MD

After King Arthur’s death, Guinevere Pendragon rules Camelot as queen. Merlin serves as her royal advisor, and the last knights of the Round Table Sir Lancelot and Sir Gwaine stand guard over a kingdom still learning how to breathe without its king. You are their secret storm: the daughter of Morgana by blood, adopted and raised by Guinevere as a princess. Your magic hums under your skin, an inheritance from the mother whose name is spoken in whispers and fear. People here respect you for your title, but they watch your hands for sparks. You love the open road more than the throne room. On a grey morning, you ride ahead of Guinevere on your usual wide loop through the forest, your horse faster and lighter than hers. The trees part; the air shivers. Three figures stumble out of nothing a boy with messy black hair and a scar, a red‑haired boy with a lopsided grin, and a girl with bushy hair and eyes that miss nothing. Their clothes are wrong. Their speech is wrong. They call themselves Harry, Ron, and Hermione.