CHAPTER 207: MORGANA VISITS

The morning broke softer than he expected. Gold light stretched through the infirmary’s wide-paned windows, cutting long shapes across the floorboards. Dust drifted in the beams, lazy, real, untainted by godly mockery.

Merlin sat on the edge of the bed with his feet pressed to the cold tile. His body still ached from yesterday’s walk, his first real steps beyond sterile white walls. Every joint carried a faint soreness, and yet, beneath it all, he felt stronger than he had since waking. Not strong, not whole, but... anchored.

He exhaled through his nose. ’This is mine. This body. This air. No one else is pulling the strings anymore.’

The door creaked.

Merlin expected Elara, punctual as always. Or maybe Victoria, stubborn enough to smuggle breakfast past the healers again. But the figure that slipped into the room carried neither warmth nor hesitation.

Long black robes, the hem whispering against the floor. Hair like ink caught faintly in the morning sun. Eyes, those impossible, ageless eyes, that seemed to see further than anyone had the right to.

"Morgana."

The Headmistress closed the door behind her without a sound. Her gaze landed on him, sharp and unflinching, like a blade sliding free of its sheath.

"You are awake." Her voice was calm, cold, but there was an undertone Merlin caught, something closer to relief than she’d ever admit.

He stood, slower than he wanted. His legs trembled faintly beneath the hospital gown, but he forced them steady. "...So it seems."

Her eyes swept over him once. "They say you are still recovering."

"I am."

Her gaze lingered. Then, very faintly, her lips curved, not in amusement, but in something sharper. "Lies do not suit you, Everhart."

Merlin’s golden eyes narrowed. "...What do you mean?"

She stepped closer, every motion controlled, deliberate. The distance between them closed until only a sliver of sunlight separated them. Her voice dropped, low and certain.

"You are not like them anymore."

Merlin’s pulse skipped. His jaw tightened. "...Them?"

"Your classmates. Your friends. The first years who still linger at three stars, some perhaps grazing four. But you..." Her head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing. "...you burn hotter. Denser. I can feel it. Around six, give or take."

The words struck like a blade laid bare. Merlin felt the air constrict in his lungs.

’She sees it. She actually sees it.’

He schooled his face, forcing a casual shrug. "...You’re imagining things. My body’s weak. I can hardly walk down the hall without help."

Morgana’s eyes flashed, cold and unamused. "Do not insult me. I know the rhythm of mana, the pulse of talent. Yours is no mere candle flickering at three stars. It is a forge, chained and restrained, but burning nonetheless."

Merlin turned away, pacing slowly toward the window, more to hide his expression than to enjoy the view. His reflection stared back at him in the glass—messy hair, tired eyes, scars carved deep into skin that still felt half unfamiliar.

He spoke softly, his tone even. "...Even if that were true, what does it matter?"

"It matters," Morgana answered, "because you walk among children who cannot see what you are becoming. They think you are like them. Fragile. Recovering. Breakable. But you are not."

Merlin’s hand pressed against the cool glass. His throat tightened. ’She’s right. Nathan, Adrian, Liliana... they don’t see it. To them I’m still just... Merlin.’

Morgana’s voice softened, barely. "Do you intend to hide it from them forever?"

His hand curled into a fist against the glass. "...They don’t need to know."

A beat of silence. Then her robes shifted as she moved, stepping to his side. Their reflections stood together in the glass, her posture poised, commanding; his still slightly hunched, fighting to stand tall.

"You fear what they will think," Morgana said. "Or perhaps you fear what you might become."

Merlin’s jaw clenched. His chest heaved once. "...You don’t know me."

For the first time, her lips curved into the faintest smile. Not mocking. Not cold. Something else. "No. I do not. But I know power. And I know what it does to those who bear it."

Her gaze shifted, steel-grey against his gold reflection. "If you let it consume you, you will be lost. But if you master it..."

She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

Merlin turned sharply to face her, fire in his chest, words biting at the back of his throat. He wanted to shout, to demand why she cared, what she wanted from him. But her expression silenced him.

It wasn’t the cold mask of the Headmistress. It wasn’t superiority, or control. It was something else.

Something dangerously close to... belief.

The silence stretched. Then Morgana stepped back, her composure sliding neatly into place like a cloak. "You will be tested again, Everhart. Of that, there is no doubt. But until then..." Her eyes lingered on him a moment longer. "...Do not rush. And do not fall."

She turned toward the door. Her robes whispered across the tile.

Merlin’s throat worked. His voice rasped out before he could stop it. "...Why tell me this? Why not keep it to yourself?"

Her hand paused on the doorframe. She glanced back, one eye catching the light.

"Because unlike the gods..." Her lips curved, faint, unreadable. "...I do not care to see you dance. I care to see you stand."

The door closed behind her with a soft click.

Merlin stood in the silence, his pulse hammering. His hand pressed against his chest, over the steady thrum of mana beneath his ribs.

’She knows. She actually knows.’

Not about Rathan. Not about the memories that seared his soul. But enough. Enough to see he wasn’t what the others thought he was.

His vision blurred faintly, and he forced his breath steady. "...Stand, huh?"

He looked back at the courtyard beyond the glass. Students moved, sparred, laughed, lived, fragile flames, each burning small but steady.

And for the first time since his return, Merlin wondered if maybe... just maybe... someone in this world might understand what it meant to carry a fire too heavy for his own hands.

—

Later, when the sun slanted lower and the corridors buzzed with afternoon chatter, the door opened again.

Elara stepped through, silent as shadow. Her violet eyes scanned the room, landing on him with her usual cool certainty. "You’re standing."

Merlin turned, leaning against the window frame. His lips curved faintly. "...Seems to be the theme of the day."

Elara’s gaze lingered a moment longer. She tilted her head slightly. "...Someone was here."

He didn’t answer. She didn’t press.

Instead, she crossed the room, her presence steady, grounding. "You should rest."

Merlin smirked. "Didn’t you say the same thing yesterday?"

Her lips curved, faint. "And I’ll say it again tomorrow."

The silence between them was softer than with Morgana. Less sharp, less demanding. But just as heavy with meaning.

Merlin looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers. ’They can’t know. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But she... Morgana... she already sees through me.’

The thought settled like a stone in his chest.

And so, as the evening bells tolled across the academy, Merlin sat back on the infirmary bed, caught between two truths: the warmth of Elara’s steady presence... and the sharp, unyielding gaze of the Headmistress who had seen more than anyone else.

—

The morning came slower than he expected. Not with the endless haze of the infirmary, but with the sound of footsteps, voices, and the faint metallic ring of steel clashing outside.

Merlin blinked awake to the ceiling, then the window, light spilling in, bright and clear. He sat up, rubbing at his eyes, every muscle stiff with that dull ache that had followed him since walking with Elara. He’d expected the pain, but not the... grounding of it.

Pain meant he was real. Pain meant he was here.

The door creaked.

"Merlin."

Nathan’s voice came first, boyish and warm, followed immediately by Adrian’s laugh and Liliana’s gentle scolding tone in the hallway. A moment later, the group filed in, a wave of chatter and energy that felt like a different world compared to the solitude he’d been drowning in.

Nathan carried a bundle of books under one arm, his dark-blue eyes sparkling. Adrian’s blond hair caught the light as he grinned wide, already tossing one of the books between his hands. Liliana moved gracefully behind them, long brown hair flowing as her gaze softened on Merlin.

Ethan followed, slower, looking faintly bored even here, his green eyes scanning the room like he’d rather be anywhere else. Seraphina entered with her usual icy poise, silver eyes unreadable, while Dorian lingered just behind, white hair framing a sharp, cold face.

And then Elara, violet eyes steady, a silent anchor.

Merlin found himself straightening under their collective weight. "...You’re all early."

Adrian barked a laugh. "Early? Try dragging Nathan out of bed. Nearly had to dump water on him."

Nathan flushed. "I was awake!"

"Sure you were," Ethan muttered, rolling his eyes.

Liliana ignored them, stepping closer to Merlin’s bed. "You look better."

He raised an eyebrow, a crooked smirk tugging at his lips. "Better than what?"

"Better than dead," Dorian said flatly from the back.