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"Quiletta, you can blame me, but I am the Hand of Noxus. The Empire cannot afford to lose any town now—if Basilich falter, others will follow," Darius declared, his voice resolute and unyielding.
As he raised his battle axe, his expression became steeled with determination.
He understood Quiletta's anguish; he understood why she stood before him now, defiant yet resigned.
But his choice had already been made.
In the end, Darius chose Noxus.
The Hand of Noxus—that was his title, his responsibility, and his destiny.
The battle axe gleamed in the sunlight, its blade catching and refracting cold, merciless light.
As it hung suspended in the air, images flashed through the minds of both Darius and Quiletta.
They said that in the moments before killing someone you care for, your life and theirs would play out before your eyes.
Darius and Quiletta had both been born in a town conquered by Noxus.
Back then, they had yearned for the strength and unity that Noxus represented, yet they had also loathed the weakness of their homeland.
Years later, Darius emerged from the brutal Noxian arena, hardened and victorious.
Together with Draven, his wild and deadly brother, and Quiletta, he joined Colonel Cyrus's command.
It was then they truly understood what an army was—what an empire was.
To expand the borders of Noxus. To earn glory and renown. To etch their names into the annals of history.
Fighting for Noxus, they began to comprehend what it meant to sacrifice for something greater than themselves.
Darius had always believed that the value of his life lay in ensuring the Empire's survival and strength.
He had seen countless comrades fall in battle and had watched the oppressed rise and take up arms, liberated by Noxus's ideals.
The weak were given strength. The cowardly became warriors.
Noxus offered a chance for greatness, but only for those who were willing to seize it.
For the comrades who had fallen, for the Empire that continued to thrive, Darius had long since cast aside any fear of death.
Not only his own life but his family's—his wife's, his child's—all were pledged to Noxus.
Seventeen years ago, Quiletta bore him a son, Decius then a daughter, Invetia.
Though Decius was not as physically strong as others, he was fierce in spirit, fearless in battle, and devoted to the Noxian cause.
For years, Decius fought alongside them on the frontlines, carrying the same unyielding faith in the Empire.
But in the end, the boy died, sacrificing himself on the path of conquest.
Darius mourned his son's death, but he was also proud of him.
And now, standing before Quiletta, he felt the weight of their shared history.
She had been with him through war, through victory and loss. He knew her heart better than anyone.
But if he were to abandon Noxus now—if even he, the Hand of Noxus, were to falter—then every sacrifice they had made would be rendered meaningless.
Darius was the example that all Noxian warriors followed, the enforcer of the Empire's will.
He owed Quiletta safety, peace, and a home—but Noxus demanded everything.
One day, when the Empire no longer needed his axe, he would kneel before her grave and atone for his sins.
Until then, he would carry this burden alone.
'Farewell...Love'
With sadness clouding his fierce eyes, Darius swung his battle axe with an unstoppable force.
The axe's blade sliced through the air, whistling as it descended. There was no hesitation, no turning back.
"Ahhh!"
His roar tore through the battlefield, a mix of rage and grief as if he wished to burn the sight of her face into his memory forever.
Swoosh!
Just as the blade was about to strike, a dim, flickering blue light burst forth, surrounding the battle axe.
The sudden flare sent sparks flying and threw Darius off balance.
The firelight stung Quiletta's face, forcing her to step back.
She raised trembling hands to her cheeks, tears streaming down her face.
She had made her choice. If he chose the Empire, then dying at Darius's hand would have been her final act of devotion.
But fate intervened.
"Darius, stop," a voice echoed in the stillness.
The flickering candlelight and the ominous crow materialized near Darius simultaneously, forming two distinct figures—one bathed in faint blue flames, the other shadowed in darkness.
"Ryan..."
Darius let his battle axe drop to the ground, his gaze fixed on the spectral figure of Ryan, wreathed in ethereal blue fire.
"Hold for a moment; we have matters to address," Ryan stated gravely.
His voice carried authority, and his piercing eyes scanned the scene before giving a subtle nod to Xin Zhao.
Xin Zhao stepped forward, understanding the silent command.
He firmly gripped the flag planted in the dirt with his left hand, turned toward the Black Gate of Basilich, and hurled it with immense force.
Hum!
The flag cut through the air, a sharp streak of color arcing across the sky before embedding itself deep into the Black Gate.
For a brief moment, silence reigned. Then, the Empire's banner unfurled above Basilich once more, fluttering triumphantly in the wind.
Quiletta remained silent, her expression unreadable.
Darius, too, stood unopposed, his face grim but contemplative.
Ryan turned his gaze from the flag to the soldiers stationed on the towers before addressing both Quiletta and Darius.
"The Trifarix Council was not established to spill more Noxian blood," Ryan began, his tone commanding yet laced with conviction.
"It was created to honor those who sacrificed everything for the Empire. Their valor is the cornerstone of Noxus's prosperity. Because of their sacrifices, their families—sons, daughters, wives—will enjoy the supreme honor they deserve."
His words echoed through Basilich, reaching even the soldiers on the towers. They tightened their grips on their weapons, moved by his declaration.
Darius closed his eyes, his expression conflicted.
The battle axe in his hands fell weakly, kicking up a cloud of sand.
If he were given the chance to go back in time, he knew he would act the same way again.
Yet, Ryan's words lightened the burden that weighed on his heart.
No one desired sacrifice—not even him.
"General Quiletta," Ryan continued, his gaze now fixed on the woman kneeling in submission before him.
"For delaying the Empire's command, you are hereby stripped of your position as General of Basilich. The post of garrison commander will be assumed by your adjutant, Invetia."
"Your Excellency," Invetia 's voice trembled with panic as she stepped forward.
"I cannot accept this position. General Quiletta never intended to betray! If anyone is at fault, it is me—I should bear the punishment."
Ryan's expression remained unreadable as he responded, "The punishment for General Quiletta is not yet complete. Upon returning to the Immortal Bastion, she will serve in the War Academy as a combat instructor for ten years."
Both Invetia and Quiletta froze in shock. Even Darius opened his eyes, momentarily taken aback by Ryan's unexpected decree.
"President of the Council," Quiletta finally spoke, a trace of defiance in her voice, "Are you not afraid that I will teach rebellion? That I will instill in the students a rejection of the Empire's ideals?"
Though the blade of Darius's axe had been close to her mere moments ago, she had never once denied her identity as a Noxian.
She had questioned the Empire's decisions, not her loyalty to it.
Her fight was always for Noxus—a fight that had cost her dearly.
Her body was scarred and broken, her husband had turned against her, her son had fallen on the battlefield, and countless comrades had perished for the Empire's cause.
And for what? Would the Empire ever truly become great?
"Quiletta," Ryan interrupted her thoughts, his fiery gaze locking onto hers.
"Are you still a Noxian? Answer me this."
Quiletta took a deep breath, her expression hardening with resolve.
"I have never changed."
She was Noxian—always had been, always would be.
Even if it cost her everything, she would die with that identity.
For those she cared about, for the nation she had fought to protect.
Every stone and every brick of the Empire bore the blood of her people.
She had never sought to reject the Empire, only to prevent its tragedies from repeating.
"Very well," Ryan replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Every Noxian has the right to uphold what they believe is true. Quiletta, in your eyes, what does it mean to be Noxian?"