Silence settled after the word, thick and unmoving, like fog that refused to lift.

Aubrelle was the first to speak.

"…That's everything," she said quietly. "Even the parts I didn't want to tell."

Her voice was steady, but not light. As if each sentence had been weighed before being allowed out. She did not look away, nor did she brace herself. She simply stated it, the way one admits something that cannot be undone.

Trafalgar inclined his head a fraction.

"I see," he replied. "Thank you… for telling me."

Nothing more followed.

And that was what made it difficult.

Aubrelle waited.

Not for reassurance. Not for absolution. She did not want to hear that it would all be fine, or that she should forget it, or that she was too kind to have done what she did. She had heard those words before, from people who meant well and understood nothing.

She waited for a reaction.

Trafalgar did not rush to fill the space.

He leaned against the railing, eyes fixed on the dark ahead, letting the silence stretch until it felt honest. He understood, at least enough. It was not simply that she had killed. It was the manner of it. The weight of watching it happen. Of knowing there had been no other path and taking it anyway.

He did not know if it had been her first time.

But he knew it stayed with her.

"You're strong," he said at last. His tone was level, like stone warmed by the sun but never softened by it.

"Not because of Pipin." His gaze flicked briefly to the pale bird perched nearby. "Not because of your mana, or your rank, or whatever people like to whisper about."

He paused, choosing the shape of his next words with care.

"You're strong because you endured it."

Aubrelle listened without moving.

"You probably didn't want to do any of it," Trafalgar continued. "Most people don't. But this world doesn't ask what we want. It only asks whether we survive." His voice remained calm, almost distant. "You did what had to be done. And there's nothing you could have done for those who couldn't keep up."

The meaning was clear.

This wasn't praise. It wasn't comfort.

It was recognition.

Aubrelle felt it then, something in her chest loosening just enough to breathe. Not relief. Not peace. But the quiet understanding that the weight she carried had not been misplaced.

It wasn't her fault.

She didn't cry. She didn't smile.

She simply nodded once.

"…Thank you," she said.

For a moment after her thanks, neither of them spoke. The night stretched on around the vessel, wind brushing past like a patient listener.

Then Trafalgar broke the silence.

"What happened after that?" he asked. "After the battle."

Aubrelle tilted her head slightly, considering where to begin. "Reports were filed. Official ones," she said. "Losses were counted. Some Houses suffered more than others." Her voice remained even. "The allied forces paid a heavy price. And Moonweave…" She hesitated for half a heartbeat. "They lost an Heir."

Trafalgar's expression didn't change.

"He deserved it."

The words landed cleanly. No hesitation.

Aubrelle turned toward him, surprise flickering across her face. She hadn't expected that.

"…You think so?" she asked.

Trafalgar looked at her then, properly this time. "Yes," he replied. "Lorian humiliated you. Publicly. He couldn't accept rejection, couldn't keep his composure, and turned you into a target because of it." His tone sharpened, like steel drawn slowly from a sheath. "That's not just bad manners. That's a flaw that gets people killed."

He exhaled through his nose. "In war, losing your focus is the same as handing your life away."

Aubrelle stayed quiet, listening.

"He lost his etiquette," Trafalgar continued. "Lost his restraint. And on the battlefield, he lost awareness. That part is on him alone." His shoulders shifted slightly, as if shrugging off something old. "If people want to whisper about it, let them. I stopped caring about opinions a long time ago."

He met her gaze squarely. "I'm Trafalgar du Morgain. Until not long ago, I was considered a useless bastard by most of my own House. So believe me when I say this—I don't lose sleep over what others think."

Something settled in Aubrelle at those words.

Her posture straightened, subtle but unmistakable, like a spine remembering itself. When she spoke again, there was a steadiness there that hadn't been before.

"You're right," she said. "He did it to himself."

Then, without lowering her chin, she added, "I'm Aubrelle au Rosenthal. And I won't make myself smaller for anyone."

Trafalgar blinked.

She continued, calm but certain. "I am the strongest Summoner of my generation. My talent is ranked SS." A faint pause, just long enough to let it land. "I shouldn't bow my head to anyone."

For the first time in a while, Trafalgar genuinely froze.

"…Holy shit."

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Aubrelle's lips curved, just slightly. A mischievous edge crept into her expression, like sunlight breaking through cloud.

"Didn't you know?" she asked lightly. "My talent isn't exactly a secret, Trafalgar du Morgain." Her smile deepened by a fraction. "It's known across the world. I'm the future of House Rosenthal."

She tilted her head, amused. "Or did you think your senior was less impressive than that?"

Trafalgar stared at her for a second longer than necessary, recalculating everything he thought he understood.

The dynamic between them had shifted.

For a moment, the night reclaimed them.

The vessel continued its steady passage through the dark skies, wind brushing past like a quiet witness. No alarms. No urgency. Just the low hum of motion and the space left behind after something important had been said.

Aubrelle remained as she was—back straight, shoulders relaxed, no trace of hesitation in her posture. The confidence wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It sat on her naturally now.

Trafalgar watched her in silence.

Not as a commander assessing strength. Not as an heir measuring value. But as someone looking at another person who had carried a war and kept walking.

"You know," he said eventually, his tone lighter than before, "for someone who calls herself my senior, you have a strange way of dropping things like that."

Aubrelle's lips curved again, softer this time. "Oh?" she asked. "Should I have announced it properly?"

He shook his head. "No. I think that would've been worse."

She let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. "Good. I'd hate to disappoint my junior."

There it was—the word, spoken with ease now.

Junior.

Trafalgar raised a brow. "You seem very attached to that title."

"I earned it," she replied calmly. Then, after a pause, she added, "And so did you."

That made him blink.

She turned slightly toward him, her expression composed, eyes hidden but intent all the same. "You listened," Aubrelle said. "You didn't interrupt. You didn't judge. You didn't try to fix something that couldn't be fixed."

Her voice softened, just a little. "I needed someone outside my House to see me. Not as a Rosenthal. Not as a Summoner. Just… me."

Trafalgar looked away, scratching the back of his neck. "I'm not exactly known for being gentle."

"I know," she replied. "That's why it worked."

Another quiet stretch settled between them, comfortable now instead of heavy.

Two figures standing side by side, both shaped by things they shouldn't have had to face so young. Hardened, yes, but not hollow.

Not yet.

"Well," Trafalgar said at last, glancing back at her, "if you're really the future of House Rosenthal, I guess I should be careful how I act around you."

Aubrelle smiled, small and genuine. "Too late for that."

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