Before Zorya even met you, she had already heard of you.
There’s raised voices inside the headmaster’s office. An offence like this must be punished, Durella shouted at Leymar, and was that a fist slamming onto the table? How uncharacteristic of her. Apparently a student had been talented enough to charm and dress up a Lyceum guard as themselves to attend their classes. Remarkable, Leymar said. A few adjustments, and everyone would have been fooled.
A preparatory year student. That’s who the offender is. Zorya looked down at you, the top of your head barely passing her hip. Mischief looked adorable when it was wearing a too big robe and messy hair. Your curiosity at her did not get a chance to be sated, because Leymar had opened the door with twinkling eyes.
In that moment, Zorya knew you would be trouble.
The first time she met you as your professor was not in her classroom. You were absent, and your classmates were far too eager to report of your frequent absences and antics. After class, Zorya conveniently forgot to tell Leymar of your absence and went after you herself.
You were no longer the child wearing too big robes, and your hair had been wrestled into some form of decorum. Zorya found you easily enough. A corrupted owlbear from the forest had caught your attention and you were busy trying to figure out how to fix it. Any student at this age would have the sense to flee from it. Apparently, you had captured it and decided to attempt a cure yourself.
“Professor.” You shouted, holding down a winged arm. “I’m sorry, I’ll do detention later.”
Zorya studied you for several more seconds, and then undid the curse with a flick of her hand. Your expression turned from surprise to dismay.
“Aw-I almost got it-how did you?”
“By attending classes.” Zorya watched the owlbead get up with a grumble.
“They didn’t teach this in the textbook. I found this from the library.”
“If you attend my class next week, I will break down this spell for you after class.”
It was not contempt and arrogance that kept you from class, as Durella claimed. You showed up to Zorya’s class the week after, restless and distracted. Every question thrown at you was answered well. After class, Zorya handed you a textbook you hadn’t even bothered to bring. You said you already finished reading it last month. Class just started two months ago.
A promise was a promise, so Zorya broke down the spell mechanics for you. With a few simple instructions, you mastered the spell. The last time Zorya had seen students of this caliber turned out to be revered mages that broke the limits of magic. Still, a talented young mind could easily go awry if not guided with a firm hand.
“For every five times you attend my classes, I will teach you an additional spell.”
Your face crumpled. “Why must I attend classes?”
“Classes do not just teach you magic. It teaches you discipline and persistence. It teaches you how to get along with other people. These skills can be just as important as magic itself.”
Zorya wasn’t sure how much of her words could get through to you. But you showed up at her classes, then again and again. True, you were fidgety and flighty, but you learnt how to keep to yourself and not disturb others. You learnt how to sit still for the entire duration. You learnt that helping others makes it easier to make friends. It didn’t stop you from skipping classes, but your attendance in her class was certainly the highest.
Not to say that she never punished you. Someone had to knock some sense into you for digging tunnels under the school.
The appearance of Cyran was a relief. Finally, someone that you could talk to as an equal. Someone that dragged you to classes and made you do your work and study for exams. Someone that could understand you and make you listen. It had all been going so well. When did Cyran start to look at you with bitterness? How did you lose your dearest friend? It did not stop you from graduating flawlessly, but that was the most subdued Zorya had ever seen you be.
You vanished after graduating from the Lyceum.
Zorya found herself staring at your assignments and letters and silly little trinkets you had given her over the years. She finally stopped having headaches after you were gone, but classes felt too quiet without you in it. No longer was there someone tapping at her office door at one in the morning about some new spell that had to be explained immediately. It didn’t help that Leymar lamented about you a lot.
When she saw you again, you were already Merlin.
It was a surprise to see such a young Merlin, but almost everyone agreed that there was no other mage as talented as you. Cyran might have been a contender, but just like you, he disappeared from public view after being accepted as a court mage.
You were still as curious as ever, poking and prodding at everything in her office. There was so much in your eyes; you wanted to tell her everything that you learnt and experienced in the years you were gone. Something held you back, reduced the stories bubbling in your expression to a quiet, careful: I’m doing well.
The mantle of Merlin was heavy indeed.
Exactly how heavy was not to be known until she stepped into the Sixth Seat as Bedivere. Zorya could see the joy in your face as you welcomed her with open arms, and it made something inside her warm. That night itself, you sat her in your room and talked to her until sunrise. With secrets revealed came understanding of how heavy it was to be Merlin.
Too young, she thought then, as you confessed to her your struggles.
But you pulled through, as you always did. You became the Merlin everyone looked up to. You fought Hypogeans, helped the people with their problems, and led the Council well. You saw the coming of the Second Divine War and warned everyone in advance. Yet, with every achievement crowning your head, you grew quieter. Gravitas, they say. But all Zorya could see was the child barely as tall as her hip, struggling alone.
On the day you set off to the frontlines of the Second Divine War, you promised to return with fruits for her.
Merlin could not be dead, people argued. Maybe you had gone into hiding, ashamed at your so called failures to protect everyone. Maybe you’ve been captured by the Hypogeans. Maybe Merlin was a scam. Whatever it was, the Second Divine War was over. Garlands and banners hung from whatever villages still standing, and the royal family themselves thanked you publicly for your service. Students at the Lyceum mourned you briefly, and then everyone tried to pick up the pieces left by the war.
Zorya spent nights sitting by the grave she built for you. The soil around your grave gave birth to tiny colorful flowers, especially at the gravestone where she poured a cup of your favourite herbal tea every time she visited. You would have loved the flowers. As much as you loved the fierce wonders of magic, so did you love the blue sky and spring breeze.
Twenty years. Zorya never stopped searching. After all, the coffin was empty.
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