Just beyond the breakfast hall, past the stone arches where ivy crept along the walls, there was a quiet garden reserved for contestants who needed space to breathe. The fountain there hadn’t been repaired since the factionless attack—water flowed unevenly, catching light in fractured ripples.

  Elenor Sylvair stood beside it, hands folded in front of her. Her posture was straight—but uncertain.

  Lucien Noctyrr waited.

  She inhaled once before speaking.

  “You were unconscious longer than you think,” she said softly. “When the darkness fell.”

  Lucien’s jaw tightened. “I know.”

  “I felt something,” Elenor continued. “Not the butterfly. Not the shadows.” Her ears twitched faintly as she hesitated. “Someone else.”

  Lucien’s eyes flicked to her. “You saw him too?”

  She nodded.

  “The man in the darkness,” Lucien said. “I don’t know who he was. He looked like me. Or… like who I might become.” His voice dropped. “Or maybe he was already me.”

  Elenor turned sharply.

  “No.”

  The word struck harder than he expected.

  Lucien frowned. “How can you be so sure?”

  She met his gaze fully now—calm, ancient, steady in a way that had nothing to do with youth.

  “Because I have seen him before.”

  Lucien’s breath caught.

  Elenor lifted a hand and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fingers trembling only slightly.

  “I am three hundred years old,” she said. “In human years, I would be about thirty. My people age… differently.”

  Lucien stared.

  “My mother was Queen of House Sylvair,” she continued. “Before she chose the forest over the throne. Before she became the deer you saw.” Her voice softened at that. “My father still serves the Celestial Court. He was once close to King Noxus Helior.”

  Something cold settled into Lucien’s chest.

  “And with him,” Elenor said quietly, “stood another.”

  She stepped closer.

  “Leukaidos Noctyrr.”

  The name seemed to echo through the garden.

  Lucien swallowed. “That’s impossible.”

  “I wish it were,” she replied. “I saw him before the fall. Before the accusations. Before history hardened into something convenient.”

  Her eyes held his.

  “He looked exactly like the man I glimpsed in the darkness.”

  Lucien’s hands curled into fists. “Then why would he speak to me?”

  Elenor’s expression darkened.

  “That,” she said carefully, “is what frightens me.”

  She touched his arm—gentle, grounding.

  “Be careful of that voice,” she warned. “Whatever he is now, he is not whole. And not everything that remembers itself wishes to be saved.”

  Lucien opened his mouth—

  Then she added quickly, “There’s something else.”

  He stilled.

  “I overheard Luna Sangrelle last night,” Elenor said. “She was speaking with one of the House Sangrelle attendants.”

  Lucien’s heart skipped.

  “She plans to drop out.”

  The words struck like a blade.

  “What?” He stepped back. “No. She wouldn’t. She hates losing.”

  “She wasn’t afraid of losing,” Elenor said gently. “She was afraid of staying.”

  Lucien didn’t think.

  He turned and ran.

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  Past the fountain.

  Past the arches.

  Past the guards who called his name.

  Luna Sangrelle was many things—dangerous, calculating, reckless—

  But she was also his friend.

  And something was very, very wrong.

  Lucien searched for her until his lungs burned.

  Dining hall first.

  Training grounds next.

  The fountain.

  The market lane.

  The balconies overlooking the central streets.

  He even slipped into the outer corridors of the women’s quarters—far enough to earn sharp glares from guards, not far enough to be dragged away.

  Still nothing.

  Luna Sangrelle had a way of being visible even when she wanted to hide.

  And now she was gone.

  Lucien stood at the edge of the plaza, jaw clenched, heart tightening in that stupid way it did when someone mattered too much.

  “Eternus,” he murmured.

  Silence.

  Then—inside him—a slow, amused exhale.

  Speak.

  “Help me find the Sangrelle girl.”

  The dragon shifted within him, massive and deliberate.

  The world changed.

  Smell sharpened first.

  Not just scent—layers. Threads. Stories.

  Hot iron from the training grounds.

  Bread and honey from early vendors.

  Old blood caught between stone from the factionless attack.

  New blood in the infirmary.

  Sweat. Fear. Perfume.

  Then—

  Sweet.

  Soft.

  Controlled.

  The perfume from the night she stood in his room.

  Lucien turned.

  He followed.

  Through narrow alleys. Past thinning crowds. Out a quiet gate beyond the city’s practiced watchfulness.

  The noise faded.

  The air widened.

  Under an old tree, just beyond the outer path, Luna sat alone.

  Plain clothes today. Careful. A red sun hat angled low. A book resting in her lap.

  She looked peaceful.

  That terrified him.

  “Luna!” he called, breath unsteady.

  Her gaze lifted slowly.

  For a moment the mask didn’t return in time.

  Something sad flickered in her eyes.

  Then the smile came.

  “Lucien,” she said lightly.

  He stepped closer, hands flexing uselessly at his sides.

  “I couldn’t find you.”

  He failed at sounding calm.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked, softer now.

  She closed the book carefully and patted the grass beside her.

  Formal.

  Rehearsed.

  Lucien sat.

  Silence settled—not heavy like the shadow realm.

  Just quiet.

  Then she said, plainly:

  “My goal was to use you.”

  It landed like a slammed door.

  Lucien blinked. “What?”

  She kept her eyes forward.

  “My mother took interest in you before the trial even began. She told me to seduce you. Make you trust me. Make you soft. Make you mine.”

  Lucien’s throat went dry.

  “And I tried,” Luna continued, voice precise. “In your room. With touch. With blood. With charm.”

  She finally looked at him.

  “And I failed.”

  A strange ache bloomed beneath his ribs.

  “I’m… confused,” he admitted.

  “I know.”

  She exhaled slowly.

  “After the mini trial. After the darkness. After that beast…” Her voice caught for the first time. “My mother wants me to withdraw.”

  Lucien stiffened. “Withdraw?”

  “She’d rather lose her dream than lose me.”

  He stared at her.

  He had seen Solaria Sangrelle smile like hunger.

  He had not imagined fear.

  “I can’t hate her for that,” Luna said softly. “For wanting me alive.”

  Lucien swallowed. “Then what do you want?”

  Crimson met violet.

  “At first?” she laughed bitterly. “I thought this would be easy. I thought the world would bend if I pressed hard enough.”

  Her gaze dropped.

  “I tried my gift on you that night.”

  Lucien’s pulse jumped.

  “You noticed.”

  “I notice everything,” she replied.

  A pause.

  “My power didn’t work on you.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “What if it had?” she asked quietly.

  His jaw tightened. “Then you would’ve gotten what you wanted.”

  “Yes.”

  Silence.

  Then—

  “But I don’t want love that’s forced,” she said, softer now. “I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.”

  Her fingers twisted at her sleeve.

  “And I can’t force you to love me.”

  Mira’s memory flared inside him.

  Warm.

  Gone.

  “I only stayed because…” Luna hesitated.

  Then said it.

  “I started to fall for you.”

  Lucien inhaled sharply.

  Her laugh was hollow. “Falling for someone you were supposed to use. How poetic.”

  “It’s not pathetic,” he said.

  She searched his face like she didn’t trust him.

  “But you’re not within my reach,” she whispered. “Not the way I need.”

  “Does this mean you’ll leave?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she answered quietly. “I planned to leave tonight.”

  His chest tightened.

  “And if you go?”

  “I return home. I become safe again. Untouched.”

  “That sounds like a prison,” he said.

  “It is,” she admitted. “But it’s familiar.”

  Lucien turned fully toward her.

  “You don’t owe me anything,” he said. “Not loyalty. Not love. Not sacrifice.”

  She blinked, startled.

  “But if you stay, don’t stay because of me. Don’t stay because of her.”

  He hesitated.

  “Stay because you want something of your own.”

  Her eyes shimmered.

  “And if I die?”

  He swallowed.

  “Then it will be because you chose to live first,” he said. “Not because someone else decided your ending.”

  Silence trembled between them.

  Finally—

  Luna let out a shaky breath.

  “…You’re terrible at letting people go.”

  “I know.”

  She closed the book slowly.

  “I’ll stay,” she said.

  Relief and dread collided in Lucien’s chest.

  Deep within him, Eternus stirred, amused by mortal courage.

  Luna leaned back against the tree, tilting her face toward the sky.

  “Don’t make me regret it.”

  Lucien stared at the shadows between the leaves.

  “I’ll try.”

  He didn’t promise.

  Because promises were just another way to be haunted.

  And as the wind moved through the branches above them, the city beyond the walls kept breathing—

  Unaware that two people had just made a choice that would cost them both.

  Maybe everything.