The streets of Lirantis shimmered beneath the dome's soft blue light, the reflections of coral lanterns flickering across the pavement like ripples on water. Every corner of the city felt alive, yet strangely quiet.

Trafalgar walked beside Zafira in silence for a while, hands tucked into his pockets as he studied the elegant glass towers and the faint silhouettes of aquatic creatures swimming beyond the barrier above. Only Zafira seemed to know where they were going. He was merely following her lead, his expression unreadable as always.

Eventually, he broke the silence. "What do you think of Lyren?"

Zafira looked at him, one eyebrow lifting. "What's with that question?"

Trafalgar shrugged. "He asked to see us, didn't he? I assume it's because of who we are. Probably wants to strengthen ties between us. I couldn't care less, but I should keep appearances."

Zafira's lips curved slightly as she tried not to laugh. The memory of Trafalgar mocking Alfons at the Council flashed through her mind. "Sure you will," she said, tone laced with amusement.

He gave her a side glance. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," she replied smoothly. "As for Lyren… he's not the eldest in his family, but from what I've seen, he's polite. Normal, really. Not the type who'd start unnecessary trouble."

"Then that makes one of us," Trafalgar muttered, his gaze drifting toward the large coral avenue ahead.

They turned into a wide street lined with tall estates of pale blue crystal and gold accents. Zafira gestured forward, where a grand mansion stood illuminated by soft mana-lights. "That one belongs to Lyren."

Trafalgar nodded, his tone casual. "Big house. Nice design."

She smirked faintly. "Impressed?"

"Not really," he said, glancing forward with a faint grin. "Mine's better."

The calm before tension. The mansion of the Myrrhvale heir stood ahead, gleaming beneath the ocean's serene glow.

The air grew cooler as they walked further along the polished coral road, the mana-lamps overhead shimmering in soft blue hues. Trafalgar was just about to ask something when something small and fast collided with Zafira's leg.

A tiny figure stumbled back and fell onto the smooth pavement. It was a young human girl, no more than ten, dressed in worn linen clothes too big for her frame. Her knees were scraped, and she clutched a small basket that had spilled halfway across the ground.

Zafira immediately crouched down, concern flashing in her violet eyes. "Hey, easy… are you hurt?"

The girl looked up, eyes wide and teary, but before she could answer, a harsh voice barked from behind them. "There you are!"

A tall half-siren man strode down the path — his fins twitching irritably, his skin shimmering faintly with blue scales. He seized the girl by the arm without hesitation, yanking her to her feet.

"Tch. Running off again, are you?"

Zafira rose to her feet instantly, her tone sharp. "She didn't do anything wrong."

The man turned to her, his expression cold. "She did. Tried to escape her post again. Some children never learn."

Without warning, he slapped the girl hard across the face. The sound echoed through the empty street. She whimpered, tears streaming down as the man began to drag her away by the wrist.

Zafira's aura flared for a moment — faint mana rippling from her shoulders — but before she could take a step, a hand caught her arm. Trafalgar's grip was steady, his voice low and cold.

"Don't. It's not our problem."

Zafira turned to him, disbelief flashing across her face. "She's a child—"

"I know," Trafalgar interrupted quietly. "But we're not in our territory. Barth told us this is normal here. Causing trouble will only make things worse. Remember who we are."

For a long second, the two locked eyes. Then, Zafira exhaled shakily, forcing herself to calm down. The man and the girl disappeared around the corner.

"Let's go," she murmured at last.

Trafalgar released her arm and nodded once. They walked on in silence, the echo of that slap still ringing faintly behind them.

The mansion loomed ahead like a monument carved from coral and glass, its surface glimmering with soft reflections of the ocean beyond the dome. Two fountains flanked the entrance, their streams flowing upward rather than down — a delicate show of controlled mana.

At the gate stood two attendants dressed in deep blue uniforms. The moment Trafalgar and Zafira approached, both bowed deeply, their movements precise and respectful.

"Welcome, Lord Trafalgar du Morgain, Lady Zafira du Zar'khael," one of them announced, voice smooth and practiced. "The young master has been expecting you. Please, follow us inside."

Zafira inclined her head politely, though her usual composure was shadowed by the memory of what had just happened. Her hands were still slightly clenched at her sides.

Trafalgar merely gave a curt nod. "Lead the way."

They stepped through the golden gates, walking along a marble path that glowed faintly beneath their feet. The air smelled faintly of salt and mana — clean, almost sterile. Every detail of the estate radiated wealth: the hanging pearls from the ceiling, the mana-lamps shaped like floating shells, the quiet servants waiting motionlessly in the hall.

Zafira's eyes drifted to the glass walls where schools of fish swam outside the dome, dancing through beams of light. For a brief moment, it felt almost peaceful — until her mind returned to the image of the crying girl.

Trafalgar glanced at her from the corner of his eye, noting the tension still in her shoulders. He didn't say anything, but his thoughts were colder than his expression. 'The world's built on imbalance. The powerful feast, the weak serve. That's how it's always been.'

The attendants opened a set of tall silver doors. "Please, this way," one said softly.

Zafira straightened, her face calm once again, and stepped forward first. Trafalgar followed close behind, the click of his boots echoing faintly across the polished marble floor.

The doors shut behind them with a quiet, echoing thud — sealing away the outside world and all the unease it carried.

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