Draven stayed silent.
For several heartbeats, the only sound in the cave was his breathing—slow, uneven, far too controlled for someone who had just shattered stone with his skull.
He didn't answer them.
Not Aldric.
Not Lyriana.
Not the maid.
He straightened slowly, the movement deliberate, almost cautious—like if he moved too fast, something inside him might crack again. The red glow in his eyes had dimmed, but it hadn't vanished. It lingered, deep and watchful.
He stepped forward.
Aldric felt it immediately. His shoulders tightened, his feet shifting half a step without conscious thought.
"What the hell was that?" Aldric demanded, voice sharp. "Is he—"
Lyriana cut in, worry bleeding through her words.
"Young master… are you alright?"
The maid swallowed hard.
"My lord… what's wrong? What's the problem?"
Draven stopped in front of Lyriana.
His gaze dropped—not to her face, but to the two small bundles in her arms.
"Hand them to me," he said quietly.
It wasn't a command barked in rage.
Not a plea.
Just a statement.
Lyriana stiffened.
Her arms tightened instinctively around the babies. Elenya stirred faintly in her sleep, while Lucifer's tiny fingers curled against her sleeve. Fear flickered across Lyriana's face—not of Draven harming them, but of the **unknown** behind his eyes.
"You're hurt," she said softly. "Let me—"
Draven lifted his gaze to meet hers.
There was no madness there.
No rage.
Only something raw. Grounded. Heavy.
"…Please," he added. "Don't make me repeat myself. I won't ask twice."
Aldric tensed fully now, his hand hovering near his weapon, every instinct screaming at him to be ready.
The cave held its breath.
Then Lyriana exhaled.
Slowly—reluctantly—she stepped forward and loosened her grip, carefully transferring the babies into Draven's arms.
Draven took them **as if they were made of glass**.
One arm first—steady, precise—then the other, adjusting his hold instinctively, protectively. His movements were gentle, practiced in a way that didn't make sense for someone his age.
Lucifer slept on, undisturbed.
Elenya stirred slightly, her tiny fingers curling around Draven's sleeve.
For the first time since waking, something in Draven's expression softened.
Just a fraction.
He looked down at them, holding his siblings close, and the cave—cracked, bloodstained, trembling—felt suddenly very small compared to what he was carrying now.
The moment their weight settled against him, something in his posture shifted.
His shoulders eased.
His breathing slowed.
Elenya's fingers tightened in his sleeve.
Lucifer shifted closer, still asleep.
Draven lowered his head, resting his forehead against theirs for just a second.
"…I've got you," he murmured, so quietly it was almost lost.
The red in his eyes faded further, buried beneath resolve.
Behind him, Aldric relaxed a fraction—but not fully.
Draven turned away.
He walked deeper into the cave, each step measured and unhurried, the faint echo of his boots carrying through the stone. At a recessed corner where the rock curved inward and the ground was smooth, he knelt and carefully laid the babies down.
Lucifer first.
Then Elenya beside him.
Their small bodies were sheltered by the natural hollow of the stone. Draven adjusted their blankets, one hand lingering for half a second longer than necessary—just to be sure.
Then he stood.
When he turned back, the warmth was gone.
His gaze was cold—sharp enough to cut. The air itself seemed to tighten as his presence fully settled into the space, heavy and undeniable.
He looked at them one by one—the maid, Aldric, Lyriana.
"I'm going to ask this once," Draven said, his voice calm and flat, carrying no anger… which somehow made it worse.
He took a step forward.
"And before you answer, I suggest you think your words through. Carefully."
Another step.
"What," he continued, eyes narrowing slightly, "is your relationship with **Ivan**?"
The cave fell silent.
No one spoke.
Even the air seemed to be waiting.
Aldric's jaw locked, teeth grinding hard enough it looked painful.
"You think we have some kind of relationship with **that bastard**?" he snapped, fury roughening his voice. "Let me be clear—I don't have *anything* to do with him."
Lyriana's grip tightened unconsciously, her nails digging into her own palm as she spoke, her voice shaking but firm.
"He killed our parents."
The words landed heavy in the cave.
Aldric stepped forward, restraint finally tearing loose.
"The only thing we feel toward Ivan," he said, each word bitten off, "is the desire to **kill him**. To take our revenge. Nothing else."
The echo of his voice faded, leaving behind a charged silence.
Draven didn't respond immediately.
He simply stood there, red eyes unreadable, the faint glow reflecting off the stone walls as he studied their faces—not for anger, not for hatred, but for **truth**.
For the first time since he woke, his shoulders lowered a fraction.
Not trust.
But acknowledgment.
Slowly, his gaze shifted to the maid.
"And you?" he asked quietly.
The question carried weight—because whatever she said next mattered just as much.
Draven stepped forward.
One step.
The stone beneath his feet creaked faintly, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence. His gaze never left her as he closed the distance, the red glow in his eyes steady—watchful, assessing.
"I'm very interested in hearing what *you* have to say," he said softly.
Not raised.
Not overtly threatening.
But there was an edge now—cold and sharp.
"Because of the shit you've been pulling."
The maid didn't flinch.
But her breath hitched.
She straightened slowly, folding one hand over the other in front of her, her posture composed more by habit than comfort. For a moment, she said nothing, meeting his gaze head-on.
Then she lowered her head.
"I expected you would ask," she said softly.
When she looked back up, there was no fear in her eyes—
Only resolve.
And the exhaustion of something carried far too long.