For this day alone
—When I return from the mountains, I will think of you.
Before he concealed his face, he was reminded of his identity by his hamster familiars, Hammie and Chippy.
He was the Voice of Wisdom, the Guiding One. Within powerful city-states, he was treated as a distinguished guest and hailed as a savior. It was said that as long as he trod the wilderness, the thorny deathland would be covered with flowers, and the thunder would avoid the tender sprouts.
By everyone. Those who have seen him. They admitted that he was the one, the messenger of the gods.
Nevertheless, he retained no memory of any of it.
All he could do was persuade the hamster familiars named Hammie and Chippy to leave. He understood their concerns and instinctively knew that he couldn't show his helplessness.
It was not until the magic truly flowed through his fingers and the magic of space was fully activated that he came to his senses from his trance and found that he had triggered the incantation in the necklace.
As the flashes melted away, he heard a child's voice.
"You're finally here!"
The boy, who had been resting in the forest clearing, a grass stalk dangling from his lips, opened his eyes. He showed no surprise at the magician's sudden appearance; instead, he quickly approached.
Just as they were about to get closer and see each other clearly enough, the boy stopped.
Merlin saw the boy's eyes shift, as if that hint of purple within them was brewing some small mischief, or perhaps trying to see right through him.
"Planning to trick me again, are you?"
The boy's tone was familiar, and Merlin realized that this was not their first encounter. But just as he was considering probing further (why did he feel the need to test a child?), the boy spoke again.
"Nope."
The boy wagged his right index finger, leaning forward with an expression of youthful, lighthearted cunning.
"After all the weird little tricks you've taught me, you're still trying to pull stunts like this? I know you're definitely not some formally trained magician, let alone a top graduate from the Academy… They wouldn't teach moves like throwing sand in an enemy's face there, would they?"
Merlin didn't answer.
He could have summoned words to refute the boy, but he also clearly remembered what Hammie had told him upon waking: he held a professorship at Serene Lyceum; he was a teacher.
…What did he teach this boy before?
Awakening from blankness, all that remained within him was magical instinct. And, according to the hamsters, Merlin was a sage of glorious legend forged by time itself, exceptionally talented. Eternal life, craved by mortals, was like a gift bestowed upon him, alongside the formidable ability to escape death.
He simply didn't remember any of it right now.
"What's the excuse this time? Forgotten me again?" the boy said. "Come on, I'm all ears. Are you going to keep insisting you're that ancient sage who's lived for millennia? I've carefully checked the chronicles. And I know people sometimes name their children after ancient heroes and their agents in remembrance."
The boy calmly adjusted the hem of his clothes before beginning to circle the magician. He paced back and forth like a sheepdog watching over its flock, almost making Merlin dizzy.
"'Merlin' is probably just your middle name, isn't it?" the boy continued, "You're far too young to be the legendary archmage. His far-reaching fame and authority came from the Blood of the Divine Age——"
A long, black-and-red vista of inferno flashed before his eyes: viscous screams mingled with the gore-slick blades of the clinging ones; rivers violently diverted their courses, torrents drowning out the observers' whispers; hoarse cries were powerless against the scattering ash of charred remains; as jagged peaks, teeming with gods and demons, crumbled before him, the vile, deep-rooted tendrils of malice writhed in tandem.
The mortal realm, toyed with by the flames of war, bore the bitter fruit of fallen thrones.
Bloodshed.
Until the Giver's sudden annihilation, leaving mentors and friends to receive their sealed dread—I witnessed it all in sequence, unable to turn away.
Power and fame are born from legendary fables.
From calm to a subconscious wave of nausea, then a tremor down his spine—it all happened within a single heartbeat.
Whatever expression crossed Merlin's face, it was enough to make the boy, moments before annoyed and sulking, instantly sober up.
"I'm sorry!"
Worry flooded the boy's demeanor. His face went deathly pale, his tone panicked, disbelief surging in his voice: "I swear I didn't mean to… Heavens, by Dura, I just—I never thought you were actually…"
Young and perceptive.
Merlin noticed a tender blade of grass caught in the boy's hair. He didn't speak to interrupt or tell the boy to release his tight grip, because he genuinely needed the support to remain standing. The impact of those in-depth perceptions lingered, bringing a throbbing pain that felt sharp enough to split his skull.
Before silence could settle, Merlin heard the boy's question, brimming with a final, desperate stubbornness. Even without recalling their previous encounters, Merlin could sense the raw, potent emotion.
"If you've truly lived that long, how do you even tell all those memories apart?"
A mix of tenacious insistence, typical of youthful candor.
Merlin raised a hand, summoning a broken tree branch. He let magic shape it into a staff to lean on, replacing the boy's support, and deliberately glanced past the flicker of disappointment and hurt in those purple eyes.
"I don't sort them. I forget," he said.
The stream murmured past, its quietness mingling with the soft chirping of birds in the woods.
"Will I be forgotten too?"
The boy was tall for his age, yet still stood slightly shorter than Merlin.
Merlin placed his free right hand on the boy's head, removing the blade of grass. The magician swallowed the coppery tang of blood that surged between his teeth and tongue. A fleeting thought halted any further impulse to dissemble; he realized he must have met this boy countless times to warrant such trust.
No complex activation was needed; a mere touch, and the resonance array hanging from his neck could bring him directly here.
That meant, no matter the time or place—even moments of amnesia like this one—this scene had likely played out before the boy's eyes many times.
It was just that this time… there were too many changes… Or perhaps, this wasn't a change at all.
"Yes," Merlin said. "But I also know you will remember me."
Because he wasn't truly ignorant, nor could he have foreseen this day. He simply… cherished the warmth.
—When I return from the mountains, I will miss you.
For this day alone.