The Sinful Young Master

November 8, 1824.

Jolthar was back again, he was now eighteen years old and certainly, he had changed a lot from what he was back then. 

Jolthar approached the main gates, where two guards snapped to attention at his arrival. They didn't recognise him, and he had to say his name and show the letter he received, which was sent to the children of the clan.

Checking the letter, the guards allowed him inside.

As he entered the estate grounds, Jolthar couldn't help but think of old Colinus, who had remained behind at Stormholme Keep. The old man had been a constant presence in his life for the past few years, and Jolthar made a mental note to send word of his safe arrival once he was settled.

Inside the vast grounds of Sandorme Estate, a pit lay hidden within the shadows, its depths home to creatures both fierce and fearsome. This was no ordinary pit; it was a cavernous den where the estate kept its most formidable beasts, each one bound by shackles and enchantments crafted by the most skilled handlers.

Deep within the pit, a drake—a massive creature cloaked in scales of fiery orange and crimson—lay shackled. The air around it was thick with tension, its breaths slow yet intense, nostrils flaring with the smouldering promise of unleashed power.

It was a beast of unparalleled ferocity, a creature so wild and uncontrollable that even the strongest chains alone could not contain it. Bound in place by ancient, potent enchantments, the drake lay sprawled on the ground, its massive head resting on forelimbs like pillars of raw power, eyes closed as though lulled by some restless slumber.

But today, something shifted—a crack in the space, a tremor in the air. Suddenly, its eyes snapped open, igniting with a fierce, unnatural light, as if stirred by an invisible call, a primal urge breaking free of restraint.

The drake's golden, slitted eyes gleamed with a violent light, reflecting years of confinement and an untamed spirit that could no longer be suppressed.

In a sudden, explosive motion, the drake's muscled body surged forward, its chains creaking under the strain. The large chains that held creature captive, now strained under its mighty pull, and the sounds of metal screeching against stone filled the cavern.

The men of the pit were alerted and quickly surrounded the beast, and the beast handlers were trying to calm the beast. The creature's massive body moved in a way to break the chains off. Drake's roar filled the cave and resounded off the walls, sending shivers down the spines of all who heard it. The drake's eyes blazed with a fiery intensity, a stark contrast to the darkness of its prison.

With a final, ear-splitting roar, it snapped its shackles, the metallic bindings shattering and clanging against the cavern's rocky floor.

The beast burst from its confinement, its form towering at nearly 9.4 meters tall. It was a beast of magnificent and terrifying proportions, with a muscular frame rippling under its vibrant scales, each one like a polished gem reflecting the flames within. Its head was adorned with two sinuous tentacles, which writhed and flared as it exhaled in fury, creating an aura that commanded both reverence and fear.

The guards stationed within the pit sprang into action. "Contain it!" one of the knights bellowed, drawing his sword.

Others followed, unsheathing their weapons, their faces hardened with resolve to contain the beast. They formed a semicircle around the drake, their shields raised in a desperate attempt to barricade its path.

But the beast was unstoppable.

With a growl that vibrated the very ground beneath them, the drake thrashed wildly, its powerful limbs sweeping knights aside as if they were mere leaves caught in a storm.

Shields splintered, armour dented, and shouts of men filled the cavern as they were thrown across the pit with devastating force.

Within moments, the drake had escaped the pit.

It now stood outside, its red-orange scales glinting under the sun as it surged forward, its gaze locked on the estate's grand front gates.

Knights and servants scrambled to avoid its path, but the drake's massive tail and lunging strides made dodging nearly impossible. It crashed through anything and anyone in its way, a living avalanche of fury and might.

With each stride, its deep, guttural growls resonated across the estate grounds, like thunder warning of an imminent storm.

Word spread quickly through the estate, and men watching from afar began to murmur nervously among themselves. The knights spread out and were trying to stop the drake.

At that very moment, a figure strode into its path—the unmistakable silhouette of Jolthar, clad in simple but sturdy garments, his posture steady, his gaze sharp.