Lord Draven lay in the center of the courtyard.
His body was badly damaged, and the blood robes that had covered him were completely gone.
Without the thick streams of liquid surrounding his body, he looked much smaller than before.
His pale grey skin clung tightly to his bones, and the dark red veins beneath it had stopped glowing.
The once-feared blood manipulator no longer resembled the powerful noble who had threatened Holden only minutes earlier.
He was simply a dying man.
Draven's eyes remained open.
He stared at the broken floor beneath him, struggling to understand what had happened.
Everything he had spent months building had been destroyed by one person.
The same person he had blamed for the downfall of his family.
His lips trembled.
For a moment, it seemed as though he wanted to say something.
Perhaps another threat.
But whatever words he had intended to speak never came.
A faint breath escaped his mouth.
Then his body went completely still.
