The room stayed still.
Draven lay on the bed, eyes open, fixed on the ceiling. Unblinking. Unreadable.
The two bottles rested untouched on the shelf.
The children beside him slept again—calm, steady.
The cat curled near his side, tail tucked in close.
The slime rested in a loose coil near his arm, motionless.
Vaelith sat nearby in silence, watching.
Then she moved.
Slowly, she rose to her feet. Her gaze shifted to the door, already anticipating.
She stepped forward and reached it just as it opened.
Lyriana stood there.
No delay. No hesitation.
Her eyes met Vaelith's for half a second, then moved past her—straight to Draven.
"…Your Highness."
Calm. Controlled.
Draven didn't move. Didn't sit up. Didn't look at her.
"…Speak."
Flat.
Lyriana stepped inside as the door closed behind her.
"…We've crossed out of Thorne territory."
A pause.
"…We're currently within the Velkaris Expanse."
Her tone remained steady.
"…We'll be entering the next territory in a few hours."
Vaelith stepped aside silently, listening.
Lyriana continued.
"…There was a suggestion to slow down."
A brief beat.
"…To prepare for dropping them off."
Her eyes never left Draven.
"…I overruled it."
Silence.
Draven's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, unmoving.
Then—
"…Why?"
Simple.
Lyriana answered immediately.
"…Unnecessary delay."
A pause.
"…They're stable."
Another pause.
"…And still useful."
The room held the words for a moment.
Measured.
Draven blinked once.
Then his gaze shifted slightly toward her. Not fully. Just enough.
"…Good."
Flat. Decided.
No correction. No disagreement.
For him, that was sufficient.
Lyriana inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment.
Vaelith remained still, observing.
Because once again, a decision had been made—and everything would now move with it.
Draven didn't move from the bed. His gaze stayed forward, steady.
"…Alright."
Flat.
"…We'll drop them off in the next territory."
A pause.
"…Tell the pilot."
Lyriana nodded once.
"…Yes, Your Highness."
She turned and left as quickly as she had come.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
Vaelith spoke softly.
"…We shouldn't keep them."
A slight shift in her gaze.
"…For maintaining the ship."
Draven didn't respond immediately.
She continued anyway.
"…They can be useful."
A pause.
"…But they are also a drawback."
Her eyes lowered briefly, calculating.
"…They're not vampires."
Another beat.
"…They need food."
"…They need rest."
"…If we rely on them too much—"
"…we lose more than we gain."
Silence.
Draven listened without moving.
Vaelith continued, voice even.
"…If they were turned—"
A pause.
"…they would only become ordinary vampires at best."
"…They would require blood."
"…Not constantly."
"…But enough."
Her gaze lifted again.
"…And without it—"
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"…they become unstable."
A beat.
"…That risk is not worth it."
The room stayed quiet.
Then Draven spoke.
"…They're temporary."
Simple. Final.
Vaelith did not interrupt.
He continued.
"…Only useful for maintenance."
A pause.
"…Three is enough."
His gaze shifted slightly, becoming more deliberate.
"…The pilot."
"…The cultist."
"…And the half-demon."
Measured. Calculated.
"…With just them—"
"…the food supply lasts months."
"…And blood can be managed."
A brief glance toward the children.
"…Enough to feed Lucifer and Elenya."
Silence settled again.
Not uncertain.
Not conflicted.
Just decided.
Vaelith inclined her head slightly.
"…Understood."
Because the outcome was already set.
And everything else would now follow it.
The room fell quiet again.
Not empty—just settled.
Vaelith did not speak further. There was nothing left to argue.
The decision had already been made.
Draven's gaze shifted from the ceiling to the children beside him.
Lucifer. Elenya.
Both asleep. Unaware. Uninvolved.
Yet everything was being arranged around them.
The cat stirred slightly, curling tighter beside Lucifer.
The slime shifted faintly, then stilled again.
Draven sat up slowly, unhurried. His feet touched the ground.
The cloak settled around him perfectly.
Vaelith watched him.
"…Will you leave again, my lord?"
Draven did not look at her.
"…Yeah."
He stood fully and turned slightly, scanning the room once—confirming everything remained in place.
Then—
"…When they wake again—"
A glance toward the children.
"…feed them."
Vaelith nodded.
"…Yes, my lord."
Draven moved toward the door, then paused just before it.
"…Keep the door sealed."
Flat.
"…No interruptions."
Vaelith straightened slightly.
"…Understood."
Only then did he open the door and step out.
The corridor greeted him again—steady hum, unchanged stillness.
The door closed behind him.
And once more, he moved.
Unhurried. Certain.
The bottle remained in his hand. He took a slow drink, then lowered it again.
Silence stretched with him—long and empty—broken only by the ship's steady hum.
He did not rush. Did not wander.
Just moved.
Until he stopped.
A door.
Plain. Unmarked.
He opened it.
Inside.
—
A room.
Bare.
Unused.
Clean enough.
—
Draven stepped in and closed the door behind him.
—
He sat.
Calm.
Unhurried.
—
The bottle rested loosely in his hand.
—
Then his other hand moved to the ring taken from the mage.
—
He slid it off his finger.
Turned it once between his fingertips.
Then opened it.
—
Space shifted.
Subtle.
Contained.
—
And from it, he began pulling things out.
One by one.
Each item placed carefully in front of him.
Organized.
Deliberate.
—
Because now, this was no longer about movement.
It was about preparation.
—
The room remained quiet.
Draven did not rush.
Did not waste motion.
—
Item after item left the ring and settled onto the floor before him.
Not scattered.
Not random.
Arranged with intent.
—
Cloth.
Sealed vials.
Small metal components.
Marked tools.
—
Each set down with precision.
Each placed as though its position already mattered.
—
The bottle in his hand lifted once more.
A short drink.
Then lowered again.
—
His gaze moved across the items.
Reading them.
Not with curiosity, but familiarity.
He already knew what was there.
He was simply deciding.
—
One vial rolled slightly as it settled.
Draven's hand moved without hesitation, stopping it without even looking.
Then he picked it up.
Held it between two fingers.
Tilted it gently.
—
The liquid inside shifted.
Dark.
Dense.
Alive in its stillness.
—
He watched it for a moment.
Then set it aside.
Not that one.
—
Another item.
A thin engraved plate.
—
His thumb traced across its surface, following the etched lines.
Testing the structure.
Feeling the resonance.
Then he placed it closer.
Selected.
—
The rest remained where they were.
Waiting.