Page 42 of Secrets of Avalon
And when the time comes, when the moment is right, we will strike. We will remind the council and all those who follow them what it means to be a Knight, what it means to be chosen by Yggdrasil itself. And we will take back what is ours.
With Melinda’s arrival, the time will be soon.
A scribe steps forward from the shadows of the thrones and calls out in a firm voice. “You are called here today to pledge fealty to the High Council.”
The scribe's voice echoes through the chamber, each word a hammer strike against my already fractured soul.
“You will use the power gifted to you by Yggdrasil the World Tree to serve the High Council and protect the eight worlds.”
I listen, my heart growing heavier with each passing second, as he outlines the terms of our servitude. The words are pretty, wrapped in a veneer of duty and honor, but the truth is laid bare for all to see. We are leashed, our power and our very lives bound to the whims of the council. “You will uphold the laws passed by the High Council and carry out sentences of punishment. You will put down all rebellion.”
Serve the High Council. Uphold their laws. Crush rebellion. Even if it means turning against our own. The demands are a bitter poison, seeping into my veins and threatening to choke the life from me. This is what we have been reduced to. Mere tools, weapons to be wielded by those who crave power above all else.
Every year the oath becomes more painful to choke down, because every year we feel the loss of our shattered souls deeper and deeper. We sink deeper into an oblivion we can’t escape. Losing control of ourselves a splinter at a time.
I glance at my brothers, seeing the same conflicting emotions playing out on their faces. Ares' eyes flash and his fists clenched so tightly I fear he may draw blood. Wraith's expression is carefully neutral, but I can see the tightness in his jaw, the slight tremor in his hands. Fenrir and Boaz stand rigid, their faces etched with a mix of sorrow and resignation.
We are trapped, caught between our duty to the realms and the chains the council seeks to bind us with. To refuse would be to invite chaos, to risk the fragile peace we have worked so hard to maintain. But to accept... to accept is to betray everything we stand for, everything we have fought and bled for.
The scribe's voice drones on, each word a twist of the knife in my gut. "Kneel before the High Council and swear your oath. Pledge your loyalty, your life, and your very soul to their service. For only through obedience can the realms be kept safe, and only through submission can you truly fulfill the purpose Yggdrasil has set forth for you."
Fuck. They twist the words of our calling. They make us slaves.
I close my eyes, the weight of the decision crushing my chest like I’m trapped beneath a mountain. Every instinct screams at me to fight, to rage against the injustice of it all. But I know that to do so would be to condemn us all to a fate worse than death. The council's retribution would be swift and merciless, and the realms would suffer for our defiance.
And so, with a heavy heart and a bitter taste in my mouth, I step forward. The eyes of the council bore into me, their gazes hungry and triumphant. They know they have won, that they have us exactly where they want us. But even as I sink to one knee, the cold stone biting into my flesh, I make the same silent vow I’ve made every year.
This is not the end. This is not our fate. We will endure this indignity, this betrayal, for the sake of the realms. But we will not forget, and we will not forgive. The day will come when the tables will turn, when the council will learn the true meaning of justice.
One by one, my brothers step forward, each dropping to a knee before the council. The words of the oath fall from their lips, but I can see the defiance in their eyes, the unspoken promise that this submission is but a temporary thing.
It’s why they make us do this every year. They fear us and they should.
We are Knights of the Round Table and our true allegiance will always lie with the realms we are sworn to protect. Not to these self-appointed smug men who think they know better than the supreme power that connects everyone and everything in the universe.
They may have won the battle again this year, but the war is far from over.
Julius stands from his chair and looks right at me. The smile on his face twists my stomach like soured food. I take a step back and look at Ares, but catch Fenrir’s gaze over Ares’ shoulder instead. His eyes are glowing bright gold, and a low, rumbling snarl escapes his throat, the sound sending a chill down my spine. His beast is pissed.
“We need to go. Now.”
“We should before I fail to tamp down the urge to rip one of them to pieces,” Fenrir says, his voice a guttural growl, more beast than man.
"Is there a problem?" One of the council says. I'm too focused on Fen's lengthening fangs, gleaming in the torchlight, to register who's talking.
"Ares, get a handle on your magick. It’s pushing Fen," I whisper-growl at Ares, feeling the heat of his anger rolling off him in waves, crashing against my own fraying control. I walk to Fen's side, my muscles coiled tight with tension, and put an arm around his massive shoulders. "Keep it together. We're almost clear."
"It's been a long day. We need to see to the rest of the arrangements for tomorrow night. Welcome to Camelot," I manage to croak out toward the council without cursing them to their faces, my jaw clenched so hard my teeth ache. Ares' anger is bubbling over, a searing heat that’s pushing my temper to a boiling point.
“Is Fenrir ill?” One of the council members seated closer to Fen asks.
“Just frustrated,” I snap back before anyone else can speak. “The missing children today upset him more than he’d like to admit.”
I don't spare another glance to the council and quickly guide Fenrir toward the door in the back of the Hall of Grievances, my grip on his shoulder tightening with each step. "Out. Get out. Now," I say in a low voice, the words hissing through my gritted teeth. Everyone obeys without a word.
As we make our way to the exit, I can feel the council's eyes boring into our backs. The air is thick with unresolved tension, the power struggle between us far from over. Wraith and Boaz fall into step to my right, their postures stiff and their expressions carefully neutral. Ares is close on my left, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, the veins in his neck flexing with the control he’s exerting.
I know exactly how he feels.