The wind carried a thin veil of dust across the outer wall as reconstruction continued in disciplined motion around them. Workers moved in structured rotations, beams rising under guided mana, fractured stone dragged and sorted into ordered piles. The world did not pause for uncertainty. It rebuilt around it.
Trafalgar slowed.
Then stopped entirely. Aubrelle halted with him without asking why, her grip still resting around his forearm. Pipin circled high above, maintaining a wide view of the grounds.
Trafalgar turned slightly toward her, head angled just enough to signal the shift from observation to inquiry.
"Aubrelle… if you were an heir of one of the Eight Great Families, and your house just fell, and you were suddenly in a delicate position… what would you do?" he asked, head slightly tilted.
She released his arm slowly, fingers sliding away before her hand rose to her chin. Her posture stilled as she thought, gaze unfocused beneath the band of cloth.
