SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant-Chapter 442: Decision [I]

"It’s not that simple," Darian said, tail curling briefly around the leg of his chair before loosening again. "You speak as if this is an opportunity. As if stepping forward is natural."

His fingers pressed together on the table’s edge, gaze fixed somewhere between Trafalgar and the floor.

"The Thal’zar have never functioned like that. There were no internal struggles for succession. My father was expected to rule for decades more, perhaps another half century. Only after that would there have been discussion about who was ready to take his place. There was time. Stability."

He swallowed lightly.

"There were no rivalries between brothers. No quiet conflicts between the wives. No atmosphere of suspicion. We grew up knowing our positions without having to fight for them."

His eyes lifted now, steadier than before.

"Now there is a vacancy."

The word carried weight.

"One of the Eight Great Families. One of the eight voices shaping what happens in this world. Decisions of war, trade, territory. Those voices guide what even reaches the Council of Sages. And at this moment, one of those voices is silent."

His tail shifted once behind him, a slow, restless motion.

"That seat is power," he said, jaw tightening slightly. "And everyone is aware of it."

He leaned back, shoulders tense.

"You ask why I don’t try to claim it. Why I don’t compete with my siblings."

His gaze finally settled more directly on Trafalgar.

"Because that seat carries expectation, weight, and consequences that extend far beyond this castle."

A small pause.

"And I don’t want to stand there."

Darian held Trafalgar’s gaze for a few seconds longer, as if measuring whether the answer he had given would be dismissed or understood, then his ears shifted slightly and his expression sharpened in a different direction.

"Why does this interest you so much?" he asked, fingers resting flat against the table now. "You are the eighth heir of the Morgain family. You have no voice in this either."

Trafalgar corrected him without hesitation, one brow lifting faintly.

"Ninth. I’m the ninth heir. The youngest."

Darian’s eyes narrowed just a fraction as he looked at him more carefully, studying his face as though checking whether this was ignorance or deflection.

"No," he said after a brief pause, tail moving once behind him. "You are the eighth now. One of them died in the war."

Trafalgar did not expect this.

One of them died.

Did one of them truly lower their guard?

Who would have been exposed enough for that to happen?

Was it incompetence... or positioning gone wrong?

This could benefit him.

Or destabilize the internal order further.

It depended entirely on who had fallen.

"I didn’t know..." he said at last, eyes fixed on Darian. "Who died?"

Darian gave a small shake of his head, ears shifting faintly.

"I don’t know. It’s just one of the rumors spreading."

Aubrelle’s fingers tightened lightly over her staff before she spoke.

"Sylvar du Morgain died," she said, chin angled slightly toward Trafalgar. "Your elder brother."

Silence followed.

Trafalgar absorbed the name without visible change.

Sylvar.

The memory that surfaced instead was colder—family gatherings where eyes lingered too long, conversations that ended when he entered, the quiet understanding that his existence had once been inconvenient.

How ironic.

One of them had fallen before he did.

One less competitor.

The hierarchy within Morgain shifted in that instant, even if the formal announcement had not yet reached him. A vacancy above him meant the ladder had shortened.

Whether that gap would swallow someone or elevate them depended on how it was used.

He leaned back slightly.

"So Darian... you don’t want to make a name for yourself?" Trafalgar asked, voice steady, fingers loosely interlocked over his knee.

Darian’s ears shifted slightly at the question, his tail brushing once against the leg of the chair before settling again.

"I told you," he replied, gaze lowering briefly. "You have no power in this."

The air in the room tightened almost imperceptibly.

Trafalgar’s expression changed, subtle but undeniable. His eyes fixed on Darian without wavering, the faint ease from earlier gone, replaced by something sharper. Darian felt it; his tail stiffened, fur along it rising slightly before he forced it still.

"For now," Trafalgar said quietly.

He leaned forward just enough to close the distance without standing.

"But you would be surprised what I can do, Darian."

A small pause followed, deliberate.

"So why don’t you try?" he continued, gaze unwavering. "You won’t regret forming an alliance with me."

Darian stared at him for several seconds, ears angled slightly back, as if trying to determine whether this was arrogance or something more calculated.

"Alliance?" he asked, tail moving once behind him. "What do you mean? You would help me take the head position of the Thal’zar?"

Trafalgar did not hesitate.

"In your current state, you will be devoured," he said plainly. "But I believe it can be done."

He let that settle before continuing.

"They are probably deciding between your siblings right now. Names are being weighed. Support is being measured. And you’re here, alone on a balcony, hoping no one notices you." His gaze held steady. "Why not play your hand?"

Darian’s fingers tightened slightly over his knee.

"Hand?" he repeated, a faint, humorless breath leaving him. "I have no cards."

"You have me," Trafalgar replied without raising his voice. "And you owe me your life. That’s already a large one."

The room felt smaller.

"So?" Trafalgar added, leaning forward just a fraction more. "Do you want to try?"

Darian held his gaze longer this time.

The initial resistance did not disappear, but something shifted beneath it. His ears, which had remained angled back in guarded tension, slowly adjusted forward again. The tail behind him, rigid moments earlier, lowered slightly, no longer bristling.

He was not convinced.

But he was no longer dismissing it outright.

The idea had landed.

"What would I have to do?" he asked, voice quieter than before, though steadier.

There it was.

Not agreement.

But willingness to listen.

The first crack in the wall he had built around himself.

Avoidance had been easier while the path forward felt abstract. And Darian had just stepped toward it.

Trafalgar’s

eyes remained on Darian, but his thoughts moved elsewhere.

The Morgain structure had shifted the moment Sylvar fell. A vacancy above him meant recalculation within the hierarchy, and after the war, his name carried more weight than it ever had. His performance on the battlefield had not gone unnoticed. Helgar’s position had strengthened as well, and Lysandra’s presence had gained quiet authority, even if she had no interest in succession. Influence inside Morgain was no longer static.

Valttair could be influenced.

That much was certain.

But Elenara—

She was the variable.

If she had already begun advising, if the discussion regarding Thal’zar’s vacant seat had already moved beyond speculation, then time was narrowing. Decisions like these did not linger once momentum formed. Names would be proposed. Support would align. The window to alter that direction would close quickly.

And if Darian were to step forward, it could not be after consensus had begun to settle.

It had to be before.

Trafalgar’s gaze sharpened as the decision settled.

Without another word, he extended his hand slightly and a small object materialized above his palm.

[Item – Shadowlink Echo | Rank: Rare]

A compact mana-infused node item. Designed to record and transmit encrypted voice messages across long distances. It required only a small infusion of mana to activate.

Darian’s ears twitched at the sudden manifestation.

Trafalgar infused the device with mana, the runes lighting briefly as the connection formed.

He lifted it slightly.

"Caelum," he said, voice steady. "Can I meet my father right now?"