The corridor was still, save for the faint hiss of snow brushing against the tall windows. The frost outside had thickened, the glass fogging faintly with each passing gust. Lysandra's reflection shimmered beside Trafalgar's — two shades of the same bloodline, framed by gold lamplight and winter silence.

"I've been… busy," she said at last, her tone even but faintly tired. "Father keeps sending us all on assignments. Everyone's fighting for his approval now that war's on the horizon."

Trafalgar gave a quiet, humorless laugh. "Let me guess — proving who's the most useful weapon?"

"Exactly." Her green eyes flicked toward him. "Helgar's been breaking skulls in the north, Rivena's stirring chaos wherever she steps, Sylvar's charming half the merchants in the continent, and Darion—" she exhaled softly, "—he's trying too hard to look noble doing Father's dirty work."

Trafalgar's lips twitched faintly. "Sounds like everyone's desperate for that pat on the head."

"Everyone except you and me," Lysandra replied. "But you know how it is. When Father says jump, they start flying."

He leaned against the cold wall, expression unreadable. "And you? You used to be the favorite. The perfect heir apparent."

Her eyes narrowed just slightly, though her voice stayed calm. "Was. I was the candidate, yes. Until I refused."

That caught his attention. "You? Refused the heir position?"

Lysandra's smile was faint, almost self-mocking. "Not every crown is worth the blood it demands."

Trafalgar frowned. "That doesn't sound like you."

"It's exactly like me," she said softly, gaze drifting to the snow outside. "I've seen what being heir does to people in this house. It doesn't make you stronger, Trafalgar. It makes you hollow."

He studied her in silence, catching something unspoken in her tone — a memory she wasn't willing to voice. "Why, though? What happened?"

For a moment, her eyes met his, then slipped away. "Let's just say… I realized that being Morgain's heir isn't the same as being free."

Trafalgar wanted to press further, but something in her expression — the quiet warning in her smile — told him to drop it.

So he did.

He exhaled slowly, his breath fogging the cold air. "Guess we're both good at disappointing expectations."

Lysandra's lips curved faintly at his remark. "Disappointing expectations might be the only rebellion we have left."

She stepped forward, the soft click of her boots echoing lightly along the marble corridor. "Besides, Father's already found other toys to polish. The next heir will be whoever bleeds the most for his approval."

Trafalgar followed her pace, his hands slipping into his pockets. "And when the war starts, that'll be their perfect chance to prove it."

"Exactly," she said. "The moment the first sword is drawn, the others will rush to outshine one another — to 'protect the Morgain legacy.'" Her tone dripped with quiet disdain. "All they'll really be protecting is Father's pride."

He gave a low hum. "So, the Council's next then."

Lysandra nodded. "In two weeks. All eight families will gather to 'seek peace' — at least that's the polite wording."

Trafalgar snorted. "Right. Nothing says peace like eight people who hate each other sitting in a gilded room."

Her mouth curved into a small, knowing smile. "You're not wrong. But this time… there's more to it." She hesitated, glancing at him. "There's a rumor going around that the Council won't just include the Eight."

He turned his head slightly. "What do you mean?"

"There's talk of someone else attending — someone from outside the families. A man with a Talent like yours."

Trafalgar stopped walking. His eyes sharpened. "Like mine?"

Lysandra nodded. "Yes, the same rank. That makes five in the entire world, counting you."

Trafalgar's jaw tightened. "You're serious?"

"Very." Lysandra folded her arms, her voice low but steady. "He's older, far more experienced — a name normal people haven't dared to mention in years. Most believed he'd disappeared entirely. It's been at least a decade since anyone's heard a whisper of him."

Trafalgar frowned, his tone cooling. "And what the hell is someone like that doing at a Council about family politics?"

"That," Lysandra said quietly, "is the question everyone's wants to ask."

They turned another corner, the faint light of wall-mounted mana lamps casting long shadows across the hall. Snow filtered through narrow windows, landing in silent clusters against the stone sills.

Trafalgar's expression stayed thoughtful, sharp eyes tracing the floor as he walked. "If he's really one of the five… then whoever convinced him to show up must have something worth his time."

Lysandra hummed softly. "Or something worth destroying."

He glanced at her. "You think he's picking sides?"

"It's possible," she said. "Someone with that level of power doesn't move without purpose. If he aligns with either Thal'Zar or Sylvanel, that side gets very good odds."

Trafalgar scoffed. "So one man could shift the balance of the world?"

"One person, Trafalgar," Lysandra corrected gently. "And yes. Talents like that don't just bend the rules — they rewrite them."

Then she shook her head slightly. "But not really. The Eight Great Families would interfere long before it got that far. You know the rule — the unspoken one that keeps the balance."

Trafalgar raised a brow. "That the Eight must always remain the Eight?"

"Exactly," she said. "No matter how powerful an outsider becomes, if they threaten that structure, all eight would unite to erase them. Rivalries vanish when survival's at stake — that's how the world has stayed in order for centuries."

Trafalgar gave a short, humorless laugh. "So the wolves only stop biting each other when a bigger one shows up."

Lysandra's lips curved faintly. "You could say that."

They stepped out onto one of the mansion's high balconies, the cold air biting instantly at their skin. Below them, Euclid sprawled in silence — rooftops blanketed in snow, pale lights flickering faintly through the frost. The world here felt heavier, quieter, as if even the air bowed to the Morgain name.

Trafalgar rested his hands on the frozen railing, exhaling softly. "Still the same city," he murmured. "Cold… but alive."

Lysandra joined him, arms folded. "That's Euclid for you. Beautiful from afar — harsh when you stay too long."

He shook his head faintly, a small smile ghosting his lips. "Maybe. But this place belonged to Uncle Mordrek. A lot of good people are still here because of him. I just want things to go well for them… for once."

Lysandra glanced at him, a hint of warmth in her eyes. "You always did care more than you admitted."

Trafalgar smirked faintly. "Don't tell anyone. Wouldn't fit the family image."

The silence stretched for a moment, broken only by the whisper of wind across the snow. Then Lysandra said, "I've been managing my own territory for a few years now. It has a Gate — you can reach it directly from the Morgain main estate."

Trafalgar's expression shifted slightly, distaste flickering across his face. "From the main estate, huh? Perfect."

She smiled knowingly. "I figured you'd love that part."

"Yeah," he said flatly. "My favorite place in the world — full of vultures in fancy clothes."

Lysandra leaned on the railing beside him, the frost crunching softly beneath her hand. "You could still visit, you know. It's pretty quiet. Fewer people."

He glanced at her. "Fewer people?"

Lysandra nodded. "That's right. I cut the Gate that connects to Velkaris."

Trafalgar blinked. "You did what?"

Her grin widened. "Of course. I didn't want trouble spilling in from there, so I just… ended it."

"You can do that?" he asked, raising a brow.

"With money and influence?" she said smoothly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You can do almost anything. We're Morgains, remember? If we're stuck in this cursed family, we might as well use it when it works in our favor."

Trafalgar gave a low, amused exhale. "That's the most Morgain thing I've heard you say."

"Don't pretend you disagree," Lysandra replied with a half-smile.

Lysandra's half-smile lingered for a heartbeat longer before she straightened, her breath misting faintly in the cold air.

"Alright," she said, brushing invisible dust from her gloves. "Enough chit-chat. How about a duel?"

Trafalgar blinked once. "A duel? Here?"

Her eyes glimmered with unmistakable challenge. "Why not? It's been years since we crossed blades."

He glanced toward the corridor behind them, jaw tightening. "Won't our lovely family see us? I'd rather not put on a show for them. I don't exactly enjoy being… visible."

Lysandra tilted her head, amused. "Relax. We don't have to stay here." She pointed toward the snowy expanse beyond the mansion grounds. "There's a forest close, right?

Quiet, empty, and no one bothers to patrol it. Perfect for… privacy."

Trafalgar hesitated for a moment, the cold wind brushing against his cheek as he considered her offer.

'She's stronger than me,' he thought, without resentment but with analytical calm. 'But watching her moves with Sword Insight… that's always worth it. There's no downside.'

His expression remained unreadable. "Alright," he said, slipping his hands from his pockets. "Let's go. It's been a while since our last sparring session, to be honest, so don't be too surprised.."

Lysandra's grin sharpened, bright against the pale backdrop of falling snow. "Sure."

They walked along the balcony's edge and down the narrow side staircase, boots crunching softly on untouched snow. The cold deepened as they stepped beyond the warmth of the mansion's mana lamps, the forest looming ahead as a dark outline against the white night. The air grew quieter — heavier — the world reduced to the sound of winter and their own measured breaths.

Lysandra stopped at the first line of trees, turning to him with a glint that was both playful and predatory. "Ready, little brother?"

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