He didn’t go straight to his room. Not right away. The house was quiet again, just like always, like it had learned how to hold its breath in every corner.
Nathan was asleep on the couch downstairs. At least, Merlin assumed he was. He didn’t check.
The balcony door clicked as he pushed it open.
The night wasn’t cold. Not warm either. Just that muted middle ground where you don’t notice the air unless you’re trying to.
He leaned against the railing.
The breeze hit his face.
His system hadn’t said anything yet. No missions. No trials. No glowing red warnings. That somehow made him feel worse.
[Major Event Proximity: 47 Hours, 18 Minutes]
[Preparation Threshold: Not Met]
[Observation Protocol: External Agents Detected]
He closed his eyes for a second, breathing in.
Not magic. Not presence. Just... awareness. Like the universe had blinked.
A shadow moved behind him.
"You’re early," Merlin muttered.
"No. You’re late," came the voice.
The white-haired man stood at the edge of the balcony, just inside the frame. He hadn’t opened the door. He never did. No sound. No aura. Just there.
Same grey coat. Same sharp, expressionless face. He wasn’t intimidating by size. He wasn’t even tall. But everything about him felt final.
Merlin didn’t ask how he got in. He already knew the answer would be a non-answer.
"I won’t be here when it happens."
Merlin straightened a little. "Why?"
"Because I can’t be."
"That’s not an answer."
"It’s the only one you’ll get."
’Every time he shows up, something happens. And every time, he knows more than me.’
"You’ve been following me since the beginning."
"You know what I am."
Merlin watched him for a second. The white hair barely moved in the breeze.
"Then why not tell me?"
"Because you’re not ready."
"I’ve died," Merlin said. "I’ve carried someone else’s memory for weeks. I’ve bled, lost, lied, and burned half my soul just to stay upright. What the hell does ’ready’ mean to you?"
The man didn’t flinch.
"Exactly that. Not just to endure. But to stay upright."
The silence stretched.
He took one step closer.
"Two days from now, they’ll come. You already know that. Your system’s probably breathing down your neck."
Merlin didn’t deny it.
"You won’t stop it. Not all of it. That’s not the point."
"Yourself. And what’s left after."
Merlin’s fists clenched at his sides.
"Stop talking like I’m supposed to figure out riddles."
The white-haired man tilted his head slightly.
"I’m not giving you riddles, Merlin. I’m giving you facts. The difference is whether you can hear them."
The name still felt strange coming from him.
He started to pace. Just a few slow steps, eyes distant.
"People will die. Places will burn. Something will break that can’t be put back."
"Is that a warning or a prophecy?"
"Neither. It’s your test."
Merlin exhaled slowly through his nose.
’This guy’s either a lunatic, or the only person who knows what the hell is going on.’
"Why help me at all?" Merlin asked.
Then: "Because you’re real."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"You weren’t made for this world. You know that. I know that. But you’re here now. And they’re watching to see what you become."
Merlin stepped forward, jaw tight.
"I’m nothing like them."
Merlin swallowed hard.
The white-haired man finally looked him in the eye.
Then he turned, just slightly, like he’d already said everything he came to say.
"I won’t interfere. Not this time. You’ve grown enough to stand without me."
"You say that like I ever needed you."
"You didn’t," he said. "But you will miss me when I’m gone."
Merlin opened his mouth.
But he was already gone.
No sound. No movement. No flicker.
Merlin stood there a long time after that. Hands still on the railing. The street below was quiet. The stars overhead felt way too bright.
[System Update: Emotional Interference Detected – Stabilizing]
[Event Countdown: 47:02:11]
He stayed out until the timer ticked past 47.
It wasn’t a teleport. Not a flash. Just a shift.
The apartment air and city quiet fell away, peeled off like smoke from a burnt match.
Now, it was nothing. No floor. No horizon. Just a shallow plane of shifting white below and endless black above. A place so silent, even thought had to ask permission to echo.
He stood still in the center.
From the black above, a ripple fell.
Not a being. Not a body. A thread of gold, unraveling as it descended. It coiled midair, shimmered, then took shape. Robes like starlight. Sandals that didn’t touch anything. A face that looked kind but never changed. Hermes.
"Still punctual," the white-haired man said, dry.
Hermes didn’t smile. "Still difficult to track."
"You used the wrong keys last time."
"Because you changed them."
"That’s what makes it a test."
Hermes tilted his head. "You enjoy being difficult, don’t you?"
"Only with children."
"And you still see me as one?"
Hermes let the silence stretch a little, then lowered himself until their eyes were nearly level. He hovered inches off the nothing.
"You interfered," Hermes said.
"We told you not to."
"You told me not to make a scene. I didn’t."
Hermes’ expression shifted. Not annoyance. Not anger. Something closer to wariness.
"He was supposed to break."
Hermes blinked once. "Not enough."
Hermes folded his arms, watching him. "You’re protecting him."
"Because he’s earned it."
"That’s not how this works."
Hermes floated a little closer, voice quieter. "You shouldn’t exist here. We agreed. No interference. Not from your kind. Not anymore."
"You agreed. I never signed."
"Your presence unbalances the board."
"The board was rigged. Don’t talk to me about fairness."
Hermes’ fingers twitched. "He’s not supposed to survive the coming days. That’s the function of the trial."
"You’ll let him die?"
"I’ll let him stand."
Hermes said nothing to that.
The white-haired man looked off into the black sky. Not at anything. Just away.
"Your gods," he said, tone distant. "They lie too easily."
"They protect order."
"They protect their own egos."
"You were one of us once."
"I was never one of you."
Hermes’s jaw locked. "He’s becoming something unnatural."
"No. He’s becoming something you didn’t plan for. That’s different."
"You’ve given him too much."
"I’ve given him what he earned."
"Then why erase the others?" Hermes’s eyes glinted. "The girl. The boy. You wiped them from the system like they were errors."
"Because they were. Leftovers from an intrusion."
"You never clean up that thoroughly unless you’re nervous."
The white-haired man tilted his head, just slightly. "I’m not nervous."
Then asked, softer, "Then what are you?"
Because something shimmered behind his eyes, something older than Hermes had words for. Not rage. Not fear. Just depth.
"Do you still remember what it felt like?" Hermes asked, carefully. "To watch your world burn?"
He looked at him again.
"And now you’re doing it again," he whispered.
"No," the white-haired man replied. "I’m stopping someone else from repeating it."
Hermes lowered his head for a moment. "You know they’ll all come down if he survives. The higher pantheon. Not just the ones playing with Circle Nine. They’ll erase him."
"He’s not yours to erase."
"He’s not yours to protect."
And that silence was all the answer needed.
The white-haired man turned away.
"I’ve done what I needed to. The rest is his."
Hermes hovered higher again. "And if he fails?"
"Even after everything you gave him?"
He glanced over his shoulder.
"He wasn’t given anything. He took it."
Hermes nodded once. "Then we’ll see."
The space began to ripple again. The endless white churned beneath their feet.
Hermes rose fully, retreating back into his golden thread, already fraying apart.
"Don’t follow me next time," Hermes warned. "There are laws, even for you."
"There are lines," the white-haired man said. "Not laws. And I don’t need to cross them."
He reached into his coat pocket. Pulled out a black coin.
Tossed it into the air.
Then vanished himself.
The sun hadn’t really risen yet. Just enough light behind the blinds to paint everything in that blurry blue-grey that made walls look tired and floors feel colder than they were.
Merlin blinked at the ceiling for a few seconds, letting his thoughts catch up to his body.
His head didn’t hurt. That was the first surprise.
His limbs didn’t ache either.
Everything just... felt light. Like something had been reset while he wasn’t looking.
’Guess that’s what near-death enlightenment does for you.’
He rolled to his side and sat up slowly. No dizziness. No burning pain behind his eyes. No gods whispering ominous poetry in his ear. The system hadn’t popped up with a death recap yet either, which was honestly suspicious.