The Sinful Young Master

The chamber fell silent as Cleora and her attendants departed, leaving grandmother and grandson alone among the glowing runes that worked to slow the chaos corruption in Jolthar's veins.

Ancient magic symbols pulsed along the floor, casting eerie light across their faces—illuminating the family resemblance that neither could deny despite years of estrangement. It was her divine magic which she used to heal Jolthar.

Johamma moved to the window, her delicate fingers tracing patterns in the condensation as she gazed toward the mountains far away. Her reflection showed none of her growing years; the divine magic had preserved her appearance—another secret of the Kaezhlar family that few outside their clan were aware of.

"So tell me, what was the real reason you came here, and were you aware of what happened at the lake?" Jolthar spoke like he was accusing her. He was firm about it, and he didn't care if he hurt her feelings.

He was thankful for saving him, but he had to know her intentions. Right now.

Johamma stared at him. "Do you think I couldn't kill you if I wanted to?"

Jolthar stared at her, thinking. It was true. If she really wanted to kill him, she would have done it by now. But why all this drama?

"Someone in the clan is in cohorts with Naemarys?" Jolthar said, which made Johamma's brows tighten. She was also thinking the same.

"The maid and that man, they were prepared. She has been with me for the last several weeks now, so I brought her along. We can't quite tell if they are really part of the clan or spies from Naemarys."

"They seem to know what they were doing, not even afraid of dying. I think that they are tracking you to lead to me, and that's when that man signalled for Lodawg."

"Then we can't possibly think that someone from the family helped them. I can't say for sure, but I don't have a good feeling about this. It has never happened before," Johamma said.

"You can never trust anyone, not someone who keeps secrets. Even if they are family members," Jolthar said. He was hinting at her grandchildren. He had his suspicions, but there were speculations for now, so he didn't say it out loud.

Johamma fell silent.

She hadn't expected that her family members were capable of killing their own.

"I didn't think anyone was capable of such things in the clan," she said finally, breaking the silence.

Jolthar shifted on the ceremonial bed, wincing as the healing runes burned more intensely against his corrupted flesh. The bluish veins had receded slightly from his neck but still throbbed visibly along his arms—a temporary reprieve at best.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked, voice hoarse from the strain of enduring the healing.

Johamma turned to face him, her eyes—the same piercing blue as his own—hardening with resolve. "I need to go back now. I will have to find out who did this. Whoever did this must be a member of the clan or part of the guards. It seems like Naemarys have infiltrated our ranks. They dared to disguise themselves and dared to attack us." Her voice took on the steel edge that had made lesser nobles tremble.

"I will not spare them."

Jolthar knew what she meant.

The attack on the Kaezhlar compound three months prior had been precise and devastating, targeting the clan's patriarch.

A betrayal from within—unthinkable in a clan whose loyalty had been legendary for generations.

Johamma approached his bedside, her expression softening slightly as she studied his face. Despite everything that had transpired between them—the years of manipulation, the schemes—there remained an undeniable bond. Blood of her blood. The last of her direct line.

"Come back to your family," she said, her voice gentler than he could remember hearing since childhood.

"To your clan. We stand stronger together against whatever comes."

The request hung in the air between them, weighted with unspoken history and equal measures of love and resentment.

Jolthar closed his eyes, memories washing over him—his years of torment and those brothers still treating him in such a way. He knew that not all of the clan people shared the same statement as her.

"No," he said finally, opening his eyes to meet her gaze. "I thank you for telling me about the sword. About the Horgath. And now too. But that is all."

He gestured toward the window, toward the Barony of Tekkora that had become his refuge. "I won't return to the clan."

Johamma's lips pressed into a thin line, disappointment evident despite her effort to conceal it. Yet she nodded—understanding, if not accepting, his decision. There was respect in her eyes, however reluctant.

She can see it in his eyes, the hatred he developed towards his family; it was something she couldn't undo. But she can try to atone for what she has done. She didn't want to give up on him. For now, she had important matters to deal with.

She remembered their last meeting, how she and her son talked to him. She had been so blind that she didn't see the suffering, the pain and the rage within him.

Her pride made her talk like that now, it was her love towards him and her late daughter that made her come here.

The more she looked at him, the more she remembered her daughter. He looked just like her.

She should have seen her daughter in him—her blood, her spirit, her legacy. And instead of pushing him away, she should have embraced him, cherished him, as a part of the one she lost.

Johamma stared at the boy for a few seconds; a lot of emotions ran through her mind.

She let out a heavy sigh, shaking her head.

It was no use dwelling on things which had already happened.

She then said what was weighing on her mind about his chaos.

"The corruption will claim you," she said, not unkindly. "This type of quick spread is unlike anything I have ever witnessed."

"The more you grow stronger, the stronger its claims become. You need to do something about the chaos; learn to adapt to it if you are going to use more of that."

Jolthar fell into brooding silence.

This marked the second time he'd nearly lost himself to the chaos after wielding the Horgath's higher forms. The Beast King's healing energy, once sufficient to purge the corruption, now barely contained its spread. The chaos aura grew stronger with each victory, leaving its dark mark upon him.

Seeing as he was remaining silent, she could tell he had no way of dealing with the chaos.

"There is a race in the northern parts of the empire," Johamma continued, her voice dropping to just above a whisper.

"To be precise, into deeper parts of the northwest chain of mountains.

A place whispered of in the oldest tongues—a hidden enclave deep within the chain mountains, where the elves known as the Ael'koryna are said to dwell. Few dare to speak of them openly, for they are not like the other elven kin. Touched by chaos itself, their magic thrums with ancient, untamed currents—beautiful and terrifying all at once. Their numbers are few, and their ways are secretive, cloaked in illusion and riddles. They do not welcome outsiders easily, and to find them is a trial of fate more than skill."

This caught Jolthar's attention.

Throughout his years wielding the powers of voidwrath and chaos, he'd never heard of others who had made peace with such energies. The Ael'koryna were mentioned only in ancient texts, typically dismissed as legend rather than history.

"How would I find them?" he asked, trying to mask his interest.

"There is a place called Mount Chelheim Rise among the chain mountains," Johamma explained. "After you reach there, they say that chaos-touched people will know the route. The chaos will guide from there. The mountain itself reveals the path only to those who carry the taint."

Jolthar studied his grandmother's face, searching for deception. "How do you know all this?"

A shadow passed over Johamma's features. "The Mad Sovereign tried to seek them when he was having trouble with chaos. But they rejected him, which ultimately led to his death."

After reaching the peak of his realm, when most would have felt triumph and clarity, Jolthar felt only the encroaching weight of something darker. It was not a foe in flesh, nor blade nor spell—it was chaos itself. The very force he had wielded to rise above all others had turned against him.

"Why do you think they would help me now?" Jolthar asked, scepticism evident in his tone.

"It's better than trying to kill yourself slowly," Johamma replied pragmatically.

"The corruption is like a slow poison, and someday it will claim you entirely. Your mysterious healing, and even I can't do anything."

Johamma, while treating him, noticed the same green energy he used to fight was helping him.

With her methods and the green energy healing, the corruption receded quickly.