Chapter 351: Trust

Rhosyn’s voice broke the quiet as they stepped into the building, the door closing behind them with a muted thud."Despite everything," she said, "I still have to find the other Primordials."

Trafalgar glanced at her sideways as they moved down the corridor. "You’re serious."

"I always am about this," Rhosyn replied. "Scattered, we won’t stand a chance against the Void Creatures. Whatever grudges remain, whatever blame still lingers—it won’t matter when the next war begins."

He let out a short breath through his nose. "Right. In that case, I’ll just hope they don’t kill me on sight when we meet."

The attempt at humor was thin, but it was there.

Rhosyn didn’t react.

She didn’t sigh, didn’t shake her head, didn’t offer reassurance. She simply kept walking, her expression unchanged, eyes forward. The lack of response said more than words could have. This wasn’t a joke to her. It was a real possibility, one she had already accounted for.

The corridor seemed to narrow with each step.

Trafalgar noticed the silence and let the joke die where it stood. ’So that’s how serious it is,’ he thought.

They stopped in front of a familiar door.

For a brief moment, neither of them moved. The weight of what came next—truths shared, alliances formed, risks taken—hovered in the air between them.

Then Trafalgar raised his hand and knocked.

The door opened almost immediately.

Mayla stood there in comfortable clothes, hair tied up in a loose bun, the ease of someone who hadn’t expected company but wasn’t bothered by it either. Her face lit up the moment she saw him.

"Trafalgar?" she said, genuine warmth in her voice. "I’m glad you’re here. Come in." She leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

He stepped aside slightly. "I’m not alone today."

Mayla’s gaze shifted past him.

A woman stood just behind Trafalgar, dressed in black from head to toe, her dark hair falling straight, her black eyes steady and observant. There was nothing openly hostile about her presence, yet it carried weight, like a shadow that chose where to fall.

Mayla met her gaze without hesitation.

"I’m Mayla," she said simply.

"Rhosyn," the woman replied. "It’s a pleasure."

There was a brief pause, not awkward, just measuring. Then Mayla stepped back and opened the door wider. "Please, come in."

Inside, the apartment felt lived-in. Warm. Familiar. Mayla moved toward the kitchen to prepare something to drink, then glanced back at Trafalgar.

"You didn’t need to knock," she said lightly. "You have the key."

"I came with someone," he replied. "It felt right."

That made her pause.

She looked at him more closely then, really looked, and the casual tone faded. "Alright," Mayla said, calm but attentive. "What’s going on? You look serious."

Trafalgar didn’t avoid the question.

"She’s a Primordial," he said. "Like me."

Mayla stopped moving.

He continued before the silence could stretch too far, laying it out carefully—what mattered, what defined the danger, what shaped the truth. The war with the Void Creatures. The fall of the Primordials. His bloodline. His inheritance. What he represented, and why Rhosyn had been watching him all this time.

He did not mention another world. That line remained unbroken.

Mayla listened without interrupting once.

When he finished, the room felt quieter, as if it had adjusted to the weight of the words.

"So," she said after a moment, thoughtful rather than shaken. "Valttair isn’t your father."

"No," Trafalgar replied. "But that doesn’t change who raised me."

She nodded immediately. "Good. Because it doesn’t change anything for me either."

Her gaze shifted briefly to Rhosyn. "You were watching him for a long time."

Rhosyn inclined her head. "I was."

Mayla exhaled softly. "That explains a lot."

Trafalgar looked at her. "I want her close," he said plainly. "I spent a year looking for her. I don’t want her disappearing again."

Mayla considered that, then gave a small nod. "That makes sense. Someone like her nearby is better than the alternative."

She looked between them, then added, steady and sincere, "If you’re fighting something this big, you don’t do it alone."

Rhosyn hesitated, then spoke, her tone careful but sincere. "I hope... we can get along, Mayla."

Mayla smiled at that, easy and unforced. "I don’t see why we wouldn’t." She tilted her head slightly. "We could go out for a drink sometime. Or just walk around the city. Nothing complicated."

The suggestion caught Rhosyn off guard.

For a fraction of a second, she looked genuinely unsure, as if searching for the correct response to something she hadn’t encountered in a very long time. Casual invitations. Ordinary time spent without purpose or strategy behind it.

"...I’d like that," she said at last.

Mayla’s smile widened just a little. "Good."

She glanced around the apartment, then added, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "You can stay here for now, if you want. Until you figure out where you’d rather be."

Rhosyn blinked. "Here?"

"Yes," Mayla replied simply. "You don’t have to decide anything right away."

The offer lingered in the air, quiet but heavy in its own way.

Trafalgar watched the exchange without interrupting. Relief settled in his chest, subtle but real. This was exactly what he’d hoped for—someone grounding, someone human, someone who could talk to Rhosyn without the weight of bloodlines and wars hanging over every word.

"I should go," he said after a moment. He leaned down and pressed a brief kiss to Mayla’s lips. "I’ll see you soon."

Mayla nodded. "Be careful."

Rhosyn lifted a hand in a small, almost awkward wave. "Goodnight, Trafalgar."

He returned it with a nod, then stepped back toward the door, leaving them together.

As it closed behind him, Trafalgar felt no unease.

Rhosyn didn’t need to stand alone anymore. And for now, that was enough.

The train slid out of Velkaris with a muted hum, lights of the city stretching into thin lines before dissolving into darkness. Trafalgar sat alone by the window, posture relaxed but mind anything but. Night pressed against the glass, turning his reflection into a faint double—eyes focused, distant.

’Some of them might want me dead.’

The thought surfaced calmly, without panic. If the surviving Primordials still carried resentment for what his mother had been accused of, then hatred would find an easier target in him. Blood remembered longer than reason ever did. Even so, the conclusion followed just as steadily.

’They still have to be found.’

Separated, scattered, holding grudges across centuries—none of that changed what waited ahead. The Void Creatures would return. Rhosyn was right about that. If the Primordials existed at all, fractured or hostile, they would be needed. And she would be the one to search for them, walking paths he could not.

His role lay elsewhere.

Valttair.

The name settled heavily. Trafalgar leaned his head back against the seat, eyes half-lidded as he replayed fragments of old conversations, half-remembered remarks, pauses that had once seemed meaningless. Magnus. His real father. The brother Valttair had never spoken of.

’I’ll ask him directly.’

Sooner rather than later. His birthday was close. Close enough to serve as an excuse, if nothing else. He wondered what Valttair would say when confronted, and a sharper question followed immediately after.

’What do I say when he asks how I know?’

Rhosyn was not a secret he could reveal lightly. And something told him Valttair’s knowledge of his mother was limited, filtered through politics and omission. That alone was unsettling.

Outside, the darkness shifted as the train cut through it, steady and relentless.

This was not theory anymore. Not prophecy or distant speculation. Wars were being prepared. Bloodlines were stirring. Old decisions were reaching forward, demanding answers.

Trafalgar closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, gaze steady on the dark ahead as the academy drew closer with every passing moment.