"And yes," Jaenor continued, "my house fell. We were betrayed, destroyed, our na struck from the rolls of nobility. But I am still an Arkwright, and I carry that na proudly. So when pathetic lordlings like Caelum try to use to hurt Morgana, when corrupt advisers like Barda Vorn think they can insult her with impunity, they're making a grave mistake."
"You people think Arkwright lost its glory, and there are nothing but a stained house.
Hear loud and clear: from this mont on, I will make the Arkwright house prosper again, and it will be a power that makes all those who doubted us regret their actions. The Arkwright na will once again shine brightly in the halls of nobility, and those who underestimated us will learn to fear our strength."
His voice bood in the halls of the castle, and his energy swept like a wave, making everyone shudder. He was speaking with a controlled rage; every word hit them like a slap on their face.
Morgana choked back her surprise at his sudden declaration, but deep down she was swelling with pride. All those years of insults, shaming and belittlent—she endured all that in hope of making their house great again.
Now seeing Jaenor declare himself with such confidence and determination, she knew that their ti had finally co.
Jaenor pulled himself to his full height, and in that mont, he looked every inch the noble heir he claid to be. His origin energy elevated like a fla around him, making him look like a giant fiery tempest. The castle trembled slightly as he spoke, the power of his words resonating through the stone walls.
"I am Jaenor Arkwright," he said again, his voice ringing with certainty.
"And if any of you have a problem with that, I'm right here. Co at . Test . See what happens."
The challenge hung in the air, unanswered.
Baron Roland pushed through the crowd, his face red with anger or possibly excitent—it was hard to tell.
"This is outrageous! You've assaulted a guest in my ho, disrupted my ball—"
"Your guest insulted my aunt and made vile accusations against her family," Jaenor cut him off. "In my world, that demands a response. If your noble society is too soft to defend the honor of its won, that's your failing, not mine."
Roland opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly unsure how to proceed. This had gone far beyond a simple altercation between a nobody and a noble.
An Arkwright—if the boy was telling the truth—changed everything.
Morgana finally stepped forward, her hand settling on Jaenor's shoulder. Her grip was firm, grounding.
"We're leaving," she said quietly, her words for him alone.
"Now. Before this gets any worse."
"Let it get worse," Jaenor said, but he allowed her to turn him toward the exit. "Let them all see what happens when they think they can—"
"Jaenor." Her voice was soft but carried absolute authority. "We're done here. You've made your point. Now we leave with dignity."
They walked through the crowd together, nobles parting before them like water before a ship's prow.
No one spoke.
No one tried to stop them.
No one even dared to look at Jaenor.
As they reached the ballroom entrance, Morgana paused and turned back to address the assembly.
"Barda, Baron Roland—you've shown your true colors tonight. Rember them. Because I certainly will."
Then they were gone, leaving behind a ballroom full of stunned nobles and three groaning, bleeding victims of Jaenor's fury.
In the corridor outside, Morgana finally released Jaenor's arm.
When she turned to face him, her expression was complicated—anger, pride, and concern all warring for dominance.
"That was the most idiotic, reckless, brilliant thing I've ever seen you do," she said finally.
"They insulted you."
"I've been insulted before. I'll be insulted again. I can handle words."
"You shouldn't have to," Jaenor insisted.
"Not from people like that. Not about your family."
Morgana studied him for a long mont, and sothing in her expression softened. "You really are an Arkwright, aren't you? That sa stubborn pride, that inability to let an insult stand. It destroyed your father, you know. It could destroy you too."
"Maybe," Jaenor acknowledged.
"But so things are worth being destroyed for."
She shook her head, but a small smile played at her lips.
"Co. We need to leave before Roland finds his spine and has you arrested. We can discuss your dramatics on the road."
Morgana walked a few steps ahead but stopped and she turned back to see Jaenor standing there.
He turned towards the exit of the castle.
"Jaenor, where are you going?" Morgana called after him, but he didn't slow down.
The castle was a warren of hallways and chambers, but Jaenor had always possessed an uncanny sense of direction. He moved through the passages with confidence, following the sounds of hurried footsteps and hushed, panicked voices.
He found them in a small antechamber off the main corridor—two of Caelum's friends, the ones he hadn't managed to put down in the ballroom.
They were helping the soft-faced youth he'd kneed in the stomach, supporting him between them as he limped along, still wheezing.
Jaenor stepped into the doorway, blocking their exit.
All three froze.
"Going sowhere?" Jaenor asked quietly.
The two uninjured n imdiately moved to shield their friend, hands going to their decorative swords. But their grips were uncertain, their stances amateur. These were nobility who'd been taught the forms of swordplay as a matter of social requirent, not warriors who'd ever used a blade in genuine combat.
"Stay back," one of them said, his voice cracking slightly.
"We want no trouble."
"Too late for that. Your friend Caelum started trouble. Now I want to finish it."
Jaenor took a step forward, and they all flinched.
"Where did he go?"
"We don't know," the other one said quickly, not wanting to be at the end of his wrath.
"He just ran. Said sothing about leaving the castle, getting away."
"Not good enough."
Jaenor's eyes narrowed. "Caelum doesn't strike as the type to run without a plan. Where would he go? What's his refuge?"
The injured youth in the middle coughed, winced, and then spoke through gritted teeth. "His... his mother. He always runs to his mother when things go wrong. She protects him, smooths things over."
"And where is his mother?"
The three exchanged glances, clearly debating whether answering was worth the risk of Caelum's future wrath.
Jaenor took another step forward, and the calculation shifted.
"The Verdant Era Reaches," the first one blurted out.
"His mother maintains an estate there. A small town in deeper parts of the forest. She's been there for months, overseeing so family business."
"That town," Jaenor repeated. "How do I find it?"
"There's a trade road that runs through the forest and starts from the eastern Tharkir mountains. Follow it for one day into the Reaches, then take the western fork when the road splits at the old stone marker. Another couple of hours' ride brings you to the small town. It's small; you can't miss it. Only real settlent in that part of the forest."
Jaenor studied them for a mont longer, then nodded. "If you're lying to , I'll co back. And next ti, I won't be asking politely."
"We're not lying!" the soft-faced youth gasped.
"Please, just... just let us go."
Jaenor stepped aside, and they scrambled past him, practically dragging their injured friend down the corridor. He watched them disappear around a corner, then turned to find Morgana standing behind him.
She'd followed silently, observing. Now she stepped closer, her expression difficult to read in the dim light of the corridor's torches.
"You're planning to go after him," she said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"Even though it ans riding into unfamiliar territory, possibly into a trap."
"Yes."
She was quiet for a mont, then surprised him by reaching up and placing her hand against his cheek. The gesture was uncharacteristically tender, and when he t her eyes, he saw sothing he'd rarely seen there—genuine emotion, unguarded and raw.
"When your father declared your family na in front of all those witches, demanding justice for a slight against our house, I thought he was the bravest fool I'd ever t," she said softly.
"He stood alone against dozens of powerful enemies, knowing it would probably destroy him. And it did."
"I know the story," Jaenor said.
"You told ."
"But you don't understand it. Not really." Her hand dropped, but her gaze remained intense.
"I watched your father throw away everything—his title, his lands, his life—because he wanted to protect you. That's why he made sure you grew up far from these filthy nobles. I endured all those insults and wanted to hide your identity because of what my brother wanted. To not let any harm co to you."
"Then why aren't you stopping ?"
A small, sad smile touched her lips. "Because tonight, when you stood in that ballroom and declared your na, when you defended my honor without a thought for the consequences... I saw your father again."
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