Piltover
"Professor, is this your hometown?"
As they disembarked from the airship, their eyes were wide with amazement.
After departing from the Immortal Bastion and enduring a long, bumpy journey, they had finally arrived in Piltover—the city of hope and technology.
Since Noxus hadn't established a direct airship route to Shurima, the only viable way there was via the Hexgate in Piltover.
It was currently the fastest route from the Immortal Bastion to the sands of Shurima.
"Yeah. I haven't been back in a few months, and it's still the same," Ezreal replied from inside the airship.
He had just finished his daily blond-hair ritual and was now standing in front of a mirror, adjusting the badge on his chest.
It was the insignia of the Noxian Explorer's Guild—a design he'd created himself.
The badges came in tiers, based on the rank of the explorer: yellowwood, black iron, bronze, silver, gold...
And his platinum. A medal reserved only for legendary explorers.
Satisfied with his appearance, Ezreal smoothed out the wrinkles in his clothes and stepped off the airship.
Cassiopeia followed close behind, dressed in a sleek, practical outfit.
Gone was the noblewoman's finery. In its place, tight black gear accentuated her lithe, athletic build.
The change made sense—they were finally about to embark on a real adventure.
"Oh, the sun's rising! Was it always this busy here? But look—there's still construction going on... Ancestors, I've never seen buildings so tall..." Lucky murmured, visibly awestruck.
Piltover's air dock was on high ground, offering a sweeping view of the city below.
It still held its artistic charm—uniform low-rise buildings, clean lines, colorful walls, and elegant design flourishes everywhere.
Ezreal frowned slightly at Lucky's comment.
In Piltover, tall buildings were rare, aside from the Hexgate itself.
Curious, he followed Lucky's gaze, and then his expression shifted.
Across the Boundary River, everything looked different.
Towering skyscrapers—some over a hundred meters tall—rose from the ground, combining the raw edge of machinery with the detail of masterful engineering.
Steel and stone. Harsh and beautiful, all at once.
"It's... impressive," Ezreal said, genuinely surprised.
Historically, the terms "Upper City" and "Lower City" didn't just refer to class—they were literal.
After the "Sungate" incident, most of Piltover had risen while parts of Zaun had sunken, creating a deep divide—sometimes physical, always social.
But now, across the river, Zaun stood tall—quite literally.
Some of its buildings even towered above Piltover's.
People on that side of the river could look down on Piltover.
Seeing Ezreal's reaction, the Lucky looked confused.
Cassiopeia, smiling slightly, explained:
"That's not Piltover."
"Not Piltover?" the Lucky blinked.
He had assumed that a futuristic skyline could only belong to the famed city of innovation.
"That's Zaun," Ezreal said quietly, realization dawning.
But he didn't feel anything in particular.
Piltover, Zaun—he had no deep ties to either.
His heart was always set on the road, on distant horizons and discoveries.
"Zaun? I heard it's... rough over there," Lucky muttered, casting a wary glance across the river.
He'd never been, but the stories—and the books—painted it as a dangerous, unwelcoming place.
"Zaun is now under Professor Viktor's leadership," Cassiopeia said with a soft smile.
"Everything you see—that change—is because of him."
"Professor Viktor..." Lucky nodded slowly.
"No wonder."
Hearing Viktor's name, Lucky nodded in agreement, the doubts in his heart dissolving.
A glint of admiration flickered in his eyes.
He had seen the influence of the Hextech Department firsthand during his time at the academy.
Their test labs seemed to explode every other week.
Some of his classmates had whispered about the department's experiments—two Hextech professors reportedly researching human-to-Hextech transformation.
One rumor told of a former executioner, crippled in battle, who had volunteered for the procedure.
Lucky thought of that often.
He truly respected heroes like that.
Even the Mechanical Engineering Department had gotten involved in the transformation race, and though he studied history, the rivalry between the two divisions echoed loudly across the campus.
It was said that Orianna, associate professor in the Mechanical Department, had acquired the remains of a legendary hero through a connection with the Council President.
She'd supposedly collaborated with Professor LeBlanc from the Department of Magic to restore the body using a set of renowned magical armor.
The competition between the departments was fierce, and no one knew what would come of it.
He drifted into thought, recalling all the academy gossip with enthusiasm.
He was so caught up in it that he didn't notice the group starting to move.
Ezreal nudged him with an elbow, chuckling.
"When we're back from the mission, I'll take you on a proper tour. But for now, we're heading through the flying gate into Shurima's interior."
Lucky snapped out of it.
"Oh, right! But when I get back, I have to visit Zaun. The sun's up over there—it looks amazing!"
He looked longingly at the skyline across the river, his tail even rising behind him in excitement.
Just then, a dignified voice greeted them.
"Good afternoon, everyone. Are you traveling to Shurima through the hexgate?"
Mel approached calmly, dressed in a black and white gown, her expression warm and composed.
She bowed politely, though her gaze lingered on Cassiopeia for a second longer than the others.
"Lady Medarda, I didn't expect to be welcomed personally," Ezreal said with a smile, returning the bow.
"We're headed to Kennesser."
He recognized the graceful woman immediately—Mel Medarda, a Piltover councilor and prominent political figure.
She had close ties to Jayce, the famed Hextech inventor.
"Kennesser?" Mel raised a brow, her tone cautious.
"That region hasn't exactly been stable. But I did hear it's recently been pacified by the newly appointed commander of the Southern Front."
Even back in Piltover, Mel remained informed. Her family's network ensured she heard everything.
Lately, the Du Couteau family in the south had been especially active, and leadership had changed hands.
The new ruler of the southern front was the eldest daughter of the Du Couteau family, once a follower of Ryan.
Mel understood well: the Du Couteau family represented Ryan's will.
Now, with a direct Du Couteau in Ezreal's party, it was hard for her not to read between the lines.
"We're just following the President's orders," Cassiopeia said with a polite smile from the side.
"Then I'll grant you priority access," Mel replied, turning to the sturdy, pink-haired girl behind her.
"Marshal Vi, please notify Feiman."
"Understood," Vi responded crisply before walking off.
"The magistrate of Piltover? She looks... intimidating," Lucky murmured, eyeing Vi's massive hextech gauntlets. He glanced at his own hands and gulped quietly.
"I think she's Jinx's sister," Cassiopeia remarked offhandedly.
"Her sister?!" Lucky's eyes widened.
Even he had heard of Jinx—the unhinged war machine of the Warfare Department, a deadly gunslinger with a notorious reputation in the arenas.
"Miss Du Couteau seems to know quite a bit about us," Mel observed, lifting her chin slightly.
"Vi is our top law enforcer," she continued calmly.
"She handled the conflict between Piltover and Zaun with great success. She's one of our heroes."
"My sister has passed through here before," Cassiopeia replied, her smile unwavering.
"Naturally, I've heard the stories. But I've never cared much for the word 'sister.'"
"Is that so?" Mel said with a quiet laugh.
"I only had an older brother myself. I don't really know what it's like to have a sister either. When Miss Du Couteau completes her duties from the Head, she'd be most welcome as a guest in Piltover."
"There might be an opportunity. I'm quite intrigued by these twin cities," Cassiopeia answered with a graceful bow, that unreadable smile still on her lips.
The conversation continued a little longer, until Vi returned with news.
At her signal, Mel personally escorted the group to the airship.
She watched silently as it disappeared in a flash through the Hexgate.
Then, her smile faded.
"Prepare a letter. I'll send it to my mother," she ordered calmly.
"Lady Medarda, is something the matter?" asked Serena, the newly appointed steward, with concern.
Mel's brow creased. "Serena, don't ask questions you shouldn't."
Serena immediately lowered her head, saying nothing more.
Mel exhaled, her gaze distant.
She missed the days when her brother was still alive.
At least she had understood—understood why neither her brother nor her mother should have ever dared to provoke Ryan.
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Demacia – The Castle of Dawn
"Father!"
Jarvan IV knelt before the throne, raising his head to face King Jarvan III.
The grand hall was empty save for two others—one of them being Nat Lightshield, who was supposed to be stationed at Greenfang Peak.
He now stood silently at the king's side.
"I've received troubling reports. The Crownguard family is preparing for something... large-scale," the king said gravely.
He sat tall upon the throne, crowned in gold.
Though age had touched his features, the weight of rulership still bore sharp in his eyes.
"Father, it must be a false rumor," Jarvan replied firmly.
Though tensions had been rising in High Silvermere, and his communication with Garen had grown scarce, he refused to believe the Crownguards capable of rebellion.
"It's not a matter of belief... it's a matter of survival."
The king's fingers tapped slowly on the armrest, eyes distant.
"What kind of survival?" Jarvan pressed.
"Let the spy explain," the king said, gesturing toward a figure kneeling behind Jarvan.
A black-robed man stepped forward, head bowed.
His voice was raspy and thin, like dried leaves in the wind.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Jarvan frowned. The man unsettled him.
There was something... wrong. It wasn't just his voice.
Beneath that cloak, Jarvan felt no presence of life—only the eerie sense of being watched.
Like the hollow gaze of a carrion crow.
"Our reports confirm," the spy said, "that Lady Luxanna Crownguard is planning a parade... one meant to call for the repeal of the Demacian ban on magic."
"This time, the participants are numerous—not only the Judicator Order under the Winged Guardian, but also key members of the Illuminators. Several descendants of noble houses are involved, including the Laurents, the Faris family, and the Bouviers..."
The black-robed man's shrill voice echoed through the great hall.
No one interrupted as he recited the intelligence report.
His final words landed with a subtle weight:
"In recent days, Miss Crownguard has been frequenting the headquarters of the Mage Seekers, particularly the Secret Pavilion and the lower dungeons."
"That's enough. You may go," King Jarvan III waved him off.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The black-robed man bowed and turned to leave.
As he passed the others, the flicker of scarlet in his eyes betrayed something... inhuman.
Once the hall fell silent again, the king looked to his son and said gravely:
"You understand the situation. What do you think?"
"...It's not necessarily a bad thing," Jarvan IV replied, his gaze lowered to avoid his father's.
"Maybe it's time we accept magic. I was there during the battle of the gods—I know how powerful it is."
"Magic..." The king rubbed his temples, clearly fatigued.
"I know its power better than anyone. But the foundation of Demacia is built on its rejection."
"The law exists to build a better Demacia, Father," Jarvan said with quiet conviction.
"Jarvan, even if we must embrace magic, it cannot be the Crownguards who lead the way," Nat Lightshield interjected.
Jarvan looked up, troubled. "...Why not? What difference does it make who begins the change?"
At that moment, a memory struck him—an image from the Trifarian Chamber in Noxus.
Swain had said it plainly: "Your Lightshields will be cast aside by Demacia."
Cast aside...
Jarvan's face darkened with doubt.
But then, he suddenly turned toward his father, his expression shifting to one of realization.
King Jarvan III smiled faintly, reading the change in his son.
"You're starting to see it, aren't you? I'm getting old... but your reputation still isn't enough."
"Then what must we do...?" Jarvan's fists clenched beneath his cloak.
He wanted to say what he truly felt, but he held it back.
He was no longer chasing titles—only power. Magic had shown him a new path.
Nat, watching him, sighed—eyes flashing with a glimmer of irony, or perhaps pity.
Then, he delivered the king's proposal:
"Jarvan, your royal father intends for you to marry Luxanna."
"...What?"
Jarvan's eyes widened in disbelief.
This matter had been brought up before, but the king had dismissed it, citing the need to avoid uniting the families too closely.
Jarvan had stopped thinking about it after that. He'd moved on... or at least tried to.
But she...
Before he could reject the idea, Nat continued:
"This is something you would have to face eventually. We're not forcing you. We're offering someone you know—and trust."
Jarvan understood the unspoken layers.
Luxanna was a political match. Childhood friends or not, this was about legacy.
About influence. If he married her, all of the Crownguard's actions would become his actions too.
"I hope you'll think about it. For the family... and for Demacia." Nat's voice softened.
"I..." Jarvan faltered, adrift in doubt.
"If this union goes through," Nat added, "you could rise as the leader of the Mage Legion."
"Mage... Legion?" Jarvan echoed, confused.
"Yes," Nat nodded.
"If we abolish the ban on magic, the Mage Seeker Legion becomes obsolete. Eldred has done good work, but he will face backlash. We'll need a new force—one that embraces mages. And its leader must be a bridge between magic and the people. That role... could make you the strongest candidate for the next king."
"And with Luxanna beside you, you'd have the legitimacy, support, and influence to claim it," he concluded.
Jarvan felt a fire awaken in his chest—a new kind of power.
His eyes gleamed with ambition.
"Think on it. You still have a few days. Let us know after tomorrow's results," Nat said, stepping down and giving Jarvan a firm pat on the shoulder.
"Thank you, Uncle," Jarvan murmured, bowing.
"Hahaha, the security of High Silvermere will be under my control tomorrow. Don't worry about a thing," Nat said, waving it off with a laugh.
They exchanged a few more words, and after Jarvan left, King Jarvan III sighed.
"Nate, I hope you don't resent me for this. It's all... for Demacia."
"...I've long let go of what happened with Aresa," Nat replied, his voice light, but tinged with sorrow.
"You had no choice back then. I'm sure even Eldred has moved on."
"Tomorrow is in your hands. You've watched Jarvan grow from a child—I hope you'll guide him well," the king said sincerely.
"I will, Brother," Nat responded.
As he turned and left, out of the king's view, a black aura flickered in his eyes—thick with malevolence.
But before it could spread, a black rose bloomed and absorbed it completely, dissolving the darkness into nothing.