Chapter 322: Consequences

The room was quiet once Aubrelle had gone.Trafalgar stood near the desk for a moment, then raised one hand. Shadows gathered, folding inward as the Shadowlink Echo materialized in his palm. The artifact felt cool, familiar. He didn’t hesitate. Mana flowed into it, steady and controlled, carrying a message shaped with care.

"Caelum," he said quietly. "Inform my father. I’m with Aubrelle au Rosenthal."

He cut the flow and let the Echo dim. The message was sent.

The response returned through the artifact, Caelum’s voice crisp, as if distance meant nothing.

"Young master, understood. However, this relationship will not be as simple as the one you have with Mayla. House Rosenthal will demand formality. A commitment will be expected. Most likely an engagement, followed by marriage."

Trafalgar remained still, listening.

"Your father," Caelum continued, "will be pleased. House Rosenthal is actively engaged in the war. Lord Valttair could use this union as a legitimate pretext to involve House Morgain directly. An alliance framed as protection of family would be... acceptable to the Council."

The Echo went quiet.

Trafalgar exhaled slowly.

’Of course,’ he thought. ’I thought as much.’

This hadn’t started because of Aubrelle. He knew that much. Caelum had hinted at it before, long before this, careful words placed just out of reach. His family had already been looking toward the war, already preparing for it in their own way. Something had been set in motion while he was gone.

What had changed now wasn’t the intent.

It was the convenience.

’They were going to move anyway,’ he realized. ’This just makes it easier for them.’

Aubrelle’s presence didn’t create the decision. It gave it shape. A reason that could be spoken aloud. A justification that wouldn’t be questioned by the Council.

’If something happens to Aubrelle while I’m present,’ he thought, eyes lowering, ’that becomes an excuse no one can openly reject.’

Cheap. Effective. Clean enough to pass scrutiny.

’The Council wouldn’t stop it.’

He lifted the Shadowlink Echo again, mana threading through his fingers.

"Caelum," he said, "you mentioned before that my family intended to enter the war even without this. May I ask how?"

The reply came slower this time.

"That is not something I can disclose, young master," Caelum answered. There was no tension in his voice, only restraint. "Please understand. There are matters better left unknown. This does not affect my loyalty to you."

Trafalgar closed his eyes briefly.

"I understand," he replied. "When you hear back from my father, inform me."

The Echo dimmed and vanished from his hand.

Silence returned to the room.

’So that’s where we stand,’ he thought. ’Two families. Two conversations. And then... a meeting.’

He knew how those meetings went. Men and women who spoke of bloodlines and futures as if they were ledgers. If the conclusion aligned with their interests, the outcome would be decided before the tea cooled.

Trafalgar let out a slow breath, the kind that came from deeper than his chest. The tension didn’t vanish, but it loosened enough for him to move. He picked up the two cups from the table and carried them to the basin, the quiet clink of porcelain the only sound in the room. Warm water ran over his hands as he rinsed them clean, steam rising briefly before fading, much like the conversation that had just ended. He dried them, set them aside, and rested his palms on the edge of the counter for a moment longer than necessary.

’A year,’ he thought. ’It’s only been a year since I came here.’

The realization sat heavier than expected. In that short span, everything had shifted. He was close to seventeen now. And somewhere along the way, two people had become central to his life. Not symbols. Not pieces on a board. People. Each in her own way had shown she was willing to give something real for him, to stand beside him when it would have been easier to step back.

The weight of that didn’t press him down. It settled instead, like armor being fitted into place. Heavy, yes, but meant to be carried. Responsibility, he realized, wasn’t something that arrived all at once. It accumulated, choice by choice, until one day you noticed it had become part of you. Trafalgar straightened, accepting that feeling without resistance. This was where he stood now, and he would stand properly.

Trafalgar left the dormitory building and crossed the academy grounds at an unhurried pace, his thoughts settling into order as he moved. The main building loomed ahead, familiar stone and quiet authority, and without detouring anywhere else, he headed straight for Selara’s office.

He stopped in front of the door and raised his hand.

Knock. Knock.

The sound hadn’t even finished echoing through the wood when it happened.

BOOM.

The explosion thundered from the other side of the door, sharp and sudden, rattling the frame. Trafalgar reacted on instinct, pushing the door open wide in the same motion the blast faded.

Smoke drifted lazily through the room.

Inside stood Selara.

She was... intact. Technically. Her platinum-blonde hair was completely disheveled, strands sticking out at odd angles as if she’d been dragged through a storm. Black soot smeared her face and clothes, her once-green robes now darkened and scorched, though not torn. Her peculiar goggles rested crookedly on her forehead, lenses clouded. She looked less like a legendary alchemist and more like a badly burned illustration in a textbook.

Her emerald eyes snapped to the doorway.

"Oh," Selara said sharply. "Look who decided to return at the perfect moment." Her lips curled into a scowl. "My dear personal cook. Couldn’t you have chosen a worse time to come back from your family duties?"

Trafalgar stood there, expression flat. "My apologies, Director Selara," he said calmly. "I heard an explosion."

"Yes," she shot back. "An explosion you caused by interrupting my concentration."

He blinked once. "I... see."

Turning slightly, he made a small step backward. "In that case, I’ll take my leave. Good luck with your alchemy experiment."

A vein pulsed visibly on Selara’s pale forehead.

"Oh no you don’t," she snapped. "You don’t get to walk away after causing this mess."

’You’re blaming me for something you blew up yourself,’ Trafalgar thought, incredulous.

"Get in here," Selara ordered, waving a soot-stained hand. "Help me clean this up. And while you’re at it, we’re going to talk about your absence."

He paused.

"You’ll also be recovering your missed classes," she added casually. "In the afternoons, after nomal classes."

Trafalgar stared at her.

She narrowed her eyes. "Don’t give me that look. The academy is fair to everyone... within reason. If you don’t want to repeat the year, you’ll make up your lessons. Especially the cooking ones. With me."

He sighed. "Are you sure this isn’t just an excuse to make me cook for you again?"

For once, Selara’s expression hardened, the irritation settling into something more serious. "No. I’m serious. There are two and a half months left of the first year. You skip now, you fall behind." She crossed her arms. "You wouldn’t want to become the Morgain embarrassment, would you?"

"Tch."

The sound slipped out before he could stop it. A quiet click of annoyance.

"...Fine," Trafalgar said at last.

He stepped inside and began helping her gather the scattered equipment, resigned already to a reshuffled schedule. Training would have to wait.

Trafalgar reached down to pick up a cracked vial, carefully setting it aside with the others. The smell of burnt reagents still hung in the air, sharp enough to sting his nose. For a moment, the only sounds in the room were the scrape of glass against stone and the faint crackle of something cooling.

Selara watched him work, her irritation slowly settling into something more thoughtful.

Then, almost as an afterthought, she spoke.

"...By the way," Selara said, adjusting the goggles on her forehead, soot smearing further across her temple, "how is my dear and lovely assistant Aubrelle doing?"