Valttair moved ahead of him and did not look back.
His steps carried him cleanly down the corridor, posture straight, presence already returning to the gravity of the hall they had left behind. By the time Trafalgar slowed, Valttair was gone—swallowed by distance and stone, as if the conversation had already been filed away as complete.
Trafalgar stopped.
He stood before one of the tall windows lining the corridor, the glass stretching from waist to ceiling, revealing nothing but white. Snow fell endlessly beyond it, soft and steady, drifting over mountains so high their peaks vanished into cloud and mist. The world outside the castle felt unreal from this height, distant and muted, like something happening somewhere else.
He exhaled slowly.
'Honestly… I have zero desire to go back in there.'
The thought came without anger. Just fatigue.
