Elara didn’t move from the desk. Her eyes lingered on the bloodstains, then flicked back to him.
"You know you’re not as good at hiding as you think," she said.
Merlin leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Didn’t realize I was hiding."
"You are. Every time you dodge a question, every time you force that blank look on your face, every time you pretend like nothing’s gnawing at you." Her hand brushed the dent in his breastplate, almost absentminded. "You may fool Nathan, but you don’t fool me."
’That’s exactly what I was afraid of.’
Merlin didn’t answer. He watched her fingers trace along the gouge in the steel before she pulled back like the touch burned.
She finally turned to face him, eyes sharper now. "Come on. You need food. Don’t argue."
He almost did anyway. Almost told her to leave him alone, that he didn’t need her watching over him like a nurse. But the stubborn set of her jaw told him it wasn’t worth it. He didn’t have the energy to fight her today.
"Fine," Merlin muttered.
The faintest ghost of a smile tugged at her lips before she pushed the door open and stepped out into the hall.
The mess hall was less crowded than yesterday. Morning sun bled weakly through the tall windows, casting pale light across long wooden tables. The smell of bread and porridge filled the air, mingling with the damp stone and oil of the fortress walls.
Merlin trailed behind Elara, scanning the room. Most soldiers were either already out drilling or too hungover from the night before to bother eating. The few scattered at the benches glanced up briefly, then quickly back to their bowls.
They still looked at him differently.
’It’s not awe. Not exactly. It’s distance. Like I’m something they can’t touch anymore.’
Elara chose a bench at the side, away from the main cluster of men. She slid onto the bench and gestured for him to sit.
Merlin lowered himself opposite her, the wooden seat creaking under the weight of his armor.
"Eat," she ordered, sliding a bowl of porridge toward him.
He eyed it, then her. "Didn’t realize I was back in training camp."
"You’re worse than the recruits," she said flatly, spooning her own portion with no hesitation. "At least they complain while eating."
Merlin snorted softly but dug in. The porridge was bland, heavy, but it filled the empty space in his gut.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The scrape of spoons against bowls was the only sound between them.
It was Elara who finally broke the silence.
"Nathan told me you sparred this morning."
Merlin’s hand stilled halfway to his mouth. "He talks too much."
Her eyes narrowed. "And?"
"How far ahead are you?"
’Too far. Leagues. More than he can ever know.’
Merlin shrugged instead. "Far enough."
She set her spoon down, leaned forward slightly. "Merlin. Don’t play dumb with me. Nathan’s strong. Stronger than most I’ve ever seen. If you’re... more than that—"
"Does it matter?" Merlin cut in, sharper than he meant to.
Elara froze. For a moment, her eyes softened, searching his face. Then she leaned back slowly, picking up her spoon again.
"It matters," she said quietly. "Because if you’re carrying something the rest of us can’t even keep up with... then sooner or later, you’re going to be alone on that road."
Merlin clenched his jaw. He didn’t answer.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
Nathan found them after breakfast, of course.
He strolled into the mess hall like he owned it, bandages still wrapped around his side, grin plastered on his face. "Knew I’d find you two here. Thought maybe you’d ditched me for some secret mission."
Elara rolled her eyes. "We’re not always plotting without you, Nathan."
Nathan smirked, dropping onto the bench beside Merlin. "Good. Wouldn’t want to miss the fun."
Merlin glanced at him. "Should you even be walking around?"
"Should you even be sulking around?" Nathan shot back, already stealing bread from Elara’s plate. "Guess neither of us listens to orders."
Merlin shook his head, but a faint twitch at his mouth betrayed him. Nathan noticed, of course, and grinned wider.
"See? Still human after all."
Elara sighed. "Barely."
The yard again. This time not for sparring, Nathan dragged them both out with a half-formed plan for "light training," though his version of light usually ended with someone bleeding.
The sun was higher now, bright but hazy, shadows cutting sharp across the training field. A few squads drilled at the far end, but Nathan steered them toward the open ground near the dummies.
"Alright," Nathan said, clapping his hands once. "Yesterday was swordwork. Today? Movement. Reflexes. Keeping sharp."
Merlin arched a brow. "Reflexes. When you’re half-bandaged."
"Exactly," Nathan said cheerfully. "If I can dodge while half-dead, imagine me at full health."
Elara muttered something under her breath about idiots, but she stayed, leaning against the fence to watch.
They started simple. Nathan tossed small stones at Merlin, fast as he could. Merlin caught every one. Then knives. Then sudden lunges.
Each time, Merlin’s body reacted before his mind. He flowed, sidestepped, caught, deflected.
Nathan grew more frustrated with every pass.
"Damn it!" he growled after Merlin stopped his blade inches from his chest again. "It’s like you see it before it happens."
Merlin’s grip tightened. "Maybe I do."
Nathan blinked at him, thrown off by the seriousness in his tone. Elara’s gaze sharpened, lips parting like she wanted to ask, but Merlin stepped back, sheathing his sword.
"Like hell it is," Nathan snapped, bristling. But Merlin didn’t turn back.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Rebuilding. Reports. More drills. Merlin moved through it all like a shadow, doing what was expected but never more.
By the time night fell, his body ached with exhaustion, though not from the work. From restraint. From holding everything in.
He sat alone in his room again, armor off, tunic damp with sweat.
The system’s voice pulsed faintly in the back of his mind.
[Progression Status: Accelerating]
[Warning: Gap Widening]
Merlin pressed a hand to his temple. "Shut up."
The words didn’t stop the messages. They never did.
[Warning: Emotional Stability Declining]
He shoved the notifications aside, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the flickering lanternlight against the wall.
’If I keep this up, Nathan’s going to notice. Elara already suspects. And when they know... what then?’
He dragged both hands over his face.
’What happens when I’m not just ahead, but so far beyond them I can’t even see them behind me anymore?’
The knock at the door was soft this time.
Merlin froze, head snapping toward it.
"Elara," he muttered, half to himself.
But when the door creaked open, it wasn’t Elara.
He slipped inside without waiting for permission, closing the door behind him. His grin was gone for once, replaced with something harder, more serious.
Merlin straightened slowly. "...What is it?"
Nathan studied him for a moment, then crossed the room and dropped into the chair opposite.
"You’re hiding something."
Merlin’s chest tightened.
Nathan leaned forward, forearms on his knees. "I don’t know what. I don’t know how. But you are. And don’t bother denying it."
Merlin’s fingers curled against his leg.
’He doesn’t know. He can’t know. But if he keeps pushing—’
Nathan’s voice was quiet, steady. "I don’t care what it is, Merlin. Not right now. Just... don’t shut me out. Don’t shut us out. You’re not carrying this alone, no matter how much you want to."
Merlin stared at him.
For once, he didn’t have a ready answer.
The night stretched long after Nathan left.
Merlin sat alone, listening to the faint sounds of the fortress settling. Soldiers shifting in their bunks. Wind pushing against the shutters. The faint hiss of lanterns burning low.
His system chimed once more.
[Objective Reminder: Survive]
Merlin closed his eyes, whispering to the empty room.
The morning haze clung low over the fortress grounds, dampening the air with a chill that clung to Merlin’s tunic. Nathan was already out in the yard, stretching his shoulders like the bandages meant nothing, wooden sword in hand and that cocky grin plastered on his face.
"You look like death," Nathan called. "Perfect time to spar."
Merlin rolled his shoulders, stepping onto the dirt. "You just don’t learn."
Nathan barked a laugh. "One of these days I’ll catch you slipping. And when I do, you’ll owe me a drink."
Elara leaned against the fence again, arms folded, watching them with the same guarded expression she always wore when Nathan was about to get himself killed.
Merlin picked up the wooden blade Nathan had tossed to him. The weight was laughable compared to the real steel he was used to, but it would do.
Nathan lunged first, fast, his blade coming in from the side. Merlin’s body moved before his mind even registered the attack, he stepped past, twisted, and his sword tapped Nathan’s ribs before the other boy even realized he’d missed.
"Cheap," Nathan muttered, resetting.
"Clean," Merlin corrected.
The next flurry came harder, sharper. Nathan’s strikes had weight behind them now, his movements honed by months of drilling.
Anyone else would have struggled. But to Merlin, it was slow. Too slow. Every swing felt like it came in fragments, he saw where it would land before Nathan’s body even followed through.
Tap to the wrist. Tap to the collar. Tap to the knee.
Each time Merlin struck, Nathan stumbled back, frustration burning hotter in his eyes.