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

Night had long fallen over the coast, and Lukas sat alone in his quarters.

From an outsider looking in, it would seem that Lukas was alone. But he was never alone, not truly.

For there was always a presence that lingered in the quiet—his loyal familiar. Someone who had saved his life one more than one occasion and someone he knew he could trust.

Lukas felt it now. The familiar stirring in the depths of his soul, like tides shifting in the dark.

The Kraken was waking from its slumber, as he often did when the sun fell beneath the sea. He had first emerged from his slumber around three years ago but that did not last for long. He had had to return to that state of recovery to conserve its energy. But the Kraken no longer needed months of rest like it once had in the early days after his rebirth.

Now, a few hours were enough. And each time, the Kraken returned with more strength than before.

Lukas' nightly routine had become something of a ritual.

Every evening, after Rosalia's training ended, after his own had long ended, he would return here. To this desk. To this room that had served him well ever since he first arrived in the Kingdom of Easthaven. Before him sat a small laboratory—compact, mobile, reminiscent of the one Varian used to carry. Ellion had gifted it to him upon request which Lukas appreciated greatly.

Lukas reached across the desk and picked up the yellowed slip of paper that he'd seen so many times before.

The edges were worn, creased from being unfolded too many times. For this was Varian's letter, the one the Archmage had written to Lukas before he had passed on.

Lukas had honestly been expecting something monumental—instructions, confessions and perhaps all the answers that Varian had promised to give them once they left Nozar.

Instead, written in that familiar scrawl, was a recipe. And it was a recipe for a potion that allowed for better sleep, created just for Lukas.

Just a list of ingredients, exact in their measurements. Simple instructions, clear and unadorned. Something even a novice could replicate, according to Ellion.

Lukas wasn't a Master of Potions; not like Ellion and certainly not like Varian. It had taken him longer than Lukas would like to admit to get the recipe right. On the back of the letter was a postscript. And in that message was the final words that Varian had left for Lukas:

P.S. All the ingredients can be found in the Magic Tower's cabinet within the Potions Lab. The fresher, the better! Don't be afraid to pop a new bottle of Bunyip Ashes for that extra kick.

Somehow the Archmage was aware of this problem Lukas always had when it came to sleep. The restlessness that gnawed at him in the dark. The way his thoughts twisted into knots whenever the world quieted too much. It had gotten worse during the journey to Nozar for the Celebration, enough for Varian to have noticed.

The Kraken stirred fully now, its voice curling into his thoughts. "You're making the potion again," he commented, his tone amused.

Lukas chuckled under his breath. "You keeping score?"

The Kraken's voice was warm. "I've lost count a long time ago."

Lukas continued brewing before following up. "How are you feeling?"

"Good. It won't be long before I no longer need to rest."

Lukas nodded, satisfied with that answer. He would never forget the debt he owed to the Kraken, his familiar could rest for as long as he pleased.

"You should have drawn on my Pool of Mana. It would've made trying to calm the seas a much easier task." The Kraken noted.

"That would defeat the purpose of attempting such a feat, my friend." Lukas replied, already expecting the remark. There were many times during that month-long endeavour where he'd had to push away the Kraken's insistent urging to use his power.

"Hm," the Kraken rumbled. "You and your trials."

"I'm sure a small part of you still loves watching me suffer."

"Perhaps."

That made Lukas laugh again, a soft but tired chuckle.

Lukas had become quite skilled at brewing this particular potion. He had done it so many times that his hands moved without needing to think—reaching, measuring, stirring, bottling all the necessary ingredients involved in the making of the potion. It was muscle memory taking over where intention used to be.

It was a simple recipe, after all just like Ellion had said. Simplicity, however, had never stopped Lukas from complicating it in his mind.

When he first read that letter, Lukas could not believe his eyes. There had to be something more to Varian's final message to him than just a recipe for good night's sleep. So Lukas spent the next year treating the damn thing like a riddle that had yet to be solved.

Lukas examined every word, every line spacing, every strange phrasing. He had tried reading between the lines, attempting to gleam the hidden message that Varian had woven into each and every word.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Nothing came of it. So Lukas focused on the recipe itself.

When Lukas finally perfected the potion, when he finally followed the instructions exactly as written and drank it—he had waited patiently for the answer to come to him then.

Instead, what followed was silence.

His limbs relaxed. His heartbeat steadied. The storm raging in his head—the doubts, the planning, the gnawing fear that he wasn't doing enough, being enough—it all faded, dissolved like salt in still water. Lukas let the tightness in his shoulders fade. He didn't brace himself against some imagined nightmare. He didn't wait for a knock on the door, or a scream from the hallway, or some whisper from the depths of the sea.

Lukas simply allowed himself to sleep. And it was the best sleep he'd had in years.

It was the kind of rest Lukas had not felt since Styx used to curl up against his side, the warmth of her body anchoring him to something quiet and good.

In that peace—in the stillness that followed—the truth finally made itself known to him.

There was no hidden message in Varian's final letter. There was no encoded warning and no answers to be found within it. There was just a recipe.

This was just Varian's way of telling Lukas that he had noticed what he had been going through and how he hoped he could help.

Lukas hadn't wanted to accept that truth at first.

Lukas had taken the letter to Ellion, to Magnus, even to Jesse—hoping one of them, with their brilliant minds and clever insights, would see what he could not. Intellect was never his strong suit after all.

Lukas was expecting them to give him an answer he could actually believe but none of them did.

They didn't find a single thing.

Eventually, Lukas had to confront the truth he had been trying to avoid since the moment he'd opened that letter. Varian hadn't written it because he had known he was going to die. Varian had written it because he'd seen how little sleep Lukas was getting.

Because, even after all his mistakes, all the walls he'd built between himself and others—Varian had cared.

And that was it. Nothing else. Nothing more.

At least that's what Lukas told himself. Because if that wasn't true—if there was something deeper and Lukas had just failed to understand it—then Lukas didn't know what he would do.

At the end of the day, that truth that Lukas had been trying so hard to deny and refuse was the truth that he found himself wanting to believe in.

The truth that Varian had not just died as one of the legendary Archmages of the Magic Tower. The truth that Varian had not just been the Master of Potions that all of Hiraeth had come to know. That maybe, in the end, the truth was that Varian had died simply as a man who had tried—however awkwardly, however imperfectly—to be kind.

A man trying to be better.

Varian was really…just a good man.

Somehow, that truth counted for more than any secret message ever could.

This was how most of Lukas' nights went and he cherished every single one of them. There was comfort in the ritual—the rhythm of repetition, the quiet murmur of conversation, the slow, measured work of his hands.

Lukas would speak with the Kraken as he prepared the potion.

Some nights, they talked about the thoughts that weighed heavy on Lukas' shoulders; of power, legacy, the burden of choices yet to come. Other nights, it was about smaller matters—Rosalia's stubbornness in training, how proud he was of Jesse and how much he had grown, how Magnus was slowly getting older with each passing day.

Whatever it was, the Kraken would always listen.

More often than not, the Cthulhu would answer with a quiet sort of wisdom that Lukas had come to rely on more than he cared to admit.

It was easy to forget sometimes—that the Kraken had lived longer than most dragons.

The Kraken had been there, fighting against Lord Jaren Drakos when he was still a young dragonborn. The Kraken had seen monarchies rise and fall, oceans shift, empires drown. The Kraken had lived long, fought hard, and survived the weight of countless ages.

And that meant more to Lukas than anything. Because even among the brilliant minds and kind hearts Lukas had come to trust—even Magnus Elarion, ancient by human standards—none of them could offer the same kind of perspective that the Kraken could.

Lukas had lived for centuries in Kairos Castle and it was just easier to relate to somebody who had done the same.

It made his bond with the Kraken different. Not louder, not more dramatic. Just quieter. Older, and even wiser.

As Lukas slowly brewed the potion, feeling the ingredients blend into a pale blue shimmer, the Kraken would eventually retreat back into slumber—his energy slowly folding inward, his power compounding in the deep.

The Kraken was growing stronger. Just like Lukas was. But he still needed more time. Time that Lukas was happy to give him.

When the Kraken's presence faded, when the room was finally quiet, Lukas would settle in at his desk and pull out another slip of parchment.

Lukas would write a letter to Styx.

He still hadn't missed a night. Not even once. Even when there wasn't much to say, even if it was just a line or two—he wrote.

Because he cared.

Lukas wrote with the same dedication that had kept him going since the beginning—a promise made to memory, to longing and to love. By the time Lukas reached the final words of his letter, the potion would be nearly finished.

The last sip always came as he signed his name. Then he would watch as the ink glow on the parchment paper and let the magic take it, watch it shimmer and vanish—carried across space, across distance, to wherever Styx waited for it.

Her reply always came swiftly. And in every reply, she always ended off with the same three words that Lukas always looked forward to: "I miss you."

Those three words were enough to make Lukas smile, even on the worst days.

That was how most of his nights ended and it was those simple, undisturbed hours that Lukas had come to treasure more than any victory. Because peace was not something the world gave freely. It was something you carved out for yourself. Something you earned. Something you protected.

If there was one thing Lukas had come to understand—one truth he carried close— it was this:

It was the little things that mattered most.

It wasn't the huge victories, the fame or the glory.

It was the quiet conversations. The small letters. The peaceful nights.

It was nights like this that he would cherish more than anything.