The Nameless Heir

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Liz. She was leaning over him, her wet hair stuck to her cheek in a way that made her look a little wild… but still cute. Her gaze stayed locked on his, like looking away might cost her something.

And behind her, the Sins stood close, forming a wall. None of them moved, but their presence filled the space.

Liz's breath caught midway when he opened his eyes. His gaze met hers. In that moment, whatever she'd been holding back broke. She pulled him into her arms, holding tight.

"You scared me," she whispered, her voice thin from strain.

He let out a low breath, sliding an arm around her. "I think you're doing more damage to me than Zeus did, sunshine."

She stayed there for a moment, her arms not loosening. He didn't fight it; he let her hold on.

She drew back, and he pushed himself upright, breath slipping out in a rough stream. His joints protested, legs burning like they'd been holding up the world far too long. Still… they worked.

"I think Zeus almost fried me," he muttered, voice low enough it was hard to tell if it was meant for her or himself.

His gaze slid past her. The Sins hadn't moved—still standing there, watching in silence. Their attention wasn't on him, but on the soldiers beyond. Not one of them dared to step closer.

He stood and crossed the distance to Draeven.

"I'm going to take one of your ships," he said, voice steady, almost casual.

Draeven didn't answer. He was still caught in the shock of it—a god had tried to kill him a second ago. His mind hadn't caught up.

He looked up, ready to speak, but his gaze shifted past Kael. The soldiers were still there, ringed around them, weapons drawn and steady.

He didn't wait.

He stepped in, grabbed Draeven by the collar, and yanked him forward, planting him like a shield between himself and the line of steel. The sudden move froze the soldiers in place.

Kael angled his blade, the point resting just enough at Draeven's throat to make the meaning clear.

"Come any closer, and he gets it," he said, a faint grin pulling at his mouth.

No one moved. The tension held, sharp and thin, until the soldiers began to ease back—slow, measured steps—giving them room.

He didn't lower his blade. He dragged Draeven toward the dragon, the king's boots scraping wet stone with every step. His collar stayed clamped in Kael's grip, no matter how much he twisted. It was useless.

He swung him into the saddle, hauling him up like dead weight. Draeven landed hard in front of him.

The dragon shifted, muscles bunching. Its wings snapped wide, scattering spray before it hurled itself into the air.

Poseidria spread out beneath them.

Kael's gaze swept over the city, following the crescent of the bay. Blue light bled through its canals, winding between buildings like veins. No streets—just water, glinting under the sky.

He leaned on the rail, watching the light shift. It reminded him of glass… if glass could move.

"Wow." The word slipped out before he could choke it back.

His gaze met hers.

"One day," he said quietly. "When this is done… I'll take you out on these canals."

He didn't make it sound like a promise—more like he'd already decided, and she just hadn't caught up yet.

She held his gaze. The water, the crowd, even the sound of the wind pressing at them—it all dulled until there was only him.

Unfortunately, Draeven was still front of Kael. Arms pinned to his sides, face locked in the strained patience of a man caught in a lovers' stare and silently praying for a sudden storm, a kraken—anything to break it up.

The city climbed out of the water in pale stone curves, leaning and curling like waves about to fall. Sunlight bounced off a few rooftops, stabbing his eyes until he looked away. Others glimmered softer, scales catching light under the drifting clouds.

Beneath the glass walkways, shadows moved—fish, or something larger—passing under his boots before sliding back into the deep. The towers along the coast wore golden caps that burned in the daylight, blue beacons pulsing slow and steady at their peaks.

The air bit with salt. The wind tugged at his cloak and worked its way into his hair. Below, the crowd's voices tangled with the sound of the sea. From here, Poseidria didn't look like a city—it looked like something alive, a jewel set in water that hadn't stopped breathing.

Below, thousands of citizens looked up as the dragon passed overhead.

Some pointed. Some gasped.

Others screamed.

"Kill them!"

Kael just waved down at them with a smirk.

He turned to Liz. "We have to come back here—look how many fans we have."

Liz gave him a flat look. "Pretty sure they're not asking for autographs."

She nodded with a small smile, but her eyes didn't match it. There was fear there. She knew something was coming.

He pulled her in, holding her just long enough for her shoulders to loosen.

"I promise," he said. "Nothing bad is going to happen to you. Not while I'm here."

She didn't reply—just rested her head against his chest.

Then they saw it.

A ship waited at the coast—black sails, railings shaped like breaking waves. The figurehead was a sea serpent, its mouth open in a silent roar, a faint blue light burning inside.

The dragon dropped toward it, wings tilting in slow, heavy beats before touching down.

Kael stepped off first and helped Liz down. Her hand was cool but steady.

A low, rolling growl came from the dragon before it dove into the shadows, the last sound of it fading with the beat of its wings.

He still had Draeven in his grip. After a second, he let him go.

"You're free."

Draeven stumbled back a step, catching himself on the rail. His gaze swept to the soldiers on deck. They stood ready, every hand near a weapon.

If they rushed him, it wouldn't be a fight—it'd be a mess.

He straightened, forcing his voice to cut through the salt-heavy air.

"Stand down!" he barked. "No one moves against them."

The soldiers exchanged quick, tense glances. Pride made their fingers linger on the hilts, but the order held. One by one, hands loosened. Shoulders sagged—but not in surrender, just in the quiet way men decide they're not ready to die.

The sails snapped once overhead, loud enough to cut through the wind. A moment later, they swelled, pulling the ship into a slow crawl. The dock began to slip away, boards shrinking while the sea lapped quietly at the hull.

The soldiers were still yelling from the shore, but the wind shredded their voices into nothing. The city was already falling away behind them, its towers and glowing canals getting smaller with every push of the waves.

He leaned on the rail, smirk creeping in. He gave the shore a little wave. "Don't wait up," he called, as if leaving a dinner party instead of stealing a ship.

"Thanks for the ship!" he called out.