Judgment.

by Toom4nyIdea5

Summary:

The institute of war is known not only for its incredible arcane magic and history, but also for extending open arms to any who catch the founders eye.

But before one can join the League of Legends, they must undergo… precautionary testing.

(AKA: Judgments for characters released post Institute of War Retcon.)

Chapter 1: The Ruined King.

Summary:

The lost king of Camavor has earned the League's attention. But such a threat must be checked before invitation.

In the distant ruins of history, there is a tale of a lost kingdom. A tale of love, and the lengths it may reach if left unchecked.

A love story of a king and the humble seamstress, the latter being struck by a powerful poison that took her from the king. The King, corrupted by grief, became a monster of a broken heart and his kingdom crumbled away.

Or, that’s how the story says what happens.

The king of Camavor was still walking in the world. His kingdom was forgotten, his subjects ghouls that he has no intention of ruling, and his heart still brokenly obsessed with his beloved wife that was taken from him.

From a shadowy land of undead and wailing spectres, the king had gained the attention of the institute of war, and was invited to join, both as a participant in the League of Legends and as a way to ensure his obsessive pursuit and corrupting power wouldn’t leave scars upon Valoran.

His skin was a pale white, a wraith corrupted by twisted magic. He was ordained with a black leather jacket and pants with light armour. A spectral crown was around his head.

Viego, former king of a forgotten kingdom, stood before the door. An inscription read across it.

‘The truest opponent lies within.’

Viego scoffed, and pushed open the marble door to find himself encompassed by a flash of light.

When his vision returned, Viego saw the streets of a shining kingdom. No one was present, no peasants nor knights. Just him, was this a test? A distant memory? For what purpose-

“Viego.”

Viego turned to the voice, Her voice. And saw…

”Isolde!”

She was there, healthy, smiling, alive! Had his wish come true? Had his beloved returned to his arms? 

Viego sprinted to embrace his beloved queen, but found his arms passing through her like a mirage.

”What… what deception is this?” He questioned, desperation clinging to his voice.

Isolde spoke with the voice that filled Viego’s mind, but it lacked any of her spark of life. It was as she was used as a puppet or a costume.

”Apologies, this form was chosen to be sure you would listen. I am what you may call a Summoner.”

Viego summoned his blade, a spectral green Zweihänder and pointed it at the apparition’s back.

”Explain yourself, now!”

The figure turned around.

”Viego of Camavor. You have been twisted due to your own selfishness, become a wraith of obsession with no kingdom beyond the spectres of your isles.”

It looked at him with glowing eyes.

”Why do you wish to join the League, Viego?”

Viego did not lower his sword.

”King Viego. I wish to learn the magic of resurrection, to bring back what is mine.”

The Summoner masquerading as Isolde quirked her head to the side.

”And what if she does not want to return?”

Viego scoffed.

”Do not presume to know my love, wench. Are you done asking questions?”

The figure did not smile, simply asking one more question.

”How does it feel to open your mind?”

Viego snarled, these mind games would not dissuade him from his goal.

”Like a waste of time.”

The shining kingdom cracked apart, swirls of shadow overcoming Viego’s vision even as he reached out to Isolde’s hand.

When his eyes opened, he found the doors open, revealing a long corridor. The test had been passed, naturally so. He felt... strange. Perhaps it was a holdover of the intrusion.

Whatever the case, he had an objective. One that required his entrance.

Viego stepped inside with but one person in his mind.

”Isolde. I promise. I will see you again.”

The door closed behind him, and one more warrior was inducted into the League.

The Ruined King.

Notes:

While the concept of the League existing in-universe was practically thanos snapped out of continuity for the sake of more interesting stories, I have a soft spot for it. Just imagining how they’d explain characters like Kindred or Bel’Veth or *Aurelion Sol* is funny to me.

Anyway, comments are always welcome, if you want more like this, let me know which characters. Until next time, summoners.

Chapter 2: The Darkin Blade.

Summary:

From one prison to another, Aatrox wonders if freedom will ever be granted.

Imprisonment. A familiar sensation for the once-ascended warriors of Shurima. Trapped within their weapons, all they craved was freedom. One of them, Varus, had been inducted into the League, and he would soon be joined by another.

Aatrox, once a renowned general with an infectious passion and determination now walked the world. A desperate warrior fleeing from fierce battle clutched his blade and released him from the crushing darkness of his entrapment.

He carved bloody swaths through Valoran, using the carnage to maintain his form, all in the hope that he would plunge the world into a war so great that even he would be destroyed by it.

Unfortunately, a group of powerful sorcerers had tracked him and bound him in a new magic. They transferred him to the lower levels of a strange building, a new prison.

When he was first chained, Aatrox was enraged. He shouted loud enough to echo the halls, struggled enough that someone had to fortify the bindings with magic.

He was only freed to participate in the game of war. He could distract himself briefly from his torment, swinging his mighty sword against foes, some of which put up a decent fight.

But they always fell. And even when he was defeated, and he could feel death touch him ever so briefly, he was always resurrected, and told to fight again.

This new prison was larger than the blade. He was allowed to breathe and shake the bindings. But that was all he was allowed to do. Caged like a beast of war. It was no more degrading than his own existence.

Someone was coming downstairs. Someone in a purple covering robe. Aatrox looked away from his visitor to maintain some veneer of dignity.

"What are you here for? To mock me? To spit in my face?"

The summoner, Aatrox remembers his voice but not his name.

"You should consider yourself fortunate. We have given you freedom from your blade."

Aatrox scoffed.

"Only to be a gladiator in your games. It would be kinder to simply kill me.”

"There is much you could learn. Perhaps to move past your rage and trauma. What happened was tragic, but it does not need to define you.”

Aatrox bitterly chuckled looking up with bloodshed eyes at the figure.

"When I break free, I will slaughter every last person in this institute. You will not stop me, but I invite you to try.”

The summoner quirked his head.

"And what of your brethren? Are they your victims too? Varus has been inducted into this Institute, will you kill him as well?”

That gave Aatrox pause. Could he kill his own? They might be like him, warped corruptions of carnage and death, but they were once companions. Warriors under the same sun.

The summoner took Aatrox’s silence as an admission of defeat and he turned his back to the captive warrior.

"Think about what I have said.”

Aatrox was alone again, and he bitterly sneered. What was there to learn? He was still a monster, an unholy parody of his own glory.

And when the time is right, he will remind everyone. And hopefully, praying to the cruel gods that let this be his fate, he would be slain.

Notes:

This was an interesting one. I hope I did Aatrox justice. Comments are always welcome, the next chapter should be soon.

Chapter 3: The Pridestalker

Summary:

To hunt the most dangerous game, you must first prove yourself worthy of the hunt.

In the jungles of Ixtal, there existed a tribe of Vastaya known as the Kiilash. They are hunters by nature, surviving by hunting the strongest game for both food and pleasure.

Amongst them, the most prolific and well regarded hunter was Rengar. Despite being born a runt of the pack and treated with scorn by his father, he defied the odds and proved himself a fierce warrior. His reputation earned the attention of the League of Legends, and he was soon offered an invitation to one of the most prolific sporting events in Valoran.

While it wasn't the same as the thrill of a hunt, it was close enough for him to agree to the invite. Finally arriving outside the institute doors

‘The truest opponent lies within.’

Rengar sneered and pushed open the door, finding himself surrounded by a bright light. Something entered his mind, he could feel it.

He was in a jungle. A familiar jungle where he first met-

“Rengar of the Kiilash,” spoke a low voice, the voice of his hunting teacher. Markon. But although it looked like him, it didn't smell like him. It was like someone was wearing his skin as a costume.

"What is this? Why don't you show your true form, coward?"

The strange figure did not flinch at Renagr's hunting knife. Did he think he was weak? Unworthy of their time? 

"You are quite a renowned hunter. You've taken many trophies, yet one escapes your blade."

Renagr snarled. It was true, the Wrong-thing had not been seen since their last battle and whenever Rengar thought he caught a scent, it led only to a mangled victim or shed skin. It was infuriating. That creature was his perfect opponent. 

"Not for long."

“Getting to my point, why do you wish to join the League?”

Rengar's answer was instant, and it was true.

“To hunt the most dangerous game.”

The figure seemed disbeliving.

"I sense that there is more than that. Perhaps I should go deeper..."

The jungle fell apart, Rengar chasing after the shape until the surroundings became the inside of a large tent. Dusty skulls and hunting trophies littered the walls.

Rengar knew this place. And he knew the one who stood before him now. His father, the one he killed for being too cowardly and weak to hunt the wrong-thing. 

His father’s voice asked him the same question as before, towering over him like he was a mere cub.

“Why do you wish to join the League?”

He spoke his next words through gritted teeth, as if it pained him to admit his truth. And on some level, in some part of himself that he'd buried under steel and the hunt, it did pain him.

“To prove I’m not a runt of the pack.”

His father nodded, and Rengar was reminded of the falsehood of his form.

“How did it feel to open your mind?”

“An invasion. Don’t do it again,” he growled out, turning to leave the tent.

The jungle fell apart again into a sea of white light. When it cleared, Rengar found that the door before him was opened. A voice in his mind spoke with congratulatory tones.

“Welcome to the League of Legends.”

Rengar stormed into the hall, sparing no mind as the door closed behind him. He would prove his worth to not just his tribe, but to all spectators.

He would prove himself as the apex hunter.

And if he was lucky, perhaps his prey would track his scent... and fall right into his claws.

Rengar grinned in anticipatory glee. Oh, how he couldn't wait.

Notes:

Boy, I sure am glad that Rengar’s upbringing didn’t leave any lingering impact on him. Comments are always welcome, the next chapter might be soon.

Chapter 4: The Purifier.

Summary:

Lucian has a mission, a target, and a pair of loaded weapons. But to join the League, he needs to do something more.

Lucian didn’t watch the League of Legends matches. Not that it wasn’t his style, he just had more important things on his mind. Like hunting the undead.

One specific undead in particular. Thresh was a real piece of work, carrying a lantern filled with souls he’d torment for his own twisted pleasure.

One of them was Senna, Lucian’s wife and fellow Sentinel of Light. And that alone was enough to motivate Lucian to put a few dozens rounds in that bastard’s grinning face.

He’d heard rumours, whispers from both alive and dead that the Chain Warden had joined the League of Legends. And per his duty as a sentinel of light, and his promise to save or avenge his partner in both battle and life, he had to continue the chase.

So, here he was. Before the massive ornate doors of the Institute of War.

He placed his gloved palm on the door, hearing the sound of magic inscription.

‘The truest opponent lies within.’

Lucian didn’t pay it much mind and he pushed open the door. He found his vision obscured by black and lightly spectral smoke. His hand reached for one of his guns, pulling it out and pointing it at-

“Senna?”

It was his wife. His fellow sentinel, determined yet warm in all the ways that mattered.

He lowered the gun, voice softening as he apologised.

“Senna, I’m sorry, how did…”

Wait. Wait. This didn’t make sense. Senna was in Thresh’s lantern. Who was this?

“You’re… not Senna. Are you?”

Not-Senna shook her head.

“No, I am not. I am merely a summoner, taking the form that will yield the most trust from you,” Not-Senna spoke, but lacking her particular tone and cadence.

Lucian grimaced. 

“Using my wife as a costume? Real comforting.”

The briefest amusement crossed the summoner’s face before it reset to neutrality.

“While we are pleased by your presence, it does invite curiosity. Why do you wish to join the League?”

Lucian folded his arms as he gave the same rehearsed answer.

“There’s a pretty nasty undead in here. I need to keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone.”

Not-Senna raised an eyebrow.

“There is something else. You must admit the truth if you want to join.”

Lucian paused, he knew what this was about and what he’d have to admit. He sighed.

“Because I want to see her again. I hear this place has a couple books that might give me some ideas.”

The summoner nodded, their face portraying a hint of sympathy. It looked just like Senna. 

“Well done, Lucian. You have passed the test. How did it feel to open your mind?”

“Strange. Is it going to become a habit?”

“Unlikely. But before we leave, would you like to hold this mirage of Senna’s body? For a moment, to relieve some pain.”

Lucian paused. It wasn’t really Senna. Just mental image, as if possessed by a ghost.

But, he could use the practice. For if- when he found a way to free every soul in that lantern.

Slowly and awkwardly, he wrapped his arms around Not-Senna’s form.

He closed his eyes.

“I promise, I’ll do this for real soon.”

Lucian released the hold and kept his eyes closed. He heard the surrounding area crack apart. He didn’t open his eyes.

He couldn’t bare to see her fall.

“You may open your eyes,” spoke a woman’s voice, but not Senna’s.

Following the direction, Lucian saw an open hallways lit by blue torch flame. He’d passed the test, and earned his way inside.

Thresh would be inside. And no matter what, he’d free every last soul in that damned lantern.

And that was a promise he intended to keep.

Notes:

Comments are always welcome and appreciated. I want you to imagine that post match, Lucian is going to the library and taking out every book on ‘freeing souls for dummies.’

It’s fun to think about, isn’t it?

Chapter 5: The Defender of Tomorrow.

Summary:

Jayce has been called a lot of things, but a spirited competitor would be something new.

Jayce could be described as a lot of things. Genius was common, but so was arrogant. Jayce had realised the minor flaw, and had decided to become less… stuck in his head.

That was why he volunteered to join the League of Legends. Not just to show off his latest improvement to his Mercury hammer, but to show that Piltover wasn’t just filled with desk workers and shut in scientists.

He strut to the door, reading the inscriptions at the top.

‘The truest opponent lies within.’

Pushing open the door, Jayce’s vision was obscured by a flash of light. He found himself in a dimly lit workshop. Mechanical tools and blueprints littered about. Was this meant to be his study? He could swear it was in better shape when he’d last left it.

“Jayce Talis.”

Jayce turned to see Viktor, prior to his obsession into robotics and ‘glorious evolution.’ But this wasn’t right, he wasn’t in Piltover, and Viktor wouldn’t use his full name.

Then he realised the truth of the matter.

“You’re a summoner, right? This is a test to see if I’m worthy?”

“Correct. But-

“And I assume that you look like my ex-lab partner because you thought it’d yield the most honest answers from me.”

If he was paying attention, he might’ve noticed the slight annoyed bristling of his company.

“Yes, and-

“Honestly, if you wanted answers, I probably wouldn’t have gone with my current rival. Maybe one of my professors or, maybe a family member-

“Mister Talis. I do not judge your profession, please do not attempt to undermine mine.”

Jayce awkwardly cleared his throat. He got stuck in his head again, too occupied on his perception.

“Right, right. Sorry, go ahead with the questions.”

The summoner nodded, still using Viktor’s form. Jayce didn’t think about old times when they had the same goals. He didn’t.

Absolutely not.

”You are known as a genius inventor, among other things. But not a warrior, why do you wish to join the League rather than continue inventing?”

The summoner circled Jayce as he spoke, as if interrogating him. Jayce wasn’t intimidated.

“To show Piltover’s brilliance. We’re not just shut-ins, and who better to prove what we can do?”

The summoner seemed disbelieving.

”I feel there is more that you are unwilling to share.”

Viktor, not Viktor, Jayce reminded himself, snapped his fingers and the entire surrounding area changed.

Instead of a cozy workshop, lined with plans and unfinished technology, Jayce was in a snow filled wasteland. I’ve winds lashed at him and it was almost too hard to see.

His mother was nearby, lying shivering in the snow. This wasn’t real, he reminded himself, it wasn’t.

He ran over, crouching down to his mother.

”Mom, are you alright?”

She didn’t respond. This wasn’t real, he told himself again and again.

The blizzard where he first discovered magic. The man who saved he and his mother’s lives stood a few feet away.

”I ask you again, why do you want to join the League of Legends?”

Jayce looked to his freezing mother and sighed as he spoke his truth.

“To help people who can’t help themselves.”

The mage nodded.

”Your truth is clear. Tell me, how did it feel to open your mind?”

”Not something I’m used to.”

The summoner held out his hand and snapped his fingers once more, and the winds resumed, blanketing Jayce in the white storm until his vision finally broke through.

The door was now open and a voice spoke in his mind.

“Congratulations, Talis. Welcome to the League.”

Shaking his mind from the past, Jayce entered into the hall. The door soon closed behind him.

The Defender of Tomorrow had joined the League.

Notes:

This was harder to write because I’m more familiar with Arcane Jayce than League Jayce. I hope I did him justice.

Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 6: The Hound of a Hundred Bites

Summary:

Despite being a mind shared by a pack, Naafiri’s test is something she must take alone.

The matter of Darkin possession was a relatively straightforward affair. When someone touches the weapon, the Darkin will usually overtake their form and become in full control.

But this particular Darkin was a unique case, not possessing a singular host, but instead an entire pack of hunting dogs. And despite her initial loathing of her fate, she eventually realised the benefit of such a linked consciousness.

She hunted, following trails of blood to find her fellows, until she gained the attention of a strange mystical organisation.

After the use of a strange jewel and a days worth of tracking scents, Naafiri and her pack found themselves before a set of large ornate doors.

‘The truest enemy lies within.’ It said.

Naafiri commanded some of her pack mates to stay back, let her enter alone.

Her vision was overcome by light as soon as she touched the doors, she felt something in her mind, voices, feelings, sensations of magic. Then it stopped.

When it cleared, her gaze found a desert of lost statues and buried weapons that thrummed with unholy life. She was alone, save for-

“Naafiri.”

That. That was her voice. What trickery was this?

Naafiri saw not just someone with her voice, but with her form. Before her imprisonment, before her corruption, when she was Sunborn.

She snarled. This was wrong in so many ways. Taking a moment from her memories, taking her form?

“Why do you wish to join the League?”

Naafiri answered quickly, stepping closer.

“Because my pack hungers for fresh prey…”

The mirage folded its arms.

”You must have greater reason. More than a simple beast. You were, after all, once Ascended.”

The wind picked up, unearthing shapes from the dunes of sand. Handles of weapons poked out, whispering to be grasped and released.

The fate of unmoving emptiness. Of always feeling choked but unable to breathe or even die.

It would have been her fate, endlessly hoping for someone to come and surrender themselves to her will. Something in her trembled, staying her claws and fangs.

“You were once like them, lost and alone. You are driven by more than animalistic instincts.”

Her face narrowed.

“I ask you again: Why do you wish to join the League?”

Naafiri wasn’t sure why she accepted the offer. Shurima has plenty of beasts to hunt, things to occupy the pack. But maybe she wanted more. She knew that Aatrox and others were present, if she could have a moment with them, maybe she… maybe they could…

“To see my brethren once more, and cease our feud.”

The mirage nodded, eyes briefly glowing gold.

”I sense your truth, how did it feel to open your mind?”

Naafiri simply growled. She didn’t want to dignify this experience with words.

The desert began to become ravaged by a blood red storm and Naafiri’s former body began to sink into the winds. Naafiri snarled, chasing herself even as her vision became more and more distorted.

She could see nothing but red until…

---

Naafiri’s eyes opened to find the doors to the institute open. A hall lit by blue torches led the way inside. A voice, not belonging to her or her pack, spoke to her.

“Naafiri, welcome to the League.”

There was something around her neck, something that smelled like magic. How demeaning.

“Did you put a collar on me?”

“Just to be sure that you won’t overrun the institute with your pack. Rest assured, you’ll be able to call on them during the games.”

Naafiri growled, but walked down the halls. Whatever she was searching for would be found in time.

A good predator never forgets their pack.

Notes:

Naafiri was a harder one to give a reason for, but I hope it worked out. The next one might be a bit more comedic. Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 7: The Cantankerous Cavalier.

Summary:

A brave warrior and his steed come before the League of Legends.

Noxus had many legends of warriors that proved themselves exceptional. Some of them were exaggerated for the sake of inspiring soldiers and civilians, but some of them were just as insane as they sounded.

Kled, like with everything in his life, was an exception. He was even more stubborn. Convinced that all land belonged to him, he’d prowl Noxian outskirts, shouting and charging his long axe at any would-be trespassers.

It was this sense of brutality and maybe a drunken decision that motivated the Institute of War to provide an invitation to the kill-happy Yordle.

But Kled wasn’t alone in his quest of defending his territory, his sometimes trusty Drakalops and the only friend he has, Skaarl was his mount who’d often run away from danger but come right back later on.

As the pair of rider and mount approached the Institute of War, they noticed a pair of massive doors.

Skaarl whimpered in fear, but Kled made up for her cowardice tenfold by sheer stubborn bravery.

“Come on, girl, onward!”

Not even registering the magic inscription on the door head, Kled charged through the door, falling flat on his face.

He pulled his head out of the ground to found himself in a dirty battlefield.

“Skaarl? Where are ya, ya scared little chick?!”

Footsteps, plodding a few feet away. A trespasser? Kled knew how to deal with that.

Kled whirled around, brandishing his long-axe, until he turned to find Skaarl. She looked the exact same, but something seemed different about her.

“You ain’t Skaarl, are you?”

Not-Skaarl shook her-their head. Weird. Skaarl seemed smarter.

“No, I am simply an arcane representation of what you hold dear.”

Arcane repre-whatsit?

”General admiral brigadier Kled. You are famed throughout Noxus for your unrelenting stubbornness and unorthodox handling. We must ask, what brings you to the League of Legends?”

Kled planted his weapon in the ground, voice loud and proclaiming his reasons for accepting the invite.

”Same reason for anything else, this place is my property! And I gotta make sure everyone knows it!”

Not-Skaarl paused for a moment.

”This… is not your property. You are meant to be a contestant-

Kled interrupted his company.

“Skaarl marked the place when we got here, it’s my territory by proxy!”

Not-Skaarl blinked twice, as if utterly perplexed and unable to comprehend the words Kled had spoken.

”Is that your only reason? There are other Yordles here, perhaps you can connect with them, make connections besides your pet?”

Kled scoffed.

”Those guys are too much hugging, not enough fighting! I don’t fit in with those guys.”

Not-Skaarl paused, shaking their head.

”Very well. You have passed the test. Congratulations.”

Not-Skaarl turned around, running away. Kled didn't even turn around to realise the rush of winds. 

Kled charged after Skaarl, just like always, even as his vision became clouded by dirt and dust.

---

Kled opened his eyes with a yell, causing Skaarl to jump and run off down the hallway. Kled shouted after her, chasing his steed without so much as a glance to the now closing doors.

For better or worse, the Cantankerous Cavalier had joined the League.

Notes:

Kled was an experience to write. Comments are always welcome, the next one might be a bit darker and longer.

Chapter 8: The Chain Warden.

Summary:

The Ruination of the Blessed Isles was something that many would call an imprisonment, a corruption of who they used to be.

But for one of them, it is a liberation.

The shadow isles was not always a place of death. It was once a place of life and ancient life-giving waters, but that was changed when a foolish king made the wrong choices.

The aftermath of that choice left The Isles corrupted into the dreaded Shadow Isles and several figures twisted into their worst selves. A betrayed warrior became a wraith of vengeance, a loyal general with ambition became an embodiment of brutality and bloodshed. But one victim of the isles ruination embraced the change brought about by the corruption.

Thresh delighted in his new power, his freedom to indulge in twisted torment. He’d prowl the isles, pulling souls into his cursed lantern to torture and siphon power from.

But in spite of his pleasure, he was mostly restricted to the Isles until the harrowing let him chase the black mist.

The League of Legends wasn’t his typical forte, but who was he to refuse an invitation? The Institute was a grand building, proclaiming arcane powers.

‘The truest opponent lies within.’

Thresh snickered, pressing his skeletal hand on the door and pushing it open.

---

After a flood of blackness, Thresh’s eyes opened to find himself in the Blessed Isles before the ruination. Oh, how he hated this place. 

No-one was here. No monks, no ghouls. He twirled his chained sickle impatiently, was this meant to be a test of his patience?

But then, he heard footfalls from behind him and felt glee bubble in his chest. He whirled around, lashing out with his weapon.

The bladed sickle passed through the shadowed figure like they weren’t even there. It landed in the stone floor, cracking it.

”Thresh. You are a rather wicked soul. Once a 

Thresh chuckled, pulling back his weapon.

”Flattery won’t help you.”

The shadowed figure walked out from the darkness, revealing a man that Thresh tried to forget about.

The man that Thresh used to be before he was liberated from the prison of flesh.

”That was no flattery. We wish to know, what motivates you to join the League of Legends? Why participate in such activities when you could fulfil such twisted pleasures?

Thresh walked closer to his illusion. 

“Simple, I want a change in scenery. Besides, I hear this place has a rather expansive library.”

Thresh hid the matter of ‘magical artefacts’ from the summoner. Secrets must be kept close to the chest.

Thresh’s hated memory tilted his head to the left.

”And do you swear to follow our rules? That you will only attack on the field?”

Thresh nodded.

”But of course.”

”Good.”

The summoner took Thresh’s hand, pulling him close so that they were eye to eye.

The summoner’s eyes glowed with magic and his voice seemed to echo off the surroundings:

“If you step out of line, if you jeopardise this Institute, we will know, and we will make sure you regret it.”

Thresh chuckled. He wasn’t scared of some illusion. 

“Understood. Can I leave now?”

The summoner released Thresh’s hand, stepping back into the shadows.

”Of course. Brace yourself.”

Thresh heard the sound of wailing ghouls, a cry of undead rage. He knew that sound. This was the start of his happiest day.

As the tide of black mist rushed towards him, Thresh held out his arms, ready to embrace the darkness.

After all, it had done wonders for him before.

---

When the black fog cleared, Thresh saw a corridor of torches lit by blue flames. He also felt something… strange within him.

Someone’s voice spoke to Thresh, a male voice that imitated authority.

“We have limited your power, you may not take any souls from your contestants, and should you try, we will know.”

Thresh grumbled in displeasure. He should’ve seen that coming, they must be scared of what he might do.

Still, he wouldn’t let a little power limit ruin his fun. There were more forms of torture than the physical.

And there were so many victims ready and waiting.

For whatever may come with it, The Chain Warden had joined the League of Legends.

Notes:

Shoutout to Thresh who was such a bastard that the Ruination just went “Okay, you’re already the worst, so you can be a skeleton now.”

Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 9: The Spider Queen.

Summary:

Sometimes, when she spends most time in the Shadow Isles, a lady needs a change of scenery.

(WARNING: there are multiple spiders in this chapter. If you aren’t fond of spiders, maybe give this chapter a pass.)

Spiders were an often feared animal on Runeterra. While some didn’t mind or even treasured them as pets, the common opinion was that they were stressful to deal with.

But on the Shadow Isles, where ghosts and wraiths stalk the land, the skittering creatures are right at home. And they were under the care of one woman, a former Noxian socialite turned acolyte of something ancient and fanged.

Her name was Elise, and she’d usually spend her days luring foolish suitors into her web, to be sacrificed to the dark being that blessed her with eternal beauty. Occasionally she’d come back to Noxus to gift artefacts to an old friend in exchange for fresh sacrifices.

But even that grows stale after a while, and one suitor was far from naive. She offered Elise an invitation to participate in some cross-nation sporting event. 

Elise could have killed the lady who refused to tell her name, but she had to admit that the prospect of deeper knowledge was… enticing.

In a moment of pragmatic mercy, Elise agreed to the terms, so long as she was able to ‘return home.’

And so, the deal was made.

---

A large spider-like creature skittered up the stairs to the Institute of War, some would assume it to be a wild animal, but it was something far more clever.

In a shifting smoke, the creature was replaced by a woman with pale skin, black and red clothing and a set of eight arachnid legs poking from her back. Elise rolled her neck, feeling one of her spiderlings crawling up it.

She surveyed the door. It was ornately styled, and an inscription was on the top.

‘The truest opponent lies within.’

Elise breathed in and out, placed her hand on the door, and pushed it open.

---

It was dark. And Elise’s vision couldn’t see through the blanketing shadows.

And then, there was light. Torchlight in a ring illuminating the room. An ancient chamber, filled with cobwebs and dust. She knew this place.

”Lady Elise,” someone spoke. Elise turned around, noticing that her skin wasn’t the pale parlour from her transformation. She was dressed in traditional finery, this must be a memory.

Then she saw the woman nearby, dressed in blues and golds. An ally, one who knew how to wield words sharper than any sword.

But this wasn’t really her.

”Why do you wish to join the League?”

Elise answered easily.

”To find more acolytes for my patron. Noxus is only so large.”

The woman in gold folded her arms.

”There is more to your reason. You must admit the truth of you want us to trust you.”

Elise felt saliva drip from above into her face, and heard the monstrous sounds of the Vilemaw approaching.

”We ask you again: Why do you wish to join the League?”

Elise finally admitted the truth.

”Because I must feed. I must honour the Vilemaw. I must maintain my beauty.”

Her company nodded.

”Your truth is clear. How did it feel to open your mind?”

“Like making you my next sacrifice.”

The woman chuckled.

”Welcome to the League, Lady Elise. Please, try to control your spiders.”

The fangs of the Vilemaw pierced Elise’s bare shoulder, filling her with a momentary sharp pain. She knew this pain, and that it would serve greater purpose.

She watched her company fade into the darkness of the catacombs and felt thousands of tiny spiders crawling onto her, covering her vision until everything went black.

---

Elise’s eyes opened in a shock of consciousness. She wasn’t panicked, she observed her appearance, finding herself in her current form. 

A spider nuzzled her neck, bringing her back to reality.

”Yes, yes, I’m here, little one.”

She noticed the door was now open, a hall of blue lit torches. 

Elise entered the, resting her palm on the wall as she let one of her spiders crawl up the way.

”Make yourself at home.”

The door closed behind her, and with that, The Spider Queen had joined the League.

Notes:

Do you ever wonder what Elise was doing during the ruination? I bet she was just on vacation.

Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 10: The Glorious Executioner.

Summary:

The League of Legends: A multinational sporting event that gives the competitors the chance to show their skills in front of all matter of crowds.

In other words: Draven’s wonderland.

In Noxus, there were many forms of entertainment. Theatre shows, travelling circuses, and most well known: The Noxian Fleshing Arena.

Once a place for executions or settling political disputes, it had become a national symbol of gladiatorial combat. Fighters from all across Noxus, or even prisoners from other nations, would fight for the amusement of the crowd.

The champion of the arena and the executioner of those who would dare stand against Noxus and its empire was known as Draven. A natural attention seeker and younger brother of Darius, he loved killing for the crowd as they showered him with praise and golden glory.

But recently, the praise had slowed slightly, and he’d heard discussion about another sporting sensation. The ‘League of Legends.’ When Draven questioned about it, he learned that it was a multinational blood sport. A tournament that gave invites to whoever caught the Institute’s attention.

Obviously, Draven needed to join. The Noxus audience needed their glorious executioner to woo the crowd.

After talking to his grand general and expressing his idea, Draven was given permission to ‘expand his legend.’

Draven twirled his axes as he walked up the steps, even though no one was watching. That would be soon to change. Soon, everyone would be watching him in his element, cheering his name again and again.

Draven looked up to the door, finding some fancy magic wording on the head.

‘The truest opponent lies within.’

What, would Draven have to fight himself? That’d be a show. He pushed open the door and found his vision blasted by blazing light.

---

When Draven’s vision cleared, he found himself in the sandy arena, but no crowds or combatants to make a show out of their death.

”What is this? Some fancy magic trick?” Draven shouted out, to no response for a moment. Then, he heard the gates open. The sound that told Draven that there was entertainment entering.

A familiar voice spoke.

”Draven of Noxus.”

Draven turned to find an unfortunate figure. His older brother, Darius. He still had the stock serious face. But he wasn’t holding his massive axe, so something was off.

”Oh, great, what’re you doing here?”

”This is merely an illusion, drawn from your memories in the hope of inspiring cooperation.”

Draven only listened for the first five words.

”Yeah, yeah, get on with it.”

”We wish to know what brings you to the League. As an executioner in Noxus, surely you have all the glory you’d need?”

Draven gestured around as he answered, motioning to the stands empty of any people.

“The arena isn’t giving me enough fun. I need a bigger audience. And, come on, I’d be doing the game a favour with a face like this.”

As Draven grinned, Fake-Darius looked unimpressed. It looked just like Darius.

”There must be more reasoning. Perhaps it is related to your brother always upstaging you, becoming a general while you are a gladiator.”

Draven grimaced, crossing his arms and tapping his finger on his upper arm.

”This is getting dull. Am I in or not?”

A sigh. It sounded just like Darius.

”You are accepted. But only if you do not attack your competitors outside of the rift. Clear?”

”Crystal.”

A snap of Not-Darius’s fingers, and the blazing light overcame Draven’s vision once again.

---

Draven’s vision recovered to reward him with an opened pair of doors. He’d earned his place, naturally.

”Welcome to the League. Do try to behave yourself.”

Draven imagined the crowd’s reaction to his performance, at catching his axes and throwing them into his victims heads.

It was intoxicating, and he couldn’t wait.

The glorious executioner had joined the League.

Notes:

That’s our Draven. *sitcom sound*

Anyway, the next chapter should be soon. Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 11: The Desert Rose.

Summary:

Samira, a natural thrill-seeker, can’t help but be interested in this League of Legends gig.

The world of Runeterra was a place filled with dangerous situations. Even in places that seemed secure, there was always something lurking, ready for the foolish to step into its way.

For many people, this was reason to steer clear of any threat. To maintain comfort and security. But there was one woman, a Noxian immigrant from the region of Shurima, who loved the thrill of jumping headfirst into danger.

Her name was Samira, former street performer turned solder turned mercenary of Noxus. And more than anything else, she was a thrill-seeker. Whether it was jumping into a burning building to rescue her captain or getting into dangerous and outnumbered brawls in bars, it was the deadliest adventures that lit up Samira's heart.

But recently, she'd heard of a special sporting event w ith all manners of dangerous opponents and potential prize money. After negotiating with her captain, Samira got the okay to head out, provided she give Indari some of the prize money as compensation.

To be entirely honest, the money was a bonus. The thrill is all I need.

She came before a set of large ornate doors, whoever these people were must be very fancy. 

‘The truest opponent lies within.’ It said, a glowing blue.

Samira grinned. That sounded dangerous, which was fine by her. With barely a moment of hesitation, she placed her palms on the door and pushed. 

And then, she saw a flash of light and a tingling feeling through her body.

---

When her vision recovered, she saw no open doors, but instead somewhere from younger days.

She was back in Shurima, back before joining Noxus, back before Xerath. She was back home.

Home. It was funny how such a simple word could have so many meanings. 

Samira wandered through the area, searching for something, anything that might make the situation clearer.

She saw herself in a reflective window, seeing two eyes rather than one and an eyepatch.

“Hm. Haven’t seen that face in a while.”

”Samira. Daughter of Shurima. Weapon of Noxus.”

Samira reached for her gun, but found none of her weapons. This was before her employment as a soldier, no weapons.

The woman before her was instantly familiar. Her beloved mother, who’d tell her stories of adventures and sad mummies. But Samira could tell by the woman’s eyes that it wasn’t really her mother. Some kind of illusion trick.

”I prefer the term mercenary. Do you want something?”

”Merely to understand why you want to join the League.”

The figure masquerading as Samira’s mother folded her tanned arms.

"Xerath's conquest decimated your home, even if your family is alive, you still lost much at the hands of his followers. Do you want to learn how to take your revenge, to avenge your own powerlessness?”

Samira hissed between her teeth. She didn’t like thinking about her past, or more specifically, she didn’t like thinking about that part of her past. She turned her expression to a casual grin.

”Eh, don’t get me wrong, if that guy shows up, I’ll dice him into pieces. But I’m not a stuck in the past type of lady. I’m all about the moment.”

Samira’s mother seemed understanding, if somewhat disappointed.

”I see. Perhaps a more recent memory would help me understand your reasoning.”

A snapping of fingers, and the area seemed to distort and shift, sand swirled around her, obscuring her vision one more time.

But she wasn’t afraid.

She would never be afraid again.

---

When the sand cleared, Samira found herself in a Noxian bar. Now this was more of her style. Save for the fact that everyone was frozen in place. Spooky.

Captain Indari was sitting at a nearby desk, but just like earlier, Samira knew it wasn’t really her. It was like a Shuriman mirage. Looks real, but doesn’t feel real.

”Is this more to your liking?”

Samira nodded, stealing a drink from a frozen bartender and gesturing to the captain. 

”You bet. So, what do you want to know?”

”We want to know why you want to join the League? As a mercenary, surely you have other assignments?”

“Eh, I could use some extra flair. This is gonna be dangerous, and I’m all about that thing.”

Her captain tilted her head.

“And that is all? Thrill-seeking?”

“Oh, and the prize money, that’ll make ammo costs easier.”

Samira locked her gaze with her captain before the latter nodded her head.

”Your truth is clear, tell me, how did it feel to open your mind?”

”Could’ve been more exciting. Can I go now?”

Indari snapped her fingers and the bar chaos resumed. Loud shooting, laughter, and Samira raised her drink in a single cheers.

”One drink for luck!”

Closing her eye, Samira downed the drink and felt the surrounding sounds melt away.

---

When Samira’s gaze returned, she saw no bar-patrons and smelt no scent of stiff drinks or dirty deeds. She only saw a pair of open doors and a hallway that would lead to her new set of thrills.

She could only imagine the stories she be able to tell from this little venture. With a scoff and a crack of her neck, Samira entered down the hall.

The Desert Rose had joined the League.

Notes:

Okay, that’s my first ten champions done (eleven if you count Viego). The next ten should be picked soon, but I’ll take some time to come up with ideas. Not too long, don’t worry.

Anyway, comments are always welcome.

Chapter 12: The Shadow Reaper.

Summary:

An assassin in training and a cursed scythe open a door.

Zed’s order of the shadow demanded only excellence from his disciples. They must master all weapons, learn to use the darkness as not just a shield, but as a weapon in its own right.

Many were quick to grasp the immediate power of shadow magic, but it was Zed’s personal apprentice who truly showed mastery.

His name was Kayn, and he was one of the very few people in Valoran who not only wielded a darkin weapon, but actively resisted corruption.

The scythe was a farming tool for the innocent, but in the hands of an assassin? It was an instrument of death.

“Why are we even here?” The darkin weapon spoke in Kayn’s mind. His name, as Kayn was aware, was Rhaast.

“I already told you. Master Zed suggested I join as a way to prove my worth. And I prefer my weapons to be kept sharp rather than left to dull.”

Rhaast scoffed.

“Ever the loyal little lapdog, aren’t you?”

Kayn didn’t respond, his gaze was on the ornate set of doors.

‘The truest opponent lies within.’ It said in magic writing.

“Ooh, how ominous…” Rhaast muttered sarcastically. Kayn wordlessly agreed, but placed his palm on the door. He felt something new crawl into his mind, before everything went black.

---

When Kayn’s vision returned, he found himself in a memory. Before joining Zed’s order. He called for Rhaast, finding no answer.

”Hiding from me?”

His voice was lighter, younger even. This must be an illusion.

Footsteps.

He noticed the sickle on the ground. Just like his memories remember. He picked it up, and pointed it at the approaching shade.

”Speak your name, or suffer my skill.”

The shade materialised into the form of Kayn’s master.

“Shieda Kayn. Once a soldier of Noxus, now a disciple of Ionia with a cursed weapon. You have had quite the life.”

Despite his younger frame, Kayn was hardly the submissive type.

“I don’t need to be reminded of my life story. What is the meaning of this?”

“We wish to know why you seek to join the League.”

Kayn stood up straight, twirling his sickle in a display of prowess.

“Master Zed requested it, and I’m going to follow his teachings.”

False-Zed didn’t seem to believe him, walking closer. Kayn stepped back ever so slightly. He wasn’t afraid of his master. He wasn’t.

“You seek more. Tell me, if you would be so kind?”

Kayn found another reason swim to the forefront of his mind.

“Zed is concerned that I cannot handle Rhaast’s presence. When I show him otherwise, he’ll need to accept my potential as his heir to the Order of the shadow.”

Not-Zed nodded.

“And what if Rhaast takes over? What if you fail?”

Kayn sneered, pointing his sickle at the illusionary Zed.

“I never fail.”

---

In a rare gift, Rhaast found himself freed from the prison of his scythe. He flexed his fingers, chuckling before he recognised his surroundings.

Rhaast found himself in a battleground of fellow Darkin. They were frozen in the midst of battle, blood flowing into their bodies to strengthen themselves.

And as he observed the battle, he saw someone move. Someone he knew all too well. He gripped his scythe.

His former general and brother in arms.”

“Aatrox. You led us into a battle we couldn’t win. This is your fault!”

Rhaast lunged at Aatrox with clawed fingers, only to pass through him like mist. He blinked, growling before he had a moment of realisation.

“Oh, I understand. It’s a trick. A little illusionary spell to disguise yourself. Why don’t you tell me who you really are?”

False-Aatrox did not turn to face Rhaast, merely speaking in a tone much unlike his usual voice.

“Rhaast. Once Ascended, now fallen. Why do you wish to join the League?”

“I’m only doing it because of Kayn.”

“But you *do* want something from this endeavour.”

How insightful this person was.

“Freedom. Carnage will be the key to my release. And Kayn is but my pawn in that endgame.”

“What makes you think we won’t simply restrain you if you break out? We can simply bind you in magic.”

“Because, if you have Aatrox, you’ll need someone who’s willing to keep him in check, someone he will listen to.” Rhaast answered, walking right up to his illusion.

Neither of them moved.

”If you attempt any butchery, you will be punished.”

Rhaast wasn’t intimidated.

”Oh, I’d like to see you try.”

---

In a flash, Rhaast and Kayn were in the same space, a realm of blackness and a single light around them.

“How did it feel to open your minds?”

“Boring.”

“Agreed.”

Red and blue mist encircled them, and Kayn and Rhaast found themselves locking their eyes.

“You’ll lose control eventually.”

“Perhaps, but not to your mind games,”

---

Their vision returned, and Kayn found himself gripping Rhaast’s scythe form once more. He smirked.

“Ah, isn’t that better?”

“Silence, boy.”

The doors were open, signalling their invitation to further prowess.

”Time to prove my strength.”

Rhaast chuckled, confident that Kayn couldn’t hear him as he entered the hallway.

“Oh. You have no idea…”

Whatever might come of their partnership, one fact was clear: The Shadow Reaper had joined the League.

Notes:

Honestly, sometimes I forget that Kayn was originally from Noxus.
Comments are always welcome, the next chapter should be soon.

Chapter 13: The Unforgiven.

Summary:

Running from the past only makes the future familiar.

In the region of Ionia, there is a well known tale of two brothers, both trained in the way of the blade. 

The elder brother was well respected, but the younger was more wild and a tad arrogant in his abilities.

As they grew, their differences brought them to blows, and the younger slew the elder before walking off into the distance.

The tale had been repeated and changed through the years, but the truth of the story wasn’t a matter of jealousy. It was a matter of being framed, of being judged and the unavoidable guilt of self defence.

Yasuo had been wandering Ionia for years now, never quite stopping to process everything. He regretted what he’d done, but how could he repent? Everyone thought he was a cold blooded murderer. Bandits had eyes on him for bragging rights, and all he had for company was his blade and his drink.

It was his penance, and he had no choice but to follow the wind from one day to the next.

But, one day, things had changed.

He was meditating by a fire when someone dressed in Ionian purples handed him an invitation to something called the ‘Institute of War.’

Yasuo wasn’t interested in employment, but he had to admit he was lightly intrigued by the stranger who invited him.

And so, after a boat-ride to Valoran, Yasuo walked up a set of obsidian carved steps to find himself before the entrance to a massive building.

He paused, looking up to find an inscription at the top of the door.

’The truest opponent lies within.’

Yasuo could assume what he’d see. He took a breath and a drink, before proceeding to push open the door.

He felt a gust of wind before his vision flashed with white.

---

Yasuo found himself in an Ionian dojo. His body felt younger, dressed in training garb as opposed to his tattered robe.

And a few feet away from him was Elder Souma. His master that taught him the wind technique that had become his signature. It was the technique that made everyone think that he was his master’s murderer.

He was so focused on his memory that he was shocked to hear his master’s voice.

”Yasuo of Ionia. You have much blood on your sword, some say that you killed your own master. And… someone else.”

”I didn’t kill Elder Souma,” Yasuo repeated the words he’d say ad nauseam to the accusations of those who knew no better. 

His master might have given a disapproving glare at his brazen words, but he could tell that this illusion wasn’t real.

”Perhaps. But why do you wish to join the League of Legends? A swordsman of your calibre must have a reason.”

Yasuo crossed his arms, picking an answer he assumed would satisfy his questioner.

”To clear my name. To prove that I’m not some violent killer.”

The false Souma shook his head.

”No, there’s something more. Something in your heart that you refuse to admit.”

Yasuo bristled, hands reaching for his blade.

”My past is my business, not yours.”

Souma hid his hands in his robes, and Yasuo could hear the winds pick up heavily.

”Apologies, but I must disagree.”

Another flash of light filled Yasuo’s vision, and he was taken to another memory.

---

When Yasuo’s vision returned, he was holding his blade upwards, as if stabbing into something.

Or someone.

Then he felt the rain falling on his skin, and he saw Yone’s swords resting against the muddy ground.

He knew this memory, how it played in his dreams again and again without reprieve. Yone spoke, and Yasuo’s eyes widened.

”Why do you wish to join the League?”

Yasuo finally gave his answer, refusing to look into his brother’s eyes. He couldn’t clear his name, nobody could believe him and he didn’t even know the true culprit. 

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

Yasuo pulled his blade from Yone’s stomach, but his brother stayed standing with a bloody wound.

There was a brief glow in Yone’s eyes as he spoke.

“Your truth is clear. How did it feel to open your mind?”

Yasuo sheathed his blade and turned his back on the illusion.

“An invasion of my privacy. Don’t do it again.”

The wind picked up, obscuring Yone’s form and Yasuo’s sight one more time.

---

When Yasuo’s vision recovered, he didn’t see his brother’s body or feel the rain on his skin. He instead felt a gentle breeze and saw the doors of the building were opened, revealing a long hallway with blue torches and purple carpeting.

Yasuo breathed out, trying to push the guilt back for but a moment.

He felt a light breeze behind him, leading him into the open hallway. Perhaps it would give him a distraction, if only for the briefest moment. The doors closed behind him, marking his initiation.

Yasuo, The Unforgiven, had joined the League.

Notes:

Ah, Yasuo. You cannot wind-wall your feelings away.
Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 14: The Rogue Sentinel.

Summary:

Akshan had recently reached a dead end on his search for his mentor’s killers. But a mysterious visitor might offer a lead.

In the Shuriman city of Marwi, there lives a man who many would call a scoundrel or a rogue. He would go after local warlords who abuse the innocent city folk, slaying them with his peculiar long range gun that legends whispered brought back the dead in exchange for their killer’s life.

His name was Akshan, and while he was certainly a man of the people, he had a far more lofty goal than just doing right in the world. A gang of warlords had killed his mentor, a wise woman called Shadya. He had not clue for his target’s face or name, but if he hunted down every warlord, he’d get lucky eventually.

But recently, his luck had dried up. Every would-be lead only brought him a dead end. While he always kept hope, needing to hold onto it, he had to admit that it was starting to wear on him.

Akshan stared at the painting of Shadya, smiling sadly. Her face was starting to fade from his memory.

”That’s a nice painting,” someone spoke. Someone with an air of mysterious authority. But Akshan wasn’t really a fan of authority, so he pointed his relic gun at the sound of the voice.

”Yes, but I don’t remember inviting a critic.”

Akshan noticed the faint gold along the man’s purple robes. An ornate sense of colour, maybe it was stolen.

”And who are you? A thief? A poorly trained killer?”

The man shook his head.

”I know of your loss. And of your legend, the rogue sentinel looking for vengeance. You’re running out of options, aren’t you?”

Akshan slowly lowered his gun.

”I’m never out of options. How about you cut to your point?”

The man walked up close to Akshan, pulling something from his sleeve.

”My name is Romu, and I have a way of finding people."

“Why bother chasing dead ends and rumours when I can give you names and places?”

Akshan paused, but sighed. Romu had a point, and he was making a very good pitch. Akshan would finally make some major headway in his quest and all he’d have to do was compete in a sport tournament?

Akshan smirked, snatching the letter.

”You’ve got yourself a deal, when do we start?”

”Whenever you’re ready.”

Romu held out a gently scarred hand to Akshan. His best chance to make amends for his failure.

The rogue looked back to his painting, stroking the parchment with a gentle hand.

”Hold on, old friend. You’ll be back soon.”

Taking Romu’s hand, Akshan was obscured by a purple glow, before the two of them vanished from their surroundings and into somewhere new.

---

When Akshan’s eyes opened, he found himself on the outside of a large institute building. It had the aura of knowledge and arcane vision, not Akshan’s usual alley but he was an adaptable.

”Romu? My friend, where are you?”

”I’m inside. Place your hand on the door, and reveal your truth.”

Akshan looked up at the door, finding a magical inscription atop it.

’The truest enemy lies within.’

Akshan paused for a moment. This was an unknown situation, perhaps they try to study his weapon.

That sorry disappeared as he gave a shrug.

”Nothing wrong with a little risk.”

Akshan placed his hand in the door, pushed it hard, and found his vision blasted by golden lights.

---

When Akshan’s eyes recovered enough to properly focus on the surroundings, he found himself in a place from his memory.

He was young, lying on the sandy ground as a woman offered a hand up to his feet. This was when he met his mentor.

But he knew this wasn’t real. He pushed himself up, looking up to his company’s eyes.

”Alright, not sure what’s going on, but I don't quite like the intrusion of my memory."

Not-Shadya stared directly into Akshan's eyes.

“Do you blame yourself for her death?”

Alright, cutting right to the heart of it.

Akshan scoffed.

“I blame the killers. And when I find them, I’ll return what they’ve stolen.”

Not-Shadya tilted her head.

“What if she is brought back? Do you think she will be proud of you for cheating life and death? Life may be cruel, but what if you grow too comfortable with that gun?”

Akshan paused and Not-Shadya kept speaking as she circled him.

”There are many here who suffer loss and push onward from it. There are even fellow sentinels that you could bond with. Will you truly give up a future to bring back a woman from the past?”

Akshan found words stopping in his throat.

"I will accomplish my mission. Whatever comes after, is my matter to solve."

Shadya's eyes glowed briefly, and her voice became overlaid by another.

"Your conviction is clear. How did it feel to open your mind?"

"Eh, not my top five. Can I go now?"

The desert winds picked up, stinging his eyes and filling his lungs, but he wasn't worried. This wasn't real. He was a Sentinel.

And he had a mission to complete.

---

When Akshan was finally able to open his eyes, he found the institute doors were open.

See? Nothing to worry about.

He looked to his gun, a fleeting moment of doubt crossing his mind. Did the summoner have a point? Was he getting too comfortable with the gun? What if Shadya asked for it back? 

He pushed such thoughts back. He would cross that bridge when he got to it.

For now, The Rogue Sentinel had joined the League.

Notes:

Akshan was a trickier one to come up with, since he was designed to take part in the Ruination event. I hope it worked out. Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 15: The Eternal Hunters.

Summary:

Even in a place under such arcane protection as the Fields of Justice, sometimes accidents happen.

Across all of existence, from the smallest ant to the greatest of celestial dragons, death is always waiting. It may be a long time away, or sometimes a short one, but the fact remained true that death came for everything.

The matches on Summoner’s Rift were under arcane protection, ensuring that true death was kept at bay.

But sometimes, one can get frighteningly close to their finale.

It was a busy match on summoner’s rift, today’s teams consisting of Noxians and Demacian warriors on the field of justice.

Quinn fired her crossbow at approaching foes, but found her ribs stabbed into by a set of throwing blades.

She fell to her knees, looking across to find a hooded assassin.

“No challenge for me.”

Quinn whispered a silent prayer.

A field of white light encompassed Quinn and she suddenly felt her strength return enough to fire her crossbow at her attacker, causing his upper shoulder as she vaulted over his swings.

But all of a sudden, before either could land the blow, the sound of the match’s conclusion sounded out.

“Due to an unexpected arrival, today’s match must be prematurely postponed. This will be marked as a tie.”

Booing came from the crowd, and Quinn even thought she heard Garen groan in disbelief.

As she left, out of the corner of her eye, Quinn could swear she saw a pair of masked faces staring at her from the darkness of the bush.

”Thank you, gentle lamb,” she whispered.

---

Lamb and Wolf had a sacred duty: To escort the dead to the next life, whether by a gentle arrow or Wolf’s rabid fangs.

This ‘League of Legends’ was typically not something they concerned themselves with. But Wolf, ever the curious creature, wanted to know why such a dangerous sport rarely resulted in death.

The Demacian woman was close to death, before her time. As such, Lamb healed her.

This act didn’t go unnoticed, and now they were requested to meet with the ‘head summoners’ in a large rounded chamber.

Neither Lamb nor Wolf were worried. Mortals could be so self assured.

A collection of figures in purple robes looked down at them, requesting explanation,

”Why did you interrupt the match? How did you enter?”

“We were brought by a prayer. The woman from Demacia with the bird, she prayed for life, and it was before her time to die.”

One summoner, a bearded one, scoffed.

“This place is magically fortified to prevent death of any sort.”

Wolf circled behind him, his low and rumbling voice carrying a hint of mirth.

“But accidents always happen.”

Wolf returned to Lamb’s side, the latter listening as the summoners spoke.

”While we are thankful for your help, we can ensure the safety of this Institute. But if you ever want to watch, we will allow it.”

Lamb nodded.

”Very well. Whenever we are needed, we shall appear.”

---

Lamb vanished to outside the Institute, Wolf floating beside her. 

“They are afraid, little lamb.”

“Many are, dear wolf.”

Lamb noticed the sunset, Wolf stopping to watch as well.

”Night will soon fall.”

”Correct. And our duty is needed.”

Wolf chuckled.

”Good.”

And like a predator’s shadow only seen by prey, they were gone, to appear only when their prey made the choice to accept or flee their fate.

And eventually, even the summoners would need to make their choice.

Notes:

Kindred might've been the hardest one to come up with because they're both just so... not on the same level as everyone else. I don't feel that you can put twin embodiments of death into your sport game without kind of devaluing them.

Anyway, comments are always welcome, the next chapter might take some time as I have work.

Chapter 16: The Fire Below the Mountain.

Summary:

Ornn was by all accounts, a person of solitude. He didn’t like many people, but even a grumpy old goat recognises that the comfort zone can be a hindrance to doing the right thing.

In contrast to his siblings who threw themselves into mortal affairs, Ornn was more comfortable with living in the world and doing what he did best. Making tools and weapons. He heard whispers of war, of dangerous and unseen dangers lurking in ice. Anivia would occasionally come in, flapping icy wind all across his forge. But still, Ornn remained resolute.

But with the Volibear’s resurgence into the Freljord’s landscape, there were some who expected the great lord of the forge to come out of his solitude as well.

They were frustratingly persistent. Ornn had no intention of leaving his forge. He had work to do, and if Volibear came to settle their score, he’d do what must be done. And sometimes, he’d craft his followers a sturdy chest plate. 

He could be nice, sometimes.

The door to his forge, personally crafted from obsidian and locked from the inside, swung open. A man in purple robes pulled down his hood, revealing a head of bushy brown hair.

”I finally meet the Great Ram. You’re quite good at hiding.”

”There’s a reason for that. I’m too busy for commission, so if you don’t mind.”

The stranger didn’t take the hint, circling around Ornn as he worked.

”My name is Zaidin. I’m here to give you an offer. To join a thriving community of people, to achieve praise from across Runeterra.”

Ornn simply grumbled, smacking his hammer against the molten steel of his new craft. Another weapon, you could never have enough.

Zaidin kept his offer going.

“You’ll find it to be a place filled with opportunities to show your work, perhaps you could even give us some pointers?” Zaidin suggested good heartedly.

Ornn placed the blade into a cooling bucket, letting the steam rise up from it. His craft weren’t toys to be paraded around.

Zaidin sighed.

“Your brother is in attendance. As is Anivia.”

Ornn ceased with his blacksmithing at the mention of his estranged brother. Volibear was dangerous. And if he had the chance to preach his violent philosophy to the masses… that wound only make their confrontation more difficult to contain.

”It is your choice, but if the worst comes to pass, we believe you would be the safest course of action.”

”I’ll go, but only to monitor Volibear.”

”We also have a fine selection of ales.”

”Cherry?”

”Most likely.”

Ornn passed Zaidin the sword, watching the man stumble with the weight.

”A gift. I’ll be there when I can.”

”Yes, thank you. Stay warm!”

The door closed and Ornn huffed. 

“Stay warm. Hm.”

He was always warm.

His door opened again and he sighed. What was it now?

”I already told-

It was a young boy holding an oversized axe with both hands. He was dressed in clothes far more fitting for the icy land of the Freljord.

”Um, my father told me that you might make a smaller one of these? Please?”

Ornn sighed, beckoning the boy over.

”Don’t touch anything, but you can watch if you’d like.”

---

Ornn much preferred the Freljord’s climate to this place. He held his trusty hammer and looked up at the large and ornate doors. It reminded him of the one he made for that goblin those many years ago. Was is still there? Probably.

’The truest opponent lies within.’ 

Poetic drivel, nothing more than that.

He knocked on the door, shouting to come in. Nobody answered. He sighed, placing his hand on the door and pushing. He pushed it open, and felt a rush of Freljord winds blast his vision.

---

He saw bodies of his followers littering the ground, their blood standing out against the white snow. He willed himself to stand, not looking at the outstretched arms, or the girl with a sword much too big than she could handle.

He saw Volibear, or to be more honest, he saw someone pretending to be Volibear. Ornn didn’t entirely care about the reasoning.

”What is this? My memory is not something I choose to give.”

Ornn’s assumption of this being an illusion was proven by Volibear’s question. He didn’t snarl about weakness or boast for Ornn to fight, he merely asked a single simple question.

”Why do you wish to join the League?”

”I don’t. You have my brother in attendance and if he gets unleashed, someone needs to keep him occupied.”

”And if he does, what will you do? Will you retire to your forge? The Freljord is on dangerous territory. They need Gods to guard them.”

Ornn snorted.

”There are plenty of Gods to protect them. I simply want to do my craft.”

Volibear nodded, his eyes glowing an arcane purple.

”Your truth is clear. How did it feel to open your mind?”

Ornn, in true Ornn fashion, grunted in response. 

The winds picked up, covering the followers of Ornn in white snowy winds. Ornn walked over to one of them and gently closed their eyes.

Even if it was a memory, it brought him some semblance of peace.

---

Ornn’s vision recovered to reveal the doors opened, inviting him into a hallway of blue flame torches and purple carpet.

Looking to the distance, Ornn sighed and began to walk into the building. Hopefully, this place would have a forge. Can’t afford to get rusty.

At least he had some ales to handle the situation. And maybe some cake. He hadn’t had that in some time.

In spite of his disposition, The Fire below the mountain had joined the League.

Notes:

Ah, Ornn. Our favourite grumpy demigod. I bet he stays in his room 90% of the time. Comments are always welcome, the next chapter might be soon.

Chapter 17: The Rebel and the Charmer.

Summary:

Two lovers, different as can be yet together for the same cause, are given an intriguing invitation.

Today had been a long day for Xayah and Rakan. A stealth mission to liberate tribe artefacts from human aggressors turned into a knock down brawl. As much as she found vindication is landing blades in the thieves, she sometimes wished that her plans would work out.

Rakan ceased dancing, his feathered ears twitching. Xayah heard it too, approaching footsteps. Human footsteps.

”Who’s there?”

A figure dressed in flowing purple robes with golden accents stepped out from the darkness.

The figure spoke with a woman’s voice, light but confident.

“Xayah and Rakan of the Lhotlan tribe. I’ve been looking for you two.”

A human? Looking for us? Must be an enemy.

Xayah’s first instinct was to toss a sharpened feather at the unwanted stranger, and she did. She threw three, as a matter of fact. But they were all blocked by some magic field.

Rakan was next, swinging with his cape of orange feathers, but found it bouncing off from the field.

”I suggest not attacking. This magic is quite impenetrable.”

Xayah grit her teeth, already pulling out three more feathers.

”Don’t tell Rakan what to do. He only listens to me.”

”Thanks, babe.”

The woman pulled down her hood, exposing short white hair and an almost gentle face. 

”I’m here to make an offer. You two seek liberation for your people. For the Vastaya to reclaim their lands. If you compete in the League, you’ll have a stage to announce your intentions.”

”A human stage?”

”A performer cannot choose their stage, isn’t that right, Rakan?”

Rakan bristled slightly, sharing a look to Xayah. The woman produced a letter and placed it on the grassy ground.

”It is your decision. But you should know, there are Vastaya amongst the crowd.”

The woman vanished in a flash, Xayah scoffing as she dispersed her blades.

”That was weird,” Rakan muttered.

Xayah spared a grunt of acknowledgment as her mind tossed around the offer.

Xayah tossed a feather behind her, watching a human fall to the ground with the blade sticking out from his forehead.

”Nice throw, honey.”

”Aw, it was nothing.”

She looked down at the letter in her hands. Her first instinct was to burn it. But, for some reason, she felt compelled to open it up.

Rakan placed his gentle hand on her shoulder.

”Hey, we can open it later. We should dance, shake the nerves off.”

Xayah looked away, feeling lovesick all over again.

”I’m not nervous…”

She turned back with a playful grin.

”But I do love dancing with you.”

They locked hands, and just like always, they began to dance. 

---

After a brief conversation, Rakan and Xayah made the decision to join the League. If anything else, they would show off the magic of the Vastaya.

Plus, Rakan loved to perform. Even if his heart was already in Xayah’s hands.

”So, why’re we doin’ this?”

”I already told you,” Xayah chided fondly.

”Tell me again, please?”

”If we can get a good reputation, we can recruit more Vastaya to our cause. The more the better.”

Rakan danced around Xayah with all the grace of a performer.

’The truest opponent lies within,” the door said.

”Ooh, fancy magic words.”

”Nothing special. On three, we push.”’

---

Xayah didn’t see Rakan when her eyes opened. She saw a magic grove, thrumming with life. This wasn’t the present. This was a memory.

She felt younger. Her feathers not quite as sharp and the magic that flows through her not quite as precise and controlled.

”Xayah of the Lhotlan.”

Xayah turned around, finding the face of her father. She remembered the stories he’d tell her, the folk songs she’d try to sing. That someone would use her memories as some kind of test was an insult she wanted to punish.

”That’s me. What do you want?”

Not-father walked up closer, lacking his old yet passionate love for the magic of the land. It was almost unnerving how it looked so real yet felt so fake.

“We wish to know why you accepted our offer? A free spirit such as yourself, not to mention your less than favourable opinion on humanity.”

Xayah folded her arms.

”Because I’m the only one who’s fighting for the Vastaya. If I can rally people, it’ll make the fight a little easier.”

”You might believe that, what is it that drives you? Please, we must know the depth of your truth.”

Xayah grit her teeth.

”Everything. Humans keep trying to confine the magic of this land, magic that we Vastaya cared for and nurtured. They need to learn that they can’t just walk in and start building things.”

Her false father nodded and his eyes glowed purple.

”Your truth is clear. How did it-

Xayah had a realisation, a realisation that seemed ridiculous with how long it took to happen.

”Wait, where’s Rakan?”

---

Like his beloved partner, Rakan was experiencing a memory. He was on a large tree stump, performing for a crowd of humans. Humans enjoyed his rhythm and dancing, they’d mangle the words and rhythm, but they were so easy to please.

But he knew this memory. And he knew that the most interesting person wasn’t part of the crowd.

”Rakan of the Lhotlan,” spoke a familiar voice.

Rakan hopped off the stage, stepping over to Xayah. Something about her seemed off.

”That’s me, want a show?”

”We seek answers. You were an entertainer before you joined Xayah’s crusade. You had a purpose, but you’ve thrown it aside for her. Why is that?”

Rakan shrugged, flicking a golden coin between his fingers.

”Eh, love makes us do crazy things. You ever been in love?”

”That doesn’t matter. But you must admit, the situations she’s put you in are dangerous.”

Okay, touchy subject.

”Hey, she’s the boss. I do my best.”

”You seek more. You love her, with your entire heart. But there is something she gives you that makes you complete.”

Not-Xayah pointed to the humans, now frozen in place. Strange.

”You used to believe coexistence with humans was possible. Are your whims truly dependent on your love?”

Rakan steeled his gaze. Trying to coexist didn’t do anything. It just made humans work harder to dry out the magic of the land.

”And what’s so wrong with that?” He answered, voice losing the playful edge for but a moment.

Rakan stared at the false image of Xayah, watching as she touched his chest and her eyes flashed purple.

”Although you were not initially invited to join. It would be cruel to separate a love so deeply shared. You may join the League, alongside your Xayah.”

Rakan watched as his company walked away into the dark foliage. He followed after, and soon, the darkness was all he could see:

---

Rakan and Xayah’s eyes opened, turning to each other in perfect sync.

”Oh, good. You’re back,” Xayah commented, looking relieved.

Rakan smirked, a common expression on his face.

”Like I’d ever leave.”

The doors were opened, beckoning the two vastaya inside. Rakan stepped in front, offering a hand to his lady.

”Shall we?”

Xayah rolled her eyes, but placed her hand in Rakan’s own as they entered the building.

The Rebel, followed by her beloved charmer, had joined the League.

Notes:

Ah, listening to these two talk to each other was a treat. Comments are always welcome, the next chapter should be soon.

Chapter 18: The Rise of the Thorns.

Summary:

Sometimes, a plant must take root in a new environment.

In the deep jungles of Ixtal, there is said to be a massive grove of plants and vines housed through a cavern of stone. From what little is known for sure, it is said to hold the rarest flowers, even those thought to be long extinct.

But the most curious thing, is that those who venture to find it, rarely return. There are many theories about what might lie in the grove of nature. A demon, a spirit of nature who punished any who tread upon the plants without care. But the truth was far more sinister.

Centuries ago, a sorceress followed by her soldiers entered the Garden of Zyr, and after being attacked by the carnivorous plants, the sorceress blasted the area with magic fire, killing almost all the plant life and her soldiers.

All but a single plant. One that had been altered by the blast of magic to create something unheard of.

For centuries, nothing grew in the scorched swamp. But the last plant swelled with a crimson bud. And one day, something came out of that bud. A figure with human sentience and a form vaguely similar to the sorcerer, but comprised of plants and nature. 

She had memories and felt a feeling of rage as she overlooked the rotting plants. They were once part of her, but human intervention had destroyed them.

The Hybrid wandered out of the swamp, eyes noticing creatures that would flee from her. She could feel the cries of nature, the cries of her children. Themn, she saw people.

A pair of men cut a flower bud, smiling.

”She’ll love this, won’t she?”

”Course, hell, anyone would love to get that.”

The hybrid felt an unknown feeling fill her mind. 

“Nature is not yours to take!”

Unbeknownst to her, the plant’s rage had sprouted vines from the ground, wrapping around the left man’s neck. The flower dropped to the ground.

The man stammered as his attacker walked slowly up to him. A flower rested in her hands, emanated a sweetly toxic scent.

“What’s wrong? I thought you liked flowers?”

The man sputtered and coughed as the flower’s poison entered his nostrils. 

“Who… are you?”

The woman smiled. A name came to her mind, although she was uncertain of its origin.

”Zyra.”

---

Since her awakening, Zyra had been very busy. Learning the depths of her abilities, sprouting her plants across the fertile landscape, and finding a brilliant new place to take root.

The new Garden of Zyr had many pleasures. There was water nearby, a nice spot for nourishing in the sunlight, and most of all: Far away from humanity and their meddling.

Zyra wandered through her abode, gracefully brushing sharp fingers across her children. The body of a man stood wrapped in vines as seeds were planted in his flesh. A fitting punishment for stepping on her own.

She stroked the bud of a snap-tooth flower. This one was taking time to grow, even with the magical agent that allowed Zyra to expedite her growth. 

“Come now, little one. You need not be afraid.”

She felt footsteps.

She wrapped herself in a large flower bud, one wrapped in thorny vines. The intruders spoke.

”Are you sure this is the place?"

"Of course. Have you ever seen these types of flowers?"

One of them was picked, and Zyra let her vines start culling the weak. Grasping claws pierced a human’s chest, spilling blood onto the soil. Another strike against humanity: the mess they made. She stood on the flower petals, speaking with twisted pleasure as the five invaders were wrapped in nature's deadly embrace.

"Face the punishment of my kind."

Zyra was so focused on making the humans pay, she failed to notice the one that entered late. They held out their hand, aglow with orange light, and Zyra felt something pulling her. She reinforced the vines wrapped around her, refusing to let this human take her, but it wasn't enough as the others joined in.

She was torn from the vines of her armour, and landed hard on the ground. Her vision was blurry. She tried to burrow beneath the ground, but her enemies bound her in arcane chains that weakened her.

”Take her to the Institute. But make sure you don’t step on any plants in the way out.”

---

Zyra’s awakening was filled with confusion. She was in a scorched swamp, rotting plants all around her. She knew this place

A woman dressed in red walked close. Yes, Zyra remembered this one. The sorceress who scorched her home. How dare she return here? Zyra summoned thorns and vines from the ground to ensnare her victim, but they passed through the woman like mist. 

"What is it that you want?" The woman spoke with monotone.

"I seek to grow. To have nature take this planet as it once was."

"Humans are part of nature too. Killing us would be counterproductive."

Zyra scoffed.

"Humanity is but a parasite. They use nature as tools, it is only fair that I use them for sustenance."

Zyra and the woman locked eyes, before the latter glowed purple with arcane power.

"How did it feel to open your mind?"

Zyra turned away.

"Pointless. Leave me be."

Zyra heard the familiar sound of energy building up, and the woman unleashed a torrent of magical energy that covered Zyra's vision with white light.

---

When Zyra woke up, she found herself in a locked room of concrete and the sense of magic. She could feel faint sun from outside, but it wasn't enough. She tried to pull her vines up from the ground, but to no avail. Whatever this place was had been enchanted, weakening her to an almost... human level. Such a thought sickened and enraged her. 

”Why do you keep me here?”

”To keep people safe. If you can learn to coexist with humanity, you won’t need to be restrained.”

Zyra snarled, thorns sprouting from her shoulders.

”Save me your prattle. Nature cannot be contained.”

"But you can. Worry not, you'll be allowed to gain sustenance, and if you behave, you might be let out."

The man left Zyra in the room, and she let the thorns sink back into her shoulders.

Whatever prison this was, it would only be a matter of time until she escaped. She noticed a flower on a windowsill. It was small, harmless. She walked to it and placed her fingers on the stem. It grew, not rapidly, but slightly. 

A slow growth was better than none at all.

Notes:

Zara was a trickier one on account if the whole ‘used to be a plant’ thing. I apologise if this wasn’t much of a judgment, but the next one will be back to business. Comments are welcome.

Chapter 19: The Pride of Nazumah.

Summary:

K'Sante might like fighting beasts more than anything else, but to make his people heard, a smaller arena would be better.

In the Shuriman city of Nazumah, it’s greatest defender met with his once partner in both battle and the heart to discuss recent events. 

K'Sante sighed as he overlooked the maps on Tome’s table. It marked infrastructure damage, potential ways for Xerath’s supporters to enter.

Azir and Xerath’s wars to gain favour were growing more common by the day. Soon, they’d break Nazumah’s borders and face everyone with a terrible choice.

K’Sante was in no hurry to become servants to arrogant god-warriors. But what could he do? He was a monster hunter, and a damn good one too, but his enemies were so much more than that. They were relentless, and had powers beyond K'Sante.

But, as always, Tome suggested something that K'Sante hadn’t even considered. It was given by a woman in purple, an invitation to something only heard about by rumours.

“You want me to join a sporting event?”

”This Institute is known all across the world. If we can get our voice out there, we might be able to defend ourselves better, bolster our borders, maybe even convince Xerath’s supporters to stop attacking us?”

K'Sante wasn’t convinced, looking at the envelope in Tome’s hand.

”It’s a long shot. But what if it gets to my head and I forget what I’m fighting for?”

Tome’s hand placed over K'Sante’s, drawing his attention.

”You won’t. You’ve changed, gotten a little less bullheaded. You won’t forget.”

K'Sante went through the possibilities in his head. Sure, Nazumah could handle itself without him, at least for a time, and this would be the best chance they’d have to share their suffering.

“I’ll do it, but only if you watch.”

Tope laughed, placing a hand on K’Sante’s shoulder.

”Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

---

It was a rather long journey reaching what was colloquially called the travel point, but K'Sante met a woman in purple and gold who used a strange spell to transport him to the outside of a massive ornate building with blue light glowing from inside.

K'Sante looked up at the door, finding an inscription carved at the top.

‘The truest enemy lies within.’

K'Sante could agree with that. If he could have a moment with his younger self, oh, he’d have some words to say.

Pushing open the door, K'Sante’s vision was blasted by golden sand.

---

K'Sante’s eyes opened and he was in a familiar room. And he remembered this place. This was where he and Tope had their falling out those years ago.

”That’s your problem, you don’t think! It’s all about you and your pride!”

K'Sante chose to ignore his younger self’s response, hearing the sound of a door slamming shut.

This might not be real. But the memory hurt all the same.

”Tome, I never meant-

Something was different. Tome’s posture wasn’t this upright and rigid. Nor was his voice usually so… authoritative. 

“K'Sante, the Pride of Nazumah. Why do you wish to join the League?”

Ah. This was some kind of mystic mirage. Using his memories as a staging ground to ask questions. Clever, if a bit unnerving.

”The same reason I do a lot of things: I love a challenge and this game is filled with them.”

Not-Tome was disbelieving, walking around the large table.

”I believe there is more. You have made a living out of hunting beasts and protecting your home of Nazumah. Why leave it undefended?”

K'Sante folded his arms over his chest.

”Nazumah isn’t defenceless without me. They can defend themselves. I’m here to give them a voice outside home. To tell our enemies that we are not going to let them walk over us.”

Not-Tome stared at K'Sante, as if studying him. K'Sante looked away for a moment. He wasn’t very good at staring contests. 

“Your truth is clear, and have earned your place in the League. Tell me, how did it feel to open your mind?”

K'Sante made a so-so motion with his left hand.

”Could have been worse.”

Tome nodded, heading to the door and pulling it open to walk through. K'Sante followed after him, pulling the knob before his vision was again covered by golden sand.

---

K'Sante’s vision recovered to find the building’s doors open. He’d passed the test and had earned his place in this grand challenge.

He looked to Tome’s medallion, brushing his finger on it before sticking it to his shirt.

He would make his people proud, and most importantly, tell Azir and Xerath that the citizens of Shurima would not just stand idly by as they trampled on them.

The Pride of Nazumah had joined the League. And if there was one thing that K'Sante was good at, it was making himself heard.

Notes:

K’Sante was another tricky one. But I read his lore and I think I really like this guy.
Comments are always welcome, the next chapter should be soon.

Chapter 20: The Iron Maiden.

Summary:

Rell’s distaste for authority is something that is well known.
But the chance to bash some Noxian heads together, among other things, is a mighty fine motivator.

The Iron Maiden: a criminal that caused even the steel soldiers of the Trifarian legion to shudder with report of her brutality. That reputation made Rell’s life easy, never running out of targets to release some anger at, but also made the days long.

Rell sat in the outskirts of Noxus, pieces of metal littered about, ready to be shifted into armour at a moment’s notice.

This power, ferromancy, was something she used to not understand. Something she was seen as special for, enough to become the star pupil of a special academy.

The metal bent with her anger. Star pupil wasn’t a good thing, as she soon discovered.

“Oh, there you are.”

Rell’s immediate response was to summon her metal lance and put together her steed from metal armour plates. Sebastian. The only partner in her quest to make her aggressors suffer.

"Looking for a fight? Your funeral."

Rell pulled swords up from the ground, shooting them forward like a storm of arrows.

The metal melted away as soon as it touched a magic field.

”Now now, I’m not here to fight.”

This person could have blasted her off the ground if she wanted. Maybe Rell could here her out. For once. Just this once.

”Then why are you here?”

”To offer an invitation. Your magical power has earned you a reputation, and my institute can provide whatever you desire, should you perform well.”

This sounded like the academy. Excellence measured in sacrifice, isn’t that right, mom?

”And what does your Institute do?”

”We host a multi national sporting event, with warriors from all across the world competing against one another for prestige and prizes.”

A tournament? Multinational?

”Are there Noxians?”

”Quite a few.”

Rell paused. While tearing down Noxus piece by piece and following rumours was a start, if she could get her hands on someone high rank, she could finally make some real headway.

”Fine. I’ll do it. But not ‘cause you’re asking me to.”

---

Metal trotting rang in Rell’s ears, it was a brief moment of peace in her life. The journey here was long, getting a few unfriendly looks. Nothing out of the ordinary on that front.

“Alright, stay here.”

Sebastian nodded. Sometimes Rell forgot he was just a bunch of metal in the shape of a horse rather than something with an actual conscious mind.

It was nice to pretend, if only for a bit.

Rell walked up to the doors, seeing a magic message appear on the upper centre.

’The truest opponent lies within.’

Rell scoffed and proceeded to push open the door, only to find her vision obscured by blackness.

This better not have been a trick.

---

As her vision recovered, Rell found herself wide eyed. 

No. No, I can’t be. I can’t be back here.

Rell stared through the academy halls. The blackened halls with pictures of founders and rich nobles that made Rell want to throw up. She hated this place,  the pictures, the adults that used the students as test subjects.

But then, as she wandered through the corridors that never seemed to end, she heard a pair of familiar voices in conversation.

”The girl is showing promise,” the pale lady that made the offer.

”Of course, that’s why I let you give us this opportunity,” Rell’s mother. Who knew what was happening at the school but let it all happen.

“Worry not. You will have the uplifting status you crave. And Rell will be an important part of this empire.”

Rell followed the voices in a tunnel visioned haze, she knew those voices. She couldn’t summon her lance but maybe she could put a metal plate around their neck and superheat it up.

Yeah. That’s what she’ll do.

Throwing open the door, Rell only saw the pale woman sitting at a table, dressed in dark blues with a faint rose-like embroidery on black fabrics. 

“What am I doing here?”

The woman stared at Rell, studying her.

”For one so young to suffer so cruelly, a truly heartbreaking tragedy.”

Rell narrowed her eyes. She hated pity.

”Enough with the sad looks, tell me what you want.”

”The most important question is what do you want? Why choose to join the League?”

The League?

Then it all clicked into place. This was some kind of magic test. Taking a place from her memories to interrogate her. 

“I want to slam some Noxian heads. Tell my mom that she’s next.”

The pale lady, Rell swears she knows her name, tilted her head.

”I sense more than that. More than revenge is what drives you.”

”There’s kids out there who Noxus is doing all sorts of stuff for. Culling the weak, making soldiers. It shouldn’t happen. I need to find them.”

The woman nodded, her eyes glowing slightly.

”Your truth is chear, and we will assist you in whatever way we can. Tell me, how did it feel to open your mind?”

Rell stepped off from the chair and headed to the door as she gave her answer.

”Don’t like it. Don’t bring me here again.”

Rell opened the door, and found her vision covered by black smoke. And strangely enough, the faint smell of roses.

---

Rell recovered her vision to feel a metal plate rub on her cheek. 

“Thank you, Sebastian.”

She got up on his back, and the steed rode into the building step by step. Rell took a deep breath, pushing the memory back.

Maybe she’d get to bury the pale lady in metal. That’d be fun. The doors closed behind her as she entered.

The Iron Maiden had joined the League.

Notes:

I bet she blasts her music loud enough to keep her enemies awake. It's the best revenge she can get without murder. Comments are always welcome. We’ve got one more of my current set.

Chapter 21: The Green Father.

Summary:

The Green Father of Ionia gets an offer to leave his garden, to preach the beauty of nature. But the truth of his invitation is something a little different.

Deep in the spiritual forests of Ionia, there is says to be a caretaker of nature, forever gentle to plants and animals alike, but always making sure that any hunters regret the decision to endanger the innocent fauna.

The title, fitting as it is, was The Green Father.

Ivern stroked Daisy’s shoulder as she carefully planted the seed despite her gargantuan hands of pure stone. Ivern loved having a helping pair of hands in the soil.

The flowers whispered of an approaching visitor.

”Why, hello my friend, what brings you to my garden?”

A woman dressed in light purples and golden accents walked forward, her hands covered by black leather gloves. Ivern could sense magic from her.

”Ivern, the green father. My name is Amelia. I’m here to give an offer.”

Amelia walked closer, pulling out a folded paper sheet from her sleeves. Parlour tricks? Ivern liked her.

”We wish to invite you to join our establishment. You’ll be able to perform for audiences and preach the cycle of nature to countless people. But we’ll need you to do something in return for us.”

Ivern raised an eyebrow.

”Oh? What’s that?”

”You’ll learn soon enough. Do you agree?”

Ivern scratched the wooden bark of his chin, holding up a finger as he consulted with Daisy and a collection of small squirrels.

”Yes, yes, I know.”

“But I can’t just leave you.”

”I know you have Daisy…”

He sighed softly.

”Oh, alright, but stay out of trouble, I’ll be back when I can.”

Ivern turned back to Amelia.

”I accept the offer, so long as I get to come back when I can?”

A squirrel perched on Amelia’s head, breaking her stoic composure for a brief moment. Ivern smiled kindly, like a loving grandfather.

"It seems that she likes you."

She cleared her throat.

”It seems so. Are you ready to go?”

Ivern looked to Daisy and the squirrels, who gave friendly waves. He waved back before nodding at Amelia.

A hand of flesh rested in Ivern’s, and with a few magic words, the two of them were gone. A squirrel fainted from the shock. 

---

In a flash of purple, Ivern was somewhere far from his green grove of nature’s beauty.

He strode forward, accidentally stepping on a time flower yet to fully grow. He heard the cry of pain and crouched down to heal the little one ever so slightly.

”Don’t worry, little one,” he whispered “You’ll grow into a mighty plant.”

He soon came before a large building with large doors that were the same size as a medium sized tree.

He saw some writing at the top of the door.

’The truest opponent lies within.”

Ivern chuckled in curiosity. Oh, fancy words? What could be behind this door, he wonders.

Rubbing his hands together, he pushed open the door and felt a rush of a chill natural breeze.

Green leaves flooded his vision, becoming all he could see for the moment.

---

When Ivern’s eyes opened again, he found himself underneath a massive tree with magical essence. It was beautiful, whoever planted this tree must’ve been a wonderful friend of nature.

Ivern turned to find a heavily armoured man with a bushy beard and a horned helmet. He looked dangerous, but Ivern knew that sometimes danger was just someone being afraid.

”Hello, good sir. What brings you here?”

The man seemed confused.

”Do you… not recognise this person?”

Ivern searched his mind. He vaguely recognised the armour shape, but nothing about the person inside it. His axe was stained with red. 

”Not at all, I’m afraid.”

The man sighed.

”I’ll get to the point. This is a mental construct, drawn from your memories so that you’ll trust us. You can call me Iran.”

Ivern gasped.

”Oh, you didn’t need to do that. I trust you all anyway. But, I was told that I have to do something for you in exchange for joining your little game.”

Iran nodded, sheathing the axe.

“The truth of your invitation is that we need a precautionary defence if one of our captives escape. As the Green Father, part of nature’s cycle, you may be the best chance to pacify Zyra.”

Zyra? Ivern had a faint memory of a plant from very far away. A desert plant that grew into something strange.

”Hm, I suppose I see your point. I’ll do it.”

Iran nodded, eyes flashing purple.

“Your assistance is appreciated, Green Father. We’ll ensure you have a garden to nurture during your stay.”

Ivern clapped his hands together.

”Oh, that would be wonderful.”

The summoner nodded his heads, slowly backing away.

”That concludes our discussion. Watch your head.”

At the cryptic warning, Ivern heard the sounds of a tree slowly falling. It was coming right at him. Instead of moving, he simply held out his arms.

There was nothing to fear, in his eyes.

---

Ivern opened his eyes to see the doors opened. He’d earned his way to the building. He turned away to see the tiny flower he accidentally stepped on had grown. Not a lot. But enough that they had healed.

Ivern smiled, he loved nature.

He bounded into the halls, not even noticing the door closing behind him.

Whatever may result of his involvement, The Green Father had joined the League.

Notes:

And that’s another ten done, I’ll pick my next set in a couple days. Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 22: The Unforgotten.

Summary:

A hunter of Ionia’s demons gets a strange invitation.

With the Noxian invasion, the spirits of the land were sent into disarray. What was once peaceful shifted with disgust at the lands being dirtied by blood and steel.

And with the fear, rage and sorrow of the civilians, demonic spirits preyed on them. Feeding on the pain of the victims, becoming stronger until they consume their feast.

But in spite of their numbers, and their relative lack of public awareness, they were hunted by a man neither fully alive or dead. He wielded two blades and wore a crimson mask that had a demonic visage.

His name, almost forgotten to him and known by many, was Yone. 

He could sense an Azakana, and found a young man circled up as obsidian shadow gripped him with clawed hands.

”Ohm’Rana, face your own fate!”

At the mention of its name, the shadowy creature seemed to solidify into something flesh and blood. A tall creature with a demonic face.

His crimson blade pierced the creature, his second blade in his hand as he spoke in a lost tongue.

The demon pulsed, it’s essence draining into the sword the harder it cried and squealed.

And then, the Azakana was gone, only a wooden mask stood at Yone’s feet. He added it to the collection on his belt. Six now. 

“You are safe now,” Yone spoke, voice softer now that he spoke to a living soul.

”I, I came to ask you something. Have you reconsidered our offer?”

Yone stared blankly at the summoner. He'd had these visits recently, each one asking if he'd reconsidered. And his answer was always the same: Not yet. He couldn't abandon Ionia, leave its people to be feasted by azakana as their negative emotions tore their hearts apart.

"My answer remains the same."

He turned away, leaving the young man to get back to his feet and dust himself off.

"Listen. I usually wouldn't say something like this, but when the Institute wants someone to join, they don't usually take no for an answer. And if they want something, it's smarter to let them."

Yone stopped walking away to turn and face his company.

"You imply that they would force me to compete? Bind me to their will?"

The man wrung his hands together.

"Nothing quite so extreme, but, if you join now, I can allow you to make a compromise."

"And what might that be?”

The summoner extended his hand, his skin lightly calloused.

"First, you must agree to join."

Yone looked to a nearby puddle, seeing the reflection of his crimson mask. He could say no and continue his quest for answers. But the more he refused, the more persistent they’d become. 

Perhaps it would be for the best if he just swallowed his pride for a moment and took the offer. 

After a moment that felt like several minutes, Yone finally looked up to the summoner.

“Very well. Take me to the Institute. We’ll discuss the details of my attendance.”

As the summoner prepared the spell, Yone had a realisation.

”What is your name?”

”Ehro.” 

In a flash of purple light, both of them were gone, the only signs of their presence being light scorch marks on the ground.

---

When the flash of purple receded, Yone found himself alone at the end of a set of stone stairs. He walked up, two at a time, swords in their sheathes but hands ready to pull them out if needed.

Call it paranoia or vigilance, Yone thought it was wise. He came before the outside of orange doors. 

His crimson blade pulsed. It could sense dark presences. Several kinds, in fact. But the more pressing concern was the writing that appeared at the top of the doors.

‘The truest opponent lies within.’

Yone agreed with the statement, even divorced from the dangers of Azakana.

Yone pushed the door open, and saw only black.

---

Yone felt weightless, as if he was slowly sinking in water. He knew this sensation. The last moments before death. Asking him, are you ready to let go? Are you ready to surrender? Are you ready to let us in?

Yone’s answer was the same as when his Azakana found him.

Not yet.

With a rush of willpower, Yone sat up from a shallow river of clear water. He looked to his hand, still human. 

This was a memory. He saw bodies impaled by sorts of swords. Swords he recognised.

He saw someone. A creature on four legs with a large branch. He knew that creature.

”Excuse me, do you know where I am?”

The creature jumped as if shocked, before trampling off into the blackened distance. Yone chased the creature but soon lost it.

Then, he saw a figure walk out from the blackness, wearing long robes with a sword in its sheath. He spoke with a deep and familiar voice, yet the tone of his speech was different.

”Yone. Brother of Yasuo, student of Elder Souma. Now, something else entirely. I’m glad you finally decided to accept our invitation.”

Yone kept his face stern. He couldn’t trust this mirage.

”Why does this Institute want me? It can’t be for just competing, you would not be so persistent if it was.”

”Your knowledge of the Azakana is something we must understand. For Ionia’s safety. But most pressingly, this is an opportunity for your personal growth.”

From the shadows stepped out Yone’s brother and his murderer, Yasuo. Dressed in the same robes as that fateful rain filled day.

”Can you forgive your brother? Your killer? If he hadn’t killed you, the Azakana would not be bound to your face. But you would also be just as blind as everyone else about their threat.”

Yone’s words caught in his throat.

”Forgiveness is… complicated. But for Ionia’s sake, and so long as I am allowed to return home when not needed, I will tell you everything I know about the Azakana.”

Not-Yasuo nodded and his eyes flashed an arcane purple.

”Your truth is clear. How did it feel to open your mind to us?”

”Unwanted.”

With that word, Yone found water rising up from the ground, covering his waist, chest, neck before finally falling down through the deep.

He felt his vision grow blurry and soon closed over.

---

Yone’s eyes snapped open and he proceeded to turn himself around and draw his blades in an offensive position.

His eyes scanned the area, finding no threats to speak of. Until a voice spoke in his mind.

”Calm yourself, Yone. You have earned passage into the Institute.”

Turning back around, Yone saw the building’s doors were now wide open. Blue flame torches lit the corridor which invited him inside.

He still wasn’t entirely thrilled with these events. But if this was what fate had in store? It might be best to play along for the moment.

For the safety of his homeland, the eradication of the Azakana, and to examine his opinion on Yasuo, The Unforgotten had joined the League.

Notes:

We’re back, starting with Yasuo’s ever so beloved brother. I’m sure they’ll have a great time.
Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 23: The Piltover Enforcer.

Summary:

Vi’s always been a punch first and ask questions later type of woman. But to join the League and help Caitlyn with the case, she’ll need to be the one giving answers.

Vi might be a fighter, but that didn’t mean she was dumb. You don’t live in Zaun without getting some street smarts. And in the time she’d been in Piltover, something she couldn’t imagine as a kid, she’d learned how to carefully pick the right words and get information.

But she wasn’t cut out for paperwork, that was more Caitlyn’s style. But with her out of city, it was Vi’s responsibility to keep up on their cases. Taking down chem-barons in Zaun, keeping people safe. She did it, she also did some detective work by heading down to her Zaun contacts and seeing what she could learn about the mysterious ’C.’ 

Jericho’s grub was still high above than some of the Piltover food. The food felt more… authentic with the excess grease and flavour.

Vi signed a piece of paperwork, hearing the office door ring open by the bell.

“Hey, cupcake,” she greeted, pleased to finally have an excuse away from signing shit. 

“Hello, Vi. Keeping busy? Any headway with the C case?”

Vi made a noncommittal hand motion.

“Plenty of leads, but nothing concrete. Jinx has been causing trouble and… it’s hard to balance them both.”

Caitlyn slid over an envelope.

”Well, might I suggest something to take your mind off?”

Vi ripped open the envelope, her eyes scanning the contents.

“What, no, no, no. I can’t do this. What about the case? I can’t just-

“You can. And you will. The tournament is your type of event. We can come back here and search leads when we have days off. I’ll call some of my resources.”

Vi smirked.

“You missed me, didn’t you?”

Caitlyn turned around on her heel so that Vi couldn’t see her smile.

“Just get yourself packed.”

Caitlyn left the room, letting Vi chuckle.

”Oh yeah, she missed me.”

---

After taking an airship- not a blimp!, Caitlyn’s voice reminded her- to the outside of the institute, Vi stepped off the stairway to the outside of a long series of steps.

The pair of them walked up the steps, Caitlyn providing Vi with some info about the establishment. 

“All those people in one place? Sounds dangerous.”

”Yes, well, they’re confident they can control the worst of them.”

They cake before the entrance to the main building, a massive set of doors with a single magic message inscribed at the top.

’The truest opponent lies within.’

“The doors have a special security mechanism. Once you open it, we’ll both enter at once.”

Vi cracked her neck as she walked up to the set of doors.

”Sounds like a plan.”

There were two options for Vi. Knock gently and wait for someone to come in, or just push the door open with no regard for politeness.

Yeah, in what world would she pick the former?

But as soon as she placed her hand on the door and pushed, a strange feeling filled her head, like the world's worst headache before her vision became nothing but black.

---

When her vision recovered. Vi found herself in a familiar place from her past. The last drop, the second favourite hangout for her old gang that roughed up anyone who disrespected them.

Vi didn’t like the person she used to be, even if she tried to only hurt those who deserved it. But still, back then, she was part of something. Zaun punks with fellow punks causing trouble.

The place was full of gang members cheering, sharing drinks and Undercity grub. But Vi couldn’t see anyone familiar. What was this about?

”Hey, Vi? What’s your deal?” Spoke Deck, voice vaguely slurred. He was always an easy drunk.

”Tired of your mouth running,” Vi answered as she stood from her seat and headed down to the lower levels of the place. She knew the layout like the back of her hand.

She leaned against the wall, looking up to the ceiling as she yelled out.

“Hey! I know this is some kind of trick! If you don’t want me to start punching stuff, how about you tell me what’s happening?”

“Violet. Born of Zaun yet enforcer of Piltover’s laws.”

Vi turned around to the voice with her fists up, but put them down as she finally saw something familiar.

Her eyes met the innocent blue eyes of her younger sister. Powder. Before… whatever happened to her while Vi was gone.

”I’m certain you must have questions-

In a moment of pure emotional impulse, Vi hugged her beloved little sister. God, if she could just… talk to her. Tell her she was sorry, that she would have stayed, she would have done something…

If she just hadn’t left. But she did. And what happened was all on her conscience.

But Vi knew this place. She knew her old crew. And she knew that her little sister was not part of it.

”What’s going on?” She demanded.

Powder-Jinx-someone-whatever spoke.

”Why do you wish to join the League?”

This must be what Cait meant by security system.

”Cause I like punching people who deserve a broken jaw,” she answered quickly. And it was true.

Not-Powder tilted her head. 

“No, there’s more to your reasonings,” and Powder’s voice became layered by a second, more adult voice, “Perhaps we should delve deeper.”

The area began to cave in around Vi. Metal pipes cracking and wooden planks creaking and collapsing all around her.

---

A spotlight shined onto Vi’s form. Ah, she knew this. Back when Caitlyn vouched for her when the Piltover council considered shipping her to Stillwater Prison.

”We ask again. Why do you want to join the League?”

Vi narrowed her expression. Even if she now worked with Piltover, she still had her gripes about the people on top.

“Because ‘C’ is causing trouble in not just Piltover, but Zaun as well. She needs to be taken down, and if anyone can give some help, it’s the institute.”

The council murmured amongst themselves. 

“Close, but we sense something more personal.”

The lights shut off one by one, blanketing her vision in darkness one more time.

---

Vi’s final spot in memory lane was her first home. An orphanage bedroom as she held a sleeping toddler with short blue hair. She remembered this place. A moment where it was just the two of them.

A voice spoke in her head, coming from nowhere.

”Why do you want to join the League?”

Vi sighed silently.

“I know that this won’t change anything. Punching people won’t fix anything in Zaun. But fighting is all I’m good at and I want to fight for where I’m from instead of what I’m stuck in.”

“If I can get prize money… influence, I can put it to the orphanages, the people who deserve it.”

She stroked Powder’s hair.

”People who should’ve had help a long time ago. That’s why I want to join. That’s why I’m here.”

”Your truth is clear, how did it feel to open your mind?”

Vi narrowed her eyebrows.

”Like making me want to punch you.”

As strange smoke filled the room, Vi closed her eyes, and held Powder tight. She didn’t want to let go.

Even though, in her heart. She knows she already did.

---

”Vi!”

Caitlyn’s voice pulled Vi from her own head.

”Yeah, cupcake?”

Caitlym breathed a sigh of relief before she motioned to the pair of wide open doors.

”It seems you passed. Nicely done.”

Vi slipped back on her mask of casual nonchalance.

”Naturally. Race you to the cafeteria?”

”Wait, what did you see in there?”

Vi paused. She trusted Caitlyn, really she did. The first person in Piltover to look at her as something more than gutter trash to be stomped on or thrown into the river.

But even a partnership such as theirs has to keep its secrets.

”Nothing too bad.”

Vi entered the Institute, Caitlyn following after her. In spite of the intrusion into her mind, Vi was ready to see what this place had to offer.

The Piltover Enforcer had joined the League.

Notes:

Considering how much I love arcane Vi, my first thought was to kind of make Arcane the backstory instead of League proper. But that wouldn’t be very fair, so I kind of melded the two.
Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 24: The Ice Witch.

Summary:

In the far north of the Freljord, there is the ancient citadel of the Frost-Guard, home to an ancient queen of ice.

In the Icy lands of the Freljord, it was three tribes that fought against each other for their beliefs. There was the Avarosans, led by Warmother Ashe who wanted to offer a hand of cooperation rather than bloodshed. The Winter's Claw, led by Sejuani, preached the bloody ways of survival through struggle and called the Avarosans as soft-spined weaklings. Very few knew the depth of Sejuani and Ashe's past together.

And finally, and by far the most enigmatic, there was the Frost-Guard, a grand cult of worship and led by one of three sisters from the Freljord's distant past. 

Two sisters had perished centuries ago. But one remained, toiling her plans for centuries in a goal that only she was truly aware of. Ancient bargains, actions that only she could undertake. Every sacrifice, every piece of scorn and hatred from other tribes, it was all worth it.

Only Lissandra understood the true darkness beneath the ice. The shadows that slumbered, shifting ever so slightly as conflict echoed from the lands.

Lissandra prioritised her solitude in the ancient stronghold of black ice which never melted. It was a monument, created centuries ago. But her solitude was interrupted by one of her guards clad in the obsidian armour.

“Mistress Lissandra, there is an emissary who wishes to speak with you.”

An emissary? Perhaps one of the Avarosans who turned from the Warmother’s side.

”An emissary from what tribe?”

“She is of no tribe we know. But she managed to fight past the trolls and us.”

Lissandra’s expression was partially shielded by her eye covering helmet. But she must admit that her curiosity was piqued by this news.

“Bring her to me.”

Soon, Lissandra had a new visitor. A woman dressed in fur lined and purple leathers cleared her throat.

“I-I’m an emissary from the Institute of war, my name is Izrula. Here to outstretch a hand of invitation.”

”And that invitation would be?”

The sound of unfolding paper and the woman’s vouce became stiff, like putting on the air of authority. 

“The institute of war would like to invite you to our establishment, so that you along with Sejuani of the Winter’s Claw and Ashe of the Avarosa, can discuss the politics of the Freljord with less bloodshed. We offer glory and fortune in our tournament, and an expansive library of knowledge.”

A tournament to settle political disputes. How barbaric. It reminded her of how the Ice Trolls would settle their differences. She had no interest in such a thing.

“You can keep that hand. My plans are far more important than whatever you wish to know.”

“My institute is host to some of the most powerful sorcerers of the modern era. Whenever your plans, perhaps we can help.”

Lissandra’s expression was almost unreadable behind her helmet and her natural stoicism. But for the briefest moment, one could almost image the slightest hint of amusement.

“My dear, I have existed for far longer than your institute. You may have strength to fell a few trolls, but my responsibilities are far beyond you.”

Izrula glanced to the left nervously before sighing.

”There is something else you should know. Something… that should probably remain private.”

Lissandra would typically refuse such a request. But there was something behind the woman’s voice that made the Ice Witch fulfill it, if only for curiosity.

Once they were in privacy, Lissandra ordered Izrula to speak her mind. And the words that escaped the woman’s lips caught Lissandra’s attention.

”My superiors know that the void’s presence exists here. We do not know how or why, but we know that they cannot be allowed to free themselves.”

”I am well aware, girl. Your superiors can rest assured that I am keeping them contained.”

”But we can sense them. Whatever it is you’re doing to them, it might suffice for now. But for how long?”

The witch and the summoner ‘stared’ at each other for a moment before the former spoke.

”I will discuss your proposal. My guard will watch over you.”

Izrula nodded, exiting the chambers and leaving Lissandra alone once more. The sorceress walked over to a throne of black ice, taking a seat as she took the moment to think and consider the opportunities presented before her.

She could not leave her citadel, leave her stronghold unguarded. The frost-guard and the trolls were a mighty force, but without their mistress, could they descend into infighting? And that wasn’t even mentioning what her absence could do to them.

But if the sorcerers of the institute had but a fraction of Lissandra’s knowledge, it might be wise to accept aid.

An idea flashed into Lissandra’s mind.

Standing from her throne, Lissandra walked over to the veritable archive of myths and magic. She ignored the words of Avarosa and Serylda, pulling out a tablet with runes and ancient words.

She hasn’t used this spell for quite some time, but she knew the runes like it was yesterday. With an exhale of preparation, Lissandra began the spell.

---

"What... is that?" 

"A compromise," Lissandra stated plainly.

The reflection of herself was a near perfect copy of Lissandra herself. It would act as a clever misdirection, a puppet to convince others. It lacked the full extent of her sorcery, but it had enough poured into it to make a formidable opponent.

Of course, she didn’t make it a perfect copy. There were some things she kept locked away. It would not speak of The Watchers. Nor her bargains or the family who betrayed her. It would be that which Ashe and Sejuani saw her as: The unfeeling Ice Witch. Let them believe their own lies as they squabble like bickering children. It all matters little.

Izrula kept her eyes on Lissandra.

”She will participate in my stead. And in return, when I request it, your sorcerers may come to my stronghold. Do we have an agreement?”

Izrula paused, looking to the false Lissandra and then to the true one. She swallowed her worry and extended a hand.

”We do.”

The icy blue hands of Lissandra shook the far warmer hands of the summoner, and the deal was done.

The woman handed Lissandra a crystal orb coloured an obsidian blue. 

“So that you may observe the matches, your majesty.”

She would not indulge in such a base pleasure. But the trolls might enjoy such entertainment.

”Your generosity is appreciated. Now take your leave.”

---

Hours later, after Lissandra had informed her guard of the news, she made her way to the deepest cavern that housed her ancient folly.

Her hand touched the wall of true ice. She sensed them, always being careful that her mind would not touch theirs. They could not awaken. They could not break the wall.

They must slumber. For as long as Lissandra could keep them.

Although the watchers still slept in the ice, it wouldn’t be long until she’d have to sacrifice dreams for them. Whatever sorcerers the institute had could do nothing to stop what was coming. 

All she could do was hold back the apocalypse. For just moments longer. It was the only thing she could have.

Notes:

Lissandra was a clever one for me, and I think my idea of how to justify her in the League was a decent one. Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 25: The Chem-baroness.

Summary:

Glasc industries has become a very profitable and lucrative business in Piltover’s market and Zaun’s health. But it is more than simple money that motivates the head of the company.

Amongst the opulent Piltover elite and the downtrodden of Zaun, there is a single name on both cities lips when they needed something done right.

Glasc industries specialised in perfumes and beauty products for those rich enough to afford it, along with medical supplies for those in Zaun who struggle to breath. This demonstration of care and compassion had earned the respect of many people from below and above.

And according to the woman on top of it all, everything was going according to plan. Loyalty, among other things, was a priceless investment.

Renata Glasc sat in the office of her chemtech factory, awaiting the scheduled appointment for another company official looking to increase their profit. Piltover elite were so predictable. But that predictability made her job slightly easier.

Her accountant peered through the door after knocking. A sharply dressed young woman that was recently hired yet understood the position like a professional.

“Miss Glasc? You have a visitor.”

Hm. Thirty minutes early. 

“Bring them inside.”

Instead of the gold and blue of clan Hosk, the man before her was dressed in purple and golden accents. Not too affluent, but well off. And certainly not of Piltover. Foreign business was always a good avenue.

”Good afternoon, are you looking for employment? Or do you simply have a problem with one of our products?”

The man shook his head.

“No, this is another matter. An offer from I to you.”

Renata kept her eyes on the man, studying him. A small scar on his left cheek, brown eyes and a calmness about him that might be hiding something.

She could adapt.

”If it is a business partnership you want, you should know that I prefer appointments made before you arrive.”

”Apologies, Miss Glasc. But this matter is of interest to you.”

Presumptuous, aren’t you?

Renata let the man sit opposite her and beckoned him to make his pitch.

”My name is Alex from the Institute of War. Have you perhaps heard of the League of Legends?”

Renata hadn’t watched a match herself, her business didn’t allow much leisure. She heard chatter from her employees, and that was all she cared to learn.

”Heard of it. Why?”

From his pocket, Alex produced a stamped envelope and slid it over the desk.

Renata carefully opened the letter, her eyes reading it. It was an invitation, using pretty words that her business might use to sell her products. It was slightly specialised towards her, mentioning the reputation in both Piltover and Zaun and how they have a place for her to develop her alchemy when away from her factories.

”Why should I accept? I’m a busy woman with very busy plans. I cannot simply leave to fight in some sporting event.”

Now it was Alex’s turn. He’d introduced the offer, now he’d have to convince her.

”We understand that you are a busy woman, and are under no obligation to accept. But we believe this might be a business opportunity. To extend your reach to other areas of the world, gain prize money to support the downtrodden of your city.”

Renata already had a plan in mind for the latter, but she didn’t say anything about that.

“Piltover and Zaun is my priority, the rest of the world isn’t.”

”Perhaps not at the moment, but this could be a chance to gain new product ideas from other regions? Make allies from afar?”

Renata paused, drumming the fingers of her prosthetic on her desk. While she had already made progress with her industry’s popularity, appearing in a ‘charity’ sporting event would increase it even higher.

She made her decision.

“Where is this event to take place?”

“Everything you need to know is in the letter. We look forward to seeing you on the fields, Miss Glasc.”

The man left the office, and Renata eyed the letter. She pressed the button to summon her accountant, who arrived in barely over a minute.

“Yes, Miss Glasc?”

“Cancel my appointments for this week. I’m going on a business trip. Raymond will handle the company until I get back. You’ll make sure no-one slacks off.”

Perhaps if her accountant was like the last one, she’d be downright terrified at the thought of Renata leaving. But this new one was far cooler headed. Renata liked that about her.

“Understood. Do you have any further requests?”

”Tell Alyce she can go on break. Everyone else can keep working.”

---

Taking an airship to her business trip was a moment for Renata to overlook the areas. A grassy area with old stone structures and a protective energy field around it. 

It was a decent sight. Not magnificent, but decent. But what was magnificent was the invention by her side. Her decanter, a mechanical wonder that could dispense vials of her parents liquids for healing and other functions. It also had some new features that would work wonders in combat.

Walking down the steps, Renata’s eyes looked up to a pair of massive ornate doors. Across the top, magic writing caught the baroness’s attention.

’The truest opponent lies within.’

Fancy words for a pointless purpose. Like Piltover.

Renata flexed her prosthetic fingers before pushing past the door. And in a moment, there was the scent of burning and smoke which blanketed her vision.

---

The building was burning. Her father was dead under buried rubble, but her mother was still alive. She shouted at Renata to save her, and Renata, now younger, ran over to grab her mother’s hand.

An emotional part of Renata, buried beneath her calculating professionalism, screamed at her to help her mother. If she just tried, she’d be able to pull her out.

But Renata was no fool. She knew when her mind chose to remind her of what Piltover had taken away. How it had cruelly taken her parent’s lives in the name of progress.

But this was almost too perfect of a recreation. Too much like someone forced the memory to the forefront of her mind.

Although it hurt her to pull away, Renata let go of her mother’s hand and looked down with simmering rage.

”What is this?”

After a moment of further struggle, Renata’s mother seemed to relax, as if her mind was replaced by someone else.

”A memory. We hoped that such a precious moment would make you forthcoming to our questions.”

Renata scoffed.

”I don’t appreciate intrusions. And I’d prefer my meetings to be done in a place less… close to falling apart.”

”Understood. Allow me.”

With a snap of her mother’s fingers, a blanket of smoke rolled over Renata’s vision.

---

Renata soon found herself in a shining Piltover office, all pretentious gold and pointless art pieces. And a few feet away from her was a man in an obscuring purple robe.

”What do you want? What do you wish to gain from the League?”

”To increase my sphere of influence. Your little event will make my plan easier to accomplish.”

”To increase your profit? To become closer to the elite that you so despise?”

Renata inhaled sharply. Ignorance at its most finest.

“I’m beating them at their own game. It’s about punishing their actions, as well as personal satisfaction.”

”Your parents were altruists, they wouldn’t have wanted you to be like this.”

Her eyes narrowed. She tried to keep calm.

”My parents died because of Piltover’s greed. This is their vengeance.”

“Theirs or yours?”

Renata’s immediate reaction to such an outrageous accusation was to wrap her fingers around the summoner’s throat and squeeze just tight enough to make the power balance clear.

”I do not care whether this is an illusion. Utter one more word, and you will regret it."

She wouldn’t usually act in such a violently rash manner, maybe it was just leftover shock from being thrust into her most vulnerable moments, but that this nobody would dare to assume her mindset was infuriating.

She let go off her company’s collar with a grunt, folding her arms as she looked out of her window. She could see the gold and bronze of Piltover’s elite. They walked by, ever so smugly pleased as Zaun struggled to breathe without choking.

"You want to know why I want to join the League? Because I want to be outside of Zaun and Piltover when my plan is complete."

Renata's fist slowly clenched.

”Piltover will burn. That is all you need to know.”

The summoner took a deep breath, voice soft with understanding.

"Then, I believe we are done here."

The area slowly began to fade, and Renata noticed something on the desk. A small picture of herself and her parents. 

Her finger traced over it, even as the surroundings warped and faded into nothing.

---

When the light dissipated, Renata found herself before a set of wide open doors.

Renata blinked back a stray tear. Damned sorcerers. There was a reason she preferred chemicals to hextech. Magic was too much a risk to control. 

Her head pulsed with a slight pain. Luckily, she had just the device to heal that problem. Her hand pressed the button on the back of her decanter, and a vial of burgundy liquid extended out towards her. 

Pouring half of the liquid into her mouth, her eyes flashed burgundy as the contents did their effects. The pain slowly faded away and she gave a sigh of relief.

Perfect. 

Pocketing the glass vial for further storage, Renata began to walk into the hallway with a single hand in her pocket.

This would certainly be an interesting business venture.

Notes:

Can I just say that I love Renata’s character design? Writing her was very fun too.
Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 26: The Boy who Shattered Time.

Summary:

Instead of a scholarship to Piltover, Ekko gets the chance to do something a little... different with his inventing skills.

Piltover often claimed that their city was the place for brilliant minds. Of ingenuity and creativity to make the city a better place.

Ekko thought that was a load of sump-shit. Zaun had all those qualities the Pilties took credit for. Ingenuity, resourcefulness, community, that was all Zaun.

Ekko knew that Zaun wasn’t perfect. But that was why he couldn’t leave. He knew his parents wanted him to use his inventions to get himself out of Zaun and into some fancy academy.

He still hadn’t told them why he didn’t want to. He pushed those thought from his mind as he checked a pocket-watch. He was meant to meet Shomi and the gang at the clock tower.

Ekko jogged through the streets of Zaun, giving quick greetings to the locals he had good relations with. 

He wasn’t going to be last one to the clock tower again. Funny how the boy with time travel was always late for things.

Ekko was so focused on getting to his destination, that he failed to notice the person walking in front of him until they collided. Ekko fell hard on his back, thankfully nothing broke.

Ekko rubbed the back of his head. No major damage, no need to rewind.

”Need some help?”

Ekko let the woman pull him to his feet.

”Thanks, sorry about that.”

He looked over the woman’s clothing. Purple leathers, not rich but definitely above most Zaunite’s pay-grades.

He didn’t really have time to ask questions.

”Well, see you.”

“Wait!” The woman called, stopping Ekko in his tracks, “There’s something I need to give you.”

The woman handed Ekko a paper envelope, stamped with golden letters. It didn’t look like Piltover.

”Read this when you get the chance. If you’re interested, meet me under the bridge at sundown.”

When Ekko looked up, he found that the woman was gone. Spooky.

He pocketed the envelope and continued on his way. 

He was definitely going to be late.

---

When you’re a young teenager in Zaun, you learn to make your own sense of satisfaction. It might be risky, climbing tall structures or messing with Chem-Barons, but the payoff? 

Priceless.

Ekko, along with Kay Shomi and Bo, sat on the top of a clock tower. Their favourite space for the lost children of Zaun to chat, eat and show off a few hover board tricks.

Okay, that last part was mainly just Shomi, but still. Ekko decided to share his strange envelope with them, submit for peer review. He loved his parents, really he did, but...

Some things were better shared with friends.

“Look at you, got yourself a special invitation," Kay nudged Ekko with her arm. Ekko returned the favour. Kay passed the letter to Shomi, who read the paper through their goggles.

"League of Legends? Ain't that a bit above Zaun grade?"

Ekko scratched his head.

"I guess I've caught their eye. Not sure if I'll go."

Bo shook Ekko’s shoulder, speaking in his trademarked muffling tone that everyone but the Pilties understood.

”Yeah, I’m with Bo, why don’t ya go?”

Ekko gestures to the view, of their city where kids starved just below their view.

"I can't leave this place. What about the Chem-Barons? My parents? You guys?"

"We'll make sure your folks are safe, and Bo can make sure those Barons get a free punch from you.”

Bo chittered agreeably.

Ekko’s sighed. He knew he wouldn’t win this fight.

“Okay, okay. Fine, I’ll go. But I’ll come back, okay?”

“Sure. Just don’t get a big head about it?”

“No promises.”

He then realised how far up they were. Getting down would be an issue.

“Uh, Shomi? Can I borrow your board?”

Shomi paused biting down on a pastry to briefly shake their head at Ekko.

“After last time? No way.”

Ekko groaned, but began his way down, waving goodbye.

One brick at a time, one rail at a-

Crap.

“Ekko!”

He slipped, and in an instinctual motion, pulled his Z-Drive. Time rewound around him and he was back on the building.

“Don’t get a big head about it,” Kay joked, bringing Ekko back to the present moment.

”No promises,” he replied, with a smile that he hoped didn’t feel too forced.

Without asking for Shomi’s board, Ekko began his way down. This time a bit more careful.

Getting home with a broken arm again did not sound fun.

---

Ekko pushed open the door home, seeing his parents' home early. That was a rarity, they worked extremely long hours, coming home tired but always hugging him goodnight and saying they loved him.

“Hey, how was work?”

His father looked to him with three eyes and a small smile.

”Nothing to report. How’ve you been?”

Ekko head up a small bag of Jericho’s meals. Enough for two.

”Good.”

Ekko’s mother gasped softly.

”Oh, Ekko, you didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to. Please?”

His parents looked to each other before smiling tiredly. Ekko then chose now to produce the envelope from his pocket.

”I also got this. An invitation.”

He handed it to his father, who moved it closer to his glasses. His sight was feeling the strain, but he managed it. His wife looked over to read it as well.

They both turned to Ekko with wide eyes of optimism. 

“Ekko, this could be your chance. Show off your inventions to a wider crowd, maybe get picked up as an assistant?”

That was his parents. Always thinking about him. He couldn’t really say no, and he trusted his friends to keep them safe.

”Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

”Of course, so long as you stay safe too.”

Ekko sighed, wrapping both parents in a hug.

”I’ll visit when I can.”

His parents hugged him back, and they stayed there for a few moments before releasing. Ekko noticed his mother place something in his pocket. 

“You better go before we start crying again.”

Ekko made a salute to leave, but once he closed the doors, he pulled the string on his Z-Drive, rewinding time to before the conversation.

He wanted to hug them again. And again. And again.

Until it felt right.

That evening, after packing some gadgets and equipment, Ekko met up with the strange woman under the bridge.

”Right on time. You agree to my offer?”

Ekko nodded but held up his pointer finger.

On one condition. Whatever prize money I get from this, I get to bring it back here.”

The woman nodded, extending her hand.

”Understood. Grab on.”

---

When the flash of purple light cleared up, Ekko found himself at the edge of a set of steps leading to a set of large purple doors.

Ekko checked his equipment, Z-Drive functioning, he had his clock-hand-bat-weapon-thing.

He jogged up the steps, sometimes taking two at a time and wobbling off balance briefly.

When he finally made it to the top, Ekko noticed a message written at the top of the door.

”The truest opponent lies within.”

With barely a second of hesitation, Ekko pushed open the door and found his vision flooded by black.

---

Ekko was on top of a building again. It was a tough climb, but if you’re quick on your feet and quicker in the head, you’ll make it through.

Looking over the edge, Ekko saw a young girl around his age with short blue hair drawing crayon graffiti. He felt like he knew her, but the name escaped him at the moment.

Red was an old friend of his, one of the first who he told about his Z-drive. And despite having her style of self expression and a tad of reckless behaviour, they had a bond that could only be found in Zaun.

”Ooh, Ekko’s got a crush.~”

Ekko rolled his eyes, lightly nudging his friend’s shoulder.

”Shut up, Red,” Ekko replied with no real malice.

They stayed overlooking the area, until Red spoke again, but with none of that infectious passion that made her such a thrill.

”Why did you agree to join the League?”

Ekko was shocked back into the moment. He prepared an answer in an instant.

“I want to test out this gadget. And if I get to bash some heads in, that’s even better. Win win.”

”There is something else. Something deeper that you refuse to reveal.”

Ekko backed away from the person disguised as his best friend.

”I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The area seemed to fog up around him, and Ekko’s foot slipped from the unsteady brick and he fell into the fog.

He couldn’t pull the Z-Drive in time.

---

Ekko found himself landing outside his home. He could hear sounds that frightened him from behind the door. He burst through and-

Oh no.

No, no, no!

His parents, bleeding, bruised, hurt, dying. His parents were dying. 

He reached for his Z-Drive. Maybe he could rewind and save them?

He pulled the string. Nothing happened.

He pulled it again. Still nothing.

Neither of them moved. He couldn’t fix this, couldn’t go back and solve the problem before it happened.

Ekko heard a muffled voice from everywhere.

"Why do you wish to join the League?"

“I…I want to help my parents. I want to help Zaun too, of course. But my parents are working themselves to the bone just for me and… I want them to be happy. I need them to be safe.”

The area seemed to glow an ethereal purple. The voice became clearer, as though right behind Ekko.

”You have passed the test, tell me, how did it feel to open your mind?”

Ekko squeezed his eyes shut.

”Don’t ever make me see this again.”

Ekko didn’t open his eyes, even as he heard the whirring of his technology.

---

Ekko’s eyes opened, seeing no destroyed home or dying parents. No, there was a set of open doors revealing a purple carpeted hallway with blue flame torches.

He’d earned his spot in the League. But that last scene would be stuck in his dreams for a while.

Ekko sighed, taking out the small pair of gears that his mother gave him before pocketing them once again.

He would do this for Zaun, for all the Sumpsnipes back home, for his friends, and for his parents.

The boy who shattered time had joined the League. 

Notes:

Man, I love Ekko, that’s probably why this took longer. Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 27: The Bloodharbor Ripper.

Summary:

The Bloodharbor Ripper is a figure that sends shivers through the backs of even the most cutthroat of scoundrels. But while that fear keeps some away, for others it’s an opportunity for employment.

There was once a ship known as The Terror. However, one stormy night and an inexperienced captain led to a harpooner plunging into the sea, sinking until he was never seen again.

That moment became a sort of ghost story amongst the scoundrels and thieves that littered the streets. They wondered if the drowned man haunted the waters, waiting for more victims to join him in the bottom of the sea.

But the funny thing about Bilgewater, is that most ghost stories have an element of truth. The drowned man does haunt the world, the city that watched him drown without even offering a hand.

They say he kills without warning, and always with mutterings and accusations towards his victims.  

If you're a captain in Bilgewater, you'd best treat your crew well. Otherwise, you might have a visitor in the dead of night.

---

Pyke stared down at the name on his list. Just one left, Bill Quo. He remembered him, a cowardly little wreck who would fret about too much risk. He probably told the captain to cut his line.

”I-I’ve never seen you before in my life!”

”Wrong answer.”

Pyke’s blade tore through the man’s neck, dropping him down as crimson blood flowed out.

He consulted his list, tracing right down to the bottom and crossing off Bill’s name. The voices went silent for a moment, but Pyke knew it was only momentary silence. 

Clapping. Slow clapping. Boots pressing against wood.

”Quite a messy display, don’t you think?”

Pyke stared at the woman, hand reaching for his skewer. Dried blood caked the hook, an imposing picture for the guilty.

”My name is Ameline. You’ll not find me on that list of yours.”

His list didn’t have this person’s name, so he stayed his blade for the moment. 

“You have a reputation for killing the guilty, keeping the cruel from getting too far in the world.”

Ameline walked closer, and Pyke’s hand still held the handle of his weapon.

”We are willing to let you kill captains, if you'll work for us in exchange. When we send you, you are to investigate the waterways of neighbouring regions and inform us of any potential dangers.”

Pyke chuckled lowly. 

“Bilgewater is my hunting ground. Why should I care what happens everywhere else?”

”Because there’s corrupt captains in a lot of places. People who’d cut the lines of anyone who doesn’t earn their respect.”

Pyke did not betray any interest in the offer, but the mention of captains all across the world, corrupt bastards who'd sell out their men for extra salt on their meals, did give some fascination.

From her sleeve, Amelia handed Pyke a folded letter with a golden stamp on the back. She didn't seem proud, merely satisfied at the lack of bloodshed. Pyke heard the voices slowly whisper to him. Telling him to gut the stranger. That she must be guilty.

He didn't listen.

"You can make your own choice, but we'd be happy to have you. And we pay highly for such services."

In a flash of purple, the woman was gone. Pyke scoffed. he didn't need payment for something he enjoyed. What's a dead man meant to buy?

Pyke looked at the letter and he was motivated to throw it out by his voices. They screamed at him to kill. He had a mission. Did he not remember drowning? Being chewed?

But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to tear it in half. 

"Some more targets couldn't hurt..." He murmured, half to himself, half to the voices.

A gasp of fear, and Pyke snapped around to find a burly looking man with a serpent like tattoo. A memory swam to his mind.

A man who always seemed displeased with Pyke. Who thought he’d slip up one day. Maybe he told the captain to cut his line. Yes, always so smug and proud with muscles in place of a brain.

Pyke looked to his list.

“Jack Kena.” Clear as day in black ink. Jack Kena. Guilty, ready to be gutted.

”Yes, I know you…”

Jack tried to run, not like he’d get far, and Pyke resumed his chase. 

---

After a few more kills and talking with the deep, Pyke decided to finally check out the stranger’s invitation. Diving into the Bilgewater Sea, he swam to where the voices directed.

Pyke didn’t look up to the door, he simply walked up and pushed on the door. Slowly, it opened and he saw her again. Amelie, no, Amelia.

”I informed my superiors about my decision, they want to see you in person.”

Pyke said nothing. He hated small talk.

Surrounding him were people in hooded robes, betraying not a hint of humanity or relatability. That was fine by him.

”Your reputation precedes you, but before we allow you to join our institution, we must first understand you. Your weaknesses, what you desire.”

Pyke’s voice was dry, dull and uninterested.

”Meaning?”

”We must first enter your mind.”

Something inside Pyke flinched at the idea of someone else entering his head. But he didn’t betray such feelings.

It was their funeral.

”Go ahead.”

The surrounding sorcerers held out their palms, aglow with purple energy, and Pyke felt something pulse in his mind. Then, everything went black.

There were flashes of sight, of moments. A slit throat here, a harpoon through the stomach there. There was a pulsing feeling in his mind, as if something was pushing back the invading forces, but not managing to stop them from coming inside.

The deep’s voice was mixed with voices of the summoners, an endless cacophony of voices and animalistic sounds.

The pain continued until they finally found a mostly solid memory to latch onto.

---

The storm was raging, the seas roiling in the winds. Pyke’s blade was in his left hand as his lifeline hung taught.

He knew this moment. This ship. This place. This was where it happened.

He looked up the ship, and saw someone blanketed in shadow. All Pyke could point out was the captain’s hat. 

”Do you remember this place? They spoke, sounding both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

”Always…”

“Why did you accept our offer? Is it bloodlust? A desire for sightseeing? Or perhaps, you want to spare others from the suffering you’ve been inflicted with.”

Pyke couldn’t hear the deep calling for him, but he still gave the answer that floated to his head.

”Because the deep calls for blood.”

Pyke’s line was cut, and he was sent falling into the sea. He sank slowly, and then-

Teeth.

---

Pyke’s eyes snapped open, he ignored the subtle trembling in his left hand. The voices were quiet for once, but not for long.

The summoners from above spoke, some sounding more frazzled than others.

“Welcome to the League of Legends, Pyke. We do hope you’ll make yourself comfortable. We’ll get you personalised quarters when we can-

Pyke stormed out of the room, not in the mood for any further conversation. He needed to calm his mind, or what was left. Maybe check his list, sharpen his harpoons.

For his profession, one couldn’t let a blade go dull.

Notes:

This was a fun one, I hope you enjoyed and comments are always welcome.

Chapter 28: Demacia’s Wings.

Summary:

Quinn’s always felt at home in the wilderness.

As a ranger knight for the kingdom of Demacia, Quinn and her feathered partner Valor never stayed in one place for too long. Missions had to be carried out, scouting, infiltration, whatever was necessary to keep the walls of the Demacian city safe.

But while she often traveled into various climates, from the frigid Freljord to infiltrating Noxian camps, Quinn would always feel at home in the countryside wilderness. With the king’s permission, she had set up a part of the nearby forest as her own personal outpost. Training targets for her accuracy tests, places for Valor to perch and survey the area, and a quaint tent for her to sleep.

It wasn’t glamorous by many people’s standards, but Quinn was always a tad introverted.

She’d just come back from a scouting mission, intent on polishing her crossbow, checking her hunting traps for any catches and starting a fire to cook.

But as she entered her abode, she was soon set upon by a Demacian postman. Quinn turned her attention to him, a jovial man with a beard.

”There’s a letter for you.”

Quinn paused.

”A letter for me?” Quinn parroted. She didn’t often get letters sent specifically to her.

”Yes ma’am,” the postman handed over the envelope before jogging off to deliver his best message. Quinn watched with a soft shake of her head at the man before opening the letter.

”Quinn of Demacia. For both your courageous service to your kingdom and the recommendations from Jarvan IV, you have been offered a place to fight for Demacia in the league of legends. The location is on the map inside the envelope, and transportation can be arranged if necessary. We look forward to your decision.”

Quinn looked to Valor, who cocked his head to the side, as if puzzled. Quinn had a special bond with him, an understanding that she hadn’t truly had with a Demacian in quite some time.

Maybe that’s why she stayed away from the city.

If she wanted to travel to the building, she’d need to take a boat across the water.

”You don’t get seasick, do you?”

Valor chirped in response, Quinn nodded.

”Good, me neither.”

---

Upon receiving permission from her king and excitement from her fellow rangers, Quinn arranged herself a boat ride to The Fields of Justice.

During that time, she sketched, listened to Valor’s knock knock jokes, and watched as their destination approached her field of vision.

Stepping off the boat onto stiff wooden boards, Quinn gave her thanks and a little extra payment to the captain before she began to walk.

As she journeyed to her destination, Quinn took time to survey the surroundings. She could see trees that provided good cover for any reconnaissance, bushes and good vantage points for long range combat.

And the endpoint of the tour, a large set of obsidian steps leading to a set of large doors. Valor perched on her shoulder.

'The truest opponent lies within.'

Quinn shrugged, walked up to the door and pushed past. There was a flash of white, and all of a sudden Quinn was somewhere else.

---

A dense forest filled with thick trees and bushes, perfect for her work.

”How did I get here?” Quinn asked aloud, surprising herself by the sound of her voice. She sounded… younger. 

Someone was laughing. A child’s laughter. A boy’s laugh. 

Caleb’s laughter. By the Protector, how she missed that sound. 

“Come on, you’ll miss it!”

Quinn chased after her brother, stopping as they came across a set of discarded weapons. A blade lay rusted and broken. 

It was familiar, almost too much. 

“I remember this place. Wolves chased us here. Mother was so worried.”

“Yeah, it’s a good thing that Valor saved us.”

That single sentence broke something in Quinn’s perception. She hadn’t bonded with Valor until after Caleb was torn apart by that beast. 

Then, everything clicked in her mind. The eerily familiar place, seeing Caleb, how she’d become young, this was all a test. A memory.

And the Caleb before her was fake. Snatching up the bronze crossbow and pointing it at the deceiver.

”Okay, tell me what this is about,” 

Not-Caleb seemed surprised for a moment, but then his entire posture seems to change.

”What gave me away?”

”I didn’t find Valor while Caleb was alive. That was your second mistake. Your first was pretending to be him in the first place.”

A wry smile appeared on Caleb’s face.

”Why do you want to join the League?”

”To protect the innocent and sharpen my skills. Noxus needs to know that Demacia is off limits.”

Caleb walked behind a tree, and when Quinn saw him again, it wasn’t Caleb. It was a man in a purple robe, his hood down to expose a head of medium length blond hair.

”Quinn of Uwendale. Your heart is valiant, and your strength is worthy of this opportunity. Welcome to the League of Legends.”

”Wait!”

Quinn hated how her voice caught in her throat.

”Can I see my brother?”

When the illusion returned Quinn wrapped her arms around her brother, not caring that this was fake, that her brother was buried beneath the ground, and didn’t let go even as the world fell apart. She kept her eyes closed.

---

Quinn's eyes snapped open, seeing the doors to the Institute wide open. She’d warned her way through, and felt Valor’s talons on her shoulder. He chirped questioningly.

“Yes, I’m alright.”

Quinn had assumed she’d made peace with Caleb’s death. Seems that old wounds take more than a few years to heal.

But she couldn’t focus on that. She knew that other demacians were here, the prince as well. She should meet with him, learn of any assignments he wished her to undertake.

And perhaps get some training in as well. With a mind as sharp as her crossbow, Quinn strode into the institute with her feathered partner perched on her shoulder.

Notes:

I’ll be honest, I wasn’t too familiar with Quinn before now, but after reading a couple stories, I think I’ve got a good idea.

Anyway, only three of the current set left. Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 29: The Empress of the Void.

Summary:

In the start of their awakening, the void simply wanted to make everything silent. But now that it has interacted with reality, a small pocket of it wants something more.

And to this end, it needed a leader.

In the moments before creation, there was a place outside the universe known as the Void. It was a place of nothing, of silence and unconscious things. It was the opposite of reality. A quiet, perfectly ordered anti-reality.

But when reality emerged into existence, making sounds and blasting lights of creation, it woke the Void up. And they hated it. They wanted to snuff out the noise like the ocean with a flame.

The Void festered in many places of Runeterra. The darkest reaches of the ocean, the frigid expanse of the Freljord housed ancient and powerful void-born, and most pressingly, in Shurima. But as the void infected itself into reality, it began to change from it’s original form. An allergic reaction, one could say.

The Lavender Sea was the consequence of such a reaction, and within that sea of void essence, of unfinished imitation of life, the void began to want something. it craved a leader, someone to lead them into the void to consume it all. And with the consumption of a port city, all of the collective knowledge pooled into one void-born, the answer to the voidling's cries for command.

It’s name, her name, was Bel'Veth. She floated in place among her spawn. Thinking to herself of her plans. Malzahar had told of his discoveries. Places for the void to consume, to grow and adapt even stronger.

She heard her children speak of intruders. Of mortals with power. She was unintimidated. 

“Worry not, my children. All will be well.”

The intruders, humans dressed in purple with golden accents, landed from one of the upper tunnels. She greeted them, her songs wrapped around her form in the appearance of a cloak.

”Visitors, welcome to the Lavender Sea.”

Feelings of awe and fear resonated from the intruders, before steeling their features. The one on the left blasted flame from his fingertips, a group of Void remora blocking the blast. They were not here to speak, simply fight.

Many would be heroes had fallen to the void, they would be no better. Her creatures began the assault, tentacles and fangs launching into the invaders and pulling their limbs out.

Arcane chains burst from their palms, locking Bel'Veth’s fins, as she shed her humanoid illusion to shoot a spear of purple energy from her maw. It hit the target, sending them into the wall of void-mass, hands grabbing and swallowing them into their final embrace. They would feed her, giving her that littlest piece of further knowledge.

One of them shouted and encased her in a field of arcane power. She pried her stingers into it, trying to pry it open before a series of shocks blasted her from all sides. 

Bel'Veth’s eyes closed. She knew what mortals called this, sleep. A human weakness. Unconsciousness.

A minor setback. That was all.

---

When Bel'Veth’s vision returned, she felt her wings bound and her size… strangely smaller. Still taller than most mortals, but not her true majesty.

She could sense energy encompassing her, and also familiar void energies. Were there other voidspawn here? There must be.

She was of two minds regarding her situation. One half wanted to understand this place. Such powerful magic could make useful allies. The other part wanted to tear herself free and consume her enemies. A delicate balancce of learning and consuming was what made her so powerful. 

Bel'Veth finally noticed the winding stairway leading outside her cell. And standing a good distance away was a hooded man with a brown beard. He spoke authoritatively, as if he was in control here.

"Monster of the void. You are in our possession, kept far away from the innocent lives of Runeterra."

Bel'Veth felt a touch of amusement at the man’s self assuredness. 

“If I am so dangerous, why let me live?”

”Because you are an unknown variable in our studies of the void. We seek to understand your adaptation, and your weaknesses.”

Weaknesses? A being like her had none. Still, perhaps giving this human the briefest glimmer of hope would quicken a lapse in judgement.

“If that will make you comfortable. Do what you must.”

Bel'Veth felt the intrusion into her mind, a slight pain, but one she pushed back as she allowed the sensation to enter.

---

High Councillor Telran did not know what to expect when entering a mind such as a void creature. Even though she seemed to have adapted into sentience, she was still a creature of a consuming anti-reality. She had no love, no true conscience, no bleak nightmares or vulnerabilities to exploit.

But what he did see was… distressing.

A collapsing city, being overrun by beasts of purple shells and inhuman shapes, people being consumed and disintegrated by beams of light, cracks that swallowed people by the dozens.

And the sounds…

There were so many. Screaming, crying, begging to gods for mercy. Some laughed with broken minds at the horror before them, muttering that this was the end of their world.

It was all so much. Too much. The cracks were growing, spreading, ripping open beneath his feet until-

Telran fell hard into the chasm of nothing. He expected to wake up in the prison chambers. But whatever this place was, it wouldn’t let him leave yet.

And then, he saw her again. Bel'Veth’s wings were wrapped around her like a cloak.

”Do you understand, summoner? What I am? What the Void is?”

The false face spoke, but it’s lips didn’t seem to match the words. 

“I-I am high councillor Telran of the Institute of War. And I will not be intimidated by…”

Bel'Veth towered over him, her head began to sink and her posture started to change into something monstrous. Telran’s words died in his throat as he witnessed the truth of Bel'Veth.

Eyes that were alien yet still intelligent stared at him. The eyes were almost hypnotic, freezing Telran with both awe and fear.

”I am not one of the mindless void-spawns. I am the future. I am everything that the void consumes.”

In a moment of quick instinct, Telran cast a spell to exit the mind of the empress, a flash of light blasted his vision, and he felt himself being pulled out of the waking nightmare.

---

Bel'Veth’s true eyes opened first, before she willed her false head to act instead. Her company seemed shocked. Understandable, many mortals didn’t realise the beauty of her oncoming empire.

In contrast to her company’s attitude, Bel'Veth spoke calmly, betraying neither fear or anger at her position.

”The Void is awakening in Runeterra. To make an alliance is not only favourable, but necessary for your survival.”

The councillor tried to remain calm, but Bel'Veth could see his discomfort bristling from within.

”This Institute will not ally with creatures such as you. Do not forget that we are your captors, and we can just as easily destroy you once we have what we need.”

Perhaps for mortal creatures, such a threat would make them question their next actions. But Bel'Veth was more than mortal. She was the herald of a new beginning. The void’s evolution given form.

Threats meant nothing to a being such as her.

”If that is your decision. But should you change your mind, I will be here.”

Bel'Veth watched as the councillor left the area, not achieving success, but planting a small seed of doubt in his mind.

The Institute had signed their execution by keeping her here. Because the void needed it’s empress. And they will soon witness the next stage of their evolution.

All would become one with the void. All would become one with her.

Notes:

Bel'Veth was a fun villain to write, and I hoped I managed to keep her with some menace. Comments are always welcome. The next champion should be more light hearted.

Chapter 30: The Aspect of Twilight.

Summary:

A child’s mind is often motivated by impulse and imagination. Something that seems fun is something worth exploring.

As a being with incredible celestial power, Zoe had been all around Runeterra and met a whole bunch of people. The ones from the metal city were way too rude, but there was that fun girl with the flaming teddy bear.

But out of everyone she’s met, and there were many, there was one celestial entity who Zoe loved to meet. Even if he was grumpy about her.

Popping through a portal into the endless expanse of space, Zoe spotted a large dragon formed from nebulae with a golden crown atop his head. Aurelion Sol, forger of the stars, a celestial dragon with a burning hatred for Targon, and most importantly: Zoe’s best friend.

”Space puppy!”

Aurelion groaned, but didn’t say anything to Zoe. How rude, especially since they were meant to be such good friends. Even though they hadn’t been together in a few… Zoe hadn’t been keeping track. Not too long. But still!

She hugged onto Aurelion’s tail, rambling like usual. Aurelion swung her away, but she came back quickly as she left.

”Come on! It’s been ages since we had fun!”

”You can have fun without me. I’d prefer that.”

Zoe pouted, floating right up to Aurelion’s face.

”But I’ve missed you! What’ve you been doing? Where’ve you been? Was it fun? Can I join?”

Aurelion turned away from Zoe, knowing that she wouldn’t leave until she was given answers. 

“Well, if you must know. I’ve been very busy with my work.”

”I’ve been working with a special group of mortals. I help them, they let me do some of my work.”

”Oooh! Tell me s’more!”

Aurelion turned away, floating a distance away.

”Oh, no. I’m not telling you anything. Leave me alone.”

Zoe groaned, and began to slowly float away. Maybe, if she got him to play a game, he'd tell her. Then, her ears picked up the mutterings that the space dragon spoke under his breath.

”The institute of war won’t even let you inside, so just forget about it.”

Zoe’s eyes sparkled with the new name. Institute of War. That must be where Aurelion has been! Oh, what if more people were there?

”Oh! Institute of war? Sounds like fun!”

Aurelion’s eyes widened in realisation. He’d just given her the key to stay near him.

”Wait, don’t go-

Aurelion’s words fell on deaf ears as Zoe dove into a vortex. He groaned loud enough that people on Targon’s peak could likely hear it from afar.

This was going to get very complicated.

---

Zoe’s portal opened in the middle of a large hallway, and she landed face first. She wasn’t bothered, she healed really fast these days.

”Hello, Institute of War!”

Some eyes turned to her, some confused, some frustrated, others even surprised. She darted around the place, pulling daggers out of their pockets to observe them.

”Ooh, this looks shiny.”

She jumped through another portal, popping out right into a woman with short blonde hair and dressed in dark purple robes.

“Wait, hold on!”

Zoe ran from the woman. A game of tag would be fun. 

The woman appeared in a flash, putting something around Zoe’s neck and in a moment, the young aspect of twilight felt a little bit… less cosmic.

”Ugh, what’s this?”

”Its to keep you from making portals around the place. You need to be tested before we can let you roam freely.”

The woman took Zoe by the hand, escorting her to another room. Zoe looked away with a roll of her eyes. While she could probably blast the woman with some star magic, Zoe didn’t really like hurting people.

Within minutes and asking questions by the dozen, Zoe found herself in a council room surrounded by figures in hooded cloaks.

”Zoe, aspect of Twilight. Why are you here? How did you learn of this place?” Spoke the central one, a male with authority befitting a teacher.

”Because I heard about his place and I wanna join! I got all sorts of cosmic power, so… can I?”

The group muttered amongst themselves. Zoe wasn’t really listened, her eyes darting around the room. She could definitely imagine a sparkle-Poro-fly in a few places. This place needed some more colours. Shiny colours, a couple cosmic animals, oh! Maybe one of those puppy constellations? They were so cute!

”Zoe, are you listening?”

Zoe snapped back to reality.

”Yeah, yeah. You want to test me or whatever?”

”Something like that. We will enter your mind, learn of your intentions and desires.”

Zoe shrugged.

”Go ahead, it’s a blast in here,” she knocked her head a few times.

With a murmuring amongst them, the surrounding figures held out their palms and caused a strange sensation inside Zoe’s mind. A sensation that seemed to throw her back in time.

---

Zoe’s eyes opened, and she felt less sparkly. More grounded, less free. 

She was in a private room with one of her old teacher’s. Must’ve gotten in trouble again.

”Honestly, Zoe. You’re a smart girl, but you need to focus more.”

Zoe’s eyes darted around.

”What do you mean? I’m focusing. Ask me anything and I’ll have an answer.”

Zoe knew this memory, and the questions that would be asked of her. She was so focused on the outside sunsetting sky that she failed to notice her instructor’s posture shift.

“Why do you want to join the League?”

That got Zoe’s attention. 

”I want to make some real friends. I tried to find some in Targon, but they just think my powers are cool or they’re scared of me for what ever reason!”

Her instructor raised a golden eyebrow.

“Perhaps they are afraid because of your… impulsiveness. Many people don’t want to be friends with a girl who can throw comets like rubber balls.”

Zoe didn’t see the correlation.

”Those people are boring, this place seems filled with funner people.”

”So, you seek companions? That is your desire?”

”Yep!”

It was silent for a moment.

”Your intentions have been assessed, and we see no ill will. How did it feel to open your mind?”

Zoe giggled.

”Super fun, maybe I’ll go into yours?”

”I’d…rather you didn’t.”

Zoe pouted for a moment before hopping off the chair and heading to the door.

”Have it your way, see you!”

As soon as she opened the door, Zoe’s vision was blasted by light. She swore she heard muffled voices. Some human, some far closer to the stars.

---

Zoe’s eyes opened to find herself back in the council room.

”So, did I pass?”

”You have earned your place amongst the League. The power limiter will be kept, but when you are in a match we will lessen the restraints.”

”In exchange for your admission, you are to inform us of any incoming events that might be cause of alarm. This institute was designed to keep Runeterra away from war and unnecessary bloodshed.”

Zoe was only half listening.

”Yeah, tell you when stuff goes down, can I go?”

As soon as the door opened, Zoe ran out of the room, ready to continue exploring.

There had to be someone interesting in here. Someone willing to talk to her. The summoners sighed amongst themselves.

For better or worse, The Aspect of Twilight had joined the League.

They could only hope it would go smoothly.

Notes:

Zoe was fun to write. Comments are always welcome. One character left.

Chapter 31: The Magical Cat.

Summary:

Yuumi’s running out of patience on her journey to find Norra. But, like always, Book might have the answer that’ll pick her back up.

The origin of the creatures known as Yordles was a question that stirred in many scientists minds. Where did they come from? Were they evolved from animals, or were they spiritual beings?

Unfortunately for any would-be adventurers, the Yordles did not hail from Runeterra in so far as the physical world. They were from a spiritual realm and raised in a place that they called “Bandle City.”

Yordles lived in relative harmony with magic and nature, throwing their festivals and occasionally venturing out to explore the wide world of Runeterra through their network of portal gateways establishes centuries ago. One of these adventurers was Norra. An accomplished Yordle sorceress, a studious note taker, and the owner of a cat called Yuumi, who would often join on her adventures with magical powers of protection.

Norra could be a big absent minded, always chasing problems and portals so she could study whatever waited on the other side. But she’d always come back with a warm greeting and a pat on Yuumi’s head.

Until one day, she didn’t come back. Yuumi asked around Bandle City, looking for anything that could help her find out just what he happened, but all she could find out was that Norra had gone somewhere so dangerous that she’d closed the portal behind her.

Obviously, and with some help with Norra’s magic book, Yuumi set out to find her beloved master, wherever she may be. 

Yuumi had been to many strange places, experiencing many dangers and delights from all across Runeterra. But still, she never felt closer to her owner’s location. It was always a goose chase, always the wrong trail, always another portal. 

Much to Book's complaints, Yuumi couldn't always keep searching, she had to take breaks. Nap, maybe catch fish or something.

Yuumi chewed on something called a poro snack as she lazed in the sunlight of a deep forest. Book laid a few feet away, until it levitated itself up into Yuumi’s vision. She was focused on her snack until Book fluttered it's pages to get her attention.

"Oh, do you have something?"

Book's pages turned by, stopping on a large building called 'The Institute.' Yuumi paused. Would Norra be there? She hadn't mentioned it, or maybe she had and Yuumi was just asleep. She did love her cat naps.

"Do you think she'll be there?"

Bopping her paw on the location, Yuumi summoned a golden portal ring that would take her straight there.

Finishing her snack, Yuumi pounced into the vortex, ready to see what was on the other side.

---

It turns out that on the other side was hard bricks. Yuumi slowly lifted her head up from the hard surface, shaking it off before hopping back onto Book. Yuumi observed the building, tall and an obsidian black. This wasn't somewhere Yuumi would imagine Norra being, but she wasn't about to give up an opportunity.

‘The truest opponent lies within.’

Yuumi hummed in confusion, looking down at her companion.

"Do you know what that means, Book?"

Book shook left and right. it didn't know. Yuumi looked to the doors. The pathway which could finally lead to Norra. 

With an exhale of determination, Yuumi's paws pushed on the door and flooded her vision in light upon opening.

---

Yuumi’s vision recovered to find herself in a familiar cottage. A familiar smell and a familiar-

The door flew open, and a familiar voice called out to Yuumi. Her ears twitched, recognising the voice perfectly.

“I’m home!”

Norra!

Yuumi ran over to her beloved owner, pouncing on the Yordle with no care for subtlety.

"Norra! I finally found you!" Yuumi called, nuzzling against Norra's face. She'd waited for so long to see her, but now, she could finally-

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait. Something was wrong. Norra didn't smell right. there was no scent of adventure, she was too clean, too... not-Norra.

"You're not Norra, are you?" She asked, slowly backing away from this stranger in familiar fur.

Not-Norra shook her head.

"No, I am not. I am a summoner of the Institute of War. Here to assess your intentions for your unexplained appearance. Speaking of which, how did you get here?”

In spite of Yuumi’s discomfort with the false form of her beloved master, she obliged to give her answer.

”My book opened a portal and now I’m here?”

Not-Norra nodded.

”Okay. And what do you seek? Amusement? Satiate your curiosity? New companions?”

"I want to find Norra. and my magic book told me this place might help me."

The summoner nodded once more, walking over to the bookshelf, running her furry finger across the spines of the books. Norra was always an avid reader. 

”Your owner is a sorceress, is that so? Quite a knowledgeable one, from what I can tell.”

”She’s amazing, she gives great scratches! Do you know her?”

”No, but we can have ways to track sudden portal openings. If your master is still on the move, we might be able to help you.”

Not-Norra turned back to Yuumi.

"If you compete in our contest, we will tell you all that we know of portals, and you might be able to increase your chances of finding her by gaining fame.”

Yuumi scratched her ear with her back paw. 

”I don’t really know what you’re talking about, but if it’ll help me find Norra, I’ll help you out.”

Her company nodded once again. She did that a lot, Yuumi noticed.

”Tell is, why do you wish to join the League?”

”Because I want to find my master and make things normal again,” Yuumi replied, more serious than usual.

The summoner’s eyes glowed blue, and her voice become layered by a second, and far different voice.

”Your truth is clear and you have earned passage. Tell me, how did it feel to open your mind?”

Yuumi’s answer was simple and perfectly straightforward.

”Weird.”

With that admission, the test was done and Not-Norra headed to turn the doorknob and go. Whether it was simple instinct or a fear of being left alone, Yuumi followed her master out, even as bright light blasted her eyes once more.

---

Yuumi’s eyes opened once more to see a long hallway lit by blue flame torches.

She had done it. She could finally make real progress in finding Norra. Book made a sound that Yuumi thought was concern.

”Come on, Book. We can’t find Norra without taking risks. And these people seem really smart, they might know something!”

With a motion of beleaguered acceptance, Yuumi floated on the book, dreaming of the day she’d finally find Norra and tell her about all the adventures she’d had along the way. 

That hope pushed her forward as she entered the building, the doors closing behind her to mark her entrance.

Notes:

And that’s one more set of champions down, from the depths of the ocean to the heights in the cosmos.

The next set will be picked soon, and feel free to leave comments, I love to read them.

Chapter 32: The Joy Unbound.

Summary:

Joy is something that Nilah specialises in, and being invited to a celebrated combat event to show off for the crowd? How could she say no?

Amidst the danger and uncertainty of Bilgewater, the city had a habit of attracting sea monsters from the depths. While the Buhru usually held such creatures back through their magic, there were some who attempted to set sail and slay the beasts for fame and fortune. Not many succeeded, at best becoming cautionary tales about hubris.

Perhaps the current crew on a loaned ship would meet the same day at the hand of the monstrous sea serpent they’d brought to their attention. If it wasn’t for their captain.

From the topmost of the ship, a woman dressed in long yellow and black. She smiled as she leapt from the ship, summoning her blade from water.

A watery blade severed the beast's head, causing it to collapse on the Bilgewater ship as the body sunk deep into the waters. The crew stared in amazement, the victor of the battle landing with jubilant grace as her blade soon relaxed.

"Well, that was fun!" She announced, showing no disgust at the inhuman blood that painted her face. 

Amongst monster hunters, Nilah stood out not just for her incredible skill with her watery abilities, but for her seemingly endless joy and optimism. It seemed that her face never seems to fall from a smile.

The crew slowly relaxed as their victory washed over them, Nilah rested her shoulder on the creature’s head casually.

“So, who wants lunch?”

---

That night, after jubilantly recounting the tale to those interested, Nilah spent her time in the Oyster Shack, savouring the taste of a well earned meal. There was so much to be joyful about in this place. The food, the battle, the smiling faces of those she saves, it was all wonderful.

As she gobbled down the bowl of oysters, Nilah noticed a woman dressed in long purple robes enter the shack and sit opposite her.

"Are you Nilah?" The woman asked, her voice a low contralto tone. 

"That's me, stranger!" Nilah grinned, a new friend was always a pleasure.

"My name is Jiula. You have quite a name for yourself, don't you?"

"Correct, do you want to hear my adventures?”

Jiula chuckled as a small bowl of soup was placed before her. She slowly stirred the meal with her spoon as she spoke.

”Not today, I’m here to extend an opportunity for you. There is a place called the institute of war, and we are the creators of a sporting event where people from all across the world compete against each other in combat for varying reasons.”

The woman produced an invitation from her sleeves, sliding it over the table to get Nilah's attention. 

"If you're interested, come around. I’m sure we’d find a place for someone like you.”

Nilah practically bounced in place with excitement.

”I’d love to go! Can I come now?”

Jiula looked down at the already finished oyster bowl. 

“Only if you’re sure.”

Nilah slid over a tip to Bill, making him promise to keep her spare room warm before dancing out of the room with her new companion in tow.

Today had been a wonderful day. And an even better night.

---

In a flash of purple, Nilah was standing outside a building with a pair of large obsidian doors. A lovely building, in her opinion,

A message was written along the top in glowing writing.

”The truest opponent lies within,” Nilah read aloud before an anticipatory giggle bubbles from her lips. How ominous, how exciting!

In a rush of enthusiasm, she opened the door and found her vision flooded by blackness.

---

Nilah’s eyes opened to find herself in a nebulous area where her footsteps felt like walking in shallow water.

There were whispers from nearby. A child’s whispers. No, not nearby, from below. Kneeling down to a shallow puddle, Nilah stared into the water, trying to discern the mystery.

There was someone in there, surrounding by a field of glowing water. Nilah felt... the quiet joy of surprise.

"Do you recognise this girl, Nilah?" Spoke the voice of the woman from earlier.

"No. Maybe I saved her? I must have!"

Nilah felt laughter trail from her mouth.

”I must say, this is a rather elaborate test.”

Silence.

"We can help you, if you would simply tell us what is wrong. There is something inside of you. Something dangerous.”

The girl looked pleadingly at Nilah, tears of despair rolling down her cheeks. Nilah's answer was almost instantaneous.

"Nothing is wrong."

Silence, and Nilah could swear hearing a sigh from the woman unseen. A murmuring conversation to quiet for her to hear.

”If that is what you believe. Welcome to the League, Nilah.”

The girl sunk beneath the water, and Nilah ran over to try and save her, before her effort failed and the blackness covered her vision.

---

Nilah’s eyes opened to find the door to her new home open. She'd done it, passed the test and earned her way to new forms of thrills! 

She felt something in her, felt Him creeping in her heart, but she kept the slight smile on her face.

With the exuberance of Joy moving her, Nilah danced her way into the Institute, ready to explore this new frontier of fun.

And all the while, she refused to acknowledge the girl in the water.

Notes:

Nilah was a challenge to write, considering her being forced to only feel joy, but I hope I did her justice. Comments are always welcome. The next chapter will hopefully come soon.

Chapter 33: The Gentle Flame.

Summary:

To many, fire is destruction. It is chaos, uncontrollable and dangerous for even the greatest elemental mage. But to Milio, it is something gentler. and that unique sense of warmth, might gain the attention of others.

Milio could hardly believe that he’d finally made it to the Ixaocan, the place where he could show his abilities and convince the Yun Tal to release his family from their exile. 

Luckily enough, it was also the place with a delicious market. And as much as he enjoyed using his flame to cook meat, making him feel like a tough and rugged explorer, sometimes he liked having the food already done.

Milio sunk his teeth into the meat attached to a sharpened stick, savouring the taste after finishing the fruit he bought alongside it. It wasn’t the same as his family’s cooking, but it was an alright substitute.

His face fell a tad. His family, how he missed them.

He'd finally made it to Ixaocan, but they were refusing to give him the chance to prove himself. How could he convince them? What was he meant to do?

What was the point of this incredible journey if he couldn’t even accomplish the thing he started it for? He’d been training all week and still, they refused to let him compete.

As he finished the last of his meal, Milio was soon set upon by a stranger dressed in Yun Tal iconography, but with purple accenting his robes.

”Excuse me, are you Milio? The boy who walked through the jungle to find us?”

Milio jumped slightly at the surprising company before relaxing.

”Yeah, why?”

”No need to worry, I’m no enemy, quite the opposite. I want to help you.”

The man sat opposite Milio.

"While many of us in Ixtal choose to remain hidden from the outside world, some of us are smart enough to know the benefit in sharing with others. I am involved in an organisation known as the institute of war. Have you heard of them?”

Milo shook his head. The man continued.

”Well, to save time explaining everything, we give exceptional warriors the chance to show off themselves. We select from all across the world, and even here, we have a few to represent.”

Milio felt curiosity rise in his mind, speaking his thought without properly thinking. 

“How do you select champions?”

”We hear of their accomplishments, and provide an invitation if they can be reached. And they usually can.”

"Meet me near the corner of the capital, by the market. And I'll give you an opportunity to prove yourself not just to the Yun Tal, but to the world at large."

Milio didn't want to show off to the world at large, he was always warned of outsiders, but what other option did he have? Stay camped outside the Vidalion, trying to catch the attention of a Yun Tal? He'd already tried that to no avail. 

This might be his best shot. Milio gave the man a warm yet determined smile.

”I’ll be there!”

---

After meeting with the mystery man, who said his name was Rowald, Milio was teleported to the edge of a large set of obsidian coloured steps. 

Milio’s Fuemigo’s bounced behind him, somehow not catching fire on the grass. He didn’t really pay that much mind. Just a little quirk of his inner fire.

His inner fire, the soothing flame, the gift that made him so special to his family. If he could just show his gift, he could fix his family’s misfortune. Then everything would be alright.

That was what his Omele told him. 

Milio’s eyes looked up to the door, finding a message written on the top arch.

”The truest opponent lies within.”

With an inhaled breath of determination, Milio pushed past the door to find his vision blasted by light, and a familiar scent of home.

---

Milio found himself in a familiar place. He was back home, back before his journey, even before his training.

He watched his grandmother pace back and forth, seemingly lost in memory. He felt words bubble to his lips, speaking them unconsciously.

”With my soothing fire and my Fuemigos, maybe I can convince them to let you all back in?”

Lupè turned to Milio.

”The journey will be dangerous, you’re aware?”

No, not lost in memory. This was a memory.

”I know, but it’s the right thing to do. All this training must be for something, and I’ve heard you talking to yourself, sometimes.”

Something in his grandmother’s posture shifted, as if her body was suddenly possessed by someone else.

"Why do you want to join the League?"

Milio blinked in confusion before drawing up a response 

”To prove to the Yun Tal that I’m worthy.”

”And why do you want that?”

"To help my family. To help everyone in my village.”

The false image of his grandmother placed her hand on his shoulder. Milio felt a flash of energy surge through him, and the woman’s eyes glowed a light purple.

“Your truth is clear, and we will assist in whatever way we can. Tell me, how did it feel to open your mind?”

Milio rubbed the back of his head, fingers running through black hair.

”Not something I’m used to, but kind of cool.”

There was a familiar smile on not-Lupè’s face, worn with age yet warm and lovely like a good sleep.

Milio couldn’t wait to see it for real once his mission was completed.

Wrapping his arms around the false image of his grandmother, Milio closed his eyes, and felt his surroundings melt away.

---

That night, after settling in and giving a brief show of his abilities, Milio wrote a letter to his family. He was sure it would be sent this time.

Hello, family! Sorry I haven’t written in a few days, been busy training. I think my Fuemigos are a bit larger this time. Still working on my Fuemigo delivery service, I know I’ll get there soon!

I’ve been invited to some special place, don’t worry, they’re nice! They say they can help me impress the Yun Tal, and maybe some other people? 

I'm close to making things right, I know it. I’ll visit soon, they’ve got these fancy magic rings, I hear they can take you anywhere!

I’d write more, but I’m very tired. These beds feel very soft, but they’re nothing like home.

Love you!

Sincerely, The Gentle Flame (They gave me a cool name!), Milio.

P.S: The people will be sending you a way to watch me compete. I think they said it was a pink crystal?

Notes:

From water to fire, I love segues.
Comments are always welcome, the next champion should be soon.

Chapter 34: The Stoneweaver.

Summary:

Surfing through the Shuriman deserts, Taliyah helps a stranded passer-by from being attacked by the Xer’Sai. And from that, things get interesting.

Taliyah surfed on the Shuriman sands, her boots planted on stone pulled from the ground. Her magic, the magic that she seeks an understanding of.

To this end, she’d scoured the Shuriman desert, helping whoever she could and trying to learn as much as she could about her still growing powers. She thought those Noxians could guide her, they promised, but... they weren't the teachers she needed. And so she returned to the familiar landscape of sand and buried ruins.

It was a nomadic lifestyle, and she couldn’t deny missing home, but it was for the best. Power without training was often a curse rather than a blessing.

Her ears picked up the clicking sounds of Xer’Sai creatures that’d been terrorising the deserts. No one really knew where they came from, but it was clear that they were not animals of this nature, they were something far more sinister.

All the reason for Taliyah to take them out. She scooped a boulder from the ground, tossing it at the monster, crushing it under the weight. 

Taliyah’s attack drew the attention of the creatures. Good.

Taliyah moved in an almost dance like movement, pulling stone as projectiles to eliminate the threats.

Within minutes, the monsters were slain, dripping purple blood onto the sand. Taliyah felt sweat of effort roll down her forehead. She noticed she was being watched and felt a strange surge of embarrassment, weirdly enough.

“Are you okay?”

Helping the figure up, Taliyah took note of their clothing. They were dressed simply, purple leathers for sleek movements, and what looked like a hood pulled down to expose their face.

That was the next facet Taliyah took notice of, the person was a Vastaya. Specifically, they looked reptilian, scaly patterns on their face and what little flesh was exposed. Their voice was low but seemingly friendly. 

“I’ve been through worse. You are quite powerful for one so young. My name is Onir. What is yours?”

Taliyah smiled.

”I’m Taliyah. You’re not the first to tell me that. Do you have somewhere to go, there’s a village nearby, I can take you?”

The vastayan wanderer shook his head.

”No, that’s unnecessary. I simply came to find something. And I’ve found exactly what I’ve heard. A girl who weaves the very earth beneath her feet.”

Taliyah felt herself tense up. Was this a Noxian? Someone who wanted to use her as a weapon?

”My dear, I am what many refer as a summoner, a sorcerer from the prestigious Institute of War. We invite skilled warriors to compete in our tournament, for entertainment and peace. And you have earned our attention.”

Perhaps if she had just started her journey, Taliyah would have jumped at the invitation. But she’d been burned by a false promise before.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t abandon Shurima.”

“No worries, you’ll be able to come back whenever you want, but you’ll need to ask us first. Even so, we can keep you updated on any changes regarding this region’s political landscape,” Onir answered.

As Taliyah fell silent in contemplation, Onir continued his pitch.

”The way I see it, it’s an all win situation. You get to learn more about your powers, we get another Shuriman champion, and Shurima has another protector.”

Taliyah paused for a moment, assessing her options. She wanted to learn more about her abilities, but abandoning Shurima to compete in some big competition didn’t sit right with her conscience.

Still, this man seemed genuine, not like the Noxians. And if she could still come back…

”Fine, you win. How do I get there?”

”I can take you there myself, or I can point you in the direction.”

Taliyah preferred the scenic option.

”I’ll get myself there. To the east?”

Onir nodded, bowing to the young nomad.

”Correct, safe travels, Taliyah.”

Taliyah returned the words with a kind nod before beginning her surf.

---

After about a day’s worth of travel, helping a village and getting a boat ride, Taliyah arrived on the edge of a place known as “The Field of Justice.”

Taliyah took in her surroundings. Lots of green grass. That mountain looked old. It would be a bad idea to try and pull it down. 

It was cooler than Shurima, but that wasn’t much of a contest, and the stone was resting comfortably beneath the ground. They had a strange energy in them, but Taliyah couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

In any case, she should head inside. She noticed the steps, walking up them quickly and coming before a pair of large dark doors.

’The truest opponent lies within.’

Taliyah hesitated before opening the door, but summoned her courage to push the door open, and her vision become flooded by strange magic.

---

It was night time in Shurima. One of the goats of Taliyah’s village had wandered too high up a cliff to get down. It shook with animalistic fear. Taliyah, young yet ever so headstrong, was preparing to get it down.

”Okay, stay there! I can get you down,” she shouted.

Taliyah held out her palms, making a grasping motion with her fingers, and tried to slowly pull out a way for the goat to get down safely.

And then, the goat spoke.

”Taliyah. Daughter of Shurima, weaver of the earth, a girl in need of guidance.”

Now, Taliyah hasn’t explored the entirety of Shurima. But she was certain that most goats didn’t talk. And even if they did, she doubted it would be so eloquent.

Everything clicked and lined up to make sense. This was a test.

Taliyah, now aware of the truth regarding her situation, stopped trying to pull down the goat.

”To become a champion, we must learn your motivations, and your memories are a fertile ground for understanding.”

Taliyah couldn’t look the goat in the face.

”Right, right, I’m sorry, but… can you switch to another form? I can’t take this seriously talking to a goat.”

The goat made a head motion as if it was sighing, before it spoke again.

”As you wish.”

The goat froze in place, and upon hearing the footsteps from behind, Taliyah turned to find her father. Not really her father, she reminded herself, just a very convincing disguise.

”Now, why do you wish to join the League?” He asked, voice stern and professional.

Taliyah’s mind swapped between answers.

”I want to learn control. I want to help Shurima. And if I can do the former here, it’ll make the latter easier to accomplish.”

Taliyah’s father walked over to place a hand on her shoulder, and Taliyah subconsciously relaxed at the familiar touch. 

“Your truth is clear and we will assist in whatever way we can. Tell me, how did it feel to open your mind?”

Taliyah gave a weak smile.

”Another new experience, I guess?”

The mountain began to fall, and Taliyah wrapped her arms around her father, not moving as the stone crashed down.

---

Taliyah’s eyes opened with a start, and she soon noticed she’d pulled a chunk of obsidian from the floor. She carefully but it back down, turning her attention to the doorway that was now wide open.

She’d done it, earned her place. Taliyah turned back, eyes facing the horizon and thinking of her home.

As soon as she could, Taliyah would visit home. Show how much she’d learned. 

Make all of the journeys worth it.

With a sigh of wistful homesickness, Taliyah turned on her boot heel, and began to walk into the institute building.

Notes:

Water, fire, now earth. If only I hadn’t already done Yasuo, we could have had a whole elemental set.
This was a longer one, but in my defence, I really like Taliyah.
Anyway, comments are always welcome, the next chapter should be soon, hopefully.

Chapter 35: The Missing Link.

Summary:

While checking up on the League travel spots, Summoner Mistral gets an encounter with a strange Freljord creature.

Mistral, a summoner hailing from the Freljord, often never realised the difference in climate temperature from the Institute and her home region until she was sent out for maintenance of one of the ‘travel nexuses.’

After clearing the cloaking spell to keep it safe, Mistral checked the status of the teleporter, finding it still perfectly functional. That should’ve been the end of it, until she saw something out of the corner of her eye.

A wolf had gotten caught in a hunting trap, it chewed at the metal, only causing blood to draw from its mouth. Mistral understood that these things were necessary for survival in the Freljord, but there weren’t any settlements nearby.

Mistral undid the trap, a crude one made of wood and bone, resulting in the wolf biting down on her sleeve, puncturing her skin slightly before letting go, growling, and running away to parts unknown.

The summoner shook her head, pulling down her sleeve to assess the damage. Not too bad, she’d get a bandage wrapped around back at the institute.

As she turned back to the nexus, she heard an animal’s cry of joy. Mistral turned around, finding another animal.

The creature was small, orange furred with a small skull on its head and what looked like a bone carved boomerang in its left hand. It didn’t look like any animal she’d seen. Still, she owed it some courtesy.

”Hey, little thing. What’s your name?”

The creature made a sound, Mistral conceptualised it as ‘Nar.’ 

“Okay, Nar. I can’t play with you at the moment. So, run along.”

Mistral heard the sound of the teleporter activating and felt her brows lower in frustration. 

Two more summoners, bundled up in think furry robes, exited the light, looking stern.

”There you are,” Telran admonished. He had a strict schedule and Mistral must’ve forgotten to tell him she was going to check the nexus.

“Why are you here, this is my territory.”

Before Telran could give a no doubt smug response, his company, Mistral recognises her accented voice to belong to Renae.

”What the heck is that?” She called out, finger pointed at Nar, who held his boomerang in hope of a playmate.

The two other summoners held out their hands, aglow with runes of magic. Mistral saw the creatures eyes widen in a mixture of fear and recognition.

”You two are scaring him, put the magic away!”

Mistral heard the creature growl, along with the sounds of transformation, bones stretching, a high pitched voice lowering into a guttural growl, and horns protruding from the creature’s head.

The creature pounced and all three were teleported away from the Freljord.

---

Gnar soon found himself in a memory. A faint one, he couldn't quite recall when, but if felt so distant and so recent at the same time. It was the day that everyone was angry and upset. Gnar heard shouting from the large white fur Yordles. They were panicking, angry, like large tantrums, but worse.

Gnar didn’t know what to do, he shook in fear as one of them turned to him and pointed to the distance. They wanted him to run away, do something. Gnar clung onto the big one’s leg, refusing to let go until he heard the distant yell of… a someone. No one that he knew, and the large furred yordles shouted at him to run as dark tentacles burst our from the ice, writhing shapes that Gar had never seen.

In a roar of rage, Gnar scooped up a boulder ready to throw it at the beast even as cold winds blasted him but he never got the chance as the icy winds blurred his vision and left him-

---

Gnar’s eyes snapped open and in a moment of primal instinct he leapt forward, crashing against a strange invisible bubble. He shook his head, before doing it again a couple times. The same result occurred and he felt more confused than angry.

”Don’t worry, that bubble will be removed once we understand what species you are from, although, I can make an educated guess,” spoke a small voice, carrying a sense of age yet almost childlike curiosity.

Gnar looked up from the floor to find a small and furry creature dressed in a fitted purple robe. He looked like something that could be swallowed while by one of the big white furred Yordles.

“I am summoner Zuzo, and you are among friends. To show my intention, I gift you this.”

The Yordle walked over and slid a small shape through the bubble. Even in his confused and enraged state, Gnat’s mind could recognise the shapes.

It was a tiny chewing toy, made in a  form resembling a small wolf head. As he chewed on it, his form began to shrink into the far more manageable and some would say adorable form. He was in bliss, and now knew his was among potential friends.

”Enjoy your stay.”

Gnar soon fell asleep, gnawing on the new toy.

---

Zuzo exited the temporary quarters, jumping a bit at the voice of his fellow summoner.

"What'd you see, in his mind?" Mistral asked, her long robes removed to expose the bandage wrapped around her left forearm.

"I saw an old time in The Freljord. Large yetis, other creatures similar to our little friend. And I felt.. a quiet tragedy. A child once surrounded by community, now left alone."

Mistral's eyes lowered, she kept her past hidden, and many didn't want to prod a woman from somewhere so dangerous as the Freljord. Zuzo moved the topic away from unwelcome recollections.

"In any case, I suggest we keep an eye on him. Let him go out in matches, learn what we can about ancient Freljord."

Mistral peered through the door, seeing the sleeping Gnar. Looking perfectly content, and she couldn't help but agree with her Yordle companion.

Things were about to get interesting. And this... Gnar, could be the key to finally understanding that which eluded them for years.

Notes:

Gnar was a tough one to work out and I might've rushed this out a bit, but I hope you enjoyed it. Comments are always welcome. The next chapter will hopefully be longer.

Chapter 36: The Wandering Caretaker

Summary:

Among the range of celestial entities, there is one of seems even more unusual than the others.

All across Runeterra, Bard wandered through, collecting mystical artefacts that mortals had discovered and keeping them for safekeeping. Better in the hands of celestials than mortals.

Or that’s what people assume is the thought process. Bard wasn’t a great orator, speaking only in musical chimes and sounds indecipherable through mortal ears.

Bard floated in the endless expanse of space, searching for a fellow cosmic entity to spend some time with and chat.

This being was a gargantuan star dragon, or that’s the form that he chooses to maintain. A figure as powerful as he is arrogant, and the former partly justifies the latter.

As Bard floated before Aurelion, chiming in greetings that only they could understand, the dragon’s eyes met the wanderer.

”Yes, Bard, I knew you were coming,” I can hear your meeps from galaxies away.”

As if summoned, a collection of keeps chirped from Aurelion’s tail, he swished his tail left and right, shaking off the unwelcome piggyback riders.

“A few mortals have come here, asking me to participate in their little blood sports. You can image how that would go…”

Bard tilted his head in curiosity. Aurelion scoffed.

”They’re mortals, they’re not that interesting,” he told his companion, voice dripping with self-assuredness.

Bard chimed and Aurelion made a dismissive grunt, gesturing with one of his hands.

”Well, be my guest. They’re more your speed.”

Bard nodded, opening a golden portal and floating through it with a wave, making musical sounds as he did. Aurelion watched the portal close, shaking his head in something appropriating fondness.

"Those mortals are going to have a treat with him..."

---

Summoner Ereion surveyed the outside courtyard, everything was in order, everything still functioning with incredible magic. The matches for today had ended, and now most of the champions had retired to their quarters to rest and relax.

As he stretched his arms over his head with a symphony of cracking bones, he heard a sound of bell chimes and whirled around to find a large figure comprised of soft fabrics and a round mask.

The figure spoke in chimes, Ereion struggling to understand what he was saying, but upon focusing his hearing, he understood the basic concept.

I’m curious about this place. Can you tell me about it?

“Okay. Come with me.”

---

Bard followed after the robed man in bouncy steps. The harmony here was somehow discordant, yet strangely beautiful. He found also sense some magic artefacts, but that would be a task for another time.

He entered into a large rounded room surrounded by obscured figures in robes.

”Ereion, what is this?”

”This is Bard, he is… a celestial? I think? The point is that he’s interested and I think we should let him join.”

The group stared down at Bard with judging expressions. They then held out their palms, aglow with magical energy.

”We must first search his mind, as is customary for any new inductions.”

The summoner's held out their hands, washing Bard in mystical purple energy, but strangely enough, the spell refused to properly complete, it was if Bard was somehow blocking the intrusion. 

As the group of them tried to ascertain the unexpected outcome, the doors opened to reveal the lilac skinned form of Soraka. Another celestial who took a mortal form, but one far closer to human understanding than Bard.

”Soraka, this is a private matter. While you are valuable, the induction of new champions is beyond your jurisdiction.”

Soraka nodded gently.

"I understand, summoner. But Bard is a reclusive figure, and only I can let you inside his mind,” she explained, voice calm and serene as it often was.

With a shared nod to Bard, Soraka placed her mystic staff on the porcelain floor, summoning a golden aura around herself, Bard, and three summoners. 

With a chant of magic incantation, Soraka’s light flashed around the room, bringing the four of them into Bard’s mind.

---

High councillor Vessaria, followed by Erelion and Zhone opened their eyes to an unfamiliar realm. It was a place of golden streams of singing song, small golden creatures parading across lines of cosmic rhythm. It was like entering a bizarre dream. They final noticed they were on Mount Targon's peak, and the golden streams spread all across the world. The blessed isles from old records, another rising up the moon.

Soraka walked along one of the golden trails, voice as serene as ever.

"Come now, Bard would hate to be kept waiting."

The summoners follows after Soraka, Vessaria wasted no time in trying to ascertain answers regarding Bard’s motives. Soraka pursed her lips, a golden meep on her shoulder, seemingly acting as a translator for Bard’s speech.

"Bard is a mystery, even for me. But he is a keeper of cosmic balance. And with all the nightmares and demons locked away in the institute, it seems logical that if something were to happen, he would come to keep things in control."

Zhone, often prideful in the League's mission of preventing mass bloodshed, scoffed in disbelief.

"You presume that the Institute cannot protect itself? That we are helpless without cosmic intervention?"

Erelion, far more reasonable, tried to calm him with a hushed whisper of not angering the celestials. Soraka stopped on the journey, turning to face the set of mystics.

”That is not the intention.”

Zhone snatched a golden meep from the trail, holding it to his face.

”I’ve had more than enough of this game. When is the cataclysm going to happen? What is going to happen?”

Soraka tried to request that Zhone ceased his aggressive action. The meep began to glow brightly, shaking until in a blast of light, it exploded and the golden bridge of stardust faded away.

The group began to fall until a golden portal opened up beneath them, swallowing them all.

---

The three summoners found themselves back in the council chambers, the three of them in varying states of shock. Vessaria recovered first, the most senior of the assembled council.

”Well, from what little we could determine, Bard is not a threat to us, and can act as a guardian for if danger escapes from our watch.”

The group murmured agreements, turning their gaze down to Bard and Soraka.

”Thank you for to her assistance, Soraka. Escort Bard to his quarters, we’ll begin an ability examination within hours.”

Soraka nodded, bowing her head and turning to Bard, leading him out of the room. The summoners looked among themselves.

”We’ll need to monitor him carefully.”

Erelion looked to Zhone, looking at his reddened hand, as if a small explosion had struck it. Golden stardust dotted his palm.

”I can’t help but agree.”

Notes:

Bard. Love this guy. And you should too, this is a threat.
Seriously. Comments are always welcome. Next chapter should be soon.

Chapter 37: The Tidecaller.

Summary:

Nami had searched for the moon's aspect for what feels like forever. But now, she might finally have found something to save her people.

There are many tales about creatures in the water. Ethereal beauties with songs that lure the foolish to their dooms. While there are indeed sea creatures that resemble the myth, they typically keep to themselves in the realms below the sea. They were known as Marai, Aquatic Vastaya who faced a dark threat in the deepest caverns of their home.

While they could typically used a moonstone given by a mysterious wanderer with celestial power to ward the threat away, the light had began to dim and with the aspect of the moon, the only one who could create a moonstone having fled Mount Targon to parts unknown, it had fallen to a young tidecaller to flee the waters and save her people.

Nami had been blessed with the mission, wandering on dry land and searching the seas for any clues of the Aspect's location. She was currently taking a break under the waters, musing to herself. Every lead she found never got her closer. What if the aspect was dead? No, that couldn't happen. An aspect couldn't die. Right?

“Are you Nami?” Spoke a muffled voice from the land. Nami poked her head up from the water, finding a woman dessed in purple and light silver accents. The woman’s voice had an odd and almost ethereal cadence to it.

”I am, why?” Nami replied, curious to this traveller's intentions.

"Fear not, I understand you are searching for the aspect of the moon?"

"Yes! Are you her?"

The woman chuckled, as if what Nami said was a pleasant joke.

"No, but I might be able to take you to her. I cannot say more at the moment, but this might help."

The woman handed a stone, seemingly crafted from obsidian that glowed with golden light from within.

"Follow the light this stone emanates and you will find yourself close to your goals."

Nami couldn’t keep the hope away from her face. After all this time of chasing dreams and vague hopes, she finally had a chance to accomplish her goal and save her people.

"Thank you," She spoke finally, gratitude bleeding through her tone.

Sinking back into the water and bubbling the obsidian in a magic bubble, Nami began the journey to her new destination.

---

After her journey through the waters where she met a few old friends, Nami came across her journey's end and jumped from the water, her fishlike tail floating on a small wave she summoned with her tide caller staff.

Her eyes widened in adoration as she took in her new surroundings. The place was lush and beautiful, there was a waterfall in the distance, her staff could sense the water. While she'd love to explore, she had a job to do. 

Riding her wave up the stairway, Nami looked up to see a message inscribed on a set of large doors.

’The truest opponent lies within.’

Looking down to her staff before hardening her expression, Nami placed her hand on the door and pushed hard. It didn’t budge for a moment, but soon opened and flooded her senses with the familiar scent of fresh water.

---

Nami soon found herself in a memory the day she swore her oath to the tribe’s Greatmother. She’d said her goodbyes to Loto and Tama, her two beloveds. Oh, how she missed them. 

”Greatmother, I pledge service and promise to return with haste. I will save our people.”

Gone was the wise and kind old matriarch of Nami’s tribe, replaced by someone else. 

“Why so you want to join the League, Nami?”

Nami’s answer was quick and clear as the waves.

”I want to find the moon stone and save my people from the darkness beneath.”

”Why?” The false Greatmother asked.

Nami felt confused. What did she mean why? Was she not convinced enough?

”Because I want to save my people. There’s a darkness under the sea and I’m not going to just let it grow.”

The Greatmother blinked, raising her free hand. 

“You speak truth, but there is something else in your mind you refuse to share.”

Nami wasn’t sure why she felt fear tingling through her body, but soon she saw her vision grow darker until it was pure blackness.

---

Nami was in a dark sea cavern. The darkness was all she could see, save for the faint purple pustules of strange light but she followed the faint light of the pearl she needed to return home.

”Nami, there you are,” spoke a familiar voice with an unfamiliar tone. Nami turned to meet the figure.

And there, on the outskirts of an edge, was him. The one who was meant to return, who impressed everyone with his quick thinking and calm attitude. He was supposed to come back with the pearl and Nami was supposed to be picked as Tidecaller next time.

But Rasho wasn’t himself. He was… wrong. Corrupted by the horrific darkness in the abyss, spouting madness about the beauty of a world in the abyss. How he was string, how she could be strong too if she would just take his hand.

And though Nami never admitted it, did the briefest of moments, she wanted to take his hand. She pointed her staff at him threateningly. Her hands trembled, but was ready to free her predecessor from his curse once more.

”I know this isn’t real,” she seethed, “Tell me what you want.”

”Why do you want to join the League?”

Nami paused. She already gave her answers. She wanted to save her people. She wanted to prove to herself she was worthy of the Tidecaller title. But there was something else, something personal.

”Because I don’t want anyone to die like you did.”

Rasho’s eyes glowed a faint purple, not the same as the pustules and his voice was overlapping with another’s.

”You have been found truthful and worthy of induction into the League. How did it feel to open your mind?”

Nami turned away from her predecessor, feeling guilt bubble up in her chest. She noticed the abyss pearl on the floor and swam to pick it up.

”An invasion,” She answered, snatching the pearl from the floor, she knew how this memory would go.

As she looked at the pearl, she saw it sparkle, until it blasted her vision with an all consuming light. She didn’t mind.

Better light than whatever madness lurked in the dark.

---

Nami’s eyes opened to realise she was lying on her chest. She pulled her staff and summoned a small water wave to get herself up on. Her staff trembled in her hands before she willed her arms to be still. There was no point in turning back.

Nami would continue her quest and find the aspect of the moon. She would save her people. She would do it for the Greatmother. For Loto, for Tama, for Rasho and for all of her people.

It was her duty and her responsibility.

The Tidecaller had joined the League.

Notes:

Apologies if it seems rushed. I hope you enjoyed. The next chapter should be soon.

Chapter 38: The Dark Sovereign.

Summary:

Syndra’s usual reaction to unwanted visitors is swift elimination. But these ‘summoners’ have an intriguing proposition.

High above the ground of Ionia, so far that it is unknown to almost everyone, there floats a large stone castle surrounded by walls of negative energy. 

Her name was Syndra. A woman with incredible magic talent, all powered by her emotions. Negative emotions were the catalyst, and she had plenty of rage to fuel her power.

Syndra studied the ball of negative energy in her palm. She was powerful now. So very powerful. Everyone tried to make her weak. Her family used her as a scapegoat. Her village barely noticing her on the best days. Her master, after she tried so hard to follow his teachings, just tried to slowly weaken her powers.

They all deserved what she did. All that rage, all that hate and sorrow and envy was their final moments before life was severed from their bodies.

And now, Syndra was alone in her tower. Away from anyone who would dare to capture her, force her to become someone of their choosing. She could feel her powers steadily growing, feeling negative energy from the land pulse like a heartbeat.

Someone was here. No, multiple someones. Syndra whipped around to see three cloaked figures enter her domain. A mistake they would live only long enough to regret.

The one on the left lashed out with binding chains of magic, Syndra chuckled, breaking them in a burst of negative energy.

The other two shot flames from their palms, causing Syndra to seethe in pain from the heat, but a clench of her fist surrounded the fire in her aura, destroying the threat and giving her cause to eliminate the one of the right.

Syndra grasped the last one in a grip of dark aura. A single twitch of her fingers would snap the man’s neck. Another would snap his spine, his legs, simply making a fist would crush him into a ball of limbs.

So many options, so little time.

“How did you find this place? Do you want something?” She demanded.

“We-we heard of your abilities and we wanted to invite you to our institute,” The man got out after struggling.

Syndra laughed. An invitation? As if she were some child looking for instruction. Oh, that was wonderfully hilarious.

Still, curiosity rested in her head. Why would they invite her?

”What would I gain from your invitation?”

”In our Institute, you will be kept away from all prying eyes, protected from any who would seek to use you for their own ends. And, we have veritable libraries of magic, which could perhaps grant you more control?”

Syndra paused, and in a moment, it looked like she’d crush the intruder’s skull. Instead, she released her grip, letting them fall hard on the stone floor.

”I will consider your offer. Now leave me be, unless you want me to take back my mercy?”

The man stammered out an apology, vanishing in a flash and leaving only a map with a circled spot, the institute, she imagined.

Syndra looked around, seeing the lying corpses which littered her personal chambers.

She needed to clean this place up.

---

After ensuring that her fortress would remain hidden, Syndra began the journey to the Institute of War. She floated down from the sky before a set of large obsidian coloured doors.

She sensed the magic of this place beneath the ground. It was different from Ionia, which was a constant cycle of balance and contrast. This was an ever changing maelstrom. Magic of nature, of souls, of stars and space. All of it had traces in the ground.

How wonderful…

Holding out her palm, Syndra intended to open the door with her mind, only for the door not to budge. She grit her teeth, deciding to open it the old fashioned way.

Pushing the door open, Syndra felt darkness fill her vision and mind until she was someplace else entirely.

---

Syndra found herself in a memory. The day she learned her master’s secrets.

She was dressed in the poor fitting white robes of her master’s instruction. She used to believe she was gaining control, until the lessons stopped and she felt herself growing weaker.

She remembered confronting her master that day, yelling questions. Why am I growing weaker? Why don’t you teach me anything? What were those records?

And his reply was what Syndra feared.

”You are too powerful to control, you’re too emotional and refuse to learn control.”

How did she need to learn control? It was his duty as her master!

”Bastard,” she spat out the words, ”I thought you were helping me, teaching me! But you just use me. Like everyone else!”

Negative aura surrounded her master. She remembered killing him, but if this was a memory, she could try again.

She broke her master’s arms, then legs, then let him fall to the floor. He would writhe like a bug, suffering.

But then, her master spoke in another person’s voice.

“There is anger in your words, but something else,” he extended his hand, sending an ethereal glow towards Syndra. She blocked it off with her aura, but the force didn’t relent.

Syndra pushed against the encroaching force in her mind, and for a moment she repelled it, but even her formidable force was broken past and she felt herself be sent back to another memory.

---

Syndra didn’t have many friends as a child. No one wanted to play with the girl who was blamed for soured milk and poor harvest. The only escape Syndra had from her misfortune was the large tree on a nearby hill.

She could sit under it and talk for as long as she wanted, and the tree would always listen, never mock her, or blame her for things she couldn’t control.

But one day, her brother and his friends found her one place of refuge and proceeded to mock her again. Call her a witch, a monster, a nobody.

A clump of dirt squelched against Syndra’s face, and she felt her energy rush as her magic surrounded the area in a dark aura, withering the tree from a lively state into dead wood.

Most of the boys fled, but her older brother stayed rooted to the floor. Furious tears rolled down young Syndra’s face as she extended her hand, surrounding the boy in malevolent energy. It would be so easy. A twitch of her finger would break his arm. 

“Why do you wish to join the League?” Spike her brother in a voice that was most unlike his Syndra remembered.

Syndra’s adult mind suddenly surged into her younger form, her eyes narrowed in front.

“I’m tired of being controlled, of being used. I’ll participate in your game, so long as you give me opportunities to grow stronger.”

The false brother nodded, his eyes glowing an ethereal light.

”You have been found worthy to join the League, tell me, how did it feel to expose your mind-

Syndra snapped her brother’s neck with her magic, face snarling in rage.

”Curse you. Curse this damned place.”

Syndra watched as her surroundings broke away. Her eyes rested on the village, watching as it tore itself apart like wet paper.

It was beautiful to see.

---

Syndra recovered herself with a gasp, she floated up to the air, feeling her magic crackle around her. The doors were open, she could enter, find who forced her into that memory and…

Am I… crying?

Syndra wiped stray tears from her eyes. A cowardly trick, to manipulate her memory. No matter.

The Dark Sovereign had joined the League. And she’d soon be able to show what would happen to anyone who wanted to control her.

Notes:

Syndra was a fun one, actually. I feel like she should have more lore than she has. Like, one of the most powerful forces in Ionia, and she’s just floating in the sky? Missed opportunity.

Anyway, comments are always welcome, see you soon.

Chapter 39: The Spear of Vengeance.

Summary:

The Spear of Vengeance will never miss her target. Even if she must wait to be thrown.

The Institute of war prided itself not only on its ability to prevent mass warfare through their League matches, but also having one of the most prolific records of Runeterra history in their library.

But while they had records of before Shurima’s fall, of the Noxian warlord Sahn-Uzal and the Rune Wars, there was something that escaped even their knowledge: The Blessed Isles. The Shadow isles before the ruination. All they had were tattered records, and the few champions that would know weren't very forthcoming with the details.

Ram Steed, a man with a particular interest in the dark isles despite the injuries he'd often face from visiting, sighed as he closed another book. 

Metallic hooves clamped across the ground. Heavy with spectral un-life. Ram cleared his throat, looking up to the shadow of war, Hecarim.

He remembered when the spectral centaur marched up to the Institute after a slaughter in the Demacian fields and demanded entry into the League. Even for one with a morbid interest in the undead, Ram Steed had limits with interacting with one such as him.

Now, he had given Ram the information that may finally lead to learning the truth behind the Isles ruination. A wraith who was there when it all happened, but one that would need to be summoned to the Institute.

”Are you certain this will work?” 

Hecarim chuckled, a rumbling and echoing sound. 

“When an oath is sworn, she will come like a moth to the flame.”

Ram Steed sighed. To find truth, one must get their hands dirty.

“How do we summon her?”

---

Kalista’s bare feet left no prints on the outside of the Institute of War. She had been summoned, and followed the soul which demanded vengeance.

The Black mist slithered up the door, but couldn’t enter through the closed door no matter how hard Kalista commanded.

With a grunt of annoyance, Kalista pushed open the door to find an open hallway. There was a bearded man dressed in primarily purple and dark red with what looked like a slice wound on his left eye.

And beside him was… 

You. We know you.

“I know you," she spoke, her ghastly voice echoing with spectral fury.

The man was inconsequential, even as he spoke.

”Kalista, I am Ram Steed, summoner and reporter for the Institute of war, I was hoping that you could answer my questions?”

Kalista summoned an ethereal glowing spear, raising it ready to throw.

”Hecarim. The dead have cursed your name a thousandfold, and so I shall collect what you have owed.”

Hecarim chuckled, raising his weapon. Something stirred in Kalista. Nostalgia. Betrayal, rage. 

Kalista locked her eyes at Hecarim. Many souls swore vengeance against the dark steed. But within the maelstrom of souls that had been infused into her, it was her own rage that raised her arm, ready to impale the wretched betrayer.

She tossed the spear, which was intercepted by the foolish man in red and purple. His shoulder leaked crimson liquid.

She threw another spear at Hecarim, before running into close range and dodging his powerful swings with warrior-like efficiency.

Her spear blocked his massive iron glaive, her face contorted in rage.

”Your debt shall be paid, oath breaker!”

”Not this day, Kalista.”

Kalista pushed the weapon back, but as she felled back to stab her spear through Hecarim, she was suddenly frozen in place by strange magic. Hecarim moved backward, seeming almost pleased by this turn of events.

Chains bound her arms and legs, yet still she shouted curses at Hecarim.

Kalista screams of rage became that of pain, her eyes widening with unfamiliarity until all she saw was a bright flash.

---

Kalista was in the streets of a lovely kingdom. Peasants and knights walked in cordial peace. And Kalista felt a strange sensation she hadn’t felt in what felt like forever.

”What is this?” She asked aloud, her voice lacking the ghastly echo of undeath.

”A memory,” spoke a voice both familiar yet unfamiliar.

Kalista whirled around, finding a large knight with his helmet removed to expose his face. Something warm and dutiful and… familiar. Why, why can’t she remember?

Kalista kept staring at the man. 

“This was your home once, a forgotten kingdom. Can you tell us about it?”

Kalista steeled her gaze. No matter the strange feelings this place stirred, it was false. Little more than a dream.

”Perhaps we should go deeper. The day you were betrayed.”

The floor seemed to crack apart, before breaking like glass. Kalista fell into the darkness, unable to stop herself from reaching out to the strange knight.

---

There was so much blood, the blessed isles turned red before they rotted and turned to shadow and ash. So much needless destruction. All because of him, all because he could not have let his beloved go. She tried to right things like how her father would have but Veigo was never Nivor. Viego was too emotional, too used to comfort rather than struggle. Isolde was everything to him, and with her gone, his reason died as well.

”Do you remember this place?” Spoke the king. 

“Yes.”

”What can you say of it?”

”It was beautiful once. Before you came to it, before you ordered us to slaughter the monks. I tried to help you, but you just couldn’t let her go.”

Kalista couldn’t explain what pulled her to her feet. She ripped a spear from the ground, running it through the king’s chest.

The King seemed to flicker between his familiar form and someone else in a purple robe. The spear faded to mist, causing Kalista to drop to a knee.

"What do you want, Kalista?"

Kalista’s face contorted in rage, staring up at her most painful betrayal.

"Vengeance."

The area seemed to rumble, as if a tremor struck the land.

”You have spoken your truth, how did it feel to open your mind?”

Kalista didn’t dignify the question with an answer, simply looking away from the bastard king. A wave of black mist flowed from the distance, filling Kalista’s vision with nothing but blackness.

---

Kalista’s eyes opened in a rush of adrenaline. She stood to her feet, finding herself in a strange stone room. There was a bed, a window with curtains pulled over, and a strange insignia hanging on the wall.

Kalista stalked to the door, trying to push down the knob, but to no avail.  The door was locked from the outside.

”You’re awake?” Spoke a male’s voice. Kalista slammed her ghostly palm against the door. She thought she heard the man curse under his breath.

”What is this?!”

”If you can tell us about the Isles, we might be able to help you in exchange. Perhaps help you recover your lost self. Or, perhaps grant you justice?”

Kalista summoned a spear, looking at it almost fondly.

Justice…

”We’ll leave you to think.”

There is only vengeance.

With a shout of rage, she tossed the spear into the stone wall.

One day, it would meet Hecarim's flesh. And her vengeance, along with countless others, would be done.

She would simply be patient. And perhaps someone in this place would call on her aid. The Spear of Vengeance.

Notes:

Ah, my girl Kalista. You deserve so much better. Comments are always welcome, the next chapter should hopefully be soon.

Chapter 40: The Virtuoso.

Summary:

The Golden Demon is a name known and feared by many Ionian citizens, but the Virtuoso has other things in his mind.

Death meant many things to many people. A tragedy, a natural part of life, something to be overcome, or feared or even celebrated. But among all these outlooks, it is one man who sees something beautiful in death, or rather, what death can become. In the right hands, death can be a perfect act of art. 

Performance, enchanted weaponry and a twistedly artistic mind, these were all the hallmarks of the Golden Demon known throughout Ionia, Khada Jhin. 

Jhin’s proficiency in his craft would often lead him to many places. The occasional Noxian would request him, to act their boring plays, an Ionian who wanted a loose end taken out, but it was his current audience that drew his interest. 

The Institute of War. A place for a Noxian form of entertainment. Blood sport among champions all across the world. How unsophisticated, still. It had its fans. And it seemed they had their biases, as they had approached him with an invitation.

”You want me to put on a show in your establishment?” He asked, his arm draped across the table, fingers drumming as his employers spoke.

The hooded figures refused to show their faces. An act to disguise their intentions. Or their fear, perhaps?

”Something along those lines. We’re aware of your reputation and believe you would be well suited to educating others. Here, we have a copy of the script.”

Jhin took the paper sheets, studying them with an artistic eye. Lambs and Wolves, studying on the nature of death with a violin player setting the scene. All rather blasé, but he could make it work. Yes, a few changes, and it could be another masterpiece.

”You have earned my attention, I’ll be here. But I will need others as part of the show. Actors, you see."

The group talked amongst themselves, three stood forward to offer their support. Three actors, one musician, yes, the perfect number.

"'l shall see you all tonight. I expect perfection, understood?

The summoner in the back, the one with the deep voice, spoke commandingly.

"Do not forget whose territory you are in."
Jhin smiled beneath his mask, touching his voice with something resembling false apology.

"But of course."

Jhin left the room with a flourish, leaving his employers to wonder if they’d made the right choice.

---

Jhin’s preferred instrument was his beloved gun, Whisper. But he was well trained in other instruments. String instruments were a personal favourite. 

It was like a siren's spell. Play the right strings, and the audience will obey like perfect little puppets.

The show went perfectly, even though his performers were clearly untrained in the art of stagecraft. Still, Jhin was nothing if not inventive.

Jhin took a bow to the audience, grinning beneath his mask as he stood up straight.

”You’ve all been a lovely audience, but there’s one final surprise.”

He snapped his fingers, and from up in the rafters, one of his colleagues held the trigger to a set of lotus fashioned explosives.

”There is a detonator among this place, which will grant this show its perfect finale. I suggest you stay in your seats, you won’t want to miss the show.”

Jhin readied his gun to fire, but he was soon bound with arcane chain. His stagehand froze in place, pathetic.

He was surrounded, his actors turned on him with their palms aglow with magic.

The finale was incomplete. A shame. 

---

Jhin was soon brought into a room surrounding by looming desks. The cloaked figures still stared down from elevated seats. A lesser man would be intimidated, especially as the head of the circle spoke coldly.

”You broke our request, Jhin. We have half a mind to send you to imprisonment for the rest of your life.”

Jhin smiled beneath his mask. Art cannot be contained, cannot be killed. Art is eternal, and only he can make the truth clear.

”What does the other half want?”

”To understand. We will enter your mind, learn your motivations. If you succeed, we might reconsider your punishment.”

Jhin felt magic burrow into his mind, memories flashing in quick succession. Masterpieces one by one, until all he saw was light.

---

The blank canvas was soon filled by a familiar setting. 

Jhin remembered the place. His first piece of art, where he understood that beauty and death were one and the same.

Looking back at it now, there were a few flaws. Red string around a husband and his wife’s next. Hands over their opened chests.

The ever enchanting tale of star crossed lovers. If they will not love in life, they will love in the next one.

Jhin watched as the woman’s head tilted to face him. This was a memory, laws of nature do not apply.

”What does this place stir in you, Jhin? Pride, ecstasy, mourning, or do you perhaps feel shame?”

Jhin chuckled.

“No, no, none of that. If anything, I feel embarrassed. I mean, look at this composition.”

He clicked his tongue, studying the place. There was certainly something here, he made a good piece, but a masterpiece? No, no, no.

“Why did you agree to our test?” Spoke the woman. And Jhin answered, flourishing his left arm as he spoke.

”My work has grown dull. I need a new spark of passion, and this little establishment could be exactly what I need.”

The woman’s eyes glowed an ethereal purple.

”You have passed the test, but will be watched with careful eyes. How did it feel to open your mind?”

Jhin didn’t truly have a choice in the matter. 

“An experience. It’s not every day one gets to look back at their old works.”

The area seemed to split apart into coloured light, and Jhin did not flinch as the light rushed towards him.

It was, after all, beautiful.

---

Jhin’s eyes opened to find his judges looking down at him. He could still feel inspiration brewing in his heart and soul. They look to each other, seeming speaking in silences.

“We have decided that you will stay here in our institute. You will obey our commands and compete in the League matches, in exchange, you will be rewarded with a grand stage to the world.”

One of the summoners objected.

”Sir, he’s a murderer, he’s killed dozens-

“That’s enough, Ronus,” cut off a woman’s voice. Firm, cold and accented. Jhin wondered what it would take to frighten her.

The head summoner stared directly down at Jhin, showing the briefest going of his golden eyes.

Golden eyes. A lovely colour.

”But if you step out of line, endanger anyone here, and you won’t create any art again. Is that clear, Jhin?”

Jhin tilted his head upwards so that his eye was locked at the summoner’s.

”Perfectly clear. Now, may I go?”

There was art in this place. Waiting for a master’s eyes to make it beautiful.

Jhin exited the chambers, ready to begin planning his new masterpiece.

The Virtuoso had joined the League. And one could only hope how long he would stay.

Notes:

Jhin is strangely fun to write for. Comments are always welcome. One character left of the current set, this one will be a tad… gloomy.

Chapter 41: The Gloomist.

Summary:

Vex is enjoying another miserable day in the Shadow Isles, but her solitude is interrupted by a stranger with an enticing offer.

The Shadow Isles. A place of undead abominations. Ghastly ghouls wandering the land, consumed by their own worst aspects. For many living beings, such a place was nothing more than a mass grave.

But for Vex, a gloomy Yordle with an affinity for the darkness, it was a place better than home. No parents to drag her to colourful festivals, no other Yordles to ruin her solitude, and so many cool brooding spots.

Yes, it was paradise. But there was something wrong. She could sense someone approaching. Someone unwelcome.

A cloaked human, a man with a bushy beard and a sharp scar on his upper cheek came to meet her under the dead tree. Vex groaned, she was very busy brooding. She must've groaned loudly, because the man noticed.

He walked around the tree, noticing Vex and ruining her brooding solitude.

”A Yordle in a place like this? Tell me, are you lost?”

Vex was already tired of this person. And he was still talking.

”My name is Ram Steed, I am a member of the Institute of War. We have many Yordles in our loyalty, if you’d be so inclined to join?”

”Shadow, could you take this loser out?” Vex droned out.

Rather than frighten the figure away, Shadow looked away with an almost blush-like pattern on his cheeks. Vex rolled her eyes. Why did she even keep him around?

Then she remembered that she can’t escape her own shadow. That’d be a nice poem line.

”Whatever you’re offering, I don’t care, now go away,” Vex told the strange man.

Ram turned around, leaving through the ghastly forest. Vex scoffed dismally, looking down to Shadow.

”What was that? You’re meant to be dark and terrifying to all who disturb me!”

Shadow shrugged. For a representation of her inner darkness, Shadow could be a real softie. 

Still, that man had survived this far without being torn apart by the ghouls that roamed this place. If he could do that, he must know of this place. Perhaps even know where the ruined king, Vex's kindred spirit, had disapeared too.

Vex looked in the direction that the man left, and sighed. Fine, whatever.

“Shadow. Take me to the man.” 

Vex was surrounded by dark magics, appearing at the end of the islands docks. The man was there, unaware of her presence. 

”Hey, Mister Summoner, whatever. Got room on your boat for a gloomy traveler?”

Ram jumped, hand on his heart before recovering and smiling softly. Vex wanted to gag at the sincerity.

”Sure. Hop onboard.”

Vex secluded herself in a dark corner of the boat, letting her mind drift into familiar darkness.

---

Vex looked up the pale man, clad in obsidian armour and eyes that stared through her. And in that moment, she knew they were one and the same. Twin souls of the same darkness now seeing a kindred confidant.

The king spoke, his voice tinged with spectral grief.

"You and I are the same, small one, the world has shunned us for our nature," He spoke, slowly stepping down the stone steps. His palm curled into a fist, and Vex couldn't hide her gasp.

"The world must know the cost of their folly. Can I trust you to join me?"

Vex couldn’t find the words to swear allegiance, so she simply nodded to her new king.

The world would soon know darkness, and Vex would watch as the world was blanketed in never ending night-

---

“Small Yordle, we have arrived!” Cheered the bearded man. Vex was reminded of her father. Far too excited and too loud for her liking.

Was he sadder that she wasn’t with him? Were her parents crying to themselves about where their beloved little girl had gone?

She didn’t know, didn’t care to find out.

Stepping out onto solid land, Vex’s eyes were assaulted by bright colours and vibrant life. Small squirrels scampered up trees, nuzzling against each other in compassionate nature.

It made Vex long for the bleakness of the isles.

”Such beauty can be overwhelming at first, if you continue to the building in the distance, you’ll go through a special test to determine your worthiness. Good luck, young Yordle.”

Vex stared blankly at Ram who seemed to recall an important question.

”Apologies, what is your name?”

Vex paused. She didn’t like this guy, but he did ferry her all the way from the isles to wherever this was. Her mother’s voice nagged her to be polite and Vex told that voice to shut up.

”You'll find out," was all she said before she let her shadow envelop her in dark magic.

In a blanket of blackness, Vex arrived at the edge of a stone stairway. Great. Walking. The thing she wanted to avoid. But without the miserable energy of the Shadow Isles to constantly replenish her magics, Shadow needed a short break before another teleport.

Vex trudged up the stairs, coming before a set of large and old looking doors.

“The truest opponent lies within,” Vex read from the door’s archway.

Vex wasn’t in the mood for physical exertion, so she summoned Shadow to push the door open for her. 

After some struggling, her familiar completed their task, and Vex’s vision was overcome by blinding, burning radiant light.

---

Vex’s vision recovered to find herself in a wooden house. A place with warm and homely smells. Not even a hint of darkness or gloomy essence.

She knew this place.

”Oh, no…”

The door was pushed open, the familiar forms of her parent’s stunning Vex in place. 

Vex’s parents embraced her warmly, the young Yordle struggling in vain to push herself free.

"Okay, enough!" Vex raised her voice in hopes to make her parents back off, but they remained still in that odd parental way. Vex narrowed her expression, before she had a realisation. She left this place behind.

"I'm done staying in this place and acting like everything's all hunky dory, there's somewhere out there that I'll be more at home with."

Vex tried to push open the house door, but found it locked shut, she growled, before hearing her parents voice in unison. lacking the annoying warmth or fretful worry.

"Not many Yordles would spend their time on the Isles, we seek to know why you would serve a monster as the Ruined King?"

"He's cool, we understand each other," Vex replied with all the dryness of a rotted bone. She tried to push the door again to no avail.

“What is it that you seek?”

”To cover the world in misery. Make everyone understand how I feel.”

”Do you think that will bring you companionship?”

Vex paused. She didn’t care about companions. Nobody wanted to be friends with the gloomy one. 

”It’ll bring me something better than home.”

The room was silent, Vex’s ears twitched as she picked up a surging magic echo.

”You have earned your passage into the League. Tell us, how did it feel to open your mind?” 

Vex groaned, finally turning back to her fake parents. 

“Whatever,” was all she had to offer in response.

The door flew open, and a tidal wave of black mist rolled towards her. Vex heard her parents cry for her to close the door. But she stayed completely still.

She never liked listening to her parents anyway.

---

Vex’s eyes burst open to find the doors to the Institute were wide open. The inside had a colder colour palette, not as frustratingly vibrant as the outside.

It was as good as she would get until her kindred spirit returned. And who knows, maybe this place would bring her closer to her goal.

Vex, The Gloomist, had joined the League.

Notes:

And that’s another set down. The next one should come soon, but after a brief break.
Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 42: Empress of the Elements.

Summary:

Qiyana has always had a hunger for recognition, and what better way to achieve such success than representing her region.

Today had been a victorious day for Qiyana. She, with the meagre assistance of her guards, had pushed back a group of outlanders from her seventh eldest sister’s plaza.

She allowed one to live, to spread her name and mastery to the masses, while her sister’s subjects showered her in gratitude.

They needn’t know of how the outlander’s had found the hidden encampment, only of how Qiyana had saved them. Her sister was far less grateful, she’d always thought herself so high in comparison to Qiyana.

Qiyana scoffed as she sat in her palanquin, which suddenly rocked to a sudden halt. Her brows furrowed in indignation as she called to her servants.

“I did not order any of you to stop,” she reprimanded, voice dripping with annoyance.

”Apologies, your highness. But there is someone blocking the way,” Bayal wheezed out. 

“Then make them move out of the way. Need I do everything myself?”

Qiyana scoffed, looking out of the palanquin curtains to notice the intruder. He was a rather stoic looking man, unaware of his insolence by getting in her way.

The intruder was garbed in mostly purple with light browns to accent it. Wherever they were from, it was not from Ixaocan. 

“Are you one of those Pilt-Over outsiders? If you are here for revenge, you’ll find yourself empty handed.”

"I am not of Piltover, Princess," the intruder admitted, his voice calm despite the weaponry.

"Refer to me as empress if you wish to live,” Qiyana snapped. Such disrespect from an outsider.

”Empress, my sincerest apologies. I’m here as an ally, not an enemy. I know of your people’s prowess in the art of magic, and that you are among the most skilled in your region.”

Qiyana felt her hunger for adoration swell briefly. But she wouldn’t be deceived by sweet words like a foolish child. 

”While it pleases me that you recognise your betters, I suggest you quicken your speech and leave me be.”

Qiyana watched as the man produced an envelope from his pocket and handed it to one of her imperial servant, who handed it over to Qiyana with a whispered showing of devotion.

”The League of Legends is a great cross region event where you can show the mastery of your abilities to all across the world. Ixtal has been typically cut off from the wider matters of Valoran, having a representative of such high standing would certainly help even that aspect.”

Qiyana stared coldly at the letter, and the man bowed his head to pull up his hood.

”You are under no obligation to accept, of course. But we would be happy to see you on the fields. Farewell.”

In a column of light, the man was gone. It was perfectly silent. Nobody moved.

”Well, what are you all waiting for? Move!”

The palanquin began to move through the jungle canopy, and Qiyana was left to muse on the offer which was made.

A cross region tournament? That meant the outsiders would be present. 

Qiyana’s eyes glimmered with opportunity. Yes, the grand stage to show her mastery and worthiness of adoration.

Yes. She would take this opportunity, show her mastery to all of Ixaocan. And then all would bear witness to her majesty.

---

Upon arriving on the vast grounds which housed the Institute of War, Qiyana had some time to observe her new base of operations. There was vibrant nature, large grassy hills and small wildlife creatures crossing through a field that seemed to be the arena for the matches.

The Institute was pitiful compared to Ixaocan. And it could really benefit from a statue or two. Then again, every place could benefit from a statue of Qiyana in all her magnificence.

Qiyana strode up the steps, her ohmatl ring blade resting on her back. She soon came before a set of large obsidian doors, noticing a message being magically inscribed on the top.

’The truest opponent lies within.’

Qiyana regarded the message with a tilted gaze and haughty scoff. Placing her palm on the door, she began to push, and her vision was overcome by light.

---

When Qiyana’s vision recovered, she found herself back in her family’s palace. Specifically, her parents throne room. And as they spoke, Qiyana instantly recognised the memory.

”You have jeopardised the safety of our ways, given the outsiders reason to attack, and for what? Tell me, Qiyana, what could possibly have motivated you to go against our express decree?”

Qiyana bared her teeth.

”The outlanders deserve death! I am defending our empire! And you punish me for this?!”

”We have traditions, we do not involve ourselves beyond our borders. That is what had kept us alive, what keeps us safe from the outside.”

Traditions. All they did was hold the people back. Traditions that left them vulnerable, that kept Qiyana from her rightful place as heir of Ixaocan.

Qiyana grit her teeth, she was ready to end this illusion.

”Enough of this! I know this isn’t real. Tell me what you want.”

Her parents stared her down for a moment, waiting for her to crack and take a knee in deference. She didn’t.

”Why do you wish to join the League?” Her parents asked in perfect unison.

Qiyana huffed, regaining her pride.

”To proclaim the glory of my kingdom. We have been in the dark too long.”

Her parents didn’t move, asking the same question again.

”Why do you want to join the League?”

”To prove my abilities on a grand stage,” Qiyana said again, hardening her expression.

Again, no response. Her parents stood from their throne, the voices becoming cold like steel.

”We shall ask you this one final time, princess. Why do you want to join the League of Legends?”

Qiyana grit her teeth, before finally speaking a reason that would satisfy them.

“To prove I am worthy to rule.”

Her parents eyes flashed purple.

”Your truth is clear. Tell us, how did it feel to open your mind?”

Qiyana sneered.

“My mind is not yours to explore, peasants.”

Turning on her heel, Qiyana strode forward to the doors, but as soon as they flew open, her vision was overcome by blackness.

---

Qiyana’s eyes bolted open, finding the Institute doors open. She’d earned her place in the League, as if there was ever any doubt about it.

This Institute would soon be aware of her greatness. And soon, so would all of Ixtal.

Qiyana would love to see her parents trying to overlook her after that. 

She walked into the Institute, her ambitions brewing in her mind.

Yes, there was much to be done.

Notes:

Ladies, gentlemen and everywhere in between, we are so back.
Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 43: The Boss.

Summary:

Walking home, Sett gets a business proposal.

The fighting pits of Navori boasted many enticements for those willing to get their hands dirty with blood and sweat. The atmosphere of combat, the reward for a good fight, the adoration of the crowds, and the chance to climb up the ladder to prove yourself.

But while many would be contestants climbed the ladder with brutal tenacity, none of them had ever dethroned the big boss on top: Sett.

Born half human and half vastayan, Sett grew from an object of mockery to a feared head of the fighting pits. If anyone had something to say, they’d say it to the boss.

Today had been a slow day in the arena. There were a few fights, but most of them were pretty unremarkable. Still, Sett walked home, ready to place a sack of hard earned coin on his mother’s dresser before getting some shuteye.

Sett suddenly stopped on the way through his mother’s village. Call it paranoia or instincts, but Sett had a feeling that he wasn’t alone.

Sett’s vastayan ears picked up movement. He whirled around, fists up and ready to be thrown.

”Alright, I know you’re followin’ me. If you want to keep your teeth in your mouth, you’ll let me see you.”

From the darkness of the village, came out an obscured figure in long purple robes. They looked equal parts mysterious and magical. Like a messenger for some organisation.

”Settreigh of Ionia. Half Vastaya, half human, but never truly accepted by either.”

”Nah, they respect me plenty. I’m the boss, you know?” Sett boasted.

”I am an emissary from the Institute of War, the sponsor for the League of Legends.”

Sett yawned, stretching his arms over his head with a symphony of cracks.

”Yeah, sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve got a good gig going here.”

Sett turned around, continuing his walk to his mother’s house. He didn’t even pay kind to the emissary, even as she tried to give reasons.

Glory? He had that.

A challenge? Would be nice, but again, he had a job.

Prize money? He was making the most profit possible in the pits. 

The messenger’s next words caught his attention, and not in a good way.

”This could help you, and your mother-

Sett’s eyes flashed yellow, and soon had his messenger pinned to the wall. She struggled from his grasp, and he tightened his grip.

”Don’t mention my Ma,” he growled.

He loosened just enough to let his company speak.

”I’m sorry. But you have made enemies. How long will it be until they come for your mother to get to you?”

“We can give her protection. Or at least, a quick insurance policy to send her to the Institute.”

Sett couldn’t help but admit that point, but kept the summoner against the wall right as his mother opened the door. Sett felt his heart stop in his chest.

”Sett? What are you doing so late?” She yawned out, and Sett let the summoner woman drop to the ground.

”Hey, Ma! Just got back from work, I’ll, ah, be inside in a minute once I get this lady on her way home,”

Sett hoped his mother would simply turn a blind eye and just let her son figure out the situation. 

”Who’s this? A friend of yours?”

Sett scoffed.

”Not really, just asking me about a new job…”

The summoner pulled down her hood, exposing a head of short white hair.

”Apologies, ma’am, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she apologised, suddenly seeming a lot more human.

Oh, now she was trying to butter up his ma. Great…

”Oh, no need, but if you want to speak to my son, I’d like to be involved in the conversation.”

”Of course, ma’am.”

---

Sett did not like this. He did not like strangers in his home. But his ma was always too nice and considerate. 

The summoner, who had finally introduced herself as Iyura, sipped the tea before setting it down on the plate.

“And that’s the story. My organisation would like Sett as a champion to represent Ionia. Tales of his skill and ferocity have earned him the chance to prove himself.”

Sett scoffed, but bit his tongue when he caught his mother looking at him steadily,

”Things have been getting strange, recently. When I left to the market, I caught some ruffians looking at me.”

“If your son agrees to this opportunity, we’ll provide you with a way to instantly transport to the Institute in case of the worst.”

Sett looked to Iyura, then to his mother before sighing in disbelief. Fine, he was doing this.

”Alright, I’ll do it. How do we get there?”

Iyura simply held out her arms.

“Grab my hands and you’ll find out.”

Sett and his mother did as was instructed, an ethereal glow growing around them before they vanished in a flash.

---

Upon opening his eyes, Sett found himself outside a large set of doors with his mother and their escort standing close by.

”I’m fine, Ma, just a little dizzy,” Sett grumbled as he dusted himself off before turning his attention to Iyura.

”This is the entryway to the council chambers, where we use our magic to learn if a champion is truly worthy of the position.”

Iyura pulled up the hood of her robe. 

”I’m afraid that only champions can enter this room, Miss. You’ll see him when we finish the entry process.”

Sett’s mother looked to Sett, as if wordlessly asking if he was okay with it. He wasn’t, the thought of leaving his ma alone with a stranger, even in a place so heavily protected wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed.

But duty called.

Sett turned to his mother, lowering his height.

”Okay, just wait out here and I’ll let you know what happens. Love you.”

Sett’s mother kissed his forehead before stepping back and letting her son go.

Sett entered the room, seeing a circle of robes figures in tall and looming desks. They stared down at him, or, he thought they were? Kind of hard to tell with the hoods.

”Sett of Ionia, you have been selected as a potential champion of your region. To prove your worthiness, you must undergo a process,”

Sett cracked his neck.

”No problem, what do I gotta do? Beat up one of you?”

”Nothing like that, something more personal.”

A purple orb of mystical energy surrounded Sett. He tried to push through it, but found such efforts fruitless.

”Relax, and let your mind open to us.”

Sett struggled against the magic pushing into his mind, his near iron will breaking just enough for them to enter and draw his consciousness into memory.

---

Sett’s split heritage didn’t make him especially popular as a kid. Beast boy bastard was the most common name.

The kids kicked him while he was down, mocking him as a freak. And even if he’d hit back, he was outnumbered.

But the kids were gone, and as Sett spit blood onto the ground, he looked up to find his father looking down at him with stern disapproval.

”You should’ve hit back.”

”And you should’ve stuck around, but we all know how that works out, don’t we, pops?”

He didn’t care if it was real, he just wanted to hit his bastard of a father real damn hard.

”Here’s an idea, if you want me to cooperate, maybe don’t make me see my deadbeat bastard dad.”

His father nodded, his arms folded.

”Perhaps another approach would provide results?”

The area began to dissolve into light, and Sett’s vision was again blasted by white.

---

Sett was in his element. The fighting pits, where he could brutalise anyone who’d dare to step to him. Where no one would think to mock him or where he came from without a broken face.

Yet, the arena was empty. No cheering spectators, no announcers.

”Sett?”

”Ma? What are you doing here?”

Then, something in Sett’s mind clicked. This wasn’t real.

”Ah, I get it. You want to know why I wanna join your shindig?”

”Of course.”

Sett gestured to the empty seats, turning around to look all around the areas

”The arena’s gotten a little stale, I need some fresh faces to test my gloves on. And if I can get some extra recognition out of it? It’s a bonus.”

Sett’s expression softened.

”And my Ma deserves some more security. Every day I’m gone is a chance for someone to go after her.”

The illusion of his mother placed a hand on his heart, and Sett involuntarily relaxed his posture. Her eyes glowed an arcane violet, speaking with an echo.

”Your truth is clear. How did it feel to open your mind?”

“If you do it without my permission, I’ll break your teeth.”

The arena began to crack and collapse, Sett simply closing his eyes and waiting to wake up.

---

Sett’s eyes opened to find himself back in the chamber.  He rolled his shoulder, trying to act casual.

”So, I passed, right?”

”Correct. We’ll have someone escort you to your quarters. Your tryouts will begin within an hour’s time.”

Sett exited the room, finding his mother still standing outside, he walked over and crouched down for her to inspect his face.

”Did they hurt you?” She asked, voice thick with maternal concern.

”Nah. I made it in.”

Sett’s mother sighed, something about her tone changing into… concern? Disappointment? Hard to tell.

“I just wished you’d be satisfied fighting at home.”

Sett was stunned. Wait, did she know? How long had she known?

”This’ll be good for us, Ma. Trust me.”

Sett watched his mother close her eyes before running her palm across his cheek like when he was a kid.

”I want to. But I’ve heard someone say that before.”

Sett held his mother’s hand. He only had one thought of who that might be. And Sett wasn’t going to be like that bastard.

”I’m not going to abandon you, I promise.”

They stayed in that moment before a summoner soon arrived to separate them for the time.

As he was walked down the halls, Sett tried to let himself relax. He’d soon be ready to show off his skills in the arena. 

And if there was one thing he could do? It was hit really hard.

Notes:

Sett was fun to write.
Comments are always welcome and appreciated. The next chapter shouldn’t be too long away.

Chapter 44: The Voidreaver

Summary:

The Void’s adaptation is what makes it dangerous. A specimen must be captured.

In the protection of Runeterra, the Institute of War had established many ways to monitor potential threats. Keeping spies in the ranks of military powers, sensing intense magical forces, even using Zilean’s time magic to potentially (although not always reliably) be aware of coming threats.

Since Rengar’s arrival in the League of Legends. A small presence of void activity in the Ixtal jungle had began to move. Nothing destructive, but still a priority to capture.

”And you are certain that you are the creature’s target?”

”Yes. It and I have hunted each other for many suns and moons. I will draw its attention for you all to capture it.”

The summoners turned to each other, exchanging wordless acceptance of the plan being offered.

”Very well, Rengar. We will trust you.”

Rengar grinned, showing his sharp teeth to all company.

”As you should.”

---

Kha’Zix watched as his prey walked through the jungle, unaware of his presence. His blades twitched, wanting nothing but to spill their blood, consume them and adapt.

He smelled intruders. Humans, he could smell the flesh and sweat. While he couldn’t adapt much from them, he was in the mood for some sport.

He smelt someone else. The hunter with the white fur. Rengar, yes. He knew the name well. 

He would kill Rengar, adapt and evolve from his flesh, and then move onto the rest of the prey. 

From the jungle foliage, Kha'Zix leaped forward, clashing his claws against Rengar’s large curved dagger.

”Our hunt ends today, beast,” Rengar growled.

”I couldn’t agree more…”

They broke off from the clash, Kha’Zix shot out spikes from his shoulders. Rengar rolling out of the way and climbing up a tree.

Kha’Zix chuckled. Was his prey attempting to flee? No, it would not be that simple.

Kha’Zix sprouted his wings, flying up into the air before slamming into Rengar, sending them careening to the ground, punching and biting each other.

Rengar landed first, but only having enough time for Kha’Zix to pounce on him with his claws embedded in Rengar’s shoulders

His acidic saliva dripped onto the hunter, sizzling his fur.

”You will live on in me…” Kha’Zix croaked, ready to consume his prey.

Caught up in his euphoria of ending their game of hunter and prey, Kha’Zix failed to notice the summoner’s assembling behind him until it was too late.

They blasted him with their magic, ripping his claws free from Rengar’s shoulders and throwing him hard against a nearby tree.

Kha’Zix recovered quickly, snarling as he lunged forward to try again, but crashed against a field of unknown energy.

His body felt heavy, he slashed at the air, before he finally collapsed, wondering if this was the end of he and Rengar’s hunt.

---

Upon returning to the Institute of War with their quarry in containment, Rengar followed the summoners down to the lower levels of the institute, where they kept the more… uncontrollable champions.

Void monsters, among other, less ancient yet still dangerous entities, were the usual primary prisoners. 

Once the creature was taken to the lower dungeon chambers where the rest of its kind were kept, Rengar stayed as all but one of summoners departed to other places.

”Are you going to attempt to understand the creature?” Rengar asked the remaining summoner whose name he had forgotten due to lack of care.

”Of course, with creatures like these, we need as much knowledge as we can find. Oh, since you are so knowledgeable, may you kindly share some details about it?”

Rengar scoffed, but decided to oblige the young man.

”It is a creature which adapts based on consumption. Its wings, its claws, they are products of its prey. I can only assume that the more diverse creatures it consumes, the stronger it becomes.”

The summoner looked down for a moment, as if considering the information presented. Rengar regained his attention with a growl.

“In exchange for my assistance in capturing the beast, I wish for a promise to be made.”

”Of course, what is it?”

Rengar’s animalistic eye stared down at the summoner.

”When it breaks free. I will be the one to kill it.”

The summoner paused, before extending his arm in a bid for a handshake. Rengar obliged, nearly accidentally breaking the young man’s hand with his grip, before separating.

”You may return to the upper levels. This is a private matter.”

As he walked, Rengar looked down at the stairway to the cells. His keen sense of smell knew the creature was down there. One day, perhaps soon, he would be able to truly end their hunt.

Once and for all.

---

Kha’Zix woke up in an unknown place. Hard walls surrounded him and his limbs were held by chains that didn’t budge when he tried to pull free.

”You will find your restraints quite unbreakable.”

Kha’Zix stared at the visitor. They smelt human. Warm flesh, no fur, yet something ethereal as well. 

”You are of the Void. One of their spawn sent to rend this world asunder.”

Kha’Zix did not verbally respond, and why should he? 

“Why did they send you?”

”Nothing a feeble mind such as yours could understand.”

The figure held out their palm, which began to glow faintly.

”We shall see…”

Kha’Zix pushed against the encroaching presence in his mind, before it broke through his will, and then decided in a sudden moment.

Kha’Zix noticed the figure’s slightly trembling posture. What had he seen? How far had he peered?

”The mind of my kind is quite terrifying for yours to investigate. I suggest you refrain from such a task.”

Silence. The figure slowly stopped trembling.

”Wh-what shall we call you?”

Kha’Zix paused. He had heard one name used to describe him by the furred hunters. One they spat out with vile emotion.

”Kha’Zix will be enough.”

The figure nodded, turning around and leaving the area with a single phrase.

Kha’Zix sensed familiar presences in this place. Being born from the same reality as him, albeit differently. But there was another scent, one from outside these walls.

It smelt like blood.

He could smell the hunter from afar, and felt anticipation rise in his form. Yes, he would find an escape from this place, find the hunter…

And use his flesh to evolve into the true apex predator of Runeterra.

It might take time to find a perfect weakness in this place, but Kha’Zix could afford to wait for the right opportunity.

A patient hunter will always catch their prey.

Notes:

Sorry that it’s been a week. I was doing things. Anyway, comments are always welcome, the next chapter might not be too long.

Chapter 45: The Spark of Zaun.

Summary:

For as much as Zeri loves her community, she’s well aware that Zaun needs less problems.

Zeri loved her home. She loved her community, how fellow Zaunites could pull together to make something amazing. 

This warehouse could be a pretty good work environment, if it wasn’t for the company and chemicals.

But while she loved her community, Zeri could admit that there were a couple Zaunites who were in desperate need of a shock. 

Like this Chem-Baron, who lured in down on their luck street kids and used them for grunt work and being less than kind whenever they made a mistake. A lot of folk were ready to turn a blind eye out of fear. But Zeri wasn’t going to turn her back on her own.

A bullet narrowly brushed past her cheek as she skated on a metal beam with her bioelectricity.

”Woah, almost hit me!” She teased with buzzing enthusiasm. It was always a rush, doing this sort of thing. The guards fired their weapons, Zeri shooting back with her lightning gun. Three down, only two shots missed. She was getting better.

She leaped off the railing, kicking the baron right in his smug face, before his guard smashed his steel fist against her cheek. She rolled out of his next strike, making a finger gun and zapping him out through the metal railing.

Now for the next matter. She noticed all the worker kids huddled up in shock and fearful silence.

Zeri zapped the door controls with her gun, opening the warehouse for the captured sump-rats to escape.

”Go, get outta here,” She shouted, ushering them out. 

Once she was sure they’d left, Zeri heard the guards groan awake and decided it was time for her to make an exit. Dinner would be ready soon.

Zipping up the to the window, Zeri leapt out to freedom, breathing in the air of home sweet home.

Just another day in Zaun.

---

Upon getting away from the warehouse, Zeri decided to burn off some excess energy by doing a bit of street parkour. She gave a salute to Jericho, best food in the block, high fived Kyra and just enjoyed the energy of Zaun.

Running into an alley, giving a sack of coin to a beggar, Zeri didn’t look to her left and bumped into someone hard enough to completely destabilise her rhythm. She rubbed her head, hearing a woman groaning in surprised pain.

”Oh, sorry, I wasn’t focused. Are you okay?” 

”Yes, yes. I’m alright. As a matter of fact, I was hoping to meet with you and discuss something.”

Zeri slid back and forth on her boots, she didn’t really have time for a conversation. But her grandma had always told her to be polite to anyone who was polite first.

Always full of wisdom, grandma was.

”Okay, fire away.”

”We would like to invite you to represent Zaun in the League of Legends.”

Zeri tilted her head in confusion. She’d heard idle whispers of the League on occasion, but she’d never really given much thought. 

Ekko was apparently involved in it, representing the Zaun ingenuity. Good for him.

”Uh, why? And what’s the League of Legends?”

”I could easily inform you of the long and grand story of my Institute…” The summoner began, Zeri unable to stop the rhythmic tapping her foot. The woman seemed to notice.

“But I’ll instead give you the summarised version. The League Of Legends is a mass tournament for the nations of Runeterra to send their best representatives to fight for their region.”

Zeri paused. She didn’t really want to just ditch home for some tournament event, who knows what might happen? And maybe it was a trick? 

”Well, can I have time to think about it?”

The figure nodded, handing the envelope to Zeri.

”Of course. If you decide tonight, I’ll be around here.”

Zeri finally arrived at home just as dinner was being served. Her parents looked tired, and not just from hard work.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

”We were worried you weren’t going to show,” Zeri’s grandmother remarked with an aging smile.

Zeri rolled her eyes fondly before down with her family. Her cousin snatched a potato from her bowl, much to her exaggerated displeasure.

”Any interesting stories today?” Her father asked.

Zeri considered keeping her encounter with the summoner a secret. Then she quickly changed her tune, who else but her family deserved to know?

”You know, yeah. I met someone on my way home. And they had a proposition for me.”

Her family watched in bated breath, Zeri cracking a smirk.

”But before I tell, mind if I get some food in me? I’m starving.”

The terms were accepted, and Zeri began to eat the home cooked meal, spying her grandmother’s shaking hand. Her body had been acting up recently, chest pains becoming weekly rather than monthly.

If that League of Legends thing offered prize money, maybe she could find some medicine, improve things around the place…

She briefly looked out the window, seeing the faint shadow of a Zaun kid scrambling through broken mechanical parts for something he could sell. For everyone Zeri saved, there were always some who just got the bad luck. 

Silently, Zeri made her decision. She was going to join the League.

---

Zeri didn’t like standing still. Maybe that was her electricity, maybe it was just her. But still, even with her decided hatred of being still, she had to admit that the view from this airship was certainly something else.

She looked over the railing, seeing a green valley with luscious grass and mountains, coloured crystals and stone monuments slotted around the area. It was… very different from her usual surroundings. Not bad, just different.

”I can only imagine how much this must surprise you, growing up in a place like Zaun,” her company, the same woman from yesterday wondered. Her hood was pulled down, exposing a bald head with a red face painted marking on her forehead.

Zeri scoffed.

”Zaun isn’t that bad when you get to know it. There’s some good stuff if you know where to look and don’t point guns at us.”

The area fell into silence. Then, Zeri had an idea.

Zeri pulled out a small pot of her grandmother’s curry, handing it to the summoner.

”Here’s one of the best things about Zaun. The cuisine is to die for.”

The summoner slowly took the pot, staring at it quizzically.

”Do you have a spoon?”

”Nah, we eat with bare hands,” Zeri remarked casually, spying the shocked expression of her company before pulling out a fork from her pocket.

”Kidding.”

From that, they lapsed into silence, there wasn't much left to say after they touched down.

Zeri was pointed to the ornate Institute building, jogging her way across the plains before she found herself before a set or large ornate doors. She watched as strange writing inscribed itself on the top.

"The truest opponent lies within.," She read aloud. Sliding back and forth on her boots, Zeri took a breath before pushing through the door. Instantly, all she saw was darkness.

---

Zeri manoeuvred through the collapsing mine, trying to find one more worker to save, she wasn’t going to leave anyone behind. She felt her energy buzzing from within her skin.

She finally found them, close to being buried under the rubble. She reached out for the worker to grab her hand, but when the miner turned, Zeri saw her grandmother’s face.

”Why do you want to join the League?”

The site seemed to freeze, the rocks didn’t fall and it was as if everything except Zeri and the miner were on pause.

”What?” Zeri murmured out. This wasn’t what she remembered.

”Why do you want to join the League?”

It was as if a lightbulb went off in Zeri’s head. This was her memory. And this was a test.

”I want everyone to know that Zaun needs help. That we’re not just punks and schemers. We’re people, and we need more than empty promises.”

There was silence for a moment before the illusionary worker’s eyes flashed an ethereal purple.

“Your truth is clear. How did it feel to open your mind?”

Zeri looked around the frozen mine site. Hardly one of her favourite memories.

”If you do this again, can you pick a nicer memory? I’ve gotta have a few in my head.”

The rubble resumed, and Zeri was helpless as the rocks began to fall. She felt her bio electricity build up, until-

---

Zeri’s eyes shot open with a start, and she felt her electricity surging through her with adrenaline. She panted in shock, before she slowly began to calm down.

The hallway was lit with torches with blue flames. Weird, how do they make blue fire? Zeri decided to move on.

Zaun needed her, and Zeri was hardly going to refuse the chance to help her home.

To protect her community, Zeri would gladly join the League of Legends. She jogged into the hallway, ignoring as the door slowly closed itself behind her.

Notes:

It’s Zeri! Our girl! Anyway, comments are always welcome.

(Sorry for the incredible delay, I was busy with another fandom.)

Chapter 46: The Star-Forger.

Summary:

The Institute of War has invited many powerful and strange entities to involve themselves in the League. But their current invitee might be a tad… challenging to convince.

In the grand tapestry of the cosmos, there are being that many would call deities. Wandering caretakers, Celestials in mortal form, mortals who were blessed with aspects from Targon’s peak, The region of Targon was no stranger to wonderful sights. But The summoners of the Institute did not climb Targon's mountain for simple sightseeing. They had a mission, or rather, an entity to invite. 

Upon reaching the peak, the summoners watched as their escort, a Celestial by the name of Bard, floated in front of them before making a musical series of chimes ring across the sky. Bard was one of the few people that Aurelion would engage with on any matter resembling respect.

The Targonian summoners watched as a large draconic entity stared down at them from the cosmos.

”What business do you have?” The dragon ordered with a booming voice fit for one so powerful.

One summoner, a vastaya with twin horns on each side of his head called Phanios, stepped forward where his fellows were standing still in awe.

”Aurelion Sol, forger of the stars, keeper of the cosmos, the dragon who painted the tapestry of infinity, we come to you with a simple request.”

There was the ghost of a grin on Aurelion’s face as the summoner praised him. His power and arrogance were rivalled only by each other.

“State it, I do not have all day.”

”We want to invite you to participate in our contest. The League of Legends and The Institute of War were created to prevent mass war and bloodshed-

“I know of your little establishment. Bard has spun quite a couple tales…”

The collected summoners turned to Bard, who chimed agreeably.

”And I am truly unimpressed,” he remarked, seemingly enjoying as the blossoming hope crumbled down.

A summoner by the name of Elron, walked forward with far too much boldness for the situation. 

”You are outnumbered, dragon. If you will not accompany us by your own will, we can just as easily force you.”

Laughter echoed from Aurelion’s mouth, almost shaking the ground.

”You think so? Bold words…”

Elron held out his hand, becoming aglow with arcane magic. This was the magic they used to enter a volunteer’s mind. Aurelion barely seemed to notice the effort.

”I’m feeling generous. I’ll allow you rabble to have a peer into my head. I must warn you, it’s hardly a place for lesser beings.”

Elron scoffed.

”We’re not afraid of you.”

Aurelion’s only response was a rumbling chuckle as he allowed his mind to be entered.

---

Elron’s eyes opened, expecting to find a grand vision of an early universe. What he found instead, was something far too familiar.

Targon was burning in cosmic fire, villagers running as comets rained down like water from the sky. Countless bodies laid in almost unrecognisable states, and it seemed like the end of the world, or at least Targon,

And in the centre of it all, watching it, was Aurelion Sol. He chuckled grimly, conjuring a ring of comets in his clawed palm.

”This is what awaits Targon when I am free…”

Elron’s pride fell apart as he shouted to his superior to get them out of Aurelion’s mind. Even if the danger of a mindscape was all imagined, a Star Dragon could likely cause some damage.

Phanios began the spell to remove them from Aurelion’s mind, completing just as a hailstorm of comets blasted towards them.

---

Aurelion watched as the summoner’s eyes snapped open, their minds overwhelmed by what they’d glimpsed in the mind of their superior. While they’d been experiencing his happy place, he and Bard had a civilised discussion about the pros and cons of taking the offer.

While the League would hardly be his style of entertainment, having a fragment of his power unlocked and free to be wielded would be a lovely change of pace after the last few centuries.

And, to be honest, Aurelion was very bored.

”We apologise for wasting your time, Star Dragon, we will take our leave.”

Aurelion raised a Clawed hand in objection.

”Now, I never said I was disinterested. Bard convinced me of the… entertainment value of this little farce.”

Aurelion saw hope glimmer in the summoner’s eyes. Aw, how adorable. Like pets who want a treat. Well, Aurelion would let them have this little bone.

”You may return to your Institute, prepare a suitable place for me to stay. I will arrive by moonrise.”

The summoners soon departed down the mountain, leaving Aurelion alone with Bard for a moment. 

”Why do you keep such… frivolous company?”

Bard chimed curiously, Aurelion agreeing to disagree on the matter of mortal value.

”I’m hardly going to create a new vessel with you in attendance, show some respect.”

Bard nodded, bounding off and diving into a golden portal. Finally alone once more, Aurelion began to focus his energy on creating a smaller, but no less wondrous body for himself to use in this little experiment.

---

Aurelion floated through the hallways of the Institute, led by a summoner with a rather impressive understanding of Targon’s history. Perhaps that explained her almost submissive attitude when in his presence.

At least someone knew their place.

”And this is where you will be staying,” She announced, standing before a large doorway. Opening it revealed a spacious quarters with cosmic and Targonian imagery, there were a few paintings of him. How quaint.

Aurelion studied the place, not turning to the woman as he spoke.

”Permit me time alone to grow accustomed. If I need you, you’ll hear me.”

Aurelion entered the door, floating down until he could feel his tail against the floor. He could curl up in this place and fall asleep. That was good.

There were multiple windows, so he could look outside and gaze at his stars, waiting for the day he could finally return. 

If it weren’t for the multiple little furnishings and items, Aurelion would be almost insulted. Well, he partially was, but it was offset by his ever so slight amusement at the whole matter.

However long this ‘Institute’ would last, it would be an entertaining way to pass the time until Aurelion’s crown finally ran out of power to restrain him.

Aurelion held out his claws, creating a small illusion of Targon aflame. Oh, that would be a lovely day…

And that would be when his fun could finally begin.

Aurelion quickly clenched his fist, crushing the miniature Targon with ease. But for now, he could use some rest. 

Notes:

This was a fun one to tackle. Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 47: The Bashful Bloom.

Summary:

As she runs from pursuers, Lillia soon learns of their less than cruel intentions. And, more importantly, a proposal that could help her.

Not all Summoners were traditional mystics, confining themselves to the Institute of War and only leaving to invite potential champions into the fold. Some of them were more proactive in finding the would-be volunteers.

Reginald looked around cautiously, as if burning a fierce beast that could blend into the darkness.

They came here with five summoners, but one  by one, the group had been thinned out to simply two. This creature was powerful, that was no question,

They followed deer like hoof tracks, the steps seeming almost frantic in their spacing. Reginald stopped before a large bush, hearing faint murmurs from what sounded to be a young woman.

Reginald poked his head through the bushes, finally seeing the creature he’d been hunting for the last hour.

She was a centaur-like creature, the upper body of a youthful woman and a young faun deer as the lower form. She held a long branch with a blooming flower, which seemed to emanate a mystical energy.

”Um, excuse me, miss?” Reginald began, pushing through.

The creature yelped, holding out her branch and blasting a purple mist at Reginald. The mist clouded his vision and lulled him into sleep.

---

Lillia didn’t think she’d run this fast in her life. Whoever these people were, they were very persistent. She didn’t mean to dream-magic them asleep, it was just an accident!

…Okay, maybe she wanted them to stop following her, but still.

As she ran, she ended up smacking against a very tall cliff face. Oh no. Okay, what could she do? She could try to put the other person to sleep, then just run away a bit more? But what if he was aggressive?

”Excuse me?”

Lillia almost dropped her branch at the sound of the voice, she clutched it tight, holding it out like a shield against any and all danger.

”Who’s there?” She tried to shout, yet couldn’t stop her voice from shaking in fear.

A low chuckle came from the shadowy bushes, and out came a long haired man dressed in primarily purples. He held up his arms in surrender, proclaiming his lack of threat. Or, attempting to. Lillia was still rather alarmed at the stranger.

”Easy, I ain’t a threat,” He began, his voice containing an odd affectation to it. “I’m just here to ask you something.”

”W-what is it?” Lillia asked, wanting to learn.

The man placed his hand over his chest, bowing his head.

”I am Umar. I am a summoner from the Institute of War. We specialised in finding exceptional people or dangerous threats and giving them a chance to prove themselves in our League of Legends. And you, my dear, have earned our attention.”

”I’m, um. Not much of a people person. B-besides, I need to collect dreams so I can help The Dreaming Tree.”

Lillia immediately wondered if she’d said too much.

”My institute possesses all sorts of sorceries talents. Perhaps we could assist you in your search. Failing that, we could allow you to use our dreams to nourish your Mother Tree.”

Lillia hardened her features, looking braver than she’d felt all conversation.

”I’ll do it.”

Umar nodded, turning to the bush that he hailed from.

”Before we go, would you mind waking up my allies?”

Lillia blushed, she’d almost forgotten about that.

”I can try.”

After rounding up the summoners, Umar prepared a spell to bring them all back to Institute. As he did so, he issued a warning to Lillia.

”You might feel a strange tingling.”

Lillia only had time to curiously tilt her head to the lift before the spell completed. 

---

“Eep!” Lillia cried as her hooves landed on the obsidian steps of the Institute of War. She turned around, marvelling at the lush beauty of the landscape.

Umar pushed open the door, leading Lillia through the hallway as the other summoners split away. Lillia tried to focus. One hoof in front of the other, don’t look at anyone else, even if they’re looking right at her.

Oh, are they looking at her? She didn’t do crowds well. Luckily, the hallway winded into a secluded corridor with a large door, a very important door, it seemed like.

”Through this door is the high council. They will determine whether you are worthy to join the League.”

Lillia gulped, and slowly stepped through the door and down until her hooves rested on a circular platform surrounded by a number of tall structures.

Lillia stood before a council of hooded figures, and immediately tightened the hold on her branch.

“We will need to enter your mind as part of this process. It will only take a moment.”

Lillia nodded. She wasn’t going to let her own fear get the best of her. This was too important to lose.

”Understood.”

Lillia flinched briefly as a field of magic surrounded her, but let the presence into her mind. For a moment, all she saw was blackness.

---

Lillia’s eyes opened to find a horrifying aight. The garden of dreams that Lillia tended too was under attack by armoured humans, their hateful dreams poisoned the magic, withering the flowers that Lillia had sworn to care for.

Even now, Lillia didn’t quite understand. What had happened? She remembered tending to warm dreams, desires of passion or excitement, nothing like this. Nothing so cruel.

A wave of dream magic swept across the invaders, knocking all into deep slumber. Lillia then noticed the Dreaming Tree. Her branches were knotted, burls of nightmares against her bark, curling in as if she was scared.

Lillia was scared. What could she do? She hugged the tree, as if her own love could do anything to help. She watched in fear as one of the soldiers stood up, his blade dragging against the soil.

”Go away!” Lillia shouted.

The soldier raised his sword, Lillia turning away with her eyes squeezed shut, before a voice that didn’t seem to fit came him.

“What do you want, Lillia?” Asked a smooth and almost gentle voice. Lillia was confused, then she sensed the familiar magic of a dream all through the air. This was her memory, a dream created from her memory, at least.

”I want to save the Dreaming Tree. If I can gather enough dreams, I can heal her,” Lillia explained.

The soldier didn’t seem convinced.

”There is something else you want. Your own dream, I assume?”

”I… want to see the world. I want to meet humans. But I can’t afford to let my Mother Tree die.”

Lillia summoned up her bravery, her voice growing sharper than she’d ever tried.

”And I won’t abandon Her for this League of Legends. If you want me to stay here, I need to be allowed to gather dreams.”

It was silent for a moment, then the soldier’s eye holes flowed purple, making Lillia jump.

”You have been found worthy of joining our ranks. Rest assured, you will be allowed to return to Ionia for your duty, and perhaps even gather the dreams of others here. How did it feel to open your mind?”

”Not very nice, I’ll admit.”

With that, the soldier vanished, and Lillia watched as the Dreaming Tree began to slowly heal and unfurl in all her beauty. Lillia knew this was her dream.

But it was still nice to see. It’d be real someday. She knew that.

---

Lillia’s eyes snapped open and needed to take a moment to reabsorb her situation. She was in a new place called the Institute of War. She was going through a test. She was being watched by a council of mages.

That was everything.

After finally regaining some measure of control, she listened to the summoner’s verdict.

”You have earned your place in the League. We’ll have one of our own lead you to your quarters. If you have any questions or requests, please don’t hesitate.”

Lillia trotted out of the room, bumping into someone with a low and gruff voice.

”Watch yourself!”

Lillia yelped, slowly getting to her hooves before helping the man up. When she got a good look at his face, she thought she saw something familiar…

”Have we met?”

”Not at the moment.”

”I’m Lillia.”

”Yasuo.”

Lillia paused. Yasuo. Yasuo. Yas-Uo. Where did she know that name from?

“Miss Lillia?” A woman’s voice, high and yet dry, caught Lillia’s attention, “I’m here to escort you to your new quarters.”

Lillia looked to the man with a curt nod and proceeded to follow the woman down the hallways. This place was new and confusing and a bit scary…

But it also seemed like a wonderful place to meet people and find new dreams. Lillia could make this work.

She just needed to be brave. She could do that. She would have to.

Lillia’s dream would come true. She promised.

Notes:

I love Lillia. Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 48: The Weapon of the Faithful.

Summary:

Aphelios has finally tracked Diana’s location, but the situation is a tad more complicated than he is aware of.

Aphelios journey to find The Aspect of the Moon had taken him to many places across Targon. He followed whispers and dying words until he finally found himself watching this strange event before him.

It was a large field of rolling hills, stone statues that glowed red or blue, and two large crystals on each end of the field. Aphelios heads distant sounds of combat, cheerful yells, the clang of blade against bullets, and saw-

His eyes widened, that was-

He saw Diana. Why was she here? Aphelios then noticed her bleeding side, and realised she was in danger. He could not allow this to occur, let the Aspect of the Moon perish.

Alune’s voice asked in Aphelios head.

”What will you do, brother?”

Aphelios, in response, summoned his crescent moon chakram and leaped over the hill to join the battle.

”An excellent choice, brother,” Alune answered, summoning a small, almost unnoticeable smirk on her brother’s face.

---

For any onlookers, it was both a surprise and a pleasure to watch this intruder battle against two of Targon’s most formidable champions.

Aphelios recognised the woman, Leona, aspect of the Sun and the Solari’s figurehead lapdog. The man was unknown to him, likely just a soldier in favour of letting the blazing Sun scorch the Lunari into bitter ashes.

In any case, Aphelios did not hesitate to fire a blast from his gravitum cannon, orbs of lunar energy rocketed towards the Solari warriors, Leona blocking them with her massive shield.

It was almost like a dance, the way Aphelios swapped between his arsenal of lunar weapons in Diana’s protection. The helmeted man swung his spear with determined ferocity, Aphelios blocking quickly with his scythe edged pistol.

The helmeted warrior tossed his golden shield like a discus, Aphelios dodged out of the way but was unaware of how the shield ricocheted from the tree into the back of his head, sending the Lunari warrior stumbling forward with an aching head.

Leona pressed the advantage, Using her shield to smack Aphelios into the air, she boosted Pantheon up as well, who proceeded to throw his javelin into Aphelios, sending him rocketing back down to earth.

He got back up with his long range rifle, readying the shot before he suddenly had his arms bound to his sides.

He struggled against the bindings, but soon found himself forced to his knees.

---

When Aphelios's eyes opened, he was standing before a council of robed figures, how did he get in this situation?

He tried to sense Alune, but couldn’t. The essence must have drained away.

"You are charged with interfering in a League match and instigating combat with Pantheon and Leona."

Ah, that's right. He didn't regret jumping into the fight, but he probably could've done better. 

"Your iconography suggests Targonian heritage, and your weaponry has lunar symbols. Tell me, for what reason did you come here?"

The essence of the noctum flower had run dry, freeing Aphelios throat from the numbness and giving him the freedom to speak. His pride wrestled with curiosity.

"Diana was in danger, I needed to help," He muttered, his voice hoarse from barely any use.

"Diana was under no true harm, our Institute has special spells during matches to minimise fatal wounds."

Aphelios continued to struggle against the bindings.

"We are willing to overlook your transgressions, and make you a member of our Institute, if you allow us to search your mind."

Aphelios eyes widened. His mind was private, if they learned where the other Lunari were hiding, they could send Leona to rain fire upon them.

He struggled even harder against the bindings; he might not have the moon's power, but he wasn't going to let them enter his mind.

As he saw three of the robes figures prepare a spell, Aphelios felt a familiar presence. Distant yet unmistakable.

Alune.

---

The summoners soon found themselves in the central chamber of a spiritual temple. Targonian symbols were engraved in the walls, and the place had an aura of mystical beauty to it all.

”Where are we?” Stag, a Freljord summoner, asked aloud, only for an unexpected voice to answer.

”You are in Marus Omegnum, a temple in the spiritual realm and my domain,” answered a young woman’s voice, a voice quiet and serene yet carrying an ethereal sense of power.

A white-haired young woman dressed in flowing purple and black robes stood before them.

”My name is Alune of the Lunari. If you want my brother you must also include my thoughts in the discussion. Explain why we should join your Institute."

Aictas, being of targonian heritage on his father's side, made the response.

"We can offer you a life out of the shadows, a chance to inform others of the Lunari's teachings."

Alune tilted her head.

"Out of the shadows only invites the sun to burn us. Are you aware of Solari history?" Alune asked, bringing uncomfortable silence to the group.

"The balance of the sun and moon is shifting. Solari and Lunari are on the precipice of an event that will change them forever. Diana must be informed and return to the Lunari."

The summoners looked among themselves.

"We cannot do that, but we can induct your brother into the League, giving you the chance to inform Diana, who can then discuss the matter with us."

Alune closed her eyes, falling silent as she thought about her answer. She could say no and return Aphelios to their mission. But… they had found Diana. If they wanted to tell Diana, staying here, at least temporarily, would be the smartest thing to do.

”You have my acceptance. But you will need to ask my brother next.”

A silvery glow surrounded the Summoner’s, and they were soon removed from the premises. Alune then walked over to her quarters, where she pulled out a few noctum flowers and used her magic to send it to Aphelios.

---

Aphelios opened his eyes to see three of the summoners looking shocked. What had they seen?

”We spoke to your sister, and she has agreed to the terms of our agreement. In exchange for joining our institute, we will allow you to speak with Diana. Will you aid us?”

Aphelios paused, then answered with a simple nod. From that, he was allowed to leave, being escorted to somewhere could sleep and reflect on what a complicated situation he’d been embroiled in.

Aphelios noticed something in his pocket, pulling out three noctum flowers. Alune wanted to speak with him.

Far be it from him to refuse such an invitation. 

---

The room was admittedly rather bare bones for the time being. A bed, a desk, a window with curtains, lunari symbology along the walls, and a shelf ready to be filled with books or something else.

Aphelios had something else on his mind, however. He crushed the noctum flowers intk a liquid, pouring it into a small bowl.

Aphelios drank the shimmering liquid, feeling the numbing pain surge through him as he collapsed to his knees. The pain didn’t get better, even after all this time. But the reward was worth the pain. Not just the power of the moon’s light, but being able to interact worh his sister, at least in some way.

”Hello again, brother,” Alune greeted, and Aphelios relaxed slightly. This was worth the pain, he knew.

”Hello,” Aphelios thought. They fell into brief silence before Alune spoke again.

”You are concerned about our next action? About how we will tell Diana?”

Aphelios silence was an admittance of agreement. Alune had always been good at reading him, even when they were kids. That felt like a lifetime ago.

“I would be lying if I didn’t have my reservations about this place, especially with the dark presences I can vaguely sense. Whatever comes, we will face it together.”

Aphelios laid back on his bed. Wow, this was very soft.

“We always do.”

Notes:

Comments are always welcome, sorry for the delay. I had a Batman fixation for a week.

Chapter 49: The Secret Weapon.

Summary:

Zaun is filled with all sorts of creatures and experiments. But none quite so strange as the one which prowls through the sewer system.

Considering her relatively recent introduction as a summoner of the Institute of War, Sally shouldn’t have been surprised by Zaun’s less than friendly elements. But, in the time she spent in the grand institute, she’d apparently had a lapse in he judgement.

Case in point, the fine upstanding gentleman pointing a rusty firearm at her. He’d already fired once at her side, crimson staining her clothes. No fatal damage, but still a hassle to deal with.

From a sewer drain a few feet away, a slimy substance began to flow up and take shape into a tall behemoth with red eyes and a gelatinous texture to it.

”That doesn’t seem very nice,” Spoke the creature, his voice deep and rumbling in contrast to his almost innocent choice of words.

The bandit fired the gun at the creature’s head, exploding it across the wall. For a moment, Sally felt dread, until she saw the strands of goo pull itself back together

The creature looked no worse for wear, smacking the thug into the wall.

The creature of ooze picked up the bandit from the back of his neck, moving him close to Sally.

”What do we say to the nice lady?” He asked.

The thug struggled against the grip, looking a lot less intimidating than a few minutes ago.

”Screw you!”

The creature used a free hand to tilt the thug’s head up so that he and Sally were locking eyes. Sally’s eyes glimmered with powerful magic. Intimidation could resolve this situation sooner rather than later.

”What do we say?” The creature asked again, and Sally saw a bead of sweat roll down the bandit’s forehead. It seemed he understood the correct answer.

”I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

The creature nodded, before turning around and dropping the thug to the floor, wiping his palms together almost jovially.

”Good, wasn’t that easy? Run off, don’t try to pull this kind of stunt again, okay?”

The thug ran off, leaving Sally alone with the strange creature. She’d never heard of such an entity beyond the occasional muttering from the Zaunites. 

“You okay, lady?”

Sally’s words were stuck in her throat. She’s never seen a creature like this before.

”My name’s Zac,” the creature stated, pointing to himself with his gel-like fingers.

”My name is Sally. Thank you for helping me.”

Zac shrugged, and Sally now noticed how his upper body seemed to shift sizes as if trying to emulate how humans breathe. 

“Hey, it’s a rough place down here, gotta keep an eye out for the little ones. Speaking of which, where’re you from? Don’t think I’ve seen a face like yours before.”

Sally tried to walk, but the first few steps sent a jolt of pain from her still bleeding side. Zac seemed to notice, taking her hand into his.

“My folks aren’t too far from here, I can take you there. They’re smart, they could fix you up better than I can.”

Sally felt like disagreeing, but some medical attention would be nice before returning to the institute. 

---

For Zac, returning home with an injured innocent wasn't as rare as one would imagine. While his goo could heal wounds in its own way, in a very good way, he didn't want to scare this lady buy putting some of his goo on her. As his father got to work pulling out the bullet, Zac and his mother listened to her explanation of who she was. She was a summoner in the Institute of war, coming down to Zaun to see if anyone would pique her interest, and found Zac to fit her expectations.

Zac had his doubts about it.

"What about you two?" Zac asked his parents. Takeda and his workers might be gone, but that didn't mean they were safe. All it took was one baron tracking them down while Zac wasn't here, and they'd be gone.

For their credit, Zac's parents turned to the big picture.

"If the people of Zaun see you compete, it'll make them see you as a hero. They won't get scared of you."

Zac did like when people weren't scared of him. The kids and some of the older ones usually liked him, and it wasn't like the adults hated him, but every time he'd go to save someone only for them to run in fear felt like he'd messed up. 

"Wait, does the League offer prize money?" Zac asked Sally, who was pulling over her robes.

"We have championship matches every month, the winning team gets a portion of gold which can be donated to their region if they don't have something of their own to purchase.”

Zac’s gelatinous body shuddered in excitement. Okay, this could work, this could work out. Zaun learns he’s a hero, mom and dad get better equipment, League gets a new champion to the ranks. Everybody wins, right?

Sally excused herself, not wanting to get in the way of the moment. Zac wrapped his parents in a gooey hug, he was always an affectionate type of guy even when he was a blob in a wheeled septic tank.

"I'll visit when I can, I'll write postcards."

Following Sally out of the home, he looked down to the woman, the robes making her look more professional than before. If he wore a suit, would it do the same thing for him?

”Are you ready to go?”

Zac nodded, looking around for any sort of path.

”Which way?”

Sally chuckled, holding out her hand.

”Just, hold on tight.”

If Zac had eyebrows, this would be the time where’d he raise one in confusion. And as magic swirled around him, he was pretty sure they’d both be raised by now.

---

After arriving outside a set of stone steps in a blob, Zac pulled himself together as Sally informed him of the door at the top, and the test he’d need to pass through to prove worthy.

Zac’s footsteps bounced up the steps, green residue sticking behind. Even when he tried to stay solid, sometimes a few bits of himself wouldn’t stay together. He could only hope these ones wouldn’t become those Mini-Zac’s. They are such a pain to track down when they started running around the place.

“The truest opponent lies within,” Zac read from the archway of the large doors.

Zac psyched himself up, and proceeded to barge through the door, only to be overcome by darkness.

---

What?

Zac remembered this day. That nasty baron tracked his parents down while he was off saving a couple sump-rats.

He barged through the door. Seeing. He saw. His parents. Mom. Dad. Bleeding, bruised. No. No!

Rage shook the very core of Zac’s body, and he roared, his gelatinous body extended tentacles to wrap around the thugs who’d done this. This mightn’t bring them back. But he was angry, and this needed to be done.

He slammed them against the ground a couple of times, hearing the sounds of bones cracking and yelling. It was more anger than he’d ever felt, only stopped by a weak word from his father.

”Zac…”

”I was only gone a moment, I didn’t think they find you, I…”

Wait. Zac remembered that day differently. Sure, it was messy, a bullet fired through his father’s back, but not the face, and they weren’t dying, just… really hurt.

Oh. Zac understood what was going on here.

”I… this isn’t really happening, is it?”

His parents went silent for a moment before they spoke in a totally not creepy unison.

”Why do you want to join the League?”

”I want the people of Zaun to know that I’ve got their back. I want to get better medical supplies for my folks. I want to help people. Is that enough reasons?”

Another period of silence, before they spoke again.

”How did it feel to open your mind?”

Zac looked around the area. Bodies strewn about, his parents badly wounded and bleeding from multiple holes, even the light seemed warped and nightmarish.

”Bad. Really, really bad. Please don’t do that again.”

With Zac’s admission, he felt the ground outside begin to tremor and shake. In a single moment of instinct, he hugged both his parents, ready to take the brunt of whatever was coming.

---

Zac’s eyes opened, and the first thing he noticed was that everything seemed a lot taller.

Then he remembered that he had a habit of squashing himself down whenever he got overwhelmed. He inflated himself back up to a humanoid shape and tall-ish height.

Zac noticed that the doors were wide open, he’d earned his way in. As expected. Still, did they need to do the whole mind-nightmare-trick thing? There must’ve been an easier way.

Despite his complaints, Zac mustered up his bravery and prepared to march into the institute.

”I’m gonna make you proud,” Were his last words as he walked down into the hall.

Notes:

Zac, my favorite slime guy. Comments are always welcome. Only two left of the current set.

Chapter 50: The Steel Shadow.

Summary:

The Steel Shadow isn’t known for Mercy. But if you’re lucky, she might accept a deal.

When ensuring Piltover’s place above Zaun, Camille had taken many actions some would call unsavoury. She would call them necessary. Every Zaunite who threatened the power balance was a threat who needed to be removed from the equation.

Case in point, the man who stood at the edge of Camille’s blade. He’d charmed his way with a Piltover inventor, making the odd promise of a potential business partnership. Clever enough to worm into good graces, but too foolish to request confidentiality from his would be partner.

Even now, he was trying to bribe Camille to let him go. How arrogant he must be, this was a public service to execute such a stain.

A single slice of her toned hextech enhanced blade severed through the man’s neck and sending his head rolling onto the dirty floor. Business settled.

Camille heard a quiet gasp of surprise. Her sensors picked up a nearby figure. She twisted around, staring with icy eyes at the intruder.

The woman stared with wide eyes at Camille. Fear, most likely. As Camille approached her company, she learned that girl was closer to the truth of her company.

A young face, a light birthmark on her lower cheek, golden eyes that shook with possibilities of certain death. Yes, girl was the correct choice of words.

“What is your name?” Asked the Steel Shadow.

”I, my, my name is-

“Stop stuttering and simply answer the question,” Camille snapped, the answer coming from the girl’s lips in a flurry of words.

Her name was Alura, born in Piltover, and a representative of the Institute of War which held the League of Legends tournament. What could she be doing down in such a place so unsavoury as Zaun?

“Why have you come down here. If you answer truthfully, I can arrange for an enforcer to escort you home.”

”Ah, that won’t be necessary, I’m actually here for you.”

Here for Camille? Strange. The next statement made things clearer.

“The institute is aware of your clan’s secrets, about the true origin of Hextech crystals.”

Camille did not gasp, did not express some overdramatised reaction to Alura’s statement. She instead simply folded her arms.

”Is that so? And if you know, why not expose me? I’m sure there’s some people who would adore watching the fallout.”

The nervousness returned to the girl’s face. 

“Well, we are willing to keep such secrets behind closed doors, if you agree to represent Piltover in the League of Legends.”

Camille blinked bluntly at Alura.

”You came down to Zaun so you could ask for me to join in your game?”

”Is that a no?”

Camille paused for a moment. On one hand, spending time fighting for crowd amusement like a circus performer was hardly her preferred activity. But on the other hand, the secret of the Hex-crystals needed to remain unknown for the good of not just Piltover, but House Ferros.

”It’s a consideration. Give me a moment to inform my colleagues and I will arrive at your institute tomorrow morning.”

Camille sighed, looking down at the headless body before beginning to take her leave of the horrid place.

She had business to attend.

---

Upon arranging her absence with her associates and her grandniece, Camille's arrival at the Institute of War was as easy as preparing her tea.

The edge of her cybernetic legs strode across the hallway of the Institute, paying no mind to the onlookers she'd see out of the corner of her eye. 

Camille was not here for them. Her escort stopped before the door. He was far less nervous than Alura and the golden dusting on his cheek suggested a Shuriman heritage. 

"Now, the high council is through the door. They just need to run a procedure before we can consider you a champion," He explained.

Camille nodded and entered into the chamber. It was dimly lit, surrounded by hooded figures in a ring of elevated platforms.

"Camille Ferros, it's an honour to have you agree to join our ranks."

It was empty praise, Camille could tell. Small talk was never worth the wasted time.

"What is the procedure?"

"We must enter your mind, and ascertain your intentions for joining the League."

”If you must.”

Camille’s eyes twitched as she felt a magic energy burrow into her mind like tiny hands scraping through her skull.

---

Camille’s eyes opened, seeing a bright light shining down on her. She felt her former heartbeat. A heart of warm red blood rather than steel and hextech. 

“Are you ready?”

”Correct.”

The doctor had his tools ready, but paused before beginning to administer the anaesthetic.

”Might I ask you a few questions?” Asked the doctor, his voice slightly changed from his last sentence. Camille filed that in the back of her mind.

”If you must.”

”Do you regret your decision to implant a hextech heart? Let alone your further enhancements?”

Camille’s response was quickly spoken from her tongue.

”No. My cybernetic enhancements allow me to perform my duties for decades to come.”

The doctor laid out the hextech heart on the table. It thrummed with life and energy. Another question.

”Why are Zaunites so deserving of death in your eyes?”

Camille’s gaze was like steel. How often she’d been asked that.

What did I ever do to you? 

Why did you do this?

Why can’t you Pilties leave us alone?

”You misunderstand me for a mindless butcher. I only hunt those who disturb the balance of power. The Zaunites who charm their way into the hearts of the upper class, they are untrustworthy.” 

There was one last question asked of her.

”Why do you want to join the League?”

“To represent house Ferros.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Miss Ferros. How did it feel to open your mind?”

Camille sneered.

”Get on with the procedure,” she ordered.

The doctor injected Camille with the anaesthetic, and her eyes became heavy. She wasn’t scared though, she knew what was coming. A worthy sacrifice for progress.

---

Camille’s eyes opened a final time, now returned to the present moment before the League council of summoners.

”I trust I passed your test?”

”Correct. We’ll escort you to your new quarters. And if need to contact your house, we have devices to make it easier than an airship ride.”

Camille followed the escort, a smaller figure, almost like that Yordle professor she’d seen around the progress day celebrations.

In the back of her mind, Camille seethed at her situation. Blackmailed into acting as a glorified gladiatorial combatant.

It wasn’t a pleasant sacrifice, but it was a necessary one. House Ferros needed to keep its secrets buried.

Buried with the bodies.

Notes:

Camille was fun. The next champion will also be a favourite of mine. Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 51: The Kraken Priestess.

Summary:

Illaoi’s devotion to the Buhru religion is absolute and unwavering. But there is doubt beneath the confident surface.

The religion of Nagakabouros preached the truth of motion, of never letting doubt or the past set one in place. The waves always move, and those who stay in place will drown.

Amongst the Buhru that defended Bilgewater from the undead mists of the Shadow Isles, the current Truth Bearer was one of the most resolute in her beliefs.

But resolution doesn’t mean she’s forbidden from enjoying herself. The taverns of Bilgewater were full of motion, often wild and intoxicated, but motion is motion at the end of the day.

Illaoi swirled her mug of rum, taking a long gulp of the bitter yet simultaneously sweet liquid. She saw someone approaching her, a man with a silver goatee and decently kept hair. 

“You are Illaoi, aren’t you?” The man asked.

”That I am, old one. Who are you?” Illaoi replied with the question of her own.

”Taka,” the man responded. Although he was friendly, Illaoi suspected a reason for their meeting.

”We would like to invite you to join the League of Legends. We promise grand challenges, and a stage to proclaim your faith.”

Illaoi paused. Bilgewater was her home, the Serpent Isles were her responsibility. But the elders always preached motion, and what better motion than to explore what lay beyond the sea?

Her people would understand.

Illaoi nodded, placing a strong palm on the older man’s shoulder with a jovial chuckle.

”I will find my way, as you soon shall.”

The summoner raised his mug.

”Here’s to moving forward.”

Illaoi smacked her mug against the summoner before downing it with ease and gusto.

---

After Illaoi spoke of her coming journey to the Buhru Elders and saying a brief goodbye that wasn’t really a goodbye and more of a temporary farewell, it was a simple boat ride to the Institute of War.

Pushing through the entry doors with one hand, Illaoi followed her summoner escort to a set of ornate doors with mystical symbols. Taka turned to face Illaoi, clicking his tongue before he spoke.

"Now, behind this door is the high council of summoners. To permit you as a champion, they will put you through a test of a will."

Illaoi often put others through a test of spirit, she'd witnessed her own as Truth-Bearer. This one did not scare her. Any new experience was a welcome fruit from life's tree.

She entered the council, walking until she stood before hooded figures on their elevated platforms. These lives felt stagnant, dedicated to the single ideal of enforced control. Illaoi waited for them to speak.

"Illaoi, Truth Bearer of the Buhu religion. We did not expect you to accept our offer. A pleasant surprise," They spoke in unison, yet Illaoi could notice the subtle differences in tone and inflection. 

Illaoi's lips quirked up slightly.

"The best things in life are often surprising. Now, I was informed of a test?"

"Wise words, Illaoi. Correct, you must undergo a test of truth and spirit. We will search your mind, you must admit your reasons to join the League and face your doubts."

Illaoi nodded.

"I am ready."

With a moment of preparation, Illaoi was surrounded by arcane energy, she felt her head, grow heavy, before her eyes shut. In the brief moment, she swore to The Mother Serpent that her will would not break.

---

When Illaoi’s eyes opened, she found herself back in Bilgewater, the Buhru temple she spent most times. It was a near perfect replica, but she could not sense the Mother Serpent’s coils around the air. It was an illusion, nothing more.

She expected to see the Elder Priestess, or her old flame, or even Sarah Fortune, someone she could expect.

Instead, the figure she saw was herself. A perfect mirror copy.

”You follow Nagakabouros, and what has She given you? Gangplank is a tyrant vying for power, Bilgewater is barely kept safe from the ghastly Harrowing. Your faith is a burden, and you are a fool too afraid to decide for yourself.”

Illaoi steeled her gaze. Despite her unrelenting faith and determination in her beliefs, she still harboured guilt, seeing what Gangplank had become. Would it have been better to sever his lifetime? Was that justified to end another’s motion?

”My faith does not burden me, it strengthens me. Those whom I’ve tested and squandered their lives are not mine to blame. But if they threaten others, I shall recede my gift.”

The reflection smirked, continuing her interrogation.

”And when you face those who do not abide your beliefs? Will you stand firm in Nagakabouros? Or will you forsake her to do what others perceive as the right thing?”

Illaoi’s brows narrowed over her eyes.

”What I do is not the concern of a mere illusion. My faith and my judgement are clear and mine alone to uphold. Have you any further questions, or will you show your true face, pretender?”

Illaoi and her mirror image stared, waiting for the other to break away first and admit uncertainty. The false priestess’s posture shifted, as though inhabited by a second soul. Although Illaoi was hardly frightened by much, the sight of her body acting like someone unknown was… strange indeed.

”Why do you want to join the League, Illaoi?” Asked the illusion. 

”My Goddess preaches motion above all else. If that takes me from Bilgewater for a time, so be it,” Illaoi responded stoically.

The false Illaoi nodded. Illaoi noticed the slight echo of a second voice underneath.

”Your truth is clear, how did it feel to open your mind?”

Illaoi chuckled.

”I look forward to returning the favour with my own test upon you.”

With a rumbling ground, the temple began to break apart.

---

Illaoi’s eyes snapped open with a gasp of heavy breath. She slowly recovered herself, taking note of her surroundings. She stared up at the summoner at the head of the platforms.

”Are there any further tests?” She asked.

”No, Illaoi. We will put you through a test of your abilities tomorrow. But for now, take the time to adjust yourself to the Institute. We will have a summoner escort you to the Bilgewater wing.”

Illaoi marched out of the chamber, refusing the request to be guided. She would find her own way.

That was the way of Nagakabouros. And in the back of her mind, she knew she needed to clear her head.

Reaching the Bilgewater wing, Illaoi found a familiar redhead bounty hunter. An old acquaintance-friend.

“Well,” Sarah Fortune drawled, “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Likewise, Miss Fortune. What motivated you to join?” Illaoi asked, having some vague hope that the bounty hunter had hound a new path.

“The usual. Prize money, status, fine rum.”

Sarah liked to project an image to others. The wild redhead pirate, fit with a cocky smirk and fun loving demeanour. Illaoi knew the real woman behind the smile. The deep drive for vengeance against her mother’s killer. Gangplank, Illaoi’s ex-lover.

Vengeance rooted her in place, no matter how many ships she commanded or battles she fought in.

“I see. I hope this place brings you some semblance of peace.”

Sarah huffed.

“We have different definitions of that word, priestess. And if we see each other on the field?”

Sarah made a finger gun, pointing it at Illaoi and miming a ‘pop’ with her lips. Illaoi got the message.

“Likewise, Sarah.”

Illaoi continued on her way, leaving her thoughts behind.

This would be an interesting lesson, and perhaps not just for her.

Notes:

Illaoi. Okay, now for my usual brief break from this story to focus on my other projects. Not too long, don’t worry.
Comments are always welcome.

(I wasn’t originally going to have a scene with Sarah, but I got started and I loved it too much to cut.)

Chapter 52: The Daughter of The Void.

Summary:

Kai’Sa’s been mistaken for a monster before, but a champion? That’s a first.

There are whispers in Shurima. Of a creature that appears human, while being unmistakably touched by the void. It speaks the tongues of runeterra, but always stares a bit too long with unclear emotion. If it can even feel that.

The rumours are true. But the creature is not a monster, or an ‘it.’

She’s a human. A human with a void symbiote clinging to her body, giving her the strength to push back against the infestation of monstrosities who threaten to devour not just Shurima, but the world itself.

It’s an often thankless job, her appearance, especially when fully covered in her armour, doesn’t do any favours. But someone has to.

Kai’Sa’s curved hand-hooks cleaved through the void monster like butter, she opened her shoulder pods, firing missiles of void energy at the oncoming hordes. A few more popped out, she kept firing, flying, flipping and dodging.

Fighting to survive was like breathing.

She blasted an explosive energy into the monster’s mouth, watching it explode and bring down the cave roof down on top. That should save the nearby village for a few long sunrises. 

Suddenly, there was a new feeling. A blast, but not void-born. Something else. And that something hurts, like electricity.

As the magic electricity sparked through her body, past her second skin to whatever remained beneath. Kai'Sa lowered her organic helmet-mask, letting them see the human face beneath before her eyes felt heavy. Was this her end? Killed like the monsters she hunted?

It would hardly be surprising. At least the village was saved, for the time being. She couldn’t rest easily, but she would at least be resting.

---

Kai'Sa felt pain often, pushed through it for her duty. She knew pain. But this was a different pain, it was like someone was trying to peel her skin off-

Her eyes snapped open and she blasted a void energy from her palm, sending a robed figure flying into a wall, she hopped off the table, eyes scanning for threats frantically. This wasn't the void, or Shurima.

Where was she? Where. Was. She.

Panic spiked through her, her instincts told her to run. Find somewhere to stay and plan what was happening.

She ran through the hallways, pushing through a door and shutting it behind her. A dark chamber room, that was soon awash with spotlights.

Kai'Sa stood before the high council of summoners. Her second skin thrummed slightly, was it uncertain? Could it even feel such things? She could never be certain.

"Kai'Sa. We apologise for the rude awakening. Rest assured; you are in good hands."

Kai'Sa, still on edge, kept her eyes narrowed on the figures. It'd be nice to know whose hands she was in. Her voice was unsteady, when was the last time she'd spoken to someone? Someone human? Someone who saw her as human and not a horrific hybrid, a thing to run from in fear.

"Where am I? Who are you?"

"You are in the Institute of War, a place where champions from all across Runeterra are brought together to compete in the Fields of Justice to provide an alternative for mass warfare and keep the monsters you are so aware of from roaming free."

The head figure then outstretched her arms, gesturing to her surrounding allies.

"As for your second question, We are the high council of summoners, tasked with overseeing this grand tournament and selecting worthy individuals to represent us."

"Many call you a monster, but we see something greater. A spark of heroism. Your skill and drive have impressed us, we plucked you out from the void to grant you the chance to become one of our champions."

Kai'Sa found her voice.

"I must decline. Shurima needs me, the void is coming, I cannot afford to simply... leave."

"We are aware. This is no prison; you will be allowed to leave and return to Shurima via our teleporter stations. But when you are needed to participate, you will need to appear."

Kai'Sa couldn't help but feel demeaned.

"And what do I earn in return?"

"A safe place to rest. A chance to proclaim yourself to the world. And we have extensive studies into the void. Perhaps there is a weakness even you are unaware of.”

Kai’Sa couldn’t help but doubt such a claim, considering she’d been fighting to survive in a void invested cavern since she was ten years old, only managing to escape a few dozen sunrises ago.

But any information was valuable, the more allies the better. What did she have to lose? What did she even have at all?

”I accept the offer.”

”In that case, I suggest you relax and let us ether your mind. We will test and learn of your resolve, your motivation.”

Before Kai’Sa could try to offer refusal, she was overcome by a new energy, that seemed to burrow into her mind. Her eyes closed, hopefully not for the last time.

---

Kai'Sa's eyes opened, and she was outside a pen of goats. Sacrificial goats, she could assume from the strange swirling marks branded on their sides. She unhooked the pen, ushering them out.

The ground began to shake. It split open like a gaping mouth, and Kai'Sa fell down into the sprawling abyss.

She landed hard, eyes widening as she saw nothing but ethereal purple spread of half formed things. The floor felt… writhing, Kai’Sa felt sick.

”Hello?!” She called in a child’s voice. It sounded so familiar, but from another person.

She walked through the sickeningly pulsing realm of wrongness, before seeing two human eyes staring at her from the darkness. Brown eyes like sand under the moon.

Her father’s eyes.

“Father?”

”Why do you wish to join the League?”

”To gain further knowledge about my enemy. If there is a way to stall them, stop them, I will do so. But let me make this clear.”

Kai’Sa, ten years younger, no void parasite latched to her body, stared at the imitation of her beloved father with as much resolve that she could muster.

”I am not your puppet, not your soldier. If you attempt to control me, keep me as your servant, I will leave and never return to you again.”

Blue eyes stared into brown eyes. The brown flickered into an ethereal lavender for but a few short seconds.

”Understood, Kai’Sa. How did it feel to open your mind?”

“Strange. But remembering keeps me focused,” Kai’Sa answered.

She watched her father back away into the abyss, and Kai’Sa’s instinct, ignoring all rationale, was to chase after him. She wasn’t going to lose him again, not be alone, please!

She ran into the darkness, until it was all she could see.

---

Kai’Sa’s eyes snapped open, breathing heavily as her vision darted around, taking in her surroundings. The summoners, the chambers. Right, Institute of War.

It was a memory, of course it was. Of course. She began to slowly calm down.

”May I go?” She asked her company. Employers? Company sounded appropriate. In any case, the summoners dismissed her, saying that they would have someone escort her to temporary living quarters.

Living quarters. When was the last time Kai’Sa had something like that?

Kai’Sa exited the chamber to see a man dressed in heavy steel and purple armour. A helmet obscured his face completely. But he was stock still, his helmet face looking directly at Kai’Sa.

They locked eyes, before slowly separating from view.

Strange.

Why did it feel like they’d seen each other, mere minutes ago? 

She pushes the thought away, and follows an escort down the hallway. 

The Daughter of the Void has joined the League.

Notes:

We’re back. Maybe.

Comments are always welcome, Kai’Sa’s tough day was fun.

Chapter 53: The Master of Shadows.

Summary:

There is an intruder in Zed’s temple. They don’t make it far.

The temple of Thaanjuul was hard to find and even harder to enter undetected. It was home to the Yánléi clan of shadow assassins, under the watch of Master Zed.

That made the strange figure caught by his clan all the more intriguing to Zed. He stood, surrounded by mystical stone carvings and his clansmen and women.

"I would like you to give me a single reason not to have my assassins slay you when you stand," Zed threatened the figure, pulling back their hood to expose a man with a short bushy black beard. sweat dripped down his face. Fear. Pathetic.

The man, introducing himself as Summoner Kendrick, explained he was a messenger from the Institute of War, here to invite Zed to join their roster of champions.

"Understood. Kayn, kill the messenger."

Zed noticed the smirk on his apprentice's face, as he reeled back his crimson scythe. A messenger could tell of their location, which would invite new trouble.

Best to cut the problem at the root. The man's head hit the ground, spilling crimson from the stump. Zed then ordered two assassins to dispose of the mess before retreating to his chambers. Kayn followed, giving his own two cents on the matter.

"Can you believe his offer, as if you're some... performing beast? Ridiculous."

Zed sighed, sharpening his weapons. He saw the flicker of surprise cross Kayn's face. Kayn was good at disguising his feelings. Good. But not perfect. 

"Master, are you-

“Do you disapprove?” Zed asked of his apprentice. Kayn lowered his head, almost in shame.

If he did, he wouldn’t say it.

"Rest assured, I will keep one of my clones here, he will maintain control of this order, and if need be, will report to me all I need."

Kayn bent a knee.

"Understood, Master Zed. I'll leave to allow your... preparations."

When he was alone, Zed removed his steel helmet, spying his reflection on the silver metal. Auburn eyes stared back, eyes that had peered into darkness and let it become him.

This Institute of War was a farce. But in his pursuit to push back a potential second Noxian invasion, it was a farce he would play along with. 

---

Zed’s footsteps were heavy through the halls of the Institute of War. His war armour was designed to break the hardest and sharpest steel when swung against it.

He entered into a doorway that brought him to a chamber full of robed figures that looked down from their platforms.

How arrogant.

”Zed. Master of the Order of Shadows. We are pleased to have you here. My name is high Councillor Vessaria.” spoke a woman, authoritatively.

”Spare me the idle words. How must I prove my worthiness?”

The two furthest summoners looked to Vessaria, almost surprised at the brazenness.

”Straight to the point. I expect nothing else from an assassin of your calibre. Before we test your abilities, we must test your resolve. We will peer into your mind, and learn of your motivations.”

Zed folded his arms. His mind was far from welcoming. 

“Is it necessary?”

”All champions must go through it, even your old friend did as well. Shen, is he not?”

It was bait. Bringing up Shen and how he passed a test, surely Zed must follow in the example.

It was bait, easy bait that even a fish would know to be falsehood. But… Zed needed to be accepted. He was not falling for the bait, he saw the hook and let it pull him up.

”Then I shall succeed,” Zed affirmed, his body still guarded, as a bubble of magic began to surround him, tendrils pulsing out through his helmet against his temples. Until there was a blinding flash.

---

Zed’s dreams ranged from memories from simpler days to nightmares of inky blackness. This was the former. 

But this day was far from simple. It was one everything became complex. Zed pushed past the door into Kusho’s chambers.

They argued, words that Zed could recount like it happened yesterday.

”Noxus will not listen to pacifism! We cannot wait for them to kill us, we need to act!”

Kusho was infuriatingly calm. Always calm, always stern to Usan. 

“Like always. You do not understand our ways. The Kinkou is made to act in defence, not to cause bloodshed. The tears of the shadow, they will warp you, make you into a monster.”

Zed paused, trembling. He knew what to do. But a part of his heart told him to stop. He pushed his heart down, becoming like stone.

”Then I am no longer Kinkou.”

Zed whirled around in a blur, and shoved his left arm towards his master’s chest.

Zed stabbed through his master, watching as blood rolled down from his lip. He reached out to strike his lesser son’s face, but Zed simply pulled his blade out Kusho’s stomach, letting his master drop unceremoniously to the marble floor, his crimson lifeblood spilling out.

No need to stay here. Zed had what he needed. He lifted the box, filled with shadow magic. This would change everything.

“Usan,” Spoke a low yet clearly shocked voice.

Zed turned to see Shen, crouched over Kusho.

”What have you done?”

How did Shen get here? This was impossible! The temple was abandoned, everyone else was asleep. How did Shen get here? How was he always faster than him?

It didn’t matter. Shen could never understand, he was Kusho’s favourite. He followed the teachings and saw no flaws in them. 

”What I had to.”

Zed was ready to use his newfound shadow magic to vanish. A fight with Shen would only make this longer. But before he could do so. He heard a voice from behind him, a voice that shouldn’t be.

“Why do you want to join the League of Legends?” Spoke his master, still bleeding from the wound on his abdomen. Shen had gone still, almost like a statue.

”To test my abilities.”

Shen spoke now.

”Why do you want to join the League?” 

Zed turned away, gritting his teeth as he confessed a secret realisation.

“To prove that I am right. That Shen is a fool to remain so loyal to the Kinkou.”

”You have been found truthful, and are allowed a position as Champion. How did it fel to open your mind.”

Zed paused, ready to shove his blades through Shen, his traitor of a brother, but decided against it. What was the point? It wasn’t real.

His silent glare served as a wordless answer to their question. Zed watched the area crumble away like paper, and closed his eyes in anticipation.

---

Zed’s consciousness returned to the present day. He had took take a long inhale of breath.

”Anything else?” Zed asked, impatiently. Vessaria shook her head.

”No, that concludes your judgment. We’ll test your abilities in a few hours. In the meantime, we’ll have one of our staff escort you to your new quarters.”

Zed walked down the hallway, catching the eyes of Shen’s pet student. Akali narrowed her gaze, before continuing on her unknown way.

Akali. Zed had seen her as little more than a foolish child with an oversized blade and too much fire to be controlled by restraint. Shen had trained her, quite well from their occasional encounters, but the brash fire remained.

A fire that could perhaps be stoked, and melded into his order of shadow.

Only time would tell.

Notes:

Zed, our favourite Shredder knockoff. Kidding.

Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 54: The Visionary.

Summary:

Hwei’s painting takes an unexpected turn when a certain name is mentioned to his ears.

Even now, Hwei could not resist the call of his paintbrush. It was barely after dawn, and yet he stood before his canvas with his colours by his side and the brush in his fingertips.

Hwei began to draw his brush across the canvas, tracing his memory into reality. And His voice, Jhin’s vice, whispered in his head.

’Do not imagine your brush as separate. It is like your own arm, pulling imagination into reality.”

Why was his advice still so valid in Hwei’s mind? After everything…

Hwei’s ears picked footsteps. Someone approached. Nonetheless, he kept painting, this idea was too valuable to forget.

“Quite a lovely painting,” Spoke a woman’s voice, medium pitched, neither too young or too old. 

“I’m pleased you think so, but it is not quite finished.”

”The magic of paint, bringing the imagined into life, is quite interesting, wouldn’t it be nice to show the world your abilities?”

Hwei dipped his brush into the turquoise paint, adding colour to his piece, turquoise for the cracks in the stone, as if veins of magic were rippling through the rocks.

”I am not one for fame and adoration, ma’am.”

An auburn orange would be the trees. Now he just had to trace the statue. His black paint outlined the focal point-

”Khada Jhin is in attendance.”

Hwei’s brushstroke veered to the right with his shock. Jhin. He was there? Was it right to ascertain vengeance? Was it even vengeance he wanted?

”That earned your attention. And as an added bonus, there will be plenty of opportunities for your passion of paint and brush. Perhaps we’ll even let you do portraits of other champions. With their permission of course.”

Perhaps that was meant to be a joke. But Hwei was now focused on Jhin. He put him on this path, torn between redemption and guilt. It was only fair to see the result of his ‘art.’

”I shall arrive at your Institute in time, once I finish my painting.”

The woman handed Hwei a talisman. It glowed, ever so faintly.

”This will take you there, but I expect it to be returned once we meet again.”

Haei nodded, a wordlessly agreement, and the woman walked away, fading into the darkness of the monastery. He turned to his canvas, now marked by his surprised veering into uncertainty, and began a new painting.

The sacrifices of art.

---

Hwei had to admit, the fields of justice were quite the sight for an artist like him. Vibrant nature, magic seeping through the foliage and small furred animals climbing up the trees.

There was beauty here, a great sense of life and wonder seeping through the land. But all of that was dwarfed by the sheer scale of the main attraction: The Institute of War itself. A gargantuan building that almost whispered secrets and promises into the ears of Hwei.

He walked up the stone stairway, before coming across the entryway of two large ornate doors with a magically inscribed message on the archway.

’The truest opponent lies within.’

Hwei could admit the truth of such a statement. He could also guess what his opponent might be. With a sigh of preparation, he placed his hand on the door, and pushed until all he saw was darkness, and the faintest smell of drying paint.

---

Hwei remembered the day everything fell apart like it was yesterday. The night before, Jhin, a traveling performer who had taken a brief stay at the temple, had said he would take his leave to, in his own words, 'watch the lotuses bloom.'

Hwei was too blind to suspect anything. He woke up alongside his other artists to find a series of destruction across the temple.

Four historical paintings, that Hwei would stare at with awe as both a boy and an adult, were destroyed. Four of the temple masters were slain in a pool of blood, their wisdom, as confining as it could be, now never to be spoken again. The four lower levels of the temple were ablaze, and with their destruction, the rest of the temple would soon crumble. 

Hwei ran through the burning temple, not entirely knowing why, until he saw Him. Jhin. Staring at a painting. A painting that Hwei had created under his direction. Those words of encouragement, saying that rules only serve to restrict talent, was that a lie? Were all the words of praise merely falsehood? He needed answers, demanded them of a man he once called a kindred soul.

"Why? Why did you do this?!" Hwei shouted at Jhin. The man stayed silent, looking through Hwei like he wasn't present. 

Hwei didn't often resort to violence, but in this moment, a fist would be more cathartic than any brush. He punched Jhin, sending his white mask sliding across the floor. What was behind was... nothing a blank darkness where a face should be a single golden eye peering out. Hwei was frozen in shock. What was happening. He knew Jhin, had shown his art. He knew the face of Khada Jhin.

Or, he thought he did.

"Why do you want to join the League?" Jhin asked in a voice that wasn't his own, not as flowery and poetic.

Hwei paused, "To test my abilities."

"Why do you want to join the League?" False Jhin asked again.

Hwei gave another reason.

"To make Jhin suffer for his crimes.”

Jhin's voice became forceful. "Why do you want to join the League? Speak your truth, Hwei.”

"To have a new canvas for my journey. And determine my next path.”

Something in Jhin's tone became more familiar.

"And if you find him? What shall you do? Will you kill him? Ask him why?”

Hwei couldn't stop a sly smirk twitching at his lips.

"That is my business, Summoner."

The floor of the temple began to crack and fall apart before Hwei could move in an attempted escape, the last thing he saw was the false Jhin, staring at him without any emotion at all.

---

Hwei’s eyes snapped open, finding the doors to the Institute swung open. He had passed the test, yes, it was a test. A test of will.

There was much to be done. And much to be created. This journey would be long. But it was a path he would walk.

Jhin would understand what Hwei had become. And more importantly, Hwei would learn more of the path he is to tread.

The Visionary had joined the League.

Notes:

I hope I wrote Hwei well. Comments are always welcome. The next one is a… little more of an upbeat champion.

Chapter 55: The Starry Eyed Songstress.

Summary:

What better way to cope with Lyric block than being invited to a combat tournament?

Writing lyrics wasn’t just about knowing the rhymes. It was about feelings. And the feeling Seraphine felt right now?

Frustration.

Seraphine groaned, head in her hands. Why was this so hard? She’d done lyrics before, she thought about this song while she was tinkering with her stage. 

There was a knock at her door, Seraphine perked up, trying to make it not look like she’d spent twenty minutes staring at a blank notebook and trying to force words into it.

”Come in.”

Seraphine’s father entered the bedroom, his eyes scanning the room in awe.

”I still love how this place came together. How’s the songwriting going?”

For a moment, Seraphine wanted to force a smile and say it was going great. But she was never great at lying, especially to her dad.

“It’s not going, I’ll say that much.”

“Huh, maybe you need a little break? Get some food inside you.”

Seraphine looked at the three empty cups near her desk and the three quarters empty bag of sugar snacks.

Maybe some real food would jumpstart her lyric brain.

”Maybe something small…”

Seraphine’s stomach growled in disagreement. She closed her journal and followed her father out of her bedroom.

---

Seraphine had always enjoyed her dad’s cooking. Her mom was a great chef too, but her dad just had the little edge over her mom, somehow.

But her mom was a better singer, so it’s not like one is worse than the other.

She devoured the eggs, noticing the newspaper regarding an arrest by the Piltover Enforcers. She wondered how much of it was true or just lies.

Seraphine was handed an envelope with a purple seal on the back. She cautiously opened it, expecting some request for a performance, and not what it truly was.

”Seraphine of Piltover. We have observed your journey closely and would like to invite you to participate in the grand inter-nation tournament known as the League of Legends. There is an airship that will take you, and you will have four days to consider. We look forward to seeing you there. Sincerely, the High Council of the Institute of War.”

Seraphine paused. She, along with many others, had heard of the League of Legends. A grand fighting tournament for spectacle and glory. But, why was Seraphine invited? She wasn’t a fighter, she was a singer, and not even a very experienced one at that.

”What do you think?”

”I don’t know. I mean, I’m not exactly a fighter, dad. And what about here? I have concerts and I still need to write my next song and, and-

Seraphine’s father walked over, placing his warm hand on her shoulder like he always did whenever she needed a grounding presence.

”Listen, your dream is amazing and I have no doubt you’re going to be an amazing person one day. But if you really want to make a difference, you can’t just go down to band battles in Zaun or charity events. You need to take risks, and the League of Legends? That’s a pretty big stage for you.”

Seraphine sighed, letting out a small smile pulling her lips up.

”If I said yes, can you help me update my stage?”

”Sure thing, Sera-Bear.”

Seraphine pulled out the hex-crystal from her pocket, inspecting it. This device was what originally made her able to walk around outside without being overwhelmed by the heart-songs of everyone else. But after she realised its origins, she made a few adjustments.

Acorn snatched it with his furry little paws, racing across the room with Seraphine only able to run after while calling for her dad’s squirrel pet to stop moving.

Sometimes, she wished she had a cat instead of a mischievous little squirrel.

---

Seraphine felt like a teenager leaving for a new academy when she was walking to the airship that’d take her to the Institute. It was a miracle that she didn’t burst into tears when she hugged her dad and promised to send letters.

The ride was a sight, gliding through the air, watching Piltover from above, and seeing the chemical colours of Zaun peeking out from under the smog. She couldn’t hear the songs from up here.

She arrived at the Institute and was led down to a large council chamber. She carried her stage, modified for a compact storage size, in a brown leather pack.

Thank you, dad, for being a hoarder.

The council room was a large circular platform, surrounding by looming seats and desks occupied by figures in purple robes. 

“Seraphine, Piltover’s rising star. You’ve made quite a name to earn our attention…”

Seraphine tucked a strand of her pink dyed hair behind her ear.

”I try my best.”

”We must enter your mind to determine your intentions. If you are truthful and your goals are noble, we will allow enlistment into our institute.”

Seraphine sighed.

”Okay, do what you have to.”

Seraphine saw magic flow around her, threading into her temples. It was like a splitting headache, and on instinct, she closed her eyes.

---

As a kid, Seraphine barely left the house. She couldn’t, all she could hear were the thoughts and feelings of countless people. Their grievances, their sorrow, pain. And Zaun was overpowering. It wasn’t just the feelings of others that hurt, it was that she couldn’t do anything.

She was curled up under her bed, the endless cacophony of sound pulsing like a never ending song. Until it began to dim.

”Are you okay, Sera?”

Her dad was here. The voices died down, as if turning down the volume on the outside world and leaving just the here and now. Her dad was here.

But his song felt… unlike him.

”Is something wrong?”

Seraphine backed away, catching a glimpse of natural brown hair in the mirror. She wasn’t scared of her dad. Just, how wrong this felt. She couldn’t hear his song, like he wasn’t even here.

”Why do you want to join the League?”

”Dad?” Seraphine asked.

”Why do you want to join the League?”

Seraphine felt her heart pulse in her chest, she needed to calm down. Ignore the fear, just answer the question. You're okay. Just focus on now, not everything else.

”I… want to show people my thoughts. To show them my dream isn’t just some naïve fantasy that everyone says.”

”Piltover and Zaun don’t need to be torn apart. There’s something there, a spark. And… Piltover has something dark in it. I can feel it.”

”Such a decision could be considered foolish naivety.”

Seraphine whirled around, her voice touched with unexpected determination.

”It’s better than nothing,” Seraphine answered.

She stared at the illusion of her father, before his eyes glowed an arcane lavender colour, cause Seraphine to jump back in surprise.

”You have been found honest, tell us, how did it feel to open your mind?”

Seraphine shrugged.

”Can you not pretend to be my dad next time?”

Seraphine felt the rush of voices return again, and as she saw her bedroom begin to flake and crack away into nothing, she embraced her father.

---

Seraphine's eyes opened with a start, and she had to take a moment to regain her composure.

Breathe in. breathe out. In and out. Like when she was a kid.

"Everything's okay, you're here," her father's voice reassured.

"Everything's okay, I am here," her own voice reassured.

“You are among safe hands, Seraphine. Calm yourself.”

Deep breaths. In and out. 

In. And Out.

“Right, sorry. So… did I pass?”

”You have, welcome to the League of Legends.”

Joy bloomed in Seraphine, and she couldn’t help but pump her fist in the air with a squeal of excitement. She then remembered that she was in public, and nervously put her arms by her sides.

”I’m honoured to be here, high council.”

The summoner’s voice had a touch of amusement in it.

”You may celebrate, we do not judge. We will have one of our staff escort you to your temporary quarters.”

Temporary quarters, how fancy.

Seraphine exited the chambers, following a small figure in red robes through the hallway. She couldn’t help but be a bit nervous. So many people, so many things to do.

But just like with any performance, she just had to swallow the stage fright and take a step.

One step at a time.

Notes:

I am a Seraphine defender and I will kill on my hill. Comments are always welcome. Sorry for the wait.

Chapter 56: The Restrained Hunger.

Summary:

Briar makes a new friend and is taken to a place where she can make even more.

All in all, a great day.

Briar was created to hurt people. To kill enemies of The Black Rose. And for a while, it was all she could comprehend. All she saw were bodies filled with delicious blood to be emptied out into her jaw.

Countless hours of confinement gave her a sense of control, and a longing for the world behind battlefields and targets.

Briar didn't like hurting people. Hurting people made other people run away. Leaving her alone like before. Stuck in a cell with one window where the only constant was her hunger. But control was hard to keep, people pointing weapons at her? That set off the feral urges. The hungry urges.

Hunger. She ate recently. Her throat hurt and she lurched over, hacking out a small armguard. 

Oh. That explained her sore throat. She noticed a detached arm in the corner, her eyes sparkled. She might've eaten, but a snack was never refused. As she chewed, she let her mind swim into memory. She hasn’t found any hew friends since escaping, even that escape buddy disappeared a few days after they joined up. Maybe he had other friends or family to get to?

What did that feel like? Knowing for certain that people miss you and want you?

There was a gasp, Briar snapped up, a new friend? Briar saw a woman in long purple clothes. Her hair was long and coloured like the concrete walls. Briar spat out the arm, shouting a hello. She'd wave, but her pillory restrained her arm movement.

The woman backed away, taking hurried steps. Briar didn't want to be alone again, she chased after the woman, not catching up with her pillory, with a sigh, she surrendered control for a moment, letting her manic hunger pull her forward. She was gaining on the new woman, pouncing on her with crimson eyes.

They locked eyes before Briar snapped back to control. Her pillory reassembled around her arms, giving a cheerful smile. Time to be friendly. Don't snarl. Just say a simple word.

"Hi!"

The woman's eyes glinted around in shock. Briar kept going.

"My name's Briar, what's your name?"

Half gasps came out.

Oh.

"Do you want me to get off you?"

"Yes."

Briar complied, standing on her hands.

"So, you're new. Who are you? From here?"

"I am a summoner from the Institute of War."

Briar cocked her head. She knew what a summoner was, but not an Institute of War. She listened to the lady explain, she caught a few words she understood. Battle, contest, abilities.

Wide range of champions.

"Champions? Like people?"

"Yes, people from all across the world."

Briar flipped back onto her feet, leaning right up the summoner's face with a wide grin.

"Can I meet them? Please? I won't eat them, promise!"

The woman began to smile now, Yes, victory! She hid her lips behind her palm, clearing her throat.

 "I suppose I can allow it. Come with me."

---

Briar's senses were something she took a lot of pride in; it was what her creators said made her valuable. She remembered her makers sometimes. One of them she remembered particularly well, a man dressed in long red clothes, calling her... something.

"A fine pet for the Rose," His voice pulsed into memory. A smooth voice. Briar smelled blood on him, but a… different kind of blood. Not just the blood in people’s bodies.

Briar wanted to see Vladimir again. She also wanted to see the people on the posters she'd peek at through the streets. Sion, Talon, red hair girl. So many people, she wanted to meet all of them.

"Briar?'

"Yes?"

"We're here. The high council would like to see you."

Briar entered the chamber, seeing a round collection of hooded figures. She gave her best toothy smile.

”Hi! My name’s Briar.”

“You are an anomaly to us, you are of Noxus, what can you do?” They asked.

Briar perked up.

“I can do lotsa things! Like this!” Briar contorted her body on one leg, “And this!” then twisted to stand on her hands, before forcing back upright with a grin, “And that! Ooh, and I can run really fast and bite really hard.”

A small gasp of awe came from one of the summoners before he cleared his throat nervously.

”Well, as impressive as your physical capabilities may be, the League also prefers their champions to be mentally sound. Can you control your urges?”

”Yep! Usually. Mostly. Just give me a steady stream of food and I should be pretty good,”

“To join the League, we must reach into your mind to determine your character. Your weaknesses, your utmost desire.”

Briar paused for a moment.

”Eh, sure. Do what you gotta.”

Magic began to pulse into Briar’s head, pulling through her control, she felt feral pain propel her forward, but she was frozen in place.

She heard a monstrous scream and roar. Must’ve been hers.

---

Briar's cell was dark. But she knew where the door was. She charged at it, stumbling back.

“No point in trying to escape, you fail too often,” Condemned Vladimir. 

”I thought killing was what I was meant to do!” Briar complained.

Briar found the battlefield as  perfect ground for her blood-hunger. So many bodies of warm blood to sink her teeth into. But she couldn’t stop, one bite and she would go from soldier to soldier, even allies weren’t safe when she lost it.

”You slay the wrong people, I’m no soldier, but even I know that a rabid animal isn’t a fine assassin.”

Briar rammed her body into the door, her pillory smashing against the metal door as she shouted and cried for freedom, until she finally tired herself out, flopping onto her back with  groan of sorrow and hunger.

She was alone again. Until she heard Vladimir speak again. But he sounded different.

"Why do you want to join the League?"

Briar paused for a moment before remembering this whole situation. Delving into her mind, gotcha.

"I want to meet people. Make friends, not be some… mad thing.”

”Your truth is clear, how did it feel to open your mind?”

Briar heard the door click unlock. She slammed through it, and all she saw was white.

---

When Briar’s eyes snapped open, all she heard was the feral scream of shock. She slashed her claws at the magic field, not breaking but never stopping. Where was she? Why wasn’t she moving?

Her eyes looked up to see the figures in their long purple robes. Summoners, she recalled. This was the Institute of War.

She was okay. Pull back control. She reined her pillory back into place, locking her arms back into place and her mind as well.

”Sorry about that. Am I a champion now?”

The summoners voices seemed a tad uneasy.

”Yes, we’ll have someone escort you to temporary quarters. Once we have time, we’ll prepare a showcase for your skills.”

A small creature led her down the halls. Briar licked her lips, something so small, two bites would be easy.

She stopped herself. Losing control wouldn’t help her. There were a lot of people here, Briar could tell.

She wanted to meet every last one.

Notes:

Briar was pretty fun to write dialogue for. Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 57: The Unshackled.

Summary:

Sylas is offered an opportunity. Not everyone is thrilled about it.

It had been two days since Sylas had escaped the capital. Two days since Demacia had been thrown into war between its own citizens. Demacian swine hunted him and his brethren, but swords and blind loyalty were nothing to the sorcery Demacia was so keen to kill its own people over.

While he and his allies planned their next attack, Sylas had gone searching for more mages to recruit into the cause of razing Demacia down. In the end, he did not find someone.

Someone found him.

Sylas whirled to find a man dressed in leathery browns and hair in a short ponytail walk up to him. The man didn't look Demacian, and Sylas could sense the magic in him.

“You are a mage, aren’t you?” Sylas asked.

“Perceptive and good looking. Some people get all the luck.”

Sylas smirked.

”Flattery only gets you so far. Why have you been following me.”

The stranger snapped his fingers.

"Where are my manners, my name is Chuo. And I'm here to bring you to trial."

Sylas crushed a frost crystal in his palm, absorbing the icy elemental magic into himself

"Here's my response," Sylas countered as he shot a blast of freezing energy. The man traced a circle into the air, which caught the ice and converted into an indigo energy that he hurled at Sylas.

Sylas manacles caught and absorbed the blast, filling him with the energy. A peculiar magic, darker than Lux's light, certainly. He smirked, lashing out a beam of indigo energy at the man's floor, exploding a cloud of smoke into the air.

They fought, Sylas' chains smacking against Chuo’s face. Eventually, Sylas' magic ran dry, and he was restrained by binding energy. His legs were bound but refused to kneel.

"If you're going to imprison me, it'll be a short stay."

"It is not imprisonment that we desire. I am a summoner of the League of Legends. And you have earned our attention."

Sylas had been informed of the League of Legends by Luxanna during their encounters through cell bars. He found that thing quite barbaric, especially for a mage like her, to use her gifts as entertainment. 

"From what I know of your Institute, I'd rather not have your attention. Using mages to perform in gladiatorial entertainment, you're just another piece of Demacia's rot."

"The Institute was formed in agreement with all nations of Valoran."

"Take me to your Institute, and I will decide then."

Chuo smiled.

"Oh, I was planning too, but first..."

Serpentine shapes wrapped around Sylas' arms, binding his arms to his back.

"I can't have you absorbing anyone's magic when we arrive,” Chuo asserted.

Sylas grit his teeth at the binds, but stayed calm.

”Duly noted.”

This would be interesting.

---

As Sylas was led down the halls of the Institute of War, he noticed Garen Crownguard join at his side. His armour, blue, bronze and silver with Demacia’s flagship colours, was almost an eyesore for Sylas.

"Garen, where is little Luxanna?" Sylas asked.

"In her quarters, away from you," Garen answered sternly.

Sylas scoffed.

"Locking your sister away like a child? I'm sure she appreciates that; she told me a lot while I was locked up. A few things about you."

Garen's fist tightened, only stopped by Jarvan joining the group with a firm stare.

Summoner Chuo announced their arrival before the council doors and walked the trio inside the large chamber.

Sylas admittedly zoned out for the introductions. He’d been through this process less than a week ago.

"This monster has slaughtered countless Demacian knights and civilians, innocents. He cannot be allowed in this institute unless you desire bloody conflict," Jarvan spoke.

The chamber doors were pushed open, all eyes turning to find Luxanna Crownguard, someone who Sylas once thought to be one of the few people he could call a genuine friend. But she lacked the will to go against her status quo. She wanted change, but was afraid of consequence. She'd likely take her brother’s side.

"Summoners! I come to offer my suggestion!" Lux shouted with a face lightly flushed from a hurried arrival.

"Luxanna, this matter is a private affair,” Jarvan asserted, with minor rumblings of support from another councillor.

"As a mage myself and someone who was involved with Sylas' freedom, I believe my words have value,” Lux answered with remarkable determination.

Garen placed a hand on Lux's shoulder. Sylas watched Lux stiffen.

"Lux, return to your quarters, this villain mustn't manipulate you."

Lux shrugged Garen's hand off, swirling her gaze to stare straight at him. Eyes that could be so very bright but so cold.

"I don't need you coddling me, brother."

She turned her attention back to the summoners, extending her palm to Sylas as she spoke her piece.

"Sylas has caused harm, I will not deny that, but he is hardly the only one. If we judge him, are we to extend that same sentiment to others?”

"I suggest we induct him into the League, keep a watchful eye on him. Remove his petricite chains unless needed for a match. He's been imprisoned long enough."

The summoners paused, before Vessaria leaned forward with her hands threaded together.

"I believe that your suggestion holds merit," Vessaria continued. "While Sylas has committed grave offenses, it is important to remember that he was driven to such actions by the injustices he faced. By allowing him into the League, we can provide him with an opportunity for redemption and growth."

The other summoners exchanged glances, considering Vessaria's words. Some seemed hesitant, still wary of the potential danger Sylas posed. However, others appeared intrigued by the possibility of a different approach.

Lux bowed her head.

"Thank you, High summoners. I promise, you will not regret this decision.”

”That is up to Sylas. And speaking of whom, as is customary for all inductees into the League, we-

"Must enter my mind to determine my intentions, Little Light informed me about this little farce,” Sylas interrupted.

A few eyes turned to Lux, who bashfully tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear. The other Demacians were soon dismissed, leaving only Sylas before the council, who extended their palms to cast the spell.

”Are you ready, Sylas?” Vessaria asked, as if she was offering the choice to refuse. Sylas simply nodded without so much as a whisper of words. He grimaced as pulsing magic flowed into his head like a migraine, and when he instinctively closed his eyes, he felt as though his mind was being thrown back.

---

Sylas' eyes opened to find a dark cell. Of course. Of course they'd pick this. His arms felt weak, this was much before he met Lux. So, who would they choose to impersonate?

”If only you had stayed loyal,” bemoaned a woman’s voice, low and self righteously proud. Sylas sighed, he was in no mood for old former friends.

”Spare me the rapport, I know what this is, step into the light, summoner!”

A pause before the clicking of hard boot heels against unpolished stone floors rung out. A mageseeker with lightly pink hair stood before Sylas, he knew her name, but would not say it.

”I suppose I’ll get to the point. Why do you want to join the League?” Spoke an old friend. Her voice stirred nostalgia and pain of betrayal in Sylas’s heart both at once.

”To show that Demacia is not as noble as it presents itself. That mages are treated as scum for just being themselves. I’d rather burn it down building by building, and start a new Demacia. But while I’m here, I can at least educate the sheep who cling to Demacia’s propaganda.”

He stared at the illusion of his close friend, before their posture straightened.

”Your truth is clear. Welcome to the League of Legends, Sylas. How did it feel to open your mind?”

Sylas scoffed, giving a proud grin to the summoner.

”You’re lucky you only went this far.”

The world began to fade into darkness and Sylas closed his eyes.

---

After being accepted into the League, Sylas was escorted to his living quarters in the Demacian division of the Institute’s living quarters. The thought of being so close to the swine nagged him, but it was a temporary sacrifice.

Sylas sat on the mattress the league had provided him. First real room in.... fifteen years. He looked down at his wrist, now bare flesh. His shackles had been confiscated, so that he didn't start absorb magic from his fellows ad infinitum. A wise choice, and Sylas had to admit the sensation of freed arms was quite satisfying.

“My first bed in fifteen years. This is quite the place, isn’t it?” Sylas asked his company. Prince Jarvan.

“You are lucky Lux convinced the summoners to spare you.”

“I am, yes,” Sylas answered, quite genuinely, “I was surprised, to be entirely honest. Does it hurt you, knowing that she refused to follow your commands, little king?” Sylas taunted.

Sylas watched Jarvan’s gaze narrow. He wanted to kill him, he knew it. But he wouldn’t get the chance. How strange, a prince not being allowed to do what he wanted.

”If you step a foot out of line, you will be harshly punished.”

Sylas said nothing. There was a knock at the door, a young woman’s voice chirping out from behind.

”King Jarvan, our new champion would likely prefer solitude while he adjusts.”

Sylas watched Jarvan’s fist tighten. Oh, protector above, this was glorious to witness. The king left the rebel to his quarters, no doubt seething at perceived injustice.

Yes. This was going to be very interesting indeed.

Notes:

A little different this time, but Sylas is all about breaking the normal. Comments are always welcome and appreciated. I hope I wrote him well.

Chapter 58: The Curious Chameleon.

Summary:

Neeko meets some new people.

Summoner's rift was in the midst of another match, and it was close to neck and neck.

Nidalee's spear flew through the air, crashing through the turret and sending it crumbling down, now only the nexus was left to destroy, bringing her team victory. She had to admit, she did quite enjoy these contests. 

"A champion has been slain!" Called out the summoner, Nidalee grimaced, hoping it wasn't one of her team.

The huntress braced herself to run, only to be tackled by an excited mass of energy with a familiar voice.

"Nidalee!" Neeko cried, stretching out the name with utter glee. Nidalee couldn't believe her eyes, how long had Neeko been here, How had she even gotten here? 

Nidalee's keen hearing picked up arriving footsteps and she told Neeko to resume her disguise until later. Neeko nodded, turning into a small frog-like creature and hopping into a bush. Nidalee shook her head with a smile. How she missed the lizard-girl.

Wukong, the ape-like warrior, arrived with a jittery twirl of his staff.

"Come on, cat-lady! You're missing the fun!"

Nidalee scoffed, shifting into her pakaa form and running across the field with a growl. She soon overtook him with her speed. But as she tried to focus on the matter at hand, she could only hope that Neeko would stay out of trouble.

---

When she saw Nidalee again, lightly running down the field with a group of unknown people, Neeko couldn't help the blossoming excitement from bursting out, she hopped out of frog form, reassuming Neeko-shape, tackling her again in a hug. Nidalee stayed on her feet, chuckling warmly.

"Were you watching, Neeko?" Nidalee teasingly asked the shapeshifting vastaya. 

Neeko murmured out a yes.

"Yes, Nidalee was amazing, so amazing! That bear-man went down!"

Nidalee was so caught up in the reunion, that she failed to notice the approaching group of summoners. Neeko, an uninvited guest, would likely not be greeted with fondness.

"Intruder! State your intentions!" Commanded summoner Endrir, a rather self-important man with his metal badges, strewn across his purple cloak.

Neeko giggled, releasing Nidalee and bounding over to Endrir.

""My name is Neeko! My intentions are seeing Nidalee!" Her eyes scanned the summoners, eyes resting on Meshe, a Freljord based summoner with light scarring around the right of her face. Neeko hummed for a moment before assuming Meshe's form in a swirl of magic. She looked down at her new form, twirling on her new boots.

"Oh, lady Meshe's body feels different, but good different!"

Endrir cleared his throat.

"Well, as with any intruder, we must determine their intentions. We'll need her to come with us to the high council chamber."

Neeko tilted her head, looking to Nidalee for confirmation of trust. Nidalee nodded, wordlessly assuring Neeko it would be alright.

---

Neeko was walked through a long series of hallways.

”We must enter your mind, determine your intentions and if you are worthy of being amongst our champions.”

Neeko nodded. The hooded group sighed.

”Can you please return to your own form?”

The vastaya looked down at herself realising she’d subconsciously impersonated the man on the left’s appearance. She shifted back to Neeko.

”Better?” She asked, receiving approval from her audience. She watched them hold out their palms, extending tendrils of magic energy.

The central one spoke, calm and steady.

”We apologise for any discomfort.”

---

Neeko’s eyes opened in a jungle. How had she gotten here? Had she slept-transformed again and ran off? Was she taken here?

She ran through the jungle foliage, not sure of where she was going until she heard a voice from somewhere she couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

“Neeko, Vastaya of the Oovi-Kat. Your tribe is new to us.”

Neeko’s lizard-like eyes darted around as she walked, trying to determine the source, she climbed up a tree, looking over a branch but seeing no sign of people.

“Where are you speaking from?” Neeko asked aloud.

”That’s a complicated question, let me give you an easier one. What do you want?”

Neeko paused.

”Neeko… want to know where you’re speaking from?”

A chuckle.

”No, I mean deep down, what do you want, what do you crave and desire more than anything?”

Neeko paused to think, resting her entire body on the branch. Unfortunately, it soon snapped from its weak position. She fell to the ground, quickly turning into a small bird to safely land before reasserting her form.

”You know loss, don’t you? Is it that grief that drives you, carrying on your tribe’s tradition?”

A flicker of painful memory played in Neeko’s mind. Cataclysm, flying away and feeling home and the sense of her tribe grow further and further away. She squeezed her eyes shut, the voice spoke again.

”Hm. Perhaps closer than I thought. Forgive me.”

Neeko’s eyes opened, and saw a familiar figure staring at her with beautiful emerald-like eyes. Neeko knew those eyes.

”Nidalee?” Neeko asked with a tilt of her head. It looked like Nidalee but her sho’ma, it didn’t feel like Nidalee’s, it lacked the warmth under tight restraint.

Nidalee didn’t have her tribe by her side, a rarity. She pulled out her javelin, ornately crafted and well used against enemies.

”How do you know me?” Nidalee asked roughly, Neeko paused, before gasping in understanding.

The judgment, the memories, oh, oh! That makes sense.

”You not Nidalee,” Neeko asserted, tilting her head, “Why do you look like her?”

There was a brief stare down, before Nidalee stood up straight, the rough tone of her voice now gone.

”Why do you want to join the League of Legends, Neeko?” Asked Maybe-Not-Nidalee.

Neeko thought for a moment before getting her answer.

”Wanted to see Nidalee, but now want to see everyone!” Neeko announced with an exuberant hop into the air. She then calmed down, the smile becoming solemn. 

“New tribe, will include everyone who wants to. More people to meet, more people to know Neeko.”

Silence, before Not-Nidalee spoke again.

”Your truth is clear, how did it feel to open your mind?”

Neeko giggled.

”New, but fun!”

Not-Nidalee turned away and her next sentence felt far more familiar to Neeko’s ears.

”Follow me, lizard girl,” she told as she assumed the form of a paaka cat in a blur of mystic energy.

Neeko took the form of a pakaa as well, following after Nidalee into a bush of foliage, covering her vision in barely visible darkness.

---

Neeko’s eyes opened in a burst of energy, she recalled her situation quickly and tilted her head up to face at the summoners.

”Did Neeko pass?” She requested, cautiously hopeful.

“Yes, welcome to the League of Legends, Neeko,” The central summoner congratulated.

Joy bloomed in Neeko’s heart. She barely heard the summoners say that they’d have someone except Neeko to her quarters before her trial later in the day.

”Were you listening, Neeko?” They asked her.

Neeko nodded rapidly, exiting out the door and eagerly following the small red creature that guided her through the hallway. She could sense the hearts of so many potential friends. Some were magical, others like her, Vastaya, so many.

There was so much to do. So many people to meet. So many forms for Neeko to take. So many, so many.

This was going to be fun.

Notes:

Sorry for the wait, work was keeping me busy and I don’t think I could use writing fanfiction as an excuse to get out of my shifts.

Anyway. Comments are always welcome, only a few left on this current set. But don’t panic, they’re going to be good ones. I hope.

Chapter 59: The Loose Cannon.

Summary:

In Jinx’s experience, there’s no better cure for boredom than a big explosion.

Despite its name and the colourful host of champions within the walls, the Institute of War was renowned for maintaining a sense of controlled peace over the regions of Valoran. It was not perfect, the political disputes were always present, but mass warfare was held back, and that was a major success.

But peace invites chaos, and there is no one who knows the art of chaos like one devastation enthusiast from the trenches of Zaun.

Jinx skipped through the exploded hole in the wall, brandishing a custom rocket launcher at the colourful cast of characters.

"Alright folks, hands in the air! This is a robbery!" Jinx paused, turning to her launcher almost sheepishly, "Well, yeah, more of an interrogation, if you wanna be all pedantic about it, anyway!" her face snapped back to manic anticipation.

Fizz boldly tossed his golden trident at the intruder, but in a moment of surprising reflexes, Jinx dodged the weapon and fired an electric shot from her sidearm, finding it blocked by Riven's shattered blade. Jinx gasped, her eyes going starry.

"Woah, cool magic stuff!"

Jinx's hand then reached for one of her grenades, also custom made. But before she could pull the pin, a blast of energy dropped her to her knees, sending the un-exploded device clattering on the floor. She whirled around, seeing a shock of pink hair, a blue top hat, and a whole lot of people in purple. 

Jinx lit up, both with manic glee and twisted fondness. The frustration was still there, of course, but this was what she wanted to see. Who she wanted to see.

"Vi, fat hands, my boring big sis! I can't believe you left without a note," Jinx pouted dramatically.

Vi's face was shocked but causal, Caitlyn turned to the people in purple, talking about something Jinx wasn't listening to. Tea and procedures, whatever Piltie folk did in their spare time.

There was another magic sensation, but rather than pain, she just felt tired. She hated feeling tired, so much devastation and fun to be had. But despite her disdain, she soon fell asleep. 

She better not wake up in another cell.

---

Jinx's eyes flickered open, blinking blurriness from her vision as she yawned awake from her desk. Doodles of new guns and gadgets littered the floor and workbench. A couple of toys she found cute were tossed around random places. Fishbones, the lazy bum, was wrapped in a blanket. Pow-Pow was on the work bunch, surrounded by the flame-chomper grenades.

Jinx snatched one of her blueprints for a flamethrower, holding it out for fishbones to see.

"Whaddaya think?"

Fishbones is silent before his lower jaw hinge falls open and Jinx hears a voice. Young, a man, Piltover, she can tell by the accent.

"Jinx, Piltover's resident loose cannon. I'll admit, I was expecting you to show up sooner or later. Albeit, not quite in the fashion you did," He monologues, Jinx rolling her eyes.

People say stuff like that a lot "I expected you; we've been expecting you," Blah, blah, blah...

"Yeah, yeah, what's this all about? Cause a trip down memory lane might hurt you more than me,” she remarked, scrunching up her blueprint and tossing it over her shoulder.

"Tell me, why did you come to the League? What do you desire?"

Jinx blew a raspberry. That was a dumb question.

"What do I desire, hmmm, explosions, colours, fun, a three-layer cake, the usual stuff. If you can give me them, I’m sold.”

There is a chuckle from the stranger. 

"I suspect there is something more that you crave. Let's delve deeper."

Jinx felt another rush, of sleep, she ran over to her drawer, ready to pull out one of her pistols, but by the time she picked it up, all she saw was darkness.

---

Jinx knows where she is. Knows when her mind has been pulled to. Heat clings to her body, young, gangly, weak and desperate. Smoke slithered to her nostrils and lungs. She keeps her eyes closed. She doesn't want to remember. Breathing became hard. 

"Sis? Did you do this?" She asked Jinx.

Jinx blocked her ears. No, she wasn’t listening, she wasn’t listening! She wasn’t here, she wasn’t here!

"Jinx, please. I just want to talk," She says. Jinx hates how hope swelled ever so slightly in her chest. She hates this memory, she doesn’t want to be here.

The smoke began to fall away, the heat cooled down, and Jinx felt relief.

---

Jinx felt safe. She opened her eyes, seeing Vi. Her sister, holding her close. Vi has a bruise on her cheek, something she wore like a badge of honour. Jinx's eyes watched over childish drawings in crayon. They spent so much time with these drawings, dreams. 

Dreams that were now broken.

"Why did you come to the League, Jinx?" Asked a new voice. Jinx's voice shook as she finally forced an answer from her throat.

"To see her..." She croaked out.

Jinx kept hugging Vi, not letting go even as she felt the world around her melt and fade away into nothingness.

---

Caitlyn and Vi wait outside the high council chamber, in differing positions of patience. Caitlyn tinkered with her hextech rifle, ensuring its perfect functionality. Vi rolls her shoulder, a series of cracks. The fighter then sighed.

"I'm surprised you're not seething about them considering inducting Jinx."

"Oh, believe me,  I have my doubts about their bureaucracy. But I'm choosing to look at the big picture. If Jinx is here, she is watched by careful eyes, not causing trouble for both cities. For now, this is a safe idea."

Vi grunts, looking away, uncertainty flickered in her eyes, a rarity.

Uncomfortable silence remained in the outside, before the door was kicked open by Jinx, shocking both enforcers.

"Guess who's a champion?!" Jinx shouted in manic glee, a pair of summoners were behind, motioning her to keep walking. Vi sighed, forcing a steely gaze.

"Hope you like 24-hour surveillance."

Jinx's voice took on a childish affect.

"As long as it's with yoouuuu~"

Vi sighed as she watched Jinx be taken down a corner. This was going to be complicated.

But, a small part of her could be a bit excited about her sister being in her eyesight again.

Notes:

So. Arcane, huh? We’re going to collectively suffer when that comes out. In the meantime. I hope you enjoyed, comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 60: The Fiery Fledgling.

Summary:

Like any child, Smolder wants to experience more of the world.

Summoner Mezzref, Noxian born and a member of the Institute of War, had always had a respect for dragons. So, when there was news of a Camavoran Imperial dragon, spotted in the mountains of Noxus, she volunteered to investigate, with the strict promise not to get distracted like her last trip.

She would vouch for herself, that talking dragon in Ionia was a thrilling conversationalist, but she’d follow the rules.

Her work boots plodded through the mountain cavern, spotting large claw marks scraped against stone, and small carved paintings. Armies, dozens of winged dragons, a cataclysm, and…

“Hey!” Chirped a young voice. Mezzref turned around, her first instinct not being her spells, but the small potion in her left pocket. She soon found that her jumpiness was unwarranted.

Before Mezzref was a young dragon, pre-adolescent, if such an analogy was suitable. Mezzref finally asked the important question of the creature’s name.

”My name’s Ignacarious Gigantareno Rex Le Spes Offerentis,” The dragon child introduces himself, the words quickly said with a strange sense of pride.

Mezzref tried to say it aloud, but found herself tongue tied. It was almost embarrassing for her.

“But, you can call me Smolder. If that’s easier?”

Mezzref agreed, only to hear a dragon’s growl, a much older dragon.

”Oh, my mom’s calling me, you can come meet her!” Smolder offered. 

Mezzref’s legs moved on their own, following the young dragon with restrained excitement, she reminded herself she was technically here on League business, not on a personal investigation.

Smolder flew over to his mother, a hulking imperial dragon with crimson scales and scars from years of wild battle dotting her body and even her face. The summoner looked away, almost out of fear of intruding upon such a delicate moment.

Mezzref cleared her throat, taking a knee to the majestic entity before her. 

”My apologies, majestic creature of flames and claws, I am a representative of the Institute of War, the host of the renowned League of Legends-

”League of Legends? Hey, Shyvana told me about that place!” Smolder chirped up.

Mezzref paused. This dragon knew Shyvana? It must’ve been during her leave of absence from the Institute. She’d been less than forthcoming of her whereabouts during that time. Hardly surprising, she was famously private regarding her personal matters.

”You know Shyvana?” Mezzref asked.

Smolder opened his mouth to speak again, only to be cut off by his mother’s snort of impatience.

”I, uh, don’t think I should tell you.”

Smolder’s mother was clearly growing impatient of Mezzref’s unexplained reason for intruding. 

”Well, in any case, we have heard of you, Smolder. And I, along with the other summoners of the Institute of War, would love to extend an invitation to join the League of Legends.”

Mezzref watched Smolder Berk up, before turning to his mother, he raised a clawed toe.

”One sec.”

Smolder and his mother communicated through smalls growls and chirps, a tongue of the draconic. 

After a moment, Smolder turned back to face Mezzref.

”Okay, she says yes. But she wants to make sure I’m safe.”

Mezzref promised Smolder’s mother that she would be allowed to stay nearby, they have a mountain nearby the Fields of Justice where she can stay. 

The grin on Smolder’s face was infectious.

---

Smolder’s clawed feet almost pranced through the institute. So many new things! A chance to prove himself and to his mom that he wasn’t a hatchling anymore, he could be trusted to fly out and do things!

He crashed into the council chambers, landing with a very impressive flourish of his tail. The woman in the centre of the ring regarded him with a strange sense of amusement.

”I should have suspected Mezzref to bring back a souvenir…”

”I’m not a souvenir, I’m Smolder! A great dragon of incredible lineage!”

“As is customary for any new champion, we must enter your mind to determine your intentions. Are you up to the task?”

”Born ready,” Smolder answered.

A field of magic surrounded Smolder, violet tendrils extending from the bubble and into Smolder’s head, he roared in surprise as his mind was pulled into memory.

---

Smolder was in the middle of a grassy field, the sun was a brilliant golden across the land, and he was alone.

Marinos was too busy to play with him these days, when he was smaller, he’d play all sorts of games.

”Smolder. Son of the imperial dragons. With the many stories of your ancestors, do you seek some of your own?” Spoke a disembodied voice, Smolder tried to smell the source of the voice, but found nothing.

Weird.

”Well, yeah, who wouldn’t want to make some legends?” Smolder replied flippantly, absentmindedly blowing a couple small sparks of fire from his mouth.

Sparks of fire, in a field.

Uh oh.

The field was burning, Smolder shrunk away. It was an accident, he promised! He backed away, bumping into Marinos. His eyes, golden like the sun.

“Marinos! Look, I’m sorry about this, I-I can…”

Smolder trailed off.

”What do you desire, Smolder?” Marinos asked in a voice that was familiar in its tone, all stoic and calm, but with a weird sense of detachment.

”…I, um, want to explore? See the world? Meet people, show people what I can do.”

He gave a nervous chuckle.

”Is that good enough?”

Marinos paused without a word, before nodding with glowing purple eyes.

Weird.

”It suffices. Welcome to the League, Smolder. How did it feel to open your mind?”

Smolder made a sound with his mouth that he was pretty sure conveyed the emotion of “It wasn’t that bad, but I don’t really wanna do it again.”

Soon, white light overtook his vision, and he couldn’t see the flames anymore.

---

When Smolder’s eyes snapped open, he took a moment to calm down and bit down the urge to call for his mother.

He was trying to be cool now. Calling for his mother’s help wasn’t going to make these people think he could be noble and worthy.

“Congratulations, Smolder. While you have no true region to swear loyalty, we will find you a personal quarters to suffice your needs. We will have one of our own escort you, and you  undergo an exhibition trial come tomorrow.”

Smolder flew out of the chamber, crashing into a tall man with golden armour. 

”Whoops, sorry, got too excited…”

Smolder looked at the man he had never seen before.

”No need to apologise,” the armour-man replied before placing his right hand to his upper breastplate.

”I am Jarvan Lightshield, King of Demacia. Who are you?”

”You can call me Smolder, I have another name but it’s super long, you know?”

”You smell weirdly familiar.”

The statement caused the man to stop in place, unsure of what to say. Smolder didn’t know what to say either, quickly excusing himself and continuing to fly down the hall.

He couldn’t wait to show everyone what he could do.

Notes:

Smolder was fun. Comments are always welcome, the next chapter will be the last if the current set, and the next one will, I think, be the last ones of the post retcon gang.

After that? Who knows?

Chapter 61: The Redeemer

Summary:

A match involving Lucian and Thresh ends with a surprise for all audiences.

The magic used in League matches kept the champions from suffering any true damage. It was why Garen’s broadsword didn’t cleave through flesh, why Leona’s solar flames didn’t scorch her opponent’s flesh into cinders. 

But, no precaution is perfect, and while the champions themselves might be kept from damage, their equipment isn’t always as lucky.

Lucian dodged Thresh’s swings, his left relic gun being sent away by the sickle, before firing a powerful blast from his right gun.

The bolt of light magic rocketed into Thresh's lantern, splitting a hole in the cursed glass.

Thresh only had time to snarl in rage before a swarm of undead mist burst out, making a ring around Lucian and blocking away his teammates. The sentinel whirled around with his gun raised and ready. 

The swirling storm of black mist and shrieking souls began to coalesce into a human shape. A woman dressed in black and grey form fitting armour and a white cloak. Black hair tied in dreadlocks to the left of her face, and eyes which glowed an inhuman green.

Lucian recognised her, how couldn't he? This was Senna. His partner in duty, in love and war forevermore. He lowered his weapon, how could he possibly point the barrel at Senna?

No words came out. Thresh slowly stood up to his boots, twirling his chained sickle around while Lucian was still awestruck by Senna’s sudden appearance.

Senna was not as stunned. With an outstretched arm, she summoned a large cannon comprised of relic stones, and fired a blast of light energy from the barrel. It passed through Lucian, and caused Thresh’s sickle to bounce back from his back and into the jailer’s skeletal face with a roar of surprise.

Thresh’s lantern began to piece itself together, swallowing the souls back into itself. In a flash of light and pure instinct, Lucian embraced Senna tightly, refusing to let go even as the rush of souls unsteadied his boots.

Once was painful enough.

---

Once all champions were removed from the field and Lucian reluctantly separated from his wife, Senna was taken to a private room with one of the senior summoners. Senna's mind felt like a dream.

So long in a dark lantern, her soul one amongst countless agonising wails of lost lives, and now she was back. Not alive, she could feel that she wasn't really alive, but she was back.

The sentinel was seated in a cushy chair in some kind of office. The faint smell of cinnamon rolled around the place.

"Is there anything you wish to tell us? Anything from Thresh's lantern?"

Senna paused to think about the question, even now, freedom felt unreal, and she just wanted a moment to adjust. And deal with this splitting headache.

"Nothing yet, it's all a haze.”

The summoner nodded wisely.

”If you would permit me, summoners like us have a spell that allows us to enter your mind. Perhaps we can clear the fog, ever so slightly.”

For a moment, Senna wanted to refuse, she remembered her time in the lantern, the first moments where she could barely hear herself, feel herself as a presence among countless souls. 

“Sure, but only to clear the fog. Don’t go deep into my life, okay?”

”Of course, Ma’am.”

A new headache pulsed in Senna’s skull, before everything in sight became a black blur.

---

Senna walked through the blackened fog, watching it fade to reveal a girl haunted by ghouls. No-one understood why, much less the girl herself. But it made her guarded, focused on duty rather than sociability and her own priorities.

Was it narcissistic to want to hug yourself?

She passed by herself, watching the girl grow, train into a sentinel, and fall in love with a man. A man named Lucian. She could never forget someone like him.

Thresh used that fact to torment both of them.

The man bent a knee, and Senna found herself smiling at the memory.

The next memory didn’t provoke the same sense of joy or nostalgia.

“We’re here,” She heard Lucian comment. 

This was the day her soul was stolen, her essence absorbed into the cursed lantern and tormented by endless screams and wailing that melted into her own voice.

Senna’s gun was heavy in her hands that day. She knew how to use it, but the duty was no less important. Every shot needed to hit its target, the undead needed to be put to rest, to save others and themselves.

The memory of herself slid under Thresh, raising her gun only to find he was gone, until a ghastly sickle pierced her chest, draining her essence and body away even as her hand grabbed Lucian’s own.

Senna shivered, even now, that moment was terrifying in a way she’d never felt before. 

Senna entered a swirling whirlpool of the black mist, meeting with an ethereal woman who glowed a ghostly blue.

She recognised her face, and the slight accent to her words. They knew each other, in whatever way their relationship could be defined.

”You are free,” she spoke. Her garb, what little could be made out besides the spectral aura that encompassed the woman, was noble but not ostentatious. 

“For now. I think I’ll leave you a secret for now until I’m ready to share.”

The ghost nodded her head.

”I trust you, Senna. But, you should know. I felt… a strange presence during your escape. A presence of… desire.”

Senna’s eyes narrowed.

”I’ll investigate, you have my word.”

Isolde nodded and Senna exited out of the soul-storm, staring up at the mental makeshift sky.

”Okay, it’s pieced together. You can let me out now.”

---

Senna’s eyes snapped open, and she saw emerald glowing eyes in the reflection of the glass nearby.

That’d take some time to adjust to.

”So, now that you are, partially recovered, what shall you do? We can arrange transportation, if you so wish?”

Senna wasn’t going to leave. She had work to do.

”I’m going to stick around. Thresh isn’t here for the fun and games. He’s planning something and you’ll need someone to keep a trigger trained on him.”

”Do you believe the League is incapable of defending itself?”

”I believe that bad things can happen when you think everything’s under control.”

Senna held out her right hand, summoning a small pocket of undead energy to collect into a handheld cannon comprised from relic stones, a handy trick she learned from other sentinels in the lantern.

”And I specialise in taking the bad things down.”

A silent stare down occurred between the sentinel and the summoner before the latter relented.

“Understood. In the meantime, we offer you residence in the Institute while you adjust, if you wish to leave afterwards or have any information about coming threats, we only ask you tell us first."

Senna couldn't lie, a place of residence sounded amazing right now.

She exited the room, and spotted Lucian. What happened next was hardly professional. They embraced each other, as if they'd vanish if either of them blinked. When they kissed, it felt like home.

They finally pulled away and Senna tried to shift her voice back into sentinel work mode. The keyword was tried, the bliss of reunion was still tingling through her body.

”Lucian, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Lucian’s face changed to match Senna’s, but his relief at holding his beloved wife was still omnipresent in his posture.

”Go ahead, I’m listening.”

That was all the assurance Senna needed to hear as she began to walk with Lucian.

Notes:

And that's the end of another set, only a few left for the post retcon gang. Then, maybe I'll look back to champions from before who didn't get a judgment, like Annie and Ashe? Maybe, let me know.

Comments are always welcome, see you in… a week? We’ll go with that.

Chapter 62: The Hand of Noxus.

Summary:

To represent Noxus in the League of Legends, an invitation is offered to one of its finest soldiers.

The Trifarix existed as the current governing power of Noxus, dedicated to three pillars of strength: Might, Vision, and Guile.

The pillar of Might was a position held by Darius, a prestigious general in command of the Trifarian legions and a mighty warrior in combat that even the most self confident recruits would hesitate to backtalk. 

And today, mere hours after overseeing the training of new recruits, he had been given a letter, briefly retiring to his quarters to read it in privacy.

Darius opened the envelope, his eyes scanning the letter’s contents.

To Darius of Noxus.

At behest of a fellow Noxian, you have been offered a position as a champion to represent Noxus in the League of Legends.

You have no obligation to accept, but if you decide to, we will arrange an escort to take you to the Institute of War, where our high council will test your worthiness of character.

Sincerely, and with great respect, High Summoner Vessaria.

Darius grunted, setting down the letter at his desk. He didn’t typically have spare time, especially not for something so frivolous as the League of Legends. But if someone had requested his induction, and he had a sneaking suspicion for their identity, it would be foolish not to accept.

But first, he needed to check on the soldiers, at the least, to inform them of the news.

He assembled his gathered legion, catching the hint of bright eyes in a few of his recruits. That would be amended in time. He informed them of his invitation, silencing their muttering with a stern glare, until one of his lieutenants, a former servant girl of a corrupt king, raised her bruised hand.

”Who shall oversee the training in your absence, general?”

”Training shall be overseen by Captain Farron, and he will ensure you do not lose your focus. One way or another, your mettle will be tested. But any true Noxian will survive, and prove their strength!”

The crowd chanted in courageous fashion, before Farron resumed their training with his bellowing voice.

And with that settled, Darius had to prepare for his trip. 

---

Darius’s footsteps were heavy and cold like iron steel. This was another battleground, another place for Noxus to prove strength as the one truth in life. The strong, and many things could be considered as strength, survive and the weak perish.

He marched through the Institute’s halls, reaching a large set of ornate doors. He pushed it open, entering a large circular platform that was overseen by a ring of robed figures.

”Darius, general of Noxus. We are pleased you have chosen to accept our invitation.”

Darius was stern like sharpened steel.

”There is no need for cordial conversation, there is something else you need to do.”

A sigh.

”As straightforward as we’d expect. That is true, we must enter your mind and delve into your motivations. Your desires. If you pass the test, you will have earned a place as a champion of Noxus.”

Darius was already a champion of Noxus. He had earned respect, fear, and many soldiers under his command willing to die for the glory of their nation.

Nevertheless, he would submit to this process. He felt ethereal magic envelop him, pushing into his mind, until he felt like he was dreaming.

---

Darius was in his element, shouting orders to the legions to charge and press the offensive against their enemies. They valiantly fought, severing heads from their shoulders and spilling crimson on the battlefield.

It was all about duty.

Darius’s steel axe split through three foes at once, he whirled around, tossing his axe at a source of footsteps, and as soon as he turned around, the world began to slow and pause like a dream.

One of his soldiers, clad head to toe in obsidian steel, had removed his helmet, exposing an unfamiliar face with short golden hair.

”Darius. The hand of Noxus, the man who has ordered many deaths and caused even more by his own hands. How do you sleep at night?”

”A soldier does what is needed, to judge me proves that you have never been on a battlefield.”

The stranger chuckled, adjusting his posture like a civilian rather than a soldier.

”A true assumption, I haven’t the expanse of blood that coats your hands. But I wonder, what motivates you? Is it self hatred? Fear of losing your purpose?”

Darius did not flinch, he watched the summoner’s index finger rest on his chin.

”Hm, perhaps not. Let’s go a little further back, shall we?”

---

Darius’s body felt lighter, unlike his obsidian steel armour, and he was before an older man. Boram Darkwill. His weapon was supporting his weight, this was clearly during his training.

“You are improving, but you are yet to impress me. Your axe is not simply a tool, it is an extension of your arm. Your devotion to the cause of Noxian ideals.”

Sweat rolled down Darius’s forehead, and he bowed his head, less out of shame and more as a display of loyalty.

”I understand, Grand General.”

Darkwill held out his hand, and Darius surrendered his axe.

”Kneel,” Darkwill commanded of his soldier.

Darius did such and did not flinch when his own blade rested against his cheek.

”Why do you wish to join the League of Legends, Darius?” Boram’s voice was different, it was someone else’s. Swain was speaking now. The current Grand General of Noxus.

Darius immediately knew his answer and spoke it bravely.

”To serve the nation of Noxus.”

”Are there no further desires for your mind?” False-Swain asked, a touch of what seemed like disbelief seeping into his voice.

”Is devotion to my region not respectable enough?” 

A pause, Darius’s axe was pulled back from his cheek, releasing a small cut across his cheek that a crimson ribbon of blood trickled down.

He didn’t mind it, and finally stared Swain in the eyes as the world began to fade into a blinding light.

---

Darius returned to the present moment, his eyes betraying only a flicker of surprise before they narrowed under a warrior’s mask.

”Have I earned your trust?” Darius asked of the summoners.

”You have, warrior of Noxus. Welcome to the League of Legends. We’ll have someone escort you to your quarters. The training room is also free, if you wish to practice before your demonstration session.”

Darius exited the chamber, finding a familiar figure a few feet away. Grand General Swain. His superior looked at him stoically before simply nodding.

”Congratulations on your induction, Darius. I’m certain you’ll do us all proud.”

And with that, he walked away, leaving Darius alone for a moment until another summoner, this one having a different posture than the golden haired man in the memory.

”Would you like to see your quarters?”

”No, I must maintain my skills. Where is the training room?”

”O-oh! Yes, of course, follow me.”

Darius’s axe was ready in his hands to be wielded in service of Noxus. As he told the summoner, it was his duty.

And to a soldier, duty was all that mattered.

Notes:

Here we go, comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 63: The Scorn of The Moon.

Summary:

Diana’s duty as Lunari has many facets.

Diana had learned to enjoy her own company since early childhood. She’d learned to find pleasure in reading scripture alone, writing down all the many questions she had to ask her teachers.

They didn’t provide her with any answers back then. 

Even now, after becoming more than mortal, solitude was a grounding moment for the Lunari figurehead.

Her solitude was short lived, as it often was these days. They had an intruder, a middle aged woman with a shock of lightly greyish hair. Whether from stress or age was of no consequence.

“I’m a Lunari!” The intruder shouted, likely hoping her proclamation would still her aggressors. It had done the opposite.

”False words, she simply wants to spare herself.”

”I’m not lying, well, I’m not a Lunari but I’ve studied your cultures, and I can help, give you protection, in… exchange for something?”

Diana’s voice echoed with her partly divine power, a nice benefit to her lunar blessing. 

“We are not Solari, we do not execute those who are not one of us. Let her speak.”

The woman, who introduced herself as Illana and a summoner of the Institute of War, explained her purpose simply. She wanted to invite Diana to participate as a champion in the grand League of Legends tournament in exchange for glory and protection for the Lunari.

She would take this duty, and represent the Lunari. With luck, they would earn protection from the Solari who still hunted them whenever reason was given.

---

Upon arriving at the Institute of war, a truly grand building that lived up to its prestigious reputation, Diana was led through the hallways to meet with the high summoners. And all the while, her escort explained to her the purpose of this place, rambling like a passionate scholar. It was... nostalgic. She was that once, that passionate learner who always had questions.

"We're here," Her escort chirped, standing aside for Diana to enter through an ornate purple door. Inside was a large circular platform, overseen by hooded figures at their own raised positions. Questions swirled at the back of her mind. How long had these been present, who designed them? What was the reason, safety of a matter of ego? She kept the questions back, simply letting the hooded figures speak. 

"Diana, Aspect of the Moon. We are quite pleased that you accepted our invitation."

Diana took a knee before the summoners, although her fealty was unbreakably sworn to The Lunari Order.

"I accept your offer to join the League of Legends in exchange for protection from the Solari.”

The summoners murmured before they spoke.

”Your demands are understandable, but before we allow you as a champion, we must enter your mind and determine your intentions, and what you desire.”

Despite herself, something stirred within Diana at the mention of desire. Nevertheless? She remained stoic, simply raising her head.

“I understand.”

---

The festival below was in full swing, the dancers with their burning torches made not a single misstep or failing. The students talked amongst themselves, so excited to worship the eclipse.

Diana was far from them, like always. She stood up on the temple roof, staring at the sparkling night sky. It did look quite beautiful, she looked at her hand, her punishment was still yet to fully heal. Anger curled her fingers inward.

"Um, am I interrupting?”

Diana had to be imagining this. There was no way in a thousand moons, where Leona. Golden Child Leona, perfect in all their lessons Leona, would be skipping out of the festival. 

She turned her head away from Leona, feigning a sense of disappointment.

”What are you doing here?”

”I’m trying to find out. Maybe I want to keep you company. Maybe… I want to tell you I’m sorry.”

Even now, she’s just too good.

Diana brushed her hand through her hair.

”Do you want to dance with me?” She asked, although she wasn’t sure why, and she was certain someone would call her out for the local heretic dancing with the Golden Girl.

She didn’t really care. Not now. 

Leona smiled wide and Diana’s heart bubbles in her chest. She was wonderful.

”Not yet,” she answered carefully.

Leona’s eyes were beautiful, like what everyone said the sun was meant to be. Warm, nurturing, not burning, scorching flesh until it was a raw pink.

Leona moved closer, she closed her eyes, and so did Diana. 

---

Diana knew the risks of climbing Mount Targon. Everyone knew the risks, most of all the Rakkor. But her findings were more than just abandoned rumours, they were proof.

And if no-one below would accept them, perhaps she would find vindication from above. 

The moonlight was almost blinding to Diana, she felt its energy washing over her, seeping into her transforming her into not just a believer in the moon’s power, but an embodiment of it in the celestial realm.

And she wasn’t the only one. Leona was here, garbed in armour as gold as an afternoon Sun. Her eyes were almost ablaze with solar fire.

She looked utterly beautiful. Now, she had to understand, in stuttering rambling excitement, Diana told Leona the visions that the mountain had shown her. Visions of worshippers that praised the night, not just the day. People who saw how she did. 

It changed everything.

Most of all, it changed them.

Diana stared into her brown eyes, eyes that made her not feel alone when she was younger, now stare at her like a monster. 

Leona’s words were simple.

”Diana, just let it go, things won’t change, just come back down with me.”

Diana felt like she’d been stabbed. After everything, after climbing this mountain and risking death, after learning the truth from her own lips…

Leona still refused to look past what was told and written in scripture. Diana couldn’t help herself, in a moment of betrayal, she pulled out her curved scimitar and swung.

They fought in a dance of sun and moon, Leona on the defensive, Diana on the offensive, swinging with all her heart and screaming harder than she’d ever done before. Leona was the better fighter, Diana had believed that mainly because she usually skipped the lessons in favour of reading scripture. And yet, maybe it was her rage, maybe it was luck, or maybe Leona just couldn't put her all into the battle, in the end, Diana had her blade resting against Leona's throat.

Her eyes were still brown, but touched with golden light. Why, why did they still her hand? She felt her eyes grew blurry, blinking the tears away as she croaked out questions until all that escaped her were breaths.

”You hold such pain in your heart, Diana. Pain of rejection, abandonment.”

Leona stood up, unaffected by the blade mere inches away from piercing her neck.

”What do you desire?” Spoke Leona. Or, whatever was pretending to be Leona.

”Security for the Lunari. A place to proclaim our faith without being persecuted by those who think us monsters.”

False-Leona began to walk forward, Diana took two steps back, her silver blade glistening.

”Is that all you want? Is there not someone else?”

Diana pointed the edge of her sword at the illusion, her eyes glaring daggers at Leona.

”I have told you my desires of the League, and if you keep pressing, you will regret it.”

She felt the winds pick up, obscuring her vision with a blanket of white snow.

---

“Diana?” Questioned an unfamiliar voice. Diana’s eyes slowly opened and she began to recall her surroundings bit by bit. She was in the Institute of War, meeting the council of summoners, and she went through some kind of test to determine her character.

Right, she was safe. 

“Yes?” Diana answered, listening intently as she was informed that she’d earned her place as a champion in the League.

A small touch of pride swelled, not much, but just enough.

Diana rose up to her feet, bowed her head, and left the chamber.

She needed some time to herself.

Notes:

Ah, Diana, my favourite moon-lesbian.
Comments are always welcome and appreciated. I hope I did her right.

Chapter 64: The Witch Between Worlds.

Summary:

Aurora had always been too curious for her own good.

They’d been walking for a while now, Aurora’s fluffy coat and fur doing its best against the hailstorm. Haestyr trotted along, occasionally huffing in what might be frustration.

Aurora’s eyes were on her notes, scribbling how long it had been since she left the small tribe camp. Two days, she was mostly sure.

Haestyr suddenly stopped in front of Auruda, barely reactoon when his vastayan friend walked straight into his broad body.

”Sorry, Haestyr,” she apologised as she shook snow off herself. After adjusting her glasses, she saw what had snatched Haestyr’s attention.

A large sapphire crystal, protruding from the snow.

How fascinating.

Aurora studied the structure, the sapphire crystal thrummed with energy. She pulled out her trusty notebook, taking notes to sort out the jumble of her thoughts.

“Crystalline structure protruding from the ground, unknown source…”

Aurora sensed magic inside the crystal. She added brackets after unknown source.

”But clearly magic in origin.”

After blocking Haestyr from licking the Crystal, Aurora had to decide what to do.

There were a few options for what she could do now. Option A: Continue on her journey to find the Ice Phoenix, she had a few leads to follow. Option B: Try to awaken the magic in this crystal, magic which could help heal her friend. Or Option C, sleep on it.

Aurora paused, touching the Crystal with her palm, focusing her magic and trying to let the new feeling pass and surge through her. It was like entering a new climate, sensations that were unusual and unexpected.

---

When she opened her eyes, she wasn’t in the winds of the Freljord, she was in a lush field of green, with magic woven and seeping under the ground.

Her bunny ears picked up distant sounds, quick and accelerated footsteps. She hid in a nearby bush, hiding her ears behind her bulky and fluffy hood.

She watched the footsteps slow, a barefoot person with three toes and almost sharp toenails. The toes turned to face Aurora, who tried to keep her breath silent.

”We should push the attack,” growled a bestial voice.

“Anivia will arrive shortly, be patient,” spoke a woman’s voice, low and dryly calm.

The mention of Anivia, one of Ysjarn‘s other names, broke Aurora’s focus on staying hidden and she impulsively hopped out of the bush, exposing herself.

”Did you say Anivia?”

Before Aurora stood two figures: A vastayan with bird-like features dressed in purple and magenta, carrying sharp feathers between her fingers like blades, and a quadruped hunting dog with red eye markings and what looked to be a ring of daggers around its neck. It looked both dangerously primal but cunning of a sentient kind.

In summary: She was in danger. She was in a lot of danger.

She summoned a field of spirit magic, blue like diamonds of ice, she didn’t look back to see if her slowing spell had worked.

Aurora ran from the beast, hearing it cackle and shout taunts with a multitude of howling voices. Eventually, she crashed into a familiarly warm figure.

Ornn betrayed only a hint of surprise at Aurora’s arrival, before grunting.

”You have a habit for appearing out of nowhere, little rabbit.”

Aurora’s ear’s sheepishly twitched as she rubbed the back of her head. Those same ears snapped up as she heard the dogs arrive.

”There you are!” It growled. It was flanked by four smaller dogs, just as ferocious.

”Stay there, Naafiri.”

The beast, Naafiri apparently, seemed amused.

”Ornn, do you know this little rabbit?” She asked. 

“I told my summoner about this. You can hurt her if you want. But is it worth it?”

Naafiri growled, getting right up against Ornn, who betrayed no fear. She then turned around, disappearing into the bush. Aurora gasped in relief, before meeting Ornn’s eyes.

”Stay with me until people come.”

The concept of seeing more people wasn’t very comforting to Aurora. But she trusted Ornn, so she’d follow his instructions. After a few moment, a pair of people on purple robes arrived, asking Aurora to come with them. And after a moment, and a glance to Ornn, she followed their directions.

---

Aurora was taken to, for lack of a better word, an office with a young man dressed in primarily purples and brown. She adjusted her spectacles on her face, mainly for something to do with her hands.

“Care to explain how you arrived here?” He asked gently.

Aurora couldn’t stop her words from fumbling out. She explained her tribe, her magic, her best friend, her encounter with Ornn, everything. Quite literally everything.

”And then I was chased by Naafiri, found Ornn and now I’m here talking to you,” Aurora finally took a breath.

The summoner wrote something down, his eyes lightly widened in surprise and a hint of inspiration.

”You clearly have had quite the journey. You would be well within your rights to return to the Freljord to continue it.” 

He tented his hands over each other.

”However, we have an offer. You clearly possess a skill with spiritual magic. In exchange for representing the Freljord as a champion, we will provide you with access to our expansive libraries and even meetings with the demigods, should they be available for consultation.”

Aurora paused, spying the paper. She needed to think it though.

”Can I have that piece of paper for a moment?” 

The page was slid over, and Aurora wrote a list on it with a pencil.

Benefits of going back to the Freljord:

It lets me continue my search in a familiar setting. 

Downsides:

I’m running out of leads to find the other demigods.

Benefits of taking this offer:

Near guaranteed access to the demigods for my journey.

Comfortable places, new magic to study, libraries.

Ornn is here.

Downsides:

I’m not a fighter.

The possible benefits of the offer outweighed the downsides. With a hum, she made a choice.

”I… accept your offer.”

”In that case, lean back, and allow me to enter your mind. It’s a test we use to determine whether someone is worthy of being a champion. For brevity’s sake, we’ll just do it now.”

Aurora managed to get out an agreement and tried to relax. 

---

The Bryni tribe, Aurora’s tribe, lived in the secluded village of Aamu. In that village, Aurora played with spirits only she could see, occasionally telling others, only to be dismissed as mere imagination.

The home was warm, even with her tribe’s furry bodies, the icy winds of the Freljord was far from comfortable.

Aurora would nestle in front of the hearth-flame, feeling the warmth coat her body. Great Aunt Havu sat in a rustic chair, she was such a great listener. She believed Aurora about her invisible friends, not believing them to be the imaginary creations of a child.

It was silent, save for the crackling fire. Aurora liked that silence, easier to focus herself without a thousand sounds splitting her attention.

”Why do you want to join the League of Legends?” Her aunt suddenly asked.

Aurora paused, why was she being asked that, what was the… wait.

Oh, oh, right, right!

”I want to find the demigods of the Freljord, I was told that the League can assist in that endeavour,” Aurora answered her aunt.

”Why?”

”So I can learn their magic to heal my friend, a spirit, his name is Haestryr. He’s hurting.”

”And what will you do once he is healed?” Havu asked.

“I’ll search for other spirits in need of healing. All over the world, after I return home to tell them I’m alive.”

There was a brief silence, before Aurora watched her aunt straighten up. She was typically a tad hunched from age, seeing her straight up was… a tad strange.

”Welcome to the League, how did it feel to open your mind?”

”Strange,” was Aurora’s response, before she added onto her response, “But…not entirely unwelcome.”

Aurora turned her gaze back to the flame, watching the auburn glow grow brighter until all she saw was white.

---

The sequence of events after her test was effectively a haze. She was told to follow someone to a temporary living quarters, with assurance that they would allow her to personalise it once they have all the induction done.

As soon as she entered the room, she was greeted by a familiar elk-like being. Somehow, someway, Haestyr was waiting for her inside.

Haestyr licked her face, making her laugh. She asked how he’d arrived, only hearing a huff in response.

He was always pretty secretive. Aurora could relate.

From her jacket, she pulled out her trusty notebook. There was so much to be written.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Notes:

She’s cute, so sorry for the wait, I hope it's alright. Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 65: The Eye of the Void.

Summary:

Knowledge is a hard thing to find. But Vel’Koz is quite adept at his study.

Shurima was an empire built atop corpses bruised under countless layers of sand and stone. If one could bury beneath the stone and sand, one could find many things. Corpses, glimmering relics, and perhaps, Things.

Wrong Things. Things that should not be but still are. It is said that seeing such a thing instills this horrific feeling of fear and revulsion.

Summoner Tyla of the League of Legends sees one of such Things studying ruins of a forgotten Ascended. It is large, an Eye floating in a rock-like carapace with three tentacles sprouting from it. Two act like arms, a third almost like a tail from the end.

It speaks to itself, scientifically. Tyla should leave, and so she does. But in a case of spectacular failure, her curved dagger fell from her pocket, clattering on a nearby half submerged stone.

Tyla mutters prayers in Shuriman tongues. It can’t see her, it didn’t, please…

It saw her. Tyla’s running did not provide any relief.

The tentacles pulse into the sides of her temples, and she feels pain she never thought possible. It’s not burning, not bleeding, not physical, it’s something else.

She holds onto her memory. Even as she feels it slip under her grip.

She is Tyla, she is descended from Targon by her father’s side but has always been more at home in the dunes of Shurima. She loves to read and study and she doesn’t want to die. She is-

A summoner of the Institute of War, a grand establishment created to ensure peace among the diverse nations of Valoran. Champions from all across the regions are invited through varying means and varying stipulations, to compete in recreational combat. 

It is a place of cooperation. And knowledge.

Vel’Koz’s eye scanned the body as it began to blacken into ashes. He recorded everything in his memory, how the voice slowly died as its organs atomised, how the twitching begins to stop. 

It is all so wonderfully fascinating, and there is more yet to be done. From the subject’s mind, he has glimpsed the location of this ‘Institute.’

---

Vel’Koz’s form often inspired fear in the minds of sentient beings. Fear made them run, which could at times be irritating, subjects could run away quickly.

His tendrils wrap around a crystal, absorbing the knowledge. Yes, fascinating. A relic from a war long since concluded but not forgotten, images pulsed.

Light blasted into his eye. Light, accursed, irritating, burning light of the living world. So different from the cold nothingness of the Void he was spawned from.

The light came from a young woman, close to being a woman but not quite past being a girl. Sentients did not stay the same, they grew and changed, always becoming more, louder.

Her armour was Demacian, but not of the Dauntless Vanguard ranks. Her abilities are perhaps worthy of study-

More light blasted into him, and he growled, blasting energy of his own, only for it to be blocked by another Sentient, this one a strange hybrid of animal and man with his golden weapon. His tendril wrapped around it, absorbing knowledge.

An ancient weapon crafted centuries ago, a magical conductor for a grand scholar who had become ascended through Shurima’s rituals-

He was interrupted. How… infuriating.

Another Sentient, an old man with a long beard, held out his hands, aglow with strange forces, and surrounded Vel’Koz in a barrier that froze him in place. He could not move, but he could think.

And all he could think was of how much he’d enjoy dissecting these subjects down to their very last atoms. The thought brought him a semblance of peace as he felt himself grow sluggish and eventually still as the dead.

---

When Vel’Koz awakened from his forced upon slumber, the first thing he felt were restraints upon his tendrils. He tried to break them, then he tried to manipulate their consistency to slip through, to no avail.

This place was rather fascinating, Vel’Koz stared at the energy field that blocked him off. He studied it.

Energy dampening magic, makes a prisoner unable to escape. Barely a hint of light passes into the cell, it is familiar. The darkness of the Void. 

Two summoners speak from above, they are distant but not imperceptible. Vel’Koz focuses his attention on their conversation.

It was an argument, which could become useful in Vel’Koz’s eventual escape. He learned much from the conversation.

He would be kept here, released intermittently to act as a competitor in their games of gladiatorial entertainment. There are more like him here, he can sense them. Sense the same essence that birthed them from silence into noise.

“Come now, I’m simply thinking about the large picture, the more of these creatures we have in containment, the less are out there, attacking the innocent.”

”If this falls apart, it will be on your head,” another continued promised with a stony voice, pushing past his company without another word.

A door opened, and a man dressed in long purple clothes soon stood before Vel’Koz.

”I am Kuma, a summoner of the Institute of War. In exchange for your service as a participant of the League, we offer you not just survival, but countless opportunities to learn.”

Vel’Koz could tell this summoner was confident. It made this entertaining, in a sense.

”Your terms are accepted,” he agreed, watching Kuma’s face grow into a grin.

”In that case, welcome to the League of Legends, creature. I’m certain you’ll enjoy your stay.”

Vel’Koz chuckled as he was left alone. The summoner had no conception of what he’d done.

This would be quite fascinating. He would gleam every last atom of information from this place in time.

And then, like all of reality, it would be destroyed.

Notes:

Void champions are fun to write, comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 66: The Heart of the Freljord.

Summary:

Braum will always help someone in need.

The Freljord is a region filled with stories and myths. Grand battles, spiritual deities that shaped the land into what it was, warriors who appeared human but were capable of incredible feats.

Among them all, there was a story that always warmed the hearts of both villager and warrior alike. The tales of Braum. A man with a mighty door he wielded as a shield, who journeyed across the bitter icy lands, saving whoever he could and spreading stories of joyous heroism. One could almost assume he did these out of a sense of ego, to worship his own self.

Such an assumption would be completely and utterly false. Braum embraced the legend and stories that his feats would inspire, not out of arrogance, but out of hope. Hope that his heroism would bring the disparate tribes of the land together.

Today, he had just saved a Freljord child from an avalanche and taken them back to their village, a quaint tribe who kept to themselves out of the conflict between the Avarosans and the Winter’s Claw.

Braum had met with members of both tribes, and could see both the obvious differences between them and also the small similarities. And not just the white hair of the two warmothers.

“I apologise, it’s not much, but you are still owed much for saving my son,” A father told Braum, handing over a warm bowl of soup.

”My friend, seeing a child reunited is all I need to know. Give this to the boy, he will need his strength.”

The man nodded, hurrying off to his son. Braum watched the boy’s face spill with joy, before hearing a woman gasp from behind. He turned to find a woman in heavy furs, a long purple cloak draping down her sides.

“You’re Braum, you’re-you’re real!”

Braum guffawed loudly.

“Indeed, sister, Braum is very real. You have heard my stories?”

”How couldn’t I? Every time I come back here, there’s another one springing up. Oh, this is wonderful, I can barely…”

The woman seemed to remember something and shifted her body posture to be more stoic.

”I am a summoner of the Institute of War, which hosts the grand League of Legends competition. Have you heard of us?”

”On occasion, you employ quite the contestants.”

”We do, and we would like to offer you a place among them.” 

Braum hummed.

”That is a generous offer, friend, but I am unsure if I can accept. I cannot help the people if I am not in the Freljord, you see?”

”I understand, but you will be able to perform your legend on a stage that can be witnessed by many tribes across the land, Avarosans, Winter’s Claw, so many will see the Legend of Braum. And on days when you are not needed, you can return to your home and continue your duties.”

In the face of the proposal, Braum was torn, the offer did have quite a few benefits and would promise his legend a wider reach across the Freljord.

Braum grinned.

”I accept your opportunity, might I tell the tribe?”

“Of course, when you are ready to depart, return here.”

Braum nodded, walking off to deliver the news of his invitation. His jovial and impassioned speech roused cheers from the tribe, from both young and old. And when it was done, he returned to his cloaked companion with a question.

”What is your name?”

The woman smirked.

”All in good time.”

---

Braum had seen incredible things during his acts of heroism, seen the beauty that the Freljord could offer, but this Institute of War had a completely different kind of beauty.

The muscular man marched up the stairs to the Institute of War. This place was quite remarkable, the stories inside, no doubt there were many. He could almost sense the magic in the air.

As he walked up the stone steps before a massive pair of doors, Braum watched as a phrase was written atop the entryway.

’The truest opponent lies within.’

Braum smiled, placed his strong palm on the door, and pushed with barely half of his might.

---

The origin of Braum wasn’t known to all, but to some, there’s a story about a boy larger than many of his age who worked with his mother, wrangling herds of goats.

One day, an army of ice trolls had attacked a rival tribe, a tribe that would often steal herds from Braum’s own. But despite the animosity, Braum’s mother still went down to help them however she could. Firewood, warm clothes, even offering her meals.

When Braum asked why, she simply told him that the Freljord is a family, and that meant to always treat others with care and protect them from the cruelties that others can bring.

”Braum, aren’t you going to come inside?” Asked his mother, an elder woman with a spirit as strong as the hardest ice. Braum could see her icy stare calming even the most infuriated of souls.

His eyes met those of his mother, and saw the mirage it was. This was a memory, and a rather pleasant one.

”You do not need to hide behind my mother’s face, show yourself, friend.”

An exhale of breath.

”Very well.”

In a blink, Braum’s mother was replaced by a young woman with golden-sunlight eyes, the same woman from before, strange. Her hood was pulled down, and she appeared almost sheepish as she asked Braum a question.

”Is this better?” She asked with a steady voice, icy mist exhaling from her nostrils.

”In a sense, come, sit.”

The summoner did so, falling silent.

”This is where you grew up? It’s… quaint.”

Her face turned serious, losing any prior nervousness.

”Why do you want to join the League of Legends, Braum? What do you seek?”

Braum sighed, a serious expression crossing his often joyous visage.

”The people of the Freljord are… divided. They are constantly stealing from one another, tearing apart one another for the cruellest reasons. They forget that the Freljord is a family, and must be united with one another.”

The summoner tilted her head to the left.

”And do you seek to form a tribe of your own?” She asked.

Braum laughed loudly, but not with a single hint of mockery.

”Oh, no, I am not a leader. But I can inspire those who are already. By spreading stories to be believed in, I can bring the tribes together, one by one. Then, I can retire and live as a humble Poro herder.”

”A poro herder? Sounds peaceful.”

”So I have heard. And what of you, my friend? What is your story?”

“That is not a necessary part of this ritual,” The summoner insisted, “All I need to know is whether you are trustworthy to enter the Leahue of Legends.”

Braum stared softly into the eyes of his companion.

”And am I?”

”Your truth is clear, and so you will be accepted as a champion of the Freljord. Welcome to the League of Legends, Braum.”

As the frosty winds began to increase, the summoner spoke again.

”My name is Leshe, by the way.”

”Quite a nice name.”

Braum did not leave his new friend, even as his sight was blanketed by the dauntless white of snow.

---

As Braum’s vision recovered, he found the doors were wide open. And not only that, a small Poro had been waiting inside. It bounced over to him, resting on his shoulder with an adorable chittering sound.

Braum accepted his new guest as he walked into the building.

Marching through the hallways lit by blue-flame torches, he soon met a familiar face. A warrior he helped to calm down through the help of his unbreakable door-shield. 

He couldn’t help himself to call out to his friend.

”Tryndamere, old friend! So this is where you disappeared to!”

Tryndamere, the oathsworn husband of Warmother Ashe, blinked before his face split with recognition. He guffawed, marching up to Braum and squeezing his hand against Braum’s own with a cheer.

”You indomitable mountain of a man, I always figured you’d be here sooner or later! How have you been?”

”I am quite well, what of you and Ashe?”

The two men released their grips.

”We’re alright, she’s off in a match, care for a drink?”

”Do they have goat’s milk?” Braum asked as he walked alongside the barbarian Avarosan.

”Oh, they’ve got everything here, you’ll love it.”

”My friend, I believe you are correct.”

Braum couldn’t wait to share his stories when he returned home.

Notes:

*Braum voice* Yes my friends, Braum is here!”
Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 67: The Hallowed Seamstress.

Summary:

The Shadow Isles is not just a land of ghouls and ghosts.

It was often whispered by those of the Institute that Ram Steed’s obsession over investigating the Shadow Isles and the dark wraiths within was a one way trip to oblivion or worse. The bearded man would often brush away such things, it is impertinent to understand even the most frightening things.

But even he could admit that sometimes, he could get into deep trouble.

Ram Steed opened his eyes, finding no monsters with rotting flesh and wide toothy maws. Instead, he saw a young girl dressed in a frilly dress of blue, black with white accents. Her eyes were two different colours, one blue another pink.

The thing that caught his eyes the most were the giant scissors that rested in her dainty hand. She looked like a fairytale’s protagonist, a child’s dream of grace and friendliness.

”Are you alright?” The girl asked pleasantly, her voice soft and touched by an aristocratic accent.

“Yes, but who are you?”

The girl gasped, placing a gloved palm to her lips.

”Goodness, where are my manners? I am Gwen, it is ever a pleasure to meet you.”

There was a couple groans of the undead monstrosities from behind Gwen. The girl twirled on her foot, holding her scissors like a royal blade.

”Excuse me for a moment.”

Ram watched Gwen dance and defend herself from the onslaught of undead opposition. She cast out mystical sapphire needle and thread to bind them in place but rarely carving through them, only restraining and removing their threats.

A mist that shimmered with blue magic emanated from Gwen’s scissors. The mist surrounded the monsters, and the shambling undead began to stop shrieking, slowly relaxing and fading away with sighs of what seemed to be relief.

”I am Ram Steed, an investigative journalist for the League of Legends.”

”What is that?”

”It is an establishment where we invite the greatest warriors from all across Runeterra to compete in a grand tournament for the entertainment of the world and to prevent mass warfare.”

Gwen’s eyes shimmered with curious delight.

“A place where exceptional people come together? How lovely!”

”It can be, and considering your abilities, I think you deserve a place among them.”

Gwen’s enthusiasm dimmed slightly, becoming more pensive.

”Hmm, I would love that, but this place needs my help.”

”I understand that, but the League of Legends will allow intermittent arrivals, you may return to the Isles along with other regions if you so desire on the days you are not required.”

With the stipulation provided, Gwen’s positivity reignited.

”In that case, I accept your gracious offer, Sir Steed.”

---

Gwen had never seen such a grand sight before, a massive stone establishment, with magic woven in the sigil. Inside the building was even more impressive. She saw a couple people, dressed in lovely unseen before outfits.

Around her, perched on raised platforms were mysterious figures garbed in long purple robes. The clothes were uniform and finely sown.

”Where are you from?”

”Hm, my maker was from a kingdom, it was called Camavor. But I’ve travelled to other places as well, Mister Steed found me on the Shadow Isles.”

The robed figure in the centre, a woman with the aura of experience and grace.

”Camavor? That kingdom is only mentioned in history books, fallen into ruins centuries ago. And, forgive me, but you do not appear that old,” Vessaria commented.

”Well, I only woke up not long ago,” Gwen admitted with the still cheerful smile. The peculiar answer brought with it a pregnant pause of uncertainty.

”In any case, to become a champion of the League of Legends, we must put you through a test of character, determine your desires and intentions.”

Gwen grabbed the sides of her dress, taking a curtsy.

”I accept the challenge.”

”Then relax, Gwen and open your mind to us.”

---

“Oh, this is familiar,” Gwen remarked softly. 

Her surroundings were a luscious forest, golden sunlight peeled through beautifully green trees and flowers. And in the distant loomed a magnificent castle.

Gwen saw a familiar young girl with auburn hair in a braid. In her hands hung a plush doll.

”Are you a princess?” Isolde asked. Gwen smiled, crouching down so they were eye to eye.

”I might be, but I could be a friend too.”

Gwen followed after Isolde and they spoke about dreams. Isolde had dreams of royalty, of luscious balls and a grand prince who knew her name and whispered it like she was the most beautiful woman in the lands.

Gwen remembered the man who would eventually come to an older Isolde, charmed, the games stopped and Gwen was hidden away with childish things, brought out on rare occasional where the seamstress turned queen was alone in her lavish bedroom.

She did not blame her creator. But the man who coaxed Isolde into hiding away the things that brought her joy.

”Why do you want to join the League of Legends?” Asked Isolde with a far different cadence, more mature yet not the woman she became, it was like someone was speaking through her, like she was did for Gwen in their past adventures.

Summoning up her resolve, Gwen gave her answer to the question posed.

”I wish to learn about the world, the world my maker loved so much. And, I feel as if something will soon happen, something I must fight to save others from.”

For a moment, there was silence, until Isolde’s eyes glimmered with purple light.

”Your truth is clear and your motives pure. Welcome to the League of Legends, Gwen.”

Before long, Gwen could feel the forest fading away. Before she was removed from the memory, she wrapped her arms around her young maker.

”This mightn’t be real, but I’ve wanted to do this for some time.”

Young Isolde returned the embrace, and for a moment, Gwen hoped to never leave.

---

Gwen found herself returned to the present moment, standing before the council of summoners. She was given a small speech about what would come next, and how she would have an exhibition to showcase her abilities. But in the meantime, she would be escorted to her temporary quarters.

Gwen had never had quarters before, at least nothing like this. 

The doll-girl skipped alongside her escort, eager to explore this new place. And when danger came, she would protect it and everywhere else that needed her.

For what is the role of a seamstress if not to fix what is damaged?

Notes:

Comments are always welcome and appreciated. Happy almost one year anniversary.

Chapter 68: The Emperor Of The Sands.

Summary:

Azir must proclaim his return, and it is from his descendant that an idea is planted.

The recently resurrected Azir looked over the golden land of Shurima from his imperial balcony.

He had begun the work to unearth his lost empire from the sand, and yet, his reach was not supreme, he was not entirely recognised at the emperor returned to his rightful throne.

He needed a way to proclaim his influence, but not through fear. That would only foster rebellion. He left his balcony, finding his grand-daughter lounging on one of the ornate chairs, a small sack in her left hand.

“Greetings, Sivir, are those the spoils of your… work?” 

That his descendant chose to risk spilling her royal blood as a mercenary and treasure hunter was something that Azir did not entirely understand. But he would at least make the effort to inquire about the career of his descendant.

“Got that right, the League might be tacky, but their prizes are legitimate.”

“The League?” Azir asked, although it came across more like a request for elaboration.

There was a flicker of surprise in Sivir’s eyes before they relaxed to her laidback confidence.

“Right, you’ve been buried for centuries. There’s a cross region event, people from all over the world compete in a tournament. Represent their homeland, get political support…”

Sivir twirled a golden coin between her finger, flicking it in the air before catching it with ease. 

“And shiny prize money.”

Fascinating…

Azir walked closer, his talons clicking against the marble floor.

“How does one… join this League of Legends?”

Sivir narrowed her eyes.

“They find you, or you find them. Strangers in purple and brown, they hide in plain sight, watching for new opportunities. They have a sigil, the size of a large coin.”

Azir nodded, turning around.

”I believe it is time for me to walk amongst the citizens of my empire. Would you like anything from the market?”

Sivir scoffed.

”A grapefruit, if you’d be so kind.”

”Understood.” 

---

Azir heard the chatter as he walked through the marketplace. Awed whispers of if it was really him, how they thought he was dead. Someone made a joke about throwing him bread before she was struck by her partner’s elbow.

He purchased the grapefruit, but his eyes locked into a figure at the furthest stall. He wore a lightweight purple fabric outfit, brown pants that looked fit for traversing the desert landscape, and a golden wrist strap that did not appear Shuriman in origin. Curious.

He saw the sigil, barely peeking from his pocket. Sivir’s voice rung in his head.

“Strangers in purple and brown, they hide in plain sight, watching for new opportunities.”

The man inspected a purchased fruit, but that pride in his own purchase became shock as a tall shadow looked over him. He dropped his bag of purchased items.

”Greetings,” Azir began, “Your emperor has questions for you.”

The man tried to run, but with a motion of his palm, Azir summoned a trio of soldiers from the sand to block his escape. He did not wish for violence.

”Perhaps you misheard me. I know you are a summoner. Enlighten me, how does one join the League of Legends?”

The man gulped, adjusting his glasses.

”W-well, we typically invite potential champions to the Institute of War, where they are put through a test of their resolve and to let us determine if they are worthy.”

A chuckle escaped Azir.

”I would like to undergo such a trial, if you would be so kind.”

”Of course, sir, I mean, Emperor Azir.”

---

The journey to the League of Legends wasn’t very long, in the wide open oasis was an ornate crystal structure that transported Azir and the man who soon introduced himself as Kesvan to the outside of a magnificent establishment building.

It was nothing compared to the Shuriman capital, but it was still impressive.

Azir’s sand soldiers opened the door for him and he marched into the hallways of the Institute. A purple hallway illuminated by blue flame torches led him to a large corridor. 

Xerath hurled bolts of magic energy at his former companion, who summoned up one of his sand soldiers to block the hit.

”I should have expected you would come here,” Xerath seethed, his voice deep and echoing with otherworldly essence.

”Yet you still challenge me. A fool’s errand.”

”I see only one fool before me,” Xerath concluded. Preparing a new blast of energy. This time, Azir was prepared. He slammed his staff on the floor, summoning golden sand to wreath around Azir like serpents.

”Your power is nothing but a mirage, all spectacle, but with nothing else to show!” Azir proclaimed.

Azir’s soldiers surrounded Xerath with their blades out, only for the magus to create a wide burst of energy, reducing them all to the sand from whence they arose from.

”Your toy soldiers are nothing to me!”

Xerath blasted forward, tackling Azir. They fought fiercely against one another, their incredible magic prowess briefly forgotten in their shared antipathy.

Azir blasted Xerath back, and they both locked eyes, ready to charge forward to continue the fight. But in their haste, they forgot that they were not the ones in control of their setting.

A purple flame rose from the floor, keeping the two enemies split from one another.

”That is quite enough,” Spoke a woman’s voice, calm and authoritative.

”This is not your place, summoner!” Xerath shouted.

”As a matter of fact, it is,” the summoner replied stoically. A wordless threat hung in the air, and Xerath's form turned to stare at Azir. 

"It is the slimmest of chances that spares you this day. When we meet again, you won't be so fortunate."

And with that, he floated away, the energy of his spirit still crackling faintly. Azir watched with uncertain emotions before his company hummed thoughtfully.

"I heard tales of your return, read of your rule in the books of history, but to see you in person, this is truly a grand occasion. Come with me, and I'll sort of out your... induction."

Azir was escorted to a secluded room, one filled with shelves of books and items.

”While we would typically perform this ritual in the council chambers, it will be faster for both of us to perform it here, does that sound fair?”

”It does.”

At the summoner’s direction, Azir opened his mind and felt a sensation that approximated a headache.

---

Centuries ago, beginning even before his rise to the position of emperor, Azir was friends with a slave boy. A slave who Azir promised freedom alongside his brothers and sisters.

He knew that simply announcing it immediately upon becoming the emperor would likely cause a civil war among the nation. So he had to play the long game, amass power, favour, loyalty, and then when he was certain of no fallout, he would fulfil his promise.

But on the day of his would-be ascension, the thing that would make his decree unquestionable, Xerath betrayed him, pushing him into the Sun-disc and taking the power of the ascension ritual for himself.

Azir had kept his promise. He had announced the freedom of all Shurima’s servants. He had named Xerath his brother. His ascension would have been the perfect capstone on a grand triumph. A triumph that was to be shared between Azir and his closest friend.

Why? Why did Xerath do it?

“Why do you wish to join the League?”

”To announce my revival to Shuriman land. The people must know of the empire’s renewal.”

Not-Xerath tilted his head. The world cracked apart and reassembled into darkness. Azir laid still in a tomb. But unlike before, he was awake and aware.

”Why do you wish to join the League?” Spoke an older Xerath.

”To redeem my failure. To understand why.”

There was a pause, and through an almost imperceptible crack in the tomb, there was a flash of indigo light.

”Your truth is clear, how did it feel to open your mind to us?”

”Do not do it again,” Azir seethed, suddenly being given the strength.

---

Azir’s eyes snapped open, needing a moment to relax himself. He was not in the tomb. He was awakened. He was alive.

”Will that… be all?” He spoke.

“For now. I’ll inform the other summoners about your induction, you’ll be given a chance to show your abilities soon. But, in the meantime, familiarise yourself with the building.”

Azir nodded, striding away, stopping before he left.

”Where is the library?”

”Down the left hallway, second door.”

Azir gave his thanks, before marching away. If there was anything about Shuriman history, how he was seen as an emperor, this would be the perfect opportunity to avoid repeating history’s mistakes.

He would be the ruler that Shurima deserves.

Notes:

Shurima, your emperor has returned. Apologies for the wait, comments are always welcome.

Chapter 69: The River King.

Summary:

A summoner finds solace in the nearby river. Or more specifically, the figure he finds within.

The summoners of the League of Legends projected an image of calm, that they were only focused on the cooperation between the regions of Valoran. For most of them, the cooperation not just between their champions during the matches but among the varying cultures of their world, was all the rewards they needed for their work as powerful mystics.

Younger summoners, ones who were not old enough to remember the Rune Wars, were not so easily pleased by the long term effects of their work.

Summoner Koma had spent almost a year mastering his craft as a summoner and perfecting the link with his champions, but did he ever get recognised for his talents? No! And if he ever brought up his concerns, the senior summoners and even those with his experience told him to be satisfied by his duty and not whatever hypothetical glory he craved.

He sat on the edge of the outside riverbed, eyes looking out to the horizon. And unknown to him, someone was watching. And in the many waterways all across Runeterra, the same pair of eyes watched the desperate, the people who would just need one lucky break, one magic favour to make it all right.

A wide toothy grin stretched from beneath the stream, remaining unknown to Koma until it introduced itself.

“Why so glum, my friend?” The mouth drawled with an affectation to his voice. The voice was low and rumbling, yet not deterring.

Koma jumped up in surprise, hearing the mouth in the water chuckle.

“Now, now, I ain’t so scary. I’m just a lowly river-folk, here to listen to your problems.”

Koma raised an eyebrow.

“What’s your name?”

The mouth chuckled again, humming thoughtfully.

“Hm, you can call me ‘Ol Tahm. Tell me your woes, I’ve been told I’m a great listener.”

Koma couldn’t tell why, but he felt like his guest was trustworthy. He felt his mouth move, spilling his complaints.

“This League was designed to foster cooperation, and I introduced several champions into its ranks. But I am never respected for my service.”

Tahm hummed.

”Perhaps you need a big win. A great champion to show your mastery,” the River-listener suggested.

”Maybe, but there’s only so many we can find at one time.”

From the river, a contract floated up from the water. The contract was suspiciously not damp in the slightest bit. Koma cautiously picked up the contract, reading it over.

Every word was perfectly eloquent and worded for persuasion. But there was a name written among the fine print, a name written in stories and cautionary tales.

Then, it clicked. Koma jumped away from the river.

”You’re the River King!” He shouted in alarm. Koma dropped the contract back into the river, only for a clawed hand to lift it back out.

”One of my names. But my offer ain’t no less true,” Tahm insisted.

“Simply sign the contract, and I’ll provide you with a champion who’ll give you some attention,” Tahm promised, his voice now touched with hungry impatience.

”What if I don’t?” Koma challenged.

Tahm’s eyes and mouth spun around, now facing upside down.

”Well, you can go back to that fancy building with nothing to show for your little alone time. I mean, if you think that’s best.”

Damn his polite tongue, damn his accursed words that wormed into Koma's heart and pulled his hand forward. Bringing a demon to the League, a demon of deals and greed like Tahm Kench, could only end with violent tragedy.  But... it would be exciting. 

The summoner signed the contract, and almost felt something grasp their heart. Something slimy and cold.

"Pleasure doing business, my friend,” Tahm Kench congratulated, before he rise from the river. A large catfish like demon dressed in a gambler’s finery, “Now, how about you bring me inside?” His sharp toothed grin was at times enticing and predatory.

Leading Tahm Kench into the building, Koma couldn’t feel like he’d made a mistake. But he’d signed the contract, so maybe he could make the best of it.

Make the best of it, until the River King asked for his compensation. 

---

There was always the lovely rush when some unlucky mortal made a deal with him. He could stretch out his time here, see all the delectable morsels he could gamble with.

And he was taken through the hallways, he saw a fellow demon nearby, they locked eyes, and she winked.

His grin grew wider. Greed and Agony in the same place, not to mention whatever gullible would could be lurking around?

This was going to be a lovely meal. A meal fit for the River King.

Notes:

Permission to be immature? Ha, look at the chapter number.
Alright, anyway, I hope you enjoyed, only one chapter left, and I've got a speech planned for her, let me tell you.
Comments are welcome. See you soon

Chapter 70: The Void-Burrower.

Summary:

Another monster finds her way into the League’s crosshairs.

The Great Sai desert of Shurima was a deadly and dangerous place. Animals swarmed the sands, hunting any who crept too close. But there was a creature who defied the natural hierarchy of prey and predator. A monster that could decimate entire colonies of Shuriman citizens. 

A monster from another reality. A realm of desolation and once-silence that now only sought the eradication of reality and all the noise it made. And it wasn't alone, countless of it's brood burrowed through the deserts, bursting from the sand to consume and ravage the living world.

The beasts had no name at first, but the terrified villagers named them the Xer'Sai. And for their Queen, they named her Rek'Sai, the scourge of the desert.

---

As appointed guardians of Valoran, it was only a matter of time until they investigated the monster roaming Shurima. And despite having the broad understanding of what to expect, they could not have anticipated how deadly their enemy would be.

Two summoners, A Shuriman woman named Chahos and a Noxian man named Riliux held the assault against the monster which buried under the sands, flanked by a few desert raiders the former had some old favours to cash in.

The raiders fought, slaying the spawn of the beast, but soon fell before the mother monster’s rage and hunger.

Rek’Sai roared, tearing through the prey with incredible intensity. The contents of their bodies spilled along the sand, soon to be washed away by the winds. Chahos’s eyes widened in pained recognition. A familiar face, perhaps one that smiled at her.

The hesitation almost cost the woman her life at the hands of Rek’Sai’s children. One of the few raiders alive saved her with swings of curved daggers.

”Focus!”

Riliux slammed his hands into the ground, summoning a large field of magic energy around Rek'Sai. The Xer'Sai were destroyed by the bubble when they tried to enter it.

Rek'Sai roared from behind the field of energy. Chahos lashed out with volts of violet electricity, watching with focus how the energy surged under the shell of the beast. And it soon fell silent.

The Shuriman watched the creature’s back rise and fall. It was still breathing. Hopefully, not for much longer.

Riliux grabbed her hand tightly, dispersing the spell without a sound. 

“No, I have another idea.”

---

Upon returning to the Institute of War, capturing their beast and getting some alone time, Chahos and Riliux engaged in an argument while monsters growled just a few stairways down.

“Of all the inane and stupid decisions you’ve thought of, this has to be one of worst ones yet!” Chahos shouted with righteous indignation on her tanned face.

”You are exaggerating, this is for the good of the world,” Riliux replied, remarkably calm. 

The other summoner barked out a mirthless laugh. Chahos had often opposed the introduction of monsters like Cho’Gath or Fiddlesticks into the League, stating it was equal to playing with matches in a straw house.

A single mistake, and everything falls apart.

”For the good of the world? You are taking a brood mother away from her natural habitat. Guess what’s going to start burying through the planet to find their leader?”

”The Institute is protected by incredible magic, if you’ll recall. If anything of the Void tries to infiltrate, they’ll be annihilated before we’d even know.”

The more confident summoner entered down into the lower cell area. This was where they kept the champions too untrustworthy or dangerous to be allowed free range. Void creatures, primal demons and avatars of elemental forces.

”The cells are perfectly reinforced with magic, nothing can break through without our express permission.”

Rek’Sai roared, pulling at the chains around her forelimbs. Metal strained against her flesh and for a moment, it seemed like she’d rip through the chains.

Chahos scoffed.

”Typical Noxian philosophy. Whenever you find something powerful, you can’t help but scheme on how to use it.”

The two summoners stared at each other, neither willing to back down. They were both incredibly stubborn in their positions. A demon in the corner sensed fear and twitched with hunger.

”Perhaps I can be of aid,” a voice warbled and echoed into their ears. Both summoners turned to find Malzahar floating down from above.

Chahos sneered.

”This is a private area, Malzahar and you are not involved in this matter.”

”Oh, of course not, I mean no disrespect. But I have an intuition with these creatures. If you need this one to be docile, I can help.”

Malzahar locked his violet eyes onto the creatures’ head. Rek’Sai’s mandibles stretched and clicked, the same way a human’s mouth would unconsciously widen.

The beast relaxed, still dangerous, but was no longer raging. Not yet, at least. The two summoners turned to their benefactor with different expressions. One thankful, another begrudging.

”Glad to be of service,” Malzahar stated with a bowed head.

As the summoners left, they remained unaware of what Malzahar had implanted into Rek’Sai. The suggestion was not to calm her, it was something far more sinister.

It was a promise. The promise of silence that only the Void can bring.

And on one fateful day known only to those of the abyss, that promise would be fulfilled.

Notes:

*Clasps hands together* So, that’s it, huh? Seventy champions, all those who were released without mention of the Institute of War in their biographies, now blessed with this beautiful what if story?

Now that I’ve completed my mission statement, what now? Should I leave this story be? Should I write for the characters before the retcon who didn’t get a Judgment? I could, and I would likely enjoy it. But do I follow their old bios, or the news ones? And if that’s the case, should I rewrite a few others? I can imagine a few in need of proofreading.

*Death glares at Miss Fortune’s old Judgment.*

But I think I’ll take a brief break to figure it out, you know? And if it turns out that I leave this as it is, remember this:

It’s only the end if you want it to be.

See you around, summoners.

Chapter 71: Institute of War layout.

Summary:

Welcome to the Institute of War.

THIS DOCUMENT IS DESIGNED TO ILLUSTRATE THE LAYOUT OF THE GRAND INSTITUTE OF WAR AND IS NOT TO BE TAMPERED WITH UNLESS ONE WISHES TO FACE CONSEQUENCES.

---

The Outside: 

The Institute of War is a grand building built with obsidian bricks, guarded by incredible magic and a specified security system to impede any would be intruders.

Entering the main entrance leads down into a long corridor lit by torches with blue flames. The corridor leads to the main hall, where a summoner will often meet with new champions and take them to get ‘enlisted.’ 

If a champion is invited personally by a summoner, they will likely have already been arranged their room. (Rooms are detailed on the inner section.)

---

Inner rooms:

The most important room in the Institute is the High Summoner’s chamber. New invitees are to enter this chamber with a summoner to begin their induction as a champion. If an already initiated champion is brought here, it is likely a matter of utmost importance and is not to be interrupted for trivial and foolish reasons.

After being put through the Judgment ritual to determine a potential champion’s worthiness, they are to be taken to the administration to fill out the form to detail their title, allegiance and region of residence.

There are multiple rooms that act as personal quarters for each of the champions. Each region has a wing for themselves, and those who identify with no particular region or faction have a wing as well.

(As a baseline, the room contains a bed, a full length mirror, windows with curtains, and if quested, iconography respective to their region and allegiance. The champions are allowed to customise the room in the ways they see fit, provided they remain within regulation.)

Out from the dorm wings is the cafeteria, where champions can eat meals between matches or other respective. The cafeteria offers cuisine from all across Runeterra and accounts for requests of intolerance.

The lower basement level acts as a prison to house the more untrustworthy champions of the League. Monsters of the Void, ancient demons with no sound of mind, elemental entities and other such threats to Valoran’s stability.

Summoners often patrol the entrance to the basement levels, which can only be entered via key. Most champions are not allowed access unless accompanied by a summoner.

(For prisoners who need food, an experienced summoner is to teleport a plate to their cells. Do not, under any circumstances, open the doors to slide it in. The stains are still on the floor.)

Other rooms in the building include a training/sparring room, a medical room, a communal bathroom, a meditative chamber to act as a calming place, and a trophy chamber that is currently only to be accessed with a summoner accompanied. (The Incident is still not entirely forgiven.)

The meditation chamber is enchanted to be soundproof, for whatever need the subject requires. However, the room is monitored through sorcery, in case of immediate help.

There is a pool room that can be used for leisure, but aquatic based champions will receive first entry. Make sure the pool is free of champions before turning off the lights.

When matches are scheduled, champions are taken to the transporters in a secluded room. The magic will teleport them to the Fields of Justice, where their matches will begin.

---

Outside areas: 

The Institute has a garden area for relaxation. Zyra is only allowed to enter under watch and with her abilities restrained. She might seem docile with the plants and orchids. Do not be deceived.

One is allowed to pick fruit from the tree if they feel so inclined. Please, do not damage the trees.

A roster board will announce the match list of the day, if anyone has any complaints that are worth stating, they can take it up with the coordinator. 

The board also contains motivational posters from volunteering champions, which we will always welcome one to attend.

Details on Summoners Rift in specific is to be found in the Events Portion.

Notes:

Consider this the midpoint between stage one and stage two of this little story.
Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 72: The Boy and his Yeti.

Summary:

Nunu’s mother always told him about heroes. And a champion is a type of hero, possibly.

The Freljord is a land of many things. It is a land of great cold, of tribes and hard living. But amongst them, it is a land of stories. Tales passed through generations. And of all the numerous tribes of its vast lands, It was the nomadic tribe of the Notai who valued stories especially so.

Nunu rested against Willump’s plush and warm fur. He was always so warm, more-so than the fire, impressively.

”Today was a great day, wasn’t it?” Nunu sighed, his gaze turning up to his yeti companion, who made a rumbling huff of agreement. 

They stayed there, Nunu pulled out his flute.

”Do you mind if I play a little song?” 

Nunu blew on his mother’s flute with great skill, a soothing song. Willump hummed in his rumble tones.

”That is quite a lovely tune-

Nunu was a bit ashamed that he threw a snowball at the visitor before asking any questions. Maybe he was a bit on edge?

”Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure if you were a raider.”

The man wiped the snow fragments from his face with a still calm demeanour.

”That, I most certainly am not.”

”Then, who are you? I’m Nunu, this is Willump.”

Willump grunted.

”I am Vaulvys, a summoner of the Institute of War. I’ve heard of your heroism, and would like to offer you two a place as a champion of the League of Legends.”

Nunu’s face split into a wide grin, cheering for a moment before deflating in confusion.

”Um, what’s that?”

Vaulvys sat down.

”That is quite a story, if you have the time.”

Nunu and Willump listened intently as the League of Legends was explained. A grand sporting event with representative participants from all over the world, a grand global stage for anyone who catches the eye of the Summoners.

When all was said and done, the offer extended once more with all the context, the answer was a simply and unified agreement.

---

“Willump? Is it hot for you too?” Nunu panted as they walked through the hallways of the grand building.

Willump sighed, clearly, he felt the heat too. They were escorted by their summoner, who had pulled fins his hood to expose the tattoo on the back of his neck.

Nunu wondered for a moment if he’d look good with something like that. Maybe a cool dragon or a sword? He dismissed the idea for now. He had to be focused.

”I suggest you leave the beast outside.”

Willump growled at the disparaging comment, Nunu agreed with the sentiment, baring his own teeth to much less intimidation.

”Willump stays with me, non-negotiable!” He stated with as authoritative a voice that he could muster. He didn’t want to be mean or too forceful.

His demand, perhaps with the help of Willump’s intimidating visage, was accepted and the two of them entered the chamber of the High Summoners.

“We must put you through a test of will and mental fortitude,” the central figure spoke with a calmly authoritative tone, “We will determine your intentions, your motives and your worthiness to stand among other such champions.”

”We’re up to the challenge!” Nunu proclaimed with a righteous fist pumped into the air.

The robed figures turned towards each other before focusing their gaze onto the Yeti and the Boy. They held out their hands, a field of strange magic energy surrounding Willump and Nunu.

The magic hurt, but soon, the pain faded away like a dream.

---

The Notai were a tribe of nomads, they would never settle in one place for long, making memories in wherever they would find.

The warm wooden caravan rolled across the snowy plains, and in one of its carriages, a boy was nuzzled under warm covers.

Nunu yawned.

”One more story, please?”

Nunu’s mother chuckled, her gentle hand rustling through her son’s messy hair.

”I’m not sure if my little hero is awake enough,” she teased.

”I am…” Nunu yawned, thwarting his point, “Extremely awake.”

Nunu’s mother kissed her son’s forehead.

”What do you want, Nunu?”

His mother’s voice was different, lacking that warmth of the softest home. 

“Um…”

”You want to be a hero. Why is that? Lissandra once held an interest in you, why not follow her guidance?”

Nunu remembered Lissandra, she was, for lack of any better description, cold. She kept asking questions about Layka’s songs, especially one particular song.

”Well, I want to find my mom, I’ve been following her heart-song for a while, but maybe if I get known more, she’ll come back.”

Layka paused, didn’t say a word. Nunu pulled himself out of bed.

”Mom…?” He asked, before being cut off by a smashing force crashing against the caravan.

---

Willump laid, alone in the snow. His kind, the Yeti’s, a once peaceful race of creatures, now gone. Lost to the Ice Witch. Sorrow fought with rage and often the former won over the latter.

”Why do you follow the boy?”

Willump looked around, claws bared, finding no-one. The question was asked again, and Willump remembered his young companion.

Nunu was… kind. Naive, at times, but he was kinder than any other figure Willump could know. He was clever and inspirational. It was Nunu’s magic of imagination, something that even the boy likely didn’t completely understand, that soothed Willump from a beast to a travelling companion.

”I see. You… have faith in Nunu. You know he will soon be tested by great adversity, but will remain by his side regardless.”

Willump nodded in agreement, even though he saw nobody to nod to. The yeti then heard a young gasp. A boy’s gasp.

It was Nunu, shivering, holding his flute. Willump lumbered over, embracing the boy to keep him warm.

Neither of them were really paying attention to the summoner’s statements of their honesty

---

Nunu and Willump returned to the present moment with shared gasps. Well, more of a roar from Willump.

”You two have been found worthy, welcome to the League of Legends.”

Admittedly, Nunu wasn’t entirely listening as the summoners explained what would happen next. He noticed a few words like room, exhibition, matches, rest, and so on.

As they walked down the hallway to what they hoped would be a bedroom, Nunu whispered to his Yeti friend.

”Hey, Willump?”

A hum.

”I love you.”

Willump, in all his Yeti wisdom, patted Nunu’s head with his soft palm. A wordless reinforcement that Willump loved Nunu as well.

That made the boy smile, and that was all the Yeti could need at this moment.

Notes:

Friends and foes and everyone in between, we might be back.
Comments are always welcome and appreciated

Chapter 73: Agony's Embrace.

Summary:

Evelynn's been experimenting for a while, so she knows there's more than one way to get her fill of agony.

From a strand of collected agony to a creature of torture in tempting skin, Evelynn, as she had come to name herself had explored her hunger in all ways. Sometimes she'd enjoy a few meals one after another, quick tortures, but build up the rush. Other times, she'd devote her attention to one subject and drink it all in as she skinned them down to raw flesh.

And, sometimes, on rare occasions where she could afford it, she would play the long game. She'd make her prey trust her, see her as a confidant, someone to whimper and whisper all their secrets, how they've never been understood like this, and one day, one night, when they'd be in her arms, trusting her with heart, soul and body, she would feast.

She remembered one time, a man who had split with his beloved, he was hard to trust a beautiful stranger, but she wore him down with a sweet voice and promises. His face as he felt her lashers dig into his back was positively delicious.

She’d spent some time in Demacia recently, finding a certain prey that she could enjoy the long game with.

It was only yesterday that she learned her name. Juno. She was hard to get under the skin of, but a little bit of attention and remembering her favourites and quirks made the woman surrender and let Evelynn coast a ride to her abode.

Somewhere called the Institute of War.

---

Summoner Juno, born of Demacia and sworn to the Institute of War, was certain this broke some sort of law of the League. The grand building wasn’t to be open to just anyone. Only champions, summoners and necessarily important figures were to be allowed inside.

But Eve was… different. She was warm and soothing. It was just one night. Just one moment between herself and her listener. They couldn’t fault her for being human. They couldn’t, wouldn’t.

Juno turned away from Eve, but her eyes faced the glass of her mirror, and she saw something. A brief moment, she saw Eve’s arm flicker into purple flesh that was inhuman and inherently dark.

Suddenly, things began to line up. How her eyes could subside aggression, how Eve had always asked permission before entering, how the story she told of her past had a small couple of holes in it.

Oh. In a moment of curiosity, Juno used one of her personal enchanted items. She could use it to see magic. And as she peered at Eve, she saw an ancient and dark essence.

This was a terrible mistake. So, quickly compiling her options for further action, she began to run. If she found someone else, another summoner even, maybe Evelynn could be banished from the institute.

The shadows of the night filled the room, some of them were glowing, calling her name.

”Juno.”

”Is something wrong?”

“I know you’re here, honey.”

It was nothing, just taunts, beckoning attempts at ensnaring her back into the demon’s clutches.

”Stay away from me, demon!” Juno shouted, turning her head constantly to avoid any surprises.

”Oh, you know it hurts me when you say that.”

Juno ran harder, before a clawed hand burst out from the darkness, ensnaring over her mouth.

Evelynn clicked her tongue twice.

”I was willing to give you some pleasure before the pain. But you’ve made things difficult.”

Before anything could occur, there was a blast of magic that sent Evelynn sliding back, the energy binding her limbs in magic chains.

High summoner Vessaria stood before the pair of demon and summoner. Her visage was cold like steel.

”Summoner Juno, return to your quarters. I will deal with this demon.”

Juno all but ran away to her quarters, she made sure to lock the door this time and place a magic ward.

She was so close to surrendering herself to Evelynn’s torment.

---

Evelynn awoke to a slight ache in her head. That’d go away soon. The more pressing matter was her current location. 

A dull prison cell of sorts. She’d entertained the sensation once or twice. There’s not a lot of pleasure to build up in people who’ve lost all hope.

She decomposes her physical form into a shadowy wisp, attempting to slip under the door, only to be assaulted by a burning shock that forced her to recoil, reassuming a more demonic form. Her growl was closer to frustration than pain. Pain wasn’t much trouble to something that couldn’t die, but being stuck in this dingy cell was… less than ideal.

Someone was watching. Evelynn contorted herself to her feet, peering out of the eyehole. Hm. A young man, dusty blonde hair. Small scar below the left cheek, from a claw. Just one claw, strangely enough.

"How did you get here?" The man asked.

"One of yours, as it happens. Juno was a sweet girl, but a little jumpy.”

Juno was meant to be the perfect meal of agony, trust built up over weeks to enhance the taste of the woman’s tears. But she’d been too hasty, too confident in Juno’s attraction overtaking her keen eye.

Happens to the best laid plans.

”I will only tell you this once. You are a prisoner of the Institute of War. You are only to leave at our permission, and we will keep you under maximum security. To harm anyone in this building will be punished. Even a demon such as yourself can be hurt.”

Someone is confident. A sign of naïvety.

Evelynn pursed her lips together, humming. Maybe she should play along.

”And, if I follow your rules, what do I get?”

”You misunderstand, demon. This is not a deal or arrangement. You are our prisoner. Good day.”

”Come by anytime, I’m sure I could relax those shoulders.”

Alone once more, Evelynn sighed, leaning against the wall. Well, this wasn’t going how she planned. Juno would likely be off limits unless Evelynn planned it out extraordinarily carefully.

But, from what she knew about this place, it would be filled with people from all across Runeterra, plenty of ways to explore the pleasure and pain. This would be a… studying experience. 

There’s more than one way to get a rush.

Notes:

I really do think Evelynn is a fun character to write.
Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 74: The Armordillo.

Summary:

Shurima has many strange creatures wandering its lands.

But none have inspired such fervour as the Armordillo.

As a summoner, Rizir of Shurima often spent his time looking for potential new indictees for the League. Shurima, with its mythological landscapes and Ascended entities whispering through the ruins of an empire once lost, was one of the more intriguing places. 

As he searched, he came across a small encampment, which seemed in the midst of preparation. Children held small turtle-like dolls, adults watching them race and giggle, the elderly stirring meals of delicious aroma.

A middle aged man with a near infectious passion and bushy black beard noticed Rizir, walking over and asking if he was ‘here for the festival.’

Rizir craned his head.

”A festival? In celebration of what?”

”In celebration of the great armordillo. A mythical creature of grand wisdom and simple life.”

Typically, Rizir would refuse to attend. He was a busy man, a summoner of the League of Legends, he couldn’t afford to be swept into idle festivities.

But beyond being busy, he was also inquisitive. He would attend this festival, for entertainment if nothing else.

---

The festival was adequate. Strange rituals involving beetles, dancing worshippers and sharing tales of supposed sightings of the great Armordillo. All fascinating tales, but likely little more than just that.

Rizir was ready to leave back to the institute, when he caught sight of a young boy exiting his tent. He walked somewhere, where a strangely shaped creature was waiting. Rizir’s heart pulsed, and he raced forward with magic sparking at his fingertips.

But as he called for the child to stand behind him, he recognised the creature, this was the entity that a festival was held for. This was the Armordillo. This was Rammus.

The child slowly turned to Rammus, holding out a small doll created in its (his?) image. The creature studied it before humming.

“Hm. Alright.”

The creature has a green shell and yellow scaly skin. Spikes ran across the spine of its shell. This was a creature of worship? 

The child lit up, before racing off, likely to tell his parents about the sighting. Rizir watched him go, before turning back to Rammus. The creature dropped the doll into his mouth, before curling up into a ball and rolling across the sands like a wheel.

Rizir’s befuddlement was momentary before he used his magic to block Rammus’ escape. The Armordillo crashed against the mystic barrier, bouncing back and unfolding out to land on his stomach. When Rizir teleported closer, he noticed the child’s doll had been expelled from Rammus’ stomach, yet was virtually unharmed or untouched.

What mysteries did this creature hold?

“Can you… understand me?”

”Yeah,” A low voice answered, it wasn’t a growl, just deep.

“Do you… know why they worship you?” Rizir asked.

An uncertain hum. The creature understood words, that made things more manageable, if slightly difficult to parse.

Asking further questions of origin, abilities, species, Rizir began to wonder if Rammus’ vocabulary was comprised of ‘Okay,’ ‘Right’ and ‘Yeah.’

Rizir ran his hand down his face, feeling his light stubble against his fingers. Okay, this was becoming strange and tiresome. But, despite the lack of progress, Rizir did have many more questions.

”Do you know of the League of Legends?”

Rammus tilted his head. He did not know. Rizir sat down.

”I can tell you, if you so wish?”

The Armordillo paused, before nodding.

”Right.”

Rizir explained the history of the League, its status as a way to prevent warfare between regions and an entertaining sporting event for glory and golden prizes. He rambled about the importance of only conscripting the best that Runeterra had to offer, while keeping the matter of demons and monsters under wraps, just in case this creature was some sort of arcane puppet for a crafty sorcerer.

When his tale concluded, Rizir, caught up in the moment, offered Rammus a place among the League. He didn’t know why, what could a creature such as the Armordillo gain from a public platform?

He was about to rescind the offer, before Rammus nodded with a simple word.

”Okay.”

Why that made Rizir laugh, he couldn’t say. But still, maybe this creature had a gift of wisdom after all?

In any case, it was time to return to the Institute. And pray this wouldn’t be seen as an insult to their reputation.

---

The next afternoon, Summoner Rizir was brought before the high council of summoners. He suspected that his secret admittance of Rammus into the League would only be a matter of time until scrutiny reared its ugly head.

”I believe a surprise champion will add some excitement to the matches, don’t you think?” Rizir had stated in his defence.

”This place is for great warriors and to contain potential threats, not for… whatever that thing is.”

Rizir shook his head.

”With all due respect, Rammus has already made a favourable impression amongst other champions. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an example of unity amongst the regions.”

”They nearly destroyed the cafeteria hall, far from something which should be celebrated,” Vessaria dryly recalled. Rizir willed his face to remain like stone rather than let a hint of emotion through.

”I will act as Rammus’ summoner, and accept any and all responsibility for whatever might occur.”

There was grumbling discussion, before a consensus was reached. Rizir would indeed act as the Summoner and supervisor of Rammus however he could. Rizir was then dismissed, with an order to report to them before bringing a champion into the League.

There was an important point in the varying stories of Rammus and his meaning. The superstitious folk of Shurima believed that Rammus was a herald of great change, whether it be something as a ruler resigning to become a desert farmer, or something grand as an Ascended rising from the ground.

To keep such a creature here, would it invite future problems? Rizir paused for a moment, silently contemplating his decision.

He supposed he’d just need to wait and see how his consequences would occur.

Notes:

This was the hardest chapter so far, until I had a lightbulb click. I hope this is alright.

Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 75: The Shield of Valoran.

Summary:

Being The Protector can mean many different things.

Only the bravest souls attempted to climb the mountain of Targon, to reach the peak would be to prove oneself worthy of becoming host for a celestial aspect.

Many have tried to brave the icy winds, the crushing cold and the ever present doubts in the corners of all sentient life, but among all those mortals who had succeeded the climb, there was one man who would act as a guardian to those who climb.

Taric, once a Demacian soldier banished to Mount Targon, had become attuned with the Aspect of the Protector, granted abilities over crystals and gems which he could protrude from the ground with but a swing of his enchanted scepter.

Yet, despite his grand power, Taric’s greatest strength was his compassion and patience. When he would meet an adventurer on the slope of the mountain, he would allow them a moment to catch their breaths, and be rejuvenated by his mystic crystals.

His latest companion was shivering, a burly man covered in furs, yet he shivered like he was completely bare chested. 

“There is no shame in resting, my friend,” Taric offered patiently.

”I… I had a break two hills ago, can’t do another till I can see another body.”

So, they marched up the mountain. Taric tried to maintain an encouraging spirit, even as they passed half buried corpses.

He wanted to ignore the smaller skeletons, try as he might, it always ached his heart when the young ones would climb.

The climber planted his walking assistance staff into the ground, leaning on it for support.

”Alright. We can have a short break. Just while I catch my breath…”

A gentle chuckle escaped Taric, sitting down in the snow and looking down from their travels. By his measure, they had made… about two and a half fifths up the mountain. The brilliant lights of the stars were beautiful as ever.

A large beast with sharp tusks growled at the pair. The adventurer was awash with fear. 

Taric’s gems burst from the mountain, a brilliantly shining barrier against the beast. The Protector held his hand, forming a portal from the largest crystal, walking through to meet the beast on the outside.

”I am not here to harm you.”

The beast lunged at Taric, only to be held back by one hand, the other hand scratching the boar’s fur, turning it from ferocious to docile in a matter of seconds.

The boar roamed away, likely to sleep away the night. A simple yet beautiful life. Yet, in the back of his mind, Taric felt an energy call to him. One of his crystals. A golden star-like shape, now glowing faintly.

An old friend wished to see him.

”Forgive me, my friend, but there is something I must attend to.”

The adventurer shook his head.

”No, you go on, I’ll keep climbing.”

Taric nodded, handing his once companion an amethyst necklace.

”If you wish to return home, simply clutch this to your heart.”

The adventurer nodded and Taric vanished through a portal of crystal magic.

---

Taric’s leather boots pressed against the obsidian stone steps. This place whispered a grand history and purpose for being, Taric could only be curious over whatt would inspire such a creation.

Well, admittedly, he had the right idea. He knew of the Rune Wars, their destruction across Valoran. It was a horrific vision to witness when he reached Targon’s peak all that time ago.

From the devastation came mending, and eventually the institute of war came into being, offering an alternative to war and mass bloodshed in the form of a multi regional combat tournament, performed for the entertainment of the crowd and the varying political interests of the regions.

Taric’s responsibilities as The Protector had left neither time nor whims to investigate the place further, until today.

Taric’s hand pressed on the door, and with the slightest force, it began to open, revealing a corridor lit by torches of blue flame.

Entering the building, Taric was soon greeting a woman with lilac skin, a horn protruding from her forehead and dressed in a wanderer’s garb.

The Protector recognised an old friend. Soraka, a celestial healer and wanderer to the lands of Runeterra. A being from the stars, choosing to dwell among the mortals and help however many she could out of nothing more than love for being whose lives must seem like blinking lights in the grand expanse of time and space.

She was also a lovely conversationalist and tea brewer.

”You wished to speak with me?” Taric asked.

Soraka nodded.

”Among others. Come, I will take you to them.”

Taric was taken to another ornate doorway, Soraka standing aside to let him pass through.

”They requested this ordeal to be undertaken alone. I look forward to greeting you outside.”

The doorway led to a private chamber, looked over by tall platforms occupied by robed summoners.

”Taric, Aspect of The Protector. At Soraka’s request, you have been considered as a champion of The League. But before you can be determined worthy, your intentions and strength of character must be understood.”

Taric nodded. He had braved Mount Targon, he could bravely handle whatever challenges these mystics could bring.

Magic energy surrounded him, pulling into his head like a splitting headache, until the pain subsided and he felt himself fall into memory.

---

The Protector’s eyes opened to reveal himself in a camp in the Demacian forests. There was such beauty in this place…

”Taric?” The voice returned, much clearer.

It was Garen Crownguard. Once a close friend, and above all else a loyal soldier to Demacia. He was a swordsman, an inspiring leader and rallying spirit for the downtrodden.

It was his plea that had granted Taric the means to climb Targon’s peak and achieve enlightenment.

“Taric, are you listening?”

”Yes, Garen. Blade below the waist,” Taric idle recalled, recognising his current uniform.

The knight shook his head with a sigh of fond exasperation.

”Almost. I told you to block below the waist.”

A tremble of embarrassment trickled onto Taric’s cheeks.

”My mistake.”

”You‘ll get there. But… try to remain focused, it could cost you more than simple embarrassment.”

A pat on the shoulder, and Garen began to walk away. Taric tilted his head, something about his old friend was… off.

He followed the elder Crownguard through the camp, pushing past bushes, only to find a familiarly cruel sight. 

A military encampment of Demacian soldiers, the Dauntless Vanguard. Men and women of brave ideals and principles, lay dead on the ground. Their helmets were removed, exposing their faces to Taric. Taric remembered their names. 

He couldn’t forget. 

If he had not left his post, if he had remained dutiful, would they have still been slaughtered? Would he be simply one more body to be buried?

Taric had spent many days of his exile asking that question. His eyes met those of Garen, who was staring at him with wide shock.

”Taric… what did you do?”

In this moment, Taric didn’t feel like one of Targon’s blessed Protectors. He didn’t even feel like a warrior. He felt like a failure.

”I did nothing. And that is my heinous crime.”

Taric held up his arms in surrender.

”I accept whatever punishment the judge will offer.”

Garen drew his blade, reflecting a bright light into Taric’s eyes, blinding him for a moment that stretched on.

And when his eyes opened, he was no longer in Demacia.

---

When Taric’s vision returned, he felt the frozen winds of Mount Targon. He was mere steps from the peak, where an expanse of stars watched down from above. 

A brilliant light shone upon him, yet it did not obscure his gaze.

”Why do you wish to join the League of Legends?” The light asked.

”I sense a calamity is soon to occur. As the Protector, I will offer my strength to safeguard all those who require it.

The light took the form of a celestial entity, ethereal and beautifully otherworldly in all the right ways.

”Welcome, Taric, to the League of Legends,” the entity congratulated, extending out their arm.

Taric smiled, taking the hand gently yet proudly, and soon as the two palms met, brilliant starlight flooded into Taric’s eyes.

---

For the final time, Taric’s eyes bolted open, and after a moment to recall the present moment, he let himself relax into calm pride.

”So, have I proven worthy?”

”Indeed, Taric. We will let you exhibit your abilities in a moment. But in the meantime, feel free to familiarise yourself with the institute. From what we have heard of you, you are quite the explorer at heart.”

Explorer was one of the words Taric would hear used to describe him. He accepted it, and the wordless dismissal.

Exiting the room, The Protector saw Soraka once more. She wore a gentle smile.

”I knew you would prove worthy. Come, I will escort you to the library. There is something you will find rather interesting.”

Taric would typically agree to scour the library for new knowledge, or even to fact check that which he already knew. But, his trial of memory had dislodged a longing in his heart.

”Before that, might I be taken to the training grounds?”

Soraka seemed to understand Taric’s request.

”Certainly.”

Upon reaching the door, Soraka stepped aside.

“I will give you some privacy.”

Entering the training grounds, Taric saw an armoured man with a finely polished and sharp sword, swinging it against a wooden dummy.

Garen Crownguard noticed his old friend, and any tension in his shoulders dropped away like a stone carried away by the river.

”Taric? Is that you?”

A graceful smile couldn’t help but glow on Taric’s face. He descended down the steps, and with a flourish, summoned his crystal scepter. 

“It is, and we have much to discuss. After I win.”

Garen laughed heartily.

”Do you remember what I told you?”

Taric grinned.

”Block below the waist.”

Whether Taric would win this friendly match wasn’t his goal. To simply be in pleasant company and knowing that he would protect others was all he needed to know.

Notes:

I locked in and finished this.
Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 76: The Iron Revenant.

Summary:

A soul is summoned to the Institute of War.

When it came to considering new champions to introduce into the League of Legends, summoners typically considered it a private affair not to be interrupted by champions already present without good reasons.

However, as they discussed the possibility of summoning a Noxian spirit from beyond the mortal plane, Leblanc had taken it upon herself to give her opinion on the matter.

Her face, often so calm and confidently composed, cracked with disbelief.

”Of all the utterly inane and suicidal ideas I have heard in this institution, that you wish to summon… Him, is certainly at the highest peak of foolishness. Do you understand your mistake?"

The summoners stared at Leblanc, some in concern, others annoyed at the interruption. Yet they didn't speak, for whether Leblanc agreed or not, they would attempt to reach Mordekaiser's spirit from beyond.

Leblanc’s grip on her golden staff tightened ever so slightly.

”I wish to make this explicitly clear: Whatever consequences arise from this foolishness are yours alone to suffer.”

Vessaria nodded sagely. 

“Your concern is noted, Leblanc. If it shall ease your misgivings, you may accompany our attempt."

---

Many cultures have their own pictures of the ideal afterlife. For some is a peaceful rest among loved ones. Others it is a glorious hall of celebration.

But for Noxus, to die in battle is the righteous way, the true way to end the pursuit of strength. Sahn-Uzal was a legendary warlord of Noxus' past known for brutality, unyielding drive and conquests that could fill a list. But upon his demise, rather than glory, he saw nothing but a barren afterlife.

Rage filled him, enough rage to draw upon the very energy of the realm, and soon, he had began to shape the realm into the afterlife he viewed he was denied.

He was named once more, Mordekaiser, a name whispered in Noxus by those clever enough to  know that death was only a temporary obstacle to a soul so indomitable.

Mordekaiser felt a voice call to him. Voices of mystics who undoubtedly wished to use him as a brute instrument for their own ends. Such mortal foolishness.

His soul visage grinned as he entered the gateway back into the living realm.

---

The summoners had crafted a personal suit of armour for Mordekaiser’s powerful spirit to inhabit. It was their intention to set up a debt with the once warlord.

In return for bringing him into the living world, the summoners believed that Mordekaiser would be grateful enough to act as a champion in the League of Legends under secret watch.

In all of her many years of life across various names and aliases, Leblanc had never heard of a more foolhardy plan. She had served Sahn Uzal, had seen his cruelty firsthand and experienced his unyielding drive to conquer and dominate all he could witness.

To bring him to the living world, even with the armour’s precautionary enchantments, was an invitation for disaster whether it was immediate or eventual. But to oppose this decision any further than she’d already had might jeopardise her position among the League.

Despite her truly oh so many disagreements, she chose to be present for the summoning of Mordekaiser from the beyond.

She watched the magic gateway to the beyond rip itself into existence, and from that hole came out a spectral essence that groaned and rumbled with domineering resolve.

The spirit floated into the gargantuan suit of iron armour, surging through the metal as it became infused with the physical plane of reality.

Glowing green eyes stared out from the helmet, and a rumbling sigh echoed through the room. Leblanc’s grip tightened.

A summoner walked up with all the confidence of a young man with success polluting his mind.

”Welcome to the world of the living, I’m sure you must be very-

Mordekaiser lunged out, grabbing the summoner by his neck, and a glowing grasp of magic made the flesh of the summoner fade into soul energy. Soul energy that became a mighty morning star weapon.

The summoners blasted him with magic, only for a shockwave of spectral energy to send all but Leblanc against the wall.

Green eyes met the golden of her own, and for the briefest moment in countless decades, Leblanc felt the hint of fear clutch her heart.

It was lucky she’d ensured an illusion clone to take her place while everyone was focused on the ritual. 

Mordekaiser lumbered forward with forceful steps and with near frightening speed, grasped Leblanc’s throat.

”You,” he growled with venom, his voice echoing through the room, “Your treachery is remembered, little witch. Allow me to honour you thusly…”

Magic chains, powerful magic from centuries of study, burst from the ground to restrain Mordekaiser. He struggled and the chains strained under his pure strength.

High Summoner Vessaria entered the room.

”Your attendance is no longer required, Deceiver. I will handle this matter.”

Leblanc nodded, vanishing in a shimmering mass of crystalline glass shards.

Vessaria released the chains with a snap of her fingers, allowing Mordekaiser to rise to his full height, dwarfing her by several feet.

”You think of me an idle tool? A foolish endeavour.”

”Your armour is enchanted, your soul is now bound to it. Should it be destroyed. You shall perish with it. No afterlife, simply black nothingness.”

Mordekaiser betrayed no fear at the threat, his spectral eyes simply narrowed challengingly.

”But, I believe we can work out an arrangement.”

---

Sahn-Uzal sat atop a throne of obsidian, his mighty weapon still stained with the blood of his adversaries. He heard a woman's voice, low and curious, speaking from above. As if the heavens itself were speaking.

”You lived a great life, Sahn-Uzal. By the principles of Noxus, the principles of strength, your name is forever written.”

Uzal grunted.

”What is the point of this?”

”I was curious. But this empire didn't last? Eventually, you fell. Slain after filling countless graves."."

The fortress began to crumble apart as a ghastly wind blasted Uzal back. When his eyes awoke, he could only see aimless fog and ground that felt like dirt left to settle for countless years.

Uzal growled. He recalled his rage at upon the afterlife. He was promised glory for his victories and conquest, not a realm of mist and wailing pathetic spirits.

The rage at his perceived betrayal empowered his spirit, drawing on the foundations of the death-realm to make it his own.

The wailing souls would become obsidian bricks to his fortress. He would sculpt an afterlife worthy of his greatness. And when the task was done, he would find a way to spread his kingdom into the living world, to once again dominate all who had thought him slain.

”This was to be your end, wasn’t it?” Spoke the woman once again.

”It was. But I refused to fade.”

The voice seemed closer now, speaking from the fog rather than above it. 

“It is only fitting that a Noxian soul could defy the afterlife’s nature. Impressed as I am by your tenacity, the League of Legends cannot allow your goals to go unopposed.”

The woman’s lips stretched into a curious grin.

”But, I offer you this: a chance to reignite your name in the hearts of Noxus. There are surely loyalists, descendants of your soldiers who recall your tales.”

Mordekaiser hardly needed protection.

“What do you gain from this arrangement?”

Vessaria slowly walked up to Mordekaiser, staring up at the eyes of death’s dominator.

”A favour. Someday, sometime, I will require your assistance. A simple favour, surely one such as yourself can accept the terms?”

Mordekaiser’s emerald eyes glowed from beneath his helm.

”It is only your words which spare you this day. Cease this illusion.”

In response, Vessaria bowed.

”At once, Mordekaiser.”

---

Returned to the living realm, Mordekaiser noticed a hand reached out to him. An offering to agree on their arrangement.

He did not indulge the summoner, but he did nod.

”It is only your words that spared this place. My generosity is not infinite.”

Vessaria returned her arm to her side as more of the purple robed mystics entered the room. There was panic painted on their faces. 

“Fear not, my colleagues. The Iron Revenant and I have worked out an arrangement. Summoners Rizir and Juno, inform the high summoners of the rituals result. The rest of you, escort Mordekaiser to the Noxian quarters.”

Mordekaiser’s eyes met the golden of Vessaria’s own for a brief moment. This was certainly not his intended return to the realm of the living.

But death had taught him the importance of patience. He would use this opportunity to his advantage, gain favour and place his name into the hearts of loyal soldiers.

Yes. 

In the end, all would soon kneel before the Iron Revenant.

Notes:

I hope that this story was coherent. Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 77: The Eye of Twilight.

Summary:

To uphold tradition, Shen makes a decision outside of his norm.

Shen sat deep in meditation, both to maintain his connection to Ionia’s spiritual roots and to rest his physical body after performing his duty to protect the balance.

The Kinkou order was formed to keep the balance between the spiritual and material realm. They, however, were not to be proactive. They would not take the first step of violence, only employ it to end further imbalance.

They were to prune the trees, not sever the branches. 

Noxus had caused much suffering to Ionia, the destruction that had left screaming scars upon the land, splitting the different cultures into maintaining tradition or taking charge against the aggressors.

Akali, his once student since her childhood, had left the Kinkou Order due to her lost faith in their ways. In her own words: She would not stand idly by, practicing old meditation while the land burns down.

Shen understood, simply wishing her well on her path. And since then, the Kinkou monastery has felt that much emptier.

Hours ago, he was offered a position as a champion to compete in the League of Legends. Though he would not admit it aloud, he had chosen to meditate partly as a way to ruminate on his next decision.

His responsibilities could not afford to vanish from place to place to compete in some entertainment event. And yet, a part of him wanted to accept.

Not out of curiosity, but to represent the Kinkou Order, to state that their tradition remains unbroken by Noxus. 

Shen’s eyes opened, standing from his seated position. He had come to a decision, exiting out from the solace of the chamber to meet with a vastayan dressed in flowing amethyst robes.

”You have decided?”

”I will accept this offer, and request travel to the Institute of War.”

In but a flash of magic and a few arcane words, Shen was gone.

---

Shen’s steps were calm and measured as he followed his escort down the halls of the Institute. For a moment, he wondered if Akali had been approached with the same offer. 

His gaze softened for a second at the possibility but soon returned to neutrality like a long standing tree. There was an important purpose to this decision.

He entered into the chamber, standing before figures on tall platforms in obscuring purple robes.

”The Eye of Twilight. You honour us with your presence. But to become a champion, you must undergo our test of character. You will confront yourself. Your memories. Your actions. What you desire, we will uncover.”

The eye of twilight was unmoved, nodding patiently.

”I understand the parameters.”

---

Fourteen years old with sharpened aim and eager eyes, Akali was an exceptional student when she began her formal training to become the next Fist of Shadow.

With great patience and unorthodox lessons, Shen attempted to rein in Akali’s fire. To think her decisions through rather than acting on her immediate impulse of right and wrong.

They were to maintain balance, not to tip the scales in any one favour.

Akali had grown into a fine warrior, if at times disobedient. As such, Shen held no reservations about answering a question.

"Why do you wish to join the League of Legends?"

"To represent the Kinkou order,” Shen replied stoically. 

Not-Akali raised an eyebrow of curious nigh-amusement.

”There is something else, Shen. We can sense it.”

Akali walked out of the temple. Shen chased, only to be found in a training courtyard during a rainstorm. Master Kusho, face stern yet attentive, greeted him with a nod.

He saw not Akali, but his brother in all but blood. His only competition in the sparring matches, and now a deadly enemy.

Usan stood before him, twirling a wooden sword with proud grace.

”Come, Shen. You were lucky the last time. But not today.”

Shen trained with Usan, blocking and striking, they were almost evenly matched. But eventually, Usan made a wide and reckless swing, leaving himself open.

The weapon was wood, no proper sharp edges, so when Shen swung downward to strike his brother’s head, the last thing he expected to hear was the sound of cutting flesh and a deep cry of pain.

Shen dropped his weapon, running over, shouting to Master Kusho despite himself. He’d lost himself in the memory. Was this a memory?

Usan’s face was bloody, and beneath the scar, Shen saw a glint of silver metal. A helmet. Zed’s helmet. 

”Shen of the Kinkou. With your order’s devotion to tradition, one must ask why you came?” Usan’s voice was at once a familiar tone and a metallic coldness.

Lost for words, Shen stepped back only to freeze at Kusho’s voice. Which lacked any sense of warmth.

”Answer the question, Shen. It is the least Usan is owed.”

Shen’s awareness of his situation surged into his mind, straightening his posture.

”Noxus must know that Ionia has not been broken by its warfare. Our traditions, our spirit, will not be forgotten by their act of terror.”

Usan turned, he had peeled away the scarred skin to expose the full half of the silver helmet. It was un unsettling image. Shen saw half the face of his closest brother and the other half a deadly foe.

”And is there anything else?” He challenge, staring with a golden eye that almost glowed like fire.

”Nothing you care to know,” Shen responded with an edge of impatience. The rain was little more than white noise by now. Usan straightened with no lingering pain, his hands folded behind his back.

A rather uncharacteristic posture.

”Your truth is clear and have been found worthy of the League of Legends.”

Shen, mustering up all his focus, turned his expression into a dispassionate stare.

”I’m honoured by your generosity,” he stated, leaving to the doors and pushing them open as light blasted his eyes and sent him into a blinded haze.

---

Returning to the present moment, Shen’s eyes snapped open, briefly glimpsing into the spiritual realm, before he blinked back to the material reality.

As Shen prepared to leave, he was stopped by the words of the council.

”You should be aware: Your former student is under consideration as a champion. Provided that we find her, of course.”

Shen nodded at the statement, Akali was not easy to find. If she arrived, it would be a pleasant surprise.

But in the meantime, Shen needed some time to himself. To recollect his disposition of calmness that he was holding together with effort.

He needed to meditate.

Notes:

Wow. So sorry for the wait on this one. I was going through a block and it’s also very hot where I am.
Comments are welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 78: Titan of the Depths.

Summary:

The Titan of the Depths has an arrangement.

With the stories of the Bloodharbour Ripper and the Titan of the Depths, not to mention all the half dozen horror tales of Captain’s hanging their enemies against their sails, an outsider would expect that most crews would be more superstitious of taking their ships out to sea.

But Bilgewater had a culture and work to be done, so there were always ships out there, diving to collect treasure, to explore, or to attempt to reap product from a Jaulfish.

From the depths of the ocean, large metal fingers grabbed onto the edge of the ship, rocking it nigh-asunder.

”The ocean demands payment. Ten coins from the captain’s pocket.”

Eyes turned to the captain, who scoffed proudly despite his disadvantages in just about every aspect.

”And what if I refuse this and fire the ship’s cannons?” He boasted with as much confidence that he could muster.

Orange eyes of unknown origin stared into the captain, and an echoing voice replied.

”This ship shall be torn apart, all of you left to drown or be consumed by the beasts below.”

Seconds felt like minutes, the grip on the ship tightened, splintering and cracking along the wood. With the slightest hint of increased pressure, it would begin to break.

The captain ripped a sack of coins from his pocket, spilling a handful of coins into the sea.

”T-there! There’s your payment, now let go of my ship!”

Nautilus’ free hand lifted up the water where the coins had fallen, counting them. Fifteen coins.

He poured five coins back onto the ship deck. Let them scramble over it. If they were smart, they should have learned the lesson that all must know in Bilgewater.

The tithe demands payment. And if not in gold, than in blood. And speaking of payment.

There was somewhere Nautilus needed to be.

---

Nautilus’s booming footsteps crashed against the stairways up to the Institute’s front door. He was far from a delicate walker, and was used to the pressure of the water.

In any case, he stood before the door, his usual gargantuan height being shifted to a more manageable size, although still very intimidating to many.

He read the message on the entryway.

’The truest opponent lies within.’

The Titan paid little mind to the words as he pushed through the doors, soon overcome by  a blast of light.

---

The Titan of the Depths was not always what he is now. Once, he was simply a man. A diver with a gift for collecting treasure even in the deepest depths of the sea.

But no matter all the glittering things he would amass for his crew and captain, Nautilus would always remember to pay the tithe, by flipping a coin into the water to be granted passage through the domain of the Bearded Lady.

His adherence to what many would call superstition had made him the subject of the occasional whispered rumour, but even the outspoken critics could not deny his effort.

But not every captain held that respect for his superstition. And one day, a particularly greedy captain had refused to pay the tithe and had forced him into a deep diving suit said to withstand even the strongest of pressures.

So, when Nautilus had plunged into the ocean to collect the day’s shining treasures, something went wrong. He went deep until he couldn’t see any light, and he felt Something grab his boot.

The tentacles wrapped around his arms and legs, and he could almost see the eyes of a creature.

He finally reached the ocean floor, and through the visor of his suit, he saw a man. Just a man, not dressed in any gear, just a simple worker’s garb. He knew this man.

He was this man. 

“You have felt it, haven’t you? The gaping wounds in the sea?”

Nautilus had heard screams carried across the sea. They were distant and inhuman, but screams nevertheless. Fear was not something Nautilus was victim to anymore.

But it did concern him, in the slightest way. It was why, when a mystic had greeted him on the edge of a dock, he had listened to their spiel about the League of Legends.

He would act as an observer for them, plunge the depths to investigate anything of interest. It was like before, with less of a reward.

Still, the deal was made.

Finally, Nautilus spoke to the vision.

”Yes,” he replied.

His former self offered a hand to help.

”Do you understand your responsibilities to us?”

Arrogance. Nautilus felt a small surge of indignation through whatever was left of his body.

”I have a debt to the depths. Not to you. I assist you, but I am not yours to command.”

A small-half laugh escaped the man.

”Thank you for clarifying. Shall we end this trip down memory lane?”

Nautilus didn’t have time to respond before a tentacle wrapped around him again, pulling him upwards to the light.

The light. The brilliant, shining, burning light of the surface. As soon as he burst from the water, all he could see was white light.

Strange.

A part of him preferred the dark of the sea.

---

Nautilus’ consciousness surged back to his body with a rumbling groan. His memories were a murky place, not something he had much need to dwell on.

The entryway to the League was open. He would likely need to meet with some of the Summoners, so they could handle the… bureaucracy of his induction.

They had their jobs, and he had his. So long as they understood that, this partnership would be sound.

Notes:

I had to take some time to get an idea with this.
Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 79: The Cryophoenix.

Summary:

The winter winds carry many things across the land.

Today, Anivia follows a call from afar.

Anivia, the phoenix of ice and frosted winds, had seen many ages come and pass. She had grown weary of the conflict, far from the battle-hungry attitude of her brother, the fearsome Volibear.

The Avarosans were a welcome new group, dedicated to a goal of peace and uniting the disparate factions of the land under a common banner. One could almost think the Warmother to be naive.

But Anivia had seen Ashe’s eyes and knew the pain beneath. She had earned her favour. 

Recently, the Avarosan Warmother had enlisted as a Freljordian representative in some combat sport named the League of Legends. It was a political decision, to gain favour on a grand stage.

She was not the only war-mother to act in such a manner.

Anivia sensed something. Entities such as her were attuned to the belief of worshippers. The sensation was distant yet powerful.

She lifted herself from her snowy mountain perch, and began to fly across to the source of belief.

---

Ashe, Warmother of the Avarosans, waited outside the entrance of the Institute of War. Her fingers drummed against her upper sleeve in anticipation.

Against reason that Ashe should comprehend, the summoners of the Institute had requested her to act as a conduit to summon the great frost phoenix Anivia to their building, in the hopes to gain her as an ally should any threats from the north attempt to cause strife.

Releasing her grip on her own arm, Anivia’s eyes looked across the sky. She saw something. A bird. No, not just a bird.

It was Her.

Anivia flew a short distance from the ground, Ashe took a knee in deference.

”Frostbringer, great one, I have summoned you with no intention to irritate or disturb you, but there is a request I must ask you to consider.”

Anivia’s voice was ethereal yet undeniably powerful, as beautiful as a glimmering glacier yet could be as terror striking as an avalanche.

”And what is this request, Ashe of the Avarosa?”

Ashe opened her mouth to speak, but as soon as the first word left her lips, she was interrupted by the summoners.

”Well done, Ashe, you’ve done well.”

The archer’s expression betrayed only a hint of annoyance at the sudden intrusion between a mortal and a deity.

”We are the summoners of the League of Legends, powerful mystics who intend to ensure that Runeterra is kept from calamity after the terrors of wars past.”

Anivia tilted her head in curiosity, although perhaps it was closer to surprise.

”If you wish for me to become one of your contestants, participating for the eager entertainment of crowds, I will decline.”

”No, no. We simply ask that you keep an eye on the Freljord. If any turmoil or tension begins to rise, we request that you inform us.”

The idea of being viewed as little more than a messenger was far from pleasing to Anivia. Luckily for the summoners, it was Ashe's silver tongue that tilted the needle towards agreement.

"You are under no obligations, Anivia. But if it will ease your pride, you can inform me first, so that I may inform the summoners."

That sounded slightly more preferable. Better to inform a Freljord leader than act as a messenger to some organisation she had no involvement with.

Anivia finally landed upon the stone entrance to the institute, her form dwarfing the others as her eyes locked directly into those of Ashe.

”Your terms are acceptable. But only the warmother is to contact me, unless the worst has occurred.”

The deal was made, exchanged by a shared nod between mortal and deity. The summoners returned to their institute, leaving the archer and the phoenix alone for a moment.

”There is something brewing in the Freljord. Something dark. I cannot say with certainty, but I will inform what I can.”

Ashe nodded, wise yet curious about the brewing tensions. She was aware of the Winter’s Claw and had experienced the Frostguard. But what Anivia had felt though the cracks in the ice was something else entirely.

A storm that was coming to the Freljord, perhaps even the lands beyond. All Anivia could do was search for greater knowledge.

Notes:

Apologies for the wait, comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 80: The Relentless Storm.

Summary:

When a storm awakens in the Freljord, the Institute must investigate.

In hindsight, perhaps Anivia should have foreseen the many faults in this plan. A surge of spiritual might had recently shook the Freljord, earning the high council’s curiosity. 

A small group of powerful mages, alongside Anivia and Ashe as backup, investigated the sight, only to find something far from friendly.

An awoken deity of Thunder. The Thousand-Pierced Bear. The Bringer of the First Storm. The Destroyer of the White Mountain. 

Valhir.

The Volibear had awoken.

The beast roared at the interlopers, summoning a field of powerful lightning to strike across the land, sending a few summoners to a swift yet powerful demise.

Anivia called out to let her act, flying towards her brother in an attempt at diplomacy.

One swing sent her flying back down into the snow. Curse her brother and his impetuous temper.

Flying up, the Phoenix and the Bear flight with elemental power unseen by mortals. Even Ashe, experienced as she was, couldn’t help but be amazing as sparks and ice filled the air.

Anivia flapped her wings, surrounding Volibear in a ring of ice before landing inside the wall.

"Brother, you must listen!"

Volibear growled.

"I've no interest in words from a coward, sister."

The battle raged on, a screech of powerful magic encasing the Bear of Storms in ice. It would not hold forever, but it was enough time for the remaining summoners to begin their part of this process.

Streams of magic burst from their fingertips, wrapping around Volibear even as he broke free from the ice tomb.

The magic bound against Volibear, straining against his mammoth strength, but with combined assistance of Anivia, eventually, Volibear collapsed into the snow.

Anivia doubted she’d ever felt so exhausted in the last three centuries as she now was.

Ashe raced up to Anivia, kneeling with deference.

”Frost-bringer, are you well?”

”I am… alive, Ashe of the Avarosans. You may return to your people for the time, while my brother is escorted to the institute.”

---

Volibear was once mighty, drinking belief from the lips of countless worshippers and granting them a fraction of his strength to spread the true law of the Freljord: Might dictates survival.

His claws and roars had shaped the primordial ice of the Freljord into the tundra it now was, he had clawed out the eyes of a witch who walked in dreams, he was an unyielding storm.

But, as the warm-bloods began to settle, forming tribes with only the occasional mewl of battle, Volibear’s feast had diminished, soon reducing him into hibernation, to maintain the strength he had once possessed.

They had become soft. Weak. Anivia had not the drive of violence, nor would Volibear’s brother be bothered to leave his forge. 

It was a state of dreamless nothing.

It was the call of bloodshed, for strength, that awoke the slumbering beast.

Volibear recalled it as if it was yesterday. A woman, a chieftain of her tribe, planting her aged yet formidable staff into the snow, praying for the strength against a dozen soldiers in obsidian clad armour.

With a roar withheld for far too long, lightning struck across the interlopers, scattering their broken bodies to be buried under the next blizzard.

Volibear’s grin was sharp yet proud. Yes, he had missed it, but that pride and revitalising brutality was short lived.

He saw them. Lights in the distance, a wooden bridge separating two hills of snow. Warm-bloods had attempted to impose upon nature’s way.

A new roar peeled from his mouth, and the bridge was destroyed in but a crack of thunder and rage.

The tribe bent a knee after such a display, perhaps fearful, perhaps respectful to their deity. Volibear had accepted their prayers, eager to return to the way of the primal Freljord.

”So, this is how you woke up,” spoke a new voice. A man’s voice, unfamiliarly casual in the presence of Volibear.

The bear’s eyes met those of the speaker, who moved as if this were some game for his curiosity.

”I must say, you made quite the impression when we came to meet you. It’s a miracle most of us survived.”

What was this fool talking about-

Wait. Yes. Memories peeled away into Volibear’s consciousness. His most recent battle where his sister had managed to subdue him long enough for the warm-blooded mystics to cast their spells.

Rage propelled him forward, swinging his claws at the figure, intending to cleave right through. Unfortunately, they passed through his body like it wasn’t even present.

“An angry one. I think you’ve rested long enough. Take care.”

With a bow and a flash of light, Volibear’s vision was overcome by white light, he roared, eager to face this illusion head on-

---

“Welcome back, brother,” Anivia’s infuriatingly gentle voice greeted Volibear.

Pushing himself to his feet, Volibear noticed a strange energy between himself and the Phoenix of Frost. He sneered.

”Do you fear what I might do without a barrier to hide yourself?”

Anivia tilted her head.

”You were weaker in our encounter than I recall. Your strength is still returning, I assume?”

”Even in my current state, I could easily fell you.”

”Yet, here I remain.”

Deciding to move on, Volibear cut to the heart of this matter.

”Did your masters expect me to be their servant? Their performing animal? I will not lower myself to such humiliation.”

”For your information, I have an arrangement with the summoners, not a leash and collar. Furthermore, these people offer you a chance to revitalise those in your belief.”

Volibear listened as Anivia explained some entertainment game called “League of Legends,” in which the mightiest warriors from across the lands compete in combat for glory and other such things.

Loathe as it was to admit, Volibear saw the prospect of extending his reach, a proclamation of his return to the Freljord.

It would only be temporary. Until his strength returned to its peak, then he would return home and begin his work to the Freljord.

Anivia nodded, lifting herself off the floor as the barrier faded.

“Thank you for cooperating, dear brother. Take the time to familiarise yourself.”

On his own terms, Volibear exited the chamber, slamming the door behind him. This building reeked of warm-blooded arrogance and soft living.

As his pounding steps rumbled through the walls, he caught sight of a warrior dressed in leather and thick furs. The broken horn of her helmet proclaimed a life of struggle. 

The woman planted her fist on the upper left of her chest, reciting a brief chant of loyalty before continuing on her way.

Volibear grinned. 

Perhaps this place had some worth after all.

Notes:

From one demigod to another, I hope you enjoyed. Comments are welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 81: The Righteous.

Summary:

For Kayle, the League of Legends is not a game. It is a test for her resolve.

Kayle, The Winged Protector, was one of the two sisters that Demacia worshipped in their culture. The iconography of a winged warrior in golden and white armour informed of the kingdom’s sense of justice.

Or, that is how they perceive it.

Kayle had witnessed the darkness of Demacia. The scum who would rip children from their parents out of fear towards magic. That was not justice, it was cowardice.

Were it Kayle’s decision, the guilty would have been wiped from the kingdom with divine fire, but the chance of her sister being caught in the crossfire, no doubt attempting to save some wretch, was not a vision the protector relished.

For honesty, Morgana was the only true tie that kept Kayle from simply leaving the kingdom for Targon, to purge herself of emotionality and becoming an unfeeling embodiment of pure justice.

Sister, how you haunt me.

There was something else. Her sister despite her solitude, had become involved in some bizarre entertainment event known as the ‘League of Legends.’ 

Knowing her soft-hearted sister, it was likely out of charitable curiosity or to assist the downtrodden. 

For completely understandable reasons, Kayle had decided to journey over. She remembered the joy of her first flight.

It was not joy that propelled her now.

Kayle’s metal boots landed outside the grand institute where her sister could be presumed to stay. Behind her helmet, Kayle’s eyes narrowed to read the phrase inscribed upon the door’s archway.

’The truest enemy lies within.’

Kayle could agree with the sentiment, yet pushed the door open with no fear. Justice could not be ruled by doubt or fear.

---

As children, Morgana and Kayle were inseparable as sisters could ever be. Sleeping in separate rooms sounded almost forbidden until they were finally convinced.

Kayle remembered Morgana sneaking into her bedroom once or twice. Kayle hadn’t told a soul, their ‘sister secret.’

“Come on, sister! I saw something!” Young Morgana cheered, racing through the forest ahead of Kayle, who shook her head to be sure she was seeing this correctly.

This… this was a memory, that was all it was.

A memory she played out, chasing after her sister when she heard a small cry of pain. Did she trip again?

”Morgana? Sister? Are you alright?”

She pushed through the foliage, across a narrow log, a bush blocked her sight, and when she pushed through, she saw not her sister with a cut on her knee, but her mother.

Mihira was Targonian, a woman of great knowledge and devotion to what she considered justice. She had ascended while pregnant with her daughters, carrying that celestial energy and transferring a fragment of it to her offspring.

”Why have you come here, Kayle?” Mihira asked, the voice unlike her. A memory inhabited by someone else.

Kayle hardened her childhood features to reflect her adult self.

”To judge this League of Legends for myself.”

Disappointment briefly crossed Mihira’s face, and with a swing of her cloak, Kayle was somewhere else.

---

She was older now, standing in a room with her father, who was reading. When they were young, Kayle and Morgana’s father had fled from Targon to Demacia, out of fear that Mihira’s adherence to her duties would lead her to become something unrecognisable.

If he ever spoke about Mihira, it was in past tense.

“You can put down the book, I know this is some illusion.”

He chuckled in that familiar way that almost relaxed Kayle’s facial muscles. She willed them to stay stoic.

Stay strong, Kayle, this is a mirage, a memory, an illusion. A very convincing illusion but nevertheless one that was not real.

”An illusion? Is that what I am now?”

”It’s what I know you to be. My father is dead, has been for long enough.”

”Whose fault is that, I wonder?” 

Eyes narrowed, Kayle marched up to the fake-father.

”I have had enough of this, what do you want?”

”The more important question is what you want. Why have you come to the League?”

”I answered this before. I want to know what’s so interesting that my once sister would choose to act as a competitor.”

Another look of disappointment. Kayle was getting tired of it. There was a knock at the door, Father opened it.

All Kayle saw was darkness for a moment. 

---

“What did you do?!” Morgana screeched at her sister, holding their father’s body in her arms.

Kayle knew exactly what this was, drawing her sword. She was tired of this, exhausted and ready to burn this institute to the ground once she was freed of this memory.

”Nothing you would understand-

Kayle was cut off as purple chains burst from the ground, dropping her to her knees. The memories hurt more than the chains themselves. Of her sister, sweet Morgana, now fighting her.

”I understand plenty! You preach justice yet extend no compassion! There is only one repentance for you, sister.”

Kayle’s head was tilted up to look eye to eye at her sister.

”Why are you here?”

Kayle fought to give some answer of pursuing justice, to test her abilities, to learn of the scum across the land.

But none of that was the true reason of her visit. It was far simpler.

”To see my sister. Is that what you wanted to hear? Does that please you?”

The sisters stared deeply into one another’s eyes, before Morgana walked to the nearby door. The chains disappeared with a finger snap.

”Your truth is clear and your heart has been found worthy. Tell me, how did it feel to open your mind?”

Kayle grit her teeth.

”Whoever you really are, know that my judgement is without mercy.”

A small chuckle, before Morgana left. Kayle felt the area crack away into light, and she closed her eyes.

---

With a sigh of relief, Kayle’s eyes opened to find the Institute’s doors had accepted her entry. Torches with blue flames lit a wide hallway.

Kayle’s wings lifted her off the ground, carrying her through the hall. She tried to push the memories into the back of her mind. They would not rule her, she would not allow them to control her.

If her sister was so compassionate, she hopefully would not hold a grudge.

Notes:

And that’s the end of this current set. See you all soon for the next one. Comments are always welcome, I hope you enjoyed.

Chapter 82: The Machine Herald.

Summary:

The Glorious Evolution has a strange endorsement.

In Zaun, suffering is nigh unavoidable. The toxic air of The Grey could lead to some nasty scars on the flesh, to the lungs. And if you crossed a Chembaron, some would prefer the ravages of the air to the cruel creativity of a man.

A scientist, once, had seen the suffering that the downtrodden were made to endure under the flimsiest excuses of Progress. 

The scientist had his ideas on how to end the suffering. Emotionality, pain responses, replaced by logic and steel. It felt logical, a theory. 

Not everyone supported the theory, and certainly not his research partner. Jayce Giopara. An arrogant, insufferably bleeding hearted, intellectual yet unwilling to reconsider his own biases man.

Piltover celebrated their hero with a hammer, fighting against the villainous mad machine. Viktor was not bothered. To be bothered was a human error, and he was not human.

He was so much more.

“You… you promise it won’t hurt?” His patient asked. His left arm had been rotted away by the Grey, and the toxins were slowly reaching and climbing up his neck. Under normal circumstance, it would soon reach his cranium,  soon to result in nerve death.

But, Viktor could help. Free the man from the ails of chemical burns.

”It will not, once the anaesthetic takes effect. You seem nervous.”

The patient gulped. Fear. Viktor could see it in the man’s eyes. His form, beautiful steel and carbon fibres, could inspire fear in some.

”Well, uh, I’ve heard stories. About how you abducted people for your experiments-

Viktor’s voice was cold and mechanical, the accent modulated behind his mask.

”That is mere rumour from Piltover’s intellectually inferior. My subjects are always willing, always satisfied. If you seek to leave, you are free. But otherwise, I will administer the anaesthetic.”

Another gulp. But then the patient steeled his expression as much as he could. A fine effort, although nowhere near truly convincing.

“I’m ready.”

But as Viktor was about to start the evolution procedure, there was suddenly an alert siren in his laboratory. Intrusion, perhaps. He administered the anaesthetic to the patient via a breathing mask, letting the male take a deep breath in and slip into unconsciousness.

The Figure was a woman dressed flowing amethyst robes. Her hood was pulled down to expose a scar which ran down her left eye to her cheek. It was an old scar, likely caused from a childhood incident.

The eye could likely be replaced by a prosthetic, and yet this woman kept her uselessly blinded organic eye in the socket/

“Why have you come here?”

”A proposal. My associates have heard many things about you. Your inventions. Your procedures. Your,” her voice deepened theatrically “Glorious Evolution?”

Was this a mockery? An attempt at provocation? Viktor would not be baited by this procedure.

”I am in the middle of a procedure. I am much too busy for whatever proposal you have to offer.”

Turning away, Viktor started to walk back to the still unconscious patient, hearing his guest follow after. His third arm was ready to blast with high frequency energy. Violence was a base instinct to discomfort, but it had the occasional use.

”Of course, just, sleep on it.”

The woman pressed her hand on Viktor’s shoulder. And then took a few steps back. Viktor didn’t notice anything he reached for the lever to begin replacing the man’s skin with steel.

But as he gripped the lever, fatigue began to creep in. How? His form was designed to lack such a weakness.

Slowly, be turned to his guest. His intruder. His voice was slurred, but venomous.

”You… dare…”

”It’s a necessity, Viktor. To test your resolve. Now, sleep.”

When this was over, Viktor was going to improve his security.

---

Viktor could hear gears turning against one another. His eyes flickered open, finding himself…

Younger, to be exact. He was all flesh and bones, the only metal on his form being the leg brace.

He was in a laboratory. A rather messy one, to be honest. Theories scribbled on the board, blueprints tossed into an overflowing pile, notes sticking to the walls.

This was his and Jayce‘s lab. Where they first worked together. Viktor had preferred his solitude, but Giopara was doggedly persistent. Arrogant, but he craved sometime who could match him back and forth in the realms of science.

Viktor was that equal. He was more than equal. Superior, seeing what Jayce never could beyond his childlike craving for adulation.

”Good, you’re awake. Listen, I got to work on a new theory. Some kind of power repository.”

Viktor wasn’t what anyone would call physically intimidating. But even he knew how much force a wrench slammed against someone’s face would cause.

Teeth flew from Jayce’s mouth. Blood dripping. Viktor had to admit, it had a primal sense of…satisfaction.

”Viktor, what are you-

“I know this is a false construct. Show your true face.”

False-Jayce rubbed his mouth before straightening up, speaking with a voice that overlapped with a woman’s own.

”Very well. What do you desire? All these inventions, your disgrace from the City of Progress, what is it all for?”

Viktor, still running from the primal adrenaline of violence, was in no mood to trade words with a woman who had forced him to relive memories he despised.

”For my curiosity. Does that satisfy?”

Like a remote controlled toy, Jayce walked over to an unfinished invention. A theoretical limitless power source, his hand brushed the knob.

”Hm, not yet. But this does…”

The knobs were turned to the highest level, releasing a blast of brilliant light that almost felt like it burned.

---

Orange lenses of his first prototype armour greeted Viktor’s vision. It was a draft, a test. Not advanced as it could be. Looking back, the cape was a tad much.

A gasp. Ah, he remembered now. This was his first procedure on a living subject. She craves the certainty of steel.

”Look at her. She was the first, I assume? A desperate woman, looking for survival, coming to you.”

Staring with an expression of disdain, she brushed the subject’s sleeping face.

”She asks for aid and becomes your experiment-

Steel hands gripped the woman’s throat. Viktor knew exactly how much force it would take to crush this figure’s windpipe. It would be a messy death.

”I have endured your eccentricity to now, but to disparage my work as mere mad science is a swift way to earn my displeasure.”

It was almost satisfying, seeing the proud mystic with a face twisted in pain. Viktor let her drop to the floor.

”Take me away from here.”

The woman coughed, clutching her throat.

”Very well. Perhaps I had touched a raw nerve.”

A strong fog spilled into the room, filling Viktor’s vision.

---

Viktor was returned to the present reality, with the woman from before now standing straight but rubbing her throat.

”Ask me your question and I shall answer.”

The woman who had caused this debacle appears like a mirage. Once nothing, now fading into view.

”Very well. What do you desire?”

”I desire to improve humanity. They suffer the ravages of Zaun’s disease, and yet all who attempt to assist see a picture too small. I see what must be done. Pain must be eliminated. If you think me mad, it proves your lack of vision.”

Viktor held out his palm, steel and unbreakable.

”I seek the Glorious Evolution.”

His guest studied him up and down.

”You are found honest. Now, here’s my offer which I shall say again. The League of Legends offers you a place of residence and research, of which you may return to Zaun at any time you are permissible. In return, you shall act as a representative for Zaun in the games.”

Now that the adrenaline had started to run down, Viktor could think clearly. If he was being entirely honest, his work had a bad habit of… interruption. If it wasn’t from Jayce and his ego chase, it was from Sheriff Kiramman and her enforcers. His procedures and laboratories were too valuable to be constantly made into a battlefield.

”Understand this. I accept your terms, but only on the grounds of my benefit. I require one day of preparation, then I shall embark to this Institute you speak so highly of.”

Nodding, The summoner seemed pleased with the agreement.

”Until we meet again.”

The woman who had caused this debacle faded like a mirage. Once there, and in a flash she was gone. Save for a letter.

The letter provided a set of directions and a meeting point. He filed it away to be dealt with later.

There was still work to be done.

Notes:

Sorry for the wait. Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 83: Fury of the North.

Summary:

The Warmother of the Winter’s Claw refuses to let a soft hearted archer to represent their lands.

Messengers were not rare sights in the Freljord, in such a large land with so many disparate tribes and camps, one must always be aware of the potential for danger. But this messenger was not of any tribe.

He had introduced himself as a Summoner, a representative for the Institute of War and his purpose was to deliver an invitation to Sejuani, Warmother of the Winter’s Claw.

An invitation to join the League of Legends; a sporting event for the greatest warriors from all across the world to compete for glory and their ambitions.

”As I can attest, Ashe has already accepted her request, but we thought it wise to include others.”

Stroking Bristle’s fur, Sejuani listened to the man’s pleas. He was verbose and perhaps slightly worried.

Worry was a sign of weakness, but in this case made sense for an outsider.

Ashe, Warmother of the Avarosan Tribe, could not be allowed to represent the whole of the Freljord. Her soft heart and platitudes of unity were not the truth of their home.

The Freljord was hardship and struggle. To survive, you must have bones like steel and a heart like stone for your enemies. Death looms every day and you will meet it every day with a snarl and a swing of your weapons.

Sejuani would accept this request and travel to the League of Legends. Udyr, the spirit guide of the Winter’s Claw, met with her before she left, wishing her safe travels.

The warrior grinned as she hoisted herself to ride Bristle, her mighty boar steed.

”Perhaps you will be requested next.”

The spirit-walker snorted with strange amusement.

”Olaf is more likely, should he return from his latest beast hunt.”

---

Bristle’s hooves echoed heavily through the Institute’s halls. He couldn’t smell anything of the Freljord’s familiar harshness. Sejuani understood the discomfort but kept her eyes focused on the summoner who led them to a large ornate door.

“Keep your beast outside.”

Sejuani’s eyes glared daggers into the escort.

”Are you afraid?” She challenged, studying the man’s body. He mightn’t last a winter of the Freljord.

”I am Sejuani of the Winter’s Claw, here to represent the Freljord in the League of Legends, as you requested of me.”

The summoners paused, looking and murmuring among themselves.

”Forgive us, but you were invited to represent the Freljord alongside others, not by your lonesome.”

”I represent the truth of the Freljord. The harshness and the strength it takes to survive it. Ashe is weak hearted.”

”Very well, Sejuani of the Winter’s Claw. We shall put you through a test of your resolve. We will learn of your reasons, your doubts, and determine whether you are worthy of this privilege.”

A test of her resolve? The thought made Sejuani scoff. Her resolve was stronger than her armour. Let them test her, and let her surpass their expectations.

A field of strange magic surrounded the Warmother, tendrils shooting into her helmet, through it to reach her temples. The pain was new, and her eyes were overcome by light.

---

Sejuani felt a familiar warmth in her bones that was offset by the scent of mead which made her nose wrinkle.

Her grandmother, the long fur coat draped her shoulders, lectured with a sternly slurred tone.

“Stupid girl, those raiders could’ve killed you,” her mother took a long gulp from her mug, “If only I could be so lucky…” 

Sejuani tried to pretend she hadn’t heard that last drunken murmur and steeled her expression, marching towards her grandmother while pounding her fist over where her heart was.

“I fought with all my strength and brought several men and women to their demise! While you were here, hiding-

A stinging pain struck her cheek. Her hand reached up to cover the new bruise. A bruise caused not by a weapon or a foe, but by her would be nurturer.

“Bullheaded runt! Now they’ll swear vengeance on this tribe, costing several of our lives! You never think, never!”

Sejuani forced back tears, storming out of the home into the camp. No matter how hard she tried, it was never good enough for her grandmother. And no matter how fiercely she snarled or fought against her enemies, she always felt so small before her grandmother.

She slumped in front of the campfire, trying to let the fire’s warmth wash away the sting on her cheek.

”Sejuani.”

Knowing exactly what expression Ashe would be wearing, Sejuani refused to look.

”It happened again, didn’t it?”

Sejuani didn’t want to deal with this. Deal with Ashe, deal with anyone or anything right now. She stood to her feet, grabbing a leftover axe before walking off with no destination.

As she walked, her ears noticed voices. No, not voices. It was one voice, growing older. A shrill child, a curious adolescent, then someone between adolescence and maturity.

”Sejuani!” The woman screeched. Sejuani finally turned around to find a burning village. Ashe was glaring at her with wide eyes of pure disbelief.

Soft. As always. This tribe was one of their aggressors, stealing their food and slaying their warriors. They were deserving to be burned, to have their warriors return to find their loved ones scorched and destroyed.

Two woman who once called one another as Battlesister fought. Ashe was nimble and swift, but Sejuani was mighty, charging her shoulder into Ashe’s nose.

An archer was no good at close range.

Red stained the snow as they wrestled one another. A glint of silver, raised high and brought down into-

Ashe was bleeding from her throat now. What, no. No, this wasn’t.

Ashe reached out, Sejuani turned away, walking away as her mind raced.

And then, Ashe spoke. But it wasn’t really her. The cadence, the softness, it was gone.

”You want to kill her? Is this all your reason for joining?”

In a moment, Sejauni remembered herself. This was a memory. She wasn’t an almost woman, wrestling her once friend in the snow among crackling fires, she was Warmother. She was mighty.

”No. I join the League of Legends to represent the Winter’s Claw. We are the truth of the Freljord; the strength it takes to live in her harsh embrace.”

Sejuani planted her fist on her upper left breastplate.

”That is what I am here for. This falsehood will not stir me.”

Walking back over to the fake-Ashe, the Warmother of the Winter’s Claw had eyes like unbreakable ice.

”Look into my eyes, and tell me that I lie.”

The moment passed by like eternity, before the imitator blinked. Victory.

”You speak truth, and have been found worthy. How did it feel to open your mind?”

Sejuani forced a grin, tearing out the knife from the fake-Ashe’s throat.

”The real Ashe would have put up a better fight.”

Sejuani walked into the blizzard, the blurring snow filling her vision until the only thing she could see was the blistering white.

---

“Sejuani?”

The Warmother’s eyes snapped open, taking a moment to reacquaint herself with the present experience.

”I trust I have passed your expectations?”

”Correct. A summoner will escort you to your quarters. Worry not, your… steed will have room to join you.”

There was not a world in which Sejuani would accept another option for Bristle.

Exiting the chambers, Sejuani found her Drüvask companion waiting, his head resting on the floor. He awoke upon the scent of his rider, letting him ran her hand through his fur, so often matted with blood and snow.

”Come, Bristle. Our guests are to escort us.”

Perhaps, this place would have some entertainment to offer her. Olaf would likely enjoy the combat, should he be invited.

Notes:

Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 84: The Frost Archer.

Summary:

The Warmother of the Avarosans receives an invitation.

When the League of Legends first began its development, enlisting influential champions to represent their factions and allegiances, The Freljord was a difficult subject.

It was not a land like Demacia or Noxus, with a unified culture and leader. It was a place of icy mountains and frost, countless tribes among the snow with all different perspectives on what was the ‘right’ way to live.

Among the disparate groups, there were three that were said to be the most powerful, or at least the most known. The elusive and mysterious Frost-Guard, the brutal and deadly Winter’s Claw, and the diplomatic Avarosans.

The Avarosans were led by their Warmother, Ashe. Ashe was raised by her mother, who while commanding incredible leadership had her obsessions with myth and tales.

It was not just her blood and spirit which ignited and earned her the position of leadership, but her weapon. A bow made of incredible powerful True Ice, that only the strongest Iceborn can dare to wield without frostbite.

Ashe let her arrow fly, hitting the target perfectly in the middle of the mark. It was expected, she must keep her skills sharp. For as desperately she longed for a unified Freljord no longer torn by battle, Ashe was not so naive to forget her training.

“Warmother! A message for you!”

Ashe turned to meet one of her clansmen, he was a tall man, slightly higher than her with a long braided beard. In his hand was an envelope, the parchment looked refined.

Like that one Demacian woman with the azure bird. Was this a message of aid?

Gently taking the letter, Ashe read it to herself.

To Ashe of the Freljord, Warmother of The Avarosans.

This is an invitation to represent your region in the prestigious League of Legends. You will be able to show your mastery of archery and proclaim your beliefs of unity on a grand stage spreading all across the world.

Inside this envelope is a map which will take you to a transport destination leading to the Institute of War.

You are under no obligation to accept, but we would greatly appreciate one such as yourself to join our numbers. And due to your position of leadership, we will accept your recommendation for other such warriors.

May the spirits be kind.

Sincerely and with great respect, The Summoners of the Institute of War.

The League of Legends, Ashe had heard it mentioned by her tribe among others. An entertainment event where great warriors would engage with one another in sporting combat.

Ashe couldn’t lie, she had spent some time watching the show on the viewing crystals, albeit rarely. Tryndamere had his favourites.

Logically, Ashe could refuse this offer and maintain focus on her goal. But this was a rare opportunity. A grand platform to speak her views. This could finally be a step in her goal which felt a marathon away from reach.

”Assemble the tribe. There is an announcement to deliver.”

He bowed his head.

”At once, Warmother.”

---

Ashe’s footsteps were practiced and deliberate through the hallways of the Institute. It was certainly not like anything back home.

Her guide was a woman with tanned skin and glowing purple robes. Would she have survived in the Freljord? Her skin lacked scars, although that could be a sign of cleverness in avoiding harm rather than the softness of inexperience.

The summoner stopped before a large door. Clearly an important one.

”Inside are the high summoners, they will put you through your test of will.”

Ashe nodded politely, entering into the wide room. Inside were tall platforms where a ring of hooded figures watched. They proclaimed superiority. Had they known battle? Or were they fortunate enough to live in comfort?

“Ashe of the Freljord. It pleases us that you accepted our invitation.”

”It pleases me to have been invited at all. I was informed about a test of will?”

”Indeed. We shall enter your mind, test your resolve, learn your desires, what you fear most. Are you ready?”

Nodding, the archer focused her features like unbroken ice.

”I am.”

Strange energy surrounded her in an orb, tendrils reaching into her temples, her eyes closed as she was sent back into somewhere else.

Somewhere familiar.

---

The Freljord’s biting winds were familiar. Being Iceborn granted her a resistance to the harshness, but that didn’t make her immune to the cold.

Her mother was slain and Ashe was on the run. Only her determination and courage to find that which her mother died in search of kept her moving. The supposed Throne of Avarosa, one of the legendary Three Sisters of the Freljord. If Ashe could just find something, gain favour to reignite any of her tribe that could still survive…

It was hope. Idle, burning hope. Her mother’s hopes would not be for nothing. 

Ashe shivered as she climbed over the hill. This was it.

The supposed grave of Avarosa, where nothing remained. No treasures, no grand throne of True Ice.

An unmarked grave of stones.

Ashe had collapsed to her knees and yelled until her voice was hoarse and cracking. She cursed herself with a thousand words, almost cursed her mother before hating herself more. She had hunters, and scrambling for a weapon revealed nothing, not even a broken one.

When Maalcrom had appeared, once someone who Ashe had trusted as a Frost Priest now revealed a traitor, he had the audacity to claim that Ashe had called this cruelty to occur, that if her mother had simply stayed away from chasing Avarosa, the massacre would have never been ordered. Those who ran would survive, but how many would?

He was a traitor who thought himself the hero. Ashe was exhausted despite a few lucky strikes, and was soon being throttled by a man she once trusted as he cried over how hard it was for him. Her hatred found a target.

When Ashe found the True Ice bow, it was pure luck and desperation, a scrambling hand searching for a weapon, anything to stop herself from dying.

Grasping the bow, Ashe could feel the burning cold climb up her entire body. The energy thrummed through her, and all she saw was white.

Then, she was somewhere else.

The world had changed and all she saw was darkness. Darkness and… wait. She felt warm too. Suddenly, her mother had peeled away the darkness, which was now revealed to be a furred blanket.

Grena’s face, aged yet still strong, looked into Ashe’s eyes with pride yet amusement.

”I thought you’d be here. Trying to hide?”

”No…”

Ashe’s voice sounded younger. Spirits, she felt young. What was this supposed to be?

”Why did you lie to them, Ashe?”

That shocked her. Lied? When had she- did her mother refer to-

“The bow, Ashe. You said you found it at Avarosa’s grave. That you earned it. But that isn’t true. You lied. Gave them false hope.”

Disappointment crossed Grena’s features and Ashe, an adult woman, Warmother and archer without peer, could feel her heart sink and her cheeks burn.

”Tell me. Why did you lie?”

”I… my people needed something to believe in. To believe in the dream I carry in me every day.”

Ashe steeled her expression, throwing off her blanket.

”The Freljord needs a legend to believe in. For the sake of my dream of a united Freljord, I needed to play their expectations. Perhaps you would disapprove, but this is my decision. And you are not my mother.”

Ashe stared into the eyes of her mother, not flinching in the slightest. Grena straightened her posture. 

“Well said, daughter of the Ice. What gave me away?”

”My mother would have lifted me from the bed until I confessed, not simply pulled away the blanket and demanded words."

”In any case, your truth is clear and your resolve is commendable. Welcome to the League of Legends.”

Ashe could only feel a small swell of pride, before a blinding fog obscured her vision one more time.

---

Ashe opened her eyes, returned to the here and now reality. She took a moment to breathe and remind herself who she was.

"You are Ashe, daughter of Grena, Warmother of The Avarosans, The Frost Archer."

Grounded in her sense of self, Ashe fixed her gaze upon her observers.

"Is that all you wished of me, summoners?"

Their voices were like steel, composed and authoritative.

"For now, you will be given time to exhibit your proficiency soon. If you step outside, you shall be escorted to your personal quarters."

This place provided living space? Charitable. It would be a welcome time to focus herself, consider who else should be extended an invitation. Perhaps Tryndamere?

The thought made Ashe smile. Yes, he would enjoy something like this.

Notes:

Sorry for the wait, I hope you enjoyed.

Chapter 85: Shard of the Monolith.

Summary:

Creatures of Stone are champions nevertheless.

Countless centuries ago, a group of incredibly powerful Ixtali mages built a Monolith, a floating fortress of living stone, designed to be a weapon against the encroaching beasts of the Void that had laid waste to Icathia and seemed doomed to cause the same horror to Shruima as a whole. It was a powerful weapon, one that could recover itself from almost any damage and vanquish any foe.

Almost. Every stone, however strong, could be cracked. And when the monolith crashed down to earth, consumed by tendrils of unknowable and uncontrollable darkness, barely anything survived but a single shard.

Countless centuries following its destruction, the shard had grown into a living mountain, now not a weapon but a creature in itself. It had soon chosen the name of Malphite, and continued the fight to hold back the Void in whatever way he could.  It burrowed through the tunnels in the ground where the monsters had started to take shape, and crushed them under rubble. 

Malphite roared as his stone fists slammed the Voidlings into the smears of nothing they'd crawled from. All these centuries, and he could sense he was no closer to ending this invasion. But he could at least stall them. Focusing himself with the tunnels beneath, he summoned a wall of nigh-unbreakable stone. The monsters of claws and fangs crashed against the wall, unable to break through for long. 

It would buy time. 

Lately, it seemed that was all he could do.

Collapsing to his knees, Malphite groaned tiredly, he longed for an end to this fight. This fight that had started centuries ago when he was still a massive monolith of living stone, not merely a shard that had grown into sentience. With all the power he possessed, the strength to grow taller than any mountain and face the most unrelenting foes, he could not help but feel as though he was merely delaying the inevitable.

Then, there was Chip. A creation of his own, spawned from a rare patch of fertile grass and unpolished pebbles to cease the loneliness of his crusade. The creature was... excited, wanting to know about his 'papa's adventures' Malphite would keep the darkest stories away, for the moment. He would tell of his travels through the tunnels, to shining mountains under the stars, to the sounds of strange liquids and even stranger voices, to the jungle of Shurima that would sometimes feel like home.

Waddling on all four feet, Chip leaped onto Malphite's mammoth palm.

"Papa! Papa! Someone! Here for you!"

Here for him? Malphite growled in expecting frustration.

"What did they look like?"

"U-um, lots of purple, looked like jungle lady. But different."

Standing up straight, he gently placed Chip on the ground, holding up one finger.

"Wait here, Chip."

"Okay! If anything comes-

"Run to me."

Rolling through the Icathian wastes as a mound of sharp stones, Malphite felt free. He could forget his war for a moment and simply feel the land become one with him. But all of these fleeting feelings were temporary. He could hear voices. Void-Things didn't speak, not usually. Curious voices, not old ones.

"This place is dangerous."

"Zilean said this was the place, don't you trust him?"

"That old man is halfway stuck in the past, I don't think he knows what day it is."

Malphite arose from the sand, dwarfing all present of the purple-people.

"Why are you here?" He bellowed with a deep gravelly voice. His company couldn’t speak for a moment, frozen in fear.

”We are powerful mages of the Institute of War, here to offer you a position amongst our grand list of warriors.”

Humans and their long words. Malphite didn’t understand why it would take so long to say something so simple.

”You… want me?”

”We… yes. Look, we have heard of your power pushing and holding back the void. If we could learn more, we might be able to help.”

Help? Malphite could use help. But he could not leave. Even now, the monsters were clawing at the walls of his making. They were making small cracks, soon to burrow through.

“I cannot. But. I can let someone else.”

Gripping one of his stone shards that were large enough to impale, Malphite tore it off with a roar, before slamming it into the sand. He covered it with his palm.

In the time since becoming aware of himself, Malphite had learned about his enchanted abilities. Most of them were simply creating and manipulating the stones and making walls, but he could also do something else.

He could make life. Releasing his hand, Malphite watched as the shard began to grow and make sounds. Claws burst from the ground, pulling itself up from the sand. It still dwarfed the humans, but would be nothing to Malphite’s true height.

”This is your Malphite. He will take my place for you. I will know what he learns.”

One of the summoners studied the new creation.

”Can it… talk?”

This was one of Malphite’s favourite parts. When it was assumed he was mindless. His creation spoke for him.

”Yes.”

The summoners jumped in surprise. Classic. They soon agreed to the terms, with a promise to ensure that Malphite was informed of anything that would be welcome information.

Malphite felt small vibration under his feet. Incredibly small, like pattering steps. Then, he recognised them.

“Papa!” Chip called again, seeing the summoners and the second Malphite. Briefly distracted, the miniature stone creature hummed in curiosity.

Chip was curious about many things. It kept things from becoming too quiet for Malphite’s liking.

”Yes?” The two Malphite’s replied in perfect unison.

”Felt things, under ground. Wanted to tell you.”

This meeting would need to be concluded.

”Return to your home, this does not involve any of you.”

For a moment, the summoners looked to disagree, but Malphite’s stern and sharp tone silenced any attempt to argue differently.

Stomping off, Malphite heard Chip go after him.

”Can I watch you? Please? I can go on your shoulder?”

Preferring to not possibly endanger his creation and lone companion, Malphite tried to keep Chip away from the danger however he could.

But, the tremors on the ground didn’t suggest anything too strenuous.

”Stay on my head.”

Malphite could only hope this was a small problem. But in whatever constituted for his heart, he knew that all of this was merely prelude for something far greater. Something new, yet incredibly powerful. The Void was learning, growing, becoming sharper.

He could buy time. 

It would need to suffice for now.

Notes:

This was a fun one. Sorry that it’s a bit shorter than the prior few chapters.
Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 86: The Rogue Assassin.

Summary:

Akali gets an invitation.

Akali may have left the Kinkou Order, but their techniques were not as obsolete as their philosophies had become. As such, she mentally reocunted a few as she surveyed the current situation.

Take action only when needed.

An elderly looking man cornered by a collection of Noxian raiders. This was where action was necessitated.

Be silent like a shadow.

Akali dropped a smoke bomb into the crowd of men, it granted her the darkness she sought.

As striking as a storm, yet flowing like a river.

She dropped down into the mist, swinging her blades with perfect skill and speed, dodging the amateurish opponents. 

When the smoke cleared, only one of Akali’s opponent’s remained. He was holding his bloody hand. Akali lowered her voice to an almost snarl.

”I’m going to give you the chance to apologise and leave.”

He swung his fist. Stupid. He had this coming.

Dodge. Kick. Swing. Sever. Drop.

Akali smiled slyly behind her mask. And so, balance was restored to this humble corner of Ionia.

”Oh, thank you, young lady!” The elderly man spoke. Praise was never the goal of Akali’s work, but it did feel good.

Shrugging in a casual impression, Akali picked up something that got spilled.

“It’s what had to be done. Get yourself home, and stay safe.”

The old man nodded before hobbling away. Akali stretched out her arms. And Shen used to get worried about running into danger. Yeah, maybe it was dangerously if you weren’t trained.

”Quite a show, was that something the Kinkou taught you?” spoke a voice. Younger than the old man, and carrying a small affection of superiority.

Akali drew a kunai, spinning it between her fingers and readying her aim. She didn’t throw. Not yet.

”Maybe. Maybe not. Who wants to know?”

The man was wearing mostly purple, it was light and designed for a wandering lifestyle. And then, there were the rings and the necklace around his neck. 

“I am Iolar. Pray tell, have you heard of the League of Legends?”

The League of Legends? Yeah, Akali had heard that name a couple times, watched a match once or twice. 

Even a ninja needed a break once in a time. And, sue her, those people could put on quite a show.

Finally, she spoke.

”I have. Why?”

From his pocket, Iolar pulled out an envelope and presented it to Akali. After a moment of inspecting the offering, she opened it.

To Akali of Ionia, we have witnessed your skills and with recommendations from others, we wish to invite you to act as a contestant in the League of Legends and a champion of Ionia.

You are under no obligation to accept, but we would be nothing but grateful for it.

Yours truly, The summoners of the Institute of War.

An invitation. Akali was being invited to act as… a contestant? Just for some fresh blood in the League matches?

”Look, I’m flattered and all, but I’m not that kind of woman.”

Akali handed back the letter, and was about to make her getaway, before Iolar said something that made her freeze.

”Noxus is here. In Ionia. Do you think that simply slaying the soldiers will help? Or would you rather show the world that Ionia is still strong, still alive and too powerful to be put under subjugation.”

Damn this guy. Damn him. Akali had, annoying as it was to deal with, been occasionally doubting her efficiency.

To truly make a difference, and not just pull out a few weeds, being a champion in the League was one step closer.

So, she agreed to meet an escort tonight before vanishing in a puff of smoke. That was her own lesson.

Always leave with the upper hand.

---

Akali walked through the hallways, following the directions given. She’d been briefed on the way here. Every new champion met with the high summoner council, who put them through some kind of test to ‘prove worthiness.’

Because this couldn’t just be simple, could it?

She entered the new chamber. The lights were dim, yet the perceived glaring from above made Akali narrow her eyes. Were they judging her? 

“Thank you for accepting our offer, Fist of Shadow.”

Fist of Shadow. That was her old title, back before she left the Order. She remembered earning it, pride filled her chest and she felt like the world had finally started to make sense.

The assassin forced herself out of old memories of celebration and into the present moment of uncertainty.

”Don’t use that title. What do you need from me?”

”Simply your cooperation. To test your worthiness, we must enter your mind, see what you have to hide, what drives you.”

Akali was not afraid of such a test. She nodded.

”Go ahead. Just, don’t go too far.”

---

The wood of the sparring mat fell hard like steel as Akali’s prepubescent cheek slammed into it at high speed.

”You were cocky, Akali. Try again.”

The young warrior in training groaned against the wood, as if she could make enough sound to bury a hole.

She pulled herself up, spitting out a tooth.

”You say that every time. Cocky, reckless, too quick. What does it even mean?”

Her teacher gave her That look. The look that said she was going to be victim to a lecture. Akali knew she should listen, knew that trying to tune it out would only cause a problem later.

But all of these lectures felt the same. She suffered through the admonishment disguised as gentle suggestions, before finally being given permission to exit.

That was unlike usual. Failure was usually prelude to a reset. But, Akali wasn’t going to look an opportunity in the mouth. Maybe she could do some more training.

At her own level, this time.

---

Akali raced out of the dojo, seeing… Shen. His hands were held behind her back. Stoic. Unmovable.

She felt older now, matured, lean muscle from countless hours of physical training and spiritual work.

”Shen, what are you doing here?” She asked, hearing no response. Someone pushed past, it was…

It was her. Dressed in her originally green and black outfit. The Fist of Shadow, not the Rogue Assassin.

Not-Akali did something impossible. She drew her blade. Akali knew the motions when someone was preparing a swinging slice.

She moved in lightning speed, blocking the blow. She fought her reflection, matching and dodging with every motion.

Shen did not move, he did not speak. He was motionless, like a damned statue. In Akali’s distraction, the Fist of Shadow tossed a bladed star.

The motion was instinct. Stupid, foolish, insane instinct. Shen lacked his mask, his helmet. The star was aimed at his neck. If he kept standing there, motionless, it would no doubt be a lethal blow.

So, Akali took it instead. Her shoulder sung of pain as crimson dripped onto the stone floor.

The Fist of Shadow removed her mask, looked at Shen. He finally cracked his statuesque expression. He wasn’t pleased, but he knew this path was what his student needed.

Akali watched her reflection race away, and soon enough, Shen was upon her. She willed her cheeks not to burn with shame. Not now, this wasn’t real.

”Why do you want to join the League of Legends?”

What? Oh.

”To give Noxus a message that we’re not going to lie down while they prepare another attack.”

Shen inspected her, studied her for cracks in her resolve.

”Is there nothing else that drives you? No past that you run from?”

Akali scoffed. Really, did these summoners know anything about her?

”My choices are my own. They haven’t always been good ones, but they’re nothing you have the right to scrutinise. Especially when you’re pretending to be someone I know.”

The eyes of the assassin stared into the dull blue of her mentor. Or the Thing pretending to be her mentor. And then, Shen shifted.

"You have been found true in your resolve and will be considered as a champion once this test concludes. Tell me, how did it feel to open your mind?"

Akali scoffed, walking past Shen.

"Thrilling."

---

Returning to reality, Akali needed a moment to reflect on herself. Realise when and where she was.

Breathe, Akali.

Breathe.

“Congratulations, Akali. You may now consider yourself a champion of Ionia. When you leave the chambers, you’ll be escorted to your quarters.”

Quarters. Right. A place for her alone. That was what she needed now.

Exiting the chambers and back into the halls, Akali saw a distant yet unmistakable figure down by the other end.

Shen saw his once-student.

Akali saw her once-master.

They shared a nod before Shen walked away. Simple. Wordless. Pure.

Exactly what could be expected. 

Notes:

Sorry for the delay, comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 87: The Void Walker.

Summary:

Kassadin has a mission.

Kassadin grit his teeth as he wrestled the beast of claws and teeth into the ground, before blasting energy through the Voidling. It had been remarkably durable, but he had managed to slay it.

He drove his blade into the beast, listening to it writhe and rasp before fading into the nonexistence it had spawned from. The Void Walker collapsed to his knees, briefly removing his helmet to gasp in the air.

How many years had it been? Since the void had swallowed up his life and home and leaving him with nothing but a burning drive of vengeance?

Too many years, and what did he have to show for it? What progress had been made? But, he would keep going. For his wife. For his daughter. For every last victim of the void.

As he walked through the desert wastes, following one of his items, a compass that could track the otherworldly essences left behind. His eyes narrowed, seeing a figure standing over a cliff edge. 

The figure was covered head to toe in dark hooded robes. Kassadin… recognised the man. A few days before everything changed, his home village had been visited by a travelling merchant and diviner.

Nayove hadn’t trusted him.

Kassadin should’ve listened.

Malzahar. Kassadin recalled his face, learned of his crimes during his journey against the void. Malzahar was a prophet of The Void. Devoted to the nonexistence that would be heralded.

It was his fault that everything had turned upside down and plunged into the abyss.

With all of these feelings in mind, it was no wonder that Kassadin tackled the bastard to the sand as soon as he was close enough.

They scrambled, flying sand in the air. Kassadin drew his nether-blade, and wanted to stab it right through Malzahar, only for it to connect against the ground.

Malzahar was floating now.

”Kassadin. I have not seen you in years.”

”You should be very thankful for that, prophet.”

Kassadin blasted energy from his left gauntlet. Malzahar blinked in and out of reach. It was infuriating. But then, Malzahar went into arms reach.

His mistake.

Malzahar might be powerful, but Kassadin had the edge in physicality. His hand gripped around Malzahar’s throat. He heard the rumbling gasps of the prophet.

Then, there was a strange tingling energy effect. Malzahar made a gasp that sounded like words, but his throat was not released.

And in a flash of light, neither of them were in Shurima anymore.

---

When his eyes were able to witness the world again, Kassadin found that he was somewhere else. Inside some kind of building, ornate and well constructed to stand many years and stay strong as the first year.

Malzahar broke out of the choke-grip, gasping and glaring at his attacker. His eyes turned upwards.

”This intruder attacked me, send him back to the desert wastes, he cannot stay longer without putting myself in jeopardy.”

The figures, hooded as well, spoke with authority.

”Know your place, Prophet. You might be valuable and your abilities fascinating, but orders are not yours to make.”

A scoff. It was the most human sound Malzahar had made.

”Not an order. Merely a suggestion.”

He vanished out in a flash of purple. Kassadin was left alone, learning about this place. The Institute of War, a building constructed by powerful mages and standing as a monument to unity. They were also the minds behind the League of Legends, an entertainment and sporting event designed to solve political disputes without the cost of war and bloodshed.

They were fascinated by Kassadin. He was willing to leave, until he thought about it more. The Institute of War might have a way for him to better track and contain the Void Creatures.

Kassadin folded his arms.

”Malzahar cannot be trusted, as I am sure you are aware. I can keep an eye on him and any void activity. In exchange for information.”

The summoners paused.

”Before we accept your proposal, we must investigate your resolve. We will enter your mind, learn your reasons, your weaknesses.”

Kassadin’s armour, designed to protect against the innate corruption of The Void’s landscape, had warding against certain forms of magic. Not immunity, but simply protection. 

But the orb of energy that sour rounded him, plunging tendrils of energy into his temples? It hurt, quite a lot.

So, when the pain faded, he felt rather thankful.

---

Kassadin woke up in a comfortable bed. Someone else was in the room. Nayove. His beloved, his wife.

”Finally. Rough night adventures?” She asked. Her voice was melodic, a lovely and ever-soothing feeling that would travel through his entire body.

”Something like that. Where is… Kaisa?”

”In her bedroom. You should let her know you’re awake.”

Kassadin made the journey, opening the door. He expected to see Kaisa with one of her toys,  wooden goat, or maybe just lying on her bed, swinging her legs.

There was nobody there.

Then, he heard a voice, high pitched and terrified, calling out to him.

”Daddy!” His daughter screeched.

Kaisa. His star, his little adventurer. She was screaming for him, begging, crying. Kassadin ran, sprinted, almost falling over himself as he reached the chasm where Kaisa was barely holding herself from plummeting.

”It’s okay. I have you, just grab on.”

Tears were rolling down her face. Down his as well. She reached out, another tremor…

Sent them both plummeting. Kassadin tried to shield his daughter from the impact, only to face the full brunt on his ribs.

Nayove always used to tease about how often it would be his side that got hit by things. He almost smiled, then he remembered.

”Kaisa?”

He walked through the shifting landscape. Through a field of hanging tendrils. He didn’t look to see what they were attached to.

His daughter looked at him. Terrified, wide eyed. Crying. 

Scared of him.

”It’s okay, I’m here, it’s me…” Kassadin repeated. Kaisa shook her head, running away from him.

It hurt. By the gods, it hurt like a knife twisted deep into his beating heart. He followed his daughter. Maybe if he could find her again, have a moment to speak, maybe-

He slammed into what felt like glass, and his reflection was something that caught his attention with ease.

A helmet obscured his face, horned and intimidating, followed by sleek leather protection against his chest and a cloak against his lower half. A blade of amethyst energy rested on the wrist of his gauntlets, deactivated.

No wonder Kaisa was so terrified.

Anyone would be.

”Why do you wish to join the League?” His reflection asked. 

The answer was slow, forcing out the words from his throat.

”You promised knowledge. Information about the Void. If you give it, I will act for you. That is all.”

The reflection tilted his head, curious for more words to be spoken.

”Is that all you want?”

It was obvious what was being referred to. Who was being referred to. Kassadin’s voice lowered to a growl.

”It is all that you need to know.”

The dim light in the Void-infested cavern began to fade. Kassadin heard chittering sounds creak to life behind his back.

He drew his blade, turned around and swung as darkness overcame his senses.

---

Kassadin’s eyes snapped open, his breathing fatigued, as if he’d carried his emotional toll from the memory into the present moment.

”Is… that all?”

“Correct. Welcome to the League of Legends, Kassadin. You will be escorted to your quarters. You are… Shuriman, correct?”

Kassadin nodded, and exited the chambers. He needed to be given some time alone. To stop hearing the distant screams on his own head.

To stop seeing the vision of Kaisa being scared by her own father.

Notes:

This was painful to write. In a good way. Angst is fun.
Comments are welcome.

Chapter 88: The Tidal Trickster

Summary:

An aquatic Yordle receives an invitation.

Fizz was a trickster of sorts among Bilgewater. He didn't see anything wrong with lightening up the place, from that grouchy old pirate with his oranges tipped overboard, to the one guy with a knife lodged in his shoulder, Fizz felt it was his calling to spruce up his home. Of course, he wasn't just an impish creature of fun, sometimes, there would be the cruel captains who needed a humbling serving of the ocean crashing against their ship.

A certain figure, a bearded man in purple clothes, had approached Fizz with an invitation.

Most people seeing Fizz didn’t offer invitations, just looked at him with wide and desperately hopeful eyes. So, this was a nice change of pace for Fizz.

The League of Legends, a sporting event where people from all across the world would compete for their goals and the achievement of personal glory.

For reasons that made sense only to Yordles, Fizz agreed.

The Yordle picked up a copper coin into the sea. A shark, his best friend named Pop, soon arrived, grinning his sharp teeth.

”Pop! Take me to the League of Legends!”

His guest watched as Fizz hopped onto the shark’s head and wave the summoner a fine farewell.

”See you there!”

---

Fizz, naturally, won the race to the Institute of War. His webbed feet pattered across the floor as he followed his escort. This person, whoever he was, seemed so serious. Fizz had the urge to summon a little fish to shock some emotion into this guy.

But, no. Not yet. He was on Serious Business. Eventually, they stopped before a large and ornate doorway.

“This door will lead you to the high council of summoners. They will oversee your induction into the League of Legends.”

Fizz nodded, planting his golden trident on the ground with pride and an attempt at looking disciplined.

”I won’t disappoint!” 

The door opened, and Fizz again pattered inside. The dim light of this place reminded him of the bottom of the sea.

People were watching him. Hooded, more serious figures than Fizz was comfortable with. But, still. No pranks yet. Get in first, then figure out how to liven up the place.

”Fizz, the Yordle of Bilgewater’s sea. You wish to become a champion?”

The Yordle nodded, his wide grin stretching all across his face.

”I do, grand summoners! The tide is at my command, and I will show you its power!”

He was ready to plant his trident in the floor and show his mastery, only to be shouted at to relent.

”That… won’t be necessary yet. First, we must determine that your resolve and motivation is sound enough for us to allow you as a champion. We will enter your mind.”

Albeit disappointed at his lack of success to showcase his talents of the tides and aquatic creatures, Fizz didn’t portray it for more than a couple seconds.

”Go right ahead.” 

A bubble of magic energy surrounded Fizz, and he soon felt strangely tired, when his eyes closed, it was not the chambers he found himself in.

---

In the depths of what was once known as the Guardian Sea, there once exited a grand underwater kingdom of aquatic creatures.

While Fizz was originally from Bandle City, as is the same with all Yordles, he eventually found himself in the seas of Bilgewater; joining this race of aquatic royalty

The artisans and explorers were ever-open, even to Fizz and his moments of trickery. They accepted him in stride.

The Gigalodons had decimated his once home, leaving behind only ruins and decimation of what was once home. 

For who knew how long, Fizz scoured the underwater lands. There had to be a survivor. Someone, a small group of warriors, artisans, explorers. Someone. Anyone.

Bit by bit, his Yordle essence and magic which let him live began to drop with the weight of his own despair.

He slumbered at the bottom of the sea. Perhaps he would have stayed there for all eternity, slowing fading away into nothing.

Copper coins reawakened him, stirred him to the land above. He swam up, and saw “wooden sharks” helmed by humans who scoured the waters for treasures and glory.

Fizz had begun to recover his essence, linking himself in Bilgewater’s culture as a trickster of the tides.

Now, he was currently sitting on the edge of a dock, one of his shark buddies poking his head above the waves.

There was something different about his eyes. Something… smarter?

”Yordles are such fascinating creatures. Your existence is linked to belief and magic, both eternal and yet vulnerable.”

Was the shark speaking? The mouth wasn’t moving. It was like mind-talking. Mind-talking. Hm.

”Thank you!”

”However, such creatures of freedom, why join something so dedicated to order as the League of Legends? Is it a simple flight of fancy?”

Admittedly, the excitement of the games was most of the reason why Fizz agreed. Yordles were creatures, for the most part, ruled by random entertainment.

But, with his existence now mired in Bilgewater’s consciousness of myth and tales, Fizz needed to make sure that he wouldn’t become too commonplace to be forgotten.

There was something else as well. Maybe, despite his feverish attempts, he hadn’t searched all across the waters to find the aquatic cultures he once knew as home. Maybe if he made a big name for himself, he would find the last patch he’d overlooked.

He wouldn’t be alone anymore.

His weird magic shark guest tilted its head, as if reading his innermost thoughts. Then, the eyes glowed an ethereal purple light.

”I see… your truth is clear, and have been found worthy of becoming a champion. Welcome to the League of Legends.”

The shark dove under the water. And with a giggle and grin, Fizz followed suit. The darkness of the water overtook his vision, until he only saw the darkness.

---

To be entirely honest, Fizz wasn’t completely listening when he returned to the present moment. Something about living quarters, an exhibition of abilities, and a final extension of gratitude for joining the League.

Exiting the chamber, Fizz took a moment to recollect himself. He saw a woman at the other end of the hallway, Bilgewater, he remembered this lady with her cherry red hair.

Fizz grinned.

”SHARK!” He cried across the hall, seeing the woman immediately pull out her pistol and point it at the source of noise, only to scowl and lower it.

She was annoyed about being tricked. Maybe she’d hold a temporary grudge, but Fizz was certain she’d move on sooner or later.

There was nothing wrong about a little trick.

Notes:

Sorry if this one is a bit shorter. Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 89: The Spirit Walker.

Summary:

To quell his mind of the ailments of screaming spirits, Udyr of the Winter’s Claw receives an invitation.

The tribe of the Winter’s Claw was built to act in accordance to the harshness of the Freljord’s lands. If the elements wanted them dead? Then they would need to take up arms and slay the whole tribe in battle.

Despite their brutality and at times necessary ruthlessness, the Winter’s Claw was not without warmth and community. To join the tribe of Sejuani was to become part of a family who would shout into death’s maw before sacrificing one another.

Udyr, the Spirit Walker of the tribe, sat in meditation. It was something he had mastered during his pilgrimage in Ionia. To calm his nerves when he could feel the screams of the natural and spiritual forces echoing in his head.

Something was approaching. A beast on four hooves. A drüvask boar. A woman’s voice, at once sharp yet familiar, entered Udyr’s ears.

”Udyr, good to see you are well.”

Sejuani. Udyr opened his eyes, craning his head to see his Warmother.

”Likewise, Sejuani. Tell me, how have you fared? How has the League of Legends been treating you?

Folding her arms, Sejuani’s posture was lighter than typical. Must’ve been a good time.

”A worthy entertainment. Ashe and her barbaric husband are irksome as ever. But I hear rumours of a Freljord event scheduled.”

There was silence. 

“There is something else.”

An envelope was handed over to the spirit walker. Reading it over, it was found to be an invitation. To act as a champion in the League of Legends.

He turned to Sejuani.

”Did you request this?”

”You are an incredible skilled combatant with spiritual ties. It would be foolish not to have you considered worthy.”

A smile stretched across his face. Perhaps uncalled for. But he didn’t mind it.

”You honour me, Sejuani.”

The warmother of the Winter’s Claw smiled as well, though not as wide and with an almost sense of exasperation.

”I assume that is a yes?”

”It is.”

---

The feeling of this place was… different. He could not hear the spirits from here. He could harness their abilities, but not their voices. 

How strange.

Nevertheless, he followed Sejuani down the hallways, listening to her sharply explain what to expect of this place. There were many  actions, some of them weaker than others. 

“But, there are some with whom I feel you would get along with.”

Stopping before a large ornate door, Sejuani stepped back, allowing Udyr to pass her.

”Inside here, the summoners will test your resolve. I would wish you luck, but…”

Udyr nodded sagely.

”I understand. Worry not.”

”I never said I was worried.”

Entering the chambers, the Spirit Walker found himself soon surrounded by looking figures in hooded cloaks. They thrummed with a magic that Udyr could hardly identify as spiritual in nature. In any case, he placed his right hand into fist and his left as an open palm, bringing them together in a warrior's bow.

"Summoners of the Institute of War. You invitation to join your number is one I feel great honour to accept. However, I suspect a test I must undertake to gain trust."

Udyr was right, and like Sejuani had stated, it would be a test of resolve. His mind would be entered, forced to experience his most powerful memories to determine his intentions and what drives him forward. Were this an earlier time, prior to his learning the gift of patience and withholding his inner beasts, this test might have sounded like a serious risk.

Now, he was ready.

---

The feral frost winds were bitter and relentless in their brutal assault upon Udyr’s skin. They would likely kill a lesser man. But Udyr didn’t feel like a man right now.

He felt like a monster. A monster with too much rage and too powerful spiritual power to live. He had thought Kalkia and her wisdom could grant him the patience to withstand the spirit’s wrath.

He had almost killed a boy. A boy, a child not even old enough to hunt without being watched by a mother or father. He was banished for this and Udyr knew he deserved worse.

He collapsed to his knees, then his chest. Yes. Let the wolves find him. Let him be torn apart for meat by the animals.

It was a deserved fate. 

Footsteps. Familiar ones. He did not look up from the snow.

”Leave me.”

Kalkia sat beside the man. She was so patient, yet could make him laugh. 

“I came all this way with a satchel of boar meat, I am not leaving without at least knowing that you’ve eaten.”

Udyr groaned. She was right. Probably. Letting himself die here would be rather cowardly. And he was a lot of terrible names, but not a coward.

”You have all of these powers, Udyr. Yet you only use them to protect others. It is admirable. But perplexing.”

That… wasn’t Kalkia. But Udyr still couldn’t muster up the words.

”Hm. Rather cold out here. Let’s go somewhere warmer…”

Udyr heard the snapping of fingers, and he could almost feel his mind warp and wrap around him, restructuring the landscape.

The world had changed. He was not in the Freljord anymore. The sun was bright and the land smelled like… harmony and natural beauty.

Someone was coming. Udyr snapped around, blocking a flying kick from his attacker. Lee Sin. Of course, a surprise attack to keep his skills sharp and alive.

They performed their practice. Lee Sin was all technique and acrobatic strikes. Udyr was utilising his body’s bulk with the martial techniques he had already absorbed.

The battle ended in a stalemate, Udyr panting with both exhaustion yet relief. To release the tension in his bones was exhilarating.

Lee Sin always knew how to best use their shared bond of martial training to his advantage.

”Why do you wish to join the League?”

The League? The League of Legends, yes, of course! That was why he was here. 

“I aim to represent The Winter’s Claw, and prove our mastery over the Freljord’s fate.”

It was a common statement and almost rehearsed belief whenever one asked for his allegiance. Some didn’t believe that such a powerful Spirit Walker would ever have true loyalty to any cause.

Unfortunately, Lee Sin, or the figure masquerading as the warrior, did not seem to believe Udyr’s proclamation.

He walked closer.

”Why do you wish to join the League?” The tone was almost the exact same.

”To test my abilities and to gain a greater understanding of the power that shakes the Ice beneath the Freljord.”

That was the truth. Udyr had sensed the spirit of the land screaming out in fear and anger. Something was threatening the sanctity of life. He had first assumed it was Ashe and her Avarosans, but the presence was… dark. Devoid of any heart or soul.

That was what he wanted. Understanding. In a moment of unknown reason, Udyr removed the blindfold from fake-Lee Sin. Behind were purple eyes, not those of the blind warrior. But someone else merely taking his shape.

”Look into my eyes and you will know I speak only the truth.”

The silence was unbearable, until a voice came out of the endless quiet.

”You are judged. Your truth is clear, your resolve tested. Welcome to the League of Legends, Udyr of the Freljord.”

Again, the world began to change. But this time, Udyr simply seated himself on the floor,  closed his eyes, and began to meditate.

Calm. Like the breeze, like the careful river. He was nature’s conduit. The bridge between.

---

Snapping his eyes open, Udyr felt the rage and shock of the Thousand Pierced Bear coursing through him.

He willed Valhir to be silent. He was the conduit, not the vessel. After a moment of meditative breathing, he was calm.

Leaving the chambers, Udyr expected to see Sejuani waiting for him. He instead saw his greatest and most worthy opponent.

Lee Sin asked for his permission to spar on the training grounds. Eagerly, Udyr accepted.

He needed someone, something, to quell his mind at the moment.

Notes:

Udyr. The guy ever.

Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 90: The Card Master.

Summary:

The Card Master of Bilgewater loses a wager.

Bilgewater had a bit of a gambling culture. It was a common joke that most people swapped around the same sacks of gold coins between games of stabberscotch.

But between all the regulars at the taverns who offer riches to anyone who can manage to come out on top. He’d wrung out the last three of four competitors, leaving only a young lady with chestnut brown braids of hair.

The funniest thing was that Twisted Fate had even made a deal with her when it was just the two of them. If he lost, he’d need to listen to a proposal of hers. She stated it like a job offer.

She was good, but would slip up sooner or later. Everyone gets cocky in a game of cards. 

“Sorry, lady. But the game’s over,” The cardsharp stated as he showed his winning hand.

His opponent smirked showing her own hand. Three serpents, three scarlets.

Fate studied the winning hand his opponent had dealt him, he whistled. Nicely played.

"Well, I'll be damned. Alright," He removed his hat, letting his black hair go on display.

"What's your proposition, lady?"

It turned out, it was an invitation. The League of Legends, as it was named, was a multi-regional sporting event where only the best from across the world could compete for their nation, for their own goals, or something as simple as personal glory.

It wasn’t particularly his style. Sure, he was no stranger to a fight, but the shuffling decks of his magic cards was his forte.

”Look, I respect you for beating me in the game. There ain’t a lot of folks who can manage that, but I’m not much of a…joiner.”

The messenger leaned away from Fate.

“Right. Of course. The ever wandering drifter, that’s all you are, hm?”

“I’m a good singer too.”

”Here’s my point. How can you disagree an offer when you don’t even know where you’ll be staying?”

This woman was good. Fair enough, Twisted Fate stood from the table, letting his guest lead him out.

”So, do you have a name?”

“Illya.”

Illya. A pretty name. 

---

Tobias had to admit it, this place was fancy. It was a large institution building that stood strong without a hint of wear or tear.

”This place houses many champions. From Noxus, to Demacia, to Piltover, I’m sure there’s a few who you could find a companionship with.”

The chamber was dimly lit, yet Twisted Fate couldn’t help but feel watched.

”Tobias Felix. Twisted Fate. Bilgewater’s master of the cards.”

Okay, so it wasn’t just a feeling, he was actually being watched. The light intensified lightly, so that the card master could witness his onlookers.

Robed figures in obscuring purple, yet they seemed to be watching him with curious intent.

”That’s me. I heard you’ve been looking for me?”

”Looking, considering, inviting. Do you accept?”

Tobias made a so-so motion with his hand.

”I’m a fifty fifty on it. What do you offer in exchange for my… agreement?”

”Glory, payment, among other things?”

Payment would be nice. A man couldn’t just live off of his gambling winnings. He remembered when he’d steal riches from the impossible places.

Good times. Crazy times, no doubt about it, but damn fun in the moment.

“I guess that sounds good. Where do I sign?”

It turns out, this wasn’t as easy as to simply sign a contract. There was magic involved too. The summoners would enter Tobias’ mind, explore his thoughts and determine whether he is truly worthy of this prestigious opportunity.

Twisted Fate put his hands out to his side. An invitation to proceed with the spell. The aura surrounded him, pulsing into his brain like a headache.

And then, he saw nothing but blinding light.

---

It was a warm tavern that Tobias was sitting in. A drifter from his community. He shuffled his cards idly until a large man with a crimson poncho and a larger gun sat across him.

”Here to play?”

”Here to talk. I hear you’re good with your hands?” The man had a gruff voice. A little bit of posturing, and his breath reeked of heavy cigars.

”I’m good with a guitar too.”

“I also hear that you’ve got some… fancy magic cards. They let you do all kinds of things.”

This man did his research. Yes, Tobias had his gift of magic cards. Red cards could explode. Blue cards could make him vanish and reappear, Yellow cards…

He wasn’t too sure, those ones seemed random.

”With that firearm, you don’t look like you need someone else on your side. Blast them all to the distant seas and take what you want.”

The man who would soon be known as Graves just cut to the point of it. He wanted to steal from somewhere big. Somewhere that nobody else had even gotten into.

It was stupid. Suicidal to be sure. There was a less than comfortable chance of getting away with it.

But Tobias soon found himself agreeing to play along and help. He exited the tavern, but what he saw wasn’t the wide expanse of Bilgewater’s streets, ready to be reaped for all the pleasures.

He saw a camp of nomadic river folks. One who stared at him with burning eyes. Blaming eyes. 

Tobias was frozen in place. 

He was a runner. He knew that. Behind the sly smiles and the expert of his games, he was a runner. When things got too tough, when there was a choice between sticking to his community and companions or getting away? 

He picked the latter. Every damn time. 

“Why do you wish to join the League of Legends?” Malcom asked.

Why was he doing this? Seriously, what was this all about? Was he just running again and again? Chasing a place in life?

”Just… looking for a little thrill,” Fate answered with a gasp. That didn’t seem to work. He tried again.

”To find myself. Find who feels like the best me.”

---

Tobias returned to the present, collapsed to his knees in gasping for air. You’re safe, Fate. You’re here, and in possession of an audience. No need to frighten anyone.

Standing up, the gambling card master played himself with calmness.

”So, that’s it, hm?”

”It is, Twisted Fate. You’ll have a guide escort you to your quarters. You look like you need a little breather.”

He needed a moment to breathe. To think. To rearrange his deck.

Yes. Just a moment, that was all he needed right now.

Notes:

Ah, Twisted Fate. One of the be gay and do crimes duo.

Comments are always welcome.

Chapter 91: The Berserker.

Summary:

Olaf of the Winter's Claw has but a single wish.

Olaf could feel blood gliding from his cuts. Yes, yes. This had to be it, his glorious end against the great beast of a thousand mouths. He closed his eyes, eager to hear the songs of warriors greet him...

All he could hear was the icy winds. Yet again, his death had been denied.

The berserker groaned as he stood to his feet. He looked at the limp corpse of the beast and scowled. Pathetic, he was so certain that this creature of malformed flesh would be his greatest opponent. But, like all the others, he had been mistaken. Yet another fallen to his axe.

He spat on the disappointing wretch and began to return to his tribe.

Olaf was not always part of the Winter’s Claw, once he was amidst the tribe who gathered around the coastal peninsula of Lokfar. He had only accepted Sejuani’s offer to join by her promise of battle and an eventual death in glorious combat.

The large tribe was filled with both warriors of scarred skin and the shamans who know the spirits. Udyr must be busy with his… meditation. A child off by the end was trying to lift a blade much too big for her unscarred body. She collapsed into the snow, the sword slamming into the snow.

There was a bit of laughter. Olaf didn’t crack the slightest smile.

He slumped before the fire, scowling at how his warrior death had yet again eluded his grasp. Every failure was another step forward to that wicked fortune which haunted his mind. 

“Olaf? There is someone here for you.”

The berserker snorted, but obliged, rising to his feet and stalking to find a warmly dressed man with nary a scar of hard living upon his face. Soft.

”You must be the great Olaf. I’ve heard stories about you. Are they all true?”

Grinning, Olaf pounded his upper chest hard.

”As true as the ice beneath your feet! I am beast-slayer! I am the wrath of warriors untold! I-

“I understand. You are quite formidable in a fight. Which is why you are offered a position as a champion in our League of Legends. I trust you are informed?”

One would need to be duller than a stone to not be aware of the sporting event known as the League of Legends. In the rare moments where Olaf wasn’t chasing his death or assisting Sejuani’s raids, he would occasionally watch the performance with a mug of frothy brew.

A shame that death wasn’t a factor. That would be mighty entertaining.

”I am no mere entertainer. What does your position offer me?”

”A wide range to witness your feats of tenacity. Experiencing the best warriors from even beyond the Freljord. Sejuani herself supported our request, are you to deny your Warmother?”

It was a foolish ploy to his warrior pride. He leaned in close to the man, before grinning.

”Well done! You have my fascination! Take me to your… League, and my decision will be made there.”

---

Storming through the Institute halls, Olaf felt impatient. 

“Why must I undergo this… test?”

His escort was the same man from before, but his attitude was a bit different. Less supplicant.

”It is true for everyone. We must ensure that our selected champions are who they say they are. That their goals and desires will not jeopardise the peace that this institute has built.”

Scoffing, the berserker warrior glared down a hallway that seemed to darken the longer it went.

”What of those who do threaten you?”

”We keep them contained. Away unless they are needed from a match.”

Curiosity blinked in Olaf’s eyes, what horrors could be held? What monsters? 

“Here we are,” the man announced an ornate doorway. Olaf walked forward without hesitation, pushing it open into a dimly lit room.

He stood on a large platform, overlooked by raised spires which held purple robed figures. The high council of summoners, Olaf recalled vaguely.

”Olaf. The berserker, searching for death. Sejuani has spoken highly of your tenacity.”

Paying no mind to the attempt to soften him up through compliments, Olaf stared up at the figures.

”I know what you want. Put me through your test, I shall succeed with ease.”

As magic enveloped him, Olaf only felt a mild pain.

---

Olaf remembered the day he learned of his horrific future. He was boasting among the fires of his tribesmen. He had picked up the bones of his latest kill and tossed it to an aged ranger.

”You, tell of my future! It must be glorious and I cannot bear to wait.”

With a scowl, it was done. Olaf saw his future, unlike anything he imagined. He, a grey bearded ancient with weakened skin, would pass away surrounded by family in a bed of comfort. It was… unacceptable.

He had shouted that word exactly. Unacceptable. He refused to believe that would be how his life ended. He had stormed off after hearing tales of a monster, believing that he would fight with all his heart and prove the bones wrong. The great Olaf would die in battle!

That was the first of many stories. And every time, he would hear death whisper, yet never embrace him. The victory was fleeting in the face of what many considered to be inevitable.

“To die at the end of a long life, surrounded by your descendants, after countless adventures. That sounds like a truly beautiful way to die.”

Olaf scoffed.

“Only to the soft hearted. Death is to be a raging battle, where your body is fighting until your last blood is spilled! It is not the gentle arrow that will slay me, it is the maw of the Wolf!”

His bravado did nothing to stir the hooded figure who watched him.

”We all have our perspectives on death. It is rather fascinating, but there is no point to persuading you otherwise. But, I will admit this, there are whispers beneath the ice. Something dark is coming. Ageless, unknowable, frightening and endlessly hungry.”

Olaf widened his eyes.

”When? Where?”

”I cannot say. But a battle will come to all of the Freljord. And when that comes, you must let more into your mind than just your fear.”

Growling, Olaf began to storm forward with his twin axes. This interloper, calling him a coward? He had known nothing of hard life, the glory of bloody skin!

He raised his axe to swing, but as soon as they were ready to connect, the world had faded into white snow.

---

Olaf heard his own voice roar as he returned to the present moment. He could smell the air. Was that fear? Worry? He forced himself to be calm.

”Is… there anything else you need from me?”

The fear faded.

”No, Olaf. Welcome to the League of Legends. We will be rather excited to see your performance when your exhibition match arrives.”

Olaf nodded, taking his leave. He needed to think. Needed to regain himself. He demanded directions to a training room. Olaf entered to find the barbarian husband of Ashe practicing with his mighty sword.

Perfect.

”Tryndamere of the Avarosans! I, Olaf of the Winter’s Claw, challenge you to combat! To refuse will not only dishonour yourself, but your tribe and warmother!”

The helmeted man snarled, turned to meet Olaf, before sighing.

“Death is kept at bay in this room. No matter how you bleed.”

”I am here for victory. My death will not come by you.”

They readied their weapons, eager to briefly engage in battle, to forget their own thoughts. 

Notes:

Comments are always welcome and appreciated. I hope you enjoyed. The next chapter will be a bit.

Chapter 92: The Void Prophet.

Summary:

The prophet of the void receives an unexpected and unconventional invitation.

People were often like sheep. They would follow the person who looked like their shepherd and fully trust without concern.

Malzahar, prophet of the yawning abyss, had a purpose to spread. He was shepherd, leading sheep to enlightenment.

His cult would traverse Shurima’s vast landscapes, finding villages and earning their trust and favour. The smart ones would accept the offer and sacrifice their lives.

He was travelling to another village when he was blocked by strange figures in long and flowing purple robes that seemed inappropriate for the searing heat of Shurima.

The beastlings from the abyss crawled from the sands, tackling the cloaked figures and acting in barely sapient hunger. The voidlings would keep the strangers busy. Malzahar began to leave, floating away, only to sudden sense something cloud his eyes.

”What is… this?”

One of the figures, his hood ripped back to expose a bearded man, replied.

”A simple spell to make this easier. Rest now.”

Malzahar growled, he planted his hand on the ground, summoning rifts under the ground. Rights to the abyss where mouths with jagged teeth burst forth. Two of them were dragged into the rift.

The Spell intensified and Malzahar was forced to sleep. The Void had two more mortals to disassemble and corrupt. 

---

When the prophet came to consciousness, he was kneeling in a large room with pillars around a circular platform. In each pillar was an obscured figure dressed in long purple robes

”Malzahar of Shurima. You are a man with many rumours about him. With said rumours in mind, you can understand your restraints.”

The prophet stayed silent as his captors spoke.

“However, we see potential in your staying here. We shall enter your mind and gauge your intentions and determine whether you are worthy of such an opportunity.”

Malzahar did not feel pain as the Summoners entered into his mind. He had experienced greater pains, and survived with new knowledge.

Malzahar stared into the eyes of his audience. Looming figures in their robes.

Let them enter his mind. Let them see.

---

The gutters were Malzahar’s first home. Born with foresight yet not riches, he survived only through being given scant scraps in exchange for peering into other’s futures.

His reputation grew, and soon he was giving fortunes to people who paid in gold and silver. From the gutter he rose, into a life that some would consider a successful career.

But he was not satisfied. For all the fortunes and futures he could see, he was never able to witness what his own path promised. 

Suddenly, the voice of a man greeted him.

”Fortune teller, tell me, what is coming?”

The man looked both familiar and unfamiliar. A bizarre combination of conflicting feelings. Malzahar peered into the future and saw…

What…?

He saw nothing. Not even death, just nothing. It was as if he was looking into his own future.

Malzahar wandered, alone, uncertain and desperately craving a purpose that he could claim his own. Soon, he came to the ruins of Icathia, and crouched before a deep abyss.

Then, It spoke to him. It made promises, promises of unity and the end of suffering that plagued all of life from the smallest beggars to the arrogant emperors. 

Malzahar did the only rational thing in that situation, he let himself fall into the promise. 

Suddenly, in an instant, Malzahar’s consciousness returned. His present self now fully aware of what was truly transpiring.

”Why do you wish to join the League?”

”To uncover my future.”

”If that future jeopardises the safety of Runeterra, know that you will be dealt with.”

Malzahar laughed. 

“I understand. But you needn’t worry.”

The mirage faded and Malzahar continued to fall, the darkness wrapping around his body, into his skin and mouth. All he felt was his rebirth.

All he saw was darkness. Blessed nothingness that would consume all when the time was right.

---

The darkness soon faded away into the present reality. Malzahar was allowed to leave on escort to his quarters. He hardly needed such things as rest, but the solitude would let his mind focus.

Malzahar’s restraints were removed, yet he didn’t attempt to escape. This place could have a use.

The prophet lifted himself a few feet from the floor, closing his eyes as his mind reached out beyond this reality and into the tendrils of the Other.

Champions from all across the world would come here for their reasons. Some could be convinced to the beauty of The Void. He could even sense the essence of creatures here. Creatures from the abyss who were waiting for their opportunity to feed.

Let the sheep play their little games, it didn’t mean anything to him. The Void was hungry, and soon would feast.

Notes:

Wow. It’s been… over a month. Did you miss me? Sorry if this chapter is a bit below average, it’s been a while since I’ve written this series.

Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 93: The Yordle Gunner.

Summary:

An adventurous soul will always find a way to the thrill. When you're a Yordle, it's an easier trip.

Bandle City, home of the Yordles, was a realm of magic and feeling. The culture of festivals and fun was what many would call idyllic. But not everyone was satisfied. There were more than a handful of Yordles who spread themselves out across the world.

As such, some of the more adventurous Yordles had earned a bit of legend status. One of them was the excitable adventurer, Tristana, whose bravery and courage had earned her no shortage of imitators and would be recruits who crafted their own inventions to be among her “Bandle scouts.”

Tristana was positively bored. These recruits were way too slow on the uptake. She needed people who would actually learn, not just listen to her every word and shining speech. At least none of them had followed her here.

Maybe one of the portals could send her somewhere fun. A few hours to explore, come right back, easy.

The Yordle gunner hummed as she tried to pick. She'd been through most of these, but the leftmost portal seemed promising.

With a heft of her trusty cannon, Tristana charged into the unknown journey.

---

Summoner Tyra of Noxus was still getting accustomed to the strangeness of the Institute’s inner workings. Between the matches, there was a responsibility to ensure that the League of Legends held stable in every sense. 

Now, she was taking a silent break near the meadow area of the Institute’s campus. Breathing in the air, she ran her hand into the pond and slowly dragged the dampness across her face.

It was peaceful. Calm. So was she.

Until a four foot tall shape of excitement barreled into her, sending the once composed summoner into the water face first.

”Whoops! Sorry, I wasn’t looking!”

Tyra bolted to her feet, ready to cast a spell to dispel anything, only to be dumbfounded by the sight before her. It was… a Yordle.

A Yordle holding a cannon firearm. Today was a strange day, so it seemed.

”Well, I’m going to explore.”

Watching the creature begin to wander off, Tyra suddenly had a spark of inspiration. Yordles were fascinating creatures and were rather interesting champions. If this one wanted excitement…

”Wait! What if I told you that this place can be very exciting.”

The Yordle hummed, as if considering her options to respond.

”Well, I’d need to know how?”

The two of them began to walk away from the meadow, Tyra explaining the history of the League of Legends and the entertainment of the events that all the world would watch.

“So. You host some kind of game where people shoot and fight each other… and everyone’s fine with it?”

It was a rather layman’s interpretation to describe the League of Legends events. The spells that kept all of the champion’s abilities from being as lethal as they should be were highly impressive. 

Before she could respond, Tyra gasped at the sheer jubilation bursting out from her company.

”That sounds like a blast! Where do I join?!”

A smile.

”Follow me.”

---

Okay. This was slightly less exciting. Apparently, before Tristana could “join the grand expanse of the League of Legends” she needed to be tested for her worthiness.

Magic surrounded her, a sharp pain filling her head, before all she saw was blank and white.

The first thing she heard was blasting artillery fire. She smelled saltwater. Ah, Bilgewater!

The Yordle watched the magnificent battleships on the sea, blasting cannonballs at each other in impressive intensity. This was her awakening. The sheer creativity that mortals possessed was inspiring.

“Why do you wish to join the League?”

The voice felt at once familiar yet difficult to place.

”What else? I’m a girl who loves a blast of excitement.”

The world began to blur into darkness. No, not just darkness. It was smoke, burning smoke. Panic surged into her face.

Mortals had found the Bandlewood. They reaped havoc with their axes and fire. Tristana had been lounging in a sunbeam. If she had only been looking…

She fell to her knees as she watched a sorcerer blast a portal with arcane fury. Destroying it and sending waves of depression through the Yordle realm.

Sadness wasn’t a common emotion for Yordles. But it was the only thing she could feel. Sadness and self blame.

”Why do you want to join the League of Legends?”

Sniffling, Tristana got to her feet. She sharpened her features.

”I want to show everyone that Yordles aren’t to be pushed around. We can do all sort of things and we can defend ourselves. Maybe that’s not what you expected. But it’s me.”

Silence. Then a hum.

”Understood. Welcome to the League of Legends.”

---

Surged to the present moment once again, Tristana needed a moment to readjust herself after the memory dive.

Once it was done, she flashed a smile.

”So, I’m in?”

”That you are. We will have a guest escort you to your quarters. An exhibition match will come soon. For the moment, take some time to familiarise yourself with this place.”

As she walked through the hallway, Tristana took a deep breath of the air around her before exhaling with a stretching smile across her features.

”You know, Boomer? I think this is just what we need.”

A little excitement went a long way in her book.

Notes:

This was tougher than it probably should have been. Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 94: The Bestial Huntress.

Summary:

Nidalee has a duty and responsibility to her pack. Outsiders are unwelcome in most cases.

Notes:

Accidentally posted this early, will edit soon if it's not up to standard.

In hindsight, maybe the jungles of Ixtal weren’t the smartest place for Ram Steed, Institute of War investigator, to explore.

He was beset by scavengers, or more likely, big game hunters.

Suddenly, the summoner was saved by a large feline beast. And as the beast tore through the scavengers, Ram Steed was in awe.

The claws were a brilliant turquoise colour, almost shimmering with ethereal beauty. The eyes of the creature were orange and looked almost intelligent.

Following the strange creature, Ram Steed stayed silent as a grave. Suddenly, in a blur of auburn smoke, the beast was replaced by a woman, tall and bronze skinned with athletic muscles.

“Why are you here?"

Steed explained that the people who had come were likely hunters looking to earn trophies of their kills. If Nidalee, as she had introduced herself, wanted to make sure that people knew not to step foot on her territory, there was a way to ensure the message was received. The huntress twirled her spear, until it was pointing at Steed's throat.

"How?"

---

Nidalee’s home had been the jungle for as long as her mind could recall. This place. This building, was far from her comfort. The formal walls, the floor which felt too stable, even the way her escort explained the purpose behind this place was all foreign to the huntress. But having already entered, leaving now would not solve anything.

Eventually, she came before a large and ornate door, the man turning to her with a practiced eye.

"Through here is the high council of summoners. They will handle your... initiation. Be careful."

With a huff, Nidalee entered the chamber, hearing the door slowly closing behind her. No escaping now.

”Nidalee, guardian of the Pakaa, huntress of the jungle. You have earned our attention and an invitation that you have doubtlessly be informed of."

Words. People used too many words for sentences that were far too long. Yet, she listened, waiting for the point.

”Your skills make us believe you would be a fine selection for the League of Legends. But first, we must plunge into your mind, ascertain your desires, your weaknesses. Do you accept?”

Nidalee lifted her head, expression clear in her disinterest.

”Do what you will.”

The figures held out their hands, a magic glowing from each of them as a bubble of energy surrounded Nidalee. Pain coursed through her body, bringing her to her knees before she suddenly felt numb.

---

A Cub crawled through the jungle. She didn’t know who she was. Where she came from. Just that she was somewhere else.

Collapsing from her exhaustion, the cub was soon surrounded by large feline beasts. Yet even as the largest of them all went closer enough for the young beast to smell blood on the breath, the cub did something fascinating.

She beared her teeth and made an attempt of growling. Her lack of fear, alongside perhaps the maternal kindness of the pack mother, led to Nidalee becoming one of them.

As Nidalee followed her new family, she heard someone speaking. 

“Don’t you want to know where you came from?”

Nidalee had no memory of her birth family. Only barely conscious sounds in the realm of dreams. Proud sounds, but despite the ever present longing for her origins, she had never been an orphan for long.

”It is nothing important anymore.”

Pushing past the foliage, Nidalee’s vision was suddenly overcome by darkness as the voice spoke again.

”Perhaps another memory will bear better fruit.”

---

The huntress was older now. Part of the pack despite her differences. At random intensity, her paws would become hairless hands. It was a life she enjoyed, but was soon to change forever.

Nidalee had watched the Killash tear through her pack family in the sheer greed of their glorious hunting ways. Her pack mother, so warm and kind, bleeding from their blade.

Fury, beyond human and animal yet nevertheless pure rage had pulsed through Nidalee’s body. In a roar of grief and vengeance, she had leapt into the battle.

She fought with tooth and claw, savage vengeance proving her might just as swiftly as her roar. But as the fight continued, her form began to blur into a chimera of woman and pakaa.

Eventually, she held a sharpened spear to the almost killer of her mother. The hunter, brutal yet now at her mercy, spoke.

”Why do you wish to join the League?”

And suddenly, Nidalee’s conscious mind surged back into her body. This was all a memory, a bitter one.

”To protect my family from encroaching invaders.”

The Killash grinned.

”Is there nothing else?”

Nidalee grit her teeth and shoved her spear into the memory. It mightn’t be real, but she had stated her truth.

”My pack is everything.”

Walking back to her dying pack mother, Nidalee felt the world begin to blur and fade into an unbearable bright light.

---

In a gasp of breath, Nidalee was returned to the present reality. She felt the urge of her beast-self under her skin, and willed it to stay within.

”Can I… leave now?”

A moment of silence.

”You may. We will have someone escort you to your quarters. There will be an exhibition match for you in a matter of hours.”

Nidalee exited the chambers feeling impatient and pent up. She needed some time to herself, perhaps a hunt.

Something to clear her head.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed, I had to sort of edit this right in the middle because I mixed up some lore and backstory. Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 95: The Demon Jester.

Summary:

The League of Legends needed a little chaos to spice it up.

It was a late night in the Institute of War. The day’s matches had been played and won by a variety of teams. All were resting in varying measures of comfort and peace. 

There was a shape in the corner. A shape like a man, but closer to a mannequin dressed like a red and black court jester.

The summoner stepped forward to investigate, how had this thing come here? 

Suddenly, the mannequin tilted its head. Almost like an animal studying an object of interest. It spoke strangely.

”Hello. I am Shaco! The grand jester! How may I entertain?”

Telstyr cracked a slight smile at the sight, reminded of a toy of her own childhood. 

“Not tonight, I’m afraid.”

She was about to walk away, before the shape spoke again.

”Oh. My mistake…”

Turning, Telstyr saw the mannequin’s fingers flex. It was as if something had started puppeteering it from behind.

The jester jammed forward with suddenly serrated blade, into the summoner’s hand and stomach. Laughter peeled from a face that didn’t move.

”I never said I would entertain you!”

The summoner dropped to the ground, bleeding, yet had enough strength to make a mental message to other summoners in the establishment.

”There is an intruder… red and black. A jester…”

---

Summoners began to awaken, hunting and stalking the halls of the grand institute. 

Two of them were paired together. A Shuriman and a Targonian Summoner. 

“How did a doll enter this place…” Usan asked aloud, only to be hushed by her ally of darker complexion.

”Focus on finding it.”

The Shuriman yelped as she was tackled against the wall of shadows, yet made no sound. But when Raka shone a light onto the destination, all he saw was a horrific sight.

Usan, with a strange and elaborate jester mask and a pair of blade wounds in the abdomen and neck. Her hands were limply holding small flags. 

Raka blasted the shadow with magic. As soon as he heard a sound, he summoned a magic bubble of protection. The creature slammed against the field, like an eager animal. Then, Usan heard a noise.

A jack in the box popped to life, breaking his concentration and weakening the magic enough for the jester to jam his left arm through, blade inches away from Raka.

Magic blasted into the creature as a familiar shape of high summoner Vessaria walked into view. Her energy glowed brightly from her fingertips.

”Sleep.”

The mannequin like shape jumbled and shook as the magic lulled it into a motionless slumber. Raka gasped, getting to his feet with a patient bow.

”Thank you, high summoner.”

Vessaria’s expression was coldly studying the figure before her eyes. As if trying to figure out the source of the appearance by simply looking. She then turned her attention to Raka.

”You are rather welcome. I will handle this, inform the other summoners that the situation is handled. If any champions were woken by the noise, leave them be.”

---

Summoner Vessaria watched the creature contained behind the magic sealing. How had something like this appeared in the institute of war? Or was it perhaps always here, just out of sight until now.

The thought didn’t scare someone like her. But it was something worth contemplating. 

The puppet suddenly awoke, pulling against the bindings. Vessaria began her questioning. 

”Who are you?”

”I am Shaco. But a humble entertainer.”

”Where did you come from?”

A tilt of the head, then shaking it.

”Oh, that doesn’t matter. What matters is the now. Or what the now can become.”

Vessaria almost smiled, amused by his claims of being in control of this situation.

”Here’s what you fail to comprehend. You are our prisoner. You will be released on our discretion for entertainment or to study whatever it is that makes you exist. Step a foot out of line or pull a blade out of the sheath?”

The high summoner held out her hand, before twisting it in a downward angle, forcing Shaco to mimic said pose in painful fashion. Motioning to the left, Shaco twisted in mimicry.

”Something like this will occur. Are we clear?”

A laugh. Not a cackle of madness, or a chuckle of confidence, but a mere laugh of an unknown joke.

”Oh… You are fascinating. Deal.”

With a flat stare, Vessaria made her exit. The jester simply watched.

If nothing else, perhaps this would be entertaining.

Notes:

The hardest chapter I’ve ever done. Because Shaco has basically nothing. No connections. No region.

In any case. I hope you enjoyed. Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 96: The Rabble Rouser.

Summary:

The search to find brewing ingredients can lead a man to strange places.

Summoner Tolas collapsed into the seat of the Freljordian inn. A long journey had spent most of his energy reserves. Frankly, while it might be professional, he needed a drink. He surveyed his surroundings, most of the patrons looked like they had similar ideas as him. A respite from the blizzards outside, yet one man, a large and hefty man with an orange beard and a barrel beside him, his weight and girth made him appear both imposing yet also someone who minded his business.

Suddenly, a group of raiders, likely Winter's Claw from their blades, burst into the inn, sending waves of frost into the once warm room. The large man, who once looked in a stupor, slowly turned his head, gulping down a mug of strong broth. Tolas was rooted in place, idle curiosity demanded he watch.

”The Avarosans made a treaty with you. I don’t see a diplomat, slob.”

No response beyond a tired groan of a man soon to slumber. Someone drew a blade, inches away from the drinker’s bicep.

Tolas was almost ready to disappear, but then? Something happened.

The large man took a drink from his long flask, and then exploded into motion, slamming it into the first warrior's nose, dripping red onto the floor. Summoner Tolas watched in a strange sense of awe, seeing a man who at first appeared to be a docile drinker into a heavy powerhouse who barely registering the blows laid upon him.

He stood to his full height, voice a deep bellowing sound, and spoke with great danger.

”Run off to your war-mother! And tell ‘er,” he paused, “Tell ‘er that Gragas says that if she has a problem, she can say it over a pint!”

He slammed his mug down hard, the bubbly mixture spilling lightly onto the wood.

The last of the raiders had fled away into the distance, leaving Gragas alone to scoff and take another drink. The barkeep sighed in relief and began brewing a special drink.

As a summoner, it was Toras responsibility to investigate particular individuals of great ability. And although this man first looked like a mere drunk, he was something else…

Curiosity led his boots to sit opposite Gragas .

”That was incredible, the Winter’s Claw are known for their ferocity, yet you defeated them without even a weapon of your own!”

”Wasn’t hard. What’re you doing here, you don’t look like a tribesman… got no hair on your chest… soft little face and hands.”

Tolas shrugged, ignoring the potentially veiled insult.

”Out for a stroll, you could say. Mind if I discuss something with you?”

Gragas scowled.

”I ain’t much in a chatty mood. Oi, barkeep! Can I get another round?”

Tolas had an idea.

”Make it double for the saviour of the hour, extra sized!”

Nodding with a wink, the barkeep got to work. Within minutes, the drinks arrived. Gragas took a long sip of the first mug, eyes widening in surprise.

”Soft face, but keen eyes… what’s your business?”

Tolas rested his elbows on the table, his fingers threading together as he let a gentle yet knowledgeable smile enter his facial expression.

”Let’s just say that I’m in the business of finding interesting individuals. You, my friend, are one of them. I’ve heard your tales. The great brewmaster, searching for the perfect ingredients for a liquid of ambrosia. Far and wide you have travelled. But it’s not enough, is it?”

The brief grimace said all that Tolas needed to hear.

“I thought so. I am a summoner of the League of Legends. The Institute of War invites champions from walks of life all over the world. If you search for ingredients to brew, there is a chance we might have your missing pieces.”

Silence. Gragas stood up, uncorked and lifted his barrel, and poured it into the empty mug. He slid it over to Tolas.

Drinking it, Tolas almost choked. It was like a combination of drinks that didn’t quite meld together correctly. Did Gragas drink this daily? And it was so… perfectly cold.

True Ice?

The brewmaster was smiling now. A strange smile, not quite a friendly one, but not a frightening one either.

“And in exchange, you get someone for your fancy fighting games?”

Washing out the taste with his yak’s milk, Tolas nodded.

”Do we have a deal?” The summoner asked as he lifted up his mug of milk. 

Gragas studied the man for a moment, before he slammed his own mug against that of his company, taking a long swig before answering.

”Soft hands, soft face, even softer liver… but a sharp mind. We’ve got a deal.”

---

For as much as the man loved to indulge in a hearty drink, Gragas was also a man who loved a good brawl, which this... League of Legends would hopefully provide. It was partly why he agreed. Only partly, the concept of finally making some headway on his perfect brew.... it was an offer he would be a fool to refuse.

Soon, his guide stopped before a tall doorway.

“Through here is the council of high summoners. Be warned, through here lies your test of will.”

With a scoff, Gragas entered through the door and found himself atop large platform surrounded by tall pillars. Hooded figures in purple robes looked down from above, he doubted any of them would feel so high and above it all were they to try his brews.

"Gragas of the Freljord. You were invited under promise of helping you achieve your goals."

"Yes, but I heard you're giving me a test of will?" He spoke the last thee words with an slight sarcasm.

There was a brief silence before the summoners spoke again.

"Correct. We will enter your mind, we will determine your desires, your will, and your worthiness to become a champion amongst our ranks. Do you accept?"

Gragas nodded firmly. A wordless praise emanated from the summoners, before they cast their magic, snake-like tendrils of pure energy extending into Gragas' temples, making his head hurt like a thousand hammers had slammed into it. Then, strangely enough, his vision blurred into white and his body felt like he was gliding into slumber.

---

Gragas was a man of simple talents and simple pleasures. Not that he was dumb, he could be strangely profound on the nature of the Freljord and how the people you thought were different could be just like you.

He thought that all these wars and strife was pointless. Everyone’s just trying to chase their dreams and live comfortably, why make it harder by causing trouble every sundown?

Gragas had always been a very hard person to get truly drunk. To be truly amongst the bliss and revelry of the group drinking night. Despite his brews, of which could be so marvellous, he could always feel himself never quite on the same level.

He saw it. A shard of True Ice. It would never melt. He placed it into his barrel of liquid, watching the shimmering shard glow and chill the drink.

A sip tasted better than it used too, and strangely enough, he was soon seeing double. Literally, another version of himself, but spoke with a different voice.

"You greatest desire... is to brew a drink?"

"Not just any drink? The perfect drink! Pure liquid of revelry, enough for even myself to savour it."

His mirror raised an uncharacteristic eyebrow of confusion.

"What of the tribes of the Freljord? Their warring battles, the darkness that cracks the unbreakable ice. Have you not felt it? Heard it tingle on your tongue by the ice in your barrel?"

A flat expression was the reply. Gragas was no fool who was unaware of his homeland's strife. He was simply more focused on his goals of the perfect drink. Let the Warmothers sort out their differences one way or another. And if Gragas crossed paths with them, maybe he'd offer a drink. It could loosen up a few high strung folks.

"Right. In any case, your will is strong and your goals, albeit confusing, are one we can assist with. Welcome to the League of Legends, Gragas."

---

Awakening from his test of mental fortitude and given permission to leave, Gragas followed his guide to his new quarters as his mind wandered. What would he do after his great brew had been crafted? Would he share it around the tribes, let them bask in the glory of ambrosia? Or would he keep it for himself and only allow those who asked?

He guffawed, shaking away such dreams of the future. He would take each day as it came. With a barrel of drink and a battle to come.

Notes:

Ah, Gragas...

Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 97: The Half Dragon

Summary:

Invited by Prince Jarvan the fourth, how can Shyvana refuse?

Notes:

(ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THIS EARLY, WILL BE PROOFREAD)

Shyvana was always an outsider. That was how things were, as a half dragon, a half being of magic, she would always be looked at with suspicion. Suspicion or downright hostility by those unwilling to accept her existence as natural.

So, as she walked to the courtyard where Prince Jarvan the fourth had requested her to meet, she paid no heed to the whispers she could hear.

Arriving, she bent the knee to the first man beyond her own father who had accepted her existence without refrain.

”You wished to see me, Prince Jarvan?”

The man chuckled, sheathing the blade he had been practicing with. 

“I did, you can simply refer to me by name. There is no need for titles here.”

”Very well, Jarvan. Why have you summoned me?”

The prince, sighed, his hands folding behind her back.

”You are aware of the League of Legends, correct? The grand combat event with participants from all corners of the world?”

How could anyone miss it? Shyvana had watched the idle few broadcasts with some of her dragon guard allies, but she had never found much point in such an event.

”I am. I assume you were invited, alongside other great champions?”

Nodding, Jarvan sighed. It was  clear that he was building to something.

”I have been. My father, surprisingly, approves of the political value in public displays of Demacian Might. During my initial meeting with the summoners, I was given the opportunity to suggest a champion for them to introduce.”

Shyvana’s burning eyes of orange watched her prince pull a letter from his back pocket, handing it over. The half-dragon took and held it in her purple scaled hands, reading it as it was unfolded.

Shyvana of Demacia, you have been offered a chance to represent Demacian ideals as a champion among the League of Legends. You are under no obligation to accept, but this opportunity is a rare one and especially rare for one such as yourself to be recommended. On the back of this letter, you shall find a location where we shall escort you to the Institute of War, where induction shall be conducted.

Sincerely, The high council of the Institute of War.

Shyvana paused. Words failed her. She noticed the subtle words in the letter, pointing out her existence as ‘other.’ Were she to accept, would she simply be viewed as the pet dragon of the royal prince? The thought made sparks flicker in her throat…

“Is something wrong, Shyvana?”

“You… suggested me?”

”Of course. You are a fierce warrior in both your forms, a loyal defender of the nation, and… a close and trusted ally. Why would I not?” Jarvan replied, a subtle tenderness seeping through his words.

”Ana… listen. I know that you struggle with being accepted. Demacia has roots in old opinions. To show yourself publicly as an ally, it might make the step that the most stubborn among us need.”

It was a foolish hope, a hope that Shyvana wanted to believe in for a moment. That she could walk among others without being looked at as a thing to be feared or a pet to be mocked.

”If you do not wish-

“I accept the offer, Jarvan. But first…”

In great swiftness, the half-dragon pulled the blade from Jarvan’s sheath, brandishing it with a battle hungry and sharp toothed grin.

”Let us see if your time away has dulled your strikes.”

---

After being escorted to the Institute of War building, Shyvana followed a robed woman to where it was said she would undergo the “initiation process.”

She was no stranger to elaborate architecture, living in Demacia for years now, but she could almost sense the old magic of this place, thrumming in the walls. Part of her draconic abilities, the subtle way that magic felt when infused into areas. 

“Through this door is the high council of Summoners. They will handle your initiation. Be prepared for anything.”

With little more than a nod, the half-dragon entered the chamber, a dimly lit area where figure in high raised platforms looked down upon her. Like the architecture, this was nothing new.

”Shyvana, the half-dragon, sworn loyalty to the Prince of Demacia. We are very glad that you accepted our invitation,” they spoke in unison, although it was the voice from the centre figure that seemed to be the firmest.

”I was told there was an initiation. What do I need to do?”

”Simply stay where you are. We will enter your mind, learn your desires, your fears, your ambitions, and determine your worthiness of this opportunity.”

Shyvana grit her teeth as magical tendrils flowed into her form, small cinders escaping her breath as she growled in pain. She was brought to her knees, as the world burned into white.

---

Growing up had been a difficult process for Shyvana. Not only had she been reclusive, but her heritage had started to crack into being the older she became. What started out as small sparks as a toddler became a smouldering flame in adolescence.

The girl, panicked and desperate for comfort, almost burst into her father’s home. He was once a mage thief, but the hatchling Shyvana emerging from the egg he had planned to sell for riches had softened a once hardened heart.

”Father, the fire, it’s getting worse, I can feel it, I can hear someone, she’s angry and she’s roaring, and…!”

He held her close. In Shyvana’s youth, where rage has bubbled too fast and too much for her to handle without risking to burn down the land they loved, her father sung a song to keep her calm.

”By the trees, there’s a place. Somewhere where you’ll be safe...." The song continued, soothing Shyvana as it had many times before.

”A touching memory…” A voice far too unfamiliar spoke, catching Shyvana’s attention, "But nothing to be gleamed..."

There was fire, and it burst into the house, swirling around and surrounding Shyvana until all she could do was roar.

---

When her vision returned, she was not in a burning home, but the woods. Her mother had, Yvva, had found her and torched the village which had become one of her homes, Shyvana’s father being a casualty that would be buried in an simple grave beneath an oak tree.

She had lived on the run for a time after that, eventually coming across a wounded man dressed in armour. Shyvana was about to lift the man into her arms, he had mentioned an outpost, she could help him. 

”Why do you wish to join the League of Legends?” The man asked, and it was like a switch had flipped in Shyvana's head. Her present consciousness suddenly surged into her memory-self. She hardened her features, needing to be convincing towards such a question that could define her future regarding the League of Legends.

”To serve Demacia and Prince Jarvan.”

A pause, then the question was asked again in a sharper tone of voice. Shyvana gave another answer.

”To prove my worth to those who doubt. My existence is not one to be feared or looked at with hatred. I... wish to prove that to the naysayers.”

Not-Jarvan stared at Shyvana. His eyes could be so many things, but they were never so blank and almost searching through her soul through her eyes.

”Your truth is clear and you are found worthy of becoming a champion amongst the League of Legends. Tell me, how did it feel to open your mind?”

Shyvana turned away, feeling the burning of her true form beneath her skin.

"Unpleasant," she growled, before taking flight. And in a moment, all she saw was white and felt a thrumming pain beneath her flesh.

---

Shyvana heard panicked shouts from the summoners, and when her eyes opened, she realised what had occurred. Lost control, awakened her dragon form from the shock of her mind's experiences. With almost embarrassment, Shyvana returned to her humanoid form in a whirlwind of dragon flame.

"Apologies, have I... been accepted?"

There was a moment of silence before the woman in the middle of the platform arrangements spoke.

"You have been. We will arrange an exhibition to observe you in action. For now, take some time to familiarise yourself."

Soon, Shyvana exited the chambers, and in her mind, she began to hum.

”By the trees, there’s a place. Somewhere where you’ll be safe...."

Perhaps the Institute of War would be such a place. One could only hope.

Notes:

Comments are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 98: The Sad Mummy.

Summary:

The Sad Mummy is a tale known by many.

There was a myth in Shurima. A myth of a child with a great sickness, who was wrapped in bandages when he perished and left in a special tomb.

When the boy woke, he was neither alive or dead. He didn’t remember his name or who he was. Just that he was terribly lonely.

His name was Amumu.

---

A rat scurried through the damp tomb, sniffing for food. His company, a little boy with old bandages and a sniffly disposition, hugged himself.

”I know, I wish I could get you food too. Maybe there’s something between the cracks?”

The rat made a sound. Amumu powered his head, getting an idea. He pulled back one of his bandages, showing off his skin. Wow, he looked weird…

”Here. Have a little nibble, it might help?”

Pausing, the rodent scurried to the offering, sniffing the flesh, before pulling back. Amumu held it closer. He didn’t want his friend to be hungry.

A bite. Amumu winced. The rat scurried away, and… proceeded to spit out the food. Oh.

”Sorry. I guess I don’t taste good either.”

Amumu walked to the door. It had been locked forever. He didn’t know why. Was he a bad person? Maybe that was it.

Still, he could be good. If he got out. If someone was here.

”Hello!” He asked into the emptiness of the door, “Can anyone hear me?”

Silence. The boy sighed. He began to walk back to the corner of the area. Maybe he could sleep again.

Then, he heard something. The door began to move. It was moving…

---

The summoner turned around, magic at the ready to be unleashed upon any intruder. He kept his eyes locked on the prize.

Only to see a small shape, almost child shaped, waddle out. It look like a mummy, wrapped in ancient bandages. How long had it been here?

Then, it spoke. A small voice, wet and desperate.

”Hi… who are you?”

The summoner didn’t know if this creature wasn’t cursed in some manner. He remembered some vague Shuriman story, although the name escaped him at the time.

”I’m an explorer. Who are you? How did you come here?”

The creature shook its head.

”My name is… Amumu, I think. I don’t know how I got here, but…”

Newly named Amumu walked up to the summoner, reaching out a bandaged hand.

”I’m really glad you found me.”

In that moment, as soon as the fingers of the mummy lightly grabbed against the summoner’s hand, it was as if death had taken grip. Cold and yet burning, the decaying process sped up.

The summoner ripped his hand away, shaking the deathly cold of his hand as fast as he could. The flesh had darkened slightly, as if it had aged while the rest of him hadn’t.

He remembered the story now. The Sad Mummy. Cursed to be alone forever. Amumu’s eyes were wide. They were the part of the wrappings that had been torn apart, shaking off piercing yet glowing eyes.

”Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” 

“Stay away from me!”

Sadness mixed into anger, the boy throwing his arms around in childlike rage.

”Stop shouting at me!”

The shout echoed, and the entire area began to darken, as if surrounded by an essence of grief and pain. The summoner had surrounded himself in a magic barrier, letting the creature wail.

Then, Amumu gasped. His sadness returned, running over to lift up a small rat.

”No, no! I’m sorry, buddy! You’ll be okay, you’re just hungry, just tired…”

The summoner watched the mummy come over, holding the rat in both hands like a beloved pet.

”Can you save him? I won’t get mad again, please?”

Sighing, the summoner took the rat in his hand. This was not how he expected today would go.

”I can help it. But you’re coming with me, you’re too strange to ignore.”

Amumu nodded, unaware of the spell circle beneath his feet.

”Okay, where are we…”

He soon collapsed, unconscious. A spell of slumber to prevent any further complications. 

---

Amumu opened his eyes. He wasn’t in the tomb, not at all. He was wrapped in a bedsheet, in an extremely comfortable room.

”Excuse me? Prince?” A girl’s voice spoke through a door.

Prince? 

“U-um, yes?” Just those two words had relinquished a coughing fit. Amumu must be ill, he looked at his hands, finding them not wrapped in old and rotten bandages. 

They were, however, still weirdly disgusting. Covered in sickness and blisters.

”It’s your brother. He has passed on. I am… sorry this has occurred.”

Amumu was still reeling from everything. A prince? A brother? Dead? That he didn’t even notice the door open until he blinked. Amumu looked up to see a girl dressed in browns with golden hair.

Wrapping her arms around him in a show of kindness, the girl wasn’t even flinching.

”I’m sorry that you need to go through this pain. Truly…”

Suddenly, her words began to die out, a final death rattle escaping lips that had decayed like the rest of her ailing skin. Panic struck Amumu, collapsing to his knees, touching her face that was once so radiant. Someone entered. An elderly woman with a face like stone. She held out her hands, speaking words with venom, a curse upon the prince.

"May you forever be alone."

The world began to melt and warp before Amumu's eyes. Not just a headache, not just sickness, but sheer pain of old magic. In response, Amumu began to screech.

---

For the last time, Amumu opened his eyes. He lurched forward, crashing against some sort of magic bubble. It hurt, tears spring from his ears and rolling down the bandages.

”Ow…”

”We offer you a community to stay in. We cannot remove your curse, not yet, but so long as you keep distance from others outside of League matches, you can make friends.”

Amumu didn’t really understand the idea of “League matches.” But the rest of it sounded like a very kind deal.

He remembered.

”Wait! My friend! Is he?”

The robed woman lifted up a small cage with his rat friend, chewing on fresh food. Amumu felt a rare relief in his body.

”He is safe. Try to avoid touching the rat, your curse might kill him. But the cage acts as a buffer.”

Everyone was happening so fast. But he wasn’t going to be alone! Sure, he had to be careful, no accidental hugs or contact, but he could do that.

He followed his escort, looking down at his rat friend. Maybe this could work…

Notes:

Ah, Amumu. I know it kind of goes against Amumu to have a rat friend. But, I think a compromise by a friend that he still cannot touch or embrace is still

Comments are always welcome and appreciated.