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Chapter Text

Walking down the slums, Aidan thought he had heard Seraphine sing. Her voice had haunted him like the plague in the past few weeks. It was when he discovered he could not be hit by anything thrown in the air around him. Some drunkard thought he wanted a fight in the bar. There was nothing wrong with being a little self indulgent, Aidan thought. It had been weeks now. The funerals.

Seraphine was gone. Gone. Kidnapped. Gone.

He handed the gun to another man, the bigger one. Renata eyed him curiously from the other side of the Mural to the Dead. He sighed, eyes closed.

"Go on," Aidan said as he adjusted his suit.

Renata's bodyguard shot. Once, twice. The bullets made their way only to be averted by mere millimeters by... The wind. They all heard a bird's crackle after. A crow.

"When were you planning to tell me this?" Renata said taking the gun from her man's hands.

"I planned to never do this at all," Aidan said, shrugging, eyes still closed. "I don't know when this started. I guess it was back at the funerals."

Renata walked toward him. Sized him. "Good. That is good to know."

She didn't told him about who had sung in the funerals. She needed him very obedient and knowing his little angel had been alive all this time would certainly ruin some of her plans for him.

"You weren't born with the Arcane then," Renata hummed. "Just blessed by it by lineage."

"As I told you when I got here the first time," Aidan muttered. "I'm a better shield now, though. I can actually do somethin' other than spying."

Renata scoffed. "What? Be a human shield?"

Aidan opened his eyes. "And why not."

Renata stared. He was serious about this. Oh, well.

She smiled behind her mask. That was easier than she thought it would be. These months had changed her little rat quite more than eighteen years had.

***

I was hoping, Atreus thought, absently, as he patched his shoulder right above his lost arm. To never do this again. It hurts. It hurts a lot.

He hummed a little song while doing so. He had played dead - Pantheon had - and Aatrox laughed, cut his arm off, spat on him, called him weak and pathetic. Roared to all demacians that still could walk that he would finally end what their protectors had stopped ages ago. Atreus eyed the city from above the castle. The ravens and butterflies had taken a hold of the entire country by now. What they could salvage after the carnage of Aatrox's oblivion.

The fifth tower of the Demacian Castle still stood, oddly enough. Very few rooms and blood everywhere. There was one room, though, that light itself seemed attracted to. The haunted one. Atreus stared at the standing staff. He had taken the girl and buried her, like he did after all bodies he encountered in Demacia as a whole. He had walked that entire damned country. He continued to humm.

"What is it that you want from me?" He asked the staff, being hold by light itself. "I am only a man now. Pantheon is finally gone. One less constellation."

The light shifted a bit, shining through the staff, lighting the bed.

"You miss her," He decided. The staff fell. "I am sorry for your loss."

The light moved again. That was not it, then? It moved to the bed and then it was gone. A reflection.

Atreus moved to the bed he had changed the sheets of three times already. Shook his head. Something fell off. A book. A book about Demons. Atreus chuckled as he read through it. Demacians knew so little about magic they called the Primal Ones demons. Demons. They were emotions being fed. Not demons, Atreus thought. He read a passage that made him close his eyes for a moment.

Goddess of Life.

When he did opened them, there was a woman, almost as tall as him, made of dust and dry blood. Atreus did not got scared by it. He knew Demacia was haunted by the Primal Ones and the Rune Creatures. Aatrox made it very clear when he screamed at them to stop mocking him as he descended upon the demacians.

"Go away," He said, simply.

The image disappeared.

Atreus felt his lost arm tingle. Ah, phantoms. Ghosts. He sighed softly and the light shifted again. Atreus frowned. "What it is that you want?"

It was sudden, a rune, made entirely of light.

He stared at the image for a quiet moment. It changed. Another rune.

Atreus hummed. "Give me a moment, will you? I only have one arm now. I will need to write."

The light became a reflection again, as if waiting. Atreus found paper and pen. "Go on," He almost chuckled as he said.

It moved again. Same runes. One new. Same runes, one new. It was a pattern of three. Light shifted again as if saying "Yes! Now figure it out alone."

Atreus stared at the South. Aatrox had said something about Noxus. But Atreus planned something more to the South than Targon. He nodded to himself. He heard stories about that place from Soraka. Where Death meant nothing. He imagined something that held Death could only mean a World Rune.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Someone said in the halls. "Now I need to take them somewhere else and- Hello?"

Atreus hadn't moved an inch. His frown deepened.

A man appeared in the corner of the halls. He was... Purple, with bluish undertones. His body was taken with runic tattoos. And then suddenly, the man was right on front of Atreus.

"Targonian," The man said. "Oh for the Seven Ionian Hells... Aatrox was here, was he not?"

"He was." Atreus agreed. He felt ill. "You know him."

The man tattooed in runes frowned at the room. His eyes lowered. "Poor Luxanna. Yes. I do know him. I banished him, but somehow... Somehow he came back stronger."

"He took a northerner," Atreus offered. "I saw when they came."

The man stared at him. "Oh- Oh, fuck. He took Tryndamere. Fuck."

Atreus held the man's wrist. "Who and why?"

"Pantheon, yes? You may not go back to Targon. Not yet. We have a weapon. We can use it."

"A weapon. I don't know if you noticed-"

"You must choose, boy." The man cut. "Either the spear or the shield."

Atreus knew he couldn't do it. But he felt it.

He felt her voice, her soft laughter. The moonstones. He felt it all. A shield to Targon, a shield to the world.

Chapter Text

Annie ran. Gods, the stench of burning flesh could not be taken away as easily as she thought it could. At least her school burning a few months back didn't felt like this. Feel. Annie chuckled to herself as she ran from the destruction. The demon with the sword said he would not allow a soul to leave or live, but Annie hated following rules. And the school was very close to the mines, where she hid whenever she felt like it. But now it was a safeline.

It was home, somehow. Annie never thought she'd have a home - not after Daisy and definitely not after Mister Jhin told her to "go back to school" as if that was an option. They on her second run, but come back she did. To burn it all down. The Black Rose wanted her? Well they were way too busy now with the world going bunkers.

First that Blood Moon. Then the Eclipse a few months after. Annie knew enough about magic (thank you, Black Rose) to know that one sign after the other was a real bad thing. And there had been signs alright.

The shaking of the ground, some of Noxus suddenly dead - split in half, exploded, blood everywhere, yada yada. Annie didn't really care about the reports at school. Neither did Tibbers.

She found the entrance to the mines, but it was so low now that she'd have to crawl. And Annie hated crawling. She grabbed Tibbers.

"Any other idea?" She asked.

The demon didn't answer.

Annie rolled her eyes. "Great." Crawling it was.

The more she crawled the colder it got. The tunnels had crumbled, she noticed. It smelled bad. Not as bad as Southwest Noxus now, but bad either way. She didn't knew where exactly she was going, with all tunnels crumbled up, but she knew that cold meant North, and North meant miners. Her uniform was in shambles by now, and sadly the miners had no clothes other than the... Well. Uniform. Annie let out a sigh, annoyed. If it wasn't for the demon with the sword, her plan would have went down smoothly. As smooth as butter, but now she was crawling like a vermin in tunnels that cut her skin with the pebbles and stones of black iron. It hurt. It really did.

And then something else cut her. Ice. Cold, black ice.

She let out a scream. That was a first. Annie almost mistook it for black iron. The difference was: it was colder, dense and it really hurt. And tried to take her magic instead of her skin. Annie tried to crawl faster. That thing was moving, it was spreading. She kicked it with no success. Her heart was beating faster - like when Daisy screamed her name.

"Stop!" She hissed at the ice. It was eating the tunnels. "Stop! Stop!"

The tunnel expelled her and Annie rolled on deep snow. It exploded with black ice. She huffed, annoyed. Stared at the black ice curiously. Well, there goes her passage to Noxus. Lucky her she had been pushing Tibbers upfront, because if he had been attached to her belt as always, he would have been lost to the ice. Impaled or something.

Annie huffed again, trying to ease her breath. Where the ice had touched her leg there was a blight spreading, and it was so cold it hurt. A different kind of hurt. Annie was used to being hurt.

She tried to get up. There was a loud crack and she grimaced at the blight. Was it really ice? It had a glowing a purpleish red in the midst of black.

It was as if the blight wasn't just common magic. It was eating her wound. Annie grimaced again and forced herself up. She dragged her useless leg behind her, the pain spreading through it all like fire burning yarns. The wind turned her this way or another, but she kept going North. There had to be a noxian post somewhere there. There had to be.

There was no way in all hells that the northern noxians were just... Wiped out. Annie frowned. There was a noxian post. Destroyed. Completely.

The wind howled around her like the damned crows the teachers taught her to hate and kill. Direct her anger. Annie dragged herself there.

There was a boy, dressed in the dark furs of what appeared to be wolfs and bears. His hair was longer than hers by a hand, which meant it reached his neck and a bit beyond it. His brown hair was a mess, more than hers, and that was saying something. He didn't seem like a threat, but Annie knew better than to judge by face or posture.

Most people in Noxus didn't seemed like threats either. He had his hair braided on the sides with symbols Annie had seen only once. In armor. From a fallen soldier in the mines. The big frosty eye, a few runes in black iron ornaments. He seemed to be praying. Didn't look old either. Annie grimaced again, and looked at the damned frozen blight. It really was eating her leg. The boy turned around.

His eyes were entirely blue, glowing with a strange magic Annie had never seen in Noxus. His mouth kept moving but she didn't understood a word that came out, and it was whispered. He lowered his head a little, to her leg. When he did move, a step or two, Annie summoned fire.

He stopped.

"Don't even try." She snarled.

His head tilted as if he was a confused dog. He walked faster. Annie said a few "no"s until they were rolling in snow, as she kept kicking and biting him. He really did felt possessed. And then his hand finally reached destination. The blight. Annie screamed. Gods, she hated ice. Hated snow. She kicked him again, and this time he wasn't abnormally heavy for his stature or visual weight. He fell back, blue normal and confused eyes staring at her.

"Fuck," Annie mumbled as she searched around the snow for Tibbers. "No, no, no. Tibbers! Tib-"

"Here," The boy said, accent as thick as leather.

Tibbers was stuffed with snow and foliage from the mines. Annie sighed, a bit relieved. She pulled Tibbers and pushed the boy away, her leg didn't hurt as bad as before. She ran.

"Wait! Go South!"

Annie screamed, fire all around her, cleaning the area around her. Beneath the snow laid a few weapons she could use, some of which she had never seen, with runes she didn't understood. Annie imagined the bodies were a bit closer to the noxian post, then. She was used to summoning that amount of fire without using her voice at all, training and all.

But this was different. She was angry. She was frustrated. And hurt. Her leg didn't had that blight anymore but it was still bleeding. Annie kept running North, until a bear as white as snow, walking on twos, screamed at her. Annie screamed back.

It growled, sniffed the air around her. Annie made a face of disgust. "Get away from me." She ordered.

The bear, interestingly, seemed to understand. He slowly walked backwards and then ran in all fours.

Annie felt a least a bit satisfied. And then a thunder stroke right above her, and she immediately fell to the ground, scared shitless. Her heart was drumming against her ear. Annie felt the snow melting more and more, solid ground on her feet beginning to burn as well. Oh, Gods. Not now. Not again.

There was no sign of storms. Another thunder. Annie whimpered. She hated storms. Always had. Her leg hurt like hell now, scratched in sand and bleeding out. She held Tibbers closely. Whispers. Whispers.

Annie felt ill. Her head was spinning with fear and pain. That storm was not normal. It had magic - worse than everything at school. A different kind of magic. Another lightning and crack on the sky. Annie closed her eyes and hugged Tibbers close to her heart. Mothers. Tibaulk resonated, a low humm.

The clouds had turned a reddish gray. And then it was gone. The whispers weren't her mother's or Tibaulk's. It was that stupid boy. He kept muttering in that strange language. Then he pointed with his hand to the sky - one placed above his head and one to his heart. Annie gasped, horrified.

His eyes turned watery blue, still possessed, as if it was entirely made of mercury and some lilac glow underneath. The boy's body language changed. His head moved liked that one of the possessed adults at The Basement. Annie was sent there only once. It was when she saw these runes and the maps of the world, the experiments of the Black Rose.

Was he... No. No, he didn't seemed Noxian one bit.

He turned to Annie with a forced smile over his face. He spoke in a language worse than the other. Every single word had magic. Not like the other ones, a far more powerful one. Annie felt Tibbers resonating with each sentence. It was a chanting. Pulsing with her own heart. Annie still felt ill. Her eyes fluttered shut, her eyes focused on the boy until there was nothing but darkness around her.

***

Valhir was there, until he wasn't. His presence wasn't gone, exactly, just dormant. Chained. Asleep.

Nunu blinked. Something else was there. Trying to speak with him. Trying to control his mind. His head spun, and a voice of a woman called to him.

"Oh, no," She said, way too happy. As if she had been faking sympathy. "The great Volibear falls. One less evil in the world."

"You're the evil in the world!" Nunu screamed, restless. "You're the evil! You! You witch! Give him back! Give him back!"

His voice faded immediately. Water filled his lungs. But that was no common water. It glistened like galaxies in the sky. Roses, lilacs, blues and greens.

But mostly greys. Ashes. The ashes of the world.

There was laughter. His own, mixed with the entire world. His, forced. Nunu wanted to cry harder, louder. But he was laughing. This wasn't right. It was not the magic he was used to. It was not Lissandra either. It was worse somehow. Worse. Worse than the most wild os the demigods in Freljord.

Someone tapped his face. Then smacked it.

"Wake up!" He heard the scream.

He imagined it was someone from the Noxian posts, since it was the language the person used. It was muffled, distant, and there was this insistent humming in the back of his head. Nunu opened his eyes and sit slowly, but received another slap nonetheless. Nunu blinked and stared at whom had slapped him.

And received another one. Oh, that was enough. Nunu launched himself at the girl with reddish pink hair and they both growled at each other, nails and teeth fighting back-to-back. The girl pulled his braids and her fingers found his eye. Nunu screamed and punched. The girl punched also.

"Stop hitting me!" Nunu screamed at the very top of his lungs.

If it was a few months back, he would have screamed for help instead. Lissandra had told him over his secret trainings with her that he needed to show his enemies his strength. Well, asking wasn't really a show of strength but it was at least fair. And Nunu did not had enemies anyway. At least not until that strange water and this stupid, stupid...

The girl did stop. Her bloodied teeth held a very smug smile, even if Nunu had managed to pin her in the snow. She had blue eyes, but her pupils glistened in a bright red, like that of wolfs in the night. There was something else there, something primal, awful. Nunu would see that everytime he wandered far enough in the woods with Willump.

He had seen it in Tryndamere as well, though Lissandra assured it was different from the elements of the demigods. What Tryndamere had was far worse, just like the laughing lady.

"Get off me." The girl demanded.

She sounded pissed. But also kind of amused. As if she had let him win.

Nunu frowned. He had ventured long enough in the wilds of Freljord not to underestimate his opponents but she had not let him win. He had won on his own volition. His merit, not hers. The girl beneath him chuckled and tried to move her very abnormally warm wrists but Nunu held them tighter.

"Who are you?"

He knew the language mostly because of the Præglacius and Lissandra, that somehow knew Common Noxian. Ashe did too but not as well as Lissandra or Sejuani. The girl scoffed, her blood was starting to burn Nunu's hands. He felt oddly annoyed at her. He was angry at her smile and he was angry at the thing he saw inside his dream.

The happy woman.

"Get off me." The girl demanded again. "Or I'll burn you. Willingly."

Nunu frowned trying to make sense of the words.

"Bur' me. How?"

The girl rolled her eyes. "Just get off me, for fuck's sake."

A shadow loomed above the two of them.

"Making friends with the enemy, again?" Idrisa asked. She was a nice lady, nice warrior.

She had been nice to Nunu when he decided to venture again in the wilds after the comming of the people of the South. Ashe thought he just ran off again. Willump was safe and hidden, Braum would never betray them. He wouldn't. Neither would Gragas as he had seen him in the few that existed inns closer to the Citadel. They both never said a word and they wouldn't start now.

Her brown hair reached her back in a nordic braid, and her helmet hid only half of her face. Her honey eyes lit up in amusement when she saw the girl beneath him and Idrisa chuckled, hand on her mouth and all. Nunu sighed. Oh, he knew what was coming.

"It's not-"

"Puberty really did hit you, huh?" Idrisa provoked. "You're acting like an Usirne attacking strangers that comes to Her territory. Very protective. I admire that."

Nunu slowly got off of the pale girl with reddish pink hair. She wore a ragged pleated skirt and, that was greyish brown but Nunu thought it was a light brown before she quite literally dragged herself through snow and mud. Her shirt had one puffy sleeve, as the other one had been lost to the tunnel she came from. The wound he tried to heal was doing better now but her face had dust, blood and snow.

"I wasn't protecting anything," Nunu mumbled. "Look, that's a miner. Don't you guys get rid of them? Or... Shouldn't you?"

"We do," Idrisa chuckled. "But this one doesn't dress like them. She doesn't look like them either."

The girl frowned. "You guys really don't speak Noxian, do you?"

Idrisa stared at her. It was quiet. The girl huffed and tried to get up, searching again in the snow for her teddy bear. When she found it, she crossed her arms and stared at them impassively.

"Do you?" She demanded.

"I do," Idrisa said, accent thick. "Not as well as yo', little gal'. Come, yo' two. Lissandra will be very happy."

The girl seemed to frown at each word spoken with the heavier accent, like the you's having the 'O's more pronounced and the 'W's having almost the same sound as the 'V's. She seemed displeased at being called "little girl" as well, but she didn't look much older than Nunu himself - and he was eleven.

They both followed Idrisa to the Path of Flowers - the path made of black stones and blue flowers that Lissandra had created that connected the Lost Children Villages to The Citadel. Nunu knew that path by heart now. He gave her the idea.

He needed to see Willump very soon.

Chapter Text

Ezreal was on the boat when it happened. First there was nothing. The sun was setting. He was going back home. To Piltover. With The Tear. He'd finally have some clues of how it worked like the first time he had lost it, when he met that girl with Void armor.

Finally he'd bring his family back. If he could use the Tear to maximize the gauntlet and his own magic, like Ekko had told him to. Sure, Ekko and Ezreal never really saw eye to eye, but after that night in Shurima things had changed. Ekko knew something was wrong the moment he found Ezreal roaming Zaunite streets like a rat. He was usually very careful about where he ventured. And how far.

This was Renata's domain. Ezreal was definitely losing his mind if thought none of her guards had seen it. They probably had let him wander like the lost puppy he was. Some of Renata's man fallowed him but Ezreal didn't even blink. Whatever it was Seraphine had done to him... Done to him. That man. That man on the ground, speaking those things...

Ezreal stared at the Tear. Were the Gods even real at this point? Could he bring his family back?

It happened quiet. So very quiet. First he was on that ship, and then his whole body was launched on the water, bleeding. He had a straight cut on his face, from his left cheek to right in the bridge of his nose.

His eyes immediately got bloodshot as if he had sniffed The Grey, his vision blurred and his air taken from him. When he blinked, once then twice, he was the only one left standing in the ship. In the entire ship. He checked. Everything was either blown or sliced. Ezreal vomited a little in the ocean, cussing and cursing himself for surviving alone. It was always him alone, always him and no one else. And then he heard it. The Piltover sirens. The explosions. The Zaunite sirens, The Grey coming up so fast it could have been another Jinx - or Ziggs, he didn't trust any yordle - prank. But no. Those were different. The sides of Piltover that had been least affected were where the Hexgates and the Solar Gates existed.

The Arcane protected that part of the city, but had it protected the people? Ezreal ran out from the boat as soon as it reached the docks. Dead bodies. Dead bodies everywhere.

That had been a month before he had met with Seraphine and her odd friend with the Legendary Bow. Ezreal was also an archer. And he was good with makup so neither of them knew his face had that big scar. Ezreal went back home after the last funeral. Seraphine hadn't talk much. She said she was going North, to Freljord, that she had a mission and the sands were getting to her nerves already. He didn't judge. The sands got to everybody's head.

It was finally raining, for three days straight. He studied the sky from his own observatory, the percs of being rich. His notes didn't brought him much hope, though. He prayed to Janna. The Grey had been used against Zaun twice now. He hoped poeple were fine there with Renata, even though she was still a chembarom, she was the only one effectively doing something for Zaun at the moment.

Jayce had tried to hold his resigned position as a councillor and since he knew Hextec like the palm of his hand, people trusted him. Ezreal didn't trust as much. That blow to the world had been the fault of Arcane and Hextec was exactly that. Arcane.

So many deaths.

And in the middle of it all, a gods be damned out of schedule Eclipse. It was there for a whole week. Jayce said it was not safe to be outside. The stench of death followes through the week. When the Eclipse was finally gone, it didn't rain. The first bodies to be buried where of the powerful families of course. Of course. Ezreal wanted to laugh. Of course they'd be the first. Ezreal used the Ferroh burial to escape Piltover for a moment. To see how Zaun was. He knew it was much worse down there.

But it wasn't. Much to his surprise, the city was far better than Piltover. The air even felt... Cleaner.

Of course, with most industries at low, the air would be cleaning itself. Some whispers said it was Viktor's protection, some said it was Janna's. Ezreal walked down the slums with bloodshot eyes and head low. He grabbed the first leather jacket he had seen inside his closet and not his usual one with the shuriman plumage. Just a common leather one with brass details. Very piltie.

His usual light jeans were substituted by black, his boots by combat ones made with a thin waterproof synthetic leather above the real one. His usually manageble hair was a bloody mess - literally. He had been helping taking the bodies out of the streets. His gauntlet seemed used to the teleporting by now, he didn't even need to think or look where he should go to do so. If his uncle was still alive he'd say "You're being too apathetic to this situation", but Ezreal was apathetic to his own well being, he couldn't care less for the well being of the dead.

They were dead, anyway.

His mind was elsewhere.

Someone bumped shoulders with him. A girl with short brown hair, a fading golden cape, knitted gloves, leather jacket beneath the golden cloak with butterflies pins holding the cape like some sort of General of Insects. Ezreal would have laughed a little at the thought. The girl was searching through the bodies, but not to steal. Just their faces.

"Not here," She mumbled and Ezreal stumbled backwards.

That was Seraphine. He swallowed. Where was the other dude, with the Darkin Bow?

"Sera?" He risked.

Her head turned immediately, eyes wild like that of the shimmer users that still existed even now after five years since Silco was dead. The Chembarons made sure the drug would still exist. It was good money and Ezreal could understand the investment.

"Ez," She said, so softly Ezreal thought he was imagining things.

"Are you-"

Seraphine stumbled up. "Not here. Good luck."

And she walked away from him to another body. Ezreal stared at everything while his breath fought to stay inside his lungs. When Seraphine was out of view, he sighed, and coughed.

"How's the upper side?"

Normal Ezreal would have jumped and screamed at the sudden voice coming from seemingly nowhere. This one just frowned and sighed again.

"Elo, genius." Ezreal said. "I brought you the Tear."

Ekko tilted his head a little. He turned Ezreal around.

"What the hell happened in the top side?" Ekko asked, more confused than scared.

Ezreal shrugged. He was the older one. He should bear these views alone. His brain went to the stranger pinned to the ground in the canyon. The flowers. The arrows. Shimmer Blood. His laughter.

"Hey," Ekko mumbled, but had an intonation of someone that had been hurt, as if something had bitten him. He pulled Ezreal's wrist. "Right. I get it. Funerals."

Ezreal blinked. "What? No. I brought you the Tear."

"I heard it the first time." Ekko was dead serious. "I'll take care of it. Look," His eyes where on the ground, and his mouth moved as if what he was about to say left a bitter taste. "I know how it is. Just... Go rest, dude. The Tear can wait."

Ezreal immediately took his wrist back. "Wait. I waited for years for this."

"We need to bury-"

"Fuck the burials, you don't know the hell I went through to get this piece of shit gem." Ezreal grimaced at his own words. "All the years I worked for all kinds of people just to get a clue of where this was. And now it's wait for everyone else's parents burials?"

Ekko stared at him quietly for about three seconds. Then Ezreal received a punch in the guts. And another. He didn't even tried to defend himself this time. It wasn't the first time he fought Ekko - they were always fighting anyway. It didn't matter. Four punches in, and Ekko stopped.

"At least say you're angry." Ekko mumbled.

"I am," Ezreal agreed, hunched over in pain. "I can buy anything in the world and bury every body in these fucking cities."

His eyes went to Ekko's for a second. Then they were down to the ground again.

"Except my for parents." He mumbled. "If you need any help with the burials you know where to find me. By the way," He turned as he walked away. "Apparently you can bleed Shimmer. And Seraphine is back from Shurima again, but I bet my ass you won't recognize her until she looks at you."

Ekko grimaced at him. "Why would I want anything-"

"You should." Ezreal cut. "Really should. See ya, buddy. Whenever you're ready to help me."

And he teleported away.

***

Tryndamere woke up in lands unknown to him. The blade was quiet, silently waiting. He was alone and inside a river for some reason. Crossing it, he guessed. The last thing he remember was talking to Ashe on their room. He stared at the castle beyond the river. It was small, but compared to the houses in Freljord it might as well been a temple to the gods.

"Who comes?" Someone screamed from a tower.

Tryndamere did not spoke that language but he could understand it perfectly. As if his brain had been in tune with earth itself and the waves of sound translated themselves to him.

Whispers were said inside the towers.

A few soldiers came to the defence of the castle. Tryndamere felt his consciousness faulter. It came and went like waves on the shore. One second he was watching them come, the next they were all dead beneath his feet, the taste of blood down his throat and the stains of it all over his body.

Black walls hunched around him. Stones fell. He blinked again. The castle was no more. Tryndamere thought of Ashe. Of her smile, of her voice.

There must have been something wrong with his memories. Freljord was never this bright, it was never this warm. A table. A lot of men laughing around him. His home. His home. He needed to destroy it.

Tryndamere tried to find Ashe around the table.

There was a man staring at him directly. He seemed to be the authority, which to Tryndamere was ridiculous. He dresses like the east southerners, all in soft clothes. His eyes were as demanding as theirs.

Tryndamere wanted to gauge that man's eyes out.

He closed his own.

***

Soraka woke up with a headache. And realized she woke up and screamed in terror. She should be dead. Her body had burnt all of it existence. A Lunari girl stared at her, curious but not surprised.

Soraka eyed her hands. Her body was different. She touched her head. No more Vastayan disguise then.

She still had a abnormal complex of skin colour. It was still a bit lilac but there was much more undertones there, and she felt healthy. Which, again, was a ridiculous notion. Ever since she made her own body it hurt. It was of flesh and bones. This... This was not. She could not feel anything beating.

All her pains where ghosts of the past, she understood the moment she stopped thinking of pain. It went away immediately.

"Who are you, child?" Soraka asked the girl.

She couldn't be more than twenty. The girl with white hair braided on one side and the Lunari Seer headpiece stared at her with her brows arched.

"I should be asking this," Her voice was melodic and calm, like the flow of a river. "No one but Lunari and the passing spirits are allowed here."

Passing spirits. Soraka blinked in these strange eyes.

"I need to go back," She mumbled. "They need me."

"The temple is sealed in the spirit realm." The girl informed gently. "You died. You must find your way to your land."

Oh.

Soraka almost laughed. She held the girl's hands. "Thank you kindly, my dear."

The girl blinked a few times, she looked a bit drugged. Soraka left her hands and the girl blinked as if waking up from a trance. "You're... Welcome, I believe."

Soraka stumbled forward, in the strange forest that grew not distant from there.

"Wait," The girl said slowly. "I know your presence."

Soraka stopped. She turned around.

The girl sized her up. And then her eyes widened and she gasp. "The... the forth moon! You're... You shouldn't be here!"

Soraka smiled faintly. "Well."

The girl moved around the temple, the books that Soraka had helped write herself. She didn't remember the exact words. It was when the Rakkor were still united. A very long time ago, indeed. This girl was trapped in this temple, then. There where books everywhere. Soraka walked around - floated, mostly. Her body was made mostly of small galaxies and constellations, much like her real body, but it retained her structure of when she had made a body to come to Runeterra. She was in between.

The girl entered a pool filled with the flowers of the moon Soraka had cultivated wtih the Rakkor some old time ago. The girl summoned magic. The pool shone. The flowers died. The girl opened her eyes.

"Here," She said. "I can send you to my brother as a weapon. You can go back, but it will be brief. I'll tell him not to use you, if you wish to, my Lady."

Soraka frowned but then a thought crossed her mind.

"If he gives the weapon to someone else, would it still work?"

The girl frowned. "He... We never tried."

Soraka smiled softly. "It is all well, if he uses me or not, it'll be a good cause. A good way to come back."

The girl nodded. "Come."

Soraka entered the pool.

Chapter Text

The sand had always been his home. It had been his comfort and his demise. It had made him insane in ways other humans would probably not comprehend. Therefore when he was out of it, Xerath felt as if the entire world was beneath him. Little. He was too big to fit anywhere, as always. His feelings, his mind, his power. They were afraid of him in all aspects.

Xerath was the epitome of evolution, the pinacle of power in Runeterra, he was very sure.

Yet he had not been at the Icathian war. The one thing that had led to their downfall. Not him, but the Sungods. The stupid, short minded Ascended. The freaks that considered themselves more than the gods the sand weavers used to call upon. Their statues so grand whole cities were built around the survivors' names. The cities they had been born. Except for three Sungods. NeZuk would never have a place in The Empire. Varus' city was First To Fall. Valeeva wasn't Shuriman, she was Targonian.

Xerath had a great memory, he could recall everything that happened from his childhood to his thousands od years of talking to Renekton.

A Darkin on his own account. By name, of course.

Xerath had seen the Darkin, and he had seen the Aspects. But a Darkin Aspect was something oddly new. The thing was a sight to behold: a crown of throns - or horns, his skin turned to blood and flesh and a mesh of hues in lilac and grey. Xerath had paid little notice to the Targonian mesh of runes. It did not matter to him. He was Arcane itself. Power itself. Not even this would stop him from conquering. It was what he was meant to do. Always.

His eyes reminded Xerath of the descriptions Xolaani had given the Council about the Void-touched Darkin. Xerath was more than that. He was the power. He was the power. He held it inside his very soul, he was connected to every Rune. He could sense all of them - he could sense the stars as well, distant. The same way he sensed Varus and that thing he said was a human girl. She, too, had been power. He felt it. And then all his unnecessary memories came to him, when he saw her.

That thing was a different kind of power. Poluted. Ridiculously touched by the Arcane, blessed even, not like him. Not naturally skilled, not born to bear the powers of magic, but still holding on to it. Like the Aspects. Like the Ascended. And Varus was using it. Xerath was more than that. Power. He was...

More than the Darkin Aspect right in front of him.

"Lonely," Came the voice. Both man and woman. The man, he knew by name.

The voice, he knew by heart. That was Valeeva now.

"Are you?" Xerath mocked.

"You." Valeeva-Taric clarified. "You."

Xerath laughter filled the empty tombs and the sands of Nerimazeth. Oh, Valeeva always had a sense of humor, alright. He stared at the abnormality and the abnormality stared back at him. Purple eyes. Drained. Stained. Sad. Angry. Confused. Paranoid.

Crumbling.

He had seen it all, and he was seeing it again.

"Me?" Xerath mocked.

"You," It said again, shrugging. "Empty promises and empty casket."

Xerath would have frowned if he could.

"Instead of fist fighting the Idiot like Xolaani and Aatrox only to attrack the Rune Mage to your feet," It stated, factually, and Xerath's imaginary frown deepened. How did it know his plan? "You should come with me. There is someone willing to undo Shurima more than the Runes will."

"Oh?" Xerath chuckled. "I doubt there is."

"Doubt as you want," The thing said. "You're Arcane yet you cannot feel him. Pity."

Him?

Xerath was very certain there was nothing in the Arcane he could not feel. He felt even the Brackern, the crystali and the rocky ones. He felt the power of the Void beneath the feet of the mages walking around Shurima, he felt the Sungods Army resurrected from the lands they had been locked in. He felt the Runes and that stupid old man that carried them. He felt it all. There was nothing beyond his grasp and he'd use it to bring Azir down and make his own empire, free of slaves and the need to bow to arrogance. He was The Brink of Infinity itself. There was no magic in the world that was not filled by the Arcane in some way.

And he was Arcane itself. He could feel it all.

"You lie," Xerath pondered.

"Magic saves and corrupts, Xerath," The thing said. "The Arcane have it's own hierarchy. You should know, haven't you read books all your life?"

Xerath growled, which sounded like thunder.

"And you," The thing continued. "Are certainly not at the top. You cannot sense the Spirits. You cannot sense the Celestial."

"I am the Celestial." Xerath barked back.

The spirits mattered little to him.

The thing hummed as it continued it's path, unbothered by the magic spilling around it. It should be hurting, howling in pain. But it was not.

"Have you ever been to Targon, Xerath?" The thing asked whe it reached a dead Baccai.

Targon, Xerath thought bitterly. The only other place where his magic did not reached completely. He could not feel a single thing there. For a moment when he went to Nerimazeth, he thought The Expansion of the Darkin had killed everything and everyone in there. Ixtal was very guarded but he could still sense it in the distance.

Alas it has not. He was just... Not... Xerath roared. Lightning flared around the creature. Around the whole city and more. It might have reached the villages and tombs around Nerimazeth.

He was not allowed.

Not allowed.

The aspects were above him, somehow.

Xerath roared again. All that work. All his life.

All his work. Everything. Everything ruined by hierarchy. Xerath unleashed another shockwave of arcane through the land. Not allowed. The word lingered inside his head. Targonians had disturbed him once, he remembered. But he could not disturb them. Not allowed. Who were them to allow anything. He was more. He was MORE.

More than a name, more than his vision, more than life itself. Xerath was more. He was. He... Needed to be. He could not fail. He could not have been this blind. He could not. This was ploy. It was a lie.

"Come to Targon," The Darkin Aspect offered. "See what your Empire can truly be."

Truly be. He needed no one. He needed nothing.

"I am what you think you are, creature," Xerath spat. "You will not elude me."

"I'm not Zoe," The Darkin Aspect simply said as if the name would somehow make sense inside Xerath's mind. It did not. "I protect. Can you not feel the earth rumbling beneath your feet whenever He laughs? His every breath through the wind?"

Xerath stood still, the Arcane just as still as him around them. "Him."

If he meant Azir, then-

"Sol."

Lies. Lies. Fables. Xerath grunted, suddenly. Fables. Like the Primordial Ones. Fables and nothing more.

Stories to tell children to embrace the power of the Disk as their solem protector. Not one bit true.

"Come to Targon," The Darkin Aspect offered again.

Xerath moved.

***

Annie woke up with a headache that only ever happened when Tibbers ran around causing havoc the day before. But he had not. He was strangely quiet, actually. No more whispers, no more nothing.

She woke up in a cell. She could recognize as much. Annie had been in cells at the school sometimes.

"Hello, little one," A voice filled the room. "Bright one, you are. Your dreams are of sorrow but your façade is very well played."

A woman. Not Elise, Annie could tell as much.

Older. Ancient. Tibbers was cold. That was a first.

"From one witch to another, child," The woman continued. Witch. Annie frowned. "The past does not matter when the future is a danger much worse."

"How worse?" Annie crossed her arms. "I can't imagine anything worse than Noxian schools."

The woman chuckled. "Surely you cannot. You will learn in time."

"Show yourself." Annie demanded. The woman hummed. "Right now."

"I am," The voice was close. "Right in front of you."

There was nothing, Annie noted. Just a block of black Ice. She narrowed her eyes, squinted to see better. Inside it was a beautiful woman, as if frozen in time, eyes closed, black robes and dress. She was pale as a corpse, and her hands glistened with icy blue lingering magic. Pulsing. The entire room seemed to breathe with her. She had her face scarred by what seemed bear claws, but it didn't made her less pretty. She was ethereal in a way.

Annie walked away from the woman slowly.

"You're-"

"A witch," The woman said without even moving her lips. As if she was dreaming. "Much like you."

She was no witch, Annie thought.

"Yes, you are." The woman said in a whisper. "The blood runs thick. How lucky of me."

Annie truly got up, breathing heavily. Her heart was drumming against her ears. The scent of herbs and clean water hit her first. Then the scenery. A cabin in snowy woods. She had completely forgotten that she had crossed to Freljord a few days back.

Then Annie frowned. A few... Days? A few days?! She had been sleeping for days?! Tibbers sat on her lap, button eyes staring. It looked like a glare.

Annie felt Tibaulks's annoyance at the cold right away. Then she heard a soft sound. Humming. And then a flute accompanied it. The humming was very... Gutural. Deep, refreshing, calming in a way.

She didn't knew what the lyrics said, but sounded nice - warm. Warm was good. She closed her eyes.

"Oh, you're awake!" A man said and Annie screamed.

The music stopped, and so did the humming. A giant... Thing. Bear looking with many arms and horns and white fur came to her rescue and Annie screamed louder. The boy from the other day erupted from the ground like lava from vulcano.

"It's fine! It's fine!" He said in his very broken Noxian.

Annie breathed in and out. Stared at mister mustache. Then at the thing. Then at the boy.

"Where am I?"

"You're in Freljord, dear," The man said in common noxian, and Annie sighed in relief that at least someone understood her language. "Closer to Rakelstake, where the Temples are."

"I don't know any of it." Annie shrugged. "You're not going to try to kill me?"

"No!" The man chuckled. "Nunu brought you here. He said you were hurt and in need of help. That the Frostguard had found you. So, here are you!"

Frostguard. That woman. She seemed very close to this boy. She stared at him. Nunu. What a stupid name. She wondered what it meant.

"Is this thing going to kill me?" Annie pointed at Willump.

The man laughed again. "Definitely not!"

Annie hummed and crossed her arms. "It has four arms. And it's not meant to kill?"

"Oh, no. He's a great company and a good boy." Mustache man said. "I am Braum. This is Willump, and this is Nunu."

"Annie," She said. Held Tibbers up. "Tibbers. He's a demon. And we hurt people."

It was eerily quiet, then. Braum sighed. "Good to know. I hope you won't hurt us."

Nunu sat close to Willump and the thing hugged him.

"What is it?" Annie asked Braum.

"What is- Oh! Willump is a poro!" Braum said with a laugh. Annie thought he laughed too much. "A giant one, big boy he is."

Annie stared at the creature with caution. That was definitely not a poro, she had seen poros before.

Definitely not a poro, but neither Nunu nor Braum seemed worried about the creature, so Annie tried her best not to either. This was a new ground. This wasn't Noxus where she could burn and fight everyone. She had learned that at school, in the cells. People that fought the school's teachings were thrown there, in a way. Annie was there because she had escaped the nightmare that was school and it's rules and now she was in the wild. And the wild had no rules as far as she knew.

"So, what's Frostguard?"

There was silence. Nunu moved in his wolf-like furry clothes. He took a pendant from his braid.

"This. That's their symbol." His accent was very thick but he knew more words now. Maybe Braum had teached him how to speak common noxian.

Annie analyzed the thing. It was beautiful, in a odd way. The symbol was an eye in a frosty... Something. She held the thing and spun it around her fingers.

"And why do you have it?"

Nunu just shrugged. Braum answered for him with a soft smile. "Nunu is a Notai, you see, a nomad. He carries all of the Freljord with him."

Annie knew there was more to Nunu than that, but she didn't knew how much. She could use it as a wild card, for sure. Bribe and all. Nunu didn't seem to mind Braum's explanations, so Annie thought the man surely didn't knew the entire story. Annie wanted to know, she had always been curious like that. The way the icy blue eyes stared at the fire Braum had made for them to sleep around was a little bit disturbing. His eyes would show her almost all of his thoughts, in a way. Revenge. Annoyance. Fear. Desolation. Determination. Hope. Mostly hope.

Annie had no hope for nothing at all.

Chapter Text

Ryze carried too much power for a mortal being. The runes were a scary thing, even if Atreus had not seen them. The concept of carrying what shaped the world in what it was today on bare hands made Atreus shudder. He was afraid of Ryze's aura alone. Even if the man itself was nothing but scary, he looked tired most of the time. He looked a bit annoyed at Atreus and at the destruction of Demacia, but he had that same aura Soraka had when she knew something she could not say aloud.

Atreus and Ryze walked around Demacia burying what they could - animals, people. Stock. Whatever had lived, was too afraid to show their faces to them. His shield felt heavy on his back. He lost. Pantheon was surely dead. There was nothing else that could stop Aatrox because Zoe could not be bothered enough to do so. The worst aspect, the one that hid behind a child. Not bothered to save humanity even when that was the entire purpose of their existence. Ryze said that the Twilight before her at the very least took it's fights serious.

Atreus did not know what that meant, but he imagined it was eons ago, since Zoe was the Twilight for... More years than a normal human could live. And apparently the other one had not fused with the Celestial, as Zoe accomplished. Atreus briefly wondered how old was the Rune Mage, but he himself should be aging to his seventies if it wasn't for Pantheon's powers lingering inside of him.

The Runes must be something else entirely, as Ryze looked about forty something. Younger than most bodies they buried, older than some. Aatrox really did not spare anything else. The cuts in the blonde girl were small and deep, but thin and accurate as if to not cause as much pain as needed in death. On her lower body stood the real blow of Aatrox.

Someone had saved her and someone else had killed her. Ryze mumbled something about Noxians always meddling with what they could not comprehend and Atreus found it oddly funny. He could not take his eyes out of her tombstone. They had visited it a few times. Demacia was in shambles.

"You must return to Targon," Ryze said.

Atreus blinked. "I am just a man now, Rune Mage. Pantheon is gone."

"As long as you live, Pantheon lives."

It was direct confirmation of one of his fears. Atreus would destroy Pantheon one day. He'd destroy the Prime as well, for what they have done to him. Where was Taric when Demacia was being destroyed? His own home, for the sake of the Messengers. His own country was overtaken by Aatrox powers and Taric had not even shown his face once. The Rune Mage probably sensed his anger and sighed softly.

"Taric is gone, Atreus. The Celestial will choose someone else very soon." Ryze relented, as if reading his mind.

Gone? Was he dead? What was happening?

"So do I have to go," Atreus mumbled. Ryze frowned. "Truly, now."

Ryze gave him a sympathetic look. "Sometimes, when we wish to disappear is when we are needed the most."

Atreus shook his head. He followed the path away from the room wtih a goal in mind.

***

Seraphine felt the anger of Varus each and every time she allowed herself to hear anything that was related to magic in that boat. Jax was such good company. Everyone there was. That flame burned bright and beautifully. Seraphine felt like ashes.

Varus was always screaming, and then suddenly being quiet. It was as if he was trying to fight himself inside the bow.

"It must be horrible," One of the crew members said one day, in a whisper. "To carry the cursed thing around, knowing what it does and all..."

"Yeah," The chef said. "Poor girl chose the wrong fate, I think. Wrong ingredients."

Seraphine sighed from her bed. Varus sighed from the bow.

"You hungry?" She offered.

Varus went quiet again. It took three minutes, but he finally relented to talking again.

"No."

Seraphine had made that offer another time. Varus wouldn't. That would be taking everything Valmar and Kai stood for and stepping over it. They didn't need to lose them again. But Varus was hungry. Hungry for the world, the scents, the wind, the touches, the tastes. Seraphine could feel it reeking from the bow. It was the reason she always offered.

He only heightened her senses, which was funny since he had already done much worse before. But there was the constant of Valmar and Kai being there before and not now. Varus never really did explain what had happened when she fell into the Void the second time as Valeeva's host. He only told Taric to erase her memories and gave her a year of headaches and strange dreams. And a medical bill big enough to rival her hair. Her lost hair that was.

He never explained anything. Seraphine was hoping not only the silence of being inside the bow would give her a little peace but knowing the memories would flow from him to her, also. She could live with it. Knowing she took Valmar and Kai away. Of course, she'd see why he blamed her but she could and would live with knowing what had happened.

"Would you?" Varus inquired.

She hummed and shrugged. It was sudden as the flick of a wrist. Her mind was showered with memories. Childhood memories. A village, beautifully decorated with Shurimani gold and a different kind of metal - not Targonian, but very similar to what Jax's mask was. Seraphine heard laughter, and felt warmer than the sun. Then the laughter turned into screams. These were the memories Seraphine ignored the first time. Share. Share. Share.

There was a lab. Her father. Then a temple. Bodies broken, torn, the fainted glow of shimmer on their eyes and veins. Bodies morphed, bodies changed.

A well. A temple. A well. Veins like flesh coming out of the well. It held a crown. Seraphine walked to the well, as always. A well inside a boat was a new thing. It was quiet, down there, in the water.

Even when she jumped head first, the water made no sound at all. The carcass was humanoid, but changed so much it was barely recognizable. The armor had trapped the bow inside the well, and Seraphine swimmed, but the harder she did it, the longer it took for her to reach it. And then she drowned. A new memory, quiet. Seraphine saw her own body in the dismorphed constructions that was The Void, with that little lilac lighting that made the place look like the inside of a purple gut.

Valeeva's crown on her head shone with Celestial power, but even that was dying out. The crown was complete again, in metal. Seraphine realized she was seeing what Varus saw. The way he saw it.

There was no sound at all inside The Void for him.

Her long hair was a mess. Varus' hand was crumbling, the armor slowly taking more and more of his arm like a parasite. She heard it, then. First it was Valmar's calm breath.

"Go. You need to go."

Varus wasn't moving.

"You need to move, Varus." Kai said then, voice broken. "She deserves to live."

"And who decided that?" Was Varus' immediate response.

He moved. Slow, and Seraphine *felt* the fear. It was the first time Varus allowed himself to actually feel fear. And his fear broke Valmar first. Not his anger, not the memories. His fear. Varus took Seraphine's hair out of her face, searching for wounds but Valeeva would not let her bleed inside The Void. Varus reluctantly sat beside her.

When he took his pendant, Seraphine's eyes opened. Valeeva smiled at him.

"Mehari," She called. "I knew you'd come. See? It's not so bad. We can stay in silence."

Seraphine felt it. Repulse. Disgust. Betrayal. And then anxiety, frustration, fear. All coming in waves. But Varus didn't move an inch. Kai tried to hold to his love - and Varus love. But his repulse, his fear, that was what broke Kai. The fact that Valeeva enjoyed being inside The Void. That she had been corrupted so much that she had sided with what took her in the first place. Varus could not believe his own ears.

"Varus," He forced his throat to work. "Mehari died a long time ago."

Seraphine got up by herself - not her, Valeeva.

"I got rid of them like you wanted." She smiled softly.

Varus could throw up if he hadn't been fighting Xolaani and Celestials this very same day.

"Got rid of them," He echoed. Valeeva smiled more.

"You asked it," She said and cupped his cheek. "My poor girl, she could not do it. But here? Here it's only us. Like we-"

"No." Varus moved.

Seraphine herself felt the snarl. Like his face was hers. They felt the exact same. Valeeva shrugged. That was her body. Hers. Valeeva had no right to-

"To me you're always Mehari." Valeeva murmured.

"And you're dead." Varus spat. "Just like Mehari."

Valeeva frowned. She said something else, but this was how Varus remembered it. The Void was quiet for him, and if Valeeva was Void, she had no voice either. Sure, he could blame Seraphine for being stupid and stubborn for even using Valeeva, but The Void had it's way to corrupt. Varus saw through it, because he saw through Icathia once. He was *born* there. He knew his enemy's faults. The Void Rift that was Icathia now was once his home.

"Varus!" Taric screamed somewhere above them. "Mihira told me about you. Archer Darkin that shot her from the skies, right? Tempted by The Void but not fully there yet. She can call out these things."

Varus, tempted. He stared at Seraphine, her body unmoving.

"You're Protection, yes?" Varus said back.

"Yes," Taric answered. He could not see Taric.

"Seal Valeeva."

"What?!"

"Seal her." Varus growled like a caged beast. Then he broke down. His body fell and convulsed.

Seraphine felt it all like it was hers. Shaking, the difficulty to breath, the fear of never breathing again, the fear of staying without air again. It was Varus had for six thousand years. And then that woman, in Ionia, stupid to call herself queen, to lock herself with him trying to understand his nature.

She was beautiful, brown skin and black round eyes. Long hair. Varus corrupted her so easily that Seraphine though he must truly disliked her for taking his time with it when she took the bow the first time. He broke that beautiful woman and threw himself underwater. The only constant he had. Water.

He stood there, for years. For years and years and.

And.

Love. The fear of losing love woke him. His own, Valmar's. Kai's death did meant something, for both of them. Seraphine screamed, but she was underwater. Always beneath it, never someone to be above. And then it changed. The husbands were gentle, a different kind of gentle. They were understanding in a odd way. They wanted to revert him but they knew deep down they could not.

Valmar was the impulse but Kai was the instinct.

When Varus saved Seraphine in the mines, it was all three of them, Mehari, Valmar and Kai. Nobility, impulse and instinct. He took care of her until she woke up. He prayed to Janna for her breath to stabilize enough so she could wake. It was hard to see herself through Varus' eyes. He was distant but had been paying attention in the little things.

Her eyes, mostly, when she was horribly distracted. Not even talking to him, that was where his eyes went. Hers. Her smile, sometimes. Varus would rarely notice what Seraphine noticed about herself.

He looked a lot to her neck as well. Because he used to suffocate Valeeva per her own wish in the cells. It was was he was... Annoyed, that she used chokers. That thought made Seraphine giggle in the water.

It was almost laying bare everything he could not say, everything he didn't want to say, and couldn't say. Seraphine didn't need a voice to know it. She had great ears and a big heart. Valeeva was being used by the Void to corrupt her, her needs for medicine - made with Shimmer, she knew. Her psychotic moments when in touch with her own magic. Her fears of Soraka and Taric, and missplaced trust. Of course The Void would want her to dislike Soraka and Taric.

Of course Valeeva would. Seraphine couldn't understand why Varus chose to work with an Aspect that had help erase him from Runeterra, but that were Valeeva's thoughts.

Seraphine did understand.

Her eyes opened again, with a knock on the door. Jax hummed a happy melody, but let out a soft "Oh" when he entered her room. Seraphine frowned. Nothing was moved and she was using gloves still.

"Oh, darling," Jax murmured, a bit tense. "Well, I trust you know what you're doing."

Seraphine didn't knew what he was talking about. "What happened?"

"Have you look yourself in the mirror?"

Seraphine's frown deepened. She heard a chuckle that was only inside her mind. Childish, a little bit mischievous even.

You offered.

Oh. Seraphine stared at herself in the mirror.

Nothing had changed except the necklace made of what seemed to be Varus' purple flesh armor, beautifully circling her neck like veins spreading from the wells in her views, down her collarbones.

It was Varus' corruption, but on his own way. Not out of anger and frustration. Seraphine would discover what the necklace meant, one day, she was very sure. She hoped Taric would forgive her.

Chapter Text

The wind was the first thing Tryndamere truly remembered as his own memories and not the demon's. His prison was warm, like the desert. He had views of a castle he did not knew of, had hopes that were not his at all but the demon's. Tryndamere served his purpose well, he supposed, since the demon had not discarded him yet like he had done countless times to other humans.

Tryndamere grew to know how to be silent there. How to scheme. How to exchange. When he opened his eyes, it was with the promise that his eyes would never only be his. That his body was not his anymore, only his soul. The demon was satisfied. He did not demanded the breaking of the body to take it. Tryndamere saw what was done to the people with the sword, by the sword. Not him. The sword.

He saw Ashe running away. That hurt the most. And his hurt was fuel to the demon. His pain and endurance of pain was why the demon chose him. Ashe lost everything again, because of him. His demon, himself. There was no turning back now.

Tryndamere was alone. Alone with his demon and the people that followed him in fear and retaliation. They saw him as leader. Tryndamere only wanted to go back home and release the sword. Nothing more.

But the world was cruel, he knew. He'd never have Ashe ever again.

Tryndamere eyed the moon. He prayed, even if the gods had abandoned him. He saw The Kindred very often now. Not like before - not his fights. He saw them in the corners. Always waiting. Of course, it wasn't him fighting the fights itself, so the spirit would not bother him. Maybe they had come to take him for the atrocities he had done. Maybe they were taking the lives that Aatrox did not. Tryndamere didn't knew. He kept praying. There was nothing else he could do. He was always praying, ever since his village was taken. Praying, as if any gods could hear him truly. Freljord was not his home anymore.

Tryndamere had no home anymore, he knew. His body had been morphed with the ones the swords slayed. Armor made of flesh and blood. Stained. He knew that when his consciousness faded, all that would remain would be that. His face, but not him. His body, but not him. Tryndamere wished for death so many times from the visions alone, now he was the perpetrator of it, and he could not be as bothered. All that bothered him was Ashe. Her face when running. The blood on her hands.

Tryndamere's love was annoying to the demon, he knew. But he could not help it. Ashe was his wife. She had taken care of him for years. His world had revolved around her for years. He could not fathom what could she had seen in him to want him. To keep him. To run from him. His world, not his anymore. Somewhere, he knew. He didn't belong anywhere anymore. Not since that day.

He kept washing the blood, but he was forever stained with millions of lives.

***

Annie woke up feeling her heart beating loudly against her ears. She hated the Freljord. That woman speaking on her dreams. She hated all of it.

Braum made stew. Hm. Maybe not all of it. Nunu was a good teacher, she learned a lot more from the Freljord from him than the witch inside her dreams.

Hm. Maybe not all of Freljord. The snow, mostly.

Sometimes she'd let him take Tibbers, just to see how the demon would react. Tibbaulk was very quiet, more complient than he had ever been. It was a fun thing to see. Annie was scared of rivers and that big poro of Nunu. Although he was more than welcomed into her mattress at night - Tibbers was warm but Willump was fluffy. She considered killing the giant poro a few times just for the fun.

Sometimes Nunu would — much to her dismay — hold her hands gently and pet Willump with them. Nunu was annoying. She definitely would kill him later on, Annie knew. He was too kind and smiled a lot as well. It was infuriating. He'd walk around snow as if it was not a nuisance and speak with that ridiculously thick accent of his of his old home, his mother, of how he met Willump.

Annie didn't had stories like that.

Braum was a good storyteller, though, much more competent than Nunu.

They had been playing this game for a while. He'd say something about his adventures and Annie would shrug. It always happened whenever Nunu walked away from camp and into one of his other lives. He was a good liar, at least. But whenever he spoke with truth in his voice, it was too soft, too gentle, too kind, way too honest, and Annie hated it.

She wanted the mystery! The misery! Blood! Fire! Not... Drama and grief. She already had that.

So, one particularly cold night, the one without moon that the dream witch had warned her about, Annie drifted off from her bed and into snow. Horrible choice, really, as she immediately sneezed. Walked around into the forest for a little while. Followed the directions she had seen on her dreams. And found it. The temple she had been seeing inside her dreams, the one with the corpses still lying around.

It had to be very recent. They were cold, but in a way that was oddly beautiful. Frozen in time. Porcelain bodies of soldiers lost in battle. Almost carved, Annie thought, with a strange pull to one of the soldiers. He reminded her of her dad. Sculpted in ice, wearing uniforms that didn't quite fit him.

It was fairly dark outside. Annie didn't knew how much she had walked until a cold hand reached for hers. Nunu rarely walked outside without his gloves. He never used black iron either. His hair was braided with little ornaments that Braum would like to see one day — they were not from any factions from The Freljord as far as Annie had been made aware. Braum probably knew it better than she could ever, which made things a bit funnier for her.

"Nunu?" Annie had to make sure.

His eyes were awfully bright at night.

There was hesitancy, but then Nunu nodded slowly and sighed, letting go of her hand. "Touch. Don't."

"The corpses?"

Nunu made a face. "They're not corpses, they're..."

His voice died down, swallowed by the wind. His eyes glistened a little, and Nunu shook his head with a sad look. He stared at the corpses.

Stared at Annie.

"Tryndamere," Nunu said as if the word made any sense. "They're like... Part of his family. He froze them here."

"He froze them but they're part of his family. Hm." Annie crossed her arms. "That sounds kind of right, I guess... We're not that different, Freljord and Noxus."

Nunu tilted his head to the side. "I guess..."

They grew quiet. The sky was dark, very much so. Annie could only see Nunu's eyes. She wondered if she made fire with her hands and not Tibbers, how would Nunu react. Braum didn't gave it much thought, he only told her another legend of Freljord. About a man that turned into a walking flame as he burned his village away. Apprentice of a great mage, he burned the village down with some of the docks, and the place was locked alway from the world, but the walking flame was still there, waiting for his master. Or something like that. Either way, Annie didn't like how everyone she had to meet until Nunu and Braum had treated her like a weapon.

"Well, I was just curious, is all." She said as an apology. Nunu chuckled and offered his hand.

Annie hated the feeling of his hand. She took it.

"You should go back to Braum," Nunu murmured. "It gets really dangerous here at this time. The Iron Boar chewed the moon away."

Annie frowned. Braum said Nunu was somewhat religious — like much of Freljord — but that he had magic inside his veins that the Gods themselves had blessed. Annie didn't knew any god. She knew Tibbaulk. She knew of demons. That and only that.

Nunu's grip was tight. Annie's frown deepened. She eyed Nunu for a moment. He looked scared of the dark. Annie snickered. Mordekaiser's right-hand middle finger, he was terrified.

A howl made Annie jump. Nunu forced his eyesight.

"Eh, not here." Was all he said.

Annie shrugged. Not there, then.

They walked back to Braum's little cottage. When it was at sight, Annie made fire. Nunu gasped. He stared at it with wide eyes. Annie raised an eyebrow to him, not really questioning.

"Does it burn?" He murmured the question.

Annie rolled her eyes. "Of course it does. It's fire, what else was it supposed to do?"

Nunu kept staring. "You can do that without Tibbers..."

"You can't do ice without Willump?"

They were silent for a little while. Braum was fast asleep. Annie went to her mattress. Nunu went to Willump. The beast hugged him as if the boy hadn't been away for half the night. Annie crossed her arms. Tibbers was safely tucked under the sheets.

She decided that she hated Nunu very much.

Chapter Text

It was raining. It was a rare thing in Targon, to rain like it was. Surely because The Fall had changed most of the world. A breeze passed by Taric's neck when he thought about it. Valeeva was demanding and draining and the few moments he had alone inside his head, he'd sit and cry. Gods, he hated this. Hated being this weak, the visions, his body. Everything. Valeeva's revenge was something he was expecting to be much more... Abrasive than Xolaani, but he didn't expect it to be like this.

Valeeva was quiet today. And it was raining. Pouring, really. Maybe she didn't enjoy seeing it. Taric didn't knew. He didn't want to know. He saw a star brighter than the others. He definitely didn't want to know what it was. He knew already, from the constant shivers to the sound of thunder in the background. Taric tried to focus his mind somewhere else, but the sensation grew worse. Louder.

Taric sighed, shaky breath and shaky fingers. His hair was entirely white by now, he knew, and his tears felt like acid running down his face, so he bet he looked just great. Sol would love to see.

Oh, darling.

Ever so mocking, Taric hissed mentally.

You... Look like shit! Sol said through thunder and rain, with equal parts venom and amusement.

"Thanks," Taric muttered, fingers trembling.

Oh, don't thank me... Yet. Did you find it?

Taric frowned. Found what? He blinked the rain away a few times. Everything Sol said sounded mocking in a way, and so, Taric didn't answer. Not until the soothing sound of rain turned into a cacophony of terrified screams and thunder turned into battlecries. Taric stumbled forward, one hand over his head and the other holding his stomach. He was going to vomit again, he just knew.

Ah. Sol mocked again. What a lovely sight to behold.

He knew Aurelion hated the aspects, but with Zoe out of the picture he thought maybe the dragon would at the very least tolerate them. Oh how wrong he was. Sol hated them even more without Zoe's supervision. Taric wished then and there The Guardian hadn't chosen him. Everyone else. Everyone else would have been fine. Why him? Why him to torment? Taric fell. Great. He got on his knees, sighing and digging the soil with his boots and nails.

He was spiralling again.

Targon was half blood and half mud now, he saw as he passed by the villages. Maybe Sol was appreciating his destruction and not the failures of the aspect of protection. Who knows. Taric didn't ventured long enough around these places to begin with, he didn't want to see it. Didn't want to think of death more than he had to deal with Valeeva plaguing him with it. Taric blinked when he heard crying, loud and hoarse. A baby? Alive? He stared ahead. Aurelion was cruel when he wanted to.

Oh? Aurelion's star shone brighter. Interesting.

Taric was definitely not interested. The child kept screaming, with thunder and rain covering most of it. But he was the protector, was he not? No... He couldn't take a child, not when he still had Soraka's children to look after. What would he do to explain his looks and powers to them? And if he brought another child, what then? It wasn't like they'd accept him back, or the baby for that matter.

The clack of armor brought him back to the present.

"Leona," He said without turning around.

Leona huffed, but didn't say anything. Instead she used brute force to turn him around.

"This is your fault." She accused. "These people... Do you think they deserved to die, Protector?"

Taric blinked slowly. He could feel Valeeva's warmth spreading across his body. Parasite.

"No," He managed.

"Very well," Leona moved arounsd him, scrutinizing his every move. "Do you believe you do?"

He did. He deserved it, more than anyone in the world. More than anything. Taric gave her a firm nod. Leona raised her brows, surprised. She had wanted to kill him for a while, but she didn't expected compliance from the man she was about to take the head off. Her sword lit up. Valeeva was warm against him, mocking, standing her ground. They would both die, her consciousness and his, together. The man that ruined her husband and the Darkin that could have been. Taric was ready.

Leona's eyes were as cold as steel. Her resolve was cladded with fire, just like her armor. Holy and unjust, it burned like the Sun itself. Taric fell to his knees — courtesy of Valeeva's hands over him. Leona raised her sword. The baby, somewhere, screamed louder, pleading with the four of them.

Thunder cracked somewhere close, loud, unpredictable. The earth shook. The child stopped crying — most likely dead by now. Leona's sword rained down on him.

No. Sol growled.

Leona screamed, sudden, dropping her sword and falling backwards. She clutched at her armor, trying to take it off of her, as if he holiest of armors suddenly tainted her skin, her blood and her soul.

Taric stared, horrified.

So arrogant, Sol said, smooth and calm. And yet so fragile.

"Make it stop!" Leona screamed in anguish.

She tossed and turned on the floor, the armor shining with a golden hue not even the storm and clouds could take away. From the aspects' representatives, she had always been the one with the least control of her powers, always obeying the priests and following religion instead of connecting with the Aspect itself. A shame, really.

"Taric!" Leona roared.

But Taric was a man fallen to the power of a Darkin. He could no longer help anyone, not even if Valeeva allowed him to. He couldn't go against Aurelion Sol of all beings. He had to keep the dragon on the leash Zoe had created until she came back.

"Taric...!" Leona choked.

Insignificant, insolent pet. Aurelion spat.

Taric did not dare move. What once was Leona, the aspect of the sun, was now ashes and torn metal. His limbs trembled, his lips quivered. He could not look away. Blood, steel and fire. Leona burned from the inside out, like Soraka had. He kept staring, waiting for the nightmare to end. To wake up. It did not.

Get up, Protector, Aurelion guided. Save yourself the troubles of burial. A child awaits you.

Taric blinked, once, twice. He sobbed. Leaned in and cried, holding Leona's armor, her shield, her sword. Gods, everything was wrong. Everything.

"Taric," Valeeva called.

He didn't heard her. Didn't heed her call. He kept crying, feeding off of his own torment. He silenced Valeeva out of his mind, somehow. He heard her distant screaming. He should— no. No, he couldn't do anything, not anymore. Taric was no longer.

Aurelion whistled, the wind gently caressing his hair.

Given up, already?

Taric got up, numb. He let go of everything — his armor, Leona's. His cloak, the ashes of a fallen warrior. Fallen Rakkor. He was an outsider, intruder.

Oh, child. Aurelion cooed. Burn the bridge.

Taric looked up. Stared at Aurelion's star. Nodded.

Targon was beyond saving.

Chapter Text

Seraphine was used to having nightmares. Used to her own memories being jumbled and fogging around the edges. Varus' influence on her body only made it worse. They were sharing their mind, the body and just that. He said he wouldn't take anything but that, and yet there it is. The proof of a lie. She knew it would come to this, sooner or later, but it feels too soon. The walk through his memories were cold at first, the guilt and grief too persistent.

She thought he'd never feel guilty about using her, but her nightmares told her another story entirely. He was an old entity, a god of sorts, and yet. There they were. He felt guilty but blamed her all the same.

Seraphine would stare into that well of still waters and hard edges for hours inside her dreams, trying to figure out what part of Varus was she staring. A part of her was curious of why her nightmares with the well changed sometimes, to a room bathed in gold and white.

To a dungeon almost too familiar — almost like the one the Solari put her in. Why Varus didn't let her see anything else inside it.

He could hide the view from her but the feelings where what Seraphine knew best. She could control them, hers, his. Someone else's, too. And it disgusted her, at first, that his feelings were going inside of her. An itch, some senses.

Inside the dreams, Varus was ever present. Outside, in the real world, he'd not even speak inside her mind. Two weeks of this and Seraphine wanted out. The corruption didn't made it easy, either, but it was something she had accepted — it was harder to bathe, to eat, knowing she'd be feeding someone else, that there were another's always present with her in the quiet moments.

Most times it was okay. She'd lean into the bow, even though Seraphine knew it did nothing to his hearing, and speak. Ask. Most times it was about digestion; Varus wasn't picky but Seraphine was, so she'd ask him if he wanted to drink something through her or eat, but he only hummed in response.

As if meditating. Jax thought it was funny, a little dumb too, but he did say she was the tamer of a Darkin, so there wasn't anything wrong with being childish about it.

"You need anything?" She asked.

Varus hummed again.

Rolling over her stomach, reading the notes she was supposed to be writing for Jax, Seraphine grimaced.

"You really need to be specific about what we're sharing, Varus, I'm not Valmar or Kai. I don't know you like that."

Varus finally moved, the corruption crawling against her throat like fingertips sprawling. "No. You're worse."

Seraphine scoffed. "If I was, I'd make you talk, wouldn't I?"

"And what are you doing?" Varus shoot back.

She sat back up, crossing her arms as if Varus was right in front of her. "I need you to talk just for a minute. Just for that, then you go back to your meditation."

Varus went quiet for a few seconds. Then he moved again, on her throat instead of her arms. "I don't need anything, child."

"Yes, you do," Seraphine hissed. "I can sense when you're—"

She cuts herself before the talking becomes fighting. There would be no point in discussing these things. Varus hummed again, not politely like before, but almost condescending.

"Sense," He echoed. "How unfortunate it is, I weep for your mind."

Seraphine rolled her eyes. The venom in the words would have hurt before, when she was expecting anything else from the Darkin, but now? Now it was just petty.

"You send me weird dreams I can't fully comprehend, and now you're being sarcastic?" She dramatically fell on her back, the soft mattress meeting her halfway through. "You were a god, Varus. Just... Help be a little."

The Darkin went quiet again. For a whole minute, Seraphine had no answers for her little plea. And then her eyes rolled on their on, subtly, her breath came ragged as the corruption crawled fast under her skin. It does hurt, not really, not compared to a period cramp, but it's uncomfortable and she'd rather not have that moving around her insides for a while.

She almost let out a whine, but that would be a bit ridiculous. It was the shock of having him actively trying to hurt her and not really the pain. It was a way of silencing her, she knew that.

There was a moment where nothing happened. And that came again. It happened once or twice since she had taken Varus in; disgust and something else fought inside of her. She didn't dare name it just in case the Darkin would notice, because they shared the mind also.

So it was always something else, never what she knew it was. Seraphine never considered herself a masochist but it was a different kind of pain. Controlled, even, because Varus wasn't hurting her as much as he was just moving around to prove a point. He didn't even disfigured her like Rhaast did to Kayn or Xolaani did to her apprentice.

The urge to bite onto something made Seraphine narrow her eyes, and then blink consecutively. There she was, laying beside that gods be damned well made of stone and something that resembled Xolaani's flesh. So she moved up instead, sitting in front of it. Inside it, a reflection of a Varus she didn't knew. It wasn't Valmar or Kai, but someone else.

His skin was tanned, his eyes changed from blue to green, and his hair was way too dark. He looked like someone on their mid twenties, dressed in blue and silver robes, like that of the people in the old Bel'Veth.

"Decided to show up?" She asked, crossing her arms.

"Quiet," He hissed. "You wanted this. I'm not giving you—"

"I don't wanna see anything." Seraphine cut, then, softer. "Just help me a little. Tell me what's wrong."

The reflection grimaced. "Everything is wrong."

"Varus..."

"You disobeyed."

Seraphine opened her mouth, but closed it again, finding a different kind of amusement crossing her mind. The grimace on the reflection worsened. She snorted, almost tittered.

"Me," He concluded. "And you shouldn't have done it."

"You're punishing me with silence because...?"

"The sand Troll," Varus waved vaguely. The water moved.

She stared at the reflection and blinked slowly. "Jax? You don't like him?"

Varus narrowed his eyes. "Why, child, would I like him? He killed a friend."

"You invaded his home."

"It was a war."

"They wouldn't have fought back if the Empire—"

Varus disappeared. The humming around the well grew louder. He appeared again, water splashing around the well as if he had tried to move out of it. Then the reflection sighed, exasperated. Almost rolled his eyes, even.

"Did... Did you just tried to grab me?" Seraphine asked, shocked and amused at the same time.

"Clearly it doesn't work," Varus hissed. "If it did, you'd be inside these damned waters."

"Oh," Seraphine blinked. "They're grey."

Varus frowned. "What?"

"Your eyes. I thought they were blue or green, but they're grey." She smiled, then. "That's kind of rare."

Varus clicked his tongue, looking half annoyed at the sudden change in topic. "Is it important?"

"They're pretty," Serapgine said and immediately regretted. "And very distracting. Question."

His brows twitched for half a second. "Right."

"Why aren't you holding them back? The dreams, I mean."

Varus closed his eyes for a moment. "I... Cannot. You're a child of the Arcane, an empath at that, even if I wanted to hold them back, like I did with Valmar and Kai, they'd come. One way or another." There was another pause. "And I don't have my runes."

Oh. Seraphine nodded. "You can teach me how to write them, would be easier for both of us."

"I'd have to take something away from you," Varus said flatly. "And we both don't want that."

Seraphine nodded again, breathing in sharply. "Okay. You want me conscious enough to walk on my own, I know that." She glared at the purple-ish tendrils that came and went around the well, trying to grab where her fingers touched. "But you have to stop evading me."

"Your death wish is astonishing," Varus mumbled. Seraphine huffed a chuckle. "Truly, an Aspect must have worked hard on you before you were born."

"I wasn't," Seraphine mumbled. "Wasn't born."

Varus gave her a condescending smile. "I know."

Annoying prick of a Darkin, he was. The thought spilled from her into the well, light yellow liquid flowing inside it. Varus arched an brow at that, unimpressed. He wouldn't be, either way, Seraphine knew that. It had been a month after she got first hand corruption from him, the soft thud of destruction he'd give her afterwards.

It was annoying that he cared enough not to take much, but it was worse when he got quiet. Seraphine missed Valmar and Kai, not like Varus did, but missed them anyways.

This wouldn't be happening if you just let the Darkin die, like you did with Valeeva.

Varus blinked in and out of existence after that intrusive thought passed by. It's stupid, really, that is this kind of thoughts that made the well overflow each and every time. An whenever it spilled, a part of a memory — a dream, like Seraphine calls them — washed upon her.

First it was the dungeons again. Quick, just a glimpse. There was a lady in there. She looked like Xolaani did, in a way, corrupted like her. But her hair was longer, less white and more yellowish with a few strands of dark brown. There was something on her eyes that glistened just like Seraphine's and she didn't really liked it. Valeeva. Then it changed, and it was Bel'Veth. A greater version of it, more Shurimani.

Her heart started beating loudly, waiting for the desert to open up and be swallowed. Nothing happened, really, just children laughing. There was a boy playing with a wooden bow. He had a curved dagger with intricate details carved on the cable. Runes Seraphine didn't understand.

The image was so vivid she blinked a few times. None of her other dreams were like that. There was a woman beside the boy, black curly hair, tanned skin, dressed in dark blue robes.

"... Again." The woman said, eyes fiercely latched on the boy. "Are you even listening, Mehari?"

The boy looked up, shrugged. The woman clicked her tongue and walked away in harsh steps. The boy — Mehari — looked over to Seraphine with a light crease of his brows. He then proceeded to throw the dagger on her direction, but the blade phased through her. He downright frowned.

Said something in Old Shurimani and moved up. Why she could understand the woman but not the kid was beyond Seraphine's levels of understanding. The ground shook a little. The boy paused, stared, slowly moved, then. He looked about fourteen, no more, no less. Seraphine took a step back.

The ground shook again, slightly harder. There was a pause between them, about five seconds. Mehari ran on her direction, fast. Seraphine stepped back and turned around, ready to run too. The ground opened right beneath her. Not this again, she thought. Anything but this.

Green came first, then blue, then yellow. Finally, soft hues of lilac and purple began shining on her eyes. Seraphine closed them immediately. When she opened them again, it was her room on the ship. She breathed in, out, slowly.

"We need to actually work our differences," She told the bow. "Stop giving me Void and give me something I can use."

The bow, of course, didn't respond.

Seraphine groaned, throwing hands. "Stop giving me Void."

Varus didn't answer, but a soft humming inside the bow was enough of an answer either way. Finally, she thought, they'd be in mostly equal grounds about the dreams.

Or so she hoped.