Flaw Of RuneTerra (Black Clover X League Of Legends)

[ThePoroKing]

This is so hype

 

[trashtaker]

Y'know if the league lore was still canon (seriously riot wtf man) y'all think Asta would have been kidnapped by them to become a champion?

Also interaction between Asta and the darkins would be funny considering how similar they are lol

 

[SaberGlory]

Darryl hadn't known what to expect that morning, other than the usual, brutal training regimen his Captain put him through.

Captain. He still couldn't help but feel a strange thrill every time he said it.

So when Captain Asta appeared at dawn and told him they were heading to the council chambers, Darryl's curiosity flared. It wasn't like Asta to seek out nobles or officials. He was… too straightforward for that.

Now, seated in the antechamber outside the council room, Darryl fidgeted nervously. The polished marble floor gleamed beneath his boots, reflecting the bright morning light that streamed through the high windows. The guards standing along the walls kept giving him sidelong glances, looks that were neither kind nor welcoming.

He kept his head down. A mage had no place among Demacia's elite.

When Asta finally emerged from the chamber, Tianna Crownguard, the High Marshal herself, walked beside him. Darryl's heart nearly stopped. The Tianna Crownguard, the highest authority in all of Demacia, second only to the throne.

And she was speaking to his captain. Calmly.

He didn't know what Asta had said in there, but before he could even think to ask, they were heading toward the training grounds, accompanied by a squad of guards. Darryl followed quietly, trying to ignore the whispers around them.

What happened next would stay burned into his memory forever.

The moment they reached the courtyard, the soldiers of the Dauntless Vanguard surrounded Asta. There were at least a hundred of them, the pride of Demacia. And then, with a faint smile, Asta agreed to a "demonstration."

Darryl could only stare as his captain moved.

It wasn't a fight, couldn't even be called one. Asta dismantled the entire company with impossible speed. Every movement cracked the air, every blow dropped a knight before the others could even blink.

In less than a minute, the elite of Demacia lay sprawled across the courtyard, groaning in disbelief.

Not even Garen Crownguard, the legendary leader of the Vanguard, had managed to best him when he stepped forward to intervene. Asta had disarmed and floored him with frightening ease, though without malice.

Darryl thought it was over. It should have been.

But then she stepped forward.

The Dragon-blooded warrior, Shyvana. Darryl still remembered when she first came to Wrenwall. It was the first time he saw dragons, although he only caught a glimpse before he was ushered to safety.

Her eyes burned like molten gold as flames erupted around her, wings of living fire coiling and folding inward to form a blazing cocoon. The air shimmered from the heat as the cocoon expanded, swelling until it filled half the training grounds, the ground beneath it glowing red-hot.

Across from her, Asta's expression didn't change.

Darryl's breath caught as he saw it, black lightning rippling across Asta's right arm, the very air vibrating from its charge. Then, with a crack of thunder, a single black wing burst from his back, spreading wide like a storm-born banner.

The courtyard fell silent for a heartbeat. Then the world seemed to split in two, one half consumed by fire, the other alive with shadow and lightning.

And Darryl, standing frozen at the edge of it all, could only whisper in awe,

"So this is magic."

The sound that followed wasn't just a roar—it was a cataclysm.

Flames surged outward as Shyvana's cocoon of fire exploded, the shockwave slamming through the courtyard like a hammer of molten wind. Darryl flinched, throwing his arms over his head as debris scattered and the heat licked at his skin. The marble tiles beneath his feet cracked and splintered, glowing faintly red from the sheer intensity of the transformation.

When he dared to look up again, the Dragon had fully emerged.

She towered above the training grounds, scales glinting like living embers, each movement radiating power and heat. The air shimmered around her, thick and suffocating. Her wings unfurled with a thunderous whump, casting a shadow that stretched across the entire courtyard.

"By the Light… she's… she's massive," one of the soldiers stammered, stumbling backward as the heat washed over him.

Another guard dropped his spear with a clatter, eyes wide in terror. "What is the monster doing..."

Before he could finish, Shyvana roared again, a deep, earth-shaking bellow that rattled the very stones of the barracks. Windows cracked, banners tore from their poles, and the courtyard's fountain shattered, spraying boiling water across the cobblestones.

Darryl's heart pounded in his chest, each beat drowned by the rolling echo of that roar. Even from where he stood, the sound pressed against his bones, heavy and alive.

Beyond the walls, in the city below, civilians froze where they stood. A merchant's cart overturned as a frightened horse bolted down the street. Nobles rushed to their homes. Mothers clutched their children and looked toward the distant plume of flame rising over the keep. The roar had carried across entire districts, shaking glass and stirring panic.

"Is it an attack?" a noble cried as bells began to toll in alarm.

Back in the courtyard, Asta stood motionless amidst the chaos, the black lightning still crackling faintly around him. His single wing flared once, scattering the dust and flame around his feet. His gaze never left the massive dragon before him.

Darryl swallowed hard, feeling both awe and dread twist in his chest. "Captain… are you really going to fight that?" he whispered, though his voice barely carried over the crackle of fire.

Asta didn't answer. He simply smiled, maddeningly sure of himself.

Then, as Shyvana reared back, her molten chest swelling with the breath of her next inferno, Asta finally begun to move.

Unlike before, when he danced around his opponents with blinding speed, Asta moved slowly this time, deliberately. His stance lowered, muscles tightening as he drew his sword back into a wide, deliberate swing.

Shyvana's molten eyes flared. With a snarl that shook the air, she lunged forward and unleashed a torrent of dragonfire. The flames poured out in a blazing stream, swallowing Asta completely.

Darryl's eyes widened in horror as the mage disappeared within the inferno. "Asta!" he shouted, his voice cracking against the roar of fire.

Beside him, Tianna Crownguard did not flinch. Her sharp gaze narrowed, her voice calm and cutting through the chaos. "Surely it couldn't be that simple."

Then...

Whoosh!

The torrent of flames split apart in an instant, dividing cleanly down the middle like a river forced aside by an unseen hand. A thunderous shockwave erupted from within, slicing outward in a blinding arc of pressure.

The force slammed into Shyvana's colossal frame. The Dragoness roared in pain as she was hurled backward, crashing through the walls of the training grounds in an explosion of stone and fire. Debris rained down, smoke billowing high into the air.

"High Marshal!" one of the guards shouted, rushing to Tianna's side. "We have to get you out of here! They're destroying everything!"

Tianna sighed, brushing dust from her pauldrons as she watched the scene unfold. Her tone was cool, almost bored. "That won't be necessary," she said. "Stones can be rebuilt after all."

"He's right, High Marshal," Garen said as he stepped beside her, one hand resting on the hilt of his greatsword. His eyes stayed fixed on the blazing chaos ahead. "It's getting dangerous."

Tianna didn't move. Her gaze remained steady on the battlefield, her tone calm but edged with command. "You would have me flee in fear? From mages?"

Garen's jaw tightened, though he said nothing. The heat from Shyvana's flames rippled through the air, distorting the edges of their armor.

Jarvan, standing slightly behind them, crossed his arms and gave a faint, knowing smile. "I doubt we're in any real danger," he said evenly. "Shyvana's in control of herself. If she wanted to, she could turn this entire castle into rubble in seconds."

Tianna's eyes narrowed slightly at that, the flicker of a smirk tugging at her lips. "Let's hope she doesn't decide to prove you right," she replied, her voice steady even as another explosion of fire and lightning lit the sky before them.

The High Marshal's calm demeanor contrasted sharply with the chaos unfolding before them. Smoke curled through the air, mingling with the shimmer of residual magic. The once-pristine training ground now resembled a warzone, cracked stone, smoldering banners, and the faint, acrid scent of scorched steel.

From beyond the wall of dust, a low rumble echoed, a growl that made the ground tremble. Shyvana pushed herself upright, molten breath hissing from her jaws as rubble fell from her wings. Her crimson scales glowed brighter than ever, molten light flowing like veins of lava beneath her skin.

And across from her, standing amidst the crater that had once been the courtyard's center, was Asta.

His clothes were pristine, even with smoke rising from his shoulders. The black lightning still crackled faintly around him, dancing across his sword's edge. His one black wing extended behind him, dark and heavy against the light of the flames.

For a long moment, no one moved.

Then Asta tilted his head slightly, his grin widening as he raised his sword once more. "Your flames are pretty hot. Maybe hotter than Magna's." he said, his voice cutting clearly through the haze.

Shyvana's answer came as a deep growl that rippled the air itself.

The impact shattered the air. Asta's blade, wreathed in black lightning, met Shyvana's claws in a spray of sparks and molten scales.

Shyvana lost that contest nearly instantly as her claw was pushed back with greater force. The shockwave rippled outward, hurling dust and debris into the stands where soldiers scrambled to shield their faces.

Darryl stumbled back, barely managing to stay upright as the ground cracked beneath his boots. He could hardly follow their movements, one moment they were on the ground, the next a stteam of fire followed a black streak of lightning into the sky.

The heavens lit up. Shyvana's dragon fire carved glowing trails through the clouds, trying to burn Asta with her breath.

"By the Light…" Garen muttered, his voice low with awe. "He's faster than the silver wings."

Tianna crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "He is far more dangerous than I thought. We cannot allow him to turn to Sylas under any circumstances. If he were to ally with the Dregbourne traitor Sylas. Make no mistake. Demacia may very well fall."

As if to prove her point, Asta dove, a black comet tearing through the air, his sword cutting a streak of red lightning. Shyvana countered with a roar that unleashed another torrent of flame, but this time he didn't dodge. Instead, he swung.

The slash cleaved through the inferno like a blade through silk, parting the flames and striking her square in the chest. The resulting explosion sent shockwaves racing across the city's outer walls.

When the light faded, Shyvana crashed to the ground in a storm of rubble, her massive body skidding through the remains of the courtyard. The shockwave knocked down what was left of the training barracks.

Darryl shielded his eyes from the dust, coughing as he stumbled forward. "Captain!" he called out.

Asta landed moments later, a heavy thud marking his return to the ground. His wing folded neatly behind him as he rested his sword on his shoulder, exhaling slowly. "That's enough," he said, his voice calm again, he said it with a finality that couldn't be rebutted. As if he knew that Shyvana could not continue fighting.

Shyvana shifted, her form shrinking, scales retreating and flame receding until the woman reappeared, kneeling, bruised, but still breathing hard, eyes blazing with stubborn pride.

Asta walked toward her, lowering his sword. "You're tough," he said, offering his hand to help her up. "But you have no idea how to fight someone faster than you, do you? Back home you'd be a sitting duck."

Shyvana glared at him for a long second before finally taking the offered hand. "You could have killed me. At any given moment. Compared to you, I'm weak."

Asta smirked, resting his sword across his shoulder as the wind stirred the smoke around them. "There's no crime in being weak, my friend," he said, his voice steady but carrying an edge of conviction. "But staying weak? That's the real crime. Someone I looked up to once told me that."

Shyvana's molten eyes narrowed as she straightened to her full height, embers spilling from her scales like sparks from a forge. "Then show me," she challenged, her voice echoing like distant thunder. "Show them." She gestured toward the gathered soldiers and spectators who stood frozen at the edges of the ruined courtyard.

Asta's expression softened into a grin. "I still remember when the former Wizard King did something just like this," he said almost nostalgically, lowering his sword. "He stood before the us that day and spoke to us. Showed us."

The crowd fell utterly silent. Even the flames around Shyvana seemed to quiet as Asta's tone shifted, earnest, commanding.

"Listen closely," he began. "The title of Wizard King isn't something you earn with praise or position. Some believe it's about pride… or the trust of the people. But they're wrong." He looked up, eyes gleaming beneath the crackle of black lightning. "It's about merit."

Shyvana tilted her head, a faint growl rumbling in her chest, confused, yet intrigued.

"You can't protect anyone with pride," Asta continued. "And trust… trust is something you gain through merit. There's only one thing people truly want from a leader, from the Wizard King." He raised his blade, lightning crawling up its edge. "Merit. The strength to keep winning, to keep protecting, no matter what stands in your way. Merit that proves that you are the best."

"Gain merit," he finished. "Continuously gain merit, that's everything. Anyone who can't do that will never stand at the top."

By now, every eye in the courtyard was locked on him. Soldiers, guards, even nobles peering from the shattered balconies above, all were silent, captivated by the foreign mage whose words burned just as fiercely as his power.

Asta wasn't finished. Slowly, he lifted his sword, the movement deliberate and steady, the black lightning crawling up the blade like living veins of shadow. "Now watch closely," he said, his voice carrying through the ruined courtyard with calm authority. "This..." his gaze flicked toward Shyvana, then to the soldiers and nobles who still lingered "...is only a fraction of the power you'll need to surpass on your journey."

He raised the blade higher until it pointed directly toward the heavens. Then, before their eyes, the weapon began to change.

The massive greatsword started to grow, first doubling in length, its edges crackling with crimson sparks. The hum of power deepened, resonating through the stone beneath their feet. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the weapon swelled beyond human scale, already towering higher than two grown men.

But it didn't stop there.

Shyvana instinctively stepped back as the sword continued its ascent. Within moments, the blade was level with her dragon form, an impossible, sky-splitting construct of black metal and lightning.

Still, the sword kept growing.

A shadow fell across Tianna where she stood, her sharp eyes tracking upward. For the first time that day, the High Marshal felt something stir in her chest, an instinctive step backward, driven not by fear, but awe.

Across the city, the people of Demacia froze where they stood. Nobles, merchants, guards, and civilians alike turned their eyes skyward as the sunlight dimmed. The cobbled streets and white stone walls darkened beneath an expanding shadow that rolled across rooftops like a passing storm.

When they looked up, they saw it, the sky itself shrouded by a colossal wall of black, a blade so vast that it seemed to divide the heavens.

"Winged Protector… protect us," someone whispered, voice trembling in the silence that followed.

Above, the clouds swirled violently as Asta's sword pierced them, its edge vanishing into the roiling gray. The energy in the air shifted, heavy and electric. Black lightning burst across the sky, arcing through the clouds in jagged lines that raced across all of Valoran.

The heavens trembled. The world itself seemed to hold its breath.

And at the center of it all stood Asta, unmoved, his single black wing unfurled behind him, the massive sword of anti-magic in his hands, drinking in the light of the sun. "This is what it means to be the Wizard King. The power to single-handedly protect your country without fail. And the power, to destroy another."

---

Runeterra stirred that day. From the frozen peaks of the Freljord to the burning sands of Shurima, powers both mortal and divine turned their gaze eastward, toward the unnatural storm of black lightning tearing across the sky.

A foreign energy pulsed from the heart of Demacia, wild and unfamiliar, unlike any magic the world had felt before. It throbbed like a living heartbeat, sending ripples through the leylines of Runeterra itself.

Far above the clouds, atop the sacred summit of Mount Targon, a woman with violet skin and a single horn upon her brow lifted her eyes toward the horizon. The enormous, obsidian blade pierced through the heavens, visible even from that great distance. The celestial winds howled around her as her expression hardened.
"What… is that?" Soraka asked no one in particular.

Across the continent, deep within the Immortal Bastion, the throne room of Noxus was bathed in shadow. There, the Pale Lady watched the phenomenon unfold within a mirror of crimson glass. The corners of her mouth curved upward in faint amusement.

"Such chaos," she mused, her many reflections whispering the words back in eerie unison. "How… intriguing. This could be useful."

From Ionia's tranquil gardens to Zaun's restless depths, seers, scholars, and monsters alike felt it, a foreign will cutting into the fabric of the world.

And in the silence that followed, a single truth became clear to all who sensed it.

A new piece had entered the board.

 

[trashtaker]

Him meeting Pantheon would be so peak

 

[ThePoroKing]

The goat

 

[SaberGlory]

High Marshal Crownguard did not sigh easily. Sighing meant that the weight she carried had finally pressed hard enough to reach her heart, that the calm steel she wore so naturally had bent, even if just slightly.

Across from her, her nephew stood at attention, posture straight and composed as ever, waiting for her to speak.

Tianna found the moment almost ironic. Just a few moons ago, she had scolded Garen for working himself to exhaustion, insisting that even the strongest soldier needed rest.

Now, as she studied his expression, that same quiet concern she once wore for him, she realized he was about to say the very same thing to her.

High Marshal Crownguard did not sigh easily. Yet Tianna leaned back into her chair, exhaling a long, weary breath that seemed to carry the weight of the entire kingdom with it. The sound alone was enough to make Garen blink in surprise.

Without a word, he moved to the chair opposite her and sat down, the heavy plate of his armor creaking softly. "Aunt Tianna," he began, his voice gentle, the edge of command gone, replaced by something far more familiar. For a brief moment, the Sword-Captain of the Dauntless Vanguard was gone, and in his place sat her nephew once more.

"Demacia has never been in a more precarious position than it is right now," Tianna said, leaning forward and lacing her fingers together atop the desk. Her voice was composed, but the tension behind it was unmistakable. This was no time to show fatigue.

"She has always prevailed, Aunt Tianna," Garen replied almost immediately, his tone firm, his posture unshaken. "Strength through discipline."

A faint smile touched Tianna's lips despite herself. Pride stirred in her chest as she looked at the young man before her. Garen had grown so much. "Honor through diligence," she answered softly, completing the old Crownguard creed.

Garen straightened even more, his gauntlets resting neatly on his knees. "What are your orders, High Marshal?"

Tianna nodded once, turning her attention to the stack of documents scattered across the desk, maps, reports, casualty lists. She gathered them with practiced precision, her expression sharpening as she spoke.

"We currently face major threats on three fronts," she began, her tone crisp and measured. "That's not even counting the riots breaking out across several provinces."

Garen frowned, leaning slightly forward as she continued.

"The traitor, Sylas of Dregbourne, is still amassing followers for his rebellion. He remains at large, and several Mage-Seeker laboratories have already fallen to his raids. From our reports, the mages rescued from those facilities are the very ones swelling his ranks."

A flash of distaste crossed Garen's face. "Is it odd that I'm not as worried about those labs?" he asked, his voice low, edged with disgust. "I've heard what they do to the mages they drag inside."

Tianna's gaze lingered on him, searching for something, before she finally spoke. "You're not wrong to feel that way," she admitted quietly. "Eldred has grown far too ambitious since His Majesty's demise. The MageSeekers hold more influence than ever, too much, if you ask me. And Eldred has the prince's ear. Unless Jarvan IV decides to strip them of that power…" She trailed off, her tone edged with frustration.

Garen's expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "We never should have let things get this bad," he said grimly. "Even Uncle Eldred has to see that things are spiraling out of control."

Tianna shook her head, the faintest trace of weariness flickering behind her calm exterior. "Speaking of him will get us nowhere. You know as well as I do that Eldred will not stop. So long as the MageSeekers appear indispensable, he'll only grow bolder."

She leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing. "No, the true problem lies elsewhere. Unless Prince Jarvan finally stops playing the tyrannical heir and takes the crown, this paralysis will continue. Demacia cannot afford such a ruler."

Garen looked down, his voice lowering. "I've tried to make him see reason. But I've yielded no results."

"As expected," Tianna said, her tone softening slightly. "Even with the half-dragon by his side, he still can't set aside his prejudice. He listens, but he doesn't hear."

She reached for another folder among the neatly stacked documents and slid it across the desk toward him. "And that brings us to the second issue, one that feeds off the first. Noxus."

Garen's brow furrowed as he picked up the report.

"They've been testing our borders more frequently," Tianna continued. "The skirmishes have since grown larger, more probing attacks. Assassinations. As you can attest, they've grown bolder." Her eyes flicked to him. "How many of the Dauntless Vanguard did we lose this time? Thirteen?"

"Twelve, High Marshal," Garen corrected quietly.

"...Twelve," Tianna repeated, her voice heavy. "Even one is too many. We're spread thin. Between Sylas's rebellion festering in the country and Noxian aggression to the west, Demacia cannot afford a civil war."

The High Marshal pushed the final document toward him. Its seal was still broken from earlier that morning. Garen glanced down, and a single word written in bold ink greeted him.

Asta.

The room seemed to grow heavier.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The distant toll of a bell echoed faintly through the hall outside, its somber chime cutting through the silence.

At last, Tianna folded her hands together atop the table, her expression unreadable.

"This," she said quietly, "is our main problem."

Garen's eyes flicked up to meet hers.

'How ironic,' Tianna thought as she studied her nephew's face, so resolute, so disciplined, yet still so young. 'Noxus knocks at our gates. Sylas and his rebels edge closer to civil war... and yet the greatest threat to Demacia's stability is a single man.'

"His… display yesterday has stirred quite a bit of unrest within the city," Tianna said at last, her tone weary. She pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose as if to ease a headache. "If I'm being honest with you, Garen, I regret ever requesting that demonstration."

Garen remained silent, his armored fingers brushing over the edge of the parchment as he opened the document she had handed him. The soft rustle of paper filled the brief silence between them.

He began to read, line after line, his expression stoic at first, then slowly shifting. When his eyes stopped on a particular passage, they widened slightly. "High Marshal?"

Tianna's gaze flicked toward him, immediately recognizing the page. 'He's found the order,' she thought amusedly. Pushing herself up from her chair, she moved toward the tall arched window, sunlight cutting a pale line across her face.

"Garen," she began, her voice measured, "tell me, what do you think would happen if a fight were to break out between Demacia and Asta? What would the outcome be?"

Garen closed the folder and set it down on the table. He stood, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the floor. "I could never imagine Demacia falling to any foe," he said firmly. "No matter how powerful."

Tianna turned slightly, one brow arched. "So, you believe we would win?"

He nodded once. "Without a doubt." A short pause followed. "…But..."

"It would cost us too much," Tianna finished for him, her gaze turning hard. "Demacia would be left vulnerable. A war with that young man, even if we triumphed, would leave us gutted."

She looked back out the window, her reflection faint against the glass. "The power to defend an entire kingdom alone, or to reduce another to ash. That is what it means to hold the title of Wizard King."

Garen gave a quiet, almost reluctant chuckle. "He has a very idealistic view of that title."

"They always do," Tianna replied, a faint smirk tugging at her lips before it quickly faded. "I was no different, once. But idealism isn't our concern here. Asta is."

Garen's blue eyes narrowed slightly. "You want me to befriend him."

Tianna finally turned fully toward him, her cloak whispering against the stone floor. "Not want," she said quietly. "Need."

"Asta is a dangerous element," Tianna said quietly, eyes cold as flint. "One we must handle with the utmost care. His power is too great to let him fall into the wrong hands." She turned on Garen with sudden intensity. "We need him on our side at all costs. If Eldred stands in the way, I'll see him brought to heel, by force if necessary."

Garen bowed his head in understanding. "As you command, High Marshal."

Tianna's posture softened just enough as she laid a gloved hand on his shoulder. "You've spoken with him. From what little you gleaned, you should know his character."

"He's a good man," Garen answered, steady and sure. The simple affirmation seemed to land with satisfying weight.

For the first time that morning, a genuine smile touched Tianna's lips, very rare. "Good." She straightened. "I spoke with Fiora earlier. I plan to have her meet with Asta."

Garen's eyes went wide at the suggestion. "Aunt Tianna, are you certain?"

Tianna's smirk was teasing and oddly maternal. "I have a feeling they'll be… perfect together. Can you think of a better suitor for her?"

Garen let out a groan, picturing the upheaval. "I... Understand High Marshal."

"And Asta's request?" he asked, returning to business.

Tianna turned back to the window and watched the white city gleam in the sunlight, the marble streets like a promise and a threat all at once. "I've forwarded the recommended course of action to Prince Jarvan IV." She tapped the largest document on the table, official orders and stipulations, neatly sealed.

Garen picked up the paper, scanning the lines. A slow, pleased smile spread across his face. "Imagine if Lux were to hear this," he said softly. "She'd burst with happiness."

Tianna allowed herself one small, indulgent chuckle before her expression closed again, all marshal and duty. "Let her be happy then. We have work to do."

---

'How did I get here?'

Cithria had asked herself that question a thousand times this morning alone.

She stood stiffly behind her Sword-Captain, hands clasped behind her back, as he sat upon a small wooden stool before a low table. Across from him, on an equally modest seat, was the foreign mage, Asta.

Even now, just seeing him sent a shiver through her. The memory of that day still haunted her dreams, the day when the heavens themselves seemed to split. She had never felt so small before a single man.

Cithria had witnessed power beyond comprehension, power that defied even Demacia's most disciplined order. And she wasn't alone. Every soul in the kingdom had seen it, the massive sword that hung above them all.

Not above a city.

Not above a region
.
All of Demacia had been beneath that colossal blade.

'At least, that's what the Raptor Knights reported afterward,' Cithria thought, both grim and awed. 'If such a weapon were ever to fall… half the kingdom would vanish in an instant.'

And then there were his words, words that still echoed in her mind. 'A Wizard King.' The title had sounded like arrogance at first, until she'd seen what he was capable of.

Cithria shifted uneasily, forcing herself not to move her weight to her right foot, a nervous habit that her superiors often scolded her for. She watched as her captain, Garen Crownguard, studied the smooth stones laid out between them.

Asta leaned forward with boyish energy, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Boast," he declared with confidence.

Garen's lips curved into an amused smile. "Are you certain?"

On the short table lay a small rectangular blue mat. Resting neatly atop it were six smooth, flat white stones arranged in a single row.

Asta leaned forward, narrowing his eyes in thought. His gaze flicked between the stones with surprising focus for someone who'd only just learned the game.

'Probably trying to make sure he remembers which stones are which,' Cithria thought, quietly observing the exchange.

After a long pause, Asta gave a firm nod. "I am."

Garen smiled faintly. "Alright then, point to you."

Asta blinked, momentarily thrown off. Then he pouted, a comical expression that looked oddly natural on his otherwise rugged, confident face. "Aww, come on! You're not gonna challenge my boast? I might be wrong, you know."

Garen's low chuckle filled the quiet room. "Probably," he admitted, amusement dancing in his tone. "But I'd rather not crush you too quickly. You're still learning, after all."

Cithria felt her lips twitch upward before she quickly straightened her expression. Her Sword-Captain was right, Asta was still a complete novice at Tellstones. He'd only learned the rules a few minutes ago.

Garen's gauntleted fingers moved with easy confidence as he shifted one of the white stones on the mat. "My turn, then," he said, tone measured, but there was the faintest spark of playfulness in his eyes.

Asta leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching every motion like a hawk studying its prey. The blue mat reflected faintly in his eyes as he tried to read Garen's next move.

"Memory," Garen declared, tapping the farthest stone.

Asta squinted at it, lips pursed. "That one was… Honor."

Garen's smile widened. "Courage," he corrected, flipping the stone over to reveal the small carved symbol beneath. "You're close, though."

Asta groaned, running a hand through his messy hair. "I was so sure!"

"You have to think like a soldier, not a gambler," Garen said calmly. "Tellstones is about discipline, seeing what's there, and what's not. Everything on the board has a place, even the empty space."

Asta nodded slowly, though his brow remained furrowed. "Right. So a complicated guessing game."

"if that's how you see it," Garen said, his smile turning approving. "Your move."

Asta exhaled and placed a hand on one of the stones, muttering to himself under his breath. "Hmmn…" Then, in a sudden burst of confidence, he raised his head. "Challenge!"

Cithria barely managed to stop herself from sighing aloud. She could see Garen's shoulders tense ever so slightly, he'd heard that same reckless confidence before, usually from new recruits who thought bravery could substitute for patience.

"Oh? Which one?" Garen asked, amusement creeping into his tone.

"Center stone!" Asta grinned, pointing to the center stone.

"Duty." Garen tapped his chin, pretending to consider. Then he reached forward, flipped the stone, and revealed the tiny carving beneath it.

"Duty," he said simply.

Asta slumped. "Ah, come on!"

Garen laughed quietly. "That's two points for me."

Asta crossed his arms, leaning back with a mock pout. "You sure this isn't rigged for Demacians?"

"If it were," Garen replied smoothly, "you wouldn't have scored the first point."

Cithria bit the inside of her cheek to hide her grin. Seeing the Sword-Captain actually teasing someone felt strange, almost unreal. Only the members of the Vanguard could draw that kind of reaction from him.

Asta leaned back in, renewed determination flashing in his eyes. "Alright then. No holding back. This time, I'll win."

Garen raised an eyebrow, resting his chin lightly on his fist. "Your confidence is admirable, if misplaced. Go ahead."

Three more turns passed in steady rhythm, stone, word, memory, and misstep. Each time Asta grew more animated, his energy almost infectious, though his accuracy… less so.

When the final move came, Asta slapped his palm against the mat. "That one's Justice!"

Garen turned the stone over.

The symbol for Pride gleamed faintly in the light.

Silence lingered for a beat before Asta let out a dramatic sigh. "I think this game hates me."

Garen chuckled, sitting back. "Four turns. A fair match, for your first true round."

Asta grinned despite his loss, a spark of stubborn optimism in his eyes. "Guess that means next time, I'll win in three."

Cithria couldn't help it, this time, she smiled openly.

A small huff of breath drew Cithria's attention away from the table. Her gaze shifted toward the open courtyard beyond the veranda, where a young boy was still running laps under the morning sun.

Darryl.

The child's movements were uneven but determined, his boots striking the stone with a steady rhythm that echoed faintly through the estate grounds. Sweat clung to his brow, his breaths coming sharp and quick. By Cithria's count, this was his seventeenth lap. Quite impressive, she thought, for someone his age.

Her eyes lifted to the walls surrounding the courtyard. A few guards stood stationed there, silent and watchful as always. But among them, she recognized several wearing the half masks and the white-and-silver insignia of the MageSeekers. Their attention wasn't on the horizon or the gate. It was fixed squarely on the boy.

Cithria's jaw tightened. She didn't need to guess what they were thinking.

Fortunately for Darryl, their hands were tied.

Not after the two royal decrees that had been issued nearly a month ago. Not after he had changed everything.

---
By will of the Crown and consent of the High Marshal, Asta of Clover shall henceforth serve as Emissary Extraordinary to the Court of Demacia, empowered to act in counsel, in demonstration, and in the defense of the realm under royal sanction.
His presence shall not be deemed that of a foreign soldier, but of a friend and ally whose deeds shall bring honor to both Demacia and his homeland.
---
Decree of Mutual Accord and Magical Stewardship

> By authority of the Crown and the will of the High Marshal, the Kingdom of Demacia recognizes Asta of Clover as an Emissary Extraordinary to the Crown and Ally of the Realm. In this accord, the Clover Kingdom shall stand as friend and defender of Demacia in times of peril, and Asta shall, by royal sanction, oversee the instruction and moral guidance of select mages within Demacian borders, that their gifts may serve the light rather than threaten it. Their number shall remain under his supervision, and their conduct bound by Demacian law.
Thus, through diligence and discipline, may even power once feared be turned to virtue, for the strength of Demacia and the peace of her people.
---

With those decrees, Asta had suddenly become one of the most important figures in all of Demacia.

It was, as Morn would have said, a right mess.

Cithria could hardly make sense of the political whirlwind that followed, the endless meetings, the whispered debates in the courtyards, the sudden tension between the MageSeekers and the Crown. But she did understand why the High Marshal and the prince had chosen this path.

Asta was powerful. It was that simple. Better he stand beside them as an ally than against them as an enemy.

Still, things had only grown more complicated after Sword-Captain Garen announced that he would be visiting Asta regularly, and that he intended to take one of the Vanguard with him.

That was when Morn, ever so helpfully, had mentioned that Cithria herself had already spoken with the foreign mage.

Cithria had nearly choked on her drink at that. She respected Morn, truly, the healer had saved her life more than once, but in that moment, she wanted to stab her with every one of Hess' many, many blades.

'He barely said five words to me that one time,' she thought bitterly, watching as Garen smiled, calmly rearranging the small mat and returning the smooth stones to their places.

Cithria tipped her head back, letting her gaze follow the sun as it climbed higher into the sky.

'Seriously,' she sighed inwardly. How did I end up here?

-----

Rules of Tell Stones

The game is played on a small mat ("the Line") with a set of uniquely‐symbolled stones placed beside it (the "Pool").

Players take turns doing one of several actions: placing a stone from the Pool into the Line, hiding (flipping) a face-up stone, swapping two stones, peeking at a face‐down stone, or attempting to score.

To score, you can either Challenge (point at a face-down stone and ask the opponent to name it; if they fail you score, if they succeed they do) or Boast (claim you know all the face-down stones and either your opponent gives you the point or you must prove it).

The first player to a set number of points (usually three) wins.

There's an added element of memory, bluffing and misdirection, players watch not only the stones but each other.

 

[trashtaker]

Now I want Fiora and Magna to meet and fight.

The strongest commoner "common person cause Asta isn't common at all) vs the strongest noble duelist