Morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of House Morgain, casting pale golden beams across the polished floors.
The scent of lavender and warmed linens lingered in the halls as the estate stirred to life.
In one of the antechambers near the entrance, servants moved with quiet efficiency, preparing garments, adjusting travel cases, and ensuring the path to the carriage was spotless.
Trafalgar stood near a mirror, buttoning the high collar of his dark blue coat. His eyes remained calm, but beneath the surface, mana hummed faintly in his chest—a steady rhythm he now recognized as his.
The door to the adjoining lounge opened with a soft knock.
"A moment, dear?"
Trafalgar glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.
"Don't you think 'dear' is a bit much?"
'I'm still not used to having a fiancée, but if I had destroyed the agreement, it would be too suspicious, right? I should play my role for now.'
Aubrelle stepped inside, entirely unfazed, her voice even.
"No. In fact, calling you that still feels like an understatement."
She wore a noble winter dress of deep silver and ivory, finely embroidered with subtle floral patterns and lined with soft fur at the sleeves and collar. Her hair was gathered in a regal half-braid, allowing strands to fall freely down her shoulders. A single gemstone pendant hung just above her chest—blue, like her eyes.
"You're ready," she said softly, eyes scanning him. "Almost."
Trafalgar adjusted his gloves and gave a light nod. "Almost."
She stepped closer, brushing invisible dust from his shoulder with practiced elegance. "You didn't sleep much, did you?"
"Not much, no," he replied.
There was something unreadable in her gaze. "I suppose today begins the rest of it, doesn't it?"
"Something like that."
Before she could speak again, heavy footsteps echoed in the hall beyond.
Someone was coming.
The doors opened with a low creak, and Valttair du Morgain stepped into the chamber.
Dressed in a long black coat embroidered with deep crimson threads, he looked as if he had just come from a council of war. His silver-streaked hair was tied back in a tight band, and his sharp eyes took in the room with cold efficiency.
They settled on Trafalgar.
He paused. Just for a second.
"You've awakened your mana core."
The words weren't a question. Just fact.
Aubrelle turned toward Trafalgar immediately, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Yes," he said. "I did it last night."
Silence.
Aubrelle blinked once, then slowly turned her full attention to him.
"…Come again, dear? Did you say—last night?"
Trafalgar gave a small shrug, as if it were nothing.
"I went to the library. Found a book about mana. Followed the instructions and it just simply worked."
There was another pause.
Then—
Valttair exhaled once through his nose… and laughed.
A low, genuine laugh.The kind that hadn't echoed in these halls in years.
'The fuck is you laughing for?'
Trafalgar tilted his head, slightly confused. "…Are you alright, Father?"
"I was right to take you in. I knew it."
Aubrelle's gaze sharpened.
"Don't you think it's a little late to show affection toward your son, Lord Valttair?"
Valttair looked at her, intrigued. "Protecting your future husband already? I like that. You were meant to be by his side. But let's make something clear—" He turned to Trafalgar. "I never harmed you. I simply… left you be."
Aubrelle's tone dropped. "Do you even know what happened to him?"
Valttair's eyes narrowed a fraction. "I'm not omnipresent, Miss Rosenthal. And I'm rarely home. So no. Unfortunately, I do not."
Trafalgar's gaze flicked to the side for a moment.
'If you only knew… the original Trafalgar killed himself.'
Valttair stepped closer, placing a hand lightly on Trafalgar's shoulder.
"Look at you now. Possessing a supernatural talent."
His voice was calm. Uncharacteristically proud.
"Congratulations… son."
It was the first time he had ever used the word.
Trafalgar felt something shift in his chest. Not joy. Not warmth. Just… strange. Off-balance.
"…I see," he said quietly. "Thank you, Father."
He took a step back, then glanced between the two of them.
"…But why do you both look so shocked? I followed the book. It didn't seem that hard."
Aubrelle blinked, then gave a short breath of disbelief.
"You… don't understand."
Valttair's tone turned slightly more serious.
"Trafalgar, forming a mana core in a single night is something only a handful of people in recorded history have done. And most of them were legends or still are."
Aubrelle added, "Most awaken theirs between the ages of five and eight. Those who don't usually… never do."
"You're almost sixteen," Valttair said. "And you awakened yours not just late—but instantly."
Trafalgar processed that.
'So basically… I'm ten years behind everyone else.'
His brow twitched.
'Shit. Some of them have a decade's head start on me.'
He exhaled slowly, shaking off the thought.
"…Alright. Then I'll just have to catch up."
Aubrelle smiled faintly.
Valttair nodded once, stepping aside.
"Then go. I'll await news of your progress."
The winter morning air bit at their cheeks as they stepped out onto the front steps of House Morgain. The sky above was a pale steel gray, clouds heavy with promise, but no snow had yet fallen.
A black and silver carriage awaited at the base of the marble stairs—ornate but reinforced, built for both luxury and security. Two steeds bred from northern stock stamped their hooves restlessly, their breath fogging the air.
Servants hurried to secure the final trunks while the driver sat poised, reins in hand, waiting for the signal.
Trafalgar descended the steps first, his cloak billowing slightly in the wind. Behind him, Aubrelle followed with quiet grace, her coat wrapped tight around her noble dress.
At the top of the stairs, Valttair stood with his hands behind his back, posture rigid as ever.
He watched him.
Just before Trafalgar reached the carriage door, he glanced back.
Their eyes met.
And for the first time, Valttair offered him a single, small nod.
Trafalgar returned it.
He climbed into the carriage beside Aubrelle. The door closed behind them with a click.
As the wheels began to turn and the manor faded behind a rising mist, Trafalgar looked out the window—silent, thoughtful.
Aubrelle leaned slightly against his shoulder.
"Ready?" she asked.
"…No," he muttered. "But I'm going anyway."