It was time to leave.

Trafalgar had the hood up and the case in hand, the old leather weighty now that it carried everything worth taking from this rotten place. Notes in an unfamiliar script. Pages written in Icarus’s hand. The records on the sap mixture. The mention of a major alchemist. Too many pieces, all ugly in different ways, and every one of them dangerous.

He still needed Bartholomew for the writing.

And for the alchemist... 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

That part would take someone else.

Trafalgar stopped in front of Darian and extended his hand. Darian took it at once.

Their grip was brief, firm, without wasted ceremony.

"I’ll contact you once I’ve gone through everything," Trafalgar said.

Darian nodded. "I’ll be waiting."

That was enough. Trafalgar turned, the hand-case hanging from one hand, and boarded the same flying vessel that had brought him there before. Caelum followed without a word. Once they were above the city and the wind had taken the last of the noise below, Trafalgar set the case down near his seat and looked at him.

"Do you think it would be smart to inform Valttair about what we found?"

Caelum did not need time to answer.

"Yes," he said. "I think it would be smart." His tone remained as even as ever, almost annoyingly so. "Valttair will not interrupt his training over something like this, especially when part of the reason he left to train was precisely because of problems like this one. I do not know whether he reached the same conclusion by another route. He told me nothing about it, so I cannot say. But I am certain of one thing." He glanced at the case. "If you tell him, he will not be surprised. And you will gain more favor with him."

"Then you can pass the message along, I suppose," he said. "But keep the information partial. Avoid details about Darian being under my orders rather than those of House Morgain and Sylvanel."

Caelum inclined his head. "Of course. That much was obvious."

Trafalgar leaned back slightly, the rhythm of the vessel steady beneath them.

"By the way. What did Valttair say about Mayla?"

That earned him the faintest shift from Caelum, not surprise exactly, just acknowledgment.

"He said to proceed," Caelum replied. "There will be no special celebration on the family’s side, since Mayla holds no major role and is not considered important by the standards of the house. But as long as you remain within the family, continue to grow, and continue to raise the name of Morgain, he has no intention of interfering."

A small pause followed.

"He also remembers what you said. About him not involving himself in your love life. He intends to respect that."

Trafalgar’s mouth moved just slightly. Not quite a smile.

"Hm. He’s more permissive than I expected."

Caelum folded his hands behind his back. "He likely wants to preserve the future heir of the house as well." He glanced toward him. "Though Helgar and Maeron are still viewed as strong candidates. Lady Lysandra as well, though as you know, she does not want that position."

Trafalgar already knew where this was going.

"Her mother was furious," Caelum continued. "Valttair made his decision about the family’s future long ago. The one he chose was Lysandra."

"I know," Trafalgar said. "You already told me."

The cold outside thickened as the vessel cut through it, but Trafalgar barely noticed.

"How do you think the Council will react when this comes out?" he asked.

"Surprised," Caelum said. "Certainly. But the incident during the war, and the trail left by the Primordial, changed the atmosphere. They are more alert now. The level of alarm is already higher than before."

Trafalgar did not answer after that.

There was no point filling the air for the sake of hearing something. The wind did that well enough on its own.

By the time another day had passed, they reached the city with the Gate. From there the trip became shorter, simpler, more familiar. They crossed through the Gate at last and arrived in Velkaris, where the city received them with its usual weight of stone, movement, and distant noise.

Outside the Gate hub, in a quieter stretch of street, Trafalgar stopped and turned to Caelum one last time.

"The same as before," he said. "Tell Valttair partial information. It would be stupid not to inform him. I don’t like doing it, but it’s the intelligent move. He’s the strongest person I know."

Caelum gave a small nod. "Do not worry. Valttair is no fool. It is better that he knows." He paused. "And as I said before, your father already understands more than he lets on. He had to put parts of it together after the war. And after failing to make sure the intelligent void creature died..." His expression remained unreadable. "I imagine his instincts have not left him in peace."

That was a pleasant way of putting it.

With that, Caelum departed in one direction, and Trafalgar took another.

He headed toward the train station.

He needed Bartholomew.

He needed Selara.

The case felt heavier the closer he got to the Academy.

’I need to ask Director Selara whether she knows another alchemist capable of making something like this.’

Once he arrived, he did not waste time. He went straight through the Academy grounds with the case in hand and made for Selara’s office.

Or laboratory.

There was really no point pretending the place was one thing when it was obviously the other.

He stopped outside the door and knocked.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

This time, no explosion sounded from the other side.

That alone was a relief. The last time, she had made him clean up the mess she caused herself, which felt exactly like something Selara would consider fair.

A voice came from within.

"Come in."

Trafalgar opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.

The place looked exactly as it should have. Vials everywhere. Ingredients stacked in places where ingredients should never have been stacked. Half-finished mixtures. Notes written at angles that made no sense. Strange instruments. Burn marks. Glassware. Shelves packed so carelessly that it felt like one wrong breath might bring half the room down.

And in the middle of it all sat Selara.

Long platinum-blond hair, as disorderly as ever. Strange goggles resting on her forehead. Gloves stained with enough chemicals to suggest either genius or criminal behavior. Probably both.

She looked up when she noticed him, adjusted the goggles with one finger, and smiled.

"Oh," she said. "If it isn’t my personal chef. Do you want something?"