The Lycoran hissed, crouching low, its strange limbs twitching with agitation. Jorghan met its glare with narrowed eyes.
He didn’t run.
Instead, he reached down and grabbed a thick branch nearby—splintered and jagged at one end, the closest thing to a weapon. The beast snarled and pounced again, but Jorghan sidestepped with surprising agility, slamming the broken branch into its flank. The tip jabbed deep into the creature’s side, causing it to howl.
But it wasn’t enough. The Lycoran spun, one of its tail strands slashing forward—and Jorghan barely ducked under the gleaming tip, rolling to the side. He grabbed a rock, small but heavy, and as the beast reared up again, he flung it, striking the Lycoran squarely between the eyes.
It was simple strike but the creature stumbled.
Jorghan saw the hesitation and rushed in, grabbing the broken branch again, now bloodied and slick. With a feral cry of his own, the boy leapt onto the beast’s side, jamming the splintered end into its shoulder, twisting it with raw force. The Lycoran thrashed, its screeches echoing through the trees—but Jorghan held on, pressing harder.
With a last shriek, the Lycoran kicked back violently, throwing Jorghan off, then turned and bounded into the forest, vanishing into the underbrush as swiftly as it had appeared. The trees closed behind it, silence returning to the clearing.
Jorghan stood silently as he watched the beast run away. He didn’t chase after the beast.
"Hey, groundling! What was that just now? Are you really a human?"
The mocking voice broke through Jorghan’s stance. He didn’t need to turn to identify the speaker—Kael’var, the fourteen-year-old son of the Nor’vack Clan’s Third Elder and the self-appointed tormentor of the human boy in their midst. His voice carried the distinctive melodic undertones of the Nor’vack, a natural resonance that made their language sound like music even when their words were barbed with cruelty.
Jorghan remained still, watching the teens of the Nor’vack clan come out one by one.
Jorghan was aware of their presence, and the attack was their doing.
"I’m talking to you, dirt-walker," Kael’var pressed, moving closer with his usual entourage of four other Nor’vack youths.
Even at fourteen, they all towered over Jorghan, the shortest among them, standing nearly seven feet tall with the lithe, powerful build characteristic of their kind. The Nor’vack clan members average height was around right to ten feet.
"Or has living above the clouds finally made you deaf as well as dumb?"
Jorghan sighed almost imperceptibly, then turned his head slightly—enough to acknowledge their presence without giving them the satisfaction of his full attention.
"What do you want?"
His voice was calm, measured—revealing none of the calculations racing through his mind as he assessed his opponents. Five Nor’vack youths, all trained in their clan’s distinctive style of elemental manipulation.
Kael’var possessed a three-star mana core, impressive for his age among the Nor’vack. The others ranged from two to three stars—talented but overconfident.
None of them knew what truly lurked beneath Jorghan’s unassuming exterior.
Kael’var’s tail lashed in irritation, the tip forming the sharp angle that signified aggression in Nor’vack body language. "Don’t quote our songs at me, groundling. You’re here only because Lady Sigora pities you—a stray pet she picked up during her wanderings."
The other youths spread out in a loose semicircle, effectively cutting off Jorghan’s escape route away from the riverbank. Their tails mirrored their leader’s aggressive posture, though with less confidence—they knew from past encounters that baiting the human boy sometimes yielded unexpected and unpleasant results.
"Is that what you think?" Jorghan asked, finally turning to face them fully. He remained seated, cross-legged on the smooth stone beside the river, seemingly unconcerned by their threatening postures. "That I’m here out of pity?"
Kael’var snorted. "Everyone knows the story. Lady Sigora found you half-dead after your clan was wiped out for treason against the Council. She brought you here because she couldn’t bear to put down a wounded cub." His lips curled in a smile that displayed teeth too sharp to be fully classified as humanoid. "Though many wish she had."
Jorghan’s expression remained neutral; there were children in front of him. And killing them would only bring trouble for his aunt.
"Perhaps," he conceded, his tone deliberately light. "Or perhaps there are reasons beyond your understanding."
"Understanding?" Kael’var laughed, the sound tinkling like crystal wind chimes. "What is there to understand about a weak, tailless creature with barely enough mana to light a candle? I’ve seen the instructors’ faces when you attempt even the most basic Wind Dance formations."
This, at least, was not entirely inaccurate. Jorghan had carefully maintained the appearance of mediocrity in his clan training sessions, a strategy developed in conjunction with Sigora.
"The shadow reveals nothing of its depths when bathed in light," she had taught him. "Let them see only what confirms their expectations."
Kael’var stepped closer, towering over the seated human. "Today, I think we should help you understand where you truly belong, groundling. Below the clouds, with the rest of the dirt-walkers."
The threat was obvious.
The edge of the Twilight Isle was barely twenty paces away, and beyond it lay a drop of several thousand feet to the surface world below. While such a fall would be merely inconvenient for a Nor’vack, with their innate ability to manipulate wind currents, for a human it would mean certain death.
Or so they believed.