The smallest of the Nor’vack youths took an involuntary step backward. "Illusion magic? But that’s advanced—"
"Not illusion," Jorghan corrected calmly. "Perception. There’s a difference."
In truth, he had indeed entered the water, but what the Nor’vack hadn’t seen was his instantaneous manipulation of the river’s mana currents, creating a subrged pathway that had carried him swiftly beneath the surface to erge on the opposite bank, hidden from their view.
A simple application of his Blood Deviant ability to assimilate elental affinities, combined with water-walking techniques that he developed just now.
Kael’var’s surprise quickly hardened into anger, his tail lashing violently now. "So cheap trick doesn’t change what you are, groundling. A weak, abandoned remnant of a dead clan."
Jorghan’s expression remained mild, but sothing in his eyes changed—a coldness that belonged to the cri lord rather than the eleven-year-old boy. "Dead clans cast no shadows, Kael’var. Yet here I stand. What does that tell you?"
There was a sudden tension in the air, a weight of mana pressure that hadn’t been present before.
The younger Nor’vack felt it first, their sensitive mana receptors detecting the subtle shift in the atmosphere.
One by one, they began to edge away from their leader, instinctively distancing themselves from what they now recognized as a threat.
Kael’var felt it too, though his pride prevented him from showing the sa caution. "You think you can intimidate with parlour tricks? I am the son of an elder! An elder of the Council"
"And I," Jorghan said softly, "am the son of Ser’gu, the Berserk Lord of the Sol’vur clan. Last of my bloodline." The tattoo on his neck pulsed once, visibly even through his collar, bathing the riverside in a montary wash of blood-red light.
"Which of these identities carries more weight, I wonder?"
For the first ti, genuine fear flickered across Kael’var’s features.
The na Ser’gu was known even among the isolated Nor’vack—a warrior of terrible power whose rage had been legendary across the Twelve Clans.
A warrior who, along with his entire bloodline, had been deed dangerous.
"You’re lying," Kael’var whispered, but there was no conviction in his accusation.
Jorghan rely smiled, an expression that reached his eyes in only the most predatory sense. "Lady Sigora did not take in out of pity, Kael’var. She took in because blood calls to blood, and power recognizes power."
He gestured casually toward the river. "Would you like another demonstration? Perhaps sothing more... convincing?"
The crimson glow in his eyes intensified slightly, and the waters of the Silver River beside them rippled in response, forming patterns that mirrored the tattoos on his neck.
That was enough for Kael’var’s companions.
They broke formation, backing away rapidly before turning to flee along the riverbank, their long legs carrying them swiftly from the scene.
Kael’var remained, frozen between pride and self-preservation. "This isn’t over, groundling," he managed, though the musical quality of his voice had deserted him, leaving the words flat and brittle.
"No," Jorghan agreed, the crimson light fading from his eyes as he deliberately lowered the mana pressure radiating from his core. "It isn’t. But next ti you decide to test , consider whether you’re prepared for what you might learn."
He turned away dismissively, returning to his spot by the riverbank and resuming his cross-legged position as if nothing had transpired.
After a mont’s hesitation, Kael’var retreated, his tall fra rigid with humiliation and unease.
When he was alone once more, Jorghan released a slow breath, centring himself as Sigora had taught him.
A shadow fell across him, and he didn’t need to look up.
"Was that display truly necessary?" a woman’s voice asked.
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