Elira staggered.
Her breath came hard and uneven, chest rising and falling as she leaned heavily on her staff. The ground beneath her feet was scorched where the light had erupted, runes still fading as heat rippled through the air.
She was pale.
Sweat clung to her brow.
But her eyes were **burning**.
She looked first at Elliana—impaled, her body shielding her son.
Then at Draven—frozen, staring, blood-slicked hands trembling as if his body no longer remembered how to move.
For a heartbeat, something flickered across Elira's face.
Not mercy.
Not doubt.
Resolve.
Cedric straightened, blade still slick with blood, lightning crawling faintly along its edge. He looked down at Elliana's body with cold detachment, then at Draven.
"Tch," he muttered. "Still breathing. Giving your life for a demon… how low you've fallen, Night Elf."
Elira's fingers tightened around her staff as she forced herself upright, pain screaming through her limbs.
"Cedric," she called, voice strained but clear.
He turned slightly.
Her eyes locked onto Draven.
"Finish them," she said. "Finish the demons."
Her staff flared faintly as she drew herself up, shoulders shaking, voice trembling with exhaustion and fervor.
"As a savant who wields the Light of Judgment," Elira continued, raising her chin, "I declare this execution righteous."
The words echoed.
The knights stiffened.
Cedric exhaled slowly through his nose. Lightning crackled louder around his blade as he rolled his shoulder once.
"…Gladly."
He took a step forward.
Draven still hadn't moved.
His world was too small now.
Too narrow.
All he could see was the blade through his mother.
Elliana sagged against him.
Not falling—because Draven caught her without realizing he'd moved.
Her weight struck his arms like collapsing stone, bone, and blood.
So much blood.
It soaked his hands instantly—warm, slick—running down his wrists, dripping into the dirt below. The blade that had pierced her still jutted from her body, trembling faintly with every shallow breath she took.
Her legs barely held.
Her body was **barely there**.
"Mom—no—no, no, no—" Draven choked, his voice splintering as he lowered her just enough so she wouldn't fall. His hands pressed uselessly against the wound, trying to stop what could not be stopped.
His breath came in sharp, panicked gasps. He couldn't get enough air. His chest felt crushed.
Elliana's head sagged against his shoulder. Her breathing was shallow—ragged. Blood bubbled faintly at her lips.
But her hand tightened.
Just a little.
Enough for him to feel it.
Her voice came weak.
Barely there.
"…Don't… stop… breathing."
Something **broke** in Draven's chest.
Not loudly.
Not explosively.
Quieter than that.
Like a support beam giving way.
Cedric raised his blade.
Elira watched, breathing hard, staff trembling in her grip.
"Do it," she said.
And in that instant—
Cedric moved.
Lightning **detonated** around him as he lunged, the ground cracking beneath his boots. His blade came down in a thunderous arc, power screaming through the air—fast, final, meant to end everything in a single strike.
"Die—!"
The blade never reached Draven.
The air **collapsed**.
Not exploded.
Collapsed.
A dome of absolute darkness snapped into existence around Draven and Elliana—smooth, seamless, swallowing light itself. Cedric's strike slammed into it with a deafening **BOOM**, lightning exploding outward in blinding arcs.
The forest shook.
Trees bent.
Knights were thrown back, shields rattling as several hit the ground hard.
Inside the dome—
Nothing.
No shockwave.
No heat.
No light.
Cedric skidded backward, boots carving furrows into the dirt as he fought to stay upright. His eyes widened as he stared at the point of impact.
The blade—
Unbroken.
The dome—
**Untouched.**
Not a scratch.
Not a ripple.
Not even a mark.
"…What?" Cedric breathed.
Elira staggered back a step, eyes wide, staff trembling violently in her grip. The light around her flickered, unstable.
"That's—no," she whispered. "That's not—"
The darkness wasn't mana.
It wasn't anything she recognized.
It was **absence**.
As if the world itself had been carved away.
The knights stared, frozen.
Fear finally cracked through discipline.
"What is that…?"
"Did he do that?"
"No—there's no mana—"
Cedric raised his blade again, lightning flaring brighter, fury flashing across his face.
"Whatever it is," he snarled, "break it!"
He struck again.
And again.
Each impact thundered like a siege engine slamming into a fortress wall.
Each time—
Nothing.
The dome did not move.
Inside, Draven hadn't even flinched.
He was kneeling now, arms locked around his mother, her weight resting against his chest. His breathing was ragged, broken—but steady.
Elliana's blood soaked into his clothes.
Her head rested against his shoulder.
"…Draven…" she whispered faintly.
"I'm here," he said instantly, voice low and tight. "I've got you. You're safe. I swear."
Elliana's head lolled, then steadied as she forced herself to focus.
Her eyes—once sharp and unyielding—were dim now.
Still warm.
Still *hers*.
"Hey…" she whispered.
The battlefield fell away.
"I told you…" she said softly, blood bubbling at her lips, "…I wouldn't abandon you."
"No—don't—don't talk," Draven begged, hands shaking violently. "Just—just stay with me, okay? Please. Just—just stay—"
Elliana smiled.
Small.
Weak.
But real.
"You've grown," she murmured. "So stubborn… just like your father."
Draven shook his head, tears blurring his vision. "Stop—stop saying things like that."
Elliana shifted weakly in his arms. Everything hurt—but she felt something warm against her cheek. Wet.
She frowned faintly, eyes unfocused, then lifted her gaze to his face.
His head was bowed.
Shoulders shaking.
Tears slid down his cheeks, falling silently onto her blood-soaked armor.
"…Honey," she whispered.
Draven sucked in a sharp breath, trying—and failing—to steady himself.
Elliana's lips curved, tired and soft.
"…Are you crying?"
He froze.
His throat worked, but no sound came.
She let out a weak, breathless huff that might have been a laugh.
"That's… rare," she murmured. "You know that?"
Her hand trembled as she lifted it, fingers brushing clumsily over his cheek, wiping away tears with a smear of blood.
"Even though I'm your mother," she said softly, "I don't think I've ever… seen you cry."
Draven shook his head, teeth clenched, breath hitching.
"Shut Up Don't—don't talk," he whispered desperately. "Save your strength. Please."
Elliana smiled a little wider.
Apologetic.
"…Sorry."
She rested her forehead weakly against his chest.
"…Looks like I won't be teasing your cooking anymore."
The words struck like a blade.
"No," Draven choked. "Don't say that. You will. You'll complain it's too salty, or burned, or—"
His voice broke completely.
"I'll make it better," he said. "I swear. Just—just stay. Please."
Elliana's eyes softened.
She squeezed his sleeve faintly.
"…I was already thinking you'd overcook the meat," she whispered. "Still… I would've liked to try it."
Her breathing grew shallow.
Uneven.
Every inhale a struggle.
Blood stained her armor, her clothes, his hands—everything.
"Listen to me," she whispered.
Draven leaned closer, forehead nearly touching hers.
"I'm listening," he said desperately. "I'm right here."
Her eyes searched his face, memorizing him.
"You did well," she said. "No matter what happens… remember that."
Draven swallowed hard.
"I didn't protect you," he whispered. "I was supposed to—"
Her grip tightened—just a little.
"You did," she said firmly. "You stood. You didn't run."
Her gaze flicked past him—to the knights, the captains, the chaos.
Then back.
"That's enough."
Her breathing worsened.
Draven felt it.
Felt her slipping.
"No," he whispered. "No, no, no—please—"
Elliana winced faintly as she shifted again, her body growing lighter in his arms, strength bleeding away.
"…Listen to me."
Draven shook his head, panic clawing up his chest. "No—don't talk like that."
Her fingers tightened weakly.
"This barrier…" she whispered, voice thinning, "…it won't hold very long. Not once I'm gone. It follows me."
Draven's breath stuttered.
"No," he said hoarsely. "You're not— you're not going anywhere."
Elliana smiled—sad and gentle all at once.
"I would've liked," she said slowly, "to ask you to live a safe… peaceful life."
Her eyes fluttered, then steadied.
"But that would be selfish."
Draven squeezed his eyes shut, tears spilling freely.
"…So I'll only ask one thing."
He leaned closer, as if closeness alone could anchor her.
"Anything," he whispered. "I'll do anything."
Elliana lifted her trembling hand and pressed it against his chest.
"Live," she said.
Firm, despite her weakness.
She raised her other hand and touched his cheek.
"Live," she repeated softly. "No matter what… live."
His breath hitched violently.
"I don't want to live without you," he whispered.
Her smile faded—then returned, gentler.
"Too bad," she murmured. "You don't get to choose that."
"And… protect your siblings. Both of them. No matter what happens. No matter what they become. No matter where they go."
Her lips curved faintly.
"They'll need you… more than they know."
Draven nodded frantically. "I will. I swear. I'll protect them. I'll protect everyone—just—please—"
She didn't let him finish.
Elliana lifted herself the slightest bit.
Her fingers brushed through his hair—the way she used to, when he was smaller.
"Your hair's grown long," she murmured. "Looks like I didn't notice. I would've loved to give you a haircut."
Then she leaned forward and kissed the top of his head.
Warm.
Familiar.
Final.
"…I'm proud of you," she whispered.
Her body went limp.
The weight in his arms didn't change—
It emptied.
Draven froze.
For a heartbeat, the world did not move.
Did not breathe.
Did not exist.
"…Mom?" he whispered.
No answer.
He stared at her face, searching—desperate—for breath, for movement, for *anything*.
There was nothing.