The Sinful Young Master

"It seems like I can't read into your future, boy," the elder concluded. "I wanted to see your connection with our lord deity, but it seems like I can't."

"All right, it seems like we have only one choice, and that is to help you gain control over the chaos. I can see that chaos had corrupted your essence already."

"And you're going to help me understand it," Jolthar said, not a question but a statement.

The elder nodded slowly. "I will help you, child of heavens and chaos both."

He waved his hand again over the basin, and the images disappeared, replaced by a reflection of the statue towering above them. "Uncontrolled chaos consumes. Directed chaos creates. The difference lies in understanding—and in choice."

The elder reached out suddenly, placing his palm against Jolthar's forehead.

The touch was cold at first, then increasingly warm as some energy passed between them. Jolthar felt something unlock within his mind—not knowledge exactly, but the capacity for knowledge, as though a door long sealed had finally been opened.

"Your journey will not be easy," the elder said, withdrawing his hand. "The path of chaos never is. But you need not walk it blindly, as so many before you have done."

Jolthar looked up at the statue of Vhaerun, then back to the elder. "I've spent my life being shaped by others—by my grandmother Johamma, by expectations, by powers I didn't ask for and barely understand. I'm tired of being a piece moved across a board."

"Then don't be," the elder said simply. "Even the gods themselves must make choices, Jolthar. Even beings of pure chaos must decide what they will become." He gestured toward the sanctuary entrance. "The training begins at dawn. For now, rest. You will need your strength."

The elder called for someone to show his dwelling.

As they walked back into the village, Jolthar noticed the other elves keeping their distance, but their expressions had changed. The hostility remained in some, but in others, he saw curiosity—and in a few, a reluctant respect.

His thoughts turned briefly to Tekkora, to Baroness Cleora and her children.

But this journey was necessary. The chaos within him was growing stronger, and without understanding, without control, he risked becoming exactly what his grandmother Johamma had always intended—a weapon, not a man.

The elf showed him to a small dwelling at the edge of the settlement—a simple structure that seemed to have grown rather than been built.

Inside was a pallet of woven grasses and a basin of clear water.

Jolthar stood in the dwelling, his temporary home until he leaves here.

He walked towards the other end; he could see a slope leading towards the river stream. The hut-like house was located on a hill, but not much higher.

He stood there watching the sun disappear into the horizon; he moved back and lay on the bed made from hay. He stared up at the wooden ceiling; he could tell that they had given this room on purpose, but it was enough for him now. He just needs to get the training done, and he will be out of here.

-

Dawn broke over the settlement of the Ael'koryna with a peculiar quality—the sunlight filtered through the perpetual violet haze that hung in the air, casting elongated shadows across the crystalline structures and trees.

Jolthar rose from his pallet, muscles stiff from the unfamiliar bedding. The hay was present on the pallet, still it didn't give him enough softness.

He didn't mind it as he got his sleep. He just needs to get used to it.

Outside his dwelling, the settlement was already alive with activity.

The ashen-skinned elves moved with purpose, some gathering strange fruits from the twisted trees, others working with tools crafted from materials Jolthar couldn't identify. They paused in their tasks to watch him emerge, their violet eyes unblinking and wary.

"Human," one called out, the word not quite an insult but certainly not a greeting. "The Elder awaits you at the Channelling Circle."

Jolthar nodded his acknowledgement, ignoring the stares that followed him through the settlement. He had endured worse scrutiny in the courts of his homeland.

At least here, among these chaos-touched elves, his power was recognized rather than feared—even if he himself was not yet accepted.

The Channeling Circle proved to be the same central clearing where he'd been brought upon his capture.

In daylight, the pool at its centre shimmered more vibrantly, the liquid within it shifting between states—sometimes appearing solid as glass, other times vaporous as mist, never quite settling into any fixed form.

The Elder stood beside the pool, his white staff planted firmly in the ground.

Beside him were two figures—a male elf whom Jolthar recognized as the Elder's son who had protested yesterday and a female elf whose presence commanded attention despite her stillness.

"Approach, Jolthar of the human lands," the Elder said, his voice carrying across the clearing. "It is time to begin your understanding of what dwells within you."

As Jolthar drew closer, he could study the two elves more carefully.

The Elder's son was tall even by elven standards, his ashen skin stretched taut over pronounced musculature.

Unlike most of the Ael'koryna, whose hair ran to shades of silver or white, his was black as a starless night, pulled back severely from a face set in rigid disapproval.

The female elf was his opposite in nearly every way. Where he was rigid, she seemed fluid, her posture relaxed yet alert. Her hair fell in loose waves the colour of pale moonlight, and the violet haze that surrounded all the Ael'koryna seemed to shimmer around her with unusual vibrancy. Most striking were her eyes—while all the chaos elves possessed violet irises, hers contained flecks of silver that caught the light as she turned to study Jolthar.

"This is my son, Vareth," the elder said, gesturing to the male elf. "He is our foremost warrior and guardian of our sacred traditions."

Vareth inclined his head fractionally, the barest acknowledgement possible without being openly disrespectful.