Merlin didn't rise to the bait.

Didn't argue.

Didn't look away.

Because Morgana wasn't warning him anymore.

She was informing him.

And that meant whatever she sensed… wasn't theory.

It was close.

Close enough that even she couldn't ignore it.

He kept his voice level. "You're assuming there is something tethered."

Morgana exhaled a quiet almost-sigh—disbelief wrapped in amusement.

"Oh, Merlin."

Her gaze slid past him, as if studying something not quite behind him but around him—an outline only she could see.

"Assumptions are for professors who teach entry-level theory. I don't assume."

A soft ripple of mana drifted out from her, too subtle for any second-year to notice. But Merlin felt it skim his skin—felt reality bend just slightly, like she was running her hand along the grain of the world itself.

And something—silent, invisible—brushed back.

Morgana's smile sharpened. "There. Again."

Merlin's blood chilled.

"…I didn't feel anything."

"That," Morgana said, "is precisely why you should be terrified."

A gust of wind stirred the branches above them—no mana behind it, just honest wind—but it made the moment feel too thin, too fragile. Like the forest was stretching itself to eavesdrop.

Merlin forced air into his lungs. "If something is following me—"

"It isn't following you," Morgana corrected instantly. "Following implies distance. It implies choice."

She stepped once, closing the space he'd gained.

"Whatever this is… it is bonded.

Threaded into your trajectory.

Moving because you move."

Her gaze flicked over his shoulder—once, precise.

Merlin didn't turn.

Not because she said not to, but because something in his instincts screamed that turning would be like acknowledging a shadow that hadn't yet decided to have teeth.

"…Is it dangerous?" he asked.

Morgana's answer was immediate.

"Yes."

He swallowed. "To me?"

She laughed—soft, cold, entertained.

"No, Merlin. To everything else."

His stomach dropped.

She tilted her head, studying him with a depth that bordered on uncomfortable. "Do you remember when Nathan nearly ruptured his core last month?"

"…Yes."

"And how your presence stabilized him?"

"That was coincidence."

"No."

She shook her head.

"It was resonance."

Merlin blinked. "…Resonance?"

"With you," Morgana finished. "Not with your mana. Not with your affinities. With something that responded when you touched him."

He felt his pulse thud—slow, heavy.

Her voice lowered, as if she were speaking into the space just behind him.

"You stabilized him because the thing tethered to you saw a threat to your trajectory… and intervened."

Merlin's mouth went dry.

She went on:

"Elara's last duel? The one where she should have shattered her spear arm? The moment she should have lost consciousness from mana backlash?"

Merlin remembered.

He remembered stepping toward her without thinking.

He remembered the world tilting—just slightly—like someone had shifted reality a fraction to the left.

Morgana narrowed her eyes. "That wasn't you protecting her."

Silence snapped shut around them.

"That," Morgana murmured, "was it."

Merlin's fingers curled.

"…Then what is it?"

"The world's mistake," she whispered. "Or perhaps its correction."

She took a step back—not retreating, but giving him space to breathe, or think, or fall apart quietly.

"I do not yet know whether it is a weapon… or an omen."

Her voice softened, not with warmth but with a kind of slow awe.

"But I do know this:

Whatever is bound to you is evolving.

Adapting.

Growing teeth."

The air around them tightened.

Merlin felt something again—barely—like the ghost of a hand pressing lightly against his back, not touching but aware.

Morgana's gaze followed it with rapt fascination.

"It's watching us even now," she said, voice barely above breath. "And Merlin—"

Her eyes lifted to his.

"—it only reacts when you feel something."

His breath hitched. "What?"

"It strengthens when you're afraid.

It stirs when you're angry.

It expands when you're determined."

Her lips curved faintly.

"And when you care for someone… it circles them like prey."

Merlin's chest tightened painfully.

Elara.

Nathan.

The others.

He took a step forward before thinking.

Morgana stopped him with a glance—not hostile, but hard.

"Do not run to them," she warned. "It will follow your fear. And then it will test them."

Merlin froze.

She let the silence sit—just long enough for panic to try sinking claws into him—then she flicked her fingers lightly.

"Breathe. It is not attacking anyone."

He exhaled shakily.

"For now," she added.

He glared. "You enjoy this."

Morgana smiled—wide enough to show teeth.

"No. I enjoy puzzles. And you… Merlin Everhart… are the most interesting one this academy has seen in decades."

She turned, shadows folding behind her like a cloak.

"Walk with me. Slowly. Do not panic. Panic draws the tether tight."

Merlin swallowed hard and followed.

"And Morgana?" he said quietly, after several steps of brittle silence.

"Hm?"

"What happens when this… thing… finishes growing?"

Morgana didn't look at him.

But her answer was soft, reverent, and absolutely terrifying:

"Then, Merlin…"

A breath.

"…the world will have to decide whether to kneel to you—"

She glanced back, eyes glowing violet.

"—or kill you."

Morgana didn't elaborate.

She didn't need to.

The words hung between the trees like a blade balanced on a single trembling hair.

Merlin walked beside her, every step careful, every breath controlled, because now he wasn't just worried about being followed—

He was worried about moving wrong.

He could feel it now.

Not clearly.

Not as a presence, not as mana, not as intent.

More like the memory of pressure at his back, or the echo of a gaze at the edge of vision.

There. Then gone.

And yet constant.

Like gravity with opinions.

They reached a narrow clearing where morning light filtered through gently swaying leaves. Morgana stopped. Merlin did the same—because she didn't stop for him. She stopped for the thing watching him.

She lifted her hand, palm outward, fingers relaxed.

A non-threatening gesture, if any gesture from her could be called that.

"You see," she murmured to the empty air, "I am not your enemy."

Silence answered her.

But something in the atmosphere flexed, like heat rising off stone.

Morgana smiled. "Good. It listens."

Merlin forced his jaw to unclench. "Could you stop talking to the… tether? Anchor? Entity?"

"I could."

She glanced at him. "I won't."

He muttered something that might have been swearing.

Morgana continued, tone businesslike now, like discussing the weather or someone's mundane coursework:

"What we need, Merlin, is to determine whether the tether is conscious or instinctive."

"Instinctive," he said quickly. "Hopefully instinctive."

"Hopefully," Morgana echoed, lightly amused. "But hope is not evidence."

She stepped forward, and without warning she raised two fingers—

—and mana flickered.

A razor-thin pulse of force shot past Merlin's cheek, so fast he barely recognized it before it carved cleanly through a tree trunk fifteen meters away.

The tree folded in on itself with a heavy thud.

Merlin spun to her, eyes widening. "What the hell are you—"

"Testing reaction," she said lightly. "Not yours."

His pulse spiked. "You didn't warn me."

"Correct."

"And you could've hit—"

"I wasn't aiming at you."

"That's not the point!"

"Oh? Then what is the point?"

"That something could've—"

He stopped.

Because something had.

Behind him, in the precise space the bolt passed through, the air shimmered with a distortion. Subtle. Mist-thin. Like a bubble of heat hanging in the cool morning.

Morgana's eyes brightened. "There."

Merlin felt his stomach twist.

It had moved.

Not enough to show itself—but enough to protect him from a strike that wasn't meant for him.

Morgana stepped closer to the distorted air like a scholar approaching a rare creature.

"Fascinating. It responds to lethal intent… and near-lethal precursors."

Merlin kept one careful step between himself and her. "You didn't intend to kill me."

"Intent is irrelevant," Morgana replied softly. "Perception is everything."

She reached out—not to touch, but to feel—and the distortion rippled faintly.

A reaction.

A subtle one.

But real.

"It adapts faster than I expected," she murmured. "If I threw that same spell now… it would intercept."

"Intercept how?" Merlin asked.

Morgana turned her head, expression thoughtful.

"I don't know. Which is precisely why I'm not doing it."

He exhaled—relief mixing with a new, deeper anxiety.

She walked past him, letting the distortion fade until the clearing looked normal again.

"You need to understand something, Merlin," she said without looking back. "This thing is not a guardian. It is not benevolent. It is not a spirit or a blessing or some latent family relic."

She stopped.

"It is a compensatory mechanism."

Merlin frowned. "Meaning?"

"Meaning the world sees you as an anomaly and is attempting to balance you with something equally anomalous."

He stared. "…It's trying to correct me?"

"No," she said, turning slowly.

"It's trying to complete you."

His breath hitched.

"Complete—?"

Morgana stepped close enough that he felt the hum of her mana again. Her voice softened into something that managed to be both gentle and horrifying:

"You are not whole. Not yet. The world knows it. And whatever is tethered to you… is growing into the shape of what you lack."

Merlin felt the forest tilt.

"What do I lack?"

Morgana's answer was immediate, quiet, and merciless:

"Balance."

A beat.

Then:

"Restraint."

She held his gaze.

"And eventually… a cost."

Merlin's pulse stuttered.

"What kind of cost?"

"The kind you cannot unknow," Morgana said. "The kind you cannot pay without consequences rippling far beyond yourself."

She stepped back at last, mantle of shadows settling around her like a verdict.

"You asked what happens when it finishes growing."

Her expression darkened.

"It becomes an equal. And equals make claims."

Merlin swallowed hard. "Claims on what?"

Morgana tilted her head.

"On you."

The distortion behind Merlin shivered—like a breath caught in a throat that wasn't there.

He froze.

Morgana watched the reaction with pure predatory fascination.

"Oh yes," she whispered. "It heard that."

For a long moment, Merlin couldn't speak.

Then—because he had to—he managed:

"…What do I do?"

Morgana's answer was infuriatingly calm.

"For now?

You learn.

You listen.

You grow—smartly, carefully, deliberately. Because the faster you evolve, the faster it evolves. And the closer it gets to… definition."

He felt a chill settle through bone.

"Definition?"

"A shape," she said.

"A purpose.

A name."

She stepped back from him, satisfied.

"And Merlin… when it gains a name? That is when the world will finally decide whether to kneel or kill."

He stared at her.

"Which do you think it'll choose?"

Morgana smiled as she turned away.

"That depends entirely," she said, "on what you become next."