The corridor leading to the final unexplored section of Avalon seemed to stretch endlessly before them. Art walked beside Bobby, her mind still wrestling with the monumental choice he had presented the previous night. The passage illuminated itself as they advanced, soft light emanating from the walls themselves, creating the impression that the mountain was responding to their presence—alive and aware in some fundamental way.
"You've been quiet," Bobby observed as they approached a massive circular door unlike any Art had seen in their five years of developing Avalon. The door appeared to be made of a material that shifted between solid metal and liquid energy, pulsing with patterns that reminded Art of flowing water caught in sunlight.
"Contemplating the weight of choice," Art replied, studying the door. "Is this what I think it is? The entrance to the final piece of your design?"
Bobby nodded. "The Hall of Heroes—the culmination of Avalon's purpose." He placed his palm against the flowing surface of the door. "It responds only to you or me. After today, it will respond only to you."
The implication wasn't lost on Art. Whatever lay beyond this threshold was meant specifically for her—designed with her decision in mind. "You've already assumed what choice I'll make," she observed, her voice carefully neutral.
Bobby's expression remained unreadable. "I've prepared for possibilities. The final determination remains yours alone."
Before Art could respond, the door began to transform under Bobby's touch. The flowing patterns accelerated, the entire surface rippling outward from the point of contact until the solid barrier dissolved completely, revealing a vast chamber beyond.
Art stepped through the threshold and immediately froze, breath catching in her throat.
The Hall of Heroes stretched before her, so vast that it seemed impossible it could exist within the mountain. The ceiling arched hundreds of feet overhead, composed of what appeared to be open sky though Art knew they remained deep underground. The walls gleamed with a material that shifted colors subtly as she watched—sometimes appearing as polished stone, other times as something closer to living tissue pulsing with internal energy.
But it wasn't the architecture that had stopped Art in her tracks. It was what—or rather who—occupied the hall.
In the center stood a massive round table carved from a single piece of material that resembled white marble but glowed with subtle inner light. Surrounding it were thirteen thrones of varying designs, each uniquely crafted yet harmonious with the whole. And standing at attention behind each throne was a figure so perfectly rendered that Art initially believed them to be living people.
"My knights," she whispered, recognizing the faces despite the impossibility of their presence.
Gwen stood nearest, her perfect likeness captured in every detail—from the scar that crossed her left eyebrow to the way she always stood with weight slightly shifted to her right leg. Beside her was Lord Pellinore, his proud bearing evident even in stillness. Each figure around the table represented someone who had followed Art during her rise to leadership in Britain—her most trusted companions and advisors.
"What have you created?" Art asked, stepping further into the hall, drawn toward the figures despite her confusion.
"Companions," Bobby replied, following her into the chamber. "Guardians designed to serve alongside you, should you choose the path of the Once and Future King."
Art approached Gwen's figure cautiously, half-expecting it to move or speak. Up close, the craftsmanship was even more remarkable—not just visually perfect but somehow capturing an essence of presence that transcended mere physical likeness.
"They're not alive," Art observed, though the statement contained a question.
"Not in the biological sense," Bobby confirmed. "They're autonomous constructs—what might be called 'automatons' in simplified terms. Each contains a perfect replication of the personality, knowledge, and skills of the individual they represent, based on my observations during your time in Britain."
Art circled Gwen's figure, studying it from all angles. "How perfect is the replication?"
"Complete within the parameters of my observation," Bobby replied. "Their core personalities, memories up to the point of your departure from Britain, fighting styles, quirks of speech—all preserved and integrated. They aren't the actual individuals, but the distinction would be difficult to discern through interaction."
Art reached out, hesitantly touching Gwen's cheek. The skin felt warm, lifelike, though the figure remained motionless. "Will they serve me? If I choose to become this 'Once and Future King'?"
"They'll awaken with you, recognizing you immediately. Their loyalty is hardcoded at fundamental levels—they would follow you into the void itself if you commanded it."
There was something both comforting and disturbing in the concept—perfect companions who would never question, never betray, never abandon. Not truly her friends as she had known them, but something simultaneously more and less.
"And beyond the table?" Art asked, her gaze moving past the inner circle to the rows of figures standing along the hall's perimeter. Hundreds of warriors stood at attention, each in armor that combined familiar designs from her era with materials and configurations she'd never seen before.
"Your army," Bobby explained. "Lesser automatons, not individualized to the same degree as your knights, but programmed with advanced combat capabilities and absolute loyalty. When activated, they'll form the core of your defensive force."
Art tried to process the scale of what Bobby had created—an entire fighting force preserved in suspended animation, waiting for her command across millennia. The implications were staggering.
"And what is that?" she asked, pointing toward the far end of the hall, where a raised dais supported a single throne larger and more elaborately designed than those surrounding the round table. The throne appeared to be crafted from living crystal that shimmered with internal light, casting prismatic patterns across the floor around it.
"Your seat of power," Bobby replied. "The command nexus from which you'll direct Avalon's operations when awakened."
Art approached the throne slowly, studying its intricate design. Unlike the other seats, this one contained visible technological elements—control interfaces embedded in the armrests, connection points where her body would make contact with the structure.
"If I sit here..." she began.
"Not yet," Bobby cautioned, moving swiftly to her side. "The throne is designed to initiate the integration process if occupied by its intended user. Without proper preparation, the experience would be... traumatic."
Art withdrew her hand, which had been reaching unconsciously toward the crystalline surface. "Integration process?"
"The mechanism through which your consciousness would be temporarily merged with Avalon's systems upon awakening," Bobby explained. "It would provide immediate situational awareness and control capabilities necessary to address whatever crisis triggered your return."
Art turned away from the throne, suddenly overwhelmed by the magnitude of the choice before her. The Hall of Heroes represented a level of preparation beyond anything she had imagined—not just a theoretical possibility but a fully realized infrastructure designed specifically for her potential role as humanity's future defender.
"You've done all this without knowing my decision," she observed, her voice tight with emotion she couldn't fully identify. "Invested years of effort on the chance I might choose this path."
Bobby's expression softened slightly. "I know you, Art. Better perhaps than anyone ever has. I've watched you grow from a village girl hiding her gender to survive, to a commander who reshaped Britain's destiny. I've seen you make difficult choices, always weighing personal desire against greater purpose." He gestured around the hall. "This isn't presumption. It's recognition of the essence that makes you who you are."
Art wanted to be angry at his confidence, to feel manipulated by the presentation of such a fully realized vision of her potential future. Yet she couldn't deny the resonance she felt standing amid these ghostly echoes of her former life. The warrior within her—the part that had never fully settled into peaceful retirement despite all the happiness she had found with Bobby—stirred at the sight of her knights arranged for battle yet to come.
"There's one more thing you should see," Bobby said, interrupting her thoughts. He guided her toward a small alcove off the main hall, previously unnoticed amid the grandeur of the central chamber.
The alcove contained a single pedestal bathed in soft blue light. Upon it rested a sword Art recognized immediately—Caliburn, the blade she had drawn from stone as a child, signaling the beginning of her extraordinary journey. Yet the weapon was transformed, enhanced beyond its original form. The blade gleamed with an inner fire that shifted through impossible colors. The hilt, once plain functional design, now incorporated elegant flowing patterns that seemed to move as she watched.
"I've taken the liberty of making a final adjustment to Caliburn," Bobby explained as Art stared at the transformed weapon. "It's been reborn, worthy of a new name—Excalibur, a blade that transcends space and legend."
Art reached for the sword hesitantly, feeling a familiar pull toward the weapon that had defined her destiny. As her fingers closed around the hilt, a surge of energy flowed through her body—not painful but intense, as if the blade recognized her touch and responded with joyful recognition.
She lifted Excalibur from its resting place, marveling at its perfect balance despite the obvious enhancements. The blade hummed softly in her hand, a subtle vibration that resonated with her heartbeat.
"What have you done to it?" she asked, executing a practice swing that left a faint trail of energy in the air.
"Integrated technologies billions of years beyond current human development," Bobby replied. "Excalibur is now capable of cutting through the fabric of reality itself—severing molecular bonds, disrupting energy fields, even creating localized rifts in space-time under specific circumstances."
Art stared at the weapon with new appreciation. "You've created a god-killer."
Bobby didn't contradict her assessment. "I've created a tool worthy of its wielder. Capable of facing threats that would otherwise be beyond conventional opposition."
Art returned Excalibur to its resting place reluctantly, already feeling the bond forming between herself and the enhanced blade. As she stepped back, she noticed inscriptions along the pedestal that hadn't been visible before—words in a language she recognized as Ancient British.
"Whosoever wields this sword in defense of humanity shall never fall while righteous purpose guides their hand," she translated aloud. "Poetic."
"Functional," Bobby corrected. "The inscription contains encrypted activation parameters for some of Excalibur's more significant capabilities. The words themselves are part of the operating system."
Art laughed despite herself. "You've turned a legendary weapon into a technological marvel while maintaining its mythic qualities. Very clever."
"Legends often conceal practical truths," Bobby observed. "The stories that will eventually surround your existence—many already taking shape in Britain even now—will serve both as inspiration and instruction for those who might eventually seek Avalon's help."
They returned to the main hall, Art's mind racing with implications. Everything she had seen represented meticulous preparation for a future role she hadn't yet accepted. Yet standing amid these echoes of her former life—her knights, her armies, her sword—the decision seemed increasingly inevitable.
"You've crafted all of this for me," she said finally, turning to face Bobby directly. "Knowing what I would choose because of who I am."
Bobby met her gaze without apology. "I prepared what you would need if you chose this path. The decision remains yours alone."
Art studied him carefully, the man—or being—who had guided her destiny from childhood. Who had seen potential in a village girl pretending to be a boy, who had taught her to lead armies and reshape a nation's future, who had shown her pleasures of the flesh and mind she could never have imagined alone.
"Tell me truthfully," she demanded. "What would you choose, if our positions were reversed?"
Bobby considered the question with uncharacteristic openness. "I would choose purpose over oblivion," he said finally. "The chance to make difference when needed most, even at cost of normal existence."
His answer, stripped of his usual linguistic complexity, carried the weight of absolute certainty. Art recognized the truth in his words—not manipulation but honest assessment from someone who understood both the burden and honor of extraordinary purpose.
She turned slowly, taking in the Hall of Heroes once more—the knights who had followed her in life, frozen in eternal readiness to serve again; the throne awaiting her command; Excalibur pulsing with power beyond human comprehension. All created for her, designed to extend her legacy beyond normal human limitations.
"Well then," she said, her voice steady with decision. "It seems my destiny exceeded even your initial vision, Merlin."
She hadn't called him by that title in years, not since they had abandoned Britain for their island paradise. Using it now acknowledged the return to their original roles—mentor and chosen one, guide and hero, shaper and shaped.
"You've decided," Bobby observed, neither question nor surprise in his tone.
Art nodded, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders even as a new one settled in its place. "I will become your Once and Future King," she confirmed. "Sleep until humanity faces its darkest hour, then return to stand in their defense."
Something flickered in Bobby's eyes—relief, pride, perhaps even grief for what this choice would mean for their remaining time together.
"Then we have preparations to make," he said simply. "The process requires careful implementation."
As they exited the Hall of Heroes, the massive door reforming behind them, Art felt a curious sense of completion. The path before her now seemed both inevitable and right—an extension of the purpose that had guided her since pulling a sword from stone as a child masquerading as a boy.
"How long?" she asked as they walked through Avalon's corridors. "How long until I must sleep?"
"The integration process requires several weeks of preparation," Bobby replied. "And beyond that..." He hesitated, unusual uncertainty in his expression. "My calculations suggest approximately five years remain before my quantum temporal displacement reaches critical threshold."
Five years. The timeframe both relieved and devastated Art. Long enough for proper farewell to consciousness, yet defined enough to create unavoidable countdown to their separation.
"Then we shall make use of every moment," she stated firmly, taking his hand as they continued toward their living quarters. "Starting tonight."
Bobby squeezed her hand gently, understanding her meaning without further explanation. Whatever technical preparations awaited in coming weeks, tonight would be for reaffirming the connection between them that transcended mentor and student, immortal and human, creator and creation.
Tonight would be for flesh meeting flesh, for passion without restraint, for making memories to sustain her through millennia of dreamless sleep.
As they reached their chambers, Art turned to face Bobby directly. "I want you to fuck me like it's our last night together," she said bluntly, her hands already working to remove his clothing. "Like you'll never touch me again."
Bobby's eyes darkened with desire, his own hands moving to disrobe her with practiced efficiency. "It won't be our last," he promised, his voice husky as he revealed her body. "We have years yet."
"Even so," Art insisted, now naked before him, her body responding to his gaze with familiar heat. "I need to feel alive tonight—completely, intensely alive."
Bobby needed no further encouragement. He lifted her easily, carrying her to their bed with purpose. His mouth found hers in a kiss that contained none of his usual measured control—all hunger and need and consuming fire.
Art surrendered to the sensation, opening herself to him completely as his hands explored her body with possessive urgency. When his fingers found her center, she was already wet, her body arching into his touch with shameless desire.
"Fuck me," she demanded, spreading her legs wider. "No teasing, no waiting. I need you inside me now."
Bobby positioned himself between her thighs, his cock hard and thick against her entrance. With one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, drawing a cry of pleasure from her lips that echoed through their chambers.
"Like this?" he growled, beginning to move with controlled force. "Hard enough to remind you you're still flesh and blood?"
"Yes," Art gasped, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper. "Harder. Make me feel it."
Bobby obliged, increasing his pace and power, driving into her with intensity that bordered on violence. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure radiating through Art's body, the slight edge of pain only enhancing the sensations flooding her nervous system.
"Your cunt feels so fucking good," Bobby growled against her ear, crude language she'd rarely heard from him before. "So tight and wet for my cock."
His words heightened her arousal further, her inner muscles clenching around his thickness as he pounded into her relentlessly. Art matched his rhythm, meeting each thrust with equal force, taking him as deeply as physically possible.
"More," she demanded, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks. "Fuck me like you own me."
Bobby responded by flipping her suddenly onto her stomach, positioning her on hands and knees before driving into her from behind with renewed vigor. The new angle allowed him to penetrate even deeper, his cock hitting spots inside her that made stars explode behind her eyelids.
"Is this what you need?" he asked roughly, one hand gripping her hip while the other tangled in her short hair, pulling her head back slightly. "To be taken like a common tavern whore instead of a future queen?"
"Yes!" Art cried out as he slammed into her particularly hard. "Gods, yes! Just like that!"
The crude scenario—so at odds with their usual lovemaking—perfectly matched her current need. Tonight she didn't want gentle connection or measured pleasure. She wanted to be claimed, possessed, reminded of the raw animal pleasure her human body was capable of experiencing.
Bobby seemed to understand exactly what she required, maintaining the rough pace while his free hand reached beneath her to find her clit. His fingers circled the sensitive bud with practiced precision, adding another layer of sensation that quickly pushed her toward climax.
"Come for me," he commanded, his voice tight with his own approaching release. "Let me feel that tight pussy squeeze my cock."
His crude demand pushed her over the edge. Art's orgasm crashed through her with stunning intensity, her entire body convulsing as waves of pleasure radiated outward from her core. She screamed his name, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically around his thick shaft as she rode out the overwhelming sensations.
Bobby followed moments later, driving deep one final time before emptying himself inside her with a guttural groan. His hot seed flooded her womb, the sensation triggering aftershocks that left her trembling beneath him.
They collapsed together onto the bed, Bobby careful to avoid crushing her with his weight as they both fought to steady their breathing. He remained inside her, neither willing to break their connection just yet.
"That was..." Art began, words failing her.
"Only the beginning," Bobby finished for her, rolling to his side but keeping her close in his arms. His hand traced lazy patterns on her sweat-slicked skin, already building desire for their next encounter. "We have hours yet before dawn."
Art smiled, pressing back against him, feeling his cock already beginning to harden again inside her. "Good," she murmured, moving her hips in slow circles that made him groan. "Because I'm nowhere near satisfied."
Their second coupling was slower, more deliberate, but no less intense. Bobby took her from behind, his chest pressed against her back, one hand cupping her breast while the other maintained steady pressure on her clit. They moved together with perfect synchronization, building pleasure gradually until Art came with a shuddering cry, Bobby following seconds later.
The night continued in similar fashion—periods of intense passion followed by brief rest, then renewed desire. They explored each other's bodies with both familiar ease and fresh urgency, knowing that their time together now had defined parameters.
By morning, Art's body bore the marks of their marathon lovemaking—bruises on her hips from his grip, a love bite on her neck, pleasant soreness between her legs from hours of vigorous use. She wore these signs proudly as they began the preparations for her transformation, physical reminders of the humanity she would eventually transcend.
The weeks that followed established new rhythm to their existence. Mornings were devoted to technical preparations—Bobby guiding Art through complex integration protocols, teaching her to interface with Avalon's systems, preparing her consciousness for the transformation awaiting her.
Afternoons often found them in the Hall of Heroes, where Art familiarized herself with the automatons who would serve as her knights. Though still inactive, Bobby had created interface that allowed her to access their programming, understanding the personalities and capabilities awaiting her awakening.
Evenings and nights remained solely for each other—sometimes passionate physical connection, other times quiet conversation, both building memories to sustain them through the coming separation.
"Will I dream?" Art asked one night as they lay together beneath stars projected on their bedroom ceiling. "During my sleep?"
Bobby traced patterns on her bare stomach, his touch gentle after their earlier passionate encounter. "Not in conventional sense," he replied. "Your consciousness will be suspended, but periodically refreshed through simulation protocols. You'll experience what might be called 'maintenance cycles'—brief periods of awareness in virtual environments designed to preserve cognitive functions without true awakening."
"So I'll neither age nor truly experience the passing of time," Art mused. "Millennia will pass in what feels like moments to me."
"That's the intent," Bobby confirmed. "When you awaken, it will be with mind intact, untouched by temporal degradation."
Art turned to face him, studying his features in the starlight. "And you? Where will you be when I finally wake?"
Bobby's expression grew distant, as it always did when discussing his inevitable displacement. "Elsewhere," he said simply. "Beyond reach of this reality."
"Will you remember me?" Art pressed, needing some assurance that their connection wouldn't be entirely severed. "Wherever you go?"
Bobby pulled her closer, kissing her with unexpected tenderness. "Some connections transcend quantum displacement," he whispered against her lips. "What exists between us is written into the fundamental structure of my being. I could no more forget you than forget myself."
His words, uncharacteristically poetic, provided comfort Art hadn't realized she needed. In the days that followed, their preparations accelerated, Bobby working with increasing focus as his internal measurements detected growing instability in the quantum temporal energy binding him to this reality.
Four months after Art made her decision, the technical preparations were complete. They stood together in a chamber Bobby had designed specifically for the integration process—a spherical room deep within Avalon's core, lined with technologies Art now partially understood but could never have imagined before meeting Bobby.
"It's time," Bobby said softly, guiding her to the central platform that would facilitate her transformation. "All systems are prepared."
Art nodded, surprisingly calm despite the momentous transition awaiting her. "How long will the process take?"
"For you, mere moments," Bobby explained. "Your consciousness will transfer seamlessly into suspended state. For me, approximately seventy-two hours to complete full integration and verification protocols."
Art understood what remained unspoken—that Bobby would maintain vigil throughout the process, ensuring every aspect of her transformation proceeded perfectly. It would be his final gift to her before his displacement.
"I don't want to watch you fade away," she said suddenly, the realization crystallizing in her mind. "When your displacement comes... I don't want that to be my last memory of you."
Bobby studied her face, understanding her request without further explanation. "You wish to be asleep before my departure."
"Yes," Art confirmed. "Let me remember you whole and present, not dissolving into whatever lies beyond."
Bobby nodded, accepting her choice without argument. "Then we'll adjust the timeline accordingly. The integration can be completed while you're already in suspended animation."
Relief washed through Art at his understanding. She stepped onto the platform, then turned to face him one last time as flesh and blood woman—the village girl who had drawn a sword from stone, the commander who had reshaped Britain's future, the lover who had discovered passion in his arms.
"I love you," she said simply, words they had rarely exchanged despite years together. "Whatever you truly are, wherever you truly come from, I love you."
Bobby moved forward, closing the distance between them. "And I love you," he replied, the admission coming more easily than she had expected. "My warrior queen, my brightest star."
Their final kiss contained everything words couldn't express—gratitude, passion, regret, hope, and promise. When they finally separated, Art squared her shoulders, facing her destiny with the same courage she had shown on battlefields years before.
"Begin," she commanded, her voice steady despite the emotion tightening her throat.
Bobby moved to the control interface, his hands dancing across surfaces that responded to his touch with flowing patterns of light. The chamber hummed with building energy, the air itself seeming to thicken around Art as the suspension process initiated.
"We will meet again," he promised as transparent barriers formed around her, creating cocoon of energy that would facilitate her transformation. "In dreams, if nowhere else."
Art held his gaze as long as possible, committing his features to memory one final time. As the process accelerated, her consciousness began to blur, physical sensation fading as her awareness separated from conventional reality.
Her last coherent thought before slipping into the void was simple determination: she would not fail the faith he had placed in her. When humanity faced its darkest hour, she would be ready.
As Art's conscious mind faded into suspension, Bobby continued his work with methodical precision. For three days, he monitored every aspect of her transformation, adjusting parameters, verifying integrations, ensuring that when the time came—potentially millennia in the future—she would awaken perfectly.
When the integration was complete, he stood beside her suspended form for long hours, studying the peaceful expression on her face. In this state, somewhere between life and death, between humanity and something greater, she appeared simultaneously vulnerable and powerful—the paradox that had drawn him to her from their first meeting.
"Sleep well, my Once and Future King," he whispered, his hand hovering just above the energy field surrounding her. "Until the world has need of you again."
As he turned to leave the chamber, Bobby's thoughts drifted to the question Art would eventually face upon awakening—whether her purpose was to protect humanity alone, or to safeguard all sentient life regardless of origin. He had deliberately left this ethical parameter undefined, believing the choice must be hers alone.
It would be the hardest decision she would ever make, potentially determining the fate of entire civilizations. But he had faith in her wisdom, in her ability to see beyond simple tribalism to more complex understanding of existence.
With Art safely suspended in perfect stasis, Bobby returned to Avalon's command center to complete his final preparations. The quantum temporal energy binding him to this reality had reached critical instability—his displacement was imminent, perhaps only days away.
He would use those days to finalize Avalon's automated systems, ensuring everything would function perfectly during the long wait for humanity's darkest hour. And when his time finally came, he would face displacement with the comfort of knowing her future was secured—his final and greatest gift to the extraordinary woman who had given his endless existence genuine purpose.
As reality began to waver around him three days later, the first signs of his impending displacement manifesting in quantum fluctuations visible even to normal human perception, Bobby smiled with unexpected peace. Whatever awaited him beyond this reality, he carried with him memories that would transcend even quantum temporal displacement.
Art would sleep, Avalon would wait, and humanity would continue its long journey toward both greatness and peril. And when the moment of greatest need finally arrived, the Once and Future King would awaken to defend her people once more.
His last coherent thought before the universe dissolved around him was simple certainty: their story was not ending, but merely pausing between chapters.