The night was coming to an end.
The grand banquet hall was alive with laughter, music, and the warm glow of golden candlelight.
The royal family now sat at the high table, together, basking in the glow of joy, wine, and nostalgia.
Gilgamesh sat at the head of the table, his crimson cape draped lazily over his chair, his goblet of wine in hand, smirking as his children bickered and bantered amongst themselves.
Arthuria, beside him, laughed softly, watching as Elaine animatedly recounted how Eugene had fallen into a fountain last week trying to practice a teleportation spell.
The table burst into laughter as Eugene muttered, "It was experimental magic."
Artizea rolled her eyes. "You experimentally almost drowned our Father and Brother."
Gilgamesh, highly amused, leaned back in his chair and smirked at his youngest son.
"Tell me, Eugene," Arthur drawled, "at what point did you realize you cannot breathe water?"
He glared at his brother, mumbling under his breath as Artizea tried (and failed) to stifle a laugh.
A blur of tiny footsteps rushed past the table.
The next generation of Pendragons were running wild—dashing between servants, weaving around chairs, and chasing each other with all the reckless energy of children who did not understand how powerful their bloodlines truly were.
Little Callisto ran past his mother, his blonde hair bouncing with each step, his gold eyes full of mischief.
Seraphina, their adopted daughter, was not far behind—black hair wild, white angelic wings fluttering behind her as she chased her brother, a determined look on her face.
" Callisto, you coward!" she shouted.
" I'm not a coward!" He shrieked back, weaving between chairs. "I'm a Dove!"
Across the table, Elizabeth was climbing onto her father's lap, her ginger hair glowing in the candlelight, her bright blue eyes full of curiosity.
"Daddy, when can I have a real sword ?" Elizabeth asked innocently, blinking up at him.
Arthur sputtered, nearly choking on his drink. " What?"
Cecelia, seated beside him, sighed deeply, rubbing her temple. "She's been asking all week."
Meanwhile, Callisto and Seraphina nearly crashed into Eugene, who barely moved his goblet in time to avoid catastrophe.
"By the gods, calm down!" Eugene groaned.
Rhyssand, ever composed, leaned back in his chair, black wings folding behind him once more, sipping his wine as if the chaos did not exist.
Elaine, still giggling, suddenly tilted her head, looking toward the wedding portrait hanging at the far end of the hall.
Once again
Her bright blue eyes narrowed in thought.
"…Mother?"
Arthuria turned to her, sipping her tea. "Yes?"
"You look so young there," she pointed at the portrait of Her Mother and Father, frozen in time on their wedding day. "How old were you when that was painted?"
Arthuria blinked, startled by the sudden question. Then, she smiled, setting her cup down.
"Nineteen."
Silence.
Utter. Silence.
Everyone seated at the grand table froze mid-breath. Even the palace musicians hesitated on their strings, sensing something sacred had just been uncovered. Arthur's fork clattered against his plate. Eugene, mid-drink, choked violently on his water. Rhyssand raised a brow, clearly amused.
Artizea, always the composed one, narrowed her eyes at her father. "And how old were you, Father ?"
Gilgamesh, oblivious to the trap set before him, calmly sipped his wine.
"Twenty-eight."
Crickets.
The siblings' eyes snapped to him at once, jaws hanging slightly open as if they had just unlocked some forbidden secret of the universe.
The king stared at them in confusion, swirling his wine.
"What ?"
Artizea, realizing the implications before anyone else, reacted first. In a single, fluid movement, she reached over and covered Callisto's ears.
Callisto, now muffled, blinked in confusion. "Dad.."
Rhyssand, smirking, simply shook his head. "Give the adults a minute, little dove."
Arthur, bold as ever, was the first to recover. "So you're saying," he said, voice flat, "that when you married Mother, you were nine years older than her?"
Gilgamesh frowned slightly, finally sensing danger but not yet understanding its full scope. "And what of it?" he asked, then pointed at his son with a look of And you're the one to talk?
Artizea leaned forward, a slow smirk creeping onto her face."…How old are you now?"
The room shifted.
He rolled his eyes before taking another deliberate sip of wine. "Irrelevant."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Eugene. Count."
Already summoning a timetable, he began muttering calculations under his breath. "Counting—subtracting—adjusting leap years—adding—"
Arthuria, watching her husband's slow descent into realization, simply chuckled, sipping her wine, completely unbothered.
Eugene froze mid-air, his eyes going wide. Then, paled. "…Father is sixty—"
Gil flicked his wrist. Eugene's mouth sealed shut mid-word.
The room erupted into gasps and muffled laughter.
He smiled dangerously. "Does anyone else wish to guess the king's age?"
The siblings shook their heads furiously, silently trying not to explode with laughter.
Except Elaine. Sweet, kind, treacherous Elaine—Her laughter spilled out uncontrollably.
And that was it.
Arthur slammed his head onto the table, wheezing. Artizea turned away, gripping the table for support. Eugene, still muted, was screaming internally.
The king sighed deeply, rubbing his temple, as his children stifled their laughter, and his wife—his ever-insufferable, ever-perfect wife—chuckled softly beside him.
She lifted her cup of tea that, by a miracle, isn't cold by now with the elegance of a queen and, with mock sympathy, murmured, "Careful, Gil. Stress brings grey hair."
The table erupted again.
Arthur nearly fell out of his chair laughing.
The king, however, remained completely unbothered.
Leaning back in his chair, he swirled his wine with obnoxious ease, a slow smirk creeping onto his lips.
"I will never be cursed with such a thing, because of my divinity." Then, he turned his gaze toward Arthuria, pure amusement dancing in his expression. "You, however, my love, are perfectly human."
The entire table went silent.
Arthur let out a low whistle, shaking his head. Rhyssand smirked behind his wine glass, folding his dark, feathered wings behind his chair as he watched in amusement, and Egune—well, Egune was still cursed into silence, but his expression screamed, Father, that was a mistake.
Arthuria set her goblet down calmly. Too calmly.
The air in the room shifted.
Gilgamesh, who had faced gods and conquered empires, suddenly felt a very primal instinct to flee.
She tilted her head slightly, blue eyes unreadable. "Oh?"
He, in all his divine arrogance, did not back down.
"Yes," he mused, deliberately sipping his wine, stretching out the moment. "Unlike me," he continued, voice dripping with privilege, "you will have the privilege of experiencing wrinkles, silver strands, and all the wonders of mortal aging."
Arthur closed his eyes in silent prayer.
Arthuria smiled.
The worst kind of smile.
The kind of smile that preceded war.
And for once in his divine existence, Gilgamesh regretted speaking.
But before his impending doom could manifest—
Eugene suddenly let out a sharp, triumphant gasp.
All heads turned to him as the magic sealing his mouth unraveled, dissipating like golden mist.
He grinned proudly, adjusting his sleeves. "Finally. I figured out how to undo that."
Gil narrowed his eyes. "You undid my magic?"
"Of course. I am a head scholar, Father." He said flatly.
Rhyssand snorted. "Took you long enough to get there," sounding like a true mentor.
Eugene sat straighter, clearly very pleased with himself. "Now," he continued, brushing imaginary dust from his robes, "As I was trying to say before I was so rudely silenced—technically, Artizea has one-fourth divinity, so she might be exempt from the aging process ."
Artizea, sipping her wine, raised an eyebrow. "Might?"
He waved a hand. "There are a lot of factors. The divine blood could be dominant or recessive—it's hard to predict, father is wingless, Rhys is winged—"
Arthur, resting his chin on his fist, muttered, "So she could age like a mortal or be stuck looking twenty forever?"
He nodded thoughtfully. "Essentially, yes."
Artizea smirked. "Sounds convenient. Thank You, Father."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Of course you'd think so."
Gil, who had been sitting in contemplative silence, finally huffed a short laugh and took another sip of wine. Thank you for being out of his wife's line of fire.
Eugene grinned.
"But the rest of us, however—" he gestured to himself, Arthur, and Elaine, "—are cursed with mortal aging."
Arthur groaned dramatically. "Unacceptable."
He smiled even wider.
"Don't worry, Dear Brother. I'm already working on a theory that might extend our years." He leaned back, folding his arms smugly. " It could work, but it requires a delicate balance between soul anchoring and essence preservation. If successful, I could slow aging down by at least fifty percent."
Arthur stared at him blankly. Then, flatly—"I bet you had that speech prepared for a time I painfully found myself asking you a question."
He beamed. "I did."
Elaine, who had been trying not to laugh this entire time, finally broke. Her giggles spilled out uncontrollably, filling the air with soft, delighted laughter.
The family fell apart.
Gilgamesh, sighing as if burdened by a thousand years of suffering, lifted his goblet once more.
"The consequences of my actions…"
Arthuria chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "But then you wouldn't have this."
He glanced at the chaos—his children, his grandchildren, the absolute madness he had created.
Then, with a slow, unwilling smirk, he murmured—
"Perhaps."
The family dinner was lively, the dining hall filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses. The little ones were off to bed.
Leaving the king sat, watching his growing family—Artizea, now the fierce heir she was born to be with –as painful as it is to admit a rather steady partner by her side, Arthur, the steadfast warrior with a graceful touch of his own family, Eugene, the quiet intellectual mage, and Elaine, the radiant spark of joy now starting her path of adulthood. His gaze softened as his eyes flickered to his wife, Arthuria, seated beside him, sipping her tea with practiced grace.
He couldn't ask for anything more perfect than this moment. But that won't stop him from trying.
As she brought the cup to her lips, she felt the weight of his stare and paused mid-sip. Slowly, she turned her head, catching him gazing at her with that look. The one that made her heart skip a beat, even after all these years.
The look that said, My love, come with me.
She narrowed her eyes, glaring at him in silent protest. No, Gil, her gaze said. The kids.
His smirk only grew, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He leaned back in his chair slightly, his arms crossed, and continued staring at her with infuriating calmness, daring her to resist.
She exhaled sharply, her eyes flicking toward their children. Artizea was giggling at whatever Rhyssand had whispered in her ear. Arthur was too busy arguing with Cesealia about her latest navel escapade, Elaine was distracted by dessert, and Eugene was deeply engrossed in how much more she could eat.
Her gaze darted back to her mischievous husband, who hadn't moved. His expression was entirely too smug.
They won't miss us.
She rolled her eyes and relented, placing her tea down with deliberate care. With practiced stealth, she slipped from her seat, and he rose a second later, following her lead as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The king and queen disappeared out the side door without a word, leaving their children completely oblivious.
It wasn't until a moment later, mid-sentence, that Arthur froze. "Father, did you hear that—?"
Everyone looked around, realizing they were missing. Elaine frowned, her fork hovering over a slice of pie. "Where did they go?"
The sound of wings flapping drew their attention as Fin, the ever-chaotic starting sparrow, flew in through the window. He landed on the edge of the table, his head cocked in mock concern. "If I were you, I'd stay far, far away from the royal suite tonight," he said, his tone dripping with mischief.
The color drained from the siblings' faces.
Arthur blinked, his face paling as the realization sank in. "No… no. No."
Eugene rolled his eyes. "Arthur, please ." Arthur physically gagged, pushing his plate away. His mind was already spiraling into the realm of mental torment. He pushed his plate away, his face contorting in absolute horror.
Cecelia, sitting calmly beside him, reached over to pat his back, her expression far too.
"Sorrows, prayers," she muttered, trying to regain his composure.
Elaine, rolling her eyes, leaned back in his chair. "Honestly, Arthur, you're a father yourself, and they've been married for decades. You think this is new?"
He waved a hand, still trying not to lose his dinner. "Knowing isn't the same as imagining, Elaine!"
Rhyssand couldn't contain himself, bursting into loud, unapologetic laughter.
"You're all hopeless," he said, leaning back in his chair with a wide grin.
Artizea, trying to keep her composure, failed miserably and joined Rhyssand in laughing and said, "I mean, Father did wink at me earlier. I should've known something was up."
That was it.
Arthur groaned louder, practically burying his face in his hands.
"Stop. Just stop talking. This is all your fault."
Artizea gasped dramatically, clutching her chest.
"My fault?"
He raised his head just enough to glare at her, though it held no real venom.
"Oh, don't act innocent. You traumatized me years ago. Remember when you decided it was your duty to educate me about how babies were made?"
The room erupted in laughter again.
Eugene smirked. "Ah, yes, the infamous Artizea's Birds and Bees Talk. Legend says Arthur has never recovered."
"And I never will!" Arthur shot back, though even he was grinning now.
Cecelia, wiping tears from her eyes, shook her head. "How detailed were you?"
She shrugged, barely containing her amusement. "Let's just say I may have used dramatic hand gestures for the 'reproduction process.'"
Arthur groaned anew. "Gods, stop. I'm reliving it."
Rhyssand, leaning casually in his chair, saw his opportunity. Smirking, he stood, taking Artizea's hand in his. "Well, my dear," he drawled, his voice smooth as silk, "I guess we'd better put your knowledge to use…"
Artizea's jaw dropped, and she turned to glare at him, "Rhys!" she hissed, mortified.
But the damage was done. Arthur, already teetering on the edge, physically recoiled as if struck.
"Oh gods.."
"Oh, don't worry," Rhyssand added, winking at Artizea, his grin wickedly playful. "We'll keep it… subtle."
Arthur gagged, clutching his chest as if physically in pain. "Call the healers…" he groaned, practically falling out of his chair.
Cesealia, trying to stifle a laugh, rubbed his back sympathetically.
"He'll be fine," she said teasingly.
Elaine giggled, shaking her head.
Eugene snorted, finally looking up from his notes. "It's incredible you've managed to survive this long with such a weak constitution."
Arthur shot him a glare, still hunched over. "I don't need commentary, Eugene. I need a memory wipe."
Meanwhile, Rhyssand pulled his wife closer, whispering just loud enough for her to hear, "I think I broke your brother."
She smacked his arm, trying to hold back her laughter.
Fin, perched on the table, watched the chaos unfold with pure amusement.
"Ah, my work here is done," he said, shaking his tiny head. "Good luck, Pendragons. You'll need it."
And with that, the sparrow flew off, leaving Arthur still gagging, Cesealia rubbing his back with barely concealed amusement, and the rest of the siblings trying to stifle their laughter as they endured another unforgettable family dinner.
Meanwhile, in the shadowed halls of the castle, the king and queen were moving like ghosts through hidden passageways—even ones Elaine didn't know about.
Gilgamesh smirked as he guided Arthuria through a concealed door, his hand firm in hers, leading her down a winding path lit only by moonlight spilling through the cracks of old stone walls.
"Gil?" she huffed, following despite her exasperation. " Sneaking around like we're teenagers?"
He turned back to her, his crimson eyes glowing like fire in the dark, the mischievous tilt of his lips as infuriating as ever.
"If I recall," he mused, "you never got to be a teenager. You were too busy with political wars."
She narrowed her eyes. "Well, I'm just a cursed mortal after all, I can't read people's minds." He chuckled, but instead of arguing, he simply said " Forgive me ", squeezed her hand, and led her forward. "Allow me to make it up to you. "
As they stepped out into the open night, Arthuria stilled.
They had left the towering palace behind, stepping into a small meadow beyond the royal walls. Fireflies flickered like tiny wandering stars, the scent of wildflowers drifting on the cool night breeze. The grass swayed gently under the silver moonlight, whispering secrets only the wind could hear.
And there—at the edge of the clearing—stood a cottage.
Her cottage.
Where it had all begun.
Arthuria felt something in her chest tighten.
It looked the same. The ivy still crept up its stone walls, the old wooden beams still bore the marks of Gilgamesh's poor attempts at fixing the roof in the early days, the garden—her garden—was overgrown, but still thrived.
The place he gave to her where she had first sought refuge, where—against all odds—he had seen her. Truly Seen her.
Where he had offered to take her name.
She turned to him, breathless, the weight of years pressing against her ribs. "You brought me here?"
He stepped closer, his hands coming to rest firmly on her waist, pulling her flush against him.
"I brought you home."
She exhaled, a slow, shaky breath."Why now?"
He leaned in, brushing his lips softly against her temple before murmuring, "Because it's where I first promised you everything. And I intend to do it again."
He took her hand, guiding it to his heart, pressing it there. His eyes—once full of arrogance, now only full of love —locked onto hers with a rare, unshakable tenderness.
"I vowed," he whispered, "to give you peace, to give you freedom, to give you love."
His fingers traced her jaw, his touch reverent.
"I vowed to be your husband. To be the father of our children. To be your first and last love."
His voice dropped lower, as if speaking the words only for her.
"And after all these years," he whispered, "I vow it again."
She swallowed hard, her fingers curling against the fabric of his tunic, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping her standing.
His voice was softer now, more vulnerable than she had ever heard it.
"Arthuria Pendragon, My Love, My Essence… have I yet earned the blessings you've bestowed upon me these past 30 years?"
The years flashed before her eyes.
The battles.
The burdens.
The nights filled with fury and passion, with war and love, with wounds and healing.
The four children they had raised together.
The kingdom they had built.
The life they had carved out of fate itself.
She cupped his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek.
"You have, Gil."
Her voice was steady, full of something deeper than just affection—devotion.
"And so much more," she whispered. "You gave me a different fate."
His crimson eyes softened in falme, the weight of her words sinking into his soul. His hand came up to cradle her face, tilting her chin so that she was looking at him.
And then—he kissed her.
Slow. Deep. Unshakable.
A kiss that spoke of decades of love, of trials and triumphs, of all the things neither of them had ever been able to say in words.
A kiss that promised forever.
"No regrets, then?" he murmured, his fingers brushing over her golden wedding band. "None."
"High praise."
"The highest," she said dryly, though her smile betrayed her affection.
Gilgamesh chuckled once more, savoring the warmth of her laughter, the weight of her presence.
He thought back to those distant days — the battlefield, the clash of swords, the defiant gleam in her emerald eyes.
She added with a mischievous gleam, "Though I could have done without the chains, old age has made me soft."
"Next time," He smirked, "I'll use silk."
She laughed
This is where fate had led them—no matter what enemies had tried to break them—
She had always belonged here.
With him.