The great dining hall of the Earth Dragonborn opened like a cavernous cathedral of stone, its vaulted ceiling supported by pillars carved from living rock, each one etched with flowing patterns that seemed to pulse faintly with the heartbeat of the mountain itself. Torches of molten crystal burned in sconces along the walls, their golden light dancing across the scales of the gathered dragonborn, turning the entire chamber into a sea of glimmering bronze, copper, and emerald hues.

The air was rich with the scent of roasted meats, sweet spices, and the damp coolness of the deep earth.

Lukas and his companions were guided to the center of the hall, where the feast had been laid out.

There were no tables or chairs and no pretense of delicate dining. Instead, vast stone platters were set directly upon the polished floor, their contents heaped high enough that a dragon, even in their true forms, could feast without restraint. There were whole haunches of meat roasted with their bones intact, fruits that glowed faintly in the torchlight and dishes Lukas could not have named if pressed.

One platter held the pale, translucent bulbs of cavern-lotus, their petals roasted until they unfurled into crisp, fragrant layers that melted on the tongue with a sweetness like honey and smoke. Another dish gleamed with slick slices of obsidian eel, caught from the subterranean rivers that wound beneath the mountains; their flesh shimmered silver-blue when cut, flavored with mineral salts drawn from the very rocks they swam through.

There were also the so-called "stone apples"—fruit that grew from the ceiling of the higher caverns, their skins hard and speckled gray, but their flesh inside a vivid crimson, tart and refreshing. And in the center of it all was a dish Lukas could only stare at in wonder: a stew of molten marrow and cave-root, served in a hollowed boulder that radiated faint warmth, the steam curling with a savory scent so intoxicating that even the composed Lady Kaitlyn herself hesitated only a moment before digging in.

The male dragonborn, remaining in their humanoid forms, moved silently about the feast; setting new dishes o down as others were devoured and pouring drinks when goblets were emptied, their roles clearly that of attendants. Meanwhile, the females reclined around the stone platters, tearing into the food with abandon. The sound of bone cracking beneath powerful jaws echoed through the chamber, mingled with laughter and low conversation.

Lukas found his mother, Selene, alongside Rosalia and Lady Kaitlyn, each taking cautious portions—though even the smallest ladleful filled their plates beyond comfort. The sight was both humbling and oddly comforting; here, the abundance was shared freely.

Yet one absence tugged at his thoughts.

Where was his niece?

Before Lukas could ask the others, Katrina appeared at the far end of the hall. But she had not entered alone. The figure at her side moved with a quiet confidence, scales the color of deep-forged iron glowing red in the firelight, her frame lithe and deadly, her eyes sharp with both fire and restraint.

It was Valkari Ishtar, dragonborn of the Flames.

Lukas remembered Jesse telling him that Valkari had left to escort the freed dragonborn of the Earth back to their kin, choosing to remain within the regions of the Earth until it was time for the Draconic Summit to begin.

Through the Crown, he opened the bond between them, feeling the weight of her presence brush against his mind. Valkari carried herself with greater discipline, her once-uncontrolled fury now carefully bridled. She still treated him with respect, with something approaching admiration, and Lukas found himself acknowledging how far she had come.

Yet trust did not come so easily. Not with her. Not after what she had done. Not after what she did to that boy. That memory lingered, a shadow neither of them could banish. And as their eyes met across the great dining hall, Lukas knew that Valkari, too, felt the distance that still lay between them.

Lukas studied Valkari carefully before asking her an important question. "Will you be traveling with us to the Draconic Summit?"

Valkari tilted her head, crimson eyes narrowing; her voice slightly defensive. "I would have thought it was obvious I would be. Why? Do you not wish me to be there?"

His gaze hardened. "You know why."

Valkari's expression faltered.

Lukas could see the flicker of fire behind her composure, the name unspoken but never forgotten: Rysenth Ishtar.

Lukas still remembered the first time he had crossed paths with the Dragonborn of the Flames within the House of Fortunes in Ilagron Village. The girl Lukas had found chained and terrified, no older than a child, prepared to be sold like cattle to the highest bidder. That was what Rysenth had done to his own sister—cast her into slavery, discarding her innocence and her dignity. Lukas could not imagine the horrors Valkari had endured before he freed her and he knew those wounds had never fully healed.

Perhaps they never would.

"Rysenth will be there," Lukas said, stating the obvious, his voice steady but heavy. "And I know what you've told me that you want revenge. That you want him to pay. But he is still the Dragon Lord of the Flames. I need to know if you can keep your emotions in check. You have to trust that I will bring him to justice. Can you do that, Valkari?"

Valkari hesitated. The silence between them stretched, carrying with it the weight of everything unsaid. And then, slowly, she gave a firm nod. "I can." she said. Her voice was quiet, but unyielding.

Lukas exhaled and gave her a short bow of thanks. "I promise you this, Valkari. Your brother will pay for what he has done."

Before either of them could say more, a sudden tremor rippled beneath their feet.

The Dragonborn of the Earth, gathered all around the feasting hall, began to stomp in unison. The rhythm was deliberate, thunder rolling through the cavern, each beat reverberating through stone and bone alike. Lukas felt it deep in his chest, like his very heart had been caught in their cadence. Then came the sound that erupted from the throats of the dragonborn rose a guttural rumbling that expanded with each breath, swelling until it broke forth in a rasping chorus that was both primal and strangely melodic.

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The air seemed to vibrate with it, the cavern walls resonating like a living instrument.

The Lady Kaitlyn caught his bewildered stare and smiled up at him faintly. "This is the Dance of the Dragons, my Lord."

From the rhythmic stomps and rumbling grew a hymn—strange words sung in unison, foreign yet achingly familiar, as though echoing from some forgotten memory.

Then the movement began.

The Dragonborn of the Earth flowed across the chamber in great arcs, their bodies moving with a grace that belied their size, weaving between one another in a violent yet beautiful pattern.

Lukas felt Erandyl's mind brush his own, her voice guiding him as she moved to nudge him towards the dancing crowd. "Just follow my instructions, young Drakos. I shall guide you through it, every step of the way."

Hesitant at first, Lukas mimicked the rhythm, his steps awkward and his movements stilted. Yet as the pattern revealed itself, he began to fall into place.

Erandyl laughed, spinning around him with speed and elegance, urging him forward. The rhythm of the Dance shifted, and Lukas felt her presence retreat from his side. Erandyl's laughter lingered like an echo in his mind as she passed him into the company of another.

Lukas turned, and before him stood a dragonborn whose eyes carried both the spark of youth and the weight of heritage. Her scales shimmered with a faint copper-green hue that caught the glow of the torches. The Earthborn regarded him with quiet curiosity, measuring him with a gaze that felt neither hostile nor warm.

"This is my granddaughter," Erandyl's voice murmured through their connection, suffused with deep amusement. "Kaela Teralyon. I will leave you both to become better acquainted."

It seemed harmless but Lukas knew what the old woman was trying to do, it was more than obvious. By now, it was clear that Erandyl had accepted and even approved him as the new Dragon Lord of Linemall's Seas. But she found Lukas intriguing enough to try and tie him closer to her line, hoping that perhaps she would take her granddaughter's hand in marriage.

The thought made him flush with discomfort and he could not help but feel his face grow hot. There was a long, awkward pause as they circled each other within the pattern of the Dance, and Lukas finally extended the Crown's connection to Kaela.

For a moment, the silence stretched between them.

Then she spoke, her voice calm but edged with humor. "Is this your first Dance?"

Relieved at the simple question, Lukas nodded. "It is."

Kaela's movements were smooth, almost effortless, as she turned in rhythm with the beat. It was clear that she had done this so many times that it had become natural to her.

"It is one of our oldest traditions," Kaela explained. "Older than Linemall itself. The words we sing during this Dance—this language—is older still. The Old Tongue, spoken by the first of our kind; far older than even the first Lords of Linemall. Few know it, fewer still can speak it. But this song keeps it alive. It is a memory woven into the bones of our people."

Her words settled into him as he found the steps more natural, his body finally learning the pattern of motion.

"I hope Valkari has not overstayed her welcome." It was a weak attempt at casual conversation as Lukas finally got the hang of the Dance.

"Of course not. It has been our pleasure to have Valkari among us the last two weeks."

Two weeks? Had Valkari not left for Linemall two months ago the last time Jesse updated Lukas on her whereabouts? Kaela seemed to have felt Lukas' confusion through their link because she quickly corrected herself. "By that, I meant two months. Forgive me. I misspoke."

Yet though the conversation might have stayed light, Lukas knew better than to let ambiguity linger.

"I should be honest with you," Lukas said, awkward but resolute. "I am already sworn to another."

Kaela blinked, then laughed lightly, shaking her head. "You need not worry, Lukas Drakos. You are far too young for my liking. And besides, you are not the only one whose heart belongs elsewhere."

Her admission caught Lukas off guard. "Then why would your grandmother…?" Lukas could not even form the words to describe Erandyl's trickery yet his question carried over just fine.

The light in Kaela's eyes dimmed. A shadow passed over her face, as fleeting as it was heavy. "Because once, I had a family," Kaela told him softly through their connection. "A husband and a daughter. But my husband fell in the Great War. He died fighting alongside my parents."

The words struck Lukas into a long silence before he finally spoke again. "I am sorry for your loss, Kaela."

But Kaela only turned her face away from him. Whatever lay beneath those memories, it was too raw to touch; a wound still fresh despite all the years that had gone by. The Earthborn excused herself quickly, slipping from the circle of dancers and leaving Lukas standing alone in the fading rhythm.

As the music waned and the Dragonborn of the Earth returned to their feast, Lukas caught Erandyl's gaze across the chamber. The Dragon Lord of the Earth had seen everything.

Erandyl approached him now, her expression a mask of calm dignity.

"I did not mean to offend her," Lukas said quickly, trying to explain what had happened. "If I—"

Erandyl shook her head. "It was no fault of yours. Kaela's burdens are her own to carry. Return to your meal, child. The Dance has reached its conclusion."

But Lukas hesitated, his curiosity gnawing at him. "She said her husband died in the war. What of her daughter?"

The question gave Erandyl pause. For a long moment, the Dragon Lord of the Earth considered him in silence, and then her expression darkened.

"Let this serve as a warning if you have not already heard it before," she said gravely. "There is a reason we caution all against wielding the Crest."

Lukas froze.

The Crest of the Lords, the third and last Legacy. Lukas knew too well its lure, its terrible weight. He had nearly lost himself to it within the halls of Kairos Castle, saved only because Thalarion had reminded him of what lay beyond it and because he had had an anchor that drew him back to the real world.

"Kaela's daughter did not heed that warning," Erandyl continued, her voice quieter now. "She faced Rysenth Ishtar in a duel and in doing so…her mind was consumed by that Legacy. Her daughter was lost to the worlds within the Crest."

The words sank like lead in Lukas's chest.

"And what became of her?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Erandyl's eyes turned cold, ancient. "We did what had to be done. Those who are lost to the Crest are no longer our kin, but mindless beasts. A danger to all. And so…we gave her peace."

Lukas's throat tightened. He bowed his head, realizing the grim weight beneath her words.

In his heart, he understood. Lukas had seen the abyss himself. And had he not been pulled free, his own fate would have been no different. He would have never returned to the land of the living, to forever be a creature with no mind of its own.

But Lukas understood one other thing.

Erandyl Telaryon was a Lord above all else. And for the good of her people, no one was exempt from her judgement.

Not even her own great granddaughter.

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