"SSS talent…"

The words slipped from Thaleon's lips under his breath, almost unintentionally. He remained seated, gaze lowered for a brief second as the meaning settled fully in his mind. Then he looked up again, eyes locking onto Valttair with renewed sharpness.

"You're telling me," Thaleon said, voice steady but edged with disbelief, "that one of the Eight Great Families possesses an SSS Talent, Valttair?"

Valttair did not avert his gaze.

"That's right," he replied. "Trafalgar has an SSS Talent."

The confirmation landed heavily, even after everything that had already been said.

"It won't remain secret forever," Valttair continued. "Before long, it will become public knowledge. It's not easy to hide something like this." His eyes flicked briefly toward Trafalgar. "Many already suspect a superior talent, given how quickly he advances through cores. For now, I intend to keep it concealed as long as possible."

Thaleon leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose. When he spoke again, his tone was direct, stripped of ceremony.

"I'll be honest," he said. "I came here prepared to push this matter through regardless. All I wanted was to see my daughter happy." His gaze shifted briefly to Aubrelle before returning to Valttair. "If this is the situation, then I have no fear that she's in bad hands."

He paused, then asked the question that mattered.

"Do you intend to make this public?"

Valttair's expression cooled, calculating.

"Yes," he said. "The short answer is yes. The question is when."

He continued without raising his voice.

"Aubrelle played an important role in Ritefield. Because of that, she may already be under observation. She could become a target." His eyes narrowed slightly. "If Trafalgar remains close to her and an attack happens, the agreement of the Council collapses. That would give House Morgain legitimate grounds to enter the war."

He didn't stop there.

"From this moment on, they will be officially promised," he said. "The announcement will be made to the world. This is not a small matter."

Silence followed.

Thaleon considered it only for a moment longer. Then he nodded once.

"So be it," he said.

The door to the office remained closed.

Inside, Valttair and Thaleon continued speaking, their voices muted by thick stone walls and distance. Whatever remained to be discussed there belonged to fathers and houses, not to heirs.

Outside, the world felt quieter.

Snow covered the garden in an unbroken white sheet, the ground muted beneath a thin layer of frost. Trafalgar stood near the edge of the path, breath visible in the cold air, hands resting calmly at his sides. Aubrelle was beside him, close enough that the distance between them barely existed at all.

She was the first to speak.

"It looks like everything is settled," Aubrelle said softly.

Trafalgar nodded. "It is." He glanced toward the mansion briefly, then back to her. "The wedding will be after the war. Now isn't the time for ceremonies."

Aubrelle let out a quiet breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Still… I'm glad this happened. I didn't expect my father to accept it so easily."

Trafalgar looked at her, faint confusion crossing his expression. "Aubrelle, your father loves you. It was obvious." He paused. "He was just being careful about where he was placing his daughter. Honestly… I'd be the same."

Her eyes widened slightly at that.

"Really?" she asked. "I'd like to see you like that in the future."

"Future," Trafalgar murmured to himself.

The word lingered longer than it should have.

He turned toward her again and extended his hand. "Shall we head back?"

Aubrelle didn't hesitate. She took his hand, and together they walked away from the garden, leaving the quiet snow behind them.

A few days passed.

And then, the world noticed.

The announcement spread quickly, faster than most expected. House Morgain and House Rosenthal. Two heirs. A formal engagement. It wasn't a small piece of news, and it didn't stay contained within noble circles for long.

Whispers turned into headlines.

Rumors followed immediately, sharp and unavoidable.

Were the Morgain preparing to enter the war?

Speculation grew with every passing hour, questions stacking atop one another as the balance between the Eight Great Families shifted once more, just enough for everyone to feel it.

Whatever the truth was, one thing became clear to all.

Something had begun moving.

Icarus di Valtaron stood alone within Sylvanel territory.

He was one of the five bearers of an SSS Talent, and he looked nothing like the devastation surrounding him. Violet hair fell to his shoulders, clean and untouched by blood. A maroon coat rested neatly over his frame. His lilac eyes were calm, heavy, ancient, as if nothing in this place was capable of disturbing him.

The sanctuary was nearly destroyed.

Stone pillars lay broken across the floor, roots torn from the walls, sacred markings shattered beyond recognition. Bodies were everywhere. Elves, all of them. Their skin was no longer pale and clean, but darkened, wrinkled, twisted by sickness. The air carried the stench of decay and something else beneath it, something wrong.

On the table before him lay a single corpse.

The plague had taken it completely.

This was the result of his class.

Warden of the Plague.

A unique class that allowed Icarus to create diseases through his skills alone. He did not need blades. He did not need spells. Where he passed, sickness followed, quiet and absolute. None of the elves in the sanctuary had survived.

That was not his concern.

His objective lay deeper inside.

Icarus walked through the ruins without urgency, stepping past bodies as if they were nothing more than obstacles left behind by someone else. He entered the final chamber, where the heart of the sanctuary remained barely intact.

There it was.

The sap of the World Tree.

It shimmered faintly, thick and luminous, sealed within its container. Regenerative. Powerful. Rare beyond measure. Exactly what he wanted.

He took it without ceremony.

This sap would be used on the void creature he had captured. A test. An experiment. If it worked, he might finally succeed in giving a void creature the ability to speak. To understand. To respond.

A real breakthrough.

Icarus turned and left the sanctuary behind, the destruction complete.

As he walked, he unfolded a newspaper with one hand, the sap secured in the other. His eyes moved across the headline without interest.

"So the Morgain want to enter the war?" he murmured.

There was no irritation in his voice. No concern.

"It doesn't matter."

He folded the paper, tucked it away, and continued on his way, carrying the stolen sap with him as the ruined sanctuary faded into silence behind him.

Icarus returned to the main territory of the Thal'Zar.

The stronghold was quiet, heavy with tension that had been building for days. Kaedor du Thal'Zar was already there, waiting. He had been waiting for some time now, seated near the central table, his posture rigid despite the stillness. A muscular man with short brown hair and sharp amber eyes, the wild, beastlike aura surrounding him was impossible to hide, even in human form.

The moment Icarus entered, Kaedor lifted his gaze.

"You got what you were looking for?" Kaedor asked.

There was no greeting. No relief. Only expectation sharpened by worry.

"The elves will be even more furious now," he added, jaw tightening. "You wiped out a another sanctuary. This won't end quietly."

Icarus walked forward and placed the container on the table. The sap inside shimmered faintly, thick and luminous. He glanced at it briefly before responding.

"I don't see why that should concern me," he said calmly. "Besides, it seems the Morgain are about to enter the war anyway."

Kaedor frowned. "What?"

Without another word, Icarus reached into his coat, pulled out the newspaper, and tossed it across the table.

"Read."

Kaedor grabbed it and scanned the contents. His eyes moved fast at first, then slowed as the meaning settled in. By the time he finished, his expression had darkened completely. His anger didn't turn toward the Morgain.

It turned inward.

His family was sick. All of them. The plague Icarus had brought was still spreading through their bloodline. Their territory was weakening by the day. And now this.

Five powerful houses. And two of the Great Eight Families.

Against the Thal'Zar.

Kaedor crushed the paper slightly in his grip. "…So this is how it ends," he muttered.

Kaedor crushed the paper in his hand, knuckles whitening.

His anger wasn't directed at the Morgain.

It was directed at the man standing in front of him.

"You drag my house into this, you poison my family, and now you throw this at me like it's nothing."

His amber eyes lifted, burning.

"My family is sick because of you," he continued. "They're alive because you allow them to be alive." His jaw clenched. "Don't pretend this is some shared responsibility."

Icarus looked at him calmly.

"To you, this may feel personal," he replied. "To me, it's efficient."

Kaedor's hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from restraint. He knew it. He was being used, and Icarus knew that he knew. That was the part that hurt the most.

"You're holding them hostage," Kaedor said. "That's the only reason I'm still standing here."

Icarus didn't deny it.

He lifted the container with the sap, holding it out as if it were something sacred.

"This is what truly matters," he said. "Not your pride. Not your house. Not the fragile hierarchies you cling to in order to feel important." His lilac eyes were empty of warmth, distant. "With this, I am closer than ever to the truth. To the void creatures as they truly are, not monsters, but incomplete beings."

"I will make them speak," he continued. "I will give language to what the world chose to silence, meaning to what was cast aside as noise. And when the void answers, everything else—your wars, your families, your lives—will fade into irrelevance."

He placed the sap into Kaedor's hands.

The weight of it was crushing.

"If the Morgain enter the war," Icarus added, already turning away, "then the world simply accelerates. That's all."

Kaedor's grip tightened around the container, his knuckles rigid.

He did not need Icarus.

That truth had never been in question.

He wanted him dead. Had wanted it for a long time now. The only reason Icarus still breathed was simple, brutal, and absolute, if he died, Kaedor's family would follow. Every last one of them.

Kaedor lifted his gaze, amber eyes burning with restrained hatred.

"I know exactly what you are," he said quietly. "And I know what will happen when this is over."

Icarus did not react.

"My death is already decided," Kaedor continued. "I accepted that the moment you touched my bloodline." His jaw clenched. "But my family will live. My house will endure. Weakened, perhaps."

That was the price.

And he was willing to pay it.

Icarus finally turned his head slightly, acknowledging him without interest.

"As long as you understand your role," he said.

Kaedor said nothing.

He already knew it.

He would do what was required. He would play his part until the end. Not because he needed Icarus. Not because he believed in his cause.

But because hatred could be endured.

And sacrifice, once chosen, could not be undone.

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