"Ahhh!!!"
A scream of raw terror split the night, echoing from the room next door. Duke's expression darkened at once. He rose sharply from his seat, the voice had come from Ciceria's chamber.
"What happened?"
Without hesitation, Duke shoved the door open and rushed inside.
There, in the corner of the room, Ciceria sat huddled against the wall, wrapped in a blanket, her thin nightclothes clinging to her as she trembled uncontrollably. Terror filled her eyes.
"What's wrong? What happened?"
At the same moment, Poppy appeared at the doorway, warhammer in hand.
Ciceria clutched the quilt tighter, her voice shaking. "Th-there's… a demon!"
"I saw it, I saw a demon!"
Poppy's brow furrowed. She paced the room warily, her senses finely tuned to danger. A trace of shadow magic lingered in the air. Yet as her Yordle magic swept through, the taint dissolved swiftly.
"There are indeed traces of shadow magic…" she muttered.
"What's going on?"
The Crownguard siblings, who had just departed, came rushing back. Garen strode forward immediately. "Ciceria, what happened?"
Lux hurried to her side, taking Ciceria's trembling hands into her own and speaking with gentle warmth.
"It's alright, Sister Ciceria. You're safe now."
Duke said nothing, his lips pressed thin as he scanned the room. If Poppy, with her keen senses, claimed she had felt shadow magic, then there could be no mistake.
And in Demacia, only two beings were ever called demons born of shadow magic: Evelynn… and one other.
The Eternal Nightmare, Nocturne.
A creature born of reckless mortals twisting shadow magic, given form in the realm of souls itself.
His origin traced back to the final days of the Rune Wars, when arrogant sorcerers, blinded by hubris, drew upon powers they could not master, and birthed a predator that stalked dreams.
Nocturne never wasted the chance to hunt. If he found an opening, he would drag his prey into nightmares of terror, devouring them from within.
Yet long ago, he had been struck down, run through the heart by a rune-forged blade wielded by Fosien, ancestor of the Crownguards and great-grandfather of Garen and Lux. Gravely wounded, Nocturne had been forced into slumber.
But now, it seemed the nightmare had awakened.
And in Fosbarrow, the city lay vulnerable.
Nocturne had begun invading dreams again, sowing terror, feeding on fear.
Duke dismissed the innkeeper who had rushed over at the commotion, assuring him all was handled. Then he returned with a heater, shutting the door firmly behind them.
Warmth filled the small room, banishing the lingering chill.
Wrapped in a quilt, Ciceria sat at the table beside Lux, still trembling. Duke poured her a glass of rum. She seized it with both hands and downed half in one gulp, as though only fire in her throat could drive away the cold in her heart.
"I… I…" Her voice shook as though she were drowning, gasping for air. "I lay down to rest when I arrived at the inn. But then, in my dream, I saw it."
"Who?"
Garen's voice, steady and resolute, held a strength that always lent others courage. Ciceria looked at him, desperate for that anchor.
"I saw… the demon!"
The words burst from her like a cry of pain. She shuddered violently, the memory still raw.
"In the dream, I was on patrol with Morninglight."
"We landed in a forest to rest… but then everything changed. The trees began to weep black resin, their branches twisting like the claws of fiends. They lashed at us, tearing at our bodies."
"Cracks split open across their trunks, gaping like maws filled with jagged fangs. Above us, venomous spiders wove choking webs across the canopy. Beneath our feet, the ground softened into a stagnant swamp."
"And in that swamp… I saw him."
"He rose from the mire, a shadow with no flesh, rippling like living black water."
"In the dream, Morninglight was torn apart before my eyes. And then, the shadow turned its gaze on me!"
Ciceria's whole body convulsed, her words spilling in sobs. In her mind, the image of those eyes still lingered.
Cold, unyielding eyes that pierced straight into her soul.
"It's hunting me," she whispered hoarsely, clutching her shoulders. "It's hunting me!"
Seeing her on the edge of collapse, Garen caught Duke's eye. The two men exchanged a glance before stepping outside into the corridor.
"What do you think?" Garen asked in a low voice.
"If she says she saw a demon," Duke answered calmly, arms folded, "then I believe her. And if it's Nocturne… dreams are his hunting ground. He weaves nightmare upon nightmare, driving his prey deeper until despair devours them whole."
Garen's jaw tightened. "I suspect a black mage at work. They excel at tricks like these."
"I doubt it," Duke countered. "Even shadow mages need rituals, conduits, a medium. And Ciceria has no quarrel with any sorcerer. Would some warlock really go to such lengths to torment an innocent girl?"
"I'll search Fosbarrow and its surroundings," Garen said grimly, fists clenched. "If a black mage is behind this, I'll root him out."
Duke sighed, helpless at Garen's iron resolve. Even if he searched, he would find nothing.
But what struck Duke was something else entirely, why was Garen so intent on protecting Ciceria?
They'd barely spoken before tonight.
"You and Ciceria," Duke said, raising an eyebrow. "What's the story?"
Garen's ears turned red. He hesitated, then muttered under his breath, "She… is my betrothed."
"Oh? Not bad!" Duke clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "A true noble son, already arranged so neatly."
"She's like a sister to me!" Garen shot back, face stern.
"Yeah, sure." Duke smirked, folding his arms. "No wonder the Buvier and Crownguard families are so close. That explains it."
Still, knowing Garen's blockheaded earnestness, he probably did mean it.
"But to the point," Duke went on. "You think it's a warlock, but Ciceria said demon. And demons… don't die so easily."
His eyes gleamed. "If I recall, didn't one of your ancestors fight a demon right here?"
"My great-grandfather Fosien," Garen replied, nodding. "He drove a rune-steel sword through a demon's heart atop the mountains near Fosbarrow. He perished with it." His eyes widened suddenly. "You're not saying…"
"Exactly," Duke cut in. "Demons don't die so easily, Garen."
"But our family records are no lie! My great-grandfather pierced its black heart with rune-steel itself, nothing resists rune-steel!"
"Enough," Duke said, beckoning. "Come with me. Free lesson, no charge."
He led Garen into his chamber. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned Tam.
Water seeped across the floor, pooling into a whirling stream. From the vortex emerged a hulking figure, maw lined with jagged teeth, eyes gleaming with a terrible hunger.
Tam licked the sweat from his brow, bowing. "Boss, what's the job?"
"Don't play dumb with me."
Garen froze. His fists clenched tight, teeth grinding as the word hissed from his lips: "Demon."
"Relax," Duke said with a faint smile. "This one's bound. He's mine."
Still, Garen's suspicion did not waver.
"You… command a demon?" he asked in shock, circling Tam with wary steps.
"Not so hard," Duke replied with a shrug. "Catch one at the right moment, force a contract upon it, and it's yours."
Tam scowled, cheeks quivering in resentment at being mocked so casually.
"Enough. Tam, feel it out. Any of your kind nearby?"
"My kind?" Tam waddled to the window, peering out at the city streets. "Ahhh, plenty of little lambs steeped in fear tonight. But none I'd call a meal."
Duke cleared his throat sharply, eyes flashing with warning.
Tam flinched, fat quivering. "Alright, alright. I sense it, a whelp born of shadow magic, wandering this place. He's made it his hunting ground."
Nocturne, the nightmare spawned in the Rune Wars, was little more than a child in Tam's eyes. Tam was older than memory, a demon of far darker origin.
"Can you catch him?" Duke asked.
Tam shook his head. "Sorry, Boss. My craft is of the material realm. That one lurks in the realm of souls. As long as he hides there, I can't touch him."
"Fine." Duke waved it off. Different domains, different strengths.
He glanced at Garen. "Tam, tell him, can demons truly be killed?"
Tam chuckled, glancing at Garen's taut frame. "This one's wound tight."
But under Duke's glare, he answered. "No. Demons cannot be killed. Only banished or sealed. We are born of mortal fear and hatred. So long as those emotions endure, we endure. Your swords may wound us, but never destroy us."
Garen's face went pale, his world cracking under truths he had never been taught.
Duke folded his arms, satisfied.
Against demons, who better to learn from than a demon himself?
End of chapter....
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