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

Lukas awoke to find himself alive and well. It looks like the girl was right when she'd told him not to worry. He half-expected to find Styx still sleeping beside him but Lukas was in the living world now.

The scent of rosewood and jasmine clung thick in the air, warm and perfumed. For a long moment, he didn't move—his body still aching all over, his thoughts slow to take root in reality. The surface beneath him was velvet-soft, and when the grogginess faded, he was immediately overwhelmed by colour—an ocean of gowns, dresses, robes, and fabrics suspended on golden hooks and pearlescent hangers, each shimmering beneath the crystalline glow of chandelier light.

It was a wardrobe that could house a king's treasury, wide enough to stretch dozens of feet, tall enough that its domed ceiling loomed far above. The dresses were inhumanly exquisite, spun from fabrics that shimmered like morning frost or burned with the colours of dusk. Some whispered in the air when he passed his gaze over them, as if alive with glamour.

This was no ordinary room. It was a vault of vanity fit for the greatest of royalty. Did it belong to the girl who saved him? She was nowhere to be seen. It looked like it was just him and all these clothes in this giant wardrobe of a room.

Lukas sat up, wincing. The soreness was still there, a deep ache down to his bones—but he was alive. Breathing. Whole. The girl had saved him from a quick return to the Underworld but he would still need time to recover from the wounds he'd been dealt. He turned his head, taking in the strange blend of comfort and majesty, and for a moment, it was almost peaceful.

That was until he looked down.

Finally the girl's random comment made sense.

"You have a pretty cool looking arm."

His breath caught in his throat. Where his right arm should've been—where the Hero swung his blade down to stop Lukas from escaping via the Tears, severing his right arm from his body—there was now something else entirely.

It was not his arm that he now saw. Where his shoulder once ended, a mass of coiled tentacles had fused, writhing slowly in a rhythmic pulse like the breathing of some deep-sea creature. Each tendril was obsidian-black and slick, layered in fine iridescence like oil on water. Veins of bioluminescent blue shimmered beneath its surface, pulsing faintly in time with his heartbeat.

The structure wasn't symmetrical. The form wasn't human. What passed for a "hand" was made of five thick tendrils twisted together, ending in hooked barbs or sucker-lined ridges that flexed of their own accord.

At first Lukas felt panic rise up within him, shock at whatever this eldritch horror was supposed to be that was now attached to his own body. Then he felt the low, thrumming presence beneath the surface of its skin. It was presence he knew well.

It was his familiar.

The Kraken had become part of him.

Lukas curled the tendrils experimentally. They obeyed, not as a parasite would, but like a limb he'd always possessed and simply forgotten. Not entirely his. But not entirely foreign either. They moved with him. For him.

Lukas placed his left hand over the jagged seam where his new arm began—where the eldritch limb pulsed faintly with life—and called upon the Crown. But instead of channelling it outward to establish the connection, the Crown was channelled inward.

The moment their minds touched, Lukas saw all that occurred after losing consciousness once the battle with the Hero From Another World had concluded through the Kraken's eyes. A shattered body adrift in the abyss. Torn in half, blood clouding the waters like ink. The Hero's blade severing flesh, tearing the Kraken into two before Lukas, Rodan or Katrina could even react.

The Kraken should have died. Anyone else would have. But the Cthulu were no ordinary race. Born from the abyssal trenches of the world, theirs was a legacy of regeneration, of madness and myth and deep-sea resilience. It was agony—every second of survival—but the Kraken refused to die.

By the time he had regained some semblance of a vessel, the Kraken realizes that the fight had already concluded. He saw Lukas, his master. His broken form, floating like a corpse in the endless blue, drifting further from life with each pulse of time. The sight of him had stirred something unexpected in the Kraken—a memory, a loyalty, a bond that was stronger than either of them even realized.

The Kraken reached out with what was left of him—tendrils and shattered soul alike—and fused himself to his Lord. Not out of desperation. Out of faith. And it had worked. Lukas had lived. He had survived.

The memory faded, like ripples on the tide. Lukas exhaled shakily, the sensation of water and sorrow still clinging to his lungs.

"She was right." Lukas whispered, his voice low with reverence. "Styx was right."

There was no voice in reply—not spoken. But within the shared link of thought, Lukas felt the Kraken respond. A quiet rumble of amusement.

"And here I thought I was only dragging a corpse to shore."

"You nearly were," Lukas muttered dryly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

A pause. Then the Kraken spoke again, clearer now, not as words, but as impression and will.

"I am glad to see you are well, Lukas."

Lukas ran his left hand through his hair, overwhelmed. He sat in silence for a few moments longer, processing it all. Then, with quiet sincerity, he whispered: "I owe you my life." And he meant it. Because the Kraken, just like Styx had told him, was the only reason why he was still able to return to the living world.

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How ironic fate seemed to be. The Kraken had been the first enemy Lukas had ever faced in Hiraeth, the first opponent he had to go up against in this second life of his. Now, he was perhaps somebody that he knew now he could trust with his life. Quite literally...his right-hand man.

The Kraken's voice grew quieter as he felt Lukas' presence through the connection established by the Crown. The longer the connection lasted, the more the Kraken began to realize that this...was not the same Lukas he knew.

"You've changed." The Kraken stated bluntly. And he would be right.

A thousand years would do that to a man. Lukas didn't know what to say in response.

How could he put into words what he had gone through in his time away? How could the Kraken understand the weight of Kairos Castle that still echoed in his bones—the Trials he'd gone through, the blood he'd shed, the love that he'd found and the loss that he now had to live with.

"I am still Lukas Drakos," he finally answered softly. "But I've conquered death, my friend. Something like that is bound to change a man, no?"

A silence passed between them.

Then, from the Kraken: "I am just glad to know that you are alive."

Lukas nodded. He looked down at the eldritch appendage—the pulsing, coiled monstrosity that now bore his command—and clenched it into a fist. They were one.

Whether he liked it or not, Lukas would now have to live with the Kraken but weirdly, he didn't mind it too much.

The Kraken would never admit it but he had spent most, if not all, of his Mana keeping Lukas alive. Even when it meant that he would risk joining Lukas in the Underworld. If that wasn't loyalty, what was? Lukas could feel the exhaustion and fatigue that had built up within the Kraken and he placed a hand on his right arm, his familiar. His right-hand man.

"Rest well, my friend. You have earned it."

And with those words, the Kraken finally allowed himself to rest; sinking into a deep slumber. It would be a while until his familiar returned to full health but he deserved as much time as he needed to return to the level of strength he once had. It would be a while until the Kraken emerged from his dormant state. Not only had he survived against the Hero's attack, he had also kept Lukas from making his visit to the Underworld a permanent one.

Suddenly the doors to the closet burst open with the force of a hurricane or, at least, the small and overly enthusiastic storm that was Rosalia. The young girl marched in with her arms full, barely visible behind a precarious tower of silver platters, plates, and linen-wrapped bundles. The scent of roasted meats, spiced vegetables, warm bread, and something sweet followed in her wake like a parade of comfort.

When her bright eyes spotted him sitting up, her squeal was sharp enough to make his newly bonded arm twitch.

"You're awake!" Rosalia beamed, almost dropping everything on the ground in excitement.

She hurried over and set the dishes on a velvet chaise beside him, completely unbothered by the fact that a very large, unfamiliar man was staring at her in complete utter confusion.

The young girl had no fear in her eyes. No wariness. No hesitation. As though kindness was her default setting and danger was just a concept that did not exist in her world. Or perhaps...she did not need to fear danger. If his memory did not fail him, there would be few capable of the feats she had performed that Lukas had witnessed with his own eyes.

"Were you not taught stranger danger?" Lukas rasped, voice still hoarse from the lack of drinking water.

Rosalia blinked as she instinctively handed him a cup filled with water. "Stranger…danger?"

He stared. She tilted her head.

"Ah," she said, as if that answered everything. Then she clapped her hands together and beamed. "You are so right! I should introduce myself properly! It's bad manners not to."

She stepped back, brushed down her silk dress as if preparing for a formal court greeting—and then gave a deeply practiced curtsey, all poise and polish, despite being no older than ten.

"I am Rosalia Lysandra Elarion, First of Her Name, Crown Princess of the Holy Kingdom of Easthaven," she said proudly. "But everyone just calls me Rosalia."

Lukas blinked at her. So that was where the Kraken had dragged them to: the Kingdom of Easthaven. One of the Kingdoms of Humanity, one of the Kingdoms that had fought against Linemall during the Great War.

"I'm…Lukas," he replied slowly, half-expecting some kind of royal guard to crash through the doors at any second and impale him for breathing near the princess. "Just Lukas."

Her eyes brightened at that, as if the name pleased her.

"Well, Just Lukas," Rosalia said with a shy smile, "I brought you food! I hope you like it. This is all I could sneak out of the dining hall without the steward noticing."

She pushed the platters toward him across a marble side table with a childish grunt, like they weighed twice her size. Then she sat cross-legged on a cushion, eyes wide with anticipation as he peeled back the linen on the first plate. Delicate slices of honey-glazed duck, rosemary bread still warm from the oven, candied almonds, and a thick slice of something spongy and golden he couldn't name but knew cost more than most villages made in a month.

It was food meant for the rich. For nobility. It was completely different from the cuisine he'd experienced in Ilagron, Linemall or even Kairos Castle. But Lukas certainly wasn't complaining.

He took his first bite. And then another.

"This is…" He chewed slowly. "...pretty damn good."

Her smile was radiant. But confusion still tugged at him, as Lukas watched her dig into a small plate she'd set aside for herself.

"Why did you help me at the beach? Why are you doing all this?" he asked. "You don't know me. I could be anyone."

Rosalia blinked again, lips pursed in thought. Then, she shrugged; as if the answer was pretty damn obvious.

"Hmm. Why, you ask? I mean it's obvious isn't it? Because it was the right thing to do."

And that—that simple, unwavering statement of truth—left Lukas speechless.

All this time in Hiraeth, he had only witnessed the lengths people could go to.

The depths of evil they were willing to commit in order to gain status, power and reputation. He had seen the nobles in the House of Fortunes, haggling for the price to own another's life. He had seen the horrors some of the dragons had resorted to such that they could have a chance at sitting on the throne that the Dragon Lords sat on.

Not once had he come across one who would show him the good of humanity. That they could be better if they really wanted to. Lukas sat back, heart a little unsteady, the warmth of food mixing with something far deeper. Something softer. He was indebted to her—not just for the food. But for reminding him that this world was not completely immoral.

"Could we...maybe…be friends?" The princess asked, her eyes hopeful as she stared up at Lukas from where she sat.

"Yeah," Lukas answered after a pause of consideration. "I'd like that."

And there the two ate together in the grand closet, an ancient dragon and a princess, a moment of strange, fragile peace.

Lukas had made a friend.