Draven didn't wait for her to respond.
He exhaled sharply, rain clinging to his lashes as his gaze slid past Elliana—past the writhing shadows and fractured ground—until it settled on Cedric.
The knight stood restrained but upright, blood running freely down his armor, his expression rigid with fury and disbelief. He looked… smaller than before. Less inevitable.
Draven snorted.
"You know what?" he said, shaking his head slowly. "There really isn't that big a difference from what I thought."
Elliana's eyes flicked toward him.
"I used to think people with mana were untouchable," Draven continued, his voice rough but steady. "Like the moment someone could throw lightning or bend shadows, that was it. End of the story."
He gestured faintly toward the battlefield.
"But the ones I've come across?" he said. "They're weaker than I imagined they'd be."
His gaze sharpened.
"Fragile," he added. "Just faster."
He looked back at Cedric, rain streaking down his face as lightning briefly illuminated the blood soaking into the mud beneath the night elf's boots.
"If that bastard wasn't so damn fast," Draven said coldly, "I would've killed him already."
The words weren't a boast.
They were a statement of fact.
The air tightened.
Cedric's jaw clenched, rage flaring in his eyes—but the maid's grip didn't loosen, and he didn't move.
Elliana studied her son in silence.
Not with fear.
Not with doubt.
But with a dawning, uncomfortable realization.
Draven wasn't speaking like someone who didn't understand the danger.
He was speaking like someone who *did*—
And had decided it didn't matter.
*What the hell is this?* Draven thought, his jaw tightening.
At first, it had felt like he'd taken a bath in pepper—sharp, stinging, uncomfortable in a way that made every instinct scream *wrong*. Holy mana, they'd called it. Supposedly lethal. Supposedly unbearable.
But now?
Now it felt like standing beside a burning house.
Heat rolling off it.
Pressure.
Oppressive—but distant.
Unpleasant, sure.
Deadly?
He almost scoffed.
*That's it?*
There was no rot in his veins. No agony tearing him apart. None of the screaming backlash his body was supposed to suffer if the stories were true.
He glanced again toward Cedric—toward the pale glow of holy mana still clinging to the knight's blade, bright and righteous and utterly unimpressive.
*This is supposed to kill vampires?*
Draven frowned.
*I don't get it,* he thought. *I really don't.*
Maybe it was weaker than they claimed.
Or—
His fingers twitched around the spirit stone.
*Or maybe it's just me.*
The thought settled uneasily.
*Mixed blood,* he mused. *Is that it?*
Not fully vampire.
Not fully whatever else ran in his veins.
Something in between.
Something that didn't react the way it was "supposed" to.
The heat washed over him again—still present, still pressing—but no worse than before.
Draven's eyes narrowed slightly.
*If this is all holy mana amounts to…*
Then either the world had been lying to him—
—or he was far more dangerous than anyone realized.
"Honey."
Elliana's voice was calm.
Not commanding.
Not sharp.
It cut cleanly through the storm—and through Draven's spiraling thoughts.
He snapped back to the present, breath catching faintly as he looked at her. Really looked this time.
She met his gaze steadily.
"I know you aren't weak," she said softly. "And I could never—*ever*—consider you a burden."
Something in Draven's chest twisted painfully at that.
"But that doesn't mean," Elliana continued, her voice firming just a touch, "that I'm willing to put my babies in harm's way."
Draven opened his mouth—
She lifted a hand—gentle, but final.
"I'm not only worried about you," she said. "I'm worried about your siblings, too."
Her eyes flicked away for just a heartbeat, toward the darkness beyond the trees—toward where Eleyna and Lucifer were waiting, frightened and unshielded.
"If anything were to happen to either of them," Elliana said quietly, "I don't know what I would do."
The rain seemed to soften around them, as though the storm itself were listening.
"They're alone right now," she went on. "Without their mother or their father beside them to protect them."
Her gaze returned to Draven—steady and unflinching.
"And when your father and I can't be there," she said, "that responsibility falls on you, honey."
The words settled heavily between them.
"They're next in line," Elliana continued. "They have their big brother."
She stepped closer, close enough now that Draven could see the exhaustion etched into her face—the strain she had been holding back, the cost of everything she had done tonight.
"You need to be by their sides," she said gently. "You need to make sure they're safe. That no harm comes to them."
Her voice softened at the end.
"So quiet the worries," Elliana said. "And go to them. They need you right now."
She reached out, brushing her fingers briefly against his arm—grounding, familiar.
"And don't worry too much about me, honey," she added.
A soft smile touched her lips.
It was warm.
Reassuring.
And unmistakably tired.
"Mommy will be fine."
The storm continued to rage.
But for a moment—
All Draven could hear was his mother's voice.