Trafalgar rose from his seat without bowing, without offering a single word of farewell. He simply turned and walked toward the obsidian doors, coat brushing softly against the blackstone floor. The chamber's cold light followed him until the doors shut behind him with a heavy, echoing thud.

Valttair stared at the empty space Trafalgar had left behind.

"…Caelum."

Caelum stepped forward, heels clicking sharply together.

"Ensure he does not die."

Caelum's expression didn't shift—not even a muscle twitched.

"Do not worry. I already intended to do so."

Then—without a ripple of mana, without so much as a breath—he vanished. One moment present, the next simply gone, like a shadow dismissed.

Silence enveloped the war chamber.

Valttair exhaled slowly, lifting two fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose.

A weary sigh escaped him—not emotional, not pained… but complicated.

"…Problem child," he murmured.

He rose from his seat, the dark robes shifting with the motion, and turned toward the massive window behind him. The world outside was a sea of white—snow falling thicker now, drifting past the castle like slow, graceful ash.

Far below, on the highest landing platform, a blacksteel warship was already powering up. Alfred's vessel—sleek, massive, runes glowing—waited like a beast ready to swallow Trafalgar and carry him into danger.

Snow swirled around it, illuminated by blue mana exhaust.

Valttair watched in silence, grey eyes unreadable.

"Go, then…" he murmured to the empty room.

The wind hit him first.

Cold, thin, sharp—rushing across the landing platform as Trafalgar stepped out into the open air. The blacksteel ship loomed before him, its wings unfolding as mana surged through the engine runes. Alfred stood at the base of the ramp, coat flapping in the wind, white hair tied loosely behind his neck.

"Get aboard. We leave now."

Trafalgar didn't argue. He walked past him and ascended the ramp, boots echoing against the metal surface. Alfred followed behind, tapping a control panel that sealed the entrance with a hiss of pressurized air.

Inside, the ship hummed like a contained storm—engines throbbing beneath the floorboards, mana conduits pulsing along the walls with faint blue light. Caelum stood near one of the side windows, inspecting a thin booklet of documents with meticulous calm.

Trafalgar raised a brow.

"…We're leaving immediately?"

Caelum closed the booklet.

"Yes. And you should be aware—the journey will take approximately two weeks."

Trafalgar blinked.

"…Two what?"

Alfred snorted from the cockpit.

"Two weeks, boy. The neutral territories aren't exactly around the corner. Be grateful this ship cuts the time in half. With normal transportation, you'd arrive old and wrinkled. And the Gates there are closed for now."

Trafalgar exhaled sharply through his nose, irritation flickering across his expression.

"Could've told me sooner."

Alfred shrugged without turning around. "Didn't think it mattered. You go where you're told, don't you?"

The engines roared. The ship trembled. Snow blasted sideways as the vessel lifted from the platform, rising into the grey sky until Morgain Castle shrank beneath them—just a fortress swallowed by endless clouds.

Caelum approached him with quiet steps.

"Young master," he said, voice steady. "It would be wise to use this time productively."

Trafalgar leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

"Train? Study? Meditate?" he muttered.

"All of the above," Caelum replied without hesitation. "This mission is not idle observation. Powerful individuals will gather in that region. You must be prepared."

Alfred's voice drifted from the cockpit:

"And try not to die on the way, either. Cleaning up your corpse would be a hassle."

Trafalgar rolled his eyes but didn't fire back.

Not today.

He looked out the window—the clouds stretching endlessly, the world shrinking below them—and let out a slow breath.

Two weeks…

The thought echoed in his mind like a slow drumbeat. Trafalgar kept his gaze on the clouds outside until a question pushed its way out of him.

"Caelum," he said quietly. "Who exactly will be there? Who are the families sending?"

Caelum did not answer immediately. He closed the document booklet with precise fingers, then turned to Trafalgar with that same unreadable calm he always carried.

"You will encounter heirs," Caelum said. "And not only them."

Trafalgar's brow tightened.

"Be specific."

Caelum inclined his head slightly—a gesture of respect, but also a warning.

"Very well."

He folded his hands behind his back.

"First, there is a high probability you will see Lady Zafira again. Her family, the Zar'khael, has already dispatched envoys. Some of her older siblings may join them—those with talent levels A and S."

Trafalgar clicked his tongue, half annoyed, half intrigued. 'Great. Just what I needed. Zafira is good but a sibling that I don't know…'

Caelum continued.

"From House Nocthar, a representative has already been confirmed. Given their current political tensions, it will not be a weak individual."

Trafalgar shifted his weight. House Nocthar was not a family one casually crossed paths with—they produced monsters.

"And the other Great Families?" Trafalgar asked.

Caelum's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"Some will send heirs. Others will send unofficial agents. But all will send someone to gather information."

Trafalgar felt a faint pressure in his chest—excitement, anticipation… and caution.

Alfred called out from the cockpit without looking back:

"Ah, yes. The fun crowd. Brats with too much talent and not enough brain cells. Try not to start fights with them unless you plan to win."

Caelum ignored him.

"There will also be unaffiliated talents," he added. "Individuals backed by no Great Family, but whose abilities make them… unpredictable."

Trafalgar's eyes sharpened.

"So what you're saying is—everyone strong is going."

Caelum nodded once.

"Yes, young master. Which means one thing."

Trafalgar waited.

"You must stay vigilant every moment," Caelum concluded. "If someone targets you—react immediately. If someone approaches you—assume motive. And if someone smiles at you—assume danger."

Alfred snorted.

"Ah, the good old neutral zone. A perfect place for politics, insults, and attempted murder."

Trafalgar let out a slow breath.

"…Wonderful."

The ship glided steadily through the upper atmosphere, its engines humming in a low, constant rhythm. The clouds below looked like an endless white ocean—peaceful, deceptively so.

Trafalgar shifted his gaze toward the cockpit.

"Hey, Alfred."

The captain didn't turn, but one of his eyebrows lifted, barely visible under his hat.

"What."

Trafalgar walked closer, arms crossed.

"…There won't be a dragon flying next to us this time, right? I'm not in the mood for a repeat of last time."

Alfred let out a sharp exhale that might've been a laugh—or might've been a scoff.

"Nothing happened last time."

Trafalgar stared at him.

"A giant, ancient-looking dragon the size of a damned castle flew alongside the ship."

"And?" Alfred shrugged. "It didn't attack us."

"That's not the point."

Alfred finally glanced back, his deep purple eyes narrowing with a mix of annoyance and amusement.

"Relax, boy. Dragons rarely bother with flying ships. If anything, we might get a wyvern or two passing by."

Trafalgar sighed.

Alfred turned fully in his seat now, cracking his stiff neck to one side.

"Oh, don't be dramatic. A little excitement keeps you sharp. What's the worst that could happen? A wyvern gets curious? A sky serpent decides we look tasty? Maybe a mana storm just to keep things interesting?"

Trafalgar's jaw dropped slightly.

"Do you actually want that to happen?"

Alfred grinned—a sharp, weathered grin of a man who'd survived far too many ridiculous situations.

"Makes the trip less boring."

From behind Trafalgar, Caelum spoke in his usual calm tone. "Nothing will attack us. Alfred is exaggerating."

"Am I?" Alfred muttered under his breath.

Caelum ignored him.

"Young master," he said calmly, "creatures normally avoid vessels like this one."

Trafalgar blinked. "Why? Because they fear Alfred?"

Alfred snorted proudly, but Caelum shook his head.

"No. Because this ship carries a defensive barrier system. One Alfred can activate at will. Most airborne monsters sense it and keep their distance."

Caelum's explanation seemed to calm Trafalgar—at least a little. He leaned back, letting the steady hum of the engines ease into the background.

Alfred, however, clicked his tongue.

"Bah. Barrier or not, half the beasts up here wouldn't dare. They know better than to pick a fight with my ship."

Caelum didn't even bother looking at him this time.

Trafalgar massaged his temple.

"Two weeks of this…"

Alfred suddenly stood from his seat and reached into a drawer beside the controls.

"Oh, right. Before I forget."

He tossed something over his shoulder without warning.

A small metal key arced through the air.

Trafalgar caught it one-handed.

"It's the same room as last time," Alfred said, already turning back to the controls. "Go get settled."

Trafalgar stared at the key for a moment, then slipped it into his pocket. "Alright."

He pushed himself away from the railing, footsteps echoing lightly through the ship's dim corridor. Caelum watched him go but didn't follow.

Trafalgar reached his cabin—the familiar door, the familiar quiet.

He unlocked it, stepped inside, and didn't even bother taking off his coat.

He let himself fall backward onto the bed.

The ship rumbled softly beneath him.

And Trafalgar closed his eyes.

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