S03 · E15

Aymen

Mordred can't sleep either. Where Vane's memories arrive unbidden, Mordred's are deliberate - he moves through them like a man who has been the sole keeper of his own history for centuries, because no one else has lived long enough to remember it with him. France, 1347: the first body that wasn't his, the vertigo of waking behind a stranger's eyes. A house in Florence - a dozen weavers sharing techniques, arguments and wine, briefly something approaching a family, before someone talked and the Inquisition came. Mordred survived only because he was wearing someone else when they came for his name. That pattern, repeated every century: community found, community lost, surviving in the wrong skin. WW2 witnessed from inside a weaving community that believed, this time, the world had finally grown past it. What snapped in 1946 wasn't rage - it was acceptance that the world would never meet him where he was. When he reaches the corridor, Vane is already there. He is ready.