"I'm sorry, what?" Cithria blinked, staring in disbelief as the Sword-Captain all but shouted his surprise at the report.
She herself could hardly believe what the Demacian soldier had just delivered.
"Castle Wrenwall was attacked. By mages," the soldier repeated, voice steady despite the tension that hung in the air. "I bear a message from the High Marshal. She requests your presence following the meeting of the Silver Council."
Garen gave a single, sharp nod. "When?"
"At second bell, sir," the messenger replied.
Without wasting another breath, Garen strode toward the council chamber. He arrived at the antechamber just as the last of the nobles were filing out, the toll of the second bell echoing faintly through the halls.
As though on cue, one of the great council doors swung open in silence. The two guards stationed at either side struck the butts of their halberds against the marble floor in salute, and an attendant motioned Garen forward.
The chamber beyond was austere, dominated by an octagonal table at its center. But Garen's eyes were drawn not to the furniture, but to the three figures waiting beside it.
High Marshal Tianna Crownguard stood foremost, his father's sister, and the de facto commander of Demacia's armies. At her side was Prince Jarvan IV, heir of the late king and Garen's closest friend.
And standing with them was Lord Eldred. As always, half of his stern, regal face was concealed by a golden mask, and a petricite disk inscribed with geometric runes rested against his breastplate. He was the leader of the MageSeekers, and his mere presence carried an air of severity.
A scatter of papers lay across the council table, some already half-crumpled from restless handling. Jarvan held one of them in his hand, his expression strained, unease flickering in the tightness of his jaw.
Tianna and Eldred turned toward Garen at once, the High Marshal's gaze sharp and measuring, the Mageseeker's hidden eyes unreadable behind his mask. Jarvan followed a heartbeat later, slower, more reluctant.
Garen saluted in the traditional Demacian fashion, crossing his arms over his chest with clenched fists before stepping forward to stand across from them. The weight of their scrutiny pressed heavily on his shoulders, and he forced himself not to look away.
Jarvan sighed quietly, as though resigned to what was about to unfold.
"Strength through discipline," Tianna said by way of greeting, her voice clipped and formal.
"Honour through diligence," Garen answered without hesitation, ignoring Jarvan's weary exhale just as his aunt and Eldred surely did.
"I assume you've heard the news," Jarvan began, eager to dispense with ceremony.
"Only that Wrenwall was attacked, my prince," Garen admitted. "By mages, no less."
"Indeed." Jarvan extended the document in his hand. "Two mages of immense power. They left Castle Wrenwall in ruins."
Garen's eyes skimmed the parchment, narrowing as the report grew more confounding. "They were… fighting each other?"
"Fools, the both of them," Eldred snarled, his voice edged with contempt. "To flaunt their power so brazenly in our very lands, it is an insult."
"But why?" Garen pressed. "They must know they'd be hunted down at once. Wouldn't they be wiser to remain hidden?"
"Who can fathom how their accursed ilk thinks?" Eldred spat, his scowl twisting behind the half-mask.
Garen forced himself not to look at the Mageseeker too directly. Eldred's words cut too close to the thought he fought to suppress, his sister. Luxanna Crownguard. Officially missing, she was. Yet Garen clung to the fragile hope that wherever she had fled, guiding her fellow mages, she was safe… and far beyond Eldred's reach.
He turned to Eldred finally. "Why haven't they been apprehended then? If they didn't bother to hide themselves then surely it wouldn't be any trouble capturing them."
It was Tianna who handed him the next document. Her expression was grave. "The reports from the knights stationed at Wrenwall are… troubling."
Garen took the parchment and scanned its contents as she went on. "Their power was so overwhelming that even the petricite arms and armor proved ineffective. This account comes from Knight-Commander Alric Wrenford himself."
Eldred let out a harsh scoff. "Sylas' magic was formidable as well, yet he nearly met his end at your hand, did he not?" His single visible eye flicked toward Garen.
He folded his arms with a sharp motion. "If one Dawnguard could bring Sylas to his knees, then these upstarts will fare no better."
"That would be… fool, not fools." Jarvan interjected, his tone edged with disapproval.
Eldred's masked face shifted slightly as he turned toward the Crown Prince. "I beg your pardon?"
Tianna cut across them before the tension could escalate. "Indeed, the clash ended with only one survivor. Of the two mages, one lies dead. The other yet lives."
The chamber grew still after Tianna's words, the silence threaded with unspoken weight. Garen lowered the parchment slowly, its crumpled edge rough against his gauntlet.
"What do I have to do with any of this?" he asked at last, voice measured but firm. "Surely Wrenwall's defense lies with its own commander. If a single mage remains at large, the MageSeekers are well-suited to pursue them. Why call me here?"
Eldred bristled at the implication, but it was Jarvan who answered first. "The chances of it being another like Sylas is not zero. The ability to use magic even while under the petricite's effect is something unique to Sylas, at the moment."
Tianna inclined her head. "And because the mages fought each other. That is what troubles us most. If they were rebels seeking to strike Demacia, their target would have been clear. But they turned their power on one another, heedless of our soldiers, heedless of the fortress itself. Wrenwall was merely… the stage for their quarrel."
Garen's brow furrowed. "That does sound troubling. Such a bold display of confidence."
Jarvan's hand tightened around the edge of the table. "One that is severely misplaced, I assure you. However, If this mage still lives, we must know what manner of enemy, or ally, he truly is."
Eldred's masked face turned sharply toward the prince. "Ally? Your Highness, forgive me, but to speak of alliance with such filth..."
"It is not alliance I spoke of," Jarvan cut him off, his tone hard as steel. "If these reports hold even a semblance of truth-"
Garen noticed the faintest shift in the High Marshal's expression at that, her jaw tightening at the suggestion that a Knight of Demacia might lie in his report.
"-then there may be, perhaps, the chance for an unexpected boon," Jarvan finished, his words carrying more caution than conviction.
Garen knew the prince did not truly believe it, merely covering every possibility. Still, the insinuation left an unwelcome taste in his mouth. Loyalty demanded trust, not doubt.
Tianna's eyes moved from the prince to Garen, steady and resolute. "As one of the few Vanguards to have faced Sylas directly, you are best suited to this task. You will lead a detachment of MageSeekers to assess the truth of this mage. I have requested that Shyvana and the DragonGuard accompany you. Should this survivor prove as dangerous as the reports suggest, their presence will not be wasted."
Garen inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Understood. I will depart at once."
"Good," Tianna replied, gathering the scattered documents from his hands and stacking them neatly atop the pile. "We expect a second set of reports by nightfall. Should your orders change, the message will reach you before you arrive at Wrenwall."
She straightened to her full height, the mantle of command settling on her like armor. "You are dismissed, Sword-Captain. Duty calls."
Garen crossed his arms over his chest in the Demacian salute. Then, with crisp precision, he turned on his heel and marched from the chamber, the echo of his boots trailing in the vaulted silence behind him.
---
Cithria allowed herself a small smile as Cloudfield's hooves struck the packed earth beneath her. She had named her steed in quiet homage to her beginnings, a reminder of the humble village she had once called home.
Ahead, the riders of the First Shield kept their steady pace, armored silhouettes cutting sharp lines against the rolling Demacian countryside. Directly in front of her rode Alys Morn, the company's medic, who even now was locked in a familiar quarrel with Eben Hess. The seasoned soldier's grumbling carried back over the clatter of harness and steel, sharp with exasperation.
It felt like only yesterday Cithria had been a wide-eyed squire, gawking in disbelief at her chance to ride beside the heroes of the Dauntless Vanguard. That first exhilaration still lived in her chest, though now it was tempered, sharpened by the memory of what came after.
The expedition to Nockmirch. The battle that had tested not only her skill but the very convictions she had once held unshakable.
That had been over three moons ago, and yet the scars of it still lingered, making the time since feel far longer. And now here they were again, riding to Castle Wrenwall on another mission. Officially, it was to assess a mage. But as Cithria's grip tightened on her reins, she could not help the thought:
'It sounds more like we're riding to apprehend them.'
Ahead, Hess's voice broke her reverie.
"It's just one mage!" His brow was furrowed, his jaw clenched, and a vein ticked in his temple as he glared at Morn, who met his bluster with her usual unflinching calm. "We're the Vanguard, for heaven's sake. Any regiment could've handled this."
"Doesn't matter what we think, does it?" Morn replied, her tone flat as steel. "They deemed this mage worth our attention, so here we are. Orders are orders."
Hess gave a frustrated grunt, his shoulders sagging as if even he knew the argument was already lost. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."
Cithria bit the inside of her cheek to stifle her laughter. Watching Morn dismantle Hess with nothing but a few clipped words never failed to amuse her.
The column pressed on, steel-shod hooves striking in measured rhythm against the road. The First Shield was not at full strength, this was no campaign, but even a half-strength detachment of the Dauntless Vanguard was enough to draw the wary eyes of villagers and farmers they passed.
Children darted from cottage doors to watch them, wide-eyed and whispering, until a stern look from a mother or elder dragged them back indoors. Word of Wrenwall's fall had clearly outpaced them, rippling across the countryside in rumor and fear.
Cithria felt the weight of those eyes as keenly as her armor. Demacia was supposed to stand as the steadfast heart of Valoran, its soldiers as unyielding as the mountains. Yet here they rode to face a threat their people scarcely understood, one that had already left a fortress in ruins.
Her gaze drifted toward the head of the column, where Garen rode at the forefront beside a pair of MageSeekers in their heavy petricite harness. Between them, silent as stone, strode the half-dragon.
Shyvana's presence always drew stares, even from soldiers who had long since grown used to her in their ranks. Her reddish purple skin glinted faintly in the afternoon light, a living reminder of the strangeness, that Demacia had chosen to accept. She rode not on horseback but on foot, keeping pace with the column without effort, her halberd slung across her back like a banner of war. Not that she needed it anyway.
The DragonGuard had joined their company, few miles out of the great city, and into the foothills. More than a score of them, clad in shining red and gold armour, a sharp contrast to the vanguard's silver and blue.
Cithria had never spoken more than a few words to her, but she had seen the looks the Dragon Guard gave their commander when they thought her back was turned. Respect. Loyalty.
Eben Hess's voice cut the air again, though quieter now, more thoughtful than angry.
"You ever think, Morn, that maybe we're not being sent to assess anything at all?"
Morn arched a brow, her silence inviting him to continue.
"That if this mage really is as strong as the reports say, we're not here to judge them… we're here to end them."
The words hung heavy between them, swallowed only by the steady march of hooves.
"I mean think about it. The vanguard, the MageSeekers, and the DragonGuard. For just one guy. I know orders are orders, but what exactly are we expecting to be facing?"
Morn shrugged although, Cithria was certain that she was seriously thinking through Hess' words. "If he's so powerful that no one could apprehend him. Then he should have escaped on his own by now, shouldn't he? I doubt anyone could hold him. But if he's still waiting, then perhaps there's something to the reports after all."
Cithria tightened her grip on Cloudfield's reins. She wanted to believe that. She had to believe that.
Because ahead, rising on the horizon, the blackened silhouette of Wrenwall's ruined towers was beginning to cut through the haze of distance.