i. ab intra

Blood. Smoke. Steel.

The battlefield rises to meet her, and in the embrace of blood and smoke and steel, she feels alive. She feels the power unfurl inside her and knows, knows with a certainty, that this is what she was born for. Fire surges through her veins. Shyvana screams and lunges forward. Her hands melt into claws and she digs into the ground for enough traction to throw herself into the air. And then, she is flying. The wind beneath her wings, the sun on her back, the smoke, the fire, the blood. She breathes in and when she breathes out, a jet of flame burns the advancing warriors to a crisp. She dives. The wind rattles between her scales as she plummets. When she touches the ground, she feels the satisfying crunch of iron and bone, and when she raises her head, she feels the scales fall from her form. In the midst of it all, a single figure of gold hoists the blue and yellow standard of Demacia high into the air and the quickening in her heart tells her the battle is won. He looks towards her, black hair windswept and face kissed with ash. The fires burn around them, spreading across the battlefield and casting the world a bright red.

Ah, Shyvana thinks, this is what I was born for.

ii. lítost

The first time she is witness, it is in the recesses of the League. In the quiet of an empty and abandoned room, she sees them. The girl-child presses her hand to his face and he allows himself to find comfort in this simple touch. He leans forward and rests his head on her shoulder and he lets go. It was as if a heavy weight had slid off his shoulders. It is the first time Shyvana has seen Jarvan rely on someone else. It is the first time, he shows his weakness to someone else and it is this small girl-child. It is the first time she sees him like this. Something wells in her heart that is hot and bitter.

The girl-child with hair of ripe wheat brings her arms around him and lets the man find solace in her embrace. They stand there for a long while before she moves. Her hand runs down his until it rests on his wrist. She leans forward and whispers something, words of comfort perhaps, to him. Shyvana feels anger surge through her.

She wants to walk in and ask what is going on. She wants to demand what gives this girl-child the right to be by his side. She wants to rage. But she doesn't. It is one of the rare times Shyvana hesitates. It is one of the rare times Shyvana steps down. Instead of following her instinct, she follows her heart. She runs and she hides in the confines of her room, because there are some things that she cannot bear to know.

iii. velleity

"It's different." She states simply. Jarvan raises his head from his blade. She speaks slowly, the words feeling foreign in her own mouth. She paused. Shyvana did not want to speak because if she spoke then these words would shred into her very flesh and soul. But she could not swallow those traitorous words, for they were burning, and Shyvana was afraid they would burn through her very soul if she did not speak. But she is speaking slowly, so the pause is small, almost unnoticeable. "Between you and I, and you and her."

Jarvan lowers his head as if to inspect a flaw in his great blade, but she knows better. She knows that this is a habit he has established, one nurtured by his royal blood. He is a prince and when he did not wish to speak, no one could force him to. But he was not her prince just as she was not his. And Shyvana did not bow her head to Jarvan because she respected the crown on his head. She could care less about that. She yielded because she respected, because she cared for him, and that was that.

"Look at me." She commands.

And he does. He looks her in the eyes and Shyvana wants to die. She had never thought that this gaze, this one gaze that saved her, could hurt her so. Because Jarvan's gaze is as truthful as his heart and she can read everything she needs to know there. Even if he wishes to spare her the truth, it is clear as fire in his eyes.

He could not lie even if he wanted to, not to her.

He loves that little girl-child, the golden girl with eyes the cold of the sea. He loves that girl the way he doesn't love her. Her prince loves her the way he loves all his men. Jarvan looks at Shyvana and sees a comrade, an ally, a soldier. He looks at the golden-girl and sees comfort and solace. He looks at her and sees everything Shyvana wishes she could be.

iv. veritas

"I don't understand. My father was a dragon, but he loved my mother regardless. You are both human, how hard can it be?"

"It is difficult."

"You are not a dragon."

"That I am not."

"So I do not understand. Why is it that you two continue to dance like wounded animals around a fire? When you are together, you do not acknowledge each other. Yet when you are apart, you yearn for each other like the sky longs for the moon."

He sighs. He folds his hands together and presses them against his forehead. The wind flutters through their hair, and Shyvana is aware of the eagle-girl lingering in the recesses. She wonders if the eagle-girl is listening. She wonders if the eagle-girl wonders the same things that she wonders about. She wonders if the eagle-girl loves him as she loves him. (She doesn't. She can't. No one can love him like Shyvana loves him.)

She wonders if the eagle-girl is asking the same questions in her heart. She wonders if the eagle-girl thinks that it would be easier. It would be easier if he could just acknowledge it.

"It is not as simple as that." Her prince says simply.

"You once told me that the human heart is very simple."

"It is in its desires, but at the same time the intersections of the world and the heart are difficult to untangle. Shyvana, imagine that there is something you want but to get it you must let go of everything you care about, or perhaps even destroy it."

"I have never known you to be scared."

"You have not known me very long." He does not raise his head, but his tone of voice tells her that this conversation is over. She has known him long enough to recognize the kindling of his temper.

But Shyvana thinks she understands what he means, just a little. She thinks of fear, deeper and darker than anything she has ever known. They had pressed blades to the soft flesh of her neck, they had raised spears to her soft underbelly, but nothing had scared her as much as the sight of the golden girl-child and her prince. The singular thought of losing him had reduced her to a scared child.

She tells herself that a dragon would not be scared of such things. A dragon would be strong. A dragon would not know fear. A dragon would tear apart its enemies without mercy or hesitation. Shyvana could do it. She did not care if it was the eagle-girl or the golden-girl or all of Demacia, she could kill them all. She would kill them all for him.

But then, surely he would be sad. Perhaps he would even hate her. And then her heart would hurt for the pain it had caused him. And when she thought of that, she laughed and realized that Jarvan had been wrong all along. The human heart was anything but simple. She could be a dragon of steel and blood, but what did it matter if her heart was a human's?

She could discard it. She could discard this foolish weakness; she could become a being of fire and fear, of blood and smoke if only she discarded this passing fancy.

But as surely as Shyvana knew that fire ran in her veins, she knew that she would never do that. For this day, and all the days to follow, Shyvana knew that she would follow Jarvan just as she knew she would love him. And as she realized this, she raised her head to the moon and laughed for she had finally understood her father's words.

Humans are such pitiful things.