Merlin didn't take the echo's hand. He didn't flinch away either—he simply stood there, breathing steadily, watching the outline of a shape that almost remembered how to be human. The forest's air felt strangely heavy, not because of danger but because of expectation. This thing—this mirrored distortion—was waiting for him to choose a direction, a purpose, a definition. And the last thing Merlin wanted was to give it any.
"Elara," he said quietly without looking back, "keep everyone still."
She didn't move from her stance, spear angled between Merlin and the unknown, but her voice sharpened. "If it touches you, I'm dragging you out of here by your collar."
"That would be impressive," Merlin murmured.
"Try me."
He believed her. Which was part of why he had to end this quickly.
The echo shifted, the movement smooth in a way that wasn't natural. Not fluid. Not mechanical. Just… inevitable. Like the world folding its own rules into shape.
