The torches flickered along the stone walls, their glow barely warming the cold air of Camelot’s halls. Merlin walked with measured steps, his staff gripped firmly in one hand, his mind racing. Something was wrong. A ripple in time, an unnatural disturbance. He could feel it in his bones, in the very air around him.

He stopped before the great chamber, his fingers tightening around the wood of his staff. His lips pressed into a thin line. The fabric of magic was out of sync, the very threads of reality stretched taut. And he knew why.

"Hisirdoux," he murmured under his breath, his expression darkening.

The chamber door groaned as it swung open, and there they stood. Out of place. Out of time. His eyes swept over them, sharp and calculating. Hisirdoux, ever the reckless fool, his blue eyes betraying a mix of anxiety and determination. His dear apprentice..

Merlin exhaled slowly. Fools, all of them.

"You meddle with forces beyond your understanding," he said at last, his voice even but heavy with authority. "Do you have any idea what you have done?"

Silence answered him. The weight of his gaze fell upon them like a storm on the horizon.

His fingers tightened on his staff as he took a step closer. "The flow of time is delicate, and your presence here is a stone thrown into a river. The ripples will spread."

He paused, eyes narrowing as they flicked to Hisirdoux.

"Tell me everything," he commanded, his voice edged with both frustration and something quieter—something dangerously close to concern.