That night.
The western seas of Piltover.
"This time, we're really leaving in a hurry."
Sitting inside the cockpit, Duke tucked away the identification papers Camille had prepared for him. Just hours ago, he was still basking in the cheers of the crowd as he held aloft the trophy of the Distinguished Innovators' Competition, yet now, under the cover of night, he was already setting out on a journey far from home.
Camille had arranged his cover identity: the distant nephew of the Piltover Trade Commissioner stationed in Demacia's High City.
A rebellious youth, fond of swords and spears rather than wrenches and gears.
He was supposedly traveling to join his uncle, seeking his aid to enter Demacia's Grand Tournament of Glory and prove himself.
In Piltover, if you refused to tinker with machines, if you spent your days swinging blades instead of fiddling with bolts and cogs, you were indeed seen as a heretic.
And the best part, this young man truly had existed. Only, he'd died last year in a small accident.
Camille simply passed that identity over to Duke. Not only that, but she also handed him pages upon pages of carefully crafted backstory.
Duke skimmed through it once and shoved it to the bottom of his pack. He was only borrowing the name, not actually replacing the man. What use was there in memorizing the details?
As for Aoman and Wally, he had stored them neatly away. For this journey, his chosen means of transport was Gluttony. The little one had never left Piltover since her creation, so why not let her stretch her wheels on this voyage?
And Tahm?
Best not. The anti-magic stone forests would be an insurmountable barrier for that demon.
Besides, Tahm had only just been granted a holiday. Duke wasn't the kind of tea-shop boss who broke his own word.
Since he had promised, Tahm could rest.
And truth be told, crossing the sea was no obstacle for Duke.
All he needed was to outfit Gluttony with a few external attachments.
Soon enough, the red-and-black vehicle was skimming across the waves, her hull buoyed by a cushion of air, moving like a hovercraft over the vast ocean.
Duke yawned, glancing at the half-moon that hung above the horizon.
"Gluttony, remember to make landfall at the northeastern tributary of the Conquerors' Sea. From there we'll cut across to Fosbarrow."
"Understood, Father."
"Good. The rest of the journey is yours. I'll get some sleep."
The steering wheel folded neatly into the dashboard, his seat elongating into a comfortable bed. Pulling a blanket from his pack, Duke wrapped himself and quickly drifted off, leaving only Gluttony to sail steadily across the endless sea.
The next morning.
Off the coast of Demacia.
Demacia's situation was much like that of Noxus.
Both capitals were bound to the sea, Noxus's Immortal Bastion was connected through a river that reached into the Watchers' Sea, while Demacia's High City stood proudly at the edge of a grand bay, only a few kilometers from the city's western walls. Facing the open waters directly, it was not only the capital but also the nation's foremost port, bearing the lifeline of Demacia's economy.
But where Noxus had the Watchers' Sea, Demacia opened onto the far more formidable Conquerors' Sea.
And unlike any ordinary harbor, this was a natural bay, perfect for docking ships and sustaining foreign trade.
With such a port under its control, High City commanded not only Demacia's economy, but its culture and governance as well.
From there, fleets could sail north to Freljord, south to Shurima, or east toward the Twin Cities. The bay gave Demacia an advantage few other nations could hope to match.
That was why Demacians opposed the Hexgate project so fiercely.
If Hexgates were completed, this wasn't merely taking away someone's slice of the pie, it was cutting off the artery itself.
The bay of High City would no longer be the nation's beating heart, merely a giant basin for tourists to admire.
Duke, of course, avoided High City.
The inspections there were far too strict. The Mageseekers prowled the docks with gray-sealed sigils forged from petricite, examining every newcomer for traces of sorcery.
Though petricite had only limited effect on Duke's soul-born magic, it still caused a reaction.
The last thing he wanted was to be exposed and deported on the spot, or worse, thrown in chains under the tense political climate.
Instead, he aimed for Fosbarrow, a city in the north, near the ancestral home of the Crownguard siblings and close to Galio's resting place in Silvermere.
Fosbarrow sat high along a mountain ridge, with a river flowing westward into the sea. That river was its sole connection to the outside world.
And the city had a history of its own.
Rumor once spoke of a phantom haunting dreams, killing villagers in their sleep. The panic drove Fosbarrow's people to beg Silvermere for aid. It was Garen and his younger sister Lux who were dispatched to deal with the so-called haunting.
By the river flowing south into the sea.
"Finally here!"
Duke stretched with relief, then recalled Gluttony into his inventory. The girl had carried him tirelessly through the night, across half the Conquerors' Sea, straight into Demacia's northern reaches.
"First, I need to confirm where I am."
Unfolding a drone, Duke connected it to Edith, peering at the terrain from above. Rolling mountains, their slopes cloaked in green, stretched beneath a vast sky that seemed to divide heaven and earth with a single line.
In the distance, snow glittered upon the tallest peaks. Fosbarrow lay near the border of Freljord, and Demacia had stationed outposts here to monitor the frontier.
From the forested slopes came the occasional beast's roar, creatures so fierce that even hardened warriors would struggle against them, yet cunning as men.
"Seems the ecology here is well-preserved."
His wry remark earned no laughs, but his attention soon caught upon a village tucked into the ridges.
"Well, that's unexpected. A mountain village. I'll stop there, ask for directions to Fosbarrow."
Stowing the drone, Duke set off.
The terrain was rough, but his web-shooters made it easy, walking where the slopes allowed, swinging across the gaps when they did not.
Two hours later, he emerged from the forest onto the village's edge.
At once, something felt wrong.
Across from the terraced farmlands stood rows of weather-worn shacks. To carve these terraces into the mountainside must have cost the villagers tremendous effort.
At the village entrance, shadows clustered, voices raised in agitation.
Ragged peasants shouted at two figures clad in stark blue-and-white uniforms.
"Leave! There's nothing here for you!"
A young man with disheveled hair stood protectively before an elderly woman, his voice harsh. Others jeered, mocked, and cried out in anger.
"You're not welcome here!"
"We're living our lives in peace, why do you disturb us?"
"Get out, get out!"
"Yes, leave at once!"
Their chorus rose to a clamor, but the two strangers remained unmoved.
They wore long blue coats, half-masks of burnished bronze concealing their faces, their eyes cold and pitiless.
At the sight, Duke's heart gave a jolt. Just his luck, to run straight into them.
The Mageseekers. Demacia's hounds of sorcery.
"We received word," the lead Mageseeker said smoothly, eyes sweeping the villagers, "that six days ago, someone smuggled a barrel of Dreamroot into Silvermere."
"People buy and sell things all the time, what's so strange about that?" someone spat.
"You Mageseeker bastards, what are you doing here?" another shouted.
"Yes, what's the meaning of this?!"
The shouts grew louder.
Duke, standing beneath a dead tree at the edge of the clearing, turned on his heel. He had no desire to get entangled.
Of all places in Demacia, why here? He had deliberately avoided the High City to evade Mageseekers, and yet he'd stumbled right into them.
At the Mageseekers' side stood a boy in gray, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, fidgeting nervously.
Just as Duke moved to slip away, the boy turned and stared at him. His lips trembled, but no words came.
Through his eyes, Duke's body blazed with magic, brilliant as the sun.
A single glance was enough to make the boy wrench his gaze aside, as if scorched by light too bright to endure. He had never seen such overwhelming power.
One of the Mageseekers caught the boy's reaction. He tugged at his companion's sleeve, pointing toward Duke.
The other followed his gaze. Abandoning their quarrel with the villagers, the two began walking directly toward him.
Duke sighed, rolling his eyes.
He hadn't sought trouble, but trouble had found him.
All he wanted was to ask for directions. Instead, he'd run headlong into the Mageseekers.
Just his luck.
End of chapter....
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