The forest did not move.
That was the first thing Draven noticed.
No wind stirred the leaves.
No distant calls of nocturnal creatures.
Even the air felt… dense.
Compressed.
As if the world itself were holding its breath.
Aldric descended slowly until his boots hovered inches above the ground. His eyes swept the treeline, sharp and calculating.
"It's layered," he murmured. "Not just concealment. Suppression, too."
Lyriana closed her eyes and extended her senses with careful precision. A thin ripple of mana flowed outward from her core—delicate, controlled.
It snapped back violently.
Her eyes opened, narrowing.
"They're masking signatures," she said quietly. "Whoever is inside doesn't want to be detected."
Vaelith's voice remained smooth, composed. "And they are highly skilled."
Draven said nothing.
He stepped forward.
The moment his foot crossed an unseen threshold—
A faint shimmer rippled across the air.
Like glass disturbed by falling water.
There it was.
A dome.
Nearly invisible.
Seamlessly woven into the night.
Draven studied it for a long moment before lifting his hand. A thin strand of folded mana slipped from his core, coiling along his fingers like black smoke.
He pressed it gently against the barrier.
The reaction was immediate.
The surface vibrated.
A low hum resonated outward—but instead of repelling him—
It absorbed.
Aldric's brows rose slightly. "Oh?"
Draven felt it.
The barrier wasn't attacking.
It was analyzing.
Testing.
The mana he fed into it spread across its surface like oil across water, searching, probing—seeking structure.
Then—
A small section flickered.
A perfect circular opening formed soundlessly in the air.
Lyriana inhaled softly. "…It responded to you."
Draven withdrew his hand.
The opening remained.
No alarms.
No surge of hostile mana.
No retaliatory force.
Just a silent invitation.
Aldric glanced at him sidelong. "That's either very good… or very bad."
Draven's expression did not change.
"If it were a trap," he said calmly, "it would have triggered already."
Vaelith inclined her head slightly. "Agreed."
Her voice lowered, thoughtful.
"It did not respond to the Lord himself," she continued. "It responded to his mana."
Aldric looked at her.
Vaelith's crimson gaze remained fixed on the faint shimmer still fading in the air.
"His mana is unrefined. Untempered. The barrier is designed to repel structured signatures—formed cores, stabilized pools, disciplined flows. His…" she paused briefly, searching for the right word, "…moves like loose atmospheric mana. Like wind."
Lyriana nodded faintly in understanding.
"That's why it opened. It didn't register him as an intruder. It registered him as ambient."
Aldric gave a soft snort.
"So in simple terms," he drawled lazily, "he's too messy to be stopped."
He tilted his head slightly toward Draven.
"With the bomb he's carrying inside him, he could probably blast through half the barriers in this kingdom anyway. Question is whether he survives doing it."
He shrugged.
"Depends on the construction. Some barriers shatter outward. Some implode inward. Some reflect the force back at the source."
Draven offered no response.
From within the opening, a faint glow radiated outward.
Not firelight.
Not torchlight.
Mana-light.
Stable.
Refined.
Civilized.
Draven stepped forward without hesitation.
Aldric exhaled softly. "Of course he would."
Lyriana and Vaelith followed as they passed through the opening.
The moment they crossed—
The forest changed.
The suffocating silence vanished.
Before them stretched a hidden clearing deep within the woods.
Stone structures rose from the earth.
Carved pillars etched with intricate runes.
Softly glowing lanterns suspended in midair, their light steady and deliberate.
And figures.
Several of them.
Robed.
Still.
Watching.
Humans.
But not soldiers.
Not scouts.
Mages.
At the center of the clearing, they gathered around a stone platform carved with dark, pulsing sigils. Candles floated above it, black smoke spiraling upward in slow, disciplined streams.
Aldric's lips curled faintly.
Draven spoke at the same time.
"Cultists."
"Black mages."
They paused, glancing at one another briefly.
Draven looked away first.
"…Annoying," he muttered. "Of all things to stumble upon."
The robed figures hadn't noticed them.
The barrier hadn't flared.
No alarm had been triggered.
They were too absorbed in their ritual—mana feeding steadily into the carved stone at the center, the air vibrating with controlled incantations.
Draven turned slightly.
"Vaelith."
She stepped forward instantly.
"Yes, my lord."
"We're not here for this," he said flatly. "Move. If anyone gets in the way—eliminate them."
Her crimson eyes sharpened.
"As you command."
Aldric clicked his tongue and turned as well.
"Lyriana. No wasting time on idiots like these."
Lyriana gave a small nod, already shifting her stance.
They changed direction—not toward the ritual—
But past it.
Fast.
Silent.
Draven released a thin thread of mana into his legs and burst forward, body low and controlled, barely disturbing the air.
One of the robed figures stiffened.
"…Did you feel—"
Too late.
Vaelith appeared behind him.
A single precise strike.
He collapsed without a sound.
No flare of mana.
No scream.
They did not slow.
Aldric moved like living shadow, slipping between lantern light and darkness. Another robed figure fell before his mind could register movement.
Lyriana's blade flashed once—clean, efficient.
Draven did not look back.
They were not worth the attention.
By the time the remaining black mages realized something was wrong, three of their number already lay motionless on the ground.
One turned, eyes widening—
And met Draven's gaze.
Cold.
Disinterested.
Draven passed him without breaking stride.
The pressure alone—killing intent compressed and perfectly controlled—froze the man where he stood, breath locked in his throat.
They crossed the clearing in seconds.
Behind them, chaos erupted too late.
"INTRUDERS—!"
Aldric's voice drifted lazily through the night as he moved.
"Told you. Morons."
The forest swallowed the group once more.
And behind them, the barrier shimmered faintly—
Undisturbed.