The skies above Hiraeth stretched endlessly, the wind biting against Lukas' scaled hide as his wings flapped to keep pace with the Dragon Lord of the Flames.

It was the first time Lukas had ever truly seen Rysenth Ishtar in his full draconic form, and the sight alone was quite astonishing. Where Valkari's draconic form shone with the brilliance of living flame, her brother took on a darker red and more brutal, his scales a deep crimson edged in near-black. Every movement of his colossal body rippled with muscle, a beast of overwhelming power and primal authority.

Lukas could hardly believe that Rysenth was even able to take flight considering how massive the Dragon Lord of the Flames truly was. And that was not even taking into account the wounds that Rysenth had accumulated which should have made every beat of his wings excruciatingly painful.

But his fellow Lord of Linemall flew on—defiant, as though refusing to be anything less than what his title demanded of him.

They cut through the air in silence, the jagged peaks of the tallest mountain in all of Linemall looming ever closer on the horizon. Mount Ashendir was Rysenth's domain, the fiery heart of his rule, where the Flameborn had sworn their loyalty and where at the mountain's very peak, the Heart of Kaeryth awaited.

Lukas followed close behind, each stroke of his wings measured, his eyes tracing the battered but unbroken form of the dragon leading the way. For all his size and strength, Lukas had known that Rysenth was a dragon of few words. So he was not surprised when their flight was one of silence.

But then, it was broken.

The white halo of the Crown shimmered to life above the Dragon Lord of the Flames, bridging their minds in a shared bond. Lukas felt the sudden presence of Rysenth's thoughts within his own, his voice resonating not as sound but as something far deeper.

"Thank you," came Rysenth's words, heavy with sincerity.

For a moment Lukas did not even register what had been spoken because of how powerful the swell of gratitude that now enveloped Lukas in its warm of embrace, only made possible through the connection between their minds.

"Thank you for saving my life, Lukas," Rysenth continued. "Even when we agreed to never look back, to keep running—you fought with me. You fought for me. You saved me, not once, not twice, but three times. And for that, I owe you my life."

The weight of that confession hung between them. Lukas could feel every ounce of sincerity, every trace of pride and vulnerability, wrapped within those words. But even as gratitude flowed through the bond, Lukas knew he still had more to say.

And when Rysenth spoke again, it was not as the Dragon Lord of the Flames but as the brother of Valkari Ishtar. "Is there really no other way?"

Lukas' jaw tightened as the winds roared past him. He wanted to believe, truly wanted to believe, that Valkari could change—that the sister Rysenth loved so dearly still lived somewhere beneath the shadow she had become.

But Valkari herself had said it as she plunged Rysenth's blade into Lukas: she had tried. And she had failed.

To Lukas, Valkari Ishtar was no different from the Hydra. The only difference was that the Dragonborn of the Flames was a creature not driven by hunger but vengeance and that made her an unrelenting force of destruction even more dangerous than the creature that had lurked beneath the Ancestral Lands.

As long as she lived, Valkari would stop at nothing to drag Hiraeth into another Great War. Lukas had seen enough and heard enough, to know she would not be swayed. And he had sworn an oath to himself, and on his own wife's name that if Valkari threatened his people again, he would kill her. He had sworn it on the River Styx itself, and Lukas Drakos was nothing if not a dragon of his word.

"There is none," Lukas finally answered, his tone heavy with the weight of inevitability.

But Rysenth had already known the answer to his own question. He had asked not out of ignorance, but out of love—love that could never be undone, no matter how far Valkari had fallen. Just as Erandyl still loved Hydraria, even as she had been turned naught into a mindless beast. Just as Erandyl still loved not only Kaela but the other Earthborn who had all turned their backs on her.

But even the Dragon Lord of the Flames knew what needed to be done.

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Finally, Mount Ashendir rose like a jagged spear against the horizon, its blackened peak clawing into the heavens, wreathed in wisps of smoke and faint glimmers of volcanic magma.

For centuries, it had stood as a symbol of dominion and strength, the tallest mountain across the Kingdom of Dragons, once ruled by House Sterling, the Dragons of the Skies.

But those days were long gone.

Now it was the heart of House Ishtar, home of the Flameborn.

Rysenth had claimed this mountain as his own, reshaping its cliffs and caverns to reflect the will of his people. And what Lukas saw was unlike anything similar to the granduer that had been described in the scriptures of old he had read about this mountain within the libraries of the Royal Palace.

The mountain's face was lined with structures carved into the very stone—hundreds, perhaps thousands, of homes, temples, and gathering halls. Rysenth's people had filled them, lived in them and likely even thrived in them. Lukas had no doubt that much of the mountain's transformation was the handiwork of Rysenth himself, guided by his vision of what the Flameborn should be: a people proud, fierce and unbroken.

But the closer they got, to their horror, all they saw was ruin.

Great spikes of rock had erupted where proud towers had once stood, jagged pillars thrusting outward as if the earth itself had been weaponized. Flames licked across the carved buildings, consuming them in an unrelenting inferno. Entire quarters were nothing but charred skeletons of stone and ash. Trails of fire and molten rock spilled down the mountainside like rivers of blood. The cries of the wounded carried faintly on the wind, mingling with the crackle of fire and the groan of shifting stone.

Lukas' gut tightened, and beside him, he could feel the wave of horror rippling from Rysenth.

Where pride should have burned in the Dragon Lord's heart, there was only dread.

It was clear to them both that Valkari had already left her mark as she ascended Mount Ashendir.

But they could not help them, not now.

Every second they lingered was another second Valkari got closer to the Heart Kaeryth—and another second closer to her revenge. Lukas and Rysenth drove their wings harder, pushing for every ounce of speed, until the wind screamed against their scales and their forms blurred as they tore through the skies.

Maybe they were already too late but they had to try.

The peak of Mount Ashendir drew closer, sharp and unforgiving, veiled in smoke and shadow.

Lukas' blood surged as adrenaline coursed through his veins, the Divinity of the Seas answering his call. Water burst forth around him, cascading in great waves that defied gravity, flowing through the very air. Streams of azure light circled him in vast spirals, a storm born of the sea carried itself high above the mountains. He felt its power rushing to his command, ready to strike down anything in its path.

Then, they reached the summit.

The two Lords of Linemall descended with a thunderous boom, wings cutting the air with such force that their landing shook the entire mountaintop. Dust exploded outward in clouds, rocks shattering beneath their claws, and the air whipped into a frenzy by Lukas' storm.

Valkari Ishtar stood tall, her presence undeniable, her aura crushing in its weight. The Crown upon her brow blazed brighter than ever before, the white halo casting her in a glow that felt both divine and damning.

The Dragonborn of the Flames was surrounded by Kaela Telaryon and the other Earthborn. They worked tirelessly, their power resonating in the stone itself. The ground shifted and rumbled, boulders pulling aside, cracks yawning wide, as if the earth itself sought to unearth a hidden prize buried beneath the peak: The Heart of Kaeryth. They had not yet found it but it would be minutes before they unearthed the very vessel that continued to power the Founder's Spell.

Though Kaela and the Earthborn had clearly seen Lukas and Rysenth's arrival, though they now faced two of Linemall's greatest Dragon Lords, they did not so much as glance toward them. Their focus remained fixed, as steady and as unmovable as a mountain.

And when the dust settled, Lukas understood why they were all so calm.

On Valkari's left was Lukas' own niece, the Warden of Kuria Prison, Katrina Drakos herself. She was alive but now she was standing by Valkari's side.

But it was who stood to Valkari's right that broke Lukas' resolve.

Standing next to Valkari was Rosalia Elarion, the Princess of Easthaven, the girl who would one day rule a nation that still waited patiently for her return. Valkari's blade rested against her neck, its edge a single breath away from ending her life.

Lukas' stomach turned to ice. His wings faltered slightly at his sides, his entire body tensing. He could not move, he could not even speak. The Divinity of the Seas still roared around him, the storm surging in frantic swells, but his heart was gripped by a fear unlike anything he had felt before.

Rysenth's massive form shifted at his side, every muscle taut, his scales flaring in defiance. Lukas could feel the Dragon Lord's rage burning hotter than the flames all around them. Rysenth did not move, however. Even he understood that Rosalia's life balanced on the edge of a single blade. As much as he feared and hated humanity for what they had done to him and his comrades, he knew how much that girl meant to Lukas.

And Valkari knew it. She knew exactly what she was doing. She had taken not just control of the battlefield, not just the minds of any living soul, but the hearts of those who dared go against her.

For the first time in a long time, the Lord of the Seas felt powerless.

The Crown upon Valkari's head blazed so fiercely now that its radiance cut through the smoke. Her voice rang out, amplified by its ancient power, carrying across the peak with a finality that made Lukas' blood run cold.

"Move," she commanded, her eyes locking onto Lukas'. "And she dies."

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