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

By day, the Great Houses of Linemall avoided each other with practiced ease; wary gazes and quiet maneuvering holding the uneasy peace intact. When night fell, tradition demanded otherwise. The dining hall was filled to the brim and it was here where the different factions of Linemall set aside their grudges to break bread beneath the vaulted ceilings within these Ancestral Lands.

They gathered together along several long tables, cloaked in courtesy, hoping that peace could be brokered over shared wine and meat. This night began as all the others had with House Telaryon and House Isthar already seated, their conversations quiet and tense, while servants hurried to fill goblets and lay platters across the polished wood.

Yet the absence of House Drakos did not go unnoticed.

Whispers passed like wind through grass, speculation muttered but left unresolved.

Erandyl's sharp eyes flicked toward Rysenth, who offered only a shrug, his expression as unreadable as the flickering flames he commanded.

The sound of doors crashing open ended all pretense as Lukas Drakos entered, with Selene of Dawn and Katrina Drakos by his side.

But it was what he carried that froze every word and every hand in place.

Three bodies, limp and broken, dangled from Lukas' grip.

The hall fell silent, the scraping of utensils against plates cut short and the laughter of younger dragonborn dying in their throats.

The Dragon Lord of the Seas, moved to the center of the chamber and let the corpses fall with a thud that echoed in every corner of the dining hall. At the same time, Katrina moved swiftly and guided Valkari away from the table she sat at among other of the Earthborn, her whispers soft but urgent in the Dragonborn's ear. Selene, too, parted from Lukas' side, approaching Kaela Telaryon with quiet purpose; her words intended only for her alone.

Yet all of that quiet maneuvering was only the background to the storm beginning to brew at the center of the hall.

Rysenth had risen sharply, his chair sliding back across the stone floor. Erandyl, who had lounged with feline ease, now shifted onto her hind legs and her brow arched in question, but her gaze sharp and unrelenting upon Lukas.

Lukas' voice cut through the silence, harsh as breaking waves.

He pointed at Rysenth and directed his next words at everybody who had stood from where they sat.

"Sit." The command carried not just anger, but authority carved from grief.

Lukas took in a sharp breath before speaking again.

These words were ones that none here would ever forget.

"The Royal Consort of the Seas is dead. My father's wife is dead. The Lady Kaitlyn Drakos is dead!"

The words slammed into the room like a hurricane.

Erandyl flinched despite herself, her mask of composure cracking just enough for Lukas to glimpse the anguish beneath. Kaitlyn had always been and would always be of House Telaryon, regardless of what name she now bore. And now, the Dragon Lord of the Earth was being told that her granddaughter was dead.

Rysenth remained standing, shock plain upon his features.

The Ancestral Lands had been inviolate for centuries, a place where bloodshed had no place, where peace had been sworn and it had held strong since the Monarch's reign ended.

Now, that peace lay broken before them all.

Lukas did not flinch at the uproar that filled the dining hall. He simply raised his hand, the Crown upon his brow igniting with power. In an instant, the voices that filled the air were no longer voices at all, but threads of thought, their minds pulled taut under his command. His words pressed into them directly, his fury undeniable, his grief flooding into their skulls like a tide that could not be resisted.

"Sit!"

Still, the noise persisted—until Erandyl rose. Her Crown flared, brighter than molten fire, and she roared. It was not a sound for ears but for bones, for the Earth itself, a command that shook the stone floor beneath their feet. She was like a mother chastising disobedient children. The air itself shuddered under the force of her will, and silence fell like a curtain. Every pair of eyes turned toward the Dragon Lord of the Earth, and the anger burning in her gaze froze even the boldest among them. "Explain yourself, young Drakos." She said through their personal connection. It was an order. Not a request.

So Lukas spoke.

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His voice was steady, but the raw edge of it carried through their link; grief sharp as broken glass.

An hour ago, Lukas told them, they had been ambushed by three masked assailants.

The Lady Kaitlyn Drakos, the Royal Consort of the Seas, had fought valiantly but she had not survived.

Erandyl's great head lowered slightly, the rage in her eyes dimmed by sorrow. Her thoughts pierced into Lukas' mind alone, her question private: "If it was an hour ago, why did you not come for help sooner?"

His reply was heavy, burdened with despair. "It all happened so fast. We tried to stop the bleeding. We really did. By the time we could think of calling, it was already too late. She was gone. Just like that."

That truth hung between them, bitter and immovable.

Then Lukas reached into his cloak.

When his hand came forth, it held a dagger slick with blood, its edge catching the firelight.

Lukas lifted it for all to see. "This," he declared, his voice rough, "is the blade that put an end to her life."

Across the dining hall, Rysenth stiffened. His hand moved instinctively to his side—as if searching for something that should have been there. Lukas' hand gestured toward the three corpses, now stripped of their masks, their faces laid bare for judgment.

One face stole the breath from the room.

"Malrik," Rysenth whispered, his voice breaking and his eyes widening in disbelief as he shoved past his own kin, dropping to his knees before the body of his most trusted advisor. Shock warred with betrayal across his features, his hands trembling as they hovered over the ruined chest.

Lukas did not pause for sympathy. His words were iron. "These attackers were not silent assassins. Their message was loud and clear. His final words were that House Isthar sends their regards. And to burn in the flames and return to the ashes."

A silence followed, thicker than smoke. It was the silence before fire caught, before steel was drawn.

And then Valkari shattered it. She tore herself from Katrina's grasp and strode past her brother, her eyes fixed on Malrik's corpse. With a hiss of contempt, Valkari spat upon the dead dragonborn that Rysenth held so tenderly in his arms, her voice low and venomous. "Good fuckin' riddance."

That was the spark.

It was the final straw.

In this moment, the fragile peace of the Ancestral Lands fractured and chaos rushed in to claim its territory.

Rysenth rose slowly from where he knelt, the body of Malrik still cradled in his arms. His eyes were ablaze, the fury in them enough to scorch the very air. His men closed ranks around him, answering his rage with their own, claws sharp and teeth bared.

Yet Valkari did not waver.

She stood tall, her cold defiance burning like a torch against the storm.

The Dragonborn of the Earth moved to her side, led by Kaela Telaryon herself, tears streaking her cheeks but her voice hard as stone.

The lines were being drawn.

The Earthborn had never forgiven Lady Kaitlyn for abandoning her kin, for leaving their soil to take on the Drakos name. But whatever she had chosen to do with her life, Kaitlyn had been of House Telaryon first above all. She had been of the Earth and nothing could erase that. And in some strange way, they still cared about her; made clear in the hard eyes they now turned upon Rysenth and his men.

The hall pressed in around Lukas, suffocating.

Voices overlapped in chaos, accusations hurled, curses spat, every word a spark on tinder.

Lukas raised both hands, desperate to prevent the eruption that was bound to come.

"Enough!" His voice broke through the storm, but only barely.

It was Erandyl who steadied it. Her roar split the air like a landslide, echoing through the bones of every dragon present. Through the Crown, she lashed her kin with her will, ordering them to stand down. Even the fiercest Earthborn faltered beneath the command, their voices stilled if not their anger.

Lukas turned back to Rysenth, pleading. "Listen to me. You need to listen to me. This is not—"

But there was no reaching him.

The Crown flared into existence upon Rysenth's brow, molten light spilling like fire across the hall. His Legacy unleashed, his emotions crashed over them all in a torrent so fierce it was almost painful to endure. Rage, grief, betrayal—they scorched every heart his Crown touched. The Dragon Lord of the Flames lifted Malrik higher, holding his fallen advisor close as though he were not dead but merely sleeping.

When Rysenth straightened to his full height, his presence was overwhelming.

In their humanoid forms, the Dragon Lord of the Flames towered above Lukas, eyes burning like two infernos.

"I have nothing left to say to you," Rysenth said, his voice low, deadly.

The hall froze.

Then, louder, so all could hear: "Lukas Drakos has slandered my name. He has spilled the blood of my people and laid blame at my feet for a crime I did not commit. And that…" His voice cracked into a roar. "…is something I cannot forgive."

The silence was absolute.

Every Elder, every Dragonborn, every soul present felt the weight of what was to come.

"I invoke the Rite of Talons," Rysenth declared, his words thunder.

Gasps rippled through the chamber.

The Rite of Talons—an ancient draconic custom, older than the Kingdom of Linemall itself. It was said that the Lords rose to their level of power through this tradition. It was a duel not of sport, but of honor, a battle to the death that could never be refused once spoken.

The combatants would fight until only one remained standing.

Rysenth's gaze locked onto Lukas, unyielding, unbreakable. "At dawn, you will meet me beneath the open sky. And I will kill you, Lukas Drakos for all that you have done to me."