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Empty. All he felt was empty.As the world was being eaten away by hungry fire and angry tsunamis, all he felt was empty.As humanity destroyed magic bit by bit, he stayed drifting and undying. Empty and numb and so, so tired. But he had stayed. He clung to the stupid hope that his King would rise again. He worked through the worst of his problems only to be on the receiving end of more problems, more catastrophes, more stupid half-cocked plans that he himself had grown out of, but humanity had decidedly not . He went to the druids to learn who he was, after Camelot became too much of a ghost town and not enough of his warm and brilliant home. He tried and tried and tried to be who Arthur would need him to be when he rose. He learned histories- lived through histories. He studied various martial arts and learned the peculiarities of different regions.But none of that mattered now. Dead eyes looked out the window to a sea of blazing fire just on the horizon. He had built himself a small oasis around his Kings lake, hanging on the last shred of hope that this- this would be enough for him to awaken. Surely Albion was in no larger danger than it was now!But he didn’t.So Merlin stopped trying. The first to go was cleanliness, he was never a particularly tidy person in the first place, but now it was simply negligence to any of his spaces. His bed became less of a bed and more of a nest of some of the softest blankets and comfort items he had acquired over the years. The next was hygiene. People didn’t really care about hygiene during an apocalypse, right? They certainly didn’t when they were running from absolute death (or so he had observed), so he no longer cared either. His world had died a long time ago, but death had never claimed him. Maybe this would help? Ha! Funny, he couldn’t stay dead if he tried. The last to go, of course, was his will. His will to live had been deteriorating for years, but it had vanished into nothingness without that last shred of hope. His will for kindness or hatred had all faded into a numb apathy. His will for the world to collapse in on itself was granted, and now he watched as it happened, unfeeling, unmoved, and tired. Merlin turned his dead gaze to the only thing that could supposedly kill him. Arthur's sword, forged in dragon fire and could slice any magical creature, killing them with ease. Did Merlin classify as a magical creature if he was magic? Did that make the sword more susceptible to kill him or did it negate all attempts? He had never tried. He didn’t want to do that to Arthur's last possession. One he had lovingly taken care of since his King's death, making sure it was in top condition for him when he rose.But that wasn’t happening was it? He crossed the dimly lit room, dodging piles of crumpled clothing and other miscellaneous items that had wound up on his floor. He took the sword off its spot on his wall with the same reverence he reserved with all of Arthurs items and unsheathed the beauty. The metal glinted in the fires light, and it looked just as powerful as it was intended to be. Merlin took his time to appreciate the marvelous craftsmanship that had faded as time had continued onward. From the hilt to the sharp point, he marveled at the weapon of his King. He consulted what he was about to do, to sully it with his blood, to finally give in to the dark thoughts that had been lapping at the edges of his mind for centuries. Could he do this? Would he? Was there any way to see his King- before everything had gone to right shit? Before Arthur was king, before Merlin had realized just how horrid he was? Could he turn back time? I wish I could go back to a time when we simply were . Tears went cascading down his cheeks from his closed eyes. He thought back to all of the times he had spent with his King, with their knights, with his mother. He thought back to the little time he had had with his father. He thought about Morgana and Mordred, and how he wished he had done better for them- for all of the magical community. He thought back on his life, all his joys and regrets as he plunges the sword right into his heart, happy to finally be embraced by the peaceful dark embrace of death. He didn’t see the glow.The pause that the whole world took.Missed as the very fabric of reality wrapped itself around him, bending to his will. He didn’t get the chance to watch as the whole world shuddered-before he vanished into the veil and went through time itself.He didn’t know that his wish had been granted. That his consciousness had been gently laid into a younger version of him, merging with the consciousness that had already been there.He didn’t feel how the world itself cared so deeply for him, that it would bend and twist itself to fit his needs-to simply be for its child. Nor did he feel how the magic that was ingrained in the earth, the air, water, and fire mourned for him. How it cried out in grief, knowing its child was locked in a darkness of his own design.He missed the recognition of his Godliness being favored by the universe itself. Kilgharrah’s head snapped up from where he had been dozing on a particularly high rock pillar in alarm. He tasted the charged air around him, recognizing the fizzle of magic, but- that’s not right- what . He watched with thinly slit pupils as time itself changed. He felt as the world cried out in misery. His eyes grew wide as he felt the recognition of the universe itself favoring someone. What had happened while he was asleep? He turned his Sight to time again, consulting its predictions and gasped. He rose to his full height, hackles rising, and then eloquently exclaimed, “What the fuck?!” Then promptly left his jaw hanging open.