The Sisters of Styx stood in a circle around him, their presence both divine and dreadful, each of them embodying a different kind of power that seemed to hum through the waters. Lukas stood unflinching at their center, his hands clenched at his sides, his heart steady despite the cold pressure that made even the air tremble.

He would never surrender the love he had for his wife.

Every fiber of him screamed that this moment was madness, that standing before these ancient beings was a fight no mortal, no dragon, could hope to win.

Yes he had been able to slay the Hero From Another World, but these were true Titans in every sense of the word, not simply vessels like the Hero wielding power that was not their own.

But Lukas knew something they did not.

Love was not a thing of reason or logic. It was not a transaction of the heart nor a contract written in some otherworldly ledger.

Love was a choice, one that was made with every passing second of one's existence.

Lukas had chosen Styx and he would choose her until his heart could beat no more and his soul faded into oblivion. That choice would remain true and no sister, goddess or force of the Underworld would take it from him.

Their eyes watched him in silence for what felt like an eternity.

Phlegeton's gaze burned, sharp and unforgiving, like molten gold beneath her lids. Cocytus' expression was mournful, her aura seeping with cold despair, and when she looked at him it was as if she saw every sorrow he had ever endured. Lethe and Acheron, by contrast, seemed amused, smiling at Lukas as he prepared himself.

The quiet was suffocation and Lukas could feel his pulse beat against his ribs like a drum calling him to battle.

Acheron's lips twitched and then, suddenly, laughter filled the air. It was bright and cruel, ringing like silver bells struck against stone. Lethe joined in, giggling with the same disarming lightness, and in an instant the suffocating malice that had hung over them dissolved into something far gentler. The flames in Phlegeton's eyes dimmed. Cocytus sighed, a long, sorrowful sound that faded into the silence that followed.

"Well," Lethe murmured, her smile softening as she tilted her head. "He's one brave mortal, you have to give him that."

Acheron chuckled, folding her arms. "Brave…or foolish. But perhaps the two are not so different." Her gaze slid toward Phlegeton and Cocytus, both of whom turned away, their pride preventing them from admitting that they had been impressed.

"My apologies, Lukas," Acheron continued, her tone almost kind. "You must forgive us. We hold our eldest sister dear to our hearts, and it came as quite the surprise to learn that she had eloped with a dragon from the mortal realm, no less."

It had been a test. It had all been a cruel test meant to measure the strength of his devotion.

Lukas felt the tension in his shoulders began to ease and the suffocating pressure of the sisters' confrontation begin to lift.

Acheron smiled again, and her eyes softening as she spoke to him then. "You may not understand why we did this," she said, "but Styx is our everything. She has always taken care of us for as long as we can remember. We needed to know she was in good hands now. And now it is clear that she is."

Lethe smirked, her tone light but sincere. "Personally speaking," she said, her grin widening, "I never doubted you for a second, brother."

It was strange to hear them call him that, especially coming from these beings of myth and eternity. Yet Lethe was right. Through his union with Styx, these goddesses, who once seemed so far beyond his world, were now bound to him by the sacred laws of marriage. It was a thought both humbling and terrifying. The Sisters of Styx—embodiments of rivers that governed the flow of life, death, pain, and memory—were now, in some cosmic sense, his family. And if Lukas was being honest, he did not know how to feel about it.

Cocytus, the coldest of them all, had softened visibly. "It is clear that you care for my sister. And for that, I have no reason to go against this marriage. You are now family, Lukas Drakos." The frost in her voice had melted into something gentler, and her gaze lingered on him with an almost reluctant respect.

Lukas could sense that what had once been indignation had turned into recognition.

Never before had a mortal dared to stand before them without cowering.

These were entities who shaped the destinies of gods and mortals alike, whose power could unmake entire realms, and yet Lukas Drakos, battered and broken, had not allowed backed down even for a single second. With his Pool of Mana shattered, his body still being rebuilt and remade into something more and with only one arm to his name, Lukas still stood tall; ready to fight for the love he had for the Goddess of Unbreakable Oaths.

That, more than any show of strength, was proof of the love he bore for Styx, something that could never be taken away from him.

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"I can see why Uncle Kronos chose you as his Champion," Phlegeton muttered finally, her tone reluctant but sincere.

Just hearing the Titan's name brought reality crashing down on him in an instant. Lukas' heart leapt in his chest, his mind snapping away from the calm stillness of the waters to the world of Hiraeth that he belonged to.

Time did not wait for anyone, not even a Champion of Kronos.

The twins. The Priest of Pan. The Tournament of Khaitish.

But still, Lukas could not leave just yet, looking around desperately through the waters all around them. "Styx," he breathed, voice breaking with emotion. "Where is she?" The question lingered, raw and almost pleading.

It was Acheron who answered him, her expression soft but full of pity, shaking her head slowly. "I'm afraid I was not lying when I said she does not wish to see you. Not right now."

Lukas froze.

His brow furrowed, disbelief carving itself across the dragon's face. "She…doesn't want to see me? But…why?" The idea that she would turn away from him was a wound deeper than even the shattering of his Mana Pool.

Cocytus' eyes, gray and heavy with sorrow, met his. She looked at him not just as a goddess, but as one who understood grief. "I'm afraid we cannot answer that, Lukas," she said softly. "It is not our place to do so."

Phlegeton stepped forward then, her fiery aura dimmed to embers. "But you must know this, Pallas," she said—the title echoing reverently. "Styx loves you more than life and death itself. Do not think she does not long to see you. Her decision…is one you will understand in due time. She wants you to remember that she cares for you endlessly, as you clearly care for her. And that is something that will never change."

Lukas swallowed hard, the words were kind but they did little to soothe the hollow ache inside him.

Love eternal, yet out of reach, that was the reality he would have to live with.

Lukas nodded, not trusting his voice to hold.

The Sisters of Styx watched him quietly, their forms shimmering like reflections on water. For all their divine power, they seemed—in this fleeting moment—almost human in their sympathy.

"But there is still good news, Lukas Drakos," Acheron said, her voice carrying a resonance that seemed to ripple through the air itself.

With a graceful wave of her hand, the world shifted.

Lukas felt it instantly before he could even comprehend her words—a pulse of magical energy surging through him like the beating of the Underworld's own heart.

He looked down in disbelief.

Where once there had been only the mangled stump of his right arm—a scar that had been left by the Hero From Another World and where the Kraken once remained attached—light now gathered in a twisting current.

The waters of the Underworld—Lethe's silver current, Phlegeton's golden flame, Cocytus' pale frost, and Acheron's shadowed depth—merged into a single stream that wrapped around his shoulder. It glowed bright, shifting between colors that no mortal eye could truly name, before finally solidifying into something far greater than flesh and blood.

An arm of marble-white essence emerged, smooth and flawless, its surface veined with delicate streaks of gold and silver that shimmered faintly beneath the dim light. It was not a mere construct; it was alive, humming softly with magical energy. Every motion reflected artistry beyond mortal measure. No craftsman or blacksmith—not even Rysenth Ishtar himself—could rival such work. This was creation unbound by reality itself, the handiwork of goddesses who commanded the very elements of existence.

Acheron lowered her hand, and the air settled once more. "This is where you shall house the magical energy within you," she said. "This is our gift to you, brother, and it will not break, no matter how great the power you choose to channel through it."

Lukas flexed his new arm hesitantly. To his amazement, he could feel it—every joint and every faint vibration of power that coursed through its structure. The sensation of weight, texture, and movement returned to him all at once. Mana flowed through it easily, responding to his will, controlled and steady for the first time since his Pool had been shattered.

The wild torrents within him had finally found a new home.

He was whole once more.

Lukas took a deep breath, the air filling his lungs like a rush of renewal. For the first time in what felt like forever, his body was no longer broken. The imbalance and the constant struggle to contain the storm within him—all of it was gone.

What replaced it was power.

Pure, radiant and unshakable power.

"Thank you," the King of the Dragons whispered.

Gratitude filled his chest until it nearly overflowed. It wasn't just an arm; it was the gift of self, of identity and of wholeness that the Sisters of Styx had given him.

"It is our pleasure, Pallas," Acheron replied, smiling softly. The others inclined their heads, each expression a reflection of quiet approval. Even Phlegeton's fire dimmed into something warm and Cocytus's cold eyes glimmered with faint approval.

The waters around Lukas began to stir, swirling gently at first and then tugging stronger.

He could feel the currents shifting, the pull of the living world calling him back to where he still belonged.

As the River Goddesses began to fade, their forms dissolving into mist and current, Lukas raised his voice and his heart surging with emotion.

"Tell Styx that I love her," he called out once more, the words ringing clear even as the waters began to swirl all around him into a blur. "Tell her that I think about her every day, and tell her that I will return. I promise. I will see her again. No matter what."

The Sisters' expressions softened at his words.

For a fleeting instant, Lukas thought he saw pride reflected in their eyes.

Then the Underworld dissolved into a brilliant rush of light.

The current seized him, pulling him upward, through the cold waters that divided death from life. His body, reborn and complete, glowed faintly as he rose. The rivers sang around him—Acheron's deep echo, Lethe's whisper, Cocytus's lament, and Phlegeton's roar—guiding him back to the Land of the Living above.

His vow to Styx burned in his chest like a star, a promise carved into the fabric of his soul.

He was Lukas Drakos, Pallas, the King of the Dragons once more.

And this time, nothing would stand in his way.

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