The air was cool. Still. The kind of quiet that stretched, delicate and breathless, just before dreams crept in. And he stared at the sky like he was searching for a version of himself hidden in the stars.
Almost four years.
That was how long it had been since he woke up in the forest, shaking and unfamiliar inside a body that was too graceful, too light. Since he'd taken the name Merlin because it was the only one that felt like it fit, even if it pressed down on him like a crown he hadn't earned.
And now, as the quiet pressed in, the name felt too heavy again. His skin too tight. His chest too full.
"I'm me," he whispered to no one. "But I'm also… not."
In the beginning, he hadn't known how to smile properly. His mouth knew how, his face could do it—but it didn't feel right. Not at first. There were days his laughter came easy, bubbling over at the smallest thing—someone tripping, a stray bird landing on someone's head, the way the wind whispered through leaves like old secrets. On those days, he'd felt light. Delicate. Playful. Like the world was a story he'd stepped into by mistake and hadn't yet realized the tragedy in the margins.
But other days? Other days, the weight of it crushed him. The silence and the dread. The blood on training dummies that reminded him of something he couldn't quite recall, with the sound of a Titan's steps echoed in his bones. There was an ache in his hands when he held his staff when he practiced hidden from others and he felt too much.
There were mornings he'd wake up and feel ancient. Not tired. Not weak. Just old.
So old his chest ached with it.
And when people looked at him—his squadmates, the instructors, the rare few who tried to talk to him—they didn't know what to do with someone like him. How could they? He didn't even know what to do with himself.
The first few months had been chaos in his chest. One minute he'd be flirtatious and charming—stealing fruit, teasing other cadets, humming nonsense to himself while scaling a tree just to see how high he could get. The next, he'd fall quiet for hours, barely speaking. A shadow behind his eyes. A sorrow too old for someone who looked nineteen.
No one called him out on it, but they noticed.
Of course they noticed.
He remembered the way they looked at him. Uneasy. Like they thought maybe he wasn't all there. Or maybe he was too much there, all at once.
And maybe they were right.
He was the man who woke up with no name, no past—only the knowledge of how to survive. How to move. How to wield a staff. How to walk through dreams and see the shapes of pain left behind.
And that damn name.
Merlin.
It had slipped from his mouth the first time he saw his reflection.
A whisper of a memory. A prophecy he didn't know and still didn't.
But the name clung to him like thorns and silk. Beautiful. Dangerous. Fitting. Too fitting. And he often wondered—was he really that Merlin? Or just someone wearing his face and tripping over his legend?
He didn't remember anything about himself. Or of this world. What he knew came from dreams, which were just enough to haunt him. Just enough to know that this world, this place, was on the edge of something cataclysmic—and he was not prepared. Not like the real Merlin would be. Not like a proper servant or mage or myth should be.
Sometimes, when the dreams came, he would see flames rising beyond the walls and bodies that screamed without mouths. Faces twisted in terror. Titans that wore people inside their ribs. Wings of freedom snapped like brittle twigs.
And sometimes, rarer still, he saw a sword in a stone, a laughing girl in silver armor, a lion with a crown, a lake that wept, and a woman cloaked in moonlight whispering: Wake up. It's not time to sleep yet.
He didn't know what they meant, but he woke up with tears in his eyes. Every time.
He wiped at them now, absently. Embarrassed by the ache. No one saw it. That was the point.
Merlin leaned his head back against the wood of the barracks wall and let out a soft breath.
"Maybe I'm not supposed to know yet," he murmured to the sky. "Maybe… I just need to keep choosing."
Because that was the only thing he'd had since the moment he opened his eyes in this world and the real Merlin hadn't had: a choice. To walk forward, or to stay. Or just to try.
And maybe that would be enough.
Tomorrow will be the first choice that will embark him towards a path that felt right. And he couldn't wait.
Survey corps, right?
.
The ceremony was short. Efficient. No pomp, no banners—just dust, sunlight, and rows of cadets standing at attention to proclaim their final decision. Three years of sweat, blood, and survival had led to this moment. Today, each would choose which regiment to serve: the Garrison, the Military Police… or the Survey Corps.
Most already knew what they'd pick.
And so did Merlin as he stood alone at the edge of the formation, arms folded, hair half-tied, robes replaced with the standard uniform that somehow still looked too elegant on him. His eyes were half-lidded, expression unreadable as the commanding officer called names, one by one.
"Dina Sannes—Garrison."
"Gerald Walbrunn—Garrison."
"Ralph Bozad—Military Police."
"Merlin—"
The pause that followed his name wasn't long, but it lingered as he stepped forward, calm and silent. A slight wind tugged at the ends of his uniform coat as he stood before the three flags.
Garrison. Safe.
Military Police. Safer.
Survey Corps. Certain death.
The crowd murmured, shifting, as he raised a hand without hesitation.
"Survey Corps," he said.
There was a brief silence and then, whispers.
"He chose what?"
"Is he serious?"
"Top of our class and he picks them?"
"Figures. That guy's always been weird."
Merlin turned, slowly, and returned to his place in line without a word. His face was calm, but his heart thudded once—quietly, not from nerves, but from certainty. He'd seen it in the instructors' eyes during combat drills. He was one of the strongest, even if he didn't try to be. However, what he excelled in was in being fast, precise. Unshakable. He was a servant in human skin and they never understood how far above them he stood.
But even now, with power humming in his bones, he wasn't interested in rising above. He merely wanted to understand. And to understand this world, he had to go beyond the walls.
.
At mess later that day, he sat alone. Not because he was unwelcome—but because he knew no one would sit beside someone who willingly threw his life into Erwin Smith's and Levi's hands. Humanity's strongest soldier, yes. However, just a week ago, it's been know that his whole squad died. He remained alive because he was the strongest, but being the strongest wouldn't protect other but Levi himself.
Erwin Smith might have gained some popularity with his strategies and he was no longer the 'new commander', but the strategist. Or the ambitious one, as it was said behind doors. However, while people were starting to trust him, they didn't trust the way he spoke of sacrifice and truth and long-term gain.
Merlin did.
He'd seen eyes like Erwin's before in Artoria's.
So, he chewed quietly, listening to the buzz of fear and gossip around him. It washed over him like wind, barely brushing his thoughts.
They often called him aloof. Whimsical and not quite right.
They weren't wrong.
But when he looked toward the Survey Corps flag, he felt something stir deep in his chest. Not Avalon, nor prophecy. Something new.
A choice.
And he intended to follow it. Even if it came with some obstacles. Fun ones, though. After all, he knew that being the only Survey Corps recruit will attract attention. He didn't know it would come this soon, though.
"Merlin," Erwin Smith said, voice steady.
"Commander," Merlin greeted mildly.
Erwin gestured to the bench across from him. "May I?"
"You already planned to," Merlin replied. "It would be rude to deny you."
That earned the smallest shift of Erwin's mouth—something not quite a smile.
He sat. No tray. No notepad. Just him, folding his hands together in front of him like he was already mid-interrogation.
"You were top of your class in agility, terrain awareness, and hand-to-hand," Erwin began, tone factual. "Second in strategy. First in academics and in adaptability." He tilted his head slightly. "But you didn't bond with your squadmates. You rarely spoke unless addressed. You requested only wilderness patrols for training, and you never slept in the barracks."
Merlin tilted his head slightly, curious. "That's a rather thorough report for someone who didn't request me."
"I didn't," Erwin agreed. "But the Survey Corps doesn't often receive volunteers who rank first and choose death anyway."
Merlin looked down at his tray, poked at a piece of bread. "They wanted security. I wanted to satisfy my curiosity." A pause. "And help. Where it matters."
Erwin considered him. "You don't strike me as someone with illusions about what the Survey Corps really is."
"I have no illusions," Merlin murmured around a smile, tone quiet but not cold. "But I do have questions. And questions require walking into the dark."
"You sound ambitious."
That made Merlin pause. Then, gently, "Ambition is about power. I only want answers."
Erwin's eyes sharpened, just a little. "Power is often the tool used to uncover truth."
"And truth is often buried under the corpses of those who seek it."
That finally earned a reaction—a small exhale. Something between a chuckle and a sigh.
"You speak like someone who's seen the end of something before," Erwin said.
"I was there. During the fall of Shiganshina."
Erwin's gaze sharpened. "You were?"
"I came after the first breach and passed through the ruins. Watched the aftermath, the people left behind."
"Did you see any Titans?" Erwin asked.
"Yes, but I couldn't do anything," some remorse was seen in his voice, because it was true. He still regretted it, not being there sooner.
Erwin's tone softened, just enough for someone like Merlin to notice. "You didn't know how to fight."
Merlin smiled sardonically, but didn't answer. Erwin seemed to see his guilt, but didn't comment on it. Instead, he continued interrogating him. "No one expected you to pick the Survey Corps."
"Except you?"
"I didn't expect anything," Erwin said. "I'm only interested in what people do when no one's watching."
Merlin smiled faintly. "How very commander-like of you."
"I don't know what you are yet, Merlin," he said at last. "But I think you'll be important."
Merlin's smile didn't widen. But his gaze—his gaze became brighter.
"That makes two of us."