Chapter 5: The Cost of A Blade

Albion felt the familiar tug of gravity vanish as he and Adelaide stepped through the shimmering portal. His grip on her hand tightened instinctively as a whirlwind of colors spun violently around them. Up and down were mere suggestions in this place where gravity itself seemed a joke. The air felt alive with entergy, buzzing against his skin, his mind caught in a kaleidoscope of colors and light that defied logic. He was floating—no, falling—or both. It was impossible to tell.

The sensation made Albion's stomach churn, his senses struggling to keep up. His body buzzed as though it had been disconnected from reality. The sound of his pulse throbbed in his ears, reminding him he was still alive, even as his vision blurred. For a moment, he feared he might lose himself here, lost in the space between worlds where everything and nothing existed at once.

Then, as quickly as it began, it stopped.

Albion's feet slammed into solid ground, but his body wasn't ready for it. A shock ran up his legs, his knees buckling instantly. The momentum sent him tumbling forward, and before he could catch himself—his palms scraped against the dirt, breath punching out of his lungs.

The weightlessness from before was gone, but his body hadn't caught up yet. His intestines lurched, twisting like he'd just been ripped through space without his insides coming with him.

The air pressed against him, thick and charged—like standing too close to an exposed wire. He gasped, sucking in a breath, only to cough violently. The taste was metallic. Not quite blood, not quite ozone, but something wrong.

For a second—just a second—he panicked.

What if he wasn't standing on solid ground?

What if he was still falling?

Albion's fingers clenched the dirt beneath him. It was warm. Too warm.

Not like Earth.

The dizziness didn't fade right away. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the swirling nausea to subside, but the world still tilted beneath him.

When he opened his eyes again, everything looked…odd.

Towering trees loomed overhead, impossibly tall, their gnarled branches twisting toward the sky like skeletal fingers. The leaves shimmered, casting an eerie green glow, and the air hummed with something Albion couldn't name.

The ground beneath his hands wasn't just warm—it pulsed. A steady, rhythmic energy, like a slow heartbeat.

Albion yanked his hands away.

His breath hitched.

"If this is still Earth," he muttered, "someone changed the settings."

Adelaide stepped ahead, her cloak brushing the ground as she moved with purpose. She glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable.

"No," she said softly. "Welcome to Avalon."

The name hit like a punch to the gut.

Albion blinked. Once. Twice.

Then he burst out laughing.

It was half hysteria, half disbelief—the kind of laugh you let out when someone tells you something so ridiculous, you don't know how else to respond.

"You've got to be kidding me," he mumbled, his voice still shaky as he ran a trembling hand through his curls.

His body still wasn't right. His limbs felt too heavy, his pulse out of sync with the world around him. The thick air pushed against his skin like it was alive.

"Avalon?" He scoffed. "Like… Avalon? As in, King Arthur, Merlin, and enchanted swords Avalon?"

Adelaide arched a brow. "Yes, Avalon."

Albion's laugh died in his throat.

The trees around them stretched impossibly high, their leaves glowing with unnatural light. The air felt heavier than it should, pressing against his skin like unseen hands. The ground beneath him still hummed, like it was watching. Waiting.

This wasn't a dream.

His stomach lurched again.

He turned in a slow circle, his breath coming out uneven. The place felt like it had been waiting for him.

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

Albion rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of it all. "Sure, why wouldn't a legendary realm be real? Maybe Merlin will pop out next, or a dragon—just to round things off."

Adelaide's smile widened, but her eyes darkened. "It's more real than you can imagine. Avalon isn't a bedtime story. It's a realm of magic, deeply connected to your world."

Albion's irritation flared beneath his confusion. "You make it sound easy. Just step into a mythical realm and take on some grand destiny. What about everything I know?"

Adelaide's expression hardened, but only for a moment. "This isn't about what you know, Albion. It's about what you need to discover."

Albion wanted to push back with another sarcastic remark, but there was a weight to her words that grounded him. The air in Avalon felt thick with something ancient, something alive. The sensation sent a chill down his spine, but also a strange prickle of excitement. He swallowed hard, pushing the unease aside.

"How is this possible?" Albion asked, stepping beside her. "This place… feels familiar. Like I've been here before."

Adelaide's gaze flickered with something—recognition, perhaps—but she didn't press. "Avalon finds you when you're ready. It's tied to all magic, reaching out to those who are meant to find it."

"Ready?" Albion scoffed, though his voice carried an edge of nervousness. "Ready for what, exactly?"

"To find out who you really are."

Albion stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. Who he really was? The ground beneath his feet seemed to shift slightly as the thought took root. He tore his eyes away from her and looked deeper into the forest. "My father used to take me to a place like this. It feels the same, but I can't explain why."

Adelaide glanced at him, a flash of frustration crossing her face before she turned. "There's much to explain, and not much time. Come."

Albion followed her deeper into the woods, though his instincts screamed at him to turn back. The tension between them simmered in the thick air, her urgency pressing against his reluctance. The forest seemed to shift around them as they walked, the trees pressing in, their twisted branches forming shapes that seemed to defy logic. The air itself thrummed with magic.

Albion's mind churned with questions, but he pushed his unease aside. "So, is this where I get knighted or something? Maybe pull a sword from a lake?"

Adelaide shot him a glance of exasperation. "You've already done half of that."

"Either I'm lost," he muttered, "or the universe is drunk."

She pointed at his forearm. "The runes. They're part of your heritage, Albion. You've been chosen. You don't need to pull a sword from a lake. You just need to accept who you are."

Albion looked down at his arm, where the runes faintly glowed. He opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but then his words died in his throat.

There, in the center of a clearing, stood a stone statue of a woman. A tombstone in front of her. Her face was carved in such fine detail she almost seemed alive, her expression one of profound disappointment. Her hair, carved into thick dreadlocks, tumbled down her stone shoulders. But Albion's gaze was drawn to the sword.

A gleaming white blade pierced the statue's chest. The hilt was wrapped in black leather, and at its cross guard, a sapphire gleamed with a light that didn't belong in this world. Albion felt a pulse of energy shoot up his arm as the sword's power radiated outward, connecting with the runes etched into his skin.

"Is that…?" Albion's voice was barely a whisper.

"Excalibur," Adelaide said softly. "It's been waiting for you."

Albion stared at the blade, his heart hammering in his chest. This was the legendary sword. The weapon of kings. And it was waiting for him?

Albion's fingers hovered inches from the hilt, shaking. The runes on his arm burned hotter, their golden light flickering like they were waiting. Watching.

Everything in his body screamed not to do this.

Everything in him knew this was a mistake.

He swallowed hard.

It wasn't meant for him. This was Excalibur. The sword of legends. The sword of kings. It wasn't meant for people—people who barely managed rent, who got by on sharp words and quick exits.

His breath came uneven, too fast.

This sword had chosen Arthur.

And now… it was choosing him?

For a second—just a second—he almost pulled his hand away.

He clenched his jaw, forcing down the flood of doubt.

"What if I'm not ready?"

Adelaide didn't answer right away.

For the first time, her confidence wavered. Just a flicker—so fast he might have missed it.

"The sword will know."

The words sent a chill through him.

Albion exhaled sharply, his heart slamming against his ribs. His fingers twitched—just once—before he forced them to move.

His hand wrapped around the hilt.

A shockwave of heat shot through his palm, racing up his arm, slamming into his chest like a battering ram.

His breath yoked—then vanished.

Everything exploded into white.

Sound—gone. Sight—gone.

The world collapsed inward, folding around him like a crushing fist.

And then the fire came.

Not just heat—but an inferno inside his bones.

It felt like his blood had caught fire.

Heat tore through him, filling every inch of his body, burning through his veins like liquid gold. His knees buckled, and he nearly collapsed under the force of it.

Albion gasped, but no air came. His lungs burned, his pulse pounded in his skull, and the sword dug into him—like it was sinking into his very essence.

His grip faltered.

The sword was too heavy. Not in the way a weapon should be—it wasn't just weight in his hands; it was weight in his soul.

Excalibur hummed, the vibrations rattling through his bones, syncing with something deep inside him that had never woken up before.

His muscles seized, his vision fractured, splitting into a thousand images that weren't his own.

Flashes of war. A king standing on a battlefield. A throne in ruins. Blood. So much blood.

He couldn't breathe.

Albion choked on a scream as the visions tore through him.

He was drowning in them.

This wasn't power.

This was being unmade.

The roaring in his ears swallowed everything—Adelaide's voice, the wind, even his own thoughts.

It wasn't just power rushing into him.

It was tearing through him.

Every muscle in his body locked, trembling under the sheer force. His fingers convulsed, barely able to keep hold of the hilt, his grip slipping—weakening.

He tried to let go—tried to rip his hand away.

But the sword didn't let him.

Something coiled inside him, ancient and unrelenting. The runes on his arm blazed, burning through his skin, carving themselves deeper, as if Excalibur was branding him.

This wasn't a gift.

It was a storm.

Ancient yet alive.

You were always mine.

The thought wasn't his.

Albion staggered.

Sweat dripped down his temple, his legs threatening to give out.

He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

His breath came in short, ragged gasps, his lungs refusing to expand properly.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw aching from the force of keeping himself upright.

It was inside him now.

And it wasn't letting go.

His body convulsed, his vision flickering black at the edges. His heart slammed against his ribs, struggling to keep up.

He wasn't ready for this.

His body wasn't ready.

His mind wasn't ready.

But the sword didn't care.

He wanted to pull away—to run—to escape.

But Excalibur had already decided.

It had already claimed him.

The sword had claimed him.

And it wasn't letting go.

There was no turning back.

As the connection deepened, Albion could feel something stir deep within him—a presence, a power that had been lying dormant, waiting for this moment. The statue disintegrated as he pulled the sword from the stone.

Albion stumbled back, but his legs refused to hold him.

His entire body gave out.

The world tilted sideways as he collapsed, his knees hitting the dirt. His breath tore from his lungs in uneven, desperate gasps.

His hands shook violently. His muscles spasmed, still trying to fight against something bigger than him.

The sword was still in his grip.

Still humming. Still alive.

He tried to move his fingers—tried to loosen his grip—but his hand refused to let go.

Albion's pulse pounded in his ears, his skin fever-hot. Every inch of him felt like it was about to break apart.

He slammed his free hand into the dirt, fingers clawing at the earth, trying to ground himself.

Adelaide's voice was distant, like she was calling from underwater.

The sword was still binding to him.

And it felt like it was rewriting him from the inside out.

Albion swallowed hard, fear and awe intertwining within him. Is this who I've always been? The thought unsettled him. Just as Albion's mind began to wrap around what was happening, the air around him shifted.

The first light of dawn cast long shadows over the clearing, and Albion's heart thudded loudly in his chest. The smell of smoke lingered in the air, and the ground felt scorched beneath his feet. The world seemed to hold its breath as a shadowed figure emerged from the darkness— a Djinn, its fiery eyes fixed on Albion with predatory intent.

Flames crackled at the Djinn's fingertips as it stepped forward, its molten skin glowing with inner heat. Albion's pulse quickened as he staggered to his feet, his hand tightening around Excalibur's hilt. The runes on his arm burned hotter, syncing with the creature's presence.

"What the hell is that?" Albion breathed.

Adelaide stepped forward, her staff glowing. "A problem."

The Djinn lunged, its movement so fast Albion barely had time to react.

Instinctively, he raised Excalibur, and a blinding light erupted from the blade.

The light from Excalibur burst forth like a living entity, slashing through the dark air with a brilliance that Albion hadn't expected. It bathed the clearing in white-hot intensity, the heat of it surging through his arm and into his chest. The Djinn recoiled, its fiery body hissing as the light collided with its molten form.

But it wasn't defeated.

The creature let out a low growl, its molten skin cracking, fiery tendrils snaking out like whips as it advanced on Albion. The air around him sizzled, every breath burning in his lungs as if he were inhaling fire itself. The ground beneath his feet scorched, blackening with each step the Djinn took.

Albion's mind screamed at him to move, to act. He was holding Excalibur, a weapon of legend—he should feel invincible, powerful. But all he felt was fear. The runes on his arm blazed brighter, urging him to fight, but his legs felt rooted to the spot, the weight of the sword heavier than before.

Beside him, Adelaide moved with calculated precision. Her appearing staff glowed brighter, the runes along its length sparking with energy as she whispered under her breath. The moisture in the air responded to her command, swirling into a shimmering barrier between Albion and the Djinn. Water and fire collided in a hiss of steam, the air thick with the opposing elements.

The Djinn snarled, its red eyes burning with fury as it slammed against Adelaide's barrier. Steam exploded around them, droplets cascading in every direction, reflecting the blinding light of Excalibur and the flames of the Djinn. Albion watched, frozen, as Adelaide's magic danced in the air, a delicate ballet of defense and control. She was fighting with everything she had, her movements a blend of grace and raw power, and yet, Albion could see the strain in her eyes, the sweat on her brow and the tightness in her jaw.

"Albion!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. "I need you."

Albion's pulse quickened, the weight of the sword almost unbearable in his hand. The runes on his arm throbbed with heat, urging him forward, but fear still held him in place. He wasn't a warrior. He wasn't a hero from some legend. He was just a man who had been thrust into a world he didn't yet understand.

The Djinn slammed against Adelaide's barrier again, its molten claws scraping against the shimmering wall of water. Adelaide's arms shook under the pressure, her staff sparking with magic as she struggled to hold the creature back.

Albion had never been more aware of his own heartbeat. It slammed against his ribs like it was trying to break free.

This wasn't a lecture hall. This wasn't a history book.

This was real.

The Djinn's molten skin cracked, shifting like living lava, its fiery eyes locked onto him. It was waiting.

Waiting for him to fail.

His fingers twitched against the hilt of Excalibur, slick with sweat.

His father's voice rang in his head— but this wasn't the backyard. There were no practice swings. No safety. No second chances.

What the hell am I doing here?

Adelaide fought with precision and control, her magic weaving through the air. She belonged here. He didn't.

The Djinn took a step forward, and he took a step back.

I can't do this.

And Albion had no choice.

The Djinn stepped forward, flames licking at its molten fingertips.

Albion's pulse thundered in his ears.

He couldn't breathe yet again.

The ground beneath him felt wrong—hot, cracked, unstable. The air sizzled with heat, thick with the scent of burning earth. Sweat dripped down his spine, clinging to his shirt.

The creature wasn't just standing there. It was watching him. Studying.

Like it already knew he would fail.

Albion gripped Excalibur tightly, but his arms felt weak, his fingers cold despite the heat.

He wasn't a warrior.

He wasn't a hero.

He was just a man with a sword he didn't understand, standing in front of something that could burn him alive.

His legs locked.

His father's voice echoed in the back of his mind—a memory too sharp, too real.

"Keep your grip firm, Albion. Not too tight. Let the sword breathe in your hand."

The words came from another lifetime.

His backyard. A wooden sword. Sunlight through the leaves. The scent of fresh-cut grass.

The Djinn growled low in its throat. Its molten skin cracked, a fresh wave of fire rippling down its arms.

Move.

Move. MOVE.

But his body refused to obey.

But then the creature moved.

Fast.

Adelaide's voice snapped through the chaos.

"Albion!"

His body reacted before his mind could catch up.

He swung—wild, unpracticed, too high.

The Djinn ducked.

Pain exploded in his side as fire lashed across his ribs, the impact sending him stumbling back.

Albion had never been more aware of his own heartbeat.

He doubled over, hand instinctively flying to his ribs. His fingertips brushed the wound—hot, blistering. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps.

No. No, no, no.

His father's voice again.

"You'll never get better if you just stand there."

The Djinn lunged again—faster this time.

Albion's fingers clenched around the hilt, his survival instincts finally kicking in.

He swung again—this time lower, sharper, but still too slow.

Excalibur connected.

But it barely left a mark.

The Djinn's molten skin flared, healing almost instantly.

Albion's stomach plummeted.

The thing wasn't just on fire—it was fire.

His blade had sliced through it like air, like it was cutting smoke.

Oh, shit.

The Djinn's claws swiped toward him, and he barely managed to parry, his arms screaming from the impact. The force rattled his bones, sending him skidding backward.

He wasn't winning this fight.

He was barely surviving it.

The Djinn's claws barely missed his throat.

The force of his own swing sent him off balance, his feet slipping against the scorched earth. He planted his back foot, steadying himself, the way his father taught him.

"Your stance, Albion! Knees bent, not locked. Feel the ground beneath you."

The ground beneath him felt like his backyard.

Not because it looked like home—because the fight felt the same.

Training with his father. The weight of a sword in his hands. Muscle memory kicking in.

He pivoted.

The Djinn was already turning, preparing to strike—Albion swung harder.

Excalibur flashed white-hot.

Light erupted from the blade.

The creature screamed, its flames flickering wildly as it reeled back.

Albion stumbled, his arms burning from the force of the blow.

His chest heaved. His ribs throbbed.

His entire body felt like it had been set on fire from the inside out.

That… had actually worked?

He had actually hurt it.

But he could barely lift the sword again.

Adelaide's voice cut through his disbelief.

"Now, Albion!"

He had no idea what he was doing.

But he had no choice but to try.

Instinct kicked in again. Albion swung Excalibur with all the strength he could muster, the blade cutting through the air like a flash of lightning. The Djinn's claws collided with the sword, and for a split second, Albion felt the overwhelming heat of the creature's fire licking at his skin.

Then, with a blinding explosion of light, the Djinn's fiery form recoiled.

Albion stumbled back, breathless, his arms trembling from the force of the impact. The creature snarled, flames sputtering as it staggered backward, momentarily dazed by the burst of energy from Excalibur.

"Again!" Adelaide shouted, her voice strained but commanding. "Strike again, Albion!"

Albion forced his feet to move.

Every step felt like walking through tar. His arms trembled, muscles locking up.

The Djinn recovered too fast.

Albion's legs gave out for just a second. He caught himself—barely.

His fingers burned, Excalibur growing heavier in his grip.

He could see the Djinn's eyes narrowing, its body flaring hotter, preparing another attack.

He had one chance.

Albion lifted the sword. His hands nearly slipped from the hilt.

His father's voice.

"Again, Albion! If you miss, you swing again. You don't stop until it's done!"

Albion's breath came in sharp gasps, his ribs a mess of fire and bruises.

He had nothing left.

But if he stopped now—

Adelaide would die.

His fingers tightened around Excalibur.

This was his last chance.

Albion let out a raw, aching cry and forced his body to move one more time.

He charged.

The Djinn reared back, flames surging one last time.

Albion swung everything he had left.

The sword sang.

He swung.

His arms felt like lead, his grip failing.

The Djinn wasn't done.

It was cracking, flickering, but still standing. Still burning.

Excalibur sang as it cut through the air, its light blinding.

The Djinn snarled, then screamed.

The blade connected.

A burst of white-hot energy erupted from the sword, tearing through the creature's molten flesh. Fire flickered violently, like a candle in the wind—then snuffed out.

Albion staggered back, panting, as the Djinn's form began to disintegrate. Its fiery body crumbled into ash, carried away on the wind as the last of its flames flickered out. The air around him grew still, the oppressive heat fading as the clearing returned to an eerie calm.

Albion barely managed to stay standing.

His breath ragged, chest aching, vision swimming.

He had won.

But his body was wrecked.

Albion stood there, Excalibur still glowing faintly in his grip, his body trembling with exhaustion. He had done it. He had actually done it.

But the victory felt hollow, weighed down by the immense power he now wielded. The sword— Excalibur—had chosen him, but at what cost? The runes on his arm still glowed, their heat fading but ever-present, a constant reminder of the responsibility he now carried.

Adelaide approached him slowly, her eyes flicking between him and the remnants of the battle. "You did it," she said softly, her voice a mixture of relief and something else he couldn't quite place. "You actually did it."

Albion nodded, though his mind was still racing. The Djinn had been defeated, but the weight of what had just happened hung heavy in the air. He wasn't sure how to feel—pride, fear, relief? All of it felt jumbled in his chest.

Adelaide's gaze softened as she looked at him. "There's more to this than you know, Albion. The sword is only the beginning."

Albion swallowed hard, the enormity of her words pressing down on him. The beginning. He had just faced down an elemental force, wielded a legendary sword, and barely survived. And this was only the start?

Before he could reply, the air around them shifted again.

Darkness crept in from the edges of the clearing, shadows gathering and twisting into familiar, menacing forms. Albion's pulse quickened as more Djinn appeared, their eyes burning with the same fiery malice. There were more this time—too many. Albion's hand tightened around Excalibur's hilt, his chest tightening with dread.

Adelaide's expression hardened. "They're not done yet."

Albion's heart raced as the Djinn advanced, their forms flickering with dark energy. Adelaide raised her staff, casting defensive runes in the air, but the creatures were faster this time, more coordinated. One of them lunged at her, its claws wrapping around her arm before Albion could react.

"Albion!" Adelaide's voice rang out as the shadows closed in around her. He reached for her, his hand closing around her wrist, but the darkness was too strong. The Djinn dragged her into the shadows, its grip unyielding.

Adelaide's eyes locked onto his, filled with urgency. "Stonehenge," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the chaos. "Find me, Albion."

And then she was gone.

The clearing collapsed around him, the vibrant colors of Avalon fading into nothingness. Albion felt a jolt of disorientation, and suddenly, he was back in his office, standing amidst the clutter. Excalibur was gone, the runes on his arm had dimmed to mere tattoos, and his enchanted clothes had reverted to his ordinary office attire.

He stood there, breathing heavily, the weight of failure pressing down on him. Adelaide was gone, taken by the shadows, and he had no idea how to find her. But her final words echoed in his mind—Stonehenge—and he knew, deep down, that his journey was far from over.