Aria felt her heart stop.
Morian's jaw clenched.
Deyr muttered a curse.
Suvarn exhaled shakily.
Elayne's hand flew to her chest.
Elira looked almost relieved.
Kaenmor bowed his head.
Aria swallowed.
"…Dravon."
He didn't turn.
Didn't breathe differently.
Didn't react.
Just stared at the dying city.
Finally, he whispered:
"Welcome to Eldgrave — the city I couldn't save."
Aria felt tears burn her eyes.
For the first time, he sounded…
Tired.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Dravon stood before the shattered window like a painting — the kind that artists whisper about, the kind that should be admired from a distance.
Then he finally shifted.
Slowly.
Calmly.
Gracefully.
He turned toward them.
Aria sucked in a breath.
He was nothing like the other Aetherbounds.
Kaenmor was gentle radiance.
Morian was raw strength.
Deyr was chaotic charm.
Suvarn was burning hope.
But Dravon?
Dravon was beauty carved from moonlight and sin.
Tall, lean, elegant — not bulky, not imposing, but impossibly striking.
His skin pale as winter dawn.
His hair dark, with streaks of platinum catching the dim church light.
His eyes… crimson.
Not glowing — worse.
Still.
Empty.
Unreadable.
He did not wear armor, only a long, black coat lined with silver.
It moved like smoke behind him.
His aura was not heavy.
It was quiet — a void instead of a presence.
And somehow, that was more terrifying.
He walked past them, footsteps barely audible on cracked tiles.
Stopped at the middle of the ruined church.
His voice was soft, smooth, but carried like a blade.
"This city… once was beautiful."
Aria's heart stuttered.
Suvarn lowered his eyes.
Kaenmor exhaled.
Elayne's fingers tightened around the Book of Shadow.
Dravon didn't look at any of them.
He simply gestured lazily toward the broken window.
"Children ran through these streets. Warriors trained in the courtyards. Women sang near the fountains. Vendors shouted for customers… differently than now."
A faint, ghostly smirk touched his lips.
"Not curses or prayers asking for deliverance."
Deyr flinched.
Morian clenched his fists.
Aria whispered, "Dravon…"
He ignored her.
"Eldgrave was strong. Proud. Alive."
His voice lowered.
"Then… it became this."
Aria whispered, "What happened?"
Dravon finally turned his head.
And the way he looked at her —
smooth, emotionless, unreadable —
made her breath hitch.
"I happened."
Dravon walked toward the far end of the church.
A tall, ruined throne — once belonging to the ancient lords of Eldgrave — stood there in crumbled stone and dust.
He flicked his fingers.
Shadows rose from the floor, swirling like obedient servants.
They wrapped around the broken throne…
Rebuilding it.
Reforming it.
Completing it.
Until a perfect black throne stood there — elegant, ominous, regal.
He sat with the ease of a king taking his rightful place.
Long legs crossed.
One arm resting on the throne's edge.
Chin lifted slightly.
His crimson eyes half-lidded with cold amusement.
He looked devastating.
Dark.
Royal.
Untouchable.
And then —
from thin air —
a glass of wine materialized into his hand, shadows fading from its curve.
He swirled it lazily.
"Welcome," he murmured, "to my palace, Hero."
His gaze moved to the Aetherbounds.
"To my brothers."
Then to Aria's mortal companions.
"And the useless mortals."
Coren flinched.
Garron bristled.
Lyra stepped back.
Sera glared but clung to Deyr's arm.
Deyr only muttered, "Still an asshole."
Dravon smirked faintly.
"Accuracy suits me."
Kaenmor stepped forward.
"Dravon. The Demon Lord—"
Dravon raised a hand.
"—is alive. Yes, Kaenmor. I know. And?"
Morian growled, "And we need you!"
Dravon sipped his wine.
"Do you?"
Deyr snapped, "Stop playing with us!"
Dravon arched a brow.
"No one asked you to come."
Elira's eyes narrowed.
"Dravon. The world is dying."
He tilted his head.
"It has died before. It will die again."
Aria's voice cracked.
"People are suffering!"
He stared at her — not with pity, not with anger — but with simple, clinical detachment.
"People always suffer. Even in happiness they themselves will find something to suffer for."
Aria's throat tightened.
Suvarn stepped forward, trying desperately to find the soft spot everyone else missed.
"Dravon… Zephyrion grows stronger."
For the first time, a flicker of something passed through Dravon's eyes.
A memory?
A scar?
A warning?
He looked away, wine glass tilting in his hand.
"Zephyrion grows stronger because hope grows weaker. This city is proof."
He motioned lazily to the broken walls.
"The shadow I cast was not evil. It was despair. And they embraced it. Blamed me for it. Fed on it."
Aria trembled.
"But that doesn't mean you should let the Demon Lord win!"
Dravon's eyes snapped to her.
The pressure hit her chest instantly — cold, suffocating, crushing.
Suvarn stepped forward instinctively, grabbing Aria before she collapsed.
"Dravon!" he barked.
Dravon leaned back on the throne, entirely unbothered.
"If you cannot withstand a look, Hero… you will not withstand the truth."
Kaenmor inhaled.
"Dravon… please. We need to talk about the past. About him."
Dravon sipped his wine.
Slow.
Uninterested.
"Of course you want to talk about him now."
Morian's jaw clenched.
Deyr looked away.
Suvarn stared at the floor.
Dravon's voice turned razor-sharp.
"After centuries of silence, now you remember."
Aria swallowed. "Who was he?"
Dravon tapped his glass lightly.
"A fool."
His voice thinned.
"A hero who smiled at everyone but never looked inward. A man who pushed us forward, demanded strength, demanded unity… demanded sacrifice."
Elira whispered:
"He was their leader."
Dravon chuckled, low and humorless.
"He was our mistake."
Aria's heart pounded.
"I know you failed him. But that's not reason enough to give up this time as well."
Dravon's eyes slowly lifted.
Crimson.
Devastatingly calm.
"You think we simply failed him?"
Kaenmor tensed.
Morian's fists shook.
Dravon's voice dropped —
cold, smooth, absolute.
"Is that what you told her Kaenmor?"
Aria flinched.
"Stop pretending it was some tragedy outside your control."
Silence.
Breaths held.
The entire church felt like it was trembling.
Then he leaned forward on the throne.
Wine glass dangling loosely from his fingers.
Eyes boring into all of them.
His voice quiet enough to freeze blood.
"We didn't just fail him."
A pause.
Long.
Painful.
Unbreakable.
Then the final blow:
"We killed him."
Aria's breath disappeared.
Dravon's gaze locked onto hers.
"Or rather…"
His voice fell to a whisper cold enough to cut bone.
"…I killed him."
The glass in his hand cracked.
Wine dripped like blood.
No one spoke.
No one dared.
The wine glass finally shattered between Dravon's fingers.
The crack echoed like a whip inside the ruined church, scattering shards that glittered across the stone floor like frozen drops of blood.
No one moved.
No one breathed.
It was as though time itself had stopped for a moment… frozen by the weight of his admission.
Aria felt her pulse hammering against her ribs, too fast, too loud.
Her throat tightened, her vision blurred.
He killed the hero.
The ancient hero.
The hero the world worshipped.
The hero whose story shaped their world's future.
And Dravon… Dravon was the one who ended him.
Not accident.
Not tragedy.
Not sacrifice.
Murder.
Dravon leaned back in his throne, wine dripping from his fingers like dark ink.
His voice came out soft.
Almost lazy.
But sharp enough to split bone.
"Why are you all acting surprised?"
Silence.
Kaenmor's head bowed.
Suvarn's fingers clenched.
Morian's jaw trembled.
Deyr looked away, face twisted in pain.
Elira closed her eyes, silently suffering the memory.
Dravon scoffed.
"You already knew this."
The words hit the room like a punch.
Aria gasped. "K-Knew…?"
Dravon's crimson eyes narrowed slightly, studying each of the Aetherbounds.
Kaenmor did not lift his gaze.
Morian's hands shook at his sides.
Deyr's fingers twitched against his chainblades.
Suvarn looked ready to break.
Finally, Kaenmor whispered, broken:
"…We never denied it."
Dravon laughed — a low, bitter sound.
"No. You just locked the truth away. Pretended the past was sacred. Pretended the hero was righteous."
He tapped his temple with bloodied fingers.
"Pretended I was the only monster in the room."
Aria's team had been silent up until now — frozen in shock, horror, disbelief.
But now, anger spilled through the cracks.
Coren stepped forward first, voice shaking but loud:
"You're lying. Veins don't just kill heroes."
Dravon tilted his head, amused.
"Is that so?"
Garron, still pale from his earlier injury, rasped:
"You expect us to believe you killed the greatest warrior of history? You think your cruelty gives you the right to rewrite the past?"
Lyra stepped up beside Coren, eyes blazing with anger she rarely showed.
"You're a villain. That's what you are. You look like one, talk like one — and now you're trying to drag a dead hero's name through the mud?"
Dravon smirked.
"Oh? Are we angry, little mortals?"
Sera stepped forward, fists clenched.
"What kind of sick enjoyment do you get from saying things like this? Who do you think you are?"
Dravon leaned on his throne, gaze amused… bored… superior.
"The one who saved your world."
They all froze.
"What?" Aria whispered.
Dravon shrugged lightly.
"The hero didn't defeat Zephyrion. We did."
He gestured lazily at the Aetherbounds.
"And after sealing the Demon Lord… someone had to kill the true monster."
Aria's breath vanished.
Lyra shouted, "Stop lying!"
Dravon's voice sharpened instantly — cold and merciless.
"I do not lie. I do not need to."
He stood.
The throne behind him vanished into mist.
He stepped forward slowly, each movement deliberate, graceful, predatory.
His presence felt like a veil of cold air settling over the room.
Aria trembled.
Elira held her hand gently.
Suvarn moved instinctively closer to Aria, ready to protect her.
Dravon's gaze swept through the group of mortals — a gaze that held no warmth, no recognition of their humanity.
Only dissection.
"You cling to hope like children clinging to toys.
You worship heroes because you cannot stand to see your own ugliness."
He stopped just inches away from Aria.
She felt the air leave her lungs.
His voice, though soft, felt like a whisper carved into stone.
"Why will this time be any different?"
Her mouth opened — but no sound came out.
Dravon continued, tone carefully measured, cruelly reasonable.
"This 'hero'…"
his eyes flickered to Aria,
"…is still mortal.
Still weak.
Still breakable.
Still human."
He stepped past her, brushing her aura with icy calm.
"And humans are always the same."
Aria's team stepped toward him in fury.
Coren shouted, "Aria is NOTHING like whatever hero you're talking about!"
Dravon didn't turn.
"Neither was he."
Suvarn stepped forward, voice cracking.
"Stop comparing her to him!"
Finally, Dravon paused.
He looked over his shoulder.
His crimson eyes gleamed with quiet cruelty.
"I compare her to him because you all will end up doing the same thing—
counting on her until her bones break,
and if I'm there I'll end her when she finally shatters."
His words sliced through the room like obsidian.
Elira winced.
Deyr flinched.
Morian looked away.
Aria felt each word sink into her chest — painful, heavy, terrifying.
"Do you want to know the truth of your precious hero?"
Dravon returned to the center of the room and folded his arms behind him.
He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
"Zephyrion was sealed not by glory, not by unity, not by righteousness."
His eyes lowered.
"It was desperation."
Kaenmor closed his eyes tightly.
Suvarn trembled.
Deyr cursed under his breath.
Dravon continued, voice calm as death.
"Morian held Zephyrion's physical body down. Burned to the bone to do it."
Morian's fists shook.
"Kaenmor chanted the spell that shredded his own soul."
Kaenmor's breath caught in his throat.
"Deyr used his chaos to disrupt Zephyrion's mind — and nearly lost his sanity."
Deyr flinched hard.
"And I… went deeper than all of them."
His voice dropped.
"Into Zephyrion's soul."
Aria felt a chill pierce her spine.
Elayne's grip on the book tightened.