CHAPTER 200: BACK TO REALITY

Merlin wanted to scream, to throw the words back, to bury his blade in that calm throat—but the weight of those steel-grey eyes pressed him still.

He whispered instead. "...Why me?"

The man’s lips curved, not a smile, not even a smirk. Just the faintest twitch of recognition.

"Because the last one burned too hot."

Merlin blinked. ’The last one... Rathan.’

The man turned his head slightly, as if he had heard the thought. "He was fury without end. He carved war into the bones of this world until even gods bled. But in the end, he was nothing but fire. Fire burns out."

Merlin’s stomach churned. He remembered the war memories, the screams, the villages turned to ash, the gods dragging Rathan into eternal suffering. He remembered the feel of that fury searing into his soul.

And now this man spoke of him like a discarded torch.

Merlin’s voice cracked, sharp. "And me? What am I supposed to be? Another piece on your board? Another—"

"No."

The interruption landed like a blade. Clean. Precise.

The man’s gaze hardened. "Not another. You are what comes after."

Merlin’s jaw clenched. His chest heaved. ’What comes after... Rathan. He’s saying I’m his continuation. Or worse, his replacement.’

His thoughts screamed. His blood roared. He wanted answers, all of them, now. But the man gave none.

Instead, he turned again, walking the garden path with the same unhurried rhythm, voice drifting like smoke.

"The gods will not stop. They cannot. Spectators demand a play, and you have become their stage. They will break you, mend you, twist you until you forget where the pain ends and you begin. Unless..."

His eyes slid back. Steel-grey cutting into gold.

"...you decide that their chains are no longer yours."

Merlin’s breath caught. He felt the system flicker weakly in the corner of his vision, trying to reestablish itself, straining against the silence of the garden.

[Reconnection attempt: 12%...]

[Signal unstable.]

He snarled. "And you? What do you want? Don’t give me riddles. Don’t give me silence. Tell me what you gain from this."

The man stopped beneath a blooming tree. Petals drifted onto his shoulders. He brushed none away. His voice was soft. Almost absent.

"I want to see."

Merlin blinked. "...See what?"

"If you burn like him."

The petals stirred. The pond rippled. The silence deepened.

Merlin’s hand trembled on the hilt. Rage coiled through his chest, mixing with something colder. Something dangerously close to fear.

’He doesn’t care. Not about me. Not about gods. Not about the world. He only wants to see. Like I’m... entertainment.’

His teeth clenched. His throat burned. He wanted to spit venom. But the words that escaped were nothing but raw truth.

"...I’ll never dance for you. Not for them. Not for anyone."

The man’s gaze didn’t shift. His voice didn’t rise.

"We’ll see."

The air bent. The light warped. The garden shivered like glass.

Merlin staggered. "Wait—!"

The flowers blurred, the pond fractured, the sky folded inwards. The ground beneath his boots dissolved. The silence broke.

The man’s final words followed him down.

"Remember this, Merlin Everhart. Illusion means nothing. If you cannot stand in truth, you are already broken."

And the garden was gone.

—

Merlin’s eyes snapped open.

The first thing he felt was the stillness. Not silence, stillness.

A ceiling of white plaster hung over him, sterile, blank, oppressive. The faint hum of mana-infused lights pressed into his ears. He tasted iron and chemical tang on his tongue.

He was lying on a bed. Thin mattress. Stiff sheets. Clean air. Too clean.

A hospital.

Merlin pushed his palms against the bedframe, the metal cold against his skin. His muscles trembled, not from pain, from weakness. The kind of weakness that clawed into bone, that felt wrong after the strength he’d carried.

’No... they’ve cut me back down.’

His system pulsed faintly at the edge of his vision.

[Current Star Alignment: 5.7]

[Stability: Restored]

Merlin’s stomach twisted. ’It’s real. They really pulled me back.’

The garden’s last words stabbed through his mind again, sharp as broken glass.

"Illusion means nothing. If you cannot stand in truth, you are already broken."

He dragged himself upright. The sheets slid from his chest, fabric whispering against scarred skin. His golden eyes swept the room.

Empty.

No Nathan slouched in a chair. No Elara leaning in the doorway with that cold, impatient stare. No Morgana lurking in shadow. No instructors, no voices, no sign of anyone else who mattered.

Only him.

His throat went dry. "...Again."

He pressed his hand to his forehead, nails biting skin. ’Not since the labyrinth. Not once have I seen them all together. Nathan, Elara, yes. But the others? Adrian. Liliana. Ethan. Seraphina. Dorian. Vivienne. Reinhardt. Sophia... they’ve all been—gone.’

A fracture of static ran across his vision.

[The Arbiter demands explanation.]

[The Witness insists the apostle remains intact.]

[The Messenger whispers: amusing.]

Merlin’s head jerked up. "Enough!"

The messages crackled, then splintered apart. The lights above flickered once before settling back into sterile glow.

His breathing came hard and ragged.

He stared at his trembling hands. ’Simulation. Garden. Hospital. I can’t tell what’s real anymore. I don’t even know how much time...’

His chest clenched. His voice broke, raw, torn open. "How long?"

The room gave no answer.

Only the faint hum of mana lights. Only the weight of the empty bed beside him, sheets unwrinkled, untouched.

He felt the silence eating him alive.

—

Merlin’s eyes dragged open to a pale ceiling. The sterile white above him hummed faintly under the weight of unseen runes, lights embedded at even intervals. For a long time he didn’t move. His chest rose and fell in shallow, careful breaths, his muscles heavy as lead, his limbs stiff like they had been tied down.

The silence pressed against his ears.

No echoes of laughter. No warped loops. No mocking [messages] sliding through his vision.

Just the faint tick... tick... tick of something mechanical nearby. A clock, maybe. A machine.

He swallowed, throat raw.

Slowly, he rolled his head to the side. The movement felt heavier than it should, as if his own body belonged to someone else. There was a tray table. A pitcher of water. A half-filled cup. No flowers. No sign of anyone having come to visit.

And a window.

Large, rectangular, so clean he could see his own reflection staring back in the glass. Gold eyes dulled, skin pale, hair messy from sweat.

Merlin pushed his hand against the mattress and forced himself upright. His muscles trembled, a dull ache gnawing through his arms.

"...Tch." His voice cracked. He hated the sound of it. Weak.

But he kept moving, inch by inch, until he sat on the edge of the bed. Bare feet against cold tile. His head dipped, bangs falling into his eyes. He breathed in once, twice, then lifted his gaze to the window.

And froze.

The world outside was... quiet.

Not frozen. Not looped. Not staged. Real.

Students passed by below, bags slung across shoulders. Some chatted in small groups, voices faint through the glass. Others hurried alone, heads buried in books. A pair of instructors lingered near the main path, speaking with stern faces and slow gestures. A bird landed on the fountain’s edge, feathers fluffing as it dipped its beak to drink. The water rippled naturally, no repetition, no stutter.

Merlin stared so hard his vision blurred. He blinked, once. Twice. Nothing reset. Nothing broke.

"...Real," he whispered, his breath fogging faintly against the glass. "It’s... real."

For the first time in what felt like centuries, there was no crack in the fabric of the world staring back at him.

He pressed his palm flat to the windowpane. Cool. Solid. Honest.

His throat tightened.

’How long has it been?’

The thought stabbed through him sharper than a blade. He had no answer. The labyrinth had torn his mind through years of war and blood. The simulation had eaten whatever time came after. His body remembered both, the exhaustion, the strength, the weakness, the hunger, the pain. But his soul couldn’t place the days.

He clenched his jaw, breathing hard through his nose. ’If this is reality, then... what did I lose while I was gone?’

The system flickered faintly.

[Status Adjusted.]

[Talent Stars: 5–6]

[Correction: External Modifiers Removed.]

Merlin’s lips twisted. "Back to the ground, huh?"

He flexed his hand, watching the faint arcs of lightning dance and sputter between his fingers before snuffing out. His veins felt heavy, sluggish, as though the air itself resisted him.

The weight of the world was real again.

And yet...

His gaze drifted back outside.

The morning sun slanted across the courtyard, catching motes of dust in the air. The sound of laughter floated faintly to his ears, different laughter, no longer a mirrored loop, but messy, human, alive. He caught himself holding his breath as if waiting for it to repeat, to glitch, to prove him wrong.

It didn’t.

Merlin exhaled slowly, pressing his forehead to the cool glass.

’Too peaceful.’ The thought came unbidden. ’After all that, this looks... fake in its own way. How can the world keep moving like this when I...’ He stopped himself, clenching his teeth.

When he what? Returned? Survived? Broke?

The silence inside the room roared louder than any battlefield.

He stayed like that for minutes, head against the glass, eyes unfocused on the courtyard below.

Then, faintly, movement caught his eye.

A familiar figure, tall, dark hair, carrying a stack of books against his chest. Nathan. He was talking animatedly to Adrian, whose blond hair shone gold under the sun. Both of them were laughing. Real laughter, tangled with imperfections. Nathan dropped one of his books and bent to grab it, muttering, and Adrian snorted before picking it up first.

Merlin’s chest clenched. His hand slid down the glass.

They were there. Alive. Real.

Not erased. Not replaced.

The burning in his throat almost made him choke.

He pressed both hands against the window, staring, afraid they might disappear if he blinked. His voice came out hoarse, almost broken. "Nathan..."

But of course, they couldn’t hear him from here.