Legends of Avalon: The Seventh Knight; The Virtuous Flame

In twilight hours where echoes weep, Where broken crowns in silence sleep, Two brothers walked through grief and ash— Their childhood lost in ruin’s crash.

Through smoke and sorrow’s heavy veil, Where kingdoms fell and hopes grew pale, A silver mist drew night to day— The Lake herself unveiled the way.

From its enchanted, shimmering grace The Lady stepped, serene of face. Her lunar robes and crystal gaze Became their shelter through the days.

Within her halls of mirrored shade She taught them truths the brave obeyed, And raised the sons of a fallen knight With wisdom veiled in silver light.

Oft would she speak in tempered fire Of Lancelot, her fostered squire— A name that glowed through water’s ring, A tale half myth, half sacred sting.

And as her soft words filled the air, Young Bors would listen, still and fair. An inner ember warmed his chest— Not fierce as flame, but deeply blessed.

Two brothers grew beneath her care, Bound close as breath, as earth and air. But Bors sought strength not born of rage, Nor glory’s spark, nor warlike stage.

On lonely shores and forest stone He trained in silence, all alone— A blade in hand, a shield held near, His purpose carved from doubt and fear.

He honed his heart before his steel, For he believed that to reveal A noble soul, one must be true
To trials no other mortal knew.

And when at last the summons came, He rode from mist with quiet flame. A man returned from battle’s tread— Dust on his cloak, resolve well-fed.

Not for the tales that soldiers claim, Nor triumph carved in blood or fame, But for the calm within his stride— The virtue he refused to hide.

Camelot’s towers rose high and fair, A kingdom breathing in the air. And when he stood before the throne, Arthur beheld a strength well-grown—

Not fashioned by a noble’s pride But tempered by the storms inside. The king declared in solemn tone, As torchlight danced on steel and stone:

“Sir Bors, you bear a steadfast flame— Unbroken heart, untarnished name. You come with deeds you do not tell, Yet all may see you carried them well.

Take now your place among the best, A seat where honor finds its rest.”

He knelt—and at the Table Round A sleeping shard began to sound. The Verdant Orange awakened bright, A forge-born glow of embered light.

A warmth like autumn filled the hall, A vow unbroken, firm and tall. For here stood flame not wild nor grand, But steadfast as a guardian’s hand.

Then Merlin’s sphere in starlight shone, Its radiance threading flesh and stone. His voice rose soft, yet sharp and clear, A truth for every knight to hear:

“Seven flames now burn—of loyal fire, Of golden dawn, of divine aspire, Of ocean’s hymn, of bronze unshaken, Of silvered truth in twilight taken, And now the ember of the just— A flame that will not break its trust.”

And as the seventh light unfurled, Its glow embraced the waking world. Crimson, gold, white, sea-washed blue, Bronze, silver, and ember’s hue— Seven knights had risen, steadfast and true.