The first sensation Lukas felt was warmth, a flickering heat that pressed against his chilled skin. His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim glow of firelight and for a fleeting moment it truly seemed like he had never left the Underworld. Lukas braced himself to see the endless gray expanse of Tartarus, the shadowed skies and bitter winds of the dead.

Instead, he found himself lying on rocky ground before a small fire, its flames dancing steadily in the darkness.

Lukas blinked, confused.

The last thing he had remembered through his fading vision was the arena collapsing on itself as he laid there on the ground in a pool of his own blood. The last thing he had felt was the impact of the arena hitting the ground as it fell from the sky. With that in mind, he had expected to have awoken and crushed beneath rubble, having to claw his way out to survive.

Yet here Lukas was, whole enough to draw breath, though his body still trembled with the weight of pain.

Slowly, Lukas raised a hand to his throat, to the place where Valkari's blade had driven mercilessly through his flesh. His fingers traced tender skin and scar tissu, and his chest tightened. The wound was mostly healed, mended not by mortal means but by something far older and far greater: The Kraken.

Once more, his familiar had dragged him back from the brink, wresting Lukas from the grasp of death itself. He closed his eyes, and through their bond he felt it—the deep pulse of the Kraken's essence, a familiar weight pressing gently against his spirit. Relief, steady and warm, radiated through their connection from the Chtulhu. It was like being embraced by fierce waves, an intense assurance that Lukas was not alone.

"I have to thank you again, old friend," Lukas whispered inwardly, letting his thought flow through their tether. His lips curled into a faint smile.

The Kraken's response came not with solemnity, but with laughter—a sound both ancient and vast, resonating through Lukas' bones. "I have no need for thanks," the Kraken finally replied once his laughter had subsided, his tone amused but touched with sincerity. "It is good to see that you have not left us for good."

Before Lukas could offer a reply worthy of that loyalty, the great familiar slipped back into silence. He felt the shift, the sudden emptiness that came when the Kraken surrendered to slumber. Exhaustion weighed heavily on the Cthulhu, and Lukas knew that the Kraken deserved all the rest in the whole wild world of Hiraeth. Even then, no debt of gratitude could repay what had done for him

With effort, Lukas pushed himself upright, his body protesting against even the slightest of movement. The Rite of Talons had left its mark upon him, the strain it had been put on his body apparent. And Valkari's betrayal—sharp, deliberate—still burned in his flesh and in his mind. He winced as pain lanced through his ribs, steadying himself with a hand pressed against the ground.

Only then did he notice Lukas was not alone.

Across the fire sat Rysenth Ishtar, his features solemn in the dancing light. Beside Rysenth was a woman Lukas did not recognize at first glance—her posture composed, her presence commanding without a word spoken. She turned her head as if sensing his gaze, and when her eyes met his, the breath caught in his throat.

Those eyes, there was no mistaking them.

Seated across from him was Erandyl Telaryon herself, the Dragon Lord of the Earth. Lukas had only ever seen Erandyl in her full draconic form, vast and immovable as the mountains themselves. But never had he expected to see her as he did now—in the shape of a woman, a humanoid form only made possible through the Draconic Flow.

It startled him.

The Regions of the Earth had long condemned such transformations, denouncing them as blasphemy, an insult to the sanctity of their kind. For Erandyl to take this shape meant more than simple whim; it meant necessity, a choice born from purpose.

Since their first encounter, Lukas had known her only as the towering Dragon Lord of the Earth; a being vast as the mountains she commanded, whose presence alone seemed enough to crush armies into dust.

Yet now, across the fire from him, sat a woman who seemed fragile in comparison. She looked middle-aged at most, her features softened by the passage of years; streaks of grey weaving through dark hair and faint wrinkles lining her face. Despite having lived longer than most of their kind, Erandyl looked only slightly older than her granddaughter, the Lady Kaitlyn Drakos.

What unsettled Lukas most, however, was her size—small, demure even—when set against the memory of her draconic form. He and Rysenth both were considered larger than most of the draconic kind, but in this guise Erandyl looked almost delicate, though the steel in her gaze betrayed the truth of her power.

Lukas held her gaze, the firelight casting shadows across her features, and for a long moment, he could not find the right words to say. Perhaps it was the shock that came from the fact that Erandyl Telaryon in her humanoid form was nothing like what Lukas had imagined.

It was then that Lukas realized both Rysenth and Erandyl were watching him, their expressions heavy with caution. Neither of them, it seemed, had expected him to open his eyes again—certainly not so soon, perhaps not at all.

Lukas parted his lips to speak, but before the words could leave him, Erandyl moved with surprising swiftness. Her hand pressed firmly over his mouth, silencing him in an instant. Her expression was grave, eyes narrowing with a silent warning. Lukas froze, the weight of her intent settling upon him, and after a heartbeat, he gave a small nod.

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Just like her humanoid form, the choice to remain silent had been one made of necessity.

Without another word, Erandyl's Crown stirred. Its power unfurled with precision, subtle and restrained, a whisper rather than the roar of its full strength. Lukas felt the shift immediately as her mind brushed against his, a cool tether binding them together. Through that connection, she spoke without sound, only thought.

"Where are we?" Lukas asked, his voice carried not by breath but through the flow of the Crown itself.

"In the tunnels beneath the Ancestral Lands," Erandyl replied. Her mental voice was calm but edged with a seriousness that made his skin prickle. "They were carved out long ago, during Linemall's first Civil War. When the Monarch's reign finally came to an end and the Great Houses put an end to the war, these tunnels were abandoned."

Lukas' thoughts sharpened, unease twisting in his chest. He still remembered the final warning his wife had given to him, a foe stronger than any other he had faced thus far waiting for him on the other side.

"And how," he pressed, "are we going to get out of here?"

For a long moment, Erandyl was silent.

Her gaze drifted past him toward the blackness stretching beyond the ring of firelight. The shadows seemed to devour the light, swallowing flame and warmth alike, leaving the air thick with dread.

Lukas followed her gaze but saw nothing, and yet he felt as though something was lurking within it.

The Crown's tether pulsed and suddenly Lukas realized the link had widened.

Rysenth's presence pressed into his mind as well, the three of them bound in a circle of thought.

At once, images not his own flooded into Lukas' vision.

Lukas saw blood.

He saw bodies, broken and torn, littered across stone floors slick with gore. He smelt stench of death clung to the memory, heavy and choking, and Lukas felt the sickening churn of his stomach as he glimpsed what Rysenth had seen. The images corpses of Earthborn lay scattered like discarded dolls, their limbs twisted unnaturally, their flesh ripped apart with no hint of mercy; all of it seemed to burn into the very essence of his mind.

Rysenth's thought echoed grimly across the connection. "They were eaten alive."

The horror in those words struck deeper than steel. Something lived within these tunnels. Something that feasted on the draconic kind. Something that even Styx had considered to be formidable.

Lukas sucked in a sharp breath as the vision faded and he felt the dread within him rise as the reality of their situation began to sink in. He turned to Erandyl and saw that her expression was grim, the faint lines on her face deepened by the shadows. And in her silence and through the connection formed through the Crown, Lukas recognized the same unspoken question that weighed on all of their minds.

Where had these Earthborn come from?

These dragonborn had not stood among the gathered draconic nobility during the Draconic Summit, even the Dragon Lord of the Earth herself was certain of that. And yet here they were—bodies torn apart, flesh consumed in the dark. But that did not mean Erandyl did not recognize them. Memories stirred in her, memories of a time before the Great War where they still roamed the regions of the Earth freely, memories that they could all see through this connection between their minds. But once the Great War had come to an end, those Earthborn had never returned to Linemall; either having been slain or enslaved during those years of bloodshed.

And yet…here they lay, massacred, deep in the forgotten tunnels beneath the Ancestral Lands.

The realization came to Lukas like a blade drawn from its sheath, sharp and immediate.

Valkari.

The Dragonborn of the Flames had been tasked with bringing home a group of dragonborn of the Earth, just like Jesse had told him in Easthaven. This group must have been the ones she had escorted back to Linemall. But why here? Why beneath the ground, into tunnels abandoned for centuries? Why lead them into darkness? Why lead her own people to their deaths?

The answer settled upon him with a cold weight, and through the Crown the others heard the thought as clearly as if he had spoken it aloud.

Rysenth's voice came first, grim and certain. "She's feeding it."

The words carried finality, a truth they could not deny. The images of torn corpses, the gnawed bones, the stench of death—it all fit together. Whatever stalked the tunnels had been given prey. Not by chance, not by misfortune, but by Valkari's design.

"She's feeding it," Rysenth repeated once more. "She's trying to tame it. To make whatever it is into a weapon that she can control."

Lukas felt his jaw tighten, anger rising like tidal waves. The betrayal cut deeper with every revelation. Valkari would stop at nothing, even if it meant the lives of her own people, to make it such that she could have her revenge.

Erandyl's voice followed, heavy with resolve. "Then it falls to us."

Her gaze swept across both of them, her dark eyes glinting with the reflection of the fire.

"Getting out of these tunnels is easy," the Dragon Lord of the Earth continued, her tone as steady as stone. "But if this creature escapes into the world above, if it reaches our people…we cannot allow it. Whatever it is, we must be the ones to end it." And Erandyl was right. This creature, it was a threat not only to them but to all of Linemall and every soul that dwelled upon its surface. And Lukas knew—just as well as they did—what had to be done.

Just before Valkari had set her plans into motions and Lukas had spoken out against the chains of traditions that held them back for so long, the three Lords of Linemall had agreed to stand together. They had pledged unity, for the sake of their people. That vow had not been broken, despite betrayal and despite the wounds that cut as deep as death itself.

Now, that same unity they had pledged would be tested.

Against Valkari herself but first against this creature that roamed within these tunnels, a foe so terrifying that not even the dragonborn could stand a chance against it.

Lukas looked between them, first to Erandyl and then Rysenth, the firelight flickering across their faces. And for the first time since waking, he felt the weight of purpose settle upon him once more and it weighed more heavily than the ache of his wounds. Yet it was a weight that Lukas was more than willing to bear, a weight each and every Lord of Linemall was more than willing to bear.

Because it was a weight they bore for the sake of their own people.

"We're going to need a plan."

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