Chapter 262: Back to Gear (2)
By the time he stepped out of his room, the city outside had grown dark.
Victoria was already curled on the couch, a blanket over her legs, watching a faint blue holographic projection flicker in the air, some old drama series from before mana tech had gone mainstream.
She looked up when he entered. "All packed?"
"Yeah."
She nodded, yawning. "Then get some sleep. You’ll need it."
"I could say the same."
"I’m not the one who attracts danger like a magnet," she said dryly, turning back toward the hologram.
He chuckled softly. "Not intentionally."
"I’ll believe that when the world stops throwing gods and monsters at you."
"...Fair."
He hesitated for a moment before sitting beside her. Neither spoke. They didn’t need to.
The flickering light painted the room in quiet shades of blue.
For once, Merlin let himself simply exist, not as the anomaly in this world, not as the prodigy or the labyrinth survivor or the silent investor, but as a boy sitting beside his sister, both of them pretending, if only for a moment, that things were simple.
When she finally drifted off, her head resting lightly on his shoulder, he didn’t move.
He just watched the city lights shimmer beyond the window, soft, distant, untouchable, and let the quiet stretch on.
⸻
Later that night, long after the hologram dimmed and Victoria had gone to bed, Merlin stood alone by the window, the faint hum of the world beneath him.
He touched the small silver pendant around his neck, one of the few things he’d kept since arriving here.
’...Back to the academy,’
he thought, fingers tightening slightly. ’Back into the story.’ But for the first time, it didn’t feel like he was being dragged along by fate.
It felt like he was walking toward it, on his own terms.
The wind outside shifted, brushing against the glass like a whisper of approval.
And Merlin, for the first time in weeks, let himself close his eyes, and smile.
Morning broke quietly over the city, pale sunlight spilling between towers, glinting off mana rails as carriages drifted through the haze of early traffic.
Merlin stood by the window, tying the clasp on his academy cloak. The fabric caught faint light as it settled across his shoulders. The insignia stitched over his chest, the stylized star of Starlight Academy, gleamed faintly, like an old promise being renewed.
Behind him, the kettle clicked softly. The smell of tea drifted through the small apartment.
Victoria yawned from the kitchen. "You’re up early. Again."
"Habit," Merlin said, adjusting the cuff of his uniform sleeve. "Can’t shake it."
She leaned against the counter, holding her mug with both hands, eyes half-closed. "You could’ve at least waited for me to make breakfast."
"I didn’t want to wake you."
"You don’t wake me, Merlin. You vanish like a ghost."
He turned, smiling faintly. "Maybe I should leave notes next time."
"Maybe you should." She crossed the room and slid a small paper bag toward him, sandwiches, neatly wrapped. "For later. Don’t argue."
He looked down at the bag, then at her. "You really think I’d argue about food?"
"You’d argue about anything if I let you," she said, sipping her tea.
"...Fair."
They stood there for a moment, quiet settling between them. The kind that didn’t ask for filling — that had weight because of what it didn’t say.
Victoria finally sighed, setting her mug down. "You’re really going back today, huh?"
Merlin nodded. "The train leaves in twenty."
She studied him, really studied him, and for the first time in a while, he saw it again: the faint glimmer of worry she tried so hard to hide.
"Don’t overdo it," she said softly. "Don’t try to catch up to whatever you think you missed. Just... breathe. You’ve earned that much."
He met her gaze. "I’ll try."
"You’ll fail." She smiled faintly. "But I had to say it anyway."
He chuckled quietly, picked up his bag, and slung it over his shoulder. "Thanks for the sandwiches."
"You’ll thank me more if you actually eat them this time."
He nodded once, then started for the door. She followed him, barefoot, stopping just short of the threshold.
As he stepped into the hallway, she called out softly, "Hey."
He turned back.
"You’re not alone anymore, Merlin. Remember that."
His breath caught, just for a second. He nodded once. "Yeah. I know."
Then he was gone.
The city station was busier than usual, students in navy uniforms crowding the platforms, some laughing, some yawning, all carrying bags heavier than their moods.
Merlin moved through the noise like a shadow, calm and quiet, finding a seat near the corner of the academy-bound carriage.
He’d forgotten how alive the mornings could be when everyone was headed toward the same future.
The doors slid shut. The train lurched forward.
Outside, the skyline receded into glass and light. Ahead, the faint outline of the academy’s spires rose through the haze, silver and white, crowned with the faint shimmer of barrier wards.
He sat back, eyes half-lidded, letting the rhythm of the tracks fill the silence.
’Back again,’ he thought. ’Round two.’
A notification blinked faintly on his phone.
[Elara]: You left without telling me.
He blinked, typing back.
[Merlin]: You’d have made me wait another hour.
[Elara]: That’s a bold assumption.
[Merlin]: It’s based on experience.
[Elara]: Hmph. I’m at the gates already. Don’t make me wait.
[Merlin]: I’ll be there in twenty.
[Elara]: Seventeen. I’m timing you.
Merlin smirked faintly, pocketing the device.
She’d never admit it, but he knew that message had been her way of saying she wanted to see him first.
The rest of the ride passed quietly. He finished the sandwich Victoria had packed, a simple thing, but familiar, grounding. The city gave way to the forest path leading up to the mountain ridge, and then, finally, the shimmering silhouette of Starpower Academy filled the view.
When he stepped off the train, the air changed.
It always did here.
Crisper, clearer, faintly charged, the atmosphere of mana-dense zones.
The path from the station led through open marble gates carved with the academy’s sigil. Beyond them, the world opened into the massive courtyard: fountains, banners, towering lecture halls, and the faint hum of hundreds of affinities alive at once.
He stopped just short of the fountain.
Elara was there, waiting, arms crossed, silver hair falling over her shoulder, violet eyes catching the sun. Her academy cloak hung a little unevenly over one side, giving her a touch of effortless imperfection that somehow made her even more striking.
"You’re late," she said, voice cool.
Merlin raised an eyebrow. "By your made-up timer, not by mine."