The artifact hummed softly in Draven's hand.
Low. Steady. Alive.
The air around it felt thinner—like space itself was paying attention.
The cultist stepped forward slightly, her eyes fixed on it. Her breathing remained controlled, but sharper now.
"So it's a space artifact…"
A brief pause.
"Then how do we use it, my lord?"
There was urgency in her voice—not panic, but focus.
Draven didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on the artifact for a moment longer before lifting.
"I know how."
Simple. Clear.
A beat.
"But I can't use it."
Aldric raised a brow. "Why not?"
Draven's expression didn't change.
"My mana."
That was all he said.
But it was enough.
Aldric exhaled lightly, shrugging one shoulder. "Yeah. Then someone else will do it."
The cultist stepped in immediately.
"My lord—"
No hesitation.
"I'll use it."
Aldric glanced at her sideways, a faint smirk forming. "Oh?"
A tilt of his head.
"And why you?"
She straightened quickly, eager to justify.
"I've worked with similar constructs before—"
"Of course you have," Aldric cut in dryly, amused.
But before she could continue—
Draven spoke.
"You can't."
Silence.
The cultist froze, blinking once.
"My lord…?"
A pause.
"Is there a reason?"
Draven's gaze met hers now—flat, unwavering.
"If you try…"
A beat.
"…you'll die."
The words landed clean.
No exaggeration. No emotion.
Just fact.
The cultist's breath caught—just slightly.
"It requires control," Draven continued.
"At least a fourth-circle mage."
A pause.
"Minimum."
Silence stretched as the weight of it settled in.
The cultist lowered her gaze slightly.
"So…"
A breath.
"I'm too weak."
There was no bitterness in it. No anger.
Just acknowledgment.
Aldric chuckled under his breath.
"Looks like it."
A faint grin tugged at his lips.
"Don't take it too hard."
He leaned back slightly, arms loose.
"You were about to kill yourself trying to impress him."
The cultist didn't respond, though her jaw tightened just a fraction.
Vaelith spoke then, quiet and measured.
"Then the question remains."
Her eyes shifted to Draven.
"Who can use it?"
The artifact hummed again—soft, waiting.
Because now it wasn't just power.
It was a limit.
And not everyone in the room could cross it.
Draven's gaze shifted briefly.
Measured.
"Lyriana?"
Vaelith answered immediately.
"She's in the control deck, my lord."
She adjusted the children in her arms slightly.
"Monitoring the pilot."
A beat.
"In case."
Draven nodded once.
"Alright."
Calm.
"I'll give it to her later."
The artifact vanished, drawn back into his space ring without a trace.
Aldric watched the motion, then scoffed lightly.
"Wow."
A faint smirk.
"Not even an option, huh?"
Draven didn't respond.
Didn't even look at him.
Instead, his hand moved again.
Mana shifted.
A handful of magic crystals appeared in his palm—collected earlier, silent and efficient.
He picked one up and raised it.
The black cat on his head reacted instantly, leaning down and snatching it cleanly.
Crunch.
Gone.
Draven picked up two more.
Then, without hesitation, he tossed the rest into his mouth.
No pause. No preparation.
He swallowed.
Immediately, his jaw tightened—hard.
A faint tremor ran through him.
Then blood.
A thin line from his nose.
Another from the corner of his mouth.
A moment passed.
Then it stopped.
Just like that.
His face returned to normal, expression unchanged.
He wiped the blood away with the back of his hand, casual—like it meant nothing.
Then handed another crystal up.
The cat took it, satisfied.
Draven started walking.
Forward.
Vaelith moved beside him—quiet, measured.
Aldric stayed where he was for a second, watching, then pushed off the wall and followed.
"I get it," he said, breaking the silence. Casual—but probing.
"The artifact."
A pause.
"That's why you took so long."
No response.
Aldric continued anyway.
"But what I don't get…"
His eyes flicked ahead, toward the others.
"…is them."
A beat.
"Why bring the kids?"
Another step.
"What's that about?"
His tone sharpened slightly.
"You planning to open an orphanage now?"
Silence.
Then—
Draven stopped.
Not abruptly.
But enough.
Aldric slowed behind him, watching.
Waiting.
Draven didn't turn. Didn't shift.
He just stood there, his back to Aldric, letting the question sit.
Then—
"I brought one."
Flat. Unbothered.
Aldric's brow twitched.
"One?"
Draven stepped forward again, slow and measured.
"The half-demon."
A pause.
"The rest followed."
Simple.
Like it didn't matter.
Aldric let out a short breath through his nose—half scoff, half disbelief.
"So you just let them?"
No answer.
So he pressed on.
"You could've just killed one."
A step closer.
"The rest would've fallen in line."
His tone sharpened.
"Would've made things easier."
Draven kept walking.
Didn't look back.
"We'll drop them off."
A beat.
"On the next territory."
Aldric stopped.
Actually stopped.
"Drop them off?"
A dry laugh escaped him, disbelief clear now.
"What the hell for?"
His voice rose slightly—not loud, but edged.
"They're a liability."
A step forward again.
"Loose ends."
Another beat.
"Why not just finish it and be done with it?"
Silence.
Heavy.
Because this time, Draven didn't answer immediately.
He just kept walking.
His oversized robe shifted with each step. The cat adjusted slightly on his head, completely at ease.
Then—
"We're not starving."
Aldric frowned.
Didn't follow.
"What?"
Draven didn't slow.
"We don't need to kill everything that moves."
Calm. Matter-of-fact.
Like stating something obvious.
Aldric's eyes narrowed slightly.
"That's not the point."
"It is," Draven cut in.
A pause.
"You're thinking in scraps."
Another step.
"I'm not."
Silence.
That landed differently.
Aldric's expression shifted—just slightly.
Because that wasn't dismissal.
That was hierarchy.
Perspective.
Draven continued.
"They're nothing."
Flat.
"Not a threat."
A beat.
"Not worth the effort."
Another.
"So leave them be."
Simple. Final.
Aldric studied him longer this time, weighing it.
Then—
"Fine."
A quiet exhale.
Not agreement.
But acceptance.
For now.
Then his gaze sharpened again.
"And the half-demon?"
A pause.
"That one wasn't nothing."
Draven slowed—just slightly.
Not enough to stop.
But enough to mark the moment.
Then—
"Because I want to."
No elaboration. No explanation.
Just that.
Aldric stared at him—
then barked a short laugh.
"That's it?"
No answer.
Draven kept walking.
Aldric shook his head slightly, half amused, half irritated.
"You're unbelievably annoying."
Draven didn't respond.
Didn't need to.
The conversation ended there.
Not because it was resolved—
but because it was decided.
Ahead, the corridor opened wider, leading deeper into the ship.
Behind them, the others followed in silence.
Watching.
Listening.
Learning.
Because whether they understood it or not—
they had just witnessed something important.
Not mercy.
Not hesitation.
But choice.
And with Draven—
that was far more dangerous.