Chapter 1: the Crystal Caves

The wind blew through the trees and leaves rustled while branches scratched houses and snapped around. Streetlamps flickered and the pavement was deserted. Not a single car or human ventured down the road. Except one.

The solitary figure crept past the slumbering village people, most of which possessed some form of magic. The boy looked around anxiously as he made his way to the forest surrounding the village. He listened carefully for any sort of movement. He chuckled quietly to himself. Arthur would have been totally indignant had he ever known how quiet Merlin could be when not scaring off his prey on hunts.

The small village seemed to breathe as one whilst the warlock swept through. A small silver plaque reading "Godric's Hollow" shone brightly. All the houses looked very different, modern homes mixing with Victorian styles with a few "cabin-in-the-wood" styled homes. They varied in size, from cottage to small manor sizes. They all pulsed with magic threaded into the wood. Into the fabrics and drapes and bricks. Merlin looked at one house—or where one used to be—with reverence for the inhabitants and pity for their murderer. The rubble was ground zero for a cess pool of new magic—good and bad—and the magic of the Old Religion. He shuddered and hurried his pace.

Merlin made it to the cover of the trees, before speaking in the dragon tongue, summoning Aithusa in a clearing far enough away.

The dragon landed and cocked her head. "Hello, young warlock," she said, with a ferocious grin. Her white body gleamed under the moonlight and her soft voice echoed around the cover of the trees. Her hind-quarters, neck, and spine were still misshapen due to extended periods of time in a cell too small for her. After Camlann, Merlin had managed to teach her human speech and heal her to what extent he could, but she never returned to normal.

"Hello, Aithusa," Merlin said, inclining his head to the Old Dragon.

"What do you wish of me?" the dragon asked with silent acknowledgement.

"Is there any news from the old lands of Albion," Merlin asked, concerned for Arthur's lands. The dragon grew sombre once more.

"No news from Albion, as much as the lands of the Old Religion."

"What do you mean, Aithusa?"

"The crystal cave is calling out to the creatures of the Old Religion. It is calling out for you, Emrys."

Merlin inclined his head, "I feared that this would happen. As the magical world learns of Tom Riddle's return, the Old Religion would be calling for my interference and assurance that Harry Potter succeeds in his destiny."

"Merlin, you must go to the Crystal Cave," Aithusa said urgently. "If the New World of Magic needs your help, then you must help it. Destiny calls, once again."

Merlin nodded, his ancient eyes shining in the twilight.

"Then I must leave you," Merlin said. "And your riddles," he muttered with a small grin.

"Goodbye, young Warlock," Aithusa said with a smirk that rivalled Morgana's. It seemed she had retained something from the witch.

Merlin flashed his eyes and teleported away, to the heart of the Old Religion.

•••?•••

Leaves whipped around Merlin's feet as he landed in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. The forest's old magic protected it from the outside world (helped by a few spells from Merlin, of course) so it seemed to look the same as it had since the fall of Camelot.

Merlin thought back to that time, remembering the time before the fall of the Citadel of Camelot. These were the years when magic lived freely in Camelot. After the battle of Camlann, Guinevere gave birth to Arthur's son. Gwen, her son and Merlin, accompanied by the remaining Knights, ruled Camelot in harmony for a decade before Amr was felled in battle and buried in a tomb. The Once and Future Queen lived to rule for a few years more before falling victim to age and disease. She made her closest advisor, a druid named Panora, her successor. Panora ruled for many years as a great leader before being attacked and killed before naming a successor. After her death, the kingdom that had once been the greatest of the Five Kingdoms withered without a leader, due to repeated attacks. The castle became ruins and the lands became inhabited, in the majority, by druids and other nomads. The citizens of Camelot migrated to live amongst camps, died, or went to live in other kingdoms. Merlin left, unable to live with the foul memories and the inescapable guilt of his destiny.

The warlock sighed and shook his head of the memories, looking up at the weathered stone rulers that had stood guard over the Valley for a thousand years. He began the journey through the Valley, towards the Crystal Cave, which had been shown to him by Taliesin more than a thousand years ago. The trees swayed and birds chirped above him, all unaware of the destiny and the future that lay ahead.

Merlin reached the mouth of the cave, which was partially blocked by stones after much time had passed and nature began its course, ageing everything around Merlin, whilst he remained the same. He still looked 27, for crying out loud. Merlin's eyes burned gold, blasting the rocks that had fallen out of the way. He strolled into the cave, briefly remembering his despair when Morgana had taken away his magic and trapped him in the cave, preventing him from saving Arthur. It had been the most defeated he had ever felt.

Merlin ignored the memory and continued through the cave, towards the crystals in the cavern that had been the birthplace of magic at the beginning of time. He looked around at the bright lights reflected around the white and bluish crystals. Memories floated around the surfaces of the crystal as he passed them, memories of Camelot and Camlann and Avalon. He tried not to look, but they enticed him nonetheless. Just as the Crystal of Neahtid had so many years ago before Morgana became full dark and Mordred was just a boy. Merlin had forgiven them long ago, but he never forgot how much their betrayals had hurt.

"Why have you called for me? What news of Albion?" Merlin called, his voice echoing around the cave. The memories in the crystals flickered. They became memories of times long before Merlin was born, of the time of the Priests and Priestesses of the Triple Goddess, of the Great Purge, of the Fisher King, Cornelius Sigan—

"Hello, Emrys," a wizened voice said, echoing around the crystals. "It seems we meet again." A wind whipped around the room before an old man appeared. He looked the same as he had, long ago. The crystals reflected his image. His short white hair and beard looked as unkempt as ever and his brown and green robes hadn't changed since last he saw him.

"So it seems," Merlin said, his eyes glinting in the crystals. "What have you called me for?"

Taliesin walked closer, his cloak swishing and his face devoid of emotion. After the many many years Merlin had walked the earth, he knew when someone was wearing a mask and hiding something.

"I assume you are aware of the recent developments in the New Wizarding World with Harry Potter and Tom Riddle."

Merlin nodded. "He has returned."

"And you are aware of the prophecy?" Taliesin said, his hand running across the cave walls.

"Yes."

"And you are aware that the boy needs help?"

"Yes."

"Good, brilliant. I am here to make sure that you are here to help him." Merlin looked confused.

"Taliesin, w-what do you m—" Taliesin grinned, snapped his fingers, and Merlin was gone.