"You don't look very happy."
Shyvana tried to suppress a sigh as soon as she heard Prince Jarvan's voice behind her.
"I'm not," she admitted after a pause, her gaze fixed on her clenched fist. The faint glow of her dragon blood shimmered beneath her skin before fading away again.
Jarvan stepped up beside her, stopping at the tall window overlooking the white-stone expanse of Demacia. Sunlight flooded the city, gilding its towers in gold. "Well? How was the trip? I haven't read Garen's report yet."
Shyvana exhaled slowly, her tone restrained but firm. "The journey was without issue, my prince. As you can see for yourself, we brought back the mage."
Jarvan frowned in mock pain, placing a hand over his chest. "Really, Shyvana? 'My prince'? We've known each other for years. You can call me Jarvan, you know."
She didn't answer. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.
Jarvan's expression softened. "This is really bothering you, isn't it?" He turned to look at her. "How do you feel about him?"
"The mage is dangerous," Shyvana replied immediately, her crimson eyes narrowing like burning coals.
Jarvan raised a brow. "...Alright, that much is obvious. All mages are dangerous. Have you seen you? What you can do?"
Shyvana groaned in frustration. "You don't understand. You weren't there. The others didn't understand it either... they didn't see it. But I did."
She turned toward the window again, her reflection trembling faintly in the glass. "The moment he painted Castle Wrenwall with his colors, I knew. The moment I looked into his eyes…"
Her voice trailed off. For several seconds, only the faint wind through the marble corridor filled the silence.
Jarvan's tone grew quieter. "What was it, Shyvana?"
She looked down at her hand again, watching her claws threaten to emerge. "It took everything we had to defeat my mother... and even then, we barely survived. But when I looked into his eyes, I saw it."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I saw Yvva fall to his blade in a single strike. I saw my death… and yours. And all it would take from him... was one swing."
Jarvan didn't speak right away. His reflection in the window stared back at him, the proud crown prince of Demacia, armored in duty and conviction, yet for the first time in a long while, even he seemed uncertain.
When he finally spoke, his tone was low, deliberate. "You've never said anything like that before."
Shyvana turned slightly toward him. "Because I've never felt anything like that before."
The air between them felt heavy. The hum of distant bells echoed faintly through the marble halls.
Jarvan folded his arms, thinking. When he opened his mouth to speak...
Shyvana shook her head slowly. "No. If he wanted to destroy Wrenwall, he could have. If he wanted to kill us, he would have. He just chose not to."
Jarvan sighed, the weight of his armor seeming heavier with each exhale. "And you're certain it's because of this… 'Anti Magic' he claims to wield? If it's true, that might explain why his presence unsettles you, it could clash with your nature as a being born of magic itself."
Shyvana turned to him, brow furrowed. "I thought you said you hadn't read the report?"
Jarvan allowed a smirk to creep across his face. "I may have… glanced through it before coming up here."
Shyvana shook her head, half in amusement, half in exasperation. "Of course you did."
"But still," Jarvan continued, his tone sharpening, "Anti Magic. It's something far different from our petricite." He paced slowly across the chamber, hands clasped behind his back. "For years I believed petricite was the true nullifier, our great equalizer. Until Sylas…"
His voice faltered. The name left his lips like venom. For a brief moment, pain flashed across his features, anger, grief, and the dull echo of betrayal that had never truly faded.
He clenched a fist. "If this Anti Magic is real, truly real, and we could harness it…" His lips curled into a grin, not of mirth, but of ambition. It was the smile of a man who saw possibility in the impossible. "We could finally..."
Before he could finish, Shyvana's hand shot out and gripped his shoulder, firm enough to stop him mid-thought. Her crimson eyes glowed faintly, intense and worried. "Promise me you'll be careful."
Jarvan blinked, caught off guard by her tone. "What's gotten into..."
"Promise me, Jarvan." Her voice rose just enough to still him. There was no hesitation, no formality, only raw concern.
For a moment, he simply stared at her. Then, slowly, he smiled. "You don't have to worry. I have my seneschal with me, and half the royal guard besides. I'll be careful."
Shyvana shook her head, her grip tightening. "It won't be enough," she said, her tone grave. "Not nearly enough."
Jarvan frowned. "Shyvana, what are you..."
"He isn't like anything we've ever faced," she cut in, her voice low but trembling slightly. "I might be a dragon… but he's something else entirely. He's not a man. He's a monster."
For a brief second, Jarvan saw something in her eyes that he had never seen before, fear.
He opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat as a sharp, mocking voice echoed through the marble corridor.
"Well, isn't that poetic," the voice sneered. "Monsters warning men about monsters. Seems betrayal still comes easy, no matter what form the beast takes."
Both Jarvan and Shyvana turned sharply toward the doorway.
"Good to see some things never change. Even monsters can recognize their own kind."
Jarvan's expression faltered for only a moment before settling back into his composed, princely calm. "Lady Vayne," he greeted evenly. "What brings you here?"
Shyvana's golden eyes narrowed. She didn't miss the way the famed monster hunter's fingers twitched ever so slightly, hovering near her belt, as if fighting the instinct to reach for her weapon. She didn't need to guess why.
Eventually, Vayne tore her gaze from the half-dragon and met Jarvan's eyes. "Prince Jarvan," she said with crisp formality. "It's good to see you again. As for why I'm here, I'll be joining today's council session as the sole representative of House Vayne."
Jarvan's brow lifted. "You? I've never known you to take part in court matters, let alone sit in a council of nobles. What prompted this sudden interest?"
Vayne's stare hardened. "Don't take me for a fool, Your Highness. Your soldiers couldn't keep their mouths shut about the so-called 'monstrous mage' they escorted from Wrenwall. They say he left the town in ruins, and now you've brought that same creature into Silvermere? Tell me, have you lost your mind?"
Shyvana stepped forward with a low growl, heat rising from her skin as faint embers flickered at the corners of her eyes. "How dare you speak to the prince in such a manner?"
Jarvan raised a hand, resting it gently on her shoulder. His calm presence stilled her flames.
"It's alright, Shyvana," he said quietly before turning back to Vayne. "As for your concern, Lady Vayne, it was Garen's decision to bring the young man here. And I trust my friend's judgment implicitly."
Vayne's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "Trust," she echoed, her voice dripping with disdain. "A noble sentiment, Your Highness. But trust can be the noose around a kingdom's neck if given to the wrong person."
Jarvan's eyes narrowed, his patience thinning. "Watch your tone, Lady Vayne. You stand before your prince."
For a moment, silence fell between them, tense and sharp as drawn steel.
Then Vayne lowered her head slightly, though her voice remained steady. "Forgive me, Your Highness. I mean no disrespect to the crown. But I will not sit idle while another threat festers within our walls. I've seen what happens when monsters are given shelter." Her gaze shifted back to Shyvana, and there was venom in her eyes. "We all have."
Shyvana's claws flexed slightly, the faint sound of scale scraping against metal echoing through the chamber.
Jarvan exhaled slowly, the weight of command pressing on his shoulders. "That's enough, both of you."
He turned away from them, looking out through the high windows where sunlight spilled across the banners of Demacia. "If this boy truly wields power unlike any other, then we'll learn the truth through reason, not fear. Garen has vouched for him, and until I see evidence otherwise, that will suffice."
Vayne's jaw tightened. "Then I hope your faith doesn't doom us all, Your Highness."
Without another word, she turned sharply on her heel and strode from the chamber, her cloak snapping behind her like the wing of a raven.
Shyvana watched her go, then muttered under her breath, "You shouldn't let her talk to you like that."
Jarvan gave a weary smile. "I don't. But for now, I'd rather save my strength for the council. Something tells me it's going to be a long day."
---
"This is my first time leaving my hometown," Darryl said, his voice bright with awe. "The High Silvermere is so amazing. I never thought I'd see any of this."
He pressed closer to the tall window, eyes wide as he took in the gleaming white stone streets and proud spires of Demacia's capital. Sunlight danced across the marble rooftops, soldiers in polished armor patrolling beneath banners that swayed gently in the mountain breeze.
Asta sat nearby on a long bench in the council antechamber, arms crossed, one foot tapping absently against the floor.
He watched the boy's excitement with a faint smile. For all his own nerves, it was hard not to feel some of Darryl's wonder rubbing off on him. Beyond the ornate double doors ahead, the Council of Demacia was gathering, and the two of them were waiting to be called in.
Asta leaned back against the marble wall, staring at the elaborate carvings etched into the ceiling above. They were all images of heroes, kings, knights, and saints in ages past. It made the air here feel heavier somehow, like even the walls were whispering.
He closed his eyes for a second, letting out a small sigh. "Man... this place really knows how to make you feel unwelcome."
Darryl turned from the window, blinking. "Huh?"
Asta shook his head. "Nothing. Just… thinking out loud."
The boy tilted his head, uncertain, but didn't press. His eyes flicked to the pair of guards standing by the door, tall, stoic, their armor gleaming in the sunlight like living statues. Neither had said a word since Asta and Darryl had been led in.
The silence was broken by the faint sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor. The doors creaked open, and a soldier in blue-trimmed armor stepped in, bowing slightly.
"The council will see you now."
Asta pushed himself off the bench, exhaling slowly. "Guess that's our cue."
Darryl nodded, but his earlier excitement was quickly fading, replaced by nervousness. "A-Are you sure we'll be okay in there? I mean… this is the council, right? Like, actual nobles?"
Asta gave him a small grin, clapping him on the shoulder. "We'll be fine. Just stick close and let me do the talking."
"Right," Darryl muttered, though he didn't sound convinced.
They followed the soldier through the massive double doors, and the brightness of the chamber hit them immediately. Sunlight poured in through tall arched windows, casting long, gold streaks across the white floors. Rows of nobles sat on either side of the room, their clothes pristine, their expressions wary.
At the heart and center of the room sat the high council around an octagonal table, Asta noticed that the tallest chair which seemed to be the centre chair was empty.
'That must be the royal family's seat.' Asta thought. 'There really isn't a king? How weird.'
On the left side of the empty chair, sat a woman whose attire drew Asta's gaze easily, or rather, her massive pauldrons. 'They're huge!' he thought internally. 'She's giving off sisgoleon vibes. I better not mess with her."
On the other side of the empty chair sat a man wearing ornate gold and white armor with navy accents, a neatly kept beard, and short dark hair. A golden circlet rested on his head, marking his noble or royal status.
'That must be the prince.' Asta thought. 'Jarvan the fourth.'
Next to Jarvan sat a woman wearing a dark blue catsuit with red accents and red tinted glasses. Her dark hair was in a long ponytail.
Next to her was a female figure of both elegance and lethality. Her lithe frame is clad in gleaming armor, polished to a mirror shine. Her most striking feature is her face, framed by a cascade of fiery red hair.
Back to the woman with massive pauldrons, seated next to her was a tall man. Half of his regal face was covered by a golden mask.
The rest of the council didn't stand out enough to draw Asta's attention as much as the first ones he noticed.
Asta could feel every eye on him as he stepped forward. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.
He stopped at the center of the chamber and raised his head. "Asta of the Black Bulls, reporting as requested."
A low murmur rippled through the gathered nobles, whispers, disbelief, a few outright scoffs.
Vayne's lips curved in faint disdain. "This is him? The so-called 'Anti-Mage'? I was expecting someone… taller."
Asta tilted his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Sorry to disappoint. You're not looking hot yourself."
The woman with the massive pauldrons sighed softly, rubbing the bridge of her nose as if nursing the beginnings of a headache. "Please, refrain from squabbles for the moment," she said, her voice carrying the weight of command. Then, her tone softened slightly. "Welcome to Demacia, Sir Asta."
Straightening her posture, she leaned forward and rested her chin on one gloved hand. "My name is Tianna Crownguard," she introduced herself, her eyes sharp but not unkind. "I am the High Marshal of Demacia and commander of its armies. You now stand before the ruling council."
She gestured gracefully toward the long table. "Seated here is the heir to the throne, and fourth of his name, Prince Jarvan the Fourth. And beside him sits Shayna Vayne, head of House Vayne and Demacia's foremost monster hunter."
The man wearing the golden circlet, Prince Jarvan himself, regarded Asta with a measured expression, his gaze steady and assessing. "You've come a long way from Wrenwall, Asta of the Black Bulls," he said, his tone calm but edged with curiosity. "From what I've read, your arrival there was… eventful."
Asta gave a small shrug, his expression casual. "If by 'eventful' you mean saving that town from a devil, then yeah, that's one way to put it."
Tianna's brow furrowed slightly. "A… devil?" she repeated, glancing toward Jarvan before returning her gaze to Asta. "We received no such reports, no mention of any devils or creatures apart from you and the mage you were fighting."
Asta exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "That mage was the devil in question," he said simply. "Looks like I'll have to do a bit of explaining."