The train slowed with a soft hiss, the steady rhythm beneath their feet fading into a low murmur before coming to a full stop. The doors slid open, and the carriage began to empty little by little.

Trafalgar was among the first to stand. He stepped down onto the platform with a steady pace, his bag resting against his shoulder. Aubrelle followed at his side. Before leaving the carriage, she had put the bandage back in place, covering her eyes once more. Not out of shame. It was simply easier this way. Pipin settled on her shoulder the moment she stepped onto the platform, his wings folding neatly as he observed their surroundings.

The academy's station was alive.

Students filled the space, voices overlapping in familiar chaos. Some had just returned from Velkaris, talking about cafés they had visited, things they had bought, plans they had made. Laughter carried through the air. Others complained about missed classes or upcoming lessons, about teachers they liked or feared. It was ordinary noise, the kind that you hear everyday.

Routine.

Trafalgar took a few steps forward, then slowed, making sure Aubrelle was beside him. He looked around without hurry, recognizing the place with the calm awareness of someone returning to familiar ground, aware, too, that he was no longer quite the same as when he had last stood here.

They had only taken a few steps away from the platform when two figures approached them from the side.

One of them was a dwarf, short even by her race's standards, with a friendly expression and an easy confidence in her stride. The other walked just behind her, taller and more reserved, her features closer to those of Lyren di Myrrhvale's people. Humanoid, but with faint scales catching the light along her neck and cheeks, and subtle gills that marked her lineage.

The dwarf lifted her hand in a casual wave, eyes lighting up as soon as she spotted Aubrelle.

"Senior Aubrelle, good morning, it's good to see you back," she greeted cheerfully. Then her gaze shifted, just briefly, toward Trafalgar. "Good morning to you as well, Trafalgar du Morgain."

Aubrelle turned toward them, her posture relaxing a fraction. "Good morning. It really has been a long time," she replied warmly. "I'm glad to see you're both doing well. We should catch up properly one of these days."

Trafalgar inclined his head in a simple nod, offering a polite greeting without inserting himself into the conversation. He stayed slightly to the side, listening.

The other girl leaned closer to the dwarf and spoke in a lowered voice, though not low enough.

"We should go," she murmured. "You remember the rumors about the Ritefield battle."

The words carried.

Aubrelle's shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. The faint warmth in her expression dimmed, her lips pressing together as the comment settled. She did not respond immediately.

The dwarf noticed. She straightened at once, shooting her companion a look before turning back to Aubrelle with an apologetic smile.

"Well, it seems we really do have to run," she said quickly. "But I'll invite you out for a coffee sometime soon, Senior Aubrelle. Just let me know when your schedule is free."

Aubrelle smiled then, small but genuine. "I'd like that," she replied.

As the two girls moved off, the noise of the station swallowing them once more, Aubrelle remained still for a moment longer. Her smile lingered, not forced.

Some people understood, she thought. Some knew how to separate duty from the person standing in front of them.

Trafalgar did not wait long.

He stepped closer and took Aubrelle's hand, his grip steady but gentle, guiding her away from the flow of students and the open space of the station. They moved a short distance before he stopped, turning slightly so they were no longer in the middle of passing glances.

"Let's go to my room," he said quietly. "I'd like to talk about what happens with us from here on."

His tone was calm, direct. There was no hesitation in it.

He glanced back toward the station, toward the students who continued on with their day as if nothing had happened. "Don't worry about people like that," he added. "There will be rumors. Fear. Respect. Not everyone will know how to separate things properly. That's just how it is."

Aubrelle listened without interrupting. Then she nodded once.

"I thought that might be what you wanted to talk about," she said softly. "And you're right."

There was no nervousness in her voice.

"Yes," she continued, meeting him where she could. "Let's go."

They entered the dormitory building without drawing attention, passing through the main hall and onto the circular platform that served as the lift. It rose smoothly, carrying them upward before stopping at the highest floor. When they arrived, the atmosphere changed immediately.

The corridor was quieter. Wider.

This was the floor set aside for the heirs of the Eight Great Families.

Aubrelle paused just past the threshold. "I've never been here before," she said, her voice low as she took in the space around them.

Trafalgar glanced at her. "You can visit more often now."

It wasn't said lightly, and it wasn't said as a boast. Aubrelle understood that immediately. She nodded, a faint smile forming beneath the bandage.

They had taken only a few steps when someone appeared further down the corridor.

Alfons au Vaelion.

His golden hair caught the light as he stopped, red eyes settling on Trafalgar with immediate hostility. The tension was instant, familiar, unwelcome.

"Oh," Alfons drawled, his voice echoing slightly through the hall. "Look who's finally decided to return. Both of you, I suppose." His gaze flicked toward Aubrelle. "I imagine the battle hit your side rather hard. These things tend to happen when you stand on the wrong end of a war. Who knows what might happen next time. Another family, perhaps."

Trafalgar exhaled slowly. "What are you implying, Alfons?" he asked calmly. "Your family wouldn't be foolish enough to reveal or do anything. And you know as well as I do that we're not meant to interfere directly."

Alfons scoffed. "Right. I forgot," he said with exaggerated sarcasm. "How convenient." He turned away slightly. "I have better things to do than stand here looking at a bastard. Or a cripple."

Alfons turned away, already stepping toward the circular platform that would take him down.

The words were meant to end it there.

They didn't.

"Son of a bitch," Trafalgar said.

Alfons stopped.

Slowly, he turned back. The irritation on his face was no longer casual, no longer bored. Something had shifted.

Trafalgar met his gaze without flinching. "What," he continued, voice calm, almost curious, "did I touch a sensitive nerve?" He tilted his head slightly. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't realize. But it seems we have more in common than we thought, Alfons."

That did it.

Alfons stepped toward him, anger flashing openly now. They ended up face to face, nearly the same height, close enough that the air between them felt sharp. Aubrelle remained a step behind Trafalgar, watching, not fully understanding why Alfons had reacted so strongly.

Normally, Trafalgar wouldn't have bothered. He would have ignored the insults, let Alfons rage on his own, baiting himself into looking pathetic while Trafalgar walked away without a word.

But he had insulted Aubrelle.

And that made it different.

Trafalgar knew why the words had landed. He had learned it by chance, through Zafira one day, something not widely known. Alfons' mother had been a concubine. Just like him, Alfons was a bastard, even if his family preferred to pretend otherwise. It wasn't something people said out loud.

Now it was.

They stood there, the distance between them perfect for violence. And both of them knew it. But they were in the Academy. A fight here, over words alone, would stain their families with humiliation neither side could afford.

Trafalgar broke the silence first.

"What," he asked flatly. "Got something to say, bastard au Vaelion?"

Alfons didn't answer.

Instead, he spat at Trafalgar's shoes, turned sharply, and stepped onto the platform. The lift descended, carrying him away without another word.

Trafalgar watched it go. Then he turned back to Aubrelle.

"Don't worry about him," he said casually. "He's always been like that."

He shrugged. "A pain in the ass."

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