The King didn't blink.
Didn't speak again right away either.
Just sat there, eyes narrowed slightly, gaze locked onto Merlin like a craftsman sizing up a flawed blade and trying to decide where to start breaking it down.
He leaned back into the bone-carved throne.
Then raised one hand.
Not high. Just a few inches.
The room shifted.
It didn't tilt. Didn't rumble.
The pressure didn't announce itself.
It arrived.
A stillness that locked the air tight in Merlin's throat before he could brace for it.
His lungs worked. But less efficiently now.
Like they were being choked through water.
'Mana pressure. Not just mana. Will.'
It bore down from every angle.
Not like a storm, but like the weight of history remembering it hates you.
His knees wobbled.
The girl beside him didn't look up.
The guards at the edge of the room didn't flinch.
This wasn't unusual.
This was… protocol.
Merlin gritted his teeth.
