Tale of a Hedonistic wizard

"I've got to ask," Norimar began, his deep voice laced with curiosity, "how in the world did you make her agree to this? Mara doesn't exactly strike me as the type to take orders."

The Lodar's glowing eyes flicked toward Norimar, his expression unchanging. "She owed me a favour," he said simply, his voice smooth and resonant, like the hum of a deep bell.

"And Mara is not one to leave debts unpaid."

Norimar raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Still, she's one of the strongest I've seen. I'd have thought she'd balk at something like this."

The Lodar allowed a faint smirk to tug at the corner of his mouth. "Strength comes in many forms, Norimar. Mara knows that better than most. She's strong, yes, perhaps even our equal in certain ways. But strength doesn't always mean defiance. Sometimes, it means knowing when to act and when to walk away."

Norimar nodded slowly, the weight of the Lodar's words sinking in. "Fair point," he said, glancing toward the unconscious princess.

"So, what now?"

The Faesapien's smirk disappeared, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. "Now, we wait. The next move isn't ours to make."

The two stood in silence, the weight of their actions hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

In the distance, the sounds of the Holy Kingdom's search parties echoed faintly, their desperation palpable. Yet here, just beyond the borders, the players of this dangerous game remained calm, their plans unfolding with precision.

The night was far from over, but for now, they had done what they came to do. And the fate of the princess and perhaps the entire Holy Kingdom hung precariously in the balance.

-

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the weathered farmhouse.

Eradarin then told, "I hear there were several missing people in the empire too. One from a wizard tower, one from the spire, so on. Before your master disappeared, she talked about something that made me unsettled, shook me to the core."

"What is it?" Jaeger asked.

"The Resurrection of the Phantom of the Chaos God," Eradarin replied, his voice barely above a whisper. The words seemed to make the air grow colder.

Jaegar's blank expression prompted Eradarin to continue. The old sage sat down heavily on a wooden chair, gesturing for the others to gather around.

"It's not just a legend or a fairy tale," he explained, his eyes distant as if seeing through time itself. "The last time the Phantom of the Chaos God manifested, it nearly destroyed everything. The world was torn asunder; reality itself fractured. The ancient texts speak of seas boiling, mountains crumbling, and the sky splitting apart. It took the combined sacrifice of hundreds of practitioners to seal it away."

"But what does this have to do with my master?" Jaegar interrupted, growing increasingly frustrated.

"Everything," Eradarin replied solemnly. "The cycle has begun again, Jaegar. The power of chaos hasn't been destroyed—it can't be. Instead, it has been reborn, fragmented into the children of this generation. We talked about this; you and your mother were also part of it. She told you were greatly influenced by the power chaos; even I could sense it now. It was the most primeaval force in the universe."

"Angelina discovered why the Bande de Serpents have been hunting you," he added, a sigh escaping his lips. "You're one of them, Jaegar. A Child of Chaos. And so was your mother."

"And I'm sure that was the reason behind these kidnappings."

The revelation hit Jaegar like a physical blow. He stumbled backwards.

"That's why they've been after us," he whispered, understanding dawning in his eyes.

Eradarin nodded gravely. "Angelina had been trying to find out about their true purpose. How exactly are they going to do that? She hadn't told anyone about it, as there were various speculations about it. The ancient texts weren't clear about the process. So we aren't sure."

"But the fools don't understand what they're dealing with," he growled. "The Chaos God cannot be controlled. Its return would mean the end of everything."

The urgent conversation on the porch was interrupted by a sudden shimmer in the air, like heat waves rising from summer-baked stones. In an instant, a tall figure materialized before them – Felaern, an elf whose very presence seemed to command attention.

Standing nearly eight feet tall, he cut an imposing figure against the darkening sky. His features held that timeless elven beauty, with high cheekbones and eyes that seemed to hold centuries of wisdom, yet there was an unmistakable urgency in his expression that broke through his usual composed demeanor.

The ancient elf's silver hair caught the last rays of sunlight, creating an almost ethereal halo around his head. His traditional elven robes, adorned with runes of protection and power, whispered against the wooden planks of the porch as he stepped forward.

Despite his breathtaking appearance, it was the grave concern etched across his features that caught everyone's attention.

"Jaegar," Felaern's voice carried the musical quality characteristic of his kind, but it was tighter than usual with worry. "You need to come with me. Now."

The sudden appearance of such a distinguished member of the elven council might have been cause for ceremony under normal circumstances, but the tension in Felaern's voice made it clear this was no ordinary visit.

Jaegar looked between Felaern and them, the weight of multiple crises pressing down on him. The revelation about his nature as a Child of Chaos still rang in his ears, and his grandmother's kidnapping burned like a fresh wound. Yet something in Felaern's manner told him this new development couldn't wait.

"I'll send news later," Jaegar told Eradarin, his voice firm despite the turmoil in his heart. Eradarin nodded gravely, understanding passing between them.

Whatever Felaern needed was clearly urgent enough to warrant temporarily postponing their plans regarding the Bande de Serpents.

Without further ceremony, Felaern placed a hand on Jaegar's shoulder.

The world blurred around them, colours bleeding into one another like wet paint, as the elf's transportation magic took hold.

When reality solidified again, they stood in Autumnhold, the prestigious magical academy where the air itself seemed to hum with arcane energy.