The fire in Vincent's hearth had burned low, but the old man's energy had only grown brighter. His eyes shone behind the half-moon spectacles, and his hands moved as if conducting an orchestra of memories.
"Caelvyrn," Vincent repeated, savoring the name. "You are fortunate, Trafalgar. Do you know what kind of being he is? Dragons fear him as much as they respect him. Mortals revere him as a figure of legend. But above all, he is known for his restraint. He does not stir chaos—he resolves it. Wherever he goes, conflict quiets. Fools may call him detached, but I say he is wise."
Trafalgar leaned back in his chair, cup resting against his knee. He listened, but his expression stayed calm, unreadable.
