Chapter 309: Chapter 309: Pinky Promise
Aubrelle stopped mid-sentence.
The words simply... wouldn’t co.
The wind brushed past the railing of the flying vessel, cool and steady, carrying the scent of open skies and distant sea. For a mont, she remained still, fingers resting lightly on her cane, Pipin hovering close as if sensing the hesitation before it fully ford.
"...I skipped so parts," she said at last.
Her voice was calm. Controlled. But there was effort in it, like water flowing around a stone rather than over it.
Trafalgar didn’t react. Didn’t prompt her. He just waited.
"I softened others," Aubrelle continued. "Changed how they sounded. How they felt." She tilted her head slightly, eyes hidden behind the white bandage, as if looking inward instead of ahead. "And so things... I didn’t say at all."
She exhaled slowly.
"It’s not because I don’t rember them," she added. "Pipin saw everything. Every mont. Every turn of the battle." Her fingers curled faintly. "So I know it all. Perfectly."
There was a pause—longer this ti.
"What I didn’t want to tell you," Aubrelle said quietly, "was how the battlefield stopped being mud and blood... and beca fire."
Blue fire.
She didn’t describe it yet. Didn’t let the images surface. But the weight of them was there, pressing against the silence.
"Flas that didn’t go out," she murmured. "Flas that followed where I went."
Her shoulders tightened, just a little.
"I don’t like that part of myself," she admitted. "It doesn’t fit. Not with who I am. Not with who I want to be." A faint, almost self-conscious smile touched her lips. "I’m not soone who enjoys destruction. I never was."
And yet—
"I did what had to be done," she said. "And I hate that I understand why."
For a mont, she said nothing more. The words had cost her enough already.
Trafalgar still didn’t interrupt.
He listened.
That, more than anything, made it easier to breathe.
"That’s why I ca with you," Aubrelle went on, softer now. "Not just to recount a battle. Not to justify decisions." Her hand tightened around the cane, then loosened again. "I needed to put it sowhere. With soone who wasn’t bound to
by blood or duty."
Her family loved her. She knew that. They would listen. They would understand, in their own way.
But it wasn’t the sa.
Trafalgar was different.
He was part of one of the Eight Great Families. He knew what Carac ant. He knew why everyone would descend on it soon—scholars, nobles, opportunists, scavengers—circling the aftermath like carrion birds, desperate to pick aning from what had happened between two powers that ruled the world.
He knew all of that.
And still, he stayed silent.
Aubrelle noticed.
Her respect for him deepened—not because of his status, but because of this restraint. Because he didn’t try to guide her story. Didn’t hurry her past the parts that hurt.
The wind passed between them again.
After a mont, Aubrelle lifted her head slightly.
"There’s sothing I want to ask you," she said.
She turned her face toward him.
"Trafalgar."
The way she said his na wasn’t sharp or urgent. It was quiet. Intentional. Like she wanted to be sure he was fully present before continuing.
He shifted his weight slightly against the railing and answered without hesitation. "Aubrelle."
There was sothing grounding in the exchange—nas spoken plainly, without titles or distance.
She inhaled once, steadying herself. "Can I ask you for sothing?"
He considered it for only a second. "If it’s reasonable," he said calmly, "then yes. I’ll do it."
That earned him a small, unmistakably mischievous smile.
"I think my junior is forgetting," she said lightly, "that he owes
a favor."
He blinked.
"...A favor?" The confusion was genuine. He frowned faintly, lifting a hand to the back of his head and scratching it as he searched his mory. "I—wait."
Then it clicked.
"Oh," he said, the tension easing from his brow. "The Council. The day I collapsed." He glanced aside, a little embarrassed. "You stayed with . Took care of things until I woke up, and when I was weak after that."
His voice softened. "I haven’t forgotten that. I’m grateful." Then, more carefully, he added, "But like I said back then—I can’t promise anything reckless. Nothing irrational. Nothing that would put us in danger, or that can be misunderstood."
Aubrelle nodded once. She hadn’t expected otherwise.
"That’s fine," she said. "It’s nothing like that."
She paused—just long enough to make sure he was listening.
"I don’t want you to tell anyone what I’m about to say."
That gave him pause.
Not outwardly—his expression barely changed—but inside, a thought surfaced imdiately.
’She thinks I might talk. She doesn’t know I had no intention of telling anyone from the very beginning.’
A misunderstanding, perhaps. But an understandable one.
He t her gaze and answered without complication.
"Alright," he said. "I won’t say a word. To anyone."
As he spoke, his eyes flicked briefly toward the far side of the deck.
Caelum stood there, dressed like any other crewman—hands occupied, posture relaxed, face unremarkable. But the mont their gazes crossed, sothing passed between them.
Understanding.
Caelum turned away a heartbeat later, subtly adjusting his position to give them space. No one lingered close. No one listened in.
Privacy, secured.
Trafalgar looked back to Aubrelle. "You have my word."
For a mont, she searched his face, still not fully convinced, but wanting to be.
Then she lifted her arm fully, extending it toward him, and held out her pinky finger between them.
The gesture caught Trafalgar completely off guard.
He blinked once.
Then twice.
’...A pinky promise?’ The thought surfaced before he could stop it. ’Isn’t that a bit childish? But it’s Aubrelle, it suits her to be fair...’
And yet—
For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, it struck him as unexpectedly... adorable.
Aubrelle noticed his hesitation.
Her pinky remained extended, steady, waiting—just long enough for doubt to creep in.
"...You don’t know what this is?" she asked gently.
That pulled him back at once.
He cleared his throat lightly. "Yes. I do," he said. Then, after a brief pause, he added, a little awkwardly, "I just... didn’t expect it." He hesitated, then let the truth slip out anyway. "I just thought it was... cute."
Silence followed.
Aubrelle’s color crept slowly into her cheeks, spreading beneath the bandages that covered her eyes, a deep red that mirrored the hue hidden underneath. She remained very still, suddenly aware of how close her hand was to his.
Trafalgar swallowed.
Then, without overthinking it further, he lifted his own hand.
His pinky hooked around hers.
It wasn’t a vow sworn before witnesses, nor a pact sealed by blood or power. Just a promise, small enough to fit between two fingers, fragile in the way only honest things are. For Aubrelle, it ant more than secrecy. It ant being seen without judgnt. Being allowed to lay down a part of herself she never showed on the battlefield. Not as an heir. Not as a weapon. But as a girl trusting soone enough to hold what she carried.
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