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
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