Merlin let his eyes close for a moment. Just a moment.
Then opened them again.
His legs didn't shake this time. But only just.
He crossed to the desk in the corner, pulled open the top drawer, and retrieved the folded parchment waiting inside.
The paperwork Vivienne had mentioned. Academy logistics. Formal reassignments. Medical reports stamped with seals he didn't recognize.
'Dorm reassigned. Course deferments filed. Mana access reviewed. All very official. All very meaningless.'
He set the forms down without signing.
Instead, he turned back to Keryx.
The blade rested across the chair now, gleaming faintly in the overcast light.
He tried again. Slower. Focused.
He reached inside himself. Not into the system. Not into mana.
Just… into the place where it used to be.
It was like screaming into a vacuum.
His fingers curled tighter around the hilt.
The sword didn't move.
Didn't recognize him.
"…I'm still here," he said aloud, voice flat.
The room didn't answer.
The blade didn't answer.
Walked to the window again, leaning against the frame. The glass was cold beneath his fingertips. Below, the academy grounds stretched quiet in the grey morning. Students moved between buildings. Laughter rose in short bursts. A spell misfired somewhere in the distance—an instructor barked a correction.
Everything continued like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn't been swallowed by a rift, torn apart, left to rot in the dark.
His voice, when it came, was a whisper.
"…Why the hell did I come back?"
And still—no one answered.
Just the sound of rain against glass.
And a sword that no longer remembered its wielder.
He sat at the edge of the bed, fingers laced together, head bowed slightly like he was praying.
But there were no gods left to hear him. Not in the kind of story he was living. Not after what he'd seen.
The sword remained where he'd left it, untouched on the chair.
The silence stretched.
His body still ached—faint pulses under the skin where mana used to gather. He could still feel the shape of his affinities like ghost limbs. Lightning. Wind. Water. Space.
Now just names. Empty titles.
Not to walk. Not to leave.
He just needed to move.
He paced once across the room. Then again. Three steps one way. Three steps back. The rhythm was clean. Predictable. His footsteps didn't echo.
'This body isn't mine anymore. I'm just… borrowing the shell.'
He stopped in front of the mirror.
The face staring back was familiar. Not perfect. Pale from blood loss. Eyes duller than they'd ever been. There was something missing behind the gold.
Something quieter. Something worse.
He pressed a palm flat against the mirror. His reflection did the same.
"…You survived again."
He hated the tone in his voice.
It sounded like disappointment.
The knock came just as he pulled away. Sharp. Measured.
He opened the door without speaking.
Seraph stood in the hall, coat damp from the rain, clipboard tucked under one arm.
Black hair tied in a neat twist. Eyes sharper than any scalpel in the medical wing.
"I was told to check on you," she said.
Merlin nodded once. "You've seen me. You can leave."
She ignored that. Stepped inside. Let the door shut quietly behind her.
Seraph glanced at the untouched papers on the desk. At the sword on the chair. Then back at him.
"You haven't signed the reports."
Then shrugged. "They won't change anything."
Her expression didn't shift. But she stepped closer.
"You don't have mana."
"You should be screaming."
Not with pity. Not with scorn.
Then she said, "It's definitely not permanent."
His gaze flicked to her. Sharp. Dangerous.
"You don't know that."
She met his look without blinking. "No. But I know mana scars. I've studied them. And I've seen something before."
Merlin's hands clenched.
She walked to the desk. Set down her clipboard. Pulled a small glass vial from her pocket. Mana thread gleamed inside—faint, unstable.
"Your core isn't gone," she said. "It's fractured. The damage is deep, but not total. With time, with rest—"
Her voice didn't rise. "Then make it."
Then softer, almost kind:
"If you want it back, you need to act like you deserve it."
Merlin didn't answer.
He just stared at the vial as the mana shimmered faintly.
She left it on the desk.
Then walked to the door.
"Rest. Sign the forms. Come to class. Pretend, if you have to."
She glanced over her shoulder.
The door clicked behind her.
Merlin looked at the vial.
He didn't reach for it.
But for the first time since waking up—
He didn't look away either.
The room held its breath.
Not literally, but that's what it felt like. Like the walls themselves were waiting.
Seraph stood near the doorway, back straight, hands folded loosely in front of her. She didn't pace. Didn't fidget. She just watched them.
Elara sat with her arms crossed, chin tilted ever so slightly—guarded, but listening. Nathan leaned forward on the edge of the couch, hands clasped between his knees, legs bouncing in place.
Seraph let the silence linger one more second. Then she spoke.
"It's worse than I expected."
Nathan's leg stopped bouncing.
"His mana system isn't just overtaxed. It's fractured." She glanced at each of them in turn. "Parts of it are still active. The threads are there. But the core itself—"
"Damaged?" Elara asked, voice quiet.
"Wounded," Seraph said. "Unstable. His soul took a hit through the rift. And from what I've seen, it hasn't repaired itself."
"So what happens next?" Nathan asked. "He… just can't cast anymore?"
"No affinity channeling. No reinforcement. His body's working on pure instinct right now." She hesitated. "Even walking probably feels like holding up an avalanche."
That landed heavier than it should have.
Because they knew him.
And they knew he'd never admit it.
Nathan looked down at his hands. "He's not going to tell us."
"No," Seraph said. "He isn't."
Adrian's voice cut in. "But you are."
Seraph's gaze didn't flinch. "Yes."
A pause. Not out of doubt. But recalculation.
Nathan's voice was too quiet. "Can it be fixed?"
Seraph didn't answer at first.
Elara stood slowly. "Then we'll find a way."
Seraph's expression didn't change, but there was something in her eyes—approval, maybe. Or agreement.
She stepped back toward the door. "He won't ask for help."
"But we'll make sure he gets it anyway."
The door clicked shut behind her.
None of them spoke for a long time.
Because it wasn't just about magic.
It was about what it meant to lose it.
And Merlin had always been the one walking ten steps ahead of everyone else.
Now they'd have to catch up.
And carry him, whether he wanted it or not.
The breeze hit him like a ghost's breath.
Cold. Thin. Too clean.
Merlin leaned against the outer wall of the dormitory, one hand braced against the stone, the other curled loosely at his side. His boots scraped lightly across gravel as he took a slow step forward. Then another.
No one was around. Just rows of empty benches lining the perimeter path and the soft hiss of leaves curling in the morning wind.
His legs ached. Not sharp pain. Just deep. Like his muscles still remembered how much they'd failed him.
He forced another step.
The weight of Keryx was light at his hip. Familiar. But foreign now too. Like a memory worn too thin to feel real. He hadn't touched it since Reinhardt set it down. Just strapped it to his side and moved. Out of reflex. Out of ritual.
'Just walk. See how far you make it.'
The Academy grounds spread wide beneath the pale light. No students here. No voices. No expectations.
He preferred it this way.
The sun hadn't fully risen yet. Just enough to cast long shadows between the tower spires. The windows caught the light wrong. Too bright. Too sharp.
Merlin's breath fogged faintly. His pulse stayed slow.
Not a flicker. Not even a false spark beneath the skin.
He reached inward again anyway. Just to check.
And again, he found nothing.
The void wasn't as surprising as it used to be. But it still carved out a hollow behind his ribs.
The path curved near the outer garden, flanked by hedges that hadn't been trimmed yet. He paused beside a low stone bench, let his fingers skim the surface. Cool with dew. Earthy.
He lowered himself onto the bench, elbows resting on his knees.
The sky above had gone soft with color. Not red. Not like the continent. Just pale blue, tinged with the promise of heat later. Nothing dangerous. Nothing bleeding.
Merlin glanced down at his hands. Still pale. Still human. No burns. No frost. No blood.
Like the world didn't know what to do with him now.
'No mana. No system access. No status window. I'm just…'
He flexed his fingers once.
'A sword with no edge.'
The grass rustled behind him.
The footsteps stopped just a few paces back.
Then they left again.
He didn't turn to see who it was. Just closed his eyes for a second, letting the silence fold back in.
Maybe today was just walking.
Maybe tomorrow would be standing.
But he wasn't in a coffin.