Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His first breath was earth and moss and something wet rotting beneath the surface.

The world around him was cold and dry, blurred by darkness and a dense canopy of trees overhead. A forest? Maybe. It felt far away, like he was seeing it through someone else’s eyes.

He blinked slowly, trying to push back the fog in his head. His limbs didn’t want to move. Every muscle ached like he’d run a marathon with someone else's legs. His mouth was dry. His heartbeat pounded too slow and too loud, like it didn’t belong to his chest at all.

He tried to sit up. Everything ached—but not in a way that suggested injury. No wounds. No bruises. Just disorientation, like he’d fallen from somewhere high and landed in the wrong foot.

His balance failed immediately when he tried to stand up, and he crumpled sideways into the dirt with a grunt. The impact wasn’t hard, but it shocked him. Not because it hurt—but because of how small he felt. His arms were lighter, his center of gravity lower. His body… was off.

He tried again, slower this time. Hands braced against the ground, he pulled himself upright. The forest tilted, then steadied, but his vision still swam. He wiped a trembling hand across his face. His skin felt different. Fairer, maybe.

He paused.

Something was wrong with his hand.

He held it up, turning it slowly in front of his face. It wasn’t his. The fingers were leaner, longer. Beautiful, even if they were calloused in places he didn’t recognize.

“What the hell…” he murmured—but the voice that came out wasn’t right either. Not younger, exactly, but his voice, light and musical, didn’t sound like it belonged here. It belonged in gardens and courts, not on a forest in the middle of nowhere.

His pulse quickened. He touched his face—his jaw was narrower, his nose different. His cheekbones too high. And the hair… He grabbed a fistful and held it in front of his eyes.

White, long, and falling in soft waves over his shoulders

Not dyed. Not synthetic. Not a trick of the light.

This wasn’t his body.

He lurched to his feet on instinct, but his legs buckled under him, sending him staggering sideways into a tree. The bark scraped his shoulder, and he hissed.

His breath came fast now, sharp and shallow.

“Okay—okay, just breathe,” he muttered to himself. “You’re not dreaming. You’re awake. You're just—just…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. Because there was no logical way to finish it.

Minutes passed—he wasn't sure how many. Long enough for the pounding in his head to dull into a steady throb. Long enough for him to try standing a few more times, awkwardly, like a newborn fawn learning how its legs worked. The movements were alien. His stride was too short, too springy. His arms moved differently when he walked, like they were built for something else.

He kept stumbling, muttering curses under his breath, fighting off the rising wave of panic.

Eventually, he paused to lean against a tree, drawing in slow, deliberate breaths. That was when he noticed a weird staff lying nearby—shaped like a twisted branch, curved, black and filled with ribbons in different vibrant colors. Something about it tugged at him. Instinct? Memory? It was as if the staff was humming faintly with something he could feel more than hear.

He reached for it.

And the second his fingers wrapped around it, something shifted.

Warmth surged through his hand. Not heat, exactly—more like recognition. Familiarity. Like a piece of himself clicking into place.

He finally noticed the smoke coming from a near place, clinging to the air like a veil, thick and bitter, seeping into his lungs with every breath.

Before he could think, his body moved, and he turned around. Behind him, what remained of a city stood broken. The walls—titanic stone barriers meant to hold back the end of the world—were shattered like eggshells. From the large hole, he could see rubble piled in the streets. Houses burned in quiet ruin. There were also massive footprints carved deep into the stone leading to the hole.

It was as if giants had walked through this place and won.

He stared in silence, because now he could hear the screaming. Not of voices. Not anymore. The land was screaming. The dirt. The trees. The wind itself. Echoes of agony lingered in the very bones of the world, and it pressed against him as he stood there on the cold ground, as if the soil remembered what had just happened and refused to let it go.

“…Ah,” he said softly as he brushed ash from his sleeves with a kind of absent grace. “So I missed the beginning.”

He froze.

And then, without warning, threw the staff away as if it burned him.

He stumbled back, chest heaving. His hands were shaking again. The world spun a little. A panic attack threatened to claw its way through his throat.

He closed his eyes. Breathed in. Out. Again.

When he opened them, the staff still lay where it landed. Harmless. Waiting.

After a long pause, he stepped forward and picked it up again, and just like before—calm returned. His body knew what to do, even if his mind didn’t. Still clumsy on his feet, but steadier now, he took another few steps forward.

Okay, he thought grimly. So walking needs practice. Fine.

He didn’t know where he was. Or who he looked like. Or why the hell holding a long staff made him feel less insane.

But step by step, he’d figure it out.

Though something still felt off. Not just the body. Not just the weird ease with which he could now move when he held this staff.

His thoughts. His mind.

He tried to remember his name.

Nothing.

His chest tightened. He searched again, deeper, chasing fragments—flashes of memory, a voice, a reflection. But the harder he tried, the more it all slipped through his fingers like smoke.

He didn’t know who he was.

"Come on," he whispered to himself. "At least a name…"

Still nothing.

A tremor ran through him, and he fought off another swell of panic. He clenched his hands, grounding himself in the feel of bark, the familiar weight of the stick, the dirt under his feet. He took a deep breath, trying to will the rising fear away.

It helped—barely.

He looked down at himself, as if his body might hold a clue. That was when he really noticed the clothes.

His outfit was… bizarre. Fantasy-RPG-tier bizarre.

He wore robes of white and soft violet, layered like a ceremonial garb but dirtied by earth and soot.

“This isn’t cosplay,” he muttered, his voice a little too thin. “Right?”

He ran his hand down the side of the cloak. The fabric was real—heavy, a little worn. No seams from a sewing machine. No tags.

So… either this was a dream. Or someone had gone through a hell of a lot of trouble to—

He stopped.

No. This wasn’t a dream. His heart was still racing too fast. The cold air stung. His legs still hurt from stumbling through the brush. He was awake.

And if he was awake, then… maybe this was another world?

“But why?” he whispered. “Why me? Why this?”

When he received no response, he decided to go to where the walls were. If there was smoke, maybe there were people… maybe someone needed help. Or maybe it was already too late.

The wind shifted, and something sharp touched his senses. His thoughts paused. He sniffed the air instinctively—then blinked in surprise.

It smelled like grief, fire, and the metallic tang of blood.

He focused on the smells again and realized something else: he shouldn’t be able to smell this much, this clearly. His nose had never been this sharp, after all. And now that he thought about it—his eyes weren’t straining either. He could see the edges of leaves far in the distance, the tiniest detail of bark patterns, insects crawling near the roots of trees. It was all so crisp.

“I needed glasses before,” he muttered. “Didn’t I?”

It felt true. It sounded true.

And now? Now he could practically read the fine print on the tree bark.

More proof—this wasn’t his body. This wasn’t normal.

The smoke was coming from somewhere to his left. Cinders danced in the air like lost fireflies. The scent of ash, charred wood, and blood filled his nose. The wind kept shifting, but he was sure of it now. He adjusted the grip on the stick—comforting in his hand like a forgotten extension of himself—and started walking toward the scent.

Toward answers.

Toward the aftermath.

.

When he walked through the hole, there were no screams, no cries. Just wind and ruin and the lingering ache of grief pressed deep into the bones of the world.

His hands tightened around the staff. His heartbeat was calm, but his body wasn’t. There was too much inside him—too much sensation, too much weight. This body felt tuned to things normal people couldn’t feel: sorrow bleeding out of soil, fear like static clinging to the air, echoes of dreams that didn’t belong to him.

He wasn’t ready.

He didn’t even know what he was walking into.

But still… he walked.

Step by cautious step, he moved toward the shattered world beyond the trees because the smoke was rising and the silence was screaming. And something told him the real tragedy was only just beginning.

He only stopped when passed through a somehow intact house and saw his reflection, finally. It was then when the name came to him like a whisper: Merlin.

Am I Merlin?

Yes, he was. And it was not just a name. A self. But it fit, somehow. The power that buzzed faintly in his fingertips, the presence in his chest that wasn’t just blood and breath—it all aligned with that name. A half-remembered myth. A man of dreams. A watcher of distant tragedies.

He didn’t know how he knew all of that. He just… did. And the moment he remembered it—remembered who he was, what body he’d been reborn into—a pulse of ancient magic stirred in his blood. Warm. Deep. Patient.

He flexed his fingers and power answered. Illusions. Visions. Dream-weaving. Support magic. The shape of it all rested behind his eyes like a spell half-formed. Not muscle memory, exactly—but something deeper. Something older.

But the power meant nothing here, he thought as he watched his surroundings. Because he’d come too late. The people were gone—eaten, crushed, or fled.

This place… this world... was not the one he remembered. It wasn’t Chaldea. Not Camelot. Not even Earth as he knew it. But it was broken, and that made it familiar.

.

He saw it before it saw him.

A shape in the distance, looming like a nightmare birthed from myth. Towering flesh, steaming and twitching as it lumbered across the scorched ground. Its limbs moved too loosely, as if the joints had forgotten how they were supposed to work. Its face was wrong—blank and too wide, eyes dull with something worse than hunger: resignation.

Merlin didn’t know how he knew, but he did.

There was pain inside it, buried deep beneath muscle and bone and blood, something echoed inside that creature. Not thought. Not words. Just a whisper. A weight. A suffering it couldn’t express, only endure.

It horrified him, but it also made him curious.

He stayed rooted behind a cracked stone pillar, his fingers trembling against the bark of his staff. The magic in his chest pulsed faintly, instinctively, like it too recognized something unnatural—something holy and unholy at once.

He could feel the itch of his power in his veins, trying to understand, to reach out, to see, but he didn’t know what he’d touch if he did. He didn’t know what he would become if he tried. He was still new to this body, after all. Still fumbling through the borrowed knowledge that had come with it. Spells half-formed. Instincts that stirred without warning. Dreams that didn’t feel like his.

He was Merlin, yes—but not yet.

Not fully.

And so… he did nothing. He closed his eyes, took a shaking breath, and whispered to himself.

“No one. Nothing. Sees me.”

A light brush of magic flickered across his skin—soft, like silk and morning mist. The kind of spell that wasn’t cast with force, but intent. The kind that slipped into the world like a suggestion rather than a command and the Titan walked past him. It didn’t even turn its head.

He stayed hidden in plain sight, heart hammering in his chest, and when it vanished behind broken ruins, he turned away. Not because he didn’t want to know, but because he knew he wasn’t ready to understand. So, he followed the ache in the air—the place where hearts still beat, where fear still burned hot and alive.

Toward the people.

.

The gates of the inner district were not open when he arrived, but it was nothing a quick use of illusions couldn’t fix. He walked with quiet feet, head bowed, his long white hair tucked beneath a tattered hood scavenged from a ruined cart. Ash and blood still clung to his robe, helping him blend into the chaos. It wasn’t a spell, not exactly—just the soft hum of misdirection, the art of not being noticed.

There were hundreds, maybe thousands of people that had made it in—refugees from the district he came in, some with wounds still fresh and untreated, others carrying what little they had left on their backs. Some carried nothing at all. Just grief.

He slipped into the crowd without a word and felt everything.

The fear was thick. It sat in the air like smoke, clinging to skin and choking hope. Parents gripped children too tightly, as if the Titans could still reach through the Wall and rip them away. Soldiers—what few he saw—stood stiff with exhaustion, eyes hollow. Some wept silently when they thought no one was watching.

Even without magic, he could have read the emotion here like a book.

But with it? It was overwhelming. Every step was a heartbeat out of sync. Every face, a question without an answer. He kept his mouth shut, and his ears open as the stories came slowly. Whispered. Fragmented.

“—just appeared out of nowhere. Kicked through the Wall like it was paper—”

“—they’re saying Maria’s gone. All of it. Every settlement. Especially Shiganshina—”

“—my brother was on the southern patrol, they haven’t come back—”

“—no one knows what happens next—”

“—there’s not enough food for all of us—”

The words painted a picture more brutal than any battlefield. The Wall—this people's symbol of safety, of permanence—had been breached. These Titans had come pouring in. Thousands were dead and the ones here now were only what remained.

The leftovers of a massacre.

Merlin said nothing, but the weight pressed deeper against his ribs. He should have helped. He should have done something.

But what? He didn’t even know what the enemy truly was. Didn't know how this world worked, or who was pulling its strings. All he had were fragments—power, instinct, the ghost of a legend he hadn’t fully become.

So he watched and listened. And when night fell, and the fires dimmed, and the crying slowed to a hush, Merlin sat alone beneath the shadow of Wall Rose.

His fingers curled loosely around his staff.

And for the first time in this world, he whispered, “I’m sorry I was too late.”

.

The days bled into one another, slow and uncertain. Even as the city around him tried to return to routine—what remained of it—Merlin stayed invisible.

He moved between the refugee camps and battered streets, always just another quiet presence. Too clean to be entirely lost, too strange to be entirely seen. He helped where he could: soft words for the grieving, steady hands for the injured, conjuring clean water where it was needed, though never when others watched too closely.

The world didn’t need a magician.

Not yet.

But he couldn’t stay hidden forever, he knew. And when he first heard of the military from a conversation near a ration line, he knew there was a choice to be taken. It came from a group of boys—dirty, exhausted, but wide-eyed—as they talked about enlistment.

“They say the only way to make a difference is with a blade.”

“No, the Survey Corps is suicide. I’m going to the Garrison.”

“I just want to fight back. I don’t care how.”

He watched them quietly, something old and warm twisting in his chest.

Fight back.

He hadn’t fought when he arrived. He hadn't known how. He still wasn’t sure he did. But every night since, he’d dreamed of smoke and teeth, of sorrow wrapped in muscle and bone. Of eyes—blank and hopeless—staring at him from behind Titan skulls.

He couldn’t forget them.

And he didn’t want to be the kind of Merlin who simply watched. So he learned and practiced. So even if the magic came slowly, he continued. He knew it was all there inside him—coiled like breath, like the memory of a dream half-remembered. Sometimes it pulsed when he passed a place of pain. Other times it responded when he reached for comfort, for light. His first real spell was cast in the ruins of a farm, long abandoned: a barrier of light and thorns, woven from instinct. It wrapped around him like Avalon itself had sighed and leaned forward.

He could feel Avalon. A constant presence at the edge of perception. A doorway locked just behind him.

But unlike the Merlin of legend, he wasn’t trapped.

He could move. Could choose.

And he chose this. To be a participant. So, six months after the fall of Shiganshina, he stood in front of a recruitment post in Trost.

He wore plain clothes now. Hair tied back. His staff hidden inside a pocket dimension only he could retrieve. He said his name was Merlin, and gave no surname. When asked why he wanted to enlist, he simply said:

“To understand.”

And they let him in.

Chapter Text

The air was cool. Still. The kind of quiet that stretched, delicate and breathless, just before dreams crept in. And he stared at the sky like he was searching for a version of himself hidden in the stars.

Almost four years.

That was how long it had been since he woke up in the forest, shaking and unfamiliar inside a body that was too graceful, too light. Since he’d taken the name Merlin because it was the only one that felt like it fit, even if it pressed down on him like a crown he hadn’t earned.

And now, as the quiet pressed in, the name felt too heavy again. His skin too tight. His chest too full.

“I’m me,” he whispered to no one. “But I’m also… not.”

In the beginning, he hadn't known how to smile properly. His mouth knew how, his face could do it—but it didn’t feel right. Not at first. There were days his laughter came easy, bubbling over at the smallest thing—someone tripping, a stray bird landing on someone’s head, the way the wind whispered through leaves like old secrets. On those days, he’d felt light. Delicate. Playful. Like the world was a story he’d stepped into by mistake and hadn’t yet realized the tragedy in the margins.

But other days? Other days, the weight of it crushed him. The silence and the dread. The blood on training dummies that reminded him of something he couldn’t quite recall, with the sound of a Titan’s steps echoed in his bones. There was an ache in his hands when he held his staff when he practiced hidden from others and he felt too much.

There were mornings he’d wake up and feel ancient. Not tired. Not weak. Just old.

So old his chest ached with it.

And when people looked at him—his squadmates, the instructors, the rare few who tried to talk to him—they didn’t know what to do with someone like him. How could they? He didn’t even know what to do with himself.

The first few months had been chaos in his chest. One minute he’d be flirtatious and charming—stealing fruit, teasing other cadets, humming nonsense to himself while scaling a tree just to see how high he could get. The next, he’d fall quiet for hours, barely speaking. A shadow behind his eyes. A sorrow too old for someone who looked nineteen.

No one called him out on it, but they noticed.

Of course they noticed.

He remembered the way they looked at him. Uneasy. Like they thought maybe he wasn’t all there. Or maybe he was too much there, all at once.

And maybe they were right.

He was the man who woke up with no name, no past—only the knowledge of how to survive. How to move. How to wield a staff. How to walk through dreams and see the shapes of pain left behind.

And that damn name.

Merlin.

It had slipped from his mouth the first time he saw his reflection.

A whisper of a memory. A prophecy he didn’t know and still didn’t.

But the name clung to him like thorns and silk. Beautiful. Dangerous. Fitting. Too fitting. And he often wondered—was he really that Merlin? Or just someone wearing his face and tripping over his legend?

He didn’t remember anything about himself. Or of this world. What he knew came from dreams, which were just enough to haunt him. Just enough to know that this world, this place, was on the edge of something cataclysmic—and he was not prepared. Not like the real Merlin would be. Not like a proper servant or mage or myth should be.

Sometimes, when the dreams came, he would see flames rising beyond the walls and bodies that screamed without mouths. Faces twisted in terror. Titans that wore people inside their ribs. Wings of freedom snapped like brittle twigs.

And sometimes, rarer still, he saw a sword in a stone, a laughing girl in silver armor, a lion with a crown, a lake that wept, and a woman cloaked in moonlight whispering: Wake up. It’s not time to sleep yet.

He didn’t know what they meant, but he woke up with tears in his eyes. Every time.

He wiped at them now, absently. Embarrassed by the ache. No one saw it. That was the point.

Merlin leaned his head back against the wood of the barracks wall and let out a soft breath.

“Maybe I’m not supposed to know yet,” he murmured to the sky. “Maybe… I just need to keep choosing.”

Because that was the only thing he’d had since the moment he opened his eyes in this world and the real Merlin hadn’t had: a choice. To walk forward, or to stay. Or just to try.

And maybe that would be enough.

Tomorrow will be the first choice that will embark him towards a path that felt right. And he couldn’t wait.

Survey corps, right?

.

The ceremony was short. Efficient. No pomp, no banners—just dust, sunlight, and rows of cadets standing at attention to proclaim their final decision. Three years of sweat, blood, and survival had led to this moment. Today, each would choose which regiment to serve: the Garrison, the Military Police… or the Survey Corps.

Most already knew what they’d pick.

And so did Merlin as he stood alone at the edge of the formation, arms folded, hair half-tied, robes replaced with the standard uniform that somehow still looked too elegant on him. His eyes were half-lidded, expression unreadable as the commanding officer called names, one by one.

“Dina Sannes—Garrison.”

“Gerald Walbrunn—Garrison.”

“Ralph Bozad—Military Police.”

“Merlin—”

The pause that followed his name wasn’t long, but it lingered as he stepped forward, calm and silent. A slight wind tugged at the ends of his uniform coat as he stood before the three flags.

Garrison. Safe.

Military Police. Safer.

Survey Corps. Certain death.

The crowd murmured, shifting, as he raised a hand without hesitation.

“Survey Corps,” he said.

There was a brief silence and then, whispers.

“He chose what?”

“Is he serious?”

“Top of our class and he picks them?”

“Figures. That guy’s always been weird.”

Merlin turned, slowly, and returned to his place in line without a word. His face was calm, but his heart thudded once—quietly, not from nerves, but from certainty. He’d seen it in the instructors’ eyes during combat drills. He was one of the strongest, even if he didn’t try to be. However, what he excelled in was in being fast, precise. Unshakable. He was a servant in human skin and they never understood how far above them he stood.

But even now, with power humming in his bones, he wasn’t interested in rising above. He merely wanted to understand. And to understand this world, he had to go beyond the walls.

.

At mess later that day, he sat alone. Not because he was unwelcome—but because he knew no one would sit beside someone who willingly threw his life into Erwin Smith’s and Levi’s hands. Humanity’s strongest soldier, yes. However, just a week ago, it’s been know that his whole squad died. He remained alive because he was the strongest, but being the strongest wouldn’t protect other but Levi himself.

Erwin Smith might have gained some popularity with his strategies and he was no longer the ‘new commander’, but the strategist. Or the ambitious one, as it was said behind doors. However, while people were starting to trust him, they didn’t trust the way he spoke of sacrifice and truth and long-term gain.

Merlin did.

He’d seen eyes like Erwin’s before in Artoria’s.

So, he chewed quietly, listening to the buzz of fear and gossip around him. It washed over him like wind, barely brushing his thoughts.

They often called him aloof. Whimsical and not quite right.

They weren’t wrong.

But when he looked toward the Survey Corps flag, he felt something stir deep in his chest. Not Avalon, nor prophecy. Something new.

A choice.

And he intended to follow it. Even if it came with some obstacles. Fun ones, though. After all, he knew that being the only Survey Corps recruit will attract attention. He didn’t know it would come this soon, though.

“Merlin,” Erwin Smith said, voice steady.

“Commander,” Merlin greeted mildly.

Erwin gestured to the bench across from him. “May I?”

“You already planned to,” Merlin replied. “It would be rude to deny you.”

That earned the smallest shift of Erwin’s mouth—something not quite a smile.

He sat. No tray. No notepad. Just him, folding his hands together in front of him like he was already mid-interrogation.

“You were top of your class in agility, terrain awareness, and hand-to-hand,” Erwin began, tone factual. “Second in strategy. First in academics and in adaptability.” He tilted his head slightly. “But you didn’t bond with your squadmates. You rarely spoke unless addressed. You requested only wilderness patrols for training, and you never slept in the barracks.”

Merlin tilted his head slightly, curious. “That’s a rather thorough report for someone who didn’t request me.”

“I didn’t,” Erwin agreed. “But the Survey Corps doesn’t often receive volunteers who rank first and choose death anyway.”

Merlin looked down at his tray, poked at a piece of bread. “They wanted security. I wanted to satisfy my curiosity.” A pause. “And help. Where it matters.”

Erwin considered him. “You don’t strike me as someone with illusions about what the Survey Corps really is.”

“I have no illusions,” Merlin murmured around a smile, tone quiet but not cold. “But I do have questions. And questions require walking into the dark.”

“You sound ambitious.”

That made Merlin pause. Then, gently, “Ambition is about power. I only want answers.”

Erwin’s eyes sharpened, just a little. “Power is often the tool used to uncover truth.”

“And truth is often buried under the corpses of those who seek it.”

That finally earned a reaction—a small exhale. Something between a chuckle and a sigh.

“You speak like someone who’s seen the end of something before,” Erwin said.

“I was there. During the fall of Shiganshina.”

Erwin’s gaze sharpened. “You were?”

“I came after the first breach and passed through the ruins. Watched the aftermath, the people left behind.”

“Did you see any Titans?” Erwin asked.

“Yes, but I couldn’t do anything,” some remorse was seen in his voice, because it was true. He still regretted it, not being there sooner.

Erwin’s tone softened, just enough for someone like Merlin to notice. “You didn’t know how to fight.”

Merlin smiled sardonically, but didn’t answer. Erwin seemed to see his guilt, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he continued interrogating him. “No one expected you to pick the Survey Corps.”

“Except you?”

“I didn’t expect anything,” Erwin said. “I’m only interested in what people do when no one’s watching.”

Merlin smiled faintly. “How very commander-like of you.”

“I don’t know what you are yet, Merlin,” he said at last. “But I think you’ll be important.”

Merlin’s smile didn’t widen. But his gaze—his gaze became brighter.

“That makes two of us.”

Chapter Text

The new recruit rode with poise. Too much poise, perhaps.

Erwin studied the young man from the corner of his eye. Pale hair like morning frost, robes tailored just enough to hint at refinement, posture upright but never stiff. He held his reins as if he were used to control—over horses, perhaps, or over people.

Merlin.

No last name, like Levi. No history on record before enlistment. Top of his class in nearly every category—for brute strength, for speed, reaction time, tactical awareness. He made decisions faster than others processed questions. And yet, he kept to himself.

Polite. Observant. Quiet.

In conversation, he gave little. When Erwin questioned him, Merlin answered with insight—but never with intimacy. Not really, and even his mention of being a survivor of Shiganshina felt off. It was like speaking to a book that occasionally whispered between the lines.

Erwin had pegged him as a wise, logical type. Reserved, but useful. The kind of mind he could use—someone who could see three moves ahead, follow orders, and understand why some of them must be difficult.

He felt a strange satisfaction knowing a man like that had chosen his command.

But that impression began to dissolve the moment Hange Zoe appeared over the rise, waving one arm with more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary.

“Commander!” Hange called, practically jogging over. “We didn’t expect you back till nightfall!”

Erwin gave a brief nod, dismounting. “We made good time.”

Hange’s eyes drifted immediately to Merlin, who had also stepped down from his horse with practiced ease.

“Oh, is this the new one?” Hange grinned. “The only one who chose us this year?”

Erwin opened his mouth, but didn’t have to speak. Merlin looked up, and something—shifted. The calm, quiet young man was gone. In his place stood someone smiling with open warmth, eyes sparkling like he'd been waiting for this exact moment.

“Yes,” Merlin said brightly. “I’ve been hoping to meet you.”

Hange blinked. “You have?”

“I want to know everything about Titans,” he said, stepping forward with the eager grace of someone completely unaffected by fear or pretense. “Their behavior, their biology, their origin—what drives them, what makes them. I’ve read everything the Corps has published and everything it hasn’t. I have notes. Theories. Dreams.”

Hange’s eyes lit up like stars had bloomed in them.

“You—! You read everything? Even the restricted stuff?!”

Merlin tilted his head, smile unabashed. “Technically, I found it.”

Hange let out a delighted squeak and immediately grabbed both his hands. “Oh, we are going to get along so well.”

Erwin, still holding the reins of his horse, blinked once.

The transformation was… impressive.

No—more than that. Calculated.

He wasn’t sure which version of Merlin was real. The poised analyst who answered in measured sentences… or the wide-eyed researcher who lit up in the presence of Titans.

Possibly both. Which made him harder to understand—and more dangerous.

Erwin filed that observation away carefully, and watched as Hange practically dragged Merlin toward the research buildings, the two already chattering like co-conspirators.

The wind shifted, and the Wall loomed behind him like a sleeping beast.

Erwin turned back to it, thoughtful.

At least he’s ours, he thought.

For now.

.

The base was unusually quiet that morning.

The latest patrol had left at dawn, and aside from the occasional thud of boots or scrape of crates being moved, the Survey Corps headquarters sat in a lull. Between breath and blood. Between loss and recovery.

Erwin stood at the upper window of his office, arms folded behind his back, gazing out over the courtyard.

Below, Merlin was speaking animatedly to Hange again, hands moving in loose, elegant gestures, his white hair catching the sun like spun thread. Hange was laughing, one hand on their head, the other gripping a notebook as they argued over something that, knowing them, was probably impossible to prove and even harder to ignore.

Merlin looked like he belonged there. Too much so.

It had only been a week since he joined, and yet he had folded into Hange’s chaotic orbit with the ease of someone born for it.

In public, he was cheerful. Whimsical. Polite, sometimes flirtatious in that offhanded, harmless way that drew people to him without giving them anything real. He smiled often. Listened well. Asked questions that ranged from philosophical to absurd.

But Erwin had learned to watch people in the quiet moments between who they pretended to be.

And Merlin—Merlin didn’t sleep in the barracks. He often wandered out of camp at night and returned with no mud on his boots and no scent of the forest. He helped in every task asked of him, but always just enough. He never flinched in battle simulations, and he always won sparring matches—never by overwhelming force, but by knowing what the opponent would do next.

He was a soldier built for secrets. And Erwin’s gaze sharpened as he watched the man below—now leaning against the railing beside Hange, watching clouds drift above the Wall like a daydreamer who didn’t quite believe in gravity.

The door behind him creaked open.

Nile would have knocked. So would Mike.

Erwin didn’t turn.

“Welcome back, Levi,” he said quietly.

The steps paused. “How did you know?”

“You move differently when you're tired.”

Another pause. Then the door shut fully behind them.

“I told you to rest longer,” Erwin added, finally turning to see him.

Levi stood in full uniform, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His eyes were clearer than they had been in weeks, but not by much.

“You ordered me to,” Levi said flatly. “Didn’t mean I wanted to.”

Erwin allowed himself a brief smile. “And yet, you obeyed.”

Levi said nothing.

Erwin stepped aside and gestured toward the window. “There’s someone I’d like you to observe.”

Levi stepped up beside him and followed his gaze.

Merlin.

Still smiling, still talking, still entirely out of place among soldiers and scars.

Levi frowned. “That the new one?”

“Yes. Only recruit from the last class who joined us.”

“Figures.” A pause. “Looks useless.”

“Looks,” Erwin agreed, “can be deceiving.”

He clasped his hands behind his back again.

“I’d like to know what you think of him, once you’ve had the chance.”

.Levi’s POV.

Two days.

Levi spent two full days watching Merlin like he was a strange painting hung crooked on the wall. Something clearly wrong, but you couldn’t put your finger on it without tilting your head and staring too long.

Merlin noticed him immediately. Levi could tell—he always could. The brief glance, the twitch at the corner of his mouth that almost became a smile. But the bastard never said anything. Just kept on doing whatever strange thing he was doing—walking around the garden barefoot, or studying birds, or helping with equipment checks in that weirdly graceful way, like even tightening bolts was some kind of performance art.

He was too clean.

Not just physically—though that too, because he never seemed to sweat, and Levi would’ve noticed—but in movement, in presence. His footsteps barely made a sound. His uniform, even after drills, never looked truly wrinkled. His hair caught the sunlight like it was doing it on purpose.

And his face—

Levi scowled deeper just thinking about it.

Too pretty. Too smooth. Too punchable. Like the kind of face that had never been punched and needed to be, just once, to knock some sense into it.

He didn’t look like a soldier. He looked like someone who’d read about war in a book once and decided to cosplay it.

Still… He moved like someone who knew how to avoid being seen. That wasn’t just elegance. It was instinct. And instincts didn’t come from nowhere.

Levi narrowed his eyes as Merlin helped one of the stablehands calm a skittish horse, whispering something to it with a gentle hand on its neck. The animal settled instantly.

Even the damn horses liked him.

Levi would’ve dismissed him already if not for one thing: Erwin never brought attention to someone without reason.

So he waited.

Waited for the moment Hange inevitably shoved that glittering weirdness straight into his face like a bad surprise.

And it came when Levi had just finished re-sorting the supply reports. The door burst open and Hange practically skipped in, grinning like a lunatic.

“Levi!” they chirped. “You have to meet Merlin.”

Levi raised one brow. “Do I?”

“Yes,” Hange said with zero hesitation, already dragging the tall white-haired pain-in-the-ass into the room behind them. “Officially. Erwin wants you to evaluate him for field integration or something. Might as well say hi now.”

Merlin looked just as irritating in close proximity. Tall, slim, pristine. Like some rich noble’s son playing dress-up in Scout gear.

Levi stood from his desk with a grunt and stepped forward.

Hange beamed. “Levi, this is Merlin. Merlin, meet Levi.”

Merlin inclined his head. “It’s a pleasure,” he said, offering his hand with a smile that was probably supposed to be disarming.

Levi stared at the hand. Pale and pretty long fingers. No dirt under the nails. No scars. Callouses barely visible, and only in strange places—not from ODM triggers, but from holding something different. Something like—a staff?

He took the hand anyway. A firm grip. Warm. Soft.

Too soft.

Levi’s eyes flicked up to Merlin’s face. Still smiling, still unreadable.

Then Hange said something—probably a pun—and Merlin laughed lightly, and Levi took the moment to casually shove Hange aside.

They yelped. “Oi!”

“Shut up,” Levi muttered, stepping back. “I’ve seen enough.”

“You haven’t even seen him in action yet,” Hange argued.

“I’ve seen enough to know he’s weird,” Levi said flatly. “Too clean. Too calm.”

“And yet,” Merlin said, softly amused, “still standing right here.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t sound worried.”

“I’m not.”

“Why’s that?”

Merlin smiled wider. “Because I’m not what you’re expecting, Captain. I’m worse.”

Levi stared at him. Then, abruptly, turned to Hange. “If he dies, I’m blaming you.”

“Oh, we’re so going to be best friends,” Hange whispered to Merlin.

Merlin just hummed, eyes never leaving Levi’s.

.

Levi ate in silence.

The mess hall was loud, as always—boots scraping, utensils clinking, tired soldiers muttering into their food like it had personally offended them. He’d chosen a quieter table, tucked near the far wall, mostly out of habit.

That didn’t stop Hange.

“Levi!” they beamed, dropping their tray with far too much enthusiasm. “Mind if we sit here? Great.”

They didn’t wait for permission.

Merlin followed behind, steps light but measured. He sat beside Hange with the kind of effortless grace that didn’t belong in this world. Levi clocked it immediately. The smooth motion. The way he lowered himself onto the bench like he was settling into a velvet chair. The slight tuck of his coat. The upright spine.

Noble.

His every movement screamed nobility. Which was strange, because Levi knew nobility—and Merlin didn’t act like them. He smiled too easily. He was too open. There was no sneer, no arrogance. But the manners—they were there. In the way he picked up his fork. In how he passed the salt without being asked. In how he listened, head tilted just enough to show polite attention without groveling.

It was… suspicious.

Moblit sat beside Levi with a long-suffering sigh. “Sorry,” he murmured, eyes already on Hange. “They got excited again.”

“I can tell,” Levi muttered.

“You’re missing the bigger pattern!” Hange declared between bites. “It’s not just their behavior—it’s the heat trails, the territorial movement! It’s like migration mixed with emotional imprinting. We’ve been looking at this all wrong.”

“I told you,” Merlin said brightly, “they behave more like elemental echoes than biological predators. Patterns of response, not pure instinct. There’s memory in muscle. Maybe even dream residue.”

Levi blinked once. Dream residue?

Moblit sighed again. “Eat, both of you.”

Hange took a bite mid-sentence. “I am eating.”

“You’ve been eating that same bite for five minutes.”

Merlin, for his part, was cutting his bread into even pieces, eating at a steady pace between comments. Not rushed. Not distracted.

Disciplined.

His elbows never touched the table. His chewing was silent. His sips of water deliberate.

Levi watched out of the corner of his eye, chewing slower.

“Where’d you learn to eat like that?” he asked suddenly.

Merlin blinked once. “Like what?”

“Like a royal dinner’s about to break out.”

Merlin smiled, not sheepish—pleased. “I didn’t know there was a standard for soldierly eating.”

“There isn’t,” Levi said, eyes narrowing. “That’s the point.”

Hange grinned. “I think it’s charming. And it’s nice to finally have someone who doesn’t inhale food like it’s going to run away.”

“I do think the rations could use herbs,” Merlin added. “Mint, maybe. Or rosemary.”

Moblit looked at him like he’d just asked to season battle plans. Levi leaned back slightly, watching Merlin laugh again at something Hange said.

Too smooth. Too easy.

But those hands he’d shaken earlier—they weren’t noble hands. Too soft, yes, but not pampered. The callouses were wrong, old in the wrong places, but there.

Levi didn’t know what Merlin was hiding. But he was hiding something.

And Levi would find out what. Probably tomorrow will show him something more now that he couldn’t put off the choosing of the new members of his squad.

Chapter Text

It was late morning when Erwin gathered them all—every soldier in the Survey Corps not yet assigned to a squad. About three dozen in total. Faces of varying age and exhaustion, all cast in shades of war-weariness and determination.

Merlin stood near the back of the formation, sunlight catching in the loose strands of his hair. He wore the standard uniform with ease, but his smile and ease marked him as someone who didn’t quite belong.

He didn't mind. He’d never really belonged anywhere.

The field before them had been rigged with practice dummies shaped like Titans. A crude mockery of the real thing—stitched burlap, giant limbs, exposed weak spots—but enough to simulate combat. Enough to measure nerve, and instinct.

Erwin stood before them like a monument carved from resolve. The wind tugged at his coat, his voice steady as he addressed them.

“Most of you have already seen what lies beyond the walls,” he began. “You’ve fought Titans. You’ve bled. You’ve lost. And you chose to return.”

His eyes moved across the line. Merlin found himself watching the man’s expression more than his words—he speaks like she did, he thought. Not in tone, not in tempo. But in weight. In the shape of belief.

Artoria had spoken like this, too—when she thought no one else could carry the burden.

“This next step,” Erwin continued, “is not about orders. It’s about will. The special operations squad—Levi’s squad—will be expected to carry out tasks others cannot. Speed. Stealth. Lethality. Resolve.”

A pause. Then he turned slightly. “Levi.”

The man beside him stepped forward with little fanfare.

Short. Compact. Dressed immaculately. Eyes like winter steel. Everything about him spoke of precision, even when standing still.

Merlin had seen him before—first at a distance, trying to spy him, and then up close, thanks to Hange. He had the air of a hound that had long since stopped barking and simply waited to kill.

Now, Levi stepped onto the field.

No words. No speech. Just the low click of gas and the snap of steel lines as he launched into motion.

Merlin’s breath caught.

He’d seen grace before. He’d been grace before.

But Levi… Levi moved like water and purpose given form.

Each strike was clean, fast, and merciless. His blades arced through the dummy’s neck with surgical finality, his momentum never faltering, never wasted. He twisted through the trees, around the mock Titans, reorienting midair like the laws of motion had politely stepped aside for him.

Merlin watched, eyes wide.

There was something—unnatural—about the way he moved. Not magical. Not divine. Perfectly skilled.

The final kill came with a descending spiral that ended in a clean landing, blades still drawn, face impassive.

Silence followed.

Then a few muttered curses. Whispers of awe.

Merlin simply stood still, stunned. His heart was steady, but something deeper in him—something instinctual—buzzed with recognition.

That shouldn't be possible.

He glanced at Erwin, who was speaking again, outlining expectations, the drills they'd be doing. Merlin heard none of it. His eyes returned to Levi.

He’s stronger than me, Merlin thought, not bitterly, but with a strange thrill. Not in magic. Not in scope. But in physical mastery. In discipline. The raw physical power of a soldier who had honed his body to the edge of mortal perfection.

Merlin tilted his head, the wind brushing his hair back.

“...Is he a Servant too?” he whispered under his breath. “Or just something rarer?”

Either way, he suddenly found himself interested in more than just Titans.

And when the call for drills echoed across the courtyard and most approached with tension, nerves shaking in their hands. Merlin approached with intent. His fingers flexed lightly around the hilt of his training blades—he preferred a staff, always had—but for today, this would do.

When his turn came, and the signal sounded, he launched.

The ODM gear burst with a sharp hiss, sending him into the air, cloak fluttering behind him like a whisper of wind. He moved not with aggression, but with grace. Where others hacked, he cut. Where others charged, he glided.

He couldn’t match Levi’s brutal efficiency. Not yet. But there was something else in the way he danced between wires and wood. His attacks were fluid, his midair twists like poetry scrawled across sky. The dummies fell in clean arcs of motion. Not quick kills—elegant ones.

When he landed, it was without fanfare. Feet touching down with no stumble, no heavy breath. He stood calmly, hair shifting gently with the breeze.

Across the field, Levi’s eyes followed him—but only for a moment.

Then: “Next one.”

A dismissal. Not approval. Not interest. But not ignorance, either.

Merlin smiled to himself.

That’s a start.

.

The sparring matches came next.

One by one, he faced his fellow soldiers. Blades crossed, and each time he moved with more precision. He was used to a staff, to flow and feints, not short steel and tight guards. But combat was rhythm. Strategy. Reading people.

And the Merlin he had memories of had been reading people for centuries. Opponent after opponent fell back, disarmed or defeated, breathless and flushed while Merlin stood barely winded, sleeves rolled up, hair half-unbound, eyes dancing with mischief.

“Impressive,” Erwin said at last, arms crossed beside Levi. “You didn’t show this skill in earlier drills.”

Merlin turned to them with a shrug, breathing easy. “I didn’t see a reason to.”

“Modest,” Erwin noted dryly.

“Bored,” Merlin corrected, lips curling into a half-smile.

Levi’s gaze narrowed slightly.

“He’s still holding back,” he said. “No one’s pushed him. His footing’s off, but he’s reading movements before they happen.”

Erwin looked thoughtful. “You want to challenge him?”

Levi didn’t reply. He just stepped forward and Merlin’s pulse stirred.

Ah… there it is.

The call to prove, to test, not for ego—but for understanding.

He straightened, his stance more focused now, more alert. Levi approached like a blade unsheathed—calm, fast, dangerous.

This man, Merlin thought, will be a legend.

Not for strength alone. Not for speed.

But for the same reason he once followed a golden-haired king who bore the weight of a crown too young.

Ideology. Vision. Resolve.

Merlin took a deep breath.

And smiled, just faintly. “I’d be honored.”

The moment the match began, Merlin knew this was different.

Levi didn’t lunge. He didn’t test. He closed in—a blur of motion, low and precise, twin blades slicing through the space Merlin had occupied a breath before.

Merlin twisted away, light on his feet, parrying with a snap of his wrist. The impact rattled up his arm—stronger than he expected. Sharper. Real.

And Levi didn’t stop.

Every strike came with surgical precision. Every feint was bait to test his balance. Merlin dodged and flowed, the courtyard echoing with thuds and breath and the scuff of boots on dirt.

He tried to fall into rhythm—but there was no rhythm to Levi. Just purpose. For a moment, all Merlin could do was react. No clever tricks, no illusions—just him, his fists, and the world narrowing to a single point of contact.

No one’s pushed me like this before, he thought, breath catching on a laugh that barely escaped.

And for the first time in ages—

He smiled.

Not the polite, mischievous smile he wore like armor. This was sharp-edged and breathless, wild and delighted. His heart raced—not with fear, but exhilaration. He hadn’t felt this alive since—

Artoria. Caliburn flashing in the dusk. A blade that cut truth from lies. A king who never hesitated.

But that wasn’t him, not really.

Still, he ducked, twisted, rolled low and came up swinging—but Levi had already shifted, stepping into his blind spot with inhuman fluidity. The blades locked again.

Merlin saw it in his eyes.

Levi was enjoying this, too.

His face never changed—but his strikes had an edge of challenge now. Testing. Measuring. Accepting.

Seeing.

They broke apart once—Merlin landed in a skid, hair loose, breathing slightly hard. Levi’s feet touched the ground like wind touching stone, motion unbroken.

Then Levi darted forward, faster than before.

Merlin went to counter, but he was too slow. A flash of pressure, movement behind him, and then—The ground.

His back hit the dirt with a solid thud, one arm pinned behind him, Levi’s knee locking his shoulder down in a hold that was not just effective, but final.

Time paused for a moment.

Then Merlin laughed. Loud. Free. Head tossed back, shoulders shaking.

The recruits watching stared, confused.

Even Erwin’s brows lifted.

But Merlin didn’t care.

He’d never cared what they thought of him—and right now, he was too happy to pretend otherwise.

“Brilliant,” he gasped, eyes shining as he looked up at Levi. “Absolutely—brilliant.”

Levi just blinked, one brow raising slightly.

“You’re weird,” he muttered, letting him go and standing up with practiced ease.

Merlin rolled to a sitting position, brushing dust from his coat. “Oh, undoubtedly.”

But inside, his thoughts whispered something else entirely:

You're not a Servant.

You're just a man.

And you nearly beat me like I was nothing.

He looked up at Levi again, heart still racing.

How wonderful.

Levi stood at the center of the field, arms crossed, his gaze cutting through the silence like a blade. “Also, you’ve got distracted for a moment there, too.”

Merlin scratched the back of his head with a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry for not giving you all the attention you deserve.”

Levi merely raised an eyebrow while Erwin said the trial exercises were over. And so the recruits were lined up again, some bandaged, some sweating, all tense.

Erwin said nothing for a long moment, then he nodded at Levi, who then spoke—sharp and decisive.

“Gunther. Olou. Eld. Petra.”

The four stepped forward, silent but visibly bracing under the weight of being chosen.

Levi’s eyes moved once more, looking at him. “Merlin.”

Gasps fluttered behind him. Even Petra blinked in surprise. Merlin simply stepped forward with a soft smile, face unreadable.

Levi glanced toward him, impassive. “You’re not squad yet. Not until you prove you don’t die when it matters.”

Merlin inclined his head. “Understood.”

He meant it. He wanted to prove himself. Not because of pride. Because something about this squad… about Levi… felt like a thread worth following.

A thread destined for something.

.

He was cleaning his blades in the shade when Hange found him.

Well—tackled him.

“MERLIN!” Hange shouted as they barreled into him, throwing their arms around his shoulders.

He managed not to fall backward, though it was a near thing. “...Hello, Hange.”

“You didn’t tell me you were auditioning for Levi’s squad! You traitor! You said you weren’t interested in brawny special ops stuff!”

“I didn’t audition. Erwin told everyone under no squad to come. Different thing,” he murmured, delicately extracting a speck of dust from his coat.

Hange pulled back just enough to beam at him.

“Well, I don’t care. I’m claiming you! You can’t disappear into Levi’s meat-grinder squad! Your mind needs stimulation, freedom! Your brilliance deserves air!”

Merlin chuckled. “You make me sound like a bird.”

“You are! A magical, beautiful, occasionally smug bird!”

He laughed, genuinely this time—but the noise caught as another figure approached.

Erwin.

Hange rounded on him without missing a beat.

“Erwin! I’m taking Merlin back. Levi’s got four! He doesn’t need five!”

Erwin didn’t flinch. “Levi didn’t choose him for brawn. He chose him because he doesn’t flinch.”

“Exactly! That’s why I need him!” Hange jabbed a finger. “Do you know how rare it is to find someone who actually reads all the Titan logs?! Who understands what I mean when I talk about spinal fluid migration?!”

Merlin cleared his throat. “In fairness, it’s fascinating.”

Erwin held up a hand. Calm. Measured. “Hange.”

She paused, nostrils flared.

Erwin looked at Merlin, then back at her.

“Would it help,” he said, “if I told you he isn’t leaving your research behind?”

Hange tilted their head.

“He’ll be in the field,” Erwin said. “He’ll see the Titans up close. He’ll be near Levi, yes—but he’ll be observing. Analyzing. Reporting.”

Hange squinted. “So you're saying—what?”

“He’s your lens on the front lines,” Erwin said. “Your mind, outside the walls.”

Silence.

Hange turned slowly to Merlin, eyes narrowing. “Did you plan this, you sneaky little bastard?”

“Would you believe me if I say no?” Merlin said lightly, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve.

“I don’t know.”

Chapter Text

The sky was gray and smelled faintly of rain by the time Levi gathered them again—this time not on a field of drills, but in the shaded courtyard behind HQ. The kind of place soldiers sat between missions, smoke curling from cigarettes, voices low from either exhaustion or caution.

They stood in a loose half-circle in an empty spot—dirt underfoot, a breeze tugging at their cloaks, the low hum of tension in the air. It wasn’t quite awkward, not yet. Just unfamiliar.

Levi stood in front of them with arms crossed, expression unreadable. His gaze swept over the group like he was cataloging weaknesses in a wall.

“You’ll be working together from now on,” he said without preamble. “Don’t get in each other’s way.”

No one spoke.

Levi jerked his chin toward a tall, serious-looking blond man with tired eyes and a soldier’s jawline. “Eld’s the oldest. He’s second in command when I’m not around. Listen to him. When I am around, you’ll listen to me.”

“Yes, sir,” Eld replied, already slipping into the role with practiced ease.

Merlin studied him with mild curiosity. Eld had the air of someone who carried responsibility well—capable, grounded. Trustworthy. He would do nicely.

Levi continued without ceremony.

“Gunther. Reliable. Efficient. Follows orders. Don’t make him babysit you.”

Gunther nodded, offering a polite smile to the group. Merlin returned it with a lazy one of his own.

“Petra,” Levi said. “Don’t underestimate her because she’s small. She’s faster than all of you.”

Petra gave a modest shrug, but her eyes flicked over everyone like she was sizing them up.

“And Oluo,” Levi finished, tone flat. “Don’t copy me.”

Oluo scowled. “I wasn’t going to.”

“You do it all the time.”

“I don’t—!”

“You’re doing it right now,” Petra muttered.

Merlin smiled quietly to himself, hands tucked into the small of his back.

Then Levi stepped back, arms still folded, and said simply, “Get to know each other. I’m not here to hold hands.”

With that, he stepped away—not far, just close enough to hear, but distant enough to avoid participating. He leaned against a low wall, arms folded again, watching with half-lidded eyes, close enough to supervise, far enough to pretend he wasn’t listening.

The group lingered in hesitant silence until Petra broke it.

“Well,” she said brightly, “might as well introduce ourselves properly.” She looked toward Merlin first. “You already know all of us and we know each other. But we don’t really know you.”

Merlin tilted his head, the breeze brushing pale strands across his cheek.

“Merlin,” he said with an easy smile. “No last name. Just the one. I’m nineteen. I like to learn new things, especially the ones that interest me, but I know I’m new here and haven’t killed any titans as of yet… so please take care of me.”

Oluo bristled, stepping forward slightly with crossed arms. “Tch. Don’t think being pretty’ll help you when you freeze up under a Titan’s gaze. I’ll be the one dragging your sorry ass out of danger. After all, I’ve killed more Titans than half this regiment.”

“Impressive,” Merlin said warmly, folding his arms behind his back. “I look forward to learning from you.”

Oluo blinked. “Y-Yeah, well… you’ll need me, alright? When you freeze up out there, don’t worry. I’ll cover you.”

Merlin tilted his head slightly. “How kind.”

“Thank you, Oluo,” he said, voice soft, lilting. “I’ll be counting on you.”

Oluo stiffened. “I-I mean, of course you—uh—yeah.”

Merlin didn’t stop smiling. Not his usual polite curve of the lips. Not the playful smirk he gave Hange. No—this smile was luminous. Slow. Disarming. Like silk wrapped around a blade, glowing faintly in the fading sun.

He upped the ante, enjoying how Oluo’s ears went red. His mouth opened and closed twice before he turned abruptly, muttering something about checking his boots.

Eld cleared his throat while Petra made a sound that might’ve been a cough or a faint squeak. Gunther chose to look away.

Merlin could even see how Levi’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“You’re… nineteen?” Petra asked, disbelieving it.

“Allegedly,” he said helpfully.

Eld cleared his throat. “Right. Okay. Uh… well. Good to have you, I guess.”

Merlin gave a theatrical bow, hair cascading over one shoulder. “The pleasure’s mine.”

Somewhere nearby, he caught the faintest snort. Levi, maybe. He didn’t turn to check, but he made his expression return to something more innocently curious. “So. Shall we get to know each other a bit better? I find teamwork functions best when personalities align.”

Petra laughed, still a little dazed. “You sound like Hange.”

“I consider that a compliment,” Merlin replied cheerfully.

With that, the introductions continued—more grounded now, with Petra gently steering them back to safe territory, Gunther asking about training routines, Eld trying to establish a schedule. But the flustered air lingered.

Merlin didn’t press it. He knew what he was. He didn’t wield charm like a weapon—at least not here, not yet—but it still worked. Still curled into their minds, left them disarmed.

It wasn’t seduction. Not really. It was presence. Intent.

And when he glanced sideways, he could feel Levi’s gaze. Sharp. Curious. Measuring.

Not flustered.

Interesting.

.

The sun had crested low behind the treetops, casting long shadows over the training field as they moved.

Rounds.

That’s what Levi called them. Not formations. Not simulations. Just rounds. Practice for maneuvering together as a unit. Maintaining spacing. Communication without words. Trust without sight.

They wore their ODM gear, but they weren’t flying. Not yet. This was all on foot—running as a team, weaving between obstacles, climbing terrain, working in tandem. Learning how not to get in each other’s way.

It’d been a few days since they had started, but Merlin couldn’t get over his surprise as he had never done anything quite like it.

They weren’t graceful at first.

Petra kept adjusting her stride to match Eld’s. Gunther misread Oluo’s pace twice and nearly tripped them both. Merlin… well, Merlin flowed too easily. His steps didn’t clomp the way the others’ did. He didn’t stomp so much as drift, dodging roots and uneven earth with too much elegance to blend in.

“Pick up your damn feet,” Levi snapped from ahead. “You’re not dancing. You’re flanking.”

Merlin adjusted without argument. His smile stayed, but his steps sharpened.

They repeated the path many times for four consecutive days.

By the fifth day, Petra and Eld were sync’d. Gunther started calling out breath-cues—little grunts and whistles they could match pace to. Oluo stopped looking back to check if anyone was behind him and focused forward.

And Merlin? He stopped floating and started running as part of them.

Levi watched everything. Always just far enough ahead to lead, close enough to bark a correction before someone could fall.

“Eld—straighter line. You’re wasting steps.”

“Gunther, use your left when you vault. Your right’s still bruised.”

“Merlin—” A pause. “Stop looking like you enjoy this.”

Merlin grinned. “But I do.”

Levi muttered something under his breath and kept walking.

.

When they finally paused at the edge of the field to catch their breath. The others clustered near a stack of gear to rehydrate, laughing quietly between panting gulps.

Merlin lingered off to the side, gaze drifting toward Levi—who stood at the perimeter, arms folded, posture like a blade sheathed but still sharp.

He hadn’t introduced himself. Not during the squad introductions or before before. Not now.

Merlin hadn’t missed that or the way Levi watched them during drills—not like a commander overseeing rookies, but like a man memorizing the shape of ghosts. Mapping new lives over old graves.

He hadn't missed the weight behind the words, either. Not one correction had been cruel. Only precise. Measured to push them to last. To live.

Merlin approached slowly, letting his presence be felt rather than announced.

“You don’t walk like someone who trusts easily,” he said softly.

Levi didn’t look at him. “That supposed to mean something?”

“No,” Merlin replied, folding his arms as he leaned against a post beside him. “Just an observation.”

They stood in silence. Wind rustled through the trees. Someone laughed—Petra, probably.

“They’ll get better,” Merlin added after a moment. “All of us. Together.”

Levi’s jaw ticked. “You’d better.”

Merlin turned his head slightly, watching him. “You didn’t introduce yourself.”

Levi’s eyes flicked toward him, sharp and brief. “Didn’t feel the need.”

Merlin shrugged lightly. “That’s fair.”

The silence stretched, filled with wind and the sound of distant laughter from the rest of the squad. The world beyond the trees was quiet. The kind of quiet that invited conversation—or interrogation.

Levi opted for something in between.

“You don’t sleep in the barracks.”

It wasn’t a question. Merlin tilted his head slightly, gaze still soft, but cautious now. “You’ve been watching.”

“You make it easy,” Levi said. “No one’s that quiet without trying.”

Merlin sighed, not quite heavily. “I don’t like walls.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “Try again.”

Merlin smiled faintly. “Alright. I prefer sleeping outside. There’s… something steady about the sky. I like the stars.”

Another pause. Levi’s gaze didn’t waver. Merlin didn’t lie, but he didn’t elaborate either, because the truth—the real truth—was messier.

That he didn’t sleep much at all. And when he did, dreams came. Shimmering, bleeding things. Fragments of futures that weren’t his, battles not yet fought, kings not yet crowned, Titans that wept in their own skin. Futures of fire and death and loneliness that cut too deep to be just echoes.

And when those dreams came, he couldn’t always keep his voice down.

So, he wandered, preferring to not sleep. It was not like he needed it, after all. So, he rested under the stars where only the wind could hear him.

“It’s easier to breathe out there,” he said instead, truth wrapped in poetry.

Levi made a small, unreadable noise. “Hmph.”

Another beat of silence.

“You stick to Hange a lot,” Levi said. “Most people don’t.”

Merlin chuckled at that. “That’s because most people don’t understand how brilliant they are.”

Levi gave him a look.

“They’re fascinating,” Merlin went on, eyes lighting up. “Wild, chaotic, constantly asking the wrong questions in exactly the right direction. Their mind moves like wildfire.” He paused, then added, more softly, “Not as fascinating as you, of course. But still—remarkable.”

That earned him a longer stare.

Merlin met it without flinching, his voice velvet-smooth. “I didn’t mean that as a flirt, by the way. Or maybe I did. Hard to say. But I meant it.”

Levi didn’t blink. “You think everyone’s fascinating.”

“No,” Merlin said simply. “Most people bore me.”

A flicker. Not quite surprise—but interest. Levi leaned back slightly against the post, arms still folded.

“You’re strange.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“You’re too graceful to be from around here.”

“I’ve been called that too.”

Levi tilted his head. “Where are you from?”

Merlin hesitated—but only for a second.

“In a really faraway place,” he said, and let the truth of it sit between them.

He watched Levi absorb that—not dismiss it, not mock it. Just accept it the way a soldier accepts a wound: noted, not ignored.

“You’re not a soldier,” Levi said at last.

Merlin smiled, slower now. “I’m learning.”

Levi didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes dropped—briefly—to Merlin’s hands. Long fingers, lightly calloused, not quite right for ODM controls. Made for something older. Something else.

And yet—here Merlin was. Running, not quite sweating, training beside them. Not once asking for special treatment. Not once stepping back.

“Why join us?” Levi asked.

Merlin’s voice lowered. “I was curious about the titans and wanted to see what kind of world needed walls this high just to hide from them.”

That made Levi pause.

Merlin looked away, gaze tilting toward the darkening sky. “And because I wanted to find the ones who’d still choose to fight, even when the world said not to.”

Silence again. He didn’t expect praise. Levi wasn’t the type. But when he looked back, Levi was still there. Still watching and somehow, still listening.

Merlin smiled, more to himself this time. “You’ve asked a lot of questions. Want to trade?”

Levi quirked a brow. “What, you gonna ask me how I sleep?”

“I already know that,” Merlin murmured. “Not well.”

He didn’t say why he knew. That sometimes in the very edge of dreams, when his magic trembled loose, he could sense the coil of grief of other’s dreams, like Levi’s which hit his chest like a blade that never stopped twisting. He didn’t say how often he heard the name of people that no longer breathed, whispered in the dark.

Instead, he just smiled again. “But no. I was going to ask for your favorite tea.”

Levi stared. “…Tch. Black. Unsweetened. No leaves left floating in it.”

Merlin’s grin widened. “How very on-brand.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious. You just saved me from a faux pas next time I brew a cup.”

Levi looked at him for a long moment. Then he tsked. “As if you know how to brew.”

Merlin tilted his head. “Of course, I do. What kind of person would I be if I couldn’t make tea?”

Levi didn’t move for a few seconds, like he was considering him. Then he pushed off the post, stepping back toward the field without another word.

Merlin let him go, but as he turned to rejoin the squad, he caught Levi’s voice—low, almost lost in the wind. “I always drink before sleeping at night. Bring the tea.”

Merlin smiled, slow and bright, eyes twinkling as he murmured to himself, “Yes, Captain.”

Chapter Text

Night settled like a sigh over the compound. Clouds hung low, veiling the moon in gauze, and the wind carried the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke.

Levi’s office was exactly what Merlin expected—and somehow, even more so.

No clutter. No personal effects. No unnecessary color. Just a desk worn smooth by time and use, papers arranged with military precision, and shelves lined with neatly stacked reports, every spine aligned like soldiers at attention.

The room was small, square, and spare. Walls bare save for one small window cracked open to the night, letting in the scent of distant rain and the whisper of cold air. The breeze stirred the corner of a map pinned on the wall—its edges curled slightly, the only sign of wear in the room.

There was only one chair behind the desk, another in the corner, unused.

No knick-knacks. No books half-read. Not even a coat rack—Levi likely carried everything with him or left it folded where it belonged.

It wasn’t impersonal. Just… disciplined. Like the man who occupied it.

Even the air felt taut—like it had been scrubbed clean along with the floor, and expected anyone who entered to behave accordingly.

Merlin stepped in slowly, letting the stillness settle around him. He took in the space with quiet interest, eyes tracing the sharp edges of order and restraint.

Levi was already seated behind the desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, pen poised above a document. He didn’t look up. “You’re late.”

Merlin smiled. “Only fashionably.”

Levi’s gaze flicked up then, quick and cutting. “Don’t bring fashion into my office.”

Merlin lifted the tray in his hands slightly. “Then allow me to distract you with something else entirely.”

Steam curled from the teapot like a breath held too long.

Levi blinked once, and finally—finally—set the pen down.“Don’t spill,” Levi said dryly from where he sat near the window, boots off, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow.

“I’ve brewed tea in thunderstorms,” Merlin replied, entirely too pleased with himself. “I think I can handle hardwood floors.”

Levi didn’t answer, but his gaze tracked the motion as Merlin set the tray down on a low table, movements precise. Graceful. He poured without hesitation, steam curling like ghost-breath through the air.

The smell hit Levi first.

Not bitter. Not burnt.

Clean, strong and refined.

Levi narrowed his eyes slightly. “You used real leaves.”

“From Hange’s stash,” Merlin said cheerfully. “Don’t tell them.”

Levi took a cautious sip.

Then another, slower. “…Damn.”

Merlin smirked, sitting cross-legged across from him. “I was raised in a place where tea was sacred, you know. Tea is in my blood.”

Levi muttered something ineloquent and took another sip.

For a while, they drank in silence. The kind that didn’t ask for words. That made room for thought.

Then, Levi spoke. “You always this good at making people feel like they’re not good enough?”

Merlin chuckled. “I thought that was your job.”

Levi didn’t smile, but he didn’t frown either. He nodded toward the teacup. “You do this with Hange too?”

“Sometimes,” Merlin said, tilting his head. “But they get distracted halfway through and start trying to invent steam-powered kettles. It’s endearing.”

A pause. Then, Levi said softly, “Speaking of. What’ve you two been working on?”

Merlin blinked. Levi sounded almost… casual. But his eyes gave him away. Sharp, focused, not looking for gossip—looking for understanding.

Merlin swirled his tea absently, watching the way the leaves clung to the edges. “Well, for Hange? Not much yet. Titan behavioral patterns. Some anatomy analysis. The occasional illegal experiment with spinal fluid.We haven't gotten very far.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Hange always talks like they’re about to discover something world-ending.”

“They might,” Merlin said with a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Though I’ve mostly been listening. Thinking. The Titans…” He paused, swirling his tea slowly. “They don’t feel like monsters. Not to me.”

Levi gave him a look, but Merlin kept going, voice soft.

“They feel like… echoes. Like people stretched too thin, wrapped in skin that no longer fits. Full of something that used to be grief, maybe. Or resentment. And now it’s just… resignation.”

A beat of silence.

“That’s weird.” Levi’s gaze sharpened. “You always feel things like that?”

Merlin looked up at him, almost amused. “You say that like I go around reading hearts like open books.”

Levi didn’t smile. “Don’t you?”

Merlin shrugged, more honest now. “I’ve always been good at reading people. Knowing what they think. Sometimes even before they do.”

He took another sip of tea, gaze drifting briefly toward the window. “It’s a skill. Or a curse. Hard to tell. But what I can tell is that the titans and normal people, they’re all connected somehow.”

Silence. Then Levi’s voice, flat but curious: “You think we’re all connected?”

“I know they are,” Merlin said. “I just don’t understand how.”

Another pause.

“Except you,” Merlin added.

Levi looked up sharply. Merlin’s voice softened. “You’re not like the others. I can’t see your path. Can’t feel you the same way.”

Levi stared at him for a long time, unreadable. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin admitted. “But it’s like the Titans can’t touch you. Like you’re… cut from them. Or outside of what binds the rest.”

Levi set his tea down with practiced calm. “You’re saying I’m not human?”

Merlin’s expression warmed. “I’m saying you’re something else. Stronger. Not just in body. In… separation.”

Levi didn’t move. Then, slowly: “You’re strong too.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Of course I am. Have you seen me?”

Levi rolled his eyes.

“I meant,” he said, tone dry, “you fight like someone who’s lived longer than you should’ve. Don’t panic. Don’t shake. So, why?”

Merlin looked at him over the rim of his cup, eyes gleaming.

“I know why I’m like this,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “But I’m not telling you.”

He stuck out his tongue, and Levi blinked. Then, slowly, so slowly—smirked. “Brat.”

“Compliment accepted,” he said cheerfully, but Levi was still watching him—carefully. Not with suspicion, exactly. But with a growing sense of someone trying to see the shape of a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

Then, after a long pause, he said quietly, “You said that you’re good at reading people, so what about me? What do you read from me?”

Merlin met his eyes, unflinching. His voice gentled.

“You’re still covered in grief, so it’s hard to get a glimpse of your personality,” he said. “Not the fresh kind. The kind that settled deep. Like ash you can’t shake off.”

Levi’s posture didn’t change, but the silence around him did.

Merlin looked down at the rim of his cup. “Your last squad… I don’t know them. But if they were anything like the one you have now—they followed you without regret.”

He glanced up again, expression calm, but steady. “You inspire that in people. Even if you don’t mean to. Even if you barely speak.”

Levi looked away.

The pause was too long to be comfortable. Then, abruptly, he shifted the conversation. “You told Hange all about the theories you’ve got?”

Merlin blinked. “No. I don’t want to influence them too much.”

Levi raised a brow. “Hange’s not exactly easy to influence.”

“That’s why it matters when it happens.”

He finished the last of his tea, slow and elegant. “Their mind needs to run free. If I give them too much, they might start chasing my conclusions instead of their own. That would be a loss.”

Levi studied him for a moment longer, like he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or suspicious.

Then, quietly, he stood and reached for the empty cups. “Tea’s good.”

Merlin grinned. “Told you.”

Levi gave him a flat look. “You talk too much.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

“Tch.”

Merlin rose too, gathering the tray. “Same time tomorrow?”

Levi didn’t answer. But when Merlin reached the door, a soft voice behind him said, “Be on time tomorrow.”

Merlin smiled as he stepped out into the night. “Yes, Captain.”

The door shut with a soft click behind him, and the hallway beyond Levi’s office was hushed—lit only by moonlight pooling through high windows. Merlin stood still for a moment, tray in hand, his reflection faint in the glass. Then he let out a long, silent breath and began walking, boots light on the stone.

He didn’t hum, didn’t smile. Not now. Levi had asked the right questions, and Merlin had answered just enough. Not everything, though. Not yet.

Because what he hadn’t told Levi was what he’d discovered alone, during the nights Hange didn’t notice his absence. During the hours he wandered, hands pressed to the earth, to the bark of trees near the outer walls, to the blood-soaked soil where Titans had fallen.

What Hange’s notes couldn’t say—what diagrams and charts couldn’t touch—his magic could. Because Merlin didn’t guess they were once human. He knew. He could feel it in them—still, even now. That faint pulse of life. Buried beneath rage and hunger, beneath muscle and madness, was something human.

Not emotion. Not memory. Something older.

And they were all connected.

Not just the Titans. Everyone.

Sometimes, when the wind was right and his magic reached deep enough, Merlin could see the threads—silver paths stretched like gossamer between souls. Not visible to the eye, but there. Woven like veins through the earth and sky.

And once—just once—he had seen the tree. A massive, living shape of light and shadow. Branches spiraling through the sky, roots threading through the ground like veins through a heart. And at the base of it all, among the roots… A little girl. Pale. Silent. Sad.

She had looked at him with eyes that knew too much and hadn’t spoken, hadn’t moved. But Merlin had felt it. Her grief, patience, and loneliness. And something like eternity.

He didn’t know what she was. Or who. But he knew this: the Titans weren’t random. They weren’t monsters birthed from nothing. They were the result of something old. Something bound into the lives of every person within these walls.

Every person except one.

Levi.

Merlin had tried to follow Levi’s thread once, out of curiosity. But there was none. No cord. No path. No place for the Titan-spark to latch onto. It was like Levi stood outside the tree. Separate from the roots, untouched, unaffected and unclaimed.

He didn’t know what that meant yet. But it made Merlin’s skin prickle in the most curious way. He had seen many strange things since waking in this world. But nothing quite like Levi. And perhaps that was why he hadn’t told him everything. Not yet.

Because once you told someone the truth, you couldn’t take it back and Merlin had already made that mistake once, in another life, with another king. So now, as he stepped out into the courtyard and lifted his eyes to the gray-streaked sky, he held the secrets close.

The threads, the tree, the girl. The grief.

He carried them like he carried everything: lightly, carefully, as if they might slip between his fingers if he let them weigh too much. But someday, Levi would know. Maybe when the tree began to move again. Maybe when the paths started to burn. But not yet.

For now, Merlin simply walked into the quiet night and let the stars watch over him.

Chapter Text

Time passed quietly in the days that followed. Not slow, exactly. Just soft and measured. Like the pause before a breath or the quiet hum of a bowstring just before it's drawn.

Mornings were for training.

Merlin learned the language of footfalls and breath patterns, of Petra's rhythm and Eld's timing, of Gunther's steady pacing and Oluo's loud but oddly precise charges. He stopped gliding and started moving with them—no longer a ribbon drifting through drills, but a thread woven into their pattern.

Sometimes they cursed. Sometimes they laughed. Sometimes they grumbled about his smile. But they moved as one, and that was what mattered.

Afternoons were spent with Hange.

Experiments. Notes. Observations. Endless theories scribbled in shorthand across walls and windows, half of them impractical and the other half borderline illegal.

Merlin contributed in small ways—adjusting measurements, offering stabilizing magic through subtle touch, drawing schematics that shouldn't have been anatomically possible and yet were.

He kept his real insights to himself. But Hange knew he saw more than he said. Maybe that's why they always looked at him sideways when things got too quiet.

And nights… nights were Levi's.

Some evenings they talked of battle formations. Of books neither of them admitted to reading. Of the way the wind moved differently near the walls.

Other nights, they said nothing at all. Just tea poured without flourish. Silence passed like a shared thought. Occasionally, Merlin would hum something wordless and low, and Levi would not tell him to stop.

It was a strange kind of peace. A fragile one. But Merlin cherished it.

Because tomorrow, it would end.

.

His fingers trailed along the collar of his uniform as he stood near the window in his quarters, cloak already folded and strapped atop his pack. He could hear the others moving in the halls—Petra's soft footsteps, Gunther's voice murmuring logistics with Eld. The clink of gear being double-checked. The scratch of Oluo sharpening his blades.

Tomorrow, they would ride beyond the walls. Through Trost, as always. Out into the wild where Titans roamed—unbound, unknowable, and hungry.

It wouldn't be a full-scale sweep. Not yet. A scouting formation only, with a primary objective: information. Maybe even a capture, if the opportunity arose. But the underlying purpose had been clear from the moment the expedition was approved.

They needed to know more about what had changed outside. What hadn't and what the Titans were doing now—and what they weren't.

Merlin's hand drifted to the edge of his window frame, fingers brushing against the wood.

He'd waited for this. To step into the unknown. To feel the breath of the world not filtered through stone and safety.

But now that it was here, he found himself still… Not afraid, just aware.

Aware of how easily peace could unravel. How quickly silence could become screams. How the path ahead was not paved in prophecy, but in blood.

His reflection stared back at him in the glass—half-shadowed, half-light and he smiled faintly before returning to finish packing his gear.

.

The door creaked open without a knock or flourish—just the soft sound of hinges and the faintest sigh of night air as Merlin stepped inside, balancing the familiar tea tray with one hand.

Levi looked up from where he sat, hunched slightly over the edge of his desk—not doing paperwork for once, but tending to his blades. A cloth in one hand, oil in the other. The dull sheen of metal caught the lantern light, gleaming sharp as a whisper.

He didn't greet Merlin with words. Just a glance, a twitch of the brow, and that assessing silence he wore like armor.

"You're early," Levi said, setting the cloth down with precision.

Merlin smiled, shutting the door behind him with a gentle push of his foot. "You say that like you weren't expecting me."

"I expected you," Levi said, reaching for the second blade. "Didn't expect you to be on time."

"Improving, aren't I?"

Levi didn't dignify that with an answer.

Merlin set the tray on the table between them and poured the tea without ceremony. The scent filled the small room—earthy, warm, laced with a subtle sweetness that curled around the edges of steel and shadow.

Levi didn't reach for his cup immediately.

"Not nervous?" he asked, gaze flicking up from his blade.

Merlin paused mid-pour, his expression soft but steady. "Excited, actually."

That earned him a quiet scoff.

"Really?" Levi said, skeptical.

"Yes," Merlin replied as he handed over the tea. Then, a beat later, more quietly, "And a bit melancholic."

Levi took the cup but didn't drink. He watched him instead, unmoving.

"I don't want to lose anyone," Merlin added. It was honest. Bare, even. The kind of thing most soldiers didn't say aloud.

Levi's fingers tightened slightly around the teacup. His expression didn't shift, but something in his shoulders pulled tighter.

"That'll be hard," he said at last, voice low. "Even with Erwin's strategies."

He didn't say what he didn't need to, how it'd been a long time since they had no casualties.

Merlin didn't answer right away. He just sat beside the tray, one hand resting on his knee, the other wrapped loosely around his cup. He wouldn't say it—not here, not now—but he'd prepared what he could. Spells tucked behind gestures. Symbols woven into the seams of cloaks. Quiet magics for clarity. For resilience. Not to turn the tide—but to steady it.

He'd make sure their hands didn't shake. That their eyes didn't cloud with fear.

That when the Titans came, they would move together.

"It'll have to be enough," he said softly, not looking at Levi.

Another silence passed. It wasn't cold, but shared.

Levi set his blade down, finally lifting the cup to his lips. "You're usually not an optimist."

Merlin smiled faintly. "No. But today I want to be just… hopeful."

"Tch." Levi sipped. "Same thing."

They drank. Outside, wind whispered against the windowpane, and somewhere in the distance, the faint clatter of boots echoed through the stone halls as the final preparations for morning continued.

But in here, between steel and steam, it was quiet. The tea had long since been poured and it took Levi no time for his blades to be clean and set aside, resting like loyal hounds at his feet. They sat in the quiet again in front of each other, close but not close enough to touch, cups in hand, moonlight softening the corners of the room.

Merlin exhaled slowly, comfortably. "You missed it today—Oluo tripped over Gunther's cloak mid-drill and tried to pass it off like he meant to roll. Petra almost fell laughing."

Levi grunted. "Sounds about right."

"And Eld?" Merlin grinned. "Turns out he's a surprisingly decent singer when he thinks no one's listening."

"Doubt it."

"No, really. Mid-cleanup. I think it was a lullaby. His voice cracked on the high note, but it was strangely soothing."

Levi didn't respond immediately—but his mouth twitched. Barely.

Merlin pressed on, a little smug. "You would've liked it. Hange didn't. They were too busy nearly blowing up a table trying to test Titan spinal fluid on—get this—rats."

Levi finally snorted. "Of course they did."

"And then blamed the rats for 'not being spiritually ready.'"

That earned him a low sound that was not quite a laugh—but not a dismissal either. More like a cough trying to cover amusement.

Merlin's eyes lit up. "Levi."

"What."

"Did you just chuckle?"

Levi narrowed his eyes. "No."

"You did."

"Didn't."

"You so did."

"I didn't. Shut up."

But his voice had the faintest rasp of amusement curling under it, and Merlin beamed at him—bright, delighted, real. Levi looked at him, immediately scowled, and glanced away with a muttered curse. But Merlin didn't stop smiling, especially not when he noticed it—the smallest flush of pink blooming at the tips of Levi's ears.

Oh.

His gaze lingered. Not to tease. Not this time.

Just to look. To observe this rare moment of softness in a man made of edges.

And that's when the thought hit him: He was an incubus. Or at least, the original Merlin had been. Something ancient. Half-dream, half-desire, meant to charm and entice and hold people's hearts like spun sugar. But this Merlin—this version, in this world—had never once felt that hunger.

Not the kind that whispered of skin and breath and the press of mouths in the dark. He never burned for it and never needed it. And he had always assumed it meant something was broken in him or missing.

Maybe he wasn't really an incubus like the original Merlin, but just a pale echo. Half-born. Half-false.

But now as he looked at Levi. At his glower and at the way he sipped his tea too quickly to hide the red in his ears. At the silence that still felt whole between them. 

For the first time, he felt something stir. Not lust, or hunger, not quite. But warmth. A quiet pull beneath his ribs. A hum in his chest. Not sharp, but persistent. A need not to touch, but to be close and to be known.

To be allowed to stay.

It was so small. So simple and yet it ached.

He looked down at his cup, thoughtful. Then back up at Levi, who still wasn't meeting his eyes.

Merlin smiled again—but this one was softer. Not teasing. Not charming.

Just… honest.

"I'm glad I came tonight," he said quietly.

Levi blinked, finally looking at him.

Merlin tilted his head. "You don't have to say it back."

Levi stared for a moment. Then gave a single, barely perceptible nod and that was enough. The quiet between them stretched again—comfortable now, like worn fabric. Merlin took another sip of tea, warmth steady in his chest, though the affection from earlier still hummed beneath his skin like a melody without words.

He glanced sideways, gaze lingering, and before he could think better of it, he blurted out, "You're really handsome, you know."

The words dropped into the space between them like a pebble in still water.

Levi blinked.

Merlin froze.

Oh no.

"I mean—not in a shallow way!" Merlin blurted, already waving one hand vaguely through the air like he could erase the syllables. "More like… structurally. You're symmetrical. Very clean features. Aesthetically striking."

Levi's eyebrows rose—slowly.

"And commanding," Merlin added quickly, panic rising as his mouth absolutely refused to shut. "It's not just your face. You've got presence. Charisma. The whole unreadable-glare-and-silent-death thing."

Levi was staring at him now. Not saying a word. Just letting him dig as Merlin's voice kept tumbling forward like a cart down a hill.

"Which explains why people follow you. I mean, look at Eld, Gunther, Petra—Oluo, goes to the extremes, but yeah. You command loyalty, and that's… rare. And I don't follow people easily. I'm—well, I'm very hard to impress."

His tea was long abandoned now, hands gesturing vaguely as he tried—tried—to claw his dignity back from the void.

"So when I say you're charming, I don't mean romantically—necessarily—I mean existentially. Spiritually. As a concept. You're very conceptually attractive."

Silence. Then, a low chuckle. Not hidden. Not stifled. Just there.

Levi laughed not for long and not loud, but it was real.

Merlin stopped mid-sentence, mouth slightly open as Levi set his cup down, one hand over his mouth for a moment as if trying to rein it in. The corners of his eyes crinkled just slightly. His ears were still rosy.

Merlin stared, stunned. "Are you—are you laughing at me?"

Levi wiped a thumb under his eye and exhaled, voice warm with dry amusement. "Nice to see you act like a normal human for once."

Merlin huffed, standing with as much dignity as he could muster—though the flush on his cheeks had reached full bloom. "Nice to know you can laugh at my expense."

He crossed his arms, trying very hard not to grin.

Levi leaned back in his chair, still faintly smirking. "You do most of the work for me."

Merlin squinted at him. "I'll have you know I was doing just fine with my mysterious persona before this moment."

Levi's brow lifted. "That's what you're calling it?"

"Absolutely."

They stared at each other for a beat. And then—quiet, reluctant—Merlin smiled again. But this time, it wasn't dazzling or crafted. It was just real. Still flushed and flustered, but real.

"Goodnight, Captain," he said softly, voice lighter now. "Try not to miss me too much while I'm dreaming of the outside world."

Levi sipped the last of his tea, voice smooth. "Don't get eaten."

Merlin smirked. "Not planning on it."

And as he stepped toward the door—face still warm, but heart steadier—he thought, not for the first time, that Levi might just be the most dangerous kind of charm.

The kind you don't see creeping up on you… until it's too late.

Chapter Text

Merlin lay stretched upon the cool grass outside the barracks, just beyond the reach of the torches that flickered along the perimeter. The night wrapped around him like a velvet curtain, thick with the scent of dew and earth. Blades of grass brushed against his cloak and curled into his hair like fingers trying to hold him to the ground. The sky above stretched endlessly, studded with stars—quiet watchers he trusted more than most men.

His hands folded loosely over his stomach, and his staff rested beside him, glinting faintly in the moonlight. He hadn't bothered with a blanket. He didn't feel the cold. What he feared wasn't the night air, but the act of surrendering to sleep itself.

Sleep always came with hesitation.

He didn't like the moment before it—the empty pause when his body gave in and his mind opened, vulnerable, receptive. That's when the dreams crept in. When the walls between past, future, and present wore thin. Sometimes the dreams whispered. Other times they screamed.

But he needed them now as his first expedition beyond the Walls began at dawn. He needed any advantage he could get. So he stared at the sky for a long moment, breath shallow, dread curled in the pit of his stomach like a snake uncoiling. And then he let go.

"Come on," he whispered to the stars. "Just a little peek. I'd rather not walk into the unknown without a cheat sheet."

His eyes drifted closed. His breathing slowed. The wind passed over him like a hand brushing a fevered brow.

And the world slipped away. The next moment, he stood alone in a field of pale grass that shimmered like frost in the moonlight, though there was no moon above—only a sky threaded with glowing veins of light. They pulsed like heartbeats, casting silver reflections onto the grass and painting everything in hues not found in waking hours. The sky was alive, streaked with upside-down roots—threads of fate—linking soul to soul across the invisible fabric of consequence.

He walked forward, boots soundless on the ground.

Petals floated on the air like falling ash. The threads above him thrummed, and the field bent and shifted. Trees emerged from the haze, skeletal and bare. A clearing formed.

Then—movement.

Two shapes on the horizon, blurred by distance but pulsing with weight. They didn't just walk—they pressed against the world itself.

One moved in a crooked lurch, limbs flailing with no rhythm, but still agile. The other ran—with intent, with a speed that didn't belong in something so large. It moved like hunger given shape.

Merlin turned, scanning the air. No death. Not yet.

The others would come—smaller, dumber. But predictable. Survivable.

These two… they were the ones to watch.

The threads above him began to dim, one by one, as the vision began to unravel. But before it ended, he saw the massive tree, with thousands of lights across their leaves engulfing the sky. The air was dry like the ground beneath him.

Then he saw a girl playing with the sand, creating something from it, something familiar. He wanted to approach and ask her what was she doing and why she looked so sad and lonely, but then the horns sounded and woke him up.

No cold sweat. No lingering dread. Just… relief. Not for the girl, but because there were only two abnormal in this expedition, and he now knew their shape now.

It would be enough.

He ran to his room and dressed quickly, movements light and purposeful. His gear clicked into place with smooth familiarity, his cloak drawn over his shoulders like a promise. The staff—his real weapon—remained invisible for now. It pulsed beneath his skin, waiting to manifest, should the need arise.

It wouldn't, probably.

He found his squad already assembling in the yard, yawns and chatter filling the crisp morning air. Gunther adjusted his straps. Petra muttered about Oluo being late. Eld ran a hand through his hair for the third time in two minutes.

Merlin greeted each of them with ease.

He stopped only once—just outside the stables, where Hange stood cross-armed, hair wild as ever, eyes tired but sharp.

"You're really going," they said.

Merlin nodded, smiling. "I'll come back with stories."

"You better come back with samples."

"I'll try not to bring you a Titan head. They're heavy."

Hange narrowed their eyes. "Bring the spinal fluid."

He laughed and leaned in to hug them—brief but sincere. "Don't blow anything up while I'm gone."

"No promises."

Then it was time. Soon, they mounted up and went out of the HQ. And as the world stretched out in front of them—green and gold and wide—Merlin exhaled slowly, letting the wind tug at his cloak. And then he smiled a real smile. No performance. No charm. Just quiet joy.

Because he was ready.

Even if the others turned to give him strange looks for grinning like someone heading to a picnic instead of potential death, he didn't mind.

He was walking into the wild.

And for the first time in a long while, he belonged.

.

The gates of Trost groaned open with the sound of iron surrendering to purpose.

Beyond them, the world stretched wide—no longer the safety of stone and soot, but an ocean of wind and grass and silence far too loud.

Merlin rode near the center of Levi's formation, cloak rippling behind him, his expression quiet. Gone was the playful glint in his eyes, the teasing smile he wore in training. In its place was something steadier—measured. Focused.

The others felt it too.

The older Survey Corps members rode with their jaws tight, hands already close to their gear, scanning the horizon with practiced dread. No chatter. No bravado. Just grim familiarity. He could feel it in them—the pressure beneath the skin. Not fear, exactly. More like readiness sharpened by memory.

They had all been out here before. Most had lost someone.

Merlin straightened in his saddle, letting some of that quiet gravity settle into his bones. His gaze swept the trees and the movement of clouds like they might whisper warnings.

"My squad," Levi's voice came low and clipped from a gallop, "will be on Capture Objective Alpha. The other senior officers will signal if they spot a small one. Our route runs parallel to Formation East—intercept if needed."

Eld gave a silent nod, then turned his horse with effortless control, signaling the others to follow him as they split from the main body with practiced ease, cutting across a patch of light forest. Petra rode at his left, Eld ahead, Gunther and Oluo flanking. Merlin fell in just behind Levi as this was his first expedition, watching the Captain's back like a shadow waiting to unfurl.

Their objective was simple in words, difficult in execution: capture a small Titan.

And for Merlin—extract clean spinal fluid samples from at least two others.

The first hour passed in silence save for hoofbeats and the occasional birdcall. The fields rustled with the late summer wind. No sign of Titans.

The second hour brought motion as the first Titan emerged from behind a collapsed barn—seven meters, dull-eyed, shuffling slow. Too big and with no capture value.

Levi didn't speak. He just moved. Steel hissed, lines fired, and within seconds, the creature hit the ground with its nape carved open like paper. Clean and precise.

The second came minutes later—fast, lunging. Petra lured it forward, and Merlin moved with an agility he hadn't shown them this outside training. The way he twisted mid-air like ribbon. The smooth arc of his descent. The grace that turned death into art.

He landed lightly, two blades buried in the Titan's neck before it even finished roaring. The body dropped. Steam hissed.

Gunther let out a low whistle. "Show-off."

Merlin just smiled faintly, wiping a speck of blood from his glove, blood that was already smoking as it disintegrated. No abnormalities yet. No sign of a capture target.

But the calm wouldn't last—it never did. Still, for now, the squad moved together—fluid, tight, confident. And Merlin, from the edge of his senses, could feel something stirring on the horizon.

.

After five hours, deep into Titan territory, the wind suddenly shifted as they crossed the hill—soft, but heavy with the scent of plants and earth.

Merlin's fingers twitched on his reins.

They were moving through a clearing now, overgrown with weed and the broken remains of stone fences. Nothing too remarkable—at least not to the others. But he knew this place. He'd seen it before—half-sunken into the blur of a dream. The roots of a crooked, fallen tree next to some weirdly formed rocks on flattened earth where something too large had rolled through. 

There was an eerie stillness, like the world itself was holding its breath as he felt a thread pulled tight in his chest.

"Slow up," he said quietly, guiding his horse closer to Petra. "We've passed through here already, haven't we?"

Petra glanced at him. "What? No—first time through this sector."

Merlin frowned.

Then the Titan stepped into view. It wasn't huge. Not by Survey standards. Maybe six meters, with a slack jaw and vacant eyes. Its limbs hung loosely with a clumsy gait.

Gunther exhaled. "Looks standard."

Eld nodded. "Might be our target."

The horses shifted nervously. Petra reached for her gear.

Merlin's heart snapped into place.

"Don't." His voice was sudden, sharp. Unmistakable.

Everyone froze.

"It's an abnormal," he said firmly, staring at the creature. "It's faking."

Oluo scoffed. "What? It's barely moving—"

And then it moved faster than any of them expected. The Titan dropped to its hands and charged, its joints bending wrong, like a marionette being yanked by a cruel hand. Dust exploded behind it. Petra cursed, yanking her horse out of the way.

Levi barked, "Scatter—!"

But Merlin was already gone. His ODM lines fired like lightning while his cloak whipped behind him as he twisted through the air, sailing in a perfect arc to intercept. His eyes tracked every twitch, every shift of the Titan's shoulders. It was going for the horses—no, the center—trying to split them apart.

He moved faster, and the wind screamed past him. He flipped, blades drawn, and in one clean motion, slashed through the nape before it could lunge again.

The Titan hit the dirt, skidding with a long, wet crunch.

Steam hissed and, for a moment, no one spoke.

Then Petra exhaled. "Shit."

Gunther muttered, "He called it. He actually called it."

Oluo rubbed the back of his neck. "How the hell did you know?"

Merlin landed lightly, cloak fluttering, blades still humming in his hands. He didn't gloat. Just turned to face them with a faint smile.

"I told you," he said, "I'm good at reading people."

"Titans are not people," Oluo muttered and before anyone could ask again, Levi rode past them, eyes on the corpse, but his voice cutting through the aftermath like a thrown knife.

"So this is what you meant," he said without looking, "when you said you could read Titans too?"

Merlin tilted his head, meeting Levi's gaze just long enough to smile—cool, unreadable.

He shrugged. "Something like that."

Levi tched and kept riding.

But Merlin saw it—the faintest shift of approval in his posture. And behind him, the squad was watching him a little differently now, no longer just the graceful recruit with too-pretty smiles, but something else. Something useful.

He sheathed his blades and walked back toward his horse, quiet satisfaction threading through his chest like silk.

One down.

.

Two hours later, the sun was well past its peak when the signal flared from the southern tree line. Three green bursts—arched high into the sky.

"Titan located. Small. Slow. Possible capture target."

Levi's squad was already moving.

The terrain sloped downward into a narrow clearing surrounded by uneven rocks and scattered debris—good for containment. Bad for horses. The rest of the support team was already working, maneuvering carts and anchor gear into place.

Merlin stayed near the back as they rode in, his eyes half-lidded, his breath even. But inside, he was listening, not to voices, but to threads.

He could feel the spell-threads he'd woven into the cloaks of those in the Survey Corps—the smallest enchantments. No one noticed. They weren't meant to. But each strand shimmered faintly with magic tuned to perception, reaction, courage.

Little boosts. Not enough to change fate, but enough to shift it. A soldier too frozen to move might find their legs working again. A hand that trembled on the blade might suddenly steady. The Titan they aimed to capture loomed ahead—barely four meters. Small. Thin. Its mouth opened and closed uselessly, twitching like a puppet with no strings. Its head turned slowly, eyes cloudy.

"Good," Levi said. "Petra, Eld—flank left. Gunther, Oluo—block the fallback line."

Merlin stayed center, watching not the Titan, but the people.

A scout nearby fumbled with his gear. Merlin brushed his fingers over the reins once—and the shimmer at the edge of his spell deepened. The soldier's hands stilled. Focus returned. Another near the rocks was breathing too fast. Merlin whispered a word under his breath—Breathe.—and his charm pulsed gently.

None of it was visible. Only Merlin's faint shift in expression—slightly unfocused. Eyes flicking without anchoring.

Levi noticed, but didn't say anything. Not when the net guns fired, nor when the small Titan roared and thrashed against the anchors. Or even when Petra dodged with a breath to spare, or when Eld's blade bit into the creature's ankle to weaken it without killing.

But then Gunther swerved wrong. A piece of broken terrain caught his horse's hoof, throwing the beast off-balance. Gunther jerked sideways, blade drawn too late, body tilting dangerously toward the Titan's reach.

And Merlin moved, not his body, but his will. A whisper in the fabric of reality. A tug. And something stopped the Titan's hand inches before it could grab Gunther.

Nothing visible, of course. There wasn't light or flash. But Gunther twisted back upright, regained balance, galloped on without ever knowing.

Only Levi saw, his eyes snapping to Merlin—still mounted, still calm, though his brow creased with quiet strain. He hadn't moved. But something about him had.

Levi didn't speak, but his grip on the reins tightened.

The Titan was secured moments later—pinned and netted, thrashing harmlessly against reinforced anchors as the other squads cheered and quickly began the binding procedures.

The danger was over, but Levi's eyes didn't leave Merlin for a long time. He didn't say anything, though. Not yet. But he would.

Merlin felt it, even before he turned and met Levi's gaze. However, he just smiled in response, calm and unreadable.

And Levi—without breaking eye contact—tched.

Chapter Text

The forest had grown thicker around them—shadows tangled in roots, light trickling down through a canopy that swallowed the horizon. It was harder now to see far ahead. Harder to plan three steps in advance.

But Merlin felt everything. Not physically, but magically. He had clairvoyance, after all. Even if it wasn't as overpowered as he thought it would be.

Dozens of shimmering threads extended from him like silk—each woven into the cloaks of soldiers spread across the outer squad formations. Some near. Some far. Each pulsing faintly with his energy.

It had been fine, earlier.

But now… with every mile deeper into Titan territory… it was beginning to tug.

He rode with a calm expression, posture relaxed, but his focus was fractured—split between his horse, his balance, the forest, the wind, the faint screams of a soldier in the distance, and the way his spell pulled harder when a flare went up in the sky.

Yellow-black.

A call for assistance; the other abnormal must have been sighted.

He closed his eyes for the briefest second, letting his senses snap toward the source. The flare had been fired not far from their current formation—maybe three minutes' gallop.

He could feel the soldiers near it. Panic. Shouting. Something huge barreling through the trees. Unnatural gait. High agility. His spell-work flared to brace them—extra tension in the muscles, quick reflexes, a nudge of clarity in their minds.

But keeping the connection with so many others frayed his focus, and it was starting to bleed into his body.

The first sign was the way his fingers trembled slightly on the reins.

The second was the shallow crease forming between his brows.

"You okay, Merlin?" Petra's voice cut through the haze as they galloped forward, gentle but alert. She'd drawn close without him realizing it.

He turned to her, blinking once before catching himself. He smiled.

"Just a bit of a headache," he said smoothly, even letting his voice soften as if he was embarrassed by the admission. "Don't worry."

The frown didn't leave his forehead—if anything, it deepened. But now it looked natural. Human.

Petra nodded, clearly concerned, but didn't push.

The others bought it, too.

All except one.

Levi's gaze flicked toward him as they turned through the trees, unreadable as ever. But Merlin could feel it. The weight of suspicion—not hostile, but sharp.

Later, he thought grimly. Not now.

A second flare cut the sky—red.

Danger. Combat. Injuries.

"Move quicker!" Levi's voice rang out like steel through smoke. "Oluo, Petra—left flank! Eld, Gunther, with me!"

They surged forward as one, horses plunging into the brush, hooves thundering over packed soil and roots.

Merlin tapped his lines again, sending a wave of clarity through the soldiers ahead. He didn't need to see the abnormal to know how dangerous it was. He could feel it—racing toward the broken squad like a thunderstorm with teeth. Its hatred bled into the threads. Raw and wrong. Not hunger, but violence.

Merlin gritted his teeth, blinking fast to stay focused. He didn't have time to fight this thing and maintain the spell on the dozen soldiers behind the ridge. He couldn't afford to lose the connection, either. So he did what he could.

As they galloped toward the danger, he shifted in his saddle and raised one hand, fingers barely twitching.

The invisible shield shimmered across the side of a wounded scout's body just as debris rained down from the treetops. A branch shattered against it instead of crushing his leg.

The soldier didn't even realize he'd almost died, but Levi saw it.

He was still riding ahead—but for one heartbeat, his head turned back, just slightly, eyes narrowing.

Merlin didn't meet his gaze. Instead, he focused on the rising steam ahead, towards the screaming.

The abnormal.

He gritted his teeth as the treeline broke like splintered bone, and the abnormal tore through it—huge, hunched, too fast for its shape. Limbs pumping in jerky, uneven strides, jaw slack, eyes dead.

It moaned as it moved forward—not in hunger, but in confusion, as if it didn't know what he was doing, just that he had to do it. 

Three scouts scrambled out of its path, too slow. One tripped. Another's ODM gear caught on a broken beam.

Levi didn't wait.

Steel flashed, gas hissed, and he was gone.

He moved like instinct given form—lines snapping taut as he twisted through the air. The Titan's hand swiped upward—Levi ducked beneath it, curled in tight, and slashed its forearm mid-motion before landing on its shoulder in a breath. Another slash. Quick. Precise.

The Titan made a sound, arms flailing as it staggered.

Merlin followed behind—just behind. Not charging, not striking, but watching. And working.

As Levi darted in again, blades singing, Merlin's hand twitched at his side, subtle as a breath. A flick of shield magic slipped around the soldier Levi had saved—protecting them as they scrambled away from falling onto a pointed rock. Another tug of magic steadied a second scout's grip on their blade as they rejoined the fight, fear dulled just enough for action.

He was threading his energy through the field—softly, invisibly. Too softly for most to notice, but Levi kept noticing. He always seemed to do.

Mid-spin, blade flashing toward the Titan's nape, Levi's voice cracked through the chaos—not loud, not harsh, just direct, "Merlin, step back. Care for the injured."

The others took it as an order, but Merlin knew better.

It was permission.

His eyes flicked up—Levi's gaze met his for just a moment before the Captain dove back into the fight, boots kicking from bark and gear hissing sharp.

No suspicion. No interrogation.

Just trust.

It made Merlin's chest go warm as he turned without a word and made for the injured scouts, sliding down from his horse and kneeling beside the nearest.

A young woman groaned, blood streaking her temple.

"It's just a concussion," Merlin murmured, already drawing gauze and steadying her head. "You'll be alright."

Another sat on a fallen log, pale, one leg braced awkwardly. A sprain. Merlin pressed a hand gently to her ankle and whispered under his breath—Relieve, not erase—and her muscles slackened in relief.

The last was cursing softly, holding their own arm with a shallow cut from a misfired blade. Merlin wrapped it quickly, efficiently, murmuring something about precision and breath control, earning a weak laugh.

But even as he worked, his senses stretched again. Not just here. He was still maintaining the threads, after all.

He felt another scout's heartbeat spike behind a ridge—danger. A Titan moved too close. Merlin whispered another thread of courage, pushed it outward. Not to control or command. It was just a nudge.

Be steady. Be fast.

Across the field, the soldier dove out of the way just in time. And in the center of it all, Levi moved like a storm—cutting the abnormal down one strike at a time, bleeding it out with merciless precision.

By the time the Titan finally collapsed—neck severed, steam rising like breath from a corpse—the others were regathering.

Merlin stood slowly, fingers tingling from how much he'd done without breaking the surface. His forehead was damp, but his smile was calm as he gave the wounded one last check and stepped away.

Levi landed nearby, blades still in hand, cloak flaring slightly.

Their eyes met. Nothing was said. Nothing had to be, but still Merlin offered a quiet nod.

Levi glanced at the scouts being helped back to their feet, then looked away and simply muttered, "Good."

.

The clearing buzzed with quiet emotion as the Survey Corps scouts gathered.

The second abnormal had fallen, and the captured Titan that was their mission still thrashed weakly in its bindings, but the anchors held. Smoke drifted lazily in the golden afternoon light, curling from Titan corpses and the friction-warm mouths of ODM gear. The air was thick with adrenaline—not sharp like earlier, but fading, trembling at the edges.

And still—no casualties.

The news spread like a whisper first. A medic's quiet headcount. A shout from one of the support captains. Then, like a spark on dry tinder, it rippled through the scouts.

"Everyone made it—"

"Everyone?"

"No deaths. Not even a limb lost—"

There was no roar of celebration, just the kind of sound soldiers made when they realized they weren't grieving that day. Some cheered under their breath. Some wept into their hands. One knelt in the dirt and kissed it. Another stood still, arms trembling, as if their body hadn't caught up to the news yet.

Merlin stood at the edge of the circle, cloak dust-streaked and tangled at the ends, hair windblown, his gloves faintly stained from tending wounds and touching too many threads of too many lives.

He wasn't breathing hard, but he looked—tired. Not physically, of course. It was deeper than that. A kind of mental weathering—like someone who had held up a net with too many knots for too long. His eyes still smiled, but the light inside them had dulled at the edges.

And again, Levi noticed.

He walked past the crowd slowly, giving no outward sign of attention to the quiet cheers. His eyes swept over the formation, over Petra helping a younger scout sit, over Eld nodding quietly with his hand on Gunther's shoulder.

And then, over Merlin—who stood apart from them for a moment, steadying himself with a hand against the flank of his horse.

Levi paused beside him, not saying anything at first. Then, quietly, "Thank you."

Merlin blinked, caught off guard. He turned toward Levi, gaze soft and questioning—but Levi didn't clarify or say what he was thanking him for.

Probably not for the first aid, or the kills. Not even for the weird, half-unseen interventions Merlin knew Levi had noticed.

He just said it, like it had weight, and Merlin smiled—small, tired, but real. "Of course."

Levi started to move on, but then stopped.

"...Full report," he added, not looking at him. "You, Hange, Erwin. I expect it when we get back."

Merlin's smile didn't falter, but a single bead of sweat slipped down the side of his temple.

"Of course," he repeated, this time a little drier.

Levi didn't wait for an answer. Just kept walking toward the others.

Merlin let out a soft breath through his nose, hand tightening lightly on his saddle. He didn't protest. Didn't try to barter for silence. Levi wouldn't lie for him. Wouldn't protect a secret. But he hadn't exposed it either. Not yet, at least, and that… was enough. For now.

He turned and made his way back toward the others.

Oluo was still trying to hide how much he'd cried. Gunther was half-laughing through his exhaustion. Petra looked like she could collapse into sleep with her next breath, but she was still helping someone stand.

Eld offered Merlin a grin when he approached, eyes bright. "Hell of a day, huh?"

Merlin just smiled, shoulders relaxing. "Could've been worse."

"Could've been normal," Petra muttered, flopping down beside a supply crate.

"Could've been deadly," Merlin corrected, then added with a playful lilt, "You're welcome."

They laughed softly, tired and grateful.

Then Levi's voice rang out, cutting through the moment like a bell. "Half an hour. Rest, eat, drink, piss if you have to. Then we move."

The squad straightened automatically, still seated but more alert.

Merlin let himself sink down beside the others, tilting his head back toward the sky, letting the sun touch his face.

Half an hour with just the wind, his friends, and the weight of lives not lost. 

It shaped to be a great day

Chapter Text

Merlin stood before the Commander's office door with his hands behind his back, face composed, heartbeat slow.

He'd never been in this room before. He'd seen it, of course. Passed by it during drills. Heard the rumors from scouts who had stood in it before missions—some proud, others broken. But now, standing here in the aftermath of an expedition that had gone too well, he felt the weight of it in his spine.

The door opened before he could knock, showing Levi with an unreadable expression. "Come in."

Inside, the office was tidy, functional. The walls were lined with maps and a single broad window let in pale light. A kettle rested on a nearby shelf, untouched. Two chairs were already occupied.

Hange grinned when they saw him.

"Merlin, there you are! Do you have it?" they asked, leaning forward eagerly. "The spinal fluid sample, I mean—please tell me you found something."

Merlin froze a step into the room.

Oh, right. That.

He smiled, but it was faint—guilt creeping behind his eyes. "Ah. About that…"

Hange's expression crumpled. "No?" They slumped back, grief settling on their shoulders like stone. "Ugh—I should've insisted on coming or on bringing extra nets—"

"It wasn't the priority," Levi cut in before they could spiral. His tone was calm, but his gaze lingered briefly on Merlin. "There were two abnormals. Several wounded even if no fatalities."

Hange opened their mouth to argue—then paused, tilting their head as they narrowed their eyes.

"…Wait. You're defending him?" A slow grin bloomed across their face. "Levi. You care."

Levi's brow twitched. "I care about keeping my squad alive."

Erwin raised an eyebrow without speaking, fingers steepled.

Merlin, for his part, stayed quiet, standing behind the second chair like he wasn't entirely sure he should sit.

Levi ignored them all and began the report. At first, it was standard. Travel routes. Formation spacing. Resource deployment. Then came the deeper parts—movements through Titan territory, the location of the first abnormal, the speed of its charge.

Then his words became sharper, more deliberate.

"The first abnormal should've killed three people before we even reacted, but something helped them. The second one caught an entire outer squad off-guard, but they were miraculously shielded. At least two should've died before we got there."

He didn't say exactly what happened. Didn't say his theories or who was at the center of every moment, every time something nearly went wrong and then didn't. But his eyes—they said it.

Erwin watched him the entire time. Didn't interrupt. Didn't blink. And when Levi finished, standing still as stone, his arms folded tight, Erwin turned his gaze to Merlin.

"You're tired."

It wasn't a question.

Merlin smiled, bland and pleasant. "A long day, Commander."

Erwin's voice was quiet, but precise.

"So you think," he said slowly, turning his gaze back to Levi, "it was Merlin we should… thank?"

The silence thickened as Levi didn't confirm or deny. His jaw merely ticked.

Hange looked between them, confused. "Wait, what? What are you two—what am I missing?"

Merlin didn't sigh. He didn't twitch. He simply looked up and met Erwin's gaze. Eyes clear. Voice level.

"That would be a stretch," he said lightly. "I didn't do much."

Erwin's stare sharpened. "You're saying the lack of casualties was just… luck?"

Merlin tilted his head. "Do you believe in luck, Commander?"

Hange blinked. "Wait—are we accusing him of saving people?"

"No one saw anything," Levi said, finally. "There was no gear fired. No light. But people dodged when they shouldn't have been able to. Moved faster. Recovered quicker. And Merlin"—his eyes flicked over—"looked like someone who'd just run half a dozen missions at once without moving."

Merlin's fingers twitched slightly at his sides.

Erwin's eyes never left him. "Well?"

Merlin exhaled softly. "If I had done something—which I'm not saying I did—it wouldn't be the sort of thing that's easy to explain."

"That," Erwin said, "is the first thing you've said I believe."

Merlin looked away, mouth curving upward faintly.

Hange leaned in over the desk, wide-eyed. "So that's why you were tired! And here I thought you just pushed yourself on your first expedition, what did you do? How did you—"

"Hange," Levi warned, but Hange didn't stop.

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I wasn't trying to hide anything," Merlin said smoothly, still not meeting anyone's gaze. "I just… didn't want to influence your theories. I wanted to observe."

Erwin folded his hands atop the desk. "You're going to tell me everything you've done. Who you really are. Starting now."

Merlin's smile dimmed slightly. "Even if it doesn't make sense?"

"Especially if it doesn't," Erwin said. "Let's see how far the truth goes before we start deciding what's impossible."

Merlin was silent for a moment. Then nodded once, slow. "…Alright."

And for the first time, he stepped forward and sat. The silence was thick after that movement—quiet enough that the creak of the chair beneath him sounded like a shout.

Levi stood by the wall, arms crossed. Hange leaned forward with eyes blazing, and Erwin sat still, unmoving, but with attention sharp as razors.

Merlin folded his hands in his lap, calm but composed, as though preparing to read from a script only he could see.

"I woke up outside the walls," he began softly. "After Shiganshina fell. I remember earth, and moss, and the scent of something wrong. My body ached, but not like it was injured—like it didn't fit. Like I was walking in someone else's skin."

He didn't look at them as he spoke, but his voice was quiet and measured. The kind of honesty that didn't ask for belief, only space. "I didn't know my name at the time. Didn't know where I was or who I was. Everything felt… off. But then I found something. A staff. Humming with power that felt mine."

He closed his eyes for a moment.

"When I touched it, something clicked. And when I saw my reflection—long white hair, violet eyes, robes that looked like they were stolen from a dream—I remembered my name."

He opened his eyes and met theirs. "Merlin."

He said it like it mattered.

Like it had weight.

Hange blinked, voice hushed. "And… who is Merlin?"

Merlin gave them a small smile.

"A wizard of legend," he said. "A half human capable of great feats of magic. A dream-seer. A guide. A liar. A prophet. The man who raised and walked beside the greatest king a nation ever had."

He paused.

"He was a man locked beneath a tower by love and fate. Bound by Avalon, cursed to see the world unfold but never touch it. That Merlin could only observe."

He sat straighter, slowly raising one fair hand. "And I… am not that Merlin."

Magic shimmered in the air. A breathless ripple danced across the room, gentle but unmistakable. The office flickered—not the walls, but the world. For one heartbeat, Erwin's desk was covered in ivy, the window opened to a starry sky that couldn't belong to this realm, and petals drifted from nowhere, glowing with quiet light. In the middle, a beautiful tower that shone with hope.

An illusion of Avalon, of Merlin's tower and jail, yes—but deeper than mere sight. It sang in the bones.

Then it vanished, leaving only Merlin standing, calm again.

"I've spent months learning after that," he said softly, "training, digging into who I was. Who I am. I joined the military because I needed to know more. Needed to understand this island."

He looked between them now—Erwin's narrowed eyes, Hange's trembling excitement, Levi's wary gaze.

"And I chose the Survey Corps," he continued, "because I wanted to help. Not as a prophet or as a shadow, but as someone who could make a difference."

He smiled, and for once, there was no mischief in it. Just quiet resolve. "I don't want to watch. I want to act."

That's when Erwin spoke.

"…You said island. What does it mean?"

Merlin's gaze flicked to him.

"Yes," he said. "And island is a piece of land surrounded by water. Where we are is not big enough to be a country, or a continent. It's just a small part of a bigger world."

Erwin's fingers curled against his desk. "You're certain."

Merlin didn't blink. "I can feel it. The world is bigger than this. So much bigger. These walls… they're not the end. They're a corner. A cage. There are people outside them."

Hange gasped softly and Levi's brows pulled tight. But it was Erwin who leaned forward. "That changes everything."

Merlin nodded. "I know."

This truth—this truth—cut through the rest. Not magic. Not memory. Not strange names or illusions. It rattled them more than all the rest combined, heavier than any spell Merlin could cast.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then, Levi, still standing with arms crossed, eyes sharp and unreadable, spoke.

"You said earlier that you're not quite human," he said. "What does that mean?"

Merlin glanced at him, calm as ever. His voice was soft. "Because I'm not."

He smiled at the way Hange leaned forward again, eyes wide—but this one held no mischief. Only truth. "The original Merlin—the one I remember being—was a half incubus."

A beat of pause. Then Erwin's brow lifted, just a fraction. Levi's expression didn't shift, but his eyes narrowed faintly.

Hange blinked, already pulling a notepad from somewhere, scribbling furiously before Merlin could even open his mouth. "A what?"

"Incubus. It's a demon or spiritual being that exists partially in the dream world, capable of influencing emotions, desires, and illusions," Merlin supplied, still gentle. "At least, partially. Merlin was born of one. They're designed to tempt. To charm. To guide, in the old myths. They feed on dreams, desire, or life force—typically through seduction."

There was a sudden, almost comical pause as Hange's brain caught up—and then their entire face lit up in dawning understanding.

"Aha! That's why you've never been seen sleeping in your room! You didn't want to feed from us!"

Merlin blinked. "That… is not the reason I expected you to jump to, but sure. Partially the reason."

"I knew it wasn't just dramatics," Hange said, pointing at him. "Moblit thought you were pulling a disappearing act!"

Erwin exhaled quietly, breaking through the rising chaos.

"You don't look like a demon. Or a spirit," he said, more thoughtfully than critically.

"I don't feel like one either," Merlin said with a slight shrug. "My nature feels… muted. I don't crave what I should. I don't need to feed from people or emotions. I can eat normal food. I can sleep normally, even if I don't need to. I do it sometimes, though, even if I don't like it. Because when I do sleep…"

He trailed off, gaze flicking toward the floor. "The dreams come."

Levi's voice dropped low. "What do you see in them?"

"What I don't see? Mostly futures, not always mine. Sometimes too many at once. Sometimes they scream, they beg. It's… hard to breathe after."

Erwin watched him closely now, piecing thoughts together. "But you still dream anyway."

"I do," Merlin said. "Because sometimes they show me what I need to see. Like the abnormals we faced today. A few minutes of drowning in images… in exchange for someone else surviving. That's a trade I'll always take."

Silence returned—but it was a different silence this time. Weighted.

"Afterwards, I feel a bit out of it. But the only downside is the way I'm unable to control my charm for a while."

Hange finally broke it with a thoughtful hum, scratching something fast into their notes. "Well, that explains the way half the barracks blush when you sometimes walk by…"

Merlin laughed quietly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "I'm trying not to use it. It just sort of… leaks."

"Should we be worried?" Erwin asked, not harshly, but precisely.

"No," Merlin said without hesitation. "I'm not dangerous to you."

Levi spoke next, flat but steady. "But you can be."

Merlin met his gaze directly. "If I wanted to be, you'd have known by now."

The silence that followed wasn't threatening. It was an agreement.

Erwin sat back, steepling his fingers again. "I'm not sure what you are, Merlin."

Merlin smiled faintly. "Neither am I."

"But I know you've helped this squad. And you've saved lives." His eyes narrowed slightly. "That's enough for now. But from this point forward—you report to me. Not just Levi."

"Understood," Merlin said, bowing his head slightly.

"...And I'll want those dreams recorded," Erwin added. "Everything you see."

"That might take a lot of paper," Merlin murmured.

"Then you'd better get writing," Erwin replied.

Chapter Text

Then—predictably, wonderfully—Hange leaned forward, eyes sparkling with unfiltered awe.

"Okay, hold on—I just realized you said you are capable of using magic? Like real magic? You said illusions earlier, but if you're really powerful as you imply, then you have other abilities, right? What can you do?"

They were continuing to write in their notepad even before Merlin answered, while Erwin remained silent. Levi stood by the wall, arms crossed—but his gaze hadn't left Merlin for a second.

Merlin exhaled softly, glancing at Hange with a half-smile. "Yes. I have magic. Not quite as much as I once did—I think this world dampens some of it, or maybe I've been… trimmed to fit."

"Trimmed?" Hange echoed, blinking rapidly. "Like—on purpose?"

"Like trying to pour an ocean into a glass," Merlin murmured. "Some had to spill. Though I do admit, in comparison to when I appeared here, my power has increased. So I'm a bigger glass, now."

That earned a soft snort from Levi.

Erwin finally spoke. "Then tell us what you can still do."

Merlin turned his attention to him now, straightening slightly. "I'm more of a supportive caster. I was never built for direct destruction or liked it. But I'm capable of defending myself. I prefer to fight with a blade, though."

"Tell us, anyway."

He shrugged and raised one hand, fingers glowing faintly, and then ticked off each power one by one.

"Illusions, of course. Visual, auditory, even emotional misdirection. I can make someone see or feel what I choose… though I tend to use it more for calm than confusion." He smiled at Hange, who was nodding frantically.

"Healing, to a degree. Not bones or deep tissue without being obvious, but I can numb pain, close minor wounds, and stabilize shock."

"Enhancements. I can push stamina, alertness, clarity—guide someone's instincts to act faster, sharper. It's subtle, but on the battlefield, subtle matters."

"Barrier spells. Usually temporary, if I want them to be invisible. Think shields of light or force—quick to form, quick to break. Enough to buy a second."

"Empathy. Not mind-reading, but… attunement. I can feel what people are carrying. Fear. Grief. Sometimes, hope. It lets me respond without being told."

"...And dreams, of course." That one, he said more quietly. "I can see things in dreams. Possibilities. Warnings. Not always clear, not always consistent. But useful, if interpreted correctly."

Levi's voice cut in: "And offense?"

Merlin shrugged. "Glamoured blades. Spells that bind. Light that sears. I can fight. But I'm more effective making sure others stay alive to fight harder."

Erwin's eyes narrowed slightly. "So the reason we had no casualties this time…"

Merlin didn't flinch. "Was everyone doing their best. I may have... encouraged them to find that best."

Erwin leaned back slowly, absorbing it. Then Hange jumped in, unable to restrain themself. "And the Titans? What do you see when you look at them with magic?"

Merlin hesitated—just for a second. Then, softly: "They were people."

Even Levi twitched slightly at that.

"People… twisted. Torn apart and sewn back wrong. The power in them is old, angry. It smells like resignation. Like something that used to want to live… and gave up."

Hange stared, stunned. "You feel that?"

"I see it, sometimes. When I look too close. Paths, connections—like threads running between all of us. Like we're all leaves on the same tree."

He paused, tone dropping.

"And once, I saw a girl in the branches that controlled it all. Small and sad, but watching."

The room stilled. Even Hange stopped scribbling.

Merlin folded his hands again. "I don't know who she is. I don't know what she means. But I know this: the Titans aren't from outside. They're from here. And any one of you could become one." 

The room went silent until Merlin added, "Well, except for Levi, of course."

That surprised everyone. Levi didn't respond immediately while Hange's pen stilled. Erwin's gaze sharpened, but it was Levi, the first to regain his composure as he said, "You said something like that, before. What did you really mean?"

Merlin tilted his head, his eyes drifting to Levi's silhouette as though sensing something deeper, gaze half-lidded, as if looking through Levi rather than at him.

"You're human. But not like the rest of them. Not like me, even. There's… something in your blood. A closeness to the Titans, like the other people inside the walls, but not in the same direction. Like your veins carry the resistance, not the infection."

That got a blink from Hange.

"You mean he's… immune to turning?" they asked, leaning forward again.

Merlin nodded. "In a way, yes. It's like… he carries more of what stopped the Titans, not what made them. His strength, his speed—it's not magic. It's heritage. I'd wager it's not just him, but his bloodline. Generational instincts, like ancestral memory woven into his reflexes. A warrior caste, maybe. Created or evolved, I'm unsure. Possibly both."

Levi's jaw ticked. "That's a load of flowery nonsense."

But Merlin only smiled faintly. "Perhaps. But you've felt it, haven't you? That you can do things no one else can. That your body moves on instinct faster than your mind can catch up."

Levi didn't answer, which was answer enough.

Hange's eyes widened. "Wait, if that's true—"

"I don't have a last name," Levi cut in suddenly. "No family. Or… none that I know. Maybe they didn't want to be known."

Merlin's smile turned sympathetic. "That's not surprising."

Erwin leaned forward at that, folding his hands. "Why not?"

Merlin turned to him, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Because I think this entire society was manufactured. And Levi's blood doesn't fit the mold."

Silence.

Merlin continued, quieter now. "Everyone in these walls is all connected, tied together through something I don't fully understand yet. Like a spell." He tapped a finger lightly on the table. "And I think someone designed it. To make sure no one could leave. Or remember. Or fight back."

He gestured vaguely toward Levi. "But he doesn't connect. I don't feel the thread from him. Not like the rest. Which means… he's dangerous to whoever made this system."

A heavy silence fell again, one that Erwin didn't break right away.

Levi, meanwhile, hadn't moved. But the frown between his brows had deepened.

"...So you're saying I'm some kind of failed experiment?" he muttered.

"Not you, but your ancestors, maybe," Merlin said gently now. "And I think you're the one thing that wasn't meant to be here. And that makes you free."

That seemed to land somewhere deeper than Levi wanted it to, because he looked away first.

Hange finally sat back, their voice uncharacteristically soft. "That… explains a lot."

Erwin remained composed, but his eyes flicked to Levi with something like new understanding.

Merlin folded his hands in his lap again and leaned back, letting the weight of his words settle. But at least now, the truth had room to breathe.

Then Erwin exhaled slowly. "I don't think you're not a madman."

Merlin smiled, tired but proud. "Not even close."

Levi spoke at last, quiet but certain. "We keep this to ourselves. For now."

Erwin nodded. "Agreed. We can't let this become a rumor. Not yet. But… we will investigate."

Hange looked at Merlin, eyes wide. "And you'll help us."

Merlin stood, brushing invisible dust from his coat, eyes sparkling despite the weariness.

"I already have." 

.

The hallway outside Erwin's office was dim and still, lit only by the occasional lantern flickering along the stone walls. Their footsteps echoed softly, side by side, neither of them speaking at first.

Merlin walked with his hands behind his back, head slightly tilted, as if still digesting the conversation. Levi, quiet as ever, kept pace beside him, unreadable. It was only when they reached the quiet curve of the corridor that Merlin finally broke the silence.

"You're not surprised," he said, voice light but probing. "Not about the magic. Not about me. Or about you."

Levi didn't look at him. "Should I be?"

"You should be many things, but you aren't." Merlin glanced at him sideways, lips tugging up. "So—how so?"

Levi stopped walking and so did Merlin.

There was a heartbeat of quiet. Then Levi looked at him—flat, calm, voice as dry as ever. "No one that regal-looking and that pretty is a normal person."

Merlin blinked as Levi kept going. "You don't look real half the time. Like someone dreamed you up, and you stepped out of the page."

A pause where Merlin blinked again, slowly this time.

"...Flattered," he said softly. "I think. Even if you answered nothing about yourself."

He stepped closer—just enough to cross the threshold of personal space. Not touching, not yet, but close enough that the lantern light caught in his hair like silver thread, and his voice lowered to a softer register.

"But for the record," he said, eyes just a little too hooded, lashes low, "I haven't even tried to charm you."

Levi's jaw tightened, but he didn't move back or look away as Merlin tilted his head just slightly. "If I did…"

His fingers brushed the edge of Levi's sleeve. Light and barely there.

"…You would know."

For just a moment, something in Levi's breath caught—almost imperceptibly. His shoulders didn't shift. His face didn't flush. But his eyes narrowed, sharpened—not in suspicion. In awareness.

He didn't say a word and Merlin smiled slowly, not smug, not seductive—just warm. "Still not surprised?"

Levi held his gaze.

"Still think you're not trying?" he asked quietly.

Merlin's smile widened—then softened. "Only a little."

Levi scoffed, turning to walk again, and muttered over his shoulder, "Tch. Flirt."

"Only for you," Merlin called lightly, following.

Levi didn't stop him, but there was a tightness in his posture that wasn't before. Barely there.

The silence that followed them was no longer empty. It was charged.

And Merlin's smile, this time, didn't fade.

.

The next day dawned with no alarms, no Titans, and no urgent missions—just the mundane order of chores and command rotations. For once, Merlin found himself with a broom in hand instead of a blade.

The barracks were loud with grumbling and noise, boots scraping floors, someone swearing in the hallway, and Petra laughing as she ducked out of the way of a mop-swing from Gunther. Oluo tried to avoid the chaos, but Eld tossed a rag at his head, and the cycle of yelling and smirking began again.

Merlin, to his own surprise, laughed. Actual, bright laughter. Not the soft chuckles he often offered to make people comfortable—this was full-bodied and unguarded.

He stood in the middle of it, a little dusty, a little flushed, and wearing a shirt that had definitely seen better days. There was grime on his sleeves and a streak of something suspiciously gray on his cheek.

Petra grinned at him, tossing him a fresh cloth. "Didn't think your highness knew how to clean."

"I trained under a perfectionist once," he replied, catching it easily. "She would haunt me if I didn't scrub corners."

Gunther snorted. "Let me guess—your mother."

Merlin just winked. "Someone as dear."

.

That afternoon, Merlin didn't even get to escape the moment he sat down with a cup of water.

"Merliiiin," Hange sang, already dragging a chair too close. "We have so much to talk about."

He gave them a patient smile and prepared himself.

And so the interrogation—ahem, intellectual exchange—began.

It ranged from his perception of Titan emotions to the structure of their regenerative magic, to how exactly he managed to sense "paths" and if he could possibly sense Hange's potential future (he refused, politely), to what kind of tea he believed improved mental clarity best (lemon balm, obviously).

Hange was relentless. They made charts, asked him to sketch diagrams of the girl in the tree, and even tried to test his spell limit with back-to-back "hypothetical scenario" questions.

By the time sunset rolled over the compound, Merlin's brain ached in a fond sort of way. He left Hange still scribbling excitedly and whispering, "Incubus, mage, seer, and tea enthusiast—how did I get so lucky?"

.

That evening, he found himself in Levi's office again. The smell of tea mingled with old parchment and oil from polished steel. The room was quiet, lit only by the desk lamp and the open window that let in the breeze.

Merlin was curled up on the small couch with a half-full cup in his hands, legs tucked beneath him, hair slightly mussed from the day.

"You're quiet," Levi murmured.

Merlin hummed, staring at his tea. "Erwin said I have to sleep tonight."

Levi looked over from where he was straightening a row of reports. "Shocking. He commands it now?"

Merlin gave a small, dry smile. "He wants the dream recorded."

A pause. Levi's eyes lingered on him a moment longer. "You going to?"

Merlin sighed. "I will. But I don't want to."

Another silence as Merlin sipped his tea, slower now. "It's not the nightmares-like futures I see. It's the... knowing. Sometimes it's so much. Dozens of futures, layered, twisting, some full of death. Others—bright. But none of them fixed. None of them mine."

He closed his eyes briefly. "I like the present with the dust and the tea. With the people. But when I sleep, I start to wonder how long I'll have it before something changes."

Levi didn't say anything for a moment. Then, quietly, "You can sleep here."

Merlin blinked, surprised.

Levi wasn't looking at him, already focused on cleaning the rim of his cup with a cloth. "If you don't want to stay in the barracks, use the couch. You're not the only one who hates sleeping near noise."

Merlin tilted his head, smiling slowly. "Thank you."

"It's not a favor," Levi muttered.

"No," Merlin said, voice warm. "But it's kind."

He looked around the room again—at the spare furniture, the clean lines, the steady silence—and then back at Levi.

"I'll take you up on it," he said, setting his teacup down and curling more comfortably into the couch's corner. "Just for tonight."

Levi didn't argue, and Merlin closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

Time passed—not quickly, not slowly, but with the steady rhythm of something earned.

Expeditions came and went. Some long, others short. Titans were sighted, fought, studied. And each time they returned, Merlin gave his reports to Erwin in that calm, precise voice that made the impossible sound routine.

No casualties. Not once.

Each report was clean, factual—and quietly impossible.

Erwin never said as much, but the weight of his gaze after each mission lingered like the press of storm-heavy skies.

Hange, on the other hand, practically lived in Merlin's orbit when they weren't working. They'd drag him from his squad between drills, grilling him about theory, testing spell reactions to Titan proximity, even trying to see if he could "see" the difference between normal and abnormal Titans with his eyes alone. 

(He could and his instincts hadn't failed them yet.)

Moblit despaired. Merlin smiled. He liked it.

The squad grew tighter too. Petra hummed while brushing her gear. Eld and Gunther argued over patrol paths. Oluo still postured, but now, when Merlin smiled at him, he only scowled for half a second before muttering "shut up, pretty-boy" under his breath with something almost like fondness.

Sometimes, they joked with him. Other times, they leaned on him. Merlin learned how to fight in unison—not just beside others, but with them. He became a constant, even when he still stood out like something carved from myths.

And then there were the evenings.

Levi's office became something of a second home.

Not officially, of course. But sometimes, Merlin arrived with tea before Levi could even notice him missing. Sometimes Levi spoke, most times not. Occasionally, Merlin stayed when Erwin ordered him to sleep (at least once a week), curled up on the couch while Levi worked through the last of his reports. Those nights, the silence between them was soft—not strained.

And lately, in the last couple of months… their eyes lingered. Not for long and not obvious, but just enough for Merlin's breath to catch or for Levi to glance away, his ears just slightly red as he muttered something about dust on the windowsill.

Merlin didn't push, as he liked this rhythm. The quiet knowing and slow build of something more. He wasn't even sure when it had shifted.

It hadn't been a grand gesture. No sweeping declaration, no dramatic pull into arms. Just… little things. Subtle things. Not only the way Levi looked at him longer now, even when he thought Merlin didn't notice. But the way his fingers would brush Merlin's shoulder under the pretense of adjustment—lingering just a second too long. The way his voice softened at night, when it was just the two of them and the world outside could fade.

It wasn't like Merlin hadn't always been affectionate. Even the original Merlin—aloof and tangled in prophecy—had a habit of teasing, of standing just a little too close, of smiling in ways that made people forget the weight of his eyes. That detachment, that deliberate distance, had always been a choice.

But this Merlin? The Merlin he was was different, as he had no prophecy binding him, no Avalon to retreat into. He could feel things if he wanted. He could indulge.

And he wanted to. With Levi, especially.

There was something in the man that drew him in—not just his strength or precision or that raw, quiet presence he carried like an unspoken threat. It was the discipline masking care. The exhaustion hiding gentleness. The way he ruffled Merlin's hair like he didn't realize what it meant. Like he didn't know that each little touch left ripples Merlin carried with him into the night.

It made Merlin ache.

But Levi was careful. Distant, still. And Merlin understood that, too.

He wasn't blind to his own nature. Not just what he was, but how he acted. He was soft in a world made of steel. He smiled too easily and touched without thinking. People saw him as something strange, something other—sometimes whimsical, sometimes threatening. Always too much.

And with Levi… Merlin didn't want to be too much.

It was a ridiculous fear; he knew. He could summon illusions and bend light to will, speak languages long dead, and see through veils of fate—but the thought of pushing Levi too hard, of breaking that gentle tension they'd grown into, made his chest tighten in ways no spell could ease.

So he tempered himself and let his hand linger on Levi's arm only for a second, instead of two. When he leaned in to whisper a joke, he didn't brush his cheek close.

He hugged Petra and Eld with ease, laughed with Oluo and tousled Gunther's hair—but he never hugged Levi. Not yet. Mostly because Levi still looked at him like Merlin was a storm he couldn't predict.

And Merlin… Merlin didn't want to be the storm this time. He wanted to be the quiet between them. The calm after.

Something worth staying for.

And if that meant going slowly—if that meant waiting for Levi's walls to lower one inch at a time—then he would wait. Because for the first time in his long, tangled existence, he wasn't waiting for destiny to unfold.

He was just waiting for someone.

It was a kind of peace he hadn't expected when he first woke in this strange world. A steady heartbeat in the middle of a battlefield.

It wouldn't last. He knew that.

But for now?

He treasured every second of it.

.

The steam from the tea curled like smoke between them, soft and quiet. Levi sipped his cup in silence, seated in his usual chair near the cracked-open window. Merlin, lounging with one leg tucked beneath him on the opposite end of the small table, watched the dusk outside bleed into night.

"Erwin's gone to Trost today," Levi said after a long stretch of silence.

Merlin hummed, twirling his teacup between his fingers. "Recruiting the next wave?"

Levi nodded. "From the 104th Cadet Corps. Says there's some talent there."

Merlin leaned back against the arm of his chair, expression thoughtful. "It's strange to think it's been a year already."

Levi's brow lifted slightly.

"A year since I joined the Survey Corps," Merlin clarified, his voice soft. "And almost five years since I woke up and stumbled into this world wearing a name too old for the dirt under my boots."

"You made it fit," Levi said, deadpan.

Merlin chuckled, tilting his head. "Did I? I was the only new recruit last year, remember? Which means once Erwin drags someone back from Trost, I won't be the newest anymore."

"Tch," Levi muttered. "If there are new ones."

"With the lack of causalities lately?" Merlin arched a brow. "Are you doubting your Commander?"

"I'm saying no one's ever stupid enough to want to die like we do."

Merlin grinned. "And yet, here I am."

Levi didn't answer. Just looked at him for a moment—longer than necessary, really. The dim light caught in Merlin's pale hair, and for a second, something unspoken passed between them.

Then Levi leaned forward and ruffled his hair. It was gentle. Familiar. Practiced by now. But Merlin still froze, just a little, breath catching in his throat.

"Will I be still your favorite recruit?" he asked, smiling into the touch.

Levi's mouth twitched like he might smile, but didn't. His hand lingered a second longer before pulling back. "You were the only one of your batch."

"That makes me special, doesn't it?"

"Or unlucky."

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It hung between them like soft fabric—folded, intimate, and worn in. Then Levi cleared his throat. "Get to sleep. Tomorrow's another expedition."

Merlin raised his cup in a lazy mock salute. "Aye, Captain."

He slid down from the chair and crossed to the couch, where the worn blanket Levi always left was already folded over the edge. Merlin lay down, already on his sleeping clothes as he pulled it over his body with practiced ease, one arm curled under his head.

Levi stood to rinse the cups, but Merlin's voice drifted toward him as he did.

"Good night, Levi."

Levi paused for a beat, back turned. Then, just loud enough to be heard, "Night, Merlin."

It was quiet after that.

The kind of quiet that only existed between people who understood each other. Merlin closed his eyes, letting it settle over him like the last line of a lullaby. He didn't know if he would dream that night. He only knew that, if he did, the silence Levi left behind would carry him through.

.

The dream came like smoke.

Flickering shapes. Screams. Fire curling through stone. The Wall—Trost—cracking like glass under the weight of something monstrous. People scattering. Blood on rooftops. Lightning splitting the sky. And then—A boy with dark hair and wild eyes. Rage and hope twisted into a single flame.

"Eren," Merlin gasped in the dream, reaching toward the chaos.

He woke with a sharp inhale and a name on his lips, hands trembling, chest rising fast.

"Bad one?" Levi's voice was low, but sharp with concern. He stood near the couch, already dressed for the expedition, with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

Merlin blinked, grounding himself in the dim light of the office. The scent of tea still lingered faintly. The world hadn't ended. Not yet.

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling shakily.

Levi took a step closer, something weird in his tone that Merlin was too tired to attempt to read, as he said, "You said a name."

Merlin looked up, throat dry. "Did I?"

"Eren," Levi said evenly. "Sounded important."

Merlin frowned, brows furrowed. "I… I don't know him. Not yet. But he's important. I know he is."

Levi hummed low in his throat, thoughtful. "Doesn't sound familiar, so it could be one of the new cadets—from the 104th."

Merlin nodded slowly, trying to calm the pounding in his chest.

Levi studied him. "Was there more?"

Merlin hesitated. Then, voice soft, "It looked like Shiganshina. I couldn't tell when. But soon, I think."

For a beat, Levi didn't speak. Then he moved again—closer this time—and ruffled Merlin's hair, like yesterday, like he did on mornings like these, after Merlin had a rough dream. As if grounding him helped ground Levi too.

"Then don't worry about it yet," Levi said, quiet but firm. "We've got an expedition today. I need you alert. No more gloomy dream-staring."

Merlin let out a shaky laugh, trying to find his usual smile. "Yes, sir…"

But then he reached up. Not playfully or teasing. He took Levi's hand—the one still tangled in his hair—and pressed it gently against his cheek.

Levi stilled.

Merlin closed his eyes, breathing slowly as he curled into the warmth of the touch like it was the only thing keeping him here at this moment. He wasn't trembling anymore, but something inside him still quivered from the images.

So he held the hand there, grounding himself in the strength of Levi's calloused fingers and steady presence.

Levi didn't pull away. Instead, after a moment, his thumb brushed across Merlin's cheekbone—slow. Gentle. His fingers traced along his jaw, then brushed across the corner of his lips.

Merlin's eyes fluttered open.

Levi was staring at him. Not confused, but quiet. And there. His pupils were slightly dilated, his breath carefully controlled, like he wasn't sure if he should speak or move. Like something in him had shifted.

Merlin smiled softly. Then he leaned forward, just enough to press a kiss to the center of Levi's palm. It was nothing more than a breath of warmth. But Levi's hand twitched slightly. His gaze didn't waver.

Merlin opened his mouth to say something—

Knock knock knock.

"Captain Levi?" Oluo's muffled voice came from the other side of the door. "Everyone's ready to go. Hange's calling."

Levi's hand pulled back, and the moment snapped like a thread.

Merlin blinked, face still soft, unreadable, as Levi straightened, expression folding into something more familiar—tight. Controlled. Only the faintest flush along the edge of his ears gave anything away.

"I'll be there in a minute," he called back.

There was a pause, then retreating steps.

Neither of them spoke.

Merlin stood slowly, brushing his hair back into place. Levi didn't stop him. Didn't speak. But when Merlin passed him to grab his clothes from near the door, he didn't look back, either.

He was preparing himself. He knew today will be difficult, so he wanted to be bold for once. Today was an opportunity as he usually awoke before Levi came from his quarters to his office, already dressed and prepared for Levi. So he changed in front of Levi, like it was a normal thing for him to do. He did so quickly, but with enough seduction in his movements to get a reaction.

Chapter Text

He didn't know when it started.

Maybe that was a lie. Maybe he did know—maybe it was the night after Merlin revealed himself. Revealed that he wasn't just some talented oddball cadet who talked too much and smiled too easily. No. Merlin was something else entirely. A being of magic and myth, a dream-cloaked figure from another time and place—a half incubus, a mage, a seer.

Not human. Not quite.

Levi remembered sitting in Erwin's office, arms crossed, jaw clenched, as Merlin showed them an illusion of what he later learned was the Garden of Avalon. The explanations of what he knew and the burning certainty in his voice when he said the word "island."

And Levi remembered, most of all, how quiet he felt when Merlin said his theories of what he guessed Levi's family was, what they all were: prisoners.

He should've questioned it. Should've been angry and suspicious. But, Merlin kept coming to his office after it was over. With tea. With soft steps and tired eyes. Like nothing had changed. Like he still wanted to be there.

And Levi… let him.

The silence between them now had weight. Not distance, just gravity. The kind that only came when two people had seen the worst of each other and chose not to flinch.

That should've been it, but it wasn't.

Levi wasn't sure when like became something else.

He tried to track it. The first time he offered Merlin the couch? Maybe. Merlin had smiled at him like he'd just offered him the world then. Or maybe one of the times they'd sparred, and Merlin grinned wide mid-dodge, eyes gleaming like starlight, laughter curling out of him even as Levi swept his legs.

Levi had told himself it was admiration. Respect. 

Then he started waking up hard after the days they sparred, and he cursed himself silently, told himself it was nothing. Just reflex. Just the product of someone too pretty for his own damn good, continuing to look beautiful even with the grime from their sparring.

But then came the guilt. Not because Merlin wasn't human, but because Merlin trusted him. Sat across from him every night, hands wrapped around a cup of tea, talking softly about futures and failures and the weight of his magic. He looked at Levi with open trust, a kind of warmth Levi hadn't known in years. Maybe ever.

And Levi?

He was dreaming about his mouth whenever the weight of his head on his shoulder pressed against him. He dreamed about the curve of his neck when he stretched. And wondered how he'd sound if he broke—not in pain, but in pleasure.

Damn it.

It didn't help that Merlin had this way of existing that made everyone want to get close—without even trying. And when he did try… Levi still remembered the hooded eyes when Merlin said he hadn't tried to charm him yet. That day he revealed himself was one that fueled his dreams, as he remembered how soft his lips had looked when he smiled at him.

That had been a joke, but it hadn't been nothing.

And now, Levi caught himself watching him constantly. Watching the way Merlin stood, the way he ducked his head when he was flustered, how his laugh started quiet before it spilled over, how he spoke softly to the horses like they were old friends.

It was becoming… a problem. Not only because Levi wasn't good at softness. Wasn't good at admitting anything he felt. But also because when he looked at Merlin now, he felt something he couldn't name. Not just attraction. Not just guilt.

Something deeper and steady. Like a promise he hadn't made yet, but already meant to keep.

He didn't know what to do with that. So, for now, he let it sit. Let it breathe as Merlin still came every night. Sometimes with tea, sometimes just with his presence. And Levi let him.

Maybe one night, he'd do more than that. Maybe one night, he'd ask what it meant when Merlin's smile faltered, or why his hand lingered when it touched Levi's sleeve.

But not now. For now, he'd continue to pour the tea and try not to look too long at the man who was slowly becoming the only constant Levi looked forward to. 

.

A month ago, Levi had realized he might be in trouble.

It wasn't the first time he'd looked at Merlin and thought pretty. Or dangerous. Or too damn bright for someone like me. But it was the first time he looked at him mid-laugh—hair half-tied, dust on his collar, eyes squinting up at the sun—and thought I want to kiss him.

And almost did.

The thought, the want hit like a punch to the gut, worse than any wound he'd taken in battle.

He didn't act on it, luckily. Of course he didn't; he stopped midway before committing. But since then, he did… experiment. Because Merlin, for all his elegance and charm and endless curiosity, was an enigma.

He was touchy—but with everyone. He laughed easily—but didn't flinch when someone got too close. He'd sit with Levi for hours in silence, but Levi couldn't tell if that meant anything more than friendship, or if Merlin just liked the quiet.

Levi could tell Merlin liked him. But how much? And, in what way?

So Levi tested the waters in the only way he knew how: contact. A brush of the shoulder when they trained. A ruffle of hair when they returned from a safe expedition. A light touch to his wrist when Merlin handed him tea.

Subtle. Small. Intentional.

And Merlin… responded. He didn't lean away. He didn't ignore it. His smile would soften just a little and his gaze lingered a second longer. Once or twice, he'd even leaned into it, as if savoring the contact.

It gave Levi hope. Or made him reckless. Hard to say.

He still wasn't sure if Merlin knew, though he was too observant to not do so. But he didn't think Merlin understood what Levi was doing—what he was offering, in his own quiet, awkward way.

That morning, on the eve of the 56th expedition, he found out.

Merlin had gasped awake on Levi's office couch after he tried to awaken him, mostly because he was still asleep when he needed to get ready. The blankets tangled around his legs and he was breathing harshly as he'd said a name—Eren—with something close to wonder in his voice. Not the first time Merlin had reacted this strongly to a dream, but something about this one hit differently.

Levi felt the flash of something ugly—jealousy, maybe. The name wasn't his. And it had left Merlin's lips like a prayer. But then he saw the tremble in Merlin's hands and the quiet panic behind his eyes.

So Levi did what he always did now—stepped forward and ruffled Merlin's hair to calm him. He meant it as a grounding touch, something steady. Familiar.

What he hadn't expected was Merlin reaching up, gently guiding his hand and pressing it to his cheek, asking for more.

And Levi froze because Merlin didn't ask for things like that, not outright. Not with this quiet need. But now—now he leaned into Levi's palm, lashes fluttering close, breath unsteady, like the contact alone was holding him together.

Levi's chest tightened as he let his hand linger. Brushed his thumb across Merlin's cheekbone. Jaw. Lips. Slow and careful. And when Merlin kissed his palm—light as a whisper—it felt like Levi's world tilted on its axis.

He'd wanted confirmation. He'd wanted something real and that moment had been more than enough. Even if it got interrupted, afterward. Even if the day moved forward as if nothing had changed. Something had. Between them.

And now, Levi didn't feel reckless.

He felt… patient. Because whatever this was—whatever it was becoming—he'd wait. Wait for the next time Merlin reached for his hand first.

Afterward, he hadn't meant to linger, but his eyes didn't listen. Especially not when Merlin stood with his back to him, pulling his shirt over his head in a practiced motion, the fabric sliding up and revealing pale skin, smooth and unmarked. Too smooth. Too unscarred for someone who trained like a soldier and moved like the wind. And Levi stared.

He shouldn't have, but he did.

There was something reverent in the way Merlin moved—like every gesture was for an unseen audience. Except there was no audience. Just Levi, standing next to his desk in his own office, frozen.

He should have turned away. Should have said something.

Instead, he watched.

He watched the slow arch of Merlin's arms as he stretched into the sleeves of his uniform jacket. The dip of his waist, the soft line of his spine. Every inch of him was made for a stage—and yet there was something real there, something that ached beneath the beauty. Something that made Levi's chest feel too tight.

Then Merlin looked over his shoulder, eyes meeting his with too much knowing.

The bastard knew.

His motions didn't slow—but they shifted as he put the ODM gear. Became aware. Not quite teasing, not overt… just deliberate. Polished like performance, but aimed directly at him.

"You were doing it on purpose," Levi muttered when he trusted his voice not to crack. It still came out lower than he wanted, rougher. He cleared his throat, looking away from how the straps of the ODM enhanced Merlin's ass.

Merlin smiled, not his usual grin. Not the polite softness he gave others. No—this was something else.

A promise.

He walked over slowly, the last of his gear settling against his hips, cloak still hanging loose around his shoulders. When he reached him, he leaned up on his toes and pressed a kiss—gentle and slow—to Levi's cheek.

Levi didn't move. Couldn't.

"Something tells me," Merlin murmured, "we won't get the opportunity again for a while."

Levi blinked. He hadn't expected—that.

"What does that mean?" he asked, voice quiet and unsteady.

Merlin's expression didn't falter—but the corners of his mouth turned down. Just slightly. "I don't know," he admitted. "And it… scares me."

Levi saw it then. The shadow behind the glamour. The fear Merlin didn't usually let bleed through.

Without thinking—without hesitating—he stepped forward. One hand came up to Merlin's jaw, thumb brushing lightly over the corner of his mouth. Then, just as gently, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Merlin's.

A kiss. 

Just that.

No heat, no hunger. Just the weight of being here.

And Merlin leaned into it, responded a little bit with slowness. When they pulled apart, it left Levi a little breathless. It wasn't a deep kiss, he didn't want to make it so when he had soldiers to get to. He still had an image to present… And he didn't want others to see Merlin with flushed cheeks and red, kissed lips.

He didn't say anything for a second, regaining his breath.

"Then this one," he said, voice low, "will be for luck."

And before Merlin could say anything else—before Levi could see the look in his eyes and do something reckless—he turned, opened the door, and walked into the chill morning air where the squad waited in formation, his cloak snapping behind him like a banner.

His ears were definitely warm.

And he didn't even care.