Merlin's room felt too small for the weight of the world's attention.
And it was attention—he could feel that now. Not consciousness. Nothing intelligent. Just… the pressure of a stage light on someone who had never asked to stand on a stage.
He stood just as dawn began to dim the shadows, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders. His mana wasn't rattled, but it wasn't calm either. It pulsed with a faint, irregular echo—like something had tapped the surface and left ripples that refused to settle.
Shade chirped nervously and clung tighter to his cloak.
"…She'll be here soon," Merlin said quietly.
The bird chirped again, accusing this time.
"I know she's intense."
More chirping.
"No, I'm not letting her read my dreams. That's not what she meant."
Shade gave him a suspicious look but stopped complaining.
A soft knock broke the thin tension.
No magical pressure. No aura. No dramatic entrance.
Just a knock.
Merlin opened the door.
