Draven stared blankly into the rain-hazed air.
At some point, he'd stopped paying attention to the conversation entirely.
Elliana's voice faded into the background—measured, calm, inevitable—while his thoughts drifted elsewhere. His hand slipped into the pocket of his ragged shorts, fingers closing around something familiar.
Solid.
Unbroken.
His breath hitched faintly.
Slowly, he curled his fingers tighter around the spirit stone.
It was still there.
Whole.
No cracks. No fractures. Not even a scratch.
His brow furrowed.
How the hell…?
He could've sworn it would've gone flying when everything went to shit. Torn loose. Crushed under a boot. Shattered somewhere in the chaos of lightning, steel, and being dismembered.
But no.
The damn thing felt exactly the same as it always had—smooth, dense, stubbornly intact.
A quiet, incredulous huff escaped him.
Of all the things to survive…
His thumb brushed its surface, grounding, reassuring in a way he didn't quite want to think about too deeply.
Then another thought followed, sharp and irritated.
And why the hell do they call this thing an egg?
He turned it slightly in his palm, feeling its unyielding weight.
What kind of fucked-up egg is this hard?
Eggs were supposed to crack. Split open. Break when it was time for whatever was inside to come out.
This thing?
It felt like it could survive a siege.
His jaw tightened.
And if it's this damn tough on the outside…
A flicker of unease crept in.
What the hell is supposed to come out of it?
A flash of lightning split the sky.
A blade came down toward them.
The maid moved instantly.
Blood Axe in motion—swung, met the strike head-on with a resonant CLANG! Sparks erupted, scattering in the rain.
She didn't pause. Her other axe followed in a fluid, relentless motion—but the swing cut through nothing.
The figure had vanished.
Then, with another crack of lightning, he reappeared in the distance.
Cedric.
Lightning cracked again, thunder rolling low and heavy through the forest.
Cedric straightened where he stood, rain running down his armor, blade humming faintly with restrained power. His gaze burned as it locked onto Elliana.
"I've had enough," he said coldly.
Not shouted.
Not dramatic.
Final.
"I don't care who you are," Cedric continued, voice hard with conviction. "I don't care how much power you wield, or how many shadows you breathe."
He lifted his blade slightly, lightning crawling along its edge.
"A night elf," he spat, "standing alongside demons."
His eyes flicked—brief, cutting—to Draven.
"And worse," Cedric went on, contempt sharpening his words, "a night elf who bore one."
The rain seemed to fall harder.
"You didn't fall into darkness by accident," he said. "You chose it. You let corruption into your blood, your womb, your legacy. You didn't just betray yourself—you betrayed us."
His lip curled.
"The proud race of night reduced to this," Cedric sneered. "A mother cradling abominations and calling it family."
He took a step forward.
"For as long as you draw breath, your existence poisons our name," he said. "Every moment you live is a reminder of what we allowed to fester."
Lightning flashed behind him, framing his silhouette in white fire.
"I will not allow you to live any longer," Cedric declared. "Not unless you intend to erase yourself from our history."
His eyes burned with righteous fury.
"You will not be permitted to further soil the name of the night elves."
The storm raged.
And somewhere very close—
Something ancient, patient, and deeply unimpressed listened.
Elliana's voice cut through the thunder, calm but carrying a weight that made the storm itself seem tentative.
"Didn't I tell you to stay put?" she said, voice low, deliberate. "Was I not clear?"
Cedric's eyes flicked to her, surprise flashing—but he didn't falter.
"It doesn't matter what you think," Elliana continued, silver eyes sharpening, shadows writhing along the ground like living ink. "What matters is that it's about time you account for what you've done."
Draven's breath caught. The air around Elliana thickened suddenly, darkness curling up from the mud at her feet, coiling around her like obedient serpents. In an instant, she was above him—hovering as if the storm itself lifted her on unseen currents, the silver glow of her eyes brighter than lightning. Shadows licked outward, thrumming with restrained, patient power.
From the corner of his vision, Draven saw movement—Kaela. She appeared beside him in a heartbeat, blade surging with mana, every inch a weapon made of will and precision. His eyes widened.
"CRAP," he muttered under his breath, barely moving fast enough to register the swing. The edge of Kaela's blade carved through the rain, a streak of deadly intent aimed too close for comfort.
Draven's muscles tensed, adrenaline surging—not just from fear, but from the realization of how fast, how perfectly his allies and mother operated. Time seemed to warp around them; lightning split the sky and his senses snapped into focus.
Elliana's silver gaze never left Cedric. Shadows arced outward from her hands, twisting into shapes that clawed at the air and at the earth itself.
"Answer for your actions," she said, voice still calm. "Not your excuses. Not your intentions. Only your actions. And do so now."
Cedric faltered—just slightly—but the storm, the shadows, and the weight of Elliana's presence bore down on him like a physical force. He realized, in that instant, that this was not a fight. This was judgment. And judgment had already been delivered.
Draven ducked instinctively as Kaela's blade arced overhead, narrowly avoiding the strike. His heart hammered, his hands clenched around the spirit stone. The rain-slicked ground beneath his boots.