He did not know how long he sat there.
The walls never changed. The lights didn't dim or brighten. Time in the old training room passed like a heartbeat suspended underwater — slow, muffled, uncertain. It was the kind of space that existed between hours.
Merlin leaned forward eventually, elbows braced against his knees, fingers still curled slightly like they were gripping a blade that was no longer there.
His breath was steady. Too steady. It felt wrong. Like the body was trying to convince him it could go on when everything inside had already fractured.
He flexed his fingers.
Then again.
Still trembling.
Not from exhaustion anymore.
From something else.
"A week ago I was using lightning. Shaping wind. Using space like a pressure machine. Now I have to count every breath, pace every movement, because I can't afford to burn out. This isn't weakness. This is what's left after the strength is gone."
His eyes opened, unfocused.
The ceiling above him was just stone.
