The cultist glanced back once.
"My lord."
Without another word, he bent his knees—
And lifted off the ground.
Mana flared across his form as he rose into the dim morning sky, robe snapping in the wind as he angled toward the forest ahead.
Lyriana sighed softly.
"Of course he can fly."
Aldric snorted.
"He's third circle. Barely controlled lift."
Still—
He pushed off the ground as well.
Wind spiraled around him as he ascended, far more stable than the cultist, his trajectory smooth and efficient.
Lyriana followed a breath later, her mana forming refined stepping points in the air—each step precise, elegant.
Vaelith adjusted the children carefully and rose last among them, crimson energy forming a quiet support beneath her.
Only one remained on the ground.
Draven.
He did not leap.
He did not flare his mana outward.
He walked.
At first.
Then—
The air around him thickened.
Not outward.
Inward.
The compressed mana within him folded once—
Twice—
Then released in a controlled downward pulse.
The earth beneath his feet cracked.
And he vanished upward.
Just a single, devastatingly efficient burst.
He rose beneath them—not drifting, not hovering—but ascending in measured intervals, each step in the air formed by precise density control.
Aldric glanced down briefly.
"…Show-off."
Draven said nothing.
His ascent was silent.
Controlled.
Heavy.
The cultist watched from ahead, awe flickering across his features.
No visible casting structure.
No chant.
No formation.
Just will.
They moved above the thinning mist of dawn, the forest canopy stretching below them like a dark sea.
The abandoned watchtower soon came into view—broken stone emerging from treetops, upper levels collapsed, vines reclaiming its sides.
The cultist descended first, landing lightly atop the remaining structure.
The others followed.
Draven touched down last.
No sound.
No wasted motion.
The morning sun crested the horizon fully now, golden light spilling across the land.
Draven's white hair caught it briefly—
Then stilled.
He looked toward the east.
The watchtower groaned softly as they entered.
Age had hollowed it out.
The upper half had collapsed inward years ago, leaving broken beams and scattered stone across the interior floor.
Vines crept through cracked walls.
Dust hung thick in the slanted morning light.
The cultist stepped forward carefully.
"The lower chamber is intact," he said. "It was once used for signal storage. It will shield fluctuations."
Aldric gave him a flat look.
"Everything with bastards is about shielding fluctuations."
"It keeps people alive," the cultist replied quietly.
Draven moved past them without comment.
He descended the narrow spiral stairs—half broken, but still usable—and entered the lower chamber.
Cool.
Enclosed.
Stone walls thick enough to dampen stray mana signatures.
Good.
Vaelith entered last, settling near the far wall with the children. Elenya blinked sleepily, the earlier chaos already forgotten, her tiny fingers gripping fabric.
Lyriana traced a brief inspection array along the wall, checking for lingering constructs.
"Nothing recent," she said. "This place has been abandoned."
Aldric leaned against a cracked pillar.
"So what's the plan?" he asked. "We rest until night, then cross the border quietly?"
Draven stood in the center of the chamber.
He closed his eyes.
Inside him, the compressed Abyssal mana pulsed once.
Forty percent.
It was stable.
But it wanted expansion.
He began folding again.
Slowly.
Refining what he had taken.
The cultist watched carefully.
"My lord," he said after a moment, "if we reach Dresvalle by the third night, we must avoid the upper districts. There are royal inspectors stationed near the guild quarter."
Draven did not open his eyes.
"We will not use the surface."
The cultist nodded quickly.
"There is a drainage channel connected to the aqueduct base. It has been sealed publicly, but the inner passage remains accessible."
Aldric groaned.
"So we're sneaking into a foreign kingdom through a sewer."
Lyriana gave him a look.
"You prefer announcing ourselves at the gates?"
He muttered something under his breath.
Silence settled gradually in the chamber.
Outside, the sun climbed higher.
Inside—
Draven's breathing slowed.
The folded mana tightened again.
He adjusted its internal alignment, compressing stray volatility into denser threads.
Control.
Efficiency.
No waste.
After several minutes, he opened his eyes.
The faint crimson glow had dimmed further.
Stable.
He looked at the cultist.
"How many mages remain in Dresvalle?"
"Three confirmed fourth circle," the cultist answered immediately. "One ritual architect. Two channel specialists."
"And their loyalty?"
The cultist hesitated only slightly.
"They seek results."
Draven's expression didn't change.
"Good."
Aldric straightened slightly.
"You trust that?"
"No," Draven replied.
The word was simple.
"I will use it."
That ended the discussion.
Vaelith glanced toward him quietly.
"You are pushing yourself, my lord," she said softly.
"If the next descent exceeds the previous density—"
"It won't," Draven interrupted calmly.
"Why?" Aldric asked.
Draven's gaze shifted slightly.
"Because this time," he said, "I will control the breach."
The chamber fell quiet again.
Aldric pushed off the pillar, folding his arms.
"And how exactly," he asked, voice edged with skepticism, "are you planning on doing that?"
Draven opened his eyes.
Calm.
Measured.
"The first descent," he said, "was uncontrolled."
The cultist stiffened slightly at the implication.
Draven continued.
"The breach was forced from their side. The anchor was unstable. The entity arrived with full momentum."
He stepped forward slightly, the stone floor cracking faintly under the subtle weight of compressed mana.
"I consumed the anchor mid-descent."
Aldric frowned.
"…Yeah. We noticed."
"That gave me two things," Draven said. "Density. And information."
The cultist's eyes widened slightly.
"You retained structural imprinting?"
"Yes."
Draven's voice remained even.
"When that thing crosses the veil, it does not simply appear. It aligns with pre-existing stress fractures in space. It follows pressure gradients."
Lyriana's gaze sharpened.
"You mapped the fracture when you consumed it."
Draven nodded once.
"I felt the descent vector. The resistance points. The moment of maximum strain."
Aldric exhaled slowly.
"…So?"
"So next time," Draven said, "I do not allow full emergence."
Silence.
The cultist stared.
My lord.
"You intend to intercept mid-transition?"
"Yeah."
Aldric blinked.
"That's insane."
Draven didn't react.
"I will open the fracture only partially, limiting the amount of mana that leaks out—and absorb my fill."