Two days later.
The north wind swept down with the chill of Freljord's ice, cutting through the air with an ever-sharpening cold. Rain as large as beans pelted against their bodies, stinging skin like thrown pebbles and seeping into their very bones.
Through the downpour, a strange-looking carriage crawled along the muddy road.
Shaped almost like a crab, its body was supported by eight sturdy legs. Inside the oval-shaped compartment, it was dry and warm, shielded completely from the icy rain and wind outside.
As the mechanical legs carried them forward with steady steps, Duke turned another page of his book, unhurried.
At the driver's seat, Poppy sat upright, practically glowing with excitement as she steered the peculiar contraption.
Ciceria, meanwhile, pressed herself against the window, sitting beside the beast-crate that held her dragon-bird, Morning Light. Her gaze lingered on the storm outside, though her mind was elsewhere.
Morning Light's rebirth drew closer with each passing day, yet joy refused to rise in her heart. The reason was simple, because of the man sitting calmly across from her, lost in his reading.
This man's temperament was simply vile. Not only had he exposed her carefully hidden identity as a mage, he now used it as leverage to keep her firmly in his grasp.
Two days ago, after Poppy had joined their journey, Ciceria learned more about Duke through their exchanges. Her suspicions proved true, since Duke held her secret tightly, she had no way of exposing him. Worse still, his magic already lingered inside her, giving him the power to bend her will at any moment.
When Ciceria finally realized who he truly was, she remained stunned for a long while.
This unpleasant, sharp-tongued man was none other than the inventor who had shaken the entire noble circle of the Capital with his masterpiece, the Clockwork Exoskeleton.
That creation alone allowed ordinary men with no training to overpower seasoned warriors.
And that wasn't all. The countless little contraptions that spread like wildfire through the upper classes also came from his hands.
The clockwork bicycle, the clockwork skateboard, today they had become status symbols among the nobility.
Ride a horse? Take a carriage?
Without at least a clockwork bike, how could one dare show their face in public?
What a disgrace that would be!
She recalled how the eldest son of the Lawrence family, mounted on one of these bicycles, had won his duel and brought himself fame, while at the same time making clockwork inventions the new sensation.
Though, his sister Fiona Lawrence seemed less than pleased. Embarrassed, even.
That story was a messy one, one Ciceria had only heard in passing while visiting home.
Now she sat inside another of Duke's "toys," as he called them, this strange carriage. But she could tell at a glance that it wasn't just some trinket. In war, such a machine could serve as a heavy weapon.
And yet Duke simply dismissed it as something he had thrown together on a whim?
"Are we close to Fosbailuo yet?"
Duke finally lifted his eyes from the book, shifting his posture slightly. The heating inside the carriage was working a little too well, making the air stuffy.
"Almost there, I'd say half an hour more," Ciceria answered quickly, estimating from her own experience.
"That's good," Duke stretched lazily. "Finally, Fosbailuo. I heard one of the Crownguard ancestors is buried there."
"Yes. They say he died fighting a demon to protect the people of Fosbailuo, a true hero."
"Died fighting to the end, huh?" Duke muttered, eyes drifting to the storm beyond the window. "But… was that really how it happened?"
"Was the demon truly slain that day?"
His voice grew faint, distant.
For a moment, Ciceria simply stared.
She knew of the legend: the nightmare demon, Nocturne, once awakened and dragged an entire city into a dreamscape. Its victims' nightmares took form and stepped into reality.
But that event was still far in the future.
Duke fell into quiet thought as the carriage moved steadily forward.
The frozen rain lashed against the jagged mountains of the north. This range stood as a natural barrier between Demacia and Freljord.
Behind the peaks, storm clouds gathered and churned. Below, the slopes were dotted with Demacian pines, their green needles braving the bitter cold. Yet the ceaseless northern wind had bent them all low.
To the east and west stretched endless mountains fading into bluish haze. Above, the sky pressed heavy and dark. The mid-slopes of the northern highlands were thick with forests, broken only by cliffs and gorges.
It was a harsh land, teeming with vicious beasts and untamed monsters.
But half an hour later, Fosbailuo appeared before their eyes.
The small city stood by a river, straddling both banks of the Mangjiang.
The river rose from the mountains, wound its way down, and eventually reached the western coast to join the sea.
Granite walls followed the natural curves of the hills, while houses within were built from stone, weathered timber, and glazed tiles.
To the east, the tower of the Radiant One's temple loomed high, its brazier blazing warmly, a beacon against the dusk.
As Duke's carriage approached the city gate, two figures appeared atop the iron-plated watchtower. Each guard held a strongbow of pale ash and purple yew.
"Stop there, travelers!" one of them called. "The gates are closed. Return in the morning."
The other guard eyed the crab-like vehicle below with suspicion and awe. It looked to them like some colossal sea beast come ashore.
As trueborn Demacians who had never traveled far from home, they could not help their curiosity, or their wariness.
Duke glanced at Ciceria. "This one's yours. Out of the three of us, you're the only one with any social standing."
If it had been Lux or Garen, their names alone would have opened the gates. But alas, none of them held such sway.
"Fine, I'll handle it." Ciceria picked up an umbrella and prepared to step down,
, but the sound of hooves cut through the storm. Carriages and riders approached in groups, their wheels rattling over the stones.
The guards raised their eyes at once, alert.
The riders slowed before the gate, the leading knight's gaze falling curiously upon Duke's strange contraption. Urging his horse forward, he called up to the tower, where the guards repeated their warning.
The knight responded without hesitation: "I am Garen Crownguard."
"As you say, the hour is late. But I've come from afar to honor my forebear. If you would grant us entry, I would be deeply grateful."
The guards peered into the dim light, then widened their eyes in shock. They recognized the Crownguard crest.
"Forgive us, Lord Crownguard!" one cried. At once, the gate began to creak open.
Duke chuckled and motioned for Ciceria to sit back. "Looks like we've been blessed by the Crownguard name tonight."
Then he turned to her. "Will you be paying them a visit? I recall your family has ties with theirs."
"Later, perhaps," Ciceria murmured, her expression flickering as her gaze shifted toward Garen outside.
Duke noticed the look and rubbed his chin. "Hm, seems there's a story there."
Not that it concerned him. Right now, he only wanted an inn, a warm bed, and some peace.
But then Garen guided his horse closer, circling the carriage. Stopping at the window, he called out, "Pardon me, sir!"
"Could you move your… vehicle?" He hesitated, settling on the word after a quick inspection. "My mother and sister are still out in this storm. I'd like them to, "
Duke opened the window with a grin. "Yo, long time no see."
At the sight of him, Garen blinked in confusion, then lit up in surprise. "Duke! When did you arrive in Demacia?"
"Not long ago," Duke replied casually.
"Then why didn't you come to High Silver first?"
"I was planning to stop here in Fosbailuo before heading there. Didn't expect we'd run into each other so soon."
As the two spoke, Poppy steered the carriage aside, clearing the gate.
"Is this one of your new inventions?"
"Just something I threw together. Like it?"
"If you do, it's yours." Duke offered it as if it were nothing more than a trinket, though the prototype had cost tens of thousands in gold. But then, he remembered, didn't Tony Stark once casually hand his favorite boy Spider-Man a gift too?
Garen laughed awkwardly, shaking his head. "I couldn't. A gift like that is too much."
As his family's carriage rolled through the gate, Garen excused himself, briefly speaking with his mother. A moment later, the curtain was drawn aside and a young girl peeked out, Lux. She waved brightly at Duke, and he returned a nod.
The Crownguard household entered Fosbailuo swiftly, Garen remaining at the rear with Duke's group.
"I thought you wouldn't come until next year," Garen said.
"Plans changed. I came early, to travel Demacia, see the land, and get a feel for the situation here. You know how things stand between your kingdom and Piltover these days."
"My aunt has spoken of it," Garen admitted, voice low. "I didn't expect you to arrive in the midst of it all."
"What brings you to Fosbailuo, then?" Duke asked, watching the empty streets as his carriage rolled past shuttered houses and closed shops. Behind every darkened door, it felt as though unseen eyes were watching.
"This time, I came to honor our forefather, Fosian," Garen said solemnly.
"Ohh." Duke nodded, then cast another glance at the streets. The city felt… wrong.
Few people lingered outside. Only their carriage moved through the silence, while every doorway seemed barred tight.
Yet something unseen was watching them from the dark.
"Looks like neither of us came at a very good time," Duke remarked, his tone carrying weight.
Garen glanced at the storm-tossed sky and gave a grim nod. "Indeed. Not a good time at all."
End of chapter....
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