The window caught a bit of moonlight, pale streaks stretching across the floor. Somewhere in the distance, the training bells rang once. Then again. Someone sparring late. Probably chasing a ghost of someone better.
He didn't get up.
He didn't undress.
He just pulled the blanket back, climbed under it, and closed his eyes.
Not to sleep.
Just to rest.
No dreams came.
Not yet.
—
Next Morning the practice all reeked of oil, sweat, and too many students trying too hard.
First-years were scattered into loose lines across the sand-dusted floor. Half wore brand-new gear. The other half wore the kind of stiff nervousness that came with trying not to look like they belonged in a different class.
Merlin stood at the edge, arms crossed, back straight, waiting.
He hadn't taken a formal sword lecture since before the breach.
Since before everything.
And yet, here he was. Still here. Still standing. Just… quieter now.
He didn't speak as Reinhardt entered.
