The arena did not quiet.
It waited.
Lucien crouched beneath the bleachers, knees drawn tight to his chest, breath shallow as the stone vibrated beneath him. Above, tens of thousands of voices rolled together like a living tide—anticipation sharpened by blood already spilled.
The earlier trials had been chaos.
Lucien had only seen fragments—flickering projections cast high above the stands. Warriors torn apart by forgotten beasts. Contestants swallowed by labyrinths that shifted as they ran. Traps that punished hesitation with instant death.
They called it a trial.
But everyone knew what it was.
A culling.
You could quit, they said. Step away if you valued your life.
Those who did were never welcomed home again.
Factionless.
Discarded.
Rumors claimed many fled beyond the realms. Others whispered they trained in secret, waiting to return with power of their own. Enough whispers had piled up over the years that fear now hung thicker than celebration.
That was why this mattered.
This year, the final trial was different.
This year, it was to the death.
The announcer’s voice thundered again, amplified by magic so ancient it hummed in Lucien’s bones.
“Only two remain!”
Light flared across the arena floor.
“Loric Lightborn!
Champion and knight of the Celestials of Light!”
A man stepped forward clad in white and gold. His armor was clean—too clean for someone who had survived the trials. His hair was pale, his eyes steady, his posture perfect. A knight shaped by doctrine and discipline.
The crowd adored him already.
“And opposing him—”
The light shifted, heat rolling outward in a visible wave.
“Ellion Dragonborn!
Chosen and Knight of the Crimson Dragons!”
Ellion stood bare-armed, bronze skin marked with glowing sigils that pulsed like embers beneath the flesh. His hair burned red, eyes molten gold. A thin trail of smoke curled from his breath as he smiled at his opponent.
Lucien leaned forward.
This was it.
High above, the rulers watched.
Avalon Drakaryn lounged back in his throne, expression bored, fingers drumming against the elemental rings lining his hands. Solaria Sangrelle reclined like a queen carved from desire itself, ruby eyes half-lidded as she surveyed the field.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Astrid Skjaldryn stood straight-backed, wings folded, face unreadable.
And Noxus Helior—
Noxus watched without blinking.
The horn sounded.
Loric moved first.
Light bloomed along his blade—thin at first, then blindingly bright. The sword hummed as if alive.
Ellion answered with fire.
A serpent of flame burst from his palm, coiling through the air with a hiss.
Loric sliced.
The serpent split in half, dissolving into sparks before it could strike.
The crowd roared.
Ellion laughed and charged, flames wrapping his fists, the ground cracking beneath each step. Steel met fire. Light met heat.
They clashed again and again—each strike shaking the arena, each miss punished instantly.
Lucien held his breath.
Ellion faltered.
Just once.
It was enough.
Loric stepped inside his guard and slammed the flat of his blade into Ellion’s chest, sending him crashing to the stone. Before Ellion could rise, Loric’s sword hovered at his throat.
Silence fell.
Ellion looked up.
His eyes found Avalon.
The Dragon King didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t even look interested.
Ellion swallowed.
Loric followed his gaze—then turned toward Noxus Helior.
The Celestial King’s expression did not change.
Loric drove the sword down.
Steel pierced flesh.
The arena warped.
Ellion Dragonborn vanished in a column of dissolving light and ash, his body consumed by the trial itself.
Avalon stood immediately.
“Boring,” he muttered, already turning away.
Solaria’s gaze slid—slow and deliberate—until it found Lucien’s hiding place beneath the bleachers.
Her lips curved.
Astrid remained still.
Noxus rose.
A staircase of pure light formed beneath his feet as he descended into the arena. The crowd held its breath.
Loric knelt.
“You have proven worthy,” Noxus said, his voice calm and absolute. “Rise.”
Loric obeyed.
Noxus lifted his hand.
“Behold,” the king proclaimed, “the rebirth of balance.”
A beam of light descended from the heavens, engulfing Loric completely. The crowd fell into stunned silence as the light cocooned him—testing, judging.
Then—
It shattered outward.
Loric emerged transformed.
Wings of radiant light unfurled from his back. His eyes burned gold. His sword ignited fully—a blade of pure light that pierced the sky and split the clouds above.
Cheers erupted.
A hero had been born. Loric Helior no longer a lightborn knight.
Serena Noctyrr did not cheer.
Lucien felt it before he saw her.
Felt the tension snap.
A pale hand seized his arm and lifted him effortlessly from the shadows.
He stared into ruby eyes.
“You look just like him,” Solaria Sangrelle murmured, smiling.
Lucien didn’t think.
The shadow beneath him moved.
He vanished—
—and reappeared beside Serena in a rush of cold air and startled gasps. Solaria blinked, genuinely surprised.
Lucien stuck his tongue out at her.
A child’s defiance.
Serena bowed quickly, shadows snapping tight around her and Lucien as Mercer Shadowborn closed ranks.
They left before anyone stopped them.
The walk back was silent.
Only when the ruined castle loomed ahead did Serena finally speak.
“What was that power?” she asked quietly.
Lucien shrugged. “Training.”
She stopped walking.
Knelt.
Took his shoulders in her hands, violet eyes fierce with worry.
“That woman could have killed you.”
Lucien met her gaze, stubborn and bright.
“I’m not my uncle.”
Her breath caught.
“I won’t kill,” he said. “And I won’t let us rot anymore. I’ll win the trial. I’ll become your hero.”
Serena pulled him into her arms so tightly the shadows around them fused as one.
“That is not your burden,” she whispered. “You are my child. Let me have ten more years of that… before you offer yourself to gods and monsters.”
Lucien nodded against her shoulder.
“Yes, Mother.”
They disappeared back into the dark.
And above them, unseen—
The light watched.
