Time should have taken its toll on the old man's body as it had done to Magnus Elarion. It should have hollowed the man's cheeks, dulled his strength and bent his back beneath the weight of years. But the King of Nozar stood tall, his broad shoulders still heavy enough to wear the crown of what had been the strongest Kingdom in all of Hiraeth for centuries. His arms remained pillars of iron, scarred but sturdy, forged through decades of battle and rule. Only the slight swell of a beer belly softened his otherwise formidable silhouette, as though even a king could not resist the comforts of his own table.
But the eyes did not lie.
In Daerion’s eyes, Lukas saw a man who had weathered storms too numerous to name. He saw a man who had gained victories and buried friends. The King of Nozar looked unchanged on the outside—untouched by age—but inside, time had taken its toll all the same.
Lukas shifted his gaze briefly and his eyes locked onto Serenya, Rowan’s sister. The Admiral stood frozen only by shock for the briefest moment before Lukas lifted a single clawed hand and the waters answered him immediately. It swirled around the beastwoman in a violent spiral, a serpent of liquid that struck before she could even inhale to move. It solidified into crystalline restraints in less than a heartbeat, encasing her limbs, pinning her in place.
She gasped, startled but no harm would come to her. Lukas had promised Rowan that much.
The beastwoman's eyes flickered up toward him through the water’s sheen, struggling to break free but to no avail. For a moment, he almost felt sorry for her. But Lukas forced himself not to dwell on it.
Red magic erupted across the old man's arms, flaring to life like veins filled with molten metal. The Divinity of Dissection surged outward, wrapping Daerion in a lethal glow. But still, it was not enough to make Lukas feel threatened, but more enough to show Lukas that Daerion was willing to die standing rather than kneel living.
The King of Nozar was a giant among men. Yet right now, Daerion seemed impossibly small before the Dragon King.
It was like an ant challenging a hurricane.
The Crown on Lukas’ head blazed, brought to life, the ancient power unfurling like wings within wings, and when Lukas spoke, his voice struck the city like a physical force, echoing across stone, water, and the minds of all who could hear.
“Fight if you wish to,” Lukas said. “But you will die, Daerion. Even if you had your armies, you know you would not be able to defeat me.”
All around them, within the wall and across the Inner Cities, the marines remained motionless—millions of soldiers standing like statues carved from flesh.
Their minds had been twisted and bound by the Kraken’s magic.
Lukas had sent the Cthulhu long before he had departed for the Kingdom of Easthaven, instructing his familiar to lurk beneath the waters that guarded Nozar. The Kraken needed only time for his magic's corruption to spread, seeping into minds like ink through paper, unraveling the greatest military force Hiraeth had ever seen without spilling a single drop of blood.
Daerion Ittriki was loud, arrogant, and at times insufferably boisterous, but he was no fool.
Beneath the bravado, the King of Nozar possessed a mind sharp enough to rival Magnus Elarion’s, a mind capable of dissecting situations with a clarity that belied the persona he showed to the world. The crackle of red magic along Daerion’s arms dimmed, then dwindled, then finally dissolved entirely as the King of Nozar exhaled and allowed his Divinity to fade.
Daerion looked up at Lukas, raising his hands in unspoken admission at the fact that there was no possibility of victory if he tried fighting the dragon.
“I do not want war, Daerion,” Lukas told him. “I have come to speak to you from one King to another.”
The words were sharp enough to cut through the last threads of tension yet heavy enough to demand acknowledgment. And Daerion gave it—not with a bow, not with a gesture, but with a flicker in his eyes.
There was a subtle shift, a minute recalibration. The kind of change so small that if Lukas had been even fractionally less observant, it would have slipped past him unnoticed. But Lukas saw it. He saw the very moment when Daerion realized that if the dragon had come to negotiate, then the battlefield was no longer made of stone and steel.
It had become one of words. It had become one of manipulation and strategy. And it was in that field where Daerion's true intelligence shone brighter than any other strength the King of Nozar possessed.
The man straightened his posture almost imperceptibly, grounding himself as he met Lukas’ gaze.
“I have heard a great number of things about you, Pallas,” Daerion said at last, his voice now lacking edge, in its place was a measured tone meant for diplomacy. “I wish we could have met under better circumstances.”
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Lukas narrowed his eyes with a mixture of skepticism and restrained aggression. But he allowed Daerion to go on.
“You must hate me,” the old man continued. “You must hate everything this kingdom stands for and wish to see it burnt to the ground.”
Daerion paused, letting that supposition breathe, letting it hang in the space between them like an accusation or an invitation, Lukas hadn’t decided which.
“You would be right to say that I could never defeat you,” Daerion admitted. “But I am not your enemy, Pallas. It is not Nozar who is to blame for everything that has been done to your people.”
A laugh almost escaped Lukas, letting out a sharp breath of disbelief that rattled his chest.
Lukas saw the game for exactly what it was. Daerion, a man of trickery and silver-tongued manipulation, was weaving every word with careful precision, searching for the right buttons to push. He could almost admire it, if it weren’t so transparent to him.
“Then tell me, Daerion,” the Dragon King replied, voice low with both warning and curiosity. “Who is it that I should blame?”
Daerion did not hesitate. The King of Nozar had been waiting for this question, shaping his narrative for this very moment. And when he spoke, it was with the quiet force of a man who believed every word, or at the very least needed Lukas to believe he did.
“It is the Titan of this world who is your enemy,” Daerion answered. “It is Oceanus who used his Champion to bring the draconic kind to the brink of extinction.”
The King of Nozar took a breath, a long one, as though confessing something dangerous.
“You may think that we worship him out of love,” the old man continued, his voice lowering, thick with something resembling bitterness. “But throughout my lifetime, I have realized that humanity worships Oceanus out of fear.”
The words echoed across the Inner Cities, swallowed by the ringing silence that followed. And for the first time since Lukas arrived, the king’s arrogance vanished entirely—leaving behind something raw, something unsettlingly honest. This spite that Daerion had for the Titan was raw and real.
“It is that Titan who is your enemy,” the old man said, his words carrying resentment that had been built up over years across his lifetime. “It is he who is to blame. But he is my enemy as well.”
His hands curled into fists, not in fear of Lukas but in anger at a being far greater than either of them. The screen of manipulation, of political cunning, peeled back, revealing something raw beneath it.
“He has simply allowed us to suffer,” Daerion continued, bitterness sharpening each syllable. “Remaining silent while his own believers repent for sins—sins we do not understand, sins no mortal ever agreed to bear. And for what? Why do we ask forgiveness from a being who has done nothing for us?”
Lukas listened, remaining silent and watchful.
Every word poured from Daerion with such conviction that it almost sounded like truth etched into the inner workings of his soul. Almost enough to strain Lukas’ certainty, enough to make the King of the Dragons wonder whether Daerion’s hatred for Oceanus truly ran as deep as it seemed.
And it did.
Lukas recognized it—not performance nor deception, not merely a king attempting to negotiate with a threat he could not defeat.
This was belief.
It was hatred sharpened into creed, malice that had brewed over decades.
Daerion Ittriki despised Oceanus with his entire being.
For a moment no longer than a heartbeat, Lukas felt the edge of that conviction brush against his own. And he understood why Daerion had been able to exert such control, why people followed him and why he was dangerous even without a single soldier capable of lifting a weapon.
Conviction was a powerful thing.
“Do they not say that the enemy of my enemy is my friend?” Daerion pressed on, sensing the shift in the air. “The oceans rage in his name, punishing us and relishing in our suffering. I have watched too many good men drown. Too many families broken. And I am done praying to a god who has done nothing, and I mean NOTHING, to deserve humanity’s worship.”
His voice cracked, not with weakness, but with sincerity so practiced and unwavering that a lesser man would have believed every word without question or doubt.
“I am not your enemy, Pallas,” Daerion said, steady once more. “Together, we can make this world a better place. Together, not even the gods will be able to stand in our way."
Silence descended once more in the space between the two rulers. It was the sort of silence Daerion wanted, the sort that suggested Lukas was considering the offer, that the Dragon King saw a path in which their goals aligned.
That perhaps, just perhaps, they were both victims of a shared enemy.
But there was nothing to consider.
Because Lukas saw through it all.
No conviction could rewrite the truth. No hatred toward Oceanus could erase all the damage that Daerion had caused. No speech could outweigh the pages of Varian’s deciphered records—pages that Ellion had painstakingly translated from the Archmage’s encoded script. In those records that Varian had kept were words that revealed the truth behind the endless storms, the ceaseless rage of the oceans, the suffering that humanity had interpreted as divine wrath.
It had never been Oceanus. It had always been the King of Nozar.
It had been Daerion Ittriki all along.
“Your lies do not fool me,” Lukas declared, his voice ringing with finality that cut through Daerion’s crafted sincerity like a blade.
The shift in Daerion was immediate. Lukas saw it flicker in the king’s eyes—a flash of realization in those eyes.
The King of the Dragons knew.
Lukas knew the secret Daerion had buried so deeply that not even his most trusted advisors had ever glimpsed it and he was done playing these games.
To think that even for a split second that he had bought into his manipulations made the King of Nozar dangerous in a way that unsettled him.
Enough was enough.
“It is time, Daerion,” Lukas said, his voice low and resonant. “Show me where you are keeping it. Show me where you are keeping the Heart of Thalarion Drakos.”
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Invictus Shakes: A Gladiator Slice of Life
by Mila Anemoia
To taste glory, gladiators must bring a whole new flavor to the arena or die trying.
Salve! Welcome to the Imperium Aeterna, where the gods decided to cut out a piece of ancient Rome and keep it to themselves. I'm Maximilia, owner of Invictus Shakes. You'll find my smoothie bar across from the realm's best gladiator school—the one started by the champion, who, funny story, also adopted me.
Whatever the occasion, I've got the drink for you. Training hard? Fuel with the Fortis Aqua. Partying harder? Recharge and recover with the Raucous Bacchus! Won big betting on who died? Well, you can live it up like a god with real gold flakes. And I've also got the latest rumors to go with it.
So, get this. People think the mysterious territories appearing are from the world we left behind. But what I want to know is what kind of warriors they'll have fighting in the next games. Because I'm already praying to the gods I don't end up handing them their last drink. There's a lot more to these gladiators than guts, glory, and good looks.
Alright, stop staring at their muscles and...hey, eyes up here! So, what can I get you?
Ingredients to expect:
- Slice of Life, drama & action
- Found family
- Gladiators vs other cultures
- Complex characters & relationships
- Flirting & romance/slow-burn
- Humor & tragedy