Chapter 29: Don’t mess with Jorghan
The morning broke with deceptive tranquility over the Floating Isles.
Inside the Patriarch’s house, only three of them were eating, while the rest of them were nowhere to be seen.
Sigora had prepared a hearty breakfast of blouberry porridge and smoked yarik meat, the familiar ritual a comfort after Jorghan’s ordeal.
Swana sat across from him, her hunter’s instincts still assessing him for changes, while Sik’ra peppered him with questions about the human vessel’s construction.
"The mana crystal responded differently than our beast-bonds," Jorghan explained, carefully omitting the extent of how naturally the craft had obeyed his will.
"Their methods are... crude, but effective."
Sigora’s expression remained thoughtful as she served Chyrisaline honeyed tea, a type of leaf that helps one calm.
"Different approaches to the same fundamental forces. We would do well to remember that innovation often springs from—"
The dwelling’s entry chime rang with urgent harmonics, its crystalline tone cutting through their conversation like a blade.
Before Sigora could respond, a tall figure pushed through the living wood doorway without ceremony—Ueren, one of Korreth’s subordinates, his normally composed features tight with alarm.
"Forgive the intrusion, Lady Sigora," he said, executing a perfunctory bow while his eyes remained fixed on Jorghan.
"There are intruders in the southwest of the isles."
"The watchers have spotted vessels of the size of an island. Human vessels."
Jorghan frowned as he heard him.
Did they follow me? No, it wasn’t possible. I was sure that no one was behind me, Jorghan thought to himself.
"How many?" Sigora asked, her voice deadly calm.
"Three airships, flying in formation. They bear no clan markings we recognize."
"Where’s your patriarch?" Sigora asked him.
Ueren pursed his lips, looking sideways, and then replied, "He is on his way."
"The Council of Elders convenes within the hour. Your presence is... requested."
The careful emphasis on the final word made it clear that this was no mere invitation.
Then he left right after, leaving them to contemplate.
Sigora knit her brows, her gaze drawn to Jorghan.
Something about this didn’t feel right to her.
-
Sigora left for the council like a thundercloud walking away from a storm; the house hushed after her.
Jorghan waited until the door shut, then blinked at Swana with the kind of easy lie only a child who’s practiced it a thousand times can pull off.
"I’ll fetch herbs," he said, voice steady.
Swana didn’t bother to look up.
He slipped out before she remembered to ask where.
And Sik’ra blinked wondering still just happend.
Meanwhile, Jorghan was already moving towards a certain direction, a place where certain people would hang out.
Dawn still clung to the isles in silver threads when he reached the river stream. Mist wreathed the water, and the tall reeds whispered secrets.
Kael’var lazed on the bank with the twins, a lazy six-foot youth who looked older than he behaved. They were ribbing each other, throwing pebbles like small, harmless missiles.
Jorghan didn’t creep.
He arrived like a snapped string—a blink and a presence.
The older youths stumbled back as if a gust had hit them; one of the twins pitched forward, boots sloshing into the shallow run. The sound of surprised exhalations died in their throats.
Jorghan moved before they could recover.
His hand was a blur, a pressure against Kael’var’s side, then a foot driving into the hollow of the other elf’s belly. Kael’var skidded, ribs meeting the curved root of a fallen trunk with a thud that woke the birds.
Jorghan moved again and caught him by the throat in a heartbeat, lifting him as if he weighed nothing at all.
"You thought I’d forget?" Jorghan’s voice was low and cold.
"You were quite chirpy at the spire; why don’t you run your mouth now?" Jorghan said without blinking, staring right into Kael’var’s eyes.
Kael’var was groaning from the pain; he choked, he couldn’t breathe properly, and his tall frame hung like a dead stick in the middle air.
"Next time you mess with me, be ready to live a hell-like life."
Up close you could see the shimmer that hid under his skin—a thread of something not quite natural.
Kael’var’s eyes rolled and then closed; the scent of fear and the pressure of raw, animal rage swept over him and pinned him to silence.
To him, Jorghan looked like a giant red monster with immense rage flaring around him, making him whimper in fear. The amount of pressure radiated from Jorghan was too much to bear for him.
He fainted, limbs going limp under the weight of Jorghan’s hold.
The twins blurted threats—they’d tell their father, they’d bring the elders, they’d sing songs of how he started it all.