Lyriana didn't hesitate.
"Because no one is looking for four travelers," she said evenly. "They are looking for a threat."
Aldric stared at her.
"We *are* the threat."
"No," she corrected calmly. "We are four people entering a town at sunrise. Tired. Dusty. Ordinary."
He let out a disbelieving laugh.
"Ordinary?"
Draven finally slowed, glancing back just slightly.
"Fear makes people blind," he said. "If we do not act like prey or predators, they will not look twice."
Aldric blinked.
"…That's your explanation?"
Draven did not elaborate.
The girl pulled her hood up, shadow swallowing her youthful features once more.
"With the hood on, I pass as a traveling scholar," she said. "Or a pilgrim. No one questions a pilgrim."
Aldric looked her up and down.
"You look twelve."
"I am not twelve."
"Thirteen?"
Her eyes flashed.
"That is irrelevant."
Lyriana stepped closer to Aldric, lowering her voice.
"You're overthinking this."
"I'm thinking exactly the right amount," he shot back.
She shook her head.
"In a town like this, people see what they expect. Merchants. Refugees. Mercenaries."
Her gaze shifted briefly to Draven.
"He does not radiate demonic energy unless he chooses to."
Aldric muttered, "That's debatable."
Draven ignored him.
"You will complain," Lyriana continued. "She will remain quiet. I will answer questions. His Highness will say nothing."
Aldric frowned.
"That's the plan?"
"Yes."
"That's barely a plan."
"It is enough."
He stared at her for a long moment.
Beyond the treeline, the distant rooftops of **Raventhorn** caught the first light of dawn. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys. The town was waking.
Normal.
Peaceful.
Unaware.
Aldric exhaled slowly.
"…And if someone recognizes him?" he asked, jerking his chin toward Draven.
Draven answered without hesitation.
"They won't."
The certainty in his voice was more unsettling than arrogance.
Aldric rubbed his temples.
"This is insane."
The girl spoke, calm and steady.
"Insane would be waiting in the forest until someone finds us."
That silenced him—for a moment.
Draven's gaze shifted slightly toward the cloaked girl.
"That cloak," he said. "It's enchanted."
Not a question.
She inclined her head.
"Yes."
Aldric looked between them.
"So that's why we didn't notice she was a damn kid."
Her steps faltered for half a heartbeat.
"I am not a child."
Aldric gave her a flat look.
"You look like one."
She pushed her hood back just enough for her voice to carry clearly.
"I am nineteen."
Aldric stared.
"Still the same."
"It is not the same."
"It absolutely is."
She frowned.
"Nineteen is not a child."
Aldric waved a dismissive hand.
"It's close enough."
Lyriana exhaled quietly but didn't intervene.
Draven's gaze remained forward.
"The enchantment," he said to the girl. "What does it do?"
She answered immediately, grateful for the shift in focus.
"It suppresses presence. Masks fluctuations in mana. Alters perception subtly—not enough to deceive scrutiny, only to discourage attention."
Aldric muttered, "So it makes people ignore you."
"Yes."
"Great. Where was that enchantment when you were gasping like you were dying?"
Her jaw tightened.
"It does not suppress physical exhaustion."
"Shame."
She shot him a sharp look.
"I have trained longer than you assume."
Aldric smirked.
"Oh, I'm sure. Nineteen whole years of experience."
She stopped walking.
"I began studying ritual matrices at nine."
He blinked.
"…That's not normal."
"It is efficient."
Draven spoke again, tone neutral.
"The cloak's limits."
She refocused instantly.
"It cannot withstand deliberate examination from high-tier perception. If someone chooses to analyze me, it will fail. But casual glances? Passing awareness? It is sufficient."
Aldric folded his arms as they resumed walking.
"So as long as no one important looks too closely, we're fine."
"Yes."
"That's comforting."
She glanced at him sharply.
"You are the only one making this difficult."
He let out a short laugh.
"I'm making it difficult?"
"Yes."
"You're the one who turned out to be a teenager in a death cult."
She inhaled slowly.
"I am not in a 'death cult.'"
He tilted his head.
"Sure looks like it."
She adjusted her hood again.
"It is a structured order devoted to ritual preservation."
Aldric grinned.
"That sounds worse."
Lyriana cut in, voice quiet but firm.
"Enough."
Aldric sighed.
"Fine."
He looked at the girl again.
"Nineteen."
"Yes."
"Still basically a kid."
Her reply came from beneath the hood, edged with restrained irritation.
"I am older than you think."
"Physically, maybe."
She clenched her fists but said nothing.
Draven ended it.
"It doesn't matter."
They reached the road. The gates of Raventhorn stood open ahead, morning traffic beginning to trickle through.
"Can the enchantment maintain at a normal pace?" Draven asked.
"Yes."
"Good."
Aldric muttered under his breath.
"Unbelievable."
But he fell into step anyway.
Four travelers approaching a waking town.
One masked by magic.
One too calm for comfort.
One silent and sharp.
And one still convinced this was a terrible idea.
They were only a few hundred steps from the outer road when Draven slowed.
His gaze shifted to the cloaked girl.
"Hand it over."
She blinked.
"My lord?"
"The cloak."
No explanation. No change in tone.
Only expectation.
Aldric looked between them.
"Wait—what?"
The girl hesitated for less than a second before reaching up.
"Yes."
She unfastened the clasp at her throat and slipped the cloak from her shoulders. The air shifted faintly as the enchantment disengaged—subtle, but perceptible.
Without the distortion, her presence felt clearer. Younger. Unshielded.
She held it out with both hands.
Draven took it.
He examined the fabric, fingers brushing along the inner lining. Fine runes—precise and deliberate—were woven directly into the thread.
"Mana-infused weaving," he murmured.
Her posture straightened.
"Yes. Dual-layered concealment. It masks resonance and dulls perception bias."
Draven swung the cloak once, testing its weight.
"You can function without it."
Not a question.
"Yes, my lord."
He gave a single nod.
"Good."