Mordred breathed a sigh of relief as he looked up, sensing the hand of comfort on his shoulder. He could feel the magic from her. He was relieved to finally be in the same room with another magic user, and had now communicated as much telepathically. She was closer to his kind. Nothing like these weak-minded fools that claimed to have loved him. How quickly that had faded. The people however were even further on edge when Nimue had arrived. "What is this," the father yelled, "More freaks to invade our home??"
"No," Mordred said with a firm glare, as if staring deeply into the soul, "we are your betters. You were right, I am not your son. My name is Mordred. Now would be a good time to drop your weapons. Lest you hurt yourselves." They didn't seem to like that, though the moth backed up, holding a knife close to her side. The father was different, waving his gun and alternating between either Nimue and Mordred. Unfortunately, a shot had gone off, bullet shooting out and in Nimue's direction.. though the boy couldn't tell if it had really hit her or merely grazed her arm.