The light faded.
The thunder died.
Smoke and scorched earth hung in the air like a choking veil.
For a moment… nothing moved.
Draven stood frozen, arms still wrapped around Elliana as the shadow dome unraveled in slow, fading wisps around them. The ground beneath their feet was **glass-black**, cracked and steaming where the divine lightning had struck.
He blinked once.
Twice.
She was still there.
Still breathing.
Barely.
"Mom…?" His voice came out hoarse.
Elliana didn't answer.
Her weight sagged suddenly, her body going slack in his arms.
Draven's breath hitched.
"—Hey! No, no, no—"
He tightened his grip, lowering with her as her knees gave out, catching her before she could collapse fully. Blood spilled from the corner of her mouth, dark and thick, dripping onto his hand.
Her shadows were **flickering** now.
Unstable.
Tearing.
Failing.
"Mom—look at me," he said sharply, panic creeping into his voice. "Look at me!"
Her lashes fluttered.
Barely.
She coughed—and **blood sprayed** across his chest.
His eyes widened.
"Shit—!"
Her hand weakly clutched at his shirt.
"…Still here," she whispered. Her voice was thin. Strained. "Told you… I wouldn't leave you…"
Draven swallowed hard.
His throat burned.
"Idiot…" he muttered, jaw trembling. "You weren't supposed to take that. You're not supposed to—"
She smiled.
Soft.
Fading.
"I'm your mother," she said. "That's… literally the job."
Her breath hitched again.
Pain rippled through her body.
Draven could **feel it**—her life force faltering, shadows tearing themselves apart trying to hold her together.
Around them—
The battlefield had gone quiet.
The knights stared.
Some in disbelief.
Some in horror.
Some in something close to fear.
They had seen the judgment descend.
They had seen the light.
They had expected **ashes**.
Instead, the demon and his mother still stood.
Still breathing.
Elira stood rigid, staff planted into the ground, golden light still crackling weakly along its length. Her breathing was heavy, ragged, chest rising and falling as if she'd just run for miles.
Her eyes were wide.
Unbelieving.
"…That's… impossible," she whispered.
Her gaze flicked between the scorched ground, the fading sigils in the air… and Elliana, slumped in Draven's arms.
She swallowed.
Her grip tightened on her staff.
"They should be dead," she said, voice shaking. "The judgment—no one survives that. No one—"
A knight near her muttered, "By the Radiant Mother…"
Another took an unconscious step back.
Draven didn't look at them.
Didn't care.
He was staring at Elliana.
At the blood soaking her clothes.
At the way her shadows were **failing** to knit her wounds closed.
Panic finally broke through his control.
"Don't you dare," he whispered fiercely. "Don't you fucking dare do this."
Her breathing stuttered.
He felt it.
His heart **slammed**.
"Mom—stay with me," he said, voice rough. "Stay with me. You don't get to leave. Not now. Not after all this—"
Her eyes struggled to focus on him.
She lifted her hand with visible effort… and brushed his cheek.
"…You're shaking," she murmured.
He didn't even realize he was.
His hands were trembling.
His whole body was.
"…Shut up," he muttered. "You're the one bleeding."
She smiled faintly.
"…Rude."
He let out a broken sound that was half laugh, half sob.
Around them, the knights slowly began to move again.
Uncertain.
Uneasy.
Weapons raised—but no longer confident.
No longer sure.
Elira took a step forward.
Her expression hardened, fear giving way to resolve.
"…It doesn't matter," she said, voice firm, though her hands were still shaking. "Even if you survived the judgment… you won't leave this place."
Her staff flared brighter.
The magic circles began to **reform**.
Draven finally lifted his head.
His eye was bloodshot.
Burning.
Cold.
He stared at her.
And smiled.
It wasn't feral.
It wasn't mocking.
It was **empty**.
Flat.
Dead.
"Touch her again," he said quietly, "and I will tear your soul out through your mouth."
The temperature seemed to drop.
The shadows around him **shifted**.
Behind him, Elliana weakly tugged his sleeve.
"…Draven…" she whispered. "Don't…"
He didn't look away from Elira.
"…Rest," he said softly. "I've got this."
Elira hesitated.
Just for a fraction of a second.
And in that fraction—
The sky **screamed**.
A pressure slammed down over the battlefield so violently that several knights staggered, some dropping to one knee.
The air itself felt like it was being crushed.
Draven's head snapped up.
Elliana's eyes widened weakly.
Elira froze.
Because far above—
Through the clouds—
Crimson light was **bleeding** into the sky.
And something… **angry**… was descending.
Draven slowly lifted his gaze.
Above, the heavens were tearing themselves apart.
Crimson and gold clashed like colliding worlds, shockwaves rippling through the clouds, lightning fracturing the firmament. Kaelen was locked between Elyndra and Alric, blood and light ripping into each other in godlike violence. Even from here, the pressure made the air tremble.
Draven narrowed his eyes.
*Tch… old man's busy.*
His jaw tightened.
*He can't reach us.*
A slow breath left him.
*So we're on our own.*
Around them, the knights began to move.
One step.
Then another.
Shields raised.
Blades angled forward.
Formation tightening.
The First Captain lifted his hand slightly, signaling advance.
The Second Captain shifted her stance, eyes locked on Draven like a predator measuring prey.
They were closing in.
Draven exhaled slowly.
Then he moved.
Carefully, gently, he lowered Elliana to the ground. He guided her back against the broken stone, supporting her until she was sitting, then eased his hands away.
"Mom," he said quietly.
She looked up at him, eyes unfocused, blood still at her lips.
He smiled.
Not forced.
Not desperate.
Soft.
"…You just need to stay put for me," he said. "Don't move, okay?"
Her brow furrowed weakly.
"Draven…"
He shook his head slightly.
"Shh."
Then he stood.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
As he rose, something **changed**.
The air tightened.
The shadows around his feet thickened.
His presence sharpened.
He reached down and picked up his dagger, fingers closing around the hilt with quiet finality. The metal let out a faint, eager whisper as if responding to him.
He turned.
Faced the knights.
Faced the captains.
Faced Elira.
His posture was relaxed.
Almost casual.
But the **killing intent** rolling off him was suffocating.
It wasn't wild.
It wasn't explosive.
It was **cold**.
Dense.
Like a blade pressed against the throat of the world.
He looked at them.
Really looked.
And spoke.
"I'm only going to say this once," he said calmly. Casually. Almost politely.
The forest seemed to hold its breath.
"Anyone that dares to step closer…"
His eye darkened.
"…will die."
The words were simple.
Unadorned.
But they landed like a death sentence.
Several knights **flinched**.
One swallowed audibly.
Another tightened his grip so hard his gauntlet creaked.
Elira's eyes narrowed, a flicker of unease crossing her expression despite herself.
The First Captain's jaw clenched.
The Second Captain's hand hovered closer to her blade.
The silence stretched.
Heavy.
Oppressive.