Nathan was exactly where Elara predicted he'd be.

Which, in a painful, inevitable way, made perfect sense.

He was crouched beside the faculty tower's service door, hood up, expression scrunched in deep, heroic concentration, holding what looked suspiciously like a stolen alchemy pick—which was absolutely not meant for lockpicking—jammed into the keyhole at a suicidal angle.

Next to him, Armin stood like a dead man counting down his last breaths.

"Nathan," Armin hissed, "for the love of every star in every chart, that is a combustion pick. If you turn it wrong it explodes."

Nathan waved him off. "It only explodes if you turn it left. Which I am not doing."

"You are literally twisting it left right now—"

"No I'm not—"

Elara stepped in, snatched the pick from Nathan's hand, and shoved it into Armin's before anyone else died. "Both of you, stop breathing before you permanently lower the academy's intelligence average."

Nathan lit up the moment he saw her.

"Elara! Good, perfect timing. We were just about to—"

He finally noticed Merlin behind her.

His eyebrows rose.

Then lowered.

Then rose again suspiciously, like he was parsing drama from empty air.

"…Were you two somewhere?" he asked.

Elara stared at him.

"Walking," she said.

Nathan's eyes flicked between them—Merlin steady and quiet, Elara stiff and unreadable, something subtly crackling in the air around Merlin like invisible storm residue.

His face brightened with epiphany.

"Oh."

Armin groaned. "Nathan, don't—"

"Ohhh."

"Nathan."

"As in—"

"No."

Nathan leaned closer, whispering with zero stealth, "Did you confess—"

Elara's hand snapped out so fast even Merlin barely tracked the motion. She grabbed Nathan by the collar and dragged him back a full step, expression ice-flat.

"Finish the sentence," she said calmly, "and you're eating dirt."

Nathan's mouth clicked shut.

He nodded, wisely.

But even with the near-death threat, he kept glancing at Merlin. A quick, sharp analysis—new, since his resonance awakening. Nathan felt mana shifts more clearly now. Felt tension. Felt the wrongness in the world the way a bird felt storms coming.

And Merlin… Merlin carried a storm behind him.

Nathan shifted, voice lower. "You alright?"

Merlin met his eyes.

Nathan didn't need an explanation. Didn't want one. He wasn't Elara—he wouldn't push. He would simply stand there and wait for yes or no.

Merlin answered quietly.

"I'm still here."

Nathan nodded once. "Good."

That was it.

No questions.

No pressure.

Something in Merlin's chest loosened.

Armin hadn't spoken yet—just studied Merlin with that unsettling, quiet intelligence he hid under sarcasm. His brow knit slightly, and he muttered under his breath, "Residual distortion… faint, but persistent…"

Merlin stiffened.

Nathan turned. "Residual what?"

"Nothing," Armin said quickly. "Never mind. Don't look at the air like that, it won't kill you."

"It can kill me?!"

"No, that's not—Nathan stop panicking, the Headmistress said nothing, that means nothing is happening, therefore nothing is happening—"

Elara cut in, visibly done. "Why are you here?"

Nathan straightened like a soldier caught slacking. "Right. Yes. Mission."

He pointed dramatically upward.

Then slightly to the left.

Then corrected again, nearly poking Armin in the face.

"We are here," he declared, "for justice."

Armin sighed. "We're here to recover Mira's stolen assignment notes."

Nathan glared. "Armin, stop reducing the epic narrative—"

"We're stealing a notebook back from a third-year," Armin deadpanned. "There is no epic narrative."

Elara rubbed her eyes. "Where is Mira?"

At that precise moment a bush rustled, and Mira popped out, holding a rolled-up map like a general planning an invasion.

"Here," she said. "I have a plan."

Nathan pumped a fist. "Yes! Mira's here—now we have stealth, genius, and moral authority."

"I am the moral authority?" Mira blinked.

"Yes," Nathan said with complete sincerity.

Mira turned faintly pink.

Armin muttered, "You're all insane," but didn't walk away, which meant he agreed.

Merlin watched them—Elara exasperated but protective, Nathan radiating unearned confidence, Mira vibrating with anxious determination, Armin calculating escape routes from stupidity.

And behind him—

the distortion pulsed.

Soft.

Almost curious.

He didn't turn.

Didn't acknowledge it.

But this time… it wasn't reacting to Elara.

It was reacting to all of them.

To his connections.

To the people he kept close.

To the story they belonged to.

Elara caught the shift in his breathing.

Without looking, she whispered, "It's here?"

Merlin didn't speak.

His silence was answer enough.

She stepped a little closer—not to shield him, not to stand in front of him, but next to him again, shoulder brushing his sleeve.

Nathan noticed the movement.

His expression shifted from playful to sharp.

Focused.

Battle-ready.

Armin slowly pocketed his analysis tools, gaze flicking behind Merlin with the kind of caution mages used in haunted ruins.

Mira edged closer to the group.

No one ran.

No one questioned.

They simply… gathered.

And the distortion stilled again.

Observing.

Following.

Learning them.

A cold line traced down Merlin's spine.

Elara's voice broke the quiet. "Merlin. What do you need?"

He closed his eyes.

Because she meant it literally.

Because Nathan and Mira and Armin were already bracing.

Because whatever followed him had just learned their shapes, their mana, their bonds.

He reopened his eyes.

"…Stay close," Merlin said.

No hesitation.

No argument.

Elara nodded.

Nathan smirked like he'd been waiting for that.

Mira brightened with resolve.

Armin muttered but shifted nearer anyway.

The distortion's pulse flattened.

Almost… satisfied.

Merlin felt sweat bead at the base of his neck.

Something was changing.

Not in him.

Around him.

And the world—whatever rules governed it—was still adjusting to him.

Still rewriting trajectories.

Still choosing how to reshape itself around the people he kept at his side.

He let out a slow, tight breath.

"Alright," Merlin said quietly. "Let's go get Mira's notes."

Nathan pumped a fist.

Elara rolled her eyes.

Mira looked relieved.

Armin whispered something about dying before graduation.

And behind them—

the distortion followed like a shadow with patience enough for eternity.

Mira's "plan" turned out to be a crudely drawn map of the third-year dorms, three circles labeled maybe, also maybe, and definitely but I'm scared, and a doodle of a smiling mushroom for no discernible reason.

Nathan examined it like it was a war chart.

Armin examined it like it was a health hazard.

"Elara," Nathan said solemnly, "this is perfect."

Elara stared at him.

Then at the map.

Then back at him.

"Are you concussed?"

Mira puffed up. "I worked very hard on it!"

Armin muttered, "Yes, I can see the labor. Especially the mushroom."

"It's symbolic," Mira insisted.

"Of what?"

"Hope."

Armin blinked. "…How?"

"It's smiling."

Armin sighed into his soul.

They reached the third-year dorm hallway—quiet, dark, unsettlingly clean, like the janitors here were militant. Merlin stepped forward first, letting his senses spread just enough to map the mana flows without triggering the distortion's attention.

The thing moved with them.

Silent.

Content.

Like a shadow being walked on a leash he wasn't holding.

Nathan crouched behind a potted plant.

"We breach on my signal."

"No one is breaching anything," Elara said.

Mira whispered, "Merlin, I know you have terrifying instincts—what does yours say right now?"

Merlin paused.

Listened.

The hallway's mana was still.

Too still.

"…That something's waiting," he said.

Elara's spear flickered into her hand instantly.

Armin went rigid. "Where?"

Merlin shook his head. "Not a person. A—"

The door in front of them creaked open.

All five froze.

A tall third-year student stepped out—broad-shouldered, expression annoyed, hair messy in a way that suggested he didn't care about anything except whatever he cared about too much.

He stared at them.

They stared back.

Mira quietly began dying inside.

"…Uh," Nathan said. "Hi."

The third-year blinked, confused but tired. "Why are six idiots crouched in the hallway?"

"There are five of us," Armin corrected.

"There's also something behind you," the third-year said.

Everyone slowly turned.

Nothing was there.

No distortion visible.

But Merlin felt it.

Right behind him.

Pressing against his spine like a second skin.

The third-year frowned. "Huh. Thought I felt… Never mind."

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"If you're here for Mira's notes—" he began.

Mira squeaked. "Y-YOU STOLE THEM—"

"They fell into my bag after class," he sighed. "You left them on the floor. AGAIN."

Mira turned fully purple.

Elara muttered, "…Of course."

The guy lifted a hand, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the notebook.

He held it toward Merlin.

Merlin blinked. "Why me?"

"You're the only one who doesn't look like a hazard."

Nathan gasped. "I am offended."

"I can tell," the third-year said dryly.

Merlin took the notebook.

The moment his fingers touched it—

The distortion shivered.

Almost… approving.

Merlin stiffened.

The third-year stared at him in mild confusion. "Weird mana signature you've got. You new?"

Nathan whispered urgently, "Don't say anything alarming, Merlin—"

Merlin said, "Second year."

The third-year paused. "Huh. Thought you were higher."

Nathan's grin was immediate.

"HE IS."

The third-year shrugged. "Anyway. Don't sneak around here. One of the seniors has traps set up. Good luck not exploding."

He closed the door behind him with a weary thud.

Silence lingered.

Nathan finally let out a sigh. "Well. That went great."

Armin looked exhausted. "We nearly died. For a notebook."

Mira snatched the notes from Merlin and hugged them with the ferocity of a starving wolf.

Elara turned to Merlin. "You felt it react."

He didn't pretend he hadn't.

He nodded once.

Armin's face dimmed.

Nathan's grin faded.

Mira stiffened.

"What does that mean?" Mira whispered.

Merlin answered quietly.

"…It means this thing isn't just watching."

Elara's eyes sharpened. "Then what?"

Merlin looked down the hallway.

The lights flickered—just once, just enough for someone attuned to mana to notice.

He exhaled.

"It's choosing."

Nathan's jaw tightened. "Choosing what?"

Merlin didn't look at them when he said it.

"Who matters to me."

A heartbeat of silence passed.

Then Elara stepped closer, voice low and unshakable.

"Then we stay together."

"We stay armed," Nathan added.

"We stay alive," Armin muttered.

"We stay hopeful," Mira said, raising the smiling mushroom drawing.

Merlin stared at them.

And the distortion pulsed once—

soft, warm, almost like it was mirroring the group's closeness.

His stomach twisted.

Elara caught the shift. "Merlin. What is it now?"

He looked at them—each face, each bond, each piece of the story that wasn't supposed to exist this way.

"…It's learning," he whispered.

Nathan swallowed. "Learning what?"

Merlin's voice barely rose above a breath.

"Us."