The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
Draven lay still with his eyes closed, the steady rhythm of folding mana continuing deep within him. It never stopped. Not once. Every second was controlled pressure—compress, fold, rotate, contain.
Hours passed.
The light beyond the curtains shifted from harsh gold to a softer, burning orange. Evening approached—but the sun still lingered.
Still dangerous.
Draven's eyes snapped open.
"…Fuck this."
His jaw tightened.
He had been lying there for hours. Not sleeping. Not resting. Just enduring.
The bed was soft.
The air was still.
His siblings were warm against his chest.
It felt… comfortable.
Too comfortable.
"I can't take this," he muttered under his breath.
Comfort dulled the edge.
And he could not afford dullness.
He shifted carefully, sitting up without jostling Elenya and Lucifer. The mana inside him reacted instantly to the change in posture—tightening, rippling—but he adjusted, folding it again with practiced precision.
Lucifer blinked awake first.
Elenya followed a heartbeat later, tiny fingers curling into Draven's shirt.
Draven rose to his feet.
Barefoot against the wooden floor.
The cat that had been curled beside him lifted its head lazily as he moved.
"Don't look at me like that," Draven said flatly. "We're not staying still."
The cat flicked its tail.
Draven crossed to the window and shifted the curtain just enough to peer outside.
The sun was still up.
He clicked his tongue.
"…Tch."
He couldn't move through the city yet. Not in daylight. Not safely.
But sitting idle wasn't an option.
The mana within him pulsed—restless. It had grown steadier through relentless folding, but beneath the surface it remained raw, unstable.
If he relaxed too much…
If he grew used to comfort…
He might slip.
And slipping meant death.
For him.
For them.
He looked down at the babies in his arms.
Lucifer stared up at him calmly.
Elenya reached for his chin.
Draven exhaled slowly.
"…We're training."
The words were quiet. Decisive.
He turned toward the center of the room, adjusting his hold so both children were secure against him.
"Since we're stuck here," he muttered, "we might as well make use of it."
He closed his eyes again—but not to endure.
To focus.
The folding inside him shifted. Instead of constant compression, he began experimenting.
Layering.
He folded the mana inward—then carefully peeled a thin strand from the surface rotation.
Pain flared instantly.
His jaw clenched.
A trace of blood welled at the corner of his lip.
"…Good," he breathed.
That meant he was pushing the boundary.
He guided the thin strand down his arm—slowly, carefully—coating his forearm in a faint shimmer.
The air around him tightened.
Lucifer's eyes widened.
Elenya giggled.
Draven glanced down at them.
"Watch," he said quietly.
He tightened his fist.
The mana flared—controlled, sharp.
Not explosive.
Not chaotic.
Focused.
He held it for three seconds.
Four.
Five—
A violent spike of pain shot through his chest as the folded core destabilized for a fraction of a second.
His vision flickered.
He immediately reinforced the rotation, compressing the folded mass tighter until it stabilized once more.
He exhaled slowly.
Sweat beaded along his brow.
"…Still unstable."
But better.
Much better.
He studied his hand.
The mana was thinner now.
But smoother.
More obedient.
A faint smirk curved his lips.
"I don't need to move," he murmured.
"I'll get stronger right here."
Outside, the sun dipped lower.
Inside the quiet bedroom, Draven stood barefoot on the wooden floor, siblings in his arms, mana rotating within him like a restrained storm.
No rest.
No comfort.
Only progress.
The world had placed a price on his head.
And he intended to make that price far too cheap.
---
Time passed in silence.
The orange glow outside faded toward dusk.
Draven remained in the center of the room.
Folding.
Releasing.
Refining.
Again.
Again.
Again.
An hour and a half later—
He stopped.
His breathing was heavy but measured. Sweat clung to his skin. The pressure inside him had smoothed slightly, the folding tighter and cleaner than before.
Not stable.
But better.
He exhaled.
"…Enough."
Lucifer shifted in his arms. Elenya made a small sound of complaint.
Draven glanced down at them.
"Yeah," he muttered. "You two need to eat."
The cat, sprawled lazily on the bed, lifted its head as he moved.
Draven adjusted both babies and walked toward the door.
The cat jumped down and padded after him.
The moment he stepped into the hallway, Vaelith was already there—silent as ever.
"My lord," she said softly.
Draven didn't slow.
"Get their meal."
"At once."
She turned immediately, moving ahead of him.
Draven descended the stairs without hesitation, mana still faintly wrapped around him like a thin veil. Not flaring—just present.
Controlled.
The cat trotted behind him, tail swaying.
They entered the living room.
Aldric was still sprawled across the couch—one leg thrown over the armrest, another drink in his hand. The television flickered with muted news reports and scrolling text.
Lyriana stood near the window, arms crossed, her gaze distant.
Both looked up as Draven entered.
Aldric's eyes swept over him.
"…You've been at it the whole time, haven't you?"
Draven didn't answer.
He walked past them and sat in a chair opposite the couch, his siblings resting securely in his arms.
Lyriana stepped closer, studying him.
"The mana…" she murmured. "It's smoother."
Draven gave a brief nod.
"Learning it."
Aldric let out a quiet scoff.
"Learning it while it tries to kill you. Sure."
Draven leaned back slightly, adjusting Elenya as she tried to climb higher against his chest.
"I don't exactly have a choice."
Silence settled over the room.
The air felt different now.
Heavier.
Outside, the sky darkened further.
Vaelith returned shortly after, carrying two small cups filled with dark red liquid.
She approached quietly and knelt before Draven.
"My lord."
He looked down at the cups.
This time, there was no hesitation.
He shifted Lucifer first, bringing the cup carefully to the child's lips.
Lucifer latched instinctively.
Elenya followed soon after.
The room fell quiet once more—save for the faint sounds of feeding and the distant hum of the television.
Aldric watched for a moment before speaking.
"So," he said casually, though his eyes remained sharp, "we're staying until full night?"
Draven nodded once.
"We move after."
Lyriana's gaze hardened.
"They'll increase once word spreads further."
"Let them," Draven replied calmly.
No emotion.
No fear.
Only certainty.