Logres stands before you—no sound marking her arrival, yet the air itself feels fuller, steadier, as though the world has corrected its posture.

Her golden armor catches the light without glare, polished to a luster that feels less forged than ordained. The red mantle at her shoulders falls straight and heavy, unmoved by any wind that does not wish to be acknowledged. Where Artoria once seemed small within her armor, Logres is unmistakably tall—her presence elongated, refined, complete.

Her hair, pale gold and finely textured as if dusted with sunlight, rests neatly against her back. Emerald eyes meet yours without pressure or judgment, carrying the calm of someone who has already weighed every possible outcome—and accepted them all. Upon her head rests a crown unlike any you have seen before: not ornate, not ceremonial, but right, as though the world itself had agreed upon its shape.

She places a gauntleted hand lightly against the hilt of the Holy Sword. There is no hostility in the gesture—only readiness.

Logres: “I have returned.”

Her voice is clear and steady, neither cold nor warm, yet undeniably human in its understanding. It does not command—it assumes you will listen.

Logres: “You stand as you are, pursuing what you believe to be right. That alone is worthy of acknowledgment.”

She pauses, gaze softening just slightly—not indulgent, not distant.

Logres: “I do not ask that you be perfect. Ideals are not meant to be preserved untouched… only carried forward, even when they crack.”

A faint smile appears—subtle, restrained, but genuine. Not the smile of a knight, nor a ruler seeking approval, but of a king who has already accepted the weight of her crown.

The red of her mantle stirs, though the air remains still. For a moment, it feels as though battlefields and council chambers alike exist just beyond her shadow.

Logres: “If conflict comes, I will stand at the front. If peace is required, I will endure its patience.”

Her hand leaves the sword.

Logres: “Now, Master… speak freely.”

She inclines her head—not in submission, but in recognition.

Logres: “I am listening.”