Demacia
Royal Palace

Clad in his golden armor, Jarvan IV turned and nodded to his servant, who had finished strapping the breastplate to the prince's back. "Thank you. I will take my leave." As he strode out of his bedroom and down the spiral stairs of the central turret that housed his quarters, Jarvan stopped to look out a nearby window. The morning light streaming through the stained glass illuminated an elegant image. An ancient king, likely one of Jarvan's great-great-something or others, posed proudly atop a hill, planting a standard into the dirt. The red glow of ancient runes inscribed in the image spelled out "The Founding of Demacia" in ruby light on the wall. As he looked at the real city sprawling from behind the window, Jarvan's heart swelled with pride. The stalwart prince of the golden city entered the throne room with a flourish, scanning the chamber.

His father was in his throne, Xin Zhao at his side, as always. He did not recognize the woman whispering to his father, but her uniform marked her as a member of the scout corps. The metallic sounds of clanking armor alerted the prince to Garen's approach before his eyes did.

"Greetings, my Prince." muttered the knight, standing at attention.

"You do not need to use such ceremony with me, Garen." Jarvan replied, turning to face his old friend. "Tell me, why does my father look so...grave?"

"It seems there has been a development. There have been no summons from the League in days...and our scouts report the sight of something most troublesome. Voidborn."

Jarvan's eyes widened, a look of disbelief on his face. "The Voidborn? This far from Icathia? What does this mean?"

Garen sighed. "I do not know, Jarvan. But whatever the reason, it cannot be good. Best case scenario, some of Malzahar's infernal cultists have opened a minor rift. Worst case…"

Garen was cut off by the sudden booming voice of the Seneschai, Xin Zhao.

"Attention! Prince Jarvan, Commander Garen, your presence is requested at the throne of the king!"

Both young men crossed the room to stand in front of the ornate throne of King Jarvan III, his elderly face wrinkled with worry. The prince was eager to speak.

"Have we received news from Piltover, father?"

The king raised his hand. "Slow down, Jarvan. Yes, we have. The city has been destroyed. The remnants are under Noxian control."

Jarvan's gloves rustled as he clenched his fist. "Damned cowards! The yordle ambassador was right. We should have moved against them faster!"

"Their war was sanctioned by the League, but the utter destruction of a city...this is too far. My king, I will end this tyranny by the edge of my blade!" shouted Garen, his voice rising in indignant fury.

The king sighed. "I would agree with you. But our hands are tied. We cannot move against the Noxians directly...but we can bring up our grievances with the League. I have dispatched Quinn and her scouts to obtain evidence of atrocities from within the city. What troubles me is the silence of the League over the past few days...our mages have reported that the portals are non-functioning as well." He buried his chin in his hands as he continued. "And, as if simply to make matters worse, Voidspawn have been reported near our borders. We must send reinforcements to Kalamanda."

Jarvan IV straightened and gave his father a salute. "Allow me, my King. I shall bring Lady Shyvana and the Royal Guard. We shall cleanse the land of these monsters and reestablish contact with the Institute of War."

The king simply nodded in agreement. "Very well, son. Be careful, and may the light of Demacia safeguard you and blind the evils that would presume to evade justice."

A few hours later, Jarvan had gathered his guard at the city gates, mounting a white maned horse. Sheathing his lance, Jarvan grasped the reins and turned to nod at his second-in-command, Shyvana. The half dragon was astride a brown mare, still looking a bit uneasy with the idea of riding a horse...despite her true form being twice the size of it. "My prince!"

The shout came from Garen, who waved from the top of a nearby tower. "Show those monsters the might of Demacia!"

At Garen's words, the guards began to cheer. Riding the wave of ecstasy around him, Prince Jarvan whirled his golden lance in the air and shouted.

"For my father, the king! To Kalamanda!"

Outskirts Of Freljord
The Howling Marsh

Her clothes were stained with a mix of blood and mud, and her hair was full of clumps of dirt. Yet, Queen Ashe was better off than the majority of her troops. When she closed her eyes, not wishing the dirty water to splash into them and sting her face yet again as she waded, she could vividly remember the events of the past few days. After Hecarim's appearance, the horde of undead had overwhelmed the Freljordians. Combined with the zombified corpses of the villagers, the Shadow Isles army was both larger and deadlier than the combined forces of her Avarosans and Sejuani's Winter's Claw.

Sejuani. Ashe had never expected to feel sympathy for the barbarian queen who wished to kill her. But at the canyon, she was the first to ride against Hecarim, shouting for her troops to flee. Some ran, others refused. They were ripped to shreds by the undead. Sejuani herself was the last to fall, impaled again and again by Hecarim's lance. Some of the surviving Claw whispered that it had taken no less than 5 stabs to fell their unbreakable Queen. But fall she had, and Ashe felt her death the most strongly of all.

Since the battle, the Freljordian survivors had fled their country, south into the Howling Marsh, marching for days with little sleep to stay ahead of Hecarim's horde. They certainly would have been destroyed had Hecarim not stopped to gather the corpses. Her stomach churned as she imagined what purpose they would serve. Her husband had not spoken in days, trudging silently ahead of the others, cutting his way through obstacles with his massive blade. She dared not think of what had happened to those left in Freljord. She had failed. As a Queen, as a warrior, and as a protector to her people. The weight of the despair felt heavier than the muck that grasped at her boots.

"Queen Ashe. We are no longer being pursued."

Ashe turned to face the low voice that spoke, sighting Udyr walking towards her, holding a small chunk of wood.

"What did you say?"

That was Tryndamere. Her husband's voice sounded raspy and weak, as if it had withered inside him.

The Freljordian survivors turned to face the monk as he spoke.

"Avarosans, Winter's Claw...listen. Do you hear the wails of wraiths? The clomping of spectral hooves? If Hecarim had wanted to catch us, he would have. And this…"

Udyr held the wood in the air, the dim light barely illuminating an odd indentation in it.

"This is a hoofprint. Someone has already passed through here recently. We have been left behind by our pursuers. They must have taken another route."

Ashe blinked. "Why would they do that? They could have wiped us out in this state."

The eerie silence stuck in the air for a few moments until Tryndamere spoke again. "Unless, of course, they had a bigger prize on their mind. We number in the double digits. If Hecarim wants corpses, he'll find them in a town or city." He turned to Ashe. "What's directly south of here? Wherever it is, they're about to find themselves in a heap of trouble."

Ashe mentally recalled the map of Valoran in her head, whispering under her breath as she connected the dots.

"Kalamanda."

Hero's Rest
Noxus

Katarina tapped her foot impatiently against the cobblestone path leading to the great statue before her. It was atop a tomb, said to once contain the body of a Noxian hero who had slain Jarvan I in battle. More importantly, it was a very restricted area. Talon stood next to her as they awaited the Grand General's arrival.

"Why do you think Swain invited us here?" asked Talon, his cloak jingling against the nearby fence.

Katarina passed the letter she had gripped in her right hand to her compatriot, who unfolded the message and began to read it.

"Dear Ms. Du Couteau,

Your presence is requested at Hero's Rest for a strategy meeting at 8:00 PM. We will be discussing what to do about some Piltovian terrorists disrupting the taking of our new territory.

Grand General Jericho Swain"

Talon frowned and passed the note back to Katarina. "Not much of an explanation. Why not meet in the palace?"

"Too many prying eyes, Talon."

A figure emerged from the shadows, limping along, the eyes of the raven on his shoulder gleaming red in the darkness.

"Palaces are for show. Real strategy is formed on the battlefield, or in the streets." Swain had now reached the pair of assassins, resting on his walking cane. "As I am sure you well know, Katarina."

Katarina forced a smile. She was no fan of the Grand General, but she certainly wasn't going to let him know that. "Grand General Swain. A pleasure as always." Talon nodded and bowed to Swain as he stood up and began to speak again.

"Thank you. You both know I am not one for simpleminded small talk. Let us proceed to the meeting place."

Raising his cane, Swain fired a blast of magical energy at the tomb. As if a key had been slid in, the wall split open. "Follow me." muttered the Grand General, leading the pair into the tomb.

"Ominous." muttered Talon, following his mistress and the Grand General through a dark corridor. Swain laughed and grinned as he tapped his cane on a nearby wall.

"I suppose so. But sometimes fear is the best motivator...we cannot have any prying eyes in Hero's Rest. For you see, it does not house simply a corpse any longer…"

As Swain made a small flourish with his cane, the walls slid open to reveal a meeting chamber, with a stone table and a few carved marble chairs.

"But instead features the nerve center of the New Noxian military."

Striding into the room and sitting in one of the chairs, Swain motioned for Katarina and Talon to join him at the table. The pair silently agreed, still a bit shocked by all the secrecy.

Swain began to speak, motioning around the room. "This is the central viewing chamber of the facility. In this wing…" The north side of the room lit up, revealing a window into a laboratory. A faint purple glow seemed to emanate from inside, forming the outlines of axes, lances, and swords. "Void energy weapon development. We shall harness the powers of the vaccuum to suck the very life from our foes."

Katarina frowned. "Is that all, Swain?"

The Grand General smirked. "Ah, Ms. DuCouteau. I did not think you would be so easily impressed. May I present...wing two?" This time the east side of the room lit up, and the Noxians turned to face yet another window. This one seemed to lead to a library, stacks and stacks of books filling a series of pristine shelves. "Ancient tomes recovered from Shuriman ruins...by your sister, actually." Talon raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he had underestimated the ability of the younger DuCouteau sister. Swain continued. "I must say, she is an adept explorer. Or, the ones she tricked into finding these tomes before ending them were. The lost magic contained in these books could make Noxian mages the most powerful in Valoran...and the secrets of the Rune Wars will be ours."

The Grand General looked expectantly at Katarina. She nodded and spoke. "I am interested...but I'm reserving my judgement for the 3rd wing. One of the walls is still in darkness."

Swain laughed curtly. "Your deductive skills are intact, Katarina. Very well. But...do not say I didn't warn you." The lights flashed on again, this time revealing a gruesome sight. Corpses were lying on tables, in various states of completeness. Odd mechanical parts seemed to jut out of some of them, some recognizable as limbs or organs, others simply seeming to be hunks of scrap. "Professor Stanwick Pididly approached me after the Urgot project...it seems his hunger to reanimate the dead is not so easily quenched. He has assured me that our fallen soldiers can be brought back even stronger than Urgot was."

Talon's stomach turned. He had never liked Urgot. There was something horribly unsettling about the cyborg, perhaps it was his lumpy, sewn together flesh, his haggard breathing, or the disturbing skitter of his metallic legs as he moved. As he turned to look at Katarina, he saw no change in her expression as she spoke.

"Grand General, you have created quite an impressive complex here. But my question is why. The Piltovians have already been defeated. Surely you do not think the Noxian army incapable of dealing with a few rebels?"

Swain nodded and stood, pacing the room. "That is what I wished to talk to you about. These are dark times. I have learned that the League has been destroyed. And now, more than ever, we must seize our opportunity. We will rule Valoran."

Katarina gasped. "The League is gone? Grand General Swain...what in the hell is going on here?"

Swain exited the room. "An excellent question, Katarina." The door slammed shut behind him.

"One that you will never hear the answer to."

With a jolt, Talon leapt from his seat, jamming a knife into the door. "No! What are you doing!"

Swain's cruel laugh echoed through the room, muffled by the stone door. "I am so sorry, Talon, Katarina. You have been loyal pawns to the end. However, these projects require funding. Funding the House of the DuCouteaus could provide. Oh, and you were right. I killed your father."

With an enraged scream, Katarina pushed Talon aside, pounding on the door herself. "Bastard! Get back in here...I'll gut you!"

Swain laughed again. "I'm afraid that is simply not a possibility. While you have been here, my loyal soldiers have been very busy working on framing you. Planting documents of insurrection in your room, making marks in my walls with your spare knives...it will be a sensational story. The good general's daughter, gone mad with jealousy at my position as Grand General! Thankfully, I could fight you off...along with your lapdog bodyguard, and I managed to defeat the crazed traitor! With that sort of reputation, your sister will be just begging me to accept your riches to get back in the High Council's good graces...and I will make good use of them. Funds for my new army, and the disposal of two rats who were getting a bit too close. Not bad."

Leaving the enraged shouts of the assassins behind, Swain pulled a small lever on the wall. The floor inside the room began to split, slowly opening into a vast pit. "It is down there that I stashed your father's corpse. It is also where you will meet your ends. Goodbye, Ms. DuCouteau." The Grand General left the tomb, sealing the entrances behind him.

"I have business in Kalamanda."