[Third Person Pov]
Arthur lay sprawled on the ground, his battered body barely rising and falling with each shallow breath. Blood seeped from countless cuts and bruises, staining his torn clothes and matting the grass and foliage beneath him. The once-lush clearing looked as though a storm of violence had torn through it—trampled earth, scorched leaves, and shattered branches bore silent witness to the ferocity of the battle.
With a single, practiced wave of her staff, Merlin dispelled the last remnants of Arthur's final attack. The roaring flames that had crackled and howled moments earlier were snuffed out instantly, driven away by a powerful gust of wind infused with magic. The air fell eerily quiet, leaving behind nothing but scorched patches of earth and blackened, charred wood that still smoked faintly.
"Mel… I think I broke a few bones," Arthur whimpered, his voice weak and unsteady. He stared up at her with a pitiful, almost pleading expression. "I can't seem to get up."
Merlin rolled her eyes, looking down at him with an expression caught somewhere between irritation and amusement. "Stop looking at me like that," she said sharply. "It is unbecoming and downright uncouth for someone of your status."
Arthur let out a strained, pained sigh and closed his eyes. "Just… let me be for a moment," he muttered. "I almost died, after all."
"And whose fault is that?" Merlin scoffed, though there was a playful edge to her tone. She moved closer and sat down on the ground beside him, deliberately making no effort to heal him yet.
Arthur cracked one eye open and glanced at her. "Are you punishing me by not healing me?" he asked, remaining sprawled on the grass as both of them turned their gazes toward the moon hanging high above.
"A bit," Merlin replied honestly. "Before I jump to your aid, I want the pain of your mistakes to linger—to be ingrained into your body. Nothing is learned from a wound that fades too quickly. Lessons are learned from wounds that last, that fester, and remind you of the price of recklessness."
Arthur resisted the urge to laugh, knowing full well that even a chuckle would send fresh waves of pain through his body. 'She really is Merlin the Wise,' he thought, his face twisting into a grimace as another ache flared through his ribs.
"Shall we begin," Merlin asked, shifting her gaze from the crescent moon back to Arthur, "with what you did wrong during your battle with the Manticore?"
"I overestimated myself and underestimated the enemy," Arthur answered without hesitation or shame. He had never been one to grow embarrassed over mistakes. If anything, Merlin had drilled into him the belief that every failure carried a lesson—and that there was no dishonor in learning.
"Correct," Merlin agreed, nodding slightly before elaborating. "And while not entirely without reason. You've been training for the majority of your life, after all. It's only natural that such dedication would foster confidence. I wouldn't call it arrogance—you are not that kind of person."
Arthur kept his eyes closed, but Merlin continued nonetheless, knowing he was listening intently. "However, you consistently forget a few crucial things. First and foremost, you are still a twelve-year-old child. No matter how much you train your body, that fact does not change. There was simply no way you could have physically overpowered an adult Manticore—one capable of crushing solid rock with a single paw."
"Even if you bolster your strength with magic, there are limits—limits imposed by what your body can endure. You share the same weakness as every mage and wizard: mortality. The human body is fragile, vulnerable, and far more easily broken than most care to admit."
Arthur cracked one eye open again and looked at her. "Even you?"
Merlin's violet eyes sparkled, glowing with something ancient and unfathomable. Her expression was calm, yet carried an air of quiet certainty. "I am beyond such concept," she said simply.
Arthur let out a soft chuckle, immediately followed by a sharp grunt as pain flared through his chest. "Haha—ah—sorry. I didn't mean to insult you."
The corners of Merlin's lips curved upward, though she continued without pause. "Now, my second point contradicts my first—and even some of the things I've taught you before. But I believe you are intelligent enough to understand what truly matters."
She turned slightly toward him. "Despite forgetting that you are a child, you are also hyperspace aware of it. You know that because you inhabit a young body, the magic you can control and unleash is limited, far from its full potential. Because of that, you tend to be cautious—overly cautious. You play it safe. You restrain yourself, shackling your actions due to the limits imposed on you by your young body."
Merlin paused, allowing silence to settle between them, giving Arthur a moment to truly reflect on her words. Only when she was certain they had sunk in did she continue.
"Your fighting style as it stands," she said calmly, "is an honest reflection of who you are as a person. You prefer playing it safe. You are overly cautious—borderline paranoid at times—which, as I've told you before, is not inherently a bad thing." She glanced sideways at him. "But only up to a certain point."
She shifted slightly, "You're beginning to develop the habit of never going all out from the very start. You conserve your strength and your magic instinctively, and I cannot stress this enough—that, in itself, is not a flaw." Her tone sharpened just a little. "However, it becomes one when that caution places you at a disadvantage."
Merlin gestured vaguely toward the scorched clearing around them. "You were fully capable of ending this fight the moment it began. A magic burst spell—or any one of its variants you've developed—would have sufficed. But you hesitated. You worried about missing. You worried the beast might dodge. You worried that you'd only clip its tail or fly away at the last moment, wasting precious magic."
She leaned closer and began poking Arthur's forehead with playful roughness.
"Stop." Poke.
"Over." Poke.
"Thinking." Poke.
"Things." Poke.
"Drop." Poke.
"The." Poke.
"Habit." Poke.
Arthur laughed despite himself, quickly lifting a hand to shield his forehead. "Alright, alright!" he said between chuckles. "I'm trying, I'm trying—but it's not an easy habit to forgo. I'd rather be an overthinker than an underthinker. I'd rather be cautious than ill-prepared when things inevitably go south."
Merlin let out a long, resigned sigh, tilting her head back to look at the sky for a moment before returning her gaze to him. "I can't say I don't understand," she admitted. "But there are times when the best solution is to overwhelm your opponent immediately—end the battle before it has a chance to grow dangerous."
"A prolonged fight drains more energy than a decisive opening strike. It will be your responsibility to judge which battles require patience and restraint—and which ones demand everything you have from the very beginning."
Arthur nodded slowly, absorbing her words. "I understand," he said quietly. "I'll be more mindful of it in the future."
Merlin smiled softly. She pressed a single finger to his forehead once more, far gentler this time, letting it linger. Then she lowered her hand, spreading her palm fully against his brow.
"That is all I ask," she said. "You've come a long way, Arthur. You're improving at an incredible pace. What truly holds you back now isn't talent or discipline—it's experience. Genuine combat experience." Her voice softened. "And that… you can only acquire with time."
As she spoke, a complex green magic circle bloomed beneath them, unfurling across the grass like a living sigil. Runes intertwined with flowing patterns, pulsing gently with life. The circle expanded until Arthur lay perfectly centered within it, while smaller auxiliary circles spun into formation around the first.
Specks of green light began to rise from the grass itself, as if the earth were exhaling its vitality. They shimmered and drifted upward like fireflies, turning the clearing into a quiet, glowing sanctuary.
"Woah…" Arthur murmured, his eyes widening as he watched the emerald lights dance through the air.
"Ahh…" he sighed moments later as warmth spread through his body. The magical fireflies swarmed gently around him, drifting toward his wounds. One by one, they sank into his skin, sealing cuts, knitting bruises, and easing the deep ache in his bones.
Arthur slowly raised a hand, brushing a finger against one of the lights. It burst into harmless sparks at his touch, scattering like embers. He smiled, letting out a warm, contented chuckle. "Have I ever told you just how beautiful your magic is?" he said softly. "You make magic look like magic."
Merlin laughed, hugging her knees to her chest as she looked down at him, her expression open and sincere. "Thank you," she replied warmly. "And yes—you've told me that many times, Art."
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