The crowd did not scream.

  They did not gasp.

  They did not move.

  Above the coliseum, the great viewing hologram—once alive with battle, blood, and brilliance—went black.

  Not flickering.

  Not fading.

  Gone.

  Sound vanished with it.

  No roar of monsters.

  No clash of steel.

  No screams.

  Just an endless, swallowing dark.

  For a long moment—

  No one breathed.

  Solaria rose slowly from her seat, fingers tightening around the armrest until the stone creaked beneath her grip. Her crimson eyes searched the void, lips parting as if to call her daughter’s name.

  No sound came.

  Avalon leaned forward, interest sharpening rather than dimming.

  “Fascinating,” he murmured.

  Even his voice felt wrong in the silence.

  Astrid laughed softly, head tilted, wings twitching with amusement.

  “Ah,” she said. “Now this is entertainment.”

  Noxus stood.

  The rail groaned beneath his hands as his grip tightened.

  For the first time in centuries—

  Fear crossed the face of the Light King.

  “Impossible…” he whispered.

  Beside him, Serena covered her mouth.

  Not in shock.

  In recognition.

  The crowd finally understood.

  Something was wrong.

  Inside the city—

  There was no sound.

  Leon opened his mouth to shout.

  Nothing came out.

  He stumbled backward, heart hammering, the silence pressing against his skull until it hurt.

  Dialos tightened his grip on Luna’s hand, staring at her in confusion. Her lips moved—asking something—but the words dissolved before they reached him.

  Panic rippled through the dark like a wave.

  Then—

  Light.

  A sphere bloomed in the distance.

  Not sunlight.

  Not flame.

  Alicia.

  She stood at the center of the square, arms trembling as she poured light from her body, cradling Athena against her shoulder. The glow barely pushed the darkness back—but inside it—

  Sound returned.

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  “What—what happened?” Athena groaned, blinking as her senses slowly returned. “Why can’t I see?”

  Alicia swallowed. Her voice shook despite herself.

  “Lucien.”

  Dialos and Leon rushed into the light, breath ragged.

  Luna followed more slowly.

  Her eyes did not go to Alicia.

  They scanned the edges of the darkness instead.

  As if something might look back.

  Far across the city, Valor woke snarling.

  He conjured a small black flame instinctively—shaped like a coiling dragon—and the light revealed broken streets, overturned stalls, shadows writhing where no shadow should move.

  Something lunged.

  Valor barely raised his arm in time—claw met scale, the impact rattling through bone and blood. He roared, lightning detonating outward, evaporating the creature mid-leap.

  The shadow didn’t fall.

  It unraveled.

  “What the hell is this?” he muttered.

  Even dragons felt small in this dark.

  Lucien floated.

  Shadows bound his limbs, not cruelly—but possessively.

  They held him like a throne holds a king.

  Below him, Elenor lay unconscious, wrapped in his coat, pale against the endless black.

  His skull throbbed.

  The butterfly’s glow flickered in the distance—dim, restrained, but alive.

  “Who… are you?” Lucien forced out.

  A figure stepped forward from the void.

  Tall.

  Black-haired.

  Pale.

  Eyes like his mother’s.

  But deeper.

  Older.

  Purple so dark they resembled the void between stars.

  The resemblance stole Lucien’s breath.

  It was like looking at himself—

  If he had chosen wrong.

  “If you wish to survive,” the man said calmly, his voice echoing not through air—but through bone, through memory, through blood—

  “Consume them.”

  Lucien’s heart slammed against his ribs.

  The same words.

  The same voice.

  From the dream.

  “No,” Lucien rasped, straining against the shadows. “I won’t.”

  The figure tilted his head slightly.

  Behind him, the golden butterfly fluttered weakly—watching.

  Elenor stirred beneath Lucien, groaning softly as consciousness crept back.

  The city inhaled once.

  And the shadows answered.

  The trial had not ended.

  It had evolved.

  The man did not move.

  The shadows bent toward him—not in obedience, but in recognition.

  Lucien strained against the bindings around his arms, breath shallow, heart pounding so violently he thought it might tear him apart.

  “Who are you?” he demanded again.

  The man’s gaze flicked—not to Lucien—but past him.

  To the butterfly.

  Its faint golden glow pulsed weakly now, wings beating slower, dimmer, like a dying star.

  “The butterfly has awakened something within you,” the man said quietly. “Something old. Something patient.”

  Lucien’s jaw clenched. “You’re the one speaking to me in the shadows.”

  A pause.

  Then—almost regret.

  “It would seem,” the man said, “that the God of Destiny himself has taken interest in you.”

  Lucien’s blood ran cold.

  Before he could speak again, the man’s attention shifted.

  Elenor stirred.

  A soft sound escaped her throat as she blinked awake, confusion clouding her silver-green eyes.

  The man stepped back.

  “I cannot interfere,” he said, already beginning to fade. His form unraveled into the void like smoke pulled apart by unseen hands.

  “Wait!” Lucien shouted. “Why are you here? What are you to me?”

  The man looked at him then.

  Fully.

  The resemblance struck like a blade.

  Same bone structure.

  Same shadowed gaze.

  But worn thin by time. By something that had broken and kept walking.

  “I am something and nothing,” the man said. “A memory failing to be remembered.”

  His voice softened—barely.

  “I am what you will become… if you fail.”

  Lucien’s chest tightened.

  The man’s form thinned, breaking apart into darkness.

  “Consume,” his voice echoed.

  “Grow stronger.”

  “And win.”

  Then he was gone.

  Silence rushed in to fill the space he had occupied.

  Lucien gasped as the shadows loosened their grip and dropped him hard onto cold stone.

  Above him, Elenor sat up sharply.

  She clutched his coat around her bare body, breath hitching as awareness returned. Without a word, white fur flowed across her skin from the neck down—soft, thick, natural—before she pulled the coat tighter around herself.

  “Lucien?” she whispered.

  She shifted, claws flashing briefly as she cut through the last of the shadow bindings and helped him to his feet.

  “What happened?” she asked. “Where are we?”

  Lucien steadied himself, vision still swimming.

  “The shadow realm,” he said. “But… wrong. Twisted.”

  He looked toward the butterfly.

  “I think bringing that thing here broke something.”

  Elenor followed his gaze.

  The butterfly fluttered weakly now, its golden light dulled, no longer warping the air around it.

  “That butterfly,” she said slowly, “is not from this world.”

  Lucien turned to her.

  “It comes from within the Tree of Beginnings,” Elenor continued. “They are protected. Sacred. If frightened, they can drive entire cities mad.”

  Her voice lowered.

  “It even took me.”

  Lucien exhaled shakily.

  “But now,” Elenor said, watching it carefully, “it’s exhausted. It burned itself out here.”

  She met his eyes.

  “We need to catch it. And put it to sleep. I know a spell.”

  Lucien nodded.

  Then hesitated.

  “The deer,” he said quietly. “The white deer I saw once—was that you?”

  Elenor shook her head.

  “No,” she said softly. “You saw my mother.”

  Lucien stilled.

  “Elves can only become animals that match our intent,” she explained. “I am bound to predators. My mother… chose peace.”

  She looked away.

  “When an elf grows too old, they remain in the last form they took. Forever.”

  Lucien swallowed.

  “I’m glad,” he said gently, “that I didn’t kill her.”

  Elenor gave him a small, sad smile.

  Together, they turned toward the fading golden light.

  And stepped deeper into the shadowed city.