Trafalgar lingered at the threshold, the golden light spilling across his boots. His dark hair, tied back in its low ponytail, caught a faint shimmer from the chandeliers above. For a brief moment, his deep navy-blue eyes swept over the hall—rows upon rows of Morgains, each voice weaving into a tapestry of low thunder that made the air feel heavy.
Then he stepped inside.
No one looked at him. Conversations carried on, laughter and solemn words blending together as though his presence didn't matter. He moved between the long tables, passing cousins, uncles, distant kin—none spared him a glance. To them, he was invisible, a shadow among bloodlines more important than his own.
'So this is what a hundred Morgains look like under one roof,' he thought grimly. 'Pretty amazing honestly, this family is big as hell.'
