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Once, Demacia stood as an equal match to Noxus.
If not for the internal strife and growing fractures within its own borders, they might have clashed head-on long ago.
But now, Noxus stood far superior.
Jarvan could hardly imagine the chaos and fear that would engulf Demacia once the truth was known.
Today, they had witnessed something undeniable: even the divine power of the Winged Protector—Kayle—was, at its core, magic.
Some of Kayle's actions had already become the subject of hushed rumors among the people.
These internal contradictions posed a greater threat than even a Noxian invasion.
At least Noxus, for all its brutality, required time to recover between campaigns.
"With you and me standing together, we can overcome anything," Garen said firmly.
He didn't pretend to understand politics.
But after hearing his aunt's grim warnings just days ago, he'd come to a simple, sobering conclusion about Demacia's fragile future.
"I almost wish Noxus would invade," Jarvan muttered.
An external enemy could unite Demacia and distract from the cracks forming within.
"I see now why Noxus elevated men like Swain. It wasn't just about power. It was to establish something bigger," Jarvan continued, shaking his head.
"You think they let us leave so we'd carry tales of their glory back home?"
Garen clenched his fists. His frustration burned in his chest.
Not only had he been denied a true battle, but now he was expected to return and, in a way, celebrate their enemy's victory. It was maddening.
"Can we even hide this defeat?" he asked bitterly.
"You can order your men to stay quiet, but my father and the Grand Marshal will demand the truth," Jarvan replied grimly.
The situation was nearly impossible.
Even if they tried to keep the defeat a secret, Noxus would spread the news far and wide.
They needed this victory to legitimize their new leadership, and the fall of Kayle, the so-called Winged Protector, would serve as a shining symbol of that triumph.
Once word reached Demacia, the people would demand answers.
And eventually, they would have to face the truth.
Jarvan knew that much.
Neither he nor Garen could deny what had happened—not with the ideals they'd been raised to uphold.
To hide from the truth would be to betray everything they stood for.
And neither of them were cowards.
"Then what do we do?"
Garen drove his épée into the earth, the heavy blade sinking into the soil with a dull thud.
He was a warrior, not a strategist. He could lead armies into battle, but this- this tangled mess of politics and perception- was beyond him.
"We proceed carefully. We don't need to keep a large force here," Jarvan said, voice steady but commanding.
"General Laurent will remain to secure the position. I'll lead the rest of the army back to capital. You take the Dauntless Vanguard and move ahead."
He turned to Garen, eyes sharp.
"Speed is critical. We have to move before Noxus starts spreading their version of events."
"Understood."
Garen's expression hardened, his resolve crystallizing.
Without another word, he strode off to rally the Dauntless Vanguard. They would ride before nightfall.
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Above the Immortal Bastion, the floating castle shimmered ominously, casting black and blue shadows over the ancient fortress.
"Teacher… is she a Starborn?"
Seraphine's voice was soft, curious, as she gazed at the subdued form of Kayle.
Kayle's limbs were pierced by dark iron nails, each transformed into an orb of black energy that bound her to a stone altar hewn from the cursed Forbidden Stone.
Her once-glorious wings were tattered, her divine aura faded—now reduced to a broken symbol beneath Noxian dominance.
She looked pitiful. Her radiant strength had diminished to a flicker, and she had fallen unconscious—a faint shadow of the justice she once embodied.
"Aspect of Justice—Kayle. That's her name. Can you hear the faint murmurs of her soul?" Ryan asked, his voice calm but deliberate.
He strongly suspected that Seraphine's unique gift would be the key to understanding the nature of an Aspect.
"There's a holy, ethereal song coming from her soul... It's strange. Normally, I shouldn't be able to hear the soul of someone this strong," Seraphine replied, tilting her head in quiet confusion.
"It seems my theory was right," Ryan said, smiling faintly.
"Each Aspect isn't entirely independent. Much like the Darkin, there's a separation between the host and the celestial that inhabits them."
"What?" Seraphine blinked, clearly puzzled.
"You might not understand just yet. But you will—once you've studied Darkin Soul Dynamics," Ryan said, his tone shifting to something lightly teasing.
"Ugh... that book's full of vague, convoluted nonsense," Seraphine groaned, crossing her arms.
"The mage who wrote it was likely bound to a Darkin," Ryan said patiently.
"Blood magic, layered metaphysics—it's a dense read. But if you have a foundation in arcane theory, most of the companion texts are in the library."
As he spoke, delicate threads of magic wove from his fingertips, forming intricate runes that slowly fused into Kayle's bound form.
Kayle, now their only living Aspect specimen, held the answers Ryan and Syndra had been seeking.
A month of study, he estimated, would be enough to unravel at least the basics of her celestial nature.
Meanwhile, Ryan rattled off a list of books Seraphine would need to read. Her shoulders sagged in protest.
"Fine, fine... Looks like I'll be living in the library again," she muttered with a resigned sigh.
Despite her frustration, Seraphine dutifully wrote down every title he mentioned.
Once she was finished, realizing there was nothing else she could contribute for now, she turned and climbed the spiral staircase to the top of the Mage Tower.
The library sat beneath an enchanted ceiling, alive with arcane energy.
Dozens of books floated through the air, orbiting Syndra like moons around a star.
Her magic kept them in slow, silent motion—a gravitational ballet of knowledge.
"Oh, two magic-obsessed lunatics. Figures..." Seraphine thought, pouting slightly.
After tonight's battle, her teachers had immediately buried themselves in research, as if exhaustion didn't apply to them.
She could still hear the faint echoes of their souls.
Neither had put up mental defenses—proof of how drained they were.
And yet, despite their differences, their soul songs were oddly alike.
Both carried the same relentless drive, a deep hunger for arcane truth. It made her roll her eyes.
"Seraphine, fetch the book from Shelf One," came Syndra's cold, commanding voice, breaking her thoughts.
For a moment, Seraphine panicked, wondering if her internal grumbling had somehow been overheard. She flinched but recovered quickly.
"Right away!" she called back, masking her unease.
Rising into the air on her platform, she floated toward Shelf One—the library's tallest and most mysterious part.
The bookshelves in the Mage Tower followed a strict hierarchy: the lower the shelf number, the greater the significance of the knowledge it held.
Seraphine had noticed something curious: neither Ryan nor Syndra ever used magic to retrieve books from the top ten shelves.
They always climbed themselves, as if touching the books required reverence.
At last, she reached Shelf One. It was simpler than she expected—just four compartments designed to display an open book rather than store them flat.
There were only two books present. The other two compartments were empty, each bearing an engraved nameplate.
Seraphine's eyes fell on one of the vacant slots, and her heart skipped.
Meredith's Soul-Splitting Scroll
The nameplate bore the title of a book she recognized—one she had received as a gift on Teacher's Day.
"Second book!" Syndra's voice rang out below, snapping her out of her daze.
"Got it!" she called back.
Carefully, she lifted the book titled Meredith's Soul-Splitting Scroll and descended, her movements slow and cautious.
Handing it over to Syndra, she tried to suppress the uneasy churn in her chest.
But before she returned to the ground, she allowed herself one last glance at the second empty compartment.
Its nameplate read:
Meredith's Art of Seduction