Rustling—rustling—
Under the sweltering heat, yellow sand danced in the air.
A towering black gate loomed ahead, its presence commanding silence.
Beneath it, a vast military tent stretched across the sands, protected by a shimmering light curtain.
Wind and sand lashed against the barrier, but only faint ripples showed on its surface.
"I've never been on a trip this rich in my life," Ezreal murmured to himself, eyes wide with anticipation.
Before he even left Piltover, the Empire had dumped every bit of intelligence it had on his desk.
Since then, they'd treated him like royalty.
Troops flanked his journey, and he enjoyed VIP treatment in every city they passed.
But only now, standing before the ancient Noxian gate, did he realize the scale of what he'd been brought into.
Fortifications had already been constructed, and imperial battle-mages maintained a powerful shield around the encampment.
It was clear—they weren't worried about competition.
Everything was in place. All he had to do now... was walk in.
"This is my dream adventure!" Ezreal tilted his head back and grinned, his voice full of wonder.
He didn't need to lift a finger. The soldiers of the Sand Legion cleared the path ahead.
The magic barrier parted just enough for him and his escorts.
Massive beasts—burdened with supplies and personnel—lumbered through the opening.
The moment Ezreal stepped inside the shield, the oppressive heat and wind vanished.
The air was cooler and thicker with moisture. He immediately felt more comfortable.
"Now this is climate control," he remarked, satisfied.
After walking nearly a hundred meters into the zone, Ezreal spotted another group ahead.
He immediately recognized the woman leading them—long, flame-red hair, sharp eyes like tempered blades, and commanding presence.
Her look alone could cut through stone.
Katarina Du Couteau. Commander of the Noxian Southern Front.
Heir to the Du Couteau Family.
Golden arcane light shimmered around Ezreal as he activated his Arcane Shift and gracefully teleported to the ground before her.
"General Du Couteau, thank you for the warm welcome," he said, standing tall with a confident smile.
In Noxus, using arcane magic like this was usually risky business.
But under imperial sanction, Ezreal could show off freely and enjoyed the admiring stares.
"I hope you won't get in my way," Katarina replied dryly.
She raised a brow, then nodded toward the column of people still dismounting from the beasts behind him.
"What are they here for?"
"No worries, General," Ezreal said, patting his chest.
"Just the two of us will be exploring the tomb. The others are here for... Sen Ya's situation."
"It seems you are very confident."
Katarina flipped her hair and walked past him, barely sparing her younger sister a glance.
"Of course! I can't let down the trust the High Council has placed in me," Ezreal declared.
This wasn't just a mission—it was his chance to make a name for himself.
The Empire had gone all in on this expedition, and failure wasn't an option.
He quickly followed Katarina as she led him deeper into the camp.
They passed under the looming structure known as the Noxian Black Gate, but even that wasn't the most striking feature.
At the heart of the camp stood a massive stone structure—tall as a temple, ancient and imposing. Its spire towered just beneath the height of the Black Gate.
As they entered the structure, Ezreal stopped in awe.
At the center stood a minaret-like tomb, completely sealed off by concentric stone rings.
"Not even a fly's getting in there," he muttered.
Most of the tombs Ezreal had explored were in forgotten deserts or hidden ruins—unprotected and wild. But this...
The Akzam Mausoleum was built like a fortress.
A resting place fit for a Mage King.
Without Noxus' backing, he'd have spent a lifetime looking for the entrance.
"Three magical wards. Three layers of physical defense. But it won't stop him."
A familiar voice echoed across the chamber.
Ezreal turned quickly and bowed slightly.
"President Ryan. It's been a while. What do you mean by that?"
Ryan gave a faint smile.
"An old friend of mine's been itching to get inside."
He had arrived ahead of Ezreal, anchoring his presence to Katarina's team.
But he hadn't been idle.
He'd gone to meet an unexpected... "individual" in Shurima—and returned with critical aid.
Ezreal chose not to pry. Instead, he tried to contain his growing excitement.
"Speaker, when do we begin? I've been ready for weeks!"
Ryan raised a hand to temper his enthusiasm.
"Tomorrow. According to the Shuriman lunar calendar, it's a lunar eclipse. The moonlight will eclipse the sun—and on such nights, the Ascended are... less powerful."
"Perfect," Ezreal said with a wide grin.
"I'm ready."
Ryan stepped closer to the tomb, his tone suddenly serious.
"Katarina will protect you. But remember, Ezreal—no matter what you see or hear in there, control your curiosity. This isn't some ruin with broken pottery. You're walking into a place the world tried to forget."
Ezreal immediately sobered up. The warning in Ryan's voice struck deep.
He noticed Katarina's sharp gaze as well.
This was no ordinary mission.
"I understand," he said, his tone now steady.
"I won't let you down."
"Good." Ryan nodded, his expression relaxing slightly.
"Go prepare. Tomorrow, everything changes."
Ezreal saluted. "Yes, sir."
Hearing this, Ezreal understood it was time to take his leave.
He bowed slightly and followed the soldier assigned to escort him to his quarters.
"Your Excellency, I will not fail you," he whispered to himself with firm resolve.
A sharp clatter echoed as armor shifted.
Clad in blood-red battle gear, Katarina dropped to one knee, lowering her head.
Her long, fiery hair fell like a curtain around her face.
Without ceremony, Ryan lifted a hand and gently waved it.
A quiet force pulled her to her feet.
"Rise. Above all, protect your life," he said.
"The founder of House Siko died in that tomb after claiming a World Rune. This isn't just ancient stone and dust. Something more dangerous lies within."
Katarina said nothing, but her determined expression spoke volumes.
She would return with whatever truth lay buried inside.
-----------
The Capital of Demacia
Atop a tower overlooking the Mageseeker Headquarters, Tiana Crownguard stood side by side with Eldred.
The two were alone, far from the noise of the city.
As the parade below approached the square, the air grew tense, subtle but sharp, like a fraying thread pulled taut.
Tiana placed a hand over Eldred's, her voice quiet and conflicted.
"That's where Elesa was sentenced."
The name—Elesa—hit like a stone to the chest.
Eldred's hand twitched before slowly curling into a tight fist.
He was silent for a long moment, then rasped in a low, bitter voice:
"It was ordered by that old bastard... and carried out by her husband."
Elesa. He would never forget that name.
His sister. His guardian. His only family was when their parents died.
She raised him, worked for him, and believed in him.
"You were too good," Tiana whispered, her eyes glinting sorrowfully.
Eldred gave a bitter chuckle.
"Yeah. I was too good. That's why Lightshield couldn't stand Elesa loving me more than one of his own."
Decades ago, Eldred had been the most promising young talent in Demacia—sharp in mind, skilled in battle.
He was Tiana's equal in everything but blood.
Turner, Eleanor, the other nobles—they were nothing next to him.
He became a war hero at 19 after surviving a brutal confrontation with Noxus, one that left only him and Tiana alive.
That was when their love began.
But love had its price.
"Elesa was innocent," Eldred growled, anger swelling again.
"If Lightshield couldn't protect her, why drag her down?"
Pressure came fast when the High Council learned of his closeness to Tiana.
They couldn't let a Crownguard heir fall for a commoner-born commander.
So, instead, they arranged a marriage—Nat, a minor Lightshield cousin, was ordered to marry Elesa.
Elesa, who had sacrificed everything to raise her brother.
Because of all that responsibility, she'd delayed marriage past her best years.
Tiana gently squeezed his hand.
"Maybe... maybe I should've asked Pete to marry her."
Pete Crownguard—father of Garen and Lux. Honest.
Kind. Not exceptionally talented, but steadfast.
Garen had inherited his father's sense of duty.
"No one knew Elesa was a mage," Eldred muttered, jaw tight.
"No one expected that bastard to be so cruel."
On their wedding day, in the warmth of joy and music, Elesa's emotions overcame her, and her dormant magic surfaced.
A Lightshield noble, married to a mage.
It was unacceptable to the newly crowned Jarvan III.
The king quietly issued orders to preserve his family's image and uphold the edicts of the Mageseekers.
Nat—torn between love and loyalty—chose loyalty.
He tried his wife.
Her trial was brief—her execution swifter.
That day, Eldred's world shattered.
The year after, he abandoned his military post and joined the Mageseekers—not out of faith, but out of hatred.
Hatred for the hypocrisy. Hatred for the chains.
Tiana remained at his side as his fury finally dulled. When he could speak again, she asked softly:
"What will you do if you see Nat again?"
Eldred didn't answer.
But deep in his eyes, the flame had never gone out.
"Eldred, there's still some time before the final plan. But we've walked this road together for so many years... It's time I gave you a gift."
Eldred paused, startled by the softness in Tiana's voice.
He turned to her, eyes narrowing slightly—not with suspicion, but confusion. A gift?
He had always felt a quiet guilt toward her.
She had believed in him, given him her love, her trust—and he had joined the Crownguards not for justice, but vengeance.
His true purpose had always been clear: to make the ones responsible for Elesa's death pay.
To drag the Lightshield family into ruin, even if it meant burning down everything around them.
But now…
Clop, clop, clop—
The sharp sound of hooves shattered the stillness.
Across the avenue, three riders emerged from the morning mist: nuns of the Winged Faith, silver robes shimmering like moonlight.
Each astride a pure white unicorn.
At their head rode Stina, leader of the Trial Mission—her gaze sharp and divine.
Behind her, bound and flanked, was Nat Lightshield.
Eldred narrowed his eyes, startled.
"He should be in Secret Silver City."
"He was," said Tiana, her voice smooth. A knowing curve touched her lips.
"But once the Judicator Order marks you, no city can shield you."
Eldred turned toward her, eyes narrowing, mind reeling.
This meant something.
This wasn't punishment.
This was strategy.
"…Thank you, Tiana," he murmured, voice coarse.
He stepped forward and grasped her shoulders, his eyes searching hers.
"Truly."
He understood now.
The message wasn't justice. It was revolution.
In the Square
Thousands crowded Mageseeker Square, silent as judgment approached.
Atop the platform, Luxanna Crownguard stood tall, golden hair glinting in the light.
Her voice was firm, but her eyes betrayed sorrow as they met Nat's.
Once, he had trained her. Told her stories.
Shown her compassion others wouldn't.
Now he stood accused of betraying everything they'd fought for.
Lux's voice rang out:
"Nat Lightshield, noble of the Lightshield line. Deputy Commander of the Dragon Knights."
Gasps rippled through the square. Some recognized the name.
Others had mourned loved ones lost to exile—never imagining a Lightshield might be responsible.
Stina stepped forward and knelt in prayer, arms crossed.
Above, the skies parted.
Twin beams of divine light pierced the clouds—one embracing Nat, the other Stina.
The Judgment of the Winged Protector had begun.
Eldred clutched the balcony as the light engulfed Nat.
He didn't know what would come out of this.
Only that something would break.
Divine Interrogation
"In the light of the Winged Protector," Stina intoned, "all lies are stripped. Every word from the soul shall be truth."
"Nat Lightshield," she said.
"Do you confess your sins?"
Nat's head tilted up, slowly. The light was blinding, yet he smiled.
And then… he laughed. Not cruelly—but wearily.
"I confess," he said.
"But not to what you think."
Gasps again.
Stina's voice remained steady. "Continental Calendar 989. You led a mission to exile 20 mages. Names: Yatong, Randi…"
"They were not exiled," she said.
"They were sold to Noxus."
Nat nodded.
"They were," he admitted, voice clear.
"But not as slaves."
"I forged exile orders. Got them out of Demacia alive. I sent them to Noxus… because there, they could live."
Stina's expression flickered.
The crowd was confused. Murmurs rippled.
Nat's voice grew louder.
"Demacia calls it exile. But it's death. To rot in chains, in silence. I chose the enemy over a grave."
"In 988," Stina said, "you lost 32 mages in transit. Bruenor Nokmoch was your escort was killed."
"They were lost," Nat said.
"Because I let them go."
"They were children. Scholars. Healers. Demacia called them demons."
"Yes, some showed up fighting for Noxus. Good. It meant they lived."
The crowd stirred. Conflicted.
Some were still angry. Others now uncertain.
Stina pressed on, stern: "You took Noxian artifacts. You concealed a Mage."
"I did," Nat said.
"Because I needed power."
"I needed a weapon. To strike from within. Demacia wouldn't fall from speeches. It needed rot to bloom."
"Every artifact I smuggled—every deal I made—I did it so I could burn this city to the ground one day."
The people recoiled.
But not in hatred.
In disbelief.
Shock.
And fear.
"One final name," Stina said, voice somber.
"Elesa. The mage you killed. In 984."
Silence.
Nat's expression shifted. His mouth trembled.
Then: "Yes," he whispered.
"She was my wife."
"She was everything I had left in this place."
"But when they came for her—when the Mageseekers branded her—I was told to prove myself."
He looked toward Lux, toward Eldred, toward the people of Demacia.
"I killed her… to keep my post. So I could stay close. So I could bring it all down."
His body shook.
"That was the moment I became the villain you all needed."
Stina's voice echoed: "Do you regret your sins?"
Nat's body convulsed. Dark magic coiled like smoke around his limbs.
Then—
"No," he snarled.
"No regrets!!"
"Demacia made me this monster. And I embraced it."
"I have no apologies left."
"I chose the path of darkness—because I believed someone had to destroy this lie!"
His voice roared like thunder:
"Noxus! Black Rose! BLOOM HERE!"
"Demacia!! You raised me in chains, and I'll die dragging yours down with me!"
Dark energy burst from his chest, spiraling into the sky.
He laughed—one final time.
And then his body collapsed—burned from within by corrupted justice.
A martyr. A villain. A rebel.
A man who fought the system by becoming its own disease.
The crowd stood frozen. Some wept. Some cursed. Some merely trembled.
Eldred watched, tears in his eyes—not of sadness, but awe.
"…Pity," he whispered.
But not for Nat.
For the nation Nat had tried to save—by becoming its executioner.