The golden steam drifted slowly through the small apartment, filling the room with warmth and the scent of saffron. Outside, the glow of Velkaris' runic lamps cast shifting light through the window, painting the walls with soft amber tones.

Trafalgar leaned back in his chair, fork in hand, watching Mayla's expression closely as she took her first bite.

Her eyes widened slightly, then softened. "This is… amazing," she said, smiling between bites. "It's rich, but light. I've never tasted anything like it."

Trafalgar grinned faintly, resting his elbow on the table. "Told you it'd turn out fine."

Mayla lifted another spoonful, humming in satisfaction. "Fine? This tastes like it came out of a noble's kitchen."

He raised a brow. "So you're saying I should quit the academy and open a restaurant?"

She giggled quietly, shaking her head. "No, I'm saying that I underestimated you."

They ate slowly, talking between bites. The conversation wasn't about bloodlines, duties, or the academy — it was small, simple things. Mayla teased him about the way he kept rearranging the table setting; he countered by pointing out that she always ate the vegetables last.

When they were finished, Mayla collected the plates, and Trafalgar stood to help her. "I've got it," he said, reaching for the dishes.

She tilted her head. "You sure? You cooked."

He shrugged. "I'm not helpless, you know."

Mayla laughed under her breath. "Alright."

Together they cleaned up, their movements falling into an easy rhythm — a quiet sort of intimacy that needed no words. The only sound left was the faint clinking of plates and the hum of the mana lamps.

When they finished, Mayla lit a small candle on the table. The flame flickered blue and gold, throwing soft shadows across the room. "There," she said softly. "Perfect."

Trafalgar leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her. The exhaustion of the past weeks — the fights, the blood, the silence — felt far away now.

"Peaceful, isn't it?" she asked, noticing his gaze.

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. It is."

For a brief moment, neither spoke. The quiet wasn't empty — it was alive, filled with the gentle comfort of two people who no longer needed to hide behind titles or history.

Trafalgar exhaled softly, a faint smile curving his lips. "You were right," he said at last. "Cooking wasn't a disaster."

Mayla smiled back, her voice low but warm. "No, it wasn't. It was perfect."

After clearing the table, Mayla sank softly into the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her. The golden candlelight shimmered over the room, painting the edges of her hair with a warm glow. Trafalgar joined her a moment later, sitting at the other end.

For a few seconds, neither spoke — just the faint hum of mana crystals in the walls. Then her gaze shifted, lingering on his rolled-up sleeve.

"That tattoo," she said quietly. "You promised you'd tell me."

Trafalgar looked down at his arm. The black mark coiled faintly across his skin — not like ink, but like something alive, pulsing faintly with a deep, buried rhythm. He turned his wrist slightly, watching how the light caught it.

"Right," he said after a pause. "I did promise."

Mayla leaned closer, her expression calm but curious.

"It's… not just a mark," Trafalgar began. "I think it's connected to what I am. The Primordial bloodline."

Mayla's eyes widened the instant she heard him. For a heartbeat, she just stared — not in disbelief, but with genuine astonishment. She knew what those words meant; the Primordial Bloodline wasn't something from legends, it was legend — something that wasn't supposed to exist anymore.

"Wait," she whispered, her voice low but trembling slightly. "That's… the reason you changed months ago?"

Trafalgar nodded once, resting his forearm on his knee. The faint black veins of the mark pulsed again, slow and steady. "In part," he said. "The rest is what I told you before. If I want to survive… I can't live like I used to."

Mayla exhaled softly, the tension in her shoulders fading as she processed his words. "So this bloodline… it's real."

"It is," he said simply. "And whatever it is, it's tied to this mark."

Her gaze lingered on it again — awe mixing with worry, and something like pride. "That's… incredible," she murmured. "And terrifying."

Trafalgar leaned back against the sofa, the low hum of Velkaris drifting through the half-open window.

Mayla sat beside him, studying him for a moment before patting her lap lightly. "Come here."

He arched a brow. "Giving orders, huh?"

She smiled, a playful glint in her eyes. "Funny, coming from the one who used to give them. Looks like our roles have switched, my lord."

Trafalgar huffed a quiet laugh and obeyed, lying down until his head rested on her lap. "Guess I can't argue with that."

Her fingers slipped through his hair, steady and rhythmic — a gesture that once belonged to a servant, now wrapped in warmth.

"I'll be starting another mission soon," Trafalgar said after a pause, his tone calm.

"Already?" she asked softly.

He nodded. "It's with Garrika. Nothing long — evenings after the academy. Just a few days."

Mayla's hand lingered on his temple. "Garrika… you should thank her again, you know. After what she did for me, I'll always feel safer knowing she's there."

He smirked faintly. "You really worry too much."

"I used to get paid for that," she teased.

Trafalgar chuckled. "And now?"

"Now," she said, brushing a stray strand from his face, "I just do it because I care."

He closed his eyes, letting out a quiet breath. "Deal. I'll go — but I'll be back before dinner."

Mayla's voice softened. "Good. I'll hold you to that."

Trafalgar sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair. A few strands fell over his eyes again, longer than he remembered.

Mayla noticed instantly, her lips curving into a faint smile. "So that's why you came with your hair down today?"

He blinked, a little caught off guard. "What? No… I just wanted a change from the ponytail. Thought it'd feel different."

Mayla crossed her arms lightly. "Mhm. Or maybe you just missed me cutting it for you."

Trafalgar smirked. "Maybe that too."

She sighed with mock resignation and stood, retrieving a small pair of scissors from her vanity. "Alright, sit. I'll only trim the ends — you're starting to look like you're hiding secrets in that hair."

He chuckled and took a seat near the window. The late sunlight poured across the room, glinting on the edges of the blade. Mayla moved behind him, her fingers combing gently through his hair before the quiet snip began to fill the air.

The rhythm was familiar — comforting. Mayla's movements were slow, deliberate, like she didn't want the moment to end.

"You've grown again," she murmured softly.

Trafalgar tilted his head slightly. "You said that last time too."

"It's true every time," she replied with a small laugh.

Another few strands fell, glimmering briefly before landing on the floor. Mayla brushed a hand along the side of his neck, smoothing the line where she'd cut. "There," she whispered.

Before Trafalgar could turn, her hand slid from his shoulder to his chin, gently tilting his face upward. Their eyes met — close, warm, familiar.

"Don't move," she said quietly, leaning in.

He didn't.

Her lips met his in a soft, fleeting kiss. When she pulled back, a faint blush colored her cheeks. "There. Now it's finished."

Trafalgar exhaled slowly, a small smile forming. "Guess I'll have to come back for maintenance, then."

Mayla grinned, brushing a last lock from his forehead. "I'll add it to your schedule."

The city outside had long since gone quiet. Only the faint hum of the mana lines pulsed through the windows as Trafalgar folded the towel over his shoulders, damp hair falling loose around his face.

Mayla emerged from the small bathroom soon after, her steps light against the polished floor. Steam drifted out behind her, carrying the faint scent of lavender soap. For a moment, neither spoke — the silence between them soft, familiar.

"You always take longer," Trafalgar said quietly.

Mayla smiled, brushing her hair back. "That's because I don't rush through everything."

He gave a small laugh. "Fair."

The apartment felt warmer than usual, the faint glow of the wall lamp casting long shadows across the room. Mayla crossed to the bed, pulling the sheets back and glancing at him over her shoulder. "Are you staying?"

Trafalgar hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Just tonight."

She smiled, the kind of smile that didn't need words. He slipped into bed beside her, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. The world outside could have vanished right then, and neither of them would have noticed.

Mayla turned onto her side, resting a hand lightly against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath her palm. "You always come back a little different," she murmured.

"Maybe," Trafalgar replied softly. "But I always come back."

Her fingers curled against him. "That's enough."

They lay in silence, the rhythm of their breathing slowly syncing. The night air carried a faint breeze through the window, stirring the curtains. Trafalgar closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her against him — grounding, real, human.

Sleep came quietly, as if the world itself decided to leave them undisturbed.

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