Tears still clung to his lashes as Draven lifted a hand to wipe his face, breath uneven. The darkness around him no longer pressed—it simply **was**.
Stone. Shadow. Stillness.
He realized he could see perfectly.
His gaze sharpened, adjusting instantly, and the cave revealed itself: wide and jagged, walls dark and uneven, veins of faintly glowing crystal running through the rock like frozen lightning. The air was cool, damp, heavy with earth and lingering mana.
And then he saw them.
The maid stood closest, posture straight despite exhaustion etched into her features. Relief flickered in her eyes the moment they met his.
"My lord," she said softly, voice tight with emotion. "You've finally woken up."
Behind her stood **Aldric** and Lyriana. Lyriana cradled two small bundles in her arms.
Draven's breath hitched. His eyes widened as he focused—truly focused—and the world seemed to narrow to that single moment.
Two tiny forms. Peacefully sleeping. Alive.
Something in his chest loosened—a knot he hadn't realized was strangling his heart finally giving way. His lips trembled as he whispered their names, barely more than breath.
"Lucifer… Elenya…"
Lyriana's grip tightened instinctively, as if afraid the world might still try to take them. Aldric watched Draven closely, wary but relieved, like someone standing near a storm that had finally passed—at least for now.
The maid exhaled, shoulders easing just a fraction. "You were unconscious for some time. We moved you as far as we could… this place is shielded. Hidden."
Draven didn't answer right away. His eyes never left the babies. For the first time since everything had shattered—since blood and darkness and loss had swallowed him whole—something warm and fragile settled in his chest.
They were still here. And as long as they were—he wasn't allowed to disappear again.
Draven lifted a hand toward them—
—and his body **locked**.
A violent jolt ripped through him, sharp and absolute, like a spear driven through his spine and detonated in his skull. His vision swam. Pain exploded behind his eyes, white and blinding, as if struck by a speeding carriage. His teeth clenched hard enough to creak. A strangled grunt tore from his throat as both hands snapped up, fingers digging into his hair, nails scraping his scalp as if he could claw the agony out.
*What—what the hell—*
His knees gave out. Draven collapsed hard onto the stone floor. The ache pulsed, crushing, as if something inside him were tearing apart and reforming endlessly. Thoughts fractured—memories, sensations, emotions colliding out of order:
Heat.
Cold.
Rage.
Grief.
Too much.
With a sharp, broken sound, he slammed his forehead into the stone.
Once.
The impact echoed dully through the cave, pain blooming outward—but it barely touched the greater agony.
"Draven!" the maid shouted, rushing forward.
Lyriana staggered back instinctively, clutching the babies tighter, fear flashing across her face. Aldric moved simultaneously, kneeling, reaching for Draven's shoulders but hesitating—uncertain whether contact would make it worse.
Draven remained on his knees, hands tangled in his hair, breath coming in harsh, uneven pulls.
Something was **wrong**.
Not injury. Not exhaustion.
Something deeper. Something **awakened—or torn open—inside him**, screaming.
Draven's shoulders hunched. Head bowed so low his chin nearly touched his chest. A raw, broken sound tore from his throat. Again. And again. And again.
Each grunt was accompanied by **images flooding his mind**, crashing over one another with no mercy:
Blood.
Fire.
Light.
A heart torn free.
A sky splitting open.
"—Ah—!"
He screamed.
Draven threw his head back and **smashed it into the cave floor**.
The impact thundered.
Stone **exploded outward**, cracks racing through the ground like lightning. The cave lurched violently; dust and loose rock rained from above. Blood splashed across the fractured stone where his forehead struck—then the wound **sealed instantly**, flesh knitting as if it had never been there.
But the pain didn't stop.
Hands still buried in his hair, fingers trembling, memories pressed harder—faster, sharper, crueler.
"No—stop—!"
He slammed his head down again. And again. And again.
Each blow sent shockwaves through the cave. The floor cratered, fractures deepened, stone splitting open, slick with blood that vanished as quickly as it appeared. Rocks tore free from the ceiling, crashing around them. The air filled with dust and the sharp scent of iron.
"My lord!" the maid screamed, voice cracking.
Aldric dragged Lyriana back instinctively, shielding her and the babies as another violent tremor tore through the cavern. Elenya stirred, letting out a small sound. Lucifer remained asleep, unaware of the chaos.
Draven didn't hear them. He couldn't.
He was drowning.
Each impact was desperate—not rage, not madness—but **refusal**. As if he could beat the memories out of his skull. As if pain could overwrite guilt.
Blood ran. Healed. Ran again.
The ground beneath him no longer flat—cratered, broken, soaked dark despite constant regeneration. Breath ragged, animalistic. Voice hoarse from screaming into stone.
"I—couldn't—protect—"
Another slam.
The cave shook harder than before, a deep rumble rolling as if the mountain itself groaned in protest.
Still, the memories did not stop.
Draven, broken and unbroken all at once, **kept smashing his head into the earth—until something inside him finally cracked**.
His head jerked up.
His eyes **snapped open**—burning red, luminous, inhuman.
The cave froze.
For a single breath, everything stilled: falling dust, echoing cracks, even the cries on the maid's lips died.
Because the pain stopped.
Not faded.
**Stopped.**
The memories… aligned.
No longer fragments. No longer chaos.
They **locked together**.
The courtroom.
The park.
The woman who never came back.
The name rose on its own, heavy and final:
Saintess **Elira**.
Draven's pupils trembled. His vision swayed as the world tilted violently. He sucked in a sharp breath, chest hitching, one hand bracing against the shattered ground as dizziness washed over him.
"…Elira…?"
His voice hoarse, barely a whisper.
"How—"
He swallowed, blood and disbelief mixing on his tongue.
"Why…?"
The glow in his eyes flared, then flickered like a struggling flame. The cave walls seemed too close, the air too thick. His memories weren't his alone anymore.
They were **hers**.
Her fear.
Her choice.
Her end.
Draven's hand trembled against his chest. Breath unsteady. Vision swimming as the weight of it settled in.
The maid stared, face drained of color.
Lyriana clutched the babies tighter.