The Sinful Young Master

April 1824,

The courtyard of the baronial mansion bloomed with early spring flowers, a stark contrast to the sombre conversation unfolding between its lady and her daughter.

Cleora stood with her hands clasped behind her back, her posture betraying none of the anxiety that had plagued her since their return from the battlefield two days prior.

Beside her, Nora gazed absently at the garden's central fountain—a relic from more peaceful times depicting the Barony's founder astride a beast.

The young woman's fingers unconsciously traced the outline of her dagger with her name engraved on it.

"What is it that you are thinking?" Cleora asked, noting her daughter's distant expression.

Nora's brow furrowed slightly. "What should we do about that lady?"

No elaboration was needed.

Both knew exactly who "that lady" was—Johamma Kaezhlar, who now occupied the eastern guest quarters of their home. The Kaezhlar lady had accompanied them from the battlefield without invitation or explanation, as if her presence were a foregone conclusion rather than an intrusion.

"Let Jolthar wake," Cleora replied diplomatically.

"We will think then."

Nora's expression hardened, her youth showing through in the passionate indignation that coloured her words. "Aren't they too selfish? First, they kick him out; now they call him back."

Cleora regarded her daughter carefully.

The young woman had grown fond of Jolthar during his stay here—perhaps too fond—and every time they talked, they talked like they knew each other well enough. It was something she wondered when she watched chat.

Wars and prophecies left little room for matters of the heart.

"We aren't much to talk, are we?" Cleora countered gently.

Had they not also used Jolthar? His martial prowess had secured their borders against raiders from the western plains. His reputation alone had deterred three potential invasions. The Barony of Tekkora had flourished under his protection, their coffers swelling with wealth from uninterrupted trade.

And Cleora used him as a shield to stop the marriage proposals. Jolthar hadn't asked anything of them or even asked for a coin all this time. He was working to protect the barony all this time.

Nora fell silent, acknowledging the truth in her mother's words.

"Nora, humans can be complicated," Cleora continued, her voice softening. "If you hate something, you don't see the good or what they've done for you. The hate clouds your thinking and makes you say things you don't mean."

"Why did the members of the Kaezhlar clan hate Jolthar? I'm sure they had their reasons—no matter how meaningless or unjust they may seem."

She paused, letting the thought settle before continuing.

"Take your father, for example. You loved him deeply—until you learned what he was doing. He never showed you that side of himself. To you, he was always caring, always protective. But when you found out about his actions in the mines, your feelings changed, didn't they?"

Nora nodded, her expression sombre.

"Yes," he said gently, "you may have hated him for a while—maybe a couple of weeks—but after that, something else set in. You started to miss him. Not the man behind the truth, but the father who had always been there. And that longing began to blur the hatred. You began to overlook what made you angry because what you truly missed was the love—the presence that suddenly disappeared from your life."

She nodded again, slower this time, as if the words were finally reaching the heart of her thoughts.

"Jolthar's situation may not be the same, but in families, love and hate often run side by side. It's messy, it's complicated. Most people don't love unconditionally—only a rare few do."

The girl's expression softened. Her youthful certainty began to fade, giving way to the first flickers of understanding.

"And no matter what," Cleora added, "family will always be the ones to help you, no matter what."

As if summoned by the weight of their conversation, a maid hurried across the courtyard, her apron fluttering in the spring breeze.

"My lady," the servant called, slightly breathless with excitement, "he's awake!"

The words sent a ripple of relief through both women.

Jolthar had been unconscious since their return, his body ravaged by the chaotic energies he had channelled during the battle. The blue-black corruption had spread alarmingly through his system.

For two days, he had lain motionless in his chambers, attended by Johamma's enigmatic ministrations and the Barony's finest healers. That he had woken at all was cause for celebration—many had doubted he would.

The corruption was much harder to deal with, and if it wasn't for Johamma, it would have spread further. The last time Jolthar used the chaos aura, it wasn't this threatening. And this time, because of his tier upgrade, the effect had been enhanced too.

Johamma was watching over him while he recovered.

Cleora and Nora exchanged a brief glance before following the maid through the mansion's winding corridors. Tapestries depicting Tekkoran history lined the walls—including a newly commissioned piece showing Jolthar's defence of the eastern pass against the Crimson Horde. The artist had captured his features with remarkable accuracy.

It was Cleora's doing. She wanted to show that Jolthar was a part of Tekkora Barony now.

When they reached his chambers, they found the door already ajar.

Inside, Johamma stood beside the massive bed, her hands mixing something in a small silver bowl. The pungent aroma of medicinal herbs and something more arcane—metallic and sharp—filled the room.

Jolthar sat upright against a mountain of pillows, looking both stronger and more diminished than when they had brought him here.

The corruption had receded visibly, now reaching only the base of his neck rather than creeping toward his jaw. But his face bore new lines of exhaustion, and his once-vibrant eyes had taken on a hollow quality that spoke of ordeals beyond physical suffering.

"Are you feeling any exhaustion?" Johamma asked.

Jolthar, who had just woken up, stared at her, processing her presence here.

Jolthar's gaze shifted to Cleora and Nora as they entered, something like warmth briefly animating his features before the mask of detachment returned.

"What is she doing here?" He asked with an impassive tone.

Cleora stepped forward, "Jolthar, she was the one who helped you heal. She had been taking care of you for two days."

Jolthar was surprised. "What are you saying?"

"When you lost consciousness on the way here, the corruption on your body spread much faster, and she was the one who stopped it and helped you recover."

Jolthar looked at his hands; he could see the faint traces of bluish-coloured veins on his forearms. He hadn't expected the chaos aura to be this threatening.

"It's because you are becoming stronger; the chaos also becomes more stronger along with it," Johamma said, watching him stare at his hands.

"How do you know about that?"

"Remember who told you about the sword, child?"

Jolthar closed his eyes with his brows raised, nodding to her, saying it was her.

"Mad Sovereign, the reason he died was because of this very chaos. Once you reach the state of transcendence, the chaos grows uncontrollably strong and will drive you mad. He had a hard time controlling the chaos itself, and you are combining that volatile energy with your aura," Johamma heaved a heavy sigh.

"I have to say, you are either foolish or too arrogant."

"It did the job, though," Jolthar said.

"And what if you die?"

"Well, I didn't."

"Jolthar, it will be severe if you use it again. You need to learn to control the chaos if you want to use it. You need to make it like it's part of your body. The chaos isn't your typical source of power."

Seeing as she was showing such concern for him, and on top of that, she now helped him again, Jolthar couldn't be harsh to her.

"We'll see. Anyway, thank you."

Johamma's lips pressed into a thin line. "It's my job to protect my grandson."

They stared at each other for a minute, and then Cleora cleared her throat, making Jolthar look at her.

"How is the progress of the forge coming along?" he asked, his voice raspier than usual but carrying the same commanding tone they had come to associate with him.

Before either could answer, heavy footsteps announced another arrival.

Roblan—Cleora's son and Nora's elder brother—appeared in the doorway. Sweat beaded his brow, suggesting he had come directly from patrol.

"The eastern passes are secure," he reported, offering Jolthar a respectful nod. "No sign of pursuit from Naemary's forces."

"Yet," Johamma added ominously, stirring her concoction with increased vigour. "Segarus will not remain idle while his brother's essence disperses in the void."

"We will deal with him when he comes. No use worrying about it."

Cleoa and Nora stood by the bed, engaged in conversation for a brief moment, with Roblan joining them to chat as well. After some time, Jolthar requested that they leave the chamber, expressing a desire to speak with his grandmother privately.

He wanted to know her intentions. Why this sudden realisation? Why had she really come to the barony?