The Sinful Young Master

Johamma's voice broke the silence, pleading as he reached the threshold. "Jolthar, please don't leave the clan. I've made mistakes, but I want us to stay together. I don't care about glory or power—I just want our family to heal. Please, at least consider my words."

Jolthar paused for a brief moment, her words hanging in the air. But he didn't turn around. Instead, he opened the door and stepped out, letting it close behind him.

Johamma sank into her chair, her head in her hands. "I just want him to stay," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Caelum stood in silence, his expression unreadable as he stared at the door Jolthar had just walked through. The storm within the Kaezhlar clan was far from over.

Jolthar's mind churned with determination. He wasn't strong enough to face Caelum yet, but one day, he would be. One day, he would prove his worth on his own terms.

Johamma sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping with the weight of her emotions. "I just want us to be a family again," she murmured softly, more to herself than to anyone else.

Caelum crossed his arms, his expression unreadable, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his lingering anger. "He'll come around," he said after a long silence, though his words lacked conviction.

Johamma could only hope that was true.

*

Earlier, when Dakrasuer was pulled into the clouds, those chains pulled him straight into a closed space far above in the clouds.

There, in a chamber of crystal and stardust, he beheld Qalena. She was standing amidst the space, watching him and the chains she sent out, still wrapped around him.

The sight confirmed his worst fears. "I knew it was you," he growled, his voice echoing across the space.

"You gave a mortal the 'Power of Ascendant?' Do you know what you are doing?" His eyes, burning with the fire of a thousand dying stars, fixed upon Qalena.

"How dare you give him that power. Does my brother Xaereus know this?"

Qalena remained silent, her form shifting between the aspects like a flame in changing winds. With a gesture both elegant and terrible, she summoned her spear—not a common weapon, but one forged specially for maintaining order between pantheons.

"You descended to the midlands and tried to kill humans," Qalena proclaimed, her voice carrying the weight of divine law.

"It is your punishment. And no one will know of this from now on." The spear, trailing celestial fire, struck Dakrasuer in the left side of his chest.

The impact shattered reality around him. He felt himself falling, not merely through space but through layers of existence.

Past Illumarhen, past the Midlands, past the underworld itself, into a realm that belonged to the netherworld—the Void Between Worlds.

He crashed into a mountain of black glass in a land where volcanoes belched fires older than time. The impact created a crater.

He lay there, the divine spear still piercing his chest, its power keeping him bound to this realm of exile. As he lay there, he thought about why Qalena acted swiftly; she was clearly hiding the fact of the power of ascendant from his brother. And even if he was absent in the heavens, no one would notice; he knew that fact. He had made himself of such existence among the gods that they no longer feared him. And it made him burn with shame and anger.

When at last he managed to open his eyes, they burned not with rage but with something colder, more terrible. With strength born of hatred, he grasped the spear's shaft.

Each movement sent waves of agony through his divine form, but slowly, inexorably, he drew the weapon from his flesh. As he did so, his blood fell upon the black glass.

He raised his voice in a vow that caused the very fabric of reality to shudder: "By the primordial darkness that preceded all pantheons, by the void between worlds that gives birth to chaos, I swear this: I will return. And when I do, I will show both deities and gods what true divine power means. The barriers between realms will fall, and in the chaos that follows, a new order will arise—my order."

*

In the northeastern expanse of the empire, where the lands were lush and the winds carried the scent of pine and earth, stood the sprawling Naemarys Castle. The compound was vast, stretching over several acres, bordered by tall walls of white stone.

At the entrance arch, the name Naemarys was engraved in bold, ancient script—a mark of prestige and legacy.

Within the compound, nestled amid manicured gardens and courtyards, rose a towering cylindrical structure, its silhouette visible for miles. The tower, with its ten imposing floors, stood as both a symbol of the family's influence and a fortress of power.

At the summit of the tower, the top floor was an expansive chamber with high, arched windows that offered a panoramic view of the estate and the lands beyond. The interior was opulent yet subdued, with polished marble floors and a single grand table carved from ebony dominating the centre.

Seated at the head of this table was Segarus, his lean form draped in a deep red cloak. His eyes, sharp and calculating, bore the weight of countless strategies and battles.

Across from him sat Lodawg, a burly man with an aura of quiet menace. His thick arms rested on the table, and his scarred face was lit by the flickering light of a nearby brazier.

Segarus leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled as he began to speak. "I didn't expect him to trigger his enlightenment in the midst of the battle. That Caelum, he is making me more and more desperate to kill him."

Lodawg grunted in agreement, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Caelum's problem is his sentimentality. He fights for ideals, not for power. That makes him dangerous on a battlefield but vulnerable in a larger game. He would hesitate where others would strike."

Segarus nodded, his gaze distant as though his mind was tracing the threads of an intricate web. "He's a lion, but one bound by his own sense of morality. For now, his strength keeps us wary, but I fear it also blinds him to the true threats we face."

Lodawg's brow furrowed. "You're speaking of Jolthar, aren't you?" Lodawg witnessed how Jolthar stood up to the god when they were all fear struck and frozen. And he was even wielding the blade of the man who they despise.

Segarus's expression hardened, and a cold edge crept into his voice. "Yes. Jolthar is the anomaly, the unpredictable factor. He wields powers he doesn't fully understand yet, but his potential is undeniable. That sword he carries, Horgarth, it's not just a weapon—it's a legacy, a symbol of his connection to that man. And that aura... it's unsettling, even to me."

Lodawg shifted uncomfortably. "He's strong, but he's still raw. His emotions cloud his judgement."

Segarus's eyes snapped to Lodawg, sharp as a blade. "Did you see the way Dakrasuer reacted to Jolthar? A god rattled by a mortal. That alone should tell you what we're dealing with. Jolthar isn't just a threat to the clan; he's a threat to me. To us. If we let him grow unchecked, he will surpass anything we can control."

Lodawg's jaw tightened. "So what's the plan? Do we strike now, while he's still healing?"

Segarus stood, walking to the window and staring out over the estate. The sky was tinged with the amber glow of dusk, casting long shadows across the land. His voice was low but resolute. "Jolthar must be eliminated, but it won't be simple. He's resilient, and that damnable chaos aura of his. We need to be precise. No mistakes."
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He turned back to Lodawg, his gaze cold and unyielding. "From this moment, Jolthar becomes our priority. Every resource, every strategy, every move we make—focus it on him. We don't just kill him; we annihilate him. His name, his legacy, his very existence will be erased."

Lodawg nodded slowly, the gravity of the task settling over him. "And Caelum? Does he need to be dealt with too?"

Segarus's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Not yet. For now, our priority is only Jolthar, and I can't look past what I have seen. And Jolthar, if left alone, will grow far stronger than Caelum; even we can't deal with him then." Segarus's voice trailed off, the implication clear.

"Keep an eye on him; kill him if you chance upon it."

Lodawg rose, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the room. "I'll see to it. Jolthar won't see us coming."

Segarus returned to his seat, his expression unreadable. "Good. The Naemarys legacy is built on strength, not sentiment. Jolthar will learn that the hard way."

As the two men exchanged a final nod, the flickering brazier cast their faces in a ghostly light, their resolve as unyielding as the stone walls of the tower.