Once & Future #30: In the End, Nothing Really Ever Ends

What constitutes a good ending? Is it the Campbellian notion that a hero returns to their ordinary world, forever changed by their adventure by understanding they need to live in the moment? Or is it the neat and tidy resolution peddled by Hollywood, where heroes win, and everyone lives happily ever after? Or maybe it’s the cultivation of deeds, a tragic fate that befalls the flawed central figure of work. Maybe an ending is nothing more than an open question, inviting the audience to contemplate where it can go next or what the ambiguous last moment means. 

In any instance, an ending is the hardest part of any story. It’s the moment where the audience has to part from the work, even if it’s temporary, like a break-up that is both expected but surprising all the same. There’s an inherent bitterness in an ending, especially if the work is enthralling or beloved, as it means that the bond formed throughout the story has to end, and the specific bit of time spent with the work will never truly come again. That is the core emotion that writing this review triggers, as it’s finally time to say goodbye to Once & Future.

Once & Future #30 – written by Kieron Gillen, with art from Dan More, colors by Tamra Bonvillain, and letters by Ed Dukeshire – concludes Merlin’s attempt to break fate and install Arthur in his rightful place as king of Britain. Gran and Duncan make their last stand to try and enact their plan to reverse the course of Otherworld’s invasion and defeat Merlin. Rose has ascended to become a new avatar of Arthur, having pulled the sword from the stone in the last issue, while Mary continues her betrayal to revive her son. All the pieces across the board are in place, and the issue certainly delivers on the collision between pieces. It feels impossible to reveal any other details without ruining the reading experience for the issue, but the story does not disappoint as it unfolds. 

The plot of this iteration of Once & Future concludes, but the book ends with a sense that the larger story is still open. It feels like a concise decision that echoes the nature of the myths that inspired the title, which promises in a time of need, the central figures will return. Gillen’s thematic focus on family, how secrets kept affecting the bonds between generations, and the power of myth and story drive this issue to its endpoint, and it reveals in a moment where Gran, the one most willing to play her role, has the chance to change, at least for the time being.

She makes the ultimate choice at the end, one that is somehow selfish and selfless all at the same time, and it speaks to the lessons learned across the full 30 issues. Gillen manages this by never taking the foot off the gas and using the skeleton of the plan he established previously to deliver a climactic, epic feeling action sequence that delivers on the promise of the series. His scripting walks the fine line between evolution and familiarity, having captured these characters, Gran, Duncan, Rose, and Mary specifically, at their best and worst. It’s by far some of the best and most consistent writing across a series, hands down. 

Mora & Bonvillain go out swinging in this last issue, fully aware that every page counts in the concluding story. Each issue of this final arc felt like the artistic equivalent of going super-saiyan, exceeding the respective creative’s threshold for not only ass-kicking action but the quieter emotional moments. One of the biggest takeaways from this issue, and the larger series, is that Bonvillain is the only person that should color Mora’s work, their sensibilities and style syncing in such a resonating harmony. Moments in this book feel like a true synergy between the two, and it’s heartbreaking to think these specific characters and designs might not be seen again, or for at least a long while. 

Mora’s designs across the various interpretations of myths and monsters come together in the issue, with dragons, knight kings, water spirits, and more getting to clash. The art is bombastic, like when the surround sound is dialed to 11, blowing away expectations to deliver something that would have been unimaginable. I’ve said before that Mora’s visual interpretations of these figures and creatures are going to become a definitive version for many people, and this issue stands by that. 

But while the action is extraordinary and heightens from the previous issues, it’s the quieter moments where Mora shines best. There’s a moment after the battle is won, and the survivors move to return to the next stage. Mora and Bonvillain use shades and shadows to show a character not making it to the final stretch of the issue, and the panel composition is utterly striking. It starts with the figure being consumed by shadows, only the barest colors escape the endless black before switching to a reaction that matches the focus, but the shadows arc, with plenty of colors still showing. It’s a moment that functions as the final threshold of the issue to cross, and it feels palpable on the page. Both figures in these panels flash expressions of a thousand emotions, and the moment that Mora renders is heartbreaking. 

The emotion is there in the scripting and story, and Mora translates it masterfully to the page, but Bonvillain’s coloring is what sells it. Her colors, both the tones and her unique bubbles, have been the hero of this series, providing cohesion and distinct styling that made this book feel like something wholly unto itself. Her shades of greens and blues, the oranges and crimsons, and everything in between capture every tone between humor and horror, matching the story that the team set out to tell. I can’t fathom another book on the shelves that so effectively uses color to enhance the story while using such a wide and bright palette that feels like it’s distorting and creating colors in every panel. This book has forever changed how I see coloring in comics, and it’s impossible to express how grateful I am for that. 

And it would be remiss not to mention Dukeshire’s lettering before reaching this review’s inevitable conclusion. The lettering is spectacular in this issue, like every other, but the crowning moment has to be the use of captions superimposed over images. Dukeshire doesn’t use caption boxes or balloons for what amounts to poetry or telling of a story, lettering straight onto the panels to convey the simple actions as the words unfold across the characters. It’s a stark and powerful decision that gives every work an emphasis that lingers, compounding to a quiet beat, before returning to the usual style. It’s a choice that captures the theme Gillen is reaching for with the story, and it makes clear what a proper story can do.