The sound of a wooden blade hitting dirt cracked through the courtyard like a warning shot. Somewhere nearby, a few first-years groaned in frustration.
One of them shouted something about footing. Another voice, sharper and older, barked a correction that got drowned out by laughter.
Merlin stepped into the edge of it all, hands in his coat pockets. The breeze caught at the hem, tugging fabric against his legs.
The sun was high enough to warm the stone path beneath his boots but not high enough to make him sweat.
Nathan noticed him first. He blinked once, then raised a brow, still chewing on something. Meat skewer. Grease stained the corner of his paper napkin.
"You're walking so sickly," Nathan said around a bite, voice dry. "That's unsettling."
Merlin didn't answer right away. His gaze wandered past Nathan to the bench under the tree. Elara sat cross-legged on the low wall beside it, sharpening a short knife slowly and without looking up.
