Darryl shivered, though he couldn't tell if it was from the bite of the cold air rushing past him or from the nerves twisting in his stomach.
Just over a week ago, when he had first received his flying staff (and no, he still refused to call it a magic broom) he'd overheard Sword-Captain Garen speaking with his own captain about joining the effort to stop the rebel mages he'd heard so much about.
Now here they were, cutting through the skies above Demacia itself. The marble-white towers and narrow streets sprawled beneath them like a map, glowing faintly in the evening light. And yes, he was actually flying. On his magic broo... staff. Definitely staff. Headed straight toward the MageSeekers' headquarters.
Why?
Because the infamous rebel, Sylas of Dregbourne, had been sighted attacking the place.
Darryl's grip tightened around the shaft of his staff as the thought sank in. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about Sylas. Everyone in Demacia knew the name, the Kingslayer, the mage who'd escaped his chains, the most dangerous man alive. And yet, Darryl couldn't quite picture anyone more dangerous than his own captain.
On one hand, Sylas fought for freedom, for the mages who lived in fear, oppressed and hunted. He was said to be standing against a broken system, trying to tear down the walls that had crushed his kind for generations.
But on the other hand…
Darryl's jaw tightened. After Sylas's escape, Demacia had plunged into chaos. The MageSeekers had doubled their efforts. Every town, every street, every whisper of magic was watched. His own home had not been spared. He could still see it, his friend and neighbor, Telion, being dragged across the town square by the MageSeekers. Screaming. Begging. Darryl had not seen him since.
That had been nearly seven moons ago.
Sylas might have been a hero to some. Maybe even to many. But to others, his rebellion had only brought more chains.
As the wind whipped past his face, Darryl risked a glance ahead. His captain was a dark figure against the pale horizon, standing tall on his massive black sword as it glided effortlessly through the air. Miss Emilia sat behind Darryl, silent, her cloak rippling in the wind.
He wondered what she was thinking. What Asta was thinking. Would his captain fight Sylas? Would he understand him instead?
Asta didn't seem the type to hate someone just for being a mage. From Darryl had seen, despite wielding designed against mages and magic, Asta genuinely loved magic and was always excited about new magic he didn't know about.
The foreigner's sword dipped slightly, as if adjusting its course. Darryl realized then that Asta was deliberately slowing down, hovering just enough to let him and Emilia keep pace.
"Stay close, Darryl," Asta's voice carried through the wind, calm but firm. The black blade beneath his feet glowed faintly, humming with restrained power. "We don't know how bad it is down there yet. I don't want you caught off guard. I'm not saying you're not ready to fight against actual opponents but I don't want your first to be your last."
Darryl swallowed hard and nodded, though he doubted Asta could see it. His heart was beating rapidly.
Emilia leaned forward slightly, her hands tightening on Darryl's shoulders. "I can sense strong magic ahead," she murmured, her voice almost lost to the wind. "Multiple signatures…"
Asta tilted his head somehow listening even through the roar of the wind around them . "Alright then, you two stay together and watch out for one another. I'll still be keeping an eye on you but that's no reason to be careless." he said simply. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, his sword shot forward. The air split around him like thunder.
"Hang on!" Darryl yelped as he forced his staff to follow. The world became a blur of wind and white stone. Emilia clung tighter, her voice steady despite the rush. "Keep control, Darryl. Focus on the flow, not the speed. You don't need to be as fast as the captain, especially since you're still learning after all."
"Easy for you to say! And you just called him Captain! I'm gonna tell him!"
"Cheeky boy, watch the front would you."
Within moments, they broke through the last stretch of sky and came upon the scene. The MageSeekers' headquarters, once the symbol of order and discipline, was a ruin. Walls cracked and burning, the great statue of the Radiant Vanguard toppled on its side.
It seemed the Black Bulls were among the first to arrive.
"Well, it seems flight is a rather fast mode of transportation after all," Emilia said lightly from behind him, her tone almost amused despite the carnage ahead.
Darryl wished he could laugh too. But between the nausea curling in his stomach and the sight before him, it was a miracle he hadn't already thrown up.
The entrance to the MageSeekers' headquarters was a graveyard of bodies, soldiers and Seekers alike. The difference between them was clear in their armor: the shining steel of Demacian guards and the dark, rune-etched plating of the Seekers. Smoke still rose from the cracks in the walls, and the air stank of ozone and blood.
It looked like Asta had already gone inside.
Darryl slowed his descent, his staff gliding lower until it hovered just above the ground. He let it drop the last couple of feet, boots hitting the cobblestones with a soft thud. Emilia dismounted with far more grace, her cloak fluttering lightly in the breeze.
Darryl swallowed, forcing his voice steady. "What do we do now?" he asked, glancing toward Emilia. She was older, it only felt natural to ask.
Emilia's gaze lingered on the shattered entrance before turning to him. Her expression was unreadable, eyes glinting in the firelight. "We do as Asta said to do," she said softly. "We stay together. You're the vanguard and I'll support you with illusions."
She drew a slender dagger from her side, its silver edge catching the dim light, and gestured forward.
Darryl hesitated for half a heartbeat before he slung his staff over his back in its retracted form, drew his sword and slowly walked into the building.
Emilia's illusions shimmered into being beside him, translucent copies of Demacian guards fanning out, their forms flickering faintly in the smoky air. This way, any attack would focus on them first.
"Stay alert," she whispered.
Darryl nodded, he stepped over the body of a guard, then another, until the corridor widened into what used to be the main chamber.
He heard footsteps, quick, frantic, and too many to count, echoing down the ruined hall.
Darryl tensed, raising his short sword and shifting into a ready stance. "Did they get past the captain?" he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening.
A cluster of figures appeared ahead, emerging from the smoke and debris. They were running straight toward him and Emilia. Darryl steadied his breathing, mana pulsing faintly beneath his skin as he prepared for the fight he thought was coming.
But Emilia's voice cut through his focus. "They're the prisoners."
The words cooled his blood instantly. Darryl blinked, lowering his sword slightly as the figures came into full view.
They didn't look like enemies. Not even close.
Their clothes, if they could be called that, were little more than rags, torn and filthy. Chains still clung to their wrists and ankles, some broken, others dragging uselessly behind them. Their bodies were thin, malnourished, their eyes wide and hollow from fear rather than hate.
Darryl swallowed. "What… what do we do?"
"Nothing," Emilia said flatly, her gaze following the desperate group as they stumbled closer. "There are only two of us. We can't guard prisoners and fight rebels at the same time."
One of the escaped mages, a boy who looked barely older than Darryl, brushed past him without so much as a glance, eyes fixed only on freedom.
The rest followed, rushing by in a blur of ragged movement and the clinking of broken chains.
Darryl watched them go, a strange heaviness settling in his chest. "They don't even care who we are…"
"They care," Emilia replied quietly, her tone unreadable. "Just not enough to stop running."
For a moment, the corridor fell silent again, save for the distant rumble of battle deeper inside the fortress.
Darryl looked toward that sound, tightening his grip on his sword. "Then I guess we keep moving."
Emilia nodded once. "We do."
Darryl and Emilia moved carefully through the corridor, stepping over debris and collapsed stone.
As they reached a broken stairway, the faint hum of Asta's voice carried upward.
Darryl blinked. "Is that… the captain?"
Emilia raised a finger to her lips and motioned for him to follow. They descended the steps quietly, the air thick with dust and the faint smell of smoke. When they rounded the final corner, the sight waiting below made Darryl pause.
Standing in the center of what used to be a grand hall, its marble floor now cracked and covered with soot was the Captain. Around him were dozens of prisoners, mages mostly, though they hardly looked the part. Some clutched each other, trembling; others stared blankly at the destruction.
"Hey! It's alright now!" Asta called out, his voice firm but reassuring. "No one's gonna hurt you anymore. You're free, got it? But I need everyone to stay calm. No running off, no panicking, we'll get you all out safely."
A few of the prisoners flinched at his tone, others hesitated. Most looked uncertain, unsure whether to believe the man who wasn't quite a MageSeeker but wasn't one of them either.
Darryl watched quietly, surprised at how easily his captain's voice carried authority without fear.
Asta turned slightly, noticing them at last. His expression softened for just a moment. "Good, you two made it." He pointed his thumb toward the doorway. "We've got survivors here. Looks like some of them were kept as prisoners, others were caught up in the fight. Emilia, can you make some illusions outside? Keep any rebels from getting too close until we're done here."
"Understood." Emilia nodded and moved off, her figure fading into the haze as illusionary Demacian soldiers began to take shape near the broken archways.
Asta then faced Darryl. "You, help me calm them down. Some of these people haven't seen daylight in months. They'll bolt the second they think they're still being hunted."
"Y-Yes, Captain." Darryl sheathed his sword, stepping forward awkwardly. The crowd of weary faces turned toward him, and he suddenly felt very small beneath their stares.
"Uh… hey," he started, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're safe now. The fighting's almost over, and Captain Asta's gonna make sure you all get out of here in one piece."
One of the older men, a mage with a long scar down his cheek, frowned. "Get out? You bastards are just gonna put us back in cages again. You MageSeeker scum."
Darryl shook his head quickly. "No! I'm, well, I'm with him." He pointed toward Asta, who gave a reassuring grin. "We're not with the Seekers either. He's… helping Demacia, but not their way."
The tension in the air shifted slightly. A few shoulders eased. A woman near the front whispered something, too low for Darryl to catch, but she still looked toward Asta with a fearful glint.
Asta crouched down to meet her eye level. "You've all been through hell," he said gently. "But I promise you, this ends today."
"No. You're wrong." The woman's voice trembled at first, but she forced strength into it, straightening her back as if bracing against a storm. "Sylas is going to save us all. He fights for us. We won't have to run anymore."
Asta exhaled slowly, not angry, just… saddened. He lowered himself a little, meeting her eyes at level, and shook his head with a quiet firmness.
"If you follow this path…" his voice softened, heavy with something like regret, "that's all you'll ever do."
The woman faltered, her earlier bravado shrinking beneath the weight of his words.
Asta rose fully, brushing off the dust on his trousers. The hall flickered with dim orange light from the fires still smoldering outside, casting long shadows behind him.
"Emilia, Darryl," he said, turning toward them, "you two look after them."
Darryl blinked. "Are you going to bring them into the Black Bulls, Captain?" For a moment, hope flickered through him. These people had done nothing wrong except be born with magic. Maybe… maybe they could finally have a place where no one hunted them.
Asta paused, and then smiled. Not his usual bright grin, but a gentler one. A reassuring one.
"They don't all strike me as the type to fight," he admitted. "But I'll speak with the High Marshal about this. I knew things were bad for mages… but this?" He gestured at the thin, hollow-eyed crowd around them. "Even I wasn't expecting something this cruel."
His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.
"I'm sure we'll figure something out. You guys just wait for me."
Darryl gave a sharp nod, his chest tightening with a mix of pride and worry as he watched the captain turn and stride toward the deeper corridors and then he disappeared around the corner, the echo of his footsteps swallowed by the broken halls.
Darryl exhaled slowly, but the moment Asta's presence vanished from the hall… it was like the air itself changed.
The prisoners shifted.
Not loudly, not enough to draw attention from outside, but enough for Darryl to feel it in his gut. A subtle ripple of unease. A tightening of shoulders. A few steps taken backward. Eyes darting to the exits. Fingers trembling near broken shackles.
The moment the captain left, whatever fragile sense of calm he'd woven through the room unraveled like wet thread.
Emilia noticed it too. She stepped closer to Darryl, her voice low.
"They're going to bolt the second they see an opening."
Darryl swallowed. "They… don't trust us."
"They shouldn't." Emilia's tone wasn't cruel, but bluntly honest. "It would be stranger if they did."
A murmur spread across the room. A cluster of younger mages pressed closer to the far wall, whispering urgently among themselves. A man with burns up his arms was eyeing a collapsed section of the hall where daylight leaked through. A woman clenched her broken chains so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Darryl raised his hands slowly, palms open. "It's okay, nobody's going to force you back down there." He gestured toward the shattered cells deeper in the ruins. "Nobody's dragging you away. Just… just stay calm, alright?"
A middle-aged man spat at the ground near Darryl's boots.
"That's what you people always say."
"I'm not a MageSeeker," Darryl said quickly.
"You're wearing their colors," the man snapped.
Darryl snarled. "I'm wearing black! I'm a Black Bull... Er."
Another woman spoke up, her voice shaking. "The boy's lying. They always bring the soft-spoken ones first. Make you think you're safe. Then the chains come back."
"We watched our friends disappear one by one," someone else said, eyes hollow. "Forgive us if we don't take your word as gospel, kid."
Kid.
Darryl clenched his jaw but didn't argue.
They weren't wrong.
"Or maybe he just wants Sylas," the scarred man muttered. "The MageSeekers tried for years to kill him. What makes you think your captain isn't here to finish the job?"
Darryl opened his mouth, then closed it.
He didn't actually know. Not the whole truth. But he knew Asta.
And that was enough for him.
"He's not here to kill anyone," Darryl said firmly. "If he wanted Sylas dead, he'd have gone straight through the ceiling with that sword of his."
A few prisoners exchanged uncertain glances.
One young girl, a kid really, maybe twelve at most, peeked out from behind an older mage. Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Mister… if you're really not gonna hurt us… why does it feel like everyone outside wants to?"
Darryl's breath caught. How did he answer that? Because they did? Because this wasn't a rescue? Because It was a battlefield?
Emilia knelt a little, leveling her gaze with the girl's. "Because the world is cruel," she murmured. "But we are not the world."
The girl blinked, unsure what to do with that.
Then...
Darryl felt a sharp prick at the edge of his senses, like something tugging at his heart, forcing it to beat faster.
Steel flashed.
Darryl reacted before thought, hurling himself backward. A burst of light detonated in front of him, white, burning, searing. His eyes snapped shut on instinct, but the damage was instant.
Pain stabbed through his vision. His eyes felt like they were on fire.
He heard Emilia shout, a short, startled cry, followed by a heavy thud that made his stomach drop.
Chaos erupted around him. Startled cries tore from the prisoners as they scattered in blind panic, scrambling away from the unseen attacker.
"MageSeeker!" someone shouted.
""No, no, fuck! That's a Noxian assassin! Run!" another voice yelled, raw with terror. "I'll try to hold him off! I... I was eighth battalion before they locked me up!"
Noxian?
Darryl's thoughts spun wildly.
'An assassin? Here? And they took out Miss Emilia, just like that? What do I do? I can't see... I can't... damn it!"
His eyes still stung violently. He couldn't see, only the swirling afterimages of stars exploding across his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut, then forced them open again, but it only made the pain flare sharper.
'Was that a light spell?'
He remembered the time Emilia had blinded him during training, using nothing but illusionary light, how it filled his vision with harmless stars for minutes.
Stars danced violently across his vision, exploding every time he blinked. The pain wasn't like Emilia's training illusions, those left him dazzled but functional. This was different. Every blink sent a fresh bolt of agony down his temples. His eyes rebelled against being closed, as if even the darkness burned.
He forced himself to move toward the voice of the man who had claimed to be part of some battalion. He had to protect them, he had to. Asta would still be watching, after all.
As he drew closer, the man's voice cracked in shock. "Kid! Your… your eyes!"
Darryl felt something warm running down his cheeks. Was he crying? He raised a trembling hand to his face, and pain exploded through him, sharper than before. 'My… eyes.'
If anyone could see him now, they would have looked on in horror and pity. Blood streamed down his face, a single, jagged line slicing across both eyes, bright and horrifying against the pale skin of his cheeks.
"Aaaggghhh!!!" he screamed, the sound tearing from his throat, raw and ragged, reverberating off the ruined walls around them.