Academy of War
Katarina, clad in armor, walked down the academy, her expression unreadable.
Students bustled past in every direction—young, old, hurried, focused.
Back when she was stationed in the south, she had often heard about this prestigious institution.
She also knew her younger sister had enrolled here, studying in the History Department.
That's exactly where Katarina was headed now.
Each department on campus had its own main building: the Warfare Department had its grand arena, and the Administration Department had its tall bureaucratic tower.
The History Department was centered around the massive Library, surrounded by several older, quieter buildings.
The library itself was the largest in the empire.
Nearly every book collected by Noxus had a copy here, including private family archives, Ryan's own personal collection, and even a few rare tomes tied to the Black Rose.
Katarina entered the grand library without pause, heading straight for the wooden stairs.
Her target was on the third floor: the Shuriman Culture Seminar Room.
She had already gathered intel on their location.
The objective was to retrieve something, but her approach had to be direct.
No room for hesitation.
Creak.
She pushed open the research room door. Rows of tall bookshelves greeted her first.
Beyond them, through a gap, she saw three people deep in a heated discussion at a table.
Two men and one woman. She recognized two of them.
The door's creak pulled all three heads up. Ezreal, seated at the center, immediately fell silent.
The girl beside him stiffened.
Only the third—an unfamiliar figure with the lower body of a serpent—looked confused.
Judging from the others' reactions, he quickly realized the newcomer was important.
He hesitated, then forced a polite greeting.
"Hello... who are you looking for, Miss?"
The girl beside him rolled her eyes and corrected him sharply, a mix of envy and awe in her tone.
"That's no miss. She's Katarina du Couteau, member of the Trifarix Council, Commander of the Southern Front."
"Commander of the Southern Front?!" the serpent-man gasped, eyes widening in disbelief.
That was the front—the Noxian campaign in Shurima.
And the cold-eyed woman in front of him looked far too young to hold such power.
Yet here she stood, a top commander and political figure of the empire.
He didn't know much about the Trifarix, but he knew enough to be afraid.
A single word from her could decide his fate—and that of his people.
"M-Madam Couteau, what brings you here..." he asked carefully, his voice low with fear.
But Katarina didn't even look at him. Her gaze had locked onto the girl beside Ezreal from the moment she entered.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
The girl was her sister, Cassiopeia.
Raised by their mother, kept apart for years.
"Cassiopeia. Mother never should've let you grow up like this."
Cassiopeia's expression twisted, bitterness surfacing instantly.
"You don't get to say that," she snapped.
"You were always the golden child. The prodigy. But I never believed I was less than you!"
Katarina sighed quietly.
They had once been close as children. But their paths had diverged.
Her father had chosen her. Cassiopeia had been left to their mother, whose methods were… different.
Since then, their relationship had turned sharp and competitive.
Every meeting is layered in cynicism.
Katarina didn't want it to be that way. But if her sister needed to vent, she could take it.
She knew the truth now: both their paths had been brutal.
One destined to inherit the Couteau legacy.
The other—Cassiopeia—molded for political marriage or sacrifice.
Both of them had been trapped.
Katarina had always thought she bore the greater burden.
However, after spending time with Ryan, her perspective changed.
Everyone had their struggle. Her sister's pain was real.
She didn't want this rift to grow into something tragic.
That's why she had taken down their father.
That's why she had taken on the responsibility of leading their family.
"Cassiopeia," Katarina said, her voice calm but firm.
"I'm ready to face any challenge you give me, as the second daughter of the Couteau family."
Cassiopeia blinked, confused. "What... what does that mean?"
"It means I'm the head of the family now. Your grim future? That ends here. You have a choice. You can pursue your path—continue your research, go to Shurima, prove yourself. Or even challenge me, if you must. I won't stop you."
"You…"
Cassiopeia stared at her, overwhelmed, her expression softening with something between shock and understanding.
It felt like she was seeing her sister, truly seeing her, for the first time in years.
Her goal had always been to escape the family's grip. To rise higher. To claim power.
But now, for the first time, she wondered if that future had already begun.
She knew the Trifarix Council placed great importance on Shuriman history—an area where she excelled. Cassiopeia had already envisioned her path forward.
But Katarina's sudden appearance threatened to upend it all.
"Cassiopeia, I respect your decision," Ezreal finally spoke, his voice calm but with resignation behind it.
He wore a look of understanding, but inside, it stung.
He had finally found someone competent—a right-hand.
And it turned out she was her sister.
Back in Piltover, there were two people Ezreal had always dreaded crossing: Seraphine, who could read his every thought... and Katarina, who didn't need to read anything—she just acted.
One misstep, one careless remark about Noxus or Ryan, and he'd find a blade pressed to his throat before he could blink.
If Katarina—or her sister—decided not to support him, there was nothing he could do.
Cassiopeia hesitated, her expression shifting between resolve and doubt, but she eventually answered.
"Katarina, I won't change my mind. I'll assist Professor Ezreal. There's much I can learn from him."
Katarina didn't argue. She gave the slightest nod.
"Good. Then keep going."
Her eyes shifted to Ezreal, sharp and expectant.
Ezreal sat up straighter, quick to justify the situation.
"Miss Cassiopeia's knowledge of Shuriman history is impressive," he said quickly.
"She's already helped me—and the Empire—on several occasions."
Katarina said nothing, still watching him.
Sensing the weight of her silence, Ezreal's mind raced.
Then, as if struck by a sudden realization, he added hastily:
"Of course, Cassiopeia is only assisting with research. She won't be heading into any dangerous areas."
"I trust she knows her limits," Katarina replied, voice even.
The serpent-man had been silent the whole time, quietly watching from the side. His long tail twisted nervously.
This was his first time so close to someone of such stature, and everything about her matched the rumors.
The icy poise. The pressure in the air.
And yet… when she spoke to her sister, there was something gentler. Almost human.
Suddenly, Ezreal broke the tension again.
"Miss Katarina, this isn't just about Cassiopeia," he began carefully.
He had received word just yesterday that the exploration of the Akzam Mausoleum would be led by Katarina herself.
At first, he thought the sky had fallen. But after learning Katrina was promoted to a Trifarix Council seat, his thoughts took a more strategic turn.
If Draven—of all people—could be a councilor, and someone like Katarina was taking over a central role…
Then maybe his future in the Empire wasn't as fragile as he'd feared.
As he mentally charted out political hypotheticals, Katarina cut through his thoughts.
"I'm heading to Shurima. How long do you need to prepare?" she asked, direct as ever.
She was here for one purpose: to recover a specific item designated by Ryan.
Within her power, she would ensure Ezreal and his team had protection.
But she wasn't arrogant. What deeper knowledge is required to locate or understand the artifact?
That was on them.
She knew this mission would be dangerous. But she was ready for that.
Ezreal blinked, then rubbed his temples, looking exhausted already.
"We've gathered everything we could about Icathia," he said.
"And we've made contingency plans for most of the risks."
He hesitated, glancing toward the dusty documents piled on a nearby desk.
"But... there's one thing. One issue we still haven't figured out."
"What's the issue?" Katarina asked, arms folded, her voice calm but firm.
Ezreal sighed, tousling his freshly conditioned blond hair in frustration.
"It's not hard to get in," he began, "especially with the protection of a Counciler. The problem is getting back out."
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"If we rely on external forces to extract us, the entire mausoleum could collapse. Whatever's left inside would be lost."
The tomb was protected by ancient magics—Icathian in origin, volatile and unpredictable.
Tearing a hole open to enter was possible with brute power or artifacts.
But anchoring an exit, especially using coordinate-based props or magic, would trigger the mausoleum's failsafes.
Ezreal had studied enough to know the risk wasn't just theoretical. The place was rigged to erase itself if tampered with too crudely.
If he were still an independent explorer, he might have thrown caution to the wind. Get in, grab what he could, consequences be damned.
But this was different.
This was his first major operation under the Noxian banner.
A botched job here would brand him unreliable in the eyes of the Trifarix Council.
Worse, it could endanger the future of other archaeological projects in the Empire.
If—no, when—the mausoleum was successfully excavated, the rewards would be massive.
He could already picture it: Ezreal, Hero of Noxus, Discoverer of the Last Great Icathian Vault—scholars, nobles, and mages quoting his work for generations.
It would eclipse anything ever uncovered.
This was his shot at immortality in the history books.
"Give me a timeline," Katarina said flatly.
She didn't care about collapsing tombs or crumbling ruins.
Ryan hadn't given her specifics—only a directive: retrieve the item.
She wanted to get it done fast. And after spending so long by Ryan's side, she could sense how badly he wanted it.
"Half a month," Ezreal said quickly, voice firm now.
"Give me two more weeks, and I'll find a clean way in—and out."
They had been tearing through every record on Shurima and Icathia for days.
If worst came to worst, he could always appeal directly to the President.
Katarina nodded once.
"Fine."
Without another word, she turned and left the seminar room, her crimson cloak brushing the floor as the door creaked shut behind her.
The room seemed to exhale after she was gone.
The anaconda hybrid exhaled shakily, his body trembling slightly.
"Professor," he said, voice low.
"Cassiopeia's sister is... terrifying. I was shaking without even realizing it."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Cassiopeia's eyes narrowed dangerously.
She hated comparisons. Especially the ones that made her look less.
The snake-man flinched. "Ah—no offense! I mean… your sister is intense. You and she feel like... different people."
Cassiopeia gave him a hard stare.
"I see. So I'm harmless, then?"
He gulped, struggling to respond. He glanced up at her—elegant, poised, radiant in the noble light of the academy.
Cassiopeia's beauty was undeniable. Her perfect posture, refined taste, and dress subtly accentuated her figure with aristocratic grace.
She looked like a queen in exile, someone meant for high courts and whispered secrets.
But next to Katarina... she lacked that edge, that blood-soaked certainty.
The killing intent clung to Katarina like a shadow.
After a long pause, he finally managed to croak out:
"Cassiopeia, you're different. You're... a good person."
Ezreal choked and barely suppressed a laugh, lifting a book in front of his face to hide his smirk.
His eyes flicked between the two of them.
A straight-laced, naive desert-born man calling Cassiopeia Du Couteau—a woman infamous for her ruthlessness in Noxian high circles—a good person?
He could hardly keep a straight face.
"A good person, huh…"
Cassiopeia's voice was quiet, dry. She picked up a book and lifted it to cover her expression, though a wry smile tugged at her lips.
No one knew the sins she'd committed better than herself.
She'd lied, manipulated, poisoned, and betrayed.
She'd done everything she had to claw out a future for herself.
And yet, today, someone compared her favorably to the golden child.
The sister she had envied her entire life.
Good person. What a joke.
But somehow… it didn't sting.
Mori blinked at the sudden silence, glancing between the pair now lost in their books. He hesitated, then awkwardly reached for his own, trying to mimic them.
He couldn't afford to waste time. His people were still cursed.
This expedition might be his only chance at breaking that fate.
For all his nerves and clumsy words, he too had his reason to fight.
-------------
The Immortal Bastion, temporary base of the Lightshield Bulwark.
Jarvan IV lowered the parchment written in his father's hand, his expression unreadable, clouded with emotions he hadn't quite named.
After a moment's silence, he exhaled and turned to the man standing before him.
"Uncle Nat… who else knows about this?"
Nat Lightshield—Deputy Commander of the Silver Knights, younger brother of Jarvan III, and the prince's uncle—stood tall, nearly two meters of hardened muscle and noble blood.
The fact that he had personally delivered the letter said more than words ever could.
Nat's square jaw was set in a firm line. His voice was deep, steady.
"The Eight High Officials. And Captain Garen Crownguard. Beyond them... it's hard to say if word has already spread."
Jarvan's brows furrowed.
"Old General Laurent… I shouldn't have let him go."
"This is a Noxian scheme," Nat growled, his voice thick with loathing.
"Even if we avoid this trap, they'll set another. That's how they operate."
"I know." Jarvan's voice was heavy.
He knew too well. Fall behind, and you bleed. There was no room for weakness in this war of ideals.
He straightened.
"Uncle Nat… I need to ask a favor. Return to Demacia and report to my father personally."
Nat blinked. "What happened?"
Jarvan's voice turned solemn.
"The Lightshield Bulwark dueled the Trifarian warband. We lost."
Nat's frown deepened.
Everyone in both nations had heard. The Light Shield Bulwark had suffered a complete rout at the hands of the Trifarian Legion.
The defeat stung across Demacia.
"Yes," Jarvan replied, eyes dark.
"They challenged over a hundred Noxian gladiators. But we all lost in the end—honorably, in combat. No Noxian tricks. No poison or interference."
He hadn't stopped them. Couldn't.
Not when their dignity as soldiers was on the line.
He had simply made sure their final acts wouldn't spark an unmanageable war.
"They lost with pride," Nat said grimly, "but I don't want you repeating their mistake. Don't throw yourself at the Noxians just to prove a point. The Lightshield's position is fragile right now."
Jarvan's expression sharpened.
"Something happened in Demacia?"
He'd caught the shift in Nat's tone. The warning was too pointed.
Nat hesitated, then gave a long sigh.
"I didn't want me to tell you. But you have a right to know."
"Please, Uncle Nat. What is it?"
Nat met his nephew's gaze, saw the fire in his eyes, and relented.
"The Crownguard family has begun quietly gathering followers—many of them former believers of the Winged Protector. And the one rallying them… is their young heir."
Jarvan's heart clenched.
"L—Luxanna? That's impossible!"
She was bright, kind. Always trailing behind them as a child, eager and gentle. Not someone who'd conspire in the shadows.
But if these followers truly worshipped the Winged Protector... everyone in Demacia knew what that implied.
"I don't know if your father is aware yet. But one thing is certain. Before the war began, Garen was recalled to High Silvermere—not by royal order, but by Grand Marshal Tianna herself."
That stopped Jarvan cold.
Not a royal command. Not even from the Eight. Just... Tianna.
"You're saying this may have been planned before the war even started…"
Nat said nothing, but his silence was confirmation enough.
The black rose was not the only threat now. Treason might already be blooming from within.
"If General Laurent confirms Black Rose involvement, and if his family's heir—the eldest son—remains loyal to us, it may not be a lost cause," Nat continued.
"But his youngest granddaughter recently joined the Judicators."
Jarvan's face darkened.
"The girl betrothed to the Crownguard Branch line?"
Everything was unraveling. Threads of betrayal interwoven with family ties, faith, and politics.
He didn't doubt Garen's loyalty. But the rest of the family? That was another matter entirely.
Lux… what had happened to her?
"I understand," Jarvan said at last, voice tight.
"I'll say nothing of this."
The truth of these revelations was a kingdom-level secret.
And even though he was the prince, hearing it from Nat meant he was stepping into dangerous waters.
Nat nodded. "Good. I'll return to Demacia immediately. We'll be waiting for your victory."
He gave Jarvan a firm clap on the shoulder, muttered a few final words of advice, and then departed.
As his Silverwing soared into the sky, Nat Lightshield looked over his shoulder at the fortress below.
A faint smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
And in the reflection of his amber eyes—the unmistakable shape of a black rose shimmered, dark and blooming.