It was past midday; the sun was mosaiced by the clouds; not much light got through it. This place had its own way of adjusting to the outside of climate and its condition, and the barriers set up around the place shielded it from others sensing the changes around this mountain.
But right now, there was neither light nor darkness; it was like a mild twilight that enveloped everything in a soft glow.
And there he was sitting, calmly with his eyes closed.
The cold was a lot stronger here than it was in the village down below. But that it didn’t bother him in the least.
There was the purple glow in front of him, the radiance of the chaos sword. The sword was levitating before him, and the purple energy was erging from the sword like flas.
And not only that, the sa purple-coloured energy was faintly emanating from Jolthar’s skin too. He was like a lamp in the twilight.
Six moons had passed since he had begun his vigil here, and the transformation was evident in every line of his form.
His face bore a patched beard that spoke of months spent in solitary contemplation, while his dark hair had grown longer, now falling past his shoulders in waves that caught the ethereal light of the floating blade.
His clothes, once fine garnts befitting a baron, had been worn to practical simplicity by exposure to the elents and the constant pressure of the chaotic energies that surrounded him.
He sat cross-legged in the classical ditation pose, his breathing so controlled it seed he had beco one with the mountain itself.
Yet there was no mountain peak beneath him anymore—only debris, scattered stones, and the remnants of what had once been considered an impenetrable fortress of chaos. The summit that had stood for millennia, wrapped in energies so dense and dangerous that even the most powerful beings gave it wide berth, now lay in ruins around him.
There was only destruction and devastation around him, and in the midst of all the ruptured chaos, he was peacefully ditating without a disturbance.
Not far from him, watching from a safe distance, stood two figures whose very presence spoke of authority around here and a strong aura.
Ekatarina and Vareth, elves of the old bloodlines, towered at eight feet in height, their muscular fras speaking to strength that transcended mortal understanding. Their skin held a light bluish tint that seed to shimr in the chaotic light, marking them as beings touched by forces beyond the natural world.
Ekatarina’s expression was one of genuine amazent mixed with sothing approaching delight. Her silver hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of moonlight, and her violet eyes sparkled with the kind of excitent that ca from witnessing the impossible made manifest. She gestured toward the debris field that surrounded Jolthar’s ditation site, her voice carrying a note of vindicated satisfaction.
"You didn’t expect him to do this," she said, her words directed at her companion but loud enough for the mountain winds to carry them across the scattered stones.
Even she had been greatly surprised by this achievent.
The Peak of Chaos had stood as a monunt to untaable power since the world was young, its summit wrapped in energies so volatile that approaching it ant certain death for any being not already touched by chaos itself.
Yet here sat a mortal baron, not rely surviving the experience but having sohow shattered the peak’s defences entirely.
Vareth’s expression was far more complex, a mixture of emotions warring across his angular features.
His golden eyes held depths that spoke of centuries of experience, yet they now reflected uncertainty and sothing that might have been frustration.
He couldn’t tell if he was angry or simply bewildered by what he was witnessing.
His long white hair was bound in intricate braids that marked his status among the elder elves, each pattern speaking to victories and honours accumulated over lifetis that spanned centuries.
He didn’t expect Jolthar to accomplish this feat—none of them had.
The news had already been delivered to the Elder and the other prominent community mbers, and they were all quite taken aback by what Jolthar had done. His stay had co to an end, and they were thinking of sending him back, but they didn’t expect that their mountain of chaos would be destroyed by him.
The young man’s power was undeniable; his control over chaos was just like any other, if any, and it was far better than most talented children of the Ael’korynas.
He hadn’t used his other powers inside and had only sole dependence on the chaos.
"It is luck," Vareth said finally, his voice carrying the weight of soone trying to convince himself as much as his companion.
"That’s what it is."
No matter what Jolthar had achieved, Vareth wasn’t convinced.
All villagers had different opinions about the boy now, and they saw him as one of their own.
Ekatarina’s laughter rang out across the debris field, a sound like silver bells that seed to harmonise with the chaotic energies still swirling around Jolthar’s ditation site.
Her amusent was genuine, but it carried an edge that spoke to deeper knowledge and a longer perspective.
"Sure it is," she replied, her tone making it clear exactly how much credence she gave to that explanation. Her violet eyes fixed on Vareth with the kind of intensity that suggested this conversation touched on matters far beyond simple observation of a mortal’s achievents.
"And there is only one way to find," She looked at him and said.
Vareth grinned, staring back at Jolthar.
"You up for the final battle with him?" she asked, and there was sothing in her voice that suggested this was not rely a casual inquiry but a challenge that cut to the heart of everything they had been building toward.
Vareth’s response ca with the kind of bravado that often masked deeper uncertainties. "Oh yes, I’m gonna crush him so hard that he would leave this place in wounds—"
He suddenly stopped talking and turned to see Jolthar. Ekatarina also did the sa, and that was because of the abrupt change in the energies around them.
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