LoL Universe Indexing and Search

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.

Diana did not belong on Mount Targon. A group of Solari hunters discovered her swaddled between her frost-claimed parents—strangers to this land, who had clearly traveled a long way. The hunters brought her to their temple, dedicated her, and raised her as a member of the Tribes of the Last Sun, known to many as the Rakkor.

Like all of the Solari faith, she underwent rigorous physical and religious training. However, unlike others, Diana was determined to understand why the Solari act the way they do, and the reasoning behind their beliefs. She spent her evenings digging through the libraries, devouring texts with only pale moonlight to read by. Paradoxically, this pursuit provided more questions than answers, and her teachers’ aphoristic replies did little to sate her inquisitive mind.

When Diana began to notice tomes had whole chapters torn from them, and all references to the moon seemed missing, the teachers assigned harsh punishments, intending to exhaust her into devotion. Likewise, her fellow acolytes distanced themselves from her and her questioning.

There was one shining beacon in these years of confused, frustrated isolation: Leona. The most devout of Diana’s peers, they often found themselves in impassioned debate. Though one never swayed the other in their long and frequent conversations, they developed a close friendship.

Then, one glorious night, Diana discovered a hidden alcove deep within the mountain. Moonlight spilled against its walls, revealing imagery of the sun, of soldiers armored in gold alongside silver-clad warriors, and matching imagery of the moon, atop Targon’s greatest peek. Delighted, Diana raced to share this clear message with Leona—the sun and moon were not enemies after all!

Leona did not react with joy.

She urged Diana to put this heresy from her mind entirely, warning of the punishments that may befall her if she were to voice such thoughts to others. Diana had never seen her serious friend quite so grave.

Frustration gnawed at her. She had reached the end of the Solari’s knowledge, yet not even Leona would take this new discovery into account. What were the Solari hiding? Increasingly, Diana felt certain there was only one place she could go for answers: the top of Mount Targon.

The climb tested her in every way imaginable, and time seemed to stand still as she scaled the peak. To survive, she focused her thoughts on her lone companion, and the answers that would make the Solari better, more whole.

The summit greeted her with the brightest, fullest moon she’d ever seen. After a rapturous moment, a pillar of moonlight slammed into her and she felt a presence taking hold of her, sharing glimpses of the past, and of another Rakkor faith called the Lunari. Diana realized this presence could only be one of the legendary Aspects… and she had been chosen as its host.

When the light dissipated, her mind was again her own. Diana found herself clad in armor, holding a crescent blade, and hair once dark hair now gleaming silver. She turned to find she was not alone—Leona stood at her side, similarly bedecked in shining, golden battleplate, a sunbreak-bright shield and sword in her hands.

Diana was overjoyed to share in this revelatory moment with her friend, but Leona thought only of returning to the Solari. Diana begged her not to, desperate that they face this new future together. But Leona refused, and their disagreement quickly turned into a titanic battle, erupting with moonlight and sunfire.

Fearful of losing herself to the Aspect’s power, Diana ultimately fled down the mountain. But, vindicated in her search, she felt more certain than ever that she had been right to question the Solari’s teachings. It was time to confront them, and show the error of their ways.

Pushing past their Ra’Horak guardians, Diana burst into the chambers of the high priests. They listened with mounting horror as she told of what she had learned of the Lunari… and then they denounced her as a heretic, a blasphemer, and a peddler of false gods. Rage filled Diana, amplified by the Aspect within, and she embraced it in a terrible burst of moonlight. Startled, she fled the temple, leaving a trail of death in her wake.

Now, driven by half-remembered visions and glimpses of ancient knowledge, Diana clings to the only truths she knows for certain—that the Lunari and the Solari need not be foes, and that there is a greater purpose for her than to be a Solari acolyte of Mount Targon.

And though that destiny remains unclear, Diana will seek it out, whatever the cost.

Among the Rakkor tribes that dwell upon Mount Targon, the sun is sacred, and none venerate it more than the Solari. Children are raised from birth to honor it, and even to shed blood for it, until its Aspect returns, heralding a grave threat they all must face.

Leona was one such child. She took to the Solari faith as naturally as breathing, finding solace and warmth within its rigid structure. This manifested through her rapid achievement of excellence, her peers envious of her capability, willpower, and devotion. None doubted she would one day become one of the Ra’Horak, the holy warriors of the Solari.

Though Leona flourished, she could not help but see her masters struggle with their most exasperating student, an orphan named Diana. Her curiosity was welcomed at first, but soon the teachers began to perceive Diana’s questions as challenging the Solari ways. Leona watched Diana suffer punishment and isolation—but where others saw insolence, she saw a lost soul devoted to a search for meaning.

Leona found her purpose in the Solari teachings, and resolved to share it with Diana as even the most dutiful teachers forsook her. The two would debate late into the night, with Leona hoping to persuade Diana that everything she could ever want was there in the faith, waiting for her to accept it. Though she failed to win Diana over, Leona did find a friend.

One night, Diana confided a secret to Leona. She spoke of discovering a hidden alcove in the mountain, an ancient place where the walls were etched with depictions of strange symbols and forgotten societies. When Diana mentioned climbing the summit of Mount Targon to learn more, Leona urged her to stop. Seeking to protect her from the ire of the other Solari, Leona made Diana promise to abandon this search. Reluctantly, Diana agreed.

Time passed, and the two never spoke of Diana’s discovery again. Leona believed her friend had finally come to her senses.

Her belief was shattered late one night, when she glimpsed Diana slipping out of the temple. While her first instinct was to tell the elders, Leona thought instead of protecting her friend, wresting her back from the edge. Resolved, Leona set off after Diana…

To the summit of Mount Targon.

The ascent was a trial unlike any Leona had ever endured, straining every fiber of her being to its limit, and beyond. Her training, willpower, and concern for Diana was all that drove her on. The unblinking eyes of bodies frozen into the mountain's slopes watched her climb, their own journeys forever incomplete, but not even they could deter her.

After what seemed an eternity—and much to her own amazement—Leona reached the peak.

Exhausted, she beheld an uncanny landscape, and found Diana engulfed in a coruscating column of silver light. Leona saw her friend’s silhouette writhing in agony, the air rippling with her screams. Horrified, Leona rushed to her aid, when a golden radiance slashed down from the heavens to envelop her.

The sensation was indescribable, but rather than incinerating Leona, the illumination coursed into her, suffusing her with incredible power. She clung to her consciousness, fighting the current seeking to sear away her very being.

Ultimately, her indomitable will triumphed—and with that control came understanding.

With control came understanding. Leona was forever changed, imbued by the Aspect of the Sun. Destiny had selected her, and it was her duty to protect the Solari in the times to come.

It was then that Leona saw Diana, clad in gleaming silver war-plate, a strange reflection of the golden armor she discovered herself now wearing. Diana begged Leona to join her, to seek out answers the Solari could not offer. Leona demanded they return home, and present themselves for the priests’ judgment. Neither conceded, and they finally felt the weight of the weapons in their hands.

Their combat was swift, a blistering clash between sun and moon, ending with Diana’s crescent blade at Leona’s throat. But, rather than delivering the killing blow, Diana fled. Devastated, Leona descended Targon and hurried to her elders.

When she arrived, she found slaughter. Many Solari priests and their Ra’Horak guardians were dead, seemingly slain by Diana’s hand. The survivors were awed by the presence of two Aspects now in their midst, and Leona was committed to helping them navigate this new reality—the guiding light to her people, just as the sun had always been.

She has sworn to find Diana, to preserve the dominance of the Solari... but also to help her old friend control the Moon Aspect’s power before it destroys her.

Night had always been Diana’s favorite time, even as a child. It had been that way since she was old enough to scramble over the walls of the Solari temple and watch the moon traverse the vault of stars. She looked up through the dense forest canopy, her violet eyes scanning for the silver moon, but seeing only its diffuse glow through the thick clouds and dark branches.

The trees were pressing in, black and moss-covered, their branches like crooked limbs reaching for the sky. She could no longer see the path, her route forward obscured by rank weeds and grasping briars. Wind-blown thorns scraped the curved plates of her armor, and Diana closed her eyes as she felt a memory stir within her.

A memory, yes, but not her own. This was something else, something drawn from the fractured recollections of the celestial essence that shared her flesh. When she opened her eyes, a shimmering image of a forest overlaid the close-packed trees before her. She saw the same trees, but from a different time, from when they were young and fruitful and the path between them was dappled with light and edged in wildflowers.

Raised in the harsh environs of Mount Targon, Diana had never seen a forest like this. She knew what she was seeing was an echo of the past, but the scents of honeysuckle and jasmine were as real as anything she had experienced.

“Thank you,” she whispered, following the spectral outline of the ancient path.

It led Diana through overgrown and withered trees that ought to have been long dead. It climbed the slopes of rocky highlands, and passed through stands of twisted pine and wild fir. It crossed tumbling mountain streams and wound its way around sheer slopes before bringing her to a rocky plateau overlooking a vast lake of cold, dark water.

At the center of the plateau was a circle of towering stones, each carved with looping spirals and curving sigils. On every stone Diana saw the same rune that shimmered upon her forehead and knew she had reached her destination. Her skin tingled with a sense of febrile anticipation, a sensation she had come to associate with wild and dangerous magic. Wary now, she approached the circle, eyes scanning for threats. Diana saw nothing, but she knew something was here, something utterly hostile and yet somehow familiar.

Diana moved to the center of the circle and drew her sword. Its crescent blade glittered like diamond in the wan moonlight penetrating the clouds. She knelt with her head bowed, the blade’s tip resting on the ground, its quillons at her cheeks.

She felt them before she saw them.

A sudden drop in pressure. A raw charge to the air.

Diana surged to her feet as the spaces between the stones split apart. The air buckled and a trio of screeching beasts charged her with ferocious speed; ivory flesh, bone-white carapaces of segmented armor and steel talons.

Terrors.

Diana dived beneath a snapping jaw filled with teeth like polished ebony, slashing her sword in an overhead arc that clove the first monster’s skull to its heavy shoulders. The creature fell, its flesh instantly unraveling. She rolled to her feet as the others circled like pack hunters, now wary of her gleaming blade. The creature she had killed now resembled a pool of bubbling tar.

They came at her again, one from each side. Their flesh was already darkening to a bruised purple, hissing in this world’s hostile atmosphere. Diana leapt over the leftmost beast and swung her sword in a crescent arc towards its neck plates. She yelled one of the Lunari’s holy words and incandescent light blazed from the blade.

The beast blew apart from the inside, gobbets of newly-wrought flesh disintegrating before the moonblade’s power. She landed and swayed aside from the last beast’s attack. Not fast enough. Razored talons punched through the steel of her pauldrons and dragged her around. The beast’s chest split apart, revealing a glutinous mass of sense organs and hooked teeth. It bit into the meat of her shoulder and Diana screamed as numbing cold spread from the wound. She spun her sword, holding the grip like a dagger and rammed it into the beast’s body. It screeched, relinquishing its hold. Steaming black ichor poured from its ruptured body. Diana spun away, biting down on the pain racing around her body. She held her moonblade out to the side as the clouds began to thin.

The beast had tasted her blood and hissed with predatory hunger. Its armored form was now entirely gloss black and venomous purple. Bladed arms unfolded and remade themselves in a fan of hooks and talons. Unnatural flesh flowed like wax to seal the awful wound her blade had ripped.

The essence within Diana surged. It filled her thoughts with undying hatred from a distant epoch. She glimpsed ancient battles so terrible that entire worlds had been lost in the fires of their waging; a war that had almost unmade this very world and still might.

The creature charged Diana, its body rippling with the raw power of another realm of existence.

Clouds parted and a brilliant shaft of silver speared downwards. Diana’s sword drank in the radiance of distant moons and light burned along its edge. She brought it down in an executioner’s arc, cleaving plated bone and woven flesh with the power of the night’s illumination.

The beast came apart in an explosive detonation of light, its body utterly unmade by her blow. Its flesh melted into the night, leaving Diana alone on the plateau, her chest heaving with exertion as the power she had joined with on the mountain withdrew to the far reaches of her flesh.

She blinked away after-images of a city that echoed with emptiness where once it had pulsed with life. Sadness filled her, though she had never known this place, but even as she mourned it, the memory faded and she was Diana again.

The creatures were gone and the stones of the circle gleamed with threads of silver radiance. Freed from the touch of the hateful place on the other side of the veil, their healing power seeped into the earth. Diana felt it spreading into the landscape, carried through rock and root to the very bones of the world.

“This night’s work is done,” she said. “The way is sealed.”

She turned to where the moon’s reflection shimmered in the waters of the lake. It beckoned to her, its irresistible pull lodged deep in her soul as it drew her ever onwards.

“But there is always another night’s work,” said Diana.

Mount Targon is the mightiest peak in Runeterra, a towering mountain of sun-baked rock amid a range of summits unmatched in scale anywhere else in the world. Located far from civilization, Mount Targon is utterly remote and all but impossible to reach save by the most determined seeker.

Many legends cling to Mount Targon, ranging from tales of blazing warriors imbued with incredible powers falling from the sky to battle monsters, to fantastical tales of gods and their celestial abodes crashing down to form the mountain. Some legends even go so far as to claim the Mountain itself is a sleeping titan of antiquity.

Like any place of myth, Mount Targon is a beacon to dreamers, madmen and questors of adventure. Those who survive the arduous journey to the foot of the titanic mountain are welcomed as fellow pilgrims by the scattered, tribal communities that have set up nomadic camps around its base.

Here the weary traveller learns of the tribes, such as the Rakkor, who have endured the harsh climate and unforgiving lands around the mountain for millennia. These people are united in their belief that living in the shadow of these cyclopean structures of monumental scale is a true calling of mysterious powers. The origin and purpose of these structures - if such things ever had one - remain a mystery, for mortals can never truly know the minds of the structures’ lost creators. Many faiths find root around the mountain, but all are beholden to the Solari, a sun-worshipping faith whose tenets dominate the land. The Solari high temple sits on the eastern slope of the mountain, reachable only by crossing swaying rope bridges over abyssal canyons, climbing winding stairs weathered into the living rock and traversing whisper-thin ledges cut upon sheer cliffs carved with ancient symbols and vast effigies.

Some brave souls attempt to scale the impossible mountain, perhaps seeking wisdom or enlightenment, perhaps chasing glory or some soul-deep yearning to see its summit. The dwellers at the peak’s base cheer as these brave souls begin their ascent, knowing the mountain will find the vast majority of them unworthy. And to be judged unworthy by Mount Targon is to die.

The mountain’s sheer flanks and the treacherous conditions of its high slopes make it incredibly difficult to climb. Its rocks are littered with the contorted bodies of those who have made the attempt and failed. The ascent is all but impossible, a grueling test of every facet of a climber’s strength, character, resolve, willpower and determination. Some climbers ascend for weeks or months, others for only a day, for the mountain is inconstant and ever-changing. And even for those hardy few who somehow survive to reach the top, the testing is not over. Some who claw their way to the summit do so only to find it utterly empty, an abandoned expanse of ruins and faded carvings beyond human understanding. For unknowable reasons, the mountain has found the climber’s soul lacking.

For a handful of others, however, the summit is said to be veiled in a cascade of shimmering light, through which wonders and far-distant vistas can be glimpsed, the bewildering, tantalizing visions of a mythical domain beyond. Despite attaining their goal of reaching the summit, most fail this last test, turning away in fear from this inhuman realm. Of the rare few who press on, most never return, while others may reappear minutes, years or even centuries later.

Only one thing is certain - those who return are changed beyond all recognition.

The sky around Mount Targon shimmers with celestial bodies; the sun and moons, but also constellations, planets, fiery comets that streak the darkness, and auspicious arrangements of stars. The people living at the mountain’s base believe these to be aspects of long-vanished stellar beings, creatures powerful and ancient on a scale beyond human comprehension. Some believe the power of these Aspects sometimes come down the mountain within the lambent bodies of those climbers found worthy. Such an occurrence is unimaginably rare and amazing tales of their exploits form around such individuals, who only ever appear once every few generations.

It is incredibly unusual for more than a single Aspect to walk the earth of Runeterra at any given time, so the tales of several Aspects manifesting has spread a pall of fear and uncertainty around the mountain. For what threat might be arising that requires the power of so many powerful beings to fight?

To assume the Aspects act in the interests of Targon or its people is folly of the highest order.

When the first Rakkor climbed the Great Mountain, they did so to bring themselves closer to their holy sun, the divine source of all light and majesty in this world. But when they reached the summit, they found strange, otherworldly beings waiting there for them.

Not gods. There are no gods on the mountain, nor above it. The Aspects have never claimed this, and the Rakkor have never considered them as such. In spite of all their heavenly power, they had descended from the firmament of the celestial realm, yet were still unable to cross over into Runeterra unaided—and this was something for which they would be willing to bargain most dearly. Enough to use our own worst natures against us. Enough to betray the golden sun itself.

To this day, the Aspects strive to manipulate a world that is not theirs, for reasons we cannot fully comprehend, on a timescale that mocks even the grandest of mortal ambitions.

However, we can be certain that their motivations are not human, and their capacity for cruelty and deception is unmatched in all existence.

— from ‘Tribe of the Last Sun’, by the Hierarch Malgurza of Helia

Weary from the day’s labors, Iula wiped her stiff hands upon her apron, and raised a cup to the mantel.

“Here’s to you, my love,” she whispered, before bringing it to her lips.

A flood of sweetness. Warmth. The last rays of an autumnal sunset.

She measured the taste for a moment, letting it sit on her palate, breathing out slowly through her nose. Then she looked down into her drink and gently swirled the golden liquid around.

“How is it?” Hanne asked, as she heaved the farmhouse door closed behind her.

Iula shrugged. “It’s fine. Maybe it will age into something better.”

The younger woman set down two large sacks of grain on the floor beside the kitchen table, and poured a cup for herself. Iula watched her sniff it, and take a long swig.

Then Hanne coughed, and blinked hard, twice.

A third time.

“You can... You can really taste the smoke...” she managed. “Is mead always... like this?”

Iula smiled, running her fingers through the bunches of herbs hanging from the roof beams. “No, not always. Depends what you put in. For a traditional medu, I hoped the hedge-sage would come through a little stronger. Maybe next time we’ll use more. And fresh, not dried.”

“Are we still taking it to the market, though? Will it be ready by then?”

“It’s fine. We can backsweeten each jar with a little more honey, before I seal them.”

Hanne finished her cup with only the slightest hint of a grimace, before setting it down. “I think I saw one last honeycomb in the storehouse,” she said. “I’ll bring it in.”

“There’s no rush. I’m not doing it tonight. Need to start on the sourdough before bed.”

“It’s no trouble!” Hanne insisted. “I’ll go now, before I get this young man his supper.”

Little Tomis was still seated at the table, swinging his bare feet back and forth. Even though the day had been long, his eyes were still keen... and very much fixed on the drink in Iula’s hand.

“Can I have some?” he asked, the moment Hanne was gone.

Iula made a show of turning to face him with an expression of mock-confusion. “You mean this lovely stew that Hanne has made for us all?” she said, gesturing to the fireplace with her cup.

Tomis shook his head. “No. The medu.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s a good idea, is it?” she replied, stepping over the bench to sit next to him. Her knees and elbows creaked as she went—but her knees and elbows always creaked, so she had given up remarking on it years ago.

She tapped the large glass jar next to him.

“What about your fine batch of sun tea, eh? Wouldn’t you rather have some of that? We spent all day on it, and you’ve been very helpful! I’ve been looking forward to trying it.”

Tomis wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like sun tea anymore.”

“Oh, that’s not true! It’s a very special drink for a young Rakkor. It fills you up from top to toe with the blessings of the Sun. Don’t you want that?”

The boy went very quiet, and still. His eyes sank to the tabletop.

“Then why do you put your drink in the dark?” he murmured, plaintively. “Does that mean it’s bad?”

Iula was suddenly worried that she had gone too far. “Oh, no,” she chuckled, putting her arm around him, “it’s not bad. Not bad at all. My dear husband taught me how to make mead, when we were first married. It needs to sit in the dark for a while to... umm... to get more... sort of...”

Then she gave up trying to explain fermentation to a four-year-old, and playfully poked his nose.

“Look, my boy, some of the best things that grown-ups enjoy happen in the dark, all right? One day, when you’re older and taller, you’ll understand that. And then you can have a sip of mead! But for now, it’s sun tea for us both! Can you spare my tired old feet, and bring me two clean cups?”

Tomis giggled, and scurried away to the pantry. Iula watched him go, before craftily gulping down the last of her drink, just as the farmhouse door opened.

“Actually, Tam,” she spluttered, “bring three. Hanne’s back, and she’ll want—”

“Iula.”

Something in Hanne’s tone chilled Iula’s blood. She was on her feet before she realized it, moving to join the girl in the open doorway. “What is it?”

“There’s someone coming. I think... I think it’s a Solari.”

Iula strained her eyes into the twilight gloom of the valley, past the dusty yard of their simple homestead, and the fields of empyrean wheat beyond.

There.

True enough, she could just make out the distant, haggard form of a man clad in dulled, golden battleplate. He was moving slowly through the crop, but there could be no doubt as to his intended destination. Iula’s home was remote and secluded, the nearest neighbors several hours to the north.

She sighed, steeling her nerve, and strode into the yard.

“Greetings, friend,” she called out. “May the Sun’s light be upon you. I hope your journey through the mountains has not been too hard.”

The man did not respond, nor halt in his approach.

Iula continued. “I can offer you food and water, but I am sorry to say warriors are no longer welcome in the house that I once shared with my beloved. Perhaps you have heard of him? Pylas of the Ra’Horak. A worthy hero of the Solari, some forty years past. I have the countenance of the priesthood in recognition of his service. You will find no enemies here, I assure you.”

Still, the man did not respond.

He crossed the bottom ditch. He was now barely a hundred yards from the house.

“Hanne,” Iula said calmly, “please go get my husband’s sword.”

The girl did not move. Her wide eyes were fixed on the approaching figure.

Iula shot her a serious glance.

“The sword hanging above the fireplace. Bring it here. Now. And make sure Tomis is hidden.”

There was something curious about this warrior. As he drew closer, she could see that his deep blue cloak was ragged and stained from battle, and his shield hung limply at his side. His spear, the haft pitted and bent, dragged in the dirt behind him as though it might be a beggar-king’s plow.

Iula took a step back. She did not know why the man had come... but if he meant the three of them harm, she would be ready to fight back.

Hanne tumbled out of the house with the sheathed sword clutched to her chest, letting out a whimper when she saw the warrior heave himself onto the path that ran between the yard and the fields. He stumbled, and Iula noticed that his left sandal was flapping loosely from his bloodied foot.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

“...Atreus?”

The warrior stopped at the sound of his own name. The spear slipped from his grasp.

And then he was falling.

Though neither of them consciously intended it, Iula and Hanne both lunged forward in a vain attempt to catch him; some instinctive, mortal reaction to seeing true divinity humbled and laid low.

But of course, they could not.

Atreus, once known as Pantheon and the Aspect of War, crashed face-first onto the flagstones, his helm seeming to ring like a cracked temple bell as it rolled away into the dusk.

On the fourth day, he awoke. Iula did not hear him climb from his bed, pulling on the freshly washed and dried tunic that she and Hanne had left out for him, nor creep down the gritty stone passageway to the kitchen.

The first she knew of his recovery, at all, was when the unmistakable smell of burning reached her nostrils.

She hauled herself out of her simple cot in a daze, her heart pounding.

“Hanne!” she yelled. “Hanne, get Tam!”

The floor was cold beneath her feet, but she did not think to look for her sandals. She threw the dividing curtain aside, cursing when her shoulder struck the wooden jamb as she passed beneath it.

There was smoke in the passageway.

“Hanne!”

Wincing, cradling her shoulder, she drummed a fist on the rough stone wall of Hanne’s small room all the way down to the kitchen, before remembering that the girl would have left for market hours earlier. Iula would have to deal with this alone.

Then she turned the corner, and stopped abruptly.

Atreus was crouched before the bread oven in the fireplace, frantically fanning a small blaze with his shield. His eyes were raw from the smoke, his hands smeared with flour and soot.

He looked over his shoulder at Iula.

“Forgive me,” he choked. “I... I don’t know what I...”

She let out a cry of exasperation and grabbed a flagon of water from the pantry.

“Get out of the way, you big oaf!”

Steam billowed from the oven as the fire was quenched. Iula coughed and wheezed, dropping the flagon so she could cover her mouth and nose with her nightsmock. She glared at the warrior standing sheepishly in the middle of the room.

“What are you waiting for? Get the damn door open,” she snapped at him, even as she hobbled over to the window and pushed the shutters outward. The morning sun streamed into the gloom, becoming almost solid bars of light in the haze.

Atreus opened the door, then thought for a moment, and started moving it back and forth to waft fresher air inside. Iula shot him a withering glare, before lowering herself to her knees in front of the oven, to inspect the damage.

“Well, that’s the whole batch ruined,” she muttered, gingerly plucking one of the sodden, blackened loaves from the mess. The stone base groaned and ticked as it cooled, with a slurry of ashes and water splattering down onto the floor beneath the open grate. “And the fire’s dead too. It took me a whole day to get it up to the right heat, you know.”

She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder, in Atreus’ direction.

“I told you last time you were here—you will never be a baker. Just give up.”

He continued to waft with the door, as if it were the most important task in the world. “The girl,” he murmured. “She asked me to mind the bread. Before she left.”

Iula got back to her feet with some effort. “You spoke to Hanne?”

Atreus nodded. He looked around for something to prop the door open, before shrugging and using his shield. Even when he stood again, she noted that he would not look her in the eye, and kept his gaze on the floor between them.

And she could not quite shake the sense that he looked somehow... lesser than she remembered. Diminished, perhaps. In the past, he had always radiated a kind of stubborn defiance, one that reassured his allies and unsettled those who might seek to oppose him.

That was gone, now.

He ran his fingers through his beard, apparently trying to find a specific combination of words that he wanted to speak. “I wanted to... I want to find a way to repay you, Iula. For all your many kindnesses to me, over the years.”

She scoffed. “Well, we’ll have to find something outside of the kitchen, won’t we. Maybe I’ll let you till the fields before I sow again, next season. Not even you can set mud on fire. At least, I hope not. Maybe I’m wrong.”

A glimmer of a smile crossed his features, but it was only a glimmer.

Then his gaze darted past her, to the passageway.

Iula looked to see Tomis standing there, peering around the corner, gripping the edge of the wall with his little fingers. She smoothed out her smock, and beckoned to him.

“Come here, Tam. Come and say hello. This is the man we’ve been helping. His name is Atreus—we’ve been friends for a long time. A very long time. Although you wouldn’t know it from looking at him, eh?”

The boy did not move. Neither did Atreus.

Sighing, she trudged over and scooped Tomis up, letting him lean into her bruised shoulder as she carried him into the kitchen. “He’s a little afraid of you, I think. You’re the first soldier he’s seen, since...” The words died on her lips. She smiled down at the boy, and blew an affectionate raspberry into his hair. “Well. He’s an orphan. These past few years have not been kind to the folk of the high valleys.”

Atreus looked from Iula to Tomis, and back again.

“He is not yours?”

Iula laughed. “Are you being serious? I am never quite sure with you.”

Atreus’ eyes fell to the floor again. “I... I don’t...”

“No, Atreus. I can tell you this very young boy is not my son. And before you ask, no, Hanne is not my daughter either. I’m sixty-eight years old, and I know I look it, so don’t try to flatter me into forgiving you for the burned bread, either. I know you don’t ever seem to age, but the rest of us mortals bloody well do.”

Then she looked at the warrior standing before her, a man she had known almost all her life, and saw something she had never seen before.

His eyes were brimming with tears. He was trembling.

She made to take a step toward him, but Tomis squirmed uncomfortably in her arms at the prospect, and she lowered him to the floor instead. “Go on, young man. Back to your room. I’ll bring you some breakfast shortly.”

In spite of her reassuring smile, the boy still edged out of the kitchen most warily. Iula turned back to Atreus, who had stooped to pick up the flagon.

“You’ve been gone so long,” she said, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on his arm. “I was beginning to wond—”

Atreus reacted to her touch as though struck by summer lightning.

“Get away from me!” he bellowed, recoiling with such force that he crashed over the low wooden bench, and split his forehead on the corner of the table.

Iula started away, almost losing her balance as well.

Atreus covered his face with one hand, and tried to regain both his footing and his composure. He backed into the space behind the open door, and brought his knees up like a wall between him and the rest of the world. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me,” he repeated again and again, under his breath.

It had pained her to see him physically broken, but Iula knew now that the wounds he must recently have suffered ran far deeper than his flesh.

And that, that hurt her more than anything else she could imagine.

She folded her arms tightly across her chest, sobbing gently, grasping the fabric of her smock, and sank down to sit opposite him on the floor.

They sat there for some time. Iula said nothing for a goodly while, watching the sunlight through the window move slowly across the gray tiles, and not thinking about the rheumatic ache in her joints, or the chill in her toes.

Eventually, when Atreus seemed to have calmed enough to let his head sink a little, she wiped her eyes with her sleeves and cleared her throat.

“What happened to you, old friend?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t... I don’t really remember.”

“What do you remember? Do you recall the last time you were here? The last time we saw each other?”

He frowned a little. “I think so. How long ago was it?”

“Six years, Atreus. I haven’t seen you in six years.”

Her words seemed to hang in the air longer than she had intended. She watched him attempt to process them in light of whatever it was he wanted to tell her.

“I... I think I went back to the peak,” he murmured. “I think I climbed the mountain again.”

Iula’s eyes widened. “But...”

“I know. It shouldn’t be possible. And yet, there it is.”

It was beyond anything she had ever considered. Certainly, there were legends that pre-dated even the empire of Shurima, of climbers who reached the summit of Mount Targon and yet were claimed by no Aspect, who then managed against all odds to make their way back down and return to their people; whether in shame or triumph, it was often unclear in the telling, and usually considered nothing more than fanciful allegory.

But the notion that any mortal, even an Aspect’s host, might make the climb twice...

It was unheard of.

She laughed, clapping her open palm on the floor. “My old friend,” she beamed, “if ever someone was going to rewrite the rules of the world, it would be you!”

Atreus shook his head, and Iula felt all levity fade.

“No,” he replied. “It wasn’t me.”

“Then who—”

“Viego.”

Even though she had never heard it before that moment, the name sent a shudder through her. She did not like to think that words, or names, could have power over the living. Maybe it was simply the way Atreus had spoken it, his gaze haunted and thin.

“Viego. The ancient king who brought the Black Mist to our lands. I tried to fight him, but he... uhh...”

Atreus rubbed absently at his scalp.

“He made me his puppet, Iula. I think I’ve done some terrible, terrible things.”

Iula was numb. She recalled Atreus’ disheveled state when he stumbled back into the valley, and how she and Hanne had not dared imagine what foes he must have faced to blunt the weapons and dull the armor of an Aspect.

Had they even been foes at all?

She hauled herself up onto her knees, and found she could not stop shaking her head in disbelief at the injustice of it all. “I’m sorry. I know how hard it was for you to be controlled by the Pantheon, all those years ago. This must have been... Oh, Atreus. I’m so truly sorry for what has happened to you, my friend.”

Slowly, cautiously, she reached out to him again. This time he did not flinch, but his face creased in pained sorrow.

“Oh, Atreus,” she said again, and took him in her arms, rocking gently back and forth with him on the kitchen floor. He clutched at her clothing with his scarred hands, his face pressed against her chest—not so very different from young Tomis in those early days after he first came to the homestead.

Close to tears herself, Iula closed her eyes.

“Tell me what you need, old friend,” she whispered. “Whatever I can do for you, I will. You know that.”

Atreus took a deeper breath to steady himself.

“I need you to tell me it’s okay to give up,” he replied.

Iula felt suddenly cold. “What?”

“There is too much evil in the world. You and I have both seen it. I’ve fought it for so long, I can’t remember what came before... but I’m tired. I’m so damn tired, Iula. How can mortals hope to win out against undying kings, or fallen god-warriors? The Aspects and their slaves. Demons from the spirit realm. Runeterra is becoming their playground. I thought all I needed to do was keep getting back up, no matter what. But if I can be made an enemy too, then simply being able to endure is no longer enough.”

He gritted his teeth, and looked her dead in the eye.

“And worst of all, I’ve lost whatever power I still held after my Aspect was slain. Viego must’ve seen to that. Whatever it was that connected me to the celestial realm, it’s gone. I am... I am just a man. So I need you to tell me that it’s okay for me to leave all this behind. You’re the only person I—”

Iula pushed him away, and clambered shakily to her feet. Adrenaline surged in her veins. She saw that this wasn’t just the absence of his comforting defiance, which for so many years had made her feel safer, just knowing he was out there, somewhere in the world.

He had actually given up.

“How dare you,” she murmured.

Atreus rose, confused, towering over her. He wiped his face with the back of his forearm.

“I don’t underst—”

“How dare you!” Iula shrieked. “How can you even think to ask that?”

He faltered, his fists clenching involuntarily. “I can’t do this anymore. Please.”

A sour taste rose in the back of her throat. Her anger was so fierce, so hot, that she couldn’t feel the floor beneath her feet anymore.

“Damn you,” she spat. “Damn you. Coward. How dare you say that to me.”

“Iula, please, listen to—”

She slapped him, hard, across the face.

And again.

He did not try to defend himself, but only stared down at her, dumbfounded, his cheek reddening quickly.

Iula could not weep. She was too enraged. “He loved you, Atreus! Pylas loved you more than any brother. He was my husband, but he went with you up that accursed mountain, even though I begged him not to. He was mine, and you lost him up there!” She let out a wordless cry of pain, and dug her nails into her forearms. “You got to hold him, Atreus. You got to hold him as he died. And what did I get?”

She pointed to the mantel, where Pylas’ blade hung.

“I got a sword. Nothing more.”

Iula squared her jaw and looked up into the clear, open sky she imagined beyond the ceiling beams.

“Don’t you dare tell me about what you’ve lost, and how you can’t go on anymore. You don’t get to retire. You don’t have that option. This isn’t about you. It never has been. I helped you because that’s what Pylas would have wanted. I even tried to become a soldier and follow you on the battlefield after he was gone. He died for you, so you could become something greater than any Ra’Horak. Greater than any mortal.”

Atreus shook his head. “But I’m not.”

Exasperated, she stomped to the fireplace and snatched down the blade, wrenching it from its sheath and pressing it to Atreus’ heart in one sweeping motion.

“Then we don’t need you! We may as well just let the Aspects have their war, and let that be the end of everything!”

The tip of the sun-tempered steel parted the threads of his tunic, and drew a trickle of blood from his breast. He looked down at the small crimson spot slowly spreading across the fabric.

Then he looked back to Iula.

“What war?” he asked, his voice sounding weak.

She tightened her grip on the sword, realizing only then that she did not know how she expected this to end.

“The Solari, Atreus. They see heresy everywhere. And they’re not just killing anyone they suspect of being a Lunari—but anyone suspected of harboring them, too.” Unable to take a hand off the hilt, she nodded instead toward the open passageway. “Tomis’ entire settlement. The Ra’Horak butchered them. This, this is what happens when the Aspects cloak themselves in mortal superstition. Your former brethren have been driven into darkness by the blinding light of their new savior.”

Something like recognition flickered across Atreus’ features, as if he were trying to recall a fading dream. “And the Aspect of the Moon... Of course, she has not yet stepped forward to lead the Lunari.”

“And how much worse will it all get, once she does?” Iula hissed. “You swore that you would stand against them, Atreus. That you would not let this world’s fate be decided by such inhuman monsters, even when they choose to do nothing. I am sorry for what has happened to you, I truly am... but I cannot let you break your oath. Not now.”

Atreus slowly, deliberately closed the fingers of his right hand around the sword blade. “Killing either the Aspect of Sun or Moon will not end the conflict in Targon. Just as the death of War did not lead to eternal peace.”

“Shut up. Stop trying to justify what you want, and do what you know you should. That little boy was absolutely terrified of you when you arrived, and yet he wanted to wear your helm and pick up your spear from the moment he saw them. If you won’t act now, then that’s the only future he has—growing up to fight and die like too many Rakkor before him.”

She forced as much conviction into her voice as she could muster.

“You need to get back up, Atreus. I didn’t want to be a widowed farmer. I didn’t want to inherit all this. I had to give up my life and my love, so now you need to prove you’re worthy of the faith my husband had in you. You need to honor the sacrifices we’ve all made. You need to stop the Aspects from destroying our people entirely.”

Atreus gripped Iula’s leading hand, gently urging her to drive the blade onward, his expression resolute.

“I can’t,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m not strong enough.”

That was it. Iula was done.

She threw down the sword and barged past him, heading for Tomis’ room. “Well, if you’re going to just lay down and die, please pass on my love to my husband when you see him,” she yelled over her shoulder, before scooping up the startled child and hurrying out of the farmhouse in tears. She did not look back to see if Atreus was following them.

“Where are we going?” Tomis asked.

Iula winced as her bare feet were cut raw on the stony path, but did not slow her pace.

“We’re going to cut some more firewood, my boy,” she managed to smile. “We’re going to bake bread again today.”

When they returned, Atreus was gone.

Iula ignored the handwritten note that had been carefully placed beside Pylas’ sheathed sword on the kitchen table, and went to close the door.

Telling herself she was merely looking out for Hanne on her way back from market, she scanned the distant trackways that led up and out of the valley, but saw no sign of anyone.

She took a deep breath to calm herself, letting it out slowly as she walked back to the fireplace, and knelt before the cold oven with a grunt of discomfort. Then, without reading it, she balled up the note and stuffed it into the grate, and began to hum an old song from her youth as she stacked fresh kindling on top.

She genuinely hoped that would not be the last time she saw her old friend; that he would find his way out of the shadows, for all their sakes, by whatever path he had chosen.

But until then, she would sharpen her husband’s blade, and prepare to meet whatever was still to come.

Ionia has always been a land of wild magic, its vibrant people and powerful spirits seeking to live in harmony… but sometimes this peaceful equilibrium does not come easily. Sometimes it needs to be kept in check.

The Kinkou are the self-appointed keepers of Ionia’s sacred balance. The order’s loyal acolytes walk the spirit and material realms, mediating conflicts between them and, when necessary, intervening by force. Born among their ranks was Akali, daughter of Mayym Jhomen Tethi, the renowned Fist of Shadow. Mayym and her partner Tahno raised their daughter within the Kinkou Order, under the watchful leadership of Great Master Kusho, the Eye of Twilight.

Whenever her parents were called away, other members of the order stepped in as Akali’s surrogate family. Kennen, the Heart of the Tempest, spent many hours with the young girl, teaching her shuriken techniques, and emphasizing speed and agility over strength. Akali was a precocious child, and soaked up the knowledge like a sponge. It became clear to all that she would follow her parents’ path—along with the Great Master’s son and appointed successor Shen, she would lead a new generation dedicated to preserving Ionia’s balance.

But balance can be fleeting. The order found itself divided.

A wayward acolyte named Zed returned, and clashed violently with Kusho, wresting power in a bloody coup. Akali fled into the eastern mountains along with Mayym, Shen, Kennen, and a handful of other acolytes. Sadly, Tahno was not among them.

Zed’s transformation of the Kinkou into the merciless Order of Shadow was almost complete. But, as the new Eye of Twilight, Shen intended to rebuild what had been lost. They would return to the Kinkou’s three fundamental philosophies: the pure impartiality of Watching the Stars, the passage of judgment in Coursing the Sun, and the elimination of imbalance by Pruning the Tree. Even though they were now few, they would train neophytes to restore and grow their numbers once more.

When Akali came of age at fourteen, she formally entered her Kinkou training, determined to succeed her mother as the new Fist of Shadow.

She was a prodigious fighter, and mastered the kama and kunai—a handheld sickle and throwing dagger. Though she did not possess the magical abilities of many of her fellow acolytes, she proved to all she was worthy of the title, in time allowing her mother to step down and help mentor the younger neophytes.

But Akali’s soul was restless, and her eyes were open. Though the Kinkou and the Order of Shadow had come to an uneasy accord in the wake of the Noxian invasion of Ionia, she saw that her homeland continued to suffer. She questioned whether they were truly fulfilling their purpose. Pruning the Tree was meant to eliminate those who threatened the sacred balance... yet Shen would always urge restraint.

He was holding her back. All the mantras and meditations could quiet her spirit, but such platitudes would not defeat their adversaries. Her youthful precociousness turned to outright disobedience. She argued with Shen, she defied him, and she took down Ionia’s enemies her way.

In front of the whole order, she declared the impotence of the Kinkou, all its talk of spiritual balance and patience accomplishing little. Ionians were dying in the material realm, and that was the realm Akali would defend. She was trained as an assassin. She was going to be an assassin. She did not need the order anymore.

Shen let her go without a fight, knowing this was a path that Akali must walk alone. Perhaps that path would bring her back one day, but that would be for her to decide.

Under the heat of the midday sun, my opponent and I circled one another. I kept my weight on my heels, hefting my enormous shield. Its spiked sun-in-glory rose in a dazzling display, providing cover for all but my eyes. Crouching low, armored boots scraping across the tamped earth, I slowly advanced like a hungry bolor.

My opponent’s golden armor reflected dappled light in the dust, and though their expression was hidden by the shadow of their helmet, their eyes blazed, locked on my own. I waited—not indecisive, but precise.

My patience was rewarded when their gaze flicked just to the side and over their shoulder, trying to find their footing and continue their retreat. It felt as though I was watching from outside my body, my movements so practiced that I hardly thought about them.

I rushed Shorin with a cry. They raised their shield defensively, but I lifted my own and then drove it down, using their front-heavy weight to topple them. In a flash, my sword was over my shield, pointed at their throat. They lifted their sword to the side to show the stroke would have felled them.

“Your guard was up... but you were distracted,” I suggested, stepping back and resuming a guarded stance, blinking away sweat. “Let’s try again.”

Shorin groaned. “Oh, let’s rest for a moment, please, Tyari,” they said, sheathing their sword and unbuckling the shield from their arm. “We have more than earned it.”

I straightened and nodded, removing my helm. I should have felt energized by besting an opponent, but instead I felt tired.

“I wouldn’t mind,” I admitted. I raked damp hair off of my face and began the arduous process of removing my armor.

Shorin grinned at me and took off their helmet, tossing their dark braid over one shoulder. They shrugged off the padding under their armor, revealing the plain clothes of an acolyte of the Solari infantry. They peeled the front of their shirt off their chest and billowed it, fanning themselves.

“Nice work,” they said. “I thought I was clever to bait you into pressing the attack, assuming you’d leave your flank open, but you proved me wrong.”

“I have a height advantage,” I pointed out, which was true—though Shorin was of average stature, I was a good head-and-shoulders taller, and a fair amount heavier.

“Height, certainly, but you’ve got the makings of a great soldier. And you’re a dedicated acolyte. Who else would be training on their day off?” They shot me another grin.

I allowed myself a smile in return. “If this is your way of thanking me, know that I'm happy to help if it means you feel better prepared for the trials ahead.”

Shorin scoffed playfully and came to stand before me, hands on their hips. “You’re a good friend, and a good warrior. I suspect you’ll be leading your own phalanx before too long,” they said. “I’m proud of you, Tyari.”

I shrugged as my smile wavered and held, trying not to look too forlorn. Both of us strove to become Solari soldiers, Rakkor who fought in defense of the Sun and Her chosen—the Solari faithful. Ever since my protection magic had manifested as a child, I had dreamed of the honor afforded to those noble warriors, donning their golden armor to protect friends and family.

And, after many years in training, I was good at it... but my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t relish the idea of going to battle like some of the other acolytes did. I wasn’t impassioned by prayer. I didn’t beam with pride to see our shining soldiers demonstrate their martial prowess. All of it felt... hollow, somehow.

And it made me feel like a pretender.

My gaze wandered up the snowy slopes of Mount Targon. I found myself regarding it more and more lately, its great form an impressive constant. I thought of how it would feel to climb it—the conviction and determination it must take, risking danger for reward... and my heart beat a little faster. Hurriedly, I turned away.

It was not quite winter, and for now, the sun felt good. Soon it would offer little comfort against the piercing cold that descended over the mountains. I removed the last of my armor and walked to the edge of the plateau. On one of the lower peaks, I could see shrine tenders attending midday prayers, the flames of their braziers bright even at this distance. Shepherds led flocks of goats and tamu in the valleys.

I glanced back at the great mountain, looming in the near distance. I didn’t know how long I’d been lost in thought, but my reverie was broken by Shorin’s laughter.

“I said, you seem distracted, Tyari.”

“Oh.” I felt heat rise in my cheeks, and Shorin chuckled.

“You aren’t cheered by the thought of leading a glorious army into battle at dawn?” They spread their arms wide to indicate the size of such a contingent, and I rolled my eyes, laughing.

“I’m sorry, Shorin. I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I said, apologetically.

“Of course you do, my friend.” They offered me a knowing smile, and I froze. How well Shorin knew me. “We’re only a month out from the trials, and you’re the frontrunner for alpha initiate. No wonder your thoughts are elsewhere.”

I turned my face away to hide my disappointment. They only saw the dutiful acolyte, after all.

How little the trials seemed to matter right now! I wished I could tell them how I felt, about my dissatisfaction, but my feelings were jumbled, impossible to voice. Yet if anyone understood the pressure I was under, it was Shorin. And if anyone knew my heart, it was my closest friend.

Tell them.

“It’s exciting,” was all I could say.

“From your expression, I wouldn’t think it.”

They stood beside me, gray eyes following where my own had led—up the mountain, disappearing into the massive bank of clouds that perpetually lingered there. I somehow felt that we were both looking beyond it.

“Tyari,” they began, then paused.

I glanced over and froze again. Something in Shorin’s expression reflected an emotion I recognized in myself: longing.

Longing for what?

“I won’t be taking the initiation rites,” they told me, attention fixed on that bank of clouds.

“What?” I was perplexed. “You... you’ve played at being a soldier since we were children! Your father used to boast that you held a sword before you could walk. You’ve trained for it your whole life! And... you’re going to give it up? How? Why?”

“That,” they said, and pointed toward Mount Targon’s peak.

Long and long the mountain stretched overhead. Who knew how far away the peak itself was? Yet Shorin’s expression was certain.

My mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious.”

“Undertaking a journey wherein death is all but guaranteed? Dear friend, I have never been more serious.” Shorin laughed easily. They seemed so unburdened, as if climbing the mountain were the only choice, and forever had been. I envied their conviction.

“Why?”

They made a noise of acknowledgment. “I’ve been asking myself the very same since I first felt the mountain call to me.”

“You don’t know? But you have your honor to uphold, and that of the Solari warriors! If you’re looking for an Aspect’s blessing or power, there are other ways to test your strength and prove yourself,” I argued. “Why don’t we keep running these drills? You’ve almost got it—”

“I’m not concerned with any of that. I don’t want power. I don’t even want honor,” they said. “I just want an answer.”

“But... your family,” I began, thinking on Shorin’s younger sister, Hadaetha, who would also be joining the infantry, and Yundulin, their father, who was an anointed warleader by the time he had retired. “You would be letting them down, wouldn’t you?”

They frowned.

“There is so much danger—you would be worrying them, and for what? What if you fail? What if you never come back?”

After a long moment, Shorin spoke again. “You’re right. Nothing is guaranteed. There’s still time to decide.” They shrugged uncertainly, and their voice lacked conviction. “Maybe the answer I’ve been looking for lies with the infantry, after all.”

“Exactly,” I said, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. I couldn’t bear to think of losing Shorin. “We’re shield-mates. And there’s nobody else I’d want by my side.”

They glanced up the mountain, then began to don their armor again. “Alright, Tyari. The same maneuver as before—I want to see if I can keep my footing this time.”

As the sun began to dip behind the foothills, I removed my helmet and looked out over the sunset, letting the sweat dry on my brow. The last of the harvest season’s insects buzzed about, but soon they, too, would rest. The distant bleat of goats and the rising smoke from cooking fires felt peaceful, comforting. It reminded me that I would soon be seeing my cousin Anua for a meal.

I trusted my cousin, though she could be stubborn. She had always known her path. The turmoil I felt, and the desire to seek an answer... I wondered what she would make of it.

I thought on what Shorin had said. How could they want to leave without knowing why they were going? I wasn’t so set in my own journey, but I hoped this feeling would pass. I was head of my class. I had my family and my faith to serve, and what I wanted was not more important than the role I had to play.

I had friends. I had faith. I had family. I had honor. So why did it all feel like I was living someone else’s life?

Suddenly angry, I picked up a stone and hurled it at the retreating sun.

I went to gather my things, collecting my armor, sword, and shield. As I lifted my weapon, I paused, seeing my reflection in its blade. I felt as though I was looking at a stranger—a lonely Rakkor with a heavy heart. But my people saw a soldier, a leader, a skilled and dutiful Rakkor meant to fight in the war of Sun and Darkness. And if that was who my people saw... that was who I had to be.

The first snow was just a dusting, which was fortuitous, as the trials were only a couple of weeks away. The other acolytes and I had gathered to march up and down the slopes of our village in the cold. It was a show of stamina, and a test of our faith while the Sun grew more distant from us.

I pushed myself to excel. If I couldn’t make myself feel like a soldier, I could at least act the part.

Shorin was beside me, serving as my shield-mate. They had said no more about the mountain’s call, and so I assumed they had decided to stay. For that, I was grateful. I was far less lonely with them by my side.

I was caught up in my own thoughts, eyes forward as we rounded a tight corner on a narrow path. I had been whispering a Solari prayer when I heard Shorin yell, and I turned in time to see them stumble.

As they teetered on the edge, I tossed my sword and shield aside and leapt to save them, extending my powers of protection in the hopes of creating a magical shield, but it was too late; the rock they had been standing on sheared off the cliffside, and they landed hard below.

I was the first down the cliff after them, cursing myself for my inattention, and gasped as I came on the grisly scene. I dared not lift Shorin from the rubble, and shouted for aid instead, cradling their head in my lap as they cried out in pain.

One of the Solari priests came, hands blazing with mystical fire, but the injury was not one that could be healed simply, and certainly not this far from the temple. My heart sank as my peers carried Shorin between them back to the village. It was not certain that Shorin would walk ever again.

There was my childhood friend, their legs extended in front of them as they sat abed, propped up on a series of handmade blankets and pillows. They gave me a tired but cheerful smile as I came in and sat beside them, noting the many small gifts and trinkets at their bedside. Among them was a pendant bearing the crest of the Solari, a gift I had given to their father so he would pass it along.

“Shorin,” I began, my chest and throat tight, “I’m so sorry—”

“For?” Shorin interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

“I... for... I didn’t...” I fumbled for the words, at a loss. “I was your shield-mate. I should have caught you in time. And my magic, I...” I lifted my hands by way of demonstration, then let them drop into my lap, my face hot.

Shorin stared at me, their expression disbelieving. “Do you really think you’re to blame for any of this?”

“Yes!” I blurted, then lowered my voice. “Soldiers of the Sun shine their light for their allies.”

Shorin shook their head, and I noted the deep bags under their eyes. “Certainly, when we’re in the heat of battle and fending off the enemy, but... I don’t think we have a contingency for tripping and falling off a mountain.” They grinned, then winced. “My heart wasn’t in the drill, not really. No matter how much attention you had been paying, I doubt you could have stopped it from happening.”

My heart lurched. “You didn’t... do this on purpose,” I said, “as a way out of the trials... did you?”

Shorin scoffed. “If I wanted to climb the mountain by the farewell ceremony, I’d want to be in my best shape, don’t you think?”

I frowned. I trusted Shorin, but the situation left me feeling uneasy. “So... what do you think you’ll do?”

“Well,” Shorin began, “I’m honestly not sure. I feel myself drawn to the mountain. The journey... that’s what I needed. That’s what I felt. Seeking an answer didn’t mean sabotaging myself before I could become a warrior. But now both paths are closed to me.” They smiled wryly.

I took a deep breath. Disorganized as my thoughts were, I owed it to them to be honest. To say what I hadn’t said when they had first revealed their own ambition.

“I... I know what you mean,” I said. “The need to know... whatever it is that the journey might reveal.” I paused, and Shorin raised an eyebrow expectantly. “But I can’t just leave everything—all of this—behind.”

Right?

“Tyari.” Shorin fixed me with a serious stare. “You have to go.” I began to object, but they leaned forward, intent. “I see it in you. I’ve seen it... forever.”

I bit my tongue. How? How could Shorin have seen it, or known it, before me?

They gestured vaguely. “More importantly, I know it because I feel it, too. And I don’t have it in me to overlook it anymore, my friend. I can sense you want the change.” Shorin sighed. “This is the last farewell ceremony before the trials. If you don’t go, you’ll be inducted into the infantry, and should you ever abandon your post there... That would be more than dishonorable. Even if you did come back from the mountain, your family would outright disown you.”

Their brows furrowed. “This is the time. You have to go.”

My thoughts felt scattered. “This... is very sudden. You’ve been wanting this for a while, but I’ve only just recognized what this feeling is. I can’t make this choice so impulsively! There are the trials to attend, and service in the name of the Sun, and—”

And how could I explain this to the other acolytes? To Anua?

I fell silent. The prospect of making this climb stirred something in me, and I had to admit that I was excited. If Shorin had seen this in me for a while, perhaps the pull had been there longer than I thought. Have I really been gazing up at the mountain all these years?

Now that I reflected on it, it seemed so clear. When I looked to the mountain, I saw more than opportunity. I felt hope looking at its winding paths, its soaring peak. I felt its draw.

And I was surprised to find that what I felt most of all was yearning.

“If you don’t believe me,” Shorin said, “consult with Raduak. He knows the ways of the mountain and has advised many Rakkor about its mysteries. I have no doubt he can help you.”

Raduak and I were related, a cousin of a cousin, and Shorin was right—I could ask him for his advice. He was a well-known mystic, and truly insightful.

I hadn’t seen him since my magical powers had manifested as a child, and only then for him to advise my uncle on how to watch for any further developments in my ability. My talents had never become particularly impressive, and so I did not delve into training with him, as others with more significant ability might have.

He lived up in the foothills not far from my home, his dwelling built into the mountain. I approached the wooden door, which was masterfully crafted to sit flush with the hewn rock, and took a moment to steady myself.

I knocked politely and stood back. I had just begun to doubt myself when the door opened inward and Raduak appeared in the entrance, raising bushy white eyebrows in surprise. “Tyari?”

“Yes, sir. It’s been a long time. May I speak with you?” I asked, shifting self-consciously under his searching gaze. He looked at me for a long moment, thoughtful, then waved me inside.

“Of course you may. Your uncle brought you—oh, what was it?—almost a decade ago, didn’t he?” He led the way, stroking his well-kempt beard. “Powers to defend others and keep them safe, so like our beloved Protector. An impressive power, and an important one, especially for a young warrior.”

“Yes, sir.”

The inside of Raduak’s home had seemed massive when I was a child, but now it felt somewhat cramped. Sigils and stars were scrawled across the rough walls and ceiling in dizzying patterns. Scrolls and parchment lay across a series of small desks. I ducked beneath a hanging mobile of what I assumed were constellations.

“So, have you come to ask for a blessing on your path to becoming a warrior? Advice on how to utilize those powers of yours?”

I hesitated, hunched against a wall where an enormous rack was stuffed with charts and leaning scrolls. Would I be seen as less dutiful if my path as a soldier was not at the forefront of my mind?

“Something else,” I admitted.

“Oh?” Pausing over a small astrolabe, Raduak turned in my direction. “Then...?”

I steeled myself. “Lately, I’ve felt a... a calling. Something beyond what I’ve known before. Something beyond mere ambition. Something that speaks directly to me.” I was fumbling, despite having thought on what to say at least a dozen times on the walk over. “What I mean to say is... I’ve been thinking about Mount Targon. I—I want to make the climb.”

He straightened, his expression unchanged, as if that were the most banal thing he’d ever heard. “And?”

I deflated. I thought admitting to this grand endeavor was worth some reaction. Was talk of abandoning everything I knew to climb an all-but-impassable mountain at the risk of catastrophic doom not enough? “And... I suppose I was wondering if you could advise me as to whether that was the right course.”

Raduak’s expression relaxed into one of gentle amusement, and he chuckled. “There’s no deciding your path for you, Tyari. I chart the stars and discern their meaning. I do not tell the future.”

I frowned, feeling self-conscious again. “No, of course not, sir. I didn’t mean that. I meant... when you look to the stars, what do you see? Is there... anything there that can help me?”

Raduak smiled. “What do you see?” he replied, and the painted night sky above us came to life.

My eyes grew wide as the symbols glowed and descended. I reached out to touch the stars, so suddenly near, but my hand passed through them. I could have sworn that I felt heat where the pinpricks of light shone. I stared at them in quiet wonder.

“As your gifts are those that lend themselves to protecting others, I will tell you the story of Taric, the Shield of Valoran,” Raduak intoned. His voice and presence filled the room, powerful and commanding. “The Protector was not of the Rakkor. He was born in Demacia, the city of petricite that lies many miles to the north. A soldier and a guard, he was nonetheless an appreciator of beauty and life. He found joy in the splendor of the forests and plains, in simple birdsong, in great works of art. His heart was full of love for the many things that make our world so beautiful.”

I knew of Taric. Many Rakkor, including my cousin Anua, revered him, for he watched over and protected life and beauty. I had never given much thought to him, as my life was devoted to the Sun, and She, too, was a protector of Her people.

Taric had been a mortal before he climbed the mountain and was granted tremendous power by an Aspect. I had never heard that he was a warrior before his ascent. Our stories were already intertwined.

“It was during his time as a soldier that he let himself become distracted, and it was then that the enemy struck.” The night sky in front of me flashed dangerously, stars flaring to life only to be extinguished, one by one. “His fellow soldiers, the people he had sworn to protect, were cut down. While he knew he would face certain punishment for his negligence, the hardest burden to bear was the weight of his guilt for failing them.”

Shorin. The tiny stars blurred, and I felt tears slip down my cheeks. I knew that guilt. That shame.

“Taric was sentenced to climb Mount Targon, though many expected he would instead go into exile, daunted by the task that lay ahead. However, he accepted the challenge. It was a test the Demacians did not expect him to succeed in. If he did, he would be rewarded with redemption. But how could a single mortal, ignorant of the mountain’s great powers, expect to brave Mount Targon alone?”

I scrubbed my face with the back of my hand. How indeed?

“He faced many challenges on his journey. Tests of his physical strength, as befit the soldier, but also tests of his will. Visions of the companions he had failed to protect haunted him. Great works of art were tarnished, ruined as marauding armies burnt cities to the ground. He saw the beauty and life that he so cherished meet their end, again and again. Yet he persisted.

“And the Aspect of the Protector found him worthy.”

Taric’s face coalesced before me, as though a constellation. His eyes were twinkling stars, two brilliant points of light that burned brighter than all the rest. It wasn’t me he was looking at... was it?

I turned to find Raduak watching me, his brows furrowed, his expression measuring.

“Look again, Tyari,” he said softly, indicating the swirling stars, and I obliged. Where there had been darkness, there was brilliance. I saw my own face among the stars, overlaid by something—someone—else.

In the patterns of this new constellation, I saw an expression of benevolence, of peace, and confidence. I didn’t know who or what this figure was, only that I felt strangely in harmony with them.

Was that meant to be... me?

“Who is she?” I whispered.

“What do you see, cousin?” he implored gently.

I reached for the face. “She... she’s unlike anyone I’ve ever seen. Is this... an Aspect?”

“It could be any one of a number of things,” he murmured.

My heart swelled in my chest. I saw her. I saw... myself.

“Do you see your face in her stars?” Raduak asked.

My eyes lingered on the constellation a moment longer before it faded back into an endless blanket of stars.

I was overwhelmed, unable to speak. Raduak motioned, and the lights disappeared, leaving us in the relative dark of the chamber.

He laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. “What you saw there... is for you alone to interpret. My only advice is that you trust your heart.”

I thanked Raduak and left, my mind abuzz. My breath plumed in the air as I emerged from the dwelling and onto the snowy slope. As I hurried home, I could not bring myself to behold the sea of stars above, fearful that I would not see her face again.

The trials were set to begin in less than two weeks’ time—the farewell ceremony, a week.

As I paced anxiously at home, the constellation from the night before came back to me, clear and bright, though I had never seen it before that evening. Something about it shone like a beacon in my mind. It felt at once like something I was, that I had to do, and something that was yet unattainable.

I tried to shut it out. Whatever this was couldn’t be for me.

The climb was made by those who had something to prove, but in the eyes of my people, I was already well on my way to being proven. I was to serve as a warrior until such time as I was no longer fit. Then I would retire, or start a family. That was... right. Wasn’t it?

It was supposed to be right—and yet the call persisted, clarion. Now that I had heard it, it would not be silent.

I had plans to share a meal with my cousin Anua. She would guide me, I had no doubt.

I gathered my warm cloak and gloves, donning them as I paused before the silvered mirror at the threshold, and I gazed at my reflection.

I saw my own face, but there was something in the way my hair fell, something in my posture, that reminded me of the woman I had seen in the stars. Moreover, there was something in me now that hadn’t been there before.

Conviction.

“Foolish,” I echoed faintly. A straightforward proclamation, but I expected no less from Anua. Others might expect more mysticism from a seer, but I knew very well that she wasn’t one who minced words.

She made a low noise of agreement.

“Why?”

“This is a sudden decision, Tyari.” She raised the cup to her lips, blowing steam off the surface before taking a tentative sip. “Our people prepare their entire lives for the climb. And you will do it—what, on a whim?”

“It’s not a whim, Anua. I saw something in the stars. A face. My face.” I hesitated, struggling to articulate just what I had seen, what I felt. “It’s a... a calling.”

“It is not a calling.” She snorted, shaking her head, causing the tiny polished stones she wore on her ears and braided into her thick red hair to tinkle. I bristled. My dear cousin. So blunt.

“What would you say it is, then?”

Anua sniffed. “Delusion. You have spent too much time daydreaming instead of training,” she said stiffly, taking another sip of her tea.

“I’ve already proven my ability as an acolyte. This is my chance to pursue something I want for the first time, instead of just doing what’s expected of me.”

“I seem to recall a young Rakkor very determined to join the infantry,” she said archly. “You would excel at it. Why ask for more than what is given to you?”

“I know how it must seem.” I hadn’t expected that she would challenge me so readily, and under the weight of her judgment, I struggled to sound as convinced as I felt. “But... I’ve changed. That’s what I mean when I say I’ve felt a calling.”

Anua lacked the ability to see, but she pierced me with a disapproving glare nonetheless. “It is unlike you to be so impulsive, and it is foolish to assume your time spent as an acolyte is enough to see you through such a journey.”

“Taric did it without ever training for it,” I countered, though seeing her stiffen at his name made me feel ashamed, as though I had used it like a curse.

She brought her hand to the gems at her neck defensively. Gems, I knew, that she and her order believed had been gifted to them by the Protector himself. “Tyari,” she said flatly, her voice low, a warning.

I frowned. “Taric was a soldier, wasn’t he? That has been my path as well.”

“Then you know you are not acting as a soldier should. Where is your honor, that you would turn your back on your duty?”

I suppressed a squirm. I said much the same to Shorin.

“Taric and I share so many similarities,” I said. “If he could do it—”

“Taric climbed the mountain to atone. You are on the path to a place of honor. Why would you throw that away?” Anua snapped, frustrated, gesturing in a way that came perilously close to upending the teapot. I moved it aside as she withdrew. “He was no ordinary man, Tyari. It is not for us to make these comparisons, let alone hope to accomplish what he did through—well, extraordinary means.” She set her cup down emphatically on the polished wood of her table.

Her father had made that table, I knew. Another family heirloom. Another unspoken expectation. My face felt hot. A long moment of silence passed between us.

“I am sorry, cousin,” she said hesitantly. “Your family loves you. I love you. I cannot bear to think of what I might do if you should come to harm, or worse...” She shuddered.

“Anua.” I reached out and took her hand. “There is a chance of that, yes, but...” I sighed. “The faith that you put in your order’s protector... lend it to me. Lend me your strength and his. He would encourage me, wouldn’t he? I don’t want to make this climb without your blessing. It is your faith that will see me through.”

Anua was silent for a moment. Her fingers grazed the gemstones resting on her collarbone, and she turned away from me.

“We were raised together. We are all but siblings. It is because I love you that I will not give you my blessing.” She pressed her lips together. “Not when I know that you might meet your end before your life truly begins.”

I bowed my head. It felt as though my heart was breaking. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, sluggish and heavy. Chest tight, I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Anua...”

“I will say no more about it.”

I clenched my teeth hard, trying to prevent my forming tears from spilling over. How can she claim to love me if she won’t even try to understand? It felt like my journey was being brought to an end before I even began it.

“Very well,” I told her, slowly standing and placing my cup on the table. “Then I’ll do it without your blessing.”

She didn’t respond, and her gaze dropped to the floor as I stood a moment more, hoping for an apology or well-wishing before I went on my way... but she remained silent.

“Goodbye, cousin,” I said, the words hitching in my throat as I gathered my cloak and gloves. I hastily turned and left, closing the door gently behind me.

I took a deep breath as I stepped out into the snow. The cold felt good against my face, cooling my hot skin. I lowered my head and let out a sob.

I was angry. I despaired. Was Anua right? She wanted to protect me, after all. Yet my thoughts kept coming back to the climb. I wanted to know what the journey held. But how could I hurt my family?

Over and over, the thoughts raced through my mind. I fought them off, channeling them into my drills. As they emerged, I cut them down, raised my shield against them, and threw myself into the practice.

I parted ways with the last of the acolytes for the day, and though they kindly and enthusiastically complimented my form, the praise felt hollow. I was simply attending to my grim duty.

It wasn’t until I heard their shuffling pace that I noticed Shorin was approaching, their slow, uneven stride supported by a cane. How long had they been watching me? I bristled, feeling vulnerable, resentful, and guilty.

“Is my form so poor?” I snapped, but Shorin simply smiled, brushing my anger off easily.

“Your form is perfect, as you know.”

Their cadence was so calm, their earnest good nature so obvious. My guilt doubled, now compounded by my misplaced impatience.

“Anua told me that you visited her.”

I turned my attention downward, partially to hide my embarrassed flush, kicking a stone out from underfoot. “And?”

Shorin’s voice was kind. “Is this really what you want, Tyari?”

I kept my gaze down, and my shoulders sagged. Suddenly the weight of my spear was too much, and I let the tip fall to the dirt. What could I say? The weight of this decision was as heavy as my weapon. It was so difficult to know. “Shorin...”

I struggled to find the right words. I was prepared to tell Shorin I wanted to do my duty as an acolyte, but I couldn’t bring myself to lie. Not again.

“We guide our lives by constants, like the Sun and the stars. Evidence of their influence is all around; we can see them.” I turned, lowering my shield. “How can I make this decision if all I have to trust is my own intuition?”

Shorin came to stand beside me, and placed their hand on my shoulder. “My friend,” they began, “if you were to live only by what is prescribed for you, and only in a way that others understand, would you be satisfied?”

I stood blinking in the sun. “No, but—”

“And would you be satisfied to simply take a partner, live out the rest of your days in the foothill villages, or the farms of the valleys?”

“No.”

“I admit, I cannot see you as a farmer,” they joked. Sobering, Shorin nudged me, and I looked up to meet their eyes. “I see the pain it causes you, Tyari.”

A cold thrill went down my spine, despite the heat of the day. They truly did know me. I said nothing.

“The pain of not knowing, but moreover, the pain of not pursuing that which calls to you.” They clasped my shoulder and gave me a gentle shake. “Uncertainty is not indecision, my friend. You aspired to be a soldier to protect those you love, but you must love yourself, too... and that you can only do if you honor your heart.”

After Shorin left, I stood in the dusty valley until long after the sun had set. The moon was barely a sliver this evening, and the night sky was illuminated by the stars.

I closed my eyes, thinking back to the constellation Raduak had shown me. Then I looked up. There, in my periphery, I saw the face again. Her face. My face.

She smiled, and there was a promise in it—the certainty I had been lacking.

I thought back to what Shorin had said, and Raduak, and even Anua. I didn’t need to know where my path was taking me—it was good enough to know that it was a path I needed to take. I silently dubbed the woman in the constellation “the Traveler,” and I knew in my heart that I must follow her, wherever she would lead.

I gathered my weapons and stripped off the armor of the Solari, for what I knew would be the last time.

The ceremony was as grim and somber as anything still considered a celebration could be. We faced the crowd of onlookers and well-wishers, and beneath the midday sun, we swore to relinquish all that we were leaving behind: our homes, our earthly goods, and our former oaths, in favor of the freedom to make our climb. As no one would be able to claim our bodies or bury us should we fail, the priest sprinkled soil over our heads, a final farewell.

All that was left was to step beyond the threshold, which would signify our departure. Now, however, was the last time we could speak to our friends and family. My hands trembled, clutching the staff my uncle had gifted to me when I first exhibited my powers as a child. He had said I would grow into it. How right he was.

I hadn’t been able to bring myself to tell Anua that I was making the climb, so I had told her father, my uncle, who received the news with grim stoicism. While I could not expect her attendance, I looked for her regardless, hoping against hope.

I saw only Shorin. My heart swelled, but my joy was tempered by sadness. Anua had not come.

I steeled myself against sorrow, and embraced my determination to make the journey ahead of me.

I gazed at another Rakkor who was leaving, and it was not someone I recognized—a youth from a distant village, perhaps. He was clad in the garb of a mountain shrine tender, and I gathered that his trek was one with religious intent. It might have been that he was seeking power, glory, or good fortune, but I would not ask, and I hesitated even to guess. My reasons for climbing were my own, after all. Far be it from me to remark on those of others.

I wish I had paid more attention to what the ceremony’s priests were saying, but my mind had been buzzing. I had been going over my route, one that was as well-planned as it could be without knowing what the upper reaches of the mountain had in store. There had been those who ventured up and came back to tell the tale, but never beyond a certain point, and even then, it was said that the mountainscape became labyrinthine, unchartable for the ways that it shifted and moved.

A test of one’s will, as Raduak had said.

I spoke with Shorin once more, and their best wishes were given with the same cheerful demeanor as always. It felt strange, as though I was taking their place, but they would hear none of it. They seemed genuinely happy for me, and waved off my apologies and professions of gratitude sternly, but not unkindly.

“Your training will see you through the worst of it,” Shorin said with a confidence I did not feel, glancing over the map I had spent the last several nights drafting and annotating. “You’ve taken and passed an endless number of tests already.” They pointed at my chest. “The most important one was trusting yourself.”

We embraced and both shed tears, knowing it was unlikely we would meet again. But if anyone knew that I had to do this, it was Shorin. I watched them retreat slowly, aided by their cane, greeted by friends and family that I feared I would never see again... but strangely, my heart felt lighter.

The crowd was thinning as one by one, the climbers began to depart. Each went alone, taking a different path. I would soon know that same independence. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for my turn to step through the threshold, when I saw Anua approach, guided by her father.

I had thought I’d shed enough tears to last me until I reached Mount Targon’s peak, but I wept to see her. She must have heard my choked-up cry of relief, for a small smile played about her lips as she recognized my voice.

“Tyari,” she said gently. I took her hand, placing her palm flat against my heart and wrapping my own around it.

“Cousin,” I managed, swallowing hard and wiping away tears. “You came.”

She nodded hesitantly. “I thought on what you said. I still do not understand this, Tyari... but I can accept it. Because it matters to you, and I will love you always. If even a small blessing might make the difference on your journey, I would be unwise not to grant it.”

She produced a necklace almost identical to the one she wore, light blue crystals that chimed gently.

“We ask the Protector to shield our beloved cousin,” she murmured, lifting the necklace to the sky. “Taric, act as our shield against that which might harm us. Help us to see the path, so that we may find our way. Lend us your strength, so that we might find it in ourselves to endure.” She lowered the necklace and clasped it around my neck. “Especially our cousin... but also for those of us that are left behind.”

I closed a fist over the necklace. The crystals were cool and slightly rough. “Thank you. Thank you, Anua. This means so much to me. I promise to wear this always.” It felt naive to ask, but I did so anyway. “Will this... protect me?”

Anua smiled sadly. “I certainly hope so, cousin.”

I bid her and her father farewell, and soon enough, they, too, had slipped away into the crowd.

Of the others still making their last preparations, I saw a young woman by herself. I didn’t recognize her garb. It was clearly made for the cold, but the colors weren’t earthy, like mountain folk would wear, and she wasn’t heavily armored, like some who had passed through from more militant lands. She looked up occasionally, as if to scour the landscape for a familiar face, but then she returned to checking her packs, her items, her clothing, readying herself for the climb.

I felt a pang of sorrow for her. There were no gifts laid at her feet. She was utterly alone. Though her expression was determined, it could not hide the sadness beneath. Still... she was here.

I reflected on how lucky I was to have friends and family lend me their strength at such a meaningful moment. I could surely do the same for others.

After all, it was what the Protector would do.

I approached her, letting my nervous energy manifest as enthusiasm. “Hello,” I said, smiling, and she scanned my face as if expecting the friendly greeting to be false. “I saw you at the farewell ceremony. It’s a surprise to see someone on the mountain that isn’t a Rakkor.”

“True, I am not Rakkor,” she answered, still trying to read my expression. After another moment of my unwavering good cheer, she smirked and looked me up and down. “What is your name?”

“Tyari,” I said, and proffered a gloved hand to her.

She shook it. Her grip was firm. The grip of a warrior. “Haley,” she said. “Nice to meet you, Tyari. So, you’re making the climb?”

“Yes.” I nodded, then added, “With you, I hope.”

Haley lifted her eyebrows, no longer suspicious, but genuinely taken aback. “You want to go with me?”

“I figure if we’re going to make it to the top, we’ll have a better chance if we work together.”

She was speechless. I waited, leaning on my staff.

After a moment, she nodded. “There was someone else at the ceremony. Another outsider, like me. A Demacian, I think—Emir? He seems to be a bit of a mountain man. Perhaps that would lend itself to our journey. Three people... it’s not quite so much of a longshot, then. What do you say?”

I felt my excitement build. “I’d like that.”

“Good. I’ll find him.” She started off, then paused, glancing back at me. Her smirk became a genuine smile. “I’m glad we’ll be traveling together. You look so certain... as if you already know your path.”

I smiled in return, although a bit bashfully, and she chuckled.

“Emir and I, we will meet you by the farewell stones.”

“I’ll be there.”

I watched as she retreated into the dispersing crowd of well-wishers, who would soon be lost over the horizon like so many other trappings of the life I’d come from—disappearing and dropping away into the distance as we made our way up Mount Targon’s perilous slopes. Doubt and fear would be left behind, as well.

A sense of certainty enveloped me.

My journey began here, and it would end at the top. I knew that whatever I found on the way would be worth the climb.

The raiders attacked before dawn; fifty wolf-lean men in iron hauberks mantled with strange furs and bearing ash-dulled axes. Their steps were swift as they entered the settlement at the foot of the mountain. These were men who had fought as brothers for years, who lived in the heartbeat between life and death. A warrior in battered scale armor and bearing a heavy-bladed greatsword over his shoulder led them. Beneath his dragon-helm, his face was bearded and raw, burned by a lifetime of war-making under a harsher sun than this.

The previous settlements had been easily overcome; little challenge for men weaned on battle. The spoils were few and far between, but in this strange land, a man took what he could get.

This one would be no different.

Sudden light flared ahead, sunlight gleaming brightly.

Impossible. Dawn was an hour or more away.

The leader raised a callused hand as he saw a lone figure standing athwart the settlement’s street. He grinned as he saw it was a woman. Finally, something worth plundering. Light enflamed her, and the grin fell from his face as he stepped closer and saw she was clad in ornate warplate. Auburn hair spilled from a golden circlet and sunlight glinted from her heavy shield and long-bladed sword.

More warriors emerged from the street, taking their place to either side of the woman, each gold-armored and bearing a long spear.

“These lands are under my protection,” she said.

Leona lifted her sword as the twelve warriors of the Ra-Horak formed a wedge with her at their center. Six to either side, they swung their shields and hammered them down as one. Leona made a quarter turn and locked her own shield into place at the apex. Her sword slid into the thrust groove beneath the shield’s bladed halo.

She flexed her fingers on the leather-wound grip of her sword, feeling the surge-tide of power within her. A coiled fire that ached to be released. Leona held it within her, letting it ease into her flesh. Embers flecked her eyes and her heart pounded in her chest. The being she had joined with atop the mountain longed to burn these men with its cleansing fire.

Dragon-helm is the key. Kill him and the rest will falter.

Part of Leona wanted to give the power in her free reign; wanted to scorch these men to smoldering bone and ash. Their attacks had killed scores of people who called the lands around Mount Targon home. They had defiled the sacred places of the Solari, toppling sacred sun stones and polluting the mountain springs with their excretions.

Dragon-helm laughed and swung his greatsword from his shoulders as his men moved away from him. To fight with such a huge weapon and keep it in constant motion needed space. He yelled something in a guttural tongue that sounded more like animal barks than anything human, and his warriors gave an answering roar.

Leona let out a hot breath as the raiders charged, their braided beards flecked with frothed spittle as they pounded toward the Ra-Horak. Leona let the fire into her blood, feeling the ancient creature merge its essence with hers more completely, becoming one with her senses and gifting her with perceptions not of this world.

Time slowed for Leona. She saw the pulsing glow of each enemy’s heart and heard the thunderous drum-beat of their blood. To her, their bodies were hazed with the red fires of battle-lust. Dragon-helm leapt forward, his sword hammering Leona’s shield like a stone titan’s fist. The impact was ferocious, buckling the metal and driving her back a full yard. The Ra-Horak stepped back with her, keeping the shieldwall unbroken. Leona’s shield blazed with light and Dragon-helm’s mantle of fur smoldered in its furnace heat. His eyes widened in surprise as he hauled his enormous sword back for another strike.

“Brace and thrust!” she yelled as the rest of the raiders hit their line. Golden spears thrust at the instant of impact and the first rank of attackers fell with their bellies pierced by mountain-forged steel. They were trampled underfoot as the warriors behind them pressed the attack.

The shieldwall buckled, but held. Axes smashed down, sinews swelled and throats grunted with the effort of attack. Leona thrust her sword through the neck of a raider with a scar bisecting his face from crown to jaw. He screamed and fell back, his throat filling with blood. Her shield slammed into the face of the man next to him, caving in his skull.

The Ra-Horak’s line bent back as Dragon-helm’s sword slammed down again, this time splintering the shield of the warrior next to her. The man dropped, cloven from neck to pelvis.

Leona didn’t give Dragon-helm the chance for a third strike.

She thrust her golden sword toward him and a searing echo of its image blazed from the rune-cut blade. White-hot fire engulfed Dragon-helm, his furs and hair instantly igniting and his armor fusing to his flesh like a brand. He shrieked in hideous pain, and Leona felt the cosmic power inside her revel in the man’s agony. He staggered backward, somehow still alive and screaming as her fire melted the flesh from his bones. His men faltered in their assault as he fell to his knees as a blazing pyre.

“Into them!” shouted Leona, and the Ra-Horak surged forward. Powerful arms stabbed spear blades with brutal efficiency. Thrust, twist, withdraw. Over and over again like the relentless arms of a threshing machine. The raiders turned and fled from the Ra-Horak’s blood-wetted blades, horrified at their war-leader’s doom. Now they sought only to escape.

How and why these raiders had come to Targon was a mystery, for they had clearly not come to bear witness on the mountain nor make an ascent. They were warriors, not pilgrims, and left alive they would only regroup to kill again.

Leona could not allow that and thrust her sword into the earth. She reached deep inside herself, drawing on the awesome power from beyond the mountain. The sun emerged from behind its highest peaks as Leona thrust her hand to the light.

She dropped to one knee and slammed her fist on the ground.

And sunfire rained from the sky.

Urgot always believed he was worthy.

As a headsman, an executioner of the weak, he was a living embodiment of the Noxian ideal that strength should rule, making it a reality with every swing of his axe. His pride swelled as the bodies piled ever higher behind him, and his intimidating presence kept countless warbands in line.

Even so, a single word was all it took to seal his fate. Sent to distant Zaun to eliminate a supposed conspiracy against the ruler of Noxus, Urgot realized too late the mission was a setup, removing him from the capital even as the usurper Swain seized control of it. Surrounded by agents of the chem-barons, and enraged that everything he believed was a lie, Urgot was dragged down into the chemtech mines beneath Zaun. He was defeated. He was enslaved. He was not worthy after all. He endured the mine’s hellish conditions in grim silence, waiting for death.

In the Dredge, death came in many forms…

The mine’s warden, Baron Voss, would sometimes offer freedom in return for a prisoner’s tortured confession—granting it with the edge of her blade. From the screams that echoed through the tunnels, Urgot learned about the wonders of Zaun. There was something special about the city, something marvelous and evident even in the secrets that spilled from slit throats. Urgot didn’t know what it was until he was finally brought before Voss, fearing that she would break him.

But as the baron’s blade cut into his flesh, Urgot realized that his body was already wracked with agony, far beyond anything Voss could inflict. The Dredge had made him stronger than he’d ever been as a headsman.

Pain was Zaun’s secret. His laughter drove Voss back to the surface, and a reign of anarchy began in the depths.

Seizing control of the prison, Urgot reveled in new trials of survival. He found the parts of his body that were weakest, and replaced them with scavenged machinery, technology created by those who would die without it—necessity being the mother of pain.

The guards could no longer enter the areas Urgot had carved out of Voss’ grasp. The prisoners themselves were more afraid of their new master than they were of her. Many even grew to hold a fanatical respect for Urgot, as they were forced to hear his feverish sermons on the nature of power, his grip tightening around the necks of those who would not listen.

Only when a Noxian agent arrived in the Dredge was Urgot finally forced to confront his own past. Though the spy recognized him and sought his aid in escaping, Urgot beat him mercilessly, and hurled his broken body into the darkness.

It was not strength that ruled Noxus, Urgot now realized, but men… and men were weak. There should be no rulers, no lies, nothing to interfere with the pure chaos of survival. Starting a riot that ignited a chemtech vein within the mine, Urgot shook the city above, and cracked the prison open in an explosion that rivaled the birth of Zaun itself. Many prisoners died, with thousands fleeing into the Sump—but the worthy, as ever, survived.

From that day, Urgot’s reign of terror only grew. A hideous fusion of industrial machinery and Noxian brutality, he slaughtered chem-barons and their lackeys one by one, gathering a following among Zaun’s downtrodden masses. He was said to be a new savior, one who would lift the boot of the oppressor from the neck of every common Zaunite.

However, his actions did not make such distinctions, as Urgot tested the worthiness of the meek and the powerful alike. To any who found themselves spared in his deadly trials, his message was clear: he was not there to lead, but to survive. If others were worthy, they would survive, too.

When Urgot finally struck at representatives of the Piltovan merchant clans, the Wardens were forced to intervene, hauling him in chains to a fortified prison cell—though this merely seemed to confirm “the Dreadnought” as a legend among the gangers, the sump-snipes, and the forgotten.

For Piltover is not the first to shackle Urgot, and one must wonder if any cage can ever hope to hold him for long…