Lord of the realm

"The ones who did this to you, they are the ones you should be wary of. When I found you on the shore, you were barely alive, and I was the one who healed you."

The days that followed eroded the stone walls around him.

In her care, Jaenor learned she had once belonged to a coven—until betrayal drove her from it. She had abandoned witchcraft and now lived quietly, tending her home by the sea.

She told him she had found him washed ashore, half-dead, his body tangled in seaweed and sand.

He waited until his strength returned, intending to leave.

But by then, her kindness had seeped into him like warmth into frostbitten fingers.

There was something in her that made him pull towards her. And mainly Jaenor was more interested in her alluring and thicc sensual body, as he was thinking with his other head at that time.

So, he stayed.

When he finally chose to trust her, she promised to guide him in cultivating his Origin power.

And under her patient tutelage, he gained what he had never truly held before—full control over the force that had once frightened him.

In the first two months itself, he had derived the understanding of the Origin power and started wielding it. And the next days were followed by the arts of the Origin and learning the true nature of the power.

Odessa was truly taken aback by his growth—staggered, even. In all her years, she had never encountered someone who could evolve so rapidly, nor heard whispers of such a prodigy existing in the world.

In her mind, she began to speculate.

Could his talent be at the fabled five-star level? If so, it would explain the staggering pace at which his abilities had sharpened.

Yet there was a deeper layer to the mystery—one that unsettled her.

She could neither measure his power nor discern the true extent of his talent.

From the very moment she had first sensed the trace of Origin power within him, it was as if he had become a sealed vault—his energy unreadable, his presence ungraspable.

No matter how keen her perception, she could not pierce that veil.

"Tell me about your day," she said, changing the subject with the practiced ease of someone who knew when to push and when to simply listen.

"Did old Petrus complain about the weather again? Did the Earl's tax collectors make their rounds?"

They talked as she finished organizing her papers—something to do with trade routes and shipping manifests, though he suspected there was more to her work than she let on.

Odessa was a woman of many secrets, and he had learned not to pry too deeply into the ones she wasn't ready to share.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows through the windows, she set aside her work and turned to him with a different kind of focus.

"It's time for your training," she announced, moving toward the back door that led to their small, private garden.

The training area was simple—just a cleared circle of packed ground surrounded by high wooden fences that blocked prying eyes.

But it was here that Jaenor had learned to master the power that had nearly destroyed him six months ago.

"Show me your progress with the energy core formation," Odessa instructed, settling herself on the wooden bench they had placed at the edge of the circle.

Jaenor nodded, moving to the centre of the space and closing his eyes.

The Origin power that flowed through his veins was unlike anything his scattered companions wielded.

Where Rena commanded elemental forces and Taeryn controlled martial perfection, Jaenor's gift touched something far more fundamental—the very essence of the Origin itself.

He extended his hands, palms facing each other about a foot apart, and began to draw upon the wellspring of power that resided in his core.

The Origin Core—a wellspring of raw power—was said to form at the very center of one's being, a luminous heart of energy. It only manifested after one reached the rank of Originbound, and from that moment, it would grow and evolve according to the individual's talent and cultivation.

Yet Jaenor had defied that law entirely. He had not even ascended to Originmark, and still… his Origin Core had already formed.

Odessa was staggered.

His core was no greater in girth than a knight's apple, yet far grander than any she had beheld in one so young and unproven. But it was its hue that set it apart from all others. Where most cores shone with the pale light of tempered moonstone, Jaenor's burned with a deep, blood-crimson fire, and upon its surface lay etched strange and perfect lines—like runes carved by the hands of forgotten gods.

Those lines were not decorative—they pulsed faintly, like living veins, threading through his very being, connecting directly into every meridian in his body.

It was as though the core itself commanded his life force.

The energy responded immediately, flowing outward like liquid starlight to form a sphere of crackling force between his palms.

But this was no mere display of raw power.

Under Odessa's patient tutelage, he had learned to shape and control the energy, to give it purpose and form. The sphere began to condense, growing smaller but infinitely more dense as he compressed the origin force into a stable configuration.

When he was finished, a perfect orb of crystallized energy hovered between his hands—solid as diamond but pulsing with inner light that seemed to contain entire galaxies.

It was a feat that would have been impossible six months ago, when his power had been wild and uncontrolled.

"Excellent," Odessa said, though he could hear a note of something else in her voice.

Pride, perhaps, but also concern. "Your control has improved dramatically. But remember, the true test of mastery isn't creating power—it's knowing when not to use it."

He allowed the energy core to dissipate, the light fading until nothing remained but the memory of its warmth against his palms.

When he opened his eyes, he found her watching him with an expression that was both loving and worried.

"You're stronger than you realize," she continued, rising from the bench to approach him. "Stronger than you were before the incident, even. But with that strength comes responsibility. The power you wield could reshape reality itself if unleashed without restraint."

"I know," he said quietly.

"That's why I have you to guide me."

She smiled then, the expression transforming her face from merely beautiful to radiant.

"And you always will, my dear. No matter what comes, no matter what you remember about that night in the forest, I will be here."

Later, as the moon rose over Basmonte's harbour, they made their way upstairs to the bedroom they shared.

-

The night light spilled through the open window, painting the bedroom in shades of silver and shadow.

The rhythmic crash of waves against the shore carried on the salty breeze, and Jaenor stood there, mouth dry, heart pounding, as Odessa closed the door behind them with a soft click.

Her presence filled the room, her towering frame commanding attention. She was a storm waiting to break, her pale skin glowing in the dim light, her black hair cascading down her back like a river of ink.

Jaenor's gaze lingered on her—the way her hips swayed as she approached and the way her full lips curved into a knowing smile.

She was everything he'd fantasised about, standing just inches away. His pulse quickened as she reached out, her slender fingers brushing against his jawline, tilting his face up to meet hers.

"You've been yearning for me all day, haven't you?" She murmured, her voice low and velvety, like the hum of charm in the air.

"Every time I walk past you, every time I bend over to pick something up. I can feel your eyes on me."

Jaenor swallowed hard, his cheeks burning. "I… I couldn't help it," he admitted, his voice trembling. "You're just… you're so—"

"Beautiful?" she interrupted, her lips curling into a smirk.

"Powerful? Irresistible?" Her hand trailed down his neck, her touch sending shivers down his spine. "Or maybe you're just a pervert who can't keep his thoughts to himself."

"Maybea pervert, that I am?" he replied, gulping down his saliva.

Her other hand found its way to his chest, splaying across his shirt. He could feel the heat of her palm through the fabric, and his heart raced faster.

She was so close now, her curves pressing against him, her scent—roses and sea salt—filling his senses.

He felt dizzy, intoxicated by her presence.

"Odessa…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Shh," she murmured, silencing him with a gentle press of her thumb against his lips. "Let me take the lead."

Her hands moved to his shoulders, pushing him backward until the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed. He sat down with a soft thud, staring up at her as she stepped between his legs.