Thaleon attention shifted, slowly away from Trafalgar and toward his daughter. Aubrelle sat beside him without the bandage that usually shielded her eyes from the world. The red of her gaze was fully visible now—unfocused, luminous, unhidden. It was not a careless choice. It was intentional, and Thaleon understood that immediately.

For a brief moment, the room seemed to narrow around that single detail.

"Aubrelle," Thaleon said at last, his voice lower than before. Not softer, but more direct. "Look at me."

She turned her head toward him at once. Through Pipin, she felt his eyes on her—steady, searching, heavy with things left unsaid.

"Do you wish to be with Trafalgar du Morgain?" he asked.

The question was simple. Clean. No politics wrapped around it. No pressure disguised as concern. Just the truth, laid bare.

"Yes," Aubrelle answered.

There was no hesitation. No wavering. The word left her lips firm and certain, settling into the room like a stone dropped into still water.

Valttair's voice cut in before Thaleon could respond.

"There is something you should understand," he said, gaze fixed on Thaleon. "Aubrelle is not the first woman in my son's life."

The air shifted.

Thaleon's expression tightened, irritation flashing openly now. His eyes hardened, and for the first time since entering the room, the warmth beneath his composure dimmed.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

Trafalgar spoke before Valttair could answer.

"Exactly what my lord father said," he said calmly. He leaned forward just slightly, enough to make it clear the words were his own. "I already have someone else. And I have no intention of letting her go."

Aubrelle did not flinch.

"She knows," Trafalgar continued. "Everything. This isn't something hidden from her." His gaze remained steady. "That doesn't mean I will neglect your daughter. I will take responsibility. I will protect her."

The words were not grand. They were not romantic. They were practical. Grounded. Spoken like promises meant to be kept.

Thaleon looked at Aubrelle again.

She did not look away.

This was not unfamiliar ground. In their world, it was never strange for someone of power to have more than one partner. Titles carried expectations. Bloodlines carried obligations. And Trafalgar was a Morgain. That alone explained more than most words ever could.

Still, Thaleon measured the moment carefully.

Valttair's confidence in his son had already been made clear. Excessive, perhaps, but not blind. A city. A Gate. Trust granted where others had been denied.

If Valttair held Trafalgar in such regard, then this union was not a careless indulgence.

Thaleon leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose.

"…I see," he said at last.

It wasn't approval.

But it wasn't rejection either.

His gaze returned to Trafalgar, thoughtful now rather than guarded. Whatever doubts remained did not vanish, but they shifted, rearranging themselves into something closer to cautious acceptance.

Valttair let the silence settle for only a moment longer before speaking again. When he did, his voice carried a different weight, one that stripped away any remaining pretense of this being a purely personal discussion.

"There are two aspects to this union you need to understand, Thaleon," he said evenly. "The first is war."

Thaleon's gaze sharpened at once.

"With this bond," Valttair continued, "House Morgain gains a cleaner path into the conflict. We intend to weaken the Thal'zar. Their behavior has not gone unnoticed, nor has it been tolerated." His eyes narrowed slightly. "We will support the Sylvanel. Not out of affection, but because our interests align."

Thaleon leaned forward a fraction. "You speak of this lightly," he said. "You know the agreement. The Morgain or any other House of the Eight are not meant to enter the war."

Valttair did not flinch.

"As long as we are not attacked," he replied. "If Trafalgar is targeted, that condition collapses." His tone was calm, almost casual. "I'll be honest with you. We intended to enter regardless. We already have a way. This simply makes it… simpler."

The implication was clear enough to leave no room for misunderstanding.

He shifted his attention then, not toward the war, but toward the people seated before him.

"The second aspect," Valttair said, "is the future of our houses."

His gaze flicked briefly to Aubrelle.

"Your daughter's talent is unique. SS. Known across the world. She is the future of House Rosenthal." Then his eyes moved to Trafalgar. "And my son is the future of House Morgain."

Thaleon frowned, confusion breaking through his composed exterior.

"The future?" he repeated. "What are you implying?" He shook his head once. "Maeron exists. So does Rivena. Lysandra is your most capable heir. Surely—"

"Careful," Valttair interrupted.

The word cut through the room with surgical precision.

He leaned forward, his grey eyes locking onto Thaleon's with a sharpness that had nothing to do with irritation and everything to do with certainty.

"If you repeat what I am about to tell you," Valttair said quietly, "I will destroy your house."

There was no rise in his voice. No threat laced with emotion.

It was a statement of fact.

"This is not a warning," he continued. "It is a promise. You will take this to your grave."

The room felt smaller.

Thaleon did not speak. He did not move. Even through Pipin, Aubrelle felt her father's attention narrow completely, every instinct sharpening at once.

Valttair spoke again.

"Trafalgar possesses the same talent as Icarus di Valtaron."

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then Thaleon leaned back slowly, as if the weight of the words had struck him physically. His eyes widened, not in disbelief, but in recognition. He said nothing. He couldn't. The implications unfolded on their own, one after another, too vast to grasp all at once.

An heir with that talent.

A Morgain.

A future that rewrote every balance the Eight Great Families relied upon.

Valttair watched him in silence, allowing the realization to finish its work. When he finally spoke again, his voice was low, precise, unyielding.

"You know what that means," he said. "Don't you?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered.

And the room, heavy with secrets and the shape of coming war, fell silent once more.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.