Lord Draven stood at the far end of the bone courtyard, glaring at Holden with pure hatred.
The resemblance to his son was obvious. They shared the same narrow jaw, thin lips, and sharp cheekbones. But while the younger Draven had enjoyed a comfortable life at the Academy, his father looked like someone who had spent years destroying his own body in pursuit of power.
His cheeks were hollow, and his grey skin stretched tightly over his bones. Dark red veins ran along his neck and hands, pulsing with every breath he took. Even his eyes had changed, sinking deep into their sockets until only a faint red glow remained.
But what caught Holden's attention most was the man's clothing.
The robes covering Draven's thin body weren't made from fabric. They were formed entirely from blood, with thick streams of dark red liquid flowing over his shoulders and down his arms. The liquid gathered around his feet before slowly spreading across the courtyard floor.
