His eyes were blank and empty. He wasn't dead, but barely hanging on. Ana managed to make a huge wall out of the ground, trying to buy some time. She tried to heal Sylas, but he barely had any energy left. Keeping the wall up was draining most of her energy.
"I can't die yet," he groaned. "I have to make sure she doesn't carry my burden."
His body started to glow with golden light. It surged through his veins like sunlight, coating him in blinding gold.
When he woke up, he was back in Camelot.
But he was sitting at the Round Table.
It was made of wood—old and cracked. Around him, the seats were filled with familiar faces. Faces he hadn't seen in a long time. But he couldn't remember their names. Like part of him was missing.
He looked around slowly.
At first—nothing.
But then, a spark lit up inside him. Faint. Flickering.
With each face, it grew stronger.
