Draven swallowed, rain catching in his throat.
"Leave it to you…" he echoed weakly, the words scraping their way out of him. His crimson eyes flicked up to her face—focused, stubborn, refusing to dim. "Like hell I will. You're not even supposed to be moving right now, Mom. You haven't recovered yet. You should be resting."
Elliana paused.
Then—slowly—she smiled.
It wasn't cruel.
It wasn't warm.
It was tired.
"Oh, I would love to be resting," she said softly, amusement threading through the weariness. "Truly. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere dry. Preferably without lightning, blood, or my son bleeding out in front of me."
Her thumb brushed his temple again, shadows cradling his head more firmly now.
"But unfortunately, if I waited for the right time every time something threatened my children," she continued, voice gentle, "there wouldn't be much of a world left."
Her silver eyes lifted—alert now, sharpened.
She glanced toward the battlefield around them.
"And right now," she added, the smile fading, "isn't the time."
Draven exhaled through his nose, half a laugh, half a groan. "Figures…"
Before he could say more—
A voice cut through the storm.
Sharp. Suspicious. Carrion-curious.
"And just who exactly are you?"
The words came from beyond the crackling line of lightning and steel. Cedric straightened, lightning crawling along his blade as his gaze fixed on Elliana—no longer pretending she wasn't there.
"Because I find it hard to believe," he continued, eyes narrowing, "that a night elf would stand allied with demons. And not just any elf—"
A pause.
"A high elf."
The rain seemed to hesitate.
Not stop—
hesitate.
Elliana didn't turn her head.
Didn't rise.
Didn't acknowledge the speaker at all.
The shadows around her stilled completely, flattening against the ground as though the world itself had drawn a breath—and decided better of it.
Then she spoke.
"I don't remember," Elliana said calmly, "asking you to speak."
Her voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
The words cut through the storm like a blade through silk—clean, effortless, final.
The air dropped.
Pressure slammed across the clearing as shadows surged upward, coiling and tightening as if awaiting instruction. Several knights staggered, knees buckling, breath ripped from their lungs by something they couldn't see.
The man who had spoken froze.
His mouth opened.
No sound came out.
Elliana finally lifted her gaze—just slightly.
Not enough to grant him the dignity of full attention.
"Be silent," she added, almost gently.
The shadows twitched.
And the forest remembered what fear was.
Draven winced faintly. "…Heh. Way to go, bastard. You shouldn't have done that," he rasped. "She really doesn't like interruptions."
Elliana looked back down at him immediately, the pressure easing the instant her focus returned.
"No," she said, brushing rain from his brow. "I don't."
Her silver eyes softened—just for him.
"And I especially don't like strangers questioning my family."
Behind her, Cedric stood perfectly still, lightning crawling along his blade without purpose now.
Because he finally understood something far worse than defeat.
This fight—
It was already over.
And Elliana hadn't even stood up yet.
---
Elliana's voice didn't rise.
It dropped.
Low. Cold. Edged with a growl that didn't belong to her throat so much as to the shadows coiled around her.
"And what," she continued slowly, "makes you think you are entitled to question me at all?"
At last, she turned her head.
Not her body.
Not her stance.
Just her gaze.
Silver eyes locked onto Cedric with absolute, predatory focus.
"You have not answered to me," Elliana said, each word pressed flat and heavy, "for what you did to my son."
The shadows beneath her knees thickened, spreading farther now—crawling up tree roots, swallowing the mud in silent, deliberate waves.
"So you will keep quiet," she went on calmly, "and you will stay exactly where you are."
Lightning flickered uncertainly across Cedric's armor.
Elliana rose to her feet.
The motion was unhurried—and the forest groaned in response, branches creaking as though something vast had shifted its weight.
"I will make sure you pay," she said, voice cold enough to frost the air, "for every cut you carved into him."
Step.
"For every bone you broke."
Another step.
"For every drop of blood you spilled."
The shadows lifted higher behind her, towering now—vast and patient, their edges whispering with restrained annihilation.
"You don't get to walk away from this," Elliana finished quietly. "You don't get mercy."
Her gaze never left his.
"You get accounting."
Behind her, Draven lay frozen—not from fear of Cedric, but from the realization settling heavily in his chest.
She wasn't here to fight.
She was here to collect.
Draven stared up at her from the mud, rain streaking through his vision.
Damn…
She's scary.
The thought came unbidden—sharp, immediate, and entirely sincere.
Not in the way Cedric was scary. Not loud. Not overwhelming. Not violent for the sake of it.
This was different.
This was the kind of fear that came from certainty.
From knowing that whatever his mother decided would happen would happen—and the world would simply adjust around that decision, whether it liked it or not.
A faint, breathless huff escaped him, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.
"…Need to remind myself," he muttered weakly, "to stop pissing you off, Ma."
The shadows around Elliana didn't move.
But for just a heartbeat—
The corner of her mouth twitched.