Invincible Blood Sorceror

Jorghan walked toward the riverbank with Sarhita at his side, neither speaking as the weight of what was coming pressed down on them both.

Jorghan turned slowly toward her, his expression darkening. "You have got to be joking," he muttered, stepping closer so only she could hear. "Mated? You just painted a target on my back the size of this damned mountain."

She met his glare without flinching. "If I hadn't, they would have killed you where you stood. You think they'd just let a stranger walk in after killing their hunters?"

"I didn't need you to protect me," he snapped.

"I had it under control."

Sarhita laughed bitterly. "Under control? You were surrounded by his clans. You'd be ash by now."

"I've faced worse," Jorghan growled.

"You don't speak for me. And you sure as hell don't claim me."

"And you just used me to stop your marriage and your father's slavery.

You should have at least told us before we came here."

Her eyes narrowed, flashing with indignation. "You think I wanted to?" she hissed.

"You think I'd tell my clan I've bonded with an outsider just for fun? I did it to save your arrogant hide and myself."

Jorghan took a slow step toward her, his aura faintly rippling. "Don't ever make decisions for me again," he said, voice low and dangerous.

"I don't care what clan you belong to or who your Patriarch is. None of this means a damn thing to me."

Her hand shot out, grabbing his tunic. "You fool," she spat. "Do you even realize what you're saying? You insulted the Patriarch of Nue'roka in front of his kin. Now he'll demand blood. If you refuse, they'll kill me for lying."

Jorghan blinked, his expression unchanged. "That's your problem, not mine."

Sarhita's eyes widened—hurt flickering across her face for just a moment before rage took over. "You cold bastard!"

Jorghan's voice was calm but sharp, each word like a knife. "I didn't ask to be saved. I didn't ask to be claimed. You made your choice—live with it."

"And you don't know what you are talking about, no sense at all."

They both stopped talking, and silence prevailed for a few seconds, neither of them calm enough to talk about the real issue here.

That's when Jorghan felt it—a familiar presence that made the blood-red dot in his consciousness pulse with recognition. It was his mana print, which he put on her years ago.

His head snapped up, scanning the rocky terrain and towards the buildings. He went out, searching for the mana print, and finally he found her.

Coming out of the busy crowd, her tall frame was easily noticeable.

Sigora.

Eight and a half feet of presence and power, her brown skin gleaming in the afternoon sun, her thick, curvy frame moving with the deceptive grace of someone who'd spent centuries mastering their own body. Her dark hair was bound in intricate braids woven with bone ornaments, and her deep green eyes—so different from the liquid gold or polished amber of the red elves.

She was walking towards the patriarch's dwelling.

"Mother?" Jorghan said, the word slipping out before he could stop it.

He'd started calling her just before he left the city.

Sarhita's head whipped toward him, then toward the approaching figure, her liquid gold eyes widening as she took in Sigora's imposing presence.

"That's... your mother?"

"Aunt, originally," Jorghan said, already moving toward Sigora.

"But it's complicated. Very complicated."

He called for her and she saw him, with a real surprised expression. Her eyes wide as she was confused to see him here.

Sigora reached them in long strides and, without preamble, pulled Jorghan into an embrace that would have crushed a normal person's ribs. He hugged her back fiercely, feeling some of the tension he'd been carrying bleed away.

Her bigger frame shrinking his as she wrapped her hands around him, leaning down.

"What are you doing here?" he asked when she finally released him, stepping back to study her face.

"You were supposed to be—"

"What are you doing here?" she said with incredulous tone.

"Lot of things happened after you left," he said.

"What led you here? You went to Turtle Rock, didn't you?"

"Plans changed," Sigora said, her deep voice carrying that particular tone that meant she had information that wouldn't be pleasant.

Her gaze shifted to Sarhita, assessing her with the thoroughness of someone who'd spent lifetimes evaluating potential threats and allies.

"Aren't you the daughter of the Kal'tun?"

"I—" Sarhita began, but Sigora waved a hand, cutting her off.

"Later. First, I need to speak with Jorghan. Privately."

She looked around at the settlement, at the curious eyes watching this new development. "Is there somewhere we can talk? Somewhere secure?"

Sarhita recovered quickly, her composure reasserting itself. "There are caves in the rock formations behind my father's dwelling. Private, secure, and used for important clan discussions. I can take you there."

"Good." Sigora's expression softened slightly as she looked at the pale, red-skinned woman.

-

They moved through the settlement, Sigora's presence drawing stares and whispers.

Brown elves were rare in this region, and one of her size and obvious power even more so. Jorghan could feel the speculation building—who was this woman, what was her connection to the half-blood who'd challenged Eldrath, and what did her arrival mean?

Kael'thun intercepted them near his dwelling, his liquid gold eyes fixing on Sigora with a mixture of curiosity and confusion as he saw her with Jorghan.

"Sigora," he said.

"Kal'tun. Just give me a minute; I will come meet you," she replied.

"I need to speak with my son."

Kael'thun's eyebrows rose slightly at the word "son," his gaze flickering between Sigora and Jorghan, clearly noting the physical differences that made biological relation unlikely.

"Of course. My daughter will show you to a private space."

The caves Sarhita led them to were cool and dark, natural formations that had been smoothed and expanded over centuries to create meeting spaces. Once they were inside and Sarhita had activated privacy wards that would prevent sound from carrying, Sigora settled her considerable weight onto a stone bench and fixed Jorghan with a look that made him feel twelve years old again.

Jorghan told her what happened, starting from the city and ending with him destroying the duchy.

Sigora and Sarhita, both of them, had their eyes wide as apples and mouths hung open in complete astonishment.

"You killed Hawkin?" Sigora found it very shocking that he killed him; she was away for a couple of days, and he had gone and killed one of the strongest Paladins of the empire.

Sarhita gasped, "You killed a duke? A nine-star paladin. He was one of the most famous and strongest paladins of the empire. Everybody knows about him."

Jorghan just stood there, his expression was calm, like Hawkin was no big deal.

Sigora then asked, "Then how did you end up here?"

Then he told her about how he met Sarhita and how he was now a week away from fighting against the Patriarch of the Nue'roka clan.

Sigora let out a long, weary sigh, her gaze distant as the weight of it all pressed upon her. She had known this day would come—had felt it like a cold whisper in her bones. It wasn't the act of killing Hawkin that unsettled her; no, that man had long deserved his end.

What gnawed at her was how fate had twisted itself into this inevitable knot—how every step, every scar, every decision had driven Jorghan to the very moment where blood answered blood, and vengeance finally completed its cruel circle.

Of course, Jorghan omitted the parts where he saw the real mother from earth, and he just told her he wanted to save the girl but met with Hawkin there.

"So," she said, her voice deceptively mild.

"You've been here less than two hours, and you've already managed to challenge an old patriarch to mortal combat. That might be a new record, even for you."

Jorghan had the grace to look embarrassed. He looked towards Sarhita, as if saying she was responsible for it.

"It's just turned out that way."

Sigora sighed, then her expression grew serious.

"But before we discuss your immediate problem, I need to tell you why I'm here. The situation has changed, Jorghan. Significantly."

She gestured for them both to sit, and Jorghan settled beside Sarhita on the stone bench opposite his mother.

"The Turtle Rock is making its way to the desert," Sigora began, and Jorghan's eyebrows rose in confusion.

"Nuwe'rak clan have agreed to let us make our home here temporarily. The negotiations took weeks, but they finally accepted."

"What? When did this happen? I wasn't aware of it," Sarhita said with a surprised expression.

"You weren't present when the meeting happened," Sigora replied.

She turned to face Jorghan and continued, "Jorghan, I want you to be careful from now onwards. Now that you have killed one of their best paladins, they would surely come after you, and moreover, the elf community is facing a dangerous threat from the empire."