Gently whispered the breeze ruffling through the meadow wherein the holy sword embedded into stone awaited for its chosen. Propped perfectly, the glisten of sunlight sharply bounced back, though never with intensity that she may bat an eye. this sword — this was her destiny; the inheritance left by her father, the previous king of Britain, entrusted to her so the people may transition Ages at ease.
Arturia had not come alone — Merlin was stationed nearby to witness the deed. Her teacher and her guide, smiling as oft he did with a hint of mischief to the corner of his lips. There had been no prophecy in which this day was foretold, its orchestration manmade between the king and his mage, though it were not without a touch of the divine. Arturia had lived this day — she knew well what was to come, and that one day, she may come to regret the decision to remove that sword.
Nevertheless, she stepped forth, taking her place before the blade. Then it were the sense of additional eyes were upon her — the spectacle would be observed only by Merlin and Mordred, but from neither their direction came the gaze, and toward the woman dressed in garb foreign to the land at this time drew the knight's gaze. And what was unshakeable resolve faltered with a touch of self-consciousness. "So this is something the Stars arranged. It's a good thing you weren't lost — this area is somewhat remote".
@hakkyoken
