The throne room of the Royal Palace shimmered with reflected light from the great aquamarine windows, each pane cut to resemble scales of a leviathan. Columns of pale marble rose like the ribs of some colossal beast, etched with the histories of the Drakos line.

On this day, however, the air was heavier than the ocean's weight beyond its walls. The hush that hung within these chambers was not one of reverence for the hall itself, but for the Lord who now sat upon its throne.

Lukas had imagined it would feel different. The gilded armrests gleamed and the sigil of his house stared back at him from the banners draped above. None of this made him feel like more than what he had already been for some time now; for he was one who bore the burden of his people long before ceremony declared him Lord. How Lukas felt about himself had not changed. Yet the way they felt about him had.

Power. Recognition. Expectation. For the first time, no one doubted where he belonged. Before him stood the most prominent dragonborn of the Seas, a sea of scaled faces, each gleaming with unique hues of their ancestry. These were the nobles, the advisors, the ones who had long whispered counsel into Lady Kaitlyn's ear. Lukas recognized meeting many of them from his Royal Procession, their features etched into his memory by the duty of observation. Some had greeted him then as Lord Jaren's bastard son who had long been stuck in a coma that many thought he would never wake from ever again. Now, every gaze rested upon Lukas Drakos as their Lord.

At the forefront stood those closest to his heart.

Rosalia, her human grace stark against the sea of draconic grandeur, stood between Selene of Dawn—his mother, radiant with quiet strength—and Lady Kaitlyn Drakos, the former Royal Consort, whose gaze carried a pride tempered with relief.

Katrina lingered behind them, war hammer slung at her side, arms crossed in patient expectation. Lukas had not known how well Katrina would get along with Rosalia but it seemed like this would not be the first time that she had heard of the Princess of Easthaven. The moment Katrina realized that this girl was the Rosalia she had heard so much about, Katrina had begun to tease Rosalia mercilessly and delighted in poking at her blushes whenever Jesse's name arose. Despite how often they had argued with one another, Katrina still cared about Jesse dearly; like a sister cared for her brother.

The chamber stirred with low voices, nobles muttering, weighing and doubting why they were brought here today.

Then the Crown upon Lukas' head flared with living light.

At once, there was silence. Conversations stilled mid-breath. Their eyes widened, some with awe, some with unease.

The unspoken truth settled upon them. For a very long time now, the Dragon Lord of the Flames had been proclaimed as the strongest in all of Linemall. The same could not be said today, not with Lukas Drakos among them.

Lukas let the silence stretch, let them feel the heat of the Crown's glow.

For the first time, they were not waiting for Kaitlyn's word. They waited for his. And Lukas, seated upon the throne of his forefathers, knew he would not falter.

He stood now.

Lukas began, his voice carrying across the vaulted chamber. "The last time I stood here, I was not yet ready to sit on this throne. I was not your Lord, nor your equal. I stood among you as one who sought only to prove himself worthy. That day I told you I would leave to find Rodan Drakos, the Lord you believed a traitor. I told you I would bring back what our people needed—that we would no longer live in fear of scarcity, or poverty, or weakness. That was the vow I made to you all."

A murmur rippled through the gathered nobles, though none dared to interrupt.

The tale of Rodan's disappearance had spread, along with the revelation of his innocence.

Rodan Drakos had not betrayed his kin—he had been betrayed by the world's cruelty.

"And now I ask you," Lukas pressed, his gaze sweeping across the chamber, "have I not done as I said I would? The Guild's wealth flows through these halls. It flows through the Seas. The supplies that once eluded us now fill your storehouses. Jobs have been created for our kin, and many among us now travel beyond Linemall in honest service, providing for their families where they once could not. Tell me—have I not proven that I am a dragon of my word?"

The silence was answer enough.

"Good," Lukas continued, his tone harder now. "Then hear me now and hear me well. Tomorrow, I leave for the Draconic Summit. And I know what burns in each of your hearts—you wish to see the Seas rise again, to see our strength recognized, our dominance restored. You wish to gain back the respect that has long been denied to us."

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Heads nodded. Murmurs of assent filled the air. For once, all voices aligned.

And then the Crown flared with even more intensity than it had before.

The room darkened as if swallowed by storm, and into every mind poured visions not their own—visions Lukas had endured, and now forced them to bear. Chains rattling against scaled flesh. The stench of dried piss and blood, the smell of rust on iron. Screams echoing from throats both young and ancient. They all saw their kin treated not as dragons, not even as beasts, but as trophies and slaves. The nobles shuddered, some clutching their temples, others falling silent in shock.

"You see it now," Lukas growled, voice trembling with fury. "This is what becomes of us while you sit here bickering over titles and coin. This is what you ignore while you measure yourselves against one another. Cowards! Every one of you! Hiding behind politics while our people rot in cages!"

The Crown's light seared through the hall, and none could escape it. Now his words seemed louder than ever as Lukas spread his influence even further.

"I have sworn upon the River Styx," Lukas declared, "that I will see our people freed. But understand this: we cannot fight as fractured Houses. We cannot go on this way when the world already seeks our extinction. What are we, if not dragons? Are we lesser than those of Earth? Than those of Flame? No. We are kin of magic and scale, blood and honor. And if we remain divided, we will not survive. This peace you cling to is a lie. It is decay wrapped in silk. If we continue as we are, our race will meet its end. Can you not see that?"

The silence in the throne room stretched taut, heavy enough to smother breath. Never before had any voice spoken so boldly within these walls—never had anyone dared to strip the nobility of their illusions and name them for what they were.

For once, the gathered nobility found no words, no sharp rebuttals or measured protests. They simply stood beneath the weight of truth, struck dumb by the audacity of their young Lord.

Lukas stood tall before them, his shadow stretching long across the polished stone floor.

"This is what I will do," he declared, every syllable ringing with certainty. "I will bring us together. I will unite Linemall—not as fractured houses squabbling for scraps, but as one. I do not need your approval. I do not need you to like me or to love me, I do not need you to sing my praises. As your Lord, these are the beliefs the Seas will follow, beliefs that I have already chosen."

His voice hardened, tempered like steel.

Lukas did not need their support.

Because Lukas already had the support of his people.

At first, it was faint, distant—an echo through the waters. But then the sound grew, swelled, roared like the tide. Cheering, chanting, the voices of thousands rising from the palace grounds, from the streets of the Seas themselves, until the entirety of the Seas seemed to tremble with their fervor.

The nobles' eyes widened. This was no orchestrated gathering, no planned ordeal. The Crown had carried Lukas' words beyond these walls, planting the seed of his promise into the hearts of his people across the Seas.

And the people had answered.

Their voices thundered like crashing waves, their roars unified in one name: Drakos.

Lukas let the sound roll through the chamber, let it drown the nobles in its raw power.

Then he spoke again, voice low but cutting through the din. "When I depart for the Summit, many of you will be tempted. You will think my absence as weakness. You will whisper rebellion, believing the moment is ripe to strike against my rule. So hear me now—I am no hero. I am no saint. I am a Dragon Lord of the Seas. I, Lukas Drakos, am a Dragon Lord of Linemall. And I will do what I must for my people. Those who dare stand in my way will pay the ultimate price."

The words rang with lethal promise, but even as he spoke them, Lukas knew the threat was unnecessary. The chamber before him had already broken. The nobles had already bent the knee, heads bowed, gazes lowered to the floor. Pride, arrogance, ambition—all shattered by the roar of the people and the authority of the Crown.

In this moment, there was no division, no question of loyalty.

Lukas Drakos was their Lord.

He was the Lord of the Seas.

Lukas let the silence fall once more, heavy but different now—anointed by submission.

"Rise," Lukas commanded, and when they did, their postures were not of equals but of servants bound by oath.

Lukas accepted their pledges with neither arrogance nor gloating, only a grim acknowledgment of the burden he bore.

Tomorrow, he would leave for the Draconic Summit.

Rosalia Elarion, Selene of Dawn, Katrina Drakos and the Lady Kaitlyn would be traveling with him. There, Lukas would attempt what had not been done before: to see whether the Ruling Houses of Linemall could cast aside their enmity and stand together as one. The Seas had bent the knee. The people had risen.

And Lukas Drakos would carry them into whatever the future held for them all.

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