Then—predictably, wonderfully—Hange leaned forward, eyes sparkling with unfiltered awe.
"Okay, hold on—I just realized you said you are capable of using magic? Like real magic? You said illusions earlier, but if you're really powerful as you imply, then you have other abilities, right? What can you do?"
They were continuing to write in their notepad even before Merlin answered, while Erwin remained silent. Levi stood by the wall, arms crossed—but his gaze hadn't left Merlin for a second.
Merlin exhaled softly, glancing at Hange with a half-smile. "Yes. I have magic. Not quite as much as I once did—I think this world dampens some of it, or maybe I've been… trimmed to fit."
"Trimmed?" Hange echoed, blinking rapidly. "Like—on purpose?"
"Like trying to pour an ocean into a glass," Merlin murmured. "Some had to spill. Though I do admit, in comparison to when I appeared here, my power has increased. So I'm a bigger glass, now."
That earned a soft snort from Levi.
Erwin finally spoke. "Then tell us what you can still do."
Merlin turned his attention to him now, straightening slightly. "I'm more of a supportive caster. I was never built for direct destruction or liked it. But I'm capable of defending myself. I prefer to fight with a blade, though."
"Tell us, anyway."
He shrugged and raised one hand, fingers glowing faintly, and then ticked off each power one by one.
"Illusions, of course. Visual, auditory, even emotional misdirection. I can make someone see or feel what I choose… though I tend to use it more for calm than confusion." He smiled at Hange, who was nodding frantically.
"Healing, to a degree. Not bones or deep tissue without being obvious, but I can numb pain, close minor wounds, and stabilize shock."
"Enhancements. I can push stamina, alertness, clarity—guide someone's instincts to act faster, sharper. It's subtle, but on the battlefield, subtle matters."
"Barrier spells. Usually temporary, if I want them to be invisible. Think shields of light or force—quick to form, quick to break. Enough to buy a second."
"Empathy. Not mind-reading, but… attunement. I can feel what people are carrying. Fear. Grief. Sometimes, hope. It lets me respond without being told."
"...And dreams, of course." That one, he said more quietly. "I can see things in dreams. Possibilities. Warnings. Not always clear, not always consistent. But useful, if interpreted correctly."
Levi's voice cut in: "And offense?"
Merlin shrugged. "Glamoured blades. Spells that bind. Light that sears. I can fight. But I'm more effective making sure others stay alive to fight harder."
Erwin's eyes narrowed slightly. "So the reason we had no casualties this time…"
Merlin didn't flinch. "Was everyone doing their best. I may have... encouraged them to find that best."
Erwin leaned back slowly, absorbing it. Then Hange jumped in, unable to restrain themself. "And the Titans? What do you see when you look at them with magic?"
Merlin hesitated—just for a second. Then, softly: "They were people."
Even Levi twitched slightly at that.
"People… twisted. Torn apart and sewn back wrong. The power in them is old, angry. It smells like resignation. Like something that used to want to live… and gave up."
Hange stared, stunned. "You feel that?"
"I see it, sometimes. When I look too close. Paths, connections—like threads running between all of us. Like we're all leaves on the same tree."
He paused, tone dropping.
"And once, I saw a girl in the branches that controlled it all. Small and sad, but watching."
The room stilled. Even Hange stopped scribbling.
Merlin folded his hands again. "I don't know who she is. I don't know what she means. But I know this: the Titans aren't from outside. They're from here. And any one of you could become one."
The room went silent until Merlin added, "Well, except for Levi, of course."
That surprised everyone. Levi didn't respond immediately while Hange's pen stilled. Erwin's gaze sharpened, but it was Levi, the first to regain his composure as he said, "You said something like that, before. What did you really mean?"
Merlin tilted his head, his eyes drifting to Levi's silhouette as though sensing something deeper, gaze half-lidded, as if looking through Levi rather than at him.
"You're human. But not like the rest of them. Not like me, even. There's… something in your blood. A closeness to the Titans, like the other people inside the walls, but not in the same direction. Like your veins carry the resistance, not the infection."
That got a blink from Hange.
"You mean he's… immune to turning?" they asked, leaning forward again.
Merlin nodded. "In a way, yes. It's like… he carries more of what stopped the Titans, not what made them. His strength, his speed—it's not magic. It's heritage. I'd wager it's not just him, but his bloodline. Generational instincts, like ancestral memory woven into his reflexes. A warrior caste, maybe. Created or evolved, I'm unsure. Possibly both."
Levi's jaw ticked. "That's a load of flowery nonsense."
But Merlin only smiled faintly. "Perhaps. But you've felt it, haven't you? That you can do things no one else can. That your body moves on instinct faster than your mind can catch up."
Levi didn't answer, which was answer enough.
Hange's eyes widened. "Wait, if that's true—"
"I don't have a last name," Levi cut in suddenly. "No family. Or… none that I know. Maybe they didn't want to be known."
Merlin's smile turned sympathetic. "That's not surprising."
Erwin leaned forward at that, folding his hands. "Why not?"
Merlin turned to him, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Because I think this entire society was manufactured. And Levi's blood doesn't fit the mold."
Silence.
Merlin continued, quieter now. "Everyone in these walls is all connected, tied together through something I don't fully understand yet. Like a spell." He tapped a finger lightly on the table. "And I think someone designed it. To make sure no one could leave. Or remember. Or fight back."
He gestured vaguely toward Levi. "But he doesn't connect. I don't feel the thread from him. Not like the rest. Which means… he's dangerous to whoever made this system."
A heavy silence fell again, one that Erwin didn't break right away.
Levi, meanwhile, hadn't moved. But the frown between his brows had deepened.
"...So you're saying I'm some kind of failed experiment?" he muttered.
"Not you, but your ancestors, maybe," Merlin said gently now. "And I think you're the one thing that wasn't meant to be here. And that makes you free."
That seemed to land somewhere deeper than Levi wanted it to, because he looked away first.
Hange finally sat back, their voice uncharacteristically soft. "That… explains a lot."
Erwin remained composed, but his eyes flicked to Levi with something like new understanding.
Merlin folded his hands in his lap again and leaned back, letting the weight of his words settle. But at least now, the truth had room to breathe.
Then Erwin exhaled slowly. "I don't think you're not a madman."
Merlin smiled, tired but proud. "Not even close."
Levi spoke at last, quiet but certain. "We keep this to ourselves. For now."
Erwin nodded. "Agreed. We can't let this become a rumor. Not yet. But… we will investigate."
Hange looked at Merlin, eyes wide. "And you'll help us."
Merlin stood, brushing invisible dust from his coat, eyes sparkling despite the weariness.
"I already have."
.
The hallway outside Erwin's office was dim and still, lit only by the occasional lantern flickering along the stone walls. Their footsteps echoed softly, side by side, neither of them speaking at first.
Merlin walked with his hands behind his back, head slightly tilted, as if still digesting the conversation. Levi, quiet as ever, kept pace beside him, unreadable. It was only when they reached the quiet curve of the corridor that Merlin finally broke the silence.
"You're not surprised," he said, voice light but probing. "Not about the magic. Not about me. Or about you."
Levi didn't look at him. "Should I be?"
"You should be many things, but you aren't." Merlin glanced at him sideways, lips tugging up. "So—how so?"
Levi stopped walking and so did Merlin.
There was a heartbeat of quiet. Then Levi looked at him—flat, calm, voice as dry as ever. "No one that regal-looking and that pretty is a normal person."
Merlin blinked as Levi kept going. "You don't look real half the time. Like someone dreamed you up, and you stepped out of the page."
A pause where Merlin blinked again, slowly this time.
"...Flattered," he said softly. "I think. Even if you answered nothing about yourself."
He stepped closer—just enough to cross the threshold of personal space. Not touching, not yet, but close enough that the lantern light caught in his hair like silver thread, and his voice lowered to a softer register.
"But for the record," he said, eyes just a little too hooded, lashes low, "I haven't even tried to charm you."
Levi's jaw tightened, but he didn't move back or look away as Merlin tilted his head just slightly. "If I did…"
His fingers brushed the edge of Levi's sleeve. Light and barely there.
"…You would know."
For just a moment, something in Levi's breath caught—almost imperceptibly. His shoulders didn't shift. His face didn't flush. But his eyes narrowed, sharpened—not in suspicion. In awareness.
He didn't say a word and Merlin smiled slowly, not smug, not seductive—just warm. "Still not surprised?"
Levi held his gaze.
"Still think you're not trying?" he asked quietly.
Merlin's smile widened—then softened. "Only a little."
Levi scoffed, turning to walk again, and muttered over his shoulder, "Tch. Flirt."
"Only for you," Merlin called lightly, following.
Levi didn't stop him, but there was a tightness in his posture that wasn't before. Barely there.
The silence that followed them was no longer empty. It was charged.
And Merlin's smile, this time, didn't fade.
.
The next day dawned with no alarms, no Titans, and no urgent missions—just the mundane order of chores and command rotations. For once, Merlin found himself with a broom in hand instead of a blade.
The barracks were loud with grumbling and noise, boots scraping floors, someone swearing in the hallway, and Petra laughing as she ducked out of the way of a mop-swing from Gunther. Oluo tried to avoid the chaos, but Eld tossed a rag at his head, and the cycle of yelling and smirking began again.
Merlin, to his own surprise, laughed. Actual, bright laughter. Not the soft chuckles he often offered to make people comfortable—this was full-bodied and unguarded.
He stood in the middle of it, a little dusty, a little flushed, and wearing a shirt that had definitely seen better days. There was grime on his sleeves and a streak of something suspiciously gray on his cheek.
Petra grinned at him, tossing him a fresh cloth. "Didn't think your highness knew how to clean."
"I trained under a perfectionist once," he replied, catching it easily. "She would haunt me if I didn't scrub corners."
Gunther snorted. "Let me guess—your mother."
Merlin just winked. "Someone as dear."
.
That afternoon, Merlin didn't even get to escape the moment he sat down with a cup of water.
"Merliiiin," Hange sang, already dragging a chair too close. "We have so much to talk about."
He gave them a patient smile and prepared himself.
And so the interrogation—ahem, intellectual exchange—began.
It ranged from his perception of Titan emotions to the structure of their regenerative magic, to how exactly he managed to sense "paths" and if he could possibly sense Hange's potential future (he refused, politely), to what kind of tea he believed improved mental clarity best (lemon balm, obviously).
Hange was relentless. They made charts, asked him to sketch diagrams of the girl in the tree, and even tried to test his spell limit with back-to-back "hypothetical scenario" questions.
By the time sunset rolled over the compound, Merlin's brain ached in a fond sort of way. He left Hange still scribbling excitedly and whispering, "Incubus, mage, seer, and tea enthusiast—how did I get so lucky?"
.
That evening, he found himself in Levi's office again. The smell of tea mingled with old parchment and oil from polished steel. The room was quiet, lit only by the desk lamp and the open window that let in the breeze.
Merlin was curled up on the small couch with a half-full cup in his hands, legs tucked beneath him, hair slightly mussed from the day.
"You're quiet," Levi murmured.
Merlin hummed, staring at his tea. "Erwin said I have to sleep tonight."
Levi looked over from where he was straightening a row of reports. "Shocking. He commands it now?"
Merlin gave a small, dry smile. "He wants the dream recorded."
A pause. Levi's eyes lingered on him a moment longer. "You going to?"
Merlin sighed. "I will. But I don't want to."
Another silence as Merlin sipped his tea, slower now. "It's not the nightmares-like futures I see. It's the... knowing. Sometimes it's so much. Dozens of futures, layered, twisting, some full of death. Others—bright. But none of them fixed. None of them mine."
He closed his eyes briefly. "I like the present with the dust and the tea. With the people. But when I sleep, I start to wonder how long I'll have it before something changes."
Levi didn't say anything for a moment. Then, quietly, "You can sleep here."
Merlin blinked, surprised.
Levi wasn't looking at him, already focused on cleaning the rim of his cup with a cloth. "If you don't want to stay in the barracks, use the couch. You're not the only one who hates sleeping near noise."
Merlin tilted his head, smiling slowly. "Thank you."
"It's not a favor," Levi muttered.
"No," Merlin said, voice warm. "But it's kind."
He looked around the room again—at the spare furniture, the clean lines, the steady silence—and then back at Levi.
"I'll take you up on it," he said, setting his teacup down and curling more comfortably into the couch's corner. "Just for tonight."
Levi didn't argue, and Merlin closed his eyes.