Aubrelle's room was quiet, lit only by a single mana lamp resting on the bedside table. Its glow was soft and uneven, casting gentle shadows along the walls. She sat on the edge of the bed without her hood, her posture straight but tense, hands resting together on her lap as if unsure what to do with them.
From outside, faint sounds reached the room. Distant voices. Cheers carried by the cold night air, muffled by stone and glass but unmistakable in tone. Celebration. Approval. Someone being hailed.
Trafalgar.
Mayla sat nearby, closer to the window. She leaned forward slightly, trying to peer outside, though the angle allowed her to see little more than pale light reflecting off snow-covered ground.
"I can't really see anything," she said quietly. "But I can hear them."
She stayed there for a moment, listening. Then she smiled, small and sincere.
"He's changed," Mayla went on. "He wasn't like this before. Not like this."
She rested her hands against the window frame.
