Each orb detonated in sequence, cascading destruction across the landscape. Firestorms erupted, swallowing everything in sight.
Jorghan watched it all—expressionless.
His crimson aura shimmered faintly around him, protecting him from the heat and shockwaves that would have turned lesser beings to dust. His wings folded slightly, a quiet hum vibrating through the air.
In the chaos below, Caden escaped beyond the city’s outer wall, his heart heavy with hate. Behind him, the duchy that had been his home was reduced to a burning graveyard.
"One day, Jorghan..." he whispered, his voice trembling as he looked back, "I’ll make you regret everything."
Far above, Jorghan’s eyes followed the fleeing survivors, and he was aware of Caden and his mother running away. He didn’t kill them, not yet, he thought. If he is foolish enough to come after him, then he will meet his end.
Then his gaze lingered on a particular ship hovering near the outskirts.
It was sleek and metallic, unlike anything of this world—its hull shining silver and white, thrusters humming with faint blue energy. The crest on its side marked it as belonging not to any kingdom but to the earth.
Through the ship’s viewport, Jorghan could see faces he recognized—faces that froze his blood.
Jamie Moorne and his mother, Grace, were flying away.
For a long moment, Jorghan didn’t move. His mana flared unconsciously, reacting to the whirlwind of emotions twisting inside him.
He could have destroyed them all in that instant. He had enough power coursing through him to annihilate the ship with a thought.
But he didn’t.
He just watched as the ship began to ascend, carrying them away—into the clouds, toward the stars. He didn’t want to kill them yet. Jamie’s death would be unlike Hawkin’s; he will make him beg for him to kill him, Jorghan thought to himself.
The flames below painted his face in gold and crimson, making him look less like a man and more like a fallen god.
-
The sky was still aflame.
The air reeked of smoke, blood, and burnt iron.
All around him, the once-great duchy burned to embers under his wrath. The ground had long stopped trembling, but the echo of his destruction lingered—a ghostly vibration humming through the bones of the dead and the dying.
Jorghan still hovered above the charred ground, gazing upon the destruction he brought on the land.
He had said his words—his judgment—and carried them out with the kind of absolute certainty only gods or monsters possessed.
Below, the city was gone.
In its place, only a scar remained, blackened and cracked, like the ground itself had been branded with his fury. The red orbs of annihilation had done their task well.
He watched the ship in the distance as it fled—a silver streak cutting through the blackened sky.
As he watched the ship disappear into the sky, among the many stars,
A sound—a sharp whine—cut through the air.
Something was descending from above, fast.
Too fast.
Jorghan turned his gaze towards the source just in time to see a small object tearing through the clouds—a pod, trailing fire and smoke, spinning wildly as if it had been torn from the heavens.
The metal gleamed a deep crimson hue, etched with patterns that shimmered like runes made from liquid gold.
And before he could even react, it struck him.
The impact was thunderous.
Both the object and Jorghan plummeted, crashing through what remained of the city below. The ground split under the force, stone and debris rising in a chaotic wave.
A moment passed.
Then another.
Jorghan stirred amidst the rubble.
His body was charred in places where the pod’s energy had scorched his clothes. The system’s voice echoed faintly within his consciousness:
[SYSTEM REPAIR IN PROGRESS...]
[REGENERATIVE MANA FLOW STABLE...]
[NO CRITICAL DAMAGE DETECTED.]
He exhaled, slow and steady. His body healed rapidly, the scorched flesh knitting itself together.
He rose.
The pod lay a few paces away, half-buried in the cracked ground. Smoke hissed from its surface, molten veins cooling into solid metal. It looked alive—like the shell of some great beast rather than a machine. Runes pulsed faintly along its surface, whispering in a language older than his memory.
Jorghan approached cautiously.
With one hand, he pressed against the pod’s edge.
It thrummed beneath his touch—warm, resisting.
Then, with a low growl, he gripped and tore.
The metal groaned, splitting open in a hiss of energy.
Inside lay a woman.
Her body was motionless, sprawled in an unnatural curve, strands of her long hair clinging to her face. The moment he saw her, he stilled.
She was like no elf he had ever seen.
Her skin—red, but not the crimson of blood. It was a deep, burnished hue, like molten clay left to cool beneath a dying sun. Her face was slender, almost regal, with high cheekbones and a sharp, delicate jawline. Her lips were full, her nose finely cut. And her ears—longer and more pronounced than any elf he had known—were adorned with faint tribal markings that glowed dimly, shifting like embers.
Her attire was primitive and tribal—thin strands of dark cloth and leather wrapped around her body in intricate patterns, leaving much of her form bare. Her stomach was lined with strange, glowing sigils—marks that pulsed faintly with mana.
She stirred.
A soft groan escaped her lips as her eyes fluttered open.
They were gold—liquid, luminous gold.
When she focused on him, there was confusion first... then recognition.
Or perhaps instinct.
"You..." Her voice was low, melodic, and laced with an accent unfamiliar to him. "...you are not of them."
Before Jorghan could answer, the air around them changed.
A hum.
A vibration in the air.
Then—more ships.
Not large like the one that carried Jamie, but sleek, elegant crafts that seemed grown rather than built. They resembled birds of prey, their wings forged from a mixture of wood and metal that pulsed with natural mana. Vines of glowing energy connected their cores to runic engines, and instead of smoke, they left behind trails of shimmering green light.