Cedric stood alone.
No—*alone* wasn't quite the right word.
The darkness around him was **too deliberate** for that. It pressed in from every direction, not heavy, not suffocating, but *aware*. Watchful. This was a space that had been **made**, not merely emptied—a void shaped by intent rather than absence.
He straightened slowly, one hand tightening around his weapon as his gaze swept the black expanse.
"…Tch."
His boots scraped softly against unseen ground as he turned in a measured circle. No trees. No sky. No stars. Just an endless, muted black that swallowed distance and depth alike, refusing to give his eyes anything to anchor to.
"This place…" Cedric muttered, jaw tightening. "Don't tell me…"
He closed his eyes briefly and reached outward with his senses.
Mana responded—but *wrongly*. Not suppressed. Not resisted.
*Contained.*
His eyes snapped open.
"So it **is** your doing," he said, voice carrying faintly into the void. "Night elf."
A pause.
Then, with a bitter scoff, he added, "Figures. Dragging everyone into your little playground."
He shifted his stance, lowering his center of gravity. Every muscle coiled, ready. His breathing slowed, deliberate and controlled, as his eyes tracked the darkness itself—watching for ripples, distortions, any hint of movement.
"If this is some kind of judgment," Cedric called out, tone hardening, "then come out and face me."
The darkness did not answer.
Cedric stayed where he was.
Seconds stretched.
Then minutes.
No pressure changed.
No presence closed in.
No killing intent brushed his senses.
Nothing came.
Slowly, tension bled from his shoulders—not relief, but calculation. He exhaled through his nose and straightened, eyes narrowing as he studied the void once more.
"…Huh."
He took a step.
Then another.
The sound of his boots carried strangely, as if distance itself refused to exist here. No echo. No return. Just the quiet confirmation that *he* was still real.
"So you're not circling me," Cedric muttered. "You're not even *here*."
His gaze sharpened.
"Shadow magic," he concluded. "High-tier. No…" He paused, reassessing. "Something beyond that."
He reached outward again—slower this time, more cautious—allowing his mana to brush the edges of the space rather than forcing against it. The response confirmed his suspicion.
This wasn't isolation.
It was **separation**.
"I wasn't the only one pulled in," Cedric said quietly, turning in place. "But you made sure we can't see each other."
No other heartbeats.
No mana signatures.
No distortion from movement.
Just him.
Just darkness.
"…Clever," he admitted grudgingly. "You've cut the battlefield into pieces. No reinforcements. No coordination."
His fingers flexed.
"But if this is meant to scare me—"
A thin smile tugged at his lips.
"—you're wasting your time."
He stared into the void again, eyes sharp, alert, unblinking.
"Still," he added under his breath, "whoever did this… they didn't do it to *kill* me."
The darkness remained silent.
Endless.
Waiting.
Cedric froze.
Not from fear—
—but from instinct screaming **danger** a fraction of a heartbeat too late.
The darkness in front of him **shifted**.
Not parted.
Not opened.
It **stepped forward**.
Cedric's eyes widened.
Something was suddenly *there*—so close the air displaced against his skin—and his body reacted before thought could form. His head snapped to the side as lightning **exploded** along his limbs.
A sharp sting traced across his neck.
A **thin red line** bloomed.
Too close.
Cedric was already moving.
Thunder cracked as he vanished in a flash, reappearing several paces back. His boots skidded as electricity flared beneath his feet, carrying him into a low stance—one hand braced, the other raised, lightning arcing and snapping around him like living veins.
His gaze locked forward.
"…So you finally show yourself," he said coldly.
The darkness ahead stood still now. No pressure. No flaring aura. No dramatic reveal.
Just a figure—half-defined against the void, edges blurred, as if it didn't fully belong to this space.
Cedric's jaw tightened as his fingers brushed his neck.
Blood.
Barely more than a scratch—
—but precise.
Intentional.
*A warning,* he realized, eyes narrowing. *It could've taken my head. If I'd been a breath slower…*
Lightning intensified, violent arcs illuminating the darkness in harsh flashes. With each flicker, the shape ahead became clearer.
A boy.
Back turned.
Head lowered.
Breath steady.
Blood still dripped from his blade.
Draven exhaled slowly, sounding almost disappointed.
"…Damn," he muttered. "Kinda thought I'd just take your head in one go and be done with it."
He tilted his head slightly, as if genuinely reconsidering his approach.
"Don't really have time for this."
Cedric's jaw tightened.
The insult landed—not because it was loud, but because it was *casual*.
Dismissive.
Cedric straightened fully, lightning flaring brighter as his presence expanded—authority bleeding into the air, the weight of command pressing outward.
"Those are bold words," Cedric said coldly, "to come from a mere demon—"
His gaze flicked briefly to the blade. To the blood. To the way the darkness itself seemed to lean toward the young man.
"—without mana."
He scoffed.
"To imagine *me* falling to the likes of you?" Cedric continued, lightning snapping violently around his armor. "That would be a **disgrace** to everything I stand for as Knight Commander."
Draven didn't turn.
Didn't tense.
Didn't react at all.
He simply inhaled—
Then slowly lifted his head.
"…Mana," Draven repeated quietly, as if tasting the word.