Cleora's lips twitched.
Johamma's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her teacup. "He is my grandson. My bloodline."
"But he doesn't see it that way," Cleora countered, her voice soft but unyielding.
The air between them crackled with unspoken tensions.
Two women, both possessive, both understanding the rare power that flowed through Jolthar's veins.
"You think you understand him," Johamma said, "because he fights for your land? He stays here?"
Cleora leaned forward, her eyes showing defiance. "I understand him because he has found something here he never had with your clan. Purpose. Belonging."
"Belonging?" Johamma's laugh was sharp. "The Kaezhlar blood runs deeper than any temporary allegiance."
"Temporary?" Now, Cleora's eyes blazed. "He has integrated himself into every aspect of this barony. The forge. The defence. People here, he had become the barony himself. At this point, it wouldn't be exaggerating to say that he is the lord of this region."
The paintings seemed to watch their confrontation.
And right when Johamma was about to speak, the doors were opened.
A messenger came into the hall, interrupting Johamma and Cleora's charged conversation. The soldier who went to bring Jolthar had returned. Dıscover more novels at NoveI~Fire.net
He bowed to Cleora and said, "Lord Jolthar had left the forge and went to Yellow Lake."
Cleora's eyebrow arched. "The yellow lake? Why?"
The messenger explained, his words painting a troubling picture. "My lady, lately, there have been a few attacks on the construction. Beasts have been wandering into the barony from the yellow lake, causing significant unrest among the workers. It seems like Lord Jolthar went to deal with them directly."
Johamma scowled; she realised Jolthar was too deeply involved in the barony.
She sighed and got up.
"Then take me there," Johamma announced.
"Wait," Cleora cautioned, but the old woman was already moving.
"I don't want to stay here and wait. I will go to him and speak to him."
Cleora could tell that she wasn't going to listen to her, and she couldn't let her go alone, so she decided to join her.
"Let me take you." She offered.
Johamma didn't linger and turned about and left the hall.
Cleora, unwilling to be left behind, joined Johamma.
Johamma got into her carriage, and Cleora also got in.
The carriage moved out of the mansion walls, towards the yellow lake.
The troops Cleora requested to join were turned away by Johamma. Her demand for no escort had to be accepted by Cleora.
The carriage moved through the streets, out of the town.
Unknown to them, a figure watched from the shadows.
Hooded and silent, a tracker had been following Johamma since her departure from the Kaezhlar estate. Every movement was calculated, every step deliberate. The hood obscured distinctive features, but keen eyes followed the carriage's progress with predatory intensity.
At the yellow lake, Jolthar approached with caution. When he was talking with workers, they told him about the beasts; it was not life-threatening, but those beasts were making them anxious and hard to focus on work. So he had decided to go by himself and investigate the issue.
He was riding Maelruth as she slowly moved through the forest, her crimson scales catching what little light penetrated the dense forest.
After a half-an-hour journey, he reached the lake, as he could see the yellow-like water in the distance.
The lake itself was an anomaly.
Medium in span, nestled between old forests that seemed to breathe with forgotten memories. Its waters were unlike any Jolthar had encountered—a peculiar yellow base marked with white polka-dot patterns that seemed to shift and move when viewed directly.
He dismounted the drake and looked about. He also took a stroll around the lake.
No beasts emerged. No sight of them while he was coming here or any of them around the lake.
No movement disturbed the surface.
Islands dotted the lake's centre—rocky formations that looked simultaneously natural and impossibly positioned. Each island seemed to hold its own silence, its own secret.
They weren't big, but their presence added to the mysterious allure of the lake.
He approached the water's edge.
The air was thick with the scent of pine.
Before him stretched the bizarre sight of Yellow Polka Lake, its waters a sickly golden hue, dotted with unnatural, pulsating white spots that shimmered like light. The forest around it was eerily silent—no birds, no rustling leaves—just the faint ripple of water disturbed by something lurking beneath.
Jolthar's fingers twitched.
He could feel the energy humming in his bones; there was something in the lake, deep under the water.
He could feel the life form as he got closer to the lake.
Jolthar's eyes snapped to the centre of the lake. The water parted as a giant figure rose, her upper body that of a beautiful woman—pale skin, flowing dark hair, lips the colour of bruised fruit. But from the waist down, her form twisted into a massive serpent's tail, scales glistening emerald and black. Her golden eyes locked onto him, and she smiled, revealing needle-thin fangs.
"Little boy," she hissed, voice dripping with mockery. "Did you come to play?"
Jolthar moved back; his hand moved onto Knashii's hilt.
But he didn't draw his sword yet as he watched her.
Suddenly, she hissed, "Who are you?" She could see the green-coloured energy on him, and she went hysterical and then attacked him.
With a sharp exhale, he yanked his arm upward.
The lake's surface exploded as a boulder-sized glob of water tore free, suspended in midair by his telekinesis.
The Na'gni's face hardened—just for a second—before Jolthar hurled the water mass at her like a cannonball.
She twisted aside with serpentine speed, but not fast enough. The edge of the watery projectile clipped her shoulder, sending her spinning. She hissed in pain, tail thrashing, before diving back beneath the surface.
Jolthar didn't wait. He sprinted along the shoreline, boots kicking up mud, eyes scanning for movement. The lake was her domain—he needed to draw her out.
A sudden tremor beneath his feet.
He leapt just as the ground ruptured—the Na'gni's tail slammed upward like a coiled spring, missing him by inches. Jolthar twisted midair, flung out his hand, and squeezed.
Telekinesis clamped around her throat.
The Na'gni gagged as an invisible force lifted her partially out of the water, her tail flailing. Her fingers clawed at her neck, eyes wide with shock.
Jolthar's muscles burned with the effort, but he held firm. "Are you the one causing trouble for Barony people?" he growled.
Her lips curled, revealing her fangs. "What people?"
Then—her tail whipped around, striking the lake's surface. A tidal wave of yellow water surged toward him.
Jolthar released his grip and crossed his arms, telekinetic force erupting in a shield just before the wave crashed. Water slammed against the barrier, spraying in all directions, but he held.
The Na'gni lunged from the spray, claws extended. Jolthar barely dodged, feeling the wind of her strike as he shoved both palms forward, using his telekinesis on her.
The force smashed into her chest, sending her skidding across the lake's surface before she ducked under again.
She disappeared underwater, and the water became still again. Maelruth grumbled behind him, asking him.
"Wait, wait. I will take care of her."
Jolthar slammed his hands into the ground, channelling his power downward. The earth trembled, then ruptured as he ripped a dozen jagged stones from the soil, levitating them around him like a storm of blades.
The Na'gni erupted from the depths, fangs bared—
Jolthar hurled the stones.
They streaked through the air like arrows.
The Na'gni twisted and dodged, but one sliced across her ribs, and another grazed her cheek. She shrieked—then darted forward, too fast.
Her tail wrapped around Jolthar's legs, yanking him off his feet. He gasped as she lifted him, her face inches from his, venom dripping from her fangs.
"Now do your tricks," she hissed.
Using his green energy and telekinesis, he reached out—not to her but to the lake itself.
A gigantic fist of yellow liquid slammed into the Na'gni from behind, crushing her against the shore. She screamed, her grip loosening as Jolthar wrenched free.
Jolthar stood before her, his expression cold and unwavering. His outstretched hand held her in place as though he were gripping her throat, yet he wasn't physically touching her—his telekinetic might alone kept her pinned.
"Now", he repeated, his voice edged with dangerous patience, "do you feel like answering my questions?"
Beside him, Maelruth stood, glaring at her. If it were any normal beast, they would have shuddered under the gaze, but the one before her—a creature with the upper body of a woman and the lower half of a serpent—wasn't just any beast.
"Please don't kill him, King," she pleaded, her golden eyes wide with desperation.
Jolthar blinked. His grip didn't falter, but his brows furrowed in confusion. "King?" He looked at her, puzzled. "Who, me?"
The snake-woman, her scales glistening under the dim light, nodded urgently. "Aren't you the new Beast King?"