Darryl hadn't known what to expect that morning, other than the usual, brutal training regimen his Captain put him through.
Captain. He still couldn't help but feel a strange thrill every time he said it.
So when Captain Asta appeared at dawn and told him they were heading to the council chambers, Darryl's curiosity flared. It wasn't like Asta to seek out nobles or officials. He was… too straightforward for that.
Now, seated in the antechamber outside the council room, Darryl fidgeted nervously. The polished marble floor gleamed beneath his boots, reflecting the bright morning light that streamed through the high windows. The guards standing along the walls kept giving him sidelong glances, looks that were neither kind nor welcoming.
He kept his head down. A mage had no place among Demacia's elite.
When Asta finally emerged from the chamber, Tianna Crownguard, the High Marshal herself, walked beside him. Darryl's heart nearly stopped. The Tianna Crownguard, the highest authority in all of Demacia, second only to the throne.
And she was speaking to his captain. Calmly.
He didn't know what Asta had said in there, but before he could even think to ask, they were heading toward the training grounds, accompanied by a squad of guards. Darryl followed quietly, trying to ignore the whispers around them.
What happened next would stay burned into his memory forever.
The moment they reached the courtyard, the soldiers of the Dauntless Vanguard surrounded Asta. There were at least a hundred of them, the pride of Demacia. And then, with a faint smile, Asta agreed to a "demonstration."
Darryl could only stare as his captain moved.
It wasn't a fight, couldn't even be called one. Asta dismantled the entire company with impossible speed. Every movement cracked the air, every blow dropped a knight before the others could even blink.
In less than a minute, the elite of Demacia lay sprawled across the courtyard, groaning in disbelief.
Not even Garen Crownguard, the legendary leader of the Vanguard, had managed to best him when he stepped forward to intervene. Asta had disarmed and floored him with frightening ease, though without malice.
Darryl thought it was over. It should have been.
But then she stepped forward.
The Dragon-blooded warrior, Shyvana. Darryl still remembered when she first came to Wrenwall. It was the first time he saw dragons, although he only caught a glimpse before he was ushered to safety.
Her eyes burned like molten gold as flames erupted around her, wings of living fire coiling and folding inward to form a blazing cocoon. The air shimmered from the heat as the cocoon expanded, swelling until it filled half the training grounds, the ground beneath it glowing red-hot.
Across from her, Asta's expression didn't change.
Darryl's breath caught as he saw it, black lightning rippling across Asta's right arm, the very air vibrating from its charge. Then, with a crack of thunder, a single black wing burst from his back, spreading wide like a storm-born banner.
The courtyard fell silent for a heartbeat. Then the world seemed to split in two, one half consumed by fire, the other alive with shadow and lightning.
And Darryl, standing frozen at the edge of it all, could only whisper in awe,
"So this is magic."
The sound that followed wasn't just a roar—it was a cataclysm.
Flames surged outward as Shyvana's cocoon of fire exploded, the shockwave slamming through the courtyard like a hammer of molten wind. Darryl flinched, throwing his arms over his head as debris scattered and the heat licked at his skin. The marble tiles beneath his feet cracked and splintered, glowing faintly red from the sheer intensity of the transformation.
When he dared to look up again, the Dragon had fully emerged.
She towered above the training grounds, scales glinting like living embers, each movement radiating power and heat. The air shimmered around her, thick and suffocating. Her wings unfurled with a thunderous whump, casting a shadow that stretched across the entire courtyard.
"By the Light… she's… she's massive," one of the soldiers stammered, stumbling backward as the heat washed over him.
Another guard dropped his spear with a clatter, eyes wide in terror. "What is the monster doing..."
Before he could finish, Shyvana roared again, a deep, earth-shaking bellow that rattled the very stones of the barracks. Windows cracked, banners tore from their poles, and the courtyard's fountain shattered, spraying boiling water across the cobblestones.
Darryl's heart pounded in his chest, each beat drowned by the rolling echo of that roar. Even from where he stood, the sound pressed against his bones, heavy and alive.
Beyond the walls, in the city below, civilians froze where they stood. A merchant's cart overturned as a frightened horse bolted down the street. Nobles rushed to their homes. Mothers clutched their children and looked toward the distant plume of flame rising over the keep. The roar had carried across entire districts, shaking glass and stirring panic.
"Is it an attack?" a noble cried as bells began to toll in alarm.
Back in the courtyard, Asta stood motionless amidst the chaos, the black lightning still crackling faintly around him. His single wing flared once, scattering the dust and flame around his feet. His gaze never left the massive dragon before him.
Darryl swallowed hard, feeling both awe and dread twist in his chest. "Captain… are you really going to fight that?" he whispered, though his voice barely carried over the crackle of fire.
Asta didn't answer. He simply smiled, maddeningly sure of himself.
Then, as Shyvana reared back, her molten chest swelling with the breath of her next inferno, Asta finally begun to move.
Unlike before, when he danced around his opponents with blinding speed, Asta moved slowly this time, deliberately. His stance lowered, muscles tightening as he drew his sword back into a wide, deliberate swing.
Shyvana's molten eyes flared. With a snarl that shook the air, she lunged forward and unleashed a torrent of dragonfire. The flames poured out in a blazing stream, swallowing Asta completely.
Darryl's eyes widened in horror as the mage disappeared within the inferno. "Asta!" he shouted, his voice cracking against the roar of fire.
Beside him, Tianna Crownguard did not flinch. Her sharp gaze narrowed, her voice calm and cutting through the chaos. "Surely it couldn't be that simple."
Then...
Whoosh!
The torrent of flames split apart in an instant, dividing cleanly down the middle like a river forced aside by an unseen hand. A thunderous shockwave erupted from within, slicing outward in a blinding arc of pressure.
The force slammed into Shyvana's colossal frame. The Dragoness roared in pain as she was hurled backward, crashing through the walls of the training grounds in an explosion of stone and fire. Debris rained down, smoke billowing high into the air.
"High Marshal!" one of the guards shouted, rushing to Tianna's side. "We have to get you out of here! They're destroying everything!"
Tianna sighed, brushing dust from her pauldrons as she watched the scene unfold. Her tone was cool, almost bored. "That won't be necessary," she said. "Stones can be rebuilt after all."
"He's right, High Marshal," Garen said as he stepped beside her, one hand resting on the hilt of his greatsword. His eyes stayed fixed on the blazing chaos ahead. "It's getting dangerous."
Tianna didn't move. Her gaze remained steady on the battlefield, her tone calm but edged with command. "You would have me flee in fear? From mages?"
Garen's jaw tightened, though he said nothing. The heat from Shyvana's flames rippled through the air, distorting the edges of their armor.
Jarvan, standing slightly behind them, crossed his arms and gave a faint, knowing smile. "I doubt we're in any real danger," he said evenly. "Shyvana's in control of herself. If she wanted to, she could turn this entire castle into rubble in seconds."
Tianna's eyes narrowed slightly at that, the flicker of a smirk tugging at her lips. "Let's hope she doesn't decide to prove you right," she replied, her voice steady even as another explosion of fire and lightning lit the sky before them.
The High Marshal's calm demeanor contrasted sharply with the chaos unfolding before them. Smoke curled through the air, mingling with the shimmer of residual magic. The once-pristine training ground now resembled a warzone, cracked stone, smoldering banners, and the faint, acrid scent of scorched steel.
From beyond the wall of dust, a low rumble echoed, a growl that made the ground tremble. Shyvana pushed herself upright, molten breath hissing from her jaws as rubble fell from her wings. Her crimson scales glowed brighter than ever, molten light flowing like veins of lava beneath her skin.
And across from her, standing amidst the crater that had once been the courtyard's center, was Asta.
His clothes were pristine, even with smoke rising from his shoulders. The black lightning still crackled faintly around him, dancing across his sword's edge. His one black wing extended behind him, dark and heavy against the light of the flames.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then Asta tilted his head slightly, his grin widening as he raised his sword once more. "Your flames are pretty hot. Maybe hotter than Magna's." he said, his voice cutting clearly through the haze.
Shyvana's answer came as a deep growl that rippled the air itself.
The impact shattered the air. Asta's blade, wreathed in black lightning, met Shyvana's claws in a spray of sparks and molten scales.
Shyvana lost that contest nearly instantly as her claw was pushed back with greater force. The shockwave rippled outward, hurling dust and debris into the stands where soldiers scrambled to shield their faces.
Darryl stumbled back, barely managing to stay upright as the ground cracked beneath his boots. He could hardly follow their movements, one moment they were on the ground, the next a stteam of fire followed a black streak of lightning into the sky.
The heavens lit up. Shyvana's dragon fire carved glowing trails through the clouds, trying to burn Asta with her breath.
"By the Light…" Garen muttered, his voice low with awe. "He's faster than the silver wings."
Tianna crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "He is far more dangerous than I thought. We cannot allow him to turn to Sylas under any circumstances. If he were to ally with the Dregbourne traitor Sylas. Make no mistake. Demacia may very well fall."
As if to prove her point, Asta dove, a black comet tearing through the air, his sword cutting a streak of red lightning. Shyvana countered with a roar that unleashed another torrent of flame, but this time he didn't dodge. Instead, he swung.
The slash cleaved through the inferno like a blade through silk, parting the flames and striking her square in the chest. The resulting explosion sent shockwaves racing across the city's outer walls.
When the light faded, Shyvana crashed to the ground in a storm of rubble, her massive body skidding through the remains of the courtyard. The shockwave knocked down what was left of the training barracks.
Darryl shielded his eyes from the dust, coughing as he stumbled forward. "Captain!" he called out.
Asta landed moments later, a heavy thud marking his return to the ground. His wing folded neatly behind him as he rested his sword on his shoulder, exhaling slowly. "That's enough," he said, his voice calm again, he said it with a finality that couldn't be rebutted. As if he knew that Shyvana could not continue fighting.
Shyvana shifted, her form shrinking, scales retreating and flame receding until the woman reappeared, kneeling, bruised, but still breathing hard, eyes blazing with stubborn pride.
Asta walked toward her, lowering his sword. "You're tough," he said, offering his hand to help her up. "But you have no idea how to fight someone faster than you, do you? Back home you'd be a sitting duck."
Shyvana glared at him for a long second before finally taking the offered hand. "You could have killed me. At any given moment. Compared to you, I'm weak."
Asta smirked, resting his sword across his shoulder as the wind stirred the smoke around them. "There's no crime in being weak, my friend," he said, his voice steady but carrying an edge of conviction. "But staying weak? That's the real crime. Someone I looked up to once told me that."
Shyvana's molten eyes narrowed as she straightened to her full height, embers spilling from her scales like sparks from a forge. "Then show me," she challenged, her voice echoing like distant thunder. "Show them." She gestured toward the gathered soldiers and spectators who stood frozen at the edges of the ruined courtyard.
Asta's expression softened into a grin. "I still remember when the former Wizard King did something just like this," he said almost nostalgically, lowering his sword. "He stood before the us that day and spoke to us. Showed us."
The crowd fell utterly silent. Even the flames around Shyvana seemed to quiet as Asta's tone shifted, earnest, commanding.
"Listen closely," he began. "The title of Wizard King isn't something you earn with praise or position. Some believe it's about pride… or the trust of the people. But they're wrong." He looked up, eyes gleaming beneath the crackle of black lightning. "It's about merit."
Shyvana tilted her head, a faint growl rumbling in her chest, confused, yet intrigued.
"You can't protect anyone with pride," Asta continued. "And trust… trust is something you gain through merit. There's only one thing people truly want from a leader, from the Wizard King." He raised his blade, lightning crawling up its edge. "Merit. The strength to keep winning, to keep protecting, no matter what stands in your way. Merit that proves that you are the best."
"Gain merit," he finished. "Continuously gain merit, that's everything. Anyone who can't do that will never stand at the top."
By now, every eye in the courtyard was locked on him. Soldiers, guards, even nobles peering from the shattered balconies above, all were silent, captivated by the foreign mage whose words burned just as fiercely as his power.
Asta wasn't finished. Slowly, he lifted his sword, the movement deliberate and steady, the black lightning crawling up the blade like living veins of shadow. "Now watch closely," he said, his voice carrying through the ruined courtyard with calm authority. "This..." his gaze flicked toward Shyvana, then to the soldiers and nobles who still lingered "...is only a fraction of the power you'll need to surpass on your journey."
He raised the blade higher until it pointed directly toward the heavens. Then, before their eyes, the weapon began to change.
The massive greatsword started to grow, first doubling in length, its edges crackling with crimson sparks. The hum of power deepened, resonating through the stone beneath their feet. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the weapon swelled beyond human scale, already towering higher than two grown men.
But it didn't stop there.
Shyvana instinctively stepped back as the sword continued its ascent. Within moments, the blade was level with her dragon form, an impossible, sky-splitting construct of black metal and lightning.
Still, the sword kept growing.
A shadow fell across Tianna where she stood, her sharp eyes tracking upward. For the first time that day, the High Marshal felt something stir in her chest, an instinctive step backward, driven not by fear, but awe.
Across the city, the people of Demacia froze where they stood. Nobles, merchants, guards, and civilians alike turned their eyes skyward as the sunlight dimmed. The cobbled streets and white stone walls darkened beneath an expanding shadow that rolled across rooftops like a passing storm.
When they looked up, they saw it, the sky itself shrouded by a colossal wall of black, a blade so vast that it seemed to divide the heavens.
"Winged Protector… protect us," someone whispered, voice trembling in the silence that followed.
Above, the clouds swirled violently as Asta's sword pierced them, its edge vanishing into the roiling gray. The energy in the air shifted, heavy and electric. Black lightning burst across the sky, arcing through the clouds in jagged lines that raced across all of Valoran.
The heavens trembled. The world itself seemed to hold its breath.
And at the center of it all stood Asta, unmoved, his single black wing unfurled behind him, the massive sword of anti-magic in his hands, drinking in the light of the sun. "This is what it means to be the Wizard King. The power to single-handedly protect your country without fail. And the power, to destroy another."
---
Runeterra stirred that day. From the frozen peaks of the Freljord to the burning sands of Shurima, powers both mortal and divine turned their gaze eastward, toward the unnatural storm of black lightning tearing across the sky.
A foreign energy pulsed from the heart of Demacia, wild and unfamiliar, unlike any magic the world had felt before. It throbbed like a living heartbeat, sending ripples through the leylines of Runeterra itself.
Far above the clouds, atop the sacred summit of Mount Targon, a woman with violet skin and a single horn upon her brow lifted her eyes toward the horizon. The enormous, obsidian blade pierced through the heavens, visible even from that great distance. The celestial winds howled around her as her expression hardened.
"What… is that?" Soraka asked no one in particular.
Across the continent, deep within the Immortal Bastion, the throne room of Noxus was bathed in shadow. There, the Pale Lady watched the phenomenon unfold within a mirror of crimson glass. The corners of her mouth curved upward in faint amusement.
"Such chaos," she mused, her many reflections whispering the words back in eerie unison. "How… intriguing. This could be useful."
From Ionia's tranquil gardens to Zaun's restless depths, seers, scholars, and monsters alike felt it, a foreign will cutting into the fabric of the world.
And in the silence that followed, a single truth became clear to all who sensed it.
A new piece had entered the board.