SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant

Chapter 343: Chapter 343: A Necessary Conversation [V]

Trafalgar broke the silence himself, the word still lingering in the air between them, not as awe anymore, but as something heavier settling behind his ribs.

”If my mother was the Primordial Mother,” he said, voice steady but stripped of softness, ”then why is my title Cursed Heir?”

The question did not sound accusatory. It sounded tired. Like something that had been waiting its turn.

Rhosyn did not look away from him. When she answered, there was no hesitation, only restraint.

”Because your mother made a mistake,” she said. ”Not out of malice. Not out of weakness.” Her fingers tightened slightly at her side. ”She revealed herself.”

The words carried more weight than they seemed to hold.

”We hide,” Rhosyn continued. ”The Primordials. We have done so for a long time.” Her gaze remained fixed on Trafalgar. ”We are few. Fewer with every war. And the Void Creatures hunt us relentlessly.” She paused, letting the truth settle. ”We are their natural enemies. Our existence draws them the way blood draws predators.”

Trafalgar did not interrupt.

”Your mother understood that,” Rhosyn went on. ”She knew the risks. She knew what exposure meant.” Her voice lowered slightly. ”And yet, she chose to love.”

The sentence landed quietly, almost gently, and somehow felt sharper for it.

”She fell in love,” Rhosyn said. ”And that love led her to lower her guard. To remain visible longer than she should have. To stay in one place. With one person.” Her eyes softened, though the gravity did not fade. ”That was enough.”

Trafalgar frowned, confusion crossing his features as he processed the implication.

”So that’s it?” he asked. ”She was hunted because she loved someone?” His brow tightened. ”My father was Valttair, then?” He shook his head slightly. ”And that’s why she was pursued? Because she chose him?”

The assumption hung there, incomplete, waiting to be corrected.

Rhosyn looked at him steadily, the silence stretching for a brief moment before she spoke again.

”No, Valttair is not your father” she said.

The correction was calm, delivered without force, and still it struck with precision. She did not rush to soften it or frame it as something easier to accept. She let the truth stand on its own before continuing.

”Your father’s name was Magnus du Morgain,” she said. ”Valttair’s brother.”

The name settled slowly, finding resistance as it moved through Trafalgar’s thoughts. He frowned, then his eyes widened slightly as something surfaced from memory. A passing remark. A tone he had dismissed at the time.

’It seems I did well to adopt you.’

The words replayed themselves with new clarity.

”So that’s what he meant,” Trafalgar said quietly. He stared ahead, not at Rhosyn, but at the space where the realization was forming. ”Adopt.” His fingers curled once. ”That explains it.” A faint exhale followed. ”I always thought it was strange. I never looked like anyone else in the family. Not Valttair. Not the others.”

Rhosyn nodded.

”Magnus and your mother died together,” she said. ”They were hunted, cornered, and when there was no path left, they chose to protect you instead of themselves.” Her gaze did not waver. ”Magnus’s final act was to place you in Valttair’s care. He entrusted you to his brother before he died.”

Trafalgar’s jaw tightened, the weight of it pressing inward.

”To the outside world,” Rhosyn continued, ”the story is different.” Her voice grew colder, more precise. ”It is said that Valttair killed Magnus during an internal power dispute. A struggle over succession. That version was allowed to spread because it served its purpose.”

Silence followed, heavy and deliberate.

”Magnus du Morgain,” she went on, ”was the true heir of House Morgain.” There was no hesitation now. ”An SSS Talent. The one meant to become patriarch.”

The words clicked together, forming a pattern too clean to ignore.

”That is why you matter,” Rhosyn said. ”You carry the blood of your mother, Primordial and ancient, and the lineage of your father, one of the rarest talents this era has produced.” Her eyes fixed on Trafalgar. ”That convergence is not coincidence.”

Trafalgar absorbed it without speaking. His identity shifted again, not violently, but decisively, like a foundation settling deeper into the ground. The fragments of who he thought he was rearranged themselves around a new center, one defined by inheritance rather than assumption.

Trafalgar let out a slow breath, his gaze lowering for a moment as the weight of what he had heard settled deeper. There was no anger in his expression, only a tired edge that came from looking back and realizing how little warmth had ever been there to begin with.

”So he really made sure his son lived well,” he said quietly, the words dry rather than bitter. His mouth curved slightly, though there was no humor in it. ”I suppose being called a bastard and treated like an inconvenience counts as protection.”

Rhosyn did not react to the comment. She neither corrected him nor softened the silence that followed. When she spoke again, it was because the next truth could not wait any longer.

”There is more,” she said.

Trafalgar lifted his eyes back to her.

”You are not only the heir of House Morgain,” Rhosyn continued. ”You are the heir of the Primordial Bloodline itself.”

The statement changed the air in the room. It was not louder than the truths that came before it, yet it carried a broader weight, one that stretched beyond names and families.

”The Primordials once governed this world,” she said. ”Not as kings in the way people understand power now or matriarchs or patriarchs of power houses, but as anchors. As the axis around which balance was maintained.” Her voice remained steady. ”That authority did not disappear. It fractured. It was buried beneath time, wars, and fear.”

Her eyes met his without hesitation.

”You are the legitimate successor.”

The words did not demand a reaction. They simply existed.

”That is why your title is Cursed Heir,” Rhosyn went on. ”You were born as an heir into an era of collapse. Into a bloodline on the edge of extinction. An inheritance without a throne, without protection, without a world prepared to accept it.” She paused briefly. ”You carry the role, but none of the shelter that once came with it.”

Trafalgar leaned back slightly, the idea unfolding in his mind piece by piece. He had spent years thinking of inheritance in narrow terms. A family. A name. A house that never truly claimed him. Now the scope had widened beyond anything he had expected.

”Heir of the world,” he murmured. ”Not just Morgain.”

”Yes,” Rhosyn said.

She did not allow the moment to linger too long before continuing.

”The Primordials are the natural enemies of the Void Creatures,” she explained. ”It has always been that way. Their existence opposes ours on a fundamental level.” Her gaze hardened slightly. ”We have driven them out of this world before. More than once.”

Trafalgar remained silent, listening.

”Each time,” Rhosyn said, ”the cost was devastating. Bloodlines were reduced. Numbers never recovered.” Her voice lowered a fraction. ”The last war nearly erased us.”

She drew a slow breath.

”Another war will come,” she said. ”I do not know when. But inevitability does not require a date.” Her eyes returned to him, sharp and unflinching. ”And when it does, the role you inherited will no longer be something you can ignore.”

The room felt heavier after that, as if the ceiling had lowered slightly, compressing the space around them. Trafalgar did not feel overwhelmed. He felt cornered by scale rather than emotion, by the realization that the path in front of him had never truly been his to choose.

Cosmic responsibility did not announce itself with grandeur.