Cithria exhaled slowly as she stepped into the courtyard, her boots clicking softly against the cobblestone. The air was cool and heavy with the faint mist of early dawn, the hour when most of the fortress still slept.
She was here to give her report, two long days spent under the watch of that infuriating foreign mage, Asta. 'The despic...' she stopped herself mid-thought, forcing her expression into one of composure.
Halfway through her stride, she froze.
Standing where she'd expected her Sword-Captain to be was indeed Garen Crownguard, massive, commanding, and already clad in full field plate despite the ungodly hour. His presence alone was enough to make most knights stand straighter.
But it wasn't him that made her hesitate.
Beside him stood a second figure, tall, poised, and unmistakable. The High Marshal of Demacia herself, Tianna Crownguard.
Cithria's pulse quickened.
Her mind immediately began to race. Why was the High Marshal here at this hour? Why now?
She forced her legs to move again, her armour whispering with each step. A flicker of gratitude passed through her that she'd chosen to don it before coming, standing before both of them unarmoured would've felt... improper.
Still, the knot in her stomach only tightened as she approached.
Cithria came to a halt a few paces away and bowed deeply, keeping her posture straight despite the unease curling in her chest.
"Reporting as ordered, Sword-Captain," she said, her voice steady, if a little tight. "Cithria of Cloudfield, returning from field assignment."
Garen gave a short nod, arms crossed over his chestplate. His blue cloak swayed slightly in the morning breeze. "At ease, Cithria. You're earlier than expected."
"I didn't sleep much," she admitted before she could stop herself.
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Garen's mouth, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He stepped aside, gesturing toward the woman standing beside him.
Cithria shifted her gaze to Tianna Crownguard, the High Marshal herself. Even in the dim light, the woman's presence filled the courtyard. Her silver hair was braided neatly over one shoulder, her posture impeccable, her eyes sharp and unreadable.
Cithria immediately went to one knee, her fist pressed over her heart. "High Marshal," she greeted, lowering her head.
"Rise, Cithria of Cloudfield," Tianna said, her tone calm but commanding. "This isn't a formal court. I've heard tales of your time as one of the Dauntless Vanguard from Garen here. All good ones too, that's commendable."
Cithria straightened, her heart still hammering despite Tianna's even tone. "Thank you, ma'am."
The High Marshal studied her for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing something. "You were sent to accompany the foreign mage?"
"Yes, ma'am," Cithria replied, already sensing where this was going. "By Captain Garen's orders."
Tianna folded her hands behind her back. "Good. Then you can tell us exactly what happened, and what you gleamed."
Cithria swallowed. For a brief moment, she thought back to the man's infuriating grin, his reckless attitude, his complete disregard for hierarchy and yet, the strange, undeniable strength that backed it all.
---
"Hmm. So he didn't show anything that he hadn't already revealed before," Tianna Crownguard said, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "Perhaps he's keeping certain abilities close to his chest, as one of his station might be expected to."
She turned slightly toward Garen. "Although, I don't believe that's the kind of man he is."
"My thoughts are the same, High Marshal," Garen replied with a short nod. "Asta doesn't strike me as someone who concerns himself with secrecy or schemes. He's far too straightforward for that."
Cithria kept her head bowed, hands clasped behind her back, listening silently as the Crownguards discussed her report.
"We know that he can fly, move faster than a Silverwing, and possesses strength surpassing that of a Minotaur," Tianna continued, her tone composed but laced with interest. "And that's without him relying on his magic, or anti-magic, as he calls it."
Garen's expression hardened in thought. "The boy, Darryl, is what intrigues me most at the moment. After only a month of training under Asta, he's managed to slay seven Gromps in a single day. Alone, and without preparation."
"With a bit more experience, he could become a formidable force," Tianna agreed with a measured nod. "Garen, why don't you teach him the sword, and the virtues of Demacia."
"Of course, High Marshal," Garen said firmly. "The boy shows great promise... He is a fine Demacian."
Tianna's gaze flicked toward the far end of the courtyard, where the first light of dawn was just breaking over the spires. "As for Fiona. I have no doubt she will seek him out before the week's end."
The High Marshal turned toward the castle gates, her cloak sweeping behind her as the sun finally crested the horizon. "Keep the Mage Seekers out of this. We don't need them meddling in matters. I will speak with Eldred."
"As you wish, High Marshal," Garen said, bowing his head.
When she was gone, silence filled the courtyard once more, broken only by the faint hum of awakening soldiers within the barracks.
Cithria exhaled quietly, still processing what she'd heard. "You think it'll work? Pairing them of all people?"
Garen gave a small, humorless chuckle. "If it doesn't," he said, turning toward the rising light, "then I just hope the fortress can survive the rematch."
Cithria hoped the same thing. She could still remember the meeting between Asta, the foreign Mage and Fiona. Pride of Demacia.
---
It had been just yesterday.
The sun was beginning to dip when they returned from Meltridge. Darryl had been all but glowing, dragging his Gromp trophies through the gates, shouting about how "Captain Asta's training" was the greatest thing that ever happened to him.
Cithria had barely managed to keep him from tripping over his own excitement.
"We're getting paid for this, right?" he asked, glancing over at Cithria with that usual grin. "This was hard work."
Cithria felt one of her eyes twitch. "You didn't even do anything."
"A job's a job, dear Cithria," Asta said in a mock-serious tone, raising his chin like a nobleman.
She ground her teeth together. "If it were up to me…" She sighed. "We should at least get their carcasses to the Beastwrights. They use the materials for all sorts of things."
Asta tilted his head, curious. "Are they the ones paying us?"
Cithria shook her head. "No. The mission was ordered directly by the Crown. So, either the prince or the High Marshal will see to your payment."
"Cool," Asta said, smiling wider. "Then that means I can use the carcasses however I want."
Cithria blinked. "What?"
"I'm still gonna make Darryl a magic broom."
She stared at him flatly. "What in the Winged Protector's name is a magic broom?"
Asta chuckled under his breath. "Heheh. Just point me in the direction of your crafters..."
"Captain!"
Both Asta and Cithria turned toward the voice. Darryl was riding back down the path.
"What's up, kid?" Asta called out.
"There's someone waiting for us back home," Darryl said, slowing his mount. "They said they came to meet you."
"Hn?" Asta tilted his head, brow quirking. "Someone wants to meet me? Well, let's not keep them waiting."
Cithria couldn't help the faint unease curling in her stomach. 'I wonder who it is...' she thought as they started down the cobblestone path toward the estate. 'The kind of people who can just 'drop by' to meet Asta aren't exactly ordinary. Probably a noble. Maybe I should leave before this turns into trouble.'
Unfortunately, that thought came a little too late.
As the estate gates came into view, so did the figure waiting there, poised, elegant, and unmistakable. Even from a distance, the polished silver of her rapier's hilt gleamed beneath the early morning sun.
'Oh no.'
Fiora Laurent stood at the gate.
Cithria immediately froze, her boots scraping against the stone as she stopped short. "What is she doing here?" she blurted before she could stop herself.
"Hm?" Asta followed her gaze, eyes narrowing. "You know who that is?"
Cithria nodded quickly, trying to compose herself but failing. "Y–yeah. That's Fiora. Lady Fiora Laurent. The greatest duelist in all of Demacia... ever."
"Hah?" Asta frowned, his face twisting in mild irritation. "La–what? What the hell kind of name is that? Lahore? Lahole? Lahuh? Lawhore?"
Cithria's eye twitched. "It's Laurent, you idiot! L–A–U–R–E–N–T. Laurent!"
Asta gave her a blank look. "That just spells 'Laurent.' Where did this Lahuh thing come from?"
"That's how it's pronounced!" Cithria shouted, exasperated.
"Well, it's dumb," Asta said flatly, rolling his eyes.
Fiora's eyes flicked toward them as they approached, sharp and assessing. Her posture was perfect, her expression unreadable, a mix of nobility and restrained impatience. The kind of presence that made even seasoned knights hesitate to breathe too loudly.
Cithria almost did.
Asta, however, looked about as impressed as someone staring at a fence. He waved lazily. "Yo. You the one waitin' for me?"
The tension in the air tightened like a bowstring.
Cithria felt her soul leave her body for a second. 'He just... did he just say yo to Fiora Laurent?'
"Yes," Fiora replied, her tone clipped but calm. "I am Fiora Laurent of House Laurent. You must be Asta."
Asta grinned. "The one and only."
Fiora's gaze slid briefly to the Gromp carcasses piled behind them. "Did you slay all of those yourself?"
"Me?" Asta repeated, tilting his head. "Na. That was all Darryl here see. Kid's a natural."
Cithria felt a vein in her forehead throb. "You're not helping," she muttered under her breath.
Fiora ignored her entirely, her attention locked on Asta. "Is that so? I saw the result of your... demonstration. However that doesn't concern me in the least. What does concern me are rumours of your duel with Garen."
"Rumors, huh?" Asta scratched the back of his head. "Guess word gets around."
"It does," Fiora said. "And I find myself… curious."
Cithria swallowed. 'Oh no. Not that tone.'
Fiora stepped forward, hand resting lightly on her rapier's hilt. "Rumours of your skill with the blade. I would see it firsthand. A duel."
"Called it," Cithria muttered.
Asta blinked, expression caught between confusion and amusement. "A duel? For what?"
"To measure your worth," Fiora answered simply. "Words and tales mean little to me. Only the blade speaks truth."
For a long moment, Asta just stared at her. Then he grinned wide. "Heh. So that's how it is."
Cithria's shoulders slumped. "I should have just left when I had the chance…"
Fiora stepped back, the faintest spark of a smile tugging at her lips.
"Lady Laurent!" Cithria cut in, nearly panicking. "We just got back from a mission, at least give them a chance to..."
But it was too late.
Fiora had already drawn her rapier in one smooth, glittering motion. The blade caught the light as if eager to taste air again. "What say you? Asta of Clover?"
Asta tilted his head to the right, the sound of his neck cracking echoing faintly through the courtyard. "Alright, works for me," he said casually. "I could use a stretch anyway. Who knows, maybe you'll learn a thing or two."
If the jab landed, Fiora didn't show it. Her expression remained calm, composed, and razor-sharp as ever. Only her eyes flicked slightly toward Cithria.
"Cithria of Cloudfield," she said evenly.
Cithria stiffened. 'How the hell does she know who I am? Her mind scrambled. The Fiora Laurent knows who I am!'
"This duel will end at first blood," Fiora continued, her tone measured and unyielding. "No killing blows. You will oversee it as his witness, and ensure that it remains fair, non?"
Cithria swallowed hard, taking a step forward before bowing slightly. "Y-Yes, my lady… but, my lady, you don't appear to have a witness of your own."
Fiora's brow lifted ever so slightly. Her tone didn't change. "You will ensure that it is fair, non?"
Cithria froze for half a second before nodding quickly. "Y-Yes, my lady."
"Then there is no issue," Fiora said, her voice like polished steel. She turned back toward Asta with a fluid grace, one hand resting lightly on her riposte's hilt.
Asta scratched the back of his neck, looking her over with a faint smirk. "You sure you wanna do this? I don't wanna sound too confident or anything, but… I'm really strong. I was joking earlier, but I'd rather not hurt you."
For the first time, Cithria saw it, just a flicker of something sharp pass across Fiora's face. Disgust. Offense. Then it vanished, replaced by that same icy poise.
Her hand shifted. Metal whispered.
"Draw your blade," she said.
The words carried no emotion, yet they cut clean through the air.
Asta looked like he wanted to say something, maybe a smug remark or another one of his infuriating taunts, but instead, his grin faded. His expression shifted into something far more focused as the worn grimoire at his side began to glow softly, rising into the air beside him.
Cithria felt her breath catch. 'Oh right... the book.' She knew what came next. The last time she'd seen it open, he'd pulled a blade the size of a battering ram from its pages.
'Lady Fiora is going to get hurt, isn't she? This is such a bad idea,' she thought, anxiety twisting in her chest.
But when the weapon emerged, it wasn't the massive slab of iron she'd braced herself for.
Instead, a slender, curved black blade slid soundlessly from the open pages, its edge gleaming faintly under the morning light. Asta caught it with both hands, his movements smooth and deliberate.
He lowered into a stance, stable, disciplined, and calm.
Cithria's eyes widened. 'He's taking her seriously?' she realized. 'He actually sees her as a threat?'
Fiora, for her part, seemed quietly satisfied by the display. She rolled her shoulders once, loosening her posture, then swept her rapier through the air in two precise arcs, an elegant prelude that carried the weight of a practiced duelist.
Asta arched a brow at the motion, then smirked and copied her with exaggerated movements, his curved blade slicing lazily through the air.
Cithria's hand met her face with a quiet thump.
Fiora ignored the mockery, gliding a step to her left, her feet light and measured.
Asta mirrored her, shifting to the right.
The two began to circle each other, predator and prey, though which was which was impossible to tell.
The world seemed to hold its breath. Even the wind dared not disturb the space between them.
Fiora's eyes narrowed, a silent question flickering in them. Will you not strike first?
Asta met her gaze, grin creeping back across his face. "Don't want it to end too fast, ya know."
This time Fiora did show a reaction, her jaw tightening as her blade flashed forward.