The silence between Lukas and Jesse was heavy. It was a fleeting, precious silence in a world that had forgotten how to mourn. Both dragons knelt there for a moment longer, giving the fallen twins a second of peace.

  When Lukas finally rose, the burden of his crown, his sins, and his victories seemed to press harder against his shoulders.

  Before he could speak, before the first word could even escape his lips, Jesse moved. The dragonborn rushed towards him and crushed Lukas in an embrace that stole the breath right out of him.

  Lukas had not been expecting it, especially from Jesse.

  Everything had happened so fast, his encounter with the Priest of Pan, the Sisters of Styx, the Shadow Fox and his fight with Anriette and finally the Tournament of Khaitish. The only thing on Lukas' mind had been getting himself here, to the Inner Cities, to the Coliseum where he would be able to fight for a chance to be granted an audience with Pythia, the one they called the High Septon.

  Now, with Jesse’s arms around him, the dragonborn’s emotions came through like a flood.

  Through the Crown and the connection it had established between their minds, Lukas felt all of Jesse's worry, the dragonborn's guilt from not having been able to protect his Lord and King when he was at his lowest.

  Jesse had never doubted Lukas or least that was what the dragonborn had forced himself to believe. Because Jesse would not have been able to bear the pain of knowing that he had failed to protect the one person that he had sworn to serve. And through all of it, Lukas could feel the love the dragonborn bore for him, touching his heart. He returned the hug, ignoring the crowd and holding Jesse tight.

  When they finally pulled away, Lukas held him at arm’s length and just took a moment to get a good look at Jesse.

  To think that just a few years ago, this dragonborn had been but a youngling who Lukas had met within the kitchens of the Royal Palace beneath Linemall's Seas. Jesse had been tiny but now the dragonborn was nearly as tall as him, a leader in his own right.

  “You’ve grown,” Lukas said softly, a hint of pride threading through his voice.

  Jesse smiled faintly, but his eyes softened. The dragonborn glanced down then, his attention drawn to something that gleamed under the sunlight, Lukas’ arm. The dragonborn’s expression shifted to curiosity, his hand instinctively reaching out. The new arm shimmered with ethereal brilliance, crafted not of flesh or metal but from the marble-white waters of the Underworld Rivers themselves. Streams of gold ran like veins through the surface, flowing and pulsing faintly with magical energy.

  “I like the new arm,” Jesse murmured, tracing a hand lightly across its surface, admiring Lukas' new attachment. “Where on Hiraeth did you find something like this?”

  Lukas’ lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “It was a wedding gift from the in-laws."

  The words hung in the air for a second before Jesse froze, his brow furrowing as if to make sure he hadn’t misheard. His head shot up. “I’m sorry—what?”

  Lukas let out a laugh, finding the look of astonishment on the dragonborn's face incredibly amusing. “You heard me.”

  “The in-laws!? When did you get married?” Jesse sputtered, his composure slipping for once. “And to who?”

  Lukas was about to give Jesse an answer but then the roar of the crowd grew restless.

  The people had come from every corner of Hiraeth for this, for spectacle, for blood and glory.

  The Tournament of Khaitish was meant to be one of great entertainment, bringing in life that the Inner Cities rarely saw. And now, after all the chaos, even after their battle with the twins, they wanted more. The calm that lingered after Lukas' and Jesse’s embrace was not what they had come to see. There was a hunger in their voices, a collective demand that refused to be satisfied with calm. They wanted violence. They wanted the excitement that this Tournament had promised them.

  Jesse knew that there would be time for conversation later and it was clear that there was much more to discuss, beyond just Lukas' love life. The dragonborn had done exactly what was required of him and more. The only reason why he had even joined the Tournament in the first place was to fight in Lukas' place such that he could meet the High Septon.

  Now that Lukas was here, there was no need for Jesse to fight any longer.

  The young heir of House Sterling gave Lukas a firm nod, turning towards the other side of the platform.

  The meaning of his action was clear to all, intentional disqualification.

  By stepping off the platform, Jesse would end the match, forfeiting victory to Lukas and putting an end to this fight before it even began.

  Lukas watched silently as Jesse walked towards the edge. He and Rosalia, they were the ones who would lead the next generation, for better or for worse. And Lukas knew that it would not be the latter.

  As Jesse neared the edge, a ripple of discontent moved through the stands.

  Whispers became protests. Protests became shouts. The audience’s dissatisfaction boiled over into outrage.

  This was not the ending they had imagined.

  They had come for a conclusion worthy of legends, for the clash of warriors who went against the limits of mortal beings, certainly not quiet surrender. Booing followed. The air grew tense, angry, almost suffocating but Jesse ignored all of it. Their shouts mattered not to him. His foot hovered near the edge of the platform, ready to step off. But before it could touch the ground below, the dragonborn moved back, seeing what others could not.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  A blade of water—sharp, fluid, and impossibly fast—erupted from the space between them. It cut clean through the stone at Jesse’s feet, carving a deep, hissing line across the dais. The force of it sent shards flying, cracking the stone that had been built to withstand the physical and magical force alike.

  The dragonborn’s head snapped back toward Lukas.

  There the King of the Dragons stood—calm and unflinching—with his hand raised. The Divinity of the Seas had awakened once more, roaring to life and filling the Coliseum once more with its intensity. The waters responded to Lukas' call, rippling and coiling around him in living patterns that defied gravity.

  Jesse Sterling was a prodigy in every sense of the word. There was no denying that.

  Yet, for years, his brilliance had existed quietly, hidden beneath Lukas Drakos’ shadow, and Jesse had been more than content to let it remain that way. In that shadow, Jesse had found purpose and direction, along with the kind of peace that came with knowing exactly who he served and why.

  But it was easy to forget, even for Lukas, that Jesse Sterling was not ordinary, not by any measure of men or even of the draconic kind. The young dragonborn was abundant with talent, as the old scholars of Hiraeth might have said, overflowing with potential, both in terms of his intelligence and his magical prowess.

  Lukas may have had strength but that had come from pure grit and madness, tested by time and guided by a being from beyond the veil.

  Jesse had inherited his first Legacy of the Dragon Lords, the Crown, at an age even younger than Lukas had. That was a feat that put him above most, if not all of the Dragon Lords who had come before him. As the hidden, and now the acting head—a position that demanded not only might but both cunning and patience—Jesse had brought the Merchant Guild to heights unimaginable; cementing its place among the most powerful factions in all of Hiraeth. That path had not been an easy one, filled with those who stood in his way and threatened to take everything from him. But none had ever stood a chance against the Dragoborn of the Skies.

  A single thought had struck Lukas as he had watched Jesse make his way across the stone platform.

  Had Jesse ever been pushed to his limits? Had anyone ever truly tested the depths of his power, pushed him to the limits and get a glimpse of how deep that potential really was?

  The answer was a resounding no.

  The twins, Rasta and Adonis, had been formidable, yes, like the strongest opponents that the dragonborn had faced thus far. But Jesse had fought them with Lukas at his side, with the Divinity of the Seas shielding him, buying him the time and space to deliver the finishing blow.

  Would Jesse have triumphed without that support?

  Would the dragonborn still be standing if Lukas hadn’t been there to protect him?

  The answer to that question mattered more than ever.

  Because Jesse wasn’t just any other warrior.

  He wasn't just the heir of House Sterling nor House Ilagron.

  He was the future.

  The world of Hiraeth, fractured and rebuilding, would one day rest in Jesse’s hands. And before that day came, Lukas knew that it was his duty, his responsibility, during his remaining time here within the Land of the Living, to make sure Jesse could bear the weight of all that Lukas was leaving behind.

  That was why Lukas could not let the dragonborn surrender just like that.

  Jesse’s head had whipped around in confusion, his expression torn between shock and disbelief. “Lukas, what are you doing?” the dragonborn asked.

  Lukas smiled. He spread his arms wide, as though presenting the entire Coliseum before them.

  His voice boomed, amplified through the Crown, for all sitting within the Coliseum to hear.

  “They’ve come here for a fight like they’ve never seen before, Jesse!” Lukas shouted, his tone bright with challenge. “Don’t you think we should make their money’s worth?”

  For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold still and then it erupted.

  The crowd exploded into cheers. The disapproval from before turned into thunderous approval, a frenzy of excitement that rolled through the Coliseum like a living thing. They stomped their feet against the stone floors, their roars merging into a rhythm. It was chaotic at first, but then synchronizing, beat by beat, until it became something real.

  The sound—the rising, pulsing rhythm—was unmistakable.

  Lollapalooza.

  It was more than a chant, more than noise.

  It was tradition.

  The sacred ritual of the Coliseum, a call to arms that had echoed through generations. In Khaitish, Lollapalooza marked the beginning of something legendary—a battle so fierce and extraordinary, that it would be sung of for centuries after.

  This was a fight that all who had gathered here today would never forget for the rest of their lives.

  The very air seemed to tremble beneath the sound, as if the world itself was readying to witness what came next.

  “Come now, Jesse,” he said, voice lowering but carrying all the same. “The stage…is yours. Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget.”

  For a moment, Jesse just stared at him. But then the corners of his lips twitched upward into a grin that was pure challenge. The light shifted around him as his power awakened—the Divinity of the Skies, radiant and boundless, spilling out in an aura of wind and lightning.

  Lukas laughed, a low, genuine sound that carried both warmth and pride.

  That was all the answer he needed.

  The Coliseum blazed with light as two forces began to stir—one born of the endless seas, the other of the boundless skies. Lukas’ power rippled outward. The floor beneath him shimmered with liquid radiance, the air tasting of salt and storm. Water coiled around his form like serpents made of moonlight, each motion graceful yet charged with deadly potential.

  Across from him, Jesse stood tall, rising from the ground as the crackle of lightning began to form. Winds circled him in perfect synchronization, drawing his aura into a brilliant cyclone that roared in harmony with Lukas’ waves.

  There, within the Coliseum, stood the sons of Linemall.

  One of House Drakos, a child of Linemall's Seas. The other of House Sterling, a child of Linemall's Skies.

  Water and Wind.

  Sea and Storm.

  The legacy of the two Great Houses that had once led the Kingdom of Dragons, preparing now to collide once more, not just as rivals, but as brothers destined to test the limits of each other’s greatness. When Lukas raised his hand again and Jesse readied himself, even the gods themselves beyond this realm seemed to lean closer, waiting to see which force—the Seas or the Skies—would reign supreme.

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