The bells rang at dawn.
Not the harsh, panicked toll of emergency—but a slow, ceremonial peal that rolled across the city like a breath held too long and finally released.
Lucien was already awake.
For the first time since the trials began, sleep had come easily. No shadows clawing at his dreams. No screams. No blood. Eternus lay coiled within the shadow realm, not pressing against Lucien’s mind—but standing watch.
Lucien dressed in silence.
Black tunic. Light armor.
No sword.
He paused only once, resting a hand over his chest where the shadows slept.
Thank you, he thought.
There was no reply.
But the weight inside him felt steadier.
The arena was already alive when he arrived.
Thousands of voices filled the coliseum, a low thunder of anticipation and hunger. Contestants gathered at the center—fewer now.
Thirty.
Reduced from one hundred in less than a month.
Some carried fresh scars. Others stood with brittle confidence, like glass pretending to be steel.
Lucien took his place among them.
On time.
High above, the royals and heroes settled into their seats.
And then—
The announcer stepped forward.
Arms wide. Smile sharp.
“Welcome,” he boomed, voice amplified by unseen magic, “to the Second Trial of Destiny!”
The crowd roared.
“One month has passed. One month of blood, betrayal, and… unexpected entertainment.”
A pause. A grin.
“Let us acknowledge those who still stand.”
Names were spoken. Factions announced.
When the announcer reached the elven stands, his tone shifted—formal, reverent.
“And present among us today—Sirus Sylvair, King of the Elves, Protector of the Tree of Beginnings.”
A ripple passed through the arena.
Lucien glanced upward.
The elven king stood tall and composed, ageless as the forests he ruled.
Beside him—
Elenor.
The announcer gestured grandly.
“His daughter, Elenor Sylvair, victor of the Golden Butterfly trial—immune from elimination.”
A murmur spread through the crowd.
Elenor stepped forward.
Then, in a shimmer of pale light, she transformed.
Feathers burst from her skin as her body reshaped into a great white owl. Wings spread wide, catching the morning sun as she launched into the air.
She circled once above the contestants.
Then glided back down beside her father.
Sirus rested a hand against her feathers.
Elenor looked down.
Her gaze found Lucien.
She tilted her head and gave a small nod.
Good luck.
Lucien nodded back.
The announcer clapped once.
“Now,” he said, voice dropping, “the rules.”
The arena fell silent.
“Power will be sealed. Weapons removed. Gifts silenced.”
Several contestants stiffened.
“This trial is not one of strength.”
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A pause.
“It is one of judgment.”
The stone beneath the contestants began to glow.
Fifteen sigils formed slowly across the arena floor, arranged in a wide circle.
“You will be placed into rooms,” the announcer continued. “Some of you will face another.”
The crowd leaned forward.
“Some of you…”
His smile sharpened.
“…will not.”
Lucien felt it then.
A blade of hatred slicing through the air behind him.
He didn’t turn.
He didn’t need to.
Lance’s rage pressed against his back like cold steel.
Lucien let it pass through him.
Instead, he looked upward.
Serena Noctyrr met his gaze.
For the first time since the trials began—
She wasn’t afraid.
She was smiling.
Proud.
Lucien lifted his chin.
And smiled back.
“The rules are simple,” the announcer continued.
“Advance when destiny allows.”
A ripple of confusion passed through the contestants.
“There will be no timer.”
“No instructions.”
“No mercy.”
His grin widened.
“Fail… and you will be marked.”
The sigils burned brighter.
“Three marks… and destiny no longer waits for you.”
The announcer spread his arms wide.
“Contestants—take your places.”
The sigils ignited.
The world went dark.
Lucien woke standing.
Alone.
Stone walls surrounded him, smooth and seamless. No door. No ceiling. No window.
Just a single sigil glowing faintly beneath his feet.
His shadow stirred.
Calm.
Alert.
Lucien exhaled slowly.
“So,” he murmured into the silence,
“this is how you test us.”
The sigil pulsed once.
The trial had begun.
Silence ruled the rooms.
No wind.
No echo.
No ticking of time.
Only stone—
And a single door.
Valor Drakaryn did not hesitate.
The moment his vision returned, he saw the door and moved.
His pair—a young knight—had barely drawn breath before Valor’s hand slammed against the stone.
The door did not open.
Instead—
A sigil burned itself into Valor’s temple.
Pain detonated behind his eyes.
Valor staggered back with a curse, lightning cracking involuntarily along his skin.
Above the arena, the crowd gasped.
The knight froze.
A second sigil bloomed across the knight’s chest—slower, colder.
He collapsed to one knee, clutching the mark in terror.
Only then did the door slide open.
Valor growled through clenched teeth and stepped through.
The knight remained behind.
Marked.
Waiting.
High above, Avalon Drakaryn leaned forward in his seat.
Not angry.
Interested.
Alicia Helior opened her eyes to find Luna Sangrelle standing beside her.
The door waited between them—pale, silent.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Luna smiled.
“So,” she said lightly, “I saw you dancing with him.”
Alicia didn’t turn. “You know that doesn’t mean anything.”
Luna hummed softly.
“You do realize your father destroyed his people.”
Alicia’s jaw tightened.
“I am not my father.”
They stepped forward together.
Luna reached the door first.
Nothing.
Alicia placed her hand against the stone.
The door sighed.
And opened.
Luna clicked her tongue.
“Of course.”
Alicia hesitated—then stepped through.
No mark.
Behind her, the door sealed.
Luna remained where she was.
No mark appeared.
The crowd murmured, confused.
High above, Solaria Sangrelle watched with gleaming eyes.
Athena Skjaldryn stood beside a seasoned knight.
She gestured calmly.
“You first.”
He swallowed and obeyed.
The door remained still.
A mark carved itself into his shoulder.
He cried out and stumbled back.
Athena exhaled once.
Then she simply stepped forward and shoulder-checked the door.
Stone cracked.
The door opened.
She walked through.
Behind her, the stone repaired itself.
The knight remained behind.
Marked.
Athena never looked back.
Astrid Skjaldryn smiled faintly.
Dialos Morvayne sat.
He didn’t approach the door.
Didn’t speak.
Across from him, a commoner girl hugged her knees, shaking.
Minutes passed.
Then—
A soft chime echoed.
The door opened on its own.
Dialos stood and walked through.
No mark.
The girl stayed seated.
A sigil slowly bloomed across her wrist.
She began to sob.
Dialos paused on the other side.
Just for a second.
Then he continued forward.
Leon stood opposite a noble from House Drakaryn.
The noble laughed.
“A commoner? Don’t even touch it.”
He lunged for the door.
He never reached it.
A mark slammed into his chest like a hammer.
He dropped unconscious.
The door opened.
Leon stepped through without a word.
High above the arena—
Noxus Helior smiled.
Lucien stood alone.
No pair.
No second contestant.
No movement.
The crowd noticed.
Whispers spread through the stands.
Even destiny doesn’t want him.
Lucien remained still.
Then—
A voice echoed through the stone.
Not loud.
Not cruel.
Just curious.
“What do you want?”
Lucien lifted his head.
“To move forward.”
The door opened.
The crowd erupted.
Lucien stepped through—
And the door sealed behind him.
A mark burned into the floor beneath his feet.
Not on his body.
The light faded.
Lucien remained alone.
Above the arena, laughter rippled through the stands.
“Left behind,” the announcer mused.
“How fitting.”
Serena Noctyrr did not laugh.
She watched.
When the light returned—
Fourteen contestants stood ahead.
Fifteen remained behind.
Lucien stood among the latter.
Waiting.
And this time—
Destiny had not chosen him.
Yet.
