The thunder of hooves echoed along the smooth road.
As a village came into view, Jarvan IV let out a breath of relief.
It was the first settlement he'd encountered since re-entering Demacia—a village of Nokemarch, a principality on the border with Noxus.
The constant tension of being in Noxian territory eased—if only slightly.
But as they approached, his expression darkened.
The smoke rising in the distance wasn't from hearths or chimneys—it was fire.
The kind that devoured wood and homes.
"Form ranks! Be ready!" Jarvan barked.
At his command, the eighty Lightshield soldiers riding with him snapped into formation.
Then—
"ROAAAR!!"
A deafening cry split the air as a massive red dragon erupted from the village below, wings stretching wide against the sky.
The entire squadron tensed.
A dragon. Never a good sign.
But something about it was off. Jarvan narrowed his eyes.
It was smaller than a true dragon, not quite matching the descriptions of the ancient beasts of old.
More importantly, he noticed a body gripped tightly in the creature's claw.
A mage.
Jarvan recognized the tattered robes, the aura.
It wasn't unusual for mages to end up in border territories like this—Demacian mages fleeing persecution, or magic-seekers testing their luck near Noxus.
Still, that didn't justify what had happened here.
"Loose!" Jarvan ordered.
The dragon had attacked a Demacian village.
He wouldn't let it escape unpunished.
Swish! Swish!
Dozens of arrows screamed through the sky.
They struck true—most pierced the beast's hide.
The heads, made of runed steel, cut through its scales, drawing streams of dark crimson blood.
The dragon shrieked and recoiled. Its claw loosened, and the mage's corpse plummeted from the sky.
"ROAAAR!"
With a furious glare, the dragon opened its maw and launched a blazing fireball toward Jarvan's squad.
"Shields up!" Jarvan shouted without flinching.
The soldiers reacted instantly, pulling their silver-white shields from their backs and locking into a wall of steel.
Boom!
The fireball hit the shield wall with an explosive crash. But the Lightshield barriers held strong.
Runes lit up across their surfaces—red glows absorbing the fireball's magic, compressing it until it vanished into nothing.
Their shields, made with petricite—the infamous anti-magic stone—were built to do just this.
When the smoke cleared, the dragon was already retreating, wings flapping hard as it vanished toward the eastern horizon.
Jarvan clenched his fist but didn't pursue. Now wasn't the time.
He ordered the soldiers to begin clearing the wreckage.
Attacks like this weren't unheard of.
Demacia's mountainous north and south regions were wild, often home to beasts and creatures no less deadly than Noxians.
Jarvan calmly delegated orders. Some soldiers worked to extinguish the fires.
Others tended to the wounded, collected the dead, and dispatched messengers to inform Nokemarch.
While the unit worked, Jarvan took a quiet walk toward the fallen mage.
He didn't know why.
Instinct, maybe.
As he approached the body, something caught his eye—a blood-stained book that had fallen loose.
He glanced around.
No one saw.
He bent down, picked it up, and slipped it into his coat.
Just before he hid it away, he caught the title with the corner of his eye:
"Power of Earth."
Days later, after a long and weary journey, Jarvan and his men returned to the capital.
The towering silver-white walls came into view. For the first time in weeks, Jarvan allowed himself to relax.
He was home.
As they neared the gates, Jarvan's gaze sharpened.
A familiar figure stood there, waiting with a massive blade strapped to his back.
"Garen!"
"Jarvan!"
Even from dozens of meters apart, the two called out in unison.
Jarvan dismounted, smiling, and strode forward to embrace his old friend.
"You're finally back," Garen said with a quiet laugh.
"And you still doubt I would be," Jarvan replied, nudging him with a smirk.
"Hah! I trust your strength. Come see the council, then we'll have that drink." Garen clapped him on the shoulder.
"Deal," Jarvan nodded.
The two walked toward the gates side by side, as if nothing had changed.
"Let's go. His Majesty and the ministers are ready—they're just waiting on you," Garen said.
Jarvan nodded. "Understood. The Lightshield soldiers are in your hands."
He knew why Garen was here. There were some matters that only he could report personally to the Council.
"Don't worry. I'll take care of them," Garen replied.
"You're the one who made two nations stop a war. At least now we can enjoy a little peace."
Jarvan gave a half-smile. "Yeah… let's just hope it lasts."
He gave Garen a parting nod, mounted his horse, and rode swiftly toward the Council Hall at the heart of the capital.
Galloping along the capital's official emergency road, Jarvan felt the eyes of the people on him.
There were nods of gratitude, respectful gestures—some even gave formal salutes.
Word had spread quickly.
He had returned from a diplomatic mission to Noxus seeking peace, even though the Lightshield Bulwark had suffered humiliations there, and the mission was marred by Demacia's military inferiority to the Trifarian Legion.
But this was Demacia. Here, strength alone was not the measure of a man.
What mattered was what he had accomplished—he'd forged a treaty.
That alone elevated his standing in the eyes of the people.
The clean, orderly buildings of white stone, the well-kept roads, the quiet pride of the people—this was home.
Demacia might not boast floating spires or arcane marvels like Noxus or Piltover, but every brick, every cobblestone had been laid by Demacian hands.
Built by the people. For the people. And worth protecting, no matter the cost.
"Hyah!"
Jarvan lightly tugged the reins, urging his horse faster.
He was anxious. The council would expect a full report.
He passed through the grand white-stone plaza and turned down the path leading to the Castle of Dawn, home of the royal family.
Escorted by Lightshield Bulwark, Jarvan entered the Castle and approached a side hall—the Parliament Chamber—where the kingdom's most important decisions were made.
He straightened his back, tightened the scroll, and pushed open the doors.
Immediately, nine pairs of eyes turned to him.
He took a breath, stepped forward, and raised the scroll.
"Mission accomplished. The treaty is signed."
"Your Highness Jarvan, thank you for your service to Demacia," said Chancellor Bristow, his voice almost reverent.
War was expensive. Soldiers had to be paid. Families had to be compensated.
The decades-long conflict with Noxus had nearly drained the treasury. Now, at least, there would be time to recover.
"I only did what was necessary," Jarvan replied, and handed the scroll to the attending officials for review.
"The contents match what was agreed upon," said Grantham, the Executive Secretary.
"We're going to need a significant influx of coin," Bristow added, glancing around.
"I propose we authorize a large-scale sale of petricite."
The treaty had opened up trade in forbidden magic materials, but hadn't set limits.
Noxus rarely specified such details—they preferred loose language, always looking for leverage.
"Marquis Bristow, that's profiteering," said Eleanor Lightshield, the Director of Noble Affairs, frowning.
"Princess Eleanor, don't make it sound so unseemly," Bristow countered.
"The kingdom needs funding. This is an opportunity. Besides, we have no use for petricite—they're less effective than rune steel in battle."
"Petricite may not be as strong," Tiana Crownguard interjected sharply, "but they absorb magic. That has value. More importantly, Marquis, the Council needs a full report on the financial gap. That will determine how much we even need to sell."
Much of the framework for post-war recovery had already been laid out in earlier meetings.
Now came the details—and the division of benefits.
Trade was a double-edged sword. It would disrupt the domestic market but could bring urgently needed supplies and currency.
Demacia was landlocked by mountains to the north and south.
The western passage to Ionia was treacherous. Noxus, like it or not, was the most practical trade route.
Besides, many noble families already used covert channels through Piltover to smuggle goods in from Noxus—at great risk and cost.
Now, with trade legalized, everyone—nobles and kingdom alike—could profit.
And Demacia needed that money desperately.
At least half of the proposed fund was meant for distribution among the noble houses.
"We need another 500,000 Trifarian gold coins," Bristow said, voice tight with hesitation.
Since the rise of the Trifarian Council, their minted currency had quickly become the dominant medium of exchange across Runeterra.
Backed by Noxus and supported by extensive trade networks for raw metals, Trifarian gold coins were both stable and easy to exchange—even Demacia had to admit, no other nation on the continent could achieve such monetary dominance.
Especially after Kayle's defeat, the Trifarian coin had gained unmatched credibility.
Its value now rivaled the Golden Siren, long used in Bilgewater's maritime trade.
Hundreds of principalities and independent city-states had adopted it as official tender.
Demacia's use of it in trade with Noxus was part of the new peace agreement.
"Five hundred thousand? Is that how you're managing the kingdom's finances?" Eleanor's eyes widened.
Even accounting for noble interests, the figure was far beyond expectation.
The Trifarian coin held considerable purchasing power—one could buy an entire kilogram of livestock meat with a single coin.
A regular Demacian soldier's monthly ration barely cost a few hundred.
"What choice do I have?" Bristow said grimly.
"The public needs to be calmed. I opposed Duke Grantham's proposal, but now that it's been implemented, we're bleeding money without seeing results."
In an effort to boost morale and suppress internal suspicion and unrest, Grantham, the Executive Secretary, had pushed for grand celebrations across the kingdom.
Festivals, military parades, public speeches… all to show strength and unity in the aftermath of war.
But the financial burden was immense.
With the treasury nearly emptied by years of conflict, much of the cost had to be subsidized by the royal family.
"Five hundred thousand it is," Tiana said, rubbing her temple.
"We'll need to figure out how to patch this hole. Based on current Noxian rates, we'd need to trade at least one ton of petricite."
It wasn't a low price. Each kilogram of petricite could fetch about 500 gold coins.
But Demacia wasn't short on supply. Petricite was abundant in the Forest of Silence. Even parts of the city's outer walls and buildings were built with the material.
What Demacia lacked were artisans capable of crafting advanced weapons from it. Only a handful had the skill and strength.
"One ton won't impact us much," Adair, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, said with a dry chuckle.
"But if other regions find out, they'll resent us."
Demacians may be resistant to magic, but that didn't hold for the rest of the world.
Petricite absorbed magic indiscriminately.
For any region reliant on arcane arts, it was a threat.
And Noxus wasn't their only rival.
"Then why not sell it to them too?" Bristow asked eagerly.
"That way, we don't boost Noxus's strength—and we bring greater wealth into the kingdom."
"It's a solid idea… just not for Noxus," Tiana said after a pause.
The council nodded in agreement and turned to look at Adair.
"Lord Adair…" Jarvan III's voice broke the silence.
"You'll take care of the communications. You're the only one among us who can do it discreetly. Noxus is growing bolder, and no one wants to be caught waiting for chains."
Adair felt the pressure of their collective gaze and reluctantly nodded.
"Very well. Leave it to me."
He had hoped to deflect the task to Prince Jarvan, but Jarvan III had anticipated as much and cut him off.
"I…"
Jarvan hesitated, then said, "There's one more matter. Concerning Noxus."
"Speak freely, Your Highness," Eleanor said gently.
"On my way back to Demacia, I witnessed the Trifarian Legion moving toward the Immortal Bastion. At least ten thousand strong. Darius himself was leading them."
Jarvan's tone was grave. He had debated whether to mention it.
At first, it seemed like a show of strength. But the implications were troubling.
With the peace treaty signed, Demacia had already begun scaling down its border forces.
If Noxus truly withdrew, internal tensions would inevitably rise.
The threat of war had been a unifying force. Without it, old divisions would resurface.
"Eventually, the people will know, but don't let the news spread too early," Tiana warned.
She already had word from the front: Noxus had withdrawn, leaving only minimal garrisons.
It was deliberate.
A retreat to lull Demacia into a false sense of peace.
To make them drop their guard.
Because when the enemy is gone, the people stop looking outward and start turning on each other.
Even issues like the scandal involving the Winged Protector's use of magic had been postponed.
But now, tensions in Demacia were simmering dangerously close to the surface.
Tiana, Jarvan, and the others all understood one thing clearly:
With the Noxian threat receding, the real danger now came from within.
"…Understood," Jarvan said, and said no more.
The high council continued its deliberations long into the afternoon.
Jarvan III never dismissed his son, letting him stay and listen to every matter of state.
No one objected. In fact, many welcomed his presence.
It was time the prince learned what ruling truly meant.
By sunset, the eight ministers filed out of the Castle of Dawn, their expressions tired, but resolute.
The hall was quiet now—only father and son remained.
"Father," Jarvan said softly, "I've heard things are… unstable in Demacia."
He knew his father wanted him to grow slowly, but time was no longer a luxury they had.
"It's still under control. The people will settle down… eventually," Jarvan III replied calmly, though his eyes betrayed his worry.
Jarvan watched him for a long moment, then dropped to one knee.
"I wish to share your burden."
Even the usually composed Jarvan III frowned slightly at those words.
From any other prince, that would have sounded like ambition—a power grab.
But he knew his son. His expression softened, and he let out a quiet sigh.
"There's little for you to do right now. Sometimes, the best strategy is to change nothing. For now… focus on the Lightshield Bulwark."
Jarvan looked up, startled by the implication—his father was entrusting him with Demacia's most elite force.
He straightened and replied with quiet determination:
"I won't betray your trust."
"Then go."
"Yes, Father."