The walk to the Nuwe’rak settlement took about thirty minutes, leading them through the desert terrain as the sun began its descent toward the horizon. The heat was still oppressive but being more bearable as evening approached.
They were perhaps halfway there when Jorghan felt something shift in the air—not threatening exactly, but definitely noteworthy.
Someone was approaching, moving with deliberate purpose.
He could feel their gaze, but there was no killing intent. They just focused their gaze on him.
A figure emerged from behind one of the rock formations that dotted the landscape. She was tall—eight feet easily—with curves that suggested both power and femininity in equal measure. Her skin was the redness of the Nuwe’rak, and her liquid gold eyes were fixed on Jorghan with undisguised interest.
She looked to be in her forties by human standards, though with elves that could mean she was anywhere from two to four centuries old. Her features were striking—sharp cheekbones, full lips, a face that would have been equally at home on a warrior or a diplomat. Her dark hair fell in waves past her shoulders, and she wore traditional Nuwe’rak clothing that accentuated her figure without being inappropriate.
She reminded Jorghan of someone from his past life—an actress.
"Jorghan Sol’vur," she said, her voice rich and carrying easily across the distance.
"I was hoping to encounter you."
Sarhita’s posture shifted slightly, being more formal, more careful. "Elder Katisana. I didn’t expect to see you out here."
"I was taking a walk," Katisana replied, her eyes never leaving Jorghan.
"Contemplating recent events. The transformation of the young man before me. The emergence of a Berserk Lord in our midst."
She moved closer, her movements fluid and deliberate. "And I find myself very interested in getting to know the person at the center of these changes."
Scarlett leaned toward Sarhita and whispered, "Is it just me, or is she—"
"Very interested, yes," Sarhita replied quietly, her tone carrying a note of resigned amusement. "Elder Katisana has always been... direct in her pursuits."
Katisana reached them, stopping perhaps three feet from Jorghan, close enough that her presence was almost overwhelming.
This near, he could see fine details—the slight laugh lines around her eyes, the strength in her shoulders and the plete confidence in her bearing.
"So," she said, looking him up and down with an assessment that was both professional and personal.
"This is the young man who killed El’ran. Who transformed into something out of legend. Who bonded with our patriarch’s daughter." Her lips curved into a smile.
"You’re shorter than I expected."
"I don’t stay transformed all the time," Jorghan replied, trying to maintain his posure under her scrutiny. "The eight-foot-four version is... temporary."
"Pity," Katisana said, and there was something in her tone that made Jorghan’s skin warm despite the desert heat.
"Though I suppose you’re adequately impressive even at normal height."
Sarhita moved to stand beside Jorghan, a subtle claiming of territory. "Elder Katisana serves on the Nuwe’rak council. She’s responsible for external relations and strategic alliances."
"Among other things," Katisana agreed, her attention finally shifting from Jorghan to Sarhita.
"And one of those things is ensuring our clan maintains strong connections to powerful individuals. Which brings me to why I was hoping to encounter you, Jorghan."
"I’m listening," he said carefully.
"The council meeting tonight—it’s not just about acknowledging what happened with El’ran. It’s about determining how the Nuwe’rak position themselves in relation to you, to your heritage, to what you represent."
She paused, her gold eyes intense. "I would very much like to discuss these matters with you privately. Before the formal council session. So that we might reach... understanding."
The way she said "understanding" made it clear she meant something more than political alignment.
Sarhita’s jaw tightened slightly.
"Jorghan and I were planning to prepare for the council together. As his bonded mate, I should be present for any political discussions."
"Of course," Katisana said smoothly.
"Though I was thinking more of a personal conversation. Getting to know each other beyond political necessities. Learning about his background, his goals, his... interests."
She looked directly at Jorghan again, and this time there was no mistaking the nature of her interest.
It wasn’t just political curiosity or strategic assessment.
Elder Katisana, an eight-foot-tall vision of elven beauty and power, was very clearly expressing personal interest in him.
Scarlett, watching from slightly behind, looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh at the situation unfolding.
"I appreciate the offer," Jorghan said carefully, "but Sarhita’s right. As my bonded mate, she should be part of any significant discussions. Political or otherwise."
He could tell Sarhita was fuming inside, so he just wanted to avoid being her target.
"Your bonded mate," Katisana repeated, her tone suggesting she was skeptical of something. "Yes, I heard about that. A very convenient bonding, occurring just in time to prevent an unwanted marriage. Some might wonder if it was entirely genuine."
"It’s genuine," Sarhita said firmly, her liquid gold eyes flashing with something dangerous. "Whatever it started as, it’s real now."
"I’m sure it is," Katisana replied, her smile never wavering.
"But surely you understand that someone of Jorghan’s heritage, his power, his significance—such a person’s romantic connections bee matters of political interest. The Nuwe’rak would be very interested in strengthening bonds with the Berserk Lord’s heir."
"Through what?" Sarhita asked, her voice deceptively calm.
"Political marriage? Strategic alliance? Or are you speaking more personally, Elder?"
"All possibilities are worth exploring," Katisana said.
"I’m simply making myself known as someone very interested in... exploring."
"And I’m sure a man of such caliber can handle a couple of women."
The tension in the air was palpable.
Jorghan found himself in the deeply unfortable position of being the focus of what was essentially a territorial dispute between two powerful women—one his actual partner, one expressing very clear interest in being something similar.
"I think," he said carefully, "that we should continue to the settlement. The council meeting will provide opportunity for any necessary political discussions."
"Of course," Katisana agreed easily.
"Though my offer stands, Jorghan. Should you wish to discuss matters privately—political or personal—I’m very available."
She inclined her head in a gesture that managed to be both respectful and somehow intimate, then turned and began walking toward the settlement with a smooth grace that drew the eye despite any intention otherwise.
Scarlett waited until the elder was out of earshot before speaking.
"So... that was interesting. Is it normal in this world for women to just directly proposition men who are already in relationships?"
"It’s plicated," Sarhita said through gritted teeth.
"Among the clans, political considerations often supersede personal attachments. And someone like Katisana—powerful, connected, ambitious—would see Jorghan’s emergence as an opportunity. Both politically and personally."
"She wants him," Scarlett said bluntly.
"Like, really wants him. That wasn’t subtle."
"No," Sarhita agreed.
"It wasn’t."
Jorghan, feeling distinctly out of his depth, cleared his throat.
"Can we please just get to the settlement? I’d rather face a council of elders than navigate whatever that was."
"That," Sarhita said, linking her arm through his possessively, "was a declaration of intent. And a warning. Elder Katisana just made it clear she’s interested in you, and she’s not going to let something as minor as your existing relationship deter her."
"Great," Jorghan muttered.
"Because my life wasn’t plicated enough."
They continued toward the settlement, the sun sinking lower, casting long shadows across the desert.
And behind them, walking with confident purpose, Elder Katisana smiled to herself, already planning her next approach.
The game, as far as she was concerned, had only just begun.
-
Nuwe’rak Settlement—Jorghan’s Quarters
The room was simple but fortable, carved into the stone that formed the backbone of the settlement’s main structures.
Afternoon light filtered through narrow windows, casting curved shadows across walls decorated with woven tapestries depicting the clan’s history.
A low table held untouched food—flatbread, fruit, and water—evidence of hospitality extended but not accepted.
Grace sat on a cushioned bench against the far wall, her designer clothes from Earth now dusty and worn, her carefully maintained appearance beginning to show cracks.
It had been more than a week, and this world had stripped away some of her polish, revealing the exhaustion and fear beneath.
Jorghan stood near the window, his back to her, looking out over the settlement.
He’d recovered from the duel physically—the sol’vur bloodline ensured rapid healing.
He was aware of Grace watching him, could feel her eyes on his back, and could sense the desperation building in her like pressure behind a dam about to break.
"My son," she said finally, her voice hoarse from disuse and crying.
"Please. We need to talk."
"My name is Jorghan," he replied without turning.
"Your son died eighteen years ago. You made sure of that."
"I’m not your son anymore."
"Jorghan, then." Her voice was firm, and so was her gaze.
She stood, moving a few steps closer but not close enough to touch. "Please. Just look at me. Let me see your face."
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