Aldric's gaze never left Draven, tension carved into every line of his face. He ran a hand through his hair, jaw clenched, muttering under his breath as frustration bled through.
"Damn it…" he hissed. "If he keeps pushing like that, he's gonna turn himself into a **puddle of blood**."
He shook his head slowly. "I don't even know if I should call that… *mana.* Whatever's inside him—it's not anything I've ever seen. Not in humans. Not in magical beasts. Nothing."
Lyriana stood with her arms crossed, brow deeply furrowed. "Even magical beasts' mana is chaotic," she said quietly. "Unpredictable. But compared to this…" She hesitated, searching for the right words. "…it's orderly. What he's carrying is worse. Way worse."
Her eyes flicked back to Draven. "And there's barely any of it. Even mana goblins have more raw mana than that—yet his behaves like this."
Aldric groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Exactly. Look at him. He's barely keeping it contained, and it's already tearing him apart from the inside. One wrong move and—" He stopped, jaw tightening. He didn't need to finish.
Lyriana watched Draven in silence—still tense in the tree, holding his siblings as if nothing else in the world mattered.
"…We just have to hope he figures it out," she whispered, almost to herself.
Aldric shot her a sharp look. "Hope?" he snapped. "Hope isn't enough. This isn't a game. If he keeps forcing it, he could die—or worse." He grimaced. "He might take everyone around him with him. Or maybe he won't… he *is* royal blood, after all."
They fell silent again.
The forest remained unnaturally still, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves. Draven's chest rose and fell as he tried to steady himself, but even so, the air around him seemed to hum—heavy with raw, unstable power.
Aldric muttered again, shaking his head. "I don't even know what to call that thing…"
A faint rush of air cut through the branches.
The maid arrived.
She landed silently on the same tree as Draven, one knee bent, the other foot braced against the bark. In her grasp was a **deer**—or something that only *resembled* one.
It was massive, easily twice the size of a normal deer. Dense muscle rippled beneath dark hide, and long **black horns** curved back from its skull, ridged and sharp.
Blood-red chains—formed entirely from condensed blood magic—wrapped tightly around its legs and torso. The beast thrashed weakly, eyes wild, breath coming in panicked bursts.
The maid bowed her head slightly.
"My lord," she said calmly, as if this were routine. "I've brought enough. This should be sufficient for the young miss and young master."
Draven glanced at the deer.
Just once.
Then he looked away.
He shifted his weight and stepped off the branch.
"Down," he said.
No anger. No emotion. Just a command.
The maid didn't question it. She released the chains slightly and stepped off after him.
Aldric cursed under his breath and jumped down. Lyriana followed, light and precise.
Draven landed first—no flare of power, no wasted movement. His boots touched the earth without a sound, knees bending just enough to absorb the impact.
The others landed moments later.
The forest floor settled.
Draven turned toward the bound beast, eyes cold and unreadable. The deer let out a low, strained sound as instinct screamed at it—this thing before it was far worse than any predator.
Draven adjusted his hold on Elenya and Lucifer, making sure they were secure.
Lyriana moved first.
She snapped a dry branch from the ground and held it between her palms. A faint glow gathered around her fingers as her mana flowed with practiced ease. The wood softened, reshaped—splitting, hollowing, smoothing—until it became **two small wooden cups**, crude but clean.
"Here," she said softly. "We should put it in these."
The maid stepped forward immediately.
With a subtle motion of her hand, the blood chains tightened. Then the magic shifted—**pulling**.
She sliced across the beast's body.
The deer screamed, sharp and agonized.
Blood was drawn straight from its wound, forced upward in a violent surge. It floated into the air, thick and dark, faint steam rising as the maid guided it with flawless control. She divided the flow evenly, pouring it into the two wooden cups.
When she finished, the beast sagged, barely conscious.
Lyriana took one of the cups and approached Draven carefully.
"Your Highness," she said, steady but cautious. "If you wish… I can help feed one of them. I've done this before."
Draven didn't answer immediately.
He looked at the blood.
Then at Lyriana.
Then down at the twins.
Elenya shifted slightly, fingers curling. Lucifer remained calm, gaze focused and unnervingly still.
Seconds passed.
Draven nodded once.
"Do it," he said. "Right here. Where I can see."
Lyriana exhaled quietly in relief.
Draven shifted his grip, handing **Lucifer** to her without a word. With his free hand, he took the other cup.
His eyes never left them.
Not Lyriana.
Not the maid.
Not the forest.
Only his siblings.
"…Careful," he said quietly.
The forest watched in silence as they began to feed the children, blood steaming faintly in the cool night air.
Lyriana supported Lucifer's head, tilting the cup just enough.
The blood touched his lips—
And he drank.
No hesitation. No resistance.
Lucifer latched on instinctively, feeding smoothly, eyes half-lidded and calm—as if this was natural.
Draven saw it.
His gaze shifted to Elenya.
He raised the cup to her lips.
She immediately recoiled.
Her tiny nose wrinkled, mouth tightening in protest. The moment the blood touched her tongue, she pulled back, pushing the cup away with surprising strength.
"No," Draven muttered.
He tried again—gentler.
Elenya pushed harder, a small, unhappy sound leaving her throat as she turned her head away.
Draven froze.
*…She doesn't like it.*
His jaw tightened.
*What am I supposed to do?*
He glanced at Lyriana.
Lucifer was still drinking, perfectly fine.
"…Of course," Draven muttered. "He doesn't have an issue."
He looked back at Elenya, frustration flickering—not at her, but at himself.
"Ele," he said quietly, forcing calm into his voice. "You need to drink it. Even if you don't like it."
She answered by shoving the cup away again, arms flailing stubbornly.
Draven exhaled slowly.
Then—
Movement.
The small black cat climbed onto his arm, balancing easily as it crept closer to the cup. Its purple eyes were locked on the blood, unblinking.
Draven stared at it.
"…What the hell are you doing?" he asked flatly.
The cat leaned closer, nose twitching.
Draven watched it for a second, then clicked his tongue softly.
"…You hungry?" he muttered. "You want blood too?"
The cat's tail flicked once.
Draven didn't move the cup away.