Spectralblade

Jagnar stood stoically, his expression blank, as he faced his elder sister Elysia and her mother Seraphina, who was also his stepmother.

Looking at her, the memories of how Seraphina had treated him in the past flooded his mind, leaving a bitter taste.

Elysia struggled to find her voice; the tension in the air was almost palpable.

"Who is this, Elysia?" Seraphina asked, her deep, baritone voice laced with suspicion.

Elysia faltered, her mouth suddenly dry. "It's Jagnar," she managed to reply, bracing herself for her mother's reaction.

Seraphina's eyes widened in shock, her perfectly composed demeanour cracking for a brief moment. "What! Aren't you de-" She caught herself mid-sentence, visibly composing herself with a deep breath.

Jagnar scoffed, 'that I was dead?' He thought inwardly.

While she was about to say something, suddenly the heavy oak door swung open, interrupting the charged moment.

A woman glided in, her grace and alluring figure betraying her age of sixty years. Her breasts and her waist were still as firm as they were in her youth, a fact that never failed to draw attention.

Despite her advanced years, she carried herself with a regal air that commanded respect.

"My dear, when have you arrived?" the woman asked, her warm smile brightening the room as she laid eyes on Seraphina and Elysia.

Elysia, relieved by the interruption, moved to embrace her grandmother, Gloriana.

Gloriana held her granddaughter's face tenderly, studying her features. "Let me look at you," she murmured. She was Serephina's mother-in-law.

After a moment, Elysia spoke up. "Grandmother, I have brought someone with me."

Gloriana's gaze shifted to Jagnar, and her countenance changed instantly. Instinctively, she moved towards him, her eyes wide with recognition.

Gloriana's heart raced as she cupped her grandson Jagnar's face in her weathered hands. His familiar crimson eyes stared back at her, the same vibrant shade as his father's had been all those years ago. But there was something haunting them now—something that spoke of the untold.

Jagnar, if he could remember any people in this house who showed him any kindness, these were the only two people: Elysia and his grandmother. After leaving the swordhaven manor, everything fell apart.

She drank in every detail, cataloguing the changes in the young boy she remembered. His face had thinned out, the roundness of youth giving way to a chiselled jawline.

"Jagnar?" She whispered his name like a prayer. "Is it truly you?"

He gave a solemn nod. "Yes, grandmother. I have returned."

Gloriana's eyes shimmered with tears at the sound of his voice. She had assumed he was dead all this time, mourning him alongside.

She could never mistake him for another; he was truly her grandson, as she recognized his distinct features, similar to those of his mother.

Seraphina, watched the reunion with unveiled suspicion. Gloriana could see the distrust plain on the woman's pretty face.

Seraphina approached the guards near by and whispered to them to notify the patriarch.

While Gloriana conversed with her supposed grandson, the heavy footfalls of armoured knights began echoing through the corridors. One by one, the burly forms of the clan's mightiest warriors emerged into the hall, greatswords gleaming at their hips.

Jagnar's gaze flickered over the arrivals, but he stood his ground, seemingly unperturbed by the show of force.

Gloriana moved to stand between him and the approaching knights.

"Stand down," she commanded in her most imperious tone, the voice that had once quelled battlefields. "This is my grandson, Jagnar."

The lead knight, Sir Danior, frowned beneath his plumed helm. "My lady, we cannot be certain of his identity after all this time. He could be an imposter, or worse, a spy from a hostile clan seeking to sow chaos."

"Are you telling me that I couldn't recognise my own grandson?"

"I dare not, my lady, but we can't ignore the possibilities."

The knights shuffled uncertainly, peering at Jagnar with wariness. Some shifted their weight from one foot to the other, while others exchanged questioning looks despite their impassive helms.

"My lady, regardless, the patriarch needs to hear this, and I shall escort the young man to the great hall."

Gloriana shot a look at Seraphina. Now that it had come to this, she couldn't just oppose the patriarch. Danior was a man under the patriarch.

The clan's patriarch was the ultimate judge, and once the news reached him, no one could say anything.

Jagnar had been silent in all this matter but never failed to notice the looks passed between Danior and Seraphina.

***

The next few minutes passed in a blur as the knights ushered everyone to the ancient tower at the heart of the clan's mountain stronghold. Gloriana kept a protective arm looped through Jagnar's, unwilling to let him out of her sight after just regaining her lost family.

Soon, they filtered into a vast circular chamber lined with braziers that bathed the rough-hewn stone in an enigmatic crimson glow. At its centre was a raised dais where the elders took their seats, wizened men and women clinging to the final years of their long lives.

Jagnar stood at the centre with all the elders present.

Right then, a tall and robust figure bearing a heavy aura around him, his thick moustache, and his white hair—this man was the Patriarch, Rodoreus. Beside him stood his son, Reyanlad, with an imposing aura.

On the other side of Rodoreus, there was one more figure, an elf man, Drannor, who seemed like he was in his forties, but he was quite older than the said number.

Jagnar watched as three of them entered the hall, and Rodoreus and Reyanald took their seats while the elf man stayed to the side.

Reyanald, never looked at Jagnar, even though he walked past him. And Jagnar was busy watching the patriarch.

Then Rodoreus said, "Now, what is this ruckus, on such a day?"

Then Danior leaned towards the patriarch and reported on what had transpired.

Rodoreus and Reyanald, stared at Jagnar for a brief moment; their thoughts were unknown. But Jagnar was nonchalant as he watched his grandfather.

With a nod from Rodoreus, Danior moved to the front.

"Prove yourself, that you are indeed, Jagnar."

"All right."

Raising his right hand, Jagnar displayed an intricately carved ring adorning his middle finger. It was no ordinary piece of jewellery, however. The ring's gold surface was inlaid with a series of tiny runic inscriptions that seemed to shimmer and pulse faintly with an inner glow.

"This signet ring has been handed down through generations of our clan," Jagnar proclaimed in a commanding tone. "It is imbued with ancient magic and can only be wielded by those of our bloodline who have undergone the sacred rituals."

Murmurs rippled through the chamber as the elders instantly recognised the legendary artefact. Elder Karinda's eyes narrowed studiously as she appraised the runes.

Jagnar wasn't done, however. Clenching his fist, he channelled his innate power into the ring. The runes flared brilliantly, bathing the chamber in a crimson radiance. There was a resounding boom, like thunder, erupting within the confined space.

When the luminescence faded, there was a naked steel longsword gripped in Jagnar's hand.

Gasps echoed all around as the witnesses took in the magnificent weapon.

Reyanald's eyes widened, seeing the long blade.

It was no ordinary blade. Over three feet of razor-sharp metal extended from the crossguard in a slightly curved design. Both sides were etched with flowing patterns that almost seemed to shift and contort before the eye could trace their entire paths. The hilt was wrapped in supple, worn leather and flared out into a circular pommel inscribed with more runes.

But it was the single edge of the sword that drew the most amazement. Rather than being forged of simple steel, it shone with an inner scarlet luminance, as if being rendered in solid light. Faint wisps of crimson mist swirled along the blade's surface, betraying the potent magical forces at work.

With an almost contemptuous flick of his wrist, Jagnar swung the blade in a wide arc through the air. The crimson mist swirling along its edge blossomed outward, rapidly coalescing into a towering phantasmal form.

There were cries of alarm from the onlookers as the hellish visage of a massive, winged crimson lion shimmered into existence beside Jagnar. Easily four times the size of a natural beast, its muscular body seemed to be sculpted from smouldering magma. Baleful eyes burned like miniature suns, sweeping over the gawking witnesses as it unfurled its immense wings in an intimidating display. When the lion's jaws parted, gouts of flame and brimstone erupted outward in a thunderous, bone-rattling roar that shook the very foundations of the tower.

Everyone in the hall was shaken and completely shocked at the sight.

All except Rodoreus himself. The grizzled old patriarch remained utterly unperturbed, almost bored by the spectacular display of power. A faint smirk played across his lips.

Reyanald stood from his seat, as did a few other elders.

The winged crimson lion was the symbol of their clan, and it was one of the lost secret sword techniques of the clan. The elders, Reyanald and even Patriarh, were aware of such facts.

Reyanald quickly shot from his place and stood before Jagnar. "Where did you get his?"

Jagnar smirked and said, "Father, it's been a while."