Vivienne's breath hitched. She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his face. They were red-rimmed, swollen, the kind of tears that came only when walls collapsed.

She lifted a trembling hand, cupping his cheek. "You've changed."

He almost laughed at the echo of Victoria's words. Instead, he just let her see. The golden eyes that had seen war carved into eternity. The scars in his skin. The exhaustion that lived beneath his bones.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and more tears spilled down.

"Damn you," she whispered, not in anger, but in grief. "Damn you for surviving like this."

Merlin's jaw clenched. His hand came up, wrapping around hers where it pressed to his cheek. He forced the words out through the weight in his chest.

"…Would you rather I hadn't?"

The silence hit like a blade.

Vivienne flinched. Her tears spilled faster. She shook her head violently. "No. Never. I'd rather see you broken, scarred, weak—than not see you at all. Don't you dare ever think otherwise."

Her words cracked, but they burned with truth.

Merlin's heart stuttered. His golden eyes softened, just slightly.

'She means it.'

[The Witness nods in approval.]

[The Arbiter acknowledges sincerity.]

[The Messenger whispers: pathetic.]

Merlin snarled in his mind, forcing the intrusions out.

Not here. Not in this room.

Vivienne didn't notice. She was still holding him, still trembling, still wiping at her face with frustrated hands as though ashamed of her own weakness.

Victoria finally stood, stepping closer. She touched Vivienne's shoulder gently. "You're not the only one who's cried over him."

Vivienne let out a ragged laugh, choked through her tears. She turned, met Victoria's gaze, and for a moment two women, so different, yet bound by the same boy—shared something wordless.

Then her eyes returned to Merlin.

"…Sit." Her voice tried for sternness, but cracked in the middle. "You're not, don't stand there like nothing happened. You need rest. Healing."

Merlin almost argued. The instinct to rebel, to snarl, to fight against weakness, it coiled in his throat.

But then he saw her hands shaking. Saw Victoria's wet lashes. Saw the broken lilies on the table.

And he sat.

The bed creaked under his weight. The sheets whispered against his skin.

Vivienne exhaled, relieved, though her tears hadn't stopped. She wiped at them again, frustrated, muttering under her breath. "Stupid boy. Stubborn boy. You make even fire break…"

Merlin's lips curved, faint, not a smile but something close.

'Even fire bends. Who would've thought.'

—

They stayed in silence for a while. The kind of silence heavy with things unsaid, but warm all the same.

Victoria sat beside him, her hand finding his again. Vivienne stood at his side, one hand still on his shoulder, grounding herself as much as him.

Merlin let the weight of it press against him.

For the first time, the hospital room didn't feel empty.

For the first time, he believed he wasn't alone.

—

The air in the sterile hospital room still smelled faintly of steel and disinfectant, like a place meant for keeping people alive but not for living.

Merlin's breath came slow, controlled. His golden eyes lingered on the faint condensation his forehead had left on the glass of the window. Outside, the world moved. The sun was too bright, too real.

Behind him, the faint sound of Vivienne's sobs still trembled in the corners of the room, muffled by her hands pressed against her mouth. She had tried to regain composure, the strict fire-instructor who had never once let a student see her falter. But tears still spilled freely as she clutched the edge of his bed.

Merlin hadn't known what to say to her. He hadn't known what to say to Victoria either. His older sister had run from the room after hugging him too tightly, as though fearing he might vanish if she held on. He was still reeling from the warmth of that touch.

And then—

The door clicked.

The sound was sharp. Solid. Final.

Vivienne stiffened, wiping her eyes quickly as though trying to erase what had already been seen. Merlin turned, slow, his muscles aching with every shift of weight. His gaze fixed on the doorway.

Reinhardt Vale stepped inside first.

The Swordmaster's presence filled the room like the press of unsheathed steel. His long black hair was tied back, streaks of grey catching the faint light, and his heavy beard framed a face that was stern but not unkind. His eyes, however, were sharper than any blade. They fixed on Merlin in a single glance, and for an instant, it felt like Reinhardt could cut through the very truth of him.

Merlin's chest tightened. 'If this is still a dream… he'd be the one to cut it apart.'

But Reinhardt didn't speak at once. He stood in silence, his hand resting on the hilt at his hip, eyes moving over Merlin like he was testing, measuring, confirming.

And then, softly, so softly it almost didn't fit his voice, he exhaled.

"…You're awake."

Not words of command. Not lecture. Just the raw weight of relief buried beneath control.

Merlin's lips parted, but no words came. His throat was dry.

Reinhardt took one step into the room. Then another. His aura, disciplined, heavy, sharp, brushed against Merlin's skin like the edge of a sword barely held back.

And behind him, the others entered.

Nathan.

Merlin's eyes widened, his breath caught. Nathan looked thinner, darker rings under his eyes, but his black hair was still messy as ever, and those dark-blue eyes lit up the second they met gold.

"Merlin!" His voice cracked, louder than it should have been, raw with weeks of waiting, of holding it all in.

He dropped the books he was carrying, parchments scattering across the floor, and ran forward. He didn't hesitate, didn't care about the instructors watching, didn't care about dignity. He slammed into Merlin with a hug so hard Merlin almost staggered back.

Merlin froze. His arms hovered in the air. And then, slowly, trembling, he lowered them. Wrapped them around Nathan's shoulders. Held on.

Nathan's voice broke into sobs against his chest. "You bastard… I thought—you were gone—I thought we lost you forever—"

Merlin closed his eyes. His chest ached in ways no blade could cut. "…I'm here."

Behind Nathan, Adrian entered with wide, bright eyes, his golden hair glowing in the sterile light. He laughed, a sound unsteady, uneven, but alive. "Of course you'd wake up like this, huh? Making us all wait, keeping us worried sick…" His voice cracked, but he forced it into a grin. "Typical Merlin."

He reached forward, punching Merlin lightly on the arm, like he always had during training. The gesture nearly made Merlin collapse. He had thought he'd never feel that again.

Liliana followed, her long brown hair swaying as she pressed a trembling hand to her lips. Her blue eyes were full of tears, but she tried to smile through them, elegant even in her breaking. "We prayed… we prayed so many nights. And you… you really came back to us."

Ethan leaned against the doorframe, his short brown hair falling over green eyes that glistened despite the scoff on his lips. "Tch. Took you long enough." His voice wavered. He tilted his head away, muttering. "Idiot."

Seraphina stood tall, her black hair sleek, silver eyes sharp even through the redness rimmed around them. She clasped her hands behind her back, her posture rigid, military-perfect. But her lips trembled. "…Don't ever do that again."

Dorian lingered in shadow, pale white hair framing those cold red eyes. He didn't move forward. Didn't cry. Didn't smile. But Merlin saw it—the faint twitch in his jaw, the flicker that wasn't quite indifference. The kind of relief that couldn't be spoken aloud.

And then—

Elara.

She stood last, just inside the doorway.

Silver-blonde hair framed her pointed ears, her violet eyes unreadable from where she lingered. Her posture was straight, unyielding, her spear strapped across her back even now. She hadn't moved with the others. She hadn't rushed, hadn't wept, hadn't spoken.

She only watched.

Merlin's heart stumbled in his chest.

'Elara… the only one who stayed constant. The only one I saw in the labyrinth. The only one who felt real when everything else was breaking.'

The others crowded closer, Nathan still clinging to him, Adrian clapping his back, Liliana dabbing her tears, but Merlin's eyes never left hers.

For a long time, she didn't move. The silence stretched.

And then, she stepped forward.

Each step was measured, deliberate, her boots whispering against the sterile tile. The others gave way unconsciously, parting like they knew this was different.

Elara stopped in front of him.

Her violet eyes locked with his gold.

No words. Not yet.

She lifted one hand, slowly, carefully, as though touching him might break him apart. Her fingers brushed his arm. Firm. Real.

Merlin inhaled sharply. His throat ached.

And for the first time since he had woken, Elara's mask cracked.

Her lips trembled. Her eyes shimmered. And though no tears fell, the sharp line of her mouth softened into something pained, something unbearably human.

"…You're late," she whispered.

The words were cold, sharp on the surface, but her voice broke on the last syllable.

Merlin's breath left him in a shudder. His hand lifted, covering hers. "…I know."

For the first time since the labyrinth, since the simulation, since the garden of illusions, Merlin knew this was real.

Not because of the sun. Not because of the system.

But because of them.

Because of the people in this room, their tears, their voices, their presence.

Because Elara's hand was warm on his arm, steady, trembling, real.

And the chains of illusion finally broke.