The convoy traveled along the West Royal Road. Even though the golden-armored Mountain Demons were no slower than the swiftest steeds, it still took two full hours to cross the sprawling outskirts and ascend the Rodel Bridge—the massive span guarding the inner city's West Gate.
In this era, Leyndell was a sprawling, symtrical marvel of marble and light. The West Gate was the beating heart of the city's comrce. Lucia gazed out at the thousands of ters of bridge stretching over the moat lake, knowing that in the future Shattering War, this entire structure would be reduced to rubble, sinking into the mud. Beneath that very lake lay the Naless Eternal City, a relic of the Age of Stars. From his perspective, the magnificent capital looked like a fresh flower blooming atop an ancient, forgotten grave.
Lucia watched the city pass through the glass window. Even with the roads cordoned off, the vitality of the capital was undeniable. Magic-powered streetlights glowed with a constant, stable radiance, illuminating grand architecture and the distant, rhythmic bustle of the crowds.
By the ti they reached the Golden Temple at the city's center, the sky was black, yet the brilliance of the Erdtree turned the night into day. It was here that Lucia finally laid eyes on the skeleton that blotted out the sun.
Gransax, High Priest of the Sky Temple.
The dragon was a mountain range of pale stone and fury. Its wings, even in death, were like dark clouds frozen in ti, its head still reared back in a silent, thunderous roar against the Golden Tree. After the Ancient Dragon War, the dynasty lacked the power to remove the carcass without leveling the city. Instead, they built the temple around the dragon.
Jagged wings beca staircases; the straight, unbending spine beca the central axis of the palace. The Erdtree's light dyed the pale bone a sacred gold, a visual symbol of the Ancient Dragon Faith being woven into the Golden Order.
At the foot of the dragon's right claw stood a spear of dark, spiral gold. It was less a weapon and more a magnificent bolt of lightning plucked from the sky. This was the Bolt of Halaris, a supre divine weapon on par with the Dragon King's Cragblade.
Lucia felt his heart jolt. He stepped forward, his palm hovering inches from the silent, cold tal.
"In all these years... has no one claid it?" he whispered.
"Neither I nor Fortissax could lift it," Lansseax said behind him. "Even the demigods of this city have failed. It has stood masterless for ten years."
This was not the re fragnt a Tarnished might find in later ages; this was the spear in its pri—a raging fire compared to a dying ember.
"Perhaps none of us are worthy," Lansseax said, her eyes hopeful. "Do you wish to try?"
"Not yet," Lucia replied with a bitter, knowing smile. "Right now, I am not ready for such weight."
Before they could speak further, the palace gates opened. Maidservants in magnificent golden gowns filed out like a flowing sea of flowers.
"Prince Lucia, Priestess Lansseax," a high-ranking official said with a bow. "Their Majesties are waiting in the Eternal Palace."
The Eternal Palace was a sprawling complex of luxury that made the ga's "Queen's Bedchamber" look like a hovel. They passed through elegant corridors and ascended a final flight of a hundred steps to a wide, open terrace.
There, the two supre rulers of the world were waiting.
"Welco to Leyndell, Lucia, my dear child." Queen Marika stepped forward first, drawing Lucia into a gentle hug.
Her warmth caught him off guard. He had expected the cold aura of a "hostage-taker," but the Queen's enthusiasm was disarming. This was the first ti he had seen her face clearly—not as a shattered statue, but as a living woman. She was beautiful, yes, but more strikingly, she felt vividly human. Her hair was like flowing sunlight, and her erald-blue eyes held a strange, girlish innocence. Looking at her, one forgot she was a god.
Lucia did not let the warmth dull his manners. He stepped back and bowed formally. "Luciassax, son of Halaris and Placidusax, greets Her Majesty Marika and His Majesty Radagon."
He straightened with a practiced smile. "The legends do not do justice to your beauty, My Queen, nor to the bravery of the Lord Radagon."
Radagon stepped forward to stand beside Marika. "As expected of the Dragon King's bloodline," he said, his voice calm. "Your brilliance is evident even at such a young age."
Unlike Marika, Radagon flowed with visible divinity. He was perfect—his build, his features, his temperant. He looked less like a man and more like a transcendental statue co to life. Only when he spoke did the illusion of marble break.
Lucia watched them both. He alone in this world knew they were two halves of the sa soul, yet the "split" was far more complex than a shared body. Radagon stood as an independent form, a separate entity capable of leading armies while Marika presided over her court.
"Lucia must be exhausted," Marika laughed, her eyes bright. "Let us go inside! And Lansseax, thank you for the escort. My apologies for the lapse in security at the gate."
"Your Majesty is kind," Lansseax replied with poise. "It was my duty as a Priest of the Sky to welco our Prince."
In that mont, the tension of the Dectus Massacre was tacitly buried. Guests and hosts were in high spirits as Lucia, maintaining his impeccable grace, followed the two gods into the heart of the palace.
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