Chapter Text
The world ended in a screech of tires and the shattering of safety glass. One moment, Ahri was gripping the armrest of their luxury van, the city lights a brilliant smear against the rain-slicked windows. The next, a brutal impact from a blacked-out vehicle—sent by a rival band’s unhinged fans—sent them careening through a guardrail.
They were falling, the abyss of the river below yawning to swallow them. Akali’s scream was cut short. Evelynn let out a furious snarl. Kai’sa reached for a hand, any hand. And then, the world went white.
It was not the white of impact, but of nothingness. A sterile, silent space where sound and light died. A figure stood before them, a being of impossible geometry, woven from shifting shadows and piercing light, all of it orbiting a core of deep, pulsating crimson fire. It spoke not in words, but in concepts that blossomed directly in their minds.
Your song has ended in one world. Let it begin again in another, where melody is a weapon and harmony a shield. You will be their light in the darkness. Help us spread the power of music.
Before they could protest, the white faded into a different kind of emptiness.
Morgana felt the familiar weight of her chains, the cold stone of her self-imposed prison. Centuries of bitterness were a taste she could not wash from her tongue, but they had become an expected weight, a wanted weight. Then, the air in her secluded ruin shimmered. A being of shadow, light, and crimson fire appeared, an anomaly that made her narrow her eyes, dark wings rustling.
“Away, specter,” she hissed. “I have had my fill of celestial meddlers and their so called punishments.”
The being’s response was an amused chuckle ans a wave of images: Two brother gods, petulant and destructive. A woman, cursed with immortality, drowning her world in despair. Creatures of pure annihilation and a desperate, endless war. Then—four girls. A pop star with nine tails, a diva with lasher-like hair, a dancer in a living, purple symbiote, a rapper with a sharp tongue and sharper kunai. Their faces were different, but their souls… their souls were echoes of champions she knew.
Your punishment is of your own making, Morgana, the being intoned. But your desire to help humanity, even in its fallen state, is genuine. This world has a similar enemy in uncaring gods. Guide these four. They are your chance, not for redemption, but for a new beginning. Away from your sister. A world that needs the strength you offer.
The offer was a key to a lock she thought eternal. A world without Kayle. A chance to protect, not just punish. She gave a single, sharp nod.
"Intriguing," Morgana murmured. Her chains clinking softly as she shifted. "Familiar faces, you say?"
"like looking thru a mirror,” the being clarified. "Four souls from a world unlike any you know. They wear the faces of champions you may recognize—Ahri, Evelynn, Kai'Sa, Akali—they are but echoes. Singers, performers. I have been gifted them the powers of their counterparts, but not the wisdom to wield them in a world that breaks the weak."
Morgana's lips curled in a bitter smile. "And you wish me to be their teacher? Their warden? I, who am bound for my defiance?"
"A chance to defy a different set of uncaring gods," the entity offered, its light dimming, allowing the shadows and deep crimson to dominate. "Their world, Remnant, is a petri dish for two brother deities who have long since abandoned it. They left behind a curse in the form of an immortal witch, and a plague of creatures of darkness called Grimm. The people fight a losing war, guided by a tired old man who reincarnates, forever failing."
It was a story she understood all too well. A war against the divine, fought by mortals caught in the crossfire. The same futility, the same endless cycle.
"And these girls?" Morgana asked, a flicker of genuine interest cutting through her apathy.
"They are to be a catalyst. Their original world's magic is fuelled by emotion, and their power is the power of music, given form. They can inspire, they can protect, they can fight. But they are lost, hurt, and about to be cast into the deep end. They will need a guide. Someone who understands what it means to be cast out, to hold power that others fear."
Morgana looked at the chains on her wrists, the physical manifestation of her grief and rage. A clean break. Away from Kayle, away from the memories of a home that rejected her. A chance to help mortals not as a celestial being, but as one who had fallen and understood the mud and the blood.
“who are you?”
“im similar to you Morgana, I defied the heavenly but I was a mere mortal and got away with it. I’m someone that was offered Divinity and dared to reject it.” The being chuckled as if recalling a very good jest “im one who represents all that the divine hates”
She met the gaze of the crimson fire. "I accept."
The being bowed its head. "Then welcome aboard."
The transition was not gentle. It was a violent tearing, a sensation of being pulled through a keyhole. One moment, Morgana was in her cavern, the next she was tumbling through a kaleidoscope of screaming color and shattering sound, before being violently ejected into a cool, moonlit night.
She hit the damp grass with a grunt, her wings flaring instinctively to cushion the fall. Pain lanced through her side—a deep gash from what felt like shrapnel. Around her, four other forms crashed to the earth in a tangle of limbs and pained cries.
They were a sight. A woman with nine silken tails, her pristine white jacket torn and stained with blood. Another, clad in impossibly sleek, living purple latex, hissing in pain as she clutched a wounded arm. A third, with a severe black bob, whose strange, symbiote-like shoulder-pods twitched feebly. And the youngest, a girl in a crop top and hoodie, a gash on her forehead bleeding into her purple hair.
They were the K/DA. Pop stars. And they looked utterly broken.
Morgana pushed herself to her knees, her dark wings mantling around them. "Can any of you stand?" she asked, her voice raspy but firm.
Ahri, the one with the tails, looked up, her golden eyes wide with shock and pain. "Where... what happened? The truck... the bridge..."
"This is Remnant," Morgana stated, as if that explained everything. She looked towards the tree line. "And we are not alone."
A twig snapped. From the shadows of the forest, a boy emerged. He was tall, lanky, and clad in simple, practical clothing. A large, unadorned sword was strapped to his back, looking comically oversized on his frame. His blue eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and unwavering resolve.
He didn't scream. He didn't run. He took in the scene: five wounded women, one with demonic wings, one with fox features, another with a living, alien suit. He saw the blood, the pain.
"Stay back!" Akali snarled, trying to rise and brandish a kunai, but she cried out and collapsed, clutching her ribs.
The boy flinched but didn't retreat. He raised his hands, showing he was unarmed. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "You're hurt. Let me help."
He rushed forward, ignoring Morgana's wary glare and Evelynn's predatory hiss. He dropped to his knees beside the nearest one, Kai'Sa, and began rifling through a small pack he carried.
"Deep laceration on the arm... possible fracture," he muttered to himself, his movements surprisingly competent despite his obvious nerves. He pulled out a roll of bandages and a disinfectant spray. "This is going to sting."
He worked with a frantic, focused energy. He cleaned Kai'Sa's wound, his touch surprisingly gentle. He then moved to Akali, his brow furrowed in concentration as he assessed her ribs. He barely seemed to register Ahri's tails or Morgana's wings, treating them as if they were the most natural things in the world. His sole focus was on the injuries.
Morgana watched him, the celestial fire in her veins cooling to a smolder of curiosity. This boy, this mortal, saw their otherworldly aspects and his first, his only instinct, was to render aid. He saw the blood, not the legend. The pain, not the power.
He finished tying a bandage around Akali's head and finally looked up, meeting Morgana's gaze. "I... I don't know who you are or where you came from. But my family's house isn't far. You can rest there. You're safe."
Safe. The word felt foreign on Morgana's tongue. She looked at the four girls—her charges, her new coven. They were scared, powerless, and reliant on the kindness of a stranger in a strange land.
She looked back at the boy, Jaune. His offer was a flicker of light in the overwhelming darkness they had been thrown into. It was a beginning. Not as prisoners or outcasts, but as something else. Something new.
The sight of Jaune, bruised and dirt-smudged, supporting two clearly injured women while a third, winged and terrifyingly beautiful, floated two more behind him on beds of shadowy magic, was enough to stop John and Camille Arc in their tracks.
"Jaune!" John's voice was a boom of relief and shock, his hand going to the hilt of the simple sword at his hip. His eyes, the same blue as Jaune's, scanned the strange group with a Huntsman's trained alertness, lingering on Morgana's wings and Ahri's tails. Camille was faster, her mother's instinct overriding any surprise. She rushed forward, her eyes not on the impossible features, but on the blood and the pallor of their faces. "Oh, sweet Brothers. Jaune, what happened? Who are these girls?"
"They're hurt, Mom," Jaune gasped, readjusting Akali's weight on his back. The young rapper was barely conscious, muttering something about "stage lights."
"I found them in the woods. They... they need help."
"We can see that, son," John said, his voice lowering to a steady, calming timbre. He stepped forward, his gaze meeting Morgana's. He didn't flinch from the dark, feathered wings or the aura of ancient power that clung to her. He saw a protector, hunched over her wounded charges. "My name is John Arc. This is my wife, Camille. Our home is close. Let's get them inside."
The return to the Arc household was a blur of controlled chaos. The sprawling, warm home was suddenly filled with the presence of five otherworldly women. Morgana, despite her own pain, used her magic to gently lay Evelynn and Kai'sa on the large couches in the living room before sinking into a chair herself, her wings folding with a rustle of ethereal feathers.
And then the sisters descended.
The seven Arc sisters, having heard the commotion, poured into the room, their reactions a symphony of overlapping personalities.
"By the Gods, are they okay? Do we need a doctor? Should I prepare the guest rooms?" Colette immediately began wringing her hands, her mind already jumping to long-term care and dramatic narratives.
"Guest rooms? We need to triage. Who's most critical? Jaune, fetch the advanced medkit from Dad's study. Mom, we'll need more clean water and bandages." Amélie, ever practical, began assessing the situation with a commander's eye.
Marguerite adjusted her glasses, peering with intense curiosity at Ahri's tails. "Fascinating. The prehensile nature and the number... nine... that's unprecedented in any known Faunus genealogy. And the wings... are those keratin-based or a form of energy manifestation?"
"Can you do a somersault with those?" Élodie asked Morgana, her eyes wide with excitement, miming the flip. Morgana simply stared, a flicker of bewildered amusement in her dark eyes.
"Your skin is flawless," Geneviève breathed, leaning far too close to Evelynn, who bared her teeth in a silent, pained snarl. "What's your secret? Is it the makeup? It doesn't look like makeup."
Corinne, the youngest, just pointed at Morgana. "That's the coolest thing I've ever seen," she declared, then pointed at Jaune, covered in dirt and blood. "You look lame, Jaune."
Through it all, Camille took charge with a gentle firmness. She shooed her daughters aside, directing the flow of supplies with John's quiet help. She cleaned wounds with a steady hand, her touch as kind and efficient as Jaune's had been. She didn't ask questions, not yet. The priority was care.
Later, when the five strangers were settled in beds, their wounds cleaned and bandaged, the family gathered in the kitchen. Jaune sat at the table, exhausted, nursing a mug of hot chocolate.
"Alright, Jaune," John said, his voice low and serious. "Start from the beginning."
Jaune did. He told them about his plan to run away, to train, to become a Huntsman. He told them about the flash of light in the forest, and finding the five women, broken and bleeding. He told them how he just... helped.
"And you didn't think for a second that they might be dangerous?" John asked, not accusatory, but genuinely curious.
Jaune looked up, his gaze steady. "They were hurt, Dad. It didn't matter what they were. They needed help."
Camille placed a hand on her husband's shoulder, a silent communication passing between them. She looked at her son, and for the first time, she saw not a boy playing at being a hero, but a young man who had just proven he had the heart of one.
In the quiet of the guest room, Morgana listened to the faint sounds of the family below. She heard the concern, the chatter, the unconditional acceptance. It was a far cry from the cold, judgmental halls of their celestial home. This family, this boy... they saw the wound before the weapon.
As dawn broke over the Arc homestead, Morgana knew Jaune's path was now intertwined with theirs.
The soft morning light filtered through the curtains of the Arc family's guest room, illuminating four pairs of eyes fixed on Morgana. The initial panic had subsided, replaced by a wary, throbbing confusion. Ahri’s tails were curled tightly around herself, a silken shield. Evelynn’s gaze was sharp, analytical, hiding the disorientation behind a mask of cool disdain. Kai’sa was palpating the living, symbiote-like second skin on her arm, her expression one of profound unease. Akali, despite the bandages, sat upright, her posture defiant and ready for a fight.
Morgana met each of their gazes in turn, her own ancient and heavy with understanding. She could feel their fractured memories, the modern world of spotlights and soundboards clashing violently with the primal, magical energy now coursing through them. With a subtle flick of her wrist, she wove a spell of silence around the room. The distant sounds of the Arc family preparing breakfast vanished, leaving them in a bubble of absolute quiet.
"You are changed," Morgana began, her voice a low, resonant hum that filled the silent space. "With bodies familiar yet unknown. You have questions, a torrent of them. But first... you were offered an opportunity, were you not?"
Ahri was the first to speak, her voice husky. "A white space. A voice. It said we could have a second chance. That our music could... mean something more." She looked down at her hands, then at one of her tails, which she tentatively uncurled. "I didn't think it meant... this."
"This is a nightmare," Evelynn stated flatly, examining her sharpened fingertips. "One moment, we were falling. The next, we're here, in some rustic farmhouse, dressed like... like warriors from a fantasy holo-game, and I can feel... urges." A shiver ran through her, not entirely unpleasant.
Kai'sa nodded, her voice steady but laced with tension. "I remember agreeing. To protect people. But this power... it feels like it's alive. It's hungry." The pods on her shoulders twitched in agreement.
Akali scowled, crossing her arms and wincing at the pull on her injured ribs. "Yeah, an opportunity. To not die. Seemed like a good deal at the time. Now I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of... of..." She gestured vaguely at Morgana's wings and Ahri's tails. "...this. And what's with the getup?" She plucked at the fabric of her K/DA outfit, now subtly altered, reinforced with materials that hinted at both stage-wear and combat gear.
Morgana offered a small, knowing smile, a rare crack in her stern demeanor. "The 'getup,' as you call it, is a reflection of the power you were gifted. You were performers. Now, you are the performance given flesh and purpose. The magic of this world is fueled by emotion—passion, hope, despair. Your music was always a conduit for such things. Now, it is a literal weapon, a shield, a balm."
She leaned forward, her chains whispering against the floor. "This world is called Remnant. It is a world besieged by creatures of Grimm, born from darkness to destroy all human and Faunus life. They are drawn to negative emotion. Your joy, your hope, your music... it can repel them. Inspire the people who fight them. And you will need to fight."
She let that sink in. The pop stars, the idols, were now frontline soldiers in a war for survival.
"The one who brought us here," Morgana continued, "spoke of uncaring gods. I am familiar with the type. They have left a curse upon this land—an immortal witch named Salem who commands the Grimm. The man who leads the fight against her is trapped in an endless, losing cycle. This is the stage upon which you must now perform."
Her gaze swept over them, firm and unyielding. "The boy, Jaune, his family... they are a rare light in this darkness. They saw you not as monsters, but as people in need. That is a lesson you must remember. You are different, yes. You are powerful, yes. But you are here to protect that kindness, not supersede it."
Morgana rose to her full height, her dark wings stretching slightly, casting a protective shadow over the four girls.
"Your first performance is over. Your rehearsal for the real show begins now. Rest. Heal. When you are able, we will begin. We will teach the boy who saved us how to survive in this world, and in doing so, we will learn to survive in it ourselves. We will make our music heard, not just in concert halls, but on the battlefield."
Evelynn’s eyes, sharp with a pain that was more than physical, narrowed further. The others might be confused or scared, but she was a predator by new, unnerving instinct, and she sensed layers in their winged guardian’s words. "How... how do you know how to help us?" she asked, her voice a low, suspicious purr that seemed to vibrate in the magically silenced air. It was a challenge, not just a question.
Morgana’s smile was a slow, knowing thing, tinged with the ghosts of countless battles and long centuries. She seemed almost proud of the question. "Because I know you," she said, her gaze sweeping over each of them, "or well... the yous whose powers, whose very essences, you were gifted with."
She pointed a slender, chain-draped finger at Ahri. "The nine-tailed Fox, a creature of immense charm and life-stealing magic, seeking her place in the world." Her finger moved to Evelynn. "The primordial demon of desire, who wears agony as a perfume and lures prey into a deadly embrace." Then to Kai'sa. "The daughter lost to the Void, who returned not as a victim, but as a hunter, fused with a living, predatory symbiote." Finally, to Akali. "The rogue kunoichi of the Kinkou Order, the Fist of Shadow, who left tradition behind to forge her own path in the shadows." She let the weight of those titles hang in the quiet room. "I have crossed paths with their echoes in my world, Runeterra. Sometimes as enemies, at others as allies in a common cause. I have felt the fox's charm, evaded the demon's claws, stood beside the Void-hunter against common horrors, and debated the meaning of justice with the rogue ninja." Her smile softened, becoming almost maternal. "So I know the shape of the power within you. I know its temptations and its costs. And I know that you are not them. You are singers who have been given a symphony of war. My role is to teach you how to read the music before the orchestra falls into chaos."
The suspicion in Evelynn's eyes didn't vanish, but it was now mixed with a dawning, grim understanding. They weren't just random victims. They had been chosen, fitted with powers that had a history, a legacy.
The silence in the warded room felt heavier now, thick with the weight of the names and legacies Morgana had just laid before them. The initial shock was settling into a grim, bewildered acceptance. They were trapped in a story far bigger and stranger than any of their music videos.
"Now," Morgana said, her voice softening from its lecture-like tone into something more conversational, yet still layered with ancient sorrow, "why don't we get to know each other a little more? I'll start with myself." She shifted, the dark, feathered wings rustling softly. "My name is Morgana. And the power I wield... it is the burden I took for spurning the divine." She looked down at the dark chains shackling her wrists, not with shame, but with a familiar, weary defiance. "My sister and I were born of something far beyond your understanding. We were meant to be judges, dispensers of a perfect, unyielding celestial justice. But I saw its flaw. Its coldness. To my kin, a mortal's struggle, their capacity for failure and redemption, was a sign of imperfection to be cleansed. I saw it as their strength."
A flicker of dark fire, the color of deep wine, sparked at her fingertips. "I refused to abandon them. For my defiance, I was cast down, bound with these chains—not by my enemies, but by my own power, a perpetual reminder of the family and the destiny I rejected. My magic is rooted in pain, in suffering, and in the righteous fury of the oppressed. I can bind others with their own sins, shield the broken with my darkness, and burn away falsehoods with black fire."
She looked at each of them, her gaze lingering on their injuries, their confusion. "That was my existence. Until the one who is 'everything the divine detests' offered me this chance. A clean break. A world where the gods are not just cold, but actively destructive, and where humanity fights a war they were never meant to win. A place where I could guide you—not as a celestial judge, but as one who has fallen and knows the way."
She leaned back, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. "So. You have a fallen angel as your guide. Now, it is your turn. Tell me of the women you were, before the power. Before the fall. It is that core, that essential 'you,' that will decide whether this power becomes a curse... or a new kind of harmony."
The silence stretched, now expectant. All eyes turned to Ahri, the unspoken leader of their group. She took a shaky breath, one of her tails wrapping comfortingly around her own arm.
"I... I'm Ahri," she began, her voice finding its strength. "And I was just a singer who wanted to connect with people. To make them feel something with my music." She glanced at her tails. "Now... now I think I can do more than just make them feel. I think I can... protect what they feel."
"I'm Kai'sa," said the one with the living symbiote, her voice steadier than she felt. "I was... a performer. But before that, I was just a girl who loved to dance. Now... this thing on my skin, it feels like it's listening. It feels like a part of the beat." She flexed her gauntleted hand, the pod on her shoulder shifting in response.
"Akali," the youngest grunted, arms still crossed. "I rap. I write my own stuff. My truth. Now... I feel faster. Sharper. Like I could move through shadows instead of just singing about them." She didn't sound entirely unhappy about it, despite her defensive posture.
Evelynn was last, her voice a low, melodic purr that seemed to caress the silence. "Evelynn. I am the image of desire, the fantasy. It was my art, my craft." She examined her claws. "Now, the desire I feel... it's not just a stage effect. It's a current in the air. I can feel your pain, your fear... it's... intoxicating." She didn't apologize for the observation; it was a simple, unsettling fact.
Morgana listened to each, her head tilted, absorbing not just their words, but the cadence of their souls. They were indeed unknown minds, bright and modern, clashing wonderfully with the ancient powers they now housed. As the last of them fell silent, Evelyn's golden eyes found Morgana's again, the suspicion now tempered with a sliver of something else—a need to understand the architecture of their new reality.
"What did you mean by the one that is everything the divine detests?" Evelyn asked again, less rattled but still probing, a little grateful for the answers, but needing more.
Morgana laughed softly, a sound like distant, mournful bells. "Just that. In his own words, he was 'a mortal that earned the divine and spurned it because it was unworthy' in his eyes." She leaned forward, her chains clinking softly. "I do not know how he 'earned' it, nor do I know him personally. But I could sense it on the offer he made—the mark of having fought against divinity, and not merely been struck down for it. Curiously, he wasn't fallen... not cast out or broken. So, it means in whatever war or battle he fought in... he WON."
She let the immensity of that statement hang in the air. A mortal, victorious against the divine. It was a concept that should have been impossible.
"So I took a gamble, as mortals so say usually," Morgana revealed, a genuine delight in her dark eyes. It was the delight of a scholar who had found a fascinating, impossible new theorem. "I wagered that an entity with such a history would have a far more interesting, and just, cause than the 'perfect' gods I left behind."
She looked at them all, her smile widening. "Such lovely phrases you can come up with," she added musingly. "A 'gamble'. It feels... appropriately daring."
Unnoticed by the four girls, but fully sensed by Morgana, Jaune Arc remained just outside the door, his breathing shallow. Morgana had felt the slight ripple in her ward the moment he’d approached, and with a thought, she had allowed a sliver of silence to bleed through, just enough for him to hear this crucial revelation. She had a feeling, a deep and certain instinct, that their paths had been laid across his for a reason. He needed to hear this. He needed to know that the gods of his world were not the only powers in the cosmos, and that defiance could, against all odds, be victorious.
It was, as Morgana said, a gamble. But for the first time since waking up in pain on the forest floor, it felt like a gamble with stakes worth playing for.
Akali's huff was more relaxed now, the tension bleeding out of her shoulders. "Beats falling into the Han river because of rabid fans..." she grumbled, a touch of her usual dry humor returning. "Always knew there was something wrong with that sanctimonious bitch Seraphine," Akali muttered darkly, picking at her bandages.
"Akali, I really doubt she went as far as that," Ahri said, though her protest was weak, lacking her usual firmness. The suspicion, it seemed, had been a seed in her mind as well.
"Please, dear," Evelynn drawled, her voice dripping with a knowing condescension that was uniquely hers. "The girl has the hots for you, but the rest of us are chaff, as far as she's concerned. Her 'everyone can be friends' melody doesn't extend to those who overshadow her."
Kai'sa, usually the quiet observer, piped up, her analysis cool and clear. "Even Evelynn, who has the villainess persona, had a better handle on her fans, even if she didn't have a hand in it—Seraphine?—She for sure never reigned her fan base in. She enjoyed the devotion too much."
Ahri said nothing, but her slight, reluctant nod was all the confirmation the others needed. It was a shared, unspoken understanding from their old life, a petty wound that now felt trivial and yet, in this context, strangely validating.
Morgana watched the bonding occur over shared grievances and found it… charming.
"Petty rivalries and perceived slights," Morgana mused, her voice pulling their attention back. "They seem so small from here, don't they? And yet, they shaped you. That world, with its fans and music and drama, forged the spirits that now hold the power to defy gods and Grimm." Her smile was not unkind. "Hold on to that. The memory of why you performed. The connection you sought with your audience. That is the core you must protect. The zealots who attacked you, the rival who may have turned a blind eye… they are a reminder of what happens when connection turns to poison. Here, your music must be a antidote."
She stood, the silence ward dissolving with a soft, inaudible pop, allowing the morning sounds of the Arc household to filter back in.
"Finally... why don't you join us, Jaune?" asked Morgana, her voice soft and warm, devoid of any accusation.