CHAPTER 206: MORGANA

It took effort, more than he wanted to admit, but with Elara steadying one arm and Nathan practically bouncing at his other side, Merlin let himself be guided out of the infirmary.

The walk was shorter this time, but every hallway, every step, felt different with the group surrounding him. Students they passed stared openly, whispering. Some looked at him with awe, others with unease, as though he were a ghost given flesh again.

He ignored them. The warmth of Nathan’s chatter, Liliana’s quiet scolding, Ethan’s lazy barbs, all of it wrapped around him like armor.

They stepped into the open air. The training grounds stretched wide, a sea of sand packed hard by generations of footsteps, ringed with sparring circles marked by stone. Wooden dummies lined the edges, scarred and scorched from countless strikes.

And already, first-years were scattered across the field, sparring in pairs, their weapons clashing in bursts of sparks and magic. Shouts rang, spells flashed, the air humming with the raw, unrefined power of students still learning to master their gifts.

Merlin froze on the threshold, his heart thudding.

This, this was life. Loud, messy, imperfect.

And it was still moving.

Reinhardt’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder, grounding him. The Swordmaster gave no speech, no command. Just a simple squeeze, firm and steady. Then he walked past, barking orders at a group of clumsy duelists.

Elara guided Merlin to a bench at the edge of the grounds. He lowered himself slowly, his body sighing with relief. The sun warmed his skin, the sounds of sparring filled his ears, and for the first time in months, he sat not as a broken piece of someone else’s game, but as part of something whole.

Nathan plopped down beside him, tearing into a meat pie from his bundle. "You picked a good day. They’re making Adrian run drills until he pukes."

Merlin smirked faintly. "Why?"

"Because he mouthed off to Reinhardt." Nathan grinned. "Again."

Across the field, Adrian, taller than Nathan, his blond hair damp with sweat, swung his heavy battle axe in repeated arcs. His muscles trembled, sweat streamed down his face, but Reinhardt’s booming voice forced him to keep moving.

Merlin shook his head, half amused, half sympathetic. "...Some things never change."

Liliana sat on Merlin’s other side, her blue eyes calm as water. "It isn’t about punishment. It’s about strength. Reinhardt pushes us because he knows we can endure."

Merlin glanced at her. "You’ve grown."

Her lips curved faintly. "We all had to."

Ethan, sprawled in the grass nearby, yawned. "Some of us grew taller. Some of us just grew tired."

"Some of us grew dumber," Seraphina muttered, glaring at him.

Merlin chuckled, the sound catching in his throat. For a moment, the banter, the training cries, the heat of the sun, it was almost overwhelming. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath.

Real. All of it.

Elara sat a little apart, her gaze fixed on the students sparring in the circle before them. Her posture was perfect, her expression unreadable. Yet when Merlin glanced at her, her hand twitched, just slightly, as if resisting the urge to steady him again.

He didn’t call her out on it. He only let his golden eyes soften.

—

The hours passed with drills and sparring. Dorian eventually stepped into the circle, his daggers flashing like slivers of ice as he dismantled opponent after opponent with cold efficiency. Seraphina fought next, her movements crisp, her ice affinity weaving into perfect control. Nathan leapt in too, his axe carving arcs of water magic that drew cheers from onlookers.

Merlin watched them all. His friends. His classmates.

Every strike, every laugh, every stumble, they pulled him back into the current of life he thought he’d lost. He wasn’t fighting alone in endless shadows anymore.

Here, under the sun, with his sister’s starleaf waiting in the infirmary and his companions at his side, Merlin realized something simple.

The world hadn’t left him behind.

And he wasn’t going to let himself fall away from it again.

—

The clang of steel against steel slowly faded as the day’s training wound down. The sun had dipped low, painting the academy sky with amber fire. The last of the drills ended under Reinhardt’s sharp commands, students dispersing with aching limbs and sweat-drenched tunics.

Merlin sat quietly on the bench at the edge of the grounds, his body heavy but his mind strangely light. He had spent hours watching, hours listening, his eyes drinking in every clash, every laugh, every misstep. His friends were still themselves, scarred by what they’d endured, yes, but alive, vibrant. And that mattered more than anything.

Nathan was still chattering about his sparring match, dramatizing every swing for Liliana’s exasperated ears. Ethan had already stretched out flat on the grass, muttering that watching was just as tiring as fighting.

Dorian leaned in the shadows, sharpening one dagger with another, while Seraphina scolded a pair of younger students who had left their weapons carelessly on the ground.

Elara lingered at Merlin’s side, silent, her violet eyes never far from him. She didn’t hover, but her presence anchored him more than he’d admit.

And then—

"Merlin Everhart."

The voice cut through the courtyard like a blade wrapped in silk.

Merlin’s breath hitched.

He turned.

A figure stood at the far archway, where the shadows stretched long with the setting sun. Tall, poised, with dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Her eyes, cool and unyielding, fixed on him with a weight that made the air still.

Morgana.

The witch of their class. The storm on the horizon.

It was the first time he’d seen her since, since everything.

The laughter died. Nathan’s grin faltered. Even Liliana’s sharp tongue held back. The group stilled, watching as Morgana stepped forward. Her steps were deliberate, quiet, as though the earth itself bent to make space for her.

Merlin’s throat tightened. "...Morgana."

Her expression shifted, barely. A flicker of something crossed her face, too quick to name. She stopped a few paces in front of him, her gaze searching.

"You’re awake."

The words were plain. Flat, even. But her voice carried undercurrents, deep and unspoken.

Merlin managed a crooked smirk. "...So they tell me."

For a long moment, she only stared. And then, with a sharp exhale, she moved closer. Her hand lifted, hesitated, and finally brushed against his shoulder, light as falling ash.

"You idiot," she whispered.

The words cracked, brittle and sharp, but her hand lingered, trembling faintly. Her storm-grey eyes shone with something raw before she turned her head, hiding it behind her curtain of hair.

Merlin blinked, stunned. He had expected coldness, scorn, perhaps even indifference. Not this.

"...I thought you’d be glad I was gone," he murmured.

Her head snapped back toward him, eyes blazing. "Don’t you dare say that."

The group behind them shifted uncomfortably, glancing at one another. Nathan opened his mouth to defuse the tension, but Elara’s hand lifted slightly, silencing him. Her eyes never left Morgana and Merlin.

Morgana drew a sharp breath, her voice steadier now. "You disappear into the labyrinth. Then you vanish again, swallowed by gods-know-what. And we were left here—to wonder. To not know if you were breathing, if you were ever coming back." Her jaw clenched. "And now you sit here, smirking, as if it doesn’t matter?"

Merlin’s smile faltered. He lowered his gaze, shame prickling against his chest. "...It matters."

"Then act like it," she snapped.

The silence that followed was heavy, but not cruel. Morgana’s hand finally dropped from his shoulder, curling at her side. Her storm-grey eyes softened, not much, but enough for Merlin to see the truth burning beneath.

She had missed him.

She had cared.

And it had terrified her.

Merlin let out a slow breath. "...I’m sorry."

Her lips parted as if to retort, but no words came. She turned away, her hair catching the last of the sunlight. "...Don’t make me bury another classmate, Everhart. Not you."

With that, she stepped back, her composure snapping back into place. To the others, she looked the same as always: cold, untouchable, sharp as obsidian. But Merlin had seen the crack in her armor, and it left his chest heavy and warm all at once.

Nathan let out a low whistle, breaking the tension. "Well. That was... dramatic."

Liliana smacked his arm. "Shut up."

Ethan rolled over on the grass. "I liked it. Felt like a play."

Seraphina’s silver eyes narrowed. "Not everything is entertainment, Crowell."

Dorian only snorted faintly, returning to his blades.

Elara remained silent, her gaze flicking once between Morgana and Merlin before settling back on the horizon.

Merlin leaned back against the bench, his chest aching, though not from weakness. Morgana’s words lingered, echoing through him. Not just the sharpness, but the tremor beneath.

He had thought he was alone in the labyrinth, alone in the gods’ games. But maybe... just maybe... he had been wrong.

The sun slipped lower, gilding the academy towers. The training grounds emptied, voices fading into the halls. But for Merlin, the world felt fuller than it had in a long, long time.

And for the first time since waking, he didn’t just feel like a survivor.

He felt like he belonged.