The dining hall buzzed with idle conversation, silverware clinking against porcelain, laughter rising in uneven waves. It should've been calming. Routine.
But Merlin's shoulders remained tense.
He sat quietly, spoon hovering over his soup, eyes flicking across the hall like clockwork. Nothing was out of place. Not yet.
"Elara, pass the bread," Nathan said, reaching across the table with zero grace.
"You have arms," she replied flatly, shoving the basket toward him.
"Yeah, but yours are longer," Nathan quipped.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, tossing a grape up and catching it with lazy precision. "Gods, it's been a long week. I swear if Sophia assigns us another theory essay I'm going to fake my own death."
"I'd help you forge the documentation," Liliana said without missing a beat.
Seraphina sipped her tea, as expressionless as ever. "None of you would last five minutes faking anything."
It should've been comforting—this noise, this rhythm. A slice of normalcy.
But Merlin's eyes lingered on the window.
The clouds were gathering too fast. A pressure in the air he recognized. Mana hanging too still.
'It's happening earlier than in the book.'
He lowered his spoon.
"…You okay?" Elara asked, voice just low enough that only he could hear it.
Merlin didn't look at her. "Fine."
He forced a casual shrug, eyes scanning the corners of the room. Nothing yet. No cracks in the barrier. No screams.
This was the arc where everything changed. The first true loss. The moment peace shattered.
He couldn't tell them.
They wouldn't believe him. And if they did, they'd only get in the way. Or worse—draw the attention of the wrong things. The cult didn't exist officially, not yet. But they were watching.
'If I act too early, they'll adjust. And then I won't know what comes next.'
"…You're frowning again," Nathan said through a mouthful of bread. "Thinking about Vivienne? Because I can set something on fire to help you cope."
"No," Merlin said. "Don't touch anything."
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Okay, now you sound like something's about to explode."
Liliana leaned forward slightly. "Are you sure you're alright?"
He needed an excuse. Something simple. Believable.
"Just… something felt off in class earlier. That's all." He poked at his food. "I'll figure it out."
Seraphina's silver eyes flicked toward him briefly, studying. "If you sense anything specific, report it to an instructor."
Because they wouldn't do anything in time. Because even the strongest professors were caught off guard when it happened.
And because this time… it didn't have to go that way.
Merlin stood, pushing his tray aside. "I'm heading to the library."
Nathan blinked. "Now? You just sat down."
Elara opened her mouth, then paused, letting it go.
He turned and left without another word, slipping into the quieter halls, away from the warmth of candlelight and chatter.
As the door shut behind him, his expression darkened.
'Barrier breach at 3rd bell. West wing, summoning chamber. First wave—controlled aberrants. Second wave—humanoids.'
He adjusted his pace.
Light from the sconces flickered across polished floors, casting shifting shadows across his path. Merlin walked them like a ghost, each step measured. Purposeful.
But he wasn't going to the library.
And he wasn't going to intervene.
He made his way up the side stairwell that overlooked the West Wing courtyard—the same one that would be gone by morning. Glass windows stretched wide from ceiling to floor, giving him a clear vantage point of the campus grounds.
He stopped there. Leaned against the cold stone wall.
He folded his arms, gaze locked on the horizon where the treeline met the storm-heavy sky. The clouds were darker now.
Bruised gray, with edges frayed like old fabric. Mana was already coiling at the perimeter, subtle to anyone untrained—but to him, it was obvious.
Threads pulling together. Interference patterns crawling in slow arcs.
'Ten hours left,' he reminded himself. Again.
He wasn't going to move. That was the hardest part. Because he could. Because his instincts screamed to.
But this early in the timeline, a misstep would mean everything unravels. There were too many variables.
If he stopped the breach now, there wouldn't be a second chance.
If they adapted their strategy, if they realized someone knew… the next target wouldn't be the academy.
It would be the city.
So he stayed where he was, jaw tense, fingers curled slightly as he fought the urge to pace.
A slow rhythm of footsteps echoed from the corridor to his right.
A familiar voice followed, quiet but sharp. "You're terrible at pretending you're not doing something suspicious."
Merlin didn't turn. "Liliana."
She came up beside him, arms folded, gaze following his toward the darkened sky. "You left your tray behind. Adrian tried to eat your soup, then choked on a crouton."
She glanced sideways. "You're not actually going to the library, are you?"
"Are you going to tell me what's actually going on?"
Silence stretched between them, brittle as glass.
Then—softly—Liliana said, "You're scared."
That made him flinch, just slightly.
"You are," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "You're hiding something. Something bad."
Merlin stared straight ahead. "If I told you, you'd only get hurt."
"I can take care of myself."
"I know," he said. "But it wouldn't matter. Not with this."
Liliana didn't speak again for a long moment. Then, without looking at him, she leaned back against the same wall and murmured, "Then I'll wait with you."
"You don't want to move. That's obvious. You're watching for something. So I'll watch with you."
He opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Liliana just tilted her head back, eyes half-lidded. "Don't ask me to leave. I won't."
Merlin exhaled through his nose.
Didn't thank her either.
They just stood together in silence, the storm drawing closer.
Merlin watched her from the corner of his eye.
Most people underestimated her. They saw the elegance, the grace, the polite smile. They didn't see the way her shoulders squared without effort, or how she didn't flinch from silence.
How she didn't need explanations to understand something was wrong.
He didn't know what that said about him—that she'd come here anyway.
"I hate waiting," she said suddenly.
"But I hate not knowing more."
Still, he stayed silent.
Liliana's gaze remained out on the horizon. "Do you ever feel like we're all chess pieces and someone else is moving the board?"
Merlin blinked. Slowly. "Every day."
She hummed. "You look like the kind of person who'd tip the whole board just to win."
"I wouldn't win," he said. "Just make the right sacrifices."
That finally made her turn to look at him. "You say that like it doesn't bother you."
"It doesn't matter if it does."
A pause. The weight of it settled between them.
"You're colder than I thought," she murmured, not unkindly. Just honest.
She didn't move away.
From below, faint echoes of laughter from distant hallways—students returning to their dorms. Doors shutting. Conversations fading behind walls.
The Academy had no idea what was coming.
And still, Merlin didn't look away from the treeline.
The edge of the forest swam in subtle distortion now. Like the air was too thick. Like the world was holding its breath.
"Liliana," he said, his voice low. Even. "If something happens tonight—"
"It will," she said. Calm. Certain.
He turned sharply, surprised.
She met his eyes. "You said it without saying it. I'm not stupid."
"You shouldn't be here."
And then she smiled. Just barely. The kind of smile that didn't reach the eyes, but still felt true.
"I'm still not leaving."
A flicker of something twisted behind his ribs. He looked away before it showed.
And the first thread in the barrier began to twitch.
The first twitch was nothing.
A shimmer in the distance, easy to mistake for heat distortion or a poorly anchored visibility charm. The wards—designed to cloak the Academy from uninvited eyes—rippled once, then went still again.
He knew what it meant.
His hands tightened behind his back.
Liliana tilted her head. "Did you see that?"
She straightened slightly. "That wasn't… normal."
A long silence followed.
Then the second ripple hit.
More visible this time. Like someone had taken the world and brushed oil across its surface—colors bending, light slipping sideways.
A low, keening vibration hummed in the walls. Too subtle for anyone else. But to a mage, it sounded like pressure against the teeth.
Liliana turned toward him. "That's the barrier."
Her voice dropped. "What the hell is happening, Merlin?"
He stared straight ahead, eyes reflecting the distortions outside.
"This is the part where the world starts to fall apart," he said.
Liliana blinked. "That's not cryptic at all."
"I told you not to ask."
Merlin closed his eyes for half a second.
He could feel the pulse now. Magic gathering at the perimeter. Building like a pressure valve forced shut too long. Someone—or something—was pushing. Testing the barrier's seams.
Around seven hours, ahead of schedule.