Draven exhaled slowly, the pain still crawling beneath his skin like shards of broken glass.
"We're moving," he said flatly. "I've wasted enough time."
He turned toward where his siblings lay, wrapped in blankets beneath the red barrier. The cat padded after him, silent as a shadow. Draven stopped in front of the barrier and looked at the maid.
She didn't need to be told twice.
The barrier dissolved, the crimson light fading like dying embers. Draven knelt and carefully lifted his siblings, adjusting them with practiced ease so neither stirred in their sleep.
The cat hopped closer, peered into the blankets, then—without the slightest hesitation—climbed in.
Draven paused, staring at it.
The cat stared back.
For a brief moment, they locked eyes.
"…Tch."
He ignored it and stood.
As he straightened, the cat shifted, climbing with him. One paw, then another—tail flicking lazily—until it settled squarely atop his head.
Draven froze.
Everyone else froze too.
Slowly, he lifted his eyes, crossing them just enough to catch black fur at the edge of his vision.
"…You've got some balls," he muttered.
The cat didn't move. It simply stood there, balanced perfectly, purple eyes calm—almost smug.
Draven frowned.
"Don't piss me off," he said quietly. "I'm still deciding whether to throw you."
The cat's tail flicked once.
Draven clicked his tongue, adjusted his grip on his siblings, and turned away.
"…Whatever. Don't fall."
He took a step forward—then stopped.
"If you do," he added flatly, eyes fixed ahead, "I'm leaving. I won't even think about coming back to pick you up."
The cat didn't react. It remained perched on his head as if it had always belonged there.
They were just about to move when Aldric spoke, his voice sharp.
"Is that really your decision?" he asked. "You're going to carry them yourself? You know what you are right now, right? A walking explosion."
Draven halted.
Aldric's jaw tightened. "If that thing inside you goes off, you don't just die. You take everything around you with you. You really want to drag them along when you explode?"
Silence fell.
Draven slowly turned his head and looked at Aldric. His eyes were calm—too calm.
"I have no intention of dying," he said.
Then he shifted his arms slightly, instinctively shielding the sleeping babies against his chest.
"And if I do explode," he continued, his voice low and absolute, "I'll make damn sure not a single scratch reaches them."
Aldric stared at him.
There was no hesitation. No bravado.
Only certainty.
"…Tch," Aldric muttered, looking away.
The cat's tail flicked once, as if in agreement.
Draven turned back toward the forest.
"Move."
He went first, without hesitation.
The maid followed immediately, her presence silent and steady. Their figures slipped through the forest like shadows.
Lyriana took a step to follow—
"A moment," Aldric said, stepping in front of her.
She paused.
"Let them get farther ahead," Aldric said quietly. "We keep our distance. If he explodes… we don't get caught in it."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't joke.
It was a calculation.
Lyriana stared at him for a long second, her expression unreadable.
Then she turned, walked past him—and followed.
Aldric's teeth ground together.
"This is getting crazy," he muttered under his breath. "Listen to me, Lyriana—"
She didn't answer.
Ahead of them, Draven kept moving, his pace unchanging, his arms steady around the sleeping twins. Mana still crawled beneath his skin like a restrained storm, pain threading through every step—but his grip never loosened.
Draven pushed mana through his body.
Not gently.
Not carefully.
He **forced** it.
The folded mana unraveled just enough to flood his limbs, threads lacing through muscle and bone. Pain spiked instantly—white-hot, tearing—but his body responded.
The forest blurred.
Each step carried him farther than the last. Branches cracked beneath his feet as he launched from tree to tree with brutal precision. Wind tore past him, hair snapping violently as he moved faster—much faster—than before.
Blood slid from the corner of his mouth. He licked it away without slowing.
Behind him, Aldric's eyes widened.
"…He's accelerating," he muttered.
Lyriana clenched her fists. "He's using mana like fuel."
Aldric corrected grimly. "He's burning himself."
Draven didn't care.
Every heartbeat felt like a blade carving through his chest, mana grinding against itself inside him, threatening to break loose—but he held it. Folded it. Forced it to obey.
The twins slept on, unaware, shielded by his arms and his will alone. The cat clung to his head, fur flattened by the wind, purple eyes gleaming with something close to amusement.
Draven's gaze stayed locked forward.
If speed meant pain—
Then he'd take the pain.
Three days later—
**The Imperial Capital – Lumenia**
*The Radiant Capital of the Holy Empire of Lumina Sancta*
Silence blanketed the capital.
Not a single bell rang.
Not a single cheer rose.
The empire mourned in white.
From the lowest street to the highest spire, the city was draped in pale cloth. Long banners of white silk hung from balconies and towers alike, fluttering softly in the stagnant air. Citizens filled the avenues leading toward the **Hall of Radiance**, every one of them clad in white garments—no gold trim, no color, no ornamentation of any kind. Even the knights had removed their crests, their armor stripped bare of insignia, polished only to dull reflection.
Inside the grand hall, light poured down from the vast domed ceiling, refracted through sacred stained glass. It bathed the chamber in a soft, sorrowful glow—radiance tempered by grief.
Rows upon rows of people stood in absolute silence.
At the front of the hall, beneath towering statues of saints long dead, the high clergy had gathered. The **Pontifex of Radiance** stepped forward, his staff striking the marble floor once as he began to speak.
The sound echoed through the hall.
His voice followed—measured, solemn.
He spoke of duty.
Of sacrifice.
Of light standing firm against encroaching darkness.
Then he spoke the names of the fallen—one by one.
With each name, a faint glow ignited along the walls.