Hours had passed since everything that had happened in Nozar.

  Lukas could barely believe it himself, how fast it had all happened or even the fact that it had happened at all.

  The horizon behind them was calm now, deceptively so, but he knew what lay in their wake.

  Nozar was now a nation shaken to its core, scattered between panic and confusion.

  A handful of battleships had attempted to pursue the fleet of ships that carried the freed, their cannons glinting and mages ready to unleash destructive spells. But in their way stood two who quickly made it unmistakably clear that continuing the chase would achieve nothing. With the King of the Dragons descending from above and the last living Cthulhu they called the Kraken emerging from below, it did not take long for those ships to turn back from where they had sailed from.

  The Admiralty had more pressing matters to face within their own borders anyways.

  With the words that Lukas Drakos had left them, Nozar would have to choose what kind of Kingdom it wished to be and perhaps even who they wished to lead them.

  Lukas sat atop the Kraken's bulbous head as they traversed through the open waters, neither of them saying a word as they made their way to join the rest of them.

  Ilagron.

  What rose in the distance was no longer the simple fishing village that Lukas had once known when he had first stepped through that portal. It spread across the shoreline like a jewel of color and movement, alive in ways he could not have imagined back then. Structures of stone, timber, and shimmering enchantments reached upward, connected with sweeping bridges and walkways. Lanterns glowed softly even in the daylight, suspended from gently swaying wires or hovering by magic alone.

  The bustle of activity reached them long before they reached the docks—voices, laughter, rushing footsteps and the rhythmic clang of tools being used without rest.

  Jesse and Velena had transformed this place into something else altogether.

  What had once been a quiet island in the middle of nowhere had now become a sanctuary of innovation that rivaled even Easthaven, a thriving center of life and creation.

  Today, however, Ilagron seemed more lively than ever before.

  Because they had arrived with those who had finally been freed from their chains, the sheer number of them uncountable.

  Even with the vitality the Shard had gifted those who wore the crystal around their necks, many still bore wounds, weariness and the remnants of trauma. They needed time to rest and to heal before making their way all the way back to Linemall. They needed a place to regain more than strength, they needed to learn how to live again.

  For now, that place was Ilagron.

  Lukas watched, hands resting on his knees as he watched the shoreline pulse with movement.

  It was surreal in a way he struggled to name.

  All around Ilagron, healers rushed to meet the arriving draconic kind—guiding them gently toward shelters, clinics, and recovery halls. Others, freed from long captivity, drifted through the waters near the village or in the skies above it, basking in their newly found freedom. Their scales glimmered like shards of sunlight, casting ripples of color across the surface. Younglings clung to older siblings or parents, their eyes wide, trying to understand what the concept of freedom even meant. Some had never seen Linemall, had never known a world where their choices belonged to them alone. Others who had survived through the Great War till this day, walked with shoulders trembling, meeting fellow survivors with disbelieving tears as reunions erupted along the shoreline.

  The air had been filled with emotion so raw Lukas felt it in his bones.

  The Dragon King remained seated upon the massive crown of the Kraken’s head as the ancient creature eased through the waters. The Cthulhu bowed his head with surprising gentleness, lowering himself until the edge of the dock brushed against the Kraken's skin. Lukas stepped forward, his feet meeting the wooden planks with a soft thud that seemed to echo unnaturally loud in the sudden hush that swept across Ilagron.

  It happened gradually—voices quieting, movements slowing—until the entire village seemed to fold inward toward the pier where he stood. Awe and reverence rippled outward like the wake of a stone dropped into still water.

  The Cthulu had returned to his true shape—vast, monstrous and impossible to ignore. Some of them even recognized the mind flayer who had once been considered the greatest enemy of Linemall's Seas.

  But it was not the Kraken who their eyes found.

  They were looking straight at him.

  Lukas felt hundreds of them settle on him, sharp and unblinking, a collective gaze that pressed against him like a living force. It felt as though they were trying not just to see him but to see who he really was, trying to peer past the surface of flesh and bone, searching for whatever truth lay beneath it all.

  Recognition flickered first in scattered faces and then spread like a rising tide. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, soft at first, then swelling as more and more realized who stood before them.

  They knew him.

  Perhaps only few knew his face but it was his voice that they had heard. In their stares lived awe, confusion, fear, longing, and something that bordered dangerously on hope. It was his voice that had echoed through the Shard, through their cages, through the darkest of days in captivity, his voice that had reached them when nothing else had.

  It was his voice that had urged them to stand, to fight, to claim what should never have been taken from them, allowing them to believe that life could be more than what they had known for the last two hundred years.

  But belief was one thing.

  Seeing him in the flesh, standing there upon the docks, was another.

  Lukas’ throat tightened.

  He could have spoken then and there.

  He should have.

  But he didn't.

  Because in truth, Lukas was…scared.

  He was scared of how they would react.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Just as scared as he was when he had stood upon the shores of Linemall, standing before a nation that would call him their King.

  Would they resent him for making them wait so long after he had promised he would set them free?

  Would they see him as undeserving for wearing the mantle of a king they had never once asked for?

  These were people who had lived under hierarchy but never under the kind of leadership that he represented. The Dragon Lords of Linemall had ruled through tradition and expectation; here he was asking them to accept something new.

  The silence stretched.

  Lukas could hear the wind brushing past sails. The distant splash of a tail in the water. Even his own heartbeat, becoming loud enough that it nearly drowned everything else out.

  He did not even know why he felt so nervous.

  The King of the Dragons drew in a breath, trying to calm himself and then he felt it.

  A gentle pressure, warm and familiar, slipped between his fingers.

  His mother stood beside him, her presence comforting him more surely than any spell ever could, giving his hand a small squeeze. He saw wrinkles that he had never noticed before, streaks of grey beginning to appear in her red hair that lifted slightly in the sea breeze, and her eyes—those soft, knowing eyes—held nothing but pride. All the fear inside him unraveled when she looked at him that way.

  The wyvern smiled, small but steady, and whispered the words he didn’t know he needed.

  “Speak to them, my son. They are waiting. Not with words. But with thoughts.”

  She understood. She always had.

  In a moment like this, it was hard for Lukas to find the right words to say.

  But thoughts? Emotions, pure and unfiltered?

  That spoke more than any words ever could.

  Lukas bowed his head. The Legacy of the Crown awakened instantly, humming against his temples as bright light flared into existence. Threads of magic unfurled outward, invisible yet unmistakable, weaving through the crowd until every mind touched his.

  He did not give them commands. He did not give them speeches.

  Lukas Drakos simply opened himself up, let them feel everything that he felt. His happiness at seeing them free. His joy at their resilience. And above all, the love he carried for them, deep and unending, a love that had shaped every choice he had made for their sake.

  Then, one by one, they bowed.

  Not out of fear. Not out of obligation. Not because of the power he wielded or the Legacy he inherited.

  They bowed because they knew—truly knew—that their king loved them.

  And that was enough.

  That night unfolded like a tapestry woven from laughter, music, and the warmth of long-awaited celebration.

  The lanterns that hung from beams and branches alike, now cast soft golden halos across the village as the sky above Ilagron began to dim with the setting sun. Lukas watched it all, seated at the edge of a long wooden table overflowing with food, his heart so full he felt he might burst from it.

  Jesse and Rosalia were dancing in the center of the town square, spinning in circles with the younglings who tried desperately to keep up with the two. Their little scaled feet thudded against the dirt; their wings flapped—some gracefully, some chaotically—as they twirled with abandon. The Dragon Lord of the Skies and the Queen of Easthaven…the two of them looked so alive, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, and Lukas could still remember the days when they had been barely tall enough to reach his hip, when their magic had been small sparks rather than the brilliant flame it was now.

  They were younglings once themselves. But now they were leaders. It felt unreal to see how time had sculpted them into the very people who would one day guide this world into a better future.

  Seeing those two lovebirds tonight made the future feel not only possible, but brighter than ever before.

  Nearby, an entirely different sort of spectacle unfolded.

  The Kraken and Katrina were locked in one of their familiar arguments, one that carried the exact same energy as the bickering they’d shared ages ago.

  Except this time they had an audience to stand witness.

  For all his monstrous grandeur, the Cthulhu managed to look almost petulant in his humanoid form, tentacles curling and uncurling as Katrina pointed aggressively at him with the half-eaten skewer she had commandeered earlier. No one understood how they had so much to argue about, but somehow they always found new material. Their voices rose, dipped, collided, and then rose again, drawing amused smiles from anyone within earshot.

  It felt like an echo out of time, a reminder of when their family had been smaller, quieter and simpler.

  Lukas wished his brother were still here to see this.

  Rodan would have laughed hard as he sat right by Lukas' side.

  At another table, Selene of Dawn and the Lady Kaitlyn Drakos were in their own world, both of them laughing so hard they occasionally had to clutch at each other for support, perhaps reminiscing about old times. Their plates were stacked high, their cups half-empty, their faces brighter than he had seen in years. They were surrounded by old friends—ones they had once believed lost forever in the Great War—and every new embrace, every newly-shared memory brought them to tearful joy.

  Lukas felt something warm settle in his chest at the sight; for so long, he had watched these women carry entire worlds on their shoulders. And he was grateful for everything they had done for not only Linemall, but especially for him.

  Tonight, for once, they carried nothing but happiness.

  Not far from them, Jesse’s brothers were well on their way to drinking themselves into oblivion. Their father hovered beside them, trying—unsuccessfully—to enforce some manner of moderation. Each time Samuel snatched away a cup, another sibling somehow produced two more. Their noisy arguments blended seamlessly with the music.

  Lukas couldn’t help laughing at the chaos of it all.

  Yet above the laughter and movement and noise, he kept finding himself drawn to the very nature of that night's celebration.

  The Dragon King saw, in flashes between the dancing bodies and the flickering lamps, a glimpse of what Ilagron must have once been before the Great War had reduced it to ruins. A kingdom that had thrived, as mighty as Nozar, where dragons and humans had walked side by side with ease. And now—here, tonight—he saw echoes of that old world given life again.

  Human children chased numerous younglings through the streets, shrieking in gleeful terror as they dodged tails or stumbled beneath playful pounces. Adults—dragonborn, humans and even beastkin—clinked mugs together as if they were old comrades. Laughter cut through every difference and the night overflowed with unity so natural it felt impossible that it had ever been lost.

  Pride surged through Lukas like fire.

  This—this harmony, this joy, this togetherness—was the future he had fought for.

  This…was everything he had bled for, every battle, trial and sacrifice...

  It had all been for this.

  Seeing it now, living and breathing around him, made the struggle worth more than he could ever articulate.

  His thoughts were interrupted by two streaks of movement.

  Rosalia and Katrina barreled toward him, both of them flushed with excitement and brimming with mischief. Before Lukas could react, each grabbed one of his arms and hauled him to his feet with infectious determination. There would be no escaping the celebration, not tonight. His weak protests dissolved instantly into laughter as they dragged him toward the crowded center of the square.

  That night, he danced. He laughed. He let himself be swept up in it all.

  Times like this were rare and Lukas wished to savor every moment.

  Because that night—this impossible, miraculous night—was more than worth celebrating.

  That night, he was not Pallas, the King of the Dragons. He was not the Child of Prophecy or the Champion of Kronos. Nor was he even the Dragon Lord of Linemall.

  He was simply Lukas Drakos.

  He was loved.

  And that was more than he could ever ask for…in this life or the last.

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  A time-looper with GameLit elements that is inspired by Action Roguelite games like "Hades",

  as well as Korean SysApoc stories like "Master Hunter K".

  Adam is no one special.

  He’s just an accountant standing in line at a bakery one early Saturday morning,

  because his craving for Jameson’s croissants finally broke him.

  Unfortunately, fate has other plans for him,

  as the black cubes show up before he can get his pastries.