Ahri - LUIS

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Ahri, the Nine-Tailed Fox

“Human emotions can be more volatile than even the deepest magic.”
- Vesani
Ionia

For most of her life, Ahri's origins were a mystery to her, the history of her vastayan tribe all but lost save for the twin gemstones she has carried her entire life.

Ahri's earliest memories are of running with icefoxes in the northern reaches of Shon-Xan. Though she knew she was not one of them, they clearly saw her as something of a kindred spirit, and came to accept her within the pack.

In that wild, predatory existence, Ahri nonetheless felt a deeper connection to the forests around her. In time, she came to understand that this was the magic of the vastaya that coursed through every fiber of her being, and the realm of spirits that lay beyond. With no one to teach her, instead she learned to call upon this power in her own ways—most often using it to quicken her reflexes in pursuit of prey. If she was careful and close enough, she also found she might soothe a panicked deer, so that it remained serene and calm even as she and her packmates sank their teeth into its flesh.

The world of mortals was as distant and unsettling to Ahri as it was to the icefoxes, but she felt drawn to it for reasons she could not explain. Humans in particular were coarse, gruff creatures… and when a band of huntsmen camped nearby, Ahri watched them from afar as they went about their grim business.

When one of them was wounded by a stray arrow, Ahri could feel his life seeping away. Knowing nothing but the instincts of a predator, she savored the spirit essence leaving his body, and through it gained brief flashes of his memories—the lover he had lost in battle, and the children he had left behind when he came north. Ahri subtly pushed his emotions from fear to sorrow to joy, and comforted him with visions of a sun-soaked meadow as he died.

Afterward, she found that human words now came to her easily, like something from a half-remembered dream, and Ahri knew the time had come to leave the pack behind.

Keeping to the fringes of society, she felt more alive than ever. Her predatory nature remained, but she was caught up in a riot of new experiences, emotions, and customs across Ionia. Mortals, it seemed, also became fascinated by her in return—and she often used this to her advantage, draining their essence while charming them with recollections of beauty, hallucinations of deep longing, and occasionally dreams colored by raw sorrow.

She grew drunk on memories that were not her own, and exhilarated in ending the lives of others even as she felt the grief and woe she brought to her victims. She experienced heartbreak and elation in tantalizing flashes that left her craving more. It was overwhelming, but she sensed her own power fading whenever she tried to stay away, and could not help but partake again and again…

In time, she began to see herself as mortals did: a monster.

Until one day, an artist stumbled upon her, hunched over a man as she drained his life essence from him. Where others would run, he stayed, offering his own life essence in exchange for her heart. For the first time in her life, Ahri let herself fall in love and be loved, wholly and completely.

Their days passed in warmth and laughter, Ahri curbing her hunger by feeding on her lover. She was truly happy... until she lost control, draining her lover completely.

Ahri fell into despair, her grief consuming her as she mourned the loss of the first and only person she's ever truly loved. The first and only person who ever truly loved her. Retreating even further from society, she became consumed with learning more about where she came from, in hopes that it would help her control her abilities.

With her twin sunstones in hand, she set out in search of others like her, a journey that would take her out of Ionia and across Runeterra, eventually leading her to the discovery of her ancestors, the Vesani, a vastayan tribe that brought innovation and magic to the world before being wiped out.

Inspired by their memories, Ahri has set off to travel the world in search of other remnants of the Vesani. She hopes to carry their legacy forward, bringing good into the world like they did. No longer burdened by the heavy weight of her regrets, she also hopes to finally leave her stolen memories behind and create new memories of her own making.
The Garden of Forgetting

Rayla Heide

Ahri took a deep breath and exhaled into the flower.
...Ahri stood next to a raven-haired man at the edge of a lake.
A Fair Trade

Rayla Heide

Do you really use all nine?”
Ahri shut her eyes and reached out to the reservoirs of magic around her.
Interview: Inside K/DA

PopRox

Eve: But the stunt coordinator might not.
PopRox: Ahri?
Ahri: POP/STARS에서 제가 제일 좋아하는 부분은… 마지막 장면에서 같이 안무하는 거요.
The Twilight Star

Ariel Lawrence

“Ahri!” I say. “Ahri will know.”
“No,” Sarah says.
“Of course she will.”
Starfall

Ariel Lawrence

I’m so jealous my teeth hurt.
“Syndra,” Ahri says. “Are you all done? We missed you on the hike this afternoon.”
The Slumber Party Summoning

Ariel Lawrence

“Well,” Ez continues. “Ahri prefers to be out and about where there are people. She’s not much of a homebody herself, and she figures most trouble wouldn’t be either.”
You Are the Weapon

David Slagle

He started his training with a single breath. In, and out.
He could hear water dripping through a crack in the cave ceiling, dampening the stone floor until it gleamed against the darkness. He knew the holy patterns carved into the floor’s stone—proclaiming destinies and orbits. Even when he closed his eyes, he could see each lunar arc.
He made a few tentative swings with his blade. The moonstone felt solid in his hand, but remained ethereal, as if it wasn’t there. It was a magical remnant of the first convergence when the moon and its reflection in the spirit realm briefly touched across the celestial veil, and moonstone cast off by the union rained down on the world like tears.
Following their orbits, the two moons were forced to part.
Embracing his own orbit, Aphelios continued to train.
His blade was now his breath, drawing faster and faster. His slashes followed arcs he had practiced for years until even he bled, training to the verge of self-destruction. Following his weapon, he twisted through the air. He slashed, parried—each attack flowing into the next. He closed his eyes so he would not need to see… would not remember everything he’d sacrificed to wield his weapon.

“Aphelios…” You see my face. My lip quivers, though my voice is firm.
“Aphelios.” Reflected in my eyes, you see…

Aphelios stumbled as his moonstone blade flashed red and an image of an outlander passed before him. A vision? A memory? How many times had he killed to not know for sure? The blade slipped from his hand, and Aphelios soon followed—colliding against the floor with no weapon to lead him, losing grasp of his discipline.
It had all come back. Everything he pushed down. Every cut of his blade into his enemies cut even deeper into himself.
Alune… his sister. She’d reached across the veil. She’d shown him… but she’d been torn away.
Aphelios pushed troubled words he would never say back into his throat. His fingers tightened into a fist, only for a moment, ready to strike against the orbits and destinies carved into stone. But, hand shaking… he let go.
As Aphelios stood and swept back his hair, he noticed the moon had risen, its light shining onto a shrine he kept deeper in the temple. Calling to him, as it did whenever he was needed.
It was time. His faith would be rewarded.
The Lunari’s power was growing, phasing across the celestial veil. A magic of spirit, of the secrets within—for all of his training, Aphelios could not channel the moon’s power himself. But he would not need to.
He carefully prepared noctum flowers that he’d cultivated in the shrine’s pool, pressing their essence into a caustic elixir—the liquid glowing faintly within the mortar bowl.
He set aside his training blade and raised the bowl to the moon’s light.
Then, without hesitation, he pressed the flower’s poison to his lips.

The agony is indescribable. The pain wraps around your throat. You cannot say anything at all…
Everything burns. You convulse in misery, you retch and cough as the poison flows through you, opening you to the moon’s power…
To me.
“Aphelios,” I whisper from my fortress, and my spirit brushes against yours. You sense my presence across the veil. You raise your hand, knowing that I am too far. That it is the pain you must hold on to.
You close your hand around it. It becomes your weapon.
I send it to you…
Gravitum.
“Aphelios,” I whisper as I feel you cling to the poison that burns you away. Knowing why you make this choice. What I ask you to sacrifice…

With a final lung-wracking gasp, Aphelios emerged from the cave temple into the night. His expression hardened as he fought back the wrenching agony, embracing it and leaving everything else behind him.
Mount Targon loomed above and below the temple, stretching in both directions.
The howling wind whipped up frozen wisps that shimmered as they faded, dancing with Aphelios’ scarf and buffeting his cloak. The light of the moon shone higher still. It would guide him.
It was her light, shining through the moon’s.
She’d given him what he needed.
Gravitum was more than a moonstone blade. In training, he had slashed, stabbed, twirled. To use this weapon, he would do the same—but his reach would be much greater. A simple thrust would unleash its power, his skill and her magic converging.
Firing the cannon’s black orbs toward a floating rock that was suspended by the Targon’s heavenly magic, Gravitum’s power slowly drew the island down. With a single leap, Aphelios began running atop the island, his boots casting small drifts of snow into the abyss. Each orb he fired drew another rock close, the floating monoliths colliding behind him as he leapt from one to the next, swiftly scaling a mountain that would take most people days to climb… if they attempted the climb at all.
Only the Solari, and those who sought power, held vigil here.
He passed their settlements below, each quiet and ignorant of the night. For years, he had wondered how Solari zealots could deny his faith’s existence, walking their paths to follow the sun, fearing darkness that only Lunari dared face. But his destiny was clear.
The zealots would be revealed by the moon’s light.
Aphelios leapt to a final island of stone and paused above a snowy clearing where a party of Solari had gathered, their weapons blazing. Burning Ones, the Lunari called them. By night, they scorched out heretics of the moon. By day, their priests denied there was anything but the sun. Beneath dark hoods, their faces were hidden by flame as impersonal as their judgment. They had surrounded a barbarian cloaked in crimson and steel.
The outlander he’d seen in his vision.
The moon’s light stopped in this clearing. It stopped at the barbarian’s feet.

“Aphelios,” I say again. I whisper it to your soul and gather my magic, knowing the only words you want to hear.
“I am with you…”

Aphelios dived off the rock island and plummeted into battle, the Burning Ones’ weapons blazing all the brighter as Gravitum’s darkness spread among them. Crying out in alarm, the Solari turned to fight, but found themselves bound to the ground by a black orb. Aphelios dropped the cannon, and a new weapon appeared in his hand.

“Severum,” I whisper.

Landing from his descent without looking away from his enemies’ burning faces, Aphelios slashed behind him with Severum, the crescent pistol’s beam tearing through the island of stone. Terrified, the Burning Ones could only watch as massive slabs slammed down among them, cut loose by the energy of the waning moon.
The survivors quickly spread across the clearing, lashing at Aphelios with their molten spears. Weaving between the blows, Aphelios continued to slash with Severum and reached out with his free hand to grasp one more weapon as it passed through the veil, knowing it would be there.

“Crescendum,” I say to the night.

With a soaring arc, Crescendum cut through the throats of the remaining Solari in the clearing—Aphelios catching the moonstone blade as it twisted around and returned to his hand.
In seconds, it was over.

The barbarian stands before you. He looks up, gratefully. Beside him, what the Burning Ones sought: a scimitar curved like the moon.
He opens his mouth to thank you, but he sees your expression twist, though you try to hide it. You fight the fear, punching your shoulder where the Burning Ones’ spears cut through your cloak. Trying to remember the pain. Reaching for it.
You don’t want to kill him. But you must.
Your face is too numb for you to feel the tears… Instead, you feel mine.
“Aphelios,” I say one last time, forcing my voice through the veil. There is a dizzying rush as our orbits bring us together.
Through your eyes, I see what moonlight reveals around the scimitar. Why it was abandoned.
She is running…
We must find her.

The crimson-clad barbarian lay in the snow among the Solari.
With a gasp, Aphelios fell to his knees.
He glanced up at the moon, listening for a whisper only he could hear.
His expression dulled again. Without a word, he picked up the scimitar and walked into the night.

Search results for Ahri

Ahri, the Nine-Tailed Fox

The Garden of Forgetting

A Fair Trade

Interview: Inside K/DA

The Twilight Star

Starfall

The Slumber Party Summoning

You Are the Weapon