Worn into the stone by hand—carved with something jagged, likely clawed. Not magic. Not ritual. It was desperate. That was the only word for it.
He reached up with his working hand, fingers brushing the etched grooves.
Something left behind by someone else who didn't want to be forgotten.
The wall was cold, and he let it press into his shoulder until the ache dulled enough to think clearly.
'Someone survived here. Or at least tried.'
He took a deep breath.
'That's good. That means I'm not the first.'
His eyes adjusted slowly. The interior of the burrow was tight, curved, like the ribcage of a beast that had fossilized mid-collapse.
The bones in the walls weren't arranged, but some had been moved. He could tell. Scrapes in the dust, little ridges of displaced ash. They formed a ring.
And in the center, buried beneath dust and rot—
He crawled toward it, slow and deliberate. Every joint protested. His breath burned his throat. He pulled back the edge of the cloth with two fingers and found what was underneath.
Old. Leather. Dried stiff with age.
He dragged it toward him, exhaling through his teeth.
'Please don't be empty.'
Inside—dried rations, fossilized but technically edible. A cracked glass mana crystal. A mana wire. One silver coin etched in an unfamiliar script. And… a notebook.
It was a journal. Thin, leather-bound, the pages curled and yellowed.
He flipped to the first one.
The ink was smudged, but still legible. Barely.
Still alive. Storms quieter now. Mana doesn't scream so loud at night anymore. I miss coffee. I'd kill for coffee.
Saw one of the red-skins again. Tall. Too many eyes. I think it's watching the ridge for movement. Still haven't found a stable leyline.
Power's low. Got one arrow left. Don't want to waste it.
A chill crept into Merlin's spine. He glanced around the burrow again. Slowly. Carefully.
Ran into another survivor. Didn't last. He screamed too loud. Drew them in. They dragged him away in pieces. I couldn't move.
He closed the notebook.
'They died here…all alone.'
He pressed the notebook against his chest and exhaled.
"…Not me," he murmured.
He wouldn't die here.
He was going to survive.
And he was going to go back.
Because people were waiting for him.
Nathan's face flickered behind his eyelids.
'You better be holding the academy together. Or I'm going to come back just to stab you.'
He reached into his satchel and pulled out the mana wire. Thin, silver-threaded. He wrapped it around his wrist, then looped it to the side wall where a bit of exposed bone stuck out from the burrow wall.
But it would become one.
If anything entered the burrow while he slept, it would pull the thread. Snap the line. Wake him up.
'Better than nothing.'
He finally let his body rest, leaning back against the far wall, one hand still on the satchel.
His rapier, Keryx, lay beside him. Point angled slightly outward.
The wind outside howled, dragging ash and distant screams across the dead soil of the continent.
'Just need… a few hours. After that I plan. Then I need to adapt..'
The tea had gone cold on the table.
Vivienne didn't drink it.
Her fingers curled around the porcelain cup anyway, needing to hold something. Something warm. But there was no warmth left in the room.
Across from her, Morgana sat with her legs crossed, one hand resting lightly against her temple. Her expression was unreadable. Not amused.
Her long blue hair fell across one shoulder in smooth, deliberate waves, perfectly undisturbed. Her white eyes—like frost on glass—watched the woman sitting between them.
She looked so small in the chair. Not physically. Just… too human. Just a person with an office job. Just a sister.
She hadn't said anything since sitting down.
Not after Morgana told her Merlin was gone.
Vivienne hadn't said anything either. Not really.
The silence stretched.
Victoria finally blinked. Once. Slowly.
Her voice cracked near the end. She laughed. Not a real laugh. The kind people do when the floor has vanished beneath them.
Vivienne stood. "I wish we were."
"No." Victoria shook her head. "We literally talked last night..he even brought home one of his friends. That's normal, right?"
Neither woman answered.
Victoria looked between them, smile faltering. "And you said… gone. What does that mean? Did he run away?"
Vivienne opened her mouth. But nothing came out.
"Your brother sealed a rift above the west courtyard. Alone."
Victoria blinked. "…He's a student."
"He's just fourteen."
Vivienne finally found her voice, and it came out raw. "He did it to protect the others. They were overwhelmed. The professors hadn't arrived. If he hadn't—"
"—then people would have died," Morgana finished, like it was simple arithmetic. "He chose the option that bought time."
Victoria's eyes darted between them. Her voice pitched up. "So where is he?"
"Where is he?" she repeated, louder this time.
Morgana's voice was flat. "We don't know."
"You're the headmistress—"
"And your brother walked into a collapsing gate tied to an unanchored summoning spell that reversed the mana flow of a demonic leyline," Morgana said, eyes glittering like snow beneath moonlight. "He didn't leave a note. Or a body."
Victoria's voice fell out of her.
Vivienne moved, quickly—kneeling beside her, hands on her arms.
But the woman didn't break.
And said, almost too quietly:
"…Why would he do that?"
Vivienne swallowed. "Because that's who he is."
"That's not an answer!"
Morgana's nails tapped once against the armrest. "Your brother was exceptional. Quiet. Private. He never asked for attention. But he understood things most adults would never touch. He made a choice."
Vivienne glanced at her. "You're being cold."
Victoria closed her eyes. Her hands were shaking.
Vivienne whispered, "We're going to bring him back."
Morgana didn't agree.
She didn't disagree either.
She stood, smoothed her coat, and walked toward the window.
Outside, the barrier shimmered. Repaired. Intact. But far too late.
"I'll try to assign watchers to the leyline drift," Morgana said. "If he re-emerges, we'll know."
Vivienne nodded, still holding onto Victoria's sleeve.
Victoria whispered, "He's all I have."
Vivienne's heart cracked.
The room fell quiet again.
There were no more words for this.
And a boy no one could find.
Merlin's eyes snapped open.
The silence was too perfect.
The kind that only existed when something was listening.
For ten full seconds, he lay motionless, letting his body rest and repair itself.
His pain was manageable now. His mana was already recovering at an insane speed.
The corruption was still slightly present inside of him.
His right hand was already wrapped around the grip of Keryx.
He didn't remember reaching for it.
The tension didn't leave him until he confirmed—no movement outside the burrow. No broken mana lines. No screeches. No watchers.
Then, slowly, he exhaled.
'That makes two wins, I guess.'
His shoulder was swollen, but functional. His ribs throbbed like something was trying to crawl out through them.
He took it as a good sign.
'If it hurts, I'm not dead.'
The light filtering through the burrow entrance was a dim gray-red, like the sky itself had been filtered through blood and ash.
He reached for the leather satchel from yesterday. Pulled out the hardened ration. It crumbled when he bit it—dry as bone and twice as bitter. Still, it kept his hands moving.
'One meal. One weapon. No map. No allies. Seems like the odd aren't in my favor.'
His eyes drifted to the journal he'd found.
He flipped to the next page.
Day 25. I stopped marking days. Time doesn't matter here.
The air's wrong. I hear things in it now. Whispers. Sometimes they say my name.
Merlin tapped his fingers against the page.
'So, the corruption has a voice. Or they were just breaking.'
It didn't matter. He wasn't staying long enough to start hearing things.
He stood carefully, brushing dust from his uniform—what was left of it—and stepped to the mouth of the burrow.
The world outside was still dying.
Thick black cliffs loomed in the distance, fractured and unnatural, like they'd been cracked open by something massive long ago. The air was heavy. Twisted trees whispered as they moved, despite there being no wind.
To the east, a rise in the ground. Slight. Barely visible.
He extended his space mana. Let it glide across the distance like thread on a loom.
It snagged. It felt disturbed.
There was something there.
Not alive. Not mana-reactive. But built. Made.
Maybe ruins. Maybe worse.
He pulled his hood up over his head and adjusted his stance. The slope wasn't far. He could reach it before the light shifted too far into dusk.
'If I don't do it then I'll freeze and die here.'
The corrupted mana pulsed under his boots.
Alive. But the steps just felt wrong.
But he kept moving anyway.
'Because people back there is waiting. Because I promised I'd change the ending.'