Draven stirred in his sleep as the early morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of the Drakhan mansion's grand bedroom. His eyes opened slowly, blinking against the soft light that cut through the quiet of the room. The air was still, and the world outside barely stirred. It was a perfect morning for someone like Draven—calm, calculated, and precise. He sat up, his movements fluid, as if even in the simple act of waking, he had mastered every gesture.