From the start she knew it was wrong, yet still went and did it.

Even if treated like a stray dog, used and thrown away, abandoned, in the end dying in the wilderness, wouldn't matter, right?

Someone like her was created exactly for that reason.

The rebellious knight, Mordred.

The unclean child whose very existence was a stain.

She was glad for being the only child of King Arthur, and also in pain because she would never be acknowledged.

But the real source of that pain wasn't just rejection. It was the anger that no matter how hard she tried, that person would never recognize her existence.

That anger turned into hatred, and produced an irreversible bitter fruit.

So she had long since decided, to repay this sin.

The result was obvious. She had created even more evil.

For that, it was only natural that no one would forgive her.

Seeing others angry at her, hating her, loathing her from the heart, she would not be upset.

She just accepted it as natural.

But…

'Why is it so gentle?'

'Why so gentle?'

'Why hate me, yet still want to embrace me?'

As far as she could remember, she had never been embraced so completely.

Perhaps even the concept of "being hugged," she could never clearly imagine in her mind.

Would anyone really want to hug her?

Hug the revenge tool, the unclean child born into the world?

Probably not…

Until now, it was absolutely impossible.

'But now, maybe, just maybe.'

'So this is what it feels like, to be embraced.'

'Pressing close to another, feeling their body warmth.'

'Heart racing, emotions stinging, an unwillingness to let go… not shyness, just helplessness.'

After all, when an enemy suddenly pulls you into an embrace, anyone would find it strange, right?

Then, it was fine not to resist anymore.

Her time was going to stop here anyway.

To end within a warm, comfortable, almost like-motherly embrace.

Slowly closing her eyes, her consciousness should sink into darkness, symbolizing "death." Yet instead, there was another experience.

In an instant, her heart seemed to appear in a terribly wrong place.

How wrong?

As wrong as if a mermaid's lower body was flawless, delicate, beautiful legs, but her upper body was that of a chopped fish head with peppers.

It was a scene from a distant memory that she could never forget.

The orange-red sky over a blood-stained hill, crows flying across dusk, stretching out the shadow cast by death.

Herself, pierced by a spear, chest torn with a gaping hole.

And across from her, the king who had pierced her through.

The figure also known as her father.

At that moment, Mordred thought, 'Shirou had once said, that was the king's sorrowful wish.'

'So surely, the king must carry regret and curses, must hate her enemy, must lament her own fate?'

But the truth was the opposite.

Instead, it was so calm. No hatred, no resentment.

Rather, as if she had already let go of everything, like a person ready to become a Buddha.

How awful.

Even though she had truly driven her into a corner, left her no way out, plotted against her, cursed her.

And yet she didn't even have the qualification to be hated?

For an enemy, that was an even crueler punishment.

It even made everything she did feel meaningless, worthless.

And there was the pain of being wholly denied.

Arthur, supported by the knight Bedivere, left.

Mordred followed close behind, like a girl on the battlefield chasing her father's back, moving her own steps.

That knight Bedivere, whom she had always thought a mere soldier, was tirelessly encouraging the king, and finding her a place to rest.

In his belief, the king would not die. No matter how badly injured, with proper rest she would rise again and lead them once more.

Before long, Bedivere let the king lean against an ancient tree.

Leaves above rustled, casting golden light and shadow. The mottled glow spilled onto her hair like golden sand, and her calm, serene, incomparably beautiful face.

It was breathtaking.

No scene more beautiful could exist.

The peaceful king spoke to the knight. The knight, sorrow beyond measure, accepted the holy sword from the king's hand, and cast it into the lake.

Reporting back to the king, there ended the legend of King Arthur.

Not as she had imagined, lonely, desolate, sighing at her cursed fate.

But after experiencing everything, still calmly letting go, leaving with peace and serenity.

"—Sorry, Bedivere. This time… I'll sleep just a little longer."

"..."

Unbelievable.

Truly unbelievable.

Seeing her stop breathing, as if asleep, with no trace of regret on her face.

Tears broke loose.

Sliding down her cheeks, burning hot, falling to the ground, vanishing into nothing.

Even if it was only an illusion, a dream, or a wish?

She chose to believe it that way.

And forget the other scene, the moment she took hold of the holy spear, tricked by a knight's lie.

At least, she believed that person was worthy of such an ending, such a resting place.

For who else but she was the eternal king, Arthur?

Birds spread their wings, soaring in the sky. She went beyond the heavens, to the far shore where stars exist.

Just as the clouds in the sky one day scatter.

Just as endless snow one day melts.

And so Mordred slowly faded away in Shirou's arms.

Before leaving, she said, "Really now… to let me see that kind of ending… If you don't save Father, I'll crawl out of the coffin to cut you down. When that time comes, if you can't stop me from killing, then it won't be my fault."

The fledgling bird spread wings and flew.

Chasing after the vanishing clouds, witnessing the melting of winter snow, heading toward the far side of the stars.

Thus, one of the Knights of the Round Table, the rebellious knight Mordred, exits.

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