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

The days passed Lukas by like pages in a storybook, and each one added something new. The princess had pestered Lukas but who could blame her? After such a revelation, after coming face to face with what was quite literally a creature of legend, how could Rosalia not have endless questions for who Lukas was and where he had come from?

"Were the Dragon Lords really immortal?"
"Does the Kingdom of Dragons actually exist?"
"Is it true that dragons once walked among us?"

Lukas answered them all. He began with the first Lords, the dragons who had established what would become the Kingdom of Dragons.

He spoke of Thalrion Drakos, the First of the Sea—a beast who could still the waves with a word and call forth tempests with a breath.

Of Kaelira of the Skies, whose wings blotted out the sun, whose cry could silence armies.

Of Veredros of the Earth, who was said to be like a mountain cloaked in scales, who raised forests and shattered kingdoms with a stomp.

And how the three of these dragons came together—not to conquer, but to protect. To create a sanctuary for all draconic kind, a Kingdom which humans would neve find. A Kingdom where the skies were clear, the earth flourished with never-ending life and the seas never ceased to sing. So, Linemall was formed. The Kingdom of Dragons.

Rosalia drank in every word, fascinated by the history of Linemall. And each day she came back faster, completing her lessons and training sessions as fast as humanely possible. Each day she stayed longer in that closet.

One night, she came bounding in with parchment and ink staining her sleeves, holding up a crumpled scroll with a grin far too proud for what she had created.

"Look!" she proclaimed, glowing with excitement as she held the scroll up as if it were the fucking Mona Lisa. "It's you!"

Lukas took the paper, and the sound that left his throat was a laugh he hadn't known he could make—a deep, sincere chuckle that shook the walls. The drawing was…atrocious. What he saw on that scroll was a vaguely lizard-shaped blob with stick legs and giant eyes, resembling nothing like what Lukas looked like in his full draconic form.

"This is me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow; summoning all the willpower to keep a straight face.

She nodded furiously. "In your dragon form. Obviously."

He smirked. "Where are my wings?"

"Oh. Oops."

The two of them laughed together until their sides hurt. She may be a child gifted with talent far beyond anything Lukas had ever seen before when it came to the mystic arts but...drawing? Those were not one of her talents.

The hours began to slip away like sand through fingers. Rosalia lay on the floor of the closet, her breathing slowed, her words slurring mid-question. She never even finished her story about the rabbit she claimed was a royal spy. Eventually, the princess simply…drifted off, snoring as she slept like a log.

Lukas watched her for a long moment, letting the quiet settle in. She was still so small. So fragile. And yet—beneath that royal linen and princess's pride, she had a heart more open than most kings. A heart brave enough to care for a stranger who could have been a killer. Brave enough to be his friend.

He reached down and picked her up gently, one arm beneath her knees, the other under her shoulders.

Rosalia barely stirred—just nestled closer into his chest with a sleepy sigh. With slow and steady steps, Lukas padded across the royal quarters toward the canopy bed in the corner of her room. Moonlight streamed in through the glass-panelled window, casting soft patterns across the marble floor.

He pulled the covers aside with one hand and began to lay her down.

And then—

"Put her down." The voice was sharp. Low. Unmistakably commanding.

A quiet shuffle of feet on polished marble. The gentle clink of rings against a staff. He looked up—and saw him.

An old man stood in the quiet shadows, only know stepping out to reveal himself to Lukas. His long, silver-white beard hung in soft waves down to his waist, swaying slightly with every measured step. A thick robe—deep indigo, etched with archaic sigils and moon-colored thread—hung over his wiry frame.

His entire appearance should've looked ridiculous. It should've. He looked straight out of something he'd seen from Lord of the Rings. But there was nothing laughable about the way the man carried himself. One hand gripped a gnarled wooden staff taller than himself, its tip twisted like a tree struck by lightning. The other hand was free, but trembling ever so slightly—not from weakness, but restraint. His eyes, sharp and golden, burned beneath bushy brows with a quiet, seething fury.

He did not shout. He didn't need to for Lukas saw the quiet rage that emanated from him.

"I suppose," the old man whispered, his voice low but cold as the sea's floor, "it is true what the young ones say…"

He levelled the staff directly at Lukas, and the air grew heavier, thick with arcane pressure.

"About monsters hiding in the closet."

Lukas didn't move. He could feel Rosalia's heartbeat against his arm, still lost in sleep.

The man's fingers curled tightly around the staff.

"I will not repeat myself again," he warned, the words etched in stone. "Put. Her. Down."

And that's when it hit him. This was him. Standing before him was the very King of Easthaven. This was Rosalia's grandfather.

Lukas' lips parted. For a moment, he considered a dozen possible reactions—explanations, defenses, evasions. But then he looked at Rosalia…and back at the man who now stood between him and any semblance of safety. Her last living family member. The only person left in this world she could call her own.

And Lukas could definitely understand where the old man's anger was coming from. He really did.

From the King's perspective, this did look pretty bad. A mysterious man hiding in a closet for weeks with a young princess. Holding her in his arms. Standing over her bed in the middle of the night.

Yeah. Not a great look.

With a quiet sigh, Lukas raised one hand in surrender and gently lowered Rosalia onto the bed, pulling the blanket over her shoulders with care.

"She's safe," Lukas said softly. "I would never hurt her."

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The King did not lower his staff. "Who are you?"

Lukas turned his gaze back toward him. For a moment, he considered lying. Or saying nothing at all. But words, they wouldn't do this justice. He took one step back into the moonlight. And he began to change.

It started with his eyes—the soft ocean blue fading into a deep, endless teal, like ancient water under storm light. The pupils narrowed to slits, sharp and glowing. The skin around them shimmered faintly with scales the color of moonlit steel.

The bones beneath his skin shifted next—subtly, yet with undeniable weight. His shoulders widened. His spine elongated. A soft, groaning creak filled the room as if the air itself strained under the presence of something more.

The scales spread across his arms and neck in rippling patterns—sleek, sea-toned, glowing faintly with draconic magic. His hands twisted, fingers stretching into clawed talons.

He didn't transform all at once. This wasn't an eruption of power. It was an intentional reveal— gradual, intentional. Like an ancient tide rising from the deep. His wings unfurled last — massive and regal, draped in translucent sea-glass membrane, flickering faintly in the moonlight.

Majestic. Inarguable. Absolute.

And the King? The King…staggered back half a step. Not in fear. But in awe. His eyes widened, his knuckles tightening on the staff until they went white.

This wasn't just any dragon. This wasn't even a Dragon Born.

This…was a Dragon Lord. One of the true, original heirs. An apex creature of myth and legend.

Lukas stood before him now, wings raised but calm, the gentle breeze of his magic ruffling tapestries, disturbing candlelight, and humming low through the old stones of the castle like the ocean murmuring to itself.

And in that moment, Lukas spoke—his voice deeper now, ancient, as if it came from a place that existed before kings.

"You asked who I was. My name is Lukas Drakos, Dragon Lord of the Seas." He tilted his head ever so slightly, a sign of respect. "If I meant Rosalia or you or any other in this Kingdom of Easthaven any harm…I assure you it would have already happened."

Behind those words was a message as clear as day, Lukas wanted to show the old man respect. But he also had to ensure that the King understood this one thing:

The only reason he was still breathing…

…was because this dragon had allowed it.

The room went silent. No one moved. Even the shadows seemed to hold their breath.

The King's gaze trembled—not from fear, but the unbearable weight of realization. After the Great War, humanity had thought themselves untouchable. The old man was beginning to see that the Dragons had never truly been erased from Hiraeth. In fact, they had always simply been biding their time, licking their wounds and ensuring that they would one day return.

The old man lowered his staff, but his gaze lingered on Lukas for a long, measured silence. Then, without a word, he turned and crossed the chamber to an armchair by the window, the moonlight washing over the velvet cushions in soft silver.

He sat down heavily, resting both hands over the curved head of his staff, as if the weight of his years—and the sudden revelation before him—had finally caught up to him.

His next words surprised Lukas.

"…Times have changed," the King murmured, eyes distant, as if he were gazing not at the sea but at the long, winding river of history itself. "The world…has moved on."

Lukas frowned, watching him carefully. He had honestly expected to see fear in the old man's eyes. Perhaps a summons of his guards, a call to arms, a desperate bid to slay the monster before him. But this old man had neither trembled nor summoned his knights.

His voice did not quake, nor did he reach for spells of destruction that Lukas knew him capable of.

"You thought I would raise a blade against you," the King muttered, reading Lukas' silence perfectly; one would think the King wore a Crown similar to the legacy that Lukas had inherited with how well he'd discerned Lukas' thoughts. "You thought I would summon every guard in this castle to drag you into chains."

"The history between your people and mine has not been one I look fondly back on. Would I be wrong to think you might do such a thing? Would I be wrong to fear for my own safety as you fear for yours? For Rosalia's?" Lukas asked, his voice as quiet as the King's.

"No." The King's lips curled faintly—not quite a smile, but something close to understanding. "Maybe once, you would have been right."

He tapped his staff against the stone floor, the sound echoing softly in the quiet chamber.

"Like I said, the world has changed, Lukas Drakos. You...are older, far older than even me. Time works differently for us, great beast. There are new wars. New threats. Not everyone thinks so harshly upon the draconic race at least not as much as they did in the past."

That, somehow, struck Lukas more deeply than he expected. His people—once feared, once hunted—had been forgotten. No. It was not the dragons themselves that had been forgotten, but the fear of their power that had gone extinct in the minds of men.

The King's golden eyes flicked toward him again, sharper now. "Many have forgotten. But I remember. I know the stories. And I know…what you are capable of."

Lukas said nothing.

The King rose slowly from his seat, walking toward Rosalia, who still slept soundly, oblivious to the weight of the moment unfolding around her. When he spoke again, his voice softened, but the edge beneath it remained.

"She is all I have left. My blood. My crown. My burden." He rested his hand gently on her hair. "I cannot always be here. One day, I will be gone. And the world will not show her kindness."

His gaze rose to meet Lukas'. "But you will."

It was not a question.

"I will." He confirmed.

"You will protect her."

"I will."

"You will never bring harm to her, nor betray her trust."

Lukas' voice, this time, was steel. "I swear it."

The King nodded, slow and grave.

"Then I shall keep your secret. I will see to it that none in this castle trouble you. You will want for nothing. My kitchens, my halls, my protection—all of it, yours. For as long as you choose to remain here."

Their conditions laid bare, the King raised one weathered hand, two fingers extended.

"Swear it properly," he said.

Lukas blinked. "You mean—?"

"On the River Styx."

Lukas could not help but smile, hearing her name once more. A sacred oath. An unbreakable bond. The promise of the old ways. The pact that not even gods dared to violate. He missed her dearly. Without hesitation, Lukas extended his own hand, draconic scales shimmering faintly in the candlelight.

"I, Lukas Drakos, Dragon Lord of the Sea, swear upon the River Styx that I shall watch over and protect Princess Rosalia of Easthaven, until the end of my days, or until she no longer desires my protection."

The old man's voice followed, smooth and steady, laced with a power that thrummed through the stones beneath them.

"I, Magnus Elarion, King of Easthaven, swear upon the River Styx that I shall keep the secret of Lukas Drakos, Dragon Lord of the Sea, and provide him safety, provisions, and all manner of courtesy within my halls, for as long as he chooses to remain."

A faint tremor passed through the air—the pact sealed, ancient and immutable. Somewhere in the depths of the Underworld, Styx smiled as she heard the man she had fallen in love with say her name. They lowered their hands.

For the first time that night, the King's features softened.

"We are now bound by this Oath, Dragon Lord."

Lukas inclined his head. "We are."

Magnus Elarion turned to leave, pausing only once at the doorway.

"And Lukas…" His voice dropped, almost teasing, but there was a knowing glint in his eye. "Perhaps next time, pick a better place to hide."

A slow, reluctant grin pulled at Lukas' lips. "I'll try my best, Your Majesty."

The door creaked shut, leaving Lukas alone with Rosalia's gentle breathing and the distant sound of waves breaking against the castle walls.

The old man drew in a sharp breath. How foolish of him to think that the last of days would be anything but peaceful. He smiled, shaking as his head as he walked through the hallways of the Palace.

The Age of Dragons had not come to an end just yet.

In fact, Magnus Elarion had a feeling that the Age of Dragons would soon be upon the lands of Hiraeth once more. And this time...the Kingdoms of Humanity wouldn't be a damn thing they could do about it.