Lord of the realm

Sonja loved her children, and they loved their mother. Even though they have twisted desires, they are a very powerful duo among the witches, and no one would dare challenge them.

She turned, lowering her voice.

"This is no time for indulgence. Morgana has returned."

The sisters' smiles vanished.

The air thickened.

The playful arrogance dissolved into sharp focus, as if a storm had swept through the room.

"Morgana?" Elizabeth whispered, her fingers curling slightly, as though grasping for her staff.

Katerina's grin faded into a thin, dangerous line. "So… the cranky snake crawls back from the shadows."

"Then that means she must have brought them here," Elizabeth said. She was talking about the chosen three.

"They have seen two young people, a girl and a boy; both of them appeared to be around 20," Sonja said.

"I think they are the ones we saw in the forest," Katerina said, looking towards Elizabeth.

Elizabeth nodded.

Sonja nodded once. "Gather yourselves. Now. There is a word that the council will be assembled."

Without hesitation, the three women swept from the chamber, their robes flaring behind them like banners of war. The discarded attendants were forgotten, left in stunned silence as the true weight of the Ladraella bloodline strode into the night.

-

Meanwhile, many miles away, Jaenor and Odessa sat in a simple horse-drawn carriage that bounced and swayed along a dirt road cutting through the empire's countryside.

The vehicle was unremarkable in every way—exactly what Odessa had intended when she arranged for their transportation in the river town.

The Witch woman had chosen their route carefully, avoiding the main thoroughfares where news traveled fast and strangers were remembered.

Instead, they followed lesser paths through farming country and small villages where two travelers would attract little attention.

Jaenor was staring at her—at Odessa—with a quiet intensity. His mind was a storm of questions, each one circling around the impossible things she had done.

Six months.

That's how long he had been with her now. And yet, he still knew almost nothing about who she really was.

He had once told himself it didn't matter. And to her.

After all, she'd saved him more times than he could count. She'd provided food, shelter, and protection. She'd walked into chaos and walked out untouched, dragging him along with her.

But still… the questions wouldn't leave him alone.

"Just ask me," Odessa said suddenly, her voice laced with amusement.

She didn't look at him—just stared at the maps, the corners of her mouth curved in a knowing smile. "Don't trouble your little head over it."

Jaenor hesitated, then blurted it out.

"Just… how? I mean, you have gold—real gold—that can make a pirate steer his ship straight into a navy blockade if you asked him to. This carriage, these clothes, the way you fought in the castle..."

He trailed off, brow furrowed.

"I knew you were strong. But I didn't know you were this powerful. And, honestly, loaded."

Odessa laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with practiced grace.

"It's nothing," she said with a light shrug.

"Just some spare change I spent on my darling."

"Just like a sugar momma, my sugar momma," Jaenor said with a smirk on his face.

She glanced at him then, her eyes glinting with something between mischief and mystery.

And just like that, she went back to whatever she was doing.

"Where exactly are we going?" Jaenor asked as he watched the rolling hills and wheat fields pass by their window.

Odessa was studying a map she had purchased from a merchant in the last village they'd passed through. Her dark eyes traced the roads and landmarks with the careful attention of someone planning a campaign.

"Away from the places where your enemies will think to look," she replied without looking up. "There are sanctuaries in the empire, places where those who wield Origin power can find refuge when the world becomes too dangerous. But first, we must travel far enough from these places to ensure that neither the Brotherhood nor the Witch Council can easily track our movements."

The irony of their situation was not lost on Jaenor.

Here he was, possessing power that could level mountains, fleeing through the countryside like a common criminal.

But he understood Odessa's wisdom.

Raw power was useless if you didn't know how to apply it wisely, and right now wisdom meant avoiding confrontation until he could better understand and control his abilities.

They had been traveling for several hours when their carriage suddenly lurched to a halt.

"What's wrong?" Jaenor called to their driver, a weathered old man who had been happy to accept their coin for passage to the next major town.

"The road's blocked, sir," the driver called back, his voice filled with an excitement that spoke of someone witnessing something extraordinary.

"Looks like there's quite a show going on ahead."

Curious despite their need for discretion, Jaenor and Odessa climbed down from the carriage to see what had caused the delay.

What they found was unlike anything either of them had expected.

The forest that lined both sides of the road had been devastated.

Giant old oak trees lay scattered like broken toys, their massive trunks split and splintered by forces that defied imagination.

The ground was torn up in great furrows, as if enormous claws or hooves had churned the ground into a muddy soup. The very air seemed to crackle with residual energy from whatever battle had taken place here.

A small crowd of travelers had gathered at what seemed to be a safe distance, all staring in fascination at the spectacle unfolding before them. Merchants with their pack animals, farmers returning from market, even a few minor nobles in their fine clothes—all united in their amazement at the rare sight they were witnessing.

In the center of the destruction, one giant creature and a medium sized one were locked in mortal combat.

The troll was a monster with dark origins, more than ten meters tall and built like a living mountain. Its skin was greyish brown like some stone and just as tough, marked with scars that spoke of countless battles over what might have been centuries of existence.