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

Lukas sat quietly in the Head Mage's chambers, a room thick with the scent of parchment, old ink, and the faint scent of smoldering magical residue. Across from him sat Magnus Elarion—King of Easthaven, Head Mage of the Tower, and the most powerful living human mage Hiraeth had seen since the era of the Hero From Another World. Behind Magnus stood Rosalia, his granddaughter, her hands moving deftly as she flipped through letters and formal documents awaiting her grandfather's attention.

Magnus looked tired. Not just physically, but worn down in a way that went beyond the flesh.

The old man had worked himself to the bone these past five years—ever since he had made that promise to Lukas and Jesse atop the Highest Floor of the Tower.

Lukas could not have asked for more.

Because the old man had followed through on his word, built what needed to be built and created what needed to be created. But in doing so, in working harder than Magnus ever had in a long time, he had paid the price.

It had been a price that Magnus was more than willing to pay but a price that had taken its toll on his mortality. It showed in the tremble of his fingers, the long silences before he spoke, the way he sometimes stared off as if struggling to hold onto the present.

Lukas could see it, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. From the look in Rosalia's eyes—the quiet urgency with which she assisted her grandfather in both his duties as King of Easthaven and Head Mage of the Tower—she could see it too.

Everyone knew that his time was running short. So Rosalia stayed close. She worked beside him. She made sure he was never alone. Because none of them knew when it was the last time they'd see him again. Lukas himself made time to visit the old man everyday, even if it was just for a few moments.

The three of them now sat in stillness, gathered in the heart of Magnus' quarters.

Between them rested two glimmering crystals—palm-sized, shaped like teardrops, glowing faintly with blue and silver light; artifacts of Magnus' own creation, the magic crystals that allowed for personal communication.

The crystals were currently tuned to two individuals.

One to King Daerion Ittriki of Nozar. The other to Celina, the Divine Knight of the Church. Both of them sat deep beyond the Wall and within the Inner Cities of Nozar—but through these crystals, they might as well have been seated across the room and that was necessary.

For what they were discussing was no small matter. They were discussing the Duel.

The Duel for the position of the new Divine Knight Candidate.

It was the long-anticipated fight between Rosalia and Soren, both now of age, both now standing on the threshold of becoming the next holy warrior of the Church. It was a trial that would determine more than just strength—it would decide succession, allegiance, and the future of the Church's most sacred role.

The whole world would be watching, holding their breath to see what was to come of this fight.

Everyone—kings, noblemen, and commoners alike—awaited the outcome of this battle between the lastest heirs of a world broken by war.

Celina's voice came faint and clear through the crystal. Calm, disciplined, unwavering—the voice of a Knight who had survived a thousand storms, and yet still carried the tone of someone bracing for the next.

The Divine Knight had traveled to Nozar months ago. Celina had planned to escort King Daerion and his royal fleet, along with Soren—the boy raised to challenge Rosalia for the mantle of Divine Knight Candidate—to Easthaven.

It was a journey that had been planned long ago, set to conclude in Easthaven where the Duel would be held before the people, just as agreed upon all those years ago when the Church first chose Soren and Rosalia as Challengers for the position of Candidate.

The problem they had now was with the seas. The storms all over Hiraeth had grown progressively more wild and unruly. Even with the elemental barriers summoned by the most skilled weathering mages in the land—the passage had become too dangerous for anyone who wished to traverse the waters.

Celina was explaining to them now that the journey back to Easthaven was not just going to be difficult.

It would be suicidal.

Daerion's voice followed hers, rumbling through the second crystal. Measured, regal, but unmistakably strained.

"I speak only in reason, Magnus," Daerion explained. "The sea is not as it once was. We can barely see the sky beyond the waves. This is no storm born of nature—this is fury made manifest. Perhaps even fury with divine origins. I do not believe we will make it to Easthaven by next month. I cannot risk the lives of an entire fleet to keep a date we set years ago. I propose we postpone the duel until the sea calms…until the world itself permits it to be."

A silence settled in the chamber.

Magnus' hands, veined and trembling, gripped the arms of his chair. His eyes were narrowed, not in anger—but in frustration buried deep beneath the weight of years and failing strength.

It was clear the old man wanted to deny Daerion outright. To declare the duel must go on, as scheduled, no matter the tides.

But he couldn't. Because Daerion was right.

This storm that continued to rage across the seas of Hiraeth was not normal.

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It hadn't been for years now.

The ocean roared as if something ancient stirred beneath its surface. And for all Magnus' wisdom and all his magical might, even he knew better than to play god against the will of the deep.

"I understand," Magnus finally said, voice low. "Just…just give me a moment to think."

The crystal dimmed. The old King of Easthaven closed his eyes, and for the first time since the conversation began, he leaned back in his chair as if the weight of the years had finally caught up to him in that very instant.

A long breath escaped his lips.

Rosalia, silent until now, stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on her grandfather's shoulder. But her gaze didn't stay with him.

It had found Lukas'.

For a single heartbeat, the worry in her expression broke through the smile she always wore. It was the worry that came from knowing that Lukas' time in Easthaven was coming to an end.

Lukas had once promised Lady Kaitlyn Drakos that he would return to Linemall before the Draconic Summit began.

That promise was sacred. The kind of promise made not by warriors, but by Lords. To fulfill that promise he had made to the Royal Consort of the Drakos Household, that meant that he might not be here for her Duel if this weather persisted and it did not seem like the state of the seas was going to improve any time soon.

Lukas wouldn't be there to cheer for her. Lukas wouldn't see her dream realized.

Lukas had stood beside her through everything since she was no older than ten and now, when she would finally be finally fighting for all that she had wanted, Rosalia would have to do it without him in the crowd.

Was that something that Lukas could really accept?

Lukas stopped to think before something occurred to him.

The words he was about to say were not rushed.

They were not impulsive.

They came after a moment of real consideration—like puzzle pieces falling into place.

His eyes met Rosalia's once more. Lukas shifted in his seat, then leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on the faintly glowing crystal before him.

Then he finally spoke.

"King Daerion. Lady Celina."

His voice rang clear—not forceful, not commanding, but confident and grounded, the kind of voice that turned heads in war councils and held attention in royal courts. The kind of voice that carried weight.

Celina was the first to respond. Her tone softened almost imperceptibly.

"Klein." she called, Lukas could hear the smile in her voice. There was warmth there. Respect earned through months of cooperation, of standing side-by-side during Rosalia's training, of long hours spent forging the princess into something worthy of legacy. Still, their relationship remained purely platonic which Lukas appreciated Celina for respecting.

Daerion followed with a chuckle, the sound rough and regal all at once.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said. "It's been some time since we've last spoken, Klein."

Lukas didn't laugh. He didn't smile. His gaze remained steady.

"How long would it take?" Lukas asked, cutting through the air like a blade. "How long would it take for you to travel to Easthaven from Nozar?"

Daerion didn't answer at first. The King of Nozar was no fool. There was a reason why Lukas had asked that question but why?

Eventually, Daerion gave him a response.

"We can be in Easthaven in four weeks," Daerion answered, carefully. "But as I told Magnus, the seas aren't calm. It's a death sentence out there, even with Nozari Royal Mages on board. Why are you asking this, Klein?"

The silence that followed was short—but thick with tension.

Rosalia turned to Lukas fully now, her brows drawing together in confusion. Magnus, still seated in that great worn chair, said nothing. The old man trusted Lukas. Like he had trusted him so many times before.

The King of Easthaven did not understand what Lukas was getting at either but he let his former apprentice continue.

Lukas inhaled slowly, deeply.

This was not bravado. This was not recklessness. This was intention.

A decision born of responsibility, of power, and of promise.

"You have a month," Lukas stated.

Daerion made a sound—half scoff, half-laugh—as if trying to decide whether he'd misheard or been insulted.

Celina spoke up now, the confusion clear in her voice.

"A month?" she asked. "Klein, what do you mean by that?"

Lukas didn't flinch. "You have a month to get to Easthaven, King Daerion. In that month, I will calm the seas. A month is all you have."

The words dropped like iron into the room. Even Magnus straightened in his seat, just slightly. Rosalia's lips parted, but no words came out.

Celina said nothing while Lukas heard a sound that he could only assume was Daerion standing very suddenly and now staring through the crystal as if trying to judge whether this man he knew as Klein was joking or simply delusional.

Lukas had grown stronger, he knew that. But he had not tested the true limits of what he was capable of. Not yet.

Lukas wanted to be here for Rosalia when she went up against Soren. But he also knew that the Draconic Summit was not waiting for anybody.

He had made a promise to return to Linemall. But he had also made a promise to be there for Rosalia no matter what.

He had to kill two birds with one stone. This was the stone he needed.

"I will hold back the sea's fury with my own hands. You will have safe passage, King Daerion, I promise you that. This Duel, it will happen on the date that was set."

Stillness lingered in the room like the breath before a storm. Then, faintly, Daerion's voice came through again—no longer laughing. "What you are saying, Klein, is not something that any human has ever been capable of achieving. How do I know that you are not bluffing?"

"I swear it on the River Styx." Lukas smiled as he said her name, knowing that she would hear his solemn promise.

Daerion took in a sharp breath, one of pure disbelief. "I'll be damned, Klein. Then...may Styx oversee this oath and punish those who break it."