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

Lukas stood at the edge of the docks beside Rosalia, watching the Merchant Guild's ship being loaded with the last of their crates. The creak of wood, the barked orders of dockworkers, and the cry of gulls filled the air; all of it folding into a rhythm he found oddly calming. Perhaps it was only calming because they were finally leaving Nozar and finally putting the Inner Cities of this Kingdom behind them.

It was customary, after the Celebration, for foreign dignitaries and noble guests to linger a little longer—to drink, to barter and to make promises they might never keep.

But that tradition had been cut short for the Merchant Guild and the Princess of Easthaven.

The sudden death of the Archmage Varian had shaken the Inner Cities to their bones, and the Merchant Guild had wasted no time in announcing their early departure for Easthaven. Officially, it was out of respect—to ensure the Archmage would be laid to rest with the dignity he deserved. But truthfully, it was out of fear.

Lukas did not care how the old man had died—be it natural causes or something more insidious.

All he knew was that they weren't safe in Nozar anymore.

Lukas did not need more bad omens, he did not need more accidents to know that they had been here for long enough. His instincts were screaming to leave. And he'd learned a long time ago to listen when they did.

The only reason why he felt a drop of serenity was because he knew they were finally saying goodbye to these Inner Cities. Nozar had always seemed dystopian to him. There was a coldness to the city, hidden behind its marble towers and gold-gilded smiles especially within these walls that separated the Inner from the Outer.

Now, with Varian gone, that coldness felt sharper and even more deliberate.

Since his talk with Ellion, Lukas had tripled their security.

Rosalia and Velena were never to be left alone. If Jesse wasn't by their side, then Lukas made sure he was. There would be no exceptions. Until they were out of Nozar's waters, he would remain cautious and ruthlessly so. Even when Rosalia had gone to say her goodbyes to Maelis, Lukas had insisted on accompanying her. Maelis and Lukas had made peace which was why Rosalia's uncle was not bothered when he had been there for Rosalia to say her final goodbyes. But Lukas had not let Rosalia out of his sight, not even for a second.

Lukas had made a promise that he would keep Rosalia safe and he would do just that.

Meanwhile, Jesse and Velena were further down the dock; overseeing the final checks with their usual efficiency. They had spent the hour making the rounds, collecting names and promises from nobles who had shown interest in the Shard of Obedience. And there had been many names for them to take note of. Now, with their contacts secured and nothing left to gain, there was no reason to linger in Nozar any longer.

Just as Lukas turned to call out to Jesse that ask if they were ready to depart, movement from the far end of the dock caught his eye. Two figures approached—they were familiar ones: The Beastkin of the Morningeyes Clan.

"Klein," Rowan greeted, voice low and clear. "Princess Rosalia."

His younger sister did the same. But Serenya's eyes seemed fixated on the young girl who stood beside Lukas. There was a curious sharpness in her gaze—not hostile, but assessing, as if weighing the girl in her mind.

"It is a shame you are leaving so soon," Serenya said at last, "I would have liked for you to stay a little longer. I would have liked to get to know the girl who defeated my dear apprentice a little better."

Rosalia blinked, caught off guard. Even though the Admiral had escorted Velena and Rosalia to the Celebration the previous day, it seemed like Serenya had never brought this up before. "Soren is your apprentice?"

Serenya nodded. "Yes. I have been training him since he was but a toddler. I could never find a chance to mention it earlier." Her gaze softened slightly. "He is strong. Very strong. But you...you are stronger."

Rosalia shifted awkwardly, laughing under her breath.

"Young girl," Serenya proclaimed, her voice low and firm, "you should take pride in your victory. The Ittriki Clan does not raise weaklings. If you bested Soren, it means you were stronger than him. That is all that matters."

Rosalia didn't quite know what to say to that. She bowed her head respectfully instead, murmuring a quiet thank you.

Rowan chuckled beside her and turned to Lukas. "Have you ever met another Ittriki besides the King and his bastard?"

Lukas raised a brow at the question. "Yes, actually. I have met both the younger princes of Nozar."

Rowan's expression shifted, but not in a way Lukas could read. Something behind his eyes seemed to flicker—not surprise, but thoughtfulness.

"We're going to visit Prince Darren on our way out of here!" Rosalia added.

There was a long pause before Rowan responded. "So, it is true then. You are leaving so soon?"

Lukas nodded. "Varian deserves to be laid to rest in Easthaven. That's where his students are. That is where he belongs."

Rowan inclined his head. "That is quite noble of you." He looked to the wall that separated the Inner and Outer Cities for a moment, his voice softer. "Still. I wish you could've stayed longer. There was much I would've liked to discuss."

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Before Lukas could respond, Rowan glanced back at him. "Were you close to him? Varian, I mean."

The question struck deeper than Lukas expected. Had he been close to Varian? Lukas honestly did not know. Varian had been a strange man but he had been a good one. But did he ever really get to know the Archmage personally?

Then, the horns on the Guild's ship blew—a low, rolling note that echoed across the water, signalling final call for boarding.

Their time to depart had come.

Rosalia turned, giving a respectful bow to the siblings. "Thank you both. It was a pleasure to meet you two."

Lukas stepped forward and extended his hand to Rowan. The Head of the Morningeyes Clan clasped it, firm and without pretense.

"When you find time," Rowan added, holding his grip for a moment longer, "you should visit Khaitish. I can show you around, give you a personal tour of the lands."

The Beastkin proceeded to pull out a crystal—pale and angular, pulsing faintly with internal light.

"Here," Rowan told Lukas, pressing it into Lukas' palm. "With this, you'll be able to reach me."

Lukas stared at it for a moment. It was a magical crystal of Magnus' designs. Not like the crystal that was able to amplify one's thoughts but more like the crystals that they'd used for the Graduation Ceremony. Allowing sponsors to communicate privately with their chosen graduates. It would allow Lukas to communicate directly with Rowan if he wished to.

"I'll think about it." Lukas replied honestly. It was likely he would one day visit Khaitish. It was good to know that he'd have a tour guide ready for him when he did step foot in the land of the Beastkin.

Serenya grabbed Rowan by the collar and tugged him back, muttering something about a lunch they had to attend.

Still, Rowan looked over his shoulder one last time, grinning like a boy caught playing with fire.

"Oh," Rowan mentioned casually, "and when you see Darren, tell him I said hi."

Lukas tilted his head. "You know him?"

Rowan's grin widened. "Why, who do you think gave me this limp?"

Then he turned and walked away, his sister groaning and swearing at him in Khaitishi as they returned to the Inner Cities.

Lukas stood still for a moment, watching the Beastkin siblings go, the crystal warm in his palm. And just like that, the ship behind him gave another long groan—its sails now catching the wind. He was damn sure that this would not be the last time he saw Rowan of the Morningeyes Clan.

The horn blew one final time. A low, resounding note that rippled across the harbor like a parting breath.

Lukas now stood on the upper deck beside Rosalia, the strong winds of Nozar catching in her red hair as the ship pulled from the docks, gliding steadily toward the great stone wall that marked the edge of the Inner Cities' dominion.

All of it shrank behind them—those gleaming towers, those marble Citadels, the illusion of peace hiding the weight of chains. He could still see the spires, the banners fluttering in the breeze, the proud silhouettes of a kingdom that paraded its civility while keeping dragons locked beneath its surface.

They were leaving, yes.

But not in triumph.

Not yet.

Lukas inhaled, eyes fixed on the slowly retreating skyline, and then he reached for it—the Crown. He didn't summon its power with anger or pride. He opened it like one might open an old wound, knowing full well the pain that would follow. And the pain came, thick and aching, as the Crown's influence spread out like a net across the city.

One by one, he found them. Their minds—dim, beaten, curled in the dark.

The Dragonborn. The Dragons. The Wyverns.

Some young, some ancient, some barely clinging to the spark that still remained. He felt the chill of their cages. The weight of their chains. The silence they'd been forced into. And through that silence, Lukas spoke.

"Forgive me."

Lukas did not speak through words, not in the way men did. The Crown allowed more than just. His sorrow became something tangible—they felt more than heard—a raw, pulsing wave of grief that swept through every dragon he touched.

"I am sorry that I cannot do more. I am sorry I must leave you behind. I know the taste of iron in your mouths, the scent of ash in your breath, the helplessness you wake to every day. And it kills me. Gods, it kills me to leave you in this place."

He clenched the railing tightly, knuckles whitening.

"But hear me now. Hear me well. This will not last forever."

His voice, if it could be called that within their minds, rang louder now—stronger, steadier, burning like fire through the haze of despair. And then, he gave them more than a promise.

"All I can ask of you is this, my people. Hold onto hope. No matter how long it takes, hold on to the flame inside you. Let it burn bright, even on the days where it's hard to hold onto that hope. Because that fire is proof that you still live. It is proof that you are still alive! And it is that fire that will shine the light to the way back home."

His throat tightened. Lukas looked out once more at the Inner Cities and felt the weight of thousands of eyes looking back towards him through stone and steel.

"I am Lukas Drakos," he whispered aloud now, voice barely carrying in the wind, "and I am the Dragon Lord of the Seas. I wish for you to hear my solemn vow. I swear this to all of you—your suffering will never be forgotten. I love you. I love each and every one of you. And I will set us all free. I swear it on the River Styx."

"May Styx oversee this oath and punish those who break it." Rosalia replied out of habit.

And then Lukas heard it.

One roar—distant and mournful—rose up from where they held his kind.

Then another. Then yet another. Until the air itself seemed to tremble, filled with the symphony of Linemall once more.

His eyes welled with tears, his chest shook, and every hair on his skin stood on end. The roars echoed across the city like the cries of a fallen empire—wounded, but not broken. Their voices bled into the wind, howling through the alleys, up the towers, through the cracks in their prisons.

The ship crossed the threshold of the great wall. But Lukas did not turn away until the last roar faded into silence. And as the salty wind caught his cloak, he whispered one final vow under his breath:

"I will come back for you. I will return. And when I do...I will free you all from your chains. I will see our people free. I swear it. If it's the last thing I do, I promise that we will see our people free."