Elarys ran.
Her skirts bunched in clenched fists, silk whispering frantically against stone as she tore through the castle corridors. Breath came in sharp, uneven gasps; her heart hammered so loudly it drowned out the clatter of servants pressing themselves flat against the walls. Whispers trailed in her wake like smoke, but she heard none of them.
Only one word filled her mind, over and over.
Vlad.
Seraphiel followed a single step behind, armored boots ringing in steady counterpoint to her lighter footfalls. His face was carved from granite—jaw locked, eyes burning—but he said nothing. The raw panic in Elarys's movements told him everything he needed to know.
They reached the physician's chambers.
Aldric stood outside the heavy oak doors, arms folded, expression unreadable in the dim torchlight.
The moment Elarys saw him she surged forward, hands trembling as she clutched his sleeve.
"Brother—" Her voice cracked like thin ice. "What happened to my child? Is he okay?"
Tears streamed freely down her cheeks now, carving clean tracks through the dust of the day. She made no effort to hide them.
Aldric steadied her with gentle hands on her shoulders, grip firm yet careful.
"Calm down, Elarys," he said softly. "There's no need to worry."
She searched his face desperately, eyes wide and pleading.
"He was chased by a monster," Aldric continued, tone measured and even. "Luckily, Kaira sensed him in time. She found him before anything worse could happen."
Elarys's breath hitched, a small, wounded sound.
"He's unconscious because of the shock," Aldric added. "That's all. His life is not in danger."
Her knees buckled. She caught herself against his arm.
"Can I see him?" she asked at once, voice shaking. "Please—just for a moment."
Aldric shook his head gently.
"Let's not disturb the physician. Give them a little more time. Vlad will be fine."
He gestured toward the long stone bench along the corridor wall.
"Why don't you sit down and calm yourself for now? By the time you've rested, the physician should be finished treating him."
Elarys hesitated, then nodded weakly. She sank onto the bench, pressing a hand to her mouth as fresh tears slipped between her fingers.
Aldric straightened. His gaze lifted to Seraphiel.
Their eyes met.
Aldric gave a subtle nod toward the far end of the corridor.
Seraphiel understood instantly.
"Lucas," he said quietly, without breaking eye contact with his brother, "stay here with Elarys."
"Yes, my lord," Lucas replied at once. He stepped closer to her side, a quiet, solid presence.
Seraphiel followed Aldric down the shadowed corridor. Their footsteps echoed softly against worn flagstones.
The doors to the physician's chambers remained closed behind them.
And inside, unseen by all of them,
A child lay on the narrow bed, drenched in blood.
Wounds marked his small body—some shallow scratches crusted dark, others deep gashes still weeping red. Dried crimson matted his dark hair, streaked his pale skin like cruel brushstrokes. Bruises bloomed violet and black across ribs and arms.
Aldric had known, without question, that Elarys would not have survived the sight.
The physician and his assistant worked in taut silence. Warm water sluiced over Vlad's skin, cloth by cloth turning pink then scarlet before being wrung out into basins. The assistant channeled healing magic in steady pulses—soft green light threading over minor cuts, knitting torn flesh—but his expression darkened as his probes reached deeper.
"The internal damage is severe," he murmured, voice low. "His body tried to channel power far beyond what it can withstand."
Sylvie's power.
With an immature frame, the backlash had ripped through muscle and mana pathways like wildfire through dry grass.
Vlad did not stir. Not once. His chest rose and fell in shallow, mechanical rhythm.
Outside the arched window, Kaira stood motionless. Her massive form cast a long silver shadow across the chamber floor. Golden eyes remained fixed on the child within. Though faint—so faint—it lingered still: the unmistakable echo of her old friend.
Aldric stood at the far end of the corridor, gaze lifting briefly to the dragon before turning as Seraphiel approached.
"Brother," Seraphiel said quietly, voice tight with restrained fury, "what really happened in the forest?"
Aldric did not soften the truth.
He told him everything: the chase, the Valeren scouts, the beating, the awakening of Sylvie's gift, the wind spear, the unfinished Tempest of Ruin.
When he finished, Seraphiel said nothing. His breath caught; chest tightened as though iron bands had wrapped around his ribs. He leaned back against the cold stone wall, one hand braced at his side.
For the first time, the Patriarch of House Dravenir looked visibly shaken—eyes distant, face pale beneath the torchlight.
"Are you certain about what you saw, brother?" Seraphiel asked quietly. "Did Vlad truly attempt the Tempest form?"
"I wouldn't mistake it for anything else," Aldric replied. His voice carried heavy weight. "I was the one who gave him the book. He tried to imitate what he saw inside it."
Seraphiel's breath hitched.
"But Tempest is far too powerful. Channeling its force with an untrained body—especially a child's—is suicidal."
"I know." Aldric's hands curled into fists at his sides. "I never should have given him that book. I gave him hope he wasn't ready to bear."
Seraphiel grabbed Aldric by the front of his coat. His grip trembled.
"He'll be alright… won't he, brother?"
Aldric did not answer.
Seraphiel's hand slowly loosened and fell away. He lowered his head, teeth clenched so hard the muscles in his jaw stood out in sharp relief. He wanted to roar—wanted to shatter the corridor stone by stone—but Elarys waited just beyond the doors. He could not let her hear.
After a long moment, he spoke again, forcing iron control into his voice.
"You said you sensed a spirit's mana within him."
Aldric nodded.
"Kaira sensed it first. That presence is the only reason she found him in time."
Footsteps approached—lighter, hesitant.
Cassian and Maelis came into view. Worry etched Maelis's young face; Cassian's expression was guarded.
"Father," Maelis asked softly, "what happened to Vlad?"
Seraphiel's gaze shifted—settling on Cassian like a blade.
"Maelis," he said, voice firm and final, "go stay with your mother."
She hesitated, eyes flicking between them, then nodded and hurried away.
Seraphiel stepped closer to Cassian, towering over him.
"Is there something you want to tell me?"
Cassian swallowed hard.
"I—I didn't think anything bad would happen, Father."
The stone wall beside Cassian cracked with a sharp report as Seraphiel's fist slammed into it. Dust sifted down.
"You knew he was still a child!" Seraphiel snapped, voice low and lethal. "How dare—"
"Seraphiel!" Aldric shouted. "That's enough. Cassian—go back to your room."
Cassian turned away without another word.
His steps echoed down the corridor, sharp and uneven. Anger coiled tighter with every breath, a hot knot in his chest. He did not head toward his chambers. The thought of being alone only fed the pressure building inside him.
He needed an outlet.
Down a side passage, two familiar figures came into view.
Riven and Maeric stiffened as Cassian approached.
"Which one of you ratted me out?" Cassian asked coldly.
"I—I never said your name, Young Master," Riven said quickly.
Cassian stepped forward.
"So it was you."
His fist buried itself into Riven's stomach. Riven doubled over with a choked cry, air driven from his lungs.
"Lord Cassian, please—stop!" Maeric pleaded.
"Shut up," Cassian snapped. "Unless you want the same."
Maeric froze, helpless, as Cassian vented his fury—kicks landing with dull thuds, blows raining down until Riven curled on the floor, gasping. Only when Cassian's own breathing steadied did he stop.
He straightened his clothes, smoothed his hair, and looked down at Riven.
"Never show your face in front of me again."
Then he turned and left.
Later, Erik returned to the corridor and found Aldric and Seraphiel still waiting.
"How is Young Master Vlad?" he asked.
"The physician hasn't finished yet," Aldric replied.
"Did you search the forest?" Seraphiel asked.
"Yes, my lord. The entire area. There were no remaining intruders. That was the last of them."
Before either could respond, Lucas approached, bowing low.
"The treatment is complete."
They moved at once.
Elarys was already inside, seated beside the bed. She clutched Vlad's small hand in both of hers; silent tears fell onto the clean sheets, darkening them in small circles.
The physician approached Aldric and Seraphiel.
"All external wounds have been fully healed. There is no need to worry about that."
He paused.
Seraphiel's chest tightened.
"And the rest?"
"There is internal damage," the physician admitted. "I treated what I could, but even I have limits. He forced his body to channel a power far beyond his capacity."
"Will he recover?" Seraphiel asked, voice rough.
"I cannot say yet. His condition is stable—but his consciousness has not returned."
Aldric turned to Seraphiel.
"Stay with Elarys."
Seraphiel nodded and moved to her side. His voice dropped low, gentle despite the fire still burning in his eyes.
"His mind has taken a great shock. He just needs time. He will wake up."
As he stood there, watching his son's still face—pale, bruised, but breathing—Seraphiel's jaw tightened.
"Valeren," he murmured under his breath, "had better pray my son opens his eyes."
High above the castle, a falcon sliced through the night sky—wings cutting sharp against starlight. A sealed letter was bound tightly to its leg as it crossed borders, racing toward the distant spires of the Kaishen Dynasty.
Toward Lysera Dravenir.
The eldest daughter of the Patriarch.
Who was deep in the scorched badlands, hunting an Ashveil Drake.
The beast lunged.
Heat crashed over the clearing as its massive jaws snapped shut inches from Lysera's face. Molten saliva hissed against stone. She stepped inside its guard, bare-handed, palm striking the scaled neck with a burst of concentrated mana. The impact sent the drake skidding backward through blackened earth, gouging deep furrows.
It roared, fire spilling from its maw in a roaring torrent. Lysera pushed straight through the flames—hair whipping, skin untouched—and drove a fist into its chest. Scales cracked like thunder; bone groaned beneath.
The drake circled high, then dove again, wings blotting the sun.
A letter fell from above.
Lysera caught it out of reflex, fingers closing around the familiar crimson seal of House Draven. She broke it open mid-stride, eyes flicking over the hurried ink.
Her breath hitched.
Her feet stopped moving.
Vlad.
Injured. Unconscious. Greywood Forest.
The sounds of battle dulled, as though the world had been submerged underwater. Her grip tightened until the parchment crumpled in her fist.
Behind her, the drake sensed the opening. Hot breath washed over her neck; jaws opened wide.
Lysera did not turn.
She raised one hand.
"Hellfire."
Crimson-black flames erupted from her palm—hungry, living, merciless. They swallowed the drake whole in a single heartbeat. No roar. No struggle. Only a drifting cloud of ash where the beast had been.
Lysera stood motionless, staring at the crumpled letter.
"…Enough."
She closed her fist.
Her patronage ended there.
Lysera turned back toward Draven.