The boom came again.
Closer this time.
Lucien was already moving.
He burst through the doors into heat and smoke, the sky above the trial city torn open by fire. Four pillars of black smoke rose into the air like accusing fingers—one larger than the rest, boiling up from the direction of the Fallen quarter.
His chest tightened.
Mother.
He ran.
People poured into the streets—contestants, guards, healers—shouting over one another, panic spreading faster than flame. Magic flickered wildly. Barriers flared and failed. Somewhere, a bell rang until it cracked.
Lucien didn’t slow.
He slipped into shadow.
The world inverted—sound muffled, light erased—and he surged forward through the shadow realm, where no flame could touch him and no eye could follow. When he emerged again, it was closer to the heart of the smoke.
Too close.
They were already there.
An army.
Men and women with no sigils, no crests, no faction colors—only blank banners snapping in the heat. Their armor was mismatched. Their weapons worn. Their eyes burned with something that wasn’t madness.
Hatred.
“The factionless…” someone whispered behind him.
“How did they breach the city?”
“They must’ve come through the Fallen lands—”
The words spread like poison.
Lucien felt them land on his back.
The factionless moved—and not toward the guards, not toward the nobles.
Toward him.
“They’re going for the Shadowborn!”
Lucien drew the Sword of Truth.
It felt heavier than before. Honest steel. Unforgiving.
The first attacker lunged.
Lucien sidestepped and cut cleanly, the blade slicing through cloth and bone. Another came from the side—he kicked, shadow anchoring his footing as the man flew back into a wall.
More came.
Too many.
He dragged three into the shadow realm in a single motion, their screams swallowed as darkness closed around them. Another he cut down. Another he disarmed.
Pain flared in his side.
He wasn’t healed.
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Not fully.
A presence shifted ahead of him.
The crowd parted.
The general stepped forward.
Tall. Broad. Long black hair streaked with grey, beard thick and unkempt. One eye a cold, piercing blue—the other milky white, a scar carved straight through it like a reminder.
Lucien swung.
The general caught the blade in his bare hand.
Steel screamed.
Lucien was thrown backward like a child.
He hit stone hard, breath knocked from his lungs.
The general smiled.
“That’s all you’ve got, kid?”
His hands began to glow—faint, corrosive—the ground beneath his boots hissing and blackening as he advanced.
“They paid good coin for you,” he spat. “Dead or broken. Didn’t specify.”
Lucien pushed himself up—
Light exploded.
Alicia Helior tore through the smoke like a falling star, her hand snapping around Lucien’s wrist. The world went white.
When vision returned, they were running—down alleys, through shattered streets, light guiding shadow where shadow could no longer carry him alone.
“You’re injured,” she said, not slowing.
“I’ve been worse,” he lied.
She glanced at him.
Didn’t believe him.
“Why are they targeting you?” she demanded.
Lucien shook his head. “I don’t know.”
She swore softly and pulled him into another turn just as the street behind them corroded into dust.
Elsewhere—
Leon barked orders before they were given.
“Left alley’s a trap—move!”
Dialos followed without question, Elenor limping close behind. A squad of factionless rounded the corner—and stopped.
Their eyes locked on Leon.
Hesitation rippled through them.
Then they turned and ran.
Dialos laughed, smoke curling from his nostrils. “That’s right. Remember who I am.”
Leon said nothing.
His hands shook.
Across the square, Athena Skjaldryn and Valor Drakaryn fought back to back.
These weren’t weak fighters.
Former contenders. Failed victors. Power twisted into something corrosive.
Athena drove her blade through a man’s chest—and watched it rot in his grasp as he died. She hissed and tore it free.
Valor summoned a black flame dragon—but the fire slowed, eaten away as it passed through their ranks.
“This power—” Valor growled.
“Devours,” Athena finished.
She looked up at him.
He sighed. “Fine. Let me be the sword.”
She smiled grimly. “Then I’ll be your wings.”
She grabbed him and launched skyward just as the street beneath them collapsed.
Luna Sangrelle stood alone.
Factionless charged her.
She lifted her hand.
Blood obeyed.
They turned on one another without a word.
She watched, expression empty, until—
The sky split open.
Light descended.
Noxus Helior emerged from the heavens like judgment made flesh.
Factionless evaporated beneath his gaze. Bodies unraveled into ash. The general clicked his tongue, raised his fist—
“Retreat.”
Smoke bloomed.
They were gone.
Noxus descended.
Exactly where Lucien stood.
As if planned.
Alicia released Lucien’s hand and embraced her father. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“My little star,” Noxus said warmly—his eyes never leaving Lucien.
“Shadowborn,” he said. “Explain.”
Lucien met his gaze. “They came for me. Not the city.”
“And through Fallen land,” Noxus replied smoothly. “Is your mother unable to guard what remains?”
Lucien’s blood boiled. “Guard what? The Fallen are dead. There’s nothing left to protect.”
“And if you win?” Noxus pressed.
Lucien’s jaw tightened. “I’ll decide when the time comes.”
Guards rushed in, bowing low. “The city is secure, Your Majesty. We captured one.”
“Bring them,” Noxus said lightly. “This devouring power sounds… familiar.”
Alicia stepped forward. “Father. He had nothing to do with this.”
Silence.
Then a sigh.
“They grow up so fast,” Noxus murmured.
He looked back to Lucien. “Your uncle was once brilliant. Don’t fail me as he did.”
Light swallowed him.
Lucien stood shaking.
Alicia touched his arm. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded, pulling away. “Let’s… postpone our spar.”
She smiled faintly. “Dinner instead.”
He hesitated.
“Okay.”
Alicia smiled and told him to meet her at the field where they once met, far away from the coliseum. Lucien nodded, knowing exactly where she meant.
She left first.
The city watched him as he walked back—eyes full of blame, fear, disgust. Six bodies wrapped in black were carried past him.
Lucien skipped lunch.
When night fell and he waited alone, there came a presence at his door.
He knew who it was.
“Come in,” he said quietly.
Luna Sangrelle stepped inside.
And closed the door behind her.
