Chapter 383: The Night Before the War [III]

Trafalgar followed Aubrelle through the city without questioning the path.

For once, his mind was quiet. The maps he had memorized, the formations discussed, the contingencies layered upon contingencies—all of it receded into the background. What remained was simpler. He wanted to be there. With her. That was enough.

The city felt ordinary in a way that was almost disarming.

There were people outside, though not many. A pair of lycans stood near a corner, speaking softly in human form. Further down the street, a human merchant shuttered his shop for the night while an elven woman waited patiently beside him, their exchange calm, familiar.

It reminded him uncomfortably of Euclid.

Most of the people here were not followers of Thal’Zar. They lived on this land because it was where their lives had taken root. Work, family, habit. Circumstance. The same way Euclid had once belonged to Morgain without its people ever truly belonging to the house itself.

War didn’t care about those distinctions.

It never had.

Collateral damage was not born of malice, but of proximity. Trafalgar understood that better than most. This was a war against a house, against its leadership, against what it harbored beneath its walls. Not against the people who walked these streets, unaware of how close the fault lines truly were.

Aubrelle walked a half step ahead of him, her cane tapping lightly against the stone, steady and unhurried. Pipin’s presence guided her with quiet certainty, but she didn’t rush. Neither did he.

Trafalgar realized, distantly, that he hadn’t thought about tomorrow in several minutes.

They walked for a while longer before Aubrelle spoke again.

"When this is over," she said, her voice calm, almost thoughtful, "we’ll go back to the academy. Things will return to their routine. You’ll move into your second year. I’ll start my third."

The words settled between them without weight. Not as a promise, but as a picture of continuity. Of life resuming its familiar shape after the fracture of war.

"Yes," Trafalgar replied easily. "That’s how it should be."

He paused, then added with the same natural certainty, "And after that, we’ll have to get married as well."

Aubrelle stopped walking.

Not abruptly, but enough that Trafalgar noticed and turned to face her. For a brief moment, she said nothing. She had always known it would happen. Their engagement was not symbolic, nor distant. It was real, acknowledged, expected.

But hearing it spoken so plainly made it solid in a way that thought alone never quite achieved.

"...Right," she said softly. "Of course."

Trafalgar studied her expression, a flicker of concern crossing his features.

"You haven’t changed your mind, have you?" he asked. "You’re not hesitating now."

Her head turned toward him, guided by Pipin’s quiet focus. There was no offense in her expression, only surprise at the question itself.

"No," she said immediately. "Not at all."

She reached for his sleeve, fingers closing around the fabric with gentle certainty.

"I’m glad," Aubrelle continued. "Truly. I’m happy that it’s like this. That it’s you."

The tension eased from Trafalgar’s shoulders without him quite realizing it had been there.

"Good," he said. "I just wanted to be sure."

They walked on for a few more minutes before Trafalgar finally asked the question that had been forming at the edge of his thoughts.

"By the way," he said, glancing toward her, "where are we going?"

Aubrelle’s steps didn’t slow. If anything, there was a hint of amusement in the way her shoulders shifted.

"I arrived a few days before you," she said. "There wasn’t much to do, so I send Pipin to explore the city."

At the mention of his name, the pale bird adjusted his footing on her shoulder, feathers brushing lightly against her hair as his red eyes scanned the street ahead with quiet vigilance.

"He’s very thorough," Aubrelle added. "He found a few places. One of them stood out."

Trafalgar listened, curiosity settling in naturally. He was used to planning routes for tactical reasons, not for moments like this. Letting someone else choose the destination felt unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable.

"So you found something you liked," he said.

Aubrelle turned her head slightly in his direction, the faintest smile touching her lips.

"You’ll see," she replied.

They rounded a corner, and the building came into view.

It rose above the surrounding structures with an unassuming confidence, taller than anything nearby but not ornate. Stone walls worn smooth by time, narrow windows placed for view rather than defense. It looked like it had once been a destination, a place meant for people to gather and look outward rather than inward.

A tower.

It stood apart from the rest of the city, not isolated, but distinct. Like it belonged to an earlier version of the place, one that had expected visitors instead of soldiers.

Aubrelle stopped and lifted her hand, pointing with quiet certainty.

"That’s it," she said.

Trafalgar followed the line of her gesture, eyes tracing the height of the structure upward until it disappeared into the night sky.

"A lookout," he murmured. "Or a viewing tower."

"Something like that," Aubrelle replied.

He considered it for a moment, then nodded.

"I can see why you’d like it."

The tower waited ahead of them, its presence steady against the darkened city.

The door to the tower was closed.

Not locked in the sense of abandonment, but sealed with the quiet authority of wartime restriction. No lanterns burned inside. No footsteps echoed beyond it. The city had decided this place was unnecessary for now.

Trafalgar glanced at the handle, then at Aubrelle. "How did you get the key?"

Her lips curved, unmistakably pleased with herself.

"I asked Pipin to fetch it," she said. "My father had it. He won’t notice."

Pipin ruffled his feathers as if accepting credit, red eyes bright in the dim light.

Inside, the tower opened into a wide circular space. The stone was clean, the architecture practical rather than defensive. This hadn’t been built to withstand sieges. It had been built for people who wanted to see.

Stairs wound upward along the inner wall, rising higher than Trafalgar had expected.

He looked at Aubrelle, then down at the cane in her hand.

"Hold on," he said.

Before she could question it, he stepped in close and lifted her into his arms. The movement was careful, practiced, as if he’d already accounted for her balance and weight.

Aubrelle startled. "T-Trafalgar? What are you doing?"

"You can dematerialize the cane," he replied calmly. "I’ll carry you."

She hesitated only a moment before doing as he suggested. The cane dissolved into motes of mana, fading into nothing, and she relaxed slightly against him as he began climbing.

The ascent was steady. Stone steps passed beneath his feet, one after another, the tower narrowing subtly as they rose. It took only a few minutes before the stairs ended and open air greeted them.

"We’re here," Trafalgar said.

He set her down gently.

From the top, the city spread out below them, quiet and whole. Lanterns marked the streets like constellations fallen to earth. Beyond the rooftops, the land stretched outward, darker, rougher.

And there it was.

Thal’Zar’s stronghold loomed in the distance, massive and imposing. From the outside, it looked almost simple. Stone. Height. Presence. But Trafalgar knew better. The real danger lay beneath it, hidden in tunnels and chambers that did not show themselves from afar.

He lifted his hand slightly, indicating the silhouette.

"That’s where we’ll be tomorrow," he said. "Are you ready?"

Aubrelle was quiet for a moment.

"I don’t like this," she admitted at last. "I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to kill."

She turned her head toward him, guided by Pipin’s gaze.

"But with you there," she continued, softer now, "it feels... manageable. I feel stronger."

Trafalgar nodded.

"I didn’t bring you here to talk about the battle," Aubrelle said quietly.

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of everything she had held back since they arrived.

She shifted closer to him, careful with her steps, Pipin adjusting on her shoulder as if giving her space.

"For just a moment," she continued, her voice low and steady, "I want you to look at me. Not the war. Not tomorrow. Just me."

Aubrelle reached up and loosened the cloth around her eyes. The white band slipped free, revealing unfocused crimson irises and the faint scar tracing one side of her face. There was no attempt to hide it.

She stood in front of him, close enough that he could feel her breathing.

"This is enough," she said softly.

Her hand rose to his collar.

The gesture was gentle, almost uncertain, but her intent was clear. She leaned in and kissed him.

It was not hurried. It was not desperate.

It was careful. Contained. As if both of them were holding something fragile between their hands.

Trafalgar answered without delay, his hand resting lightly at her side, grounding rather than pulling.

When they parted, it was only by a few centimeters.

Their foreheads remained close. Their breathing had lost its earlier rhythm.

For a brief second, the city below them, the distant fortress, the names and plans and threats, all faded into something far away.

Trafalgar lowered his voice.

"Maybe... we should go somewhere a little more private."

Aubrelle froze.

Then a soft warmth colored her expression.

She nodded.

Very quietly, so only he could hear it, she whispered,

"My room is close."