The cultist hesitated.
For the first time, something like frustration flickered across his expression.
"No," he said carefully. "It is not blindness."
Aldric raised an eyebrow.
"Oh really."
The cultist straightened slightly, choosing his words.
"Devotion is not the same as ignorance. I understand who my lord is. What he is capable of. The difference between him and others."
Aldric scoffed.
"Sure you do."
The cultist continued.
"I follow him because he is greater. Not because I refuse to see faults."
Aldric's gaze sharpened.
"Greater."
"Yes."
The word hung in the air.
Not arrogant.
Not mocking.
Just stated as fact.
Draven still walked ahead of them, boots crunching through damp leaves.
He didn't slow.
Didn't react.
But the cultist kept speaking.
"My lord does not require perfection from me. He requires usefulness. I offer that."
Aldric folded his arms.
"So you're a tool."
The cultist's expression didn't change.
"If that is what you wish to call it."
Aldric laughed softly.
"Pathetic."
The cultist tilted his head.
"Why?"
"Because you reduce yourself."
Aldric's tone sharpened.
"'I'm a tool. I'm useful. I exist to serve.' You don't even see it, do you?"
The cultist blinked.
"See what?"
"That you don't exist."
The words landed like a blow.
The cultist stiffened.
"I exist."
Aldric smirked.
"Do you?"
Silence.
The forest seemed to listen.
The cultist swallowed.
"I serve purpose."
"Right."
Aldric shook his head.
"Purpose. Not self. Not identity. Just whatever he decides you are."
The cultist's jaw tightened.
"My lord chooses wisely."
Aldric laughed under his breath.
"Of course you think that."
Draven finally stopped.
Not because of them.
Because the path ahead narrowed.
A fallen tree blocked part of the trail, its massive trunk slick with moss.
He stepped over it effortlessly.
The cultist followed.
Aldric remained for a second longer, staring at the obstacle.
Then jumped over it with a muttered curse.
The argument had cooled.
Not resolved.
Just suspended.
The cultist spoke again after several moments.
"My devotion is not blindness," he repeated quietly.
Aldric glanced at him.
"Keep telling yourself that."
The cultist met his gaze.
"It is choice."
Aldric snorted.
"Choice."
"Yes."
The cultist's voice was steady.
"I could leave. I could refuse. I could hide as I once did."
A pause.
"But I choose to serve."
Aldric studied him.
"Because you think it makes you important."
The cultist hesitated.
"…Because it gives meaning."
Aldric's expression softened—just slightly.
Then hardened again.
"Meaning isn't handed down."
The cultist frowned.
"Then where does it come from?"
Aldric looked away.
"Figure it out."
Draven stopped suddenly.
The cultist almost walked into him.
"My lord?" the man asked quickly, stepping back.
Aldric exhaled sharply.
He crossed his arms, watching.
Arguing with a black mage cultist in the middle of the forest.
What had his life become.
Draven turned slightly and motioned the cultist closer.
"Come."
The cultist hurried forward.
"My lord?"
Draven studied him.
Not with irritation.
Not with suspicion.
With purpose.
"You are a cultist," Draven said.
The cultist blinked.
"Yes, my lord."
"You served summoning frameworks."
"Yes."
Draven's gaze narrowed slightly.
"So you understand attraction."
Silence.
The cultist hesitated.
"…Attraction, my lord?"
Aldric snorted.
"Here we go."
Draven continued.
"Monsters respond to density. To disturbance. To energy."
The cultist nodded quickly.
"Yes, my lord. Spatial fluctuations and mana signatures can draw creatures—especially those sensitive to anomalies."
Draven tilted his head.
"Can you attract them."
The cultist froze.
"My lord?"
"Monsters," Draven repeated. "Can you draw them."
Aldric stiffened.
He looked between them.
"…You're asking him to act as bait?"
Draven didn't glance at him.
The cultist swallowed.
"My lord… I can detect fluctuations. Identify proximity. But actively drawing creatures—"
He hesitated.
"It is dangerous."
Draven waited.
The silence stretched.
The cultist lowered his head slightly.
"I could attempt to amplify localized signatures," he said carefully. "But it would require controlled exposure. The risk of escalation—"
Draven cut him off.
"Can you or can you not."
The cultist flinched.
"…I can try."
Aldric groaned.
"You can try," he repeated flatly. "That's reassuring."
The cultist straightened slightly.
"It is not simple. Monsters respond unpredictably. Some are drawn. Others flee. Some escalate aggression."
Draven considered this.
Then nodded once.
"Do it."
The cultist blinked.
"My lord?"
"Draw them."
Aldric stared.
"You're actually serious."
Draven looked at him.
"Shut up."
The words hung in the air.
Aldric's expression tightened.
The cultist swallowed.
"My lord… if I attempt to attract creatures, I must amplify signatures. That could draw multiple at once."
Draven's gaze sharpened.
"That is fine."
The cultist lowered his head.
"Yes, my lord."
Draven studied him.
"If you fail," he said calmly, "you will not die."
The cultist hesitated.
"My lord?"
"You will try again."
Silence.
Aldric muttered under his breath.
"Fantastic."
The cultist straightened.
"I understand."
Draven turned away.
"Start."
The cultist hesitated one final second.
Then knelt.
His hands moved in careful, practiced motions.
Not full incantation.
Not full structure.
A subtle manipulation of residual mana—small disturbances designed to ripple outward.
Aldric watched with narrowed eyes.
"You're really going to do it."
Draven said nothing.
The forest seemed to listen.
The cultist closed his eyes.
Mana flared faintly.
A controlled pulse.
Then another.
The air shifted.
Barely.
A whisper of disturbance.
A subtle pressure change.
Aldric stiffened.
"…I feel that."
Draven's expression remained unchanged.
The cultist continued.
More pulses.
More ripples.
Localized fluctuations.
Like drops of water striking still ground.
Somewhere in the distance—
A branch snapped.
Everyone froze.
Draven's eyes flicked toward the sound.
The cultist opened his eyes.
"It worked."
Aldric cursed under his breath.
"You have got to be kidding."
Draven stepped forward.
Slow.
Measured.
The disturbance had been small.
But it existed.
Not a full attraction.
Not a massive signal.
But enough.
He looked at the cultist.
"Again."
The cultist swallowed.
"Yes, my lord."
He resumed the motions.
Ripples.
Fluctuations.
Localized disturbances.
The forest responded.
Another sound.
Then another.
Something moved.
Not visible.
Not yet.
Draven didn't speak.
His gaze remained fixed on the tree line.
Something was coming.
Density.
Disturbance.
Attraction.
The cultist continued.
Mana pulses.
Subtle signatures.
Ripples in the fabric of the forest.
And somewhere beyond—
Creatures answered.