The ocean lapped quietly against the wooden piers and the faint lantern light shimmered across the rippling surface like scattered shards of gold.

Lukas stood there amidst the quiet murmur of waves and whispers, surrounded by those he loved most.

Rosalia was at his side, her eyes glistening with tears that caught the dim light. Jesse leaned against the princess, his expression soft as their hands remained intertwined. Katrina stood across from him and accompanying her was the gentle figure of Selene, Lukas' mother, stood with her hands clasped tightly together in front of her. Even the Lady Kaitlyn was there, her usual calm tempered by a rare melancholy.

Rosalia was right. He never should have kept the truth from them and so he made it clear to them now. It was still hard for him to tell them the pain he was going through. It was not easy to describe the agony that came with each breath, the burning in his chest that no healer could mend, and the slow decay of his body from the inside out. He had always believed that burden to be his alone to bear.

Did it make him a better King to endure in silence, to allow his people to only see his rise and not when he fell?

No.

It did not.

Because if he could not even open himself up to the very people he trusted, what kind of King was he but a lonely one?

They did not recoil nor did they pity him.

Instead, they embraced him.

His mother's eyes had been full of disapproval at first, her lips pressed tight, but Lukas knew that this frustration stemmed from fear, love, and the anguish of a mother powerless to heal her son.

They worried for him but they could never hate him. They had seen it like the rest of Linemall and they knew better everything Lukas had put on the line to put an end to the very Hero who would have burned their Kingdom to the ground. They owed him a debt they could never repay.

The air grew colder, but the warmth between them endured.

A King could bleed. And still, he would lead.

Strength was not silence.

Strength was the courage to be honest, to trust that one's heart, when shared, could become a beacon rather than a burden.

But even then, Lukas' Time here within the Land of the Living was far from over. Death would not claim him just yet. Not until he had fulfilled the destiny written across the threads of time itself.

The war for Easthaven would rage on, but Lukas would not be there to fight it. Rosalia and the Rebellion would be the ones to finish this battle, with the strength of Linemall behind them. And so, this night marked both an ending and a beginning.

When Lukas looked into Rosalia's tearful eyes, he saw not despair but faith—faith in him and in the promise that this was not farewell forever. The winds whispered of the road ahead, of Khaitish—the land of the Beastkin.

There, Lukas would find the truth. There, he would mend what was broken.

When Lukas returned, this war would be over and he himself would be a dragon reborn.

All he really needed to get to Khaitish was a small boat, at least that was what Lukas told himself as he stood at the far edge of the dock, his cloak whipping behind him in the chill of Easthaven's night wind.

The sea beyond churned violently, the waves colliding with a ferocity that bordered on madness.

Lukas thought that after calming these waves for the Duel that the seas would return to how it had once been. Many years ago, these waters had been calm, fertile, a reflection of its people. But now the ocean seemed to rage against them, as though the Titan of this world sought to punish its people for crimes unknown even to them. The strangest thing about it was that the conditions of these waters had not spread elsewhere. It was contained, locked in a furious ring that fenced in the people of Easthaven. The once free tides had become a prison—a cage of roaring water and screaming wind.

It was that same prison had become Maelis' undoing.

The Puppet King's fleet, once the pride of Nozari steel and sorcery, now lay in ruins. The dragons had seen to that. The skies had burned bright with their fire and the sea had become a graveyard of splintered hulls and twisted masts. Maelis would not be able to escape Rosalia and the Rebellion, not even if he wanted to.

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Lukas stood upon the slick timbers of the pier, his gaze fixed on the furious horizon. Even now, the waves struck the supports beneath him like fists, but he did not waver. He was of House Drakos and he knew that the depths would never betray him. The waters had sung to his bloodline long before he was born; they had carried his ancestors through wars and storms that would have swallowed the unworthy whole.

The seas were dangerous, yes—but it was home. And if it demanded a toll for passage, Lukas was prepared to pay it.

He turned back toward the group gathered behind him.

Rosalia stood tall, her cloak pulled close, the fire of defiance still alive in her eyes. Lady Kaitlyn's poise never faltered, though Lukas could see the quiet sorrow buried beneath her calm. His mother Selene was beside her, knowing that her son would return to her like he always had. And Katrina, of course, tried her best to lighten the mood, pretending the salt in the air stung her eyes rather than her heart.

Then, Jesse stepped forward.

Lukas caught the flicker of something in the young dragonborn's eyes—determination mingled with mischief.

But before Lukas could speak, Jesse turned to Rosalia.

The princess smiled softly, as though understanding his thoughts before he had even put them into words.

Then, Jesse kissed her.

For a heartbeat, the storm, the war and farewell—all of it disappeared. It was pure and real, a defiant declaration against fate itself.

Katrina made a face of exaggerated disgust, while Lady Kaitlyn and Selene exchanged knowing smiles.

"Did you really think I'd let you go on this journey alone?" Jesse asked, his voice rough with emotion but carrying that same boyish grin Lukas had come to know too well. "I'm coming with you, Lukas."

For a moment, Lukas wanted to protest.

The path to Khaitish would be perilous, perhaps even deadly. Lukas did not know what to expect to find in the Kingdom that was wrapped in endless mystery. But there was no point in arguing with Jesse because he had already made up his mind long ago. The young Sterling had not been there for the battle of Linemall but that had been out of necessity more than anything else. Now given the chance to fight and stand beside Lukas once more, it was one that the dragonborn would let slip by.

Lukas exhaled slowly, a faint smile breaking through his solemn expression.

The determination in Jesse's voice, the fierce loyalty that shone now in his eyes, there was no longer room for negotiation.

Deep down, Lukas was glad. He had carried so much alone for so long, and perhaps now, he no longer had to.

Together, they would face whatever lay ahead.

And with Rosalia and the Rebellion still standing strong behind them, the Puppet King's days were numbered.

"Very well then," Lukas said at last, his voice steady but tinged with quiet emotion.

The two stepped aboard the small boat, its hull creaking softly beneath their weight. It was barely large enough for two, yet it would be enough.

Above them, the clouds had begun to churn, threads of lightning weaving through their folds like veins of living gold.

For a heartbeat, Lukas thought the ocean would swallow them before their journey even began. But then Jesse raised his hand and brought his own magic to life. A sudden rush of wind swept through the docks. The air shimmered with power and the storm that had raged for days seemed to draw back, tamed by an unseen hand. The winds bent, pressing down upon the surface of the water until the waves smoothed and calmed, glinting like polished glass beneath the moonlight.

The Divinity of the Skies had answered Jesse's call.

After the years, Jesse's magic had improved drastically and the strength within him was undeniable.

"You've grown," Lukas said softly.

Jesse grinned, still holding his hand aloft as the last gust of divine wind passed through his hair. "Had to. Someone has to make sure that you don't drown before we even get to Khaitish."

Lukas chuckled, shaking his head. "I am of House Drakos. We do not drown."

There was no more time to waste.

They pushed off from the dock, the oars dipping into the placid waters.

Behind them, the lights of Easthaven flickered like stars upon the horizon—one last glimpse of everyone who was awaiting his return before the sea swallowed them whole. Rosalia and the others stood watching, their silhouettes framed against the glow of lanterns and firelight.

Lukas did not look back again. He knew that if he did, he might not find the strength to leave.

The sea stretched before them like an endless shadow, and for a long while, neither one of them spoke.

Lukas simply listened—to the gentle rhythm of the waves, the creak of the wood, the whisper of wind through the sails. It was peaceful, in a way that the world rarely allowed for.

As the boat drifted farther into the open waters, Lukas slipped a hand into his pocket. His fingers brushed against something small and smooth—a forgotten relic from another time—drawing it out slowly from his coat. A crystal, faintly luminous, pulsed with a soft inner light. For a moment, Lukas simply stared at it. It was a bloodydamn miracle that the crystal had survived through it all.

It was the crystal that Rowan of the Morningeyes Clan had given him, the de-facto King of Khaitish who had once promised him a welcome in the far lands of the Beastkin if Lukas ever chose to pay it a visit.

Now, it seemed, that time had come.

Lukas closed his eyes and let his thoughts flow into the crystal, sending a silent call across the vast waters. The power that lay within it hummed to life, faint at first, then growing stronger until he could feel it a familiar presence stirring on the other end.

A grin spread across Lukas' face.

"It's been a while, Rowan," he said into the crystal that made his words known to the Head of the Morningeyes Clan. "I think it's time I take you up on that offer."

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