The dust of battle had barely settled when new voices cut through the cavern.
Measured, sharp. Not Dominion steel this time — lighter, disciplined.
League scouts.
Their torches flared against broken walls, shadows long and sharp. Four of them entered the hall, two handlers with beasts at heel. They froze at the sight before them — shattered phantom shackles scattered across the stone, and at the center stood Draven with Feyra and Stonehide, the lotus faintly pulsing on his chest.
One scout muttered, voice laced with disbelief:
"Phantom links… broken?"
Another raised his blade, wary eyes fixed on Draven.
"State yourself. Dominion? Or anomaly-touched scavenger?"
Draven's grip tightened on the halberd. His beasts pressed close, growls rolling low in the dust. He met their eyes, voice steady.
"I don't serve chains. That's enough."
The words hung like stone in the silence.
Then the cavern stirred again.
From cracked pillars, phantom shackles writhed to life, glowing like molten veins. They lashed out at everything living — Dominion, League, beast or man, it didn't matter. A League hound yelped as chains coiled around its throat, handler shouting, pulling at his oath-mark — but the chains only tightened.
"Impossible!" the handler barked. "These bonds… they're visible!"
Draven moved before panic consumed them. The lotus blazed on his chest, runes spreading faintly over his skin. With a thought, the Codex stirred in his mind — and this time, he didn't hold it back.
Light bloomed before him, bark-etched runes forming in the air like a page torn from living wood.
The League scouts staggered, eyes wide.
"A grimoir—?!"
Draven didn't answer. He swung his halberd, guided by the Codex's pulse. The blade cut through the shackles binding the hound, the chains bursting into sparks. The beast stumbled free, panting.
One scout whispered, half in awe, half in fear:
"Marks… master and slave, linked by tether. We've all known that. But the tether is invisible… except here. The Ruins make them manifest."
Another added, eyes fixed on Draven:
"And he… broke it."
The shackles writhed again, surging toward Draven. Feyra leapt, Verdant Step flashing, her pawprints burning emerald as chains shattered in her trail. Stonehide slammed down, Earthrend Slam cracking the ground, shattering coils that wrapped around him. Each time, the lotus mark flared brighter — faint glow with Feyra, steady blaze with Stonehide, radiant fire when Draven struck.
The scouts lowered their weapons slowly, realization dawning. Whatever this man was, he wasn't Dominion. And he wasn't bound by chains.
Then the cavern shook.
The tremor rolled like thunder through stone, dust raining from the ceiling. The air thickened, heat swelling until breath came heavy. A sound deeper than roar — like a furnace exhaling — rumbled in the distance.
The scouts paled. One whispered what all of them felt in their bones:
"The Drake…"
Magma Drake. Returning.
The heat intensified, stone cracking beneath the pressure. No one needed to speak. Survival was instinct.
"Out!" the League leader barked. "Now, before it wakes fully!"
The scouts retreated, still casting fearful looks at Draven. One muttered as they vanished into shadow:
"If this power truly comes from the Ruins… it could break the barrier that holds beasts below Kings. Our commanders must know."
Draven stood with Feyra and Stonehide, halberd clenched, lotus burning hot against his skin. The Codex flickered in his mind — a page half-formed, locked, words blurred like secrets whispered beyond reach.
Overlords stir when balance shifts. Some instincts are older than fear.
The words faded before he could grasp them.
He looked back at his beasts, their breaths ragged but steady. The tremor grew stronger, heat pressing heavier, warning them that staying meant death.
"Come," Draven said, voice low but firm. "We move. Now."
Together, they slipped deeper into the maze of the Ruins, shadows stretching under the blaze of a fire too vast to face.