"Mother Supreme," Raelana breathed, immediately dropping to one knee.
The respect in her voice bordered on worship.
Darian's hand went to his sword, then hesitated, clearly recognizing this was a threat so far beyond his capabilities that drawing steel would be meaningless.
Morgana's entire body had gone rigid, her expression cycling through shock, fear, and something else—guilt, perhaps, or resignation.
Wendelina—for that was who this could only be—surveyed the scene with those penetrating purple eyes. She took in the destroyed village, the bodies of the Ki'thara, the scorched remains where Hilda had stood, and Vasthren's smoking corpse. Her gaze lingered on Baren, still being tended by the Raelana, then swept across the group until it settled on the temple entrance.
Where Jaenor was standing, still holding his sword, his body still marked with the evidence of battle.
The Mother Supreme's eyes narrowed.
She descended from her position in the air—she'd been floating, Rena realized with shock—and approached Jaenor with slow, measured steps. Her presence was overwhelming this close, like standing before an avalanche that had paused mid-fall but could resume at any moment.
Jaenor, to his credit, didn't flinch.
He met her gaze steadily, though Rena could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand tightened on his sword hilt.
Wendelina stopped three paces away and simply observed him.
Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes.
Morgana's internals were screaming at her, and her mind was telling her to move, but she couldn't. She wanted to stand between Jaenor and the supreme mother.
Wendelina was in the upper ranks of Originbound, standing at Eternal Point. She was one step away from Godhood, where the pinnacle of the power existed.
While Jaenor stood in the upper ranks of Originbound but slightly a point below her.
He may be weaker than her, but his growth was monstrous. At the age of 18, he had reached the ranks of upper Originbound, which was the rarest of the rare feats.
Then she spoke, her voice carrying the weight of centuries.
"Fascinating."
"When I received word that a young man had declared himself an Arkwright heir, I thought it nothing more than another fool seeking attention," she said, her voice low yet resonant, humming faintly with the pulse of Origin energy itself.
"Still, I came to see this fool… for the name Arkwright, is one I hold in great fondness."
"But you…look different."
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze piercing through him like a blade of glass.
"You," she said softly, almost in wonder, "look more like an anomaly."
"Tell me, boy. How did you combine those two irrelevant energies?"
"I just did," Jaenor said evenly.
"Just?"
A slight smile touched Wendelina's lips, though there was no warmth in it.
"Child, there is nothing 'just' about what you are. I can see it clearly now. Aura and origin energy, flowing through you in equal measure, not fighting for dominance but working in tandem. That should be impossible.
It is impossible.
And yet here you stand."
She moved closer, close enough that Jaenor could have reached out and touched her, though he wisely didn't. Wendelina's eyes seemed to look through him, seeing layers of reality invisible to normal sight.
"Tell me your name," she commanded softly.
Jaenor hesitated for only a heartbeat. "Jaenor Arkwright."
The effect was immediate and profound.
Earlier, they weren't able to hear what Hilda and Vasthren talked about as the battle was chaotic.
At that time, they were busy tending to Baren.
But now, as they were focused on Jaenor and the Mother Supreme, they heard him clearly.
Raelana gasped audibly.
Darian's eyes went wide. Rena, Baren, Taeryn looked shocked to hear him state it so boldly before such power.
Morgana's face paled. She couldn't stand afar anymore, her protective instincts pushed her and she moved swiftly.
But it was Wendelina's reaction that was most striking. Her expression of clinical curiosity transformed into something harder, colder. Dangerous.
"Arkwright," she repeated, her voice dropping several degrees in temperature. "Arkwright."
She turned, her gaze locking onto Morgana with laser intensity.
"You."
Morgana stepped forward, positioning herself between Wendelina and Jaenor. Her own power began gathering, a defensive reflex, though everyone present knew it would be meaningless against the Mother Supreme.
"Mother Wendelina," Morgana said, her voice carefully controlled.
"I can explain."
"Can you?" Wendelina's voice was deceptively calm.
"Please do explain, dear Morgana. Explain how an Arkwright male stands before me, alive and wielding both aura and origin energy. Explain this when I personally witnessed the execution of the last Arkwright men eighteen years ago. When I myself confirmed that the bloodline had been cleansed of its male corruption."
"You missed one," Morgana said simply. Though she was barely able to keep herself up, standing before such a powerhouse.
"And when did you find him?"
"Several months ago."
"And you didn't inform me."
Morgana remained silent, and she looked at her like she was stupid.
Why would I do that?
Wendelina's laugh was cold and devoid of humor.
"A male to wield origin energy, the sacred power of women, and you did this in direct violation of the Council's most fundamental laws."
"The laws are wrong," Morgana shot back, her voice gaining strength.
"The prohibition against men using origin energy is rooted in fear and prejudice, not reason."
"It's rooted in necessity!" Wendelina's power flared, and flowers wilted in a ten-foot radius around her.
"Do you know nothing of history? Of why the laws were created? Men who can wield origin energy become tyrants, monsters. Their aggression, their violence, amplified by power meant for creation, becomes destruction incarnate."
She gestured to Jaenor without looking at him.
"His great-grandfather could level cities. His grandfather commanded armies of tens of thousands. His father started three wars before he was thirty. The Arkwright men are cursed, Morgana. Their bloodline carries something twisted, something that turns origin energy into a weapon of mass annihilation."
"And they did all those things to protect humanity."
"And Jaenor is different," Morgana insisted.
"He's controlled, disciplined—"
"He's eighteen!" Wendelina's voice cracked like thunder.
"The Arkwright curse doesn't manifest immediately. It grows, festers, until the man becomes something inhuman."
"And not to tell, he has an aura. I can't even imagine the chaos he would unleash once he reaches the god rank."