SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant

The knock came quick and light against the door.

Knock. Knock.

Trafalgar barely had time to lift his head before Selara spoke, her voice sharp and impatient as ever. "Yes, yes, come in."

The door opened a moment later, and Aubrelle stepped inside.

The sight that greeted her made her pause just past the threshold.

The office was... better than before, but only just. Shards of glass had been gathered into uneven piles along the walls, scorched tables bore dark stains from failed reactions, and the faint smell of burnt reagents still lingered in the air, sharp enough to sting if you breathed too deeply. Selara herself stood near the center of it all, still smudged with soot, goggles resting on her forehead, sleeves rolled up as if this were an entirely normal state for her workspace.

Trafalgar was beside one of the tables, holding a cracked vial, clearly in the middle of helping clean.

Aubrelle blinked once. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"...Good morning?" she said, the word rising slightly at the end, uncertain. "I can come back later if this isn’t the best moment."

Selara waved a dismissive hand through the air, leaving a faint trail of ash behind it. "Nonsense. Come in, come in." She snorted. "My assistant has seen me in far worse conditions than this, haven’t you?"

Trafalgar shot Selara a look. "She has. Unfortunately."

Aubrelle closed the door behind her with care, the soft click cutting off the corridor outside. With a small, practiced motion, she dismissed her cane, letting it fade as if it had never been there. Pipin shifted on her shoulder, wings rustling once before settling, his gaze already fixed on Trafalgar.

Through him, she saw the room clearly enough.

She stepped closer to the scattered equipment and knelt beside the table, reaching for a piece of cracked glass. Using Pipin’s vision, she moved with quiet confidence, placing fragments where they wouldn’t be stepped on, her movements precise despite her eyes remaining covered.

"By the way, I heard it from the other side of the door" she said aloud, her tone light, making sure Selara could hear her from where she stood, "what exactly were you talking about when you mentioned me?"

Selara snorted softly as she wiped her hands on a cloth. "Nothing dramatic. I saw you and this one arriving together," she said, flicking her gaze toward Trafalgar. "So I asked him how my assistant was doing. That’s all."

Trafalgar made a noncommittal sound and kept cleaning.

Selara’s attention returned fully to Aubrelle. "Still," she added, voice lowering just a touch, "I prefer to hear it from you. How are you, really?"

Aubrelle paused in her movements. For a moment, she stayed crouched there, fingers resting against the cool stone floor, Pipin’s eyes catching Selara’s concerned expression before Aubrelle lifted her head.

"I’ve been through... difficult things," she said honestly. There was no need to dress it up. "Things I won’t forget."

Selara didn’t interrupt.

"But," Aubrelle continued, a faint warmth entering her voice, "right now, I’m happy."

That was what made Selara still.

She stepped closer, studying Aubrelle with the sharp awareness of someone who noticed changes others missed. "You are," she murmured. "I can hear it."

Before Aubrelle could respond, Selara reached out and pulled her into a brief, firm embrace, soot and all. It wasn’t elegant, and it wasn’t gentle in the usual sense, but it was sincere.

"You’re safe here," Selara said quietly. "At the academy. In Velkaris. Whatever storms are raging outside, this place will hold and keep you safe."

Aubrelle didn’t speak. She simply nodded once, accepting the reassurance.

Selara leaned back, hands on her hips now, eyes bright with curiosity. "Still," she said, a familiar spark returning to her voice, "people don’t just walk around looking like that for no reason."

She tilted her head, smiling knowingly. "So come on. Tell me. What’s made my assistant this happy?"

Aubrelle didn’t answer right away. She stayed where she was, hands resting lightly on the edge of the table as if weighing the words. Pipin shifted on her shoulder, wings twitching once before he stilled completely, his sharp gaze locking onto Trafalgar as he continued cleaning, focused enough to seem almost detached from the conversation behind him.

Selara noticed.

Her emerald eyes narrowed slightly, tracking the bird first—then Aubrelle herself. Pipin wasn’t looking at her. Not even once. And Aubrelle’s head, subtly angled, wasn’t either.

Ah.

Understanding clicked into place.

Selara stepped closer, lowering her voice until it was barely more than a breath. She tilted her head toward Trafalgar and murmured, almost amused, "So... what exactly has my personal cook done this time?"

Aubrelle leaned in just enough to answer, her voice soft, private.

"We’re a couple."

For a heartbeat, Selara simply stared at her.

Then her eyes widened, incredulity flashing across her soot-smudged face. "What?" she hissed, a little too loud before catching herself. "Since when?"

Aubrelle hesitated, then answered honestly, still whispering.

"Since a few hours ago."

Selara recovered quickly, surprise giving way to sharp concern. She glanced past Aubrelle toward Trafalgar, then back again, her voice dropping even further.

"...He didn’t do anything to you, did he?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "You are aware he’s a Morgain."

Trafalgar straightened at that, irritation surfacing at once. "I’m still here," he said flatly, turning his head just enough to look at her. "And for the record, dumb elf, no, I didn’t do nothing."

Selara ignored the jab for the moment. Her gaze lingered on him now, assessing in a way that had nothing to do with alchemy. She took him in properly—his posture, his build, the calm confidence he carried without flaunting it. A Morgain heir, one of the Eight Great Families. A dangerous name. A heavy position.

And yet.

He was tall, lean, clearly trained. His pale skin contrasted with dark blue eyes that missed very little. His long hair was kept neat, not out of vanity, but habit. And, as much as Selara would never admit it out loud in polite company, he was an excellent cook—an absurdly good one.

Her lips pressed together, then curved slightly.

"...Hmph," she muttered. "Annoying, but not a bad match." After a beat, she added more honestly, "Actually, rather enviable."

She turned back to Aubrelle, the edge softening from her expression. "I’m glad you’re back," Selara said. "I had far too much work without you around."

Aubrelle smiled at that, small but bright, the kind that didn’t need words to explain it.

With the last of the shattered glass swept away and the scorched equipment set aside, the office finally looked like a place of work again rather than the aftermath of a battlefield. Trafalgar straightened, dusting his hands together once as if to mark the end of it.

"I’m done," he said plainly, glancing around to make sure there was nothing else left to clean. He shot Selara a look, already half-expecting the answer. "So. Can I go now?"

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then added, almost hopeful, "And about those extra classes you mentioned earlier... is there any chance I can skip them?"

Selara didn’t even pretend to consider it.

"No."

The answer came out clean, sharp, and final.

Trafalgar let out a long breath through his nose, shoulders sagging just a little. "Alright," he muttered. It wasn’t real protest, more the sound of someone accepting an inconvenience they’d already lost the argument against.

He turned to Aubrelle then, his expression easing. "I’ll see you later," he said simply.

With that, he headed for the door and stepped out of the office, leaving Selara and Aubrelle behind.