{Arthur's POV}
Aside from the obvious — the magic, the dragons, the sheer impossibility of my situation — there were things about this world that didn't quite add up.
And I'm not just talking about the usual strangeness of reincarnation, or the fact that I'd awakened as a figure pulled straight from the pages of legend. No, this was deeper — subtle cracks in the story, quiet inconsistencies that gnawed at the edges of my thoughts whenever I found a moment of stillness.
From everything I remembered of the old tales, there was never any mention of King Arthur having a twin sister named Artoria Pendragon.
Yes, Arthur had siblings in the legends — but none like her. There was Morgan, often called Morgan le Fay, a half-sister whose role drifted between ally and adversary depending on the version. Morgan the enchantress. Morgan, the wife of King Lot of Orkney. Morgan, the mother of Gawain and his brothers.
But here, none of that had happened.
Morgan hadn't married Lot — in fact, they hadn't even met yet. And Artoria... Artoria existed.
Bright, laughing, golden-haired Artoria. My twin. Born beside me in the tower of Tintagel. A sister with eyes like the sea and a smile that could pierce the hardest armor.
No matter how many times I turned it over in my head, no matter how many nights I lay awake staring at the ceiling, I couldn't explain it.
It wasn't just that familiar names were scattered through this world. It was the shape of the legend itself — it felt twisted, bent out of place. Like someone had reached into the tapestry of the tale and pulled at the threads, rearranging them while somehow keeping the outline intact.
And then there was something else — a deeper fracture.
Igraine and Gorlois, the Duke of Cornwall... they were never married here.
In every version of the legend I knew, they had been husband and wife. Gorlois was the man Uther coveted from afar — the obstacle he overcame with Merlin's help to reach Igraine, which led to my — our — birth.
But here? That story had never happened.
Igraine and Uther were together openly. No deception, no illusions, no enchanted night of stolen love. Which meant that Morgan, Artoria, and I weren't half-siblings bound by fragile politics.
We were full siblings. By blood.
That alone reshaped everything I thought I knew. Every assumption. Every anchor I had leaned on to make sense of this world.
But no amount of brooding would give me answers.
And I was so lost in thought, I didn't even hear her approach.
A soft hand slipped over my eyes from behind.
For a moment, my body tensed — then instinct recognized the warmth, the scent, the presence.
I relaxed.
"Artoria," I said softly, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
"Brother," came her teasing voice, light and mischievous. "You're doing it again, aren't you? Staring off into the void like some old druid. Kay says that's not good for your brain, you know."
I turned to face her, grinning, and without hesitation, pulled her into a hug, lifting her effortlessly and settling her onto my lap. She giggled — that sound always managed to clear the fog from my mind.
Seeing her usual smirk, I sighed dramatically.
"So even the great Queen Artoria mocks her poor brother now? Alas, truly, where shall I go for comfort in this cold, cruel world...?"
I clapped a fist into my palm with mock gravity, smirking.
"Hm. I see it now. A traitor in the ranks. Clearly, I must punish this rebellion before it spreads."
Artoria's eyes widened a little too late as she sensed danger.
I struck.
I caught her and gently pinned her on my lap, tickling her sides with relentless precision.
"Haa! Haa! Haa—brother! Haa—don't—haaahh!"