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“Oh. It’s you,” came a dry voice from the other side of the bookcase, and Merlin’s head snapped up. He sensed no gods around, and never in his nearly three millennia had a mortal ever said those words to him; not once.
His gaze landed on Arthur Pendragon.
“You can see me?”
Arthur paused, blinked. “Sorry?”
“You— you can see me?” Merlin rushed to the other side of the case. “You remember me?”
In which Merlin is a lonely god incharge of the mortals’ soulmarks, one of whom he keeps running into.
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