As the last of the graduates stepped off the stage, the dining hall of the Tower was already buzzing with energy.

Nobles, merchants, scholars, and mages all flooded into the towering dining chamber, their voices weaving into a symphony of celebration, negotiation, and quiet schemes.

The ceremonial dinner was where everything would be decided—where futures were bought, alliances forged, and the graduates would usually choose the sponsors who would determine the course of their lives; finalizing the offers that had been proposed to them that morning.

Lukas moved through the crowd with little care for the hushed whispers trailing behind him. His mind wasn't on all the things that they were saying about him, about what they thought he would do or even should do. It wasn't on the political game being played around him. All of that was unimportant to him.

His eyes scanned the hall until they found her. The moment their eyes met, Velena Ilagron crossed the distance swiftly, and without a word, they gave each other a tight hug. It didn't matter to him what the nobles thought. It didn't matter who might have been watching. Lukas let himself have this, resting his chin briefly on her shoulder.

"You gave us all a fright when we did not hear from you for so long. Katrina thought you had died." she said softly, pulling away as the old woman reached up and pinched his cheek with one hand lovingly. "You look well. Stronger. Even...a little older."

"You look like you've been doing just fine without me," Lukas told her, his grin lopsided.

She looked older but at the same time, the Countess seemed happier.

Velena laughed, warm and unguarded. "I've managed."

The smile on her face reminded him of his time within the Crest. He remembered the first time Valerion, his great grandfather, first arrived on the shores of Ilagron when it still been one of the Great Kingdoms of Humanity. Velena had Aurelia Ilagron's smile. Ljukas remembered the bond that Valerion and Aurelia made that day. The friendship not only between them but the beginning of a friendship between dragons and man alike.

It was a friendship that lived through Lukas and Velena now, tens of thousands of years later.

The warmth between them was very much noticeable. Across the hall, the King of Nozar's gaze had settled on the pair, and his face darkened with irritation. It was clear now—painfully clear—where Lukas' loyalties were leaning. And they were not with him.

Daerion strode toward them, his steps thunderous despite the laughter and clinking glasses around him. When he reached them, his voice was low but sharp, his question cutting through the ambient noise. "You two are familiar with one another, I take it?"

Lukas turned, utterly unbothered by the king's rising temper. "Yes, Your Majesty. I was born in Ilagron, the Countess and her family has always been kind to me."

The king's brows twitched as his displeasure threatened to boil over, but before he could say another word, Velena smoothly stepped in, her voice honeyed and her smile impeccable.

"Your Majesty," she said, offering the barest of curtsies, enough to show respect but not deference. "Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Velena, Head of the Merchant Guild. And the Countess of Ilagron Village. I've heard much about you, and I must say—I'm quite interested in doing business with you. We plan to soon expand our trade into the inner cities of Nozar. I assume your youngest, Prince Darren has mentioned me? We were so pleased to have him when he accepted our invitation."

That stopped the king cold. His gaze flickered, the weight of his anger tipping, recalibrating. The King of Nozar was a man who understood power in all its forms, and he knew the value of alliances. The Merchant Guild's reputation had been soaring, their influence growing rapidly across the continent.

A partnership with them was not something to scoff at.

His mood shifted instantly. His lips curled into a pleased smile, his earlier irritation dissipating like mist beneath the sun.

"The Head of the Merchant Guild," he repeated, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "I've heard stories about your rise. Yes, my son has mentioned you in passing. Impressive. Very impressive. I would be more than happy to discuss business with you, Countess."

Velena's smile remained perfectly polite.

But Lukas knew she had not forgotten. She had not forgotten for a single second how Nozar had once tried to claim her lands and what they'd done to do so. She remembered that this was the Kingdom that had attempted to conspire with the House of Fortunes, she remembered all that they had taken from her. Lukas knew she would make the King pay, just as she made Mister Rabbit pay.

But not now.

Not yet.

"Of course, Your Majesty. But tonight, is it not a night for celebration? I would hate to tarnish the occasion by talking business."

The king laughed, a deep, resonant sound that made his companions relax. "Ah, you are right. Tonight, we drink. We celebrate!"

With that, the tension dissolved, the conversation folding neatly into pleasantries as the king moved on, now more interested in his next glass of wine than the mage who had just slipped from his grasp.

Lukas glanced at Velena, a quiet grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Smooth."

Velena smirked, nodding with smug confidence. It seemed like the Merchant Guild had been doing well and growing fast. But what Lukas had also noticed that the King was far sharper than he appeared.

It was easy to look at King Daerion and assume his talent in battle was the only thing he really had going for him. And that assumption would be undoubtedly wrong.

Lukas realized it only as the old monarch's expression settled into a placid smile, as he raised his glass and moved fluidly through the crowd, laughing and charming his way through the evening like nothing had happened. But that smile—Lukas had seen it before.

It was the smile of a man who didn't need to make threats. The smile of a man who knew he had nothing to worry about.

Daerion had told Lukas that to him, power was loyalty. But not loyalty to kingdoms, nor to ideals. It was loyalty to him, to King Daerion himself. For the old ruler of the most powerful empire on Hiraeth had mastered keeping his friends close and his enemies even closer. As long as he knew he kept those powerful enough to pose a threat to him within reach, then he did not have to worry about a single thing.

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When the King extended his hand to Velena, when he so easily pivoted from rage to charm, Lukas saw it for what it was. It was not evidence of the King's emotional volatility. It wasn't just opportunism.

It was strategy.

If he could get the Merchant Guild on his side, then he wouldn't have to worry about the rising star of the Magic Tower. As long as the Merchant Guild, as long as those capable of standing in his way, smiled at him, dined with him, toasted him—he could move as he pleased. Unchecked. Unchallenged.

It all made terrible sense to Lukas now. The reason no other sponsor had made him an offer. The silence in the room when his name was called. The way the Church had spread like wildfire, suffocating the Tower under their influence.

It was all because they bowed to him.

The nobles of Hiraeth, the titans of trade, the might of the Church—none of them moved without his shadow looming overhead. None of them dared cross him. They listened when he whispered. They obeyed when he commanded. And now Lukas understood why Magnus Elarion's dream was so distant, why it had always seemed just out of reach. Because Magnus had been fighting against the wrong enemy.

The chains that bound humanity weren't just forged by gods. They were also held by men like this—who had the vision, the ruthlessness, and the patience to wrap the entire continent in invisible shackles and convince them they were wearing garlands.

Lukas could almost admire it. But he would never serve it.

His eyes now searched for the Head Mage as music began to play, soft and warm, the kind of melody that coaxed people to set aside their pride and lean into the simpler joys of life. Lukas found that it was the King of Easthaven—Magnus Elarion himself—at the center of the hall, his hands weaving lazy patterns in the air as runes shimmered at his fingertips, conjuring an orchestra of sound from thin air.

When Lukas approached, the old man merely glanced at him with that knowing smile, the one that spoke of wisdom carved from decades of quiet battles.

"Whatever you want to tell me," Magnus said, "it can wait until tomorrow. Tonight is for you. For all of you. A celebration for the graduates of the Magic Tower."

With that said, the music shifted. It took on a slower pace, a hint of romance in the tune the old King now played.

Around them, people began to pair off, some eagerly, others with the sweet awkwardness of youth.

Lukas watched as Velena, ever so graceful, allowed the King of Nozar to lead her onto the floor, the two of them exchanging words and soft laughter as they began to dance. She was a strong woman, that Velena was. Strong enough to keep the emotions she must have been feeling as she danced with the very man who had potentially given the order to have her son killed.

He also caught sight of Rosalia and Jesse, a little clumsy, a little stiff, their feet out of sync but their laughter genuine.

Even Thomas Harrow, the Valedictorian of their Cohort, had somehow found himself dancing with a girl who looked far too pretty to be so obviously enchanted by his rambling enthusiasm of his studies.

There were many; the nobles' daughters, one after another, each with polite smiles, some bolder than others, each asking Lukas if he would spare them a dance. And each time, he declined, offering soft apologies and polite bows.

Then, she appeared.

Celina, the Divine Knight of the Church.

Lukas had been so caught up with the graduation ceremony that he had not seen her since that their talk within the Church.

She was not wearing her armour tonight. No silver plate. No blade at her side. Just a simple, beautiful dress that suited her far more than Lukas would have expected. And despite all her strength, despite the countless battles she'd fought, she looked…nervous.

There was a hint of pink in her cheeks as she approached him, her hand brushing through her hair before finally asking, almost too softly, "I've been meaning to congratulate you on your graduation, Klein. I...I was wondering....would you like to dance?"

For a brief moment, Lukas didn't speak. Not out of hesitation. But out of realization. Then, Lukas smiled, the kind of smile that carried weight, one that knew the answer had already been written long before she asked.

"I'm flattered," he said, "but I will have to refuse."

Her eyes widened, confusion creeping in. "Why not?"

It was a genuine question. Celina was a very beautiful woman, in all sense of the word. Perhaps even one of the most beautiful women standing in this room at that very moment. But the moment Lukas saw Celina walking towards him, he had already known.

Lukas had already known that no woman would ever be more beautiful to him than the Goddess of Unbreakable Oaths.

He met her gaze, steady and kind, and replied, "Because I'm waiting for the right partner."

There was no malice in Lukas' words as he turned the Divine Knight down.

Celina stared at him for a heartbeat longer before she exhaled, a soft laugh escaping her lips. Not bitter. Not hurt. Just…acceptance and understanding. Understanding that Lukas had fallen in love with somebody long ago. His heart was not hers to steal.

"I see," she whispered, stepping back, offering him a faint bow before retreating into the crowd.

Because no matter what, Lukas already knew—he had already found her. He already had the right partner. He had known that for a long time. Now, Lukas was just waiting for the day their paths would cross again, the day when he could finally see her with his own eyes.

For there was no other woman he would rather dance with than Styx.

While the world around him celebrated, while the banquet hall continued to glow with life and laughter and the music of magic, Lukas quietly excused himself; returning to his quarters.

That night, Lukas sat at his desk with the unfinished letter before him. He had not known what to say to her.

But now he did.

His pen moved carefully across the page.

In that letter, Lukas tells her that he had clearly wanted to hear everything from her. He now knows of her past and who her father really is.

He tells her that it hurt, it hurt that she had not told him the truth during their time together in Kairos Castle.

But Lukas also tells her that he understands. He understands why she didn't tell him. Perhaps it was because she was scared of what he would think. Maybe she was terrified of losing him. And he tells her that, truthfully, he's afraid too. Afraid of losing her. But this fear, this ache, this pain—it's proof of something far more important.

It's proof of how much he loves her.

Lukas tells her that more than anything, he wants there to be no more secrets between them. No more half-truths. No more words left unsaid. He wants them to trust each other enough to have the hard conversations. Even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts.

Lukas tells her that she is truly the only one he wants to spend the rest of his life with, even after his time here on Hiraeth.

The letter wasn't long. It didn't need to be. Because it was honest in a way that Lukas had never been before. And as the night dragged on, that letter found its way to her. And her reply returned just as quickly. They wrote to each other for hours that night.

Letters exchanged across worlds in the span of heartbeats.

Long after the music fades, long after the last of the nobles depart, long after the wine runs dry, Lukas sat there at his desk—writing, reading, smiling softly with every reply.

He did sleep that night. But when his eyes did finally close, Lukas dreamed of Styx.

The right partner. His anchor. The Goddess who would one day be the mother of his children, the one he would start a family with.

That night, Lukas dreamed of Styx. And only Styx. Because it would always be her.

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