Unknownfate
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Chapter 210
🕑 Added 2025-09-09 10:43:16 +0000 UTCAs the crowd around the stage began to thin, Steve drifted into a side street. The air was quieter here, shaded by awnings, the noise of the square fading into the background. He slowed at the sight of a small stall tucked against the wall — a woman arranging loaves of bread still steaming from the oven.
“Fresh out,” she said with a smile, catching his glance. “Best before it cools.”
Steve hesitated, then bought one, handing over a coin. The bread was still warm in his hands, the crust crisp.
“Big day,” she went on, nodding toward the square he’d just left. “That Stark fellow puts on a show.”
“Yeah,” Steve said. “Quite the showman.”
She laughed softly. “Well, Camelot’s had stranger guests. Some come, some go. But it’s the King that keeps us steady.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, not forced, not fearful. Just a truth she believed in.
Steve tore off a piece of bread, chewing thoughtfully. “You sound like you’ve got a lot of faith in her.”
“Faith?” The woman tilted her head, considering. “Well, I guess I do, I mean, even before the two-day war, I was interested in Camelot, and the king, the knights, all of it.”
Steve nodded along with her words; he had heard many speak of similar things.
“I used to work in an office, it paid alright, but it was death… I just… didn’t really enjoy it, you know? Like it wasn’t what I was supposed to do with my life. Like I was meant for more than filing whatever paperwork my superiors put on my desk.” She explained, all too eager to tell every stranger coming her way her story.
“So, when something like Camelot appeared? It felt like a whole new world opened up before me. I mean, if Camelot were real and reappeared, what would be next, right? I followed the news like it was water, and I was dying of thirst; it became my life, the dream of what was behind those gates.” She motioned towards the faraway gates.
“So I take it you didn’t mind coming under her rule?” Steve asked, never one to turn someone down, when they opened their hearts to him.
The woman shook her head, almost scoffing at the thought. “Mind? No. Not for a second. When the King spoke, the day she finally opened the gates — I was listening. Everyone was. She didn’t sound like a politician, reading from a script. She sounded like someone who meant it.”
Steve listened, tearing another piece from the bread.
“She said no more income taxes. Rent frozen. Prices locked. And more than that — she promised we’d be safe. No more being squeezed dry by men in offices who never looked us in the eye. I still remember the way she said it: the people come first.”
Her voice softened, almost reverent. “And when the army came to stop her? She didn’t hide behind anyone else. She stood there herself. Her and her knights. Mordred crushed tanks like they were tin toys, and the King…”
She trailed off, glancing instinctively toward the keep, visible even from here. “She tore the sky open with her spear. After that, there wasn’t any doubt left in me. Albion was the future.”
The woman’s eyes softened, her voice shifting from reverence back to something more practical. “Of course, words are just words, aren’t they? I didn’t decide overnight. I kept working for a while, sitting in that gray little office, wondering if any of it mattered. Then the rent freeze came. My landlord… he was a real piece of work, and since he couldn’t throw me out, I stopped paying rent.”
“Did you feel that was okay? Wasn’t it wrong to just stop paying?” Steve asked.
She snorted, “Fuck no, he was a piece of work as I said, he never did anything, he always tried to blame us for everything being broken, slow to fix it, he didn’t care about us, so why should we care about him? To him, we were just moneybags, so we treated him like he did us, shit.”
She smirked faintly, brushing flour off her hands. “Anyway, I packed my things and left. Came here with nothing but a suitcase and the clothes on my back. Figured if the King was serious about building something new, I wanted to be where it was happening.”
Steve nodded. “And you’ve been here since?”
“Two years now,” she said, pride slipping into her tone. “They were almost giving away land for free here. Within a month, I was the proud owner of this.” She tapped the stone wall behind her. “This entire inn is mine, and I run it, plus selling bread when it's not busy inside, and just to meet more people.”
Steve glanced up at the inn, its timber frame and flower boxes standing out against the whitewashed stone. It wasn’t grand, but it was sturdy, lived in — the kind of place people gathered.
“That’s a big change,” he said. “From an office to running an inn.”
She grinned, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “A big change, yeah. But it feels right. Every day I wake up knowing this is mine. Not the company’s, not some landlord’s. Mine. I put in the work, and I see the reward. Can’t put a price on that.”
Steve broke off another piece of bread, the warmth lingering in his hands. “Sounds like you’ve found your place.”
“I have.” Her smile softened. “And I know I’m not the only one. Ask around, you’ll hear it everywhere. Camelot gave us a fresh start. The King gave us that. So yeah, I’ve got faith. Because she earned it.”
There was no fanaticism in her tone, no rehearsed line — just quiet conviction. The kind Steve had learned long ago to recognize.
He gave her a nod of respect. “Thanks for sharing.”
“Anytime,” she said, sliding another loaf onto the stall. “And welcome to Camelot, stranger. May it give you something too.”
Steve had more or less expected that, not the story itself, but the general situation, that people didn’t mind the changes that had happened.
People weren’t all fans of everything. He had heard plenty of people complain about one thing or another, yet compared to the overwhelming joy everyone seemed to have. People liked Albion far more than they disliked it.
That was what he had been able to confirm after a month here, after speaking to everyone, he could conclude that much of what the world told about the situation here just wasn’t true.
Still, he wasn’t done yet. Camelot was the heart of Albion, the heart of all the changes that had happened outside it, and the proposed risk to the world, so he needed to really investigate it properly.
Steve moved on, following the slow current of the crowd deeper into the city. The bread was nearly gone by the time he found himself in a narrower lane, lined with stalls selling candles, firewood, and bundles of coal.
It caught his attention — because outside Camelot, people were bragging about free power. Here, in the heart of the kingdom, they enjoyed none of that.
Near one stall, a boy no older than sixteen was stacking wood, his arms dusted with soot. Steve stopped, watching the practiced rhythm of it.
“Busy work,” Steve said.
The boy looked up, grinning. “Always. Folks need heat. They don’t get it from gas here, so they get it from me.”
Steve stepped closer, curious. “Doesn’t that bother you? That Camelot doesn’t have… well, the grid? Electricity, lights, all that?”
The boy shrugged, leaning on the pile of wood. “Maybe a little bit, it isn’t like we have no power, everyone got some big batteries back home, to charge stuff, phones, laptops, all that. But it bothers some more than others. I was always more of the active type; I spent my time outside rather than inside, before the TV or Xbox.
Steve raised a brow. “So you don’t miss it?”
The boy grinned, tossing another bundle onto the pile. “Sometimes, sure. But it isn’t like we are living in the Stone Age here. Sure, we have no electricity, but we have something better. Magic!”
“I saw magic on the way here, someone performing for a crowd.” Steve said, still curious about magic himself.
The boy snorted. “Oh, that’d be Merrow the Magnificent. I’ve seen his shows — sometimes he does some even bigger things. They’re pretty good, I’ll give him that, but it’s not real magic, not like the King uses. He’s just a hedge mage, throwing sparks and shapes around for coin.”
He slapped the stack of wood beside him. “But we’ve got plenty of the little stuff, the kind that makes life easier. No fridges? Doesn’t matter. We’ve got magic cupboards. You stick a block of ice in, and it keeps food cold for a week, no problem. Then you just go buy another block of ice, cheap as dirt. Same with this wood here.”
Steve glanced down at the sign, his brow lifting when he saw the price. Almost free.
The boy caught the look and laughed. “Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. I don’t get rich off this. I get a flat wage, and a little extra depending on how much I move. The price? That’s set by the Crown. Same with bread, same with coal, same with pretty much everything folks need to live. No one here freezes because they couldn’t pay, no one goes hungry because a loaf costs too much.”
He shrugged, grinning faintly as he leaned back against the stall. “Some folks complain about the rules, but me? I don’t mind. It works. I get to spend some time selling wood after school, so I get money for things I want, it's sweet really.”
“Plus,” he continued, “it's a city where people actually look out for each other. Can’t say that about most places.”
Steve let the words settle in as he tore off the last piece of his bread. It reminded him of something — not the future, not the world he had woken up to, but the one he’d left behind. Before television, before computers, before everything came with a monthly bill and fine print.
Back when neighbors shared what they had, when rent wasn’t the measure of whether a man deserved to live.
The boy grinned, oblivious to the weight of Steve’s thoughts. “Some folks miss their cars, their microwaves, their Netflix. Me? I don’t care. I’d rather have this. It’s simple. Feels like it makes sense.”
Steve found himself nodding slowly. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know what you mean.”
For the first time in a long while, he felt a pang of familiarity — not with the twenty-first century, but with the world he had lost. A world that seemed, in Camelot of all places, alive again.
He bid the boy farewell and continued on his way. Evening settled over the city, but the streets glowed with warm lamplight, flames bright enough that he suspected magic was at work. Even so, it didn’t feel strange. It felt welcoming.
Camelot felt almost unreal, like a trip to the past, but without all the bad things that would come with that; peace and security were the main points here.
Everywhere, people laughed, sang, ate, and drank, like a party that never ended, and given the smiles the people wore, for the people of Camelot, the party indeed might never end.
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TheRiot124
So it 2010.
