The academy was awake.
Boots clattered on stone. Laughter echoed through corridors. The great bell rang slow, measured, marking the change of hour.
Merlin moved through it all with his cloak drawn close, his steps quiet. His body remembered the rhythm of this place, but something inside him dragged against it.
Too still.
Too perfect.
He slowed, eyes shifting to the nearest group of students. Three of them sat beneath an arch, sharing bread from a paper parcel. One laughed, head thrown back. Another shoved him in mock irritation. Crumbs spilled.
Then the first boy laughed again, same pitch, same tilt of his head, same spilled crumbs.
Merlin stopped walking.
The bread fell the same way it had a breath before.
No one else reacted.
The third boy grabbed a slice, tore it in half, handed it over. His lips moved in idle chatter, but the sound was just… noise. A low hum, stripped of meaning, like the buzz of insects in tall grass.
