Trafalgar stood beside Aubrelle at the end of the dock, the massive silhouette of the ship looming before them.
Alfred was already waiting on the ramp.
Despite his age, the old man looked as composed as ever. His white hair was carefully groomed, his long coat resting neatly over his shoulders. When his calm, amethyst-colored eyes settled on Trafalgar, they narrowed slightly—not from suspicion, but amusement. There was warmth there. Familiarity.
He raised a hand and called out loudly.
"So you're finally back, bastard?" Alfred shouted. "My bones almost turned to dust waiting for you. Your sister Lysandra would've finished the job days ago."
Trafalgar's lips curved into a faint smile as he approached.
"I could've stayed a few more days," he replied casually. "Maybe then I'd have found a younger face waiting for me."
Alfred let out a rough laugh.
Beside Trafalgar, Aubrelle paused.
