Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Four
Draven's POV

The projection shimmered to life across the dark stone walls of the chamber, flickering like static stitched with magic.

There she was… Serelina.

Standing tall, radiant with silver fire, her voice a calm, commanding presence. Lillian and Everett bound behind her, their betrayal on full display. My jaw clenched as I watched her circle the makeshift rune-trap she’d constructed… a blend of power not even I fully recognized. Moonfire, yes. But something older, threaded through with Veilborn sigils.

She was learning. She was evolving. And worst of all, she wasn’t afraid anymore.

Cole Soren entered the chamber behind me, glancing at the glowing projection.

“Well,” Cole said slowly, “that backfired.”

I didn’t respond.

“She’s making you the villain, Draven. Publicly.”

“She doesn’t have to make me the villain,” I muttered, eyes still locked on the flickering image. “They’ve already decided that.”

My hands were tight at my sides, knuckles bone-white. The laugh tether hadn’t worked. Ferren hadn’t broken. And now Serelina had turned her parents into pawns against me. I was losing control. And I knew it. And now I knew what I had to do…

“Pull them back,” I snapped to the comms rune on the table. “Every unit. Every scout. Every creature. Call them all back to Haven Ridge… NOW.”

Cole raised a brow. “A full retreat?”

I met his eyes, the tension in his face cracking just slightly. “Let them think I’m panicking. That I’m scared. Let them breathe again.”

“You are scared,” Cole said, his voice too casual.

I didn’t deny it.

“I’m running out of time,” I murmured. “She’s slipping further away. Her powers are maturing faster than I planned. That damn wolf… Lucian… is getting too close. And Jole...”

I trailed off.

“What about Jole?” Cole asked.

I turned away, voice low and tight. “He was never supposed to awaken Veilpower. That bloodline was meant to die dormant. He was supposed to be controllable. Human. A blindspot I could use.”

“Now?” Cole prompted.

“Now,” I said, pacing, “he’s a weapon.”

“A weapon on the wrong side.”

Silence settled thick between us. I stopped pacing.

“Let them regroup,” I said darkly. “Let them march right to my door.”

“And then?” Cole asked.

I looked up slowly, his eyes gleaming with an emotion that wasn’t quite rage. It was desperation sharpened into obsession.

“Then I rip the door off its hinges and drag her home myself.”

My men began to vanish from the forest. One by one. Quietly. Retreating to the stone citadel like shadows melting into dusk. But this wasn’t surrender. This was the eye of the storm. And I… wounded pride and all… was ready to gamble everything.

Even my sanity.

Serelina's POV

The battlefield had stilled far too quickly.

I stood at the edge of the ridge above Haven, flames of moonfire still curling gently around my arms. Behind me, the others fanned out cautiously, watching the tree line, the air, even the shadows… searching for enemies who had seemingly vanished.

“Where the hell did they go?” Jole asked, voice low but sharp.

Lucian stepped beside me, his body tense, eyes bright. “They’re pulling back. Retreating.”

“Retreating?” Callum echoed, disbelief etched into every syllable. “That doesn’t sound like Draven.”

“It isn’t,” I murmured, narrowing my eyes at the unnatural silence blanketing the woods. “He’s planning something.”

The trap had worked. The projection had cast doubt. Their momentum had surged… but now, this calm? This absence of chaos?

It was wrong.

“It feels like we’re standing in the eye of something,” Amaya muttered, her eyes flicking between the trees.

“Exactly,” Lucian said, turning to me. “He wants us to think we’ve won ground. Make us drop our guard. He’s not finished.”

I nodded slowly. “Then neither are we.”

Ferren's POV

The room was cold. Stone walls, iron chains. No light except for the flickering rune torch above the archway. I sat against the far wall, one arm shackled, the other bruised from where I had fought back. My lip was split. My ribs ached. But I was alive.

Barely.

Draven hadn’t spoken to me again. Not since I had been thrown into this holding cell beneath Haven Ridge. He was punishing me. Or testing me. Or maybe… ignoring me entirely now that I had failed. That last thought was the one that stung most. My head leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. For a moment I simply breathed… slowing my heartbeat, quieting the noise inside my skull.

Then I began to listen. Really listen.

Two guards outside the door. Not wolves… flesh-bound constructs. Quiet, but not smart. I already tested their reaction times. One twitched toward noise, the other was slower but stronger. I knew them now.

Draven’s spells kept the chains enchanted. But only during active monitoring. He was arrogant enough to think I wouldn’t try again. That I was broken.

He’d be wrong.

My fingers flexed at my side, searching for the tiny sliver of wire I had yanked from the torch sconce when they’d thrown me in. They hadn’t seen it. I had hidden it under a strip of bloodied cloth.

The rune tattoos on my fingers pulsed. Barely active, but still there. Still mine.

One strand of code. One weak chain. One distraction.

And then I would move.

I was a ghost agent. A field medic. A hunter. Not a prisoner. Not for long.

Lucian's POV

The retreat had given us time. Not peace. I stood over the newly drawn maps, lines etched in fresh ink and claw-marked parchment. Around me, Serelina, Jole, Amaya, Leo, Callum, Riven and Caelin studied the terrain, noting weak points, fallback zones, and the expected direction of another assault.

Serelina hadn’t stopped pacing since the last scout returned. “He’s not done,” she said again, more to herself than anyone else.

“We know,” I replied, calm but firm. “That’s why we don’t stop either.”

“He’s going to come back worse,” Jole added, jaw tight. “Stronger. More desperate.”

“Desperation can be used,” Caelin said, voice steady. “Desperate men don’t think clearly. They get sloppy.”

I nodded. “And we’ll be ready for it. When he pushes back, we don’t just hold the line… we push forward.”

“Strike while he’s distracted,” Amaya said. “Split his focus.”

“Exactly.”

Serelina paused in her pacing, turning toward me. “He wants me alone again. He’ll try.”

My eyes met hers, and something fierce passed between us. “Then let him. This time, we set the field.”

Ferren's POV

Draven didn’t return. But someone did.

A rift opened near the far corridor… brief, unnatural. A silver-black shimmer split the air and closed again in an instant. Whoever had arrived was fast. Loud. A crash echoed two floors above.

Distraction.

The guards turned. For the first time in hours, both stepped away from the doorway at the same time.

I moved. The wire was already in my fingers.

I twisted, jammed it into the small rune lock on the inside of the shackle. My tattoos glowed faintly, connecting to the circuit. A tiny shock stung my palm… but the lock clicked open with a mechanical hiss.

I didn’t even wince. I sprang, silent as shadow.

One guard turned too slow. A precise elbow to the throat dropped him with a strangled grunt. The second turned, mouth open to shout… but I drove my knee into his chest, ripped the enchanted chain from the wall, and used it like a whip, choking the sound from him before he could raise the alarm.

Breathing hard, I rolled the stunned body aside and grabbed the key ring from his belt. Out the door. Left. Then down.

I moved like a phantom through the dim corridors, barefoot, bleeding, but faster than most could follow. Every creak of stone, every flicker of torchlight was etched into my mind.

Draven had forgotten what I was. A survivor. A weapon. A ghost that slipped through cracks.

And now… I was free.