Alex's hands trembled at her sides.
For a moment, it seemed she might speak again—might force out whatever storm churned behind her eyes.
She didn't.
Her jaw tightened instead, emotion sealing itself behind rigid restraint.
Then she turned—
And ran.
Her boots struck the polished stone of the balcony, the sharp rhythm echoing once before shifting to the hollow thud of wood as she crossed into the corridor beyond. The sound faded quickly, swallowed by the vast corridors of the forest palace.
"Alex—" Isaac called after her.
But she did not slow.
He remained where he stood, staring at the space she had vacated, as though something lingered there.
Then, slowly, he turned toward Ellen Nyxia.
"…Mother."
The word was quiet. Not accusatory.
Not gentle, either.
Just heavy.
Ellen did not look at him.
Her gaze remained fixed upon the moon.
Its pale silver light washed over her features, over the elegant curve of her night-blue horns—dark and luminous, like fragments of a star-drowned sky given form.
"She is young," Isaac said carefully. "And she cares."
"She is impulsive," Ellen corrected, her tone calm and unhurried.
Isaac's eyes narrowed slightly.
"They are her blood."
"And mine."
That gave him pause.
Silence stretched between them, taut as a drawn bowstring.
Far below, the forest whispered in the wind, leaves rustling like distant voices.
"She believes you are doing nothing," Isaac said at last.
Ellen's expression did not shift.
"Belief and truth are rarely the same."
Isaac studied her profile—the composed stillness, the discipline held so tightly it might have been mistaken for indifference.
"You saw something."
It was not a question.
Ellen's silver eyes moved at last, catching the moonlight like polished steel.
"I saw inevitability," she replied.
Isaac's jaw tightened.
"And if inevitability leads to their deaths?"
This time, she turned her head just enough for him to see her gaze clearly.
"If he cannot survive this," she said evenly, "then he was never meant to sit upon anything." A faint pause followed. "So be it."
The words were cold.
But not careless.
Isaac held her stare for a long moment, searching for something beneath the frost.
"…You're testing him."
The faintest flicker—so subtle it might have been imagined—passed through her eyes. Not denial.
Almost approval.
"The world is," she corrected.
Isaac exhaled slowly.
He inclined his head in a small bow.
"…Mother."
Then he turned and walked in the direction Alex had gone.
His steps were controlled—
But faster than usual.
Ellen remained alone upon the balcony.
Moonlight painted her in silver.
Her horns caught the glow, appearing like pieces of the night sky carved into elegant arcs.
She lifted her gaze slightly higher, toward the vastness above.
For a brief moment—
Just a brief one—
Her fingers curled against the balcony railing.
Softly, almost too faint to hear, she murmured into the night.
"Survive, child."
The forest did not answer.
The moon simply watched.
News traveled swiftly.
Within days, the Holy Empire formally retracted its accusations against the Night Elves. The proclamation spread from the ivory towers of the imperial capital to the furthest vassal states, carried by heralds, magic relays, and rumor alike.
But the bounty remained.
And in the eastern territories of the Kingdom of Valtheris, three figures cut through the night sky like streaks of silver.
Aldric.
Lyriana.
Vaelith.
They moved in silence, mana woven seamlessly beneath their feet, forming invisible platforms that carried them forward without falter. The wind bent around them as though unwilling to obstruct their passage.
Below—
A blur raced through the forest.
Draven.
Bow in hand.
He stood amid the shattered remains of three Stone Goblins—E-rank monsters whose granite-like skin now lay split cleanly apart. Their skulls had been cracked with surgical precision, revealing dull red magic stones embedded within like malformed hearts.
Without ceremony, Draven crouched.
He tore the stones free.
One he tossed casually into the air.
A small head emerged from the collar of his cloak—sleek, feline, eyes gleaming with sharp intelligence. The cat snapped the stone midair and swallowed it whole with a satisfied flick of its tail before retreating again.
Draven did not spare it a glance.
The remaining two stones—
He placed them in his mouth.
Mana erupted inside him.
It burned.
It tore.
It folded in on itself like a collapsing star.
His jaw clenched as veins rose faintly along his neck. The energy raged violently through his channels, wild and destructive. But he did not allow it to scatter.
He forced it inward.
Compressed it.
Bent it.
Folded it over and over again until it no longer surged chaotically but obeyed.
Pain still existed.
But it no longer ruled him.
For nearly a week, this had been his existence.
Four nights of relentless travel.
They moved only when the sun set.
They hid when it rose.
Since leaving the border town of Grayhaven, they had passed through five towns and three cities without stopping once.
No rest beyond absolute necessity.
No delays.
No attachments.
Draven exhaled slowly.
When the folding stabilized, he released a thin strand of mana and directed it into his legs.
His body grew lighter.
Muscles tightened, coiling like drawn wire.
The ground beneath him cracked—
And he launched forward.
Wind tore past him as he burst through the forest, trees blurring into streaks of shadow. Each step shattered earth and stone alike, propelling him faster, harder, until he matched the pace of the three figures above.
He did not fall behind.
He would not.
Then—
The three ahead slowed.
And stopped.
They hovered several feet above the ground, motionless.
Draven shot forward one last time before abruptly braking. His boots dug into the soil, carving shallow trenches as he came to a controlled halt beneath them.
He looked up.
"Why stop?"
Vaelith's expression remained composed.
Lyriana's eyes narrowed slightly, sharp and calculating.
Aldric hovered with arms crossed, gaze fixed forward.
The forest ahead was different.
Quieter.
The wind no longer moved as it should. The leaves did not sway naturally.
Even the insects had fallen silent.
Aldric tilted his head faintly.
"…We're not alone."
Lyriana's attention shifted toward the treeline ahead, her senses probing the unseen.
"There's a barrier," she said quietly.
Subtle.
Carefully concealed.
But unmistakable once felt.
Vaelith spoke in a low, measured tone.
"A hidden formation."
Draven's eyes sharpened instantly.
His grip tightened around his bow.
"…Humans?"
Aldric's lips curved faintly, though there was no humor in it.
"Not certain."
The night seemed to hold its breath.
And somewhere beyond the trees—