The surface of the ocean waters all around Lukas shimmered with impossible stillness. The Divinity of the Seas pulsed faintly beneath his control, its essence responding to his every thought.

  Lukas did not move from where he stood on the stone platform, across from Jesse who stood on the other side.

  Lukas did not move because he did not need to.

  The battle had already begun the moment the waves rose to his call.

  Torrents of water spiraled into existence around him, spinning faster until they solidified into sharp, cutting slashes that darted through the air. The liquid blades screamed as they shot forward forward, a storm of liquid fury given form, each one imbued with precision and accuracy. They struck Jesse in a heartbeat, blades of water colliding against his figure with enough force to tear apart the stone they now stood on.

  But Jesse did not flinch. He did not move either from where he had stood.

  Where flesh should have been torn apart, the water parted instead.

  A shimmer rippled across Jesse’s form, a flare of golden-white light surging from beneath his skin. Scales erupted along his arms, neck, and chest, the sound like glass cracking under pressure. A pulse of draconic power washed outward, shattering Lukas’s water constructs mid-air. The droplets fell harmlessly to the ground as the defensive aura settled around Jesse, an unyielding barrier that rippled with ancient magic.

  Lukas’s eyes narrowed as faintest smile touched his lips.

  The Robes of the Lord.

  There was no mistaking that sheen, the faint, almost liquid glow of fabric woven from the mystic threads of that Legacy of the Lords.

  Jesse had not moved because he had wanted Lukas to see that he had not only inherited the Crown but now the Robes. No elemental force could touch one who was deemed worthy enough to be cloaked in that Legacy.

  The dragonborn had now inherited two Legacies at an age younger than any Dragon Lord before him.

  Though their telepathic bond that had been established by Lukas' own Crown had severed when the duel began, Lukas understood the message loud and clear.

  This was not merely a fight.

  For Jesse Sterling, it was a declaration to the King of the Dragons, his King, to prove how far he had truly come after all of these years.

  The blades of water rose once more from the ground, thicker now, the liquid compressing until it gleamed like polished crystal. Lukas wove them into shapes that he knew well. Great draconic talons rising from the waves, serpentine bodies coiling through the air, and humanoid silhouettes strode across the flooded platform; all of it guided by his will alone.

  The constructs lunged forward, converging on Jesse from all sides.

  Lukas remained unmoving, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze steady and analytical. He wanted to see, to test Jesse and measure his strength.

  But then, there was a flicker, a blur. The air itself rippled and Jesse was gone just like that.

  This was no magic.

  It was speed.

  Speed was Jesse Sterling’s greatest weapon.

  His body moved like the winds that he controlled, bending the air around him as if he were born of it. Even without calling upon the Divinity of the Skies, Jesse’s movements mirrored the very element his soul was attuned to.

  This was pure physicality alone and it was astounding.

  Lukas watched from the eye of the storm, unmoving, his expression unreadable beneath the roaring waves of power that surrounded him. The constructs of water lunged and twisted at his silent command—serpents snapping their jaws, talons slicing through the air—but Jesse was already gone each time they struck.

  The dragonborn's body spun, dipped, and soared, twisting through impossible angles, each motion precise and instinctual. He was not simply avoiding Lukas’s attacks; he was dancing between and away them.

  Every time Lukas’s water constructs struck out, Jesse slipped past by a fraction of an inch, his cloak catching droplets that turned to mist behind him. The winds answered his movement, spiraling around his limbs, propelling him further. It was as though the battlefield itself bent to accommodate him, reshaping the air to grant him passage.

  Just as Lukas commanded the waters, Jesse commanded the very air itself all around them.

  Lukas' eyes tracked every movement, not with frustration, but fascination. He might have very well been able to end this fight here and now. He could have unleashed the full might of the Divinity of the Seas and drowned this entire arena in water that was under his control alone.

  But he didn’t.

  Lukas let Jesse close the distance. He wanted him to. Because Lukas Drakos was not here to win. He was here to see who Jesse had become.

  The dragonborn moved in close, closing the final meters in a surge of wind so violent that it sent ripples across the stone platform.

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  Jesse’s strikes came in quick bursts, blinding and sharp. Lukas could almost describe it as graceful in execution. Each one sang through the air with blistering speeds but Lukas deflected them with minimal movement, his forearm catching the strikes with an ease born of pure instinct and experience.

  The dragonborn's speed was breathtaking, but Lukas could see the flaws in every movement.

  Jesse's rhythm faltered when pressured, his angles too aggressive, his footing too light and even unstable.

  Perhaps Lukas had judged Jesse too soon because the dragonborn caught him off guard just a second later.

  The next time Jesse struck, his arm grew. His entire right limb shimmered with radiant white light, bones shifting, muscles swelling, scales bursting forth in gleaming layers that caught the sun. The transformation was fluid, like molten silver poured over flesh. His humanoid arm became draconic—a weapon of scale and sinew—bursting in size and reach.

  Lukas’ eyes widened, a flicker of recognition and satisfaction flashing across his face.

  The claw swept across Lukas’s cheek.

  It was fast, so fast that even the Divinity of the Seas could not fully react in time.

  A single crimson line bloomed against Lukas' skin.

  Jesse himself stopped when he saw it, as if he himself could not believe that he had drawn blood.

  For a heartbeat, there was silence.

  Then Lukas laughed. A deep, genuine laugh that cut through the noise of the battle. He raised a hand, wiping the blood away with the back of his palm, and smiled at the dragonborn standing before him.

  All this time, the dragonborn had been watching him.

  The Draconic Flow was a technique that all the dragonborn knew well, allowing them to shift between their draconic and humanoid forms for the sake of cultivating power. But it was Lukas who had made it more than just a simple cultivation technique. Now, that same martial art Lukas himself had perfected over centuries within Kairos Castle had found itself in the hands of Jesse Sterling.

  All eyes had been on Jesse Sterling since the day he stood before the most powerful men in all of Hiraeth, within the Inner Cities of Nozar. But even as he served as the hidden and now acting Head of the Merchant Guild, balancing treaties and trade routes, the young dragonborn had never once allowed his claws to be dulled.

  Every movement, every strike he delivered spoke of discipline refined through solitude.

  Jesse had nearly mastered the Draconic Arts to a level that was comparable to Lukas.

  Lukas could feel it now, the young dragonborn’s power resonating with his own, the faint hum of shared lineage and legacy.

  Jesse Sterling had drawn blood from the King of the Dragons. And Lukas Drakos could not have been prouder.

  The crowd could barely keep up with them.

  To them, the two dragons had become flashes of motion, their forms reduced to streaks that collided and vanished in the same breath.

  Few among them understood what kind of power they were witnessing, but none dared to look away.

  Even without comprehension, the sheer force in their clashes demanded reverence.

  All of this was impressive. But still it was not enough for Lukas.

  Jesse was a prodigy in every sense of the word, his speed was awe-inspiring and his application of the Draconic Arts nearly flawless, but Lukas needed more from the dragonborn. Natural talent was never enough to touch true greatness. Lukas needed Jesse to reach for something higher—to be pushed to the brink, where instinct, power, and spirit all converged into something transcendent.

  So, he pressed him further.

  Lukas could not match Jesse's speed.

  The young dragonborn’s movements were far faster, his reflexes bordering on the impossible.

  But Lukas did not rely on speed alone.

  Where Jesse’s body raced, Lukas’s mind calculated. Every twitch of muscle, every shift told him where Jesse would move next. The Divinity of the Seas, the awareness it gave Lukas made up for that difference between their physical capabilities. Lukas' reactions were instantaneous and precise, there was no wasted effort in every step he took, not a single unnecessary movement in each parry and strike.

  Where Jesse moved like the wind, Lukas flowed like water; both of them like living embodiments of the elements they controlled.

  Their clash became like a dance of dragons.

  Jesse would strike, claws flashing, only for Lukas to pivot, his form gliding a fraction to the left or right. The dragonborn's attacks hit nothing but air, his claws slicing through empty space where Lukas had been a heartbeat before.

  The frustration began to build behind Jesse’s determined eyes, but the King only smiled encouragingly.

  The waters around them began to stir once more, responding to Lukas' will. They rose in spiraling columns before bursting outward, reforming into towering shapes, figures carved from living water.

  Ten in total.

  Each one bore Lukas’ likeness, the same calm gaze, the same posture, each infused with his magic.

  The audience gasped as the illusions came to life, the coliseum floor shimmering beneath the watery army.

  Jesse barely had time to breathe before they attacked.

  The dragonborn moved instinctively, dodging and weaving between the strikes of these copies, their movements eerily synchronized with Lukas’ own. For every one construct Jesse destroyed, two more took its place, reforming from the mist. His claws tore through liquid torsos but there was no end to the Divinity of the Seas.

  Each motion tested him, demanding not just strength or speed, but adaptation.

  Lukas remained at the center, still and unmoving, eyes following every step.

  To the crowd, it seemed as though Jesse fought a losing battle, ten against one, each as relentless as the last.

  But it was necessary.

  This was trial by tide and sea.

  Winning was an afterthought for the dragonborn because Jesse was here to learn.

  Each blow the dragoborn dodged, each illusion he destroyed, forced him to think beyond instinct. Lukas could see the moment the realization struck the young dragonborn. He watched how Jesse's eyes sharpened, his motions becoming less frantic and more deliberate. The Draconic Flow began to emerge again, not from mimicry, but from understanding. The storm of battle raged on, the air filled with the roar of magic and the crash of water. And then Lukas’s voice cut through the chaos.

  “Now. Show me more." His tone carrying both pride and challenge as he spoke to Jesse then.

  Because this was no longer just a duel between master and student.

  This was a lesson, one that Jesse Sterling, the dragonborn who would one day be called the Emperor of the Skies, would carry for the rest of his life. For it was here, in the heart of battle, that Lukas Drakos would teach Jesse what it truly meant…to be the Strongest.

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