Draven's breathing slowed—ragged at first, then steadier. Each inhale became measured. Each exhale forced through clenched teeth.
He stopped listening.
Their voices faded into background noise, drowned out by the pain—that constant, tearing pressure inside him, as if his veins were packed with burning glass. It still hurt like hell. That hadn't changed.
But something else did.
If I release just a little…
The folding continued—tight, relentless—mana crushed in on itself again and again, a sealed storm straining against its own containment. And then, carefully—deliberately—Draven let a thread slip free.
The effect was instant.
His body lurched forward as pain detonated through him, sharp enough to steal his breath. Blood splattered onto the ground as his knees slammed into the earth.
But his mind stayed clear.
This much…
I can force this much under control.
He didn't let the flow expand. Didn't let it run.
He grabbed that tiny leak of mana and bent it to his will—raw, violent, resisting—and wrapped it around his hand.
A thin, distorted layer formed over his skin.
Not glowing.
Not elegant.
It looked compressed—jagged, warped—like the air itself had been crushed into shape.
The pain didn't stop.
But it stabilized.
Draven pushed further.
The controlled mana spread from his hand, crawling up his arm, across his shoulder, down his torso—until a faint, unstable shroud coated his entire body.
It wasn't much.
But it was his.
The forest went silent.
Aldric froze mid-step, eyes wide.
"…You're kidding."
Lyriana stared, breath caught in her throat.
"…He's using it."
The maid's pupils shrank.
"…No," she whispered.
"He's not using it."
She looked at Draven like she was seeing something that shouldn't exist.
"He's bleeding mana on purpose… and enslaving what escapes."
Draven straightened slowly, blood still dripping, red eyes steady.
His voice was low, rough—but calm.
"This is the limit," he said.
"If I go any further, I might lose control."
The mana around him flickered—unstable, barely contained.
"But this much…"
His hand clenched. The air warped audibly.
"…will do."
The cat's tail flicked once.
Purple eyes gleamed.
And for the first time, the thing looked at Draven not like food—
—but like a master who had finally learned how to hold a leash.
Draven straightened completely, shoulders rolling back as the thin, violent veil of mana clung to him like a second skin. It wasn't stable. It wasn't natural. It hurt—every second, every breath—like his body was being peeled apart from the inside.
But he was standing.
He looked at his hand and flexed his fingers. The mana rippled—jagged, compressed.
"…It hurts," Draven said flatly.
"Every second."
His red eyes lifted to the others.
"But I can use mana now."
Aldric stared at him like he'd lost his damn mind.
"…That's insane," Aldric snapped. "Do you even hear yourself? By doing that, the pain will never stop. Not while you're using it."
He stepped closer, voice sharp—urgent.
"And don't call this using mana. This isn't casting. This isn't channeling. This is you tearing yourself apart and forcing what leaks out to behave. One wrong move—one slip—and instead of using mana, you'll explode."
Lyriana swallowed, eyes fixed on the distorted aura.
"…He's right. Your Highness, this is beyond dangerous."
The maid didn't speak. She already understood.
Draven exhaled slowly through his nose. The mana around him trembled—but didn't break.
"Think I don't know that."
He lifted his gaze, cold and unwavering.
"That's why I won't slip."
He took a step forward. The ground beneath his foot cracked faintly.
"I don't need safe," he continued. "I don't need elegant. I don't need something that looks pretty to other people."
His jaw tightened as another surge of pain tore through him—but he didn't flinch.
"I need power. And now."
He glanced toward where his siblings slept behind the barrier, then back at the others.
"If this is the price," he said quietly,
"then I'll pay it every second."
The mana shuddered—then tightened around him, sharper, denser.
Aldric clenched his fists.
"…You're walking around with a bomb in your chest."
Draven met his stare.
The maid inhaled softly, eyes never leaving the distorted flow surrounding Draven.
"…My lord," she said carefully, "even though you are keeping it under control, the mana is still ravaging you. Folding it endlessly will slow the destruction, yes—but if it remains like this long enough…"
She hesitated, choosing her words with care.
"…what is ravaging you may also be reshaped. Forced. Compressed. It may not return to what mana normally is—but it could… become something."
"—A mana pool."
Lyriana cut her off sharply.
The words landed heavy.
Aldric's eyes widened slightly. "A… mana pool? That's impossible. You're born with one."
Lyriana shook her head, still staring at Draven like she was seeing him for the first time.
"Born with one," she agreed. "Naturally formed. Stable. Safe. Yes."
Then she exhaled.
"But this?" She gestured toward the twisted aura. "This isn't natural mana. This is mana being crushed into obedience."
She stepped closer, voice low, precise.
"If he keeps folding it—compressing it—forcing it to circulate instead of explode… it won't disperse forever. It will look for a place to settle."
Her gaze dropped to Draven's chest.
"And if there is no pool," she continued, "it will carve one."
Silence.
Aldric sucked in a sharp breath. "That's not a mana pool. That's… that's self-induced formation. No framework. No safety lattice."
He looked at Draven.
"You'd be letting mana rip open a container inside you and hoping it stabilizes."
"…And if it doesn't?" he asked.
Lyriana didn't look away.
"Then his body fails before the mana does."
The mana around Draven pulsed—then tightened again as he folded it inward.
"But if it works," she continued,
"then what he'll get won't be a borrowed mana pool."
The air vibrated.
"It will be one that was forged."