The training hall was mostly empty now.
Only the distant clack of practice blades echoed faintly from a chamber down the hall, first years most likely, or overachievers without much else to do.
Merlin stayed where he was, seated on the edge of the bench. His posture hadn't moved in minutes. Just his fingers, curled loosely around the rim of the blunted longsword he'd chosen earlier. Still felt wrong. Still felt heavy in all the wrong places.
He glanced at it again, expression unreadable.
'Keryx was made to feel like an extension. This…'
He shifted the blade a little on his thigh. Even after an hour of drills, he couldn't decide if he hated it or not.
'No. I don't hate it. I just… don't know it. Not yet.'
A beat passed. His gaze slid to the scuffed stone floor.
'Reinhardt didn't comment much. He saw, of course. But he didn't say much.'
That silence had been the loudest part of the day.
