Trafalgar was alone in his room at the academy.

The space was quiet, almost unnaturally so, insulated from the noise that now followed his name wherever it went. The walls were thick, enchanted to keep sound out, yet even here the weight of the outside world seemed to press inward. The engagement had become a hot topic across the world, whispered in halls, shouted in assemblies, dissected by nobles and commoners alike. House Morgain and House Rosenthal. Two heirs. A union that shifted attention whether people wanted it to or not.

And yet, much of that attention had already begun to drift.

What Icarus had done eclipsed almost everything.

Reports spoke of sanctuaries erased, of Sylvanel territory bleeding, of fear spreading faster than any official declaration. The war had reached a point of visible strain, a peak where neither side was willing to slow down. The Sylvanel, with greater numbers and rising fury, had begun striking multiple locations at once, forcing their enemies to stretch thin or break. It was no longer a matter of holding ground.

Velkaris, however, was far from it all.

So far removed that, for a moment, Trafalgar could almost pretend none of it touched him. He sat there, breathing evenly, hands resting loosely, feeling the strange disconnect between what he knew and what he felt. The war was real. People were dying. Entire regions were burning. And still, from within these walls, it felt distant, muted, like thunder heard from the other side of a mountain range.

He was aware of the contradiction.

An heir of a Great Family did not hear war the same way others did. It arrived filtered, delayed, wrapped in reports and strategies instead of screams. Trafalgar understood that. He understood that this calm was artificial, fragile, like standing in the eye of a storm where the sky looked clear only because the violence was circling just out of reach.

Sooner or later, it would pass over him too.

For now, though, the room remained still.

And in that stillness, with the world moving faster than ever beyond the academy's walls, Trafalgar sat quietly, caught between what was happening everywhere else and the uneasy calm that refused to break.

A knock broke the stillness.

Trafalgar lifted his gaze toward the door almost immediately. He didn't move at first. He listened.

It wasn't Aubrelle.

He'd grown used to the sound of her steps by now, the faint rhythm of her cane brushing the floor when she leaned on it, the subtle pause before she knocked. None of that was there. These footsteps were lighter, steadier, unfamiliar in a way that stood out precisely because of how often Aubrelle visited.

He rose from his chair and crossed the room, the quiet returning with every step. When he opened the door, the figure standing there confirmed what he already knew.

Zafira.

Her pale skin contrasted sharply against the dim corridor, framed by two curved horns that rose elegantly from her head. Her grey eyes met his at once, steady but guarded, carrying more emotion than she was willing to show. She was taller than she used to be, posture straighter, presence sharper.

Zafira du Zar'khael.

Demonic blood. One of the Eight Great Families.

And his childhood friend.

For a brief second, neither of them spoke.

'I knew it,' Trafalgar thought.

He knew why she was here the moment he saw her.

"Can I come in?" Zafira asked at last.

Trafalgar stepped aside and opened the door fully. "Yeah. Go ahead."

She entered without another word, pausing just inside to remove her shoes carefully, placing them neatly against the wall. It was a small gesture, almost reflexive, but it didn't go unnoticed.

"Make yourself comfortable," Trafalgar said from the doorway. "Do you want something to drink?"

"A glass of water will do," she replied.

He nodded and moved further into the room, the silence settling again behind them. It wasn't the comfortable kind. Not hostile either. Just… strained. Like two people walking around words neither wanted to be the first to say.

It had been a while.

Not since the announcement, at least.

"Is it true?" she asked suddenly, her grey eyes lifting to meet his. "About you and Aubrelle au Rosenthal."

Trafalgar didn't pretend not to understand. He didn't stall either.

"Yes," he said. "It's true. It's been announced." A brief pause. "We're engaged."

The words were simple. Final.

Zafira's expression tightened, just for a moment. Disappointment passed through her features, controlled quickly, pressed down before it could turn into something messier. She looked away, jaw set, breathing out slowly through her nose.

If my family weren't one of the Eight, things would be different, she thought.

The idea lingered, bitter and pointless all at once. If the Zar'khael were a lesser house, if politics didn't weigh so heavily, if the world wasn't shaped by names and bloodlines… she would be standing where Aubrelle stood now. She knew it. Trafalgar knew it too.

Silence returned, thicker than before.

Zafira sighed.

"Are you okay?" Trafalgar asked, watching her carefully.

She let out a short, humorless breath. "No. I'm not." Her shoulders relaxed slightly, as if admitting it took less effort than hiding it. "But there's nothing I can do about it."

She hesitated, then looked back at him. "When did it happen? I never expected you and Aubrelle to…"

"It wasn't sudden," Trafalgar said. "It happened over time." His gaze drifted briefly, memory surfacing. "It started a long time ago but in Carac there was a change."

"Carac…" Zafira repeated quietly.

Her brow furrowed as she remembered. "Right. My family sent someone there too." A pause. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "My older brother. Not me."

The frustration was clear now, no longer hidden behind restraint. If she had gone instead, she would have spent that time with him. She knew how these things worked. Proximity mattered. Timing mattered.

And she had missed both.

Zafira looked down at the floor, fingers curling slightly at her side.

"I didn't come here only for personal reasons," she said at last.

Trafalgar looked at her, attentive now.

"You should be careful," Zafira continued. "Even if what Icarus did pulled attention away from the engagement, you're not in a good position right now."

He didn't interrupt.

"The other Great Families are already watching you," she said. "Closely." Her eyes narrowed a little. "My father, Malakar… he used to have a poor opinion of you. Before all this. You were seen as insignificant. Disposable."

She paused.

"That's changed."

From the outside, the situation didn't look clean. That was the problem. A girl with an SS Talent, well known across the world, suddenly engaged to a Morgain. Worse, to a bastard of the house. It raised questions people were more than eager to ask.

"Why?" Zafira said quietly. "That's what everyone keeps asking."

She looked up at him again.

"To them, it looks suspicious. Convenient." Her tone hardened slightly. "There are already rumors saying the Morgain wanted an excuse to enter the war. That this engagement is just a pretext."

Zafira exhaled slowly.

"It's not well received that House Morgain acts however it wants," she added. "Especially now. Especially with everything happening."

Trafalgar listened without interrupting.

"I get it," he said after a moment. His voice was calm, steady. "I really do."

He leaned back slightly, eyes drifting for a second as if recalling something older. "My family has never cared much about what others think. You know that." A faint pause followed. "You saw it yourself with the mines. When Valttair ignored your father's objections, it almost turned into a war. And even then, the Morgain almost didn't back down."

Zafira didn't argue. She remembered.

"I don't know what Valttair is planning," Trafalgar continued. "And I don't have real say in the bigger decisions." He looked back at her. "From the outside, I know how this looks. Strategic. Convenient."

He didn't deny it.

"But my feelings for Aubrelle are real," he said. "That part isn't an excuse. It isn't a move on a board of this bigger game that is being played."

A brief silence followed before he added, more quietly, "And it's not the same as with Mayla."

That difference mattered. Even if the world didn't care.

"Because of where we stand," Trafalgar went on, "we couldn't hide it. If we tried, it would only make things worse. Rumors would fill the gaps anyway."

He exhaled slowly.

"There are things I can control," Trafalgar said at last. "And things I can't." His voice didn't harden; it stayed honest. "I can't decide how the world interprets this. I can't stop the other families from watching. But I won't pretend my choices are empty either."

"I'm still me," he said simply.

The words didn't promise anything.

But they didn't shut any doors either.

And that, for Zafira, mattered more than a clean answer ever could.

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