As they moved—
Draven's voice broke the quiet.
"…Vaeleth."
No raise.
No force.
Just enough.
She responded instantly.
"…Right, my lord."
No hesitation.
She stepped past him—
taking the lead without question.
The children in her arms didn't stir—
still resting—
undisturbed.
Draven followed.
Measured.
Unhurried.
Aldric walked just behind for a few steps—
hands loose at his sides—
eyes drifting along the structure of the corridor—
then—
without a word—
he turned.
A separate path.
A different direction.
No signal.
No explanation.
He just… left.
No one stopped him.
No one asked.
Because that was expected.
Vaeleth didn't slow.
Didn't look back.
Draven didn't react.
They simply continued.
The corridor shifted gradually—
narrower—
quieter.
Less movement here.
Fewer crew.
The hum of the ship softened—
more distant.
Vaeleth slowed slightly—
eyes scanning ahead—
then to the sides.
Choosing.
Deliberate.
She turned down a side passage.
Short.
Dimly lit.
Ending at a sealed door.
She stopped.
Waited.
Didn't reach for it.
Draven stepped forward—
his hand lifting—
and the space around the lock folded.
A soft distortion—
barely visible—
then—
**click.**
The door unlocked.
No sound beyond that.
No resistance.
The door slid open.
Inside—
a room.
A suite.
Clean.
Unused.
Vaeleth entered first—
setting the children down carefully on the nearest surface.
Still asleep.
Still safe.
Draven stepped in after her.
The door closed behind them.
Sealing the space.
Quiet settled instantly.
Contained.
Vaeleth turned back to him.
"…You called."
Calm.
Waiting.
Draven stood still for a moment—
then—
his gaze shifted briefly to the children.
"…Put them on the bed."
Vaeleth moved immediately.
No question.
No delay.
She lifted them—
one at a time—
careful—
precise—
laying them down gently.
The mattress dipped softly beneath their weight.
They didn't stir.
Didn't wake.
Still breathing slow—
steady—
safe.
Draven stepped closer.
His hand rose to his shoulder.
The cloak slid free.
Heavy.
Ill-fitting.
He held it out.
"…Fix it."
Simple.
Direct.
Vaeleth took it without hesitation.
"…Yes, my lord."
Her fingers adjusted along the fabric instantly—
feeling it—
measuring—
already assessing what needed to be done.
Draven turned slightly.
"…I need a change of clothes."
A pause.
"…Get them once I'm out."
"…Understood."
No wasted words.
The black cat atop his head shifted—
light—
balanced—
as he moved.
The slime slid from within the folds—
settling along his shoulder—
quiet—
still.
Draven walked deeper into the room.
Unhurried.
A door at the far end—
slightly ajar.
He pushed it open.
—
The bathroom.
Clean.
Unused.
Polished surfaces—
still—
untouched by wear.
A faint reflection caught him—
distorted slightly by the angle.
He stepped inside.
The door closed behind him.
—
Silence.
Outside—
Vaelith stood still for a moment—
the cloak in her hands.
Then—
she moved.
Setting it aside carefully—
within reach.
Her gaze shifted briefly to the children—
confirming.
Still asleep.
Still stable.
Then back to the cloak.
Her fingers traced the seams—
measuring—
adjusting—
already beginning to reshape it—not with tools—
but with controlled threads of mana.
Subtle.
Precise.
Inside the bathroom—
water began to run.
Soft at first—
then steady.
The sound filled the space—
contained—
isolated.
Draven stood beneath it—
still.
The cat remained perched—
unbothered.
The slime rested along his shoulder—
quiet.
Nothing rushed.
Nothing wasted.
Because even here—
nothing was without purpose.
Outside—
Vaelith worked.
Silent.
Focused.
Exactly as ordered.
The water had only just begun to run—
when the slime moved.
No warning.
No signal.
It spread.
Fluid—
fast—
crawling across Draven's body.
Not aggressive.
Not attacking.
**Cleaning.**
Dirt dissolved first.
Then blood—
stains lifting—
vanishing—
as if they had never been there.
It moved higher—
across his chest—
his shoulders—
up.
The cat saw it.
Fur bristling instantly.
A sharp hiss—
its paw lashed out.
Struck the slime.
Nothing.
No resistance.
No effect.
Draven didn't react.
Didn't even look at it.
His gaze remained fixed on his right arm.
The empire brand.
Still there.
Faintly glowing.
Steady.
Unchanged.
His eyes shifted.
Left.
The contract mark.
It stretched—
from his arm—
up—
across his shoulder—
touching his neck—
trailing down—
to the back of his hand.
Dense.
Intricate.
Alive in a way ink shouldn't be.
His gaze lingered—
just a second.
Then moved on.
The cat struck again—
more frantic now—
hissing louder—
as the slime crept higher.
Draven reached up.
Calm.
Unaffected.
He grabbed it mid-motion—
lifting it away from his shoulder.
The cat struggled—
twisting—
wet fur clinging—
still trying to strike at the slime.
Draven looked at it.
Silent.
Unmoved.
Behind it—
the slime continued.
Up his neck.
Across his jaw.
Over his face.
No obstruction.
No hesitation.
It covered everything.
The cat saw it—
eyes widening—
another sharp hiss—
its paw snapping forward—
striking his face.
A beat.
Nothing.
No reaction.
The slime finished—
then settled.
Still.
Controlled.
A moment later—
the door opened.
Draven stepped out.
A towel wrapped low around his waist—
water still trailing faintly from his skin.
Clean.
Composed.
The cat in his grip—
soaked—
still irritated—
tail flicking sharply.
The slime rested along him—
quiet again—
as if nothing had happened.
Vaelith looked up—
only for a second.
Then back down.
Continuing her work.
Because nothing about this—
surprised her anymore.
---
Aldric moved fast.
Not running—
gliding.
Feet barely touching the floor as he cut through the corridor.
"…If we're stuck here…" he muttered under his breath,
"…I'm not doing it bored."
His eyes drifted—
lazy—
but aware.
Then—
he stopped.
A panel on the wall.
Slightly raised.
A communicator.
He stared at it for a second—
then stepped closer.
Hand lifting—
tapping it once.
A faint hum.
Connection established.
---
**Control Deck**
The sound came through clean.
"…Pilot."
Aldric's voice.
Casual.
Unbothered.
The pilot's hands stayed on the controls—
but his attention shifted slightly.
"…I can hear you."
Lyriana didn't look up immediately.
Her focus remained on the artifact—
now held in the cultist's arms.
Mana still threading through it—
slow—
deliberate—
studying.
Aldric's voice came again—
"…Good."
A pause.
"…Now talk."
Blunt.
Direct.
"…Where do you keep food? Drinks. Storage."
A beat.
"…And don't give me something vague."
The pilot exhaled lightly through his nose—
then answered.
"…There's a central kitchen on the mid-deck."
His eyes flicked briefly to the navigation panel—
tracking their position.
"…From your location—head two corridors forward, take the left descent."
A pause.
"…You'll see a service hall. Kitchen's at the end."
Another beat.
"…Storage is connected behind it."
Silence for half a second.
Then—
"…Alright."
Aldric again.
Satisfied.
"…That works."
A faint click.
The line cut.
---
Back in the corridor—
Aldric pulled his hand away from the panel.
A small grin tugged at his lips.
"…Perfect."
No hesitation.
He turned—
already moving again.
Because now—
he had somewhere to go.