The carriage ride from Jandelle to Demacia City was a blur of motion and anticipation. The rhythmic clatter of hooves against cobblestones, the swaying of the carriage, the muffled sounds of the city as we neared its heart—it all blended into a symphony of unease that mirrored the chaotic storm brewing within me.
As the carriage slowed to a halt, I could feel the weight of a thousand eyes upon us. We had arrived.
"Remember," Lux said, her voice a low, urgent murmur, "stay close, stay alert, and... try to enjoy yourselves. This is a celebration, after all."
I stepped out of the carriage, my gaze drawn to the grandeur that surrounded me.
Demacia City was a spectacle of order and grandeur, a testament to the kingdom's unwavering dedication to strength and justice. Towering walls of pale, shimmering stone, etched with intricate carvings of winged swords and valiant knights, surrounded the city, their imposing presence a stark reminder of Demacia's martial prowess.
Within those walls, a symphony of gleaming spires and majestic buildings rose towards the heavens, their architecture a blend of austere functionality and breathtaking beauty. Wide avenues, paved with smooth, white stone, crisscrossed the city, bustling with activity—merchants hawking their wares, soldiers marching in precise formations, and nobles strolling in their finery, their laughter and conversation a symphony of Demacian pride.
My gaze swept over my companions; their forms transformed by the opulent attire Lux had procured for the ball.
Irelia stood beside me, a vision of ethereal grace. Gone was the simple blue gown she had worn in Terbisia. Now, she was clad in a flowing gown of silver silk, its fabric shimmering with a thousand tiny crystals that caught the light and scattered it in a dazzling display. The gown's neckline plunged daringly low, revealing the smooth, pale skin of her shoulders and a hint of cleavage. A silver sash, cinched at her waist, accentuated her slender curves. Her dark hair was woven into an intricate braid adorned with silver beads, and her eyes, a startling emerald green against her pale skin, held a mix of apprehension and a fierce determination that made my heart race.
Akali, a shadow amidst the brilliance, leaned against a nearby wall, her usual cloak discarded, revealing a form that was both lithe and powerful. She wore a fitted black bodice that clung to her curves, its neckline a daring plunge that revealed a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. A flowing black skirt, slit high on one side to reveal her toned legs, billowed around her with each movement. A sash of crimson silk, tied at her waist, added a splash of color. Her dark hair, usually tied back in a messy bun, now cascaded down her back in a wave of midnight silk. Her dark eyes, rimmed with kohl, sparkled with a mischievous glint, but beneath that playful facade, I could sense a simmering tension, a storm of emotions she was desperately trying to conceal.
Sivir had embraced Demacian fashion with a surprising flair. She wore a fitted doublet of crimson velvet, its bodice laced tightly, accentuating her curves. A long, black skirt, slit high on one side to reveal her toned legs, flowed around her with each movement. A wide, black leather belt, studded with silver, cinched at her waist, and her crossblade, polished to a gleaming sheen, hung at her hip, a reminder of her mercenary roots. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face, revealing her sharp cheekbones and the piercing blue of her eyes, which now held a mix of amusement and a guarded watchfulness.
Ezreal, never one to be outdone, had transformed himself into a vision of Demacian elegance. He wore a doublet of deep blue velvet, its sleeves puffed and slashed, revealing glimpses of a fine white linen shirt beneath. A sash of silver, tied at his waist, accentuated his slender frame. His blond hair, usually tousled and carefree, was now neatly combed, and his eyes, the color of a summer sky, sparkled with excitement. He adjusted a pair of white gloves with a flourish, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
"Ready to make an entrance, Ravik?" he asked, his voice a cheerful melody.
I glanced down at my own attire, a stark contrast to the rough-spun clothes I'd worn in the wilds. I was clad in a tunic of deep indigo, its fabric a fine, almost silken weave, surprisingly comfortable against my skin. It hung loosely on my frame, concealing the runes that pulsed beneath its surface. The sleeves were long, reaching my wrists, and a high collar, fastened with a silver clasp etched with the symbol of the winged sword, gave the garment a sense of formality I wasn't accustomed to.
A sash of deep red, woven with threads of silver, was cinched at my waist, adding a splash of color against the dark fabric. And a cloak, a heavy, luxurious thing of deep blue velvet, lined with the softest fur I'd ever felt, was draped over my shoulders, its weight both comforting and a little suffocating.
I tried to adjust the collar, the unfamiliar fabric chafing against my skin. The sensation, amplified by the petricite hum that thrummed through the city, made me acutely aware of every detail – the weight of the cloak, the tightness of the sash, the unfamiliar pressure of the finely crafted boots against my feet.
Ezreal laughed, the sound echoing through the grand plaza, a stark contrast to the hushed whispers and murmurs of the Demacian nobles who strolled past us, their gazes curious, their eyes lingering on our unfamiliar attire.
"Don't worry, Ravik," he said, clapping me on the shoulder. "Once we've delivered our message to the King, I'm sure we can find a tavern where we can loosen those collars and celebrate our diplomatic triumph. What do you say, ladies? Ale and stories by the fire? My treat, of course."
His gaze swept over Irelia, Akali, and Sivir, a mischievous glint in his eyes, a challenge that hung in the air. But their responses were… muted.
Irelia, her expression unreadable, simply nodded, her gaze fixed on the towering Citadel of Dawn that loomed in the distance, a symbol of Demacian power and the heart of our mission.
Akali, her arms still crossed, her eyes narrowed, muttered, "Don't get ahead of yourself, Explorer. We've got bigger things to worry about than ale and stories."
And Sivir… Sivir simply shrugged, her hand resting lightly on her crossblade, her gaze sweeping over the bustling crowds, a predator assessing her surroundings.
"Let's get this over with," she growled, her voice a low rumble that echoed my own sentiment.
We followed Lux, her golden hair a beacon amidst the sea of Demacian dignitaries, towards the heart of the city. The grandeur of Demacia City was overwhelming, a testament to a nation's unwavering dedication to order and strength. Towering walls of pale, shimmering petricite, etched with intricate carvings of winged swords and valiant knights, enclosed the city, their presence a silent warning to any who dared challenge Demacia's might.
Within those walls, a symphony of gleaming spires and majestic buildings rose towards the heavens, their architecture a blend of austere functionality and breathtaking beauty. Wide avenues, paved with smooth, white stone, crisscrossed the city, bustling with activity – merchants hawking their wares, soldiers marching in precise formations, and nobles strolling in their finery, their laughter and conversation a symphony of Demacian pride.
The air buzzed with a palpable energy – a mix of excitement, anticipation, and the ever-present hum of petricite that seemed to amplify every sensation, every emotion. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread mingled with the metallic tang of the Demacian magic, a strange but not unpleasant aroma that filled my nostrils. I could hear the rhythmic clang of blacksmiths' hammers, the distant roar of the crowds gathered for the tournament, and the faint, haunting melody of a string quartet playing in a nearby courtyard.
As we neared the Citadel of Dawn, the heart of Demacia's power, the crowds thickened, their voices a swell of excitement and anticipation. The Citadel itself was a masterpiece of Demacian architecture – a fortress of pale stone that rose from a natural plateau, its towers and battlements reaching for the heavens, its walls adorned with intricate carvings that depicted scenes of valor, sacrifice, and unwavering justice.
Banners, emblazoned with the winged sword of Demacia, fluttered in the breeze, their colors a vibrant reminder of the kingdom's martial pride. Soldiers, clad in shining armor, their faces grim, their weapons gleaming, stood guard at every entrance, their presence a silent warning to any who dared disrupt the festivities.
And at the heart of it all, the Grand Plaza, a vast expanse of white stone, awaited. It was here that the King would crown the champion of the tournament, a spectacle of Demacian might and tradition, followed by the Grand Ball, a celebration of Demacian elegance and a chance for the kingdom's elite to mingle.
The grandeur of the Grand Plaza was both breathtaking and oppressive. It was a vast expanse of white stone, a sea of polished marble and shimmering petricite, its every detail a testament to Demacian order and discipline. Towering statues of Demacian heroes, their forms carved from the same pale stone as the Citadel walls, stood sentinel around the plaza, their gazes fixed on the distant horizon, as if forever vigilant against any threat.
The air buzzed with a palpable energy, a mix of excitement, anticipation, and the ever-present hum of petricite that amplified every sensation. I could hear the roar of the crowd, a distant thunder that echoed through the city streets. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine, mingled with the metallic tang of Demacian magic, assaulted my nostrils, a heady mix that both tempted and repelled me.
I glanced towards the raised dais at the far end of the plaza, where a throne of gleaming silver and gold, draped in the banners of the Lightshield dynasty, awaited the king's arrival. Garen stood beside the throne, his armor catching the sunlight, his broadsword a beacon of Demacian might. Even from this distance, I could sense his presence – a quiet strength, an unwavering resolve, that both awed and unnerved me.
Lux, sensing my unease, placed a reassuring hand on my arm. "It's alright, Ravik," she whispered, her voice a soft melody against the cacophony of the crowd. "We're here. We're together."
She squeezed my arm gently, a fleeting gesture of comfort that sent a shiver of warmth through me, a spark of light amidst the encroaching shadows.
"Remember what we practiced," Ezreal chimed in, his voice a cheerful murmur. He adjusted his blue velvet doublet with a flourish, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Stand tall, smile, and… try not to set anything on fire."
Akali, who'd been scanning the crowd with a predatory intensity, snorted, a harsh laugh escaping her lips. "If anyone starts a fire, it'll be me, Explorer," she said, her voice a low growl. "But don't worry," she added, her gaze meeting mine, "I'll make sure it's a controlled burn."
Irelia, however, remained silent, her gaze fixed on the Citadel, her expression a mix of apprehension and a warrior's resolve.
Sivir adjusted her crossblade, her gaze sharp as she surveyed the crowd, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her weapon.
A hush fell over the plaza, the roar of the crowd fading into an expectant silence. A fanfare of trumpets echoed from the Citadel walls, their brassy notes heralding the arrival of Demacia's ruler.
My heart pounded against my ribs. I could feel the weight of a thousand eyes upon us, a mix of curiosity, judgment, and something... else… that made my skin crawl. The petricite hum thrummed through the air, amplifying every sensation, every emotion, until the world seemed to vibrate with a barely contained energy.
And then, he appeared.
Jarvan IV Lightshield strode onto the dais, his golden armor gleaming in the sunlight, his presence commanding, his gaze unwavering. He was a young king, his features still bearing the echoes of youthful idealism, yet a steely resolve, a strength forged in the fires of recent trials, shone in his eyes.
He raised a hand, and the crowd erupted in cheers, their voices a thunderous wave of Demacian pride. I felt a tremor run through me, a mix of awe and apprehension, as I witnessed this display of loyalty, this unwavering faith in their king.
Jarvan began to speak, his voice amplified by some unseen magic, resonating across the plaza with a clarity that cut through the lingering echoes of the crowd's cheers.
"People of Demacia," he began, his voice strong, steady. "We gather today to celebrate the Festival of the Worthy, a time to honor our traditions, to remember our heroes, and to reaffirm our commitment to the ideals that have made Demacia a beacon of strength and justice."
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the crowd, a flicker of sadness passing across his features.
"These past two years has been… a difficult one. We have faced challenges unlike any in our history - a rebellion from within, a threat from beyond, a loss that has shaken us to our core."
His eyes, a deep blue that seemed to reflect the very sky above us, turned towards a shadowed balcony overlooking the plaza.
"My father," Jarvan continued, his voice softening, "King Jarvan III Lightshield, was a great ruler, a wise and just king, a champion of Demacia's ideals. His loss… it has left a wound that will take time to heal. But…" His gaze hardened, his voice regaining its earlier strength. "But we will not let that loss define us. We will not let it break our spirit. We will honor his legacy by upholding the values he cherished – by standing strong against any who threaten our peace, by fighting for justice, for freedom, for the very soul of Demacia."
The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices a thunderous wave that shook the very foundations of the plaza. I felt a tremor run through me, a mix of awe and unease. This display of unity, of unwavering faith in their king and their ideals, it was both inspiring and… intimidating. It was a world away from the chaotic, unpredictable nature of the power I carried within me.
Jarvan raised a hand, silencing the cheers, his gaze sweeping across the crowd, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"But enough of solemn words," he said, his voice now lighter, a playful glint returning to his features. "It is a time for celebration! A time to honor the victor of this year's tournament, a warrior who has proven their strength, their skill, and their unwavering dedication to Demacia!"
He paused, a dramatic flourish, and the air crackled with anticipation. I could sense the excitement in the crowd, a palpable wave that washed over me, making my heart pound.
"This year's champion," Jarvan announced, his voice booming across the plaza, "is a warrior who has risen through the ranks, a soldier who has proven their worth not through noble birth or privilege, but through sheer determination and unwavering courage! A daughter of Demacia, a true exemplar of our ideals!"
He paused, drawing out the suspense, the crowd leaning forward, their breaths held captive.
"The champion of the Festival of the Worthy… is Cithria of Cloudfield!"
A ripple of surprise, then a thunderous wave of applause, swept through the plaza as a young woman, clad in gleaming armor, stepped forward to receive her prize from the King. I watched, my brow furrowed, as she knelt before Jarvan, her head bowed respectfully as he bestowed upon her a magnificent broadsword, its blade shimmering with a silvery light.
"She's… grown," Lux murmured beside me, her voice a mix of surprise and a quiet pride. "I remember her from the Dauntless Vanguard trials. She was just a girl then, eager to prove herself. It's good to see her thriving. She deserves this."
As the cheers subsided, Jarvan raised his hand, a signal for silence. "Now," he declared, his voice ringing with authority, "let the festivities begin! The gates of the Citadel are open! Let the music play! Let the wine flow! And let us all celebrate Demacia's strength and unity at the Grand Ball!"
A new fanfare erupted, this time a joyous melody that pulsed with anticipation. The crowd surged forward, a wave of silk and steel, their laughter and conversation a symphony of celebration. I felt a tremor of unease, a sense of being swept away by forces beyond my control.
Lux, sensing my apprehension, placed a reassuring hand on my arm. "Ready, Ravik?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with a mix of determination and a hint of mischief.
"As I'll ever be," I replied, my voice a low rumble.
We started to follow the crowd towards the Citadel gates, the grand entrance a beacon of light and warmth.
But as we moved forward, my gaze snagged on two figures, their presence a shadow against the brilliance of the festivities. Garen, his armor gleaming, stood near the entrance, his gaze sharp and watchful, scanning the approaching crowd. And beside him… a woman clad in armor of crimson and gold, her skin vastly different from everyone else. She let off a terrifying aura of hidden power.
"Who is she?" I asked Lux.
Lux followed my gaze, her expression clouding over as she recognized the figures standing near the Citadel entrance. "That's… Shyvana," she replied, her voice a low murmur, a flicker of something… troubled.
"A Half-Dragon," she added, a hint of explanation in her tone. "She serves in the Dragonguard. My brother trusts her."
"A Half-Dragon?" Ezreal echoed, his eyes widening as he, too, recognized the woman standing beside Garen. "Here in Demacia? That's… unexpected." He paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "Though, I suppose things have been a bit unconventional in these parts lately."
Akali snorted. "Unconventional?" she scoffed, her gaze fixed on Shyvana, a flicker of something calculating in her eyes. "That's one way to put it. Having a dragon in your ranks… bold move, even for the Demacians."
Sivir, however, remained silent, her gaze fixed on Shyvana, her expression unreadable. I could feel a tension emanating from her, a primal alertness that mirrored the dragon's own watchful presence.
A tense silence followed my words, the weight of Shyvana's presence and the impending confrontation with Garen settling over the group like a shroud. The petricite hum, ever-present in Demacia City, intensified, amplifying the anxieties that gnawed at me. I could feel their gazes upon me - a mixture of concern, uncertainty, and a grudging respect for the danger I represented.
Lux, ever the diplomat, tried to ease the tension. "We'll be careful, Ravik," she said, her voice soft but firm, her hand resting lightly on my arm. "We'll stick to the plan. And if things get… complicated…" She paused, a flicker of steel in her blue eyes, a hint of the power she wielded beneath her gentle facade. "We'll handle it." After reconvening away from the dais, we solidified our way forward. "Enter with the other guests, blend in, and wait for the opportune moment. The King will be making an appearance at the ball later tonight. We'll approach him then, when he's… less guarded."
"And what about Garen?" Sivir asked, her gaze fixed on the Dauntless Vanguard leader as he stood near the entrance, his armor gleaming in the torchlight.
"We avoid him," Lux said, her voice firm. "And Shyvana. They don't know what we look like in these clothes, so we should be able to move through the crowds unnoticed. But we need to be careful. One wrong move, and..." She trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging in the air.
I could feel a tremor of unease, a cold dread that coiled in my gut. The petricite hum intensified, amplifying my anxieties, making the world around me throb with a chaotic energy.
Akali, sensing my apprehension, placed a hand on my arm, her touch a surprising source of warmth amidst the chill that had settled upon me. "Don't worry, hero," she said, a hint of her usual playfulness returning to her voice. "We'll keep those Demacian puppies off your scent."
Irelia, however, didn't offer any reassurances. She walked beside me, her silence a heavy presence, her gaze fixed on the Citadel gates.
As we entered the Citadel, I could feel Shyvana's gaze upon us, a prickling sensation against my skin, a primal awareness that sent shivers down my spine. The air around her thrummed with a barely contained power, a heat that even the cool evening air couldn't dispel. I averted my eyes, seeking refuge in the anonymity of the crowd, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched, judged, *hunted*.
The interior of the Citadel was a spectacle of Demacian grandeur, a testament to a kingdom's wealth and power. Towering columns of polished marble, etched with intricate carvings, stretched towards a vaulted ceiling adorned with frescoes depicting scenes of Demacian history – battles won, heroes honored, justice served.
Chandeliers, crafted from crystal and silver, cast a warm, inviting glow, illuminating the bustling crowds who had gathered for the ball. Nobles, clad in their finest attire, milled about, their laughter and conversation a symphony of Demacian pride. Music, a blend of horns and strings, swelled from a hidden orchestra, its rhythm both elegant and martial, a fitting soundtrack to this celebration of Demacian strength.
And at the heart of it all, the ballroom awaited – a vast expanse of polished marble, its walls lined with towering mirrors that reflected the flickering candlelight and the dazzling array of Demacian finery. A long table, laden with an extravagant feast, stretched down the center of the room, a testament to the kingdom's bounty.
We entered the ballroom with the other guests, our movements a practiced choreography of Demacian formality, our smiles masking the tension that simmered beneath the surface.
"Remember," Lux murmured, her voice barely audible above the din of the crowd, "blend in, stay alert, and wait for my signal."
The ballroom was a dizzying spectacle of Demacian elegance, a sea of shimmering silks, gleaming armor, and sparkling jewels. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and anticipation, the music a lively waltz that pulsed with a rhythm both elegant and martial.
I felt out of place amidst the throngs of Demacian nobles, their conversations a blur of courtly gossip and political intrigue. The weight of my disguise, the unfamiliar feel of the finely woven tunic and the heavy cloak, it all pressed down upon me, a reminder of the charade we were playing, the dangerous truth we carried beneath the surface.
I drifted towards the edge of the dance floor, my gaze scanning the swirling couples, their movements a graceful, synchronized choreography of Demacian formality. Ezreal, with a confident swagger, had already swept Lux onto the dance floor, their laughter a bright beacon amidst the sea of faces. Sivir stood near a table laden with food and drink, her gaze sharp and watchful, her hand resting lightly on her crossblade.
Akali… Akali was nowhere to be seen. Her absence, a sudden void in the crowded ballroom, sent a pang of unease through me. Where had she gone?
As the music swelled, a warmth spread through me, a memory flashing – the training ground in Ionia, the sunlight filtering through the leaves, Irelia's graceful movements as she danced with her blades, the challenge in her eyes, the warmth of her touch.
And then, before I could even dwell on the memory, she was there.
Irelia, a vision in silver, appeared beside me, her hand outstretched, her gaze meeting mine with a mix of determination and something… *softer*… that made my heart race.
"May I have this dance?" she asked, her voice a low, melodic whisper against the backdrop of the music.
My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, the world around us seemed to fade, the music a distant echo against the pounding of my heart. The petricite hummed, amplifying every sensation, every emotion, until my skin tingled with a warmth that had nothing to do with the crowded ballroom.
I wanted to reach out, to touch her, to lose myself in the emerald depths of her gaze. But the Soul fragment's whispers, a chilling chorus of doubt and warning, held me back.
"Yes," I managed, my voice a hoarse whisper against the swell of the music. "I... I'd like that."
A smile, hesitant yet genuine, touched her lips, and she placed her hand in mine. Her touch was cool, a stark contrast to the heat that surged through me as she led me onto the dance floor.
The dance floor was a sea of swirling colors and graceful movements, the Demacian nobles gliding effortlessly through the waltz. But as Irelia led me into the dance, the world around us seemed to fade, the music a distant echo against the pounding of my heart.
She placed her hand on my shoulder, her touch surprisingly light, yet it sent a shiver down my spine. The warmth of her hand, amplified by the petricite hum, felt like a brand against my skin, a reminder of the awkward encounter back in the inn, the stolen kiss that had left us both shaken.
I placed my hand on her waist, the silk of her gown cool beneath my fingertips, her form surprisingly close. My breath caught in my throat, the scent of jasmine and steel a heady mix that made my head spin. Yaavin's essence stirred, a dark symphony of desire that warred with the unsettling tenderness that had bloomed within me.
Irelia's gaze met mine, a question in her emerald eyes. "May I… lead?" she asked, her voice barely audible above the music.
A ghost of a smile touched Irelia's lips as I chuckled, a flicker of something… *knowing*… in her eyes. It was as if she'd anticipated my response, seen through the layers of uncertainty and bravado.
"Then follow," she said, her voice a soft murmur against my ear. "Let the music guide us."
The warmth of her breath, a fleeting caress against my skin, sent a shiver down my spine. Her hand tightened on mine, and she began to lead, her movements as fluid and graceful as the flowing water I'd seen in her memories.
She didn't rush, didn't force the steps. Instead, she moved with a controlled ease, her body swaying to the music's rhythm, drawing me into her orbit. I followed, my steps mirroring hers, my gaze fixed on her face, a mixture of fascination and trepidation swirling within me.
The ballroom lights, the other dancers, the chatter and laughter, it all faded into a backdrop, a hazy canvas against the sharp focus of her presence. The petricite hummed, amplifying every sensation, every emotion, until I could feel the beat of her heart against my chest, the warmth of her breath a constant whisper against my skin.
The silence stretched between us, a comfortable counterpoint to the music's insistent rhythm. Finally, as we completed a particularly intricate turn, Irelia's gaze met mine.
"You're a good dancer, Ravik," she said, her voice barely audible over the music. "I hadn't expected…" She trailed off, a flicker of something… *uncertain*… crossing her features before she quickly schooled her expression into a neutral mask.
I continued to step in time until I had altered our course on the dance floor. I tightened my grip on the Ionian girl, and led her as she did me.
"Someone important to me once told me that dancing is about letting go of control and going with the flow." I led Irelia into a turn and closed the distance between us.
"She was right," Irelia murmured, her voice barely audible above the music. Her gaze dropped, a flicker of sadness passing across her features before she lifted her eyes to meet mine once more.
"Though," she continued, a hint of steel returning to her voice, a challenge in her emerald gaze, "control has its place, even in dance. Balance is essential, Ravik, in every aspect of life. Perhaps... a lesson you have yet to fully learn."
She struck a nerve in me. Control.
It was something I've struggled with this entire time. But, I feel better, stronger. No matter how overwhelming my fear was, I felt as if I was on the right track. But... it was as clear as day what she meant. It wasn't about the control of my power. It was her fear of who I was. Who I would always be a part of.
"Did... something change between us?"
Irelia's grip tightened momentarily on my hand, her fingers pressing into mine with a force that made me wince. The warmth of her touch, amplified by the petricite hum, turned into a searing heat that seemed to brand my skin. I saw a flicker of something in her eyes—pain? Regret? It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a carefully constructed mask of composure, her gaze shifting away from mine.
She didn't answer my question, not directly. Instead, she resumed the dance, her movements now a touch more… *rigid, the earlier fluidity replaced by a controlled precision.
"The world is a dangerous place, Ravik," she finally said, her voice a low murmur against the swell of the music. "And those who wield power... well, they have a responsibility to control it. To use it wisely. To protect those who cannot protect themselves."
Her words bit into me, the sensitivity only adding more and more to the weight on my heart. The beautiful emerald eyes that I could stare into all night soon become something I needed to avoid.
"Are you saying that I haven't been responsible?" My voice nearly a whisper.
Irelia's steps faltered, a momentary break in the waltz's rhythm that was as jarring as a discordant note in a carefully orchestrated symphony. The hand on my shoulder tightened, her grip a subtle reminder of her strength, the power that simmered beneath her elegant facade. But her gaze remained averted, her eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the swirling dancers, the flickering candlelight, a world away from the intensity of our exchange.
"Responsibility," she finally echoed, her voice a soft murmur, almost lost in the swell of the music. "It's a heavy burden, Ravik. One that not all are equipped to bear."
I slowly nodded. The bright light that was this dance was slowly going out. As she tightened on me, I had lessened, the sadness that was causing my senses to lose touch with the present little by little.
"I... see." My hands slipped off of her and I headed toward the edge of the dance floor.
As I stepped back, my touch fading from her, Irelia's grip tightened, her fingers digging into mine with a force that made me wince. The subtle smile that had played on her lips vanished, replaced by a steely glint in her emerald eyes, a reminder of the warrior beneath the silken gown.
"I said I wasn't going to let you run away from me again." Her voice, a low, urgent murmur against the swell of the music, sent shivers down my spine.
Her words were a whipcrack, snapping me back from the numbness that had started to creep in. I looked at her, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a mix of apprehension and a strange, reluctant admiration for her unwavering determination.
"I..." I began, but the words caught in my throat.
Irelia's grip on my hand didn't loosen. Instead, her fingers intertwined with mine, her touch a stark contrast to the chill that had settled over me. Her gaze, however, didn't waver. Those emerald eyes, usually so clear and focused, now held a flicker of something… pained… as if she were wrestling with a truth she'd kept hidden for too long.
"The world isn't a dance, Ravik," she said, her voice a low, urgent murmur against the swell of the music. "There are battles to be fought. Choices to be made. And sometimes… sometimes we have to stand our ground, no matter the cost."
Her gaze held mine, the intensity of her emotions amplified by the petricite hum, a symphony of longing and regret that resonated with my own turmoil.
"I've made my choice," she continued, her voice softening, a tremor of vulnerability in her words. "And I won't… I won't let fear dictate my path any longer."
She paused, her breath catching in her throat, her gaze searching mine as if seeking reassurance, permission.
"No matter what happens, Ravik," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the music, "No matter the outcome of this… this fight… this journey… Know this…"
Her fingers tightened around mine, her touch a lifeline against the chaotic storm brewing within me. The music swelled, a crescendo of strings and horns, but it was her voice, a soft, trembling whisper, that filled my senses.
"I will always… care for you, Ravik," she said, her gaze never leaving mine, the emerald depths of her eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight, the weight of her confession. "And right now… that's enough."
She released my hand, her touch lingering for a moment like a phantom warmth against my skin. Her gaze softened, a fleeting smile touching her lips before she turned towards the edge of the dance floor.
"I believe someone is waiting for their turn."
Before I could even process her words, Irelia shifted, a graceful turn that left me momentarily disoriented. The warmth of her touch vanished as she spun away, her silver gown a shimmering blur against the candlelight. And then, as if she'd been summoned by the very movement of the dance, Akali was there.
She slid into the space Irelia had left, her movements as fluid as smoke, her hand finding mine with a confidence that sent a jolt of electricity through me.
Akali's eyes met mine, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths – anger, hurt, and a flicker of something… *vulnerable*… that made my heart ache. But her lips curved into a smirk, a challenge that mirrored the beat of the music.
"Well, well, well, hero," she purred, her voice a low, dangerous melody. "Looks like someone's been having all the fun."
Akali's hand was warm in mine, but her grip was firm, a subtle pressure that kept me tethered to the present, to the rhythm of the dance. Her gaze, however, didn't waver. Those dark eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, now held a flicker of something… *dangerous*… that made my breath catch in my throat.
"So," she said, her voice a low murmur against my ear, the scent of jasmine and steel both intoxicating and unsettling, "Looks like we're fighting over a boy now, huh?"
A wry smile twisted her lips, but the amusement in her eyes didn't quite reach the surface. "Don't get me wrong, Irelia," she continued, her voice a touch louder now, a challenge that sliced through the music's melody. "You're lucky it's you. Anyone else try to play me like that... they'd be missing a few vital organs by now."
"If I'm honest, I liked nice Akali better." I quipped, hoping to match her wit.
Akali's grip on my hand tightened for a beat, her fingers pressing into mine with a force that made me wince. A flicker of something wounded crossed her features before she quickly masked it with a sardonic smirk.
"Nice Akali?" she echoed, her voice a low murmur, the playful lilt gone. "Maybe you should take a closer look around, hero. This isn't the place for 'nice.'" However, her features softened. "But, perhaps I could indulge. Just for the next minute or so."
Her gaze, dark and intense, held mine for a moment, a silent challenge that sent a shiver down my spine. The air around us crackled with an unspoken tension, the petricite hum amplifying the unspoken emotions that simmered beneath the surface.
The music swelled, then faded, the final notes of the waltz echoing through the ballroom as the dancers came to a halt, a polite applause rippling through the crowd. Akali's grip on my hand finally loosened, but her gaze lingered, a sensation that made my skin prickle.
"Don't get lost in the pretty lights, hero," she murmured, her voice a low warning against the swell of chatter and laughter that filled the ballroom. "We're still on a mission. Keep your wits about you."
"Always," I replied, forcing a lightness I didn't feel as I stepped away, seeking refuge in the relative anonymity of the crowd.
I drifted towards the edge of the ballroom, the press of bodies a suffocating reminder of my own isolation. The air buzzed with a chaotic mix of perfume, wine, and the ever-present hum of petricite, amplifying the anxieties that gnawed at me.
From across the room, I spotted Ezreal and Lux, their forms silhouetted against the soft glow of a crystal chandelier. They stood near a window overlooking the city, their voices a hushed murmur against the backdrop of the bustling ballroom. I moved closer, curiosity drawing me in, the need for a distraction, any distraction, from my own tangled thoughts.
"It's… incredible," Lux's voice, a soft melody tinged with a hint of awe, reached my ears. "The places you've seen, the things you've discovered… It's like stepping into a legend."
"It's not bad," Ezreal replied, his voice laced with his usual nonchalance. But I could hear the pride beneath his casual tone. "Every ruin, every temple, every artifact… it tells a story, Luxanna. A story about the world, about ourselves, about the things we're capable of… for better or for worse."
He paused, and I could imagine him adjusting his spectacles, a nervous gesture that belied his confident words.
"Actually," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I've been to Demacia a few times before. Not under this… *persona, of course. Jarro Lightfeather's a bit of a legend in these parts." He chuckled softly. "But I saw you once, Luxanna. Years ago, at a tournament in High Silvermere. You didn't notice me, but…" He trailed off, a sudden shyness in his voice that surprised me. "Well, let's just say, I've been… *intrigued*… ever since."
I held my breath, waiting for her response. Lux was silent for a moment, her stillness a stark contrast to the bustling ballroom around us.
"That's... interesting," she finally said, her voice a soft murmur. "I don't recall... but it was a while ago."
"Yeah, well," Ezreal continued, his voice regaining a hint of its usual bravado, "I'm not one to forget a pretty face. Especially not one that radiates magic like… well, like you do." He chuckled, then added, "And if it wasn't for Ravik… for this whole… Yaavin mess… well, I don't think I'd be standing here, talking to you now. Getting to know you. So… thanks to him." He winked in my direction, oblivious to the fact that I was eavesdropping.
You're welcome, I thought, a wave of exhaustion passing over me.
Before Lux could respond, a hand clamped onto my arm, its grip like iron. I was yanked away from the warmth of the hearth fire, the flickering candlelight.
"We need to talk," Sivir's voice, a low growl, said beside me.
Before I could even protest, she pulled me towards a shadowed balcony, the noise of the ballroom fading behind us, replaced by the cool night air and the distant murmur of the fountain in the courtyard below.
The balcony was a haven from the ballroom's oppressive gaiety, the cool night air a welcome relief against the stifling heat of Demacian formality. Below, the city lights twinkled, a distant tapestry of order and control, a stark contrast to the chaotic symphony of emotions that raged within my chest.
As Sivir released my arm, her gaze met mine, something approving in her dark eyes. "Well, whatever you did back there," she said, her voice a low growl, "it seems to have worked. Those two Ionian spitfires have calmed down considerably."
"I…" I began, unsure how to articulate the events of the past few hours, the tangled web of confessions and rejections, the weight of unspoken feelings that still pressed down on me. "I told them… both of them… how I felt."
Sivir's eyebrows shot up, a rare display of surprise on her usually stoic face. "You did, huh?" She crossed her arms, her gaze drifting towards the moonlit city, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow.
"Look, Ravik," she said finally, her voice softening a fraction, "It's… not unusual to be drawn to both of them. They're strong, independent women, and they've both shown you… kindness… in their own way."
She paused, her eyes meeting mine, a depth in their dark depths that I'd rarely seen before.
"But the heart… it's a fickle thing, Ravik. It yearns for connection, yes. But it also craves… singularity. You can care for both, but you can only truly be *in love* with one."
Her lips curved into a wry smile, a hint of knowing amusement in her eyes. "And trust me, girls like those two… they don't like to wait around. They'll make their choices, Ravik. Whether you're ready or not."
Her words struck a chord within me, a chilling truth I couldn't ignore. A wave of exhaustion, deeper than the physical weariness of the journey, washed over me. Sivir was right. I had to make a choice. But how could I, when both Irelia and Akali held pieces of my heart, their presence a solace against the darkness that threatened to consume me?
I let out a sigh, running a hand through my hair, the weight of the decision settling upon me like a physical burden. Sivir, sensing my turmoil, placed a hand on my shoulder, her touch surprisingly comforting.
"I'm not going to lie, Ravik," she said, her voice softer now, kindness in her tone. "I admire your… tenacity. You're a damn fool, yes, but you've got guts. And… " She paused, a rare hesitation in her voice. "And I'll admit it – I've enjoyed traveling with you all. Never thought I'd find myself… caring… about a bunch of… well, a bunch of misfits like us."
She sighed, shaking her head as if to banish an unwelcome thought. "And you," she continued, her gaze meeting mine, a flicker of warmth in her eyes, "You're not the monster I thought you were, Ravik. You're… well, you're like… a little brother."
She gave my shoulder a final squeeze, then stepped back, her hand resting lightly on her crossblade.
"And speaking of …" she said, her voice regaining its usual sharp edge, "I've been doing some thinking. About those conversations we had… up in the crow's nest and after."
She paused, her gaze drifting to the moonlit city below, the lights twinkling like a scattered hoard of jewels.
"It's… not easy," she admitted, her voice a low murmur. "Letting go of the past. Dismantling those walls I built so carefully, brick by brick. Trusting… believing… in something… someone… other than myself."
She turned back to me, her eyes searching mine, a depth of emotion in their dark depths that made my breath catch in my throat.
"But I'm… trying, Ravik. And I… I care about you all. In my own way. Just… don't let it go to your head, kid."
A moment of surprise took over my expression. Here I thought she was going to scold me. And yet, she was here confessing her own feelings.
"You've caught me off guard with all this." I admitted, a scoffing chuckle filling the space between us.
Sivir's lips twitched, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips before she quickly schooled her features back into their usual neutral mask. "Don't get used to it, kid," she said, her voice a low growl. "Sentimentality doesn't pay the bills."
She paused, her gaze drifting towards the moonlit city below, the lights twinkling like a scattered hoard of jewels. A sigh, almost wistful, escaped her lips.
"But… maybe every now and then… it's worth more than gold."
Sivir didn't move away. Instead, she did something completely unexpected. She extended her hand towards me, her palm open, a silent invitation.
I stared at her hand, confusion knitting my brows. Why? Why was she…?
"Well?" Her voice, sharp and edged with impatience, broke the silence. "What are you waiting for?"
I tilted my head, the question mark clear in my expression. A low chuckle rumbled in her chest, a sound that held a hint of genuine amusement, a rarity for her.
"This time, I'm offering you the glimpse, kid," she explained, her voice softening slightly. "We had a little chat, everyone and me. They've all shared twice. Seems only fair."
She paused, her gaze intense, a challenge lingering in her dark eyes. "The second one. The… *cherished* memory. Don't tell me you're scared."
A smile spread across my face, the tension that had coiled in my chest easing. "Thank you, Sivir. For trusting me." I reached out, my fingers brushing against hers as a spark of warmth, amplified by the petricite, shot through me.
The familiar stardust swirled around us, a miniature galaxy against the backdrop of the city lights. And then, as always, the world dissolved into darkness.
The coolness of night enveloped me, the marble ground giving way to sand. My instincts told me that this was Shurima. But something felt different. No... it felt familiar. It wasn't the Shurima I saw in Sivir's previous memories. This was...
I saw a young man sitting next to a fire alone. He seemed to be deep in thought. From the corner of my eye I saw Sivir and three others skirt just outside of the light, circling, watching the young man.
She moved with a practiced grace, her steps silent against the sand, her crossblade a whisper of steel in the moonlight. The others followed, their shadows blending with the ruins. I watched as she approached the young man, the firelight flickering across her face, revealing a mix of curiosity and the guarded suspicion that was as familiar to me as my own reflection.
Wait… I knew that look. I'd seen that flicker of firelight on her features, felt the intensity of her gaze. This wasn't some distant echo of her past. This was… now.
The realization hit me like a jolt of electricity. This wasn't a memory from Sivir's childhood, or from her years as a mercenary. This was our first encounter. The night she found us camped outside of Nashramae.
The young man by the fire – I recognized him instantly. It was *me, my form younger, more weary, the weight of Yaavin's presence a palpable shadow against the flickering flames. The other figures, their forms now illuminated by the firelight as they stepped closer, were Irelia, Akali, and Ezreal.
I watched as Sivir approached, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs, as if I were reliving that moment, the danger of her arrival, the uncertainty of her intentions.
"Not many camp out here by choice," her voice, cool and measured, sliced through the silence. "You looking for something, or trying to hide?"
The memory shifted into another familiar scene. It was the ruins of the capital city of Shurima. In the room was everyone, Kai'Sa, and myself. I remember this. I had told Sivir the truth.
A heaviness settled in her chest, a familiar weight of responsibility and a begrudging respect for my honesty. I could almost hear her thoughts, a cynical voice whispering, *So this is it, then. The world's fate rests on the shoulders of a kid who doesn't even know who he is.*
But something else flickered in her eyes as she watched me—a spark of… *hope?* It was a foreign sensation, one she hadn't allowed herself to feel in a long time.
Then, with a rush of warmth and laughter, the memory shifted again. We were in the heart of Azir's palace, the grand hall transformed for a feast. The air was filled with the aroma of spices and roasting meat, music thrummed through the room, and laughter echoed off the ancient stone walls. I saw her join in the revelry, her initial hesitation melting away as she tasted the unfamiliar delicacies, her lips curving into a genuine smile as Ezreal spun a tale of one of his more outrageous exploits.
For the first time since I'd met her, Sivir seemed… *carefree*. The weight of her mercenary life, the constant vigilance, the ever-present fear of betrayal—it all seemed to fade, replaced by a genuine enjoyment of the moment, a sense of camaraderie she hadn't known she craved.
The memory flickered, a montage of moments: The journey across the burning sands towards the Lavender Sea. The tension in the air as Kai'Sa revealed the threat of Bel'Veth. The desperation of the battle against the Void, the camaraderie, the shared risk, the way my powers surged, nearly consuming us all. And then, the chilling silence of the temple, the weight of Yaavin's essence pressing down on us, the desperate fight against the Mind fragment, and the relief that washed over her as I unleashed my power, not to destroy, but to save. A strange, unfamiliar warmth bloomed within her as she watched me collapse, exhaustion claiming me, but my friends rushing to my side.
We were on the slopes of Mount Targon, the wind whipping our cloaks, the snow crunching beneath our boots. I saw her share a laugh with Akali, a rare moment of unguarded amusement. I saw her watch Irelia practice her blade dance, a flicker of admiration in her eyes. I saw her listen to Ezreal's endless stories, a grudging smile softening her usually stoic features.
And finally, we were back in Demacia, the night air cool against our skin as we stood on that shadowed balcony. I remembered my words, the promise I'd made, the offer of a place she hadn't known she yearned for.
"That spot you mentioned…" she'd said, her voice a low murmur. "The one you're… holding… for that… *ghost*… It's… tempting."
The warmth that had bloomed within her during the feast, the feeling of belonging she'd experienced during our shared trials, it intensified, a flicker of hope against the darkness that had shadowed her for so long.
The world came back and my hand retracted from Sivir's. I was back in Demacia, the remnants of my power fading away into the air. But my eyes were on hers, in awe, in surprise... in overwhelming emotion.
"Y-you... Your memories..." Was what I could manage.
Sivir chuckled, a low, throaty sound that held none of her usual mockery. "Surprised, kid?" she asked, her voice softer than usual, a hint of shyness in her tone. "Guess even a hardened mercenary like me can have a soft spot."
Sivir stiffened, her body a wall of tense muscle beneath the soft velvet of her doublet. For a heartbeat, I felt her resistance, a reflexive recoil that mirrored the years she'd spent building walls around her heart.
Then, just as quickly, her defenses seemed to crumble. Her shoulders slumped slightly, and a sigh, almost a sob, escaped her lips. She raised her hands, hesitantly at first, then wrapped them around me, returning the embrace.
She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. The warmth of her body against mine, the faint scent of sand and sunbaked leather mingled with the metallic tang of petricite, it spoke volumes. And in the quiet stillness of that shared embrace, I felt a connection, a sense of belonging, that chased away the shadows that had haunted me for so long.
"Thank you, Sivir. I'm... I'm so glad to have met you." I shared.
Sivir's grip tightened for a moment, her arms pulling me closer, before she released me, stepping back, her gaze averted. She cleared her throat, the sound rough, awkward, a stark contrast to her usual cool composure.
"Don't get mushy on me, kid," she muttered, her voice a low growl, but the warmth in her eyes betrayed her words.
Before I could respond to Sivir, a voice, tinged with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, broke the silence.
"Uh… am I interrupting something?"
Ezreal stood in the doorway, his usual bravado replaced by a hint of awkwardness, his gaze shifting between Sivir and me.
She scoffed, rolling her eyes, but I could see the warmth that still lingered in her expression, a softness she hadn't quite managed to mask. "Just giving the kid some sisterly advice, Explorer," she said, her voice a low growl, but the amusement in her eyes betrayed her words.
Ezreal chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. "Right, sisterly advice. Sure." His grin faded, replaced by a flicker of concern. "Listen, I think Lux might be in trouble."
Sivir straightened, her hand instinctively moving to her crossblade. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"
"I was talking to her, y'know, sharing some of my more… impressive… exploits," Ezreal began, his usual egotism momentarily forgotten, "When this woman… she kinda… materialized out of nowhere. Dark hair, fierce eyes… wearing a dress that looked like it could… *kill*…" He shuddered dramatically. "Anyway, she whispered something to Lux, and then… Lux just… followed her. Like she was… entranced."
He paused, a furrow in his brow. "I tried to follow, of course, but the woman… she… she pulled out these daggers from under her dress! And… well, let's just say, she made it very clear that I wasn't invited to the party." He shuddered again. "Those eyes… cold as a Demacian winter…"
A chill ran down my spine, Ezreal's words painting a vivid picture of danger. Lux, led away by a woman with daggers… it didn't bode well. Before I could voice my concern, two figures emerged from the ballroom, their expressions mirroring the unease that had settled over me.
Irelia and Akali.
"We heard," Irelia said, her voice a low murmur, her gaze fixed on Ezreal, a flicker of something… knowing… in her emerald eyes. "That woman… I recognize her. She was in Ionia, during the invasion."
A tense silence fell over the balcony, the implications of her words sinking in.
"Noxian?" Sivir asked, her voice a sharp whisper.
Irelia nodded, her expression grim. "She was… a warrior. Deadly. I saw her… cut down our soldiers with a grace that was… terrifying."
"Noxian…" Ezreal echoed, his bravado fading, replaced by a thoughtful frown. "But what would a Noxian assassin be doing here? At the heart of Demacia? And why would she take Lux?"
His eyes widened, a spark of understanding igniting in their depths. "Unless…" he breathed, his voice a hushed whisper. "Unless this is… the vanguard. The first strike. The Noxian invasion…"
A wave of icy dread washed over me, Ezreal's words echoing the terrifying vision I'd glimpsed in the assassin's memories. Could it be true? Was Noxus already at Demacia's doorstep, their armies poised to strike, their darkness ready to consume this kingdom of light?
"We have to reach Lux," I said, my voice firm, the urgency of the situation banishing my own turmoil. "Now."
Without hesitation, I turned and strode towards the ballroom, my companions following close behind. Ezreal pointed towards a hallway that led away from the bustling crowds. "That way," he said, his voice low and urgent. "I saw them disappear down that corridor."
"We need to be smart about this," I said, my voice a low murmur as we hurried down the corridor, the echoes of our footsteps mingling with the distant music from the ballroom. "We can't just barge in there. Not with those guards everywhere."
I glanced at my companions, their faces grim in the flickering torchlight. "We need a distraction. Something to draw those guards away, give us a chance to slip past unnoticed."
Irelia nodded, her eyes narrowed with a warrior's focus. "I can create a diversion. Perhaps… a minor accident." A flicker of mischief, a rare sight on her usually stoic face, crossed her features. "I'm sure those delicate Demacian sensibilities won't be able to resist the allure of a shattered vase or a toppled statue."
Akali's lips curved into a smirk. "Leave that to me," she said, her voice a low purr. "I have a few tricks that'll make those guards wish they'd stayed in their barracks."
Sivir, her gaze sharp and calculating, surveyed the hallway, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her crossblade. "Let's not get too carried away," she cautioned. "We need to be in and out, swift and silent. No unnecessary bloodshed."
"Agreed," I said, my gaze meeting Ezreal's. "Ezreal, you're with me. We'll find Lux."
He nodded, his usual bravado replaced by a quiet determination, his eyes flicking between the shadowy corridor and the faint glow of Lux's staff, barely visible at its end.
"Go," Irelia said, her voice a low command. "We'll handle this."
Ezreal nodded, and we pressed onward, our footsteps echoing against the polished marble floor. A sudden crash, the sound of shattering glass and a startled gasp, erupted behind us. I risked a glance back, catching a glimpse of Irelia amidst a group of Demacian nobles, her silver gown a shimmering blur as she "accidentally" swept her arm across a table laden with crystal goblets.
A wave of murmurs and concerned exclamations followed, the Demacian dignitaries fluttering around the shattered glass like moths drawn to a flickering flame. Irelia, a picture of apologetic grace, knelt amidst the wreckage, her eyes meeting mine for a fleeting moment, a mischievous glint in their emerald depths.
"Showtime," Akali's voice, a husky whisper, said beside me. But when I turned, she was gone, vanished into the shadows.
A moment later, a commotion erupted at the far end of the corridor, near the ballroom entrance. A Demacian guard, his face contorted in pain, stumbled backward, clutching his groin as Akali, a shadow amidst the flickering torchlight, melted back into the darkness.
Laughter, light and teasing, followed her, a counterpoint to the guard's groans and the other soldiers' startled shouts. The distraction worked. Guards rushed towards the commotion, their attention diverted, leaving our path clear.
Sivir, her movements as silent and deadly as a viper, slipped past a group of distracted guards, her crossblade a gleaming whisper against the shadows. Her eyes met mine for a fleeting moment, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.
Ezreal, his gaze fixed on the faint glow of Lux's staff at the end of the corridor, grabbed my arm.
"Come on, Ravik," he said, his voice a hushed whisper. "No time for sightseeing."
We hurried onward, the sounds of the diversions fading behind us as we reached a set of grand double doors, their surfaces intricately carved with scenes of Demacian heroes battling mythical beasts. A soft, golden light spilled from beneath the doors, casting flickering shadows that danced on the marble floor.
"I'll keep watch," Sivir murmured, her gaze sweeping over the hallway, her hand resting on the hilt of her crossblade. "You two, get in there and find Lux. And be careful."
I nodded, a surge of gratitude mixing with the anxiety that coiled in my gut. Ezreal grinned, his eyes twinkling with a mix of excitement and apprehension.
"Time for a little stealth mission," he whispered, pushing open one of the grand doors just enough for us to slip through.