Derek stood in the mist-filled void, his grip tightening as he faced the mysterious man before him.
The man's golden crown glowed faintly, and there was an aura around him—one that felt both ancient and powerful.
"I am Arthur Pendragon," the man said, his voice calm yet filled with authority. "Known by many names. Dragon Slayer. King Arthur. The King of Camelot."
Derek blinked. "Arthur Pendragon? Never heard of you."
For a moment, there was silence.
Then—Arthur laughed.
A deep, hearty laugh, filled with amusement rather than offense.
"Of course you haven't," Arthur said, shaking his head. "That is because I am not from your history, not from your world."
Derek narrowed his eyes. "Are you telling me you are from another world?"
Arthur nodded and gestured toward the sword at Derek's side.
"That blade is Excalibur," Arthur said. "Or, rather, the artifact known as Excalibur."
Derek looked at the sword. The massive black greatsword, now its blade faintly pulsing with a dark blue aura.
Arthur continued. "Excalibur is not just a sword. It is an artifact that transcends worlds."
Derek frowned. "Meaning?"
Arthur's expression turned serious.
"It is said to be forged by a god, a divine artifact that adapts and changes according to its wielder. It does not belong to any single world—it wanders, always seeking the next worthy one."
Derek's breath hitched.
This sword… wasn't just a relic. It was something far beyond comprehension.
Arthur continued, "I was the last wielder of Excalibur. But this blade does not merely grant power. It demands."
Derek narrowed his eyes. "Demands what?"
Arthur sighed. "Nothing in this world—or any other—is free."
Derek felt a shiver run down his spine.
"When a wielder dies," Arthur said, "a part of their soul fuses with the sword. A part of their strength, their experiences, their abilities—all become one with Excalibur."
Derek's eyes widened.
"…That's why it's so powerful?"
Arthur nodded. "Because it carries the legacies of those who came before. Every wielder of Excalibur still exists within it. Their memories. Their spirits. Their burdens."
Derek instinctively reached for his sword, feeling a strange weight settle in his chest.
"…And you're here to guide me?"
Arthur gave a small smile. "That is correct."
Derek exhaled. "Then… why me? Why did this thing choose me?"
Arthur shook his head.
"That," he said, "I do not know and will never understand the ways of this artifact."
Derek frowned.
"But," Arthur continued, "I can tell you this—it never chooses without reason."
The mist around them swirled, and Arthur took a step closer.
"It chose me because of my unyielding will to prove myself worthy of the throne. My warrior spirit. My noble aura."
His piercing gaze locked onto Derek.
"And it chose you for a reason as well. Whether you understand it or not… that is something you must discover for yourself."
Derek clenched his fists.
Arthur's form began to fade.
"Find your answer, Derek."
With those final words, the dream shattered—
And Derek awoke.