Shyvana paused at the gate of the estate, the guard stationed there watching her with visible unease when she failed to answer his question.
There was a reason she was standing before the Foreigner's estate. There had to be. She would not have walked all this way otherwise.
And yet, moments passed, and she still could not name it.
She was supposed to be on her way back to Wrenwall, returning to her post and resuming her duties as a member of the Dragon Guard. The familiar rhythm of patrols, the cold wind against the ramparts, the quiet vigilance that came with watching the skies for signs of dragons, it should have been comforting.
The Dragon Guard.
The only family she had ever truly known in Demacia, barring the prince himself.
Part of her ached to return to them. To stand atop Wrenwall's walls, exchanging idle words with her comrades while the day passed peacefully, pretending, just for a little while, that nothing had changed.
But she had resisted that pull. Demacia, she had finally admitted to herself, was becoming too much for her to endure.
When Jarvan had told her of his decision, she had gone pale with shock. What he intended to do, what he was already setting into motion, was not the Jarvan she remembered. Not the man who had once stood beside her and sworn that Demacia would be a place where she belonged.
The Laws of Stone had always weighed heavily on her existence. She had learned to live beneath them, to endure their unspoken judgment. But now, they would go further, executing mages on mere presumption, condemning people for what they might be rather than what they had done.
It was too much.
Shyvana wanted to leave Demacia. That was the conclusion she had reached after long, painful deliberation.
She would say her goodbyes to the prince, offer her final loyalty and well wishes, and then she would fly beyond Demacia's borders. Perhaps one day she would return, if things changed, if the nation found its way back from the path it was walking.
What mattered was that she had made her choice.
So why, then, why was she standing here?
Why, instead of going to Jarvan to speak her farewell, was she before the estate of the foreign mage?
Shyvana's gaze lingered on the gates, her expression conflicted.
Why had she come here at all?
She gave the guard a vague reply, only indicating that she wished to speak with Asta. Oddly enough, she noticed that the guard now addressed him with a title, adding Lord before his name as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Shyvana knew why she was here. Even as she followed behind the guard through the estate grounds, the reason remained clear in her mind. She had not come by accident, nor had she been led here by idle curiosity.
And as the courtyard came into view in the distance, an open space framed by stone and greenery, she felt a faint knot of nervousness settle in her chest. Whatever she was about to do, it was not something she could easily take back.
The guard gestured for her to wait while he went ahead to inform his lord of her visit.
She nodded in response, though she already knew the gesture was pointless. Asta was aware of her presence the moment she stepped onto the grounds. With her heightened eyesight, she could clearly make out three figures watching her from afar.
The Black Bulls.
Asta stood among them, flanked by two others she did not recognize. Her gaze lingered, curiosity stirring despite herself. Other than Asta… did they possess heightened senses as well?
The thought lingered as she waited, the quiet of the estate feeling far heavier than it should have.
The seconds stretched.
Shyvana stood alone at the edge of the courtyard, her hands clasped behind her back, posture straight out of habit more than discipline. The estate was quiet in a way Demacia rarely was these days, no distant shouting, no clatter of armored patrols, no MageSeeker chants echoing through the streets. Just wind through stone and leaves.
It unsettled her.
The three figures in the distance did not approach immediately. They watched, openly, without the pretense of secrecy. Asta stood at their center, unmistakable even from afar. There was a presence to him that was difficult to define, something heavy, like a pressure on the air itself, yet oddly restrained.
The two beside him were strangers. One was a tall woman, posture relaxed and casual, it was an odd confidence that Shyvana related to those with the power to back it up. The other was a young man, he was holding a short sword and looked to be panting slightly.
Neither wore Demacian armour, instead they both had on a black cloak, similar to Asta's, but while his slinged over one shoulder, theirs slinged over both of their shoulders.
Black Bulls, then. Truly.
Shyvana felt a familiar tension coil in her chest. She had fought beside soldiers her whole life. She knew what it looked like when people were dangerous without trying to be.
These three were. She didn't understand it.
The guard returned, stepping aside quickly and with a stiffness that bordered on reverence. "Lord Asta will see you."
There it was again. That title.
Before she could dwell on it, the three began to approach.
Up close, the weight of Asta's presence became clearer. His expression was neutral, calm even, but his eyes were sharp in a way that reminded her uncomfortably of a dragon. More specifically, Yvva, her mother.
"Shyvana," he said, her name spoken easily, as if they were old acquaintances rather than reluctant allies bound by circumstance. "You're by yourself? Where's the prince?"
She stiffened slightly. "We don't have to do everything together you know? It's not like we're connected by the waist." She tried to interject a joke. "As his guard it is my duty to always defend, but I also have my own businesses."
"More power to you then." Asta smiled. "Did you need me for something? You look down."
The woman tilted her head, studying Shyvana openly. "Dragon born," she muttered. "Curious."
"Thanks for stating the obvious, Emilia." Asta sighed.
"I will strangle you in your sleep, captain." The woman Shyvana now knew her name as Emilia spat with a glare.
"You call me captain and it's with a threat? Jeez." Asta chuckled, and the other young man chuckled as well.
Shyvana ignored the comment, her attention fixed on Asta. "I won't take much of your time."
"You already have it," Asta replied. "What do you need?"
She exhaled slowly, then spoke. "I'm leaving Demacia."
Asta narrowed his eyes slightly, other than that, there was no other reaction. The other two showed even less of a reaction to the news. Although it made sense considering they didn't really know eachother.
"Are you really leaving?" Asta asked
"Yes. Or at least I plan to." Her jaw tightened. "I can no longer stand by and serve a kingdom that condemns people for existing. I've lived my entire life beneath suspicion. I won't stay to watch it turn into slaughter."
"You haven't told Jarvan," Asta said, "Have you?"
Shyvana met his gaze. "No."
Silence settled between them, thick and deliberate.
Finally, she continued, voice lower now. "I wanted to know something before I leave. Before I decide what comes next."
Asta waited.
She swallowed. "If Demacia tears itself apart… if the MageSeekers push too far… where will you stand?"
The question hung in the air.
For a moment, Asta said nothing. Then he stepped forward, just one pace, closing the distance enough that Shyvana could feel that pressure again, controlled, contained, but immense.
"I won't let innocent people be hunted," he said. No anger. No bravado. Just certainty. "Whether they're mages, soldiers, or something in between."
"That puts you at odds with the crown," she said.
"It does."
Her breath caught despite herself.
"And if Jarvan orders it?" she pressed. "If he decides you are the problem?"
Asta's eyes hardened, just slightly. "Then Demacia will have made its choice."
The courtyard felt colder.
Shyvana searched his face, looking for hesitation, for doubt, for the reckless fire she had seen in rebels and zealots alike.
She found none.
Only resolve.
"I want you to train me," she blurted out, the words tumbling over each other before she could stop herself.
This was the frightening part.
Asta blinked, visibly caught off guard by the sudden declaration. "Hm?"
Shyvana lowered her head then, her posture stiff, as though bracing herself. "Please train me," she said again, more carefully this time. "I need your help. I need to become stronger."
Asta raised a hand to his chin, scratching at it with an awkward air. "Uh… you're already pretty strong," he said after a moment. "And all that."
"Please don't lie to me," Shyvana replied quietly.
Her voice carried no anger, only certainty.
"During our first fight, and the second," she continued, lifting her head to look at him, "you were disappointed both times. You were clearly expecting more from me. A greater challenge. You thought I was stronger than what I showed you."
She met his gaze directly, unflinching. "Is that possible?"
Shyvana drew a slow breath. "What little magic I understand was taught to me by my late father. Beyond that, I rely on my constitution, my strength, and my dragon transformation." Her hands clenched slightly at her sides. "And even then, my dragon fire was useless against Sylas and it remains the strongest weapon in my arsenal."
Her eyes did not waver from his. "If there is more than this, if I can be more than what I am now, then I want to reach it."
The words hung between them, heavy with intent.
"I won't train you to be a soldier," he finally said. "And I won't train you to serve anyone else's idea of what you should be."
She nodded without hesitation. "I don't want that."
Asta chuckled, the sound light and genuine. "Never trained a dragon before, honestly," he said. "No idea what that would even look like."
Beside him, Emilia wore an expression that was equal parts interest and calculation. "I suggest you train her however feels right to you, Asta." She offered Shyvana a small smile. 'Another subject is well appreciated after all.'
"Does that mean we're not having our spar?" Darryl asked from Asta's other side, a faint frown tugging at his face.
Asta turned toward him, eyes lighting up. "Oh?" He paused, then a grin spread across his face. "In that case, I might have an idea." He gestured lightly toward Shyvana. "How about a spar with her?"
Shyvana blinked, caught off guard by being thrust into the spotlight so suddenly, and against a child no less.
Darryl, however, seemed to take to the idea immediately. "Okay!" he cheered. "I'll fight the dragon lady!"
"Whoa!"
The feminine voice drew everyone's attention as Mira appeared, slowing to a stop with a light pant. She had clearly just finished her run. Her gaze fixed on Shyvana, eyes wide with undisguised awe. "You're so pretty."
It took Shyvana a few awkward, embarrassing moments to realize she was the one being addressed. She almost took a step back. "Who… me?"
"Yeah," Mira replied easily. "I think you're pretty. My name's Mira. What's your name?"
Asta leaned slightly toward Emilia, lowering his voice. "I thought Mira was shy and withdrawn around outsiders."
Emilia returned the lean, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "That was my observation as well. But it seems our newest member is simply kind by nature."
Asta nodded with exaggerated seriousness. "Yes. Kindness is good. We should all be kind to one another." He glanced at her. "You too, Emilia. Call me captain."
Emilia ignored him completely.
Shyvana, meanwhile, found herself suddenly aware of the gravel that always crept into her voice. She hated it in that moment. She wanted to sound soft, gentle, worthy of the warmth in this young woman's eyes. Someone who had taken one look at her and seen beauty, not a monster.
She cleared her throat, coughing lightly into her hand. "Ah… thank you. I think you're beautiful too." She meant it. This world needed more humans like Mira. "My name is Shyvana. I'm a member of the Dragon Guard."
Mira's eyes brightened. "Oh. That's nice." She pointed a thumb at herself, smiling proudly. "I'm a member of the Black Bulls myself."
"Yes," Shyvana smiled. "I can tell. You must be very special."
At that, Mira's gaze dropped to the ground. "Not really," she admitted quietly. "The only thing I can do is grow pumpkins from the ground. Sometimes they explode… but that's about it."
Asta let out a soft chuckle and reached out, ruffling her hair without hesitation. "Don't be so hard on yourself, kiddo. You're only just starting to learn what your magic can do." He smiled down at her. "Even Noelle didn't have a single spell when she first joined the Black Bulls. And you're the same age she was back then, so you've already got her beat in that department."
Shyvana listened closely.
Of course, she had heard of Noelle before. During the questioning following Asta's arrival in Demacia, he had spoken highly of her, with an ease and confidence that left little room for doubt. A water mage. One of the few people he had openly acknowledged as being on his level.
But what intrigued Shyvana the most was something else entirely.
The woman was a dragon.
Or at least, part of one.
It was something Shyvana intended to learn more about in time. And if training under Asta brought her closer to that understanding, then all the better.
"Exploding pumpkins can be very useful," Shyvana added, turning her attention back to Mira. "Quite lethal in combat, even."
Mira pouted slightly. "But they're so slow," she complained, though there was a noticeable lift to her tone now.
Shyvana smiled, warm and encouraging. "That's what training is for, isn't it? With enough practice, you'll be able to do far more than you expect."
Her gaze softened as she spoke, the words meant as much for herself as for the girl.
"That's why I'm here too," Shyvana continued. "To become stronger than I ever thought I could be."
Asta nodded, puffing out his chest with exaggerated pride. "Yes. I'm a great teacher." Then, just as quickly, he clapped his hands together. "Now that all that's settled, let's get the spar over with."
Darryl perked up immediately, bouncing lightly on his feet. "I'm ready, Captain!"
Shyvana let out a quiet sigh, though she rolled her shoulders and centered herself. She would be careful. The boy was enthusiastic, clearly trained, but still a child. There was no need to hurt him.
She followed the group as they moved deeper into the courtyard.
Asta spoke as they walked, his tone shifting into something more instructive. "This spar is more of a test. For both of you, actually." He glanced at Shyvana. "For you, it's mostly so I can get a clearer idea of where you are in terms of raw strength. Both with and without your dragon form."
He paused, then added, "Which is why you won't be using your dragon transformation for this."
Shyvana inclined her head slightly in agreement.
Then Asta reached out and placed his fist lightly on top of Darryl's head, knocking it down an inch. "As for you, kid, I want to see how far you've come against someone who isn't me. Sparring with me alone makes it hard to measure real progress."
Darryl rubbed the top of his head with a small huff but didn't complain.
Shyvana raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking back to the boy. 'He spars with Asta?' She studied him more closely now, reassessing. 'That would explain it.' Training under Asta was no small thing.
They came to a stop in an open space of the courtyard, clearly set aside for practice. It reminded her of the training grounds back at the barracks, flat stone, open air, but on a smaller, more personal scale.
Shyvana and Darryl took their places opposite one another.
She settled into a ready stance, feet firm against the stone, eyes focused.
Asta stepped back, lifting one hand. "Alright," he said easily. "Rules are simple. No killing or crippling blows. First blood is allowed though. And if I say stop, you stop."
He glanced at Shyvana. "You don't have to hold back so much that you learn nothing. I want you to still try and take him down."
Shyvana huffed softly. "I'll do my best."
"Ready?" Asta asked.
"Yes," Darryl answered at once.
Shyvana inclined her head. "I am."
Asta dropped his hand. "Begin."
Darryl moved first, and the very first thing that crossed Shyvana's mind was a sharp, instinctive realization.
'He's fast.'
He closed the distance between them in less than half a heartbeat, his short sword already thrusting forward with clean, practiced precision.
Fortunately for Shyvana, she was a dragon.
At the first hint of danger, blistering heat ignited in her chest. Warmth flooded through her limbs, her senses sharpening as her vision tightened just enough to clearly trace the path of the blade. Time did not slow, but her awareness deepened.
Darryl was aiming for her shoulder.
A single step back would have been enough to evade the strike.
Shyvana didn't take it.
Her pride refused. Instead, she stepped forward, extending her hand as flames wrapped instinctively around her fingers, reaching for Darryl's left shoulder, the arm holding the sword.
Her hand met only air.
Even with her sharpened eyesight, Darryl seemed to blur, his body slipping past her outstretched strike as if he had vanished outright.
Almost.
Her eyes widened as she caught him reappearing beside her, his blade already slicing upward in a clean arc.
Left with no other option, Shyvana leapt back, boots scraping against the stone as she forced space between them.
She exhaled slowly, grounding herself.
'What was that? 'How did he move around me so quickly? Was that a spell?'
Her gaze flicked back to Darryl, reassessing him entirely.
'He's as fast as an assassin… and something tells me he has the strength to match.'
For some reason, that unsettled her more than she liked.
This was nothing like her fight with Sylas just days ago.
Sylas had absorbed her attacks with cold mastery, even her dragon fire vanishing into his magic. He had been fast enough to evade her claws, but not completely, she had landed hits, even if each exchange had cost her blood in return.
She idly wondered if Darryl would be able to dodge her claws in her dragon form.
Shaking her head, Shyvana growled inwardly. 'I can't let him dictate the fight. I'll have to go on the offensive.'
She blasted forward with all her strength, the ground cracking faintly beneath her feet as she closed the distance almost as quickly as Darryl had moments earlier. Heat surged through her veins, her muscles tightening as instinct and training took over.
She swiped with her gauntleted claw.
Darryl leaned out of the way with practiced ease, the attack missing him by inches, before he retaliated with a swift sideways slash of his sword. Shyvana reacted on instinct, blocking with her other gauntleted hand as metal scraped against reinforced scales. She pressed forward immediately, refusing to give him space.
This time, she mixed her attacks.
She threw punches alongside her clawed swipes, following up with a sharp kick, then another punch, fast, heavy, relentless. She tried to overwhelm him, to force a mistake, to break his rhythm.
It didn't work.
Frustratingly, none of her attacks connected.
No matter how many punches, slashes, or kicks she threw, Darryl slipped past them all with unnerving precision. He ducked, stepped aside, twisted away, always just out of reach.
Worse, it didn't even seem difficult for him.
It was as if he already knew where her attacks would land before she made them, his body moving ahead of her intent, calm and controlled in the face of her growing aggression.
Taking a page out of the young mage's book, Shyvana dropped low, using her gauntleted claw to propel herself forward on all fours.
To the average soldier, or even most elites, she vanished from sight for a brief instant, only to reappear directly behind Darryl.
A grin tugged at her lips despite herself. This was it.
She reached out, fingers stretching toward his neck to end the spar decisively... and the world lurched sideways.
"Wha..?" The thought barely formed before her legs were swept out from under her.
She hit the ground hard, breath knocking from her lungs. Shock flared through her mind. 'How did he..? He didn't even turn around.'
Darryl hadn't looked back. Not once.
Shyvana scrambled to rise, irritation flaring hot in her chest, only to feel a sharp sting across her cheek. She froze, lifting a hand to touch the spot.
Blood.
A shallow cut, but clean. Precise.
Darryl stood a short distance away, sword already lowered.
The spar was over.
And Shyvana lay there staring up at the sky, frustration coiling tightly in her chest, not at the loss itself, but at how completely, how effortlessly, he had read her.
"Whoa, that was pretty close." Asta said from the sidelines. "Way to go Darryl. You too Shyvana. Didn't think you would pressure him at the end like that."
Shyvana pushed herself up onto one elbow, then to her feet, brushing dust from her armor with more force than necessary. The sting on her cheek throbbed faintly, heat gathering beneath her skin as her draconic instincts bristled in protest.
She hated that it had ended like that.
Not because she had lost.
Because she had never even come close. She felt like punching the her that thought that she would hurt the boy and held back.
Darryl shifted awkwardly where he stood, glancing between her and Asta. "S-Sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to..."
"You did exactly what you were supposed to do," Shyvana cut in, her voice firm. She straightened fully and met his eyes. There was no anger there, only a tight, controlled intensity. "You fought well."
The boy blinked, clearly surprised, before breaking into a small, proud grin. "Thanks."
Asta stepped forward, hands on his hips, eyes sharp despite the easy smile on his face. "Alright, that's enough standing around." He nodded toward Shyvana's cheek. "You okay?"
She wiped the remaining blood away with her thumb, the cut already beginning to close. "It's nothing."
"Hm." Asta didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. Instead, he turned his attention to Darryl. "Good job not overcommitting. You kept your spacing, didn't panic when she pressured you, and you ended it clean."
Darryl puffed up slightly at the praise.
Then Asta's gaze slid back to Shyvana, more serious now. "Now. Let's talk about you."
She stiffened, instinctively bracing herself.
"You're strong," Asta said plainly. "Really strong. Your movements are clean, your instincts are sharp, and your control over your strength is impressive, especially without fully transforming."
He paused, scratching the back of his head. "But, you've allowed yourself to stay too weak for too long."
Shyvana frowned. "What do you mean?"
Asta folded his arms, his expression no longer playful, though there was no anger in it either. "You lost track of Darryl multiple times during that fight. While I'm pretty proud of my brat," he added with a faint smirk, "that shouldn't have happened if you were stronger."
Shyvana pushed herself fully upright, brushing dust from her gauntlet. Her brow furrowed. "If I were stronger? That's why I'm here. To..."
"What exactly is the limit of your strength?" Asta cut in, his voice calm but firm. "Have you ever actually tested it?"
Shyvana hesitated. She hadn't expected the question. After a moment, she shook her head slowly. "No. I haven't had to." Her gaze drifted slightly. "Aside from Kadregrin… and a few other dragons, there's no one capable of taking my full strength."
Asta nodded once, as if that answered more than she realized. "So you've never been pushed to your limits. And by that logic, you've never had to surpass them."
"Surpass… my limits?" Shyvana repeated, the words unfamiliar on her tongue.
Asta raised his fist and flexed his arm, muscle tightening beneath his sleeve. "When was the last time you really trained? And I don't mean sparring with soldiers or trading blows with Garen." He shook his head. "I mean actual training. Training to increase your strength. Your speed. How much damage you can take. How much damage you can deal. Your reaction time." His eyes sharpened slightly. "Even your magic power."
Shyvana remained silent, listening.
"I'm sure you've seen the soldiers doing this kind of thing," Asta continued. "Garen runs around with a sack of rocks on his back, right? That kind of exercise builds stamina, speed, leg strength, grounding." He shrugged. "It works. For them."
He met her eyes again. "The problem is, you're already too strong. Too durable. Too fast. All that training they do? It barely registers for you. It doesn't push you. And you didn't try to find ways to push yourself either."
Shyvana clenched her jaw slightly.
"Your base strength is impressive," Asta said plainly. "Really impressive. But as it stands, Darryl is faster than you because his training is actually forcing his body to grow. Every day, he's hitting walls and breaking through them."
Asta gestured toward the courtyard where Darryl stood, still catching his breath. "You, on the other hand, haven't hit a wall in a long time."
He paused, letting the words settle.
Shyvana was quiet for a long moment.
The courtyard felt strangely still now that the spar had ended, the earlier tension settling into something heavier. She pushed herself fully upright, brushing the dust from her clothes, though her thoughts were far more difficult to shake off.
Asta's words lingered.
Too strong for your own training.
That wasn't something she had ever considered a flaw.
"I've always been… strong," Shyvana said slowly. "Stronger than most. From the moment my dragon blood awakened, I never struggled to overpower anything human-sized." Her jaw tightened. "So I protected. I fought when I had to. I trained enough to stay sharp, but never more than that."
Asta crossed his arms, nodding as if that answer confirmed something for him. "Right. Which means you stopped growing without realizing it."
That stung more than she expected.
Darryl shifted nearby, looking between them with faint uncertainty, clearly unsure whether he should feel proud or awkward. Mira hovered a little farther back, hands clasped behind her, watching with open curiosity.
"You're strong," Asta continued, tone firm but not unkind. "Naturally strong. Your body and magic are already at a level most people would never reach in a lifetime." He pointed at her. "But talent doesn't replace pressure. If nothing forces you past your limits, you'll never find where those limits actually are."
He stepped closer, meeting her gaze head-on. There was no mockery in his eyes now, no teasing grin. Just conviction.
"You rely on instinct and raw power. There's a hint of technique there that I'm sure you picked up from the dragon guards. That works against most enemies. But Darryl?" He glanced back at the boy. "I train him every day to move faster than his body wants to. To react when he's already exhausted. To keep thinking even when he's hurting."
Darryl scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. "Uh… yeah. Captain makes it really hard."
Asta grinned proudly. "See?"
Shyvana exhaled, slow and controlled. Her frustration hadn't faded, but it was changing shape now, sharpening into something more focused.
"So what," she asked, "you plan to do the same to me?"
Asta's grin widened. "Worse."
She blinked. "Worse?"
"Oh yeah." He cracked his knuckles. "You're not human, and you're not a normal mage either. Which means normal training won't work for you." He paced a little as he spoke, already slipping into the role of instructor. "We're going to push your body until your instincts stop being enough. Then we push further."
Emilia cleared her throat softly. "Asta," she said evenly, "do try not to kill our guest."
"No promises," he replied immediately. "Also call me captain."
Emilia sighed.
Shyvana, surprisingly, felt something close to excitement coil in her chest. Fear too, perhaps but it was the good kind. The kind that came before a real trial.
Darryl perked up again. "Does that mean I get to spar with her more?"
"Yes," Asta said instantly.
Darryl beamed.
Shyvana stared at the boy, then back at Asta. "...You're serious."
"Dead serious." He pointed at her chest. "If you want to get stronger, really stronger, then you're going to feel weak again. And you're going to..." He paused, his eyes narrowing.
"Does anyone else feel that?" Asta said suddenly. "There's a chill in the air."
Shyvana frowned, glancing around instinctively. She felt nothing out of the ordinary. No shift in temperature, no pressure in the mana around her.
"I don't feel anything," Darryl said, voicing the same confusion.
Beside him, Mira tilted her head, clearly puzzled as well.
Asta didn't respond. His expression had sharpened, focus snapping into place as he reached back and drew his massive sword from his grimoire. The blade materialized with a heavy hum, its presence alone making the air feel denser.
"Emilia, you're with Darryl," Asta said quickly. "Mira, get on."
He leveled the sword horizontally, and it began to hover in midair as if supported by an invisible force.
Darryl nodded once, no questions asked, and reached behind him.
Shyvana blinked.
"…Is that a broom?"
Sure enough, Darryl swung a simple-looking broom forward, stepped onto it, and lifted smoothly into the air as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Emilia climbed on behind him without hesitation, steadying herself with one hand.
Mira hurried over and scrambled onto Asta's sword, gripping the flat of the blade carefully.
Shyvana stared between them. "What's going on?"
"That's what I want to find out," Asta replied. He glanced back at her. "You should come with."
Shyvana hesitated, then shook her head. "I can't transform inside the city. Not without permission. And without my dragon form… I can't fly."
Asta looked at her for a beat, then frowned slightly. "You can't fly?"
Before she could elaborate, he tilted his head toward the sword. "Then get on."
She didn't argue.
Shyvana stepped onto the blade behind Mira, bracing herself just as Asta pushed off. The sword surged upward, the ground dropping away beneath them in a sudden rush of wind.
Behind them, Darryl followed as fast as he could, the broom cutting cleanly through the air.
They climbed higher and higher until the city below began to shrink, rooftops and streets blurring together into patterns of stone and light.
Then Asta stopped ascending.
Shyvana leaned forward, finally daring to look down past the edge of the sword.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Surrounding the great city of Demacia was a vast, rolling mass of black mist, thick and alive, churning like a living sea. Veins of sickly green lightning cracked through it again and again, forming and vanishing in violent flashes.
The sight made something deep in her chest twist.
"The Harrowing Mist," she whispered, horror bleeding into her voice.