The air was still, the silence so deep it seemed to press upon the chest like a mountain. Even the desert wind that had been howling only moments ago seemed to retreat, unwilling to intrude upon what was about to unfold. Jesse stood before the Magopo Brothers, his arm still slick with blood that had already begun to dry against his skin, but the mark it left upon the ground—and upon their hearts—would not fade so easily.

Scar, the youngest of them, the bright spark of their violent brotherhood, was now nothing more than a husk upon the sand.

The world seemed to tilt as Lukas swayed, his vision blurring again. Every breath felt like it came at a cost, each heartbeat dragging more of his strength away. And yet, despite the haze creeping in from the edges of his sight, despite the tremor in his body and the taste of blood in his mouth, he felt no fear.

Not even when standing before the Magopo Brothers, names that had begun to be whispered like curses across the lands of the beastkin. They were not simply warriors. They were violence made flesh, beastmen whose might had allowed them to match the might of the Conquerors who had come before them. And now, all that fury had found its focus in Jesse Sterling.

But Lukas did not fear them for it was the Dragonborn of the Skies who was protecting him.

The four remaining stood arrayed before the young dragonborn like spirits of vengeance. The largest of them, the one who had tried bringing Lukas to the ground just seconds ago, did not move. His body seemed carved from stone, motionless but trembling, his eyes locked upon the lifeless form of his younger brother. He seemed to be waiting for some kind of miracle that would will life back into that still chest, for Scar to rise once more and laugh in that brash, reckless way that had made him the heart of the Magopo Brothers.

But Scar did not stir. The desert did not grant miracles.

The twins stepped forward, their movements so alike they could have shared one shadow. The fury that burned behind their eyes was pure and wordless, a single emotion shared between two souls that had never truly been apart. Lukas had seen many killers before, but none that bore rage so absolute. It wasn't just hatred for a foe—it was grief, it was love, it was the cry of brothers who had lost what once made them whole.

One of the twins had spoke then, though his voice was barely human in its fury. "I'll kill you for that."

It wasn't a threat. It was a promise.

Jesse, however, did not flinch.

There was a terrible calm to him, the kind that only those who have faced death before could possess. He stood alone, surrounded by enemies that could tear him apart in seconds and his vision still lost to the light that had flooded the battlefield.

"Better men have tried and failed," the dragonborn replied, his tone quiet but sharp enough to cut through the roar of anger. "You will not be the exception."

The twins attacked together, the two of the beastmen moving with a precision that bordered on the unreal. For creatures of such mass, their speed defied sense. The sand beneath their feet barely shifted as they lunged, bodies twisting in mirrored arcs, claws glinting like curved blades beneath the dying light. To any untrained eye, it would have looked almost beautiful—a dance by two locked in perfect unison, their attack more like art than an assault.

But Lukas knew better.

Every movement they made was designed to kill.

They came at Jesse from opposite sides, one from the right and the other from the left, their roars splitting the air.

Jesse did not move at first, the lack of worry made the dragonborn seem almost detached from the chaos erupting before him.

Lukas, barely standing at the edge of the battlefield, could only watch through the haze of his fevered vision. His limbs trembled, his body burning from the inside out. The magical corruption within him pulsed like molten metal, but he forced himself to stay conscious.

He had to see this. Because by the Titans was it worth watching.

The desert exploded with light.

A sudden flash—white, blinding—cut through the air, followed by the deafening crack of thunder that rolled across the dunes.

The first twin was hurled backward, tumbling through the sand like a ragdoll before slamming into the ground with a thud that shook the earth. The smell of ozone filled the air, sharp and clean, and the storm began to gather above them. Clouds swirled out of the empty sky, drawn together as if pulled by the will of some unseen force.

The second was unfazed and even Lukas had to commend him for his courage. The beastman rushed forward with even more intensity, rage burning through his veins. But the very wind turned against him. A sudden gale whipped up from nowhere, hurling sand in all directions, pushing him forward—straight into Jesse's waiting hand.

The dragonborn's fist met the beastman's jaw with a sickening crunch, the impact echoing across the dunes.

Blood sprayed across the wind, carried away like crimson dust.

It had not occurred to Lukas that he had not been the only one honing his strength throughout all these years. Jesse looked up to Lukas and as he continued to become stronger, the young dragonborn had made sure he was never too far behind.

When Jesse had struck down Scar, they had already known that he was not human. The arm that had torn through their brother's chest had shimmered with scales, claws as sharp as their own. But now, as Jesse lifted his head and the air itself began to bend around him, there was no longer any doubt about it.

Jesse rose slowly from the sand, his feet leaving the ground as though gravity itself had yielded before him.

Winds swirled around his form, whipping his cloak and hair into a wild tempest. His eyes glowed with unmistakable power—the light of something far beyond what any mortal human was capable of.

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The Magopo Brothers were no longer fighting a man.

They were fighting a dragon.

Lukas could feel it in the air itself—the fear, even among those who had never known fear before.

The Magopo Brothers had faced monsters, had slain legends to begin their reign through sheer, unrelenting power.

But this was different.

This was the kind of being that existed in the oldest songs, the kind that shaped the bones of mountains and the breath of storms.

The pupils of the beastkin narrowed into vertical slits, the hair along their necks rising like a beast cornered yet unbroken.

They dropped into low stances, their claws digging into the sand, their muscles tightening like drawn cables.

Their movements slowed but their intent sharpened. There was no room left for hesitation.

As they faced Jesse Sterling, a creature of legend and a son of Linemall, they knew the truth as well as anyone did.

This was no longer just about vengeance. This was for survival.

They would have to give everything—body, soul, and spirit—or die beneath the storm that now bore the shape of a man. Because they were not going to simply tremble in the face of power, not when they had their own to wield.

There was a reason why the young Daerion had brought down the Kingdom of Nozar down upon these lands.

Even now, when Nozari influence seemed never-ending, there was always a fear of the Kingdom of Khaitish and the powers they were able to wield.

In recorded history, the only man to have ever bested this power was Magnus Elarion himself. And only once had it ever been taught to one outside their race. It was something born of the very first Conqueror of Khaitish, of wild magic that had shaped their race long before civilization had a name. Lukas had read about this within the great libraries in within the Royal Palace of Linemall's Seas and now he was about to see what this power was with his very own eyes.

The next few seconds passed in a blur of sound and motion so fierce that Lukas barely had time to understand it all.

Lukas felt it before he saw it—a hum that rattled the bones, a pulse that rippled through the ground like the heartbeat of the world itself. The brothers were not summoning spells; they were turning their own bodies into conduits of magic. Their veins blazed with molten energy, every muscle along their arms and shoulders glowing with inner fire. Raw magical energy seeped through their skin, outlining them in shimmering halos of gold and crimson. They had abandoned restraint entirely, burning through their very vessels to stand against the dragonborn.

The wind bent around Jesse, obedient as ever, but his eyes had narrowed.

These were not the same beastmen he had fought moments ago.

They had become something else—avatars of fury and desperation, driven by a grief deeper than a lion's pride.

Even then, victory was not assured for the twins because even the Internal Arts would not necessarily make them a match for what the young dragonborn was capable of. And Makhulu knew that, understanding what the twins did not. His eyes, dark and heavy with sorrow, turned not toward Jesse but toward his fallen brother lying motionless in the sand.

Scar. He was the youngest of his brothers. The laughter, the arrogance, the fire that had once filled the desert nights—he was gone, just like that. Makhulu would not lose another.

Raising his massive hand, the eldest of the Magopo Brothers called to the desert itself.

The sand trembled. It began to stir, then rise, spiraling in great columns that surrounded the battlefield. The army—scattered and bloodied from the fighting—cried out as the storm consumed them. The sands answered their master's call, moving with purpose and will, forming a great vortex that began to swallow everything it touched. The horizon vanished behind walls of swirling dust and golden light.

But escape—like mercy—would not come easily.

From the far edge of the chaos, a figure stirred.

The Head of the Morningeyes Clan, his body still weakened, his knees buried in the sand where he had fallen earlier. But now his vision had returned and with it the power of the Eyes of the Morning. The same ancient magic that let Rowan see the flow of magic now showed him the web of spells stretching across the battlefield.

Rowan could see Makhulu's magic twisting through the air, how it wove itself around his army, dragging them toward safety and away from judgment. And he would not allow it.

The Head of the Morningeyes thrust his hand forward, golden light bursting from his eyes with more intensity than ever before.

Makhulu's spell faltered, its structure fracturing like glass struck by a hammer.

The winds screamed. The lines of magic snapped apart, scattering like threads pulled loose from the fabric of creation.

The backlash was instant and catastrophic.

The shattered spell exploded across the battlefield, arcs of wild Divinity slicing through the storm.

Lukas barely had time to react before he felt the pull.

His body jolted, his feet sinking deeper as the ground itself began to dissolve beneath him.

His eyes went wide.

He looked down and saw his own form breaking apart.

Grain by grain, flesh and bone was turning to sand, the particles drifting away on the wind like smoke.

"Lukas!" He heard Jesse scream his name and he could see the young dragonborn already moving towards him. But even the dragonborn's power could not defy the unraveling that had already begun.

Lukas could feel his hand dissolving even as he tried to reach for Jesse.

The world was fading, its edges becoming soft and weightless.

Their eyes met—just for an instant.

With their minds still connected through Jesse's awakened Legacy, Lukas knew that there was nothing they could do but let it happen.

"The Inner Cities, Jesse! Meet me in the Inner Cities!" Lukas said through their connection.

That was all the words Lukas could think of before the sands swallowed him whole.

And then there was nothing but silence.

When the storm finally began to fade, there was no sign of the Magopo Brothers or their army; leaving behind the endless desert stretching out beneath the bruised sky.

Jesse stood motionless, his hand still reaching toward where his Lord had been moments before. The dragonborn lowered his hand slowly, his claws closing into a fist.

Not all hope was lost.

The Inner Cities of Khaitish.

The young Sterling had to trust that his Lord and now his King could make it there, even if it did not seem possible. That was where Lukas had told him to go and that was where Jesse would go.

The battle was over.

But victory had never felt so hollow to the young dragonborn who yet again had not been able to stay by Lukas' side.

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