Extra To Protagonist-Chapter 346: Expanding

Shade brightened into her palms like a star being reassured.

Nathan leaned toward Merlin. "If that thing grows any more attached to her, you’re losing custody."

"I don’t have custody."

"Elara thinks you do," Nathan whispered.

Elara did not deny it. She didn’t look at him either.

—

They finished breakfast and made their way toward the training fields for the morning resonance drills. Rowan stood by the entrance, clipboard in hand, expression unreadable as always.

When his eyes landed on Merlin, something tightened around them—something between concern and calculation.

He spoke without preamble. "Everhart. With me."

Nathan’s hand shot out, grabbing Merlin’s sleeve. "Permission to accompany?"

"No," Rowan said.

Elara stepped forward. "He’s not training alone."

"He won’t be," Rowan replied. His gaze shifted to Shade, then to the rest of them. "If you wish to monitor him, you may stand with the class."

Elara didn’t move. "That isn’t—"

Merlin placed a hand on her wrist. It was light, barely there, but enough.

"It’s fine."

"Is it?" she said, too quietly for anyone else.

"No," Merlin said honestly. "But it’s necessary."

She didn’t like the answer. But she stepped back.

Shade hovered anxiously at his shoulder, flickering.

Rowan studied the creature with mild suspicion, then looked at Merlin. "Follow."

—

He led Merlin behind the training arena, toward a sealed ward circle etched deep into the stone. The runes were old, complex, and pulsing with faint violet—Morgana’s work.

Rowan stepped inside and motioned for Merlin to follow. Shade drifted after them, but Rowan raised a hand.

"Not the entity," he said.

Shade made a distressed sound.

Merlin hesitated. "It stays."

Rowan blinked. "...Is that a command or a promise?"

Merlin didn’t answer. Shade hovered helplessly, but Merlin stepped inside the ward alone.

Rowan activated it with a low hum, sealing them in a bubble of stillness.

"Show me," Rowan said.

Merlin frowned. "Show you what?"

"What Morgana didn’t tell me," Rowan said. "Whatever is pulling at you. Whatever responded to you last night. I felt the echo from my office."

Merlin stiffened. "You shouldn’t have."

"I agree," Rowan said. "Which is why we’re here."

Merlin stared at him.

Rowan stared back.

"Call it," Rowan said.

"I don’t know what it is."

"Good," Rowan replied calmly. "Then we learn."

Merlin inhaled slowly.

Against the barrier, Shade pressed itself like a worried animal.

He closed his eyes.

Reached inward.

Touched the space where his mana now thrummed too fast, too deep, too alive—

And something distant moved.

The air in the ward thinned.

Rowan’s expression changed instantly.

"Everhart," he said quietly, "that’s enough."

Merlin tried to pull back.

But the ripple that answered Shade last night—

was answering him now.

Just a whisper of it.

Just the edge of a presence—

cold

curious

aware

Rowan placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, mana flaring sharp.

"Stop."

Merlin exhaled and cut the flow.

The world snapped back.

The presence faded like a receding tide.

Rowan stepped back, jaw clenched. "...That wasn’t mana."

Merlin swallowed. "I know."

Rowan looked at him with an expression Merlin had never seen on him.

Fear.

And not of Merlin.

Of whatever was reaching for him.

Rowan exhaled, steadying himself. "Your schedule changes. Effective immediately."

Merlin frowned. "To what?"

Rowan met his eyes.

"You’re now under dual supervision."

"Meaning?"

"Your mornings are with me," Rowan said. "Your evenings—"

A voice finished for him from behind the barrier:

"—are with me."

Morgana stood there.

Watching him.

Smiling faintly.

Like she’d known he would call out to the dark.

Like she’d been waiting.

Morgana didn’t move when Rowan collapsed the ward, but the air around her shifted—less like she was approaching and more like the world was quietly rearranging itself so she could be closer.

Merlin stepped out of the circle, Shade immediately sliding into orbit around him, humming anxiously. It dimmed and brightened in rapidly flickering pulses, like it was trying to read him for damage.

Morgana studied the creature for one long moment before her gaze lifted back to Merlin. "It is unsettled."

"It reacts when I do," Merlin replied.

"No," Morgana said softly. "It reacts when something else does."

Shade trembled, almost hiding behind Merlin’s neck.

Rowan cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "Headmistress. You said you would not intervene until after I evaluated—"

"I didn’t intervene," Morgana said. "I observed."

"You interfered," Rowan said tightly.

"I arrived."

"That is interference."

Morgana arched a brow. "Your definition of interference grows more fragile by the day."

The two stared at each other, not hostile, but with enough pressure between them to warp air. Merlin realized—again—that Rowan wasn’t afraid of Morgana. Annoyed? Yes. Exasperated? Absolutely. But not intimidated.

He was, however, uneasy with this situation.

Morgana finally broke the tension with a soft hum. "Merlin. Walk with me."

Elara appeared at the edge of the training field as if teleported—she must’ve been watching the entire time. her hand automatically drifted toward her spear.

Morgana didn’t look at her, didn’t acknowledge her, yet spoke directly to her: "You may accompany. Twenty paces behind."

Elara bristled—but nodded. Nathan, Adrian, Dorian, Liliana, Ethan trailed after her without a word.

Shade glowed. It would clearly kill if it had arms.

—

Morgana guided Merlin along a stone path curving behind the main building, toward an enclosed garden rarely used by students. The moment the gate closed behind them, the world outside dimmed, sound collapsing into a single muted hush.

"Rowan senses too much," Morgana said. "He needs distance."

Merlin’s jaw tightened. "And you?"

"I want proximity."

She stepped into the shade of an ancient willow, the branches glowing faint violet as they brushed against her mana. Merlin stayed several feet away. Shade stayed pressed to his shoulder.

"Call it again," she said.

"No."

"Your hesitation answers more than your obedience would." Her eyes narrowed—not with anger, but something sharper, more inquisitive. "It responded faster this time."

"That’s why I’m not calling it."

"And yet," she murmured, "it still stirred."

Merlin went still. Morgana’s expression told him she already knew—she’d felt it, the same way Rowan had.

She motioned toward Shade. "Your companion reacts like an imprint animal sensing a storm. Not out of fear. Out of recognition."

Shade dimmed further, sinking slightly toward Merlin’s collarbone like a child hiding under a coat.

"What do you want to know?" Merlin asked quietly.

"Everything."

"That’s not possible."

"Then give me what is."

He didn’t speak for a long time.

Morgana waited, patient as an executioner.

Finally—"It isn’t mana," Merlin said.

Her eyes sharpened. "Go on."

"It’s... attention," Merlin continued. "The moment I reach too deep, something looks back."

"Something," Morgana echoed, tasting the word. "Not someone."

"It doesn’t feel like a person."

"Good," Morgana said. "A person would be predictable."

Her robe shifted slightly as she stepped closer. Shade trembled, then drifted behind Merlin’s hair. Morgana did not reach for him, didn’t touch him—just stood near enough that her presence pressed lightly against his senses.

"Tell me, Merlin," she said softly. "When did you first feel it?"

He hesitated.

She watched him.

Merlin wasn’t used to being read. Not like this. Not this easily.

"...First year," he admitted. "After the first trial. It was faint. Just a pressure. I thought it was the arena."

"It wasn’t," Morgana said.

"No."

"And recently?"

"It’s gotten... clearer."

Her breath stilled.

"How clear?"

Merlin didn’t sugarcoat. "If I reach too deep, it notices instantly."

"And last night? The echo I felt?"

"I didn’t reach at all," he said. "It reached for me."

Morgana went silent. Not shocked. Not frightened. Considering.

Processing.

Then, quietly: "It is adapting to you more quickly than I anticipated."

Merlin let out a bitter breath. "That makes one of us."

She gave a small, knowing smile. "You thought you could manage this alone."

"I wasn’t given many alternatives."

"You have one now." Her gaze held him. Not gentle. Not soft. But certain. "Me."

"Why?" Merlin asked. "Why involve yourself? Why care?"

Morgana stepped close enough that the violet light around her brushed faintly against him. Shade visibly bristled.

"Because you are no longer a student stumbling into anomalies," she murmured. "You are the anomaly."

She lifted a hand—not touching him, but hovering beside his cheek like she was gauging heat.

"And if something is rewriting itself around you," she said, "I intend to know whether it plans to keep you."

Merlin’s breath hitched.

Shade let out a low, warning buzz.

Before he could say anything, Morgana added, "And before you misunderstand—my concern is not sentimental."

Merlin raised a brow. "I didn’t assume it was."

Her lips curved faintly. "Good. Emotion clouds judgment. I prefer clarity."

She stepped back.

"But I am not blind to the consequences of losing you."

"Losing me," Merlin repeated, "to what?"

"To whatever is listening."

A wind cut across the garden, bending branches, rustling leaves—but not touching Morgana’s robe. She stood unaffected, hair lifting slightly in an unnatural breeze.

"You and I," she said, "will locate it, define it, and bind it—before it shapes you into something you do not choose to become."

Merlin’s pulse tightened. "And if it already has?"

Morgana smiled.

It was not comforting.

"Then we cut it out."

Shade flared so brightly it cast shadows.

Merlin exhaled and looked away, because the truth was simple: he didn’t want whatever it was inside him. But he didn’t want Morgana carving around his soul either.

And she saw that.

"Not literally," she said dryly.

He shot her a look. "Your phrasing didn’t help."

"Your dramatics didn’t help you either."

She sighed—soft, brief.

"Merlin," she said finally, voice low but steady, "I am not your enemy."

"Not yet."

Her eyes narrowed in faint amusement. "If I wanted you broken, you wouldn’t be standing."

He didn’t argue.

Morgana glanced upward, sensing the faint signatures of Elara and the others waiting outside the barrier. "Bring your companions tonight."

"...Into this?"

"Yes." Her answer was instant. "Whatever follows you is expanding its radius. It touched the first-years. It brushed the Cabal’s scouts. It reached across the city last night."

Merlin froze. "What?"

"You didn’t feel it because it touched you first," she said. "Everyone else felt the aftershock."

He didn’t breathe.

Elara.

Nathan.

Their entire class.

"Merlin," Morgana said quietly, "you are the center now. And everything that happens next revolves around you—whether you wish it to or not."

The gate creaked. Elara’s voice cut through the ward, sharp and urgent: "Merlin!"

He turned.

She was already sprinting toward him, spear drawn, eyes locked on Shade’s frantic pulsing.

Morgana didn’t step away.

"Bring them," she repeated, voice low enough only he heard.

"Tonight."

Merlin understood.

This was no longer about him hiding a secret.

This was about all of them surviving it.