Everything still buzzed.
He stared at the ground. It looked the same. But his perception of it didn’t.
"The stance you use when channeling?" Rathan said casually. "You lean your front shoulder too far forward. It’s going to ruin your rotation on wide spells."
"I felt that. You carry your weight like a guy who’s afraid of recoil."
Merlin squinted at him. "That’s oddly specific."
"I trained in twelve different styles. I know bad habits when I see them."
Merlin looked down at his hand. He flexed it. Then formed a seal he didn’t remember learning.
The glow sparked instantly.
"Don’t use it here," Rathan said. "The memory’s already unstable. If you force too much mana through this space, you’ll collapse the transfer."
Merlin’s brow creased. "I thought this was all just... memory. Recorded. Safe."
"Nothing’s safe when a god curses you," Rathan said. "Memory is only as stable as the mind holding it."
Merlin stared at him for a long second.
"Was it worth it?" he asked. "Everything you did?"
Rathan didn’t answer right away.
He rubbed his thumb against the edge of his jaw. Slow. Tired.
"That’s not very reassuring."
"I’m not here to reassure you."
The air still hummed faintly with whatever arcane bleed hadn’t faded yet.
Merlin finally asked, "What was it like? Killing them?"
Rathan’s face didn’t change. His tone didn’t lift or drop.
"It wasn’t satisfying," he said. "It just stopped being quiet afterward."
’He’s not proud of it. He’s not even angry now. He’s just tired. Like the rage didn’t even leave something behind.’
"Not all of it," Rathan said. "Just the parts that didn’t help."
Merlin looked down again.
Let the silence stretch.
The knowledge sat inside him like a second skeleton. Familiar. But not his. Not yet.
"You’ll figure it out," Rathan said.
"Because if you couldn’t, the memory would’ve killed you already."
Merlin leaned back on his hands, the ground still strange under his fingers. Not dirt. Not stone. Just memory, pretending to be solid.
Across from him, Rathan stared into nothing. His eyes had a far-off look that didn’t quite land on anything in the room. Like he was watching something that used to be there.
Merlin spoke first. "Why me?"
Rathan didn’t glance over. "Because you’re stubborn."
"That’s not a good reason."
"It’s the only kind that lasts."
Merlin rolled his eyes. "I’m serious."
He waited a beat, expecting something else. A longer answer. A point, maybe. But Rathan didn’t add anything.
’Fine,’ Merlin thought. ’So I’m the stubborn one. Great.’
He dragged a hand down his face. He could still feel the mana patterns etched under his skin. Not painful, just there. Present. Like a second pulse.
"You know I’m not you, right?" Merlin said. "I’m not going to become some—vengeful war machine."
"You’re not supposed to."
Merlin frowned. "Then why give me all of this?"
Rathan turned toward him now, more focused than before.
"Because you’re the one that won’t let it rot."
That stopped Merlin. He blinked once. "What?"
"I carried it. All of it. The pain. The betrayal. The useless rage. And it festered. It turned me into someone I couldn’t walk away from. Someone I didn’t like."
"You’re not that," Rathan continued. "You’re not built like me. You’re not going to burn the world just because it hurts."
Merlin almost laughed. "You sure about that?"
Rathan’s expression shifted. "Yeah. I watched."
’Great,’ Merlin thought. ’So the ghost of a dead ancestor’s been creepily evaluating me from the afterlife. That’s... normal.’
Rathan reached into the pocket of his coat. Pulled something out. Held it in his closed fist for a second before tossing it lightly through the air.
Merlin caught it without thinking.
Plain. Steel. Unmarked.
He turned it over in his palm. "What’s this?"
"Something to remind you that the power isn’t the point."
Merlin stared at it. Then slid it onto his index finger. It fit.
"Thanks," he said, quieter than before.
The kind that didn’t hang heavy. Just... settled.
Merlin let out a slow breath, staring at the place Rathan had been just days ago, years ago, centuries maybe. It didn’t matter. Time didn’t work right in places .
"So this is it?" he asked. "You fade away now and I go on being your walking archive?"
Rathan’s smile was faint, crooked. "You’ll be more than that."
"Yeah?" Merlin said. "How do you know?"
The memory began to ripple. Not violently. Just... releasing.
Merlin felt the ground softening beneath him. The air pulling away from his skin. His heartbeat sharpening into something more familiar.
Rathan stepped backward into the blur.
"You’re not me," he said again. "And that’s the only reason this’ll work."
And then he was gone.
The space around Merlin folded in.
One last thought surfaced in Merlin’s head as the world started to collapse around him.
’Gods, I hope he’s right.’
Light. Movement. Pain.
Merlin’s eyes opened like someone had yanked a curtain off a window. Too fast. Too sharp. Light scraped across the back of his skull.
He didn’t sit up. Not yet. His chest still felt like it was on delay. Like it hadn’t gotten the memo that he was supposed to be breathing again.
The room smelled like polished marble and something herbal, sharp, like dried mint and crushed sage. The light was gold. Not the fake kind. Sunlight, filtered through something ornate.
He blinked once, slowly, letting the space come into focus.
A wide room. Circular. No visible door. And seated across from him—
"Hermes," Merlin said, voice flat.
The god didn’t look up from the teacup in his hand. "Welcome back."
’Of course it’s tea,’ Merlin thought. ’I almost die and he’s having a tea ceremony.’
He sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heel of one hand. "So. You saw all that?"
"I’m a god, Merlin. I don’t miss the important parts."
Merlin exhaled, dragging in the faint mint-smelling air. It felt clean, but not real. Like a set dressing in a play that didn’t need an audience anymore.
"So what now?" he asked.
Hermes finally looked at him. His expression was unreadable in the same way a locked box is unreadable: polished, sealed, but humming with contents.
"I figured you might need a minute," he said.
"Too late for that," Merlin muttered. He leaned back, letting his head thud softly against the padded wall behind him. "How long was I gone?"
"In your world? A few minutes."
Merlin raised an eyebrow.
"In memory time?" Hermes added. "Too long."
He didn’t ask how Hermes knew that. He just stared at the cup in the god’s hand.
"What’s in that?" he asked.
"You’re not going to offer me any?"
"You’re technically still dead. Your tastebuds might rebel."
Merlin snorted. Then winced. His ribs still felt like they were holding onto the echo of screams that hadn’t been his.
"Rathan was..." he started, then let the words hang.
Hermes tilted his head. "A bit much?"
"I was going to say ’a walking pressure cooker of unresolved rage and trauma,’ but sure. A bit much works."
Hermes took a slow sip. "You handled it better than I expected."
"That makes one of us."
A silence crept between them, not uncomfortable. Just... full. Like neither of them was quite ready to push yet.
Merlin broke it. "He gave me everything."
"I have his memories. His knowledge. His... something."
"His grief," Hermes said. "That, too."
Merlin looked at the ceiling. It was painted, but the patterns didn’t make sense. Not celestial. Not symbolic. Just motion.
"You’re not going to lecture me about what I do with it?" he asked.
"I’m not your handler, Merlin."
"You’re literally my patron."
Hermes shrugged. "I gave you my mark. Doesn’t mean I tell you how to use what someone else handed you."
Merlin scratched the side of his jaw. It still felt like it wasn’t quite his. Like he hadn’t fully landed in his body yet.
"So what do you want from me?" he asked. "Why did you pick me? What was the point of any of this?"
Hermes didn’t answer right away. He leaned back in his chair, resting the cup on the armrest. His smile wasn’t quite there, but the corners of his mouth knew the shape of it.
"You ask a lot of questions for someone who just got handed the memories of a demigod war criminal."
"I am that someone," Merlin said. "Wouldn’t you?"
Hermes looked at him, long. Measured. Like he was checking if Merlin had grown teeth while he wasn’t looking.
Then he said, "I didn’t pick you because you were special."
"I picked you because you were ordinary," Hermes continued. "The others—they wanted chosen ones. I wanted someone who could survive disappointment."
Merlin exhaled. "’Thanks.’ That’s very flattering."
Then Merlin asked, quieter, "And now that I’ve got Rathan in my head? What happens?"
Hermes raised an eyebrow. "What do you think happens?"
"I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking the god in the room."
"You’re not possessed," Hermes said. "You’re a bearer. You carry a record. That’s all."
Merlin’s fingers curled in his lap. "Yeah. It just feels like more than that."
"It is more. But it’s yours now. You don’t have to be him. You just have to learn from him."
’Great,’ Merlin thought. ’So I’m an unwilling walking textbook of generational trauma and divine betrayal. Awesome.’
"Is he really gone?" he asked.
Hermes didn’t answer right away.
Then: "He passed it on."
"That’s not the same."
"No," Hermes said. "It isn’t."
Merlin didn’t look up. He stared at his own hands instead.
’I don’t know if I can carry this. But I already said I would. So it’s mine now. Doesn’t matter how heavy it gets.’
"You’ll have to leave this place soon," he said. "They’re waiting."
"Yeah," Merlin muttered. "I figured."
Hermes started to turn away. Then stopped.
Merlin looked up at him.
"Plenty would have," Hermes said. "But you didn’t."
Then he stepped back.
And the light started to shift again.