Draven snarled, low and feral.
"Fuck all of you."
*Bastards.*
The mana around him shuddered—ragged strands whipping through the air like torn veins.
"Stop lookin' at me like I'm some damn experiment."
His claws dug into the earth as his thoughts spiraled, teeth clenched so hard that blood streamed from the corners of his mouth.
Focus.
From Elira's memories, the image was clear.
A mana circle—clean, stable.
A mana star—interlocking lines, rotation, balance.
Elegant. Controlled. Human.
He tried.
The pattern formed for a heartbeat—a mana heart—
—and collapsed.
Pain detonated in his chest. Mana surged violently, rejecting the structure, shredding the construct from the inside out.
Again.
He forced it back together, sweat and blood pouring down his face.
Another failure.
The star twisted, lines snapping, mana exploding outward like a ruptured organ.
"Gah—!"
Draven coughed, blood spraying into the dirt as his vision blurred.
Why isn't it working?
I know this— I've used this— I've seen it—
His thoughts slammed into the truth like a wall.
Those formations were learned.
They assumed a pool.
They assumed a center.
But inside him—
There was no center.
No reservoir.
No calm sea of mana waiting to be shaped.
It wasn't circulating.
It was alive.
A roaring flood tearing through his veins, his bones, his shadow—everywhere at once.
Damn it…
He growled through clenched teeth, his body shaking.
"I'm not human," he muttered bitterly.
"So I need to stop tryin' to do this like one."
The mana surged again, violent and unrestrained—
—but this time, Draven didn't force it into a circle.
He let his blood feel it.
Not shape it.
Not contain it.
But bind it.
Like muscle learning tension.
Like bone learning weight.
Like blood remembering how to clot instead of spill.
The pain didn't stop.
But it changed.
Less tearing.
More pressure.
More density.
The ground beneath him cracked deeper as the mana began to anchor—not in a pool, not in a star—
—but in him.
The others watched in stunned silence.
And in the darkness, the black cat's purple eyes gleamed—
its tail swaying slowly—
The forest had gone unnaturally quiet.
The violent pressure that had crushed the air moments ago was gone—no more shrieking mana, no more trembling ground. Just a heavy, suffocating stillness.
Everyone felt it.
Aldric stared at Draven, eyes narrowed.
"…What did you do?"
Lyriana stepped forward instinctively, relief flashing across her face.
"Your Highness—were you able to—"
"No."
The maid cut her off sharply.
Her voice was calm, but something tight coiled beneath it.
"He didn't."
Lyriana froze. Aldric's brow furrowed.
The maid continued, eyes fixed on Draven's hunched form.
"The Lord did not create a mana pool. He did not stabilize it."
She paused.
"He forced it."
Aldric's eyes widened slightly.
"He compressed the mana—pushed it inward, folded it into itself. Again. And again. And again."
Her gaze sharpened.
"He created layers. Pressure upon pressure. A temporary seal—nothing more."
Aldric took a sharp breath.
"…What?"
He stepped forward, disbelief and anger twisting together.
"Are you out of your damn mind?"
He gestured sharply at Draven.
"Do you have any idea what you just did?"
Draven didn't look up. Blood still dripped from his chin, his breathing slow, controlled—forced.
Aldric clenched his fists.
"You didn't solve the problem. You made it worse."
His voice dropped.
"You just built a kill trigger inside your own body."
Lyriana turned sharply. "Aldric—"
"No," he snapped, never looking away.
"This isn't something you can sugarcoat."
He stared at Draven, jaw tight.
"You basically turned yourself into a living self-destruct."
"If you slip up even once—if you lose focus for a second—if you stop folding that mana—"
He swallowed.
"It's going to explode."
"From the inside out."
Silence fell.
The cat's tail stilled.
Aldric finished quietly, grim certainty threading his voice.
"There's no regeneration saving you from that."
"No healing."
"No second chance."
He exhaled sharply.
"You won't survive it."
Draven finally lifted his head.
His red eyes were steady.
Cold.
"…I know," he said.
The words weren't defiant.
They weren't careless.
They were resolved.
"I didn't do this to be safe," Draven continued, slowly pushing himself upright despite the faint tremor running through his body.
"I did it so I could move forward."
He looked down at his sleeping siblings behind the red barrier.
"If I don't keep it folded and let it keep ravaging," he said flatly,
"I might die—or I could just release it slowly, let it leak out."
A beat.
But no—
"If I do keep it folded, it stays,"
"I can keep it inside me, stop it from ravaging."
His gaze snapped back to Aldric.
"That's not stupidity."
"That's math."
No one spoke.
The maid lowered her head slightly—not in approval, not in protest—
—but in acknowledgment.
And somewhere deep inside Draven, the mana twisted, compressed tighter—
waiting.
Draven's breathing came out rough and uneven, each inhale scraping his chest like broken glass. Blood still slid down his arm, dripping from his fingertips into the forest floor.
The black cat had moved without anyone noticing.
It sat beside him now, its small body pressed against his leg, tongue rasping slowly against the blood on his arm—lick, lick—purple eyes fixed on him as if watching something far deeper than flesh.
The maid stepped closer, her voice low.
"My lord… are you alright?"
Draven didn't answer.
Lyriana swallowed, her gaze flicking between the blood, the cat, and the way Draven's body trembled almost imperceptibly.
"…By doing this," she said carefully, "Your Highness can no longer proceed using mana."
Aldric let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair.
"Yeah," he said grimly.
"That's exactly the problem."
He stepped forward, eyes locked on Draven.
"If that folding collapses even once, he's done."
"He can't use mana."
"Can't channel."
"Can't fight with it."
His jaw tightened.
"Because the moment he does, the structure breaks."
Aldric's voice dropped.
"He has to keep folding it."
"Nonstop."
Lyriana's eyes widened slightly.
"…Then resting—"
"Isn't an option," Aldric finished bluntly.
"Sleeping? Out."
"Losing focus? Dead."
"Even flinching at the wrong time could be enough."
The forest felt colder.
Draven finally laughed—low, hoarse, broken.
"So what?" he growled, blood slipping from the corner of his mouth.
He straightened a little, shoulders squaring despite the pain.
"Shut up y'all mouths and let me focus."
The cat paused mid-lick, then pressed its forehead against his arm, purring softly—an oddly deep sound for something so small.
The maid stared at the cat for half a second… then back at Draven.
"…My lord," she said slowly, choosing her words with care,
"if you must maintain this state continuously…"
She hesitated.
"…Then your will must never break."
Draven's eyes burned red.
"Shut up."
He looked down at his siblings, sleeping peacefully behind the barrier.
"I don't need pep talks," he said quietly.
"I need time."
Aldric clenched his teeth.
"…Damn it," he muttered.
Because for the first time since meeting him, Aldric realized something truly terrifying:
Draven wasn't gambling—
not with his life.
He couldn't die.
No matter what.