The room was quiet. Trafalgar flexed his fingers once, the dull ache in his ribs a fading reminder of the night before.

He stood slowly and exhaled. Then, without a word, he called it.

The air shifted — pressure folding inward for a heartbeat before a dark shimmer rippled across his skin. In an instant, the armor materialized, forming over him as if it had always been there.

Black plates of obsidian wrapped around his frame, fitting with impossible precision. The surface absorbed light rather than reflecting it.

The helmet sealed last — a sharp, winged silhouette that curved backward like twin feathers of carved stone. The visor was narrow, almost predatory, the faint glint of gold tracing its edges.

Trafalgar rolled his shoulders experimentally. To his surprise, the armor didn't feel heavy. It clung close, light and responsive, following his movements as if it were an extension of his body.

He turned toward the mirror across the room.

For a moment, he just stared.

The reflection that looked back at him wasn't the weary student who had fought a night ago — it was something else entirely. A shadow given form, elegant and lethal.

He lifted his right arm, the plates shifting with a soft metallic breath. 'Doesn't even weigh anything…' he thought, the faintest hint of satisfaction crossing his face.

The obsidian gleamed faintly in the morning light, its surface alive with quiet power. For the first time in a while, Trafalgar almost smiled.

The faint smile still lingered as Trafalgar flexed his hands, feeling the obsidian plates shift smoothly across his skin. The armor felt almost unreal — solid yet weightless, as if air had taken form around him.

He took a slow breath and crouched down, curiosity winning over caution. The plates along his torso folded naturally with the motion, no resistance at all. He placed both palms on the floor.

"Let's see how this feels," he muttered under his breath.

He started with a few push-ups — slow at first, testing the balance. Then faster. The armor responded flawlessly, its weight distributed perfectly. The marble under his hands cracked faintly by the tenth repetition.

He switched to one-arm push-ups, then to short jumps, each time feeling the armor adapt to the impact before he even landed.

'It's adjusting my center of gravity… like predictive resistance training,' he thought, half amused. 'If I had this in college, I'd have looked like a damn superhero.'

He laughed softly, shaking his head. 'Guess I kinda do now.'

Standing, he moved through a few quick combat drills — swings, turns, sidesteps. The armor kept pace with him effortlessly, the sound it made barely audible. Even the air seemed to flow differently around him.

He stopped in front of the mirror again. The reflection that looked back wasn't just a knight — it was something between man and shadow.

'It's… perfect.'

He lifted his hand once more, watching how the light died against the black surface of the gauntlet.

Trafalgar studied his reflection for a moment, his gloved hand still raised. The armor shimmered faintly, the black surface drinking in every bit of light.

'Perfect,' he thought again — then his eyes drifted to the corner of the room, where a familiar darkness pulsed faintly.

"Let's try something," he murmured.

Maledicta materialized in his grasp, its blade singing with a low hum that seemed to answer the armor itself. The vibration crawled up his arm, steady and deep, like a heartbeat.

He turned the weapon, testing its balance, feeling how seamlessly it fit with the new weight of the armor. 'Feels… right. Almost too right.'

His brow furrowed slightly, curiosity taking over. 'If this armor is as strong as it feels… what happens if I push it?'

Without hesitation, he angled the point of Maledicta toward his chest. The reflection of the blade against the black armor looked unnatural — shadow on shadow.

He hesitated for a second, his rational mind protesting. 'This is dumb.'

But he still pressed forward.

The sword didn't pierce. Instead, it sang — a deep, resonant tone that shook the room. Violet light flickered across both weapon and armor as thin runes ignited along their edges, pulsing in unison.

Trafalgar took half a step back, startled. The air around him vibrated, and for a moment, everything froze.

Then, a faint projection shimmered before his eyes, the status window:

[Full Set Bonus Unlocked: Primordial Dread – Unique Rank]

Description: When the two Primordial relics—Maledicta and the [Armor of the Unborn Star] —resonate as one, the balance of existence stirs. These artifacts were not forged for conquest, but to stand against those who defy the laws themselves. You are the one destined to lead the order that guards creation.

Set Effects:

Primordial Surge: Personal Skills and Techniques gain +25% total damage. Voidstep Instinct: Increases evasion and reaction speed by +20%; Void creatures instinctively fear the bearer.

Trafalgar's breath caught as the words faded. 'Maledicta and the Unborn Star… huh.'

He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "Two relics from before the world had rules… and they're both mine."

The power thrummed through his veins, alive and boundless. Trafalgar blinked once, the realization hitting him — '+25% on personal skills… that's mine, right? My own techniques?'

He let out a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair under the helmet. 'Guess I'll have to start naming my own soon…'

The thrill hit him all at once — too strong to contain.

"Fucking amazing!!" he burst out, his voice echoing through the empty room.

The [Armor of the Unborn Star] pulsed faintly in response, almost proud, while Maledicta hummed in perfect harmony.

Trafalgar couldn't stop smiling. 'Alright then… let's see what I can make of this.'

Then the door burst open with a sharp clack.

Trafalgar turned instinctively — and in the same breath, both [Maledicta] and the [Armor of the Unborn Star] vanished. Shadows peeled off him like smoke sucked into a vacuum, leaving him standing in his undershirt, hair tousled and eyes still bright with the afterglow of excitement.

Barth froze at the threshold, eyes wide. "We—uh—knocked," he stammered.

Xavier leaned casually against the doorframe, raising a brow. "You look like you just fought the mirror and won."

Trafalgar blinked once, realizing what this must have looked like — him half-dressed, breathing hard, the floor cracked beneath his feet. 'Perfect timing, as always.'

He sighed and turned back toward the mirror, straightening his posture as if nothing had happened. "You two done standing there?"

Barth stepped in, clutching a notebook awkwardly. "Sorry! We just came to check on you. Cynthia's with the girl now — she's eating properly."

"Good," Trafalgar said simply, glancing at his reflection one last time before facing them. "That's one thing handled."

Xavier crossed his arms. "So, mind explaining why the room looks like a training field?"

Trafalgar smirked faintly. "Testing something new. Worked better than expected."

Barth's curiosity lit up instantly. "Something new? You mean—oh, never mind." He adjusted his glasses, realizing he probably didn't want to know.

The tension eased, and for a moment, the three just stood there — friends again instead of students buried in power and bloodlines.

Trafalgar exhaled slowly, feeling the last remnants of mana fade from the air. 'Guess playtime's over.'

Barth sat cross-legged on his bed, flipping through his notes for the hundredth time. "Hard to believe it's already over," he murmured. "The ruins, everything. Feels like we were just getting started."

Xavier yawned from across the room, tossing a pillow aside. "Yeah, except I'm still trying to scrub ocean salt out of my boots. Remind me never to sign up for a field trip again."

Trafalgar leaned against the wall near the window, arms crossed. The light from outside painted his silhouette in faint gold. "You're complaining now, but you'll miss it in two days, when dense history classes are back."

"Not a chance," Xavier said, smirking. "I prefer solid floors and dry socks."

Barth looked up from his journal, smiling a little. "It was worth it, though. The inscriptions under the ruins alone could take months to decode. Rhaldrin said our group recorded more than any of the others."

"Good," Trafalgar replied simply. "At least it wasn't a waste."

Barth hesitated, closing his notebook. "You disappeared for a while after we got back, though. Everything okay?"

Trafalgar's gaze flicked toward him briefly. "Yeah. Just needed air."

He kept his tone calm, detached. There was no point in telling them what had really happened — the duel, the blood, Nyssara's presence. None of it would make sense, and none of it would help. Better they thought it was just exhaustion.

"I just had to talk to Zafira about something," Trafalgar said casually, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve.

Xavier immediately perked up, grinning. "Oh? Talk, huh? That what we're calling it now?"

Trafalgar's brow twitched. "Don't start."

Barth blinked, instantly flustered. "W–wait, you mean like… you and Zafira…?" His voice trailed off, his ears already red.

Xavier leaned back on his bed, smirking wider. "C'mon, Barth, don't act so shocked. You've seen the way she looks at him."

"W-well, I—I don't look!" Barth stammered, waving his hands defensively.

Trafalgar sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Xavier laughed. "So you're not denying it?"

"I'm ignoring it," Trafalgar replied flatly, crossing his arms.

Barth tried to change the subject but failed miserably. "Zafira's really… um… nice though."

"She's terrifying," Xavier countered immediately. "But yeah, sure, nice."

Trafalgar let them bicker for a moment before speaking again, tone faintly amused. "Relax. It wasn't like that. She just had questions about the ruins, and I owed her an answer."

Xavier shot him a look that said I don't buy it, but didn't push further. "Right. The ruins. Got it."

Barth fiddled with his pencil, still pink-faced. "S-she is really smart, though. I admire her… academic discipline."

Xavier burst out laughing. "That's one way to put it."

Even Trafalgar couldn't help the faint smirk tugging at his lips. The tension that had weighed on the room eased completely. For the first time since they left the ruins, it felt like normal conversation again — light, harmless, almost peaceful.

"Anyway," Trafalgar said, pushing off the wall, "pack your stuff. Rhaldrin said we leave tonight."

"Fine, fine," Xavier grumbled, still wearing that teasing grin.

Barth was halfway to his bag when Trafalgar added, quieter but firm, "And don't get the wrong idea. Don't forget who we are — who our families are. It's not something possible, even if both sides wanted it."

The words hung there for a moment. Barth and Xavier exchanged a glance; both understood exactly what he meant. Each of them carried the weight of one of the Eight Great Families — names bound by politics, duty, and expectation.

Barth lowered his gaze, his tone soft. "Yeah… I know."

Xavier sighed, his usual smirk fading just a little. "Guess some things are bigger than what we want, huh?"

Trafalgar nodded once. "Exactly."

Barth closed his notebook with care. "Still, it doesn't change that we're friends."

That earned him the faintest smile from Trafalgar. "No. It doesn't."

The moment passed, gentle but heavy with unspoken truth. Then Xavier clapped his hands once. "Alright, enough of that depressing talk. Let's get ready before Rhaldrin yells at us again."

Barth laughed softly, the tension dissolving once more as they began to pack.

The light washed through the window, catching the faint curve of Trafalgar's lips — a rare, quiet smile that vanished almost as soon as it appeared.

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