Vivienne experiences a tense conversation with Dravok about a boy named Xavier, while Rhosyn sleeps. Outside, Trafalgar asks Caelvyrn for help training the descendant of the Gluttony Dragon, who is now under the care of one of Trafalgar's subordinates. Caelvyrn initially considers killing the child but ultimately agrees to train him in exchange for a favor from Trafalgar.
A full week had now elapsed since the commencement of classes.
His routine had remained surprisingly normal, a rarity in Trafalgar's existence worth acknowledging. He was also becoming accustomed to his newly attained core rank.
Prime Core felt distinct with each passing day, not in a world-altering fashion, but in how the mana responded to his call. It presented less resistance as he guided it through his body.
Numerous new students had joined the first-year cohort, and an additional chamber had been occupied on the floor designated for the scions of the Eight Great Families.
This dwelling belonged to the Dward family, hailing from Dvergar.
Trafalgar had not yet encountered this particular heir, but their presence made the corridor feel marginally less desolate. The previous year, only three heirs from the Eight Great Families had resided there. Now, there were four, though Trafalgar, to be entirely candid, held little concern either way.
Most evenings, he was not even present.
Occasionally, he sought slumber outdoors. At other times, he stayed at the apartment with Mayla, or with Aubrelle. These arrangements had become ordinary, even though his academy room still served as his private sanctuary. He alone entered the space, preferring to maintain at least one area exclusively for himself.
Currently, Trafalgar was departing from that very room.
He was dressed in casual attire, nothing particularly formal, as the reason for his outing was straightforward. Selara had summoned him to her office.
Or more accurately, her laboratory.
There was no benefit in feigning ignorance.
As he proceeded down the dormitory corridor, Trafalgar's thoughts invariably drifted towards Selara.
'Perhaps she has finally unearthed information concerning her master? That would be a positive development. There are numerous mysteries I wish to unravel, and it appears Director Selara also harbors her own motivations. Therefore, I hold hope she has discovered something beneficial.'
He exited the dormitory structure and traversed the campus grounds toward the primary edifice.
Many unfamiliar faces were now scattered across the academy. Predominantly first-years. Some congregated in clusters, others appeared disoriented, and a few earnestly strived to project an aura of knowing their surroundings.
These numerous unfamiliar visages turned towards him.
Trafalgar had grown accustomed to such attention.
By now, his identity was known to all.
However, few students actually approached him. The prevailing rumors had evidently taken their effect. Whispers circulated that Trafalgar du Morgain was aloof towards anyone who attempted conversation. This was not precisely a deliberate stance; rather, an overwhelming number of individuals had persistently sought him out day after day, typically with inquiries, sycophantic praise, or thinly veiled ulterior motives. Eventually, his responses became succinct enough to deter the majority.
It proved quite convenient, in truth.
He arrived at Selara's door and halted before it.
He knocked.
Silence.
He knocked once more.
BOOM!
An explosion erupted from the other side of the door, causing the frame to shudder with sufficient force that dust rained down from above.
Trafalgar's expression turned impassive.
He pushed the door inward and stepped across the threshold, intending to ascertain the cause of the commotion.
Selara's laboratory presented itself in its customary state: vials strewn about, peculiar instruments emitting low hums from various tables, alchemical ingredients haphazardly stacked in inappropriate locations, scattered parchments arranged at angles that rendered reading them an arduous task, and an abundance of scorch marks adorning the walls, indicative of the room having embraced turmoil as a daily occurrence.
On this occasion, smoke permeated the air.
A substantial amount of smoke.
A fractured glass cylinder rotated slowly upon a workbench, expelling emerald vapor from its damaged side. Several shelves remained intact by sheer fortune. A few flasks skittered across the floor in languid circles, clinking audibly against one another while an acidic substance hissed menacingly from a corner.
And in the epicenter of this disarray stood Selara.
She was coated in a viscous, green substance.
Her typically disheveled platinum-blond hair was even more disordered, a notable feat, and her peculiar protective goggles were perched askew on her forehead. Her green-and-white robes, while having withstood the blast, now bore the appearance of having been assaulted by an enraged slime. Selara was already reaching for a cloth, as if this were merely a minor inconvenience disrupting an otherwise productive morning.
'Oh no. Please, not this again.'
Trafalgar instinctively took a step back.
With remarkable composure, he began to close the door.
Selara's voice immediately reached him.
"Oh, my esteemed personal assistant, you could not have selected a more opportune moment for your arrival." She turned towards him, a broad smile gracing her features, green goo cascading from a sleeve. "Do come in, please. You shall assist me with one minuscule task."
A shiver coursed from Trafalgar's extremities to the crown of his head.
He already had a premonition of what awaited him.
This situation had transpired before. It was not merely a sense of déjà vu; it was past experience returning to exact its retribution.
"Selara," he stated, entering the room with the resigned tone of one already resigned to hardship, "my exceedingly favored Director Selara, I was informed you had requested my presence."
He remained positioned near the doorway.
As Selara wiped the viscous slime from her face with a towel, she lifted her head and fixed her gaze upon him.
"What are you simply standing there for? Grab a broom and lend me a hand with this mess."
"Tch."
The sound escaped him before he even considered suppressing it.
Despite his annoyance, he complied.
A broom was propped against a nearby cabinet, strangely out of place unless Selara's laboratory had become accustomed to needing one with such frequency. Trafalgar retrieved it and began to gather the shards of glass into a more manageable pile.
While engaged in the cleanup, he inquired, "So? What's the reason you summoned me? Have you finally uncovered something about your master? Did you find any worthwhile information?"
A smile played on Selara's lips.
It wasn't her typical wild grin. This one held a glint of mischief that immediately unsettled Trafalgar.
"Hoho. You're eager to know, aren't you?" She flung the soiled towel onto a chair already beyond any hope of repair. "But no. No success. I haven't unearthed anything directly linked to that eccentric old man."
Trafalgar's hand faltered mid-sweep.
"But?"
Selara pointed a gloved finger directly at him.
"That's precisely why I appreciate conversing with you. You grasp when the truly intriguing part is about to unfold." She leaned against a table, causing a nearby flask to tremble precariously. "We have an opportunity to locate him. Or at least to see if he makes an appearance at our destination."
Trafalgar regarded her, his skepticism growing.
"Where we are going?"
"Indeed."
"Plural?"
"Very much so."
"Just you and me?"
Selara's smile broadened.
"You, me, and a select group of other students."
Trafalgar blinked, processing her words.
Selara raised both hands as if unveiling a grand spectacle.
"We are attending The Grand Alchemical Conclave."
Trafalgar stood there, broom in hand, amidst the lingering smoke, shattered glass, and the remnants of green slime.
The name itself carried an aura of exclusivity and expense.
It also suspiciously hinted at trouble, albeit elegantly disguised.
"The Grand Alchemical Conclave," he echoed, a touch of wariness in his voice. "That sounds rather grand and imposing. What exactly is it?"
