Ending the Cycle || A Timebomb Fanfic

XXVIII

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVE to those who celebrate!!

Very happy chapter for the Christmas spirit!! (I promise)

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The following morning, as the sanctuary stirred with quiet resolve, Lux and Garen moved in solemn silence, their steps heavy as they carried Tianna's shrouded body to the outskirts of the flower field. Around them, the sanctuary's residents mirrored their quiet determination, working tirelessly to bury their dead. There was no division in the labor—mages, civilians, and even the wounded shared the burden, digging graves for both their loved ones and the fallen soldiers who had stormed their haven. Each mound of earth was treated with equal respect, an unspoken acknowledgment of the shared humanity that had been so violently overshadowed by war.

The flower field, once a vibrant sea of color and life, now bore the scars of battle. The delicate petals lay crushed beneath the weight of boots and blood, their vibrant hues muted and torn. Streaks of dark crimson marred the ground where once only blossoms had thrived. It was a somber sight, a painful juxtaposition of beauty and destruction that spoke to the fragility of peace. And yet, even amidst the devastation, a few stubborn flowers swayed gently in the morning breeze, their resilience offering a glimmer of hope.

Lux and Garen chose a quiet spot beneath the shade of a weathered tree for Tianna's final resting place. Its gnarled branches stretched protectively over the grave, casting dappled shadows across the ground. Here, on the edge of the field that had witnessed so much loss, they began their work. Garen's broad shoulders strained as he drove the shovel into the soil, his movements deliberate and steady. Lux knelt nearby, her golden hair catching the soft light of dawn, arranging a collection of salvaged flowers with trembling hands.

This burial was more than a simple act of laying their aunt to rest. It was a statement, a painful yet necessary reminder of the cost of allowing fear and hatred to guide one's actions. Tianna, once a formidable protector of Demacia, had become consumed by the very ideals she had sworn to uphold. The fresh grave, nestled amidst the remnants of the sanctuary's beauty, stood as a testament to the devastating power of unchecked prejudice—and the fragile, fleeting price of rebellion.

Garen, clad in tarnished armor that bore the marks of yesterday's chaos, placed his sword point-down into the earth beside the grave, a symbolic gesture of his own inner turmoil. Lux stood by his side, her golden hair glinting in the sunlight, her staff resting against her shoulder. She murmured a quiet prayer under her breath, a plea for peace—not just for Tianna, but for all those who had been swallowed by the fire of Demacia's rigid ideals.

When the grave was filled, Lux carefully arranged a bouquet of salvaged flowers atop the fresh mound of dirt. Their colors, though vibrant, were muted by the gravity of the moment. She brushed her hands against her tunic, her blue eyes glistening with unshed tears as she took a step back to let Garen have his moment alone.

Garen remained kneeling by the grave long after Lux had left, his hands resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the earth as though it might offer him answers. His thoughts swirled, a storm of regret, anger, and uncertainty. Tianna's death—by his own hand—was a weight he could barely carry, and the sight of her name etched into a hastily carved marker cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

The weight of his decisions pressed heavily on his shoulders. Tianna's life had been a monument to duty and tradition, and in slaying her, Garen had shattered the foundations of the Crownguard legacy. He had issued orders to his soldiers that morning, his voice steady but devoid of its usual command. The Dauntless Vanguard would return to Demacia with a message: Tianna was dead, and the Vanguard would no longer fight against the mages.

The thought of the Crown's reaction gnawed at him. Jarvan was already a weak and embattled king, his leadership faltering under the strain of internal dissent and growing unrest. This news—of Tianna's death and the Vanguard's withdrawal—would further destabilize his reign. Garen had no illusions about what awaited him back in the city. The Demacia he had left behind was crumbling, and his actions here might hasten its collapse. But he also knew the alternative was far worse. To continue fighting a war driven by fear and ignorance would only deepen the rot at the heart of their nation.