CHAPTER 334: WONT STOP

They froze.

Not with fear—but with readiness.

Footsteps echoed from the corridor.

And a familiar figure stepped into the courtyard.

Not Morgana.

But someone sent by her.

Someone who should not have been here.

Professor Rowan.

His gaze landed on Merlin with surgical precision.

"Everhart," Rowan said calmly. "The Headmistress requests your presence."

Elara’s hand tightened around her spear handle.

Nathan stepped forward half a pace.

The others shifted subtly.

Rowan lifted a brow. "Alone."

Merlin’s pulse tightened.

Of course.

Of course she’d call him the moment he was surrounded.

He straightened.

And the group prepared to push back—

But Merlin lifted a hand.

"It’s fine," he said quietly.

But his eyes never left Rowan.

"What does she want?"

Rowan’s expression didn’t change.

But something in his voice dropped an octave.

"Answers."

And just like that, the courtyard fell silent.

Merlin exhaled once.

Turned toward his friends.

And said—

"I’ll go."

Elara’s voice was barely above a whisper. "Be careful."

Nathan’s jaw tightened. "We wait nearby. If she tries something, we don’t hesitate."

Merlin gave a faint, reassuring nod.

Then he turned to follow Rowan.

Toward the Headmistress’s office.

Toward Morgana.

Toward answers he wasn’t sure he wanted.

But answers he could no longer avoid.

Merlin followed Rowan through the academy’s upper corridors, each step echoing faintly against polished stone. These halls were quieter than the bustling areas below—older, lined with relics and portraits of past headmasters, every painting watching him like it could sense the density of mana coiled inside him.

Rowan didn’t speak, didn’t glance back, didn’t even slow his pace. He moved with the same forced precision he had in class, but now Merlin noticed something else beneath the surface:

He was tense.

Not afraid.

Not hostile.

But tense in the way someone becomes when carrying a message they don’t fully understand—yet know is important.

They reached the top floor, where the atmosphere itself felt different—heavier, thicker, almost humming with contained power. Morgana’s magic saturated everything, like the walls were alive and listening.

Rowan stopped before a massive oak door carved with runes older than most nations.

He turned to Merlin at last.

"Before you enter... understand something." His voice was low, controlled. "The Headmistress sees further than anyone here. If she’s called you, it is because you have stepped into her sightline."

Merlin swallowed once. "I figured."

Rowan’s eyes narrowed slightly—almost with sympathy, almost with caution.

"I do not know what she wants," he admitted, "but I suggest you answer truthfully."

Then: a pause.

A very heavy pause.

"...Or convincingly."

Before Merlin could respond, Rowan opened the door with a silent gesture and stepped aside.

"Enter."

Merlin hesitated only a moment.

Then walked in.

The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded far too final.

—

The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by floating orbs of soft violet light. Shelves filled every wall—ancient tomes, scrolls sealed in glass, relics humming with faint wards. A massive window overlooked the eastern training fields, where late afternoon sunlight bled orange across the horizon.

At the center of the room stood Morgana.

Her dark robes pooled around her like living shadow, her silver hair tied elegantly behind her. She was not sitting behind her desk.

She was waiting.

And she was smiling—not pleasantly, but in that quiet, unreadable way that conveyed she already knew more than she planned to say.

"Merlin Everhart," she said, her voice smooth as cold starlight. "Thank you for coming."

Merlin bowed slightly. "Headmistress."

"Come closer."

He stepped forward carefully, each movement measured. Her presence pressed against his senses—not aggressively, but thoroughly. Like she was peeling back layers of him just by looking.

She circled him once, slowly, like a scholar examining a rare artifact.

"You’ve changed," she murmured. "Not recently—no. This started long before this morning’s lecture, didn’t it?"

Merlin kept his face neutral. "I’m not sure what you’re referring to."

"Mm." Morgana stopped in front of him, eyes tracing the air around him rather than his body itself. "Lightning, wind, water. Three affinities displayed today. But your mana... refuses to behave like a tri-elemental."

She lifted her hand.

Merlin stiffened—but didn’t move.

Her fingers hovered an inch from his chest, not touching, simply feeling.

"A unique resonance. Not chaotic. Not forced. Not inherited. Built." Her eyes sharpened. "No second-year possesses a structured core like this. Not even Nathan."

Merlin’s pulse thudded once.

She noticed.

"Oh?" Morgana’s smile widened. "Does his name unsettle you? Interesting."

She lowered her hand.

"Tell me, Merlin... why do you suppress the rest?"

His breath caught—not visibly, he hoped, but enough that Morgana’s gaze brightened with interest.

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to something almost whisper-soft.

"Do you think I do not recognize the presence of fire coiled behind your lightning? Do you think I cannot feel the faint echo of earth resonating under your wind? Or the trace of something even deeper—something old—lurking beneath it all?"

Merlin said nothing.

Because anything he said would confirm too much.

Morgana tilted her head, studying his silence like it was the final piece of a puzzle.

Then she turned away and walked to the window.

"You are an Everhart," she said, almost casually. "A mysterious family." Her fingers traced the glass.

"So I am left with a question."

She turned.

Her eyes were bright.

Hungry.

"Who made you, Merlin Everhart?"

The temperature in the room dropped instantly.

Merlin felt every instinct flare at once—fight, flee, lie, deflect, stall—but his face stayed calm.

"Headmistress," he said quietly, "I don’t understand the question."

Morgana’s soft laugh held no humor.

"Oh, you understand perfectly."

She stepped closer again, so close he could see the faint shimmer of ancient runes behind her irises.

"I will not harm you," she said. "You are far too interesting."

That did not reassure him in the slightest.

"But I expect an answer. And I will give you one opportunity to tell me something true."

Her gaze locked onto his.

"Why are you different?"

Silence stretched between them.

Long.

Tense.

Suffocating.

Finally, Merlin spoke.

"...Because I have to be."

Her expression didn’t change—but the mana in the room rippled.

She stepped even closer, her voice dropping to something impossibly soft.

"That," she murmured, "is the first honest thing you’ve said."

For a moment, she simply studied him—quiet, assessing, thoughtful.

Then:

"You may leave. But be warned, Merlin Everhart."

Her smile returned.

Sharp.

Knowing.

"I am done watching from afar."

The door behind him unlatched on its own.

Merlin exhaled slowly.

Then turned.

Then walked out.

He didn’t realize he’d been clenching his jaw until he reached the second-floor landing, where the faint noise of students and distant chatter returned. Only then did the tension in his shoulders loosen by a fraction.

And waiting at the end of the hall—

Elara.

Not leaning on a wall.

Not pacing.

Just standing there, arms folded, expression calm but unmistakably protective.

She must’ve sensed something, or she simply knew him too well.

When she saw him, she straightened. "You’re late."

Merlin blinked. "I wasn’t given a schedule."

"You should’ve been. By me."

He almost smiled.

But the expression died as she stepped closer, eyes scanning him with a clinical precision that rivaled Morgana’s—just without the coldness.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

"No."

"Shaken?"

"...No."

"Lying?"

"A little."

She exhaled softly, brushing a hand down her braid in irritation. "Nathan wanted to follow you. Adrian wanted to break into the headmistress’s office. Liliana started praying. Ethan said he’d update your will. Dorian said we were all idiots."

"That sounds accurate."

Elara frowned. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Do you need to talk about it?"

"...Also no."

She held his gaze a moment longer, testing the truth of that answer, then nodded.

"Fine. But you’re walking with me back to class."

"That’s not necessary—"

"It is," she said simply, turning on her heel. "Because you’re terrible at pretending everything’s normal after something isn’t."

Merlin huffed a quiet sigh and followed.

—

They found the rest of the group waiting just outside their next classroom, all pretending they weren’t anxiously hovering.

Nathan spotted Merlin first and immediately marched over. "You’re alive. Good. Now explain everything."

Adrian nodded, arms crossed. "Preferably starting with whether we’re declaring war on the faculty."

Liliana held out a cookie. "Here. I baked it last night. Eat if traumatized."

Ethan muttered, "He looks traumatized."

"He always looks traumatized," Dorian corrected.

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose. "I’m fine."

Elara made a quiet noise that indicated she disagreed but wasn’t going to argue in public.

Nathan stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Did she threaten you?"

"No."

"Interrogate you?"

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"She asked questions."

Nathan blinked. "...That is literally interrogating."

"She didn’t threaten me," Merlin clarified. "She was just... curious."

Adrian groaned. "Oh that’s worse. Curiosity is how professors justify dangerous experiments."

Ethan nodded solemnly. "That’s how my uncle lost an eyebrow."

Liliana gasped. "Which one?"

Ethan shrugged. "Both."

Merlin rubbed his forehead. "Morgana isn’t experimenting on anyone."

A pause.

Elara raised a brow. "Yet."

"That doesn’t help," Merlin sighed.

Dorian stepped forward, voice quiet and precise. "Did she learn anything she shouldn’t?"

Merlin hesitated.

Just a fraction of a second.

But they all saw it.

Nathan’s eyes widened. "Seriously?"

Elara’s jaw tightened. "What did you tell her?"

"Nothing dangerous," Merlin said quickly. "Nothing revealing. I just... didn’t hide as well as usual."

Liliana whispered, "She knows you have something hidden..?"

"...Probably."

Adrian let out a long, low whistle. "Well. We’re dead."

"No one is dead," Merlin said sharply.

But the tension lingering in his voice betrayed him.

Elara touched his arm lightly. "Then what did she say?"

Merlin exhaled slowly.

"She knows I’m different. She doesn’t know how. But she’s interested. And she won’t stop watching."