The darkness **trembled**.
The voice snapped—raw, furious.
"So are you going to keep fucking crying," the boy snarled, "while the ones who killed our mother are **still alive**?"
His form **collapsed inward**—
Small again.
A child.
Kid Daniel stood there now, fists clenched tight at his sides, tears streaking down his face as his body shook with rage.
"You're starting to piss me off," he spat, his voice cracking as it broke through sobs.
The darkness warped.
He grew again—bones stretching, posture sharpening—**teenage Daniel**, eyes burning with something feral and unrestrained.
"Show them," he hissed.
"Show those bastards what happens when they touch your shit."
The void pulsed, slow and heavy, like a massive heart beating in the dark.
Then—
He changed again.
Not younger.
Not older.
He became **Draven**.
Perfectly.
The same height.
The same scars.
The same blood smoldering behind his eyes.
The white suit was gone.
Now he wore Draven's body like a verdict being passed.
"They already called you a demon," he said quietly. "So stop pretending you're not."
He stepped closer—so close that their reflections overlapped, one bleeding into the other.
"If they want a demon," he whispered, teeth bared, "then show them something **worse**."
The darkness **roared**.
"Kill them," Draven's reflection growled.
"Tear them apart."
"Every last one."
The words didn't echo.
They **sank in**.
Something inside the real Draven **answered**.
Not with rage.
Not with grief.
With **clarity**.
His shaking slowed.
His breath steadied.
The darkness **contracted inward**.
Not violently.
Not explosively.
It folded—layer by layer—**into Draven**.
The world rushed back all at once.
Sound slammed into him. Steel scraping. Knights shouting. The crackle of mana tearing through the air. The stench of blood and scorched earth.
Draven was still on the ground.
Still holding his mother.
His shoulders shook as tears continued to fall—but now they were no longer clear. **Red streaks mixed with them**, sliding down his cheeks, dripping onto Elliana's unmoving form.
He pressed his forehead against hers.
For a moment, the battlefield didn't exist.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely there. "I should've been stronger."
His tears soaked into her hair.
Around them, knights regrouped. Captains straightened, eyes hardening as they sensed the absence of resistance.
"The barrier's gone," one of them said sharply.
"This is it—attack and finish him off."
Draven didn't look up.
He kissed his mother gently on the forehead.
Then—
The **shadow beneath them stirred**.
It spread outward like ink dropped into water—silent, smooth, unnervingly gentle. Elliana's body began to **sink**, cradled by darkness as if being laid into a final embrace.
Draven's hands trembled as he slowly loosened his grip.
He didn't fight it.
He didn't cling.
He let her go.
The shadow accepted her completely, sealing without a ripple, without a sound.
Gone.
The darkness then **withdrew**, flowing back like a tide retreating to a single point—
Draven's shadow.
He began to rise.
Slowly.
Pain screamed through his body—torn muscles, shattered bones, organs burning with every breath—but he stood anyway. His head remained bowed, white hair hanging over his eyes.
And then—
Something **leaked** from him.
Not blood.
**Mana.**
Dark red. Thick. Heavy.
It bled from his form like smoke pouring from an open wound, rolling off his shoulders, his arms, his chest. It didn't flare.
It **pressed**.
Every knight felt it.
Every captain froze.
Even Elira's grip on her staff tightened as her breath caught painfully in her lungs.
This wasn't wild mana.
It was **dense**.
Controlled.
Ancient.
The air itself grew heavy, as if gravity had doubled.
Horses screamed and reared. Several knights dropped to one knee without understanding why. Armor creaked. Bones ached.
Above the battlefield—
The clash **faltered**.
Not because of a blow.
Not because of fear.
But because **something had shifted**.
Kaelen felt it first.
His blood-blade stilled mid-motion, crimson mana rippling strangely, disturbed by an unseen current. His breath caught—not in exhaustion, not in pain—
Recognition.
"…Draven," he muttered.
His gaze **snapped downward**.
Through torn clouds and a bleeding sky, he saw it—**that mana**. Dark red. Dense. Pressing against the world like a lowered horizon.
His pupils shrank.
"The seals…" Kaelen whispered, disbelief flickering across his face.
"…And that's mana—how is that even possible—"
One of the Apostles recoiled, wings flexing uneasily as their radiance flickered.
"That darkness," the Apostle hissed, voice sharp with disgust and alarm.
"That demon needs to be exterminated—now."
The air **died**.
Kaelen turned his head—slowly.
A suffocating **crimson mana erupted** from his body, pouring outward in violent waves. The sky darkened further, clouds spiraling as if dragged toward him. Space itself seemed to recoil.
His voice was **cold**.
"…What did you just say?"
The pressure slammed into the Apostles like a tidal wall. Even Elyndra's radiance flickered as she braced herself, teeth clenched. Alric—bleeding, one wing torn—was thrown back several meters, boots skidding across nothingness.
Kaelen's eyes burned.
"That is my son."
Below—
Far from the skybound carnage—
Aldric, Lyriana, and the maid froze mid-step as they moved through the forest.
The wind died.
Leaves stopped falling.
They all felt it at the same time.
Lyriana, even with the babies in her arms, reached instinctively for her chest, breath hitching.
"…That presence," she whispered. "It's… heavy."
The maid's pupils contracted, her expression sharpening as something ancient stirred behind her calm.
"That's," she said quietly.
"That's grief given form."
Aldric staggered.
His hand shot to his chest, fingers digging into his clothes as if he could physically **tear the pressure out**. His breath came sharp and uneven, lightning along his veins flickering erratically.
"Damn it—" he hissed through clenched teeth.
"What the hell is that…?"
Each pulse of that dark red mana felt like an **invisible hand tightening around his heart**, squeezing harder with every beat. His legs trembled despite himself.
"It's not just pressure," Aldric muttered hoarsely.
"It's like something is… *claiming the space around us*."
Beside him, the maid stood perfectly still.
Too still.
The wind tugged at her cloak, but she didn't react. Her eyes were fixed on the distant battlefield, pupils reflecting a faint crimson glow bleeding through the forest canopy.
A slow breath left her lips.
"…So," she said softly.
A trace of something—relief, reverence, and fear intertwined—crept into her voice.
"The Lord has finally awakened."
Aldric snapped his head toward her.
"Lord…?" he echoed, unease crawling up his spine. "What do you mean *Lord*?"
The maid didn't look at him.
"That presence you feel," she continued calmly, "the one crushing your heart and bending mana itself—"
Her fingers curled slightly at her side.
"That isn't a monster losing control."
She turned just enough for Aldric to see her expression.
"It's a ruler remembering who he is."
Far away, the dark red mana continued to spread.
And the world—instinctively—
Began to **brace itself**.