Sir David The Killer Bee Beats

Jack wished he still had his guidebook for Avalon and Camelot. Its pages, once filled with cryptic maps and half-legible incantations, might have explained the shifting shadows and the strange silence that followed them through the ruined corridor. But the book had been lost in the fire at Tintagel, and now all he had was instinct—and the uneasy company of Morgan le Fay. They passed beneath the archway flanked by two aged wooden doors, carved with symbols that pulsed faintly in the moonlight. The air grew colder, heavier, as if the world itself were holding its breath. Morgan turned, her cloak catching the wind like a raven’s wing. Her eyes, ancient and unreadable, met Jack’s. “I’m afraid no spellbook would help you tonight,” she said. “The knights must descend into the Netherworld, where the origin of all magic and power began. That place does not speak in riddles—it devours them.” Behind her, the knights of the Hollow Order stood silent, their armor dulled by centuries of exile. Each...