The bell rang softly, signaling the end of Rhaldrin's lesson. Students began packing their things, chatter rising across the room as quills snapped shut and chairs scraped against the floor.
Trafalgar didn't move. His eyes were unfocused, lost somewhere far from the classroom. He hadn't heard a single word of what Rhaldrin said. His thoughts were tangled around something else entirely.
He lifted his sleeve slightly, revealing the faint mark that coiled along his forearm: a black serpent tattoo, incomplete, fading before reaching his elbow. The lines pulsed faintly, almost invisible unless the light hit just right.
His jaw tightened as the memory hit him—the smell of burnt stone, the heat, the liquid pain crawling under his skin.
'That damn shard…' he thought, exhaling slowly. 'It hurt like hell, like someone poured fire straight into my veins.'
He winced slightly at the thought. 'Right. Maybe "hurt like hell" isn't the best expression here… people might take it literally.'
