Extra To Protagonist-Chapter 143: Realization

The woman in silver didn’t move.

She didn’t need to.

Her presence reached the room before her voice ever did. Not like a tide. Like a verdict. Quiet, final, impossible to appeal.

"You’ve come," she said again.

Not warm. Not cruel. Just... confirmed.

The words slipped into the space like they already belonged. The way a door settles back into its frame when it was never really open to begin with.

Merlin’s boots pressed into ash-laced stone. It wasn’t soft. But it wasn’t stable either. Like walking on bone dust mixed with centuries of footfall and memory. Everything here had weight. Even silence.

The other souls didn’t look at him anymore. Not directly. But they knew he was there. Their bodies didn’t flinch. Just shifted, subtly. Like he was wind and they were reeds. Like his existence was a breeze they weren’t ready to remember.

He stepped forward once more.

"I wasn’t invited," Merlin said.

The woman didn’t laugh. But her eyes shifted.

"You weren’t stopped either."

The runes along the wall hissed faintly, like water on heat. A breath passed through the chamber. Not wind. Not sound. Just the suggestion of movement, like the room inhaled and hadn’t decided yet if it would exhale.

"I don’t know what this place is," he said.

She nodded once.

"But you know what it isn’t," she replied.

Merlin stopped moving.

Because the space between knowing and not knowing had closed. And what was left, this place, this room, these waiting souls, was what lay underneath.

She lifted the chalice again.

The metal didn’t gleam. It pulsed. As if light had a heartbeat, and it was inside that cup.

"This is Circle Nine," she said. "Not for the wicked. Not for the cruel. For those who carry what should’ve been laid down."

He blinked once. "I didn’t ask to carry it."

"No one does."

The Reaper stood behind him still. It didn’t breathe. Didn’t posture. It only watched, like a servant who’d seen too many petitions fail.

The woman stepped down one curved stair, each footfall soundless.

"Your breath hasn’t left you," she said. "But you walk with the weight of a thousand who can no longer scream. That makes you heavier than most."

"I didn’t mean to take it."

"You didn’t," she agreed. "You were chosen."

He almost laughed. "That’s not better."

Her gaze softened.

"Isn’t it?"

He looked away. Back at the chamber. At the hunched shoulders of a hundred people who hadn’t moved in who knows how long.

And they weren’t chained. That was the part that stuck in his chest like a shard.

They were just... staying.

"I don’t want to be one of them," he said.

"You’re not," she said. "Not yet."

He looked back to her. "But I’m not free either."

"No," she said. "You’re not."

She lifted the chalice a little higher. "Would you like to be?"

He said nothing.

Not because he didn’t want it.

Because the question was too clean.

"What’s in it?"

The corners of her mouth twitched. Not a smile. Not quite.

"What’s in everything down here," she said. "Choice."

Behind her, one of the souls shifted fully, uncoiled, sat upright. They didn’t speak. But the way they sat, more alert, more present, said enough.

The choice wasn’t a gift.

It was a cost you agreed to pay before you knew what the price was.

She stepped down one more stair.

"You can drink. You’ll forget what you carried. You’ll wake in the surface world. No memory of pain. No burden."

He stared at the chalice.

"And?"

"And someone else will be chosen."

A pause.

Long.

Uneven.

And then, softly:

"You will never see them. But you will feel it, once. When they break."

The Reaper didn’t move.

The room didn’t breathe.

Only her.

And the cup.

And the weight that knew his name.

He exhaled. Low. Slow. Like trying not to shatter.

Then—

"I’ll carry it."

No drama. No defiance. Just the same tone he’d used when offering to die.

The woman’s eyes didn’t widen.

They narrowed.

As if something inside her had expected that.

She stepped back, replacing the chalice into a hollow in the wall.

Its light dimmed instantly.

The souls all leaned forward now.

None smiled.

But every one of them breathed.

Together.

The first time since he’d entered.

"You will be marked," she said.

"I already am."

"No. Not by gods. Not by exile. By the underworld."

Merlin didn’t respond.

Because she was already reaching forward.

Not her hand.

Her shadow.

It touched his chest.

And the cold bloomed through him like ink in water.

[Mark Registered.]

[Circle Nine – Bearer.]

[The Reaper stands aside.]

He shuddered once.

It wasn’t pain.

It was clarity.

Sharp. Total. Unforgiving.

Then—

A path lit beneath him.

Stone shifting.

Air sharpening.

Not up.

Not down.

Just... onward.

The Queen of Nine watched him go.

Not with pity.

Not with warmth.

Just with the weight of a witness who had seen a thousand brave people make the wrong choice.

And now waited to see if he would be the first to survive it.

—

It happened in the middle of the sentence.

One second Merlin was upright, leaning forward like he was going to say something, eyes still tracking the last pulse from the seal.

And the next, he dropped.

No warning. No twitch. No gasp.

Just his legs giving out and his whole body folding like something had snatched out the thread holding him up. He hit the stone on his side, head turned, eyes closed.

"Elara," Nathan said behind her. It didn’t sound like a question. More like permission.

She was already moving.

Her knees scraped across the floor as she dropped beside him. She pressed her fingers to the side of his neck first, then shifted to his wrist. Nothing. No pulse.

No resistance. His skin wasn’t warm, not yet cold, either, but it felt wrong. Like it didn’t belong to someone living.

"Is he—" Mae’s voice, too close, too fast. Elara didn’t answer.

"Move," Seraphina snapped, and Dion stepped back without protest.

Elara leaned over him. Her other hand pressed against his chest, counting silently. She kept waiting for it to rise. Just once.

It didn’t.

Nathan crouched beside her, quiet. He didn’t reach in. He just watched.

"He’s not breathing," Elara said, and it felt like admitting something stupid. Pointless. Of course he wasn’t. They could all see it.

"Is it real?" Seraphina asked. Her voice didn’t shake. It just came out low. Precise. "Can it be reversed?"

"I don’t know." Elara’s eyes scanned Merlin’s face again. "He wasn’t wounded. The seal didn’t strike him. He just—"

"Collapsed," Nathan finished.

Mae crouched next to Dion, her eyes wide and unfocused. "You said it would take a life. It took his."

"Yeah." Dion’s voice was quiet now. Almost flat. "But that doesn’t mean it’s done."

Elara didn’t move. She was still holding Merlin’s wrist. The skin had cooled another fraction.

Nathan’s hand shifted near hers. "He said he’d seen it already. That it was his to pay."

"Yeah, well," Elara said, not looking up, "he didn’t say he was going to drop dead in front of us."

"He didn’t say anything," Seraphina said. "Not really."

The air didn’t hum, but it felt stretched. Like the pressure of the room had shifted in some subtle, chemical way. The stone under her knees still radiated faint warmth, but it wasn’t enough. The silence started to itch.

She looked up.

The crystal wasn’t glowing anymore.

The seal was gone.

But Merlin hadn’t come back.

"We need to do something," Mae said. "Don’t we? Shouldn’t we try—"

"No mouth-to-mouth," Dion said. "He’s not drowned. He’s not shocked. He’s not even—" He cut off. Then swore, quiet and hoarse. "He’s not even twitching."

Nathan didn’t move. "He’s somewhere."

"Where?" Mae asked. "The seal’s gone. He’s not here. Where would he go?"

"Hell," Elara muttered.

Everyone looked at her.

"I mean it." She let Merlin’s wrist go. Folded her hands together and leaned back. "Where do you think a magic gate built from exile and memory dumps your soul if you pay its price?"

"You’re guessing," Seraphina said.

"I’m always guessing. But he’s not here, and he’s not dead." She gestured down at him. "That’s not death. There’s no finality. His body isn’t collapsing. It’s like he just—left."

Silence again.

Nathan stood. Walked a slow circle around Merlin’s body. His jaw was locked. He didn’t say anything.

"He’s not gone," he said finally. "He’s just... somewhere the rest of us can’t follow."

"Then what do we do?" Mae asked. "Wait?"

"Yes," Elara said.

"For how long?"

"As long as it takes."

Mae stared at her. "That’s not a plan."

"No," Elara said. "It’s a promise."

She reached forward, brushed a strand of hair away from Merlin’s brow. It felt weirdly intimate. But she did it anyway.

Then she stood.

’Happened yet again..’

Because someone had to.

And if he came back, she wanted to be standing next to him without leaving him behind again.

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