"Yes, our family has carried a prophecy through countless generations—one that has been whispered from parent to child, sealed within the bloodline of Emrys. It says this: 'When Emrys comes alive to Emrys Paradise, he will return to Merlin's side, and in doing so, the closed loop of fate shall be completed.'"
The words, spoken with deliberate weight, seemed to hang in the air like a sacred incantation.
Dana blinked in astonishment, his eyes wide. "But Mom… you never once told me about this prophecy before?"
Anna's expression softened, regret flickering across her face like the shadow of a candle flame. "That's because I simply hadn't had the chance to tell you yet, Dana. So much has happened, and time…" She sighed, her voice trembling faintly. "…time is a luxury I have never truly possessed."
Dana lowered his gaze, his expression torn. Then, almost abruptly, his face hardened again with determination. "But Mom, if I'm supposed to be the one who fulfills this mission, then what about the revenge I've been carrying out for you? It's already halfway done—I can't just abandon it now!"
With a swift, almost theatrical gesture, he produced two small crystalline shards, each glowing faintly with a trapped and agonized aura. They were the soul crystals of Sally Avery and John Flint. With a flick of his finger, Dana conjured a lick of fire. The flames curled around the crystals, making them writhe and scream in thin, ghostly wails that twisted the air like smoke.
Anna's breath caught in her throat. "Revenge?" she whispered, startled. But then, in a moment of realization, her eyes softened with understanding.
"Yes," Dana said firmly, his voice edged with pain. "I've been working for you, Mom—for your justice. Their screams are only the beginning."
Anna's lips curved into the faintest smile, tinged with sorrow. "Don't worry, Dana. 'You' will continue that plan on your behalf."
Her words were cryptic, twisting like riddles in the air, and Dana frowned in confusion. "What do you mean, 'me will continue for me'?" he asked. Before he could press her further, another presence suddenly emerged.
A dignified-looking old man appeared, radiating authority and serenity. His white hair glowed faintly, and his robes shimmered as though woven with strands of starlight. Dana instinctively straightened.
"Dana," the old man said in a voice deep and commanding, "your time here grows short. Listen carefully."
Dana immediately lowered his head in respect. "Sir…"
"I am Clauston Emrys," the old man announced, his gaze sharp yet compassionate. "The origin of all who bear the name Emrys. My father is Merlin, and my mother was a nameless handmaiden, a gift from King Arthur himself to my father. You stand before your ancestor."
Dana bowed deeply. "Ancestor Clauston," he said solemnly.
Clauston nodded approvingly, his expression pleased. "Good. Respect flows strongly in your blood. Now hear this: you have but one mission, and it is the most vital—stop Morgan le Fay. The details of this task will be explained by my father himself. Rest assured, though, that the fact you stand here today means one thing: your future self has already succeeded. The loop is closed."
Dana swallowed hard. "Does this mean… history cannot be changed? No matter what I do?"
Clauston's eyes gleamed. "Yes. When one travels to the past with the intention of altering fate, they do not create a new history—they fulfill the history already written. Your actions are woven into the very fabric of destiny. That is the nature of fate."
Dana nodded, a heaviness settling in his chest. Already, he could feel an invisible pull, like unseen threads tugging him away from this place. His throat tightened, and he turned desperately toward his mother.
"Mom, I'll be back soon!" His voice cracked with both determination and fear. "I'll finish the mission, and then I'll take you home. Just wait for me!"
Anna's smile was gentle, her eyes brimming with warmth. She nodded again and again, as though imprinting the moment into her heart. Raising her hand, she waved softly.
"Dana," she asked tenderly, "have you made any good friends at Hogwarts? Do you… perhaps have a girl you like?"
Her question caught him off guard. Dana rubbed his reddened eyes with his sleeve and managed a smile. "I've made two good friends, Mom. But as for a girl I like—" he laughed awkwardly through his tears—"I'm not an adult yet. That kind of thing is still far away for me."
Anna's form was already beginning to blur, her edges dissolving like mist in sunlight. Dana panicked. "Mom!"
The other Emrys, too, began fading into nothingness. Dana's heart pounded wildly. He still had so much to say, so many words left unsaid. He shouted, but no sound bridged the growing distance. His mother's lips moved—her face full of worry, yet still forcing a brave smile as she waved with all her strength.
Dana tried to read her lips. Slowly, carefully, he pieced the words together:
Take good care of yourself.
Then, with a final shimmer, they were gone.
The world around him twisted violently. Scenes flashed before his eyes in a dizzying cascade.
He saw the smoke and fire of a World War, cannons thundering and skies raining steel.
He saw the Industrial Revolution, chimneys stabbing the sky while black smoke billowed across the horizon.
He saw the Age of Sail, proud ships braving stormy seas as sailors shouted orders in the wind.
He saw the Dark Ages, shadows of the plague devouring entire villages.
And then—stone by stone, he saw a castle rising, majestic and ancient: the familiar silhouette of Hogwarts.
Finally, the vision slowed, the rapid flicker of history halting on a barren stretch of land. A desolate basin spread before him, ringed by three squat hills. Nothing grew there except a solitary oak tree, its branches wide and solemn.
Dana froze. This place… it was familiar. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
"Ancestor Merlin's tomb…" he whispered. "This is it."
He remembered clearly: by Bristol Bay, guarded by three half-mountains. He himself had been here before, had once retrieved Merlin's corpse, absorbed its magic, and buried it again—robed and honored—with a rune-inscribed tombstone of automatic repair.
Yet now, the tombstone was gone. In its place stood only the lone oak tree.
A wave of unease washed over Dana. Ever since he had stepped through the mysterious archway, everything had spiraled beyond his control. Seeing his mother had been joyous—but this talk of a mission, this tree standing where Merlin's tomb should be—it all left him disoriented, powerless.
And then, a voice drifted from the oak tree itself.
"Child, I have waited for you. Never did I imagine that over three hundred years would pass before one of my descendants reached this place. That means… you are from the twentieth century, are you not?"
Dana's head snapped up. The voice was deep, old, and filled with a strange kindness. His eyes darted to the oak. No eyes, no mouth, no movement—yet the voice resonated from its very heart.
"Child, come to my front so that I may see you properly."
With reluctant steps, Dana circled the oak. The front of a tree? he thought with a twitch of his mouth. What does that even mean?
But when he reached the side facing east, he saw it: a weathered face etched into the bark, as though the tree itself had swallowed an old man. The visage bore a striking resemblance to Dana—identical even to the Merlin's corpse he had once seen, except this version had a long, tangled beard.
"Merlin?" Dana whispered, stunned.
The wooden face split into a smile, and the beard quivered as if alive. "It's me. What a clever child you are."
Dana swallowed. "So it really is you…"
"Yes," Merlin chuckled. "And since you found this place, you must have seen all I left behind. You understand, then, that this is not your own time."
"I do," Dana said cautiously. "But what I don't understand is—how could you tell with certainty that I come from the twentieth century?"
Merlin's wooden eyes twinkled. "Simple. The magic array I constructed in Avalon was built with limits—it can only transport a person nine hundred and ninety-nine years into the past. Never a thousand. It is a barrier, a law of time itself.
"So, if I was rescued immediately after being sealed, then naturally, my descendant must have been within that span. But if centuries passed before rescue, then the calculation is easy—you add the years I have been bound here to the nine hundred and ninety-nine. That total reveals the century from which my rescuer hails."
Dana's breath caught. So that was the truth…
Merlin tilted his head, his bark creaking faintly. "Child, you still haven't told me your name."
"Dana," he replied.
Merlin smiled warmly. "Dana… Arbiter. That is what your name means. A fine, strong name." His expression suddenly shifted. His wooden brow furrowed, and his gaze sharpened.
"Wait a moment. I can sense it—you already possess the Eternal Heart. That much is clear. But you have not yet inherited the magic I left behind, have you?"
Dana frowned. "Magic?" Then he remembered. His mind leapt to the third layer of Merlin's Secret Treasure—the clam shell that had been empty.
"Are you talking about the clam shell in the treasure's third layer? I found it, but when I opened it, there was nothing inside."
Merlin stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound creaking through the tree. "Ah, I see now! Of course—it's time. Time itself plays its games with us!"
The laughter subsided, and Merlin's wooden face softened into seriousness.
"Child, listen to me carefully. Go back. Open the clam shell again. I assure you, this time it will not be empty. When you do, you will inherit all that I have left for you."
His bark-beard seemed to tremble with anticipation. "Then return to me. I need your help, Dana. The world will need your help."
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