Chapter 459: Chapter 459: A New Seat Among the Eight [I]
Sylvar’s funeral had passed quietly. No one in the family seed to be in the mood to do anything strange to Trafalgar this ti, and now they were all gathered in the chamber beneath the Morgain castle, waiting to use the gate and depart for the Council.
The underground hall was as solemn as ever. At its center stood the old teleportation structure, a large circular platform raised slightly above the rest of the black stone floor. Polished obsidian, ancient runic stone, and silver-toned tal, all of it arranged with the kind of precision that made the entire thing feel older than the castle itself. Concentric rings of inscriptions were carved deep into the outer edge, each line filled with faint runes that glowed a cold bluish-white. In the middle rested a geotric sigil of straight lines, circles, and linking marks, while thin channels waited to carry mana through the formation once it awakened. Even inactive, the platform made the room feel heavy, like a weapon dressed in noble ceremony.
Trafalgar stood beside Lysandra near the edge of the chamber. The rest of the family remained gathered among themselves. Even Seraphine was back, dressed as impeccably as ever, though she did not look at Trafalgar even once. He noticed it, but did not particularly care.
What drew his attention more was Lysandra. She seed uncomfortable. Not enough for anyone else to notice unless they were really watching her, but Trafalgar was close enough to catch the small details. A stiffness in her shoulders. The way her eyes drifted once, then again, toward the stairs. The faint tension in her jaw.
"Are you alright, Lysandra?"
She visibly startled when he spoke. It was small, but Trafalgar saw it clearly. She recomposed herself almost imdiately. "It’s nothing."
He kept looking at her for a second longer. He did not fully believe that. "You can tell ," he said in a lower voice. "You can trust . I won’t say anything to anyone." His eyes moved briefly over the rest of the family before returning to her. "Though I assu you already know I don’t exactly speak much with any of them."
Lysandra let out a soft breath through her nose, then finally answered. "Father knows sothing happened in the Cetery of Swords. He asked
about it."
For a brief mont, Trafalgar’s expression turned colder. Depending on what ca next, the trust Lysandra had slowly built with him over these past months could crack apart as easily as dry leaves in autumn. He looked at her without saying anything.
"I told him I didn’t know what happened," Lysandra continued. "That we were together for a while, walking outside, but that nothing happened."
Trafalgar exhaled slowly. His face barely changed, but the relief settled into him at once. "I see..." he said. Then, more sincerely than usual, "Thank you, Lysandra. I really appreciate it."
And he did. He did not want Valttair learning too much about what he was doing beyond the reach of the house, especially not when those matters involved people and things he had no intention of explaining yet. Little by little, details like these were making him more comfortable around her.
Lysandra nodded once, her expression remaining firm. "But rember what I told you before. If this becos dangerous, if you put yourself in danger or even the house, then Trafalgar... I will have to tell Father."
"I understand. I already told you that last ti." After a brief pause, he added, "Maybe one day I’ll tell you."
That seed to satisfy her for now. She said nothing else, but Trafalgar could tell she had accepted this small step for what it was. He was opening up to her little by little, and for now, that was enough.
Then both of them looked toward the stairs again, still waiting for Valttair to arrive.
A few seconds later, footsteps echoed down from above. Valttair descended the stairs without hurry, and the atmosphere in the chamber shifted the mont he appeared. Conversations that had barely existed in the first place died completely. Every gaze turned toward him as he stepped onto the black stone floor and looked over the gathered family with the sa cold authority he always carried so naturally.
He did not waste ti. "Good. We are leaving." His grey eyes moved across them one by one. "We are going to the Council as Morgains. That ans you will behave as Morgains. Maintain appearances. Watch your words. Do not reveal more than necessary."
His gaze sharpened slightly. "We were involved in the war. More than most. Because of that, we will likely be one of the main points of attention once we arrive." He let that settle for a second. "I will not tolerate anyone making our house look careless tonight."
Trafalgar listened in silence. The warning was for all of them, but he could already imagine where much of that attention would go. Valttair, Lysandra, the older heirs, the family as a whole after everything that had happened with Thal’zar and the war. And above all of that, himself. Whether he wanted it or not, his na had grown too loud after the war to go unnoticed in a room full of the most powerful people in the world.
Valttair turned toward the teleportation structure. "Onto the platform."
That was the end of it. One by one the family moved toward the circular formation, stepping onto the obsidian-and-rune structure in practiced order, following behind the patriarch. Trafalgar stepped forward as well, taking his place without a word while the rest of the family gathered around him beneath the cold glow of the ancient inscriptions.
A low hum began to rise beneath their feet. At first it was little more than a vibration under the obsidian platform, but within seconds the carved rings along its edge lit up one after another, the cold bluish-white runes spreading inward toward the center like veins of light waking beneath stone. The geotric sigil brightened next, and the thin channels filled with mana until the entire structure pulsed with restrained force. The air grew heavier, and a deep sound climbed from the floor into Trafalgar’s chest.
Then the light swallowed everything.
For a single instant, the world around them vanished. The black stone chamber beneath Morgain Castle disappeared, and when the brightness fell away, they were sowhere else entirely.
Trafalgar’s eyes lifted at once. They stood on another teleportation platform, but this one could not have felt more different from the one they had just left. The structure beneath his boots was built from white marble threaded with thin golden veins, polished so cleanly that the runes embedded into it looked less carved and more like strands of light trapped inside the stone. Silver railings lined the outer edge, joined with panels of clear crystal that reflected the pale sky around them. Less like a military structure and more like a ceremonial gate built for people who expected the world to arrange itself around their arrival.
And beyond it—
Trafalgar’s eyes widened slightly.
The island spread out before him above an endless sea of clouds, so high that the world below had vanished entirely beneath pale mist and distant light. Massive golden towers rose into the sky with the confidence that only ca from absurd wealth and absolute power. Curved bridges of white stone and gilded tal connected one structure to the next, stretching over empty air as if gravity had long ago stopped being relevant here. Dos of crystal caught the light and scattered it in soft colors, while suspended terraces and hanging gardens gave the entire place an almost unreal quality.
It did not feel like a castle. It felt like a seat built above the rest of the world on purpose.
And the people there only deepened that impression. All around the arrival platforms and distant elevated walkways, groups from across the world were already gathering. Nobles in formal attire, rchant lords draped in wealth, military envoys, powerful clan representatives, and figures from houses Trafalgar did not even recognize at a glance moved through the grand approach under banners of different colors and symbols. So clearly belonged to great bloodlines. Others carried the kind of influence that had nothing to do with ancestry and everything to do with power, money, or armies.
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