She finally turned her full attention back to Jaenor, and the weight of that gaze made even Rena, standing several feet away, want to flee.
"I can see it already," Wendelina said, almost sadly.
"The seeds of what you'll become. Your power is greater than your father's was at your age. Stronger than your grandfather's. If we allow you to live another year, another five years, you'll eclipse them all. You'll become the most dangerous Arkwright to ever exist."
"I haven't done anything wrong," Jaenor said, his voice tight.
"I saved my friend. I killed enemies who would have hurt innocent people. How does that make me a monster?"
"Because that's how it always starts," Wendelina replied.
"Justified violence. Righteous fury. Every Arkwright man believed he was doing what was necessary, fighting for what was right. And every one of them ended up bathing the world in blood."
She raised her hand, and origin energy began coalescing around it—not the raw, chaotic force Jaenor had been wielding, but refined, controlled, and shaped by centuries of mastery. The air around her hand began to distort, reality itself bending.
"I'm sorry, child. Truly. But your existence represents a threat to the balance of this world. Men wield aura. Women wield origin energy. This separation is what keeps the powers in check and prevents either side from achieving absolute dominance. You break that balance. You are an anomaly that cannot be permitted."
Morgana moved fully in front of Jaenor, her own power flaring desperately. "I won't let you kill him, Mother. I don't care what the laws say."
"Then you'll die with him," Wendelina said with genuine regret.
"You were one of our finest, Morgana. Brilliant, powerful, respected. But you've committed heresy. You've harbored a male-origin user. The punishment for that is death."
"He's not a weapon," Morgana said, her voice breaking slightly.
Wendelina's expression hardened. "This will change the balance of power, and men will start to look down on us, which I can't let happen."
"I will risk the lives of our coven witches. Stand aside, Morgana. This is your last warning."
"No."
The word was simple, absolute.
Morgana's power exploded outward, a defensive barrier forming around her and Jaenor. It was impressive by any normal standard—shimmering walls of force that could probably withstand cannon fire.
Wendelina shattered it with a casual gesture, like brushing aside a cobweb.
Morgana staggered, blood trickling from her nose. The casual display of overwhelming power had made the gap between them horrifically clear.
"Aunt Morgana, stop," Jaenor said quietly. He placed his hand on Morgana's shoulder.
"You can't win this fight."
"I don't care," Morgana said fiercely.
"I won't let her—"
"Neither will I."
Jaenor gently moved her aside and stepped forward to face Wendelina directly.
"You want to kill me? Fine. But leave her alone. She was just trying to help someone she cared about. Punish me, not her."
Wendelina studied him for a long moment. "How noble. How tragically noble. Your father said something similar before he burned down the Council Hall with three hundred people inside. He was trying to help someone he cared about too."
"I'm not my father."
"No. You're worse." Wendelina's voice was certain, absolute.
"I can see your potential, boy. The raw power flowing through you is staggering. If I were to rank Origin users, I would place you in the upper echelons of the Originbound tier—and you're not even fully matured yet. In five years, you could rival me. In ten, you might surpass me. That terrifies me more than any army or any weapon."
She began walking forward, her power building with each step.
The flowers around her feet were now dying and rebirthing in rapid cycles, life and death becoming a blur.
The air itself seemed to thicken, become heavy, and become hard to breathe.
"You cannot exist, Jaenor Arkwright. Not because of what you've done, but because of what you will inevitably become. The universe itself is trying to prevent your existence—that's why males can't normally use origin energy. You're a violation of natural law. And I am the corrective measure."
Jaenor's stance shifted.
His exhaustion was evident in every line of his body, but his eyes were clear and focused. His sword came up into a ready position, and both his aura and origin energy began gathering.
"Then let's get this over with," he said quietly.
"Jaenor, no!" Rena started forward, but Darian caught her arm.
"Don't," the knight said, his voice heavy.
"This is beyond us. If we interfere, she'll kill us all without effort."
"But we can't just—"
"We can't do anything," Raelana said.
"The Mother Supreme is beyond our power. Beyond anyone's power except perhaps the Lord of the Blaedred Skull Sect himself. This fight was over before it began."
Wendelina stopped ten paces from Jaenor. Her expression was almost kind now, pitying.
"I'll make it quick," she promised.
"You won't suffer. That's the least I can offer."
"I don't want your mercy," Jaenor replied. "I want to live. And I'm willing to fight for that right."
"Then fight."
Wendelina attacked, and the world exploded.
Her first strike wasn't a spell or a blade—it was pure, concentrated origin energy shaped into a lance. It crossed the distance between them in a microsecond, moving too fast for the eye to track.
Jaenor barely managed to dodge, the energy passing close enough to sear his cheek. It continued past him, cleaving the ground as it moved towards the forest and struck a small rocky surface and exploded.
The space around them was like a paper being crushed; it collapsed and expanded simultaneously as the energy dispersed. Jaenor realized he was facing a force unlike anything he had ever encountered before.
He counterattacked immediately, his own origin energy manifesting as a wave of force. Wendelina didn't bother dodging.
She simply stood there as the wave washed over her, and it parted around her like water around a stone.
"Insufficient," she said calmly, then gestured.