In Camelot’s mist-shrouded forests, Thoth met Merlin, his staff aglow, a dragon’s scales glinting behind him.

“The tablet’s gone again,” Merlin said, his voice weary. “Stolen by shadows.”
Thoth’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll take it back.”

They ventured deep—past wyverns spitting flame, through faerie glades where time twisted. Arthur joined, Excalibur blazing, his knights a steel-clad tide. They found it in a troll’s lair, its stench overwhelming, but Morgan le Fay struck—her magic a black wind, snatching the tablet. She vanished, her voice a taunt: “You’re too slow, old bird.” Thoth clenched his fists, the loss a wound.