December 23rd, 2029
Noah jolted awake when Olivia's foot slammed into his leg.
"Hey, is that your phone ringing?" she mumbled groggily.
He turned to his nightstand — nothing. Olivia sighed and burrowed back under the covers.
"Then it's your stupid ring…" she muttered.
Snow was falling thick over the castle, heavy enough to bury it whole. The sun hadn't even risen yet, and Noah hated waking up early. But his ring pulsed with that irritating glow — the old man was calling.
He got up quietly so as not to disturb his wife, pausing for a moment to watch her. Her brown hair spilled over her face, her breathing soft and peaceful.
He slipped into the dressing room — an entire chamber filled with extravagant, overpriced clothes. He grabbed the first things he saw: a light-blue shirt and dark trousers. The ring was still flashing urgently on his hand.
"Yes, yes, I'm coming," he muttered.
Out in the corridor, the maids looked startled to see him up so early. One offered him breakfast; he waved her off.
The castle was beginning to wake with him. Everything ran like clockwork — precise, harmonious, without flaw.
Sometimes he forgot that, technically, he was a king. One of the last with royal blood still flowing in his veins. Privileged? Definitely. Out of all the cages in the world, his just happened to have the best view.
He stopped by a doorway. Inside, his children slept soundly beneath warm blankets. But it was his daughter who stole his breath — so serene, so distant. His father's words echoed in his mind, and for an instant, he thought he saw a shadow rise behind her, long claws and a laughter older than time. His chest tightened. He closed the door. Not now.
At the end of the hall, he found the fireplace — purely decorative, useless — and above it, the family crest: a Western dragon impaled by a sword.
His parents had always said the best way to hide something was in plain sight. He'd always thought that was idiotic. Still, it worked. Anyone else would think it was just another piece of medieval nonsense.
Between the crest and the fireplace, a small indentation waited — a perfect fit for his ring. He pressed it in, and the stones shifted with a mechanical rumble. A dark passage opened before him. He clapped twice; the torches flared to life.
"Torches," he muttered. "When will that old man discover electricity?"
His footsteps echoed off the damp stone as he descended. At the far end, he reached an aged wooden door — worn, tired, like the man beyond it. He drew a deep breath and pushed.
The wave of heat hit him first, then the blinding light. He stumbled forward, blinking — just in time to dodge the snapping jaws of a carnivorous plant the size of a horse.
"Wonderful," he grumbled, stepping back quickly.
Amid the jungle of plants, the old man moved with practiced ease, weaving between jars and contraptions. Misshapen flora and creatures that could have come straight out of Darwin's nightmares surrounded him.
The old man noticed Noah and motioned him over. They walked to the center, where an enormous tree rose all the way to the glass dome above. At its roots, a narrow stream fed the laboratory's menagerie.
"Finally bearing fruit?" Noah asked, pointing at the small blue, orange, and red bulbs budding among the leaves.
Merlin studied them for a moment. "Nah, give it another thousand years. The Chinese love their patience and perfection," he said with a smirk.
Noah grunted as he felt a sharp sting at his ankle. A tiny creature with a pointed hat grinned up at him, baring needle-like teeth. It wielded a sewing needle like a sword before buzzing away on translucent wings.
"More pests," Noah muttered, wiping the blood off his skin. "I thought we agreed — no annoying creatures."
"They're piskies," said the old man without turning around. He stomped on the ground, and a desk rose smoothly from the floor. "Like fairies, but uglier. Harmless… unless you insult them. Or something like that."
"Right…" Noah sighed, staring at the drop of blood in his palm. "And calling them ugly doesn't count as an insult?"
"Of course not. An ugly thing knows it's ugly. Doesn't mind being told the truth. Now, compare them to certain filth, then they get upset."
Noah wasn't sure if he was joking — but with Merlin, it hardly mattered.
Though he'd served the family for centuries, the wizard looked nothing like the legends described. His silk robes shimmered with strange geometric designs, his sharp-shouldered silhouette edged like blades. He couldn't have looked more than thirty, though the faint silver at his temples betrayed his age.
A soft hiss made Noah turn. A small dragon glided down from the great tree, landing gracefully and fixing him with bright, reptilian eyes.
"Hello, Koh," Noah greeted without enthusiasm. The dragon's expression twisted into what could almost be called a smile — which wasn't comforting at all.
"He's getting bigger every day," Merlin said proudly. "In a few months, I'll be able to ride him and—"
"Merlin!" Noah snapped, his patience finally breaking. "It's six in the morning."
"Really?" Merlin glanced up at the glass dome, where dawn was just beginning to creep across the sky. "But it's still Tuesday, right?"
"It's Sunday," Noah replied, pulling his phone from his pocket and showing Merlin the screen. "And Christmas Eve is in two days. So tell me—do you actually have something important to say, or can I go back to sleep?"
Merlin sighed and began halfheartedly cleaning his cluttered desk. Then he ran a hand along the trunk, and a white smoke began seeping from the bark.
"They want to see you," he said, his tone thick with annoyance.
Noah blinked.
"Dagda again? What's with him lately, he's been so... insistent." He stopped mid-sentence as the words sank in. "Wait. They?"
Merlin nodded. The smoke was already filling the entire room.
What followed was a whirlwind. Noah couldn't see anything—only shadows swirling in the mist. Then the change struck him, washing over his body with a strange calm that made him shiver. His lungs filled with air so pure it felt like he had never truly breathed before. A cool breeze brushed his face. And he felt it—something, or someone, was watching him.
There it was again. And even though it wasn't his first time, Noah never grew tired of that feeling.
He was in the Otherworld. The Tír na nÓg.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in the middle of a silent meadow, surrounded by trees so tall they seemed to scrape the heavens. The grass beneath his feet was so vividly green that the synthetic turf back at his castle now looked like manure in comparison.
It'd be nice to just lie down here for a while… he thought, then remembered the last time he'd tried. The itching was unbearable.
Ahead of him, in the heart of the forest, lay a perfectly circular clearing. At its center rose a colossal tree—so immense it could have been mistaken for a mountain. And at its roots, carved as though it had grown straight from the wood itself, stood a throne.
And there he was, seated, waiting.
Noah knelt and bowed his head in respect before the supreme being of nature and life itself. Beside him, Merlin emerged from the mist, letting out a bored sigh as he leaned casually against the trunk.
The figure lifted a hand in greeting. Noah studied him, as he did every time, trying to burn his features into memory. But it was always difficult. Perhaps it was a side effect of staring too closely at a god.
The man was enormous—well over three meters tall and nearly one wide. His sheer size was intimidating enough. His hair and beard were fiery red, braided into thick ropes that fell to the ground, his skin dark and earthen like fresh clay. Beside the throne rested a hammer so massive it could have flattened a carriage.
The only thing marring the grandeur of the moment was the faint scent of damp soil that emanated from the god. Though Noah, wisely, never mentioned it.
The giant's brown eyes fixed on him.
"You requested an audience with me, y lord," Noah said carefully, choosing each word as though stepping on thin ice. "May I ask the reason?"
The god smiled—a kind, heavy smile that made Noah's throat tighten.
"Noah Pendragon, descendant of Uther, son of Harry," the giant began, his deep voice resonating like a drum. With every word, the air around them seemed to ripple and bend. "I regret to say that today we gather for… complicated matters."
A strange sound echoed through the sky. Noah looked up and saw a flock of crows spiraling above, a living shadow that darkened the sun. The light intensified until it nearly burned his eyes.
Behind him came a thunderous roar. He turned just in time to see the forest's creatures surging into the clearing. But they weren't panicking—they were marching, perfectly synchronized, as if something else controlled them. A massive bear and two giant goats stood already at the clearing's edge.
Noah glanced sideways at Merlin.
"Them?"
The wizard nodded, wearing that same infuriating calm as always.
A blinding light exploded before Noah, forcing him to shield his eyes. When his vision cleared, a man stood before him—skin bronzed, hair so pale a blond it was almost white, and eyes that gleamed like molten gold.
He wore light silver armor that seemed to radiate its own light. Noah frowned, annoyed.
Great, it's like staring straight into the sun, he thought, gritting his teeth.
"I thought the Pendragons were taller," the newcomer said, glancing sideways at Dagda.
Noah swallowed back an insult and looked up at the deities surrounding him.
"How tall are you, mortal?"
Why do you even care? Noah thought, sighing inwardly. He knew how peculiar these immortals could be.
"One meter seventy-eight," Noah replied with a slight bow, keeping every muscle in his face steady so as not to show even the faintest irritation toward a god. "It's an honor to meet you, Lord Lugh, mighty warrior."
Lugh whistled through his teeth, amused.
"Likewise, boy. Don't worry… maybe you just haven't hit your growth spurt yet."
"How interesting to say it while levitating, but looking closely…" Noah said with an irritated smile, letting slip a hint of passive-aggressiveness. "You don't seem that much taller than me, my lord."
Lugh made a face of annoyance, but before vaporizing the arrogant mortal, he noticed Dagda watching him and hesitated. Merlin let out a small, amused groan. Noah shook his head to rid himself of the sense of revulsion.
"Don't be childish, Lugh," a low, seductive female voice intervened.
Suddenly, the cawing of crows rose into a deafening chorus, and a whirl of black feathers fell upon Noah like a storm. Before he could react, he felt the warm body of a woman against his back, and a delicate hand, pale as snow, brushed his cheek.
He turned his head and found himself face-to-face with a captivating woman, sharp-featured, full lips, and eyes as black as coal. Her equally dark hair cascaded like a living waterfall around her face.
"I find you quite… delightful," the woman whispered, bringing her lips close to his, her hand slowly sliding over his abdomen. "Those blue eyes, so full of determination… I'd like to keep them."
Noah felt her warm breath at the nape of his neck. Her hand continued down to his waist. The goddess tilted her head, brushing her lips against his skin, and Noah could feel his whole body tense.
"Lady Morrigan," he said, gathering all the firmness he could, "you know I am a married man."
The goddess froze. Noah took the moment to grasp her hand and pull it from his waist.
Morrigan sighed dramatically and shrugged; her black wings flickered as her skirt dissolved into a whirlwind of feathers. She wore only a top that barely covered her chest, and her gaze fixed on him, predatory.
Two bursts of laughter erupted behind him. Turning, Noah first saw a giant she-bear, baring her teeth as she laughed in a surprisingly girlish voice, then a pair of massive goats, laughing in unison.
The she-bear began to shrink; her fur faded, her muzzle receding, revealing a tall, robust woman with red hair and honey-colored eyes, clad in furs that smelled of leather and wine.
Artio, the goddess of the hunt… Noah realized, swallowing hard. The goats must be…
The two goats merged into a single humanoid, furry figure with bright green eyes. Two massive deer antlers sprouted from his forehead.
Cernunnos, god of the forests… I thought he never appeared to humans. What the hell is happening? Noah felt his blood run cold and instinctively dropped to his knees. Even Merlin bowed his head.
It couldn't be. Before him stood the most powerful Celtic deities. Two of them together hadn't been seen in centuries… and now there were five.
"All right," Dagda said, unable to hide his excitement at seeing the others assembled. "There is a matter of utmost importance we must discuss with our mortal friend."
Noah lifted his gaze, confused. He felt an absurd pressure in the air, as if the slightest movement could snap something inside him, though he couldn't tell if it was physical or psychological.
"As you well know," Dagda continued, his voice echoing like a drum through the clearing, "for millennia your family, the Pendragons, has enjoyed our highest regard."
Noah nodded, feeling a brief flicker of pride. The blood of Camelot still ran through his veins, after all.
"You may not know," Dagda went on, "but besides us, the Celts, there are other pantheons of gods."
"You mean… like the Greeks? And the Norse?" Noah asked, frowning. Sometimes he forgot just how complicated the Otherworld could be.
"Not quite, themselves," Dagda confirmed.
"But few reach the divinity we embody," Lugh interjected, arrogance etched into every word.
"Or are so attuned to nature as we are," added Cernunnos proudly, his deep, resonant voice matching his imposing antlered form.
Dagda raised a hand, reclaiming the center of attention.
"In any case. Across all pantheons, we have been entrusted with a sacred task: to protect and guide humanity. And after much deliberation… we have decided it is right that a human serve as our emissary. A messiah, if you will. Someone to save and lead men and women toward a new dawn."
Noah felt a tingling across his skin. For a moment, his eyes lit up… though deep down, instinct screamed that something about their words felt off. I've heard this way of speaking before…
A messiah? What the hell is this guy talking about? he thought, focusing intently. He was tired of gods, but offending them could mean instant death.
"And who better to save the human race…?" Dagda paused dramatically. "Than the king of kings. The ruler of what was once the greatest nation of men. The King of Camelot. You, Noah."
He froze, speechless. His brain stuttered, trying to process whether he should respond… or pretend he hadn't heard.
"Are you… sure I'm the one?" he stammered, fully aware of how ridiculous he sounded.
But something twisted in his stomach. A cold stab of dread. Save humanity from what?
He looked at Merlin. The old man said nothing. But his expression… it was as rigid as an oak, staring at him, hanging on every word. Noah had never seen that face before.
"Who else would be appropriate?" Dagda answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"And… what exactly do I have to do, my lord?" Noah asked, swallowing hard.
Dagda straightened his massive frame.
"In February of 2030, Camelot will be the place where you must—"
Here it comes, Noah thought, clenching his fists. That tone. He'd heard it too many times in politicians: the sweet, syrupy voice that sugarcoats shit before serving it on a platter.
"…safeguard what remains of humanity."
Noah blinked. Silence. The words hung in his mind like an echo that refused to fade. Every word. Every syllable. Every damn letter.
"Excuse me?" he asked, a mixture of bewilderment and growing horror breaking through the formal politeness he'd held before. "Could you repeat what the hell you just said?"
Morrigan let out a soft, amused laugh. Artio, the bear goddess, crossed her arms and shot him a glare sharper than any blow. Dagda remained silent. Noah frowned and rose to his feet, glaring at the god.
"The humanity that remains… after what?" Noah insisted, his voice rising.
Dagda looked at him with those serene eyes, filled with an ancient sorrow. Not for what he was about to say, but for the face Noah was making as he heard it.
Like watching a puppy… just before euthanasia.
"The humanity that remains," Dagda said, his voice soft but cutting like a knife, "when the gods descend from the heavens… and reclaim the world from humans."