The next morning, sunlight slipped through the cracks of the wooden shutters, painting Arthur's small room in streaks of gold and dust. He stirred reluctantly, muscles still aching from yesterday's chores.
The body was stubborn, slow but alive and he forced himself to sit up.
Outside, the estate already hummed with the day's rhythm. Kay's voice carried across the yard before Arthur even had a chance to open the door.
"Move faster, you're wasting daylight!"
Arthur groaned, pushing himself up.
He had a fleeting thought: I didn't even have breakfast yet.
The memory of his old life the city, the endless hum of electricity and traffic, of being grown, independent, competent flashed briefly before being swallowed by the weight of his child body. None of that matters here, he reminded himself, Not yet anyway.
He stepped into the courtyard, arms tight at his sides. Kay was already wielding a practice sword, striking at a wooden post with ease. The blond boy moved fluidly, muscles taut and confident.
Arthur's own wooden sword felt clumsy in his small hands, top-heavy, as though it were actively resisting him.
Merlin appeared suddenly, leaping down from the roof with a quiet, graceful flip.
"Ah, the prodigal sloth awakens," he said, landing lightly behind Arthur.
White hair gleaming in the sun, eyes glittering with amusement. "You're late again small human."
Arthur scowled. "I'm not late. I just… woke up slower than you."
Merlin smirked. "Ah, but speed is not everything, Patience can be just as deadly. Or just as embarrassing."
Kay snorted. "Ignore him he's paid to annoy you."
Arthur shook his head, gripping the sword tighter. Every muscle protested, but he forced himself to step forward. Kay raised his sword in mock challenge, and the small duel began—not with blows meant to hurt, but with shoves, strikes, blocks, and the occasional teasing jab.
Arthur stumbled immediately. His first swing was wide, missing Kay completely, and he nearly fell over.
Kay laughed "You're hopeless!"
Arthur's cheeks burned. "I'm not hopeless!"
Merlin's eyes glittered. "Ah, fire good but not enough." He stepped closer, circling Arthur with that slow, teasing grace that made Arthur feel like he was being studied under a microscope. "You flinch too much. Anticipate, Feel the weight of the sword yes, but don't let it weigh you down. Imagine it part of your arm part of your body."
Arthur frowned. "I can't."
Merlin's grin widened. "Of course you can. You just don't want to."
Arthur pressed his lips together, biting back the retort. I do want to.
Kay lunged, tapping the tip of his sword lightly against Arthur's shoulder. Arthur stumbled again, frustration, sharp and hot flared in his chest. He clenched his teeth and swung again awkward, unrefined but this time Kay stepped aside, barely brushing the wooden sword.
Merlin clapped his hands softly. "Progress is small but notable, You felt it didn't you?"
Arthur shook his head. "I… I guess."
"You did. That's the start," Merlin said, tone almost gentle. "Most never feel it at all on their first day."
Kay leaned on his sword, smirking. "First day? I've been practicing months. You're still failing miserably."
Arthur's hand shook around the hilt. "I said I'm not hopeless!"
"Exactly," Merlin said, eyes twinkling. "Stubbornness is good, But stubbornness without guidance is just… flailing. That's where I come in."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You're not helping."
Merlin tilted his head. "I'm helping more than you realize. Keep struggling, Keep failing, Keep breathing, It's all an important lessons."
For a moment, Arthur simply stared at him. The words pressed against something deep inside, an echo he didn't fully understand. His chest felt tight, and for a fraction of a second, he imagined the pressure growing—vast, coiled, patient and A whisper, almost imperceptible, tickled the edge of his mind: push further. You can do more.
Arthur shook his head, as if clearing it. "I'm fine. I can manage."
Merlin's smile broadened. "We shall see. I like testing the edges."
---
By midday, Sir Ector appeared, calling them to a more structured exercise. His broad figure and calm authority made the yard feel smaller somehow, as if the air itself carried weight. He placed his hand on Arthur's shoulder, adjusting the boy's stance.
"You're tense," Ector said quietly, voice low and firm. "Relax. The sword is an extension of your arm, not a burden to carry. Move with it, not against it."
Arthur tried, muscles trembling as he followed the motion. Kay rolled his eyes, but even he paused to watch. For the first time, Arthur felt his stance… correct. Balanced. Stable.
"Good," Ector said. "Now repeat."
Arthur nodded, heart pounding. He swung, not as wildly as before, and felt the wooden sword respond. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't graceful. But it was progress.
Kay clapped softly. "Marvelous. I almost feel guilty for making it look so difficult."
Arthur scowled. "Stop commenting!"
Kay laughed. "I'm just saying, you're improving. That's all."
Arthur glared. "Barely."
"You are learning," Ector said calmly. "And that is the measure of worth, not how quickly you surpass another."
Merlin leaned against a post, eyes on Arthur. "Ah, wisdom in the words of a practical man. Take note, child."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "I already hate this day."
Merlin's grin widened. "Exactly the reaction I wanted good you fire, resistance and potential."
By afternoon, fatigue had settled deep in Arthur's limbs.
Each swing, each step, each block burned more than yesterday, And yet every time he faltered, Ector's steady gaze corrected him, Kay's playful nudges challenged him, and Merlin's teasing provoked a stubborn push forward.
Arthur's mind began to quiet, his movements slowly learning the rhythm of the sword. Small successes missed blows that became glancing strikes, an upright stance that felt more natural, a swing that carried through properly built something in him he hadn't felt in this body before: control.
A faint hum of pressure stirred again beneath his ribs not heat, not pain, but something aware.
The Red Dragon within him shifted, reacting to exertion, frustration, and the sharp thrill of small victories.
He didn't understand it yet, but he felt it: vast, coiled, patient.
Merlin noticed, of course. "Ah," he whispered, almost to himself. "There it is. The fire awakening."
Arthur frowned. "What?"
Merlin smiled, deliberately ambiguous. "Nothing. Just… keep moving."
---
As the sun dipped toward evening, Arthur sat on the stone steps, wiping sweat from his brow. Kay had wandered off to tend to the stables, muttering something about cleaning the weapons shed. Merlin perched nearby, silently observing, eyes glittering with amusement and approval.
Arthur let out a long breath, muscles sore and trembling, chest tight, mind spinning. For the first time in this body, he felt a quiet spark of satisfaction. Not victory. Not mastery. Just… possibility.
Merlin leaned closer. "You did well today. Not perfect, not even remarkable, but well. That is the first step."
Arthur stared at him. "Why are you so interested in me anyway?"
Merlin shrugged, the playful grin softening into something almost fond. "Because most children never feel this… alive. Most never awaken at all."
Arthur pressed his hands to his knees, leaning forward. "I'm not awake. I'm just… surviving."
Merlin's eyes glittered. "Surviving is the beginning of everything."
The pressure beneath his ribs pulsed faintly once more, responding to the thought. The Red Dragon stirred. Arthur didn't know what it was, only that it existed, and that it would not be ignored.
For now, though, he was just a boy. Small. Clumsy. Frustrated. And tired.
But with each swing of the wooden sword, each correction from Ector, and each tease from Kay and Merlin, he began to feel the first sparks of something greater: potential, growth… destiny waiting to be claimed.