The night air was cold when Draven left the village square. His body still ached from Kaelith's Direwolf, but his mind burned hotter than his bruises. Behind him, the laughter of soldiers and villagers still echoed.
Yet when he reached the edge of Branthollow, he found Mira waiting.
She held Luma in her arms, her face pale but her eyes steady.
"You can't just leave," she said. "Not without showing me why."
Draven exhaled, studying her. The girl was too young to be standing in the dark with him, but her gaze was stronger than most grown men's in the village.
"Come," he said finally.
He led her down a narrow dirt path at the village's edge. Few ever came this way — it was where the "fool" lived. His house wasn't much, a worn timber frame with smoke-blackened walls and a sagging roof. But behind it stretched a wide pen, fenced with rough wood.
As Mira stepped closer, her eyes widened.
Inside the pen were beasts. Dozens of them.
A lame hound limped forward, tail wagging. A one-eyed goat bleated weakly. A Servitor ox, ribs showing but alive, lifted its heavy head. Birds with bent wings, a pig missing part of its ear, a scarred mule — all creatures too weak or unwanted to be kept by others.
Mira gasped. "You… you saved them."
Draven crouched, letting the hound press its muzzle into his hand. "Saved?" He shook his head. "I only gave them what no one else would. A chance."
Mira stepped into the pen, Luma wriggling in her arms. She set her goat down, and the others approached curiously. The girl knelt, stroking each one with trembling hands.
"They're alive," she whispered. "All of them. Alive."
Draven's voice was quiet, but firm. "The village sees chains as order. To them, these creatures are tools. If they're weak, they're discarded. But look at them. Even broken, they breathe. Even forgotten, they endure. That means they're worth something."
Mira looked up at him, eyes shining. "Worth what?"
"Worth the same as us."
The words hung in the night air.
Draven walked to the fence, leaning against the rough wood. "Do you know why people laugh at me, Mira?"
She nodded faintly. "Because you care."
"Because I see what they refuse to. A Servitor ox might pull wagons, a hound might guard a pen, but that's not all they are. Each has something unique. A gift. A power."
Mira tilted her head. "Power?"
Draven pointed to the mule. "That one can carry twice the weight of others its size. Servitors always have one gift. Just one. It's why they're used as tools."
He gestured to the scarred hound. "But Nobles… Nobles are different. They can have three, sometimes five gifts. They're smarter. They can think, plan, even command the weak. That's why Kaelith's Direwolf obeyed so perfectly."
Mira frowned. "And Kings?"
Draven's eyes narrowed. "Kings command armies. Their power isn't just fangs or fire. It's authority. A King beast can lead without chains."
Her mouth fell open. "Without marks?"
He nodded. "Without marks. They obey because they want to. Not because ink forces them."
Mira hugged Luma close, whispering. "Then… then the villagers are wrong. Not all beasts need chains."
Draven's lips curved faintly. "Exactly."
The night grew colder. The pen was quiet, save for soft bleats and snorts. Mira sat among the beasts, smiling for the first time that day.
Draven knelt beside her. "I can't stay here, Mira. Kaelith won't forget what happened. The Dominion won't leave me alone. And if I stay… the beasts will pay for my defiance."
Her eyes brimmed. "So you'll leave. Just like that?"
He placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "Not just like that. I need someone to guard this place. To guard them. Will you?"
Mira's jaw trembled, but she nodded fiercely. "I will. I promise."
Draven's chest eased, just a little. "Good. Then I can go without worry."
Mira clutched his hand suddenly. "But… where will you go?"
He looked toward the dark hills. "The ruins. If chains were born there, then so was the answer to breaking them. I'll find it."
She bit her lip. "Will you come back?"
Draven's eyes softened. "I'll come back stronger. Strong enough to prove respect isn't weakness."
He rose, pulling his cloak tight. The beasts stirred, as if sensing his departure. The mule stamped its hoof. The hound whined.
Mira stood among them, small but steady, clutching Luma like a banner of defiance.
Draven's voice was low, but it carried. "Live, all of you. Grow. Don't break."
Then he turned, stepping into the night. Above, the stars blazed sharp and cold. His path stretched toward the ruins, and with every step, his resolve hardened.
Behind him, Mira whispered, "Come back, Draven. Please."
The beasts pressed close around her, as though she wasn't alone.
And so Solen Draven left Branthollow — not with nothing, but leaving behind a sanctuary and a promise.