CHAPTER 288: VALUABLE

The first rays of morning crept over the academy spires, gilding the frost-laced roofs with gold. The campus was quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that came after alarms had burned through the night.

Merlin walked alone toward the Headmistress’s tower.

His uniform was crisp despite the exhaustion in his eyes, his steps measured. To anyone watching, he looked composed, maybe even indifferent. But under that calm surface, his thoughts spiraled like a storm.

The man’s words from the ruins hadn’t left him.

You don’t belong here.

Some of us can see the seams.

He could still hear the cadence, too deliberate to be meaningless, too personal to be coincidence.

But no matter how deeply he thought, there was no logical explanation that fit this world.

Not one that he could share.

He reached the top floor, the grand double doors of Morgana’s office already half-open.

"Enter," came her voice, steady, clipped, but laced with fatigue.

Merlin stepped in.

The Headmistress stood by the window, still in her long black coat, her silver hair braided loosely down her back. A stack of reports lay untouched on her desk, but her attention was elsewhere, outside, toward the distant skyline.

"You made quite the report last night," she said, not turning yet.

"I only sent the essentials," Merlin replied evenly.

"I noticed." She turned now, her pale eyes sharp as glass. "You left out your own role in neutralizing a corrupted mana construct single-handedly."

"It wasn’t relevant."

Her lips twitched, the faintest of frowns. "You have a strange definition of relevance."

Merlin didn’t respond.

For a long moment, Morgana studied him, the way his shoulders never fully relaxed, the slight tension behind his calm. She’d seen prodigies before, arrogance before, secrets before. But Merlin Everhart’s kind of silence was different. It wasn’t pride. It was containment.

Finally, she gestured toward the seat opposite her desk. "Sit."

He obeyed.

Morgana took her chair slowly, folding her hands atop the desk. "Tell me everything. No summaries this time."

Merlin met her gaze. "The group was real. Not local mercenaries, coordinated, equipped, trained. The mana corruption wasn’t random; they were channeling it through modified conduits. I recognized the patterns."

"Which means?"

"Someone inside the academy either helped them or leaked restricted data."

That got her attention. "You’re certain?"

"Positive."

Her jaw tightened slightly, though her expression stayed calm. "You’ve studied those conduits before?"

"I make it my job to study everything that could be a threat."

Morgana gave a slow exhale. "You’re efficient."

He didn’t answer.

She leaned forward slightly. "You called them the Obsidian Veil. That name isn’t on any modern registry."

"It wouldn’t be. They operate under temporary identities, small cells, self-contained. They don’t build armies; they build fractures."

"Fractures?"

"In systems. Governments. Academies." His voice stayed steady. "They infiltrate until they don’t need to fight. By the time they do, they already know which walls to make crumble."

Morgana’s eyes narrowed. "You speak like you’ve seen them before."

Merlin’s gaze flicked briefly toward the window. "Let’s just say I’ve read enough history to recognize the patterns."

"...I see."

The Headmistress rose and walked toward the tall windows, the morning light catching the faint gleam of her silver hair. "The Veil hasn’t surfaced in decades. If they’ve chosen now... this isn’t an accident."

"It’s not."

She turned back toward him. "And this man you described, the one who spoke to you directly. You’re certain of what he said?"

Merlin hesitated. For just a fraction of a second.

Then he nodded. "Yes. But I think it was a bluff — psychological warfare. He wanted to disorient me."

Morgana’s expression didn’t change, but he could feel the weight of her gaze, testing, peeling. "And it worked?"

"...No."

A faint smile ghosted across her lips. "Good. Because I don’t need unstable prodigies in my academy."

"Wouldn’t dream of it," Merlin said dryly.

Her smile lingered for a moment before fading. "Still, I’ll need a written debrief on your encounter. Distribute no details to anyone, not your team, not your instructors."

"Understood."

Morgana nodded once. "You may go. Oh, one more thing."

Merlin paused at the door.

Her tone softened slightly. "Everhart. You’ve proven... valuable. But be careful what you provoke. Shadows that crawl out of history rarely go back quietly."

He turned slightly, enough for his golden eyes to catch the morning light.

"...I know."

And then he left.

By the time he stepped outside, the sun had fully risen.

Students were beginning to fill the courtyards again, yawning, laughing, unaware of the night’s chaos buried beneath their feet. The air felt almost too peaceful.

Merlin walked through the main path slowly, hands in his pockets, feeling the familiar hum of mana around the campus.

They’re not supposed to know anything, he reminded himself. Not Morgana, not Nathan, not Elara. Especially not Elara.

It wasn’t just for their safety.

It was because this world, these people, worked as long as they didn’t realize what lay beneath.

He reached the bridge that crossed the central courtyard pond. The water reflected the morning sky, brilliant, cold, perfect.

Merlin stopped, staring down at it.

The reflection staring back wasn’t calm. It looked... tired.

Not from battle. Not from lack of sleep. But from carrying too many layers of truth that couldn’t be spoken.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," a familiar voice teased from behind.

Merlin glanced back. Elara stood a few meters away, hair catching the sunlight like spun silver, a faint smirk curving her lips.

"Morning patrol again?" she asked.

"Something like that."

She tilted her head. "I heard rumors about a night attack. Any truth to them?"

"Rumors usually have a little truth."

"Which means?"

"Which means someone’s already talking too much," he said lightly, brushing past her.

She blinked, then fell into step beside him. "You’re not even going to deny it?"

He gave her a sidelong look. "Would you believe me if I did?"

"...No," she admitted, smiling faintly.

For a moment, the tension that had coiled in him since dawn loosened.

Elara didn’t push further, and he didn’t volunteer more.

That was what he liked about her, she knew when silence meant more than answers.

They reached the training yard before parting ways, the faint clang of weapons echoing in the distance.

Merlin glanced up at the rising sun once more.

The Obsidian Veil.

The man who saw the seams.

The academy still unaware of what was really moving beneath their feet.

He exhaled slowly.

"This is going to get ugly," he murmured under his breath. "Faster than it should."

And deep within his pocket, the crimson shard pulsed once, faint and warm, as though agreeing.