Morning came, bright sunlight spreading across the land.
On the streets of the capital, pedestrians were rare. And whenever a few figures did appear, they were hurrying in the same direction.
"I slept way too hard this morning—has it started over there yet?"
"No, but it's about to. Move faster!"
"Wait for me!"
"This is all your fault for getting up so late. We won't get a good spot anymore. I don't even know if we'll be able to see what this second prince looks like."
And at the same time, on the other side of the capital—
The Grand Plaza.
This place covered an enormous area and could hold a staggering number of people. Whenever the capital had something important, this was where citizens were gathered and announcements were made.
As far as the eye could see, it was a sea of people. If you borrowed the viewpoint of the Dragonbird Riders circling in the sky above, the crowd on the ground would look like a dense swarm of ants!
Even for a summer morning, nobody felt hot. The entire plaza buzzed with conversation.
A few vendors with small wooden boxes strapped to their chests moved through the crowd, calling out as they went.
Along both sides of the plaza stood a long line of knights in white armor—like silver walls—standing perfectly straight, spears in hand, stern eyes sweeping the scene as they maintained order.
In the center of the plaza was a long corridor that connected to a castle at the far end. A high platform jutted out from the castle, and atop it sat a throne—still empty for now.
"I wonder what the second prince looks like."
"I heard he's broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, taller than most people."
"I heard he's skinny as a stick. He grew up poor—how would he have the nutrition to become some big brute?"
"Hey, maybe he's just… ordinary?"
Everyone knew what day it was. The way they talked brimmed with curiosity, their imaginations running wild about this unseen new prince.
Wooooom—!!!
Right then, a deep bell-hum rolled out from the high platform. The soundwave swept across the Grand Plaza all the way to its very edge.
In that instant, everyone in the plaza—no matter what they were doing—lifted their heads in unison and looked toward the castle.
The next second, the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers.
"Your Majesty, Jarvan III!"
"Long live the king!"
"Demacia, forever!"
On the viewing platform, Jarvan III appeared in full regalia—his crown upon his head, a golden robe draped over his shoulders, a ruby scepter held in his hand.
Several ministers followed behind him. Roy and Tianna were among them.
Jarvan IV stood slightly behind to the left.
Once Jarvan III seated himself upon the throne,
Roy stepped forward. He wore a solemn gray-and-white robe, his expression dignified and severe as he spoke:
"In Demacian Year 661, His Majesty Jarvan III's second son was lost among the common folk. Now, in Demacian Year 679, the second prince has returned. For this reason, the citizens are gathered here, and this is announced with full ceremony—worthy of celebration."
His voice wasn't loud, yet through the golden amplifying horns on both sides, it carried across the air above Dawn Castle.
The moment he finished speaking, a cannon blast thundered into the bright day, followed by dignified drums, then a grand, ceremonial accompaniment.
The atmosphere in the plaza instantly turned festive—lively like a great rite.
"Look!"
Nobody knew who saw it first.
But the crowd's gaze snapped as one to the start of the corridor, where a lone figure slowly climbed the steps.
A cloak-like outer mantle in gold and silver draped over him, while his main attire was an elegant white ceremonial outfit. He looked every bit the part—imposing and refined. On his chest was the Lightshield crest.
And above that, a handsome, clean-cut face—sharp lines, defined features, brows like blades and eyes like stars—memorable at first glance.
His build wasn't bulky, but he wasn't short or frail either. With a perfectly balanced frame, he walked down the corridor at an unhurried pace, carrying himself with unmistakable presence.
This was the rumored second prince.
Neither ordinary, nor plain.
Even though Luke had prepared himself for this moment, the instant he stepped onto the corridor and saw that dense black mass of people stretching farther and farther into the distance, pressure still rose in his chest.
There were too many—more people than he'd seen in his entire life.
No one knew how many had come from the capital. Nearly every gaze was locked onto him. If he made a fool of himself now, he'd never be able to hold his head up again.
So he walked carefully, step by step. The noise in his ears was a chaotic roar—he couldn't even make out what people were saying.
A corridor that normally took a few minutes to cross… took him a full half hour.
Xin Zhao had instructed it that way—Luke needed the citizens to remember his face.
Finally, he entered the castle.
Someone was already waiting for him there—a tall figure.
"Brother," Luke said.
Jarvan IV smiled and stepped forward, lifting a hand to pat Luke's shoulders lightly. "Nervous?"
"A little," Luke admitted honestly.
"It'll get easier. Right now, you've got way more pressure than I ever did." Jarvan IV guided him forward, smiling as he spoke. "The first time Father dragged me down that corridor, I was only four. I didn't understand a thing. It was early as hell, I was half asleep, and they basically hauled me up there. By the time I finally realized what was happening… I was already used to it."
He teased his younger self on purpose, trying to ease Luke's nerves.
Luke pictured that scene and couldn't help laughing too.
"In a moment you'll feel it again—but it's nothing major," Jarvan IV said, and by then they'd already reached the second level.
From here, you could see the back of the throne and a great many people.
Everyone standing inside was among the highest-ranking figures in Demacia. The instant Luke walked in, every single gaze converged on him.
There were familiar faces, and unfamiliar ones.
Augatha was there as well. She offered Luke a faint smile.
"Your Highness, please," someone signaled, reminding Luke he didn't have time to stand there daydreaming.
Luke stepped forward. He understood the procedure well enough. He walked two more steps, then turned to face Jarvan III.
At the foot of the throne platform, Luke dropped to one knee.
In Jarvan III's hands was a platinum-white crown. The king rose, placed it gently upon Luke's head, and his eyes were filled with warmth and tenderness.
Then Jarvan III sat back down.
Luke stood, turned, and faced the outside.
Still that endless, tightly packed crowd filling the Grand Plaza—deafeningly lively, the air boiling with voices.
Roy spoke at just the right moment:
"Luke Lightshield IV—of true royal blood—today, in Demacian Year 679, is crowned with the prince's crown. This is worthy of celebration!"
As his words fell, the plaza below erupted into a roar so fierce it seemed to pierce the clouds!
Standing on the viewing platform, Luke looked down and saw golden sunlight spread across every face. In their eyes, it was as if his silhouette was reflected there.
Those faces were all smiling.
Countless people celebrated from the heart, welcoming Demacia's second prince home.
And in that moment, a nameless emotion inside Luke quietly expanded—larger, and larger.
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