The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The trio continued to tail Draven as he ventured deeper into the maze of old buildings, their footsteps quiet, blending with the ambient noise of the marketplace fading behind them. The buildings around them began to take on an eerie quality, their facades crumbling, their windows dark and vacant. It was the kind of place that had long since been abandoned, left to the creeping weeds and lingering shadows. Sharon kept a careful eye on Draven, her lips pressed into a hard line, her suspicions written plainly across her face.

"Look at him," Sharon muttered, her voice barely a whisper. "He's up to something—I just know it. No one comes out here unless they're hiding something."

Sophie glanced at her, then back at Draven's figure as he moved swiftly through the alleyways. The cloak he wore seemed to swallow the light, his gait purposeful, deliberate. Sophie herself wasn't sure what to make of all this—the secrecy, the evasive route. Part of her felt a twinge of regret for doubting him, but the other part couldn't ignore the nagging questions that had always lingered. What exactly was he hiding?

Maris, trailing just behind, kept her gaze focused intently on Draven. She wasn't as quick to judge as Sharon. She found herself fascinated—not just by the mystery surrounding him but by the contradictions in his actions. He was cold, efficient, yes—but there had always been a sense that there was more beneath that icy surface. Something human. Something vulnerable.

Just then, as they rounded another corner, a flash of movement caught their eyes. A young child, no more than six or seven years old, came running across a narrow path above them. The child's laughter echoed briefly, an innocent, carefree sound that didn't belong in the forgotten maze of decrepit buildings. Then, in an instant, that laughter turned into a sharp cry. The boy, too close to the ledge, lost his footing and began to fall.

Sophie inhaled sharply, her heart lurching as the child teetered on the edge. But before she could even think to move, something incredible happened. Draven, without breaking stride, extended his hand ever so slightly. His expression didn't change—his eyes remained cold, his face impassive—but there was a sudden shift in the air around them. The child, who should have plummeted to the ground below, seemed to hover mid-fall, an invisible force holding him steady before gently setting him back on his feet.

It all happened in a heartbeat. Draven barely looked at the child, turning his head just enough to make sure the boy was unharmed before continuing on his way, his expression never shifting. The boy, unaware of what had just saved him, simply giggled and scampered off, as carefree as before.

"Did you see that?" Sharon's voice was low, incredulous, her eyes wide as she turned to Sophie and Maris. "He used magic—psychokinesis or something—and he didn't even blink. Who does that? He didn't even react!"

Sophie bit her lip, her gaze shifting back to Draven's retreating figure. Sharon's suspicion was palpable, her determination to uncover something sinister about Draven growing stronger with each passing moment. But Sophie wasn't so sure anymore. She had seen the way Draven acted—that calm, detached demeanor. It wasn't malice; it was something else entirely. Your journey continues with empire

Maris, however, felt her curiosity deepen. She had noticed the gentleness in Draven's actions—how he had ensured the child was safe without drawing attention to himself. It wasn't the act of a criminal, or of someone with evil intentions. It was… protective. Quietly so. She couldn't deny that there was a certain warmth hidden beneath the cold, something that made her want to know more.

"He saved that child," Maris whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "He didn't have to do that, but he did. And he didn't care about recognition."

Sharon scoffed, shaking her head. "Yeah, well, maybe he's just covering his tracks. Trying to look good when someone might be watching. I still don't trust him—not one bit."

Sophie stayed silent, her eyes still fixed on Draven. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something important—something about Draven that none of them fully understood. And that only made her want to keep following him.

They continued their pursuit, keeping a safe distance as Draven moved deeper into the heart of the abandoned district. After a while, he slowed his pace, eventually coming to a stop near an old, forgotten fountain. The fountain, once grand, was now dry, its stone cracked and weathered by time. Draven stood there for a moment, his gaze fixed on the empty basin, his shoulders tense.

Sophie, Sharon, and Maris watched from behind the corner of a nearby building, their eyes trained on him. There was a change in his posture—a rare stillness that seemed almost… sad. He looked out of place, a lone figure surrounded by decay, his eyes distant, as if he were seeing something far beyond the crumbling walls around him.

"What's he doing?" Sharon whispered, her voice edged with impatience. "He's just standing there, staring at nothing. It's weird."

Sophie didn't respond. She was too focused on Draven's expression—or rather, the lack of it. There was something raw about the way he looked at the fountain, as if he were remembering something, something that hurt. She wasn't used to seeing him like this—unguarded, vulnerable. It made her question everything she thought she knew about him.

Maris, too, was captivated by the moment. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes seemed to darken, as if he were carrying a burden no one else could see. She found herself wondering what kind of memories haunted him, what kind of past had shaped the man he was now.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, approaching Draven with quiet, measured steps. It was Alfred, Draven's butler, his posture as impeccable as ever. He stopped a few paces from Draven, his head bowed slightly in respect.

"Master Draven," Alfred said, his voice soft but carrying a note of reprimand. "You mustn't stray too far. The symposium is approaching, and your presence is required."

Draven turned his head slightly, his gaze meeting Alfred's. The cold mask slipped back into place, his expression once again unreadable. "I needed some fresh air, Alfred," he replied, his voice calm, almost detached. "The tower was suffocating."

Alfred's eyes softened, his concern evident despite his formal tone. "I understand, sir. But the preparations are nearly complete, and your guidance is still needed."

Draven nodded, his gaze shifting back to the fountain for a brief moment before he turned away, his cloak billowing slightly as he moved. "Very well. Let's go."

From their hiding place, Sharon watched the exchange, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Fresh air? Since when does that guy care about fresh air? He practically lives in that tower of his."

Sophie, however, was beginning to see things differently. The way Alfred spoke to Draven—there was genuine concern there, a sense of familiarity that went beyond that of a mere servant and master. It was clear that Alfred cared deeply for Draven, and that, in itself, made her reconsider her own perception of him.

"Maybe there's more to him than we thought," Sophie murmured, her eyes following Draven as he walked away, Alfred at his side. "Maybe he's not as cold as he seems."

Sharon huffed, her skepticism unshaken. "Or maybe he's just good at pretending. Either way, we need to keep watching. There's something off about all of this."

Maris nodded, her gaze lingering on Draven. She couldn't help but feel a growing sense of curiosity, a desire to understand the man behind the cold façade. Who was he, really? What was he hiding? And why did he seem so burdened, even when he tried to hide it?

The trio decided to follow Alfred and Draven from a greater distance, their footsteps careful as they trailed them through the winding alleyways. Eventually, Draven and Alfred led them to a more secluded area of the marketplace, a place where the buildings were older, their facades worn and their windows dark.

It was there, in the shadow of an old stone wall, that they saw Sir Galahad. He was waiting, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert. As Draven and Alfred approached, Galahad straightened, nodding in greeting.

"You have it?" Draven asked, his tone as cold and precise as ever.

Alfred stepped forward, handing over a stack of documents to Draven. The papers were thick, bound with twine, and as Draven flipped through them, his eyes scanned the pages quickly, his expression thoughtful.

From their hiding place, Maris squinted, her sharp eyesight catching a glimpse of one of the pages. There were diagrams, detailed notes, and at the top of one of the pages, she managed to make out part of a header: "Analysis of Demonic Manifestation at the Royal Banquet."

Maris's eyes widened, and she turned to Sophie, her voice barely a whisper. "He's investigating the demonic appearances. He's not conspiring against the kingdom—he's trying to understand what's happening."

Sophie felt a jolt of realization, her heart pounding as she processed Maris's words. Draven wasn't a traitor. He wasn't plotting against the kingdom. He was working to protect it, to understand the threat they were facing. And all this time, she had doubted him.

Sharon, however, wasn't so easily convinced. She frowned, her eyes narrowing. "Then why all the secrecy? Why meet out here, away from everyone else? If he's doing something good, why hide it?"

Sophie looked at Sharon, her expression softening. "Because of people like us, Sharon. People who jump to conclusions without understanding the full picture. He knows how people see him. He knows that no one would believe him if he tried to explain."

Sharon hesitated, her skepticism wavering. "I still don't trust him," she muttered, though her voice lacked its usual conviction. "But... maybe he's not selling state secrets."

Maris stayed silent, her eyes fixed on Draven. She watched as he handed the documents back to Alfred, his face as impassive as ever. But she could see it now—the determination in his eyes, the weight he carried. He wasn't just a cold, distant professor. He was someone who was trying, in his own way, to protect the kingdom, to protect them all.

As Draven and Alfred turned and walked away, the trio remained hidden, each of them lost in their thoughts. Sophie's heart felt heavy with guilt, the memories of her past with Draven mixing with the humiliation.

"No, I should not hold a grudge,"