The Great Mage Merlin — a name that echoed through every corner of Western legend.
The wise counselor of King Arthur, the man who stood beside the Knights of the Round Table — his legend was so well-known that even children could recite parts of it.
But… could that Merlin have anything to do with Malcolm Merlyn?
Thea's head spun.
She'd spent so long tracing the Quinn family's tangled bloodline, chasing half-mythical records, and yet — could the truth have been right beside her all along?
Or was this just another illusion?
She looked down at her hands. Long-fingered, pale, steady. Hands that could string a bow, wield a sword, or flip a dagger with ease — but not, as far as she knew, summon fireballs or ice spears.
And if it really came down to bloodline… shouldn't old man Malcolm's be purer?
He'd spent a lifetime scheming, manipulating, playing the game from the shadows — yet in the end, he'd died miserable and powerless.
She'd never seen him awakening any "ancient magic" in his blood.
Thea pictured him in a wizard's robe, flinging fireballs.
Yeah. No. That image was too ridiculous.
Still, the Swamp Creature before her didn't look like it was joking.
She pointed to herself.
"So… my bloodline's awake now? Because honestly, I don't feel any different."
The creature didn't answer immediately.
Instead, dozens of vines rose from the muddy ground, curling and weaving into a thick tangle.
From the center of that mass, they lifted a dark-red vessel — small, smooth, shaped almost like a goblet.
It was spotless despite having come from the swamp.
Now that, Thea thought, was a real example of "untainted by the mud."
Definitely a treasure.
Just… probably not hers.
Sure enough, the creature spoke again in that deep, patient tone:
"This is the Chalice of Awakening, gifted by Lady Shangdu, our leader. It can awaken your dormant bloodline. Whether you succeed or fail… depends on you."
Lady Shangdu? Thea had never heard the name, but anyone who could command the Swamp Thing clearly ranked among the big players of the mystical world.
"Fine then," she said. "How do I use it?"
"Drip your blood into the cup. It will seek out the relic bound to you… and open the path to your inheritance."
Maybe realizing how terrifying he looked, the creature gently placed the cup on solid ground and backed away a few steps.
He clearly assumed any normal girl her age would've fainted ten minutes ago.
Thea, of course, wasn't any normal girl.
Hoverboard still humming beneath her, she descended but didn't step off.
Circling the cup twice, she studied it from every angle. No traps, no strange energy.
"All right then," she muttered. "Let's do this."
She rolled up her sleeve and made a shallow cut along her arm.
Crimson drops fell into the goblet, pooling at the bottom.
At first, nothing.
Then —
A sharp tug, right at her navel, like a hook yanking upward.
Wind roared in her ears before she could scream. Her body shot forward, wrapped in crushing pressure, as though she'd been shoved into a narrow tunnel made of air.
The world blurred into motion — up, down, sideways — until she lost all sense of direction.
When she finally slammed to a stop, her first coherent thought was:
That was the worst ride of my life.
Groaning, she pushed herself up — and froze.
Her combat suit was gone.
In its place hung a rough, brown cloak — coarse, scratchy, and about one step above beggar-wear.
Okay, maybe two steps.
It looked thick, but the fabric felt cheap, almost itchy against her skin.
And… her underwear was gone too.
"Oh, great," she muttered. "Whoever designed this initiation clearly hates women."
Still, she was a fighter; modesty could wait.
Her Kevlar suit, bow, and daggers were gone — but lying nearby was one familiar weapon: Azrael's Sword.
She picked it up, testing its balance. Same weight, same sharpness.
At least that hadn't changed.
Glancing around, she realized where she was — or thought she did.
The forest path around her looked exactly like the one in the painting: tall trees, thick canopy, winding stone trail leading up a misty hill.
"Great," she sighed. "Walk into the painting, why not?"
No choice but forward.
Drawing her sword, she took a few experimental swings against a nearby tree — clean cuts, solid steel.
Good enough.
With a deep breath, she forced away the lingering discomfort of her "missing underlayer," steadied her focus with the meditation techniques Lady Shiva had taught her, and started up the trail.
The path was surprisingly even, laid with smooth stones.
Was this real? Or some kind of illusion crafted by the relic?
Either way, she saw no animals, no movement — only the sound of wind through leaves.
Then her instincts flared.
A prickle of pain stabbed her temples — danger.
Ambush.
A shadow dropped from above — a figure clad head-to-toe in armor, its face hidden by a cloud of black mist.
Thea's reflexes kicked in instantly.
The attacker came down in a heavy vertical slash — perfect mid-air exposure.
But she didn't know how strong its armor was.
Instead of countering, she rolled aside.
The blade smashed into the ground where she'd been standing, kicking up dirt.
Before the echo faded, she twisted, sweeping her sword low at the figure's unarmored legs.
The knight moved fast — lifting one foot to block her strike, then bringing its massive greatsword down toward her head.
"Strong one, huh…"
Thea leapt back, analyzing, defending, waiting.
Her plan was simple: study the rhythm, find the opening, then end it in one blow.
After several exchanges, she had it.
The opponent's style was unmistakable — refined, disciplined, definitely no random brawler.
A real swordsman.
A deadly one.
But also… familiar.
Thea narrowed her eyes. That stance — the weight of the swing —
Old English formation swordplay?
She almost laughed.
So this "bloodline trial" was a duel?
Shouldn't a wizard's inheritance involve… spells? Runes? Maybe a glowing staff?
Instead, she got a medieval knight swinging a blade like a hurricane.
Still, she recognized the patterns — and the counters.
After all, Ra's al Ghul had studied every ancient combat form on Earth.
He'd made her memorize them all.
Using what she'd learned from the League, she dissected the knight's every move.
When he lunged forward in a two-handed thrust, she pivoted, sliding her blade along the flat of his, deflecting the strike — then surged forward, driving her sword straight toward his mask.
The blow hit clean.
The knight froze, mid-motion.
The oppressive aura around him evaporated.
He shifted his grip, resting his sword in one hand.
Then, with slow, deliberate grace, he dropped to one knee and lowered his head — offering a formal salute Thea didn't recognize.
A moment later, his entire form dissolved into mist, scattering like smoke on the wind.
Thea exhaled, sword still raised, heart pounding.
"Okay," she muttered, scanning the empty forest. "If this is step one of my bloodline test… I really hope step two doesn't involve a dragon."