The stink of smoke clung heavier the longer he stood there. Even with the wall looming above him, even with the district around him quieting into nothing but crows and the occasional sob, it wouldn’t leave. Merlin dragged a hand down his face, fingers pressing against the grit caught in his skin, and breathed through his teeth.
[Quest Extension Available]
[Next Objective: Unknown]
He flicked the message away with a twitch of thought.
’Unknown. Of course. The system always knows more than me, never enough to actually say it. Just hints, reminders, like I’m too stupid to see it myself.’
He leaned his shoulder against a cracked stone buttress, staring up at the wall. It was scarred but standing. That was something. The silence that stretched out here wasn’t relief, though. It was the silence of a wound not closed, just bleeding slower.
Boots scraped behind him again.
Not Elara this time. A boy, couldn’t have been older than fourteen, stood at the end of the alley between two collapsed homes. His shirt was half torn, eyes red and rimmed with ash. He didn’t speak, just clutched a scrap of cloth in his hand.
Merlin knew that look.
"Who?" he asked, voice low.
The boy swallowed hard, glanced down at the cloth, then back at Merlin. "My brother." His voice cracked. "He said, he said you were fighting near the square. He didn’t come back."
Merlin’s chest tightened.
The boy’s lips trembled. "Did you see him? Tall. Dark hair. He carried a spear with the guard insignia."
Merlin closed his eyes for a moment. Faces flashed, blurred by fire, twisted in fear, too many to count. He couldn’t place the description. Couldn’t even try.
"I’m sorry," he said finally. The words felt heavy in his mouth.
The boy’s eyes searched his face, desperate, as if Merlin might change his mind, pull a miracle out of the air. But Merlin just shook his head, once, slow.
The boy’s shoulders crumpled. He clutched the cloth tighter, looked like part of a uniform tunic, and stumbled back down the alley.
Merlin stayed where he was, jaw locked, fists tight.
’Four hundred and thirty-nine. Add it. Don’t forget it.’
[Warning: Emotional Load Exceeding Recommended Threshold]
[Stability Protocol Engaged]
"No," Merlin muttered, pushing the alert away. "Not now."
The system pulsed faintly, like it wanted to argue, but quieted when he forced his focus back on the wall.
The wind shifted, carrying ash past him in little curls. Somewhere in the ruins, a timber groaned and collapsed.
He finally turned and made his way back through the district.
By the time he reached the square again, Nathan was awake, sitting against the wall with a healer crouched beside him. The woman had short cropped hair and hands that moved quick despite the weariness on her face. She was binding his side while Nathan muttered something under his breath, earning herself a small smile in return.
When Nathan’s eyes lifted and caught Merlin’s, the smile didn’t fade, but it softened.
"You look worse than me," Nathan said.
Merlin dropped beside him, ignoring the chair one of the healers had offered earlier. He sat against the same wall, arms resting across his knees.
"You shouldn’t be moving," Merlin said.
"Neither should you," Nathan shot back, though his voice wasn’t sharp, more tired than anything. "But here we are."
The healer finished her work, gave Nathan a sharp warning to stay still, then moved on to another soldier nearby.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The square around them had quieted; most of the injured were treated, the dead covered, the rubble cleared enough to let people move. It wasn’t order, not yet, but it was closer.
Nathan was the one to break the silence. "You counted again."
Merlin glanced at him.
"I can see it," Nathan said simply. "In your eyes. You’re carrying every number."
Merlin’s throat tightened, but he said nothing.
Nathan leaned his head back against the wall, exhaling through his nose. "You think it honors them. But all it does is break you faster."
Merlin’s jaw clenched. "And if I don’t remember them, who will?"
"Everyone who loved them," Nathan said. "Everyone who fought beside them. You don’t have to carry all of it alone."
"I do," Merlin said quietly. His voice was flat, final.
Nathan sighed, but didn’t push further. He just closed his eyes, breathing slow.
The sun slid higher as the day dragged on. More soldiers arrived, more wagons to carry the wounded and the dead. At some point, a messenger found them—a young man in council colors. He bowed awkwardly before speaking.
"Sir Everhart. The council summons you. They ask you to attend immediately."
Merlin didn’t move. His gaze stayed on the smoke still curling from the ruins.
The messenger shifted, nervous. "They—ah—they said it was not a request."
Nathan cracked an eye open. "Go," he muttered. "Better you deal with them than me."
Merlin exhaled slowly through his nose, then pushed himself to his feet. His body protested, every muscle aching, but he forced the stiffness away.
"Stay alive," he told Nathan.
"Same to you," Nathan said with a faint smirk.
Merlin followed the messenger.
The council chamber smelled too clean. After hours in the smoke, the sharp scent of polished wood and burning incense hit like an insult. The chamber was circular, with twelve high-backed seats, each filled by a figure in rich robes. Their faces were tired, but their eyes sharp.
Merlin stood in the center of the circle.
One of them, an older man with gray hair and a thin scar along his cheek, leaned forward. "Sir Everhart. We hear reports you closed the gates. All of them."
Merlin’s gaze didn’t shift. "Reports exaggerate."
Murmurs stirred around the circle.
Another councilor, a woman with braided black hair and steel rings along her fingers, narrowed her eyes. "Then tell us what really happened."
"Sir Everhart," the first man pressed, "hundreds are dead, but thousands more live because of what you did. The people need to know. The city needs to know."
Merlin’s jaw tightened. He forced the words out like stones grinding together. "The gates are gone. That’s all that matters."
"That is not all that matters," the woman said sharply. "We cannot rebuild on rumors. If you hold power that can protect us, then the council must understand it."
Merlin’s hand twitched at his side.
[Warning: Agitation Detected]
[Calming Protocol Available]
"The gates are gone," Merlin repeated. His voice was ice. "Ask no more."
The chamber rippled with uneasy murmurs.
The gray-haired man studied him for a long moment, then leaned back slowly. "Very well. We will respect your silence, for now. But know this, Sir Everhart: the people already look to you. If you refuse to answer, they will write their own stories."
Merlin didn’t respond.
After a tense silence, they dismissed him.
He didn’t go back to Nathan right away. His feet carried him through the quieter streets, past half-ruined homes and shuttered shops. The sun was lowering again, turning the smoke golden.
His system pulsed once more.
[Quest Extension: Accepted]
Merlin barked a laugh under his breath, humorless. "Survive. That’s it?"
But as he walked, the truth of it sat heavy.
That’s all it had ever been.
By the time he returned to the barracks, night had crept in. Lanterns burned low in the halls, throwing shadows along the walls. Merlin pushed his door open quietly, expecting silence.
Instead, Elara was there. Again.
She stood by the window, arms crossed, her face half-lit by the moonlight. She didn’t speak right away. Just watched him.
"You went to the council," she said finally.
Merlin grunted. "They wanted answers."
"And you didn’t give them any."
Elara’s eyes searched his face. "You can’t keep this up forever, Merlin. Secrets don’t protect people. They just make you a target."
Merlin’s jaw worked, but he didn’t answer. He pulled off his gauntlets, setting them on the desk with a dull thud.
Elara stepped closer. "I know you think you have to do this alone. I know you think if you carry it all, it’ll spare the rest of us. But it won’t. It’ll just kill you faster."
Merlin finally met her eyes. "Maybe that’s the point."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Elara froze. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the faint crackle of the lantern.
Then she stepped forward and grabbed his wrist, tight. "Don’t you dare." Her voice was sharp, but her eyes shone. "Don’t you dare think like that. We need you."
Merlin’s throat tightened. He looked away, jaw clenched.
The system chimed one last time.
[Warning: Emotional Load Critical]
[Emergency Stabilization Required]
Merlin shoved the message away and let the silence swallow him.
And for the first time that day, he didn’t pull away either.
He just enjoyed it without saying or doing anything at all. It was the first time in a while that he became emotional.