The silence was finally broken.
"My lord—"
The maid's voice came from behind him, softer than a wind that never blew through this place.
Draven's shoulders stiffened.
He turned slowly.
She stepped out from the treeline, her movements careful, deliberate. She raised one hand—not proudly, not dramatically—but as if even this small motion might shatter him.
Across her palm ran thin lines of dried blood.
Resting there—
A pair of earrings.
Small. Simple. Familiar.
Draven's breath stopped.
Time seemed to lurch.
His eyes locked onto them, wide and unblinking, as if afraid they would vanish the moment he blinked.
"I… found them," the maid said quietly. "Back then. I kept them with me."
Her hand trembled—just a little.
Draven stood.
He crossed the distance in two steps.
Carefully—*so carefully*—he adjusted his siblings with one arm and reached out with the other. His fingers hovered for a heartbeat before closing around the earrings.
They were real.
Cold.
Solid.
His grip tightened, then loosened, as if he didn't trust himself not to break them.
A sharp, uneven breath tore from his chest.
"…Thank you," he said.
The words were rough. Barely there.
He turned away again and lowered himself to sit at the edge of the crater. He pressed the earrings against his chest, as if trying to anchor himself to something solid.
His tears didn't stop.
But they slowed.
Behind him, the maid lowered her head, saying nothing more.
The world remained ruined.
The crater still stretched endlessly before him.
But for the first time since the battle—
Draven was not empty-handed.
---
Draven rose to his feet.
There were no tears left on his face.
His eyes were dry—too dry—burning with a quiet, settled resolve that hadn't been there before. When he turned, the earrings were already in place, hanging from his ears exactly as they once had.
Just like before.
For a moment, the maid froze.
Then she bowed deeply.
"My lord… what are our steps forward?"
Draven did not answer immediately.
A wind passed over the crater, lifting ash that never quite settled. His gaze remained forward, unfocused, as if he were already somewhere else.
At last, he spoke.
"Can you remove the mark?"
The maid stiffened.
She lowered herself further, head bowed until her forehead nearly touched the ground.
"…I cannot," she said quietly. "I am incapable of removing a brand of that level. Please forgive me."
Draven nodded once.
No anger.
No surprise.
As if he had already known.
He turned his back on the crater—on the erased land, on everything left behind.
"We're leaving," he said.
Then, calmly—firmly—
"I'm going to the **Night Forest**."
The name settled heavily in the air.
Aldric's breath hitched.
Lyriana's grip tightened instinctively—before she remembered the twins were no longer in her arms.
"The Night Forest…" the maid repeated carefully, as if stepping near the edge of a blade.
"…It is the homeland of the night elves. And the place where Her Majesty was born."
She lifted her gaze, concern now plain.
"My lord, the journey alone is long. Dangerous. And with that mark—no matter where you go, they will follow."
Draven didn't slow.
"They're already doing that," he said flatly. "No matter what I do, they know where I am."
He adjusted his grip on the twins, instinctive, protective.
"That has to stop. I'll find a way—*somehow*—to remove this thing on the way."
He paused. Then, quieter. Heavier.
"If I can't… when we reach the Night Forest, I'll hand them over to my uncle."
The maid stopped walking.
"My lord…" she said slowly. "How are you certain he would accept them?"
Draven didn't look back.
"The Night Forest is where Lady Elena lived," the maid continued. "One of the Heroes. Your mother's grandmother. She severed ties with the Queen long ago. As a Hero of the Empire… would she truly be willing to shelter demon children the Empire is hunting?"
Draven stopped.
Turned.
The forest seemed to still with him.
"No matter what you say," he cut in, voice low and final,
"it doesn't change a damn thing. This is the best step forward. For *them*."
The maid hesitated—then spoke again, softer, cautious.
"…There may be another option. If you were to entrust the young master and young miss to me, then as long as you keep moving—"
She didn't finish.
Draven's gaze snapped to her.
Not sharp.
Not loud.
Just **fixed**.
The pressure hit instantly.
Her breath caught. Her body locked. Instinct screamed before thought could form. It wasn't killing intent—no, it was worse. A cold, absolute rejection, like her very existence had crossed an invisible line.
Her knees nearly buckled.
"…Enough," Draven said quietly.
The single word carried weight.
"They don't leave my sight," he continued. "Not now. Not ever."
Silence stretched.
The maid dropped her head at once, deeply, fully.
"…Forgive me, my lord. I spoke out of turn."
Draven turned away again, already moving.
"I've decided," he said. "I'm going to the Night Forest."
The shadows ahead deepened. The trees bent just slightly—as if acknowledging his choice.
No one dared question him again.
---
Draven stopped once more—but this time, he didn't turn.
His voice was calm. Almost level.
That made it worse.
"Don't misunderstand me," he said. "Just because I let you live doesn't mean I trust you."
The words settled like iron.
"You shouldn't allow yourself too much," he continued, tone sharpening just slightly. "And you should **never** suggest something like that again."
The maid stiffened.
"I exist because I allow it," Draven finished, still facing forward.
"Not because I owe you."
She dropped fully to one knee, head bowed so low her forehead nearly touched the forest floor.
"…Yes, my lord."
Draven didn't acknowledge her submission.
He adjusted his hold on Elenya and Lucifer.
The small black cat curled instinctively closer against him.