Trafalgar stood beside Aubrelle at the end of the dock, the massive silhouette of the ship looming before them.

Alfred was already waiting on the ramp.

Despite his age, the old man looked as composed as ever. His white hair was carefully groomed, his long coat resting neatly over his shoulders. When his calm, amethyst-colored eyes settled on Trafalgar, they narrowed slightly—not from suspicion, but amusement. There was warmth there. Familiarity.

He raised a hand and called out loudly.

"So you're finally back, bastard?" Alfred shouted. "My bones almost turned to dust waiting for you. Your sister Lysandra would've finished the job days ago."

Trafalgar's lips curved into a faint smile as he approached.

"I could've stayed a few more days," he replied casually. "Maybe then I'd have found a younger face waiting for me."

Alfred let out a rough laugh.

Beside Trafalgar, Aubrelle paused.

She leaned lightly on her cane, which she had summoned that very morning when Trafalgar went to pick her up. This time, she wore no hood. The breeze brushed freely against her blond hair, and Pipin wasn't perched on her shoulder—instead, the pale bird circled above, gliding through the sky.

Aubrelle listened in silence.

She didn't know Trafalgar deeply. She knew his name, his position, his composure. But seeing him like this—so relaxed, trading words so freely with someone—caught her off guard. An Heir of one of the Eight Great Families, speaking without restraint, without the constant vigilance one would expect. No tension. No guarded posture. Just ease.

Through Pipin's eyes, her world expanded.

She saw the ship in full detail now—its immense hull, reinforced plating, the intricate design of a vessel built not just for travel, but dominance. It was magnificent. Efficient. Overwhelming.

The Rosenthal family was powerful. Renowned. The greatest Summoner family among the world.

But this—

This was something else entirely.

Aubrelle remained quiet, absorbing it all as the ship waited before them.

Trafalgar stepped onto the ramp first, then turned back toward Aubrelle.

"Careful," he said quietly, extending a hand.

Aubrelle accepted it without hesitation. As she placed her foot onto the ramp, Pipin descended from the sky and settled gently on her shoulder. Through him, her surroundings sharpened—the angle of the ramp, the distance, the figures waiting ahead.

With Trafalgar's steady support, she ascended without difficulty.

Alfred watched the scene closely.

At first, there was only mild surprise. He hadn't expected Trafalgar to bring a lady aboard—missions rarely allowed for such company. But as Aubrelle stepped fully into view, that surprise deepened into something else.

Recognition.

Alfred was no fool. He had spent years moving between territories as a courier for the Morgains, carrying more than just goods. And above all, he was an old friend of Trafalgar's grandfather. He knew faces. He knew symbols.

The white bandage covering her eyes was unmistakable. Snow-white. Purposeful. Hiding a scar known to very few.

And then there was the pale bird.

Always present. Always watching.

Alfred straightened, placing a hand over his chest before bowing deeply.

"Lady Aubrelle au Rosenthal," he said with clear respect. "It is an honor to meet you."

Aubrelle smiled.

With practiced ease, she shifted her grip on the cane and returned the gesture, inclining herself just enough to be proper without discomfort.

"Thank you for receiving me," she replied warmly. "I hope we'll have a pleasant journey."

Alfred nodded once, satisfied.

He turned sharply and called to a crew member. "Prepare a room suitable for a guest of her standing."

The order was obeyed immediately.

Aubrelle was guided forward by the crew, Pipin still perched on her shoulder as she moved deeper into the ship. She didn't look back—but the respect in the air followed her all the same.

And Alfred's gaze slowly returned to Trafalgar, thoughtful and sharp.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The sounds of the ship—ropes tightening, boots against wood, distant orders—filled the space Aubrelle had left behind. Alfred remained still, eyes following her figure until she disappeared deeper into the vessel.

Then he turned fully to Trafalgar.

One hand rose to his beard, fingers stroking it slowly, thoughtfully.

"So," Alfred said at last, voice calm but probing. "How did your first mission go, Trafalgar?"

Trafalgar didn't hesitate.

"It went well," he replied plainly. "I did what my father asked of me. The mission is complete. Now I return to report."

Alfred nodded once.

There was no surprise in his expression—only confirmation. Trafalgar had always been efficient. Reliable. Still, Alfred didn't look entirely satisfied.

"And yet," he continued, eyes narrowing slightly, "that doesn't answer everything."

He shifted his weight, gaze steady on the young heir.

"Why is Lady Aubrelle au Rosenthal on my ship?"

Trafalgar met his eyes without flinching.

"She's my Senior at the academy," he answered. "She was also returning there. With the Gates closed, the journey by train or carriage would take far longer. I offered her a faster option."

Alfred hummed softly.

"I see. A considerate offer." Then his tone sharpened just a little. "But that's not what concerns me."

He leaned in slightly.

"You know as well as I do that she's involved in this war. More than most. She took part in the last major battle—and from what I've heard, she played a key role."

A pause.

"That makes her dangerous company."

Trafalgar's expression didn't change.

"Precisely," he said evenly. "My task in Carac was to gather information. That hasn't changed."

For a brief second, Alfred studied him closely—searching for hesitation, doubt, anything beneath the surface.

He found none.

Finally, Alfred straightened and let out a quiet breath.

"Very well," he said. He reached into his coat and flicked a key forward.

Trafalgar raised his hand instinctively, catching it midair.

"Same room as last time," Alfred added. "Don't get lost."

Trafalgar inclined his head. "I won't."

He turned without another word and headed deeper into the ship, the key already secure in his grasp.

Behind him, Alfred watched him go—eyes thoughtful, brow furrowed.

Duty had been fulfilled.

But the risk? It was there.

Trafalgar closed the door to his room behind him.

The familiar space greeted him in silence, clean, orderly, unchanged since the last time he had occupied it. He set the key down on the table and remained standing for a moment, shoulders easing as the low hum of the ship vibrated beneath his feet.

Carac had been… long.

Long days. Longer nights. But it had been productive.

He had gathered more information than expected, not just official reports, but whispers. Loose tongues in taverns. Mercenaries returning from the front. People who had seen things, or claimed they had. Enough fragments to sketch a picture that no single report could fully capture.

And some of those rumors lingered now.

Thal'Zar using prisoners.

Dressing them as civilians.

Sending them into crowded spaces.

The Ritefield of Beasts.

His jaw tightened slightly.

It reminded him of something else. Something older.

The Zar'khael.

His first real outing after arriving in this world. A year ago now. The first time he had been forced to fight not for honor, not for duty—but simply to stay alive. The first time he had killed someone with his own hands.

Back then, it had shaken him.

He remembered the hesitation. The weight in his chest. The way his hands had trembled afterward.

Now?

Now he understood it as necessity.

Survival.

Something required to keep moving forward.

The thought didn't trouble him anymore.

That realization unsettled him more than it should have.

His mind drifted—unwillingly—to the vision.

Bodies everywhere.

Piled. Scattered. Silent.

He couldn't tell if they had been there when he arrived… or if he had been the one to put them there. The image refused to clarify itself, as if the future itself was watching him back.

And the worst part?

He didn't feel disgust.

He didn't feel horror.

He felt… familiarity.

Not with bloodlust.

But with acceptance.

The ship continued its steady course through the waters, carrying him away from Carac.

The knock never came.

Trafalgar sensed the presence before he saw it.

When he turned, Caelum was already standing inside the room, posture straight, hands clasped behind his back as if he had been there all along. His hair was neatly combed back, flawless as ever, and his golden eyes reflected the dim light of the cabin with quiet precision. Leather gloves covered his hands.

"Young master," Caelum said calmly.

Trafalgar didn't ask how he got in.

"Your father is not at the castle," Caelum continued. "As you already know. However, he has received all reports regarding your actions in Carac."

A brief pause.

"He is satisfied."

Trafalgar said nothing.

Caelum reached into his coat and unfolded a sealed message, reading it aloud in a measured tone.

"Well done, son."

The word echoed for a moment.

'Son.'

Trafalgar felt nothing.

No warmth. No pride. No resentment, even. Just emptiness—clean, familiar. He doubted he would ever feel anything else in response to that word.

Caelum continued, unfazed.

"You are to remain at the academy for the time being. Major movements are expected soon within the war. Your father wishes to observe how events unfold before acting."

Another pause.

"There will also be a reward. It will be granted on your seventeenth birthday."

That finally drew Trafalgar's attention.

Seventeen.

In this world, it meant nothing. Adulthood came at sixteen. But for him—his role, his position—it was different. A marker. A summons.

He did the calculation without thinking.

'Two months.'

Two months until he would have to return to the castle. The house had been watching him for a while now—ever since Mordrek's funeral, perhaps even before that.

Time moved strangely when survival became routine.

"Understood," Trafalgar said at last.

Caelum inclined his head slightly.

"I assumed as much." Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "I take it Lady Aubrelle au Rosenthal is aboard due to the mission."

Trafalgar met his gaze.

"In part," he replied. "The other reason is simpler. She's my Senior at the academy. I offered her a ride."

Caelum studied him for a brief second, then nodded.

"Understood, young master."

Without another word, he turned and left, his presence fading as seamlessly as it had appeared.

Trafalgar remained still for a moment longer.

Then he stepped out of the cabin.

The ship was already moving, the docks of Carac receding into the distance as they sailed toward Euclid once more. Wind filled the sails. The path forward was set.

His mission in Carac was over. But his personal mission had only just begun. The vision he had seen would not leave him alone. Understanding it, unraveling it, discovering why that future existed… that task started now. That very night, he would ask Aubrelle about what happened.

The ship continued its course through the dark skies, wings cutting through the air as it carried him away from Carac.

And toward a future he intended to confront, whether it welcomed him or not.

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