The closing credits finish.
For several seconds, the screen remains black.
Then—
A faint golden light appears.
The broadcast returns to one of the oldest corridors beneath the Mythic Division’s stronghold.
No guards patrol here.
No banners hang from the walls.
The narrow passage is formed from ancient stone, its blocks rough and uneven, untouched by the polished grandeur surrounding King Arthur’s court. The darkness between the burning wall sconces seems deeper than it should be.
From the far end of the corridor, Merlin approaches.
His staff strikes the stone with each measured step.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The wizard moves with his usual mystique, but there is urgency beneath it. His eyes repeatedly search the corridor behind him. His robes trail through the dust as he passes sealed doors and forgotten alcoves.
He finally reaches the end of the passage.
A blank stone wall stands before him.
Merlin stops.
He studies the wall for a moment before raising his free hand. His fingers begin forming an intricate magical gesture.
He draws breath to speak—
MYRRDEN:
What have you done, old fool?
Merlin freezes.
The flames in the corridor flicker.
Slowly, Merlin lowers his hand and turns.
Several yards behind him stands Myrrden the Hollow.
His former apprentice remains partially concealed by the darkness, his gaunt features illuminated by the weak firelight. The Broken Crown’s sinister sorcerer watches Merlin with an expression that contains neither mockery nor triumph.
Only suspicion.
Merlin’s grip tightens around his staff.
MERLIN:
You have ventured into a place where you are neither invited nor welcome.
Myrrden steps forward.
MYRRDEN:
Then perhaps you should have concealed your trail more carefully.
MERLIN:
State your purpose.
MYRRDEN:
I already have.
Myrrden’s hollow gaze settles upon his former master.
MYRRDEN:
What have you done?
Merlin’s expression hardens.
MERLIN:
I have done many things. Most of them beyond your understanding.
MYRRDEN:
Do not retreat behind riddles. Not tonight.
Myrrden takes another slow step.
MYRRDEN:
What is wrong with King Arthur?
For the briefest moment, something changes in Merlin’s eyes.
It disappears almost immediately.
MERLIN:
There is nothing wrong with Arthur.
MYRRDEN:
No?
MERLIN:
He is a king remembering what it means to rule.
Merlin straightens, his voice becoming stronger.
MERLIN:
For too long, Camelot’s authority has been weakened by squabbling factions, self-appointed champions and creatures who mistake disorder for freedom.
Myrrden watches silently.
MERLIN:
Arthur has shattered your Broken Crown. In time, he will bring the same order to Monster Bash, the King’s Hand, the Mighty Gods and every other power that believes itself beyond the Crown’s judgment.
A faint edge of pride enters Merlin’s voice.
MERLIN:
Even Robin Hood and his Merry Band will eventually understand that Camelot cannot survive while every outlaw believes himself entitled to challenge its king.
Myrrden remains motionless.
Then he lowers his head.
A quiet laugh escapes him.
It is not his usual cruel laughter.
There is no amusement in it.
When Myrrden looks up again, his expression is deeply unsettled.
MYRRDEN:
No, old fool.
Merlin’s confidence falters.
MYRRDEN:
I am not asking about Arthur’s politics.
Myrrden closes his eyes and slowly inhales.
The nearest flames pull toward him, as though drawn by the breath.
When his eyes reopen, he looks directly at Merlin.
MYRRDEN:
I am asking what magic you have been dabbling with.
Silence fills the corridor.
Merlin says nothing.
Myrrden’s gaze moves across Merlin’s robes, his staff and finally his hands.
MYRRDEN:
I can smell it upon you.
Merlin’s jaw tightens.
MERLIN:
You smell your own corruption and mistake it for wisdom.
MYRRDEN:
Do not lie to me.
The flames flicker again.
This time, several almost extinguish.
MYRRDEN:
I know darkness. I have lived within it. Drawn from it. Fed it and been fed by it.
Myrrden takes another step toward his former master.
MYRRDEN:
But this is not darkness.
His voice drops almost to a whisper.
MYRRDEN:
It is absence.
Merlin’s fingers tighten around his staff.
MYRRDEN:
Something has touched your magic. Something so old that even the shadows recoil from it.
Merlin stares at him.
His face reveals nothing.
MERLIN:
You have no understanding of the forces you claim to sense.
MYRRDEN:
Then enlighten me.
Merlin does not answer.
Myrrden’s eyes narrow.
MYRRDEN:
Where did you find it?
A low vibration moves through the corridor.
Dust falls from the ceiling.
MYRRDEN:
What door did you open?
Merlin’s voice becomes dangerously quiet.
MERLIN:
I opened no door.
MYRRDEN:
Perhaps not intentionally.
That lands.
Merlin’s composure finally fractures.
With startling speed, he drives the base of his staff into the floor.
The impact echoes through the corridor.
Merlin raises the staff toward Myrrden and speaks several ancient words in a language older than Camelot itself.
Myrrden’s eyes widen.
He throws up one hand—
Too late.
Golden magical bands erupt from the stone beneath him, coiling around his arms, legs and chest.
Myrrden strains against them.
For one moment, the spell appears unmistakably Merlin’s—radiant, ordered and precise.
Then something moves through it.
A black ripple passes along the golden bands.
The light around Myrrden dims without actually disappearing.
His body locks rigid.
His eyes cloud white.
MYRRDEN:
Merlin—
The white drains away.
His eyes become completely black.
Not shadowed.
Empty.
Myrrden tries to speak again, but no sound emerges.
Merlin watches the transformation with an expression of sudden alarm.
This was not part of the spell.
MERLIN:
No…
The darkness surrounding Myrrden pulls inward.
His figure stretches unnaturally, becoming thinner and less distinct, as though the corridor itself is erasing him.
Then, with a sharp rush of displaced air—
Myrrden vanishes.
The golden restraints collapse to the floor and dissolve.
Merlin remains perfectly still.
His staff is still extended toward the place where Myrrden stood.
For several seconds, the wizard simply stares.
His breathing has become uneven.
MERLIN:
That was not…
He stops himself.
The corridor is silent again.
Merlin slowly turns toward the blank stone wall.
This time, there is no elaborate gesture.
He strikes the wall once with the head of his staff and speaks a terse command.
The stone surface shimmers.
A circular portal opens, revealing the candlelit interior of Merlin’s private tower. Books, scrolls and arcane instruments fill the chamber beyond.
Merlin steps toward it.
Before entering, he glances back at the empty corridor.
For the first time, Merlin looks afraid.
He passes through.
The portal closes behind him.
The wall becomes solid stone once more.
The camera remains fixed upon it.
Nothing happens.
Then the nearest torch goes out.
A second follows.
Then a third.
Darkness spreads down the corridor until only the center of the stone wall remains visible.
For a fraction of a second, a faint circular shape appears across its surface.
A ring of darkness surrounding an empty center.
Then it is gone.
The screen cuts to black.
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