The silence didn't last.
Lyriana stepped forward slightly, her expression sharp and analytical.
"If you restrict the aperture, the internal pressure differential will spike. How are you compensating for recoil?"
The cultist added quickly, almost tripping over his own words.
"My lord, partial descent creates torsion instability. If the entity anchors even one limb—"
"And what if it forces expansion?" Aldric cut in, voice edged with impatience. "You think it'll politely wait halfway through the door while you feed on it?"
Vaelith's voice was softer, but no less firm.
"Your internal pathways have only just stabilized. Forcing another strain so soon—"
The questions overlapped.
Layered.
Technical.
Concerned.
Skeptical.
Draven's jaw tightened.
Inside him, the compressed mana shifted—once.
Not unstable.
Irritated.
They kept talking.
Fracture recoil.
Anchor geometry.
Containment thresholds.
Worst-case scenarios.
Draven's eyes flickered faintly red.
"Enough."
They didn't stop immediately.
Aldric was mid-sentence—
"—and if the chamber collapses—"
"Shut the fuck up."
The words weren't loud.
But they landed.
Hard.
The chamber went completely silent.
Even the dust drifting through the shaft of light seemed to freeze in place.
Draven looked at them one by one.
"I am not asking for approval," he said flatly. "Stop asking stupid questions."
Aldric's mouth opened—
Then closed.
Lyriana folded her arms but said nothing.
The cultist lowered his head instantly.
Vaelith simply watched him.
Draven exhaled once.
Then, in the simplest tone possible, he explained.
"One line."
He held up a single finger.
"They tear a small hole. Hold it steady. When the damn thing sticks its head through, I grab it. And absorb it."
Silence.
That was it.
No extended theory.
No layered breakdown.
No lecture on ritual geometry.
Just—
Predator logic.
Aldric stared at him for several seconds.
"…That's your plan?"
"Yes."
Lyriana pinched the bridge of her nose.
"That is not a plan. That is an assault."
The cultist swallowed.
"And if it resists?"
Draven's crimson eyes shifted toward him slowly.
"It will."
A pause.
"And then?"
Draven's voice remained calm.
"Then just kill it."
Silence again.
The air in the chamber felt heavier—not oppressive.
Certain.
Vaelith studied him for several long seconds.
"You are not explaining everything," she said softly.
"No."
"Why?"
Draven's gaze shifted slightly.
"Because you do not need everything."
Another pause.
Then he turned away from them.
The chamber settled once more. Most of them were conserving mana, resting, or pretending to.
Draven stood near the far wall, eyes half-lidded, breathing even.
He was not asleep.
He never truly was.
A soft shuffle echoed across the stone floor.
Slow.
Careful.
Measured.
Draven's eyelid lifted slightly.
The cultist was inching closer.
Step by step.
Like someone approaching a shrine.
"My lord…" he whispered reverently.
Draven's gaze slid toward him.
Flat.
Cold.
"Stop."
The cultist froze mid-step.
"…My lord?"
"Take one more step," Draven said calmly, "and I will kill you."
No rise in tone.
No visible threat.
Just fact.
The cultist swallowed.
But instead of retreating—
He clasped his hands together nervously.
"I-I only wished—"
Draven's eyes narrowed slightly.
"What?"
The cultist's face flushed with almost embarrassing excitement.
"An autograph, my lord."
Silence.
Across the chamber, Aldric slowly turned his head.
"…What?"
The cultist straightened awkwardly, fumbling inside his robe and pulling out a folded piece of parchment.
"I have followed accounts of your actions since the Red Hollow Incident. The annihilation of the Black Sigil Circle. The collapse of the northern summoning tower—"
Aldric stared.
What.
Lyriana blinked.
"People are… writing about His Highness? It hasn't even been a month since they found out he exists."
"Oh yes," the cultist said earnestly. "Among certain circles, he is spoken of as a calamity incarnate."
He looked back at Draven with shining eyes.
"It would honor me greatly if you would sign this."
Draven stared at him.
Long.
Unblinking.
Aldric let out a low laugh.
"I almost hope he just kills you."
Crimson energy flickered across Draven's fingertip.
Just enough to cauterize bone.
The cultist stiffened instantly.
Sweat beaded along his temple.
Draven leaned forward slightly.
"If you ever," he said quietly, "approach me like that again…"
The crimson glow intensified for half a second.
"…I will sign your spine instead."
The cultist nearly dropped the parchment.
"U-Understood, my lord!"
The chamber slowly returned to quiet after the… autograph incident.
Draven opened his eyes and looked toward Vaelith.
"Is there still food for Lucifer and Elenya?"
Vaelith adjusted the small bundle in her arms. Lucifer stirred faintly. Elenya blinked sleepily.
"Yes, my lord," Vaelith replied calmly. "I refilled the reserves from the dead cultists before we left the clearing."
Aldric made a face.
"You make that sound so domestic."
Vaelith ignored him.
Draven nodded once.
"Feed them."
Vaelith inclined her head.
"Of course."
He turned slowly toward the stairwell.
"I'll be back."
Aldric's gaze sharpened.
"Back from where?"
Draven didn't answer.
He had already begun walking.
Halfway to the stairs, he paused.
His eyes shifted toward the cultist.
"You."
The cultist stiffened immediately.
"My lord?"
"Come."
The cultist scrambled to his feet.
Aldric straightened.
"Hold on."
The cultist hurried after Draven, then hesitated.
"My lord… where are we going?"
They reached the broken staircase leading upward.
The cultist glanced toward the faint daylight spilling down from above.
"It's daytime now," the cultist said nervously. "You cannot go outside. With the sun up—"
Draven stopped mid-step.
The cultist nearly walked into him.
Slowly—
Draven turned his head.
"Shut the hell up."
The cultist swallowed.
Draven resumed walking.
Upward.
The cultist hurried to keep pace.
They emerged from the lower chamber into the ruined tower interior, golden morning light streaming through collapsed walls.
Dust shimmered in the air.
Draven stepped forward—
Into the sun.
The light touched his white hair.
His dark skin.
Nothing burned.
Nothing recoiled.
The cultist blinked.
"My lord… I thought…"
"That I avoided daylight."
Draven continued walking toward the forest's edge.
The cultist hesitated, then followed quickly.
They exited the tower fully now, stepping onto cracked stone overtaken by moss.
Birds scattered from nearby branches.
The forest was waking.
The cultist lowered his voice.
"My lord… please. At least allow me to cast a minor obscuration veil."
Draven didn't stop.
Back inside the ruined tower, Aldric had moved closer to the fractured wall, watching through a gap as Draven and the cultist disappeared into the trees.
He clicked his tongue.
"That idiot really doesn't know when to stop talking."
Lyriana glanced at him.
"You mean the cultist?"
"Obviously."
He folded his arms.
"'The sun is up, my lord, you can't go outside.'" Aldric mimicked mockingly. "Does he think Draven is some fledgling crawling out of a coffin?"
Vaelith didn't look up from where she was carefully feeding Elenya.
"Most vampires would avoid direct sunlight. But the lord does not carry that restriction."
"Yeah," Aldric said. "Most."
He leaned against the stone.
"But he isn't most."
Lucifer made a small sound, and Vaelith adjusted him gently.
Aldric huffed.
"He's a vampire, mostly. But he's not bound the same way."
He glanced toward the forest again.
"I've seen it. Sunlight doesn't burn him. Holy constructs don't repel him the way they should. I used to think it was because he's a hybrid."
A pause.
"Now I think it's because he's of royal blood."
The ruined tower remained still.
But beyond the trees—
Something else was moving.