Myron didn't know what to say. He thought of his mother, and it didn't cross his mind that she was now alone, staying in that village where he left her. It had been more than ten years since he set out to make a name for himself, and he didn't look back ever since. He was known as the son of the Deity King, and along with that, his strength made him a major figure in the Midlands.
Inadrys added, seeing the look on Myron's face, "Did you ever wonder what she was doing? How she was?"
"Don't feel bad, Myron. We all make mistakes. But you should know when to make those mistakes into opportunities for growth." Inadrys was getting into his mind, and Myron was forgetting the reason he looked for Inadrys.
Myron slammed the wooden cup up on the table and said, "Stop your blabber. I will visit her; I will go to her and take her with me."
Myron wasn't intelligent; he only knew how to use his strength, and to an extent, he could be easily manipulated by those who knew how to play with his emotions.
"Yeah, you can do that. Even I will come with you. I will make it up to you; we can be family again," Inadrys said with a smile on his face.
"You know, I have never abandoned her. I had been with her, in her dreams, even though I couldn't be with her in my physical form. I was afraid Ivyona might find out."
Myron gulped down one more jug of ale and sighed heavily.
Myron crossed his arms over his chest, his expression sceptical. "So, what kind of proposition are you talking about?"
Inadrys's smile widened.
"There's a man in this city," he said. "A man who has caused a great deal of pain and suffering. His name is Jolthar. He's a killer. I want you to find him. And I want you to kill him."
Myron's eyes widened in surprise, but before he could respond, Inadrys continued. "Do this," he said, "and I'll give you what you've always wanted. Answers. Power. A place in my world, for you and your mother."
"Jolthar? What are you talking about? Why him? What did he do?" Myron was startled that he asked to kill Jolthar. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ novel·fıre·net
"Just think that his existence is not a good thing for all of us," he said with an air of mystery. "Don't ask me anything, Myron. Just do this and everything will be all right."
Myron stared at him, his mind racing. He hated Inadrys, but he thought of his mother and them being a family again. Myron had been missing the father figure all his life, and the thought of having a father made him go along with his demands. He even forgot all his hatred and his reasons because of his mother and the thought of being family again.
"Fine," Myron said finally, his voice cold. "I'll do it. But this doesn't mean I forgive you." He did wanted to fight against Jolthar in future but it seems like he would be fighting him now. About killing he will decide after he defeats him.
Myron's ambition of defeating strong people, he had already added Jolthar to that list long back. And thought of to fight in the future.
Inadrys's smile didn't waver. "I wouldn't expect you to," he said. "Now go. Jolthar won't be easy to find—or to kill."
As Myron turned and walked away, Inadrys watched him go, his expression unreadable. The game was in motion, and he had just set the pieces in place. Now, all he had to do was wait.
Inadrys sat in the dimly lit corner of the tavern, his golden eyes fixed on the door through which Myron had just exited. The young deivruta's anger and determination were palpable, and Inadrys couldn't help but feel a flicker of satisfaction.
Myron was a tool, a pawn in the grand game he was playing, and Inadrys had no qualms about using him to achieve his goals. But as he leaned back in his chair, his thoughts drifted to Jolthar—an unexpected riddle on his board.
Inadrys had first noticed Jolthar when he crossed paths with Myron. There was something about the boy that had caught his attention, something that felt…familiar.
It wasn't just Jolthar's strength or his defiance—it was something deeper, something that stirred a sense of unease in Inadrys, a feeling he hadn't experienced in centuries.
He reeked of divine power, but he couldn't figure out what it was—even a deity like himself couldn't. This made him irked; after all, he was a prideful Deity.
He had tried to uncover the truth about Jolthar, delving into the threads of fate and even consulting Vydera, the deity of fate. But even they had been unable—or unwilling—to reveal anything about the man. It was as if Jolthar existed outside the tapestry of fate, a mystery that even they could not unravel.
This troubled Inadrys more than he cared to admit.
For a deity of his power and stature, there were few things in the cosmos that remained hidden from him. Yet Jolthar was one of them. He was a mere boy, and yet his presence was like a shadow, elusive and intangible, and it gnawed at Inadrys's mind.
What was he? Where had he come from? And why did he feel like a threat?
Inadrys sighed, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair. He had hoped that Myron, driven by his hatred and naivety, would be the one to eliminate Jolthar.
It was a simple solution, one that would rid him of a potential problem without requiring him to dirty his own hands.
Inadrys stood and made his way out of the tavern. He had other matters to attend to, one of which involved Evelyne. The Countess of Godeylet was waiting for him by the riverbank, her grief and anger still fresh.
Inadrys had no intention of leaving her to wallow in her misery. She was his, and he would ensure she remained loyal to him.
He showed a little interest in his lovers after he was done with them, but Evelyne was one such he was willing to take with him. There was something about her that made him want to keep her close, perhaps her fiery spirit or the challenge she presented. Whatever the reason, Inadrys knew he couldn't let her slip through his fingers.