Draven didn't look at Aldric.
He stepped forward, one hand rising to his ear.
He removed one of his earrings.
The faint rune etched into it shimmered briefly in the dark.
He held it out toward Vaelith.
"You know how this works, right?"
"Yes, my lord."
Her answer was immediate.
The earring was a concealment artifact—not only to hide presence, but to suppress and distort the wearer's signature entirely. When infused with mana, it blurred identity itself. It could also be used for communication.
Draven placed it in her hand.
"Activate it. Keep your presence lower than theirs. If anything happens—"
His eyes flicked briefly to his siblings in her arms.
The night air pressed heavy around them.
Draven stepped closer to Vaelith, lifting the earring toward her ear.
"We'll use it to stay in touch."
Vaelith bowed her head slightly, exposing the curve of her ear without hesitation.
"My lord trusts me…" she murmured softly. "I will ensure no harm befalls the young master or young miss."
Draven didn't respond to the devotion in her voice.
Instead—
He pressed the sharpened end of the earring straight through her ear.
A soft tearing sound.
Blood welled instantly.
Vaelith did not flinch.
He slid the artifact into place, fastening it firmly as crimson trailed down her pale neck.
His fingers withdrew slowly, stained red.
His eyes lifted to meet hers.
They gleamed—not warm, not grateful.
Sharp.
Predatory.
"Don't get ahead of yourself."
His voice dropped lower.
"You'd better make sure of that."
The air around him thinned, killing intent brushing the edges of the trees.
"If they so much as get a scratch…"
His stare did not waver.
"I'll make sure you beg for death."
A pause.
"But it won't come."
Silence.
Vaelith bowed deeper, blood still slipping down her skin.
"As you command… my lord."
Draven turned away without another word.
He extended his blood-stained hand toward Lyriana.
"Hand it over."
Lyriana hesitated.
Aldric's jaw tightened slightly as he glanced at Draven.
"What?"
Draven didn't look at him.
His tone remained calm.
"My bow."
A beat passed.
"I appreciate you holding onto it. But don't you think it's about time?"
A flicker of annoyance crossed Aldric's face before smoothing out.
He stepped toward Lyriana.
She reached into the small storage bag at her side and withdrew it.
The bow unfolded as it left the compressed space, its wooden frame catching the moonlight.
Aldric took it from her and walked forward.
He extended it toward Draven.
"Here you go."
Draven accepted it without ceremony.
The wood felt familiar in his hand—balanced, steady.
His blood smeared faintly across the grip.
He glanced down at it once… then lifted his gaze toward the dark stretch of land beyond the town.
The concealment artifacts hummed softly as they activated.
Vaelith's presence dulled.
Aldric's signature blurred.
Lyriana's aura shifted.
Draven rolled his shoulder once, the folded mana inside him turning, compressing, grinding against itself like a restrained storm.
"At dawn," he had said.
But they would not wait for dawn to be ready.
Draven lifted the bow and clamped it between his teeth.
The polished wood pressed against his jaw as he raised his hands and dragged his black gloves tight—one, then the other. The leather slid into place with a quiet snap.
His voice came muffled, but steady.
"We're moving fast."
He lowered the bow into his grip.
"We won't be stopping like this again. You'll fly. I'll run."
The mana inside him folded and refolded—a violent storm forced into rotation.
"I'll try to keep up."
A beat.
His eyes hardened.
"No… I will keep up."
Aldric exhaled through his nose.
"You know," he said lazily, "I mentioned flying before. But no one ever listens to me."
His fingers snapped.
Something small flashed through the air.
Draven caught it cleanly without looking away.
A ring.
He glanced down at it.
Aldric lifted his own hand, revealing the ring he had already slipped on. Mana flowed into it, and his features shifted smoothly—hair darkening, eyes dulling, the sharp aristocratic lines of his face softening into something utterly forgettable.
"It's a magic item," Aldric continued. "Changes your appearance. Same kind we used when sneaking in."
His gaze sharpened.
"If you walk around looking like that, any bastard with eyes will recognize you instantly. Your face is everywhere. Broadcasts. Bounties. Posters."
Draven said nothing.
He slid the ring onto his finger.
A thin strand of mana peeled away from the tightly folded mass inside him and flowed into the artifact.
It activated.
His skin lightened.
His hair shifted in color and length.
His eyes lost their unnatural depth, turning ordinary.
Even the subtle pressure of his presence flattened and dispersed.
A stranger now stood where the Demon King's son had been.
Aldric studied him for a moment, then nodded.
"There. Now you could stand in front of those empire bastards and they wouldn't recognize you."
Draven flexed his fingers.
The pain was still there.
The storm was still turning.
But his face—
Was no longer the one they were hunting.
Night wind brushed past them.
"Let's move."
They slipped back out the way they came—through the rear door, across the yard, shadows swallowing their movements. Before stepping over the threshold, Aldric paused and turned toward the quiet house.
He placed a hand over his chest dramatically.
"Wonderful service," he said softly. "Truly. I actually felt at home."
He glanced toward the kitchen.
"The food wasn't bad either. I would've paid… but unfortunately, I'm currently bankrupt."
He sighed.
"So I'll put it on credit. If we ever meet again, I'll repay the favor."
Lyriana walked past him.
"Can you stop with the nonsense already?"
Aldric smirked and followed.
They moved between buildings, slipping from shadow to shadow, scaling walls without a sound. In one smooth motion, they cleared the town's outer wall.
The moment their boots left the stone—
All three lifted into the air.
Aldric and Lyriana rose smoothly. Vaelith followed, holding the twins securely.
Aldric glanced back.
"Well then," he called lightly, "try to keep up."
Behind them—
Draven did not slow.
Mana folded violently inside him. He tore a strand free and forced it into his legs.
The ground cracked beneath his step.
He burst forward.
Wind tore past him as he shot through the trees—a black streak ripping across the forest floor. Branches splintered. Leaves exploded outward in his wake.
Perched atop his head, the cat's eyes widened.
The wind struck like a wall.
It slipped—
Knocked clean off.
But before it could fall more than a few feet—
Draven's arm snapped out without breaking stride.
He caught it midair by the scruff.
His speed never faltered.
"I won't catch you next time," he muttered.
He shoved the cat inside his clothes, tucking it against his chest.
The cat squirmed once—
Then stilled.
A moment later, its tiny head pushed out through the collar of his shirt, ears flattened as the wind battered its face.
They blurred through the forest.
Above, three figures carved through the night sky.
Below, one tore across the earth itself.
And Draven kept accelerating.