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."