Draven lifted the cloak and fastened it around his shoulders.
The fabric settled over him easily—almost too easily.
For a brief second, the air around him seemed to tighten.
Then it smoothed.
Shifted.
Dulled.
The sharp, predatory pressure he naturally carried—the subtle weight that made others instinctively wary—faded. Not vanished. Simply muted. Blurred along the edges.
The runes woven into the inner lining flickered faintly, adjusting to a mana core far denser than anything they had been designed to handle.
The girl stiffened as she felt it.
"It will strain under prolonged exposure," she said carefully. "Your mana output is… significantly higher than the cloak's intended range."
Draven adjusted the collar without concern.
"It will hold."
Aldric stared at him.
Then at the now cloakless girl.
Then back at Draven again.
Silence stretched.
And then—
"Finally."
Aldric dragged a hand down his face.
"Finally you've decided to use your brain."
Lyriana glanced at him, unimpressed.
He pointed at Draven.
"That's the first sensible decision anyone's made since we left the forest."
Draven did not respond.
Aldric continued anyway.
"You're the one people might actually recognize. You're the one radiating 'I slaughtered half a battlefield before breakfast.' So yes—maybe you should be the one wearing the subtle magic disguise cloak."
He shook his head.
"Took long enough."
The girl's brows drew together slightly.
"It was calibrated specifically to my mana signature."
"It will recalibrate," Draven replied evenly.
As if in agreement, the runes dimmed once more, settling into a quieter, more stable rhythm.
Aldric blinked.
"…That easy?"
Draven started walking again.
"Yes."
The girl followed, now fully exposed without the enchantment's distortion. Without the cloak softening her outline, she looked unmistakably young—but her mana, though smaller than Draven's, was steady. Controlled. Deliberate.
Lyriana fell into step beside her.
"You'll be fine?" she asked quietly.
"I do not require concealment," the girl replied. "I can regulate my aura."
Aldric snorted.
"Regulate it better than your breathing earlier, I hope."
She shot him a sharp look.
"I was injured."
"Convenient excuse."
Draven spoke without turning.
"Enough."
The single word cut cleanly through the bickering.
Aldric exhaled.
"Fine. I'll shut up."
They were close now.
The outer road of **Raventhorn** lay just ahead. A few merchants were already guiding carts toward the gates. Farmers walked with bundled goods slung over their shoulders. Two guards leaned lazily near the entrance, half-awake in the pale morning light.
Draven's presence, now cloaked, felt… ordinary.
Not harmless.
But no longer glaringly dangerous.
Aldric glanced sideways at him.
"…Yeah. That's better."
He lowered his voice.
"Now you actually look like someone who might pass as human."
Draven did not react.
The cloak shifted lightly in the breeze.
The girl walked quietly now, her black hair catching strands of early sunlight. No enchantment concealed her—only discipline.
Lyriana's expression remained composed.
Four travelers.
No visible demonic aura.
No obvious cultist robes.
No immediate threat.
From a distance, they were entirely unremarkable.
Aldric looked at the gates one last time.
"…If this works," he muttered, "I'm never admitting you were right."
Draven stepped onto the road without hesitation.
The others followed.
Together, they approached the waking town.
---
The road widened as they neared the gates of **Raventhorn**.
Morning traffic had thickened—farmers guiding creaking carts, a pair of traders arguing over tariffs, a woman leading two sleepy children by the hand. The air carried the scent of hay, damp earth, and distant woodsmoke.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing tense.
Two guards stood beneath the wooden archway, spears resting against their shoulders. Their armor was worn but serviceable. They looked bored more than alert.
Aldric lowered his voice.
"Remember. Ordinary."
Draven said nothing.
They stepped into line.
One guard scratched his jaw as the merchant ahead of them passed through after a brief exchange. Then his eyes shifted to the four of them.
"You lot," he called lazily. "Stop there."
Aldric fixed a neutral expression on his face.
The guard's gaze moved over them in slow assessment.
Lyriana—calm and composed.
The black-haired girl—quiet, self-contained.
Aldric—barely masking impatience.
And Draven—cloaked, presence subdued, eyes lowered just enough to avoid inviting scrutiny.
"Names," the guard said.
Lyriana answered smoothly.
"Travelers from the southern routes. We're heading north."
"Purpose?"
"Rest. Supplies. Then we continue on."
The second guard stepped closer, studying them with a sharper look.
"Papers?"
Aldric's stomach tightened—just slightly.
Lyriana reached into her sleeve and withdrew folded documents—simple travel permits, inked and stamped with regional seals.
The guard took them, scanning lazily at first.
Then more carefully.
Draven stood perfectly still. The cloak's enchantment hummed faintly, dulling instinctive curiosity, discouraging prolonged attention.
The guard glanced up.
"You're light on baggage."
Aldric answered before anyone else could.
"Got robbed three days back. Lost most of it."
The guard raised an eyebrow.
"Convenient."
Aldric shrugged.
"You think I'd choose to be walking?"
The guard gave a short, humorless snort.
He handed the papers to his partner, who compared the stamps against a registry board mounted near the gate. His finger traced over carved symbols and posted notices.
Silence stretched.
Aldric resisted the urge to shift his weight.
The girl kept her breathing steady this time—measured and controlled.
Draven's gaze remained calm, almost detached.
Finally, the second guard grunted.
"Stamps check out."
The first guard gave them one final look.
"You cause trouble, you answer to the captain."
Lyriana inclined her head politely.
"Of course."
The guard stepped aside.
"Move along."
Aldric exhaled quietly as they passed beneath the archway.
No alarms.
No shouts.
No sudden recognition.
Just another group entering town at sunrise.
They stepped fully into Raventhorn's main street—stone pathways still damp with morning dew, early market stalls being assembled, the rich scent of fresh bread drifting through the cool air.
Voices murmured.
Hammers tapped.
Life unfolded as it always did.
Normal.
Aldric walked several paces before muttering under his breath,
"…Well I'll be damned."
No one stopped them.
No one even looked twice.
He glanced at Draven.
"…Alright. Fine."
A beat passed.
"But if something explodes later, I'm saying I told you so."
Draven continued forward without slowing.
Lyriana's lips almost curved into a smile—but she restrained it.
And just like that—
They were inside.