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CHAPTER 2 - MORGAN
“Morgan!”
I knew the voice. Boyish and high-pitched. So familiar.
“Morgan, I see you. Can you see me? What is this place?”
I struggled to open my eyes. A trickle of light filtered in, blinding me. A pile of burning rubble.
I had set something on fire, I remembered. The arch.
“You have to stop him, Morgan. He’s going to kill us all.”
The smell of singed feathers filled the air.
I shook my head in confusion, looking around.
A stone floor. The scent of burned flesh and fabric. The acrid scent of crumbling stones turned to powdered ash.
A man lay near me. His clothes had been on fire. Now the fire was out. He was groaning.
I kneeled beside him.
Javer lifted his head. His black, pointed beard was singed. Skin blackened with soot, he looked up at me, dazed.
“Oh, you stupid, stupid man.”
My voice echoed loudly off the stone walls of the windowless room.
There was a creaking sound from far above us.
I whirled around. A door at the top of a set of narrow, stone stairs was opening.
A figure stood silhouetted in the frame.
They stepped forward. Light from behind illuminated their figure and lit up their face.
A ripple of disbelief went through me. Any words I might have said dried up as my breath caught in my throat.
“Morgan?” Lancelet stepped into the chamber. “Is it really you?”
I was back in Camelot. And Lancelet was alive.
