The Lord of the Seas - An Isekai Progression Fantasy [ Currently on Volume 2 ]

The echo of Rodan's voice still lingered in the back of his skull like a haunting drumbeat.

"You, Lukas Drakos, are the True Lord of the Seas."

Lukas sat alone on the railings of the ship, the sea in the distance murmuring its endless lullaby. Waves kissed the shore with gentleness, but all he could hear were screams—his own, from a lifetime ago. Not the scream of a warrior. Not the roar of a Lord. But the shriek of a boy, torn open by teeth and fate, left to bleed beneath the crushing weight of legacy. His hands trembled, resting on his lap. One of them—his arm—was still marked from the trial, faint scars tracing where bone had once split open and healed over decades in forced slumber.

It was his arm. It was his hand. It was his body.

But whose blood flowed through it?

Julien Fronterra had died. And yet he was alive. He could still remember clutching his chest as he fell to the floor, in the ring, during the fight of his life. The blinding lights above him. The crowd's roars quickly dying down. He had died, hadn't he? Then who was this?

Who had awoken in the body of a dragon, a dragon meant to become one of the Lords of Linemall, capable of things that he could not even fathom?

Julien Fronterra. Lukas Drakos. Names. Memories.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold on. He tried to recall the sound of his mother's voice—not Selene of Dawn, the wyvern who sang lullabies in the old tongue—but the one who had picked up from school. He tried to remember the scent of city rain on concrete, the hum of electricity, the feel of denim and plastic and real, human failure.

But those things were fading. They slipped like mist through clenched fingers. Every memory he reached for—Julien's first time in the ring, his favorite book, his childhood—was just a blur now. A smear on the edges of his mind. His breathing grew shallow. His chest tight. Panic gnawed at his ribs like rats in the dark. He was glad that Rodan had left him alone with his thoughts but they seemed to be taking control of him in ways he didn't know possible.

If he wasn't Julien anymore…and he wasn't sure if he even want to be Lukas Drakos…then what was he?

Was he just a fraud?

"You're the True Lord of the Seas," Rodan had told him with such certainty.

But how could he accept that? That title wasn't earned. It wasn't his. The original Lukas—the one who had been born into this world, into this pain, into this ocean—he had suffered to inherit that crown. He had fought. He had bled. And now, here he was, wearing the face of a prince, holding his name like it was his own—and it wasn't. His fists clenched in his lap, nails digging into skin until the sting became real. Good. Let it hurt. Pain reminded him that he still felt something.

"I'm not him," he whispered to no one. "I'm not Lukas."

But the voice didn't sound like Julien's either. Not really. It was deeper now. Hardened by battles he'd fought since awakening. Softer with the sorrow of memories he couldn't fully claim. The voice was someone else entirely. And that terrified him.

He pressed both hands to his face, trying to remember something—anything—concrete. His fighting gym. His apartment. His childhood home. His fights. The name of his coach, his training partners, his opponents.

Come on. Come on!

But all that came to him was silence. Vast, infinite, like the seas of Linemall that now wanted to name named him its ruler. Could this be a side effect of using the Crest? Having to allow so much information to flow through his head was not something his mortal human mind could handle, had it begun to remove memories of a past life?

If I'm not Julien, and I'm not Lukas…then who the fuck am I?

The question rang louder than Rodan's declaration ever could.

"…Unc!" Katrina's voice was loud but warm—she was in a real good mood.

"I—," she hesitated when she saw the look on his face but stepped forward anyway. "We're having dinner! Come on, eat with us! You've been out for so long, and…"

Lukas still didn't look at her. Not even when her voice faltered slightly at the end.

"I just wanted to say thank you. For believing in my father. For helping me find him again. For bringing him back to us." Her voice grew softer, more genuine.

Still, no answer.

"I was worried about you, you know?" Katrina pressed but the tension in her voice was clear. She wasn't sure why Lukas wasn't responding to her. "Using the Crest of the Lord, that was insane! You think maybe I'll be able to use something like that one day!?"

His fingers curled tighter. His breath caught in his throat and turned bitter.

Katrina took a step closer.

"Lukas, are you okay?"

And that was it. He stood, violently. The railing groaned beneath him. His body trembled—not with weakness, but with fury. With confusion. With everything tearing him in opposite directions until something finally snapped.

"Leave me the fuck alone." The words weren't cold. They weren't composed. They were fire.

Katrina's eyes widened, shocked. She took a step back.

"I don't want to talk. I don't want dinner. I don't want your gratitude." His voice came in a growl now, lower and sharper than she had ever heard from him. "I don't even know who the hell I am right now, so don't come here trying to act like you do."

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She opened her mouth—then thought better of it. The silence that followed was heavier than any scream. She looked at him for one long, unreadable second. Then, without a word, she turned and walked away.

Lukas stood alone again, but it didn't feel like solitude. It felt like shame. The wind seemed louder now. His hands were shaking. Not from rage. Not even from guilt. From fear. A fear he didn't want to name. He collapsed back against the railing, palms covering his face.

"What the hell is happening to me…" he whispered, voice hoarse.

He was always the one who knew what to do. Back when he was Julien, after his father died and his mother abandoned him, he fucking knew what to do. He fought his way to a life that many would die to have. Back when he first woke up as Lukas, he resolved to learn how to live like the dragons he now walked among. He learned how to use magic. He faced the Kraken. The weight of responsibility. And every time, he knew exactly what had to be done and he fucking did it.

But now?

Now all he could do was allow these emotions to wash over him—and he hated it. They were emotions that he had been avoiding since the first day he arrived in Hiraeth. He hated how fragile it made him. How human it made him. He had just screamed at a girl who only wanted to share a moment of kindness. And yet some part of him wished she had yelled back. That she had fought him.

Instead, she left him alone—just like he asked. And now, in the quiet she gave him, Lukas Drakos—Julien Fronterra—sat with a sickening truth: He didn't know who he was. For the first time in either of his lives…he didn't know what to do about it. Every gust of wind seemed to slice him open a little more. Every thought dragged him deeper into a place he didn't want to go.

Until he heard somebody approaching.

Lukas didn't look up, his eyes fixated on the ground beneath him. He expected Rodan. Maybe Katrina, back again, and he was already rehearsing the apology in his head that felt like ash on his tongue. But it wasn't either of them.

Heavy footsteps. Quiet ones. A shadow long and tall in the moonlight. A presence that was far from friendly looming over him—but for once, it wasn't there to tear anything down. The Kraken didn't speak. The giant familiar just walked over and sat down beside him. For a long time, neither of them said a word. But the silence was no longer empty. It was heavy, it was…meaningful. Like something sacred was being passed between them, not through conversation, but through sheer presence.

Lukas blinked slowly. The last time they were alone like this was when he had confronted the Kraken about his outburst back in Ilagron just before they had set sail to find Rodan.

Back then, he had reached out first. Back then, the Kraken had been the one who had been the one in need, drowning in guilt of past mistakes and transgressions against the one man who'd shown him kindness.

And now…

Now it was Lukas who couldn't speak. Now it was he who felt like a fraud drowning in guilt and shame. But the Kraken stayed anyways. Not because he had to. Not because Lukas had ordered him to through their contract. Not because he was Lukas' familiar. But because Lukas had once seen something in him worth saving—and now, wordlessly, he was repaying that kindness.

It was strange, how something so loud could come from a man who hadn't uttered a syllable. It was enough.

Lukas closed his eyes. The tension in his shoulders finally started to ease. The whirlwind of thoughts, for once, slowed.

And the memories finally came:

A boy—Julien Fronterra—racing down the docks after his father's silhouette after he'd been told that he would never return to them. He had died at sea. He remembered spending days screaming for him to come back, stubbornly waiting at those docks. Believing that his father would return home, the scent of salt and engine oil thick in the air.

He remembered his mother's face when they got the news. Pale. Broken. Empty. And then she was gone too. Not dead. Just… gone. His father had been her everything.

She left him two months after his father's unfortunate passing. A 14 year old boy, left to fend for himself. So he survived.

He remembered the cheap meals, the cold nights, the burning fury that made him fight his way to the top. No one cared. No one stayed.

So he became the best. And in becoming the best, he became untouchable. But he also became untouchable in the worst way. Alone. Always alone.

As he watched his past life flashing before his eyes, Lukas realized something that he had never been able to accept. He had never been alone because of the cruelty of fate. He'd just pushed everyone in his life away, holding them at a distance, preventing them from getting close. He'd been scared that once they did get close, they would leave him. And that fear was never something he was willing to confront. So he used fighting as an outlet, a craft that he could give his all, while ignoring deep-rooted issues that would haunt him for the rest of his life as Julien Fronterra. But through it all, he had died alone.

Julien Fronterra had been alone.

Until now.

Until Selene of the Dawn, his mother showed him kindness and love that his own never did.

Until Katrina burst into his life like a tempest.

Until Jesse stood by him like family, trusting in him wholeheartedly despite his genius intellect

Until Rodan called him brother with a voice soaked in love and regret.

Until Lady Kaitlyn believed in him, believed in what he was and who he could become.

His eyes opened slowly. The breeze felt different now—less like a slap, more like a whisper. This wasn't cruelty. This wasn't punishment. This was his second chance. And for the first time, he saw it for what it was. He clenched his jaw, chest trembling as emotion crashed through him like a tidal wave. Not just grief. Not just guilt.

But hope.

The Kraken continued to sit beside him in silence. And Lukas whispered, barely audible. "…Thank you." He didn't expect a response. He didn't need one. The Kraken simply smiled and nodded. He was just repaying the same kindness Lukas had shown him and it was at that moment where Lukas knew he could trust the Kraken. He turned toward the sea, the storm in his heart calmed for the moment.

He had asked for this second life. Begged for it. Prayed to all the gods for this. And they had given it to him. And by the gods who had given him this second chance, he was not going to waste it by making the same mistakes again. Not when he had people who cared. Not when he finally understood what that meant. Whether or not he was a fraud was not a question he could answer but for now, he knew this:

He would not make the same mistake again. Not in this life. Not ever again.