Whoa, whoa, whoa!
Dark clouds shrouded the sky, and a slow drizzle fell steadily.
On the bustling streets of Piltover, ladies and gentlemen held their umbrellas close, determined to keep their expensive handmade clothes dry.
"This cursed weather," grumbled a law enforcement officer patrolling the street.
"It never used to rain like this—why is it so frequent these past two days?"
"Calm down," his companion replied with a weary smile.
"At least it's better than clashing with Zaun. Let it rain; it's rare for us to have this kind of quiet."
Yet his companion's face darkened as if haunted by memories of the mourning ceremony held for their fallen colleagues just days prior.
"Let's hope for clear skies tomorrow," the officer sighed.
Far beyond Piltover's bustling streets stood the Grand Barrier—a treacherous natural divide separating the city of progress from the southern territories of Noxus. Overlapping peaks created an imposing wall, nearly impenetrable.
Now, however, the silence of the mountains was broken by the sound of heavy boots. An army clad in black and red armor marched relentlessly, their eerie discipline unsettling. The steep mountain paths seemed effortless for them, their progress marked only by the rhythmic sound of footsteps.
Leading the charge was a towering figure, standing nearly five meters tall. Wielding a colossal axe, he easily cut through the rugged terrain, clearing the way for the troops behind him.
Following closely were two commanding figures clad in the Noxian general's armor.
Their strides were purposeful, their presence radiating authority.
This was no ordinary force. This was the Lesser Garrison, one of Noxus's most formidable battalions—a shield for the empire and a scourge to its enemies.
"General Imistan," said the general walking slightly behind, his voice tinged with hesitation.
"We are still about 100 miles from Piltover."
"General Granth, are you feeling homesick?" Imistan replied coldly.
"We are about to face some of the most powerful mages in the empire. It is an honor to serve His Majesty."
"No, my resolve is unwavering," Granth replied firmly.
"But I can't help questioning our path. Taking the Grand Barrier seems reckless. Wouldn't it have been wiser to use more time and take a more discreet route? This way, we risk exposing ourselves before reaching the city."
Despite his concerns, Granth's loyalty to Noxus and its emperor was absolute.
It was the emperor himself who had elevated the Granth family, and he would gladly give his life in service to the empire.
Recently, his son Branning had been promoted to Sorrowgate Garrison Commander—an honor that filled Granth with pride.
He longed to return to Noxus, to celebrate his son's promotion with his family.
Imistan, however, dismissed the notion with a scornful laugh.
"There are two ways to Piltover. The first is what we've chosen—to cross the Grand Barrier. It's the hardest path, but once we pass, we'll reach the endless plains on the other side. In conventional warfare, this route would be unthinkable."
Granth nodded slightly, acknowledging the difficulty of the path.
"The other route," he said, "would take us east, along the plains of Rokrund, through the foothills and the seaside paths. It's less conspicuous and avoids climbing the mountains altogether."
Imistan tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword.
"That's exactly why we can't take it. If we go along the coast, there's no way we'll escape detection. And if that happens, our entire garrison will be swept into the sea before we even reach Piltover."
Granth's expression hardened with understanding.
"Then we've chosen the plains north of Piltover for our decisive battle. No rivers, no lakes, no seas—just open land."
"Exactly," Imistan affirmed. His voice was icy and resolute.
"Send word to the troops—accelerate the march. We must cross the Grand Barrier by nightfall."
"By your command!" Granth replied, his voice echoing through the mountain pass.
...
Immortal Bastion
The cawing of crows echoed throughout the ancient fortress, steeped in its long and turbulent history.
No one could recall when exactly it happened, but the rooftops and wooden beams of the Immortal Bastion had become home to countless dark crows.
These were no ordinary birds. Each had three pairs of scarlet eyes, all fixed intently on the towering structure at the fortress's center: the Emperor's chambers.
Once the seat of Noxus's ruler, Boram Darkwill, the chambers now symbolized something far darker. Beneath the shadows of power lay the true puppeteer: the clandestine organization known as the Black Rose.
The sky seemed to darken further, as though massive raven wings were spreading across the heavens.
In an instant, the crows all flapped their wings in unison, rising like a tidal wave into the air. Their formation cast a sinister shadow over the Immortal Bastion.
Across the fortress, citizens and soldiers alike paused their work, turning their eyes skyward. A powerful and resonant voice seemed to echo within their minds, filling them with awe and unease:
"The Empire above everything else!"
The crows let out an ear-piercing cry, rising higher and higher until they reached the pinnacle of the Immortal Bastion.
At the same time, soldiers clad in black and crimson armor began to emerge in the streets.
Leading them was a disheveled yet menacing man with a feral grin, his twin axes spinning dangerously in his hands.
These soldiers swiftly occupied key positions throughout the fortress.
Only then did the people of Noxus realize that the empire's sky had changed.
------
Across the Borders of Noxus
The upheaval in the Immortal Bastion sent ripples across the Noxian empire.
Northern Front
At the Northern Front, the commander of the Trifarian Legion, Darius, stood at the entrance of the snow-covered barracks, gripping his massive axe. Blood dripped from the blade, staining the white snow beneath his boots. Around him lay the decapitated bodies of deserters, their corpses scattered as warnings to the rest.
His voice was a growl, cold and commanding:
"No one leaves this camp without my order!"
The soldiers under his command stood frozen, their eyes wide with fear.
Eastern Front
The once-relentless assault on Ionia had ceased. The Medarda's private army, now stationed along the perimeter of the Noxian garrison, shifted focus to a defensive posture.
Southern Front
Within the main tent, Katarina Du Couteau faced her father, General Du Couteau.
Her tone was unwavering as she delivered her message:
"By the will of Trifarix, cease all operations. The war halts here."
Her father studied her intently, his sharp gaze flickering with a mix of surprise and amusement. Something had changed about his daughter.
"Perhaps I made the right choice," he said finally, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"I like this version of you. The Southern Front will remain idle until the Immortal Bastion declares its outcome."
He turned his head toward the shadows.
"Talon, relay my orders."
"Understood," came a deep, steady voice before a figure darted from the tent, disappearing into the darkness.
Western Front
Meanwhile, chaos reigned. Troops still loyal to Darkwill faced relentless assaults from Demacia's forces. The Fearless Vanguard, led by the formidable sword captain Garen Crownguard, spearheaded the counterattack.
Garen, wielding his massive greatsword, charged at the forefront of Demacia's shield wall.
His comrades' cries of "Demacia!" echoed across the battlefield as they fought with unwavering resolve, driving the Noxian forces into disarray.
For the Noxian Western Front, retreat was impossible. Any attempt to withdraw would devolve into a catastrophic rout.
-----
Elsewhere in Runeterra
In an event that sent shockwaves across the realm, Meredith Castle on the Fae'lor had vanished without a trace.
In its place, a yawning void scarred the sky, leaving scholars and mages baffled.
In Piltover, the Noxian Embassy had also undergone quiet but notable changes.
Ryan, once a prominent figure at the embassy, was gone without explanation.
In his absence, Orianna, the Lady of Clockwork, assumed command of the embassy's affairs, assisted by Seraphine, the gifted Songstress.
Together, they worked to navigate the intricate political web of Piltover while keeping the embassy afloat.