The sword was distracting, it’s darkness no emptiness drawing the eye down its magnificent blade. Merlin felt two things with great certainty. The first was that he knew that blade though could not remember how. The memory teased at him, like a dream long forgotten. The second was that something had gone terribly wrong. The peace that had bathed him as he walked through the woods began to fade as he gathered himself for whatever was to come next and the ache from his side began to grow. His left hand twitched towards his belt for a sword that was not there.

The presence shifted, as if waking from a long sleep. The head turned ever so slightly, it’s malignant gaze meeting Merlin’s own. The voice that came from that dark helm sounded both far away and impossibly loud. The black blade pulsed with every word and the light dimmed with it.

“You shall not reach the tower. Your meddling ends now.” The sword rose, the line of its blade reaching towards his chest. This was not going to be a good day.