and stormed away before Sonic could respond.

Sonic lay there for a moment, staring up at the gray sky above the courtyard’s jagged edges.

“Man,” he muttered, coughing a little. “I really am terrible at this…”

The three knights stood along the edge of the cracked courtyard, speaking in low tones with each other. Sonic sat hunched near the center of the dueling circle, rubbing the growing bruise along his ribs, panting faintly. The air was crisp but heavy, silence draped over the courtyard like a drawn bow. Then, bootsteps that were measured, heavy, and filled with intention.

Sonic looked up and saw Lancelot stepping forward from the edge of the shade beneath a broken archway. The knight moved with practiced grace. There was still tension inside of him since the morning… a tightness in his shoulders, stiffness in his gait. He wasn’t bringing one of the dulled training swords like the others had.

He was bringing his own made of real steel. The dark blade gleamed faintly under the overcast sky as he drew it in one fluid motion, the metallic whisper of it unsheathing cutting clean through the still air, and Sonic’s brows shot up once he realized.

“Hey, uh… what happened to ‘training’?” he said, rising shakily to his feet and brushing moss and dust from his side. “We were doing wooden sticks a second ago.”

Lancelot didn’t stop. He entered the dueling ring like a shadow crossing the threshold of a temple, quiet and dangerous. Sonic could swear the red glint in his eyes only burned hotter behind his helm.

“You’re not trying,” he said flatly.

“I am trying!” Sonic scowled, tossing aside the wooden sword with a clatter. “You just don’t like that I suck!”

Lancelot’s head tilted slightly, helm glinting in the sun. His voice was calm, but something burned beneath it.

“The Arthur I knew would never accept this weakness.”

Sonic’s jaw clenched. “Well, good news then because like I've repeated time and time … I’m not him!”

Lancelot didn’t answer; he grabbed a real sword for Sonic and threw it at him. Sonic barely caught it, and Lancelot was immediately in front of him afterwards. Their blades met with a sharp crack— the knight’s sword slicing down with the strength of a war god. Sonic’s arms shook with the force of the impact, the shock lancing up to his shoulders, numbing.

Lancelot didn’t let up. He came again and again, blows falling like rain, precise and brutal. There was no hesitation, no holding back. He moved like a man who had been forged for this exact moment, and who didn’t care that his opponent was slower or lost. It wasn’t sparring. It was punishment.

He’s testing me, Sonic realized. No—he’s trying to break me.

Sonic’s blade was knocked clean from his grip on the fourth blow. It spun across the stones and clattered out of the ring. So, he did what he knew. He ducked, rolled low, and came up inside Lancelot’s guard with his fists first.

He slammed his palm into the side of Lancelot’s armored waist. It was like hitting a stone. The knight staggered back only half a step. Sonic used it, twisting into a low kick that aimed for the back of Lancelot’s knee with a clean sweep, but Lancelot twisted with him and countered as his foot drove into Sonic’s ribs with solid, brutal force.

Sonic wheezed, staggered, stumbled, but didn’t fall. He twisted his weight, aimed an elbow into Lancelot’s side, and ducked again, trying to hook his heel around the knight’s ankle to drop him, and for a second, he was holding his own. Sonic was fast and was so annoyed by the other three spars he wanted to use it. He was speedy enough to dance around the edge of danger, to keep himself alive by instinct and sheer stubborn will. Lancelot’s blade missed him by inches twice, his breath brushing Sonic’s quills with every pass, but then there was a slip, a mistimed dodge, and Lancelot’s blade cut across Sonic’s shoulder, not deep, but not shallow either, because it was really steel.

Sonic cried out, stumbling. The world tilted and he fell hard, his cheek slamming against the cold stone. The sting of the cut burned down his arm. Dust filled his mouth. He coughed, trying to push himself up, but Lancelot was already above him.

The knight’s sword was raised, and this time, it was humming. Magic curled along the blade’s edge like smoke. A faint, dark glow shimmered beneath the steel, like something barely restrained. Below him, Sonic was cut and winded, his breath dragging through clenched teeth. Blood trickled down his arm where the blade had caught him, but now there was no fear in his eyes. Only defiance because this knight really knew how to piss him off.

Lancelot stared at him through the slits of his helm, unmoving. “Use it! The power inside you. Use the king’s magic.”

He wanted to see it, no, he needed to see it… The flare of purple magic. The flicker of control breaking. The darkness that Arthur had once worn like a crown. Because if that power still lived inside this man, then maybe… maybe this wasn’t some twisted second chance. Perhaps it was just the curse continuing.

Sonic looked up at him, teeth gritted. “No.”

Lancelot stiffened, “Then you are holding back.”

“No, I’m not, I don’t know how to use that magic you're talking about!” Sonic snapped, in pain but unyielding. “Because I’m not him.”

He rose despite everything being bruised, bleeding, and wobbly; he pushed Lancelot off him and stood back up, fists clenched.

Lancelot moved by instinct. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. He struck. Using the blunt of his sword he slammed into Sonic’s chest, hard and unrelenting. The force knocked him back like a ragdoll, the sound of impact cracking across the courtyard. Sonic crumpled, air ripped from his lungs, legs giving out beneath him.

He was falling, and Lancelot watched, not caring that he was about to hit the floor again, but suddenly a flicker of a memory appeared... he saw the man from yesterday. The one who stood between a gang of violent thugs and a small child too terrified to move. The one who got hurt so the child could be saved.

Then the flicker turned changed to his nightmare… and his anger cracked like glass. The screaming villagers. The burning town. His own paralysis. He hadn’t moved to save them.

However, this hedgehog did, so without thinking, Lancelot caught him. His hand snapped out on reflex, gripping Sonic’s wrist just before his body met the stone. His palm was firm, a bit too firm, as if trying to hold together a reality he didn’t understand.

Sonic blinked up at him, eyes unfocused, dirt smeared along his cheek, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. Lancelot hadn’t meant to catch him, but he just did… and now he didn’t know what to do.

“Y’know…” Sonic rasped, completely confused by the knight’s actions, “you’re a real asshole.”

Lancelot didn’t move. His grip stayed steady, even as guilt crawled like rot through his chest.

“…here you are,” Sonic coughed, smirking faintly through split lips, “Catching me when this morning you attacked me. Dude! Bipolar much?”

From the edge of the circle, Galahad let out a sound—barely audible, something between an amused scoff. The corner of his mouth tugged upward. Percival didn’t comment, but her arms had uncrossed. Gawain scowled but said nothing.

Eventually, Lancelot released Sonic’s wrist slowly, not with dismissal. But almost with care. And Sonic—wounded, battered, pride bruised—rolled onto his back and let out a long, pained breath.

“Next time,” he muttered, “just let me faceplant.”

But Lancelot was already turning away, blade lowered, and he said nothing. He felt slight guilt now… but before he could ponder further on whatever turmoil his heart remained in, he wanted to see something else… if this didn’t work, then the man before him, was telling them the truth. He walked to a stone dais that had long been swallowed by moss and age. Resting atop it was a sword none of the other knights had dared touch in years.

Excalibur.

Lancelot stared down at it, heart cold.

The sword pulsed faintly with its sickness. What once had been a symbol of honor now looked more like a parasite in steel. Violet veins of corrupted magic spiraled along its length like a strangled vine choking out what was left of its light. The darkness that once fed Arthur still lingered here, dormant.

His gauntlet closed around the hilt, and the air shivered. A faint crackle of energy pulsed outward. The fur along Lancelot’s arms stood on end. For a moment, the old fear returned. The memory of watching Arthur wield it… not like a king, but like a god gone mad. The other knights stiffened on instinct.

“Lancelot—” Percival warned.

“You shouldn’t—” Galahad began, but Lancelot turned, too determined to stop now.

“If Arthur's true nature remains… then this will answer it.” He walked back across the stone and stopped in front of Sonic, holding the blade between them.

Sonic looked at it, then up at him, then back down at the blade, anger fading to more anxious thoughts. “What the heck is that?”

“Your sword.”

“Is it gonna… bite me or something?”

“Grab it.”

“Uh okay.” Sonic muttered, cautiously reaching out. His fingers closed around the hilt…. And the sword did nothing. No glow. No pulse. No violent rejection. No acceptance either. The corruption didn’t recede, but it didn’t awaken. It was like holding a cold, heavy piece of metal. No spark. No pull.

Lancelot stared, unmoving, his heart sank, and he didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing… He couldn’t believe it. Nothing happened?!

Sonic shifted. “Uh… is this good? Am I about to explode?”

“No,” Lancelot said at last, hollow. “It isn’t responding at all.”

Sonic squinted up at him. “So… what does that mean?”

Lancelot’s didn’t answer right away. His thoughts were a thousand leagues deep. He remembered Arthur gripping the blade once he fully embraced his evil magic. The moment it touched his palm, it had sung. A violent, golden brilliance that turned to darkness too quickly. The sword had known him, clung to him, fed off him. But this… This was like watching a ghost trying to fit into someone else's skin.

“When you—Arthur, touched this sword, it responded immediately. It clung to him. It was like it recognized him. This…”

He trailed off and his gaze lifted to Sonic’s face, and he realized something. He stepped closer. Close enough that the sunlight flickered in Sonic’s eyes… those same purple eyes that haunted him, but they weren’t cold or cruel. They looked uncertain and curious. Almost worried.

They didn’t look the same when the king ordered him to burn a village. They were something else.

Sonic leaned away. “Why are you so close?”

Lancelot said nothing at first, “Your eyes. They’re still purple.”

“Yeah?”

“Before the king fell to corruption, his eyes were green. But ever since… they've been that same color. Purple. They never turned back.”

Sonic shifted, self-conscious. “Well… maybe I just have cool eyes now. Royal purple. Fashionable, right?”

Lancelot didn’t laugh, but only leaned closer until their noses were only inches apart.

Sonic flushed slightly and looked away. “Okay, but maybe… back up, dumb knight. Kinda weird having you breathing on me.”

The knight blinked, as if pulled from a trance. “…Forgive me.”

He took a half-step back, still watching Sonic too closely for comfort, because none of this made sense. The more he looked... the more he saw, the less Arthur was there.

“So now what?” Sonic asked, desperate to change the subject. “I failed all the fights, and the weird demon sword didn’t even blink at me. Do I just… go to jail again?”

The other knights exchanged glances.

“We will believe you… for now. That you lost your memories and are currently not of the same mind as our corrupted king, a different version of him.” Lancelot said, “And you will travel with us.”

Sonic nodded, though his shoulders still hunched. “So, then you guys trust me?”

The question hung heavily in the air.

Lancelot sighed. “For now.”

Sonic frowned. “Uh, that seems somber.”

“Be grateful we’re trying to trust you, considering everything,” Lancelot said flatly.

Sonic looked up at him, and after a second, he nodded. “…Okay.”

They took a break, and the corrupted Excalibur was wrapped in cloth and stowed away.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

Night draped Elysia’s Keep in chilled silence. The courtyard now held a campfire. Lancelot was walking the perimeter, while the others sat in a circle. No one was completely relaxed, but the air wasn’t as sharp as it had been before. A dented iron pot bubbled faintly over the flames, filled with foraged roots and the last of their salted meat. It wasn’t much, but it was food.

Sonic sat cross-legged, huddled in a threadbare cloak Galahad had offered him. His legs were sore from sparring, and his pride still a little bruised, but he didn’t complain. The fire was warm, the stars were bright, and for the first time since he woke in this cursed body… he felt less like a prisoner and more like something human.

He chewed slowly on a hunk of dry bread, then broke the quiet. “Hey,” he started, glancing around. “Can I… maybe have a different name?”

Three pairs of eyes turned to him.

“I mean, I don’t remember mine,” he added quickly. “Not really. Just pieces. Feelings. But being called ‘Arthur or King’ all the time feels… wrong. Like I’m being made to wear someone else’s skin. You know?”

The silence that followed was surprisingly thoughtful.

Galahad was the first to speak. “What do you want to be called, then?”

Percival glanced at Galahad. Gawain just grunted, poking the fire with a stick.

“You look like a Blue,” Gawain offered.

Sonic blinked. “Uh… what?”

“Blue,” he said again with a shrug. “It fits.”

Percival scoffed lightly. “That’s lazy.”

“True,” Galahad added gently, “but… It’s not bad. You are blue.”

Sonic looked down at his fur in the firelight, a deep azure catching the warm flicker of flame.

“…It is simple,” Sonic murmured, gave a small smile, but he wasn’t quite set on it. “You guys got any other ideas, though? Y’know… stuff that maybe sounds a little more mythic. I want something cool...”

Percival raised an eyebrow. “Mythic?”

“Seriously? That seems… odd,” Gawain muttered.

Galahad tilted his head thoughtfully. “How about… Lotan?”

“Lotan?” Sonic repeated. “What’s that? Sounds like an angry fish.”

“It’s inspired by lotus,” Galahad explained. “A symbol of rebirth. Perhaps your memories have been renewed… so it works.”

Sonic blinked at him, surprised. “…Huh.”

Percival added dryly, “Padma is the older name. Sacred lotus, but I believe it is too elegant for you.”

Sonic stuck out his tongue. “Yeah, I’d trip over that name just saying it.”

“What about Nym?” Galahad tried again. “Short for nymphaea. Water flower. Lotus family.”

“Sounds like something you name your pet rabbit,” Sonic muttered.

“Florin,” offered Percival.

Sonic squinted. “That sounds like a coin.”

“You're not wrong,” Gawain admitted.

“What about just…” Sonic hesitated, then shrugged. “Loti? Like… lotus, but shorter. Easy to say, too.”

There was a pause, and then Galahad smiled faintly. “Loti.”

Percival gave a thoughtful nod. “Actually… it suits you.”

“Sounds like a village kid who ran headfirst into a royal trial and refused to die,” Gawain muttered.

Sonic grinned, holding up his hands. “Hey, if the name fits.” He leaned back, letting the warmth of the fire soften the tension in his shoulders. “Alright. Loti. Guess I’ll try that out for a while.”

The name settled into the air like dust. A piece of something new. Something entirely his.

The stew had grown lukewarm by the time the conversation drifted away. The meal had been thin, the broth barely clinging to the edges of the pot, but Sonic ate every bite like it was a feast. He didn’t even realize how hungry he’d been; he couldn’t help a small smile.

Eventually, Lancelot returned from his patrol and sat beside him, silent as ever. Sonic glanced over, the edge of his grin still lingering.

“You never take that helm off, huh?”

Lancelot didn’t answer, but he did tense up. Across the fire, Percival stiffened. Gawain’s eyes narrowed. Even Galahad’s thoughtful gaze dimmed slightly.

“You know,” Sonic continued, brows lifting, “Percival takes hers off when she eats. Even Gawain does. What’s with you? Always hiding your face like it’s cursed or something?”

Lancelot’s spoon froze halfway to his lips. The silence tightened.

“…Drop it,” Percival said sharply.

Sonic blinked, confused. “What?”

“I said drop it.”

Lancelot set his bowl aside slowly. His movements were precise, usually, but his gauntlets flexed once over his knees, as if some part of him had clenched involuntarily.

Sonic’s smile faded. “I’m just asking. It’s not like I meant—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lancelot said with an edge as if each word was steel wrapped. “Focus on your meal.”

Brows drawn, Sonic frowned. “You don’t have to bite my head off—”

“If you truly don’t remember,” Lancelot cut in, still not looking at him, “then it doesn’t matter. Let it go.”

The fire popped—one ember shooting upward like a spark of tension. Sonic stared at him, heart thudding—not in fear, but in something else. There was something in Lancelot’s voice this time that wasn’t rage or cruelty… But grief that was held tight beneath layers of knightly control. He wanted to ask more. But one glance at Percival’s stony expression, the shift in Galahad’s posture, even the way Gawain had gone rigid told him: this wasn’t a wound to press on.

“…Right,” Sonic murmured quietly now. “Okay. Sorry.”

Lancelot didn’t respond, and the rest of the meal passed in silence, and for the first time in days, the air felt… still. Safe, almost.

If he ignored the trauma and the lingering ache in his ribs... Sonic was starting to feel like maybe he could rest.

Then there was a snap, and it wasn’t from the firewood. It was a twig, outside the arch, then they heard footsteps that were too heavy.

Gawain’s head turned immediately, hand dropping to his sword hilt. “Hold.”

Percival stood in a heartbeat, expression sharp. “Do you hear that?”

Lancelot’s posture changed even before he spoke. He had been leaning near the fire, arms crossed, silent. Now he moved with intent, like a shadow coalescing into form, and Sonic sat up. Galahad didn’t speak but stood, rising slowly and moving toward Sonic’s side without drawing attention.

A figure stepped into the firelight. Then two more. Three men, leather-clad, blades at their belts and venom in their eyes. And Sonic immediately recognized them.

“You,” the tallest spat, gravel-soaked in hate. “Didn’t think we’d find you out here, your Majesty.”

The second let out a low laugh, eyes fixed on Sonic like a hound that had caught a scent. “Guess the gods want justice after all.”

The third didn’t speak. His hands were tight on the handle of a hunting axe.

Sonic’s heart stuttered. “Wait, you guys again… Are you serious?!”

Lancelot stepped forward calmly.

“Didn’t think we’d find you this far out,” another sneered. “But fate’s funny like that. You can’t hide behind those knights forever, King Arthur.”

Sonic bristled. “I’m not—”

Lancelot raised a hand, silencing him. “Leave,” he said evenly, stepping into the firelight. His helm turned toward them like a steel mask of death. “I left you alive yesterday. Walk away now. You’re not getting a second chance.”

“You’re still protecting him?” the first snarled. “After everything he did to the kingdom?!”

He gestured furiously, eyes raking across all four knights. “You think people haven’t noticed? You, Percival. Galahad. Gawain. Still riding with him? Still bowing to that monster?”

Sonic took a small step back, mouth dry. “I’m not him. I didn’t—”

“Shut up,” the man growled, stepping forward fast.

Percival moved immediately, blocking his path. “You’re not taking another step.”

“Oh, I’m done talking,” the thug spat.

Then it happened—fast and sloppy. The third man lunged past the knights, charging toward Sonic with the hunting axe already raised. Sonic barely had time to cry out before rough hands seized his arm and yanked him forward. He staggered, stumbling off balance—until a wall of black armor surged between them.

Lancelot didn’t give them another second. His sword unsheathed in a whisper of silver and fury. The blade flashed once, so fast Sonic almost missed it, and the thug dropped. His blood hit the stone like ink spilling from a broken well.

The second man screamed and tried to raise his own weapon, but Lancelot was already there. This time, no hesitation and no more mercy. His sword found the man’s chest, pierced clean through. The knight yanked it free in one brutal pull and turned on the last thug—the leader, who was the loud one, was already backing away, tripping over mossy rubble, disbelief carved into every line of his face.

“I—I’ll go—” He turned to run.

Lancelot’s hand snapped out, grabbed him by the back of the neck, and dragged him to the ground. He delivered a final stab that was quick and precise. Then silence. Blood ran in thin streams over the cracked courtyard floor, and no one spoke.

Sonic stood frozen in place, his breath ragged. His arm still tingled where the thug had grabbed him. He hadn’t even registered that he was shaking until Galahad stepped in front of him. Shielding him. Not with a weapon—just with his presence that was quiet and protective.

Sonic blinked up at him. “You…”

Galahad didn’t meet his eyes right away but gave him a small nod.

Sonic swallowed. “…Thanks.”

It wasn’t just about the shield. It was the way Galahad had stepped in with no hesitation. No question of who Sonic was or what he might be.

Just… protection.

In that moment, Sonic realized: of all the knights, Galahad had been the gentlest with him yesterday and today. There was a different kind of presence there. Perhaps because he appears younger than the others, he was more naïve. Either way… Sonic hadn’t realized how nice that was.

Then he looked back at the dark knight. It had happened so fast. Too fast. He could still see it… Lancelot’s sword carving through flesh like it meant nothing, and the blood... The way the last man had begged, stumbling backward, stammering that he would leave, and Lancelot had still killed him.

No hesitation. No mercy.

Lancelot was already dragging the bodies out beyond the broken archway, charcoal armor slick with the spray of blood, movements smooth and terrifyingly efficient. There was no prayer. No moment of reflection. Just cold precision… As if he had done this a thousand times. As if it didn’t weigh anything at all.

Sonic couldn’t stop staring. Even when Galahad gently guided him back to the fire, even when Gawain turned away in silence and Percival began cleaning her blade in slow, practiced strokes…

Sonic couldn’t stop shaking. His hands wouldn’t still. His breath kept catching in his throat. They were dead. They were dead, and Lancelot had done it like he was brushing dirt off his shoulder. He’d killed those men. For him and Sonic didn’t know what to do with that… he may not remember much, but he could tell death for him, wasn’t normal, wasn’t just nothing.

When Lancelot returned, his footsteps were quiet. Too quiet. His sword had been cleaned. His gauntlets, too. But there was still blood dripping from his chest plate. He stepped in front of Sonic, motion sharp and direct.

“You’ll sleep now.”

The words didn’t land. “Yeah,” Sonic said after a pause, quieter than usual. “That’s gonna be really easy after what just happened.”

Lancelot didn’t flinch, but inwardly something shifted. He could see it in Sonic’s face, the tight line of his mouth, the twitch in his jaw, the way his hands kept folding together, restless. That flicker in his eyes that looked like fear, but not from the men who had attacked… of him.

“I’ll keep watch.” He said anyway.

Sonic folded his arms, trying to push down the tremble that wouldn’t leave. “You don’t have to.”

“Yes. I do. For now.”

That landed like a weight between them and Sonic couldn’t look away anymore. “You didn’t have to kill them.”

Lancelot’s ears twitched. The statement surprised him more than he’d expected. He turned toward Sonic fully. “I warned them,” he said simply. “They came to hurt you again. They didn’t leave when they had the chance.”

“That doesn’t mean you had to—!” Sonic stopped, biting back the panic in his voice. “They weren’t demons. They were people. You didn’t even hesitate.”

People. That word hung in Lancelot’s mind like fog. He remembered one had grabbed Sonic by the arm, yanked him backward like an object, and Lancelot’s vision had gone dark with fury. There had been no debate. There couldn’t be hesitation. Arthur never allowed for it… Lancelot’s shoulders shifted subtly.

“There was nothing else I could have done.”

“That’s a lie,” Sonic snapped, sharper than he meant to. “You’re one of the strongest… look you could’ve knocked them out. Scared them. Tied them up, anything but that.”

Lancelot didn’t say anything at first because he didn’t know how to defend it. Not without sounding like Arthur. The silence that followed was longer than it should’ve been. Sonic’s breathing grew uneven. He was wringing his fingers now, ears twitching, chest rising and falling like someone trying not to panic.

“I…” Lancelot mouth fell slightly open. “You’re shaking.”

Sonic looked away. “Of course I’m shaking. You just killed three men like it was nothing.”

“Arthur wouldn’t have flinched,” Lancelot said aloud, almost, no definitely, by accident. The words escaped before he could stop them. The words dropped like a blade between them. Sonic’s eyes lifted slowly. He searched Lancelot’s expression, but the helm hid it all.

“Do you wish I were more like him?” Sonic asked tightly.

Lancelot stiffened. “No. I…” But he didn’t finish because he didn’t know. Because this… trembling, breathing, feeling man in front of him was not the Arthur who led him into fire… and Lancelot hated how much he saw it now. He hated the difference. He hated how it pulled at him because watching this soul flinch at his touch hurt in a way no blade ever had.

“I’ll keep guard while you sleep,” he repeated, this time lower. “Let us go now.”

Sonic stared at him a moment longer. Then, without a word, he turned away and wrapped the cloak tighter around his shoulders.

“…Fine,” he muttered.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

Most of the knights had settled into rest inside the keep. Percival had taken the first watch, and Lancelot was now in Sonic’s small chambers looking out the window. Sonic shifted beneath his dirty blanket, trying to get comfortable. He twisted once. Then again, and huffed in annoyance. Eventually, he rolled over to face Lancelot’s shadowed form.

“…Do you have to stand there?”

Lancelot didn’t look over. “Yes.”

“Really?”

“For now.”

Sonic propped his chin on one arm. “You don’t think someone’s going to hurt me in my sleep, do you?”

Lancelot hesitated. “…After the attack, I can’t risk it.”

Sonic stared at him for a second, something unsettled moving through him. “If I’m so hated, why do you even care?”

“You and I were… Arthur and I were… cordial,” he said, “once long ago. I don’t understand what is happening…” He paused. “…But after you saved that child yesterday, after all the trials today and events... I have to force myself to believe we have another chance.”

“Another chance for what?”

Lancelot sighed, turning away slightly. “I’ll explain more one day when we trust you more. For now, you will stay with us. We plan to leave tomorrow morning. Sleep. You need the rest.”

Sonic closed his eyes, tried to sleep but still couldn’t find peace. Not with that damn knight standing like a statue nearby, and something about the silence gnawing at the edges of his chest. After a long stretch of quiet, he peeked one eye open.

“…Hey... uh, knight dude… Tell me a story.”

Lancelot didn’t even turn. “Are you a child?”

Sonic made a face. “No. I’m a very mature adult who is having a terrible identity crisis, a bunch of bruises from yesterday, only to be attacked again today, and a bowl of rock stew. So. Yes. Tell me something.”

Silence.

“…Fine.”

Lancelot sat down on a stone bench, not close, but within range for Sonic to hear him.

“There was a battle once,” he began, tone dry. “In the northern gulches, near the Highlands. We were supposed to be taking a ruined watchtower, but the terrain was cursed filled with mud. We could barely hold a line.”

Sonic shifted, watching him through barely open eyes.

“Percival, who as you may have noticed, has no fear, charged down the slope anyway,” Lancelot continued, voice leveling into rhythm, “with no plan, no backup, no sense. Just a sword and a war cry.”

Sonic let out a sleepy puff of laughter.

“She ran straight into a pack of ghouls and yelled at them. Not to scare them, mind you, but to insult them. She called one of them a ‘rotting meat sock.’ I’m fairly certain she was improvising.”

“You’re joking…”

“She wasn’t. I had to dive after her just to stop her from getting torn in half.” A faint scoff. “She still took one down with a broken sword, then laughed in my face for worrying.”

There was no answer because Sonic had fallen asleep halfway through the story, curled loosely under his blanket, breathing even and soft.

Lancelot tilted his head slightly as he looked down at the slumbering form. The man acted nothing like the king, but when he smiled in his sleep, there was something hauntingly familiar in it.

Lancelot shook his head quietly. “…Foolish,”

Yet, despite his emotions forever in turmoil, he had made his decision. For as long as the king acted this way, he would have his protection.

So… he didn’t move from his spot.

Not all night.

Chapter Text

The world was quiet at first. There was oddly no wind or stars… but there was an unsettling, heavy silence that pressed against Sonic’s ears. He found himself standing in what appeared to be a throne room and wondered if this was Camelot. Everything around him looked like it had been tampered with. The walls were dark, the red banners looked like they were all singed, and the torches burned red instead of gold, as if there was magic consuming the castle.

Then, it changed because he heard screaming, and suddenly, he stood in the middle of a battlefield.  In the center of it all, towering over corpses and broken banners, was who he assumed was King Arthur. He seemed to fit the description of what he had learned before. The king’s armor pulsed with sickly violet veins, glowing brighter with each sword swing while his eyes were a blazing purple that cut through everything with soulless focus. He looked like a god of war, and all bowed or bled before him.

Sonic couldn’t move, but he tried to call out, to run, only for the battlefield to swallow him whole. Everything vanished, leaving him suddenly in silence. He found himself standing in nothing; all around him was an empty void, black and endless. He spun in place, and the air here felt heavier, like it was wet with sorrow.

“…Hello?” he called out.

There was no response at first, but eventually he heard it. A soft, broken sob, which made Sonic turn, and there he saw a figure curled into himself in the distance, looking so small in the overwhelming blackness. The sound of his weeping filled the void.

Sonic stepped closer, hesitant. “Hey… are you okay?”

The figure looked up with wide green eyes that were tear-streaked, and terrified.

Wait a second, green eyes?

Sonic saw someone who looked so much like him? His muzzle was flushed from crying, and his lips were bitten red from holding back more screams.

“Who…?” the figure whispered with fear. “Who are you? Why are you in my body?”

Sonic’s stomach dropped in realization. “Wait… are you him? King Arthur? The one they all say I am.”

Arthur’s gaze jumped from Sonic’s quills to his face, then to their matching fur, and the panic returned. “How did you get here? What are you doing in my mind?”

“I—I don’t know,” Sonic said honestly. “I think I’m dreaming, or remembering something… or maybe we’re sharing a body and this is… I dunno. Soul stuff?”

“Soul stuff?” Arthur questioned.

“I don’t know… I just woke up one day here… I don’t even remember who I am, but if you're King Arthur, you must be the evil monster everyone talks about…” Sonic paused but looked at him because this was the opposite of what a monster would look like.

Arthur curled in tighter. “I didn’t want to be him… The monster. That wasn’t me. I—I tried to fight him…”

Sonic stepped closer, quieter now. “Fight who?”

Arthur looked up again, and now he could really see it. Sonic saw the pure grief in his face. It wasn’t anger or hatred. He looked so guilty… unbearably guilty.

“…Myrddin,” Arthur said with malice. “He cursed me. He controlled me for years. I begged, gods, I begged for someone to stop me, but I couldn’t even speak without his voice replacing mine. I watched myself destroy everything.”

Sonic's heart ached again because this didn’t seem like the tyrant everyone feared. This wasn’t a king drunk on power. This was a soul… that had been shattered into pieces.

“I killed knights who trusted me,” Arthur whispered, looking down. “I destroyed the Round Table. I ruined… Lancelot and I never… I never got to say I was sorry.”

The name Lancelot made Sonic flinch.

Arthur didn’t seem to notice, and his eyes brimmed again. “And now I don’t know why I can see you, but you feel… real. I don’t know how long I’ve been trapped here. I don’t know what you are, but please, if you are able to remember anything from this… remember his name.”

Sonic’s brows pulled together. “Whose name?”

Arthur looked at him desperately. “Myrddin. He is the reason this all happened. He is the reason Camelot fell. He is the reason I lost everything.”

Sonic stepped closer, gently reaching for his shoulder, but the dream began to shake. The void around them flickered like a dying flame.

Arthur’s heart rose in panic, realizing what was happening. “Wait, your mind is fractured, but you have to remember!”

“Wait, no—what else?! What do I do?!” Sonic reached for him again, but the blackness yawned wide beneath his feet, dragging him backward.

Arthur’s green eyes were the last thing he saw, shimmering with sorrow as the world collapsed, and then he woke up.

Sonic was gasping, and sweat slicked down his back, and seated just beyond his bed was Lancelot, with his eyes already locked on Sonic. “…A nightmare?”

Sonic swallowed hard, and his head ached like someone had carved something into it and then scraped it away. It felt almost as bad as when he first woke up here. He couldn’t think and could barely breathe.

“I…” he muttered, shaking his head. “I-I don’t know. I c-can’t.” The words felt oddly impossible to speak.

Lancelot stood slowly, armor shifting with the movement, and crossed the room to kneel just a few feet in front of him. He didn’t reach out or press at first, but his posture was attentive, watchful. The helm tilted slightly as if trying to meet Sonic’s eyes through the metal and haze.

Sonic breathing was getting worse, and the knight knew way too well that this must have been a nightmare. “Look at me.”

Sonic didn’t, and his fingers were clenched even tighter in the folds of the blanket on top of him. His heart was still hammering, and the image of that dark void, of someone's green eyes brimming with sorrow, still lingered like a ghost behind his mind.

Lancelot didn’t move closer, but his tone sharpened just slightly. “Arth…L-Loti. Look at me.”

Still, Sonic stared past him, looking for something, someone? He didn’t know what he was searching for.

Lancelot exhaled slowly through his nose. Then, cautiously, he reached out, with one hand, resting it on Sonic’s shoulder to try and aid him, but the motion made Sonic flinch. It wasn’t a small flinch; it was very obvious as his whole body jerked like he’d been struck.

The knight’s eyes widened in slight horror as his hand remained there for a second too long, then withdrew. “Are you scared of me?”

Sonic’s throat closed, he didn’t answer, and the silence twisted between them was very dense, accusing. He just looked down, fingers twitching against the fabric again. “No. I just… I don’t know how to be around you… Some moments, you save me like I matter to you. Like you want to protect me, but other times… It’s like you’d kill anyone who so much as looks at me wrong. Or me, if I said the wrong thing and I don’t…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.”

Lancelot didn’t respond, head bowed just slightly. He wasn’t sure what he felt, but he knew there was some shame, some guilt, and definitely something heavy. So he pulled away, putting space between them once more.

“I...I know my previous actions have put you in anxious thoughts, but since yesterday, I have chosen to believe you.” Lancelot finally said, looking down at him, willing him to give him some slight eye contact.

Sonic didn’t look at him, though, and didn’t even answer. Sonic exhaled shakily and forced his fear and pain to settle, and it slightly faded as minutes passed by.

Finally, he looked up, and Lancelot had returned to sitting beside the window with his blade resting across his lap, but he wasn’t watching the trees or the road. He was still watching him. “…It’s time to go. We can’t stay here.”

Sonic rubbed his face. “Where are we going?”

“To someone I hope is still alive.”

Sonic tilted his head. “Who?”

“You will see soon enough,” Lancelot said and reached for his cloak, handing it to him, and turned to begin packing their belongings.

Sonic watched him for a long moment. He still didn’t know if he trusted him, but something told him, deep in his gut, that wherever they were going… it mattered. So, he rose to his feet, brushing off the remnants of sleep, tried to ignore his headache, and followed.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

The morning was a pale, quiet thing.

Elysia’s Keep faded behind them, swallowed by the forest as the knights gathered their things in silence. The remains of the fire were kicked out while gear was secured with practiced efficiency. No one spoke much, but something hung in the air, an unspoken understanding that they were heading toward something dangerous or sacred.

Sonic rubbed his arms as the wind brushed past. The dream still lingered, but he didn’t remember why… and every time he tried, his head would only throb.

Eventually, they made their way to the small clearing where their three horses were tethered among the mossy roots of old trees, and the moment Sonic saw them, he squinted. “Wait. You guys… do realize there are five of us, right?”

Gawain snorted, adjusting the saddle strap on one of the mounts. “You’re observant. Good. That’ll help.”

Percival didn’t even look up. “We ride two to a steed and one rides solo.”

“Right,” Sonic muttered, eyeing the mounts. “Let me guess. I don’t get the solo one?”

“No,” Lancelot said simply and without further explanation, he mounted the central horse, tightening the reins.

Percival swung up behind Gawain without complaint, though Gawain grumbled under his breath about being used as a cushion, and well… that left Sonic standing awkwardly between the last two knights.

Galahad was quiet, already astride the remaining mount as his gaze flicked toward Sonic once, calm as ever, and Lancelot… was watching for a reaction. For a second, Sonic wondered if he’d be called to ride with him, and he didn’t know how he felt about it.

Lancelot saw it, the hesitation and that flicker of uncertainty, so he decided for him. “Ride with Galahad.”

Sonic looked at him with surprise. “Oh. Uh… okay.”

There was no malice in the request, but there was distance. Lancelot turned his steed toward the forest path without another word while Sonic glanced once toward him, then up at Galahad, who simply extended a hand. “…Come on, Loti,” he said gently.

Sonic’s eyes widened slightly at the nickname… they were actually using it? And not putting up a fight? He swore even Lancelot used it this morning, but Sonic was a bit too upset to really relish in the small moment. The name was not quite Arthur, not quite him, but hey, it was something his.

He took Galahad’s hand and mounted behind him. The ride began at a steady pace. The trail was narrow and winding, carved between tall trees that twisted like old sentinels, their bark silver and knotted.

No one spoke for the first half hour.

Sonic kept his arms tucked close, trying not to lean too much against Galahad, though it was difficult with the movement of the horse. Galahad, for his part, remained calm and still. His posture was perfect, his breathing steady, as if being a shield or horseback rider were no different than breathing. He glanced back once. “You don’t have to stay so stiff. You’ll pull a muscle.”

Sonic grunted. “I’m not… stiff. I’m just trying not to fall off and die.”

“That’s fair,” Galahad said lightly, a small smile touching his face.

Behind them, Percival and Gawain bickered about the best path forward. In front, Lancelot rode in silence, but his shoulders were tense. Sonic could see that, even from where he was. “Hey… Galahad?”

“Hm?”

“Why is Lancelot like that?”

“Like what?”

“You know,” Sonic muttered. “The whole cold, armored knight who acts like he cares and then acts like he doesn’t and then murders people and then watches me sleep all night like some… like…”

“Like he doesn’t know who you are anymore,” Galahad said earnestly and glanced back over his shoulder, eyes clear and honest. “He’s not cruel, Loti, but he’s lost. More than any of us. You or well the body you are in… you were his King, brother, and closest friend. Now you’re not… and he doesn’t know how to grieve that or how to accept it.”

Sonic looked down at the saddle. “Yeah, well. He could try saying that instead of stabbing it into me with his eyes.”

Galahad shook his head faintly. “That’s not his way.”

They rode for another hour in silence, the woods growing denser, and as they grew closer to their destination, magic seemed to shimmer. It was barely perceptible at first, like the edge of a dream, but then Sonic felt it in his quills.

Eventually, the trees began to thin, and ahead, the sun glinted off water. There was a lake, and it stretched wide and silent beneath the morning sky. Mist drifted over its surface, and at its center, there was a small piece of land, barely more than a floating patch of green with a twisted willow tree rooted at its heart.

Lancelot stopped his horse near the shore and dismounted. “This is it.”

Sonic slid off Galahad’s steed with a grunt, landing on the soft grass, and stared at the lake. “…Who exactly are we here to see?”

“Nimue,” Galahad answered behind him. “Lady of the Lake. She once watched over the swords of the realm before… If anyone remembers what King Arthur did, or how to fix it, it’s her.”

“So… she’s like, magical? Like a sorceress?”

“Not exactly,” Lancelot said beside him. “She’s magic itself. She doesn’t live like we do. She listens when she wants to, speaks when she chooses, and we haven’t seen each other in years.”

Sonic stepped to the edge of the lake, watching the ripples stretch outward. “…So how do we talk to her?”

Lancelot met his eyes. “We call her by name, and if she deems your soul worthy, she will answer.”

Sonic stared out over the water, and everyone at the same time said it. “Nimue…”

The lake fell silent for another moment, and then the mist over the water began to shimmer, pearlescent, like moonlight trapped in fog. A soft chime resonated through the clearing, quiet but clear, vibrating not in the air but inside their bones. Sonic took a small step back, and all the knights tensed around him.

From the center of the lake, the surface opened like a mirror parting, she rose and simply appeared, Nimue, Lady of the Lake. Her form was light, water, and magical. She had pink fur with pink quills, and Sonic almost felt like he recognized her.

The four knights visibly relaxed when they noted Nimue still seemed normal. She nodded at them and looked at Sonic more heavily. “King Arthur?”

Sonic swallowed. “Um. Kinda?”

“You appear… of sound mind.”

“He is different,” Lancelot said, moving closer to her now with one hand to his chest, the other resting behind his back. He gave her a knight’s bow, and Sonic… looked at him, surprised. He’d never seen Lancelot move like that, not just with grace, but admiration?

“Lancelot. You remain even after all that’s fallen.”

“I don’t believe I had a choice,” he replied, raising his head but not rising yet.

Nimue’s expression grew somber. “This lake has not been untouched. The threads of corruption stretch even here. It is faint… but present. I have done what I can to protect it, but I am no longer what I once was.” She turned to face Sonic fully, and he realized she was frowning. “You are… not like him and yet… you are.”

Sonic shifted on his feet. “Yeah, I’ve been getting that a lot.”

“I don’t understand,” she said quietly, taking another step forward, and now she was level with him, close enough to touch. She lifted her hand, not touching him, but holding her palm close to his chest.

“Your soul… is not fully aligned.” Her brow furrowed deeply, visibly frustrated. “I would know why if I were stronger. If the lake still held its full truth, but… something, or perhaps someone, has interfered. Warped time, memory, reality itself. Even my magic tremors.”

“It’s okay,” Sonic said quietly. “You’re still helping me in a way. What you're saying just proves what I’ve been telling these knights. That I am not King Arthur.”

“You are not King Arthur,” she ponders. “But you are not not him either. How can that be…?”

Before Sonic could respond, Lancelot did. “We were hoping you could tell us.”

Sonic glanced over his shoulder at the knight’s words, just in time to see the careful way Lancelot inclined his head. The knight’s tone was so soft with her, and then the bow earlier? Sonic watched all this with a raised brow, and without thinking, blurted, “Wow. I’ve never seen you so knightly before… Can you suddenly become a gentleman?”

Lancelot’s crimson eyes slid toward Sonic, barely seen with his helm on. “…You should be quiet.”

Sonic stuck his tongue out at him. “Stupid knight.”

Nimue definitely noticed that, and her gaze lingered, thoughtful, very curious. “You truly are unlike the king. The real Arthur would never speak to Lancelot so freely. Never joke in such a way.”

“I know and I do smile!” Sonic argued, then paused, correcting himself. “Well, not when I’m being accused of crap I don’t even remember!”

“Odd language…”

Ignoring Sonic, Lancelot goes up to Nimue. “We need guidance on what to do, Nimue… where to go, how to get Camelot back. I never could figure out why Arthur became how he did, but I always felt in my soul there was a larger evil at play…”

“Yes, this evil you speak of. The threads of corruption have stretched along the lands, and with Arthur being ‘gone,’” she looked at Sonic again, “the corruption remains.”

Percival stepped forward slightly. “You mean the same dark magic that twisted the king?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes… Its source still lingers. Much of my strength has been used to protect this place. It should not have reached me, but it did.”

Sonic felt his heart thump faster. “So… the king really wasn’t alone in what he became.”

“No,” Nimue said quietly. “Based on what you have said and the ‘Arthur’ that is here… He wasn’t. He had help.”

Lancelot closed his eyes briefly, like a breath of confirmation had been granted after years of suspicion. “I knew something was wrong. I watched him turn… but the change started too early. He was cold even in his youth. People said it was just in his blood, but I scouted for years, trying to trace what made it worse. There was something else.”

He was only slightly relieved. It was helpful to know Arthur wasn’t as evil as he seemed… but that also only made Lancelot feel worse in a way. For one, how much of Arthur himself did he let it happen, or worse… why didn’t Lancelot try harder to stop it, to scout this evil being?

Nimue nodded solemnly. “True, but his curse was not sealed by one hand alone.”

Sonic whispered, “Then who…?”

Lancelot’s jaw tightened beneath his helm. “Ruthra.”

That name made even the other knights flinch.

Nimue’s glow dimmed slightly. “Ruthra… Yes. I have heard of him. A boy touched by shadows, born of high blood but thirsting for higher still. He desires the crown.”

“That bastard,” Lancelot said bitterly, “he worked with Arthur when the world burned. They brought ruin together, and now, after the king is ‘gone’, he claims innocence and seeks his position… as if Arthur alone ruined the realm.”

“Now he seeks to rewrite history,” Nimue said softly. “But he was not alone in that either. Something darker still clings to the earth.”

Sonic’s head throbbed suddenly, and he staggered backward, clutching his temples, when he saw a flash of green eyes with tears. "Remember him!" Remember what?

Galahad caught him, arms under his shoulders, as Sonic nearly dropped to his knees. “Loti? What is it?”

“I—I don’t know,” Sonic gasped.

Lancelot’s hands curled into fists, seeing Sonic like that. “Arthur hasn’t been himself since he rose again, his body remained after three days, and he awoke with no memories.”

“It appears so… There is something deeper beneath it all… so all of you must find it.” Nimue said.  She lifted her hands then, and light pooled between her palms. Small rings formed, shimmering bands of silver with soft gem-like stones. “These are not weapons. They are veils. The enemy is watching. These will protect your faces and obscure your fates. You will appear as different versions of yourselves. Lighter of fur, paler of eyes, and less seen by those who hunt you.”

She floated forward, placing one ring into each knight’s hand. Sonic was first, and when he slipped it on, a pulse ran through him. It felt strange. Then he noticed his fur shimmered, and turned to a lighter blue, and his eyes, reflected in the lake water, were now light silver. “Whoa…”

Lancelot slipped his own ring on. His fur, too, shifted in tone and was a softer gray instead of his deep onyx. His eyes were also now a pale silver, having lost the piercing crimson they usually carried behind his helm. He bowed low to Nimue. “Thank you. This is very helpful.”

“Use it wisely,” she said. “Seek the villages. Find survivors. Trace the magic, and when you find Ruthra… figure out what happened and bring the truth to light.”

Sonic nodded slowly, still rubbing his temples. “We’ll figure it out.”

Beside him, Galahad gently touched his arm. “Are you alright?”

Sonic glanced at him, tired, overwhelmed, but steadier now. “Yeah. Yeah. I just… need to move.”

“Then we go,” Lancelot said, looking away from them. Galahad helped Sonic back onto their horse while Lancelot mounted his own and the others followed suit.

As they turned back toward the forest, the lake mist began to close again behind them, and Nimue’s glow faded.  “Be swift, children of the sword, for time is no longer your ally.”

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

The five of them eventually found a village that hadn’t completely fallen apart. The streets were cracked, dry, and narrow. Sparse vendors peddled wilted vegetables and scraps of meat from stands that leaned like tired elders, but, for all its weariness, the town still survived.

Sonic, still cloaked, out of habit and worry, couldn’t stop glancing around.

Eventually, they found a tavern with a fire still lit and food that didn’t smell like it had rotted last season. The five of them slipped in quietly, cloaks pulled tighter, silver-tinted eyes scanning every shadow. Nimue’s illusion rings hummed faintly on their fingers.

They sat in a back corner with chipped bowls of watery soup with tough cuts of meat, limp carrots, and stale bread. It wasn’t much, but it was hot, and none of them hadn’t eaten since the campfire meal.

Percival stood after the meal. “Galahad, come, we should find better cloaks,” she muttered, motioning for Galahad to follow. He nodded, they left, and that left Gawain, Lancelot, and Sonic.

Sonic swallowed a mouthful of broth, feeling awkward. He peeked at Gawain, who was hunched over his bowl, chewing like he might break his teeth.

“So,” Sonic offered lightly, “what’s your deal?”

Gawain shot him an immediate glare. “My what?”

“Y’know, your deal. You seem like you hate everything, especially me.”

The knight scoffed and stood suddenly. “I don’t do idle chatter with strangers. Or traitors. Or whatever the hell you are.”

Sonic’s face fell, and with that, Gawain left the table with a huff, moving to lean against the far wall like a guard on edge.

“That didn’t go well.” Sonic glanced over at Lancelot. “He’s not gonna stab me, right?”

“No,” he said. “Gawain’s not easy and never was. You remind him of someone who betrayed him. That will take time.”

Sonic nodded, shoulders tight. “…I wanna prove myself… To all of you. I may have barely earned some trust … but I want to help.”

Lancelot folded his arms. “And how will you do that?”

Sonic’s eyes flicked toward the bar. “By listening.”

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

The market was quiet and stretched across a narrow courtyard, hemmed in by worn stone and crooked roofs. The stalls were humble, half of them shuttered, but between a slanted baker’s awning and the blackened husk of an abandoned smithy, a small cloth vendor stood.

Inside, dust clung to bolts of fabric stacked like fading memories. Travel-worn cloaks in dull earth tones hung along the back wall, but tucked behind a low wooden rack near the rear, Percival found something better.

She reached forward and pulled out a cloak, a deep midnight grey lined with barely-there silver thread. The hem was clean and the stitchwork tight. “These’ll do.” She turned it over in her hands, thumbs brushing the seams. “Not too flashy and seems to be of a solid cut.”

Behind her, Galahad ran his fingers along a faded green tunic, examining it idly before passing over it with a small frown. Instead, he lifted one of the grey cloaks Percival had found and held it up to the light. “It’s soft.”

Percival didn’t look up. “It’s a cloak.”

Galahad folded the garment carefully over his arm, expression distant. The silence between them stretched a little too long.  “You’ve been quiet…”

Percival's shoulders tensed just slightly, and she didn’t turn. “I’m busy shopping.”

“Never seemed to stop you before.”

“Quiet.” She muttered defensively.

 Galahad studied her for another moment, and his worry grew. “Still… You didn’t say anything after the lake. Or when we left the keep. That’s not like you.”

Percival folded another cloak briskly and tucked it under her arm. “Maybe I’m tired of talking.”

Galahad raised a brow and stepped around a rack to stand beside her, his gaze falling to the same cloak she was eyeing. “You’re tired of something.”

Percival’s fingers tightened just briefly on the fabric before she tossed the cloak onto the counter with a few silver pieces. “We’re wasting time.”

“We’re blending in,” he corrected gently.

Her eyes flicked up, sharp. “Right. In pretty silver-lined cloaks.”

The sarcasm was subtle, but not missed. Galahad exhaled through his nose. He didn’t argue and instead gathered the remaining cloaks. He placed them beside hers, nodding once to the vendor, who offered them both a tired smile and a murmured thanks.

They stepped outside into the wind, cloaks folded over their arms, the cobbled streets dappled in dull sunlight.

Galahad walked beside her, slower than usual. The quiet between them was neither companionable nor entirely hostile. Something in between. He glanced sideways at her. “You know you can talk to me… About whatever it is.”

A few steps in silence passed, and Percival could no longer hold it in. “Why,” she said tightly, “are you being so soft on him? You smile at him. You help him up. You look at him like he hasn’t burned cities. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Galahad stopped walking, and Percival’s voice only climbed higher. “You’re acting like he’s just some poor soul, like he’s innocent. You think because he laughs and stumbles over his words, that makes up for everything?”

“Percival,” Galahad warned gently.

But she was shaking now. “How could you just forgive everything?”

Galahad saw it more now, her eyes showed the pain she didn’t name. So, quickly, before others noticed, he grabbed her arm and pulled her into the alley between the weaver’s wall and a boarded-up bakery. “Hey… Hey, calm down—”

Percival shoved at his chest, not hard enough to move him, but with enough pain to make a point. Her fists banged against the silver plate of his armor. “He killed my friends, Galahad! He razed my town. My childhood best friend died screaming when Arthur’s knights set fire to her home, and I never even found her body. You being kind to him, this version of him, it pisses me off. It hurts.”

Galahad’s face fell. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately, reaching out to her. “I didn’t mean to… Percival, I didn’t...”

“You did know,” she said bitterly. “You just forgot. You let yourself forget.”

“I didn’t forget! I could never forget.”

“Liar!” she shouted, and struck his chest with both fists again. “Liar, liar, liar! You—you saw me bury bodies, Galahad!”

He winced but didn’t move to stop her, letting her fists connect, his silver breastplate dull under the force of it, and her knuckles ached from the contact.

“I bled for that place,” she said, wild with grief. “I lost everything… and you—” Her words broke, and the tension between them buckled.

Galahad wrapped his arms around her now, and when she didn’t hit him again, when her shoulders just shook instead, he drew her close. She resisted at first. Her arms stayed rigid between them, too locked in tension, but he didn’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never meant to hurt you. I just… I don’t have it in me to hate like that anymore. Especially when he seems so different.”

“Don’t,” she rasped. “Don’t make excuses for him.”

“I’m not. I’m saying it’s not so easy to know what’s real anymore. Maybe it never was. Maybe this, this version we see now is the first true one we’ve ever known.”

She let out a long, ragged breath, still pressed against his chest. “I can’t forgive it… Not yet. Maybe never.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, one hand cradling the back of her head gently. “But don’t burn yourself with it, either. I promise I’m not trying to betray you… trust me… and know I care for your feelings deeply Perc.”

Her hands had gone from striking to gripping, face buried beneath his collar, tears finally soaking through, and he just held her. She cried quietly, not sobbing, not too loud, but the way someone cries when they haven’t in years. The way someone cries when their soul finally fractures, and the pieces aren’t sharp anymore, just tired.

They stayed like that for a while, tucked between stone walls and shadows, the world forgetting them for a moment. Then, eventually, her shoulders softened and her breath steadied. She didn’t say she was okay, because she wasn’t, but her heartbeat no longer raced, and when she pulled back, just a little, Galahad met her gaze without judgment.

“If he really is different,” he said, “then maybe something went wrong long before the fires. Maybe… he didn’t choose what he became.”

Percival didn’t answer, but she didn’t shove him away either. Perhaps this was the start, not of forgiveness, but of something quieter. The crawl toward understanding. The realization that grief, too, needed somewhere to rest. They stepped out of the alley a few minutes later, cloaks folded over their arms.

Their steps turned down the road, where the others waited but just before they reached the next block, Galahad glanced sideways.

“Before we go back,” he said gently, “why don’t we try to find a baked goods stall?”

Percival sniffed and muttered something under her breath. “…Okay.”

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

Lancelot had been watching Sonic for the past ten minutes since he moved toward the bar.

Sonic sat near two Mobians who were chatting, a rat and a sharp-featured feline with a dusty lilac coat. The cat’s tail swayed lazily as he nursed a glass of something strong. Sonic ordered another weak cider and kept his head low. He sipped slowly, ears perked the entire time he had been here, and finally, they said something.

“…telling you, Ruthra’s not so bad,” the rat said, swishing his cup. “He’s got plans. Real ones. No more blood tax, no more mage raids.”

“I don’t know,” the feline drawled, “it was his people enforcing those very things. I don’t trust him. He reeks of filth.”

Sonic’s grip tightened around the mug, trying to focus on their conversation more now, but he leaned a little too close and didn’t realize how far until the feline’s golden eyes locked on him.

“Well now,” the cat said smoothly, standing and stepping close, “aren’t you a curious little eavesdropper?”

Sonic stiffened. “What? No, I wasn’t—”

“You seem familiar,” the cat murmured, cocking his head. “Lovely eyes, by the way. Pale silver? Never seen any that color… You hiding something under that cloak, hedgehog?”

Sonic tugged the hood tighter. “No, I just happen to be cold.”

“Don’t hide,” he purred, stepping between his legs. “You seem so innocent... Makes me wonder what you’re doing in a place like this.”

Sonic flushed, unsure what to do. He was supposed to be getting information, but the cat was too close now, and he forced a shaky smile. “S-So this ball. The one for Ruthra? Fancy, huh? When is it?”

“Oh yes quite extravagant… It’s in a week, and it’ll be the biggest event since Camelot burned. You should come. I’d offer to dress you, but I prefer undressing.”

He reached up and cupped Sonic’s chin, making him flinch from the sudden intimate contact and the feline leaned in, whispering, “Why don’t you let me—”

Before Sonic could pull away or try to derail whatever the heck was happening, there was an audible crash, and a blur of silver and fury ripped away the cat.

 A hand clamped around Sonic’s wrist, pulling him back hard against a chest plate he instantly recognized.

“Hands. Off.” Lancelot’s voice came in icy.

The cat stumbled back, smirking even as he righted his tunic. “Oops. Didn’t realize he was taken.”

Lancelot’s helm tilted. “You’re lucky I don’t take your hand for touching him.”

“Relax,” the cat drawled, but he backed off, clearly shaken.

Sonic, blushing hard, yanked his wrist away and whisper-yelled at him. “Hey! I had it handled!”

“You let him put his hands on you,” Lancelot snarled.

“We’re undercover! I thought it was fine!”

“Fine?” Lancelot hissed, getting too close, helmet nearly touching Sonic’s face. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Sonic stayed put. “You didn’t need to intervene!”

Lancelot grabbed Sonic’s hand again, fingers tighter this time. “Didn’t I?”

And before Sonic could retort, the knight dragged him away from the bar, ignoring everyone watching. Sonic stared at their joined hands, at the furious way Lancelot moved, and gulped. He didn’t know what scared him more, that Lancelot was so angry, or why his face suddenly felt so heated.

They stopped in the narrow alley beside the tavern. The stone wall behind Sonic was cool and damp, but he barely noticed it through the seething weight of Lancelot’s anger pressing down on him. Lancelot’s grip on his hand hadn’t hurt, but he didn’t release it either.

Sonic’s heart pounded, and he quickly pulled his hand away from him again.

Lancelot finally took a step back, still close, still tense with somewhat controlled rage simmering just beneath his helm, but what he noticed next wasn’t Sonic’s defiance. It was his face. He was pink in his muzzle and ears.

“You’re… flushed,” Lancelot said slowly, confused. “Are you embarrassed?”

Sonic turned his head to the side. “I’m not you, idiot! I’m annoyed you took me away from an important moment!”

“You truly didn’t see the danger, did you?”

Sonic’s hands balled into fists, fuck, he was feeling confused, but now he was pissed. “No, I didn’t think I was in danger! We’re supposed to be blending in, remember? Getting information? Not drawing attention?”

Lancelot’s shoulders tensed. “You let him touch you. You let him put his filthy hands on you—”

“It was for a reason!” Sonic snapped, stepping away, but his back hit the wall. “I was gathering intel, not asking for a damn date!”

“Oh?” Lancelot leaned forward again, growling. “What brilliant intelligence did you gather?”

“You’re such an ass sometimes!” Sonic whispered. “I found out Ruthra’s throwing a coronation ball! A masquerade!”

That stopped Lancelot, and the weight of Sonic’s words cut straight through his fury. “A… masquerade?”

“Yes! In a week,” Sonic pressed on, not backing down. “It’s the perfect opportunity! With the rings disguising us and masks hiding our faces, we could go in without anyone knowing! Get information. Maybe even get to Ruthra!”

Lancelot stared at him. It was a good idea, but there were risks. Huge risks. “If what you are saying it true… then magic will be everywhere at that ball. The rings might not be enough.”

“We’ll wear masks,” Sonic said quickly. “That’ll help. Between that and the altered colors from the rings, we can pass.”

“This will be risky, but we have no other leads….”

“So… we’re doing this?”

Lancelot’s hands clenched at his sides again. “We have no other choice. We’ve followed whispers and ruins for too long. If Ruthra is aligning himself with magic users, we need to see it firsthand.”

He looked at Sonic again. “You could be walking into a den of wolves, considering your memory loss and past… Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“I have to be. I want to help.”

“Then we begin preparations tomorrow. We’ll need proper masks. Formal wear and listen to me closely now,” The slight calm that Lancelot gained wavered, and in a commanding, hardened tone, he continued. “What you did today was reckless. So you are not leaving my side until this is over.”

Sonic blinked, caught between offense and disbelief. “I’m not some child, you know.”

“You acted recklessly.”

“I got us information!”

“You also got grabbed!”

Sonic threw his hands up. “I let that happen! It was part of the act! You’re the one who stormed in like a jealous boyfriend—”

“I’m not jealous!” Lancelot snapped.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sonic huffed.

Lancelot’s eyes narrowed, and his shoulders bristled with restraint barely clinging to duty.

“You know,” Sonic added sharply, “you haven’t even thanked me! Not once! I got us the lead we needed. I found out about the masquerade coronation. I even—”

“How you did it was foolish, you are still the king, and if others found out—.”

“We’re undercover!” Sonic interrupted. “I’m playing a part, unlike you, who nearly blew the whole thing!”

Lancelot growled, and the space between them grew even hotter, but Sonic didn’t back down.

 “What’s the real problem, Lance? Why were you so pissy? Don’t tell me you and the king had something more.”

Lancelot faltered, and that did it because Sonic saw it now, the slight shift… that flinch from what he just said.

“No way…” he whispered. He had suspected something was there before because the knight had carried so much guilt and anger… but right now Sonic didn’t have any sympathy left to give, and instead there was venom in the laugh that slipped out, “No way. Did you love him?”

“I did not,” Lancelot growled, but the hesitation before it was damning.

“Oh my Chaos.” Sonic stepped closer, crowding into him now. “That’s why you’re such an ass to me! You loved him! And now I’m wearing his face, talking with his voice, and sleeping in his body and—”

In a blur of movement, Lancelot surged forward and grabbed him by the collar, slamming him against the stone alley wall with a thud that made Sonic grunt. The knight’s hand twisted hard in the front of his tunic, to keep him there.

“Shut. Your. Mouth.”

Sonic bared his teeth in a defiant grin, panting lightly from the impact, but his own silver eyes were gleaming. “Hit a nerve, huh?”

They stood like that for a second, tension simmering, breathing heavy, so close they could feel each other’s heartbeat, but before they could argue more….

“What’s going on?”

The voice broke through the air like a splash of cold water, making them both turn just slightly enough to see Galahad and Percival standing at the end of the alley, both holding stale bread wrapped in paper.

Galahad blinked at the sight before him. “Are we interrupting something?”

Percival gave them a deadpan look. “Do I want to know?”

Lancelot released Sonic abruptly and stepped back as if burned, clearing his throat and straightening his helm. Sonic stumbled slightly before catching himself, brushing off the front of his tunic with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Nothing,” Lancelot muttered. “It’s nothing.”

Sonic shot him a glare. “Sure didn’t seem like nothing.”

“Loti,” Percival said with a warning tone.

“Alright, alright,” Sonic mumbled, backing off. “Jeez. Tense bunch.”

Galahad exchanged a look with Percival before sighing. “Come on, we found an inn nearby. It’s not much, but it’s warm. Let’s head there before it gets dark.”

Lancelot didn’t say another word. He walked ahead in silence, every line of his back stiff with tension, and Sonic followed after him, still fuming.

Stupid knight.

Chapter Text

The inn smelled faintly of woodsmoke and roasted meat, a small mercy in a town half-scattered by ruin. They managed to secure a small corner of the inn where lodging was upstairs but served simple food downstairs.

Thankfully, there were hardly any customers around, and it was already dusk, with the only light coming from a single lantern. The five of them sat around a small table, bread and watered wine between them, though only Galahad seemed interested in eating.

Sonic stretched out on the bench against the wall, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the lantern. He hadn’t said a word since they walked in, not to Lancelot, not to anyone. The knight, for his part, was equally rigid, standing just to the side of his with his arms folded, helm still on as always, but this time for added reasons.

It was Gawain who finally broke the quiet. “So,” he started sounding rough from not having spoken for hours, “we’re meant to believe him now?” He looked directly at Sonic with an unkind expression. “We have struggled trusting… him and those around us for years, but suddenly this one has answers?”

Sonic frowned and sat up straighter. “Hey, I didn’t make the rumors—”

Gawain cut him off. “Why should we trust you?”

Sonic wanted to yell at him, tell him, “Are you kidding me?” especially after going through the damn trials. He thought he had proved himself then. He thought it was enough. So, he opened his mouth to snap back, but Galahad spoke before he could.

“Look, we all agreed the Kin—Loti’s memories are off, he isn’t… him right now,” Galahad said carefully. “Going to the coronation and using the masks with our current disguises… It’s the first solid plan we’ve had, and perhaps this could work…” He wanted to say more but didn’t, feeling weighed down by his earlier talk with Percival.

Percival said nothing and just sat across from Sonic, her bread untouched, arms folded tightly. Every now and then, she glanced at him, but they never softened.

“It doesn’t matter what anyone believes,” Lancelot said at last firmly but still in a hushed tone. He set a gauntleted hand on the table, leaning forward, gaze sweeping them all. “This is the only lead we have. A masquerade ball hosted under Ruthra’s name, and those who aided him will be there. If the other kingdoms seek an alliance with him, or perhaps, and even better, if other kingdoms seem as if they do not believe in Ruthra… We could use that.”

Gawain frowned, but didn’t argue. Galahad dropped his gaze to the table, shoulders slumped. Percival’s jaw tightened, but she gave a single curt nod.

Sonic watched it all unfold in silence, a realization prickling at the back of his mind. Lancelot hadn’t asked for their agreement. He had simply spoken, and the others had fallen in line. It wasn’t hesitation… it was expectation as though it were an unspoken rule.

Perhaps it was inevitable ever since Arthur’s fall. Lancelot had become the one they looked to… the one they obeyed. The thought twisted something deep in Sonic’s chest, but it was something he couldn’t name.

“Fine,” Gawain said at last. “But don’t blame me when this goes wrong.”

“No one’s blaming you,” Lancelot said, and he straightened again, crossing his arms. “What matters is preparation. We’ll need proper attire, masks, and jewelry fine enough to pass for nobility. However, this will be difficult as most towns are ash. Finding a shop intact may be a challenge.”

Sonic leaned forward, elbows braced against the table. “So, what you’re saying is we need to play dress-up in a ghost town? Sounds really easy.” His silver eyes darted toward Lancelot, testing, needling, but Lancelot didn’t rise to it. Not this time.

Instead, Percival finally spoke, “There might still be traveling merchants. Some try to make a coin out of tragedy. We should look for camps on the road, caravans heading toward the city. They’d carry masks, silks, and forged metals for the right price.”

“Mercenaries and thieves more like,” Gawain grunted.

“Better mercenaries than nothing,” Galahad said softly.

Silence fell again, and Sonic drummed his fingers on the table, his ears twitching every so often in Lancelot’s direction. The knight still hadn’t looked at him directly, still hadn’t spoken a word to him since their argument, and the distance grated more than Sonic wanted it to.

“Guess it’s settled then,” Gawain said finally, shoving back his chair. “We look for merchants tomorrow, and if we don’t find them…” He shrugged. “We improvise.”

“Agreed,” Lancelot said with finality. “Rest now, and we will leave in the morning.”

Galahad, Percival, and Gawain shifted to their room above the inn.

That left Sonic and Lancelot, and things were tense. Sonic fiddled with the bread in his hands, tearing it apart piece by piece. He wanted to say something, whether it was to snap, to prod, to demand something, but Lancelot stood motionless near him.

So finally, with a huff, Sonic pushed himself up. “Well, I should head to bed,” he mumbled, stretching his arms high before shoving his hands into the pockets of his cloak, but before he could turn, a gauntleted hand closed firmly around his wrist.

“I’ll go with you,” Lancelot said with no hesitation.

Sonic jerked against the hold. “Hell no, dude.” He twisted his wrist free and looked at him with irritation. “I don’t need you hovering after the bullshit you pulled earlier.”

Lancelot didn’t flinch. “It does not matter that we are in a different town. People could still come after you.” His words were not even a question, but a demand with that annoying rigidity that made Sonic only want to punch him.

“We have disguises!” Sonic whisper-yelled at him. “No one recognized me! And for the record, I don’t want you around me while I’m sleeping. You’re an asshole.”

Lancelot exhaled through his helm with frustration. “You speak so strangely… It never made sense to me since you awoke. Even if you were to lose your memories, I could understand how the king would change his tone, his manner, but you, this speech of yours, I do not understand it at all. You say words… I've never even heard before.”

Sonic’s ears flicked back against his head. He felt like he was going mad with how many times he had said this already. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s because I’m not him, like I've said time and time again.”

Lancelot didn’t argue and instead stepped forward and seized Sonic by the forearm this time, tugging him upstairs into the empty room next to where the other three knights were staying.

“Hey—! Let go!” Sonic barked, digging in his heels, but the knight was stronger, his armor clanking with each stride.

“Sleep,” Lancelot said without emotion, releasing him at last with a small shove toward the mattress.

Sonic growled, spinning on him, fists balled. “You can’t just—”

“Sleep,” Lancelot repeated, more demanding now, and to make his argument, he turned and planted himself by the door, arm crossed in front of him like a sentinel.

Sonic wanted to snap back, to fight, to well maybe even throw something, but… he was really tired and looking at Lancelot now, he knew he wasn’t going to budge.  

He hated it… hated giving in to him, feeling like he never had a choice. He collapsed onto the bed with a huff, throwing his cloak over himself like a barrier.

“You’re impossible.” He mumbled angrily, closed his eyes, and eventually went to sleep.

From the door, Lancelot did not respond, but he never left.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

Morning came, and everyone was off to find their new clothes for the ball.

The air outside smelled of ash and wet cobblestones. There was a faint smoke still lingering from some long-gone fire. Sonic yawned as he followed the others through the streets, pulling his cloak tighter. He was still sour from the night before, stealing glances at Lancelot every so often, but the knight was still avoiding his gaze.

The “store” they finally found was barely standing. It used to be a nice tailor’s shop, but now it had warped beams and half-collapsed walls. Thankfully, there were still bolts of cloth hanging on crooked racks, and as they picked through, there were pieces salvageable.

Percival’s fingers brushed over the remains of a gown. “This one,” she murmured, tugging it free. The bodice was deep purple velvet, the skirts layered with faded lace. “With work, it could be beautiful again.”

Gawain grabbed a suit of red and orange brocade from the back. “This one will suit me.”

“Subtlety is the point,” Percival muttered, noting it may be too bright, but didn’t argue further.

Galahad lingered at a rack of whites and silvers, finally pulling free a suit whose pale fabric shimmered faintly even beneath the dust. He traced the embroidery on the cuffs. “It looks… noble enough, I suppose.”

Lancelot was more decisive. He uncovered a set hidden behind a tangle of cloaks: a dark grey suit with black trim, its lining deep crimson. When he held it up against his armor, the red flashed like embers.

Then it was Sonic’s turn. He shifted uncomfortably through the racks, hands brushing rough cloth, until something caught his eye. A long coat that had a slim cut, flowing like water when he moved it, dyed in pale blue with white accents at the lapel. There were embroidered flowers, nearly hidden, that climbed along the hem. He held it up, frowning at first, then smiled despite himself. It wasn’t loud like Gawain’s, or regal like Percival’s, but something softer, freer.

“…I like this one,” he admitted.

Percival tilted her head. “It’s not what the king would have chosen.”

“Not surprised,” Sonic said, draping it over his shoulder.

The only problem was that every piece of fabric they gathered was battered, torn, and dulled with hardship. They would look like beggars at a king’s feast.

“We can’t go like this to a ball.” Sonic said.

“No… but,” Galahad said, scanning the street outside. “There are still mages in hiding. Someone here may have enough craft left to restore them.”

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

It took half the morning, but they found someone: a hunched woman with cloud-white eyes, sitting in front of a burned-out chapel. The faint glow of runes danced across her fingertips as she traced sigils into the air. Her stall was nothing more than a crate and scraps of thread, but when Lancelot offered a Camelot gold coin, her head tilted with awe.

“You bring royal gold into this ruin?” she rasped. “This is quite careless of you, knight...”

“We need these restored,” Lancelot said, knowing he was telling her who he was with the coin, but he didn’t have a choice, and laid the battered suits and gowns out before her.

Her gaze lingered on Sonic longer than the rest, too long, like she saw through the silvered eyes his disguise ring gave him, making him shift uncomfortably.

Surprisingly, she said nothing more to them and set to work with whispered incantations. As time passed and the more magic she used, the threads began to weave, stitches tightening, cloth smoothing, colors brightening until the gowns and suits looked as though they had been freshly made. When she was done, she gave them all jewlery of silvers and golds.

"We never asked-" Lancelot tried but she turned away without another word.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

By midday, they had masks as well that were lacquered half-faces from another shop. Percival chose a violet mask with sharp angles; Gawain, a red one streaked with orange; Galahad, a silver filigree design; Lancelot, black with a crimson trim, and Sonic got a pale blue mask patterned with curling vines to match his outfit.

Sonic lifted his mask. “Guess we’re ready to crash a party.”

Lancelot didn’t smile. “We’re not crashing. We’re infiltrating. Remember that.”

Sonic twirled the mask on his finger anyway. “Infiltrating. Crashing. Same thing. I swear, you're such a gloomy guy.”

Lancelot ignored the insult, and as the five of them stood together, knowing the coronation was only a few days away, they hoped to find answers with it.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

The journey took several days, and Sonic noticed how everyone grew more and more tense as they drew closer to Camelot.

By the final morning, none of the knights spoke, and even Gawain’s usual bravado had dimmed. When at last the towers came into view, Lancelot slowed to a halt on the hilltop, his breath catching in his throat.

Camelot loomed below them, but it was not Camelot.

The banners were gone, the proud scarlet-and-gold tapestries had been gone for years since King Arthur became evil, sure, but now everything had become colors of purple and white, like the whole castle had been draped in this odd energy. The stone itself seemed suspiciously brighter… 

Lancelot’s hand clenched around the hilt of his sword, and his heart seemed to plummet straight into his stomach, feeling like a hollow ache spreading through his chest. Once, he had called this place home. Once, he had sworn his entire life to the crown that sat within those walls. Now, the sight of it being unrecognizable hurt something within.

Behind him, Percival and Galahad both stood stiff, faces tight. Percival’s usual fire had dimmed to embers, and Galahad’s silence carried the weight of grief while Gawain gave a bitter curse.

Sonic, trailing a step behind, caught all of it. Their postures, the way none of them could look too long. His own smile faltered. He wanted to say something light, something easy to cut through the heaviness, but even he knew better. Whatever Camelot had been to them had been a sore spot for many years and seeing it like this only added salt to their wounds.

They descended with the rest of the travelers streaming into the town for the ball. The town had changed, too. Under Arthur’s rule, there were forced smiles and destruction, sure, but his symbol had now been taken down and even the townsfolk seemed confused. They were unsure whether to celebrate or worry about Ruthra’s ruling and their smiles seemed forced as they looked nervously at armored guards stationed on every corner.

Sneaking in on any other day would not have been easy, but this plan was perfect because right now, Camelot’s gates were thrown wide for the celebration. They disguised themselves as guests, blending into the throng with the help of their freshly restored clothes and simple aliases.

Lancelot, masked in black and red, introduced himself with a curt “Lac.” Sonic smirked and tossed out “Loti.” The others chose shortened versions of their names—Perc, Gal, and Gaw. None dared to speak the truth of who they were.

They were able to infiltrate through the castle gates easily, but once inside, the transformation was even starker. All the decorations carried the same colors as the banners outside.

The air smelled of incense and something sinister, almost metallic, despite the brighter colors. They made it to the great hall and found a spot for them to be. Nearby, a musician played a melody on strings.

The five exchanged glances. This was no mere celebration. It was theater, ritual, a show of power.

The plan was simple: separate, gather information, and avoid attention. The three knights melted into the crowd, leaving Sonic and Lancelot alone.

They lingered together at the edge of the room. Sonic shoved his hands into his coat pockets, eyes darting around at the dazzling crowd. He was quick to notice how stiff Lancelot had gone, how his head was high but his shoulders tense. They hadn’t talked much in the days in between, and sure, he was still annoyed by the knight, but he wasn’t necessarily angry anymore.

Sonic leaned a little closer. “Are you okay?”

Lancelot’s mask glinted in the candlelight, his eyes unreadable at first, and Sonic thought, considering everything before and now the added stress of their situation, he wouldn’t answer…

“This place… hadn’t been Camelot in years, but now… it is as though Camelot never existed,” Lancelot said, sounding hoarse.

“Hmm… I don’t really remember anything. I thought me coming here would spark something but all I feel is dread…  but a dread that I don’t know fully belongs to me.”

Lancelot looked at him. “What do you mean?”

Sonic sighed. “I don’t know, the other day I had this dream… like someone important was calling out to me, but I just couldn’t remember... and anytime I tried to.” Sonic touches his forehead. “My head feels like it’s splitting open.”

Lancelot recognized that look. “The king always mentioned feeling something similar… we need to find a clue, anything that could possibly be a reason why you, er, he gained such evil magical powers.”

“So, you really believe someone gave it to him?”

Lancelot nodded. “I thought more about it since you’ve awoken. It had never made sense to me how he changed so much in the years I was under him. It was why I stayed by his side despite everything. I had known Arthur since he was young, and yes, there was a slight evil there. Still, it only grew as he got older… after visiting Nimue and her confirming something else or even someone else, then I am more sure that person will be here, and my guess is he will be someone by Ruthra’s side.”

Sonic nodded. “Then we will be on the lookout.”

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

Meanwhile, Percival, Gawain, and Galahad slipped deeper into the crowd, their masks hiding more than just their names.

Percival leaned closer to the others, murmuring under her breath, “We split, we risk losing each other in this mess. Best keep together till we hear something useful.”

Gawain huffed, tugging at the collar of his borrowed suit. “Useful? Look at these noble bastards… half of them are drunk on wine and the other half drunk on their own titles.”

“Shh,” Galahad warned softly, eyes sweeping the ballroom. “Drunken mouths speak freely. We must listen, not mock.”

And listen, they did because nobles loved to gossip and whispered as they passed them. Many conversations were about alliances, trade, rumors of war, but one name cut through the noise.

“Myrddin.”

The knights froze as they heard the name, uttered as if it were a secret. Two noblewomen drifted by, their fans fluttering as they spoke in hushed tones.

“They say Ruthra is not the true power,” one whispered. “It is his father—Myrddin.”

“The sorcerer?” the other asked, eyes darting nervously toward the dais. “I had thought he was a myth—an old mage hiding in shadows, but if he stands here tonight…”

“…Then Camelot has fallen further than we feared.”

“Or perhaps this was an unnecessary change; King Arthur was no better.”

“Hmm, it is hard to trust again, though.” The women’s voices trailed off as they vanished into the crowd.

Percival’s jaw tightened. “Myrddin?”

“Ruthra’s Father?” Gawain repeated, brows furrowing. “Wait—you’re telling me that smug little whelp has a sorcerer for a dad? That explains the arrogance before in previous battles...”

But Galahad wasn’t listening to them anymore, and as they walked out of the grand hall away from the crowns, they stumbled across a corridor and saw… them.

The corridor had no one else in it, but Ruthra stood in the middle in his royal silks, head bowed to a tall figure cloaked in deep purple. Myrddin. His hair was streaked silver and black, his robes embroidered with strange sigils that seemed to shift in the light. Even though they were on the opposite side, the knights could feel the energy from him, full of command and control.

Ruthra’s proud posture faltered under his father’s words. He bent his head, shoulders slumping, not the arrogant future prince but a servant taking orders and then… before their very eyes, Myrddin lifted a hand. Purple fire spiraled around his fingers, subtle, veined with black, and it was the exact same hue Arthur’s eyes once bled with when rage overtook him.

Percival’s blood ran cold. “It’s just like the King’s power...”

“What if he was the one. The man… behind Arthur’s fall all along.” Galahad said with anger.

Gawain cursed under his breath. “If so… then that means this bastard puppeteered him.”

The three of them exchanged one look, and no more words were needed. They had to find Lancelot, and they even felt the need to tell Sonic. They turned, about to slip back into the grand hall...

“How odd.” The voice made the three knights freeze. Myrddin stood several paces away, his gaze like twin purple embers, and he had an evil smirk. “You three may hide behind your little masks and false names… but I see through you. Knights of Camelot.”

Their hands went to their daggers hidden in their outfits in unison.

Myrddin only chuckled. “I expected you all at some point, but not here… not so soon after your king fell.” He raised one hand, and the ground beneath them cracked with violet light. From it rose three armored figures, and they were soldiers forged entirely of magic, faceless helms burning with amethyst flame. They drew spectral blades, crowding the knights together.

“What is this—?!” Gawain barked, stepping forward, but the soldiers moved with him, blades raised.

“You dare come to my son’s coronation,” Myrddin said smoothly, as though scolding children. “You seek whispers that are none of your concern. Not anymore. No… I do not have time to deal with you at this moment.”

With a flick of his fingers, the floor beneath the knights shifted, and walls of magic slammed up, enclosing them. In the blink of an eye, they were sealed in a smaller chamber. They were cut off from the crowd and cut off from escape.

Percival’s blade clanged against the barrier, the magic sparking like lightning, but there was no give or way through.

On the other side of the wall, Myrddin looked at them as if they were pathetic creatures. “I must see to my son.”

Then he was gone and took Ruthra with him into the main hall.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

Sonic and Lancelot were now standing closer to the dais, waiting for the ceremony. Lancelot was focused, but Sonic’s… attention was already drifting.

The ballroom was crowded, yes, but there was a long banquet table at the far side laden with fruit, cheeses, glazed meats, and oh, he really couldn’t help himself. His eyes locked on some sweet rolls drizzled with honey, and his stomach gave an embarrassing growl. “...oh, Chaos, I’m starving,” he said, licking his lips.

He started to move, but before he could take more than half a step, a dark, gloved hand clamped down hard on his shoulder. “You will not leave my sight,” Lancelot hissed.

Sonic groaned and dramatically rolled his eyes. “Dude, c’mon! You never let me have fun. I just want a snack. Look at it! It’s like heaven over there!”

“This is not about food.” Lancelot’s grip tightened, keeping him rooted. “If one person recognizes you—”

“They won’t!” Sonic whined, tugging against the knight’s hand. “We’ve got disguises! Besides, who’s gonna suspect some hungry guy with a plate of cheese cubes? Relax for once!”

Before Lancelot could snap back, a noblewoman in fancy silks approached, fanning herself with a feathered mask. “Pardon me, sir,” she purred with a noble accent. “I couldn’t help but notice your attire. That trim… it must be tailor’s work from the southern provinces, yes?”

Lancelot stiffened, his hand loosening instinctively as he turned to face her with rigid courtesy. He had to play the part of being noble, and unfortunately, couldn’t deny her.

Sonic’s eyes lit up at the chance. Perfect.

“Don’t go far,” Lancelot mumbled under his breath.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sonic shot back cheekily and slipped into the crowd the moment the knight’s attention shifted to polite conversation.

He wove through dancers and servants with practiced ease, his coat swishing around his legs, until he was at the edge of the banquet table. He snagged a roll, stuffing half of it in his mouth at once, and let out a muffled groan of delight. “Ohhhh yeah, that’s the good stuff—”

But then he froze because he felt someone watching him. He looked around until he met her eyes, and from across the food table, a human woman was standing apart from the chattering guests. She wasn’t dressed like anyone there… no glittering gowns or jeweled masks. Her robes were white, threaded with faint lavender that seemed to shimmer faintly in the candlelight. Her hair, spilled long and pale down her back, was also a silvered lavender. Her eyes, impossibly bright and utterly magical, were fixed directly on him.

Sonic looked at her as if almost slightly enchanted and swallowed hard. “Uh… do I know you?”

The woman tilted her head, then stepped closer. Her presence was calm, too calm, as if the noise of the hall parted around her. She lifted a hand, and before Sonic could flinch away, she pressed her palm lightly against his chest.

He stiffened, nearly dropping his food. “Whoa, hey! Personal space, lady!” But his instincts kept him rooted. She wasn’t giving off a suffocating dread or venomous aura of someone who would want to hurt him. No… There was something… protective about her touch?

Her brows furrowed, and her lips parted in a soft, disappointed sigh. “Oh dear. The binding is not complete, and here I thought… I did it correctly…”

Sonic’s ears twitched. “The what-now?”

She looked at him with an anxious expression, her eyes darted around to see the crowd around her. “Perhaps with another...  Hmmm, well, this could explain…”

“Okay, wait, what the hell are you talking about?” Sonic demanded, pulling back a little, though he didn’t quite knock her hand away.

Before she could say anything more, a trumpet blared at the far end of the hall, and the crowd hushed at once. 

The woman’s hand slipped away from Sonic’s chest, folding neatly back into her robes. She gave him one last long look that was cryptic but also knowing, vanishing as if she had never been there.

Sonic’s heart was hammering, and to try and calm himself down, he pressed his palm against his chest where she’d touched him. Not complete? Binding? Who the hell was that?

Before Sonic could think anymore about it, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Loti! I said to stay close!”

Sonic looked at Lancelot, “Right… did you see that woman?”

Lancelot looked at him, “What woman?”

“She was right here. She mentioned something about binding?”

Lancelot looked at Sonic, confused, but then he entered from the side doors.

A figure robed in white and purple strode toward the throne. The crown gleamed in the hands of the attendant nearby, but it was no longer for Arthur.

Lancelot’s quills spiked slightly as he heard his name rise in whispers around the hall. "Ruthra."

Sonic glanced up at the knight, whose jaw was clenched so hard he wondered if his teeth would shatter.

The hall hushed again because this time from the far side of the throne, another figure entered—a tall man robed in deep indigo with a staff that gleamed with darklight. His presence commanded silence without a word, and Sonic felt his whole body fill with dread the moment he saw him.

What the hell? He didn’t know why he had this sudden fear. It felt like it wasn’t his own, but it roared through him all the same, suffocating him, like a memory that didn’t belong to him.

“Myrddin.” The name rose unbidden, bitter on his tongue. Sonic stumbled back from the impact he felt in his head as the name came to mind. “Damn it…”

Lancelot’s hand shot out, gripping his elbow with a sudden strength. “Are you alright?”

However, Sonic could barely hear him. He felt one too many emotions and didn’t know which was the strongest. Fear? Anger? Jealousy? Guilt? Hurt? Each and every feeling was coming at him at once. This was… not his fear, nor his hatred, but it still hurt him.

Myrddin raised a hand. “We are gathered here today to witness the coronation of my son, Ruthra.”

The crowd hushed again in reverence, but Sonic felt like every syllable scraped against something raw inside of him.

Ruthra stepped forward, smirking as though the kingdom already belonged to him. “Today marks the end of a corrupted reign. Camelot shall no longer kneel beneath King Arthur’s failures, weakness, or greed. Under my rule, our kingdom will rise greater than it ever was before. It will be restored to its rightful place of power and glory!”

Nobles cheered, a sea of hands raised, goblets flashing in the candlelight.

Besides Sonic, Lancelot growled under his breath, unable to hide the fury in his eyes. “Lies,” he hissed. “All of it. We saw Ruthra for who he was when—” He chose not to finish the sentence, but back when he was forced to kill Arthur, Ruthra was right there next to him, working with him, or really against him, all to have his crown.

Lancelot had never seen anyone else with him, but that was about to change because the knight finally looked at Myrddin, and it was then that he really noticed his eyes. They were purple. The same cursed violet shade that had once burned in Arthur’s. His heart dropped. Could it really be…?

Ruthra continued, voice rising, hands spread as though already blessing his throne.
“Camelot will be reborn in my strength! Our enemies will fall. Our allies will kneel. Under my father’s wisdom and my reign, no one will dare challenge us again!”

“His father’s wisdom…” Sonic whispered; the emotions still roaring inside him weren’t his, but he felt them. It was a mix of rage and helplessness. He didn’t even notice he had started shaking until Lancelot’s grip tightened around his arm.

“Steady,” Lancelot whispered, and then Sonic noticed her… again.

Standing a little behind Myrddin was the woman from before, and her eyes were fixed on him, piercing now, unlike before, like she was focused on something. She didn’t seem like Myrddin or Ruthra despite being with them on the dais. She must be family?

Then Sonic’s gaze dropped to her hand. It was raised just slightly, fingers curled, and from her palm drifted a soft lavender mist. It spread toward him, cool and gentle like a breeze through summer grass.

The pain in his skull eased, and it was just enough for him to breathe. “…She’s helping me,” Sonic realized under his breath, suspicion and disbelief twining together. Why?

“What?” Lancelot asked beside him, but Sonic didn’t get to answer.

On the dais, Myrddin stepped closer to his son.  “By blood, by conquest, by destiny—you inherit this throne. Arthur’s Camelot is no more. The crown is yours, my son.”

Ruthra knelt with a smug smile as he bowed his head before his father. His father gathered the crown from the helper and lowered it onto the prince’s head. The hall immediately thundered with applause.

Sonic flinched, shoulders hunching at the impact of the cheer, but Lancelot didn’t move. He didn’t clap, didn’t even pretend, and his entire body was taut with restraint.

Sonic’s hand twitched at his side, wondering if he should reach out to him, to say something, anything, but he knew. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t be a lie.

The coronation bled seamlessly into celebration. Myrddin raised his hand again, and the musicians struck up a new song that was bright, quick, but to them felt like a mockery of joy.

The dance began.

Ruthra descended into the crowd like a predator into a herd with false charm. He danced first with a princess cloaked in emerald, then with a prince robed in ivory, spinning them each with practiced ease. He was displaying power and forging alliances with every turn.

Sonic tracked his eyes and noticed that Ruthra glanced their way every so often. Though he didn’t look for too long, it was just enough to remind them they were seen.

“They keep looking at us,” Sonic whispered, stepping a little closer to Lancelot.

“I am aware,” Lancelot said with annoyance.

“Yeah? Then you know we can’t just stand here like statues while Ruthra keeps eyeballing us.” Sonic flicked his gaze back at the prince, then huffed. “We gotta move. Blend in. Act like we’re… y’know, normal.”

Lancelot met his gaze. “And how do you propose we do that?”

Sonic chewed his lip, then sighed dramatically. “Uh… I have an idea.”

Lancelot’s eyes narrowed. “…What is it?”

Sonic lifted his chin, smirking like it was obvious. “We may need to dance together.”

The knight’s head snapped toward him so fast Sonic thought he might’ve sprained something. “What?”

“Dance,” Sonic repeated, as if that would help, throwing in a casual shrug for good measure. “It’s what people do here, right? We’ll look less suspicious if we’re moving with the crowd instead of standing around glaring like we’re about to rob the place.”

“I am not dancing.” Lancelot’s tone was uncompromising.

Sonic groaned, rolling his eyes. “You’re already blowing our cover by denying me. You look like you’re about to draw your hidden dagger on a buffet table.” He tilted his head. “It’s easy. Step, spin, done. Even you can manage that.”

“I am not—” Lancelot began, but the words were cut off as Sonic reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t make me beg, you stupid knight,” Sonic hissed, tugging at him insistently. “You’ll regret it more if you don’t! So c’mon, what’s the worst that could happen? You worried you’re gonna trip or something?”

The glare Lancelot leveled at him might have felled weaker men, but Sonic wasn’t scared, and the knight saw that, so with a reluctant growl, he let himself be pulled forward.

Sonic tugged him into the tide of dancers, their hands locking together tighter than either intended. They fell into step amid swirling gowns and polished boots, the orchestra’s swell carrying them like a current.

For a few moments, they moved awkwardly… Lancelot was rigid while Sonic struggled to find his footing in a dance he had never done before… but slowly, the rhythm caught them both. The knight’s posture eased, blade-straight discipline melting into elegant steps; Sonic stumbled once more, but then his quickness recovered him before anyone could notice.

“You know what’s funny… You finally took your helm off,” Sonic teased, spinning under Lancelot’s arm with a flash of his white coat. “And you still wouldn’t let me see you before you put on your mask. Seriously, what’s that about? You think you’re ugly or something?”

Lancelot’s glare sharpened. “I told you before, at the campfire, to drop it. Why do you speak so incessantly?”

Sonic shrugged. “What else are we supposed to talk about while dancing? The weather?” His tone shifted with a daring curiosity. “Or maybe… you’re finally ready to talk about… How you felt about your king.”

That made Lancelot’s steps falter, but he quickly masked it with a sharp pivot, his hand tightening fractionally at Sonic’s waist, pulling him back into the rhythm. He looked at him, eyes heated through the slits of his mask. “Quiet—or I will drop you.”

Sonic snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Lancelot spun him again, faster this time, and after another spin, the knight lowered him into a dip so smooth… it nearly stole Sonic’s breath. Their faces hovered close, closer than either should have allowed, and this moment stilled.

For Lancelot, it was like standing on a knife’s edge. Those eyes staring back at him… they were silver at the moment, but he swore he could still see a tinge of purple. Arthur’s eyes… eyes that had haunted him for years and eyes that should have only stoked his anger right now.

However, this time they pierced him differently because, despite himself, despite every scar and betrayal, he still felt the pull. That damned pull toward the man he thought he’d lost, the man who’d been both his king and once his friend. His heart ached with grief. Arthur. Why do you torment me still?

Meanwhile, Sonic was still caught mid-dip, felt the hesitation, and thought he’s gonna drop me. His body tensed, waiting for it, but instead, the anger radiating from Lancelot seemed to melt into something else. Something heavier.

It was sadness.

Then Lancelot lifted him upright again, his motions flawless to any onlooker, but Sonic felt it, the weight behind each step.

His grin left and was replaced by a searching frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Lancelot said, too quickly.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Sonic pressed, refusing to let it slide.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lancelot ground out, the words ragged at the edges. “You do not remember anything.”

Sonic’s brows knit, but he softened slightly, his next words gentler. “Maybe, but I can still be an ear.”

The words caught Lancelot off guard, and his steps stuttered again, not from anger this time, but longing. Before he even realized it, his hand flexed against Sonic’s back, and without warning... he pulled him closer.

It wasn’t part of the dance. It wasn’t something either of them expected. It was just real and unguarded. Sonic stumbled into the press of his dark fabric and couldn’t believe it… the knight was hugging him?

They swayed like that, slower, more aimless than the structured dance around them. To the crowd, it might still look like elegance, but between them it was something else entirely.

For the next few seconds, Lancelot let himself pretend. Pretend that nothing evil had happened. That Camelot had never fallen. That Arthur hadn’t been corrupted or slain by his own blade. That the hedgehog in his arms wasn’t a stranger wearing a ghost’s body, but simply… a friend again. His eyes burned, though no tears fell. He would not allow that here, in this hall, under Ruthra’s watch, but the ache hollowed him all the same.

Sonic, startled at first, gradually relaxed into it. He could feel it… the wild thundering of Lancelot’s heart, so at odds with the knight’s rigid control. The rhythm of his breath was even out of place.

So… carefully, cautiously, Sonic wrapped his arms around him in return, tilting his head just enough to murmur against his shoulder. “…It’s okay.”

The words were quiet and simple, yet to Lancelot, they only made him all the more confused because Arthur had never said things like that. Not in those final years. Not when shadows had consumed him. Comfort had become a thing of the past that was unspoken, abandoned, and here he was… someone with his king’s face but not his king’s words, not his mannerisms… comforting him.

It almost made Lancelot break, but then the orchestra shifted.

The first few notes fell into place like snowflakes that were delicate yet haunting. A melody unfurled across the ballroom, soft as breath, then blooming into something vast and old, something that made the very air quiver.

Sonic’s chest constricted, breath catching as if invisible fingers had gripped his lungs. He didn’t know this song. He couldn’t know this song, but it was as if his heart did… or no… maybe his…?

♫ Once upon a Memory ♫

Merlynne’s melodic tune rose above the orchestra as she stepped forward from the back of the dais. Her hand lifted lightly, and her eyes half-lidded as she continued to sing.

♫ Dancing bears, painted wings—
Things you almost remember… ♫

Sonic stumbled after the next verse, and he felt each word weave its way into his mind, stitching something shut or perhaps tearing it open. Lancelot noticed and tightened his grip, guiding him back into the rhythm. “What is wrong?”

 “N-nothing. Just—” Sonic bit off a hiss as the next verse clawed through him.

♫ And a song someone sings,
You have to remember… ♫

He saw firelight, laughter, friends that were pink, red, and yellow, their voices called to him… but he couldn’t hear them, as if they were locked somewhere inside of him and wouldn’t come out.

Lancelot’s worry only grew, and their dancing was seamless to anyone watching, but his hand shifted from Sonic’s back to his waist, supporting him. “Do not lie to me. What is it? Why are you shaking?”

“I—” Sonic gasped, clutching his head for half a beat before forcing himself to keep moving. “I don’t know. I don’t—” The melody pressed harder, each lyric sliding beneath his ribs.

♫ Someone holds you safe and warm,
Horses prance through a silver storm ♫

Sonic swayed harder now, and Lancelot cursed under his breath, pulling him even closer than before, chest to chest now, guiding him through the steps so no one else would notice his faltering.

♫ Far away, long ago,
Glowing dim as an ember…
Things your heart used to know,
Things it yearns to remember…

And a song someone sings... Once upon a Memory ♫

The song was over, and that is when he heard it.

Sonic.

The name rang so clear his whole body trembled. It was his name.

Sonic’s breath shattered because Arthur’s presence, that weight that had been coiled inside of him, the headache, the grief… ripped away. It tore loose like a tide receding, dragged back into a sea far away from here. Sonic gasped as the absence yawned open in his chest, all of a sudden.

Now that the song was over, people were beginning to disperse. This was their chance.

“Come with me.” Lancelot’s grip tightened around him, and without waiting for protest, he steered Sonic away from the ballroom. Their steps blended seamlessly with the other dancers until Lancelot pulled him into a side corridor.

Sonic staggered, clutching at his own arms. “What the hell is happening to me?”

Lancelot couldn’t believe what he saw next.

The “king’s” frame shrank, and the long coat suddenly became too big around his shoulders. His quills shortened while his fur brightened into a cobalt that was much more vivid compared to the royal blue he had had since birth. His mask tilted, slipping down just slightly over his smaller face.

Sonic looked down at his own hands, eyes wide, and when he caught a mirror in the corridor, that was when he saw it. His eyes were not purple, not silver, not even the emerald Arthur held before his corruption, but a bright green.  

Lancelot’s eyes widened behind the mask. “You… you” His words cracked from disbelief. “…You were right.”

Sonic looked up at him, dazed, green eyes glowing like stars as they reformed into their truest color and shape.

“You’re not Arthur,” Lancelot whispered. “You’re somebody else.”

Chapter Text

For a moment, the corridor held its breath.

Lancelot's hand was still braced around the forearm he'd dragged, but he uncurled it slightly, as if any pressure might shatter what stood before him. He couldn't believe what he just witnessed.

Sonic stared at the tall mirror and touched his own face like he was just as bewildered. "That's... really me? Wait... I-I remember... my name. My name is Sonic." He tried to recollect more from his mind, but considering everything that had happened, his whole body felt like it had undergone some attack. He moved the arm that Lancelot wasn't holding onto to move his mask that had tilted down and raised it to settle over his forehead. "Man... my head hurts."

Lancelot's chest tightened even more at now seeing his face fully, but it also twisted into a ball around a hurt that had no clean name. He saw the precise ways his "king's body" didn't fit the ghost he'd been practically distrusting and even hurting since he awoke. This... hedgehog was nearly a head shorter, small enough that the top of Sonic's head would tuck neatly under his chin if Lancelot tilted down. His hands seemed smaller, and his whole body had a different center of balance. He already had different mannerisms, but looking the way he did now. Brighter in every way from his eyes to his fur... he had none of Arthur's cold gravity.

Sonic turned from the mirror with a small grin because the ache in his head subsided to one of some relief because he finally remembered more... his name and even other memories were resurfacing. But then he looked up, and literally had to look up at Lancelot and his smile wavered. "Hey. So, uh... I don't like that you're taller than me."

Lancelot blinked down at him. Those words were not what he was expecting at all, especially right now considering... well, everything.  "Pardon?"

"I was taller five minutes ago," Sonic muttered, gesturing at himself, and even... did a small pout. "Now I'm like so much smaller than you! This feels like some weird medieval discrimination."

That pout did the smallest, most treacherous warmth tug under Lancelot's sternum. His ears heated before he strangled the feeling down because he found the blue hedgehog... endear-

Gaia no... that word was not a sane thought to have. Not here. Not now. Not when his last hour had been a battlefield made of memories. Lancelot finally looked away from him and was grateful to have his mask still on, which covered the surprise on his face. "Yes you do appear... smaller."

"Wow. Thank you for your observation, dumb knight," Sonic deadpanned.

Lancelot turned back to glare at him from the insult, but all he found was guilt in the way cold finds metal because again what he witnessed meant... every harsh word, every closed fist at a collar. The way he'd spoken to a stranger and poured years of grief over a face that had only borrowed a shape...? If Sonic wasn't Arthur and he clearly, irrefutably wasn't, then Lancelot had been cruel to someone who did not deserve it.

"I..." The knight's voice roughened because he felt he should say something... for his actions, for never believing, but apologies didn't live easily in his throat.

And before he could utter another word, applause from the grand hall made them both turn at the noise. Trumpets blared, and they could hear a rush of silks and boots, which they assumed were nobles congratulating Ruthra on becoming the new king of Camelot. The noise ruined their moment.

Sonic's ears tipped back with irritation. "Can't believe those idiots can't see Ruthra is bad news. I was barely in there and could smell the bullshit going on."

Lancelot's attention snapped to the absence of his knights. He counted without moving his lips. Percival. Galahad. Gawain. None of them were in the corridor or the main hall, and his spine went straight. "The other knights... should have returned to us by now."

Sonic's mouth flattened. "Do you think they got in trouble—"

"I am not sure but we do not have time to think, so cover your face." He realigned his hand to catch Sonic's wrist. "Let us go find them."

Sonic looked at his hand on his wrist briefly, and though he wanted to pull back, he didn't and readjusted his mask to go back over his face. "Yea yea. Right behind you."

They moved and skimmed the ballroom's edge trying to look like they belonged. Lancelot knew the castle well and checked all of the exits and corridors into guest chambers and studies, but everywhere they went turned up empty. They were about to go into a smaller hall, but could hear noise from where a group of nobles who must have gathered to gossip.

Sonic kept up easily and noted the nobles, and had an idea. "Left," He tipped his chin at a service passage. "Less eyes."

They slid into dim light that smelled of wine casks and beeswax. Lancelot checked for any battle marks from the knights powers or daggers but there were none. He pressed his palm to the stone. It hummed, faintly, and it was with the kind of magic that didn't like being looked at.

"Hold," he said, and Sonic did, steps going quiet behind him.

A servant came into view at the far turn, tray hissing with hot cups. She saw their masks, bobbed a reverent little curtsy, and hurried past. Lancelot's hand hovered at Arondight's hilt (because though the other knights chose to come to the ball with daggers, Lancelot refused to part with his sword... he just used a different scabbard) before he reined himself back in.

"What do you sense?" Sonic breathed, watching him and the way his hand wouldn't leave his sword's handle.

"There is an odd magic at play here," Lancelot answered, already planning three routes and a fourth he would break open with his power if he had to.

"What if magic is how they were taken? Your knights wouldn't just... not come back."

"No." Lancelot's jaw flexed at the truth of his words. "They wouldn't."

At the next junction, Lancelot stopped dead. He crouched, fingertips brushing a seam in the floor. There was a violet ash that glittered in the crack like ground amethyst.

Sonic knelt too, close enough that his shoulder bumped Lancelot's. "That has to be magic right?"

"Yes. It is the same magical color... of Arthur's magic," Lancelot answered and the king's name tasted bitter. "There was something sealed here recently."

"Hmm, missing knights and weird magic? It has to be them, and that means they're pissed but alive."

Lancelot's breath ghosted out with a sigh but before he could explore the seam further there were footsteps. They were not the steps of mere servants, nor did they have the elegance of nobles. The cadence was off, with heels too crisp, as if the weight was used to distributing for fighting. Lancelot shoved Sonic behind him, giving no space for protest, and tipped his head as a guard in dark raven armor stepped into the hall.

"Gentlemen," he drawled, looking over Lancelot's dark, masked face and Sonic's oddly large coat, taking in every stitch of fabric as if reading between threads. "This is a private corridor. You two should not be here."

"We were looking for wine," Lancelot replied with an effortless aristocratic boredom, and it was the type nobles used when danger was beneath their notice. "Your corridors are quite the labyrinth."

Behind his back, his hand never left Sonic's wrist, and his thumb circled once, grounding Sonic with a grip that said do not run, or breathe wrong. Sonic swallowed hard, forcing his pulse to quiet.

The guard's eyes never left Lancelot's slightly hidden ones. "You both need to leave this area but first..." He shifted his weight, and stepped closer... not towards Lancelot, but to Sonic.

He was still a few steps away, but Sonic noticed his stare and froze like prey caught in a hunter's web. The guard's eyes traced the curve of Sonic's half concealed face, the exposed quills, the height difference between them. Sonic could practically feel the man cataloguing him.

"Ah, yes, you do seem... familiar, different, but still... like him."

Sonic swallowed, stiffening. "Uh... I've got one of those faces you see everywhere—"

"No," the guard said. "Not everywhere. Just—" His looked at Sonic's eyes which were not hidden like Lancelot's. They were fully revealed and a bright green. They were not purple like the previous king, but they were also no longer silver.

That was when Lancelot realized it and went still because the disguise ring Nimue gave them was supposed to wash out his coloring, but now the illusion wasn't holding.

Lancelot's hand tightened around Sonic's wrist and he got in between them because the guard had gotten too close for his liking.

Sonic looked down at his own fur and finally at the ring on his finger. The band glimmered weakly, the shimmer of illusion like a candle losing flame. "Damn it..." Sonic hissed under his breath towards Lancelot. "That woman's magic must have interfered with Nimue's."

More footsteps approached, and it made Sonic's heart drop. Two more guards entered the far end of the corridor and they were taller too. "For Chaos' sake... was everyone in Camelot built like a damn tree?" Sonic whispered aloud and shrank back instinctively, but the guard that the knight was blocking reached out slightly, and that was it.

That was as far as he was going to get.

Lancelot moved in the kind of reflex that he always had before, protecting someone long before thought could interfere. Arondight flashed from its scabbard with a whisper of steel and punished the guard's curiosity before his hand even fully lifted.

The strike was clean, and efficient, cutting the guard's hand off and slicing into his chest. The guard collapsed before his brain understood what had happened.

That, of course, set off the other guards, who immediately lunged.

Sonic let out a growl and scrambled backward as the other two guards drew their blades with a purpose to end them. But Lancelot was already there, and his body was shifting between Sonic and danger. He remained a wall of fury from their audacity. His blade met theirs with a ringing clash. In two fluid motions that were elegantly horrifying, Lancelot disarmed and dropped them both.

They hit the floor with dull thuds easily handled, and dispatched. Lancelot straightened, posture still defensive, in case someone else dared to come close.

Sonic exhaled shakily, adrenaline still clawing up his throat. He wasn't sure what to think. He recalled the time he saw Lancelot kill those men who tried to hurt him back at Elysias keep. He was horrified to see Lancelot so cold and grim when he killed them so easily. He didn't know much back then, but with his memories still resurfacing, it seems his instincts were right back then.

Sonic wasn't a killer... he defeated foes, but he never killed anyone. Yet right now, seeing Lancelot defend him... again. There was less fear and dread, and if anything, he felt... a warmth from it? He shook his head. "You didn't have to—"

"I did." Lancelot didn't look at him. "One more second and he would have recognized you. He saw your eyes, and if I let them go, they would have alerted Ruthra."

Sonic opened his mouth to say more, but he didn't because, despite all sense of morale and values, he knew the knight was right. This place... this world handled foes differently.

Their breathing was the only sound between them. Sonic's was fast and uneven, while Lancelot's was determined. Sonic forced his hand out of his grip and walked back over to the seam.

Lancelot followed and, once there, crouched towards the seam and noted it went from the floor to a wall. He had a feeling Percival, Galahad, Gawain... were somewhere beyond this wall, beyond the violet shimmer. Lancelot pressed his palm to the crack again, sensing the sealed magic with the focus of a man who had mastered every battlefield but was worried about losing this one.

It was a risky move, but he had to try. He condensed some of his chaos energy and forced it into the wall, making it crack.

Sonic saw the energy and immediately realized how familiar it was.  "You have chaos energy...? Just like—"

That was when a snakelike voice poured into the corridor. "Misplaced something?"

Sonic felt his blood chill as the corridor behind them darkened, not because the torches dimmed, but because every shadow suddenly seemed to stretch toward them. Lancelot rose to his full height, positioning himself against the approaching presence, blade lifting with lethal promise.

Myrddin stepped into view and Lancelot realized he never even heard his footsteps. It was like he didn't walk to them... he just arrived as if the hallway folded itself open to place him there. Violet sigils crawled lazily along his sleeve with a power that was bored with waiting. His smile was a thin, elegant wound.

"You're awfully far from the dance floor," Myrddin murmured, eyes sliding from Lancelot... to Sonic. "Especially you."

Sonic's stomach dropped as Myrddin's gaze honed on every detail, recognizing the very thing the guard had earlier killed. "How interesting. It seems as if the king has somehow returned to me. Yet... he seems awfully different."

Lancelot didn't say a word, and his body moved on instinct older than thought or fear. He blurred right to him, and his blade found Myrddin's throat in less than a second.

"You." The word came out like an accusation sharpened by years.

Myrddin raised a brow. "Is this how you greet someone of royalty?"

"You are no royal being. You're the one who corrupted our king, aren't you?" Lancelot hissed. The sword pressed harder against skin and a bead of blood welled instantly.

Myrddin smiled like this was all entertainment. "Corrupted? Oh, foolish knight. I merely revealed what was already there in your precious king."

Lancelot growled then slammed him into a stone wall and the impact cracked it, making dust raining down around them. Sonic was still further away but flinched at the shockwave.

"So you admit it... You twisted him," Lancelot snarled shaking with fury he hadn't stopped feeling for years. "It was you who whispered into his mind. You poisoned him until he couldn't tell real from nightmare."

"I made him quite powerful didn't I?" Myrddin mocked, the words slipping out of his mouth with cruelty. "He killed so many... he burned his own kingdom to ash and you... his knight, his closest confidant, defended his actions for so many years and aided in his fall."

Lancelot didn't blink because it was finally confirmed. His suspicion, his worries, his agony over it all. He never could figure out why Arthur had changed, why he couldn't stop himself. Lancelot tried to bring him back from the corruption, tried to reason with him... but he let himself be commanded, he... didn't just fail Camelot, he...

Myrddin leaned forward, lips nearly brushing the edge of Lancelot's mask. "You failed him."

Arondight trembled and not from weakness, but because rage-full chaos energy poured off Lancelot so intensely that Sonic could feel it against him despite not being close to him. It was like standing too close to a burning forge. Lancelot pulled back his blade and was about to give a finishing blow when Myrddin became a violent smoke and left his grasp. He reappaeared at the other end of the hall.

"You are the reason I had to kill him." Lancelot growled at him.

Myrddin's smile widened, predatory and delighted. "And doesn't that haunt you? Your king died by your hand. You ended the very man you swore to protect with your life and here you are... about to lose more."

Lancelot ears twitched at what he meant and rushed towards him and dragged the blade down, slicing him across the shoulder as he was too fast for Myrddin to do another teleport. The impact forced him onto his knees. "Where are they?"

Myrddin laughed softly. "Ah. So now you recall your precious knights."

Lancelot pressed the blade harder into his shoulder. "Tell me now!"

Myrddin raised one lazy hand and snapped his fingers.

The hallway tore open and violet magic coiled outward, forming a cube of crackling light. Inside, terrified, trapped, and struggling against the walls with decreasing oxygen, Percival, Gawain, and Galahad slammed their palms against the barrier. It was already shrinking, closing in inch by inch.

"Don't you worry," Myrddin purred evilly. "You can watch them die first."

Lancelot's heart fell slightly. He had lost Arthur already... He could not lose them too.

Sonic saw the knights' state and, in a flash, was at the shrinking cube, fists slamming against it with all the force of someone who only knew how to save people. Violet magic rippled under his hands like water trapped under glass, heat biting into his gloves, singeing them off and burning his hands and paw pads. "Shit! That magic really hurts."

Inside the cube, Percival was gasping, her breath fogging the tiny space. Gawain had one arm braced against the wall, trying to keep it from closing. Galahad's eyes were glassy, and unfocused. Sonic could see the marks on the inside of the cube and their daggers were on the floor. They must have been fighting the spell for a while.

"Hey—HEY! Hold on, I've got you!" Sonic yelled, fingers searching for a seam, a weakness, anything. He shoved harder, letting instinct take over, letting panic sink claws into his ribs. He tried brute force, whether it was kicking, or slamming his shoulder into it, but nothing happened only the magic retaliating and biting him every time he attempted. "Come on. Come on, OPEN!"

Then he recalled what he knew he could do, seeing Lancelot use it. He had his own chaos energy. He could feel it somewhere inside him. Something that had been messed up from being in a corrupted body. He closed his eyes, tried to pull it forward the way he always had—focus, breath, let the energy coil in his core and deliver. Blue lightning tingled down his arms, blue fur and fabric buzzing with that familiar hum, but nothing.

The energy sputtered and flatlined into silence. "What the—?!" Sonic stumbled back, staring at his hands in confusion. "No, no, no, that's not— I can do this. I always could." He tried again, and his chaos energy refused to answer.

Behind him, steel rang against spells. Using the knights as a distraction, Myrddin had healed himself, and he and Lancelot were still fighting.

Lancelot launched forward, blade sweeping at Myrddin in vicious arcs, every movement furious and precise. Arondight slipped through the air, leaving striking sparks behind on the corridor walls. Myrddin batted each blow aside with sharp flicks of violet magic, his expression infuriatingly composed, like this was merely a dance he'd already choreographed.

"You are wasting time," Myrddin taunted with amusement. "They'll be crushed before your next breath."

"Then I'll make it my last," Lancelot growled, pushing Arondight at his throat, cutting him further, and that made Myrddin twist, and knowing he could be in trouble with the knight's rage and speed, he conjured sigils on the stone floor.

Two towering shapes stepped out of the magical sigil. They were guardians of corrupted magic, carved from shadow and armor. They looked like nightmares, cut tall, geometric, mask-like faces marked with ancient symbols, limbs ending in sharp, bladed edges. Their bodies moved with disjointed, uncanny weightlessness, as if gravity bent for them alone.

They turned toward Sonic. "Oh. Cool, now I have to fight weird evil origami."

The first guardian went for a strike and Sonic dodged, barely, flipping into a slide beneath its slash. He felt the wind of its arm graze over him close enough that if he'd miscalculated by a hair, it would've taken his head off. He twisted, grabbed the wall, ricocheted off, and dropkicked the creature's spine. It staggered but didn't fall.

Behind him, Lancelot cursed under his breath, because he wanted to continue on Myrddin and kill the bastard outright... but everything else was keeping him from killing the monster. Lancelot's instincts screamed to protect, to intercept every threat before it reached Sonic, but his thoughts also reminded him the cube was still shrinking.

"Lancelot," Sonic shouted, flipping backward to avoid the second guardian's sweeping strike, "I can handle the geometry goons!"

"You said you don't kill—"

"I don't kill real things! These guys aren't even alive...! I got this okay!"

The first guardian lunged again, faster this time, blade-arms cutting a brutal arc. Sonic ducked and then surged forward, feeling the old rhythm of speed settle into his muscles. He darted up the guard's arm, leapt toward its face, and slammed his heel into the center sigil. Cracks spidered across its mask. The guardian convulsed, then shattered like glass bursting into a thousand raven shards.

The second guardian wasn't going to let him have a chance. It let out a metallic shrill-like noise and brought a blade-arm toward Sonic's back, a strike meant to stab straight through his spine. Sonic turned just in time to see death reflected in the polished plating and his muscles locked, bracing for the impact.

But Lancelot was already there. He abandoned Myrddin without hesitation after pinning the sorcerer against the stone with his hidden dagger.

Time didn't slow because Lancelot outran it, and with a single perfect arc, his blade met cursed metal with a shudder that shook the torches on the walls. Lancelot cut straight through the guardian's torso, severing its core in a blow so precise Sonic barely registered the movement before the creature detonated in a rain of shards like the first one did.

Sonic hit the floor hard, breath punching from his lungs, palms sliding on the floor. He looked up at the knight standing above him, sword still humming with residual red and black power. Lancelot's chest rose and fell slowly, controlled despite his body singing with anger. His face was angled toward Sonic like he needed to confirm that he was still breathing.

Only when he saw Sonic push himself up onto his palms did Lancelot turn back toward Myrddin.

Sonic stared at the Arondight and with what he saw earlier... something in his mind clicked. The way the blade hummed and the faint crackle of energy still dancing along its edge. The way Lancelot had moved with it like it was part of his pulse... and that was when the idea slammed into him.

"Wait." Sonic forced himself to stand. "Lancelot... your sword. Can your sword feed on your chaos energy?"

Lancelot looked back at him warily. "How did you know that?"

Sonic ran his thumb over his palm, feeling the slight spark of his own chaos power tingling along his hand. "Because I watched you fight. When you pinned him. When you cut them down. You weren't just swinging, it looked like you were channeling. So your sword gets stronger when you feed energy through it, right?"

"Yes. It can amplify whatever power I channel."

"Perfect." Sonic's grin came with a reckless confidence. "Then we combine it. You push your chaos into the sword and I'll push mine through you. We overload the cube and break it from the outside."

Lancelot stared at him. "You attempted to use your chaos earlier and it sputtered."

Sonic didn't flinch. "I know, but I swear I can feel it now. I've got this."

There was no debate because there wasn't time for one. The cube was shrinking faster now, its walls pressing in. Inside, their knights were on their knees, shoulders curling inward as the air thinned.

They both slid across the marble floors with Sonic and Lancelot taking one side of the cube. Lancelot pointed Arondight and braced it near the violet surface.

Sonic pressed both hands to the knight's back. "Ready?" 

"Yes." Lancelot nodded.

With that, chaos ignited. Red and black energy poured from Lancelot's hands, blue from Sonic's, and the energy collided where they met. Power surged down Arondight, the blade vibrating with an energy akin to that of lightning. Then, with a grunt from Lancelot, a beam of the three colors shot out and hit the cube.

Immediately, there were hairline fractures cracking through the violet surface. It wasn't quite enough so Sonic pushed harder forcing his chaos energy out in a stronger pulse. He could actually feel Lancelot's chaos energy pulsing beneath his palms and Sonic again sent another surge of light so strong he could see it wrap around Lancelot's body like a tether. Their energies weren't identical but they recognized each other.

Together, they expanded, and the chaos exploded into a grander beam. The blinding light swallowed the cube, and after a few more seconds, it shattered.

A violet mist erupted in a cascade of fractured magic, dissipating into smoke. Percival collapsed forward, catching herself on her palms and dragging in a rasping breath that sounded like she'd been drowning. Galahad wheezed, coughing violently while Gawain fell onto his side and sucked air into starving lungs.

The knights were free.

Sonic dropped to his knees from the sheer force he willed out of his body. His body hadn't been able to do that for so long, and after defeating the guardians and then using so much chaos energy to aid the knight, his body was buzzing with numbness. His vision blurred around the edges and static filled his skull.

Next from him, Lancelot staggered, catching himself with Arondight's hilt driven into the floor. That was something he had never done before but still they did it. They saved them.

Myrddin's expression fractured finally because now he was pissed. Lancelot was not only a different beast from what he remembered before, but this new... blue hedgehog was going to be a problem. One he didn't have time for.

"You—" Myrddin hissed, sounding serrated, and his eyes locked onto Sonic's body, and he rose with a strain. "There was a reason I corrupted that damn king..." Immediately after his words, there was a whip of violet magic that snapped from his palm, wrapping around Sonic's throat.

Sonic choked, feet leaving the floor as he was dragged upward, the whip dug into his blue fur and burning into his skin. Lancelot's eyes widened, and without a second wasted, he flung Arondight, making it slice the whip, severing the magic, and Sonic gasped for air as he fell but Lancelot caught him.

Myrddin's rage only grew, so he formed a new sigil, and with it, a ball of magic formed, and he drove it straight toward Sonic.

Lancelot saw the incoming attack and despite not having enough time to move himself he dropped Sonic, and that meant... the sigil slammed into his chest, and too close to his heart.

The impact was so grand he coughed up blood instantly, and it forced him onto one knee.

"Lance?" Sonic saw the wound, saw the way Lancelot's fingers shook as he tried to stay upright, and something primal detonated inside him.

Sonic became motion with pure velocity and fury. He forced himself up and with all the remaining strength he had left he spin-dashed without conscious thought. He slammed his entire weight into Myrddin with enough force to send the sorcerer crashing into the far wall. The force made the stone crack and Myrddin slumped, unconscious or close to it.

Sonic panted then skidded to a stop beside Lancelot, catching him before he collapsed fully. "You idiot! Why did you take the hit!!"

Lancelot's eyes fluttered through the concealed mask but his pain stilled shined through it. "Because you're..." He couldn't finish the sentence and sagged in Sonic's arms, the weight sudden and terrifying. Sonic had to brace his legs to keep them both upright. Blood smeared across the pale floor in a dark, wet arc, soaking along the edge of Lancelot's chest where the sigil had struck.

Sonic felt his heart ram itself against his ribs. The adrenaline that had fueled the spin dash drained all at once, leaving only cold horror behind.

"Lance... hey. Hey, stay with me." Sonic whispered shakily. His palms pressed against the dark fabric, searching for purchase, for pressure, for something he could fix. "Come on, you damn knight... Don't you die on me. You can hold yourself up can't you?"

But Lancelot couldn't and because of that he slumped further and made both of them fall to the floor.

"Ouch!" Sonic whined and fixed their position so Lancelot was laying on the floor and Sonic held his head up slightly with one arm.

The knight's head tipped away from Sonic as though even weakened, he refused to let anyone see him unguarded. Gawain staggered forward first, still coughing as if the air in his lungs was smoke instead of oxygen.

"What happened—" Gawain froze when he saw the blood. "Lancelot..."

Percival was already storming toward the crumpled form of Myrddin, her dagger drawn with murder in every line of her shoulders. "I'll end it. I'll end him now."

"Percival, wait—" Galahad tried, but she was already moving like a bullet, a thin snarl ripping from her throat. Her dagger arced downward and before she could hit flesh she plunged through smoke.

Myrddin's body dissolved, unraveling into a dark violet haze that retreated into the cracks of the stone. His laughter was pained form the injuries but it still echoed, disembodied and triumphant, sounding rotten. "Did you think you could kill me that easily? I have survived kings." And then his presence vanished.

Percival stood panting, dagger shaking in her grip, her fury leaking into her voice. "Coward ran away when the battle became one he feared."

Galahad put a hand on her shoulder. She didn't shrug him off, but her eyes burned like embers because she was far from being done.

Sonic didn't even look up. His focus was singular on the knight's breathing, which was too shallow. Sonic's hands hovered over his heart, pressing hard to stop the bleeding. "Your still awake aren't you?? Answer me! Why would you do that? We barely even get along?! I don't understand..."

Lancelot barely awake shifted a fraction toward Sonic's voice. "Because I... always protect my king."

"I'm NOT your—" Sonic's words broke off when Lancelot finally fell unconscious. "Wait no... Lance! Damn it, wake up!"

But he didn't and finally Gawain reached them and touched Lancelot's neck. "He isn't dead, but he is hurt and unconscious. Keep pressure on the wound for now."

Sonic's lip trembled, staring at Lancelot on the floor. He didn't understand anything. He had always been rude to him, hated him... well, hated him because he thought he was the king... but then he said he always protected his king...? But that only made for more questions... because Sonic was not his king!? He wasn't Arthur yet, Lancelot made it seem like he was still worthy enough to bleed for.

Sonic wasn't sure his heart could take the contradiction.

Before his thoughts could spiral more, the torches all flickered at once, and every flame turned into a white one. Wind whooshed downward from nowhere, making Sonic's coat flare behind him. The knights instantly drew their weapons, repositioning around Sonic without needing to speak.

A figure stepped from the corridor as though peeled from the darkness itself with silk-white robes and lavender hair spilling like riverlight. It was Merlynne. "You remember more now, correct?"

Sonic's breath caught, remembering one of the first memories he had when he awoke in the room chained up at Elysia's keep. "It was you... You were the person who brought me here."

"Yes... Your soul was untethered, unattached, and I anchored it to what remained of Arthur's vessel."

Gawain bristled as he recollected Lancelot’s sword he had thrown earlier. "You what—?"

But she wasn't looking at anyone except Sonic. Her gaze dropped to the blood soaking through Sonic's hands on the knight's chest. "He bleeds for you without hesitation. Do not waste that gift."

Sonic's throat tightened. "What is that even supposed to mean? He shouldn't have gotten hurt... because of me... it's my fault."

She reached forward, fingertips brushing near Lancelot's wound. She let out a soft lavender magic that slowed the bleeding greatly, but did not close the wound. "He needs rest, so you must leave this place. Ruthra's eyes will turn here soon, and Myrddin does not let loose ends live long."

"No argument there," Percival growled.

Sonic stood carefully, adjusting his hold beneath Lancelot's shoulders, bracing his weight. The knight was heavier than he looked, and Gawain took the other side to help him.

Merlynne found Sonic's eyes through the mask, seeing right past it. "After he is healed, go to the Highlands."

Sonic looked at her, confused. "The Highlands? Where is that? And why?"

"Your knights should know where, and you must go because there is someone who can aid you. Someone who will come to understand your arrival."

"What?! Who?" Sonic demanded, annoyed that the mage was being so vague.

Merlynne stepped back, and her eyes softened, taking on a somber expression. "You will find out soon enough. I can't say more for I must go deal with... repercussions."

Without another word, she was gone, leaving the smell of light magic and a knight bleeding in their arms.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

They fled Camelot under a silence so heavy it felt like a punishment.

Sonic kept one arm wrapped around Lancelot's waist, practically dragging him through the servant passage.  Lancelot's body was limp against him, and every stumble made Sonic's stomach free-fall. The fabric of Lancelot's black formal coat was soaked through where blood had spread beneath. Gawain supported Lancelot on the other side, shock still written across his face, while Percival and Galahad moved ahead to clear the path.

The distant echo of coronation trumpets mocked their urgency.

They burst out into the courtyard, racing for where they'd hidden the horses behind the tree line. Sonic wasn't sure what to feel with his revelation, body changing, or whatever Merlynne meant, because he could only feel the heat of Lancelot's body fading against him and the cold terror replacing it.

They reached the horses, which were thankfully still tied exactly where the knights had left them before infiltrating the masquerade in their borrowed attire. Their boots scraped dirt, and their hands shook as they mounted.

Gawain swung up first, turned, and reached down. "Give him to me."

Sonic paused because some part of him refused to let go.

But then he guided Lancelot up into Gawain's arms, and Gawain pulled the knight against his chest with a gentleness that broke Sonic's heart further. Lancelot's head tipped forward, and his jaw was slack in unconsciousness.

Sonic's hands wouldn't stop trembling.

"You're shaking," Percival said softly. "Go ride with Galahad."

Only then did Sonic realize his fingers were curled so hard he forced them to relax, then hesitantly let Galahad haul him up onto his horse without waiting.

Percival mounted her own. "Let's go."

They kicked off as one.

Night swallowed them instantly, the wind tearing at Sonic's quills and stinging his eyes until tears slipped free, cold on his cheeks. The horses cut through the dark underbrush, hooves pounding over roots and dirt. The masquerade clothes, which were so elegant hours ago, were soaked with sweat and blood and torn by branches.

Behind them, Camelot shrank into a distant crown of gold and torchlight.

Sonic clung to the saddle horn at the sides, and his chest pressed against Galahad's beck. The cold air burned his lungs, but he couldn't tell if it was the ride or the worry of everything that made his chest ache.

♡༺ ───✦🤍✦ ─── ༻♡

They reached the land of Misty Lake just before dawn.

The world there felt mysterious, an expanse of still, black water wrapped in a clutch of silver fog.

There they found a small hunting cabin hunched at the shoreline, swallowed by ivy and years. It looked forgotten, which was perfect. It was a place where they could hide and no one would ever know.

Gawain slipped off his horse and gathered Lancelot with one arm under his legs, and the other behind his back. Sonic climbed down on shaky legs. His hands wouldn't stop curling and uncurling as if they hadn't gotten the message that Lancelot wasn't in them anymore.

He also couldn't help his traitorous, anxiety-filled thoughts. I did this. If I had moved faster. If I hadn't been so weak after using my chaos energy. If I could control it better. He wouldn't be hurt like this.

The cabin door groaned when Gawain shouldered it open. Inside was sparse with a cot, a worn desk, and an old hearth that hadn't seen flame in months maybe years. Gawain laid Lancelot on the bed and the mattress sagged under the added weight.

Sonic hovered near the doorway, unable to cross the threshold and he kept flexing his fingers.

Percival knelt at the bedside, already rolling up her sleeves. Her stolen satchel hit the floor with a soft thump, jars clattering inside and the moonlight made her face look fierce, carved from resolve and rage. "I snatched ointment and salves from the apothecary before that bastard spotted us. Sage poultice, mandrake resin salve. Between that and Lancelot's chaos energy... it should be enough."

She started fixing the wound with deft, practiced hands.

Galahad struck a match, lighting an old oil lamp and warm golden light spilled over Lancelot's body, revealing how pale he'd gone beneath fur. The elegant formal shirt he wore was slick with blood, and Percival had to cut and remove it.

Gawain turned away to clean his dagger, shoulders rigid while Sonic stayed where he was... like getting closer would make the truth real.

When Percival finally leaned back and finished tending to the knight, she glanced at Sonic with a sigh. "We can see it now."

Sonic blinked at her. "See what?"

"That you were telling us the truth. Your mannerisms. Your speech. Now your appearance and even your chaos energy feels different. You are not... King Arthur."

Galahad nodded, gesturing at Sonic's body, noting the shorter stature, the brighter blue fur, the green eyes that had replaced illusory gray. "I suspected before but now there is no doubt."

Gawain grunted without looking away from the dagger he cleaned on his torn noble coat. "Magic is a headache."

Sonic swallowed with unease. "Yeah... I finally remembered that my name is Sonic. I woke up in your king's body, and though my memories are hazy, I know I am not from here. I think. I died back in my world." His throat bobbed. "Merlynne... she confirmed she pulled me here and shoved me into his body."

Percival studied him, and whatever remained of hostility vanished. "Then you deserve rest."

Galahad took some worn blankets from a storage chest near the wall and spread them near the unlit hearth. Gawain positioned himself at the doorway, his twin swords back with him and angled across his hips, taking first watch.

Sonic stared at Lancelot's still form and saw that Percival had cleaned most of the blood. Still, the rise and fall of his chest was too shallow to bring real comfort. "Percival, why don't you rest with Galahad. Let me take care of him."

She searched his face and saw the guilt eating him alive, the sincerity behind the request. She stood slowly, pressing the last of the sage poultice into place. "Do not disturb the wound," she said, trusting him at the moment because that was her apology.

"I won't."

One by one, the cabin settled. Percival and Galahad curled on top of the blankets while Gawain sat unmoving at the door.

Sonic removed his mask and set it aside. He looked back at and saw Lancelot's formal shirt was open at the chest where Percival had tended the wound. White fur spread over his sternum, then streaks of crimson and black along his inner arms.

With everyone else away, reality melted away until it felt like it was just the two of them.

Sonic sank onto the edge of the bed. He leaned in, elbow braced against the mattress. Somehow, without deciding to, he let his chin rest atop Lancelot's forearm. He could feel the faint tremor beneath his fur, and the sluggish pulse fighting to steady itself.

He shouldn't be this close. It was ridiculous and improper. They weren't friends and barely even allies. But nothing about this situation had ever followed logic or rules. Sonic had been yanked into a world that wasn't his, dropped into a role that wasn't his, and now here he was... hovering over the one knight who had hated him since he arrived.

Yet Lancelot bled for him, and that did something to Sonic's chest. It was something messy and painful, but mostly something he didn't understand.

He let his eyes move upward—to the dark mask still obscuring Lancelot's face. He gave a quiet sigh. Lancelot had always hidden his face... and that had irritated Sonic since the moment they met. He was always hiding, always distant. Sonic's hand rose, hesitating inches from Lancelot's cheek.

He had always wondered what he looked like behind his helm. He remembered the first moment they met waking in Arthur's body, confused, terrified, and Lancelot had slammed him into the forest floor, blade pinning him, as he demanded a name Sonic didn't even remember.

That moment should've cemented hatred, but instead, it became... a beginning.

So much had happened since then, so many confusing actions, and then today... Lancelot protected him numerous times, and that only made Sonic's curiosity burn.

Chaos, he wanted to see his face so badly... just once, without the walls.

He raised a hand and hesitated. He gave one last glance at Gawain, who was still on watch, and noted Galahad and Percival were sleeping next to one another. He looked back at the knight and didn't want to waste another second. He grabbed the mask and moved it aside. He wasn't sure what to expect but it surely wasn't this...

Sonic forgot how to breathe. He could see his dark muzzle fully now, his lips, which were the only thing he ever saw before, were parted in shallow breaths, but now he could see the knight's face was framed by dark charcoal fur. His lashes were dark and long, brushing his cheeks. Sonic noted that he had a terrible scar on his left eye, but that didn't detract from his attractiveness.

Lancelot, was not just handsome but so… beautiful.

He wasn't scowling or glaring or holding the weight of Camelot on his back. He looked almost breakable... Sonic's heart raced with an uncertainty. It felt like something inside him was aching in a different way than the guilt from earlier.

His hand moved on its own, and again, he didn't give his brain time to interfere. His palm cupped Lancelot's cheek, and despite the blood loss his warmth met him.

Lancelot leaned into the touch unconsciously, just a fraction, just enough that Sonic felt the response. It made Sonic swallow for a reason unknown still. He traced Lancelot's jawline with his fingers, following its shape like it was something sacred. Then his fingertips brushed something rough. His hand shifted, thumb gliding beneath Lancelot's eye, and there it was.

The scar he noted earlier. It was ragged and deep. It was a wound that chaos energy could never fully mend. Something old and violent that refused to heal. It was a memory carved into flesh.

"Is this why you never let anyone see your face...?" He whispered tracing the scar again, with a gentle thumb. "Chaos, Lance... what happened between you and your king?"

Lancelot didn't stir, but his lashes twitched once, faintly, as if he had shifted in response to Sonic's voice.

Sonic didn't move, and he didn't think he could. So for now he just watched him and wondered what the hell was going to happen next.