SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant

Trafalgar understood that Cynthia was trying to trust him.

She wanted to tell him what had happened back then, and because of that, he did not interrupt. He only stayed where he was, sitting beside her while the train moved through the storm and the white noise outside pressed against the closed curtain.

Cynthia kept her head on his shoulder as she spoke.

”As I told you, we didn’t always live in the orphanage. We never had a father, but we had Mom. Bartholomew and I had her. It was the three of us, and we were inseparable.”

Her voice was quiet, but clear enough for him to hear over the rumble of the train.

”We lived in a village that was somewhat close to Velkaris when we were little. Bartholomew and I are the same age. Our mother was alone, and in the village where we lived, storms were completely normal. Back then, I wasn’t scared of them. The one who was always scared was Bartholomew.”

Trafalgar listened, his back resting against the seat.

”I imagine he still is.”

Cynthia shifted her head slightly against his shoulder, enough to answer without lifting it fully.

”No... He was scared at first, but later he got over it. He used to say he would protect me.” Her fingers tightened lightly over the fabric near her knees. ”I’m sure he was still scared too, but he wanted to protect me, so he puffed out his chest and pretended he wasn’t.”

Trafalgar’s mouth moved faintly.

”Oh. That’s unexpected from him.”

”It was,” Cynthia said. ”Maybe that’s why I remember it so clearly.”

The train shook again, a long movement that ran through the wagon and faded into the floor. Cynthia did not lift her head.

”One day, our mother went out to work. She was a hunter. That’s why she used a bow. She had a group, and we were close to them too. They were like our uncles. They would come home sometimes, bring food, tease Barth, teach me how to hold a bow even when I was too small for it.”

Trafalgar remained quiet.

”But one day, they left to hunt monsters. To sell materials, cores, maybe an item if anything dropped. Normal work for them.” Cynthia swallowed. ”They didn’t come back that night.”

The words thinned at the end.

”That night, Sister Alena came to our house to tell us the news. Our mother knew the job was dangerous, but she had to support us somehow. So she had already told the orphanage in Velkaris that if something happened, her two children were there.”

Cynthia’s voice trembled now.

”That stormy night, Mom never came home again. We never got to say goodbye. They never recovered her body either. She disappeared that day while Barth and I were at home, waiting for her to return.”

Trafalgar wanted to say something.

Nothing came to him fast enough.

Cynthia had trusted him with something old and painful, and for once, any answer he could have given felt too thin. Before he decided on one, her breathing changed.

She had fallen asleep against his shoulder.

Trafalgar looked down at her.

The storm kept moving outside the curtain, but inside the wagon the quiet had changed. Cynthia’s face no longer carried that tension from before. Sleep softened it, though the faint trace of what she had just remembered remained around her brow.

Trafalgar stayed still.

’ I didn’t expect that, honestly... It wasn’t in Bartholomew’s character description either. Well, it seems the people I know never had an easy life either.’

The thought lingered longer than he expected.

Maybe that was why Barth clung so tightly to old stories. Maybe that was why Cynthia protected him like she did. Maybe that was why the orphanage meant more to them than any academy hall or noble house ever could.

The train shook again, but this time it felt distant.

Trafalgar’s eyelids began to grow heavy.

Cynthia was asleep on his shoulder, the storm had settled into a dull roar beyond the glass, and the warmth of the wagon pressed around him. It should have been safe enough. The train was guarded. Caelum was inside. Selara was somewhere nearby.

Still, something drifted through the air.

A scent.

Faint. Sweet. Almost pleasant.

’ What does it smell like? It smells good.’

That was the last thought that crossed his mind before sleep nearly took him.

Nearly.

Trafalgar’s fingers moved.

[Widow’s Whisper]

The dagger appeared in his hand, and without hesitating, he drove the edge into his own thigh.

Pain cut through the drowsiness at once.

His eyes opened fully.

The wound was light, already beginning to close under the work of Primordial Body, but it had done what he needed. The fog in his head tore apart before it could settle deeper.

BOOM!

The explosion roared through the train.

The whole wagon lurched hard enough to throw loose items from the nearby seats. The lights flickered. Somewhere farther down the train, metal screamed against metal, and the stabilizing runes under the floor flared bright for an instant before dimming again.

Trafalgar moved at once.

He slipped out from under Cynthia carefully, took off his jacket, and wrapped it around his face to filter the air as much as he could.

Something was wrong.

No.

Something had already gone wrong.

He looked at Cynthia and pressed two fingers against her neck.

Her pulse was steady.

’Thank goodness. She’s only asleep.’

The scent was still in the air.

Whatever it was, it had been made to put people down quietly before the real strike began. The storm, the lowered speed, the half-empty wagon, the long delay; all of it had given whoever was behind this a perfect window.

The train was being attacked.

Trafalgar glanced toward the door, then toward Cynthia. Leaving her here exposed was not an option, but carrying her while half the train was under assault would slow him down at the worst possible time. He needed to know what was coming first.

His hand tightened around [Widow’s Whisper].

Footsteps began approaching the wagon from beyond the door.

Several of them.

Measured, hurried, and not belonging to frightened passengers.

A muffled voice came from the other side, too low to make out clearly. Another answered. The door’s locking runes flickered once, disturbed by something that was not part of the train’s normal system.

Trafalgar’s eyes narrowed.

’Fuck.’