Trafalgar stepped out of Selara's laboratory with more questions than when he had entered.
The corridor beyond felt colder than before, though that may have had less to do with the Academy and more to do with the name that had just been dropped into everything. Vaelion. An old alchemist who should have been dead. A century of absence that, apparently, had not been absence at all.
'Are they truly involved, or is this only an ugly coincidence?'
He walked at an unhurried pace, hands tucked into his coat, his thoughts moving faster than his steps.
If Selara's master was really alive, that part at least made sense. Strength stretched life. The higher one's mana core, the longer the body held together, especially when bloodline advantages were added on top of it. Human, vampire, beastkin, elf, every race carried its own edge somewhere. A man like that, if he had kept advancing and if the Vaelion had found ways to preserve him, might very well have lasted this long.
