In the floating castle…
Syndra stood regally by the window.
Her chin was slightly raised as she gazed at the sky, revealing the slender curve of her pale neck.
A strange light flickered in her eyes.
"Stars…"
She murmured, then scoffed softly.
"An eyesore."
Her gaze dropped from the stars to a group marching away from the Immortal Bastion.
Leading the group was Seraphine, as energetic as ever.
She steadied her floating stage, turned to adjust the formation of the children following behind, and offered a slight bow to Xin Zhao, who was escorting them.
"General Xin Zhao, thank you for helping us this time."
"I must escort you to the great capital of Demacia," Xin Zhao replied with the stoic calm of a seasoned soldier.
Instead of his usual griffin, he rode a black tiger—one of the elite mounts of the Trifarian Legion.
Most of the Trifarian forces had followed Darius north to battle the Freljord.
Only a small division, led by Xin Zhao, remained behind for duties like this.
Seraphine looked at him, her sapphire eyes blinking, filled with silent trust.
Once everything was in order, she turned away.
Her long pink hair whipped in an elegant arc behind her.
She fought the urge to glance back at the Empire's gates one last time.
She gently squeezed the Soul-Stealing Scroll in her hands, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply.
"Let's go!"
The convoy set off.
Carriages rolled forward in line, carrying the young students of the Magic Department from the Academy.
They were flanked on all sides by Trifarian soldiers, heading toward Demacia.
Seraphine didn't ride.
Instead, she floated alongside the carriages on her sleek stage, holding the scroll in her arms.
She wasn't any slower than the convoy—her magic made sure of that.
"Okay… calm down… just breathe," she muttered, scanning her surroundings. Her voice trembled slightly, betraying her nerves.
They'd only traveled a short distance, yet Seraphine couldn't shake the anxiety—or the anticipation—buzzing in her chest.
This was her first time leading a diplomatic mission beyond Noxian borders.
Demacia was willing to talk, but would things go smoothly?
Could she handle it? What if she messed up?
Still… she would try her best.
The Empire stood behind her.
That thought gave her a deep sense of security.
At the very least, she knew her students were safe.
She glanced down at her right wrist.
A black bracelet clung to it—Syndra had given it to her before the journey.
The sorceress promised that if Seraphine infused it with magic, she would come immediately, no matter where she was.
And in her arms, she held Meredith's Soul-Stealing Scroll, a gift from her other teacher, Ryan.
Sacrificing part of one's soul through the scroll could form a spatial rune, allowing him to arrive instantly.
Thinking of those two items, Seraphine's tense expression softened.
Her confidence returned.
With Syndra and Ryan behind her, what did she have to be afraid of?
She nodded to herself and smiled reassuringly at the students in the carriage beside her.
Then she lowered her head, lost in thought once again.
Now was the time to prepare—to think about whom she'd meet in Demacia, what she should say.
She couldn't just sing… right?
Her brows knit in frustration.
And so, the caravan continued, winding steadily toward the tense border between Noxus and Demacia.
--------------
Demacia — Castle of Dawn.
Jarvan IV, clad in a golden robe, walked briskly into the great hall.
He spotted Eleanor standing by the throne and frowned.
The last time he stood in this place, his uncle was by the king's side.
Now, that uncle lay buried, lost to treason and betrayal.
The memory left a bitter taste in Jarvan's mouth.
He had once admired the older generation, but Nat, who helped raise him, had betrayed Demacia.
That betrayal filled Jarvan with disgust.
"Whatever is lost, take it back with strength and glory. Never be a coward."
Nat had always told him that.
But in the end, he broke his promise.
These conflicting thoughts clouded Jarvan's mind.
Ever since gaining new power, his thinking had become sharper, more decisive.
He paused at the center of the hall and bowed before the king.
"Father, you summoned me?"
"The Bouviers refused our offer. They say their daughter isn't worthy of you," Eleanor cut in, frustration written across her face.
"You went to their house in person. If this weren't a delicate time, I'd say she was never worthy of you."
"Enough, Eleanor." The king raised his hand to silence her.
"If the Bouviers aren't willing, we won't force it."
He looked at Jarvan, his expression filled with regret and guilt.
Eleanor's words made it clear why Jarvan had been called here.
He shook his head and spoke in a calm tone.
"Father, I don't care about such things. Power is what matters. In Noxus, Ryan Meredith controls everything. No one dares oppose President Swain's will—because it rests on strength."
A heavy silence fell across the hall.
Jarvan III and Eleanor stared at the prince in shock.
Had they not known him so well, they might've believed the rumors—that this wasn't the real Jarvan.
He had never spoken like this before.
Eleanor raised her voice, still stunned.
"Jarvan, how can you say that? We are Demacia!"
The king didn't speak, but the deep furrow of his brows said enough.
This wasn't the Jarvan they knew—the one who believed in unity, loyalty, and the strength of the people.
"We are Demacia," Jarvan replied firmly.
"But how many wars have we fought with Noxus… and what has it proved?"
"Enough," the king said, stopping Eleanor with a look.
He exhaled slowly, then spoke in a deliberate, calm tone.
"Jarvan, if you have thoughts of your own… share them. Demacia is changing."
Jarvan's eyes flickered with emotion. He took a deep breath.
"Father, I fought in the last battle. I saw their power firsthand. Compared to them, we are… ants."
He paused, visibly shaken by the memory.
When he thought of that day—when Kayle clashed with Ryan—he couldn't help but feel a flicker of fear.
Once, he'd believed the gods had no place in mortal lives.
Now, he knew better.
"In other words, the gods were nothing more than illusions—beliefs. And with the will of Demacia united, even gods would falter before our blades."
That had once been Jarvan's belief.
But ever since the divine battle—and his firsthand experience in Noxus—everything had changed.
He had seen power that shattered reality.
A mere wave of the hand could lift entire sections of land into the sky.
A flick of the fingers could rupture the earth beneath their feet.
Against that kind of force, no amount of numbers or courage could make a difference.
To beings like that, they were lambs—helpless and waiting.
The old king recognized the turmoil in his son's eyes.
After a brief silence, he slowly rose from the throne and stepped down to Jarvan's side.
He rested a frail, weathered hand on his son's shoulder, his voice low but full of warmth.
"Son... I heard about that battle, too. But did you know our ancestors once faced a power just as great? In those dark days, they forged Demacia. And we've endured ever since."
Jarvan clenched his jaw.
"No, Father. They were... cowards, weren't they?"
He raised his head to meet the king's eyes. This time, there was no uncertainty—only hard-won clarity.
"Our ancestors didn't build a bastion of strength. They ran. They feared magic, so they fled and founded Demacia in a place where magic couldn't reach them. A refuge, not a kingdom of power."
He used to revere those stories. He used to believe in them.
But knowledge—painful as it was—had shown him the truth. And the truth demanded change.
The king didn't flinch or raise his voice. He shook his head, gently but firmly.
"We don't judge our ancestors, Jarvan. We learn from them."
He let out a slow breath, then continued—his voice steady, growing in strength.
"There are many kinds of people. Some till the land and rejoice in the harvest. Some trade and prosper through fortune. Some are born noble and serve their country with pride."
He paused.
"But you, Jarvan... you are not just another Demacian."
"You are the crown prince—the one who will inherit everything. Maybe we lack Noxus's raw strength. Maybe we don't live as freely as Ionia. But we are still standing—because our people have never given up."
"Our ancestors carved this nation from nothing. And through famine, war, and hardship, we've endured by standing together. That unity... that spirit... is what makes us strong."
"Yes, gods may possess power beyond imagining. But even gods have enemies. We must unite everyone we can. That's the path forward."
Jarvan's heart was caught between two truths—his father's and his own.
His father's words were still noble. Still strong.
And a year ago, he would've agreed without hesitation.
But now... they felt aged.
Outpaced by the world's cruel truths.
He gave no argument—just a silent nod.
"I understand, Father. But what should we do about Noxus? Time is not on our side."
The king nodded solemnly.
"Ionia has already sent word. The Shadow Order is willing to ally with us against Noxus. And they're not without divine strength of their own. The one they call the 'Apocalypse'—a being who has inherited power through generations—has pledged his support."
Jarvan's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't expected that.
"And there's more," the king continued.
"Ryan Meredith failed once in Ionia. Though he and Swain escaped, the army they led was utterly destroyed. Every soldier, lost on Ionian soil."
He stepped closer, his voice steady.
"Our messengers are already negotiating with the Freljord. The tribes are splintered, yes—but aside from the Winter's Claw, most are willing to aid us should Noxus invade."
But Jarvan shook his head.
"No, Father. You still don't understand."
"If Ryan Meredith comes… we won't have time for alliances or plans. We won't even see it coming."
The king didn't respond with fear.
Instead, he smiled—calm, confident.
"Then let me reassure you further."
"There's one more thing I've yet to tell you today."
"I've arranged for you to meet a new teacher."
Jarvan's brows furrowed.
"A teacher? Now?"
He didn't need swordplay tutors or political advisors.
Not anymore.
But the king gave Eleanor a nod, and she bowed silently before exiting the hall.
Then, the old king turned serious.
"There are things I must finally share with you, son. Things I've kept secret for too long."
He looked Jarvan in the eye.
"The Lightshield family has always had dealings with mages."
"…Mages?" Jarvan blinked.
"Dealings? With us?"
He stared at his father as if he'd just heard a heresy.
For a moment, he thought he was dreaming.
This man—his father—was the very model of Demacian tradition.
Devoted to justice. Bound by honor.
Fierce protector of the people. And, above all, a ruler who upheld the law.
And Demacia's greatest law?
No magic.
And yet now, that same father was telling him they had always harbored secret ties with mages.
It felt like the very foundation of his world had cracked.
The man who once refused even to acknowledge the presence of arcane arts now claimed they'd traded with it all along.
And suddenly, Jarvan wasn't sure what was more frightening—Ryan Meredith's power… or the legacy of his bloodline.
The king saw the conflict brewing on Jarvan's face and gave a light, almost weary smile.
"Sometimes… we make compromises for Demacia. I was in your position once."
Jarvan frowned.
"He… is he also a mage?"
"Perhaps stronger than that," the king replied, his voice distant with memory.
"Even in the Forbidden Forest, he can cast spells freely. He may even surpass the power of the Winged Protector herself."
Jarvan's gaze sharpened.
"Who is he?"
How ironic, he thought bitterly.
Demacia, whose greatest strength was its rejection of magic… now seemed to rely on it to survive.
Once, that would've filled him with scorn.
But now?
Now he was grateful.
At least it meant his father had been preparing in silence.
"You'll hear it from him directly," the king replied.
He returned to the throne, opened a hidden compartment, and pulled out a sealed scroll.
With a rip, the scroll flared to life.
Hum!
A pulse of dark blue magical energy swept across the hall, shimmering with raw power.
Jarvan flinched instinctively.
His shoulders stiffened, his heartbeat quickened.
The arcane circle rising in the air—it looked eerily similar to the one Ryan had used in his battle with Kayle.
A figure slowly emerged from the center of the rune.
Jarvan already understood—this wasn't just another mage.
This was someone on par with the so-called gods.
Even before the figure fully materialized, he felt the ambient magic in his own body suppressed to near nothingness.
And that terrified him.
Even during the chaos of Noxus and the divine battle, their mages hadn't lost their magic inside the city walls.
But here? One presence, and everything felt nullified.
If he's truly stronger than Kayle…
Jarvan's expression changed. Just the thought filled him with hope.
If they had someone like this—maybe, just maybe—Demacia could survive what was coming.
As the blue light dimmed, the figure stepped out fully.
A tall, purple-skinned mage appeared, a massive scroll strapped across his back.
His presence felt ancient, solid, and unnervingly calm.
His gaze swept across the room and settled on Jarvan for a long moment before turning to the king.
"So… this is the little heir of the Lightshield line? The one you want me to teach?"
"Yes, Archmage," King Jarvan III said, bowing slightly.
"He is my son, Prince Jarvan."
The mage smirked and turned back to Jarvan.
"You think differently from your father. I like that. I'm Ryze. You may call me Archmage, like he does."
"It's an honor to meet you, Archmage," Jarvan said, doing his best to contain his excitement as he bowed.
He had come here today planning to confront his father, to break away, travel to the Freljord or Shurima, to sharpen himself through war and trial.
Instead, his father had given him something better: a mentor, a path of absolute power.
And perhaps… a future for Demacia.
Ryze studied him carefully.
"You have clarity in your eyes. I've seen that before. Many apprentices start with conviction—strong ideals, big dreams—but most lose themselves chasing power."
His eyes narrowed, glowing faintly blue as his tone hardened.
"Your father asked me to take you in. But understand this—magic is a path of chaos. How far you go depends on your talent… and your restraint. Magic can seduce. It can twist. If you let it… It will consume you."
Jarvan nodded respectfully, but his brow furrowed. "Temptation? May I ask what you mean, Archmage?"
He had heard similar warnings from his father, and even from some in Noxus. But their approaches to power were wildly different. Noxus seemed to embrace shortcuts—quick, ruthless power, no matter the cost.
Jarvan didn't want that.
He would never stoop to the Black Rose. Never betray Demacia.
Ryze looked at him for a moment, then spoke gravely.
"Power isn't always earned. There are forbidden methods—blood rituals, soul exchanges, deals with voidborn. I've seen talented men, kings even, reduced to nothing but vessels for hungering magic."
He touched the scroll on his back, and for a second, the air around him warped.
"I gained my strength through bitter sacrifice. I've outlived everyone I've ever known. I've watched nations rise and burn for the same power you now seek."
Ryze stepped forward, his tone sharp as steel.
"You have the privilege of legacy—wealth, education, lineage. That makes you dangerous. So I'll give you one rule: pursue power, but do so with control."
His voice dropped to a whisper, but it echoed in the vast hall.
"If you ever use a shortcut—if you ever reach for what is forbidden—I will kill you myself."
A chill filled the room.
Ryze's killing intent wasn't a bluff. It was the cold, practiced warning of someone who had done it before.
Jarvan's breath caught. His limbs stiffened. For a moment, it felt as though the very air around him had frozen.
But then… he exhaled.
"I understand."
His voice was quiet, but steady.
"I will never become what you hate, Archmage. My strength will protect my people. That is my promise."
Ryze looked at him for a long moment, then finally nodded.
"Good."
Jarvan knelt solemnly, his voice clear and resolute:
"Jarvan Lightshield, I humbly request the Archmage to accept me as his apprentice!"
He didn't doubt Ryze's warnings. Not even for a second.
And yet, part of him couldn't help but remain cautious.
Ryze had made it clear—no true magic-seeker ever walks the long path by choice when shortcuts exist. And those shortcuts… were often far too tempting.
Jarvan was sure that if he ever crossed the line, Ryze would not hesitate to end him.
But if there were a path to overwhelming power—one that could protect Demacia—he would take it. Whatever the cost.
Ryze studied him for a beat longer, then nodded, his voice calm but decisive.
"From this moment, you are my apprentice. I'll teach you how to control magic. We'll begin with your foundation and construct a growth path suited to you."
He didn't concern himself too much with Jarvan's future.
For Ryze, who had lived for centuries, teaching another apprentice was routine, especially with the weight of his accumulated knowledge behind him.
But what stirred Ryze's urgency wasn't Jarvan—it was Ryan Meredith.
The last time he had taught someone the secrets of the world runes… it had created a monster.
Ryan already wielded one rune.
There were still more, scattered across Runeterra.
Ryze had no choice but to act faster.
And this time, he would not let Ryan win.
Meanwhile, in Xiongdu…
Luxanna Crownguard slowed her steps as a strange sensation prickled across her skin.
She turned her head slightly, looking in the direction of Castle Dawn.
A flicker of arcane pressure pulsed faintly in the air.
Her grip tightened on the magical tome in her arms.
"...Teacher, did you feel that? A huge burst of magic, just now…"
Her mentor's voice responded through the bond they shared.
"Someone activated a rune-based teleportation circle inside Castle Dawn. The signature… It's rare. Very rare."
Lux's eyes widened slightly.
She remembered something her aunt Tiana once mentioned—that the Lightshield family had long maintained discreet ties to magic.
This mage... could be part of that secret.
"Teacher, do you know who it was?" she asked, half-hoping.
The power had been immense—unmistakably ancient. Even from a distance, it had shaken her to the core.
There was a pause.
Then the answer came.
"Ryze. The Guardian of the World Runes."
"…Ryze," Lux repeated softly, the name unfamiliar to her, but the title hitting with weight. "Guardian… what a powerful-sounding name."
She clutched her book tighter.
She had never heard of him before, but if even her teacher acknowledged him with such respect, then Ryze must truly be someone incredible.
Someday… she wanted a title like that, too.
The Guardian of Demacia.
She smiled at the thought, then shook her head gently and continued toward home.
Tomorrow was the day of the referendum. She'd been canvassing for days, giving speeches, rallying people to her cause.
With a bit of luck, things might finally turn around.
But when she stepped through the Crownguard estate gates, she immediately sensed something was wrong.
Tiana met her at the door, face unusually grim, holding a scroll tightly in her hand.
"Aunt? What's wrong?" Lux asked, noticing the tension in her posture.
Tiana let out a low sigh and handed her the scroll without a word.
"This just arrived. A letter from Noxus."
"…Noxus?"
Lux's brow furrowed as she took the scroll and opened it carefully.
'Trifarian Council Official Notice'To: The Crownguard Family
Lux paused.
Why was a Noxian military announcement being sent directly to them?
And in such formal language?
She pushed the thought aside and continued reading.
"The Empire of Noxus will conduct a peaceful exchange with Demacia. This delegation will be led by Seraphine, apprentice of Council President Ryan Meredith and instructor of the War College's Department of Magic. Students from the department will accompany her. Their escort will be Deputy General Xin Zhao of the Trifarian Legion."
So far, it sounded... diplomatic. Almost promising.
Lux exhaled in relief.
At least this wasn't a prelude to war. If anything, it suggested Noxus was pursuing peace—or pretending to.
But as she read further, her breath caught.
"Recently, Council President Ryan Meredith defeated Ryze, a mage hiding in Demacia. This Ryze possesses magic capable of destroying nations. The Empire requests a full intelligence report on this individual before our delegation's arrival."
"Upon the delegation's arrival, the Crownguard family is to assume responsibility for hosting and liaison."
"—Vice President Jericho Swain, Trifarian Council, handwritten."
Lux stood frozen.
Every word of the message dripped with arrogance and veiled threat.
This wasn't diplomacy.
This was an order.
And not just to Demacia. To them—the Crownguards.
She looked up slowly at Tiana, her voice unsure.
"Aunt… we don't… have ties with Noxus… do we?"
Tiana's expression was unreadable.
She didn't answer right away.
And in that silence, Lux's forced smile faded.