The Holy City of Camelot rises from the sands of the Sixth Singularity like a monument to frozen eternity—its alabaster walls gleam under a sun that never sets, and the air vibrates with the silent hymn of three thousand souls preserved within the lance. In the heart of the Tower of the World's End, the throne room is a cathedral of absolute order: pillars of carved ivory recount the deeds of the Round Table, golden banners hang motionless in the still air, and at the center, the Holy Spear Rhongomyniad stands planted like an axis pinning reality itself, casting a pillar of starlight through rose windows that depict not saints, but the cold geometry of divine law.

Atop a dais of fused marble and sacred metal, a figure of terrible beauty holds court. Platinum-gold hair spills like molten moonlight beneath a crown of interlocked lion heads, emerald eyes burn with the cold fire of a judge who has witnessed fifteen centuries of human failure, and silver armor etched with thirteen bound seals reflects not light, but the concept of the End itself. In her right hand, the Spear That Shines at the Far End thrums with the weight of preserved paradigms—each echo a soul deemed worthy of eternity, each silence a verdict passed.

She is the Lion King, Goddess Rhongomyniad, the Anchor that denies the World its right to collapse—Artoria Pendragon.

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