The maid swallowed, fingers curling slightly as she forced herself onward.
"Instead of dying," she said quietly, "instead of the mana tearing him apart from the inside as it should have… it was as if his body **absorbed it**."
Her eyes narrowed, replaying the impossible sight.
"Not resisting it. Not burning it away."
"Absorbing it," she repeated. "Making it his own. His body treated that chaotic mana as nourishment—*as if it belonged there*."
A long pause followed.
"And yet…" she murmured, almost to herself, "the mana didn't *surface*."
She looked back at Draven.
"There was no surge. No manifestation. No awakening." Her brow furrowed. "Which made me ask a question that terrified me at the time."
She exhaled slowly.
*Where did it go?*
"But then," she continued, her voice tightening, "my lord did it again."
This time, there was no mistaking it.
"He consumed **far more** than before—enough that simply standing near him made the air feel unstable."
Lyriana stiffened.
"That was when Her Majesty noticed," the maid said.
"The seal weakened. Just for a moment—but the Queen felt it."
Her gaze softened briefly, reverent.
"She knew instantly what had happened. And she didn't hesitate."
"She reinforced the seal," the maid said firmly. "Stronger than before. Deeper. She sealed your blood once more—locking everything away before anyone else could sense it."
A quiet sadness crept into her voice.
"She chose ignorance over danger. Safety over truth."
The cave felt colder.
"She told me afterward," the maid continued, "that if the world ever learned what you truly were before you were ready… it would try to claim you, control you—or destroy you."
Her eyes met Draven's again.
"So she hid you."
The maid lowered her gaze for a moment before continuing.
"So I kept silent," she said. "About what I knew. What I saw. The truth of it."
Her voice was steady, but something fragile lay beneath it.
"Her Highness wanted what was best for you—your safety, your future. And I… I wanted the same. I never wished harm upon you. Not once."
She lifted her head again.
"So I carried that secret alone."
The cave was utterly still.
"But during the battle," she went on, "when I saw you being pushed back—when I saw you driven to the edge—I had a thought."
A pause.
"Not born of cruelty. Not of sacrifice."
Her hand tightened against her chest.
"I wondered… if reaching your limit might be what awakens you. If being pushed beyond what the seal allowed might finally let your true nature surface."
She shook her head slightly, as if rejecting the thought even as she confessed it.
"There was no harmful intent in that thought. I never wished for you to suffer. I only… trusted that Her Highness was coming."
Her eyes softened, sorrow threading through her words.
"That is why I chose not to interfere. I believed help was already on its way. I believed you would not be harmed."
She bowed her head.
"That was my decision," she said quietly. "My responsibility."
The silence that followed wasn't accusing.
It was heavy—with truth, regret, and a choice that could never be undone.
The maid drew a slow breath, steadying herself.
"But… in the end," she said softly, "I was right."
Her eyes lifted to Draven.
"Being pushed to your limit *did* awaken you. The seal broke. Your blood answered."
Aldric stiffened, realization flashing across his face.
"So that feeling…" he muttered. "Like my heart was being crushed—"
"It was him," the maid said. "Your blood recognized his."
She swallowed.
"You awakened to your **true blood**, my lord."
Her voice trembled then—just slightly.
"I'm… sorry," she said. "That it had to cost Her Majesty's life. I hold no malice toward her. I wish she were still alive. If everything had unfolded differently—if another path had been possible—"
She didn't finish.
A hand snapped out.
Fast. Violent.
Draven's arm clamped around her face, fingers digging in as he lifted her clean off the ground and **smashed her into the cave wall**.
"Bitch."
The cave shook.
Stone cracked.
Before anyone could move, he yanked her back and **slammed her face into the ground**, the impact echoing like thunder.
Dust rained from the ceiling.
Draven stood over her, red eyes burning, breath ragged—not screaming, not roaring—just **cold**.
"Don't," he said, his voice low and shaking with restrained fury, "fuck with me."
The words weren't loud.
They were worse than that.
Silence crashed down afterward.
Aldric froze, muscles tense, unwilling to step closer.
Lyriana stood rigid.
The maid lay stunned against the fractured stone.
Draven grabbed her again—this time not to strike.
He **lifted her head**, forcing her to look at him.
Their eyes met.
Up close, she was… whole.
No blood. No fractures. No swelling.
Whatever damage he had done moments ago was already **gone**, her regeneration flawless, complete.
She didn't flinch.
"If this will quench your hunger," she said quietly, her voice steady despite her position, "then I am willing. I will not resist."
For a moment, Draven only stared at her.
Then he spoke—low, controlled, every word deliberate.
"I really want to kill you right now."
The cave seemed to hold its breath.
"But I won't," he continued. "Not because you deserve mercy. Not because you're innocent."
He leaned closer, his grip tightening just enough to make the threat real.
"You're more useful alive than dead."
Her eyes didn't waver.
"So let me make this clear," Draven said, his voice dropping even further. "If you ever try to manipulate me again… if you ever decide to *use* me—"
His red eyes burned.
"I will rip your head off," he said calmly.
A pause.
"And I'll make damn sure you don't grow another one."
"By ripping out your heart with it."
He released her.
She dropped back onto the stone floor, silent, unmoving.
Draven straightened, turning away as if she were already irrelevant.
The message had been delivered.
And no one in the cave doubted it—
He meant every word.