Invincible Blood Sorceror

Chapter 28: You are the last one of our lineage

By the time he reached the Sacred Spire on foot, the confrontation had dispersed.

Sigora and her children were departing down the southern path toward their dwelling, while Kael’var remained with his father, their heads bent in urgent conversation.

Kael’var noticed him first, his head snapping up with predatory alertness.

Recognition bloomed in his eyes, followed swiftly by something darker—a mixture of relief and frustration that twisted his features before he could master them.

”The lost cub returns,” he called, his voice carrying the forced heartiness of one speaking for multiple audiences.

”Your aunt has been quite distraught.”

Jorghan inclined his head respectfully but said nothing.

No’tra’s gaze, heavy with unasked questions, weighed upon him.

”We will speak later, young one,” the elder said finally, his tone neutral but his eyes sharp with meaning.

Sigora had learned that Kael’var had been the reason for Jorghan’s disappearance, and the meeting was because of it. Though Korreth dismissed it as an unnecessary issue, Sigora didn’t let it slide. She questioned Kael’var, but nothing came out of him, and he didn’t say anything that would shed light on the situation.

Korreth then told everyone to leave, and that’s when Jorghan came.

Kael’var’s expression hardened momentarily.

”Yes. Later.”

It was not a friendly promise.

-

Sigora was waiting for him on the threshold, her normally composed features tight with worry and barely contained anger.

”What happened to you?” she said, her voice low but vibrating with intensity.

”Did that little runt do anything to you?”

Behind her, Lira and Morden peered curiously—the former with narrowed, assessing eyes, the latter with undisguised fascination at how he returned without a scratch.

”I was injured,” Jorghan began, but Sigora raised a hand, cutting him off.

”Inside,” she commanded.

”Come to my chambers.”

The interior of the dwelling was warm and fragrant with herbs hung to dry from the curved ceiling. Sigora motioned for her children to leave them, an order Ski’ra obeyed reluctantly while Swana departed with obvious disappointment.

When they were alone, Sigora’s composure cracked slightly.

Sigora pulled Jorghan close, her arms folding around him with a strength only her towering frame could possess.

At eight and a half feet tall, she was a living wall of muscle and grace, yet her embrace was tender, protective, and almost desperate. She lowered herself to the mossy ground and cradled him in her lap as if he were still a small child who needed shielding from the storms.

”I was so worried,” she whispered, her voice carrying both the weight of command and the tremble of fear. Her hand brushed over his head, as though reassuring herself that he was whole. ”You must be careful, Jorghan. You and I... we are the only ones left of Sol’vur blood. If anything were to happen to you...”

Her words trailed off, the thought itself too painful to finish.

Jorghan squirmed slightly against her, not from discomfort but from the overwhelming sensation of her closeness. Pressed firmly against her massive tits, his face buried in the warmth and softness of her form, he felt both embarrassed and safe in a way only Sigora could make him feel.

The scent of herbs and sky-flowers clung to her skin, calming and intoxicating all at once.

Though she held him with the might of a warrior, her touch was gentle, as if she feared he might shatter if she loosened her guard.

To the clan, Sigora was a figure of strength—towering, fierce, unshakable—but with Jorghan, she was simply a loving aunt, desperately clinging to the last piece of family she had.

”Promise me,” she said, lifting his chin so his green eyes met hers.

The glow of her own markings shimmered faintly in the twilight, as if her very soul burned with worry.

”Promise me you won’t be reckless. You carry more than your own life in your hands.”

Jorghan, still flushed from the closeness, managed a nod. He understood.

”Now tell me everything. Do not leave anything.”

And Jorghan did as she was told. He explained how Kael’var and the twins attacked him and how he fled to the surface. His injuries and the human settlements.

Sigora’s expression darkened.

”Humans. Here, in the borderlands?”

She shook her head. ”This is ill news. What did they learn of you?”

”They suspect I am no ordinary child,” Jorghan admitted.

”Their healer—Revin—he saw something in me that troubled him. They gave me the vessel to return, but I destroyed it.”

”Clever boy,” Sigora murmured, but her eyes remained troubled.

”Still, if they’ve come this far north, and if they’ve glimpsed even a fraction of what you truly are...” She fell silent, her thoughts clearly racing ahead to implications Jorghan could only partly grasp.

After a moment, she seemed to come to a decision.

”We must accelerate your training. The seventh seal cannot break before you are ready to contain what lies beneath.”

Her gaze became distant, as though seeing across vast distances of time.

She was thinking about the twins, who were becoming just like their father. She was already at her limit of their behaviour and their attitude towards her, riding on their father’s words. They don’t even show respect to her as their mother, and she lost her patience now that they had harmed Jorghan and will deal with them directly when they try to harm him again.

She sighed heavily, thinking that she should whack them but decided to leave them be and focus on Jorghan for now.