(A/N:
Big thank you to Nikola_Radojevic_8215 for the power stones—I really appreciate.
Please enjoy the chapter and don't forget to leave a comment.)
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Chapter Nine — unusual Jayl
In the empty training ground, Azeroth and Bran stood over a long table crowded with plates, bowls, and half-finished experiments. Some held cooked dishes, others raw ingredients—and a few… things neither of them could confidently name.
"How about this?" Bran said, nudging a plate forward. "Feeling anything?"
Azeroth stared at the spread, then shook his head.
"As I said the last dozen times—no," he replied flatly. "I don't feel anything. And I'm fairly certain none of these are going to work."
Bran leaned closer to the latest offering. A green, viscous substance sat in the center of the plate, dotted with purple, berry-like lumps.
"Well," Bran said, his voice slightly strained, as though holding something back, "you never know. This one might surprise you."
Azeroth shot him a look. "You're enjoying this."
"Maybe," Bran admitted. "Go on. Try it."
With an irritated sigh, Azeroth scooped up a portion and ate it.
…Sweet.
Unexpectedly so.
He paused, then took another bite.
Then another.
Then—
"Well?" Bran asked quickly. "Anything?"
The brief distraction faded, and Azeroth's scowl returned in full force.
"No. Nothing," he said. "I told you already—this won't work."
Bran frowned, rubbing his chin. "It should. Your trait is Devour. Its description says: to become what you eat."
"Well, it never said the thing I eat has to be actual food, did it?" Azeroth snapped—then stopped.
He blinked.
"Wait."
Bran's eyes widened slightly. "Hold on. Can you eat something that isn't food?"
Azeroth opened his mouth to respond—
"Hold on…" Bran continued, suddenly animated, "if you ate metal… wouldn't that mean—"
"You think I'd turn into metal?" Azeroth asked slowly and dryly.
Bran straightened, looking far too pleased with himself. "Exactly."
Azeroth stared at him, utterly dumbfounded.
"Yeah," he said at last, "I don't think it works like that."
"Well, we won't know unless we try everything," Bran countered.
"No, we definitely won't—" Azeroth muttered, taking a step back.
"Yes we—"
The door burst open.
Hurried footsteps approached.
A maid stood in the doorway, posture stiff, hands folded tightly before her. Her gaze flicked briefly to Azeroth before darting away as she bowed.
"Greetings, Young Master. Greetings, Sir Bran," she said. "Lord Darius requests your presence in the study."
Bran straightened at once.
"Now?" he asked.
She nodded. "He said it was urgent."
Bran glanced at Azeroth, his expression already shifting—focused, guarded.
"Keep testing," he said, stepping away. "I'll be back soon. And don't experiment without me."
"Especially not the metal," he added.
Azeroth hesitated. "…Is something wrong?"
Bran paused, then shook his head. "Probably nothing."
But he didn't sound convinced.
After all, he had spoken with Lord Darius barely an hour ago.
⸻
The study smelled of ink and old parchment.
Maps lay spread across the desk, weighed down by stone markers and folded reports. Darius Clinton stood behind it, arms crossed, staring down at the markings as though willing them to explain themselves.
He didn't look up when Bran entered.
"Close the door," Darius said.
Bran obeyed.
Silence stretched between them—thick, uncomfortable.
"You remember Jayl Town?" Darius asked at last.
"Yes, my lord," Bran replied. "Trade hub at the border. Small garrison."
"You had me send a squad a few days ago after reports came in of strange behavior there," he continued.
Darius nodded, then turned one of the parchments around and slid it across the desk.
"See this? This is the latest reports. Caravans disappearing. People going missing after entering the vicinity of Jayl Town."
Bran scanned the report, his brow tightening.
"Have you received any word from the squad?" Darius asked.
"No, my lord," Bran replied. "The last message confirmed their imminent arrival. After that—nothing."
Darius exhaled slowly through his nose.
"You should have informed me the moment they failed to report."
"It has barely been a day," Bran said evenly. "I intended to bring it to your attention if no word came within a few more hours."
Silence followed.
Then Darius nodded once. "Very well. That is on me as much as you."
He turned back to the desk.
"Jayl Town has effectively been cut off for nearly three weeks now," he said. "The number of reports on my desk grows by the day. With my father away at the frontlines, matters here have only piled up."
Bran waited.
Finally, he asked, "Your orders, my lord?"
Darius didn't hesitate.
"I want you to take a squad. Five, or more. Travel quickly and confirm the situation yourself."
"And if the other viscounties are involved?" Bran asked.
Darius's eyes hardened. "Then I leave the response to your judgment. Withdraw if necessary. Kill if you must. Send a report the moment you can."
Bran bowed deeply. "I'll see it done."
As he turned to leave—
"Bran."
He stopped.
"My son—how is it going with his trait?"
"So far," Bran said, "nothing conclusive my lord."
"I see," Darius replied. "You may go."
⸻
Azeroth felt it before he saw him.
The subtle shift in the air.
The weight of aura.
It had been barely forty minutes, and Azeroth was already wondering what was taking so long.
So when Bran stepped back into the training ground clad in full armor—steel dulled and practical, a travel cloak fastened at his shoulder, five soldiers waiting near the entrance—Azeroth immediately knew something was wrong.
He lowered his spoon.
"You're leaving," he said.
Bran stopped a few paces away. "Yes."
"Oh? Where to?" Azeroth asked.
"Jayl Town," Bran replied, reaching the table. "Something came up."
His eyes flicked over the table. They widened slightly at how much of the plates were empty or even half eaten.
He turned an accusing look on Azeroth.
Azeroth ignored it. "And how long until you're back?"
Bran considered the question. "Not long."
Azeroth frowned. "That's not an answer."
A faint smile tugged at Bran's lips. "It's the only one I have."
He glanced at the clutter of half-eaten dishes and questionable experiments.
"Well… nice work. Just don't try anything strange," Bran added dryly. "…Like the metal."
"I wasn't going to," Azeroth said.
Bran raised an eyebrow.
"…Alright," Azeroth admitted, "I only thought about it once."
"Just don't," Bran said simply.
The humor faded.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Stick to the regular training until I return. When I come back, we'll pick up where we left off with your trait."
With that, he turned and walked away.
Azeroth watched him go, then spoke just before he reached the exit.
"Be safe."
Bran didn't turn back. "I'll be fine. What the hell could happen to me?"
"Cocky bastard," Azeroth muttered.
He stabbed a fork into a slab of a strangely green colored meat from one of the plates and took a bite.
—SPLUTTER—
"Ugh—!" He coughed. "That tastes like absolute trash!"
"Who made this!?" He raged.
A few moments later…
"…oh, this is good!"
With that the training room fell quiet once more.
Somewhere in the distance, gates closed.