Extra To Protagonist

The door opened again.

Same rank. Same face.

Colonel Talryn. No guards this time.

She stepped into the room with a precision that didn't ask for permission. Still no translator unit on her collar, but it didn't matter. Her words reached him just fine.

"You're not from here."

She didn't wait for confirmation. Just walked a slow half-circle around the space like she was giving herself time to decide what kind of threat he was.

"You're not a soldier. But you've seen combat. You don't posture like an academy graduate. But you don't flinch like a civilian."

She stopped behind him. Not close enough to touch. Just enough to be heard differently.

"You didn't ask questions when we took your weapon. You didn't resist when we isolated your team. You didn't speak when we recorded. That kind of discipline doesn't come from peacekeeping."

Merlin didn't move. He didn't look at her. He listened.

"It comes from training. But not ours."

She walked to the front again. Sat down. No file. No badge. No recording glyph this time. Just her and the question she'd clearly been holding for two hours.

"Who taught you to lie like that?"

Merlin raised his head slowly. His voice didn't change.

"I didn't lie."

"Then you're worse than I thought."

Silence.

Then, finally, she leaned back. Not smug. Just tired.

"I don't care if you're from a sealed zone, or a forgotten country, or a godsdamned rift in the sky. I just need to know if I should shoot you now or later."

Merlin didn't blink.

"If you wanted to shoot me," he said quietly, "you would've brought a witness."

She paused. One second. Two.

Then—

[The Smiling Witness is laughing.]

[The Messenger approves.]

[The First Lawkeeper takes notes.]

[The Judge with No Mouth tilts the scale.]

Merlin saw none of it. Only the flicker in his vision.

But he felt it.

He sat straighter.

"You're not here to decide," he said. "You're here to record that you tried."

Colonel Talryn's mouth twitched. Not a smile. Just pressure against one.

She stood.

"You're smarter than you look."

"And you're not the one pulling strings."

That stopped her.

Just for a breath.

Then she left.

No comment.

No threat.

The door didn't lock.

Again.

But this time he stood.

Not to leave.

Just to see if they would stop him.

They didn't.

Which meant he'd passed something.

Not the trial.

Not her.

Them.

[The Broken Herald casts two more votes.]

[The Nameless Clockmaker removes five seconds from the tally.]

[Access Route: Pending.]

Merlin stood alone in a box that had no meaning, until now.

—

Elara didn't sit. She leaned against the far wall of the holding cell, arms folded, heel pressed to the floor in a steady rhythm.

It wasn't nervous energy, it was containment. If she stopped moving, even that much, she might say something she couldn't take back.

The cell wasn't large, but it felt smaller with each passing minute. No chains, no runes, just four walls and the kind of silence that didn't come from peace.

It came from watching each other. Waiting for someone else to crack first.

Mae sat on the floor, knees tucked to her chest, gaze locked on a screw in the far corner like she could unturn it with enough focus.

Seraphina hadn't said a word since they were brought in. She stood near the door, arms crossed, eyes flicking toward every passing shadow outside the narrow window slot.

Dion paced, slowly. He wasn't loud. Wasn't joking. He kept his head down like something in him had been turned sideways and hadn't clicked back yet.

And Nathan, Nathan was still leaning against the wall, staring at nothing. His brow furrowed like he was trying to hear a voice just out of reach.

Elara's gaze kept drifting to him, then away, then back again. He hadn't looked at her once.

She didn't speak. Not yet. Not while the air was still loaded from earlier. But when she finally did, it wasn't a question.

"You don't remember him at all then?"

Nathan blinked. His shoulders straightened a little, but he didn't answer.

"You remember the trials. The fights. The runes. The doors. But not him."

Nathan finally looked up, and for a second, the answer was in his face before it reached his voice.

"I remember his voice. Not the words."

Elara's jaw tightened. "That's worse."

Nathan didn't respond. There wasn't anything to say that didn't make it worse.

Mae spoke up, voice thin. "They've had him a while."

Seraphina didn't turn. "They'll keep him longer."

Elara pushed off the wall. "We shouldn't be sitting here."

"And do what?" Dion asked. His tone wasn't sharp, but it was heavy. "Storm the base? We don't even know what language they're speaking."

"They're not speaking," Seraphina said. "They're interrogating."

Elara crossed the room slowly and sat near Mae, not close, but within reach. "You think they'll send him back?"

No one answered.

Because that wasn't the question.

The real question, the one they were all avoiding, was what kind of version of Merlin would come back, if any.

And Elara, more than any of them, had the sick suspicion that if something was going to crack, it wouldn't be Merlin.

It would be the ones waiting for him.

—

Merlin didn't sleep. Not in the usual sense. He leaned back in the metal chair, eyes half-closed, heartbeat slowed by effort, not peace.

There was no bed in the interrogation cell. No comfort. Just the hum of electricity and the cold, faint click of the security node embedded in the ceiling.

But the body could only hold so long.

Eventually, the strain tipped him sideways, and sleep found its opening.

Darkness didn't fall.

It folded.

The air changed, not cooler, not warmer. Just still. The kind of still that belonged to temples and thresholds and the one second before a lie is spoken.

And then he was standing.

Not in the cell. Not in Titanos.

On a black floor stretching into nothing, skyless, but not empty.

A figure waited across from him. Cloaked, not for mystery, but simplicity. Silver-threaded cuffs. No sandals. Just bare feet and the kind of posture that suggested casualness was a weapon.

Hermes.

Not disguised. Not dramatic. Just watching him like he always did, like Merlin was both a game piece and the one writing the rules.

"You're not sleeping well," Hermes said.

"Not really trying," Merlin replied.

Hermes tilted his head. "You look better in here. Less strain on your spine."

"You didn't pull me in to check my posture."

"No," Hermes agreed, "but if I waited until you had a good mattress, we'd never speak."

Merlin folded his arms. "Why now?"

Hermes shrugged. "You're being held in a military facility. Watched by humans who think a silence chamber counts as pressure. I figured you earned a break."

Merlin didn't move. "They'll want more."

"They always do."

"You going to intervene?"

Hermes smiled. Not broadly. Not kindly. Just enough to remind Merlin who was in charge of nothing and everything. "No."

Of course not.

"Then why the visit?"

Hermes walked, not toward him, just past. They weren't facing each other now, just two men pacing the same loop.

"You used the die."

Merlin's jaw twitched. "Nathan used it."

"And you let him."

"It was his choice."

Hermes nodded. "You know what that cost you."

"I didn't ask you to fix it."

"You didn't have to," Hermes said. "You're my apostle. That puts your debts on my ledger, whether you like it or not."

Silence stretched between them.

Merlin didn't thank him.

Hermes didn't demand it.

After a beat, Hermes spoke again.

"He doesn't remember you. But he trusts you anyway."

Merlin's voice didn't shake. "He trusted me before. That's what memory is. Compounded instinct."

Hermes tilted his head. "That's a cold way to look at it."

"It's the only way that lets me keep moving."

"You could ask me to give it back."

Merlin didn't answer.

Hermes looked over. "You haven't used your wish."

Merlin said nothing.

The god kept speaking. "That wasn't an accident. You saved it. Even now, even here."

Finally, Merlin turned to him. "I don't want to use a divine cheat to rebuild something that was earned."

Hermes didn't smile this time. He just looked at him, direct, plain, unornamented.

"I don't mean to insult your sense of honor. But memory is not love. It's a tool. And you're bleeding without it."

"I'll survive."

"Surviving is what gods ask mortals to do," Hermes said. "I didn't take you in for that."

Merlin's voice was quieter now. "Then what did you take me for?"

Hermes paused.

Then said, "To win."

The word didn't echo.

It didn't need to.

Merlin looked at the edge of the dark field beneath their feet. "You think that memory will make a difference?"

"No," Hermes said. "But I think your hesitation might."

He turned away, starting to fade into the space between dreams.

"One last thing," he added over his shoulder. "You'll be released soon. Make sure when you walk out, you know what you want. Because the gods are done watching. They're about to start moving."

Merlin blinked.

And when his eyes opened again—

He was still in the metal chair.

Still alone.

Still in Titanos.

But the air felt a little lighter.

And the decision still waited.