They did not stop.
The forest blurred into a constant stream of shadow and motion as Draven tore through it without pause, his feet barely touching branches before pushing off again. Tree after tree vanished beneath him, the world reduced to wind, leaves, and the steady, burning rhythm of mana folding endlessly inside his body.
Pain never left.
It was always there—grinding, tearing, demanding attention—but he ignored it.
In his arms, his siblings were awake now.
Lucifer lay quietly, red eyes tracking the rushing world with an eerie calm far beyond his age. Elenya, on the other hand, squirmed constantly, tiny fingers clutching at Draven's cloak, his collar, his hair. Above them all, the black cat sat perched on Draven's head like it owned the place, tail flicking lazily with every leap.
They had been moving like this for days.
No rest.
Only brief stops—just long enough to feed the babies.
Just long enough to kill.
Whenever a magical beast crossed their path—wolves, serpents, horned predators drawn by the scent of blood and mana—Draven ended them without hesitation. Fast. Clean. No wasted motion. The maid harvested the cores and stones immediately, placing the crimson crystals into Draven's waiting hand.
And Draven consumed them.
One after another.
Each time, mana surged violently, crashing against the invisible walls of his body like a flood battering a dam. And each time, he forced it down—folding it, compressing it, rotating it endlessly, again and again, never allowing it to settle.
The pain sharpened with every stone.
But so did his control.
Now, as he moved, faint strands of mana leaked from him continuously, wrapping around his limbs, reinforcing muscle and bone. His body moved faster, lighter—unnaturally so—yet every step felt like walking on shattered glass from the inside.
Elenya suddenly tugged hard at his hair.
Draven glanced down just in time to see her trying to climb up his chest, tiny hands grabbing fistfuls of white strands as she reached upward.
"Oi—"
She ignored him completely, stretching higher, eyes locked on the cat above. The cat glanced down lazily, purple eyes meeting hers, then flicked its tail directly into her face.
Elenya giggled.
She grabbed.
The cat hissed softly, swatting at her hand, claws carefully sheathed—but Elenya only laughed harder, managing to catch a handful of fur.
Draven clicked his tongue, tightening his hold slightly so she wouldn't slip.
"Don't pull," he muttered flatly. "If it drops, I'm not picking it up."
The cat, as if understanding perfectly, dug its claws lightly into Draven's hair and sat taller.
Lucifer watched the entire exchange in silence, red eyes wide and unblinking.
Behind them, the others followed.
The maid moved effortlessly, her pace smooth and silent. Lyriana kept close, her expression tense but determined. Aldric flew above the canopy whenever he could, mana flaring softly around him—always watching Draven's back, always watching his body for signs of collapse.
But Draven never slowed.
Not once.
Because stopping meant thinking.
And thinking meant remembering.
So he moved.
Through the forest.
Through the pain.
Through the world that had already put a price on his life—
Unaware that every step he took was carrying him closer to enemies who now knew his face.
Draven had lost count of how many trees he'd passed.
Not because there were too many—but because they were the only thing he'd seen.
Branches. Trunks. Shadows. Leaves blurring together into an endless stretch of green and black. Four days. Four days of nothing but forest, pain, motion, and the constant pressure of mana folding inside him like a coiled blade.
How big is this damn place…
He remembered the maid's estimate.
A week.
That had been before.
Before mana.
Before he turned himself into a moving furnace of barely contained power.
With the speed they were keeping now, there was no way it should still take that long.
Draven exhaled through his nose and glanced back without slowing.
"Hey," he said flatly, "how long till we get out of this damn forest?"
The maid kept pace easily, robes barely brushing the branches as she moved. Her voice was calm and steady, as if they were strolling rather than racing through a death zone.
"We have already shortened the journey considerably, my lord," she replied. "With your current speed, we should emerge from the forest very soon."
Draven's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Define very soon."
She inclined her head a fraction.
"Within the next day. Two at most."
Draven let out a sharp breath, irritation cutting through the constant ache in his body.
"How the hell is that any different from the week you said before?" he snapped without turning. "Do you even know what you're saying, or are you just guessing now?"
The maid didn't falter. Not even a step.
"My lord," she replied evenly, "the original estimate assumed ground movement, frequent rest, and no mana-assisted acceleration."
Her gaze flicked briefly to the faint, barely visible distortion around Draven's body—mana folding, leaking, obeying through sheer force of will.
"That estimate no longer applies."
A branch cracked beneath her foot as she continued, voice calm but precise.
"Before, it would have taken seven to eight days. Now, with your current pace, we have already passed what would have been the third day's distance."
She paused, then added without emotion,
"You are moving fast enough that even forest predators are no longer reacting in time."
Draven clicked his tongue.
"Tch."
So she did know what she was talking about.
He didn't apologize.
Instead, he muttered under his breath, half growl, half thought,
"Then say that from the start."
Elenya tugged at his hair again, reaching toward the cat. Lucifer stared wide-eyed at the rushing canopy above. The cat, balanced on Draven's head like it belonged there, didn't even flinch.
Draven adjusted his grip and surged forward again.
Good.
If the forest was almost done with them—
Then whatever waited outside had better be ready.