Valor did not run.

  He answered.

  Black scales tore through skin as his body surged larger, heavier—bones cracking, reforming beneath ancient magic. Horns curved back from his skull like obsidian crowns, fangs lengthening as his jaw widened. Wings burst from his back in a thunder of displaced shadow, vast and leathery, blotting out what little light remained.

  He was no longer fully man.

  Not fully dragon.

  But something forged between.

  Valor inhaled.

  Then roared.

  Black flame poured from his mouth—pure, devouring, absolute. This was not fire that burned.

  It erased.

  Stone vanished.

  Shadow shrieked.

  The beast charged anyway.

  It plowed through the flame like a living mountain, roaring louder, body slamming into Valor mid-breath. Its jaws snapped shut against his skull—

  —and sent him flying.

  Valor crashed through a shadow-formed building, stone and darkness collapsing around him as he skidded across the ground. He rolled onto one knee, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

  The beast barely bore a scratch.

  Valor stared at it.

  How, he thought grimly, did Lucien kill something like this?

  He forced himself upright as the creature turned back toward him.

  Then—

  It faltered.

  Its shadow unraveled.

  And vanished.

  The beast dissolved mid-lunge, body collapsing into nothing as though it had never existed.

  Valor dropped to one knee, breathing hard, staring at empty space.

  “…What,” he muttered, “are you?”

  Lucien drifted in darkness.

  Cold.

  Familiar.

  Heavy.

  Then—

  “Lucy.”

  Soft.

  Broken.

  He turned.

  Mira stood before him, made of shadow and memory, her form flickering like a reflection disturbed by water.

  “Lucy,” she whispered again. “Get up.”

  His chest tightened painfully.

  “Mira…?”

  She smiled—sad, distant.

  “You can’t stay here.”

  Her hand reached for him—

  —and the world shifted violently.

  “Lucien!”

  He gasped.

  Eyes flying open.

  Not Mira.

  Alicia.

  She knelt over him, hands gripping his shoulders, silver hair fallen loose around her face. Her eyes—those impossible star-lit eyes—were wet.

  “Lucy,” she breathed again, relief cracking her voice.

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  He blinked slowly.

  “Lucy…?”

  She gave a shaky laugh, brushing tears away. “I thought it was better than shadow boy.”

  His heart pounded.

  Too slow.

  Too loud.

  He pressed a hand to his chest.

  It was beating.

  Elenor knelt nearby, still chanting in elven tongue, the golden butterfly cupped gently in her hands. Its glow dimmed with every syllable she spoke, brilliance softening into something warm. Something calm.

  “I followed the light,” Alicia said quietly. “I saw you on the ground. You weren’t breathing.”

  Her voice trembled.

  “I thought you were dead.”

  Lucien pushed himself up, offering her his hand.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Elenor’s chanting slowed.

  Then stopped.

  The butterfly went still.

  She opened her hands.

  The creature was no longer radiant—just gold, delicate and alive, wings trembling gently in the air.

  “It’s done,” Elenor said. “Its spirit has returned to the Tree of Beginnings.”

  She held it toward Lucien.

  “You won.”

  Lucien shook his head.

  “No.”

  He nodded toward her.

  “Keep it.”

  She hesitated.

  Then closed her fingers carefully around it.

  Before Alicia could ask where they were—

  Lucien placed his palm against the stone.

  The shadows answered.

  They surged outward—then recoiled, folding in on themselves like a tide withdrawing from shore. Darkness collapsed inward, pouring into him as though his body were a vessel it had always known.

  The city returned.

  Ruined.

  Silent.

  Smoke curled from shattered buildings. Bodies lay scattered across broken stone.

  The sky was normal again.

  Above, the great hologram flickered back to life.

  The crowd stared.

  Thirty-three contestants remained.

  In the stands, kings and queens leaned forward.

  Noxus’s gaze locked onto the figure standing beside the Shadowborn heir.

  And slowly—

  He smiled.

  Because he had seen that power before.

  Long ago.

  And he knew exactly what it meant.

  The mini-trial was over.

  And nothing would ever be simple again.

  Dialos sat on the edge of the bed, shirt discarded, skin still warm from battle.

  The cut along his arm had stopped bleeding—but it hadn’t healed.

  Not fully.

  The room smelled faintly of iron and old stone, remnants of the shadowed city that still lingered everywhere. As if the world hadn’t quite decided it was done with them yet.

  Luna worked in silence.

  Her hands were steady as she wrapped the bandage around his arm, fingers cool against his heated skin. Every movement was careful. Precise. The touch of someone who had done this many times before.

  “You didn’t have to jump in front of that thing,” she said quietly.

  Dialos shrugged. “It was going to kill you.”

  She glanced up at him, red eyes catching the low light. “I could’ve handled it.”

  “I know,” he said easily. “Still didn’t feel right.”

  She tied off the bandage and leaned back slightly.

  “You’ll scar.”

  “Good,” Dialos replied. “Makes me look experienced.”

  A corner of her mouth twitched.

  He watched her a moment longer before speaking again.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  She looked down.

  A thin cut traced across her palm—small, but fresh.

  “I’m fine,” Luna said.

  Dialos reached for the cup on the bedside table and picked up the small blade beside it.

  “Here,” he said.

  He turned his wrist and sliced just deep enough for blood to bead.

  Dark. Warm. Potent.

  Her eyes flicked to it instinctively.

  “Take it,” he added. “It’ll heal you faster.”

  Luna hesitated.

  Then stepped closer.

  She took his wrist gently—not possessive. Not hungry.

  Careful.

  When she drank, it was restrained. Controlled. Just enough.

  The cut in her palm sealed almost instantly.

  She released him, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  Silence settled between them.

  Then Luna spoke, almost casually.

  “Do you know a man named Damos V. Fiend?”

  Dialos stilled.

  The name rolled through his thoughts like something half-remembered.

  “Fiend,” he said slowly. “Old knight family. Loyal to the Demon Crown.”

  “But Damos?”

  He shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. If my father were still… himself, he’d know.”

  Luna studied him.

  “Your father was the Demon King.”

  “Was,” Dialos corrected.

  She tilted her head slightly. “How old are you?”

  He huffed a quiet laugh. “Twenty-two.”

  Her brows lifted.

  “My mother was human,” Dialos continued, leaning back against the wall. “She fell in love with my father before the world decided that was unforgivable.”

  Luna did not interrupt.

  “The night she had me,” he said evenly, “was the same night they burned her alive. Priests. Holy town. Said she was a witch.”

  His jaw tightened.

  “My father slaughtered them all.”

  Luna inhaled sharply.

  “And that was when the curse was placed,” Dialos continued. “My people twisted into beasts. Minds shattered. Memories stripped.”

  He looked down at his hands.

  “Now they’re dragged into these Trials like animals. Killed for spectacle.”

  Luna’s voice was barely a whisper. “How are you still sane?”

  Dialos met her gaze.

  “My mother was a priest,” he said. “Her blood tempered the curse.”

  A faint smile touched his lips.

  “Final gift.”

  Luna finished securing the bandage.

  “You mentioned a demon who entered the Trials twenty years ago,” Dialos said quietly. “That was your father, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded.

  “He inspired me,” Dialos admitted. “Someone who dared challenge a system that wanted him dead.”

  He exhaled slowly.

  “If I win, I want to free my people. I sealed my father in our old castle. Chained him myself.”

  His voice didn’t break.

  “I’m hoping… when I return, I can save him too.”

  Luna stood.

  “Thank you,” she said again. “For today. For earlier.”

  She turned toward the door.

  Dialos caught her wrist.

  Not roughly.

  Just enough to stop her.

  “About Athena,” he said.

  She didn’t look back.

  “That was you, wasn’t it?”

  Silence stretched.

  Then—

  “I don’t blame you,” Dialos said gently. “People do stupid things for love.”

  His grip loosened.

  “But it doesn’t suit you.”

  He let her go.

  Luna stepped into the hallway, heart unsteady, fingers closing around the place where he had held her.

  His words echoed louder than any accusation.

  At her door—

  Someone waited.

  Alicia stood there, arms crossed loosely, silver hair falling over one shoulder, expression unreadable.

  “Can we talk?” she asked.

  And Luna knew—

  The war between light and shadow had just become personal.