The Sinful Young Master

Liliana looked to Lorryll, who nodded encouragingly. "Go. I need to speak with my father. We'll meet again soon."

With a heavy heart, Liliana followed her mother-in-law out of the great hall and into the quiet solitude of the family's private gardens.

The whole house had turned into a chatter as the patriarch had left. This was a huge deal, and the children of the house saw it as an opportunity to prove their worth and earn the approval of their father.

The clan had started to undergo major changes, and it would be for the upcoming war.

-*-

As the world shifted and alliances formed in the south, a very different scene was unfolding in the frozen north. Far beyond the politics and machinations of the great houses, where the ice mountains pierced the sky like the teeth of some primordial beast, a lone figure stood in defiance of nature itself.

The young man's breath misted in the frigid air, but he showed no signs of discomfort. Two scabbards hung at his waist, their presence a promise of lethal skill. In his hands, he held a long sword, gripping it with the familiarity of a master and his chosen instrument.

His long black hair fluttered in the cold wind as it whistled past him. The long black robe was tied at the waist, and his forearms rippled with power as he tightened his grip around the handle of the sword.

His gaze was fixed on the towering mountain before him, his eyes reflecting a determination that bordered on the inhuman. His lone six-foot two inch figure stood in the snowy barren land, with the breeze getting stronger and the clouds starting to form above him.

As he stood there, a change began to occur. A faint golden hue emanated from his body, growing stronger with each passing moment. The air around him began to shimmer with heat, the snow at his feet melting away as if spring had come in an instant.

The cold breeze that howled around him seemed to have no effect. It was as if the elements themselves recognized his mastery and bowed before him.

With a controlled breath, the young man raised his sword. The movement was deliberate, almost agonizingly slow, but laden with a profound power that made the very air tremble.

"VOIDSLASH," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of cosmic forces.

The sword fell, and with it, reality itself seemed to tear. A golden arc of light, brilliant and terrible, erupted from the blade. It shot forward with impossible speed, cleaving the land as it passed.

Snow, rock, and air parted before it like water.

When the arc of light struck the mountain, there was a moment of absolute silence. Then, with a sound like the world being born anew, the mountain split in two. But the Voidslash did not stop there. It continued onwards, sundering peak after peak, leaving a path of destruction that stretched beyond the horizon.

The ground shook violently, the reverberations of the strike echoing through the earth like the footsteps of giants. The very air seemed to pause, the falling snow suspended for a heartbeat before resuming its descent.

Through it all, the young man stood unmoved. Not a single pebble touched him, not a single snowflake marred his form. He was an island of perfect calm in a sea of chaos.

As the echoes of his strike faded and the dust began to settle, the young man's expression remained unchanged. Where others might have felt triumph or awe at such a display of power, he felt only a gnawing dissatisfaction. In his mind, he was still lacking, still not strong enough for the trials that lay ahead.

*

As the dust settled and the echoes of his earth-shattering attack faded into the distance, the young man remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the devastation before him. The once-proud mountain range now lay in ruins, a testament to the young warrior's incredible power.

From behind him came the sound of laboured breathing and the crunch of debris underfoot. An old man, his face weathered by time and experience, struggled through the wreckage towards the young man. Despite the difficulty of his journey, determination shone in his eyes.

"Young master Jolthar," the old man called out as he finally reached the stoic warrior, "are you all right? What in the heavens' name is this?"