It had been a month since that morning. That very night they had sent out a letter of invitation to Nozar, daring them to take the bait; daring them to answer their call.
And answer they did.
But the village of Ilagron had gone through massive transformations. It was not the same place that the dragons had arrived on following their departure from Linemall.
Where silence and ruin once ruled, now the smell of roasted meats filled the air. Laughter echoed down rebuilt streets. Taverns bustled. Wooden frameworks of ships rose like skeletal giants from the docks, hammers ringing like war drums.
Lukas walked through it all, silent, hood drawn low, the carved dragon mask resting on his face. It was the same one he'd gotten from the House of Fortunes. He'd taken a liking to it and had been using it ever since. It fit him and not just because he was a dragon. He thought it would be a good idea to don the mask when greeting Ilagron's lovely neighbors.
"Oi! Lukas!"
He paused and turned to see Jerry, wiping his hands on a filthy apron, face red from the heat of his tavern's ever-burning hearth. The man waved him over and Lukas couldn't help but oblige, even with Nozar waiting at Ilagron's doorsteps. They could suck a big fat sausage. Jerry was a friend, one of the only kind faces that gave them the time of day when they first got here to Ilagron. The least he could do was reciprocate.
"Didn't think I'd say this, but business is boomin'!" Jerry grinned. "Decided to give it another shot. I'm not goin' anywhere!"
Lukas chuckled beneath the mask. "Glad to hear it." And he meant it. He was glad the man had decided to stay because he truly enjoyed the tavern owner's company. He'd had many meals with Jerry throughout the month he'd been here in Ilagron and grown to like him.
"Even opened up the second floor," Jerry added proudly. "Rooms for traders. Real traders. Ain't had this much coin in years."
"It's only the start, my friend. I must get going but it's good to see you Jerry."
They shared a nod before Lukas moved on, passing the smiths, the shipwrights, even the market stalls returning to life.
Ilagron breathed again.
But beyond the laughter, beyond the firewood smoke and fresh sails, tension coiled.
Because today, Nozar had come.
He made his way through the eastern road, to the very border of the village, where a small but clearly elite party waited. There were mounted soldiers with shields engraved in silver, half a dozen robed mages with cold eyes, and at the center of them all: a palanquin draped in sea-blue silk.
The flag of Nozar flew tall and proud above the prince's retinue, the silk catching the morning sun with an almost divine shimmer. It was a deep navy blue, bordered with braided silver trim, mimicking the glint of moonlight on open waters.
At the center of the banner was a circular emblem, bordered by crashing white waves, all surging inward toward a single massive spiral shell: not of any known sea creature, but ancient and impossible in design. It pulsed with an almost hypnotic symmetry, as if the ocean itself coiled within it.
Behind the spiral rose a trident, not upright but laid horizontally, like a scale, its three prongs curved unnaturally inward, enclosing the spiral like a cage.
At the bottom of the flag, embroidered so faintly it might be missed, were the ancient characters for "Dominion Without End."
To most, it was merely a symbol of Nozar's seafaring legacy.
But to those who knew better, it whispered of deeper truths.
Of power older than kings.
Of power older than dragons.
Of a patron god who ruled not just seas, but the tides of empires themselves.
Oceanus. The Titan who ruled the seas. The one who brought about the downfall of the Age of Dragons and ended the Great War. The First Coming, they called it. Many think it a rumour but the Titan himself rose from the ocean floor and led Nozar to an overwhelming victory.
Lukas still remembered his mother's fear. A warrior as fierce as her, as strong as she was. Selene of Dawn had described it as absolute. There was nothing they could do except watch as the war was lost. For what could stand up to a god?
Lost in his own train of thought, Lukas didn't notice that from the front of the convoy, a young servant in deep navy livery stepped forward, unfurling a parchment as though it held the words of the gods themselves.
Lukas slowed, eyes narrowing, after having snapped out of it and returned to the present moment. What was all of this even for?
Most nobles didn't even have this grand of an entrance. Or did all nobility from Nozar have a stick that far up their ass?
His voice rang out across the stone path, haughty and full of false bravado:
"Clear the way and lend your ears to greatness!
By decree of the royal court of Nozar,
Arrives His Most Illustrious Highness,
Prince Darren Valmire of Nozar,
Fourth Son of King Daerion,
Keeper of the Sapphire Crest,
Warden of the Western Straits,
Lord of the Deep Harbors and True Voice of Oceanus!"
Holy shit. A prince? He'd been expecting just a random noble but to think they'd send actual Royalty?
The palanquin's curtain was drawn aside by trembling servants to reveal a bloated man of no more than twenty-five.
Rolls of flesh oozed beneath his royal silks, fingers glinting with rings too tight for his hands.
Lukas didn't like him already.
His expression was one of practiced boredom. He did not return the villagers' stares, nor did he acknowledge the effort it took for the retinue to escort him here.
He sniffed, as if unimpressed, then turned his beady eyes toward the dragon-masked man waiting near the border.
"You there," the prince sneered. "Where is the Countess? I did not travel across mud and trees to be greeted by a peasant in costume."
Lukas gave a polite bow, voice calm but eyes cold behind the mask.
"Right this way, Your Highness. The Countess is expecting you. You're just in time for the public hearing that she plans to give to the people of Ilagron."
The prince squinted at him, then scoffed.
The prince grumbled, waving a pudgy hand. "Carry on. Walk fast. I want to eat, I'm hungry! And don't talk unless I ask you to."
Lukas turned without another word, hiding a grin beneath his mask.
Because the prince arriving to represent Nozar was a surprise and all but the dragon had noticed something much more peculiar.
The man moved like a soldier, yes, but not like the others.
His steps were too precise, his eyes too calm. Battle-hardened. Dangerous.
Not dangerous enough to faze Lukas, but dangerous enough to earn his attention.
And then he saw the eyes—a dark brown hue, with a flicker of sharp intelligence.
And then it clicked. Lukas had seen them before. The man who'd taken Mister Rabbit away just as the Kraken was getting good information out of him.
The House of Fortunes. This was the man who had escaped.
For a brief second, their gazes locked.
The soldier blinked, face unreadable. But Lukas didn't miss the subtle shift—the tightening of his jaw, the small hitch in his step. He knew damn well that this would not be their first meeting.
He remembered. Who wouldn't remember the same mask that Lukas was wearing now?
The captain stepped forward with a perfectly measured bow.
"Captain Rennard Cain, Commander of the Prince's Guard."
Lukas returned the nod, voice calm, easy.
"A pleasure, Captain. I'm just the guide."
Rennard's lip twitched faintly, half a smirk. The captain didn't believe him for a second.
"An interesting mask. Dragons and Ilagron, a tale as old as time huh. I suppose the village is going back to its roots. Quite the fashion statement."
Lukas chuckled softly under his breath. "I suppose it helps to have a little flair when you're the welcome party. You and your men could use a little more fashion, maybe learn a thing or two from me, eh?"
Rennard let out a short breath, a mix of amusement and scrutiny. "And here I thought Ilagron was nothing more than a pile of driftwood. Seems there's more than smoke and ruins now." It was clear the man wasn't used to being talked to that way but he recognized Lukas' attempt at trying to get him riled up.
"We don't burn as easily as people think."
Their banter danced on a thin line between civility and veiled hostility. And yet, neither had addressed the elephant in the room.
Not yet.
As they turned the corner, the village opened up before them, brimming with life.
Children darted through the crowd. Merchants shouted out offers of fresh catch and fabrics. The once-silent Ilagron now thrummed with purpose.
At the center, the town square was packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Banners of the Ilagron family flapped in the breeze. A makeshift stage had been erected, and standing tall, adorned in her house colors, was Countess Velena herself.
Her voice carried out across the crowd as she addressed them all: "People of Ilagron—and honored guests from the Kingdom of Nozar—it is with both duty and hope that I welcome you today. Your presence here marks not a challenge… but the beginning of a conversation. A conversation I should have had with you all long ago."
The square quieted. All eyes were now forward.
And Lukas?
He leaned just slightly toward Captain Rennard and whispered, low enough that only he could hear. "Listen up, Captain. This is going to be something you wanna pay attention to."
Rennard didn't give a reply. But the tension in his eyes told Lukas everything. He could see the unease in the captain's eyes, unsure of what to expect of Lukas' words.
The crowd quieted under the weight of her words. Even the nobles from Nozar leaned in with polite curiosity, unaware that they were witnessing the tremor before the quake.
Velena's voice dropped slightly, though it carried just as far. "I have been many things to Ilagron—Countess, noble, figurehead. But never what I was supposed to be: your protector."
She let the silence linger. "I hid behind the gates of my estate. Let others speak for me. Let time numb the pulse of this village. I convinced myself that distance was strength… that retreat would preserve what little remained of this place."
Her hands gripped the edges of the podium, knuckles white as her grip tightened with each word she spoke. "But no more."
A ripple moved through the crowd as she stepped forward, her tone now unwavering. "There is a reason I hid. A reason I failed to lead. It is time I speak it."
"My son, Kaelen Ilagron, died. Along with his wife. And along with his children. I lost everything that day. Ilagron lost its Earl. And I lost my son. We lost our future. You all know that he died in a storm, one of the greatest storms Ilagron has ever seen." She turned slightly, looking out over her people, not with the gaze of a noble, but a woman broken.
A woman who was trying everything to hold it together, vulnerable for the entire village to see.
"But my son was not killed in a storm. He and his family did not even set sail. He was killed before he even stepped into the boat and so was his family. My grandchildren and my daughter-in-law, all of them killed in cold blood." Her voice was hoarse, cracking as she spoke the words. But she pressed on.
A gasp rang out in the square.
Velena lifted her chin high and continued to speak. "But they did not kill everyone."
She turned to one side, extending her arm.
From behind the curtains of the stage, guided by the Kraken and flanked by Katrina, a young boy stepped out.
Barely twelve. Dressed simply, but clean. Jesse Sterling in the flesh, ready to play the role as discussed.
The crowd recoiled in shock. "This child is Kaelen's last son—born out of wedlock, yes, but that does not diminish the blood in his veins. He is no mere orphan. He is an Ilagron. Named after his father, he is my grandson and he will be the one to succeed me when the time comes."
A thunder of murmurs erupted—confused, stunned, exhilarated. "And I kept him hidden… because I feared the ones who hunted our family would return to finish what they started. But no more. Not while you stand with us. Not while I have breath in these lungs."
She turned to the crowd again, voice sharpened to steel.
"Today is not just a hearing."
She gestured to the guards, slaves who had been set free and were now loyal to serving Ilagron. Two of them dragged a chained, bloodied figure to the front of the square and forced him to his knees.
A creature in a shredded coat. Face swollen. The silver buttons of his jacket caked with dirt and blood.
"This is Jerrent. You may know him as Mister Rabbit. The man behind the House of Fortunes. He is the man responsible for my son's and his family's death. After years of investigation, he is finally put here to pay for his crimes. To pay for what he has done to my family."
Gasps, yells, fury. The air was burning now.
Velena raised her hand to silence them. They obeyed.
"Today, he answers for what he's done. This is not a trial. He has confessed. This is judgment."
She turned toward the child. "I do this so that my grandson may walk these streets without a mask. So that he may learn what justice looks like in the world he will one day inherit. So that I may finally have peace in my heart, knowing that my son's killer has received punishment for his crimes."
Velena walked slowly down the steps of the platform. Her heels clicked against the wood, echoing with chilling finality. Her silk gown brushed the dusty cobblestone, regal and heavy like a funeral veil.
But what drew every pair of eyes was the weapon in her hand: a ceremonial greataxe. Its blade was dulled from time, but freshly sharpened by intent. It was nearly as large as her but she was clearly far stronger than she looked.
She walked past the crowd.
Not a single one stopped her. Even the people of Nozar watched in a mixture of shock and horror, disbelief in their eyes as they witnessed what was about to unfold before them.
Mister Rabbit lay there.His mask had been torn away, revealing the bruised and broken man beneath — eyes swollen, lips cracked and trembling.
He knelt in the dirt, shackles biting into his wrists. "P-please…" he rasped. "Please, Your Grace… I—I can tell you more. About Nozar. About who they sent—"
"Enough," she declared, raising her voice above the whimpering.
She stood before him, gaze locked on his pathetic form. The villagers watched in mute horror. Jesse didn't move. Lukas watched, calm but unreadable. "You'll tell us nothing but lies. Like you always have."
"I swear! They're going to—"
CRACK.
The axe handle slammed into his mouth, cutting him off. Teeth scattered like gravel. Blood poured from his gums. It was a gruesome sight which made many wince and look away.
"You took my son from me," Velena whispered, her voice low. "You killed his wife. You slaughtered his children. You took away everything from me. You took away my family. Nothing you say will change that. Nothing." These words were not to to address the crowd. In this very moment, Velena Ilagron was alone with the man who'd taken everything away from her. The crowd didn't exist. It was, the man and the axe.
So she raised the axe.
Mister Rabbit sobbed. Snot mingled with the blood on his chin. He collapsed forward, shaking. "Please! I'll do anything! I can't die, please, PLEASE! I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"
"Neither did Kaelen's children."
And then—
THWACK.
Those were the last words Jerrent, the Head of the House of Fortunes heard before he breathed no more.
The axe came down in a brutal arc, slicing halfway through his neck in one clean, shuddering blow. His body convulsed, hands clawing at the dirt, gurgling.
THWACK.
The second swing landed with a wet crunch, severing the head from the spine. Blood fountained into the air — thick, hot, and arterial — splashing across Velena's chest and face. It splatted across her body like war paint.
The head rolled once, twice, before landing sideways in the dirt. Eyes open. Mouth agape.
His body twitched for another breath… and then stilled.
Silence. Horrific, paralyzing silence.
Even the crows had gone still in the trees.
Velena straightened, breathing heavy, the axe in her blood-soaked hands.
She turned to the gathered villagers.
Velena stood above the lifeless body, the axe slick with gore at her side, blood dripping from its edge onto the stone with rhythmic taps, like the ticking of a war drum waiting to begin.
She turned to the crowd, not just to her people, but to the guests from Nozar as well. Her voice, when she spoke, rang out not as a scream, not as a cry, but as something colder.
Measured.
Absolute.
"Remember this day. Remember this moment."
Her gaze swept across the villagers and across the soldiers from Nozar who stood still as statues; unsure whether to reach for their blades or bow their heads.
"This is what becomes of Ilagron's enemies. This is what becomes of men who wear smiling masks and poison their tongues with lies. Men who slaughter innocent children, who take sons from mothers, and think that silence will shelter them."
She let the words hang, thick as sludge in the air, impossible to ignore.
Then slowly… her gaze turned to the blue-robed prince.
She didn't challenge him. She didn't need to.
The prince shifted uneasily in his seat. The blue silk stuck to his back with sweat. One of his mages cleared their throat but dared not speak.
The soldiers behind him kept their hands away from their weapons—even they, trained men of Nozar—knew this was not the time. Not when the whole village could turn on them, even with their skilled soldiers and mages could handle a horde of this size in all directions. Not when their directive was to make sure the Prince remained safe and unharmed.
She dropped the axe beside the corpse with a final, guttural clang.
The blood on her hands and face glistened under the noon sun as her eyes bore into the Prince's, without any sign of breaking away.
"Welcome to Ilagron Village, Prince Darren."