LoL Universe Indexing and Search

It had been a weeklong sort of day.

For Ekko, this was both literal and metaphorical. Everything went wrong and it took forever to put it back just right. First, Ajuna had nearly gotten himself killed trying to climb Old Hungry. The younger boy wanted so desperately to be like Ekko that he vaulted up the side of the clockwork tower at the heart of the sump before any of their friends could stop him. It was the first tricky jump that nearly did the kid in. Good thing Ekko had triggered his Z-Drive. Eighteen times he heard the blood-curdling scream of the boy falling to his death before he figured out how and where to arrest the fall and save his life.

Then, while pillaging a scrap heap with ties to Clan Ferros for bits of tech, a particularly aggressive gang of vigilnauts surrounded him. Big ones, too, covered in augments that made the ugly even uglier. Ekko was surprised at their speed, but less surprised at how they shot to kill. Pilties and their backup didn’t care about the lives of sumpsnipes like him. Good thing the Z-Drive existed to get him out of seemingly inescapable encounters like that one. After a few dozen rewinds, he changed tack and pulled out his latest toy: the Flashbinder. It was meant to explode in a dazzling flash and pull anything not bolted down in toward its center.

But the Flashbinder didn’t work. Well, at least not as intended. It exploded. And that’s when things got interesting. Unlike most of Ekko’s inventions that exploded, the blue-hot magical detonation froze in mid blast. Columns of billowing blue energy fanned out from the epicenter. Bits of the disc’s shrapnel twisted at a snail’s pace along what, at normal explosion velocity, would be a deadly trajectory. Even the spherical blinding flash itself was frozen in space.

And then it got even more interesting. The explosion imploded, reforming itself into the palm-sized Flashbinder, and rewound back toward Ekko, landing square in his palm, as cold as the wind.

Cool, Ekko thought. He rewound the moment so he could throw it at the vigilnauts a few more times. For science, of course.

When Ekko finally got home, his body was tired, but his mind was alert. The apartment was functional – the furniture sparse and with little flourish. Ekko’s room was a little curtained-off nook filled with discarded books, bits of scavenged technology, and hiding spots for the Z-Drive and Flashbinder. Today was one of the rare days both his parents would be home early, and he had something to tell them.

“Mom, Dad.” He practiced to his reflection, which stared back at him from the Z-Drive’s shiny cylindrical surface. “I’m not going to apply to any of the Uppside clans or a snooty Piltie school. I’m staying here with you and my friends. I’ll never turn my back on Zaun.”

The words were filled with the confidence that comes with being alone in an empty apartment, with only walls and reflections to respond. And their response was silence.

He heard the jingle of the keys, muffled by the front door. Without a second to spare, Ekko tucked his Z-Drive under the table and draped a black cloth over it. He didn’t want them worrying about his escapades with an unstable hextech time-manipulation device.

The door opened and Ekko’s parents returned for the first time that night. They looked like strangers to their own son, their jobs aging them even more in the weeks since he’d seen them last together. Their routine was predictable. They’d shuffle home, supply a meager meal purchased with the day’s wages, save the rest of the money for taxes and bribes, then fall asleep in their chairs, chins resting on chests, until Ekko removed their workboots and helped them into their beds.

The bags under their eyes carried enough weight to pull their heads down. Tucked under his mother’s arm was a small paper-wrapped bundle, bound at the ends with twine.

“Hello, my little genius.” His mother expended energy she couldn't afford in an attempt to make the words come alive. Yet her expression in that moment of lightness when she saw her son sitting at the table, waiting, was something no one could fake.

“Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad.” The three of them hadn’t sat at a table as a family in such a long time. He quietly chided himself for not saying something substantial.

His father beamed with pride; then he mock-scowled as he brushed his fingers through his son’s mohawk. Ekko struggled to remember a time when his father didn’t look so old, before the prematurely thinning hair and the deep wrinkles in his brow.

“I thought I told you to cut that hair,” his father said. “It’ll make you stand out in the Piltover academies too much. The Factorywood’s the only place you can look like that. They’ll take anyone. And you are not anyone. How are your applications coming?”

This was the moment. Ekko felt the words he’d practiced swimming up to be spoken. The hope in his father’s eyes gave him pause.

His mother filled that empty moment before Ekko could.

“We have a treat for you.” She set the brown parcel down on the table. They pulled their chairs close to watch as Ekko reached over and untied the knotted twine, straightened both strings, and laid them next to him. He unraveled the butcher paper without a single rip. In the center lay a small loaf of fragrant sweetbread, its crust glazed with honey and candied nuts. The cake was from Elline. She made the finest pastries in all of Zaun, and charged a pretty penny for them too. Ekko and his friends often pilfered her desserts from the rich folk who paid the hefty price without even a tiny hesitation.

Ekko’s head shot up to see his parents’ reaction. Their eyes were beaming. “This is too much,” he said. “We need meat and real supper, not sweets.”

“We would never forget your name day,” his father said with a chuckle. “Looks like you did, though.”

Ekko had completely lost track of what day it really was. Still, the gift was too extravagant. Especially since he was about to shatter their hopes for him. Guilt rose in his throat. “The landlord’ll have our heads if we’re late with rent again.”

“Let us worry about that. You deserve something nice,” his mother said. “Go on, you can have cake for dinner once a year.”

“What are you going to eat?”

“I’m not hungry,” she said.

“I ate at work,” his father lied. “Cheese and meats from Piltover. Real nice stuff.”

They watched Ekko take a tiny bite of the cake. It was sweet and buttery and the crumbs stuck to his fingers. It was so rich, the taste stuck to his tongue. Ekko went to divide the cake into three pieces, but his mother shook her head. Her soft voice hummed the name day song’s playful melody and he knew they wouldn’t partake. It was his parents’ gift to him.

His father would have joined in singing the name day song if he hadn’t already fallen asleep, slumped in his chair, chin dropping to his chest. Ekko glanced over to his mother, her eyes fluttered closed as the melody was swallowed by her own encroaching slumber.

One future Ekko briefly considered was the Factorywood life and barely living wages for some other city’s benefit, for someone else’s glory. He couldn’t stomach the thought. He remembered fragments of conversations, snippets heard through the filter of infant ears, of his parents’ whispered dreams of inventions, and entrance to the clans. Ideas they hoped would change the world and contribute to a future unwritten by the birth of their son. Ekko knew they saw him as their only hope. But he loved life in Zaun. If he did as they wished, who would take care of them or his friends?

He couldn’t dash their dreams. Not tonight, on his name day. Maybe tomorrow.

Ekko didn’t finish his cake beyond the first bite. Instead he primed his Z-Drive. His home shattered into swirling eddies of colored dust. The thrum of the everyday fell to absolute silence. The moment splintered and encircled him in a vortex of light.

When the fragments of the future reassembled into the past, Ekko’s parents were coming home for the second time that night. It would be followed by a third, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, and so on.

Each time he went back, Ekko didn’t change a single thing; the light in his mother’s eyes, his father’s proud smile as he nodded off. But Ekko fought the edges of sleep to hold onto those stolen moments forever, until finally, he let his mother’s soft voice, and the warmth of their little apartment lull him to sleep.

It had been a weeklong sort of day.

Lulu was always a caring and deeply empathetic yordle, who lived as much in her whimsical daydreams as in reality. One day, while wandering the material realm, she came upon what appeared to be a bird with a broken wing. She ran to help, at which point the bird turned into a tiny, mischievous fae spirit. Before she could react, the faerie grabbed her walking stick and took off. Giggling, Lulu gave chase.

The spirit led her far into the forest. They went over boulders, under logs, and around ancient, overgrown stone circles. The faerie darted into a cave hidden behind a waterfall, and Lulu went after it. It flittered ahead, always just out of reach.

Down and down and down they went. Lulu tumbled and scrambled around twisted roots and glowing mushrooms, and at some point they crossed over into the spirit realm without her realizing it. Their surroundings became progressively stranger and more disorienting; up became down, forward became backward, big became small.

Finally, after what seemed forever, Lulu caught up with the faerie, whose name, she discovered, was Pix.

With a click of his tiny fingers, Pix turned her humble walking stick into a spiraling staff, and tossed it back to her. It sprouted leaves and flowers, making Lulu gasp in delight. So began their forever-friendship, built of mischief, fun, and love of nature.

Pix had led her to the Glade.

Bandle City, Lulu’s home, was a bizarre and magical place that defied logic, where time was meaningless and the natural laws of the material realm did not wholly apply. And yet the Glade was a place stranger still—it existed long before yordles came into the world, and it was perhaps from the Glade that Bandle City itself sprung. A place of raw primordial magic, it was hidden away so deeply that no yordle had ever found it… until now.

Here, Lulu’s own magic became wildly magnified. Laughing joyfully, she discovered she could reshape her surroundings at will, as well as alter her form to whatever she wanted. Everything and anything from her overactive imagination came to life.

Lulu didn’t know if Pix had brought her here because he saw in her a kindred soul and simply wanted someone to play with, or if the Glade needed her for some other purpose—but she fell in love with it instantly. Her life became one of endless creation and play, and she soon forgot anything else existed.

When finally she remembered, it was like waking from a dream.

She found herself back in the material realm, not knowing if a single day had passed, or a thousand years. To her surprise and joy, she found that some of her newfound power had come with her, allowing her to make small things large, change colors to those more pleasing to her, and cause creatures to fall spontaneously asleep. To Pix’s endless amusement, she turned the mightiest beasts into tiny, bewildered frogs or squirrels with a flick of her staff.

Nevertheless, she began to miss the Glade. She decided to go back, but realized she didn’t remember the way. Pix was no help, claiming to have forgotten as well, though it was possible he just didn’t want to return quite yet.

Unperturbed, Lulu set out anyway. She was certain the route back to the Glade was always shifting, making one way as good as another. She simply picked whatever direction took her fancy at any particular moment, and even threw herself into seemingly terrible danger whenever it looked fun. Her travels took her far and wide, and magic, mayhem, and mishap tended to follow wherever she went.

In Demacia, she freed a group of children from their boring history lessons, and led them off into a nearby meadow. Her game resulted in them being turned into toadstools for a full turn of the moon, while their desperate parents and the local militia searched for them in vain. It wasn’t quite what Lulu had intended, but fun nonetheless. When the children finally returned home and told everyone what had happened, no one believed them.

In the borderlands of the Freljord, Lulu thought it would be hilarious to change the weapons of two rival tribes into flowers just as they clashed, which resulted in absolute chaos and confusion. More recently, she has found herself happily lost in Ionia, playing in the glowing everblooms of Qaelin, and playing pranks on bewildered acolytes of the Order of Shadow, who she thinks are far too serious for their own good.

While Lulu seeks to return to the Glade, and misses it, she is happy, for every day brings more opportunity for adventure and fun.

And besides, she has come to realize that she carries a part of the Glade in her heart, wherever she goes.

Raised in a large working-class family, Zeri grew up surrounded by warmth, care, and many strong opinions. They were no strangers to hardship, having lost loved ones to Zaun’s dangers. Even so, their community was their strength.

From birth, Zeri had a unique relationship with electricity. Each giggle caught a spark—each cry, a shock. Magic wasn’t rare in Zaun, but Zeri’s electric charm was. It charged with her emotions, sometimes grounded, sometimes building to fierce and fiery. By her teenage years, her neighbors knew she was more likely the cause of power outages than a broken circuit. Life in Zaun was beautiful chaos, her grandma would say, and Zeri embodied that all too well.

Not everyone found her quirks endearing. To family and friends, Zeri was a lovable mess. To others, she was simply... a mess. During occasional outbursts where her stray currents shattered a street lamp or two (or twelve), Zeri thought she'd even see flashes of something—or someone—but there was no time to dwell. She wished she had better control of her volatile powers. Her determination was there, but her patience could have used some work.

Still, with every spark came an opportunity.

One night while Zeri strolled through the Entresol markets, the ground rattled from underground excavations that soon swelled into a destructive quake. She wasted no time zooming past fallen buildings to rescue trapped victims. As her world slowly crumbled, Zeri became a furious blur. She knew the chem-barons had mining facilities nearby that were installed after they'd claimed to have discovered resources better than hextech, but what they did not reveal were the risks of their uncontrolled digging.

The faster Zeri moved, the more charged she became. She thrived under pressure, realizing what her powers could do and how much her neighborhood meant to her—even if it meant nothing to the barons.

After the dust settled, survivors gathered to thank Zeri. Beneath her relief was anger. Zeri knew she could’ve saved more if she had better command of herself.

What Zeri did accomplish was sure to catch the attention of the barons. She knew they wouldn’t think twice about who they went through to get to her, and she couldn’t risk others getting hurt. Not again. To guard them from herself, Zeri scoured the mining disaster’s wreckage and constructed a jacket to contain her electricity and avert the barons’ gaze. Now she could restrain her gift to protect those in need.

Walking the damaged streets, Zeri saw broken faces. Families scrambled to rebuild, and Zeri lent her hand, doing all she could without her powers. But the more she helped, the more she witnessed. Workers struggled to jumpstart generators. Parents toiled to make meals with broken stovetops. These people didn’t have anyone standing up for them, let alone someone with a gift like hers. She knew her district—and those like it—would never truly be safe if things stayed the way they were. The barons saw them as nothing more than objects to be neglected and resources to be bled.

Zeri knew what had to be done. She couldn’t wait for the next mining “accident.” She had to take the fight to the barons.

Zeri was a one-woman force, sending shockwaves through Zaun. Word spread of chem-baron supply lines being destroyed, with reports of “lightning” striking faster than the eye could see. Enraged at their losses, the local barons formed a rare alliance, and their combined power trounced Zeri wherever she went. She tried to adapt—to strike faster—but against the barons’ endless resources, it wasn’t enough.

She retreated with her body broken and her powers fizzling. The barons were united. She was alone.

As she headed home, Zeri expected disappointment from those she let down. But what welcomed her was family, friends, and people she’d never met, all standing up to fight their oppressors. From their rebuilt homes came rediscovered courage. Zeri had never felt so inspired, yet it was she who had inspired them. She was the spark that ignited their fire.

And she was no longer alone. With the help of their neighbors, Zeri’s mother had fashioned her a rifle made of materials given by those Zeri fought for: The people of the Entresol. The gun’s ammo was Zeri’s emotions, its conductive barrel amplifying her powers directly from her hands. Paired with her jacket, she could better control her voltage, charging up to shoot precise—or, at least, somewhat precise—electric bursts. Zeri gazed warmly at her family and her neighbors. She thought she’d lose them all in her efforts to fight back, but because she stood up for them, they stood up with her.

Backed by her community, Zeri fights for those who cannot. Zaun is not perfect, and neither is Zeri, but sometimes a spark is all it takes to change the world.

I told Zalie to charge it all to my uncle. He’s good for it.

Now I’m ready to explore!

Oh yeah, I probably should write down what I’m exploring. For posterity.

My uncle theorizes that Zaun was once a Shuriman port city called “Oshra Va’Zaun”, and that over the centuries the name got shortened. He doesn’t have much proof and no one believes him. So, I’ll be a good nephew, find proof, and then take all the credit.

My sources say industrial excavations opened up a crack somewhere deep in the Sump.

The plan is simple:
Tomorrow I will locate, and descend into, the crack.
Find proof (see above). Preferably an accursed urn or lost grimoire. Something earth-shatteringly cool.
Spelunk my way back to the surface.
Gloat to my uncle over dinner.
Profit?

I’m keeping this journal to document the process. The record of these events will probably end up in a museum, next to a marble statue of me.

(Note to self: get sculptor recommendations)

Hmm. This is one massive crack. I forgot to bring a lantern, so it’s a good thing my gauntlet glows pretty bright. When I peered down into the crack, I almost literally gasped. There’s a whole maze of dusty staircases and old passageways down there. It’s a veritable labyrinth. Going to descend. Will update from the other side.

Uncle Lymere’s probably going to be really jealous.

I’m only about a quarter of the way down, and I’ve run out of rope. This narrow ledge provides me a chance to rest, and reflect upon this most dire situation. I must decide: face starvation and continue downward, or abandon the whole thing and return empty-handed.

Excellent news! I found something!

A few ledges down from where I was resting was a door. Old, sandstone, very dusty. I brushed away centuries of grime to reveal some glyphs. Owls and stuff.

I deciphered what I could, but my ancient Shuriman is a little rusty. Best guess, it was something about a curse. A really bad curse that multiplies? Maybe a thousand curses? This is fantastic! Like I always say: if it’s not cursed, it’s not worth it.

Since I couldn’t locate any kind of ancient door knob, I resorted to the ultimate lockpick—my gauntlet. Sorry about your door, history, but what lies on the other side intrigues me more than a bunch of old glyphs.

This new antechamber is really intriguing. It’s impeccably clean, for starters and—

Sorry, I thought I heard something. Cracks? Footsteps?

With the benefit of hindsight, my gauntlet blast may have been too much for the support columns. Gotta go. No one remembers explorers who get smooshed.

Well, that was fun. I thought the tomb was going to collapse, because tombs always collapse, especially when I’m inside. But, what really happened? Well, the door didn’t lie, the antechamber was cursed.

Turns out, Oshra Va’Zaun housed the renowned Vault of Resplendent Holies. One of those “holies” is a relic that once belonged to the emperor’s personal spirit-banisher, Carikkan. Looks like he used to bind troublesome entities into inanimate objects, and use them for his own dark purposes. And he died right here, where Zaun now rests!

He also had one of those slow, dimwitteda whole army of fiery stone-warriors, who don’t like people touching old Carikkan’s stuff.

Don’t worry, I blasted them all to smoldering smithereens!

I was able to grab this wonderfully preserved golden stele, though. It’s inscribed with the legend of the “Day of Fire”, and Carikkan’s oath to protect the city of Oshra Va’Zaun. It’s like a whole secret history that I can fit right in my satchel! This is going to change the world!

(Hopefully not just the academic world. Nobody cares about the academic world.)

Ancient Shuriman curses really don’t mess around. Not only was there that one army of fiery stone-warriors (Oh wait, were they golems?) but all of a sudden water began rushing in through the cracks in the floor. I must be somewhere under the River Pilt.

Swam through so many tunnels. Lots of locked doors. Had to resist the urge to explore them all.

Think I’m close to the surface, which is good, because I saw some nasty-looking murk-eels a few tunnels back. Disgusting creatures.

Might be a while before I can check in again, but as long as I keep this stele wrapped up in cloth and protected, this whole trip will be completely worth all the life-threatening shenanigans and tragically soaked socks.

On a sadder note, I’ve used up the last of my Dapper Explorer Pomade.

Sitting in Zalie’s. It really is one of the best outfitters in Piltover—in fact, I’m here to take advantage of their excellent return policy. My jacket is torn to shreds. The boots weren’t waterproof at all. I could say it’s all defective… but Zalie has already graciously offered to tailor me some replacements.

The Explorers Guild is never going to take me seriously if I present this journal, and the stele, dressed like I’ve just lost a game of Krakenhand to a bunch of Mudtown buck-ringers! I have to look good. New jacket. Pants. Boots. Socks. Pomade.

Feels good to look this good. Trust me on that.

Let this official record show that I had NOTHING to do with the swarm of fiery critters that plagued the mercantile district of Piltover. I am blameless!

So, I hear you ask, who is to blame? The clerk at Zalie’s.

Never let the bumbling clerk at Zalie’s handle a potentially enchanted golden stele you laboriously retrieved from a lost vault in the depths of Zaun. Why? Because he will undoubtedly unwrap it, and set it on a windowsill in direct sunlight… which, of course, will conjure disembodied voices chanting in a hitherto unknown, arcane language. Then, your precious stele will begin to glow, before exploding into living shards of searing heat.

Yes. Turns out, when placed in the sunlight of an equinox, the stele unleashes old Carikkan’s infernus gremlins.

Okay, so I didn’t know today was the equinox. That’s on me. I should invest in an almanac.

(Note to self: invest in almanac. Not from Zalie’s.)

The earth is shaking. I probably should stop writing right now, because more of these little horrors are pouring out of the sewer grates. I shot a few of them with my gauntlet. They didn’t like that one bit, and winked out of existence pretty quickly. Result!

So, yeah. All the proof I have of the entire caper is this journal, and my own good word.

The preliminary hearing is set for next week.

Need to read up on Piltover’s libel and slander laws. I’ll be representing myself, obviously.

PURSUIT

Twin energy blasts explode above me, sparks cascading down. I sprint further up the road. Behind me, the chrono-enforcer’s footsteps echo off the narrow walls. Fast. Relentless. Hate to admit it, but this guy’s definitely faster than me…

Good thing I have a few tricks up my sleeves.

At a crossway, I feint right, running two steps down the alley before I shift back, blinking the short distance across the road and sprinting the opposite direction. Classic fake out—a maneuver I’ve perfected over many a chase, thankyouverymuch. Having a Pulsefire suit that bends space over short distances comes in pret-ty handy.

Too bad this guy saw it coming. Somehow.

In a blink, he’s in front of me, both guns blasting. Chrono-enhanced movement. Has to be. I throw my arms up—always protect the face—and the first blast glances off my arm cannon, but the second strikes me square in the chest, sending me reeling. I stumble and fall, hard. In my ear, I can hear alarms blare. I fire a wild shot, but he dashes out of the way, easy. Guns trained on me now. Almost tickling my nose, he’s so close. I put my hands up and blow a stray strand of shaggy blond hair out of my eyes (funny how time traveling leaves little time for haircuts), trying to buy time as the suit attempts to bring my weapon systems to bear.

The enforcer glares down through his visor. “You’re not getting away again,” he says. I groan. So he’s encountered future-me already—which explains why he knew my signature move.

Note to self: think of more signature moves.

“Time’s up, Ezreal. You’ve created enough anomalies for a lifetime.”

I scoff. “Are you serious? You’re a time-traveling enforcer of the Remembrancers, and that’s the best pun you got?”

Somehow, his frown gets even frownier.

“You know you’re gonna be apprehending a bunch of time fugitives and criminals, you have your whole career to prepare, and you lead with… ‘time’s up’?”

His frown breaks into a scowl, and he leans in so close, I can feel the heat from the barrel of his guns. “You’re not talking your way out of this one, you snot-nosed punk—”

“Arcane shift recharged.” Finally! Pearl’s voice pings in my ear, and I don’t wait for Mister Bad Puns to finish his thought as I blink behind him.

Or at least, I should’ve blinked behind him.

Everything flashes to white, as always—but the core of my suit sparks and sizzles from the center of my chest, where the enforcer’s lucky shot caught me. With a jolt I land exactly where I started.

Uh oh.

Crack! I hear my nose break before I feel it. My vision starbursts—Not the face! Not cool! I hear the whirring of his weaponry. …Super not cool.

Time for one of those new signature moves.

I overload my cannon and fire off a massive wave of energy. The enforcer dodges out of the way (seriously, how fast is this guy?!), but the wave tears through the road and walls and neon signs and hopefully no innocent passersby, blowing rubble and shrapnel in all directions.

I haven’t been in a jam this bad since I was a dumb kid. But I’ve learned since then when to shoot your way out, and when to just make an exit.

“Get me out of here, Pearl,” I say, scrambling away as fast as I can. “We got juice to jump?” Something wet drips over my lips, and I run a gloved hand across my face. Definitely bleeding. Definitely a broken nose. Lovely.

“Chrono-jump unstable,” Pearl’s eternally calm voice says. “Pulsefire core damaged.”

“It’s not a no, so I’ll take it as a yes!” I slam my hand into my arm cannon and twist. The familiar rumble of the Chrono-jump Drive revs through it. My fingers on reflex start inputting a destination, but I stop myself. No. Can’t keep running back to him to fix all my problems. Also can’t bear the thought of seeing his smug face right now…

A furious yell. I peek over my shoulder. The enforcer climbs out of the rubble and dust, guns blazing, a constant barrage of energy shots arcing my way.

Man, I must have seriously pissed him off when I met him. Will meet him. Will have met him meeting me.

…Time travel’s confusing.

Energy blasts are straightforward, though. I let fate (well, Pearl) decide where I’m headed, firing the portal in front of me. But instead of a clear view of a destination, an opaque blue-white static crackles across the surface.

No time to hesitate. I dive head first into the unknown. Better anywhere else than a smoking pile of Deadzreal.

I feel the core on my chest shudder and lurch as I pass through the threshold. An arc of electricity surges out from it, and I plummet into whatever timestream awaits.

Yeah. This is gonna be a problem.

AEGIS

He hasn’t noticed me. Yet.

Stealth isn’t usually my strong suit. I’m much more of a shoot-first, ask-questions-never kind of guy. But considering the current state of my Pulsefire core… well, unusual times call for unusual tactics.

He’s just… standing there. Shield at his side. Spear stuck in the nearby ground. Staunch. Reflective. Booooring.

After dropping into an incredibly unpleasant dimension (blood-sucking gnats should never be that big), Pearl managed to pull enough power out of my damaged core to latch on to a chrono-signature of a nearby (well, relativity-speaking nearby) Pulsefire signal. Good news for me—bad news for the enforcer I’m about to jump for their Pulsefire core.

Why fix something when you can steal—er, borrow—a new one?

As fate would have it, I knew this enforcer. Pantheon. A real lunk of a man. Grouchy type: chip on his shoulder, probably a real tragic backstory, blah blah blah.

Currently, he’s standing in the rubble of some building I don’t recognize. To be honest, this whole dimension is one I don’t recognize—it looks like a real dump. Crumbling structures. Decimated vegetation. Evidence of mechanical and chemical conflict everywhere. Major bummer.

I shift in, nice and snug right behind him, arm cannon pressed lightly against the back of his head. “Don’t move,” I growl in my most threatening voice.

He freezes. From my vantage point behind him, I can barely see his visor chirp and whir, likely trying to figure out who I am.

“Ezreal,” he rumbles.

“How’s it goin’, Panth?” I say, grinning, before I remember that I’m supposed to be doing the angry growly thing.

“Here I was, spending all this time searching for you, and you just come to me.” His calm words are undercut by the tension in his voice, and the slight twitch in his scalp as he clenches his teeth in anger. Banter aside, he definitely knows I’m one sneeze away from obliterating his very chiseled, very handsome face.

“Listen, Panth, I know we had this whole thing going last time we met,” I say, leaning in. “But, thing is, I really don’t have time for you or for this wasteland today—”

“You are responsible for this wasteland.” The way he says it stops me cold. Flat, undeniable, matter of fact.

“Uhh, I don’t think so.” I know he’s stalling. I know I shouldn’t engage. I literally just did this to the last enforcer I talked to.

I can’t help myself.

“I generally remember my dimension-shattering escapades, thank you very much.”

“Reckless renegades like you are responsible for all of this.” Pantheon’s gaze casts across the devastated landscape before us, and I can’t help but look as well. “Careless jumps instigating paradoxes. Paradoxes tearing anomalies in space-time. Then… the Praetorians come.”

A chill runs down my spine. Praetorians… here…

Pantheon moves to stand, and I raise my arm cannon in warning, the weapon humming into high gear. He doesn’t bat an eye. “This used to be my home. Then they took everything from me.”

Sure, I take risks. Sometimes big ones. I’m never careless. But I can’t say I haven’t caused a paradox or two before…

“Pantheon,” I say, dropping my arm cannon by a fraction.

Big mistake.

Pantheon leaps at me, an energy barrier blossoming from his shield as my shot fires, a fraction of a second too late. He smashes into me, and I feel my nose break a second time, leaving me dazed. His left hand reaches out, calling his spear to him. I barely regain my senses in time to shift out of the way of his piercing jab.

“You will answer for your crimes before the Remembrancers!” he roars.

Welp. This went sideways, fast. Not a fight I want to pick in my current state. Pantheon throws his spear, and I push my suit to the limit, shifting as far away as I can manage up a hillside.

I rev up my arm cannon for a chrono-jump, and my entire suit shudders as Pearl tries to coax power through the damaged core. “Jump stability is severely compromised, safety protocols recommend—”

Pantheon’s spear flies at me, and I barely duck in time. It crashes into the remnants of a large stone statue behind me, shattering it into dust.

“Pearl! Override safeties! Now!” I don’t wait for confirmation before I aim my arm cannon and fire, relief flooding through me as I cross the portal’s threshold—cut short by a shock of pain as the untamed aether between dimensions lashes at me. I fall up, plummeting to an unknown fate…

RIPOSTE

I wake with a gasp.

Everything hurts. Like I’ve been thrown in the wash and tumbled dry.

Someone is cradling my head. A woman’s face hovers into view. Severe and stern, but in the moment, softened with concern.

“Thank goodness,” she says. “We thought we lost you in zat last jump.”

“Where…” I try to sit up, but an arc of electricity from the core on my chest spasms the muscles on my left side and I clench in pain.

“Zis is not good,” the woman says. “We don’t ’ave much time. He was right behind us. And ze Praetorian swarm… ” She shakes her head. “Lucian and Pantheon went on ahead, and Caitlyn is climbing for a good vantage point—”

I push through the pain and scramble to my feet. I know two out of three names she just said, and neither were ones you wanted to hear from the lips of a stranger immediately upon regaining consciousness after tumbling through unknown time and space.

The woman also stands, holding her hands out, trying to calm me.

“When am I?” I ask, clutching my chest. “Who are you?”

As I get a good look at her, my confusion mounts. She is, without a doubt, an enforcer. The chrono-blade at her side. That Pulsefire core on her suit—some sleeker, future model, from the shape of it. The dumb single pauldron on her uniform. So dumb. Very Remembrancers.

Confusion flits across the woman’s face—then her eyes widen in alarm. “You are not our Ezreal,” she says.

“Listen, lady, I’m nobody’s Ezreal but Ezreal’s Ezreal.” I look around me. I’m in a strange hallway of smooth, white, living metal, accented with chrome. Lamps, glowing blue, hang at regular intervals. It almost feels like we’re standing inside a Pulsefire suit.

A shiver of dread ripples down my spine. It couldn’t be. “This… Is this…?”

“Remembrancer’s Citadel. But you are not supposed to be here. I do not know when you’re from, but you must leave, before you arrive. Er, ze other you.” The woman’s eyes narrow. “You better still arrive. If you’re dead, I’m going to kill you.”

I shake my head. “I have no idea what or when this is,” I point my arm cannon at her chest. “…but I’ll be taking your Pulsefire core now,” I say with all the threat I can muster.

Right then, my arm cannon stutters and sparks. “Weapon systems at ten percent power,” Pearl says in my ear, exceptionally loudly.

From the look on the woman’s face, I swear she heard it too.

“Ah. You’re definitely from ze past.” The woman pinches the bridge of her nose, as if staving off a headache. “I forgot ’ow insufferable you were.”

I frown adorably. “I’m not insufferable. I’m charming.”

She stops dead in her tracks. Her eyes narrow, then she marches straight at me. I take a step back, but she’s already closed the distance and is jabbing a finger into my chest.

“So zis is why you told me that story last night.” She narrows her eyes at me. “About ’ow I had already saved your life twice. And ’ow I’d likely do it one more time before zis was all over.”

“Listen, I sincerely do not know what you’re talking—”

She doesn’t wait for my response but grasps me by my chestpiece and reaches a hand down my collar. I yelp—but she’s triggered some mechanism in there, and the core on my chest spins and opens, revealing the machinations within.

Okay. She’s definitely done this before.

Before I can protest, diagnostic nodes and microtools emerge from her gloves as she sets to work.

“Are… are you fixing it?” I ask, incredulous.

“You were such an idiot. Goodness. Zis damage. Did you pick a fight with Lucian? You picked a fight with Lucian. Incredible he did not kill you. Always was a much better shot.” She isn’t even talking to me, but muttering half under her breath as she works. I try to stand still—even I know you don’t jostle when a chrono-bending energy core is open and exposed.

A noise comes from down the hall, and the unmistakable sound of blaster fire follows. I frown, craning my neck to look, but the woman gives a sharp tug on my suit.

“Hold. Still,” she warns.

Blue sparks fly and a tiny smoke trail plumes, then she’s let me go and the core spins and locks back into place. I look down. The glow looks dimmer than usual, but it no longer arcs electricity every few seconds.

“It works…,” I marvel.

“For one more jump before it breaks completely. Maybe,” she says. “Now go!”

She turns to leave, then stops short. A hand dashes into a pocket, and she flips something at me through the air. I catch it.

“When you meet me, I will show you no mercy,” she says. “Make sure to show me zat. Otherwise, I will kill you.”

I gaze down and see a coin bearing an insignia—thin blade etched over a stylized rose. So many questions flash through my mind. But voices—followed by blaster fire—echo from further up the hall.

“That’s twice,” she mutters, largely to herself. “No time to figure out the third. Two will have to be enough.”

“That’s not very reassuring!” I call after her, but she is already running. She ignores me, turns the corner, and is gone.

I tap the core on my chest. One last time jump, huh. There’s no helping it. Only one person left I can think of that might be able to help me. Looks like I’m gonna have to see his smug face after all.

I really didn’t want to have to ask him for a favor. Again. Yet. Whichever.

I sigh. “Pearl,” I say, “boot her up.” I aim my arm cannon and fire, and once again, a portal opens. “Time to pay a visit to Ekko.”

TIMEWINDER

You ever meet someone who was just enough like you that it made you kinda hate them, because maaaybe it made you see clearly all the little things you hated about yourself, just a little?

Well, that’s not at all what’s happening here with Ekko.

It’s the mohawk.

“You said, ‘goodbye forever,’” he says, not looking back at me.

“I know,” I say.

“‘It’s been fun, but now we’ll never see each other again, which is probably for the best, given everything.’” Still not turning around.

I clench my teeth. “Yeah. I remember.”

“It’s been four seconds.” He sets down the weird cube he’s fiddling with and finally turns around, his arms crossing. Man, the trouble we went through to get that thing.

“Not for me. It’s been ages for me.” I can hear how whiny I sound, and I hate it. “I just… I needed to find you in a where and when I knew for sure you’d be.”

“So much for your cool guy exit,” he says, and I want nothing more than to wipe the smirk off his face. “What kind of trouble you find yourself in this time?”

“Oh, nothing major,” I say, walking down the steps and poking at the various panels and gadgets in his little hideout. “I, uh, I may have run into a little trouble with an enforcer…”

“Nothing new so far.”

“And maybe might’ve gotten, uh, roughed up a bit…”

“Don’t touch that.” My fingertips stop, hovering just above a potted plant suspended in an isolated temporal field. I watch as it shrinks from blossom to bud to new sprout, then age back again all within the same timeline, somehow collapsing all eventualities without generating new anomalies. Chronobreak, Ekko called it. I can’t help but shake my head. I didn’t even think Pulsefire tech could do that—and neither, probably, did the enforcers. It’s pure genius.

I hate it.

“My Pulsefire core is toast and I need a new one.” That “truth” thing worked so well with the lady enforcer, I figure I’d try it out on Ekko. “Got one lying around?”

Ekko laughs. I frown. It’s not at me—I’ve been through enough with this joker to know the difference—but it still stings all the same.

“Okay, sure, fine. Can you fix mine then?”

He walks up and leans in, peering at my chestpiece. “Oh man, this wreck? Are you kidding me? What, d’you take a point-blank blaster shot or something?”

“…Maybe.”

He looks at me, mouth agape. “Always protect the core!”

“Always protect the face!” I retort.

“Doesn’t look like you succeeded at that either,” he fires back, all judgement. He pokes my (very broken) nose, and I yelp in pain.

I wince. “Well then can you build me a new one?” Desperation is creeping in… and Ekko’s already shaking his head. “Why not? You built your suit from scratch!”

He shrugs, “Yeah, and part of that ‘scratch’ was the crystal core I snatched from an enforcer. Same as you.”

No way. Even Ekko has his limits.

I… I’m out of options.

I stumble into a chair, numb. “I burned my last jump getting here.” My head falls in my hands. “If you can’t fix this… then… this is it. I… live here now.”

“Like hell you do.” Ekko grabs his mask from the table with the cube. “That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said. You ain’t stayin’ here in my timestream. I’ll help you.”

I can’t even look at him. “What options do I have left?” I ask.

“Steal a core.”

I click my tongue in frustration. “Tried that. Harder than you’d think.”

I can hear him clattering around. There’s a click as he straps his Chronobreak pack to his back. “We’ll just need to find a real sucker. Some dummy who’s totally unprepared,” he explains.

He walks up to me and shoves my shoulder. I look up. He’s fully geared up and ready to go. To help me. And knowing the escapade he just got back from… he has to still be exhausted. But he gives me that stupid grin I hate and says, “Let’s go, dummy.”

I start to smile—but my face freezes mid thought.

Oh. Oh damn. That’s it! I am a dummy!

“I hate you so much,” I tell him, bull rushing him into a hug.

“Whoa! Hey! Get off me!,” he shouts.

He struggles, but I cling on. “How long have I been here?”

“About a minute. So, way too long,” he fires back.

His hand is in my face, but I grab his wrist. “Rewind me back to just before I showed up.”

He blinks. “Why—”

I grin. “Buy me back my one last chrono-jump. Then I’ll actually be out of your hair forever, goodbye, never see each other again, blah blah blah.” I reach my free hand to pat his mohawk, but he grabs my wrist this time.

“Don’t. Touch. The. Hair,” he says, icy.

I pull my hand back. “Ekko. Please. Last favor. One more rewind. Like last time.”

With a scoff he replies, “Last time was the last time. And you already know—Chronobreak isn’t meant to carry more than one person.”

I take a deep breath. “I know. And… one of these days… I’ll pay you back. For all the last times.”

“You said we’ll never see each other again,” he sighs.

I wink at him. “Give it four seconds.”

Ekko rolls his eyes, reaching behind his back. “You’re exhausting,” he says as he activates his Chronobreak device.

“Thanks, Ekko.” And I add with a smile, “Owe you one.”

“It’s up to four now,” he corrects, pulling me close as he pulls the cord. The world around us slows, stops—then rewinds at accelerating pace.

Man, I love this guy.

FLUX

Rain pours down in cascading sheets. Down the street, the faint glow of lamps struggle to pierce the gloomy dark, diffused in the downpour. I can barely see in front of my (still very much broken) nose. Every particle in my being hurts. A boom of thunder peals out, and my ears ring in the aftermath. I’m a mess. But it doesn’t matter.

I know this moment and this place so well, I can almost walk it with my eyes closed.

Up ahead, a pair of double doors burst open, and a scrappy boy stumbles out of some sort of shop, a large satchel slung across his shoulders, face obscured by the hood of a heavy cloak. He looks behind him, wasting precious seconds, before sprinting around the block.

I take a deep breath. “Pearl, start the timer.” In my upper periphery, the tracker begins ticking.

One one-thousand. Two one-thousand.

A bulky figure races out of the same door after him. A telltale blue glow emanates from their drawn weapon, white armor catching the dim street lamps, even in the rain.

Eleven one-thousand. Twelve one-thousand.

I hurry along, cutting across shortcuts I haven’t taken in a lifetime, yet still as familiar as Pearl’s voice in my ear. I have one narrow window of time to do this. And if I mess it up… I shake my head. I don’t get to mess this up.

Soon, I reach my destination—a looming dark monolith of a building. I find the fire escape, the ladder hanging a good distance above me. I take a running jump and barely reach, my arms screaming in protest as I hoist myself up. Now, just eleven flights of stairs to climb.

I’m going to take a real long nap once I make it out of this one.

Thirty-two one-thousand. Thirty-three one-thousand.

I make it to the roof and duck behind the single door that is the access from inside the building. I crouch low and hurry across, take my position behind where the door would open, and check my timer.

Thirty seconds to spare, give or take.

One chance to get this right.

Forty-five one-thousand. Forty-six one-thousand.

The door bursts open, and the boy from earlier runs through. But the enforcer is right behind. They reach for him and grab him by the arm. A scuffle. A fight. The boy’s satchel is torn from him, thrown backward. In my direction.

I dart forward and grab the satchel, reaching inside for my prize.

The sound of a blaster shot rings out over the rain.

Fifty-five one-thousand. Fifty-six one-thousand.

Two more blasts, in rapid succession. Nothing but the shah shah shah of the rain. Then the dull thud of a body hitting the ground below.

I shouldn’t look back… but I do.

The kid stands, hands shaking, holding a blaster. He slowly walks toward the edge of the building and pushes his hood back to better peer at the body below, revealing shaggy blond hair.

What a sucker. A real dummy.

I duck back behind my hiding spot, jostling with the satchel. The chime of a distant clock tower rings out—twelve chimes of midnight.

I open the satchel and pull out the Pulsefire core attached to crossing bandoliers, and the synchronized arm cannon. They look so small and simple now compared to the suit I had built and modified since then—but they represent the same thing to me now as they did when I first got my hands on them:

Freedom.

I strap the Pulsefire core across my chest. Check Pearl’s countdown. Past-me is about to walk away from the edge. Come looking for the satchel back where it fell. It won’t be there. He would panic—only to find it dangling from the nearby fire escape, where it had improbably slid and landed—or so I’d thought.

I manually punch in a destination on the old-new arm cannon from the satchel, aim, and fire. A crystal-clear portal opens. I smile.

Back in business.

Sure, I’m now doubly traveling on literal borrowed time—stolen from myself. And if I don’t return the core back to the satchel in time, well—I don’t even want to think about the multiverse-ending anomaly it would tear open. I look up and see me start wandering back this way. Only seconds until I’d see the satchel was missing—no time at all.

But when you’re a time traveler, no time… is all the time you need. I hope.

AEGIS

He hasn’t noticed me. Yet.

Stealth isn’t usually my strong suit. I’m much more of a shoot-first, ask-questions-never kind of guy. But considering the current state of my Pulsefire core… well, unusual times call for unusual tactics.

He’s just… standing there. Shield at his side. Spear stuck in the nearby ground. Staunch. Reflective. Booooring.

After dropping into an incredibly unpleasant dimension (blood-sucking gnats should never be that big), Pearl managed to pull enough power out of my damaged core to latch on to a chrono-signature of a nearby (well, relativity-speaking nearby) Pulsefire signal. Good news for me—bad news for the enforcer I’m about to jump for their Pulsefire core.

Why fix something when you can steal—er, borrow—a new one?

As fate would have it, I knew this enforcer. Pantheon. A real lunk of a man. Grouchy type: chip on his shoulder, probably a real tragic backstory, blah blah blah.

Currently, he’s standing in the rubble of some building I don’t recognize. To be honest, this whole dimension is one I don’t recognize—it looks like a real dump. Crumbling structures. Decimated vegetation. Evidence of mechanical and chemical conflict everywhere. Major bummer.

I shift in, nice and snug right behind him, arm cannon pressed lightly against the back of his head. “Don’t move,” I growl in my most threatening voice.

He freezes. From my vantage point behind him, I can barely see his visor chirp and whir, likely trying to figure out who I am.

“Ezreal,” he rumbles.

“How’s it goin’, Panth?” I say, grinning, before I remember that I’m supposed to be doing the angry growly thing.

“Here I was, spending all this time searching for you, and you just come to me.” His calm words are undercut by the tension in his voice, and the slight twitch in his scalp as he clenches his teeth in anger. Banter aside, he definitely knows I’m one sneeze away from obliterating his very chiseled, very handsome face.

“Listen, Panth, I know we had this whole thing going last time we met,” I say, leaning in. “But, thing is, I really don’t have time for you or for this wasteland today—”

“You are responsible for this wasteland.” The way he says it stops me cold. Flat, undeniable, matter of fact.

“Uhh, I don’t think so.” I know he’s stalling. I know I shouldn’t engage. I literally just did this to the last enforcer I talked to.

I can’t help myself.

“I generally remember my dimension-shattering escapades, thank you very much.”

“Reckless renegades like you are responsible for all of this.” Pantheon’s gaze casts across the devastated landscape before us, and I can’t help but look as well. “Careless jumps instigating paradoxes. Paradoxes tearing anomalies in space-time. Then… the Praetorians come.”

A chill runs down my spine. Praetorians… here…

Pantheon moves to stand, and I raise my arm cannon in warning, the weapon humming into high gear. He doesn’t bat an eye. “This used to be my home. Then they took everything from me.”

Sure, I take risks. Sometimes big ones. I’m never careless. But I can’t say I haven’t caused a paradox or two before…

“Pantheon,” I say, dropping my arm cannon by a fraction.

Big mistake.

Pantheon leaps at me, an energy barrier blossoming from his shield as my shot fires, a fraction of a second too late. He smashes into me, and I feel my nose break a second time, leaving me dazed. His left hand reaches out, calling his spear to him. I barely regain my senses in time to shift out of the way of his piercing jab.

“You will answer for your crimes before the Remembrancers!” he roars.

Welp. This went sideways, fast. Not a fight I want to pick in my current state. Pantheon throws his spear, and I push my suit to the limit, shifting as far away as I can manage up a hillside.

I rev up my arm cannon for a chrono-jump, and my entire suit shudders as Pearl tries to coax power through the damaged core. “Jump stability is severely compromised, safety protocols recommend—”

Pantheon’s spear flies at me, and I barely duck in time. It crashes into the remnants of a large stone statue behind me, shattering it into dust.

“Pearl! Override safeties! Now!” I don’t wait for confirmation before I aim my arm cannon and fire, relief flooding through me as I cross the portal’s threshold—cut short by a shock of pain as the untamed aether between dimensions lashes at me. I fall up, plummeting to an unknown fate…

RIPOSTE

I wake with a gasp.

Everything hurts. Like I’ve been thrown in the wash and tumbled dry.

Someone is cradling my head. A woman’s face hovers into view. Severe and stern, but in the moment, softened with concern.

“Thank goodness,” she says. “We thought we lost you in that last jump.”

“Where…” I try to sit up, but an arc of electricity from the core on my chest spasms the muscles on my left side and I clench in pain.

“This is not good,” the woman says. “We don’t have much time. He was right behind us. And the Praetorian swarm… ” She shakes her head. “Lucian and Pantheon went on ahead, and Caitlyn is climbing for a good vantage point—”

I push through the pain and scramble to my feet. I know two out of three names she just said, and neither were ones you wanted to hear from the lips of a stranger immediately upon regaining consciousness after tumbling through unknown time and space.

The woman also stands, holding her hands out, trying to calm me.

“When am I?” I ask, clutching my chest. “Who are you?”

As I get a good look at her, my confusion mounts. She is, without a doubt, an enforcer. The chrono-blade at her side. That Pulsefire core on her suit—some sleeker, future model, from the shape of it. The dumb single pauldron on her uniform. So dumb. Very Remembrancers.

Confusion flits across the woman’s face—then her eyes widen in alarm. “You are not our Ezreal,” she says.

“Listen, lady, I’m nobody’s Ezreal but Ezreal’s Ezreal.” I look around me. I’m in a strange hallway of smooth, white, living metal, accented with chrome. Lamps, glowing blue, hang at regular intervals. It almost feels like we’re standing inside a Pulsefire suit.

A shiver of dread ripples down my spine. It couldn’t be. “This… Is this…?”

“Remembrancer’s Citadel. But you are not supposed to be here. I do not know when you’re from, but you must leave, before you arrive. Er, the other you.” The woman’s eyes narrow. “You better still arrive. If you’re dead, I’m going to kill you.”

I shake my head. “I have no idea what or when this is,” I point my arm cannon at her chest. “…but I’ll be taking your Pulsefire core now,” I say with all the threat I can muster.

Right then, my arm cannon stutters and sparks. “Weapon systems at ten percent power,” Pearl says in my ear, exceptionally loudly.

From the look on the woman’s face, I swear she heard it too.

“Ah. You’re definitely from the past.” The woman pinches the bridge of her nose, as if staving off a headache. “I forgot how insufferable you were.”

I frown adorably. “I’m not insufferable. I’m charming.”

She stops dead in her tracks. Her eyes narrow, then she marches straight at me. I take a step back, but she’s already closed the distance and is jabbing a finger into my chest.

“So this is why you told me that story last night.” She narrows her eyes at me. “About how I had already saved your life twice. And how I’d likely do it one more time before this was all over.”

“Listen, I sincerely do not know what you’re talking—”

She doesn’t wait for my response but grasps me by my chestpiece and reaches a hand down my collar. I yelp—but she’s triggered some mechanism in there, and the core on my chest spins and opens, revealing the machinations within.

Okay. She’s definitely done this before.

Before I can protest, diagnostic nodes and microtools emerge from her gloves as she sets to work.

“Are… are you fixing it?” I ask, incredulous.

“You were such an idiot. Goodness. This damage. Did you pick a fight with Lucian? You picked a fight with Lucian. Incredible he did not kill you. Always was a much better shot.” She isn’t even talking to me, but muttering half under her breath as she works. I try to stand still—even I know you don’t jostle when a chrono-bending energy core is open and exposed.

A noise comes from down the hall, and the unmistakable sound of blaster fire follows. I frown, craning my neck to look, but the woman gives a sharp tug on my suit.

“Hold. Still,” she warns.

Blue sparks fly and a tiny smoke trail plumes, then she’s let me go and the core spins and locks back into place. I look down. The glow looks dimmer than usual, but it no longer arcs electricity every few seconds.

“It works…,” I marvel.

“For one more jump before it breaks completely. Maybe,” she says. “Now go!”

She turns to leave, then stops short. A hand dashes into a pocket, and she flips something at me through the air. I catch it.

“When you meet me, I will show you no mercy,” she says. “Make sure to show me that. Otherwise, I will kill you.”

I gaze down and see a coin bearing an insignia—thin blade etched over a stylized rose. So many questions flash through my mind. But voices—followed by blaster fire—echo from further up the hall.

“That’s twice,” she mutters, largely to herself. “No time to figure out the third. Two will have to be enough.”

“That’s not very reassuring!” I call after her, but she is already running. She ignores me, turns the corner, and is gone.

I tap the core on my chest. One last time jump, huh. There’s no helping it. Only one person left I can think of that might be able to help me. Looks like I’m gonna have to see his smug face after all.

I really didn’t want to have to ask him for a favor. Again. Yet. Whichever.

I sigh. “Pearl,” I say, “boot her up.” I aim my arm cannon and fire, and once again, a portal opens. “Time to pay a visit to Ekko.”

TIMEWINDER

You ever meet someone who was just enough like you that it made you kinda hate them, because maaaybe it made you see clearly all the little things you hated about yourself, just a little?

Well, that’s not at all what’s happening here with Ekko.

It’s the mohawk.

“You said, ‘goodbye forever,’” he says, not looking back at me.

“I know,” I say.

“‘It’s been fun, but now we’ll never see each other again, which is probably for the best, given everything.’” Still not turning around.

I clench my teeth. “Yeah. I remember.”

“It’s been four seconds.” He sets down the weird cube he’s fiddling with and finally turns around, his arms crossing. Man, the trouble we went through to get that thing.

“Not for me. It’s been ages for me.” I can hear how whiny I sound, and I hate it. “I just… I needed to find you in a where and when I knew for sure you’d be.”

“So much for your cool guy exit,” he says, and I want nothing more than to wipe the smirk off his face. “What kind of trouble you find yourself in this time?”

“Oh, nothing major,” I say, walking down the steps and poking at the various panels and gadgets in his little hideout. “I, uh, I may have run into a little trouble with an enforcer…”

“Nothing new so far.”

“And maybe might’ve gotten, uh, roughed up a bit…”

“Don’t touch that.” My fingertips stop, hovering just above a potted plant suspended in an isolated temporal field. I watch as it shrinks from blossom to bud to new sprout, then age back again all within the same timeline, somehow collapsing all eventualities without generating new anomalies. Chronobreak, Ekko called it. I can’t help but shake my head. I didn’t even think Pulsefire tech could do that—and neither, probably, did the enforcers. It’s pure genius.

I hate it.

“My Pulsefire core is toast and I need a new one.” That “truth” thing worked so well with the lady enforcer, I figure I’d try it out on Ekko. “Got one lying around?”

Ekko laughs. I frown. It’s not at me—I’ve been through enough with this joker to know the difference—but it still stings all the same.

“Okay, sure, fine. Can you fix mine then?”

He walks up and leans in, peering at my chestpiece. “Oh man, this wreck? Are you kidding me? What, d’you take a point-blank blaster shot or something?”

“…Maybe.”

He looks at me, mouth agape. “Always protect the core!”

“Always protect the face!” I retort.

“Doesn’t look like you succeeded at that either,” he fires back, all judgement. He pokes my (very broken) nose, and I yelp in pain.

I wince. “Well then can you build me a new one?” Desperation is creeping in… and Ekko’s already shaking his head. “Why not? You built your suit from scratch!”

He shrugs, “Yeah, and part of that ‘scratch’ was the crystal core I snatched from an enforcer. Same as you.”

No way. Even Ekko has his limits.

I… I’m out of options.

I stumble into a chair, numb. “I burned my last jump getting here.” My head falls in my hands. “If you can’t fix this… then… this is it. I… live here now.”

“Like hell you do.” Ekko grabs his mask from the table with the cube. “That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said. You ain’t stayin’ here in my timestream. I’ll help you.”

I can’t even look at him. “What options do I have left?” I ask.

“Steal a core.”

I click my tongue in frustration. “Tried that. Harder than you’d think.”

I can hear him clattering around. There’s a click as he straps his Chronobreak pack to his back. “We’ll just need to find a real sucker. Some dummy who’s totally unprepared,” he explains.

He walks up to me and shoves my shoulder. I look up. He’s fully geared up and ready to go. To help me. And knowing the escapade he just got back from… he has to still be exhausted. But he gives me that stupid grin I hate and says, “Let’s go, dummy.”

I start to smile—but my face freezes mid thought.

Oh. Oh damn. That’s it! I am a dummy!

“I hate you so much,” I tell him, bull rushing him into a hug.

“Whoa! Hey! Get off me!,” he shouts.

He struggles, but I cling on. “How long have I been here?”

“About a minute. So, way too long,” he fires back.

His hand is in my face, but I grab his wrist. “Rewind me back to just before I showed up.”

He blinks. “Why—”

I grin. “Buy me back my one last chrono-jump. Then I’ll actually be out of your hair forever, goodbye, never see each other again, blah blah blah.” I reach my free hand to pat his mohawk, but he grabs my wrist this time.

“Don’t. Touch. The. Hair,” he says, icy.

I pull my hand back. “Ekko. Please. Last favor. One more rewind. Like last time.”

With a scoff he replies, “Last time was the last time. And you already know—Chronobreak isn’t meant to carry more than one person.”

I take a deep breath. “I know. And… one of these days… I’ll pay you back. For all the last times.”

“You said we’ll never see each other again,” he sighs.

I wink at him. “Give it four seconds.”

Ekko rolls his eyes, reaching behind his back. “You’re exhausting,” he says as he activates his Chronobreak device.

“Thanks, Ekko.” And I add with a smile, “Owe you one.”

“It’s up to four now,” he corrects, pulling me close as he pulls the cord. The world around us slows, stops—then rewinds at accelerating pace.

Man, I love this guy.

I have too many questions I want to ask her. I sneak a side-glance as we walk. She’s looking straight ahead. I watch her gaze sweep back and forth across the far perimeter of the park, her red hair catching the last scraps of the afternoon light with each step. Does she see something? Is this the way she normally patrols? Is she bored? Why is she here? I can’t believe she wanted to come. Why did she come? I quicken my pace to keep up.

“Fortun—Sarah,” I say, remembering.

She doesn’t look away from the path ahead, so I keep going.

“Ez really does have detention, Lux,” she says.

“Oh,” I stammer. “It’s cool.” I can feel the pink in my cheeks. I tug on the tips of my gloves. She turns to look at me, a smug grin softening her face.

“He wanted to be here,” she says. “Soraka too, but Pantheon’s was short staffed. And tonight is Syndra’s astronomy class at the university—”

“—And Ahri?” I blurt out too quickly.

Sarah’s smile tightens. “She’s been busy.”

“No worries,” I say, looking for a way to change the subject. In the middle of the park, Janna pushes Poppy and a free-loading Jinx on a squeaky merry-go-round. Lulu sways idly in a close-by swing set, its metal chains clang softly, like lonely windchimes. There’s no one else in the park besides us. “It’s pretty quiet.”

“Like you said, it’s probably nothing,” she says casually.

I take the folded slip of paper out of my pocket. The frayed edge where I tore it out of Lulu’s notebook flutters in the breeze. The shapes of the playground equipment and power lines surrounding Valoran City’s metro park were clear enough, but it was the dozens of circles in the sky that worried me. Poppy said that it was too warm in physics class, and Lulu was just doodling to stay awake.

“Look!” Lulu shouts from the swing, snapping me out of my thoughts. She is at the top of the swing’s arc, gesturing excitedly at the horizon. A bright spot has risen just over the silhouette of the skyline. “Twilight star! I saw it first.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. It’s just a star. Stars can’t hurt us.

“The twilight star is not a real star,” Poppy groans. “Technically it’s a planet.”

“Janna said everything has starlight in it,” Lulu argues back.

Janna nods her head in agreement.

“What are you gonna wish for, Loops?” Jinx juggles Shiro and Kuro absently as the merry-go-round spins. Lulu pumps her legs on the swing, pushing it higher.

“More stars!” she shouts. “I want to see more stars.”

“But it’s not dark yet,” Jinx says. “The other stars aren’t out yet.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Lulu pumps her legs harder. “The other stars are always there no matter what. Even if you can’t see them.”

“Rocket-breath is right,” Poppy says, hiding her reluctant agreement with Jinx by examining a non-existent scuff on her hammer. “It needs to get really dark before you can see the stars in the city. It’s not like at the camp.”

I cup my hands together and shout back to them, “You’re all right.” Jinx opens her mouth to argue, but shrugs and takes the win.

I turn back to Sarah.

“Are they always like this?” she asks. I’m sure she’s thinking about us compared to her own team. How this kind of talk would never happen if it was only them. They would just get right down to business. Search the park and be done. I can’t tell if she’s disappointed or annoyed or both.

“You mean are they always this argumentative?” I offer. “No, I mean, well, yes… sometimes—”

“This innocent,” she says, quietly.

“Well, you have Ahri to lead you. Of course you always know what you’re doing. Us, well… All they’ve had is me.”

“Innocent isn’t always a bad thing.” She has that faraway look on her face again, like she’s trying to remember a dream she had a long time ago. She nods her head slowly as if agreeing on the memory. “Yes, that’s who you remind me of.”

“Me? Remind you of Ahri?!” I ask, trying desperately to not sound desperate. Does she really think I’m like Ahri? Which part? Maybe a younger Ahri? I mean, she should know, she’s Ahri’s lieutenant. Did Ahri have multiple lieutenants on her old team? Maybe if our teams join, I can be another one, like Sarah?

“No.” Sarah lets out a sharp laugh. I don’t know if she can read minds, but my hope deflates like an untied balloon.

“Someone else. You remind me of someone else,” she says, softening. “Someone I lost a long time ago. She had pink hair too.” She looks me over again, and I try not to squirm under the scrutiny. “Come to think of it, you’re also too loyal for your own good… and such a dreamer. You’re kinda a mix of all of them,” she says.

Them? The team you lost? Is this a bad thing? Who were they? I add ten more questions I want to ask her to the list running constantly in my head.

How did it happen?

“Lux! Sarah! Look.” Lulu yells happily, interrupting my thoughts before I can get any further. “My wish!”

We look back at the distant playground. I run through a quick check. Lulu. Jinx. Poppy. Janna. Still safe and sound. The twilight has softened all of them, making them seem younger than they really are. The street lamps in the park click on in an unsettling coincidence. Hovering above the team are a swarm of twinkling lights. The team looks like they’re caught in a magical dream.

“Loops, It’s like Short Stop said, it’s not dark enough…” The creaking of the merry-go-round slows to a stop as Janna, Poppy, and Jinx look up as well. It’s getting darker fast. Too fast. I can barely see the trees around the edge of the park. Sarah and I start walking back toward the playground more quickly.

“Those aren’t stars,” Sarah says. I squint to get a better look. The points of light waver, almost glistening. As we get closer I can see what Sarah means. Dozens of thin translucent spheres reflect the light from the street lamps. Bubbles? They were… bubbles? I stuff Lulu’s drawing into the cuff of my glove.

“I don’t think the twilight star heard you right, Lulu,” Poppy says. “Those are bubbles.”

They aren’t just bubbles. One of them floats down toward Poppy, almost as if it was following the sound of her voice. Poppy steps back, letting it drift toward the metal railing of the merry-go-round.

The hushed silence is interrupted by a snort-laugh from Jinx. “C’mon. They’re harmless—”

A trail of bubbles begins to close in on her. I reach for my wand as I start running. “Jinx!”

I throw the staff out ahead of me. It and a prismatic rainbow of starlight just graze the top of Jinx’s pigtails before returning to my hand. A sphere of multicolored light covers Jinx and Poppy. A few bubbles bounce off the barrier and pop against the swing set leaving behind a swirl of dark mist, fluttering black shapes—bugs perhaps, or moths?—and a long, high-pitched laugh, like the delighted cackle of a child.

“That can’t be good, right?” Jinx whisper-yells. “Let’s pop these bad boys!”

“My thoughts exactly.” A double shot of Sarah’s twin pistols fire before she can finish her sentence. A wave of bubbles pop in a shower of black haze and twisted butterflies.

“What’s inside doesn’t look that great either,” Poppy says.

The high-pitched laugh stops short and is quickly replaced by an annoyed groan. The noise echoes around us, setting my teeth on edge. In the center of the pack of toxic bubbles that Janna gathered, a thin circle takes shape. The circle opens into a portal, letting long tendrils snake out from some dark dimension. One unsettling squid eye opens, followed by a second. The gelatinous blob unfolds into some cross between an evil octopus and demonic jellyfish.

“Take it down,” Sarah yells. Shiro and Kuro fire eagerly. Poppy twists around, pulling her hammer back for a long, arcing hit. She growls through the effort as the hammer swings around. In a resounding smack, it connects with the bubble mass, knocking the now angry and disoriented jellyfish out of the center. The malcontent blob drifts for a moment, but collects itself and the scattered bubble pack. They move purposefully toward Sarah.

“Sarah, get down,” I yell. I can feel the heavy power of pure starlight channel through my staff, vibrating the bones in my fingers and arm. The creature darts around, hiding behind bubbles. I fire in a beam of white-hot light. The little jellyfish slips between the bubbles and I miss. I try to get closer, but it feels like time is standing still.

“Loops, no!” Jinx yells.

It’s too late. From out of nowhere, a tiny Lulu pushes Sarah out of the way. Sarah lands hard, but rolls onto her back, both barrels blasting above her.

One bubble escapes the pack above. It floats down, straining to get closer. It breaks against Lulu’s cheek in a wet pop. The darkness seeps out, expanding, and in the space of two heartbeats, Lulu is enveloped by an inky cloud. Her eyes close as she crumples to the ground in a small heap. I dive for Lulu, scooping her up in my arms. More bubbles pop above me as Sarah and Jinx finish off the last of them. A portal opens above the dark jellyfish. The maniacal laughter gets louder and the little beast floats toward the opening, almost as if was buoyed by the sound. As it crosses the portal’s threshold, it disappears, taking the remains of the dark magic with it.

I bring my ear down to Lulu’s face. She’s breathing, slow and even… is she asleep?

“Lulu!” I shake her by the shoulders. Lulu lets out a soft moan and her eyes flutter for a second. I bring my wand up, the brightness is near blinding. Lulu’s closed eyes flinch. “Lulu, by Starlight, wake up!”

“Lost. They were lost.” Lulu’s voice is barely a whisper. Her eyes close tighter against the light, and her lip quivers. It’s as if she’s stuck in a nightmare. “Dark now,” she says.

Lulu sits bolt upright, her blue eyes wide open now. She looks past all of us, like we’re not there, like she’s seeing through us to somewhere else. Like she’s somewhere else.

“She’s on her way,” Lulu says.

“She? Who, Lulu? Who’s on their way?” This is big. One blaring thought shuts out all the others in my brain. Could it be her? Is Ahri on her way? I bite my lip. I look around at Janna, Poppy, Jinx, and finally Sarah.

“Ahri!” I say. “Ahri will know.”

“No,” Sarah says.

“Of course she will.” I push off her muted reply, trying to keep a smile of optimism for the others. “Can you call her, Sarah?”

“I can’t.” Sarah won’t look at me.

“Wait, why?”

“We’re not talking right now,” she says quietly.

“Sarah, I think this is more important than—”

“—The slumber party.” Sarah interrupts looking me straight in the eye. “That night. She was supposed to come. At the last minute, she said there was something she had to take care of. Something she wouldn’t let me help with. I thought she was just being…”

“Ahri,” I finish as she nods her head in confirmation. “You haven’t seen her since?”

Sarah shakes her head no, tightening her grip on the pair of pistols in her lap. Just before Sarah looks away, I see it—a flicker of panic. I can feel my heart thump harder in my chest.

A hundred more questions flood my brain. My stomach tightens.

What could make Sarah panic like this? Where did Ahri go? What’s coming?

Are we strong enough to face it?

Am I strong enough?

I want to ask her, but I can’t.

As a mage born to a poor Demacian family, Sylas of Dregbourne was perhaps doomed from the start. Despite their low social standing, his parents were firm believers in their country’s ideals. So, when they discovered their son was “afflicted” with magical abilities, they convinced him to turn himself in to the kingdom’s mageseekers.

Noting the boy’s curious ability to sense magic, they used Sylas to identify other mages living among the citizenry. For the first time in his life he felt he had a future, a life in service to his country, and he performed these duties faithfully. He was proud, but lonely—forbidden from associating with anyone but his handlers.

Through his work, Sylas began to notice that magic was far more prevalent than Demacia cared to admit. He could sense glimmers of hidden power even among the wealthy and prominent… some of whom were the most outspoken decriers of mages. But while the poor were punished for their afflictions, the elite seemed above the law, and this hypocrisy planted the first seeds of doubt in Sylas’ mind.

Those doubts finally bloomed in one deadly, fateful event, when Sylas and his handlers encountered a mage living in hiding in the countryside. After discovering it was only a young girl, Sylas took pity on her. When he tried to shield the child from the mageseekers, he accidentally brushed against her skin. The girl’s magic rushed through Sylas’s body—but rather than killing him, it shot forth from his hands in raw, uncontrolled bursts. It was a talent he did not know he possessed, and it resulted in the deaths of three people, including his mageseeker mentor.

Knowing he would be called a murderer, Sylas went on the run, and quickly gained notoriety as one of the most dangerous mages in Demacia. Indeed, when the mageseekers found him, they showed no mercy.

Though he was still just a youth, Sylas was sentenced to life imprisonment.

He languished in the darkest depths of the mageseeker compound, forced to wear heavy shackles of magic-dampening petricite. Robbed of his arcane sight, his heart turned as hard as the stone that bound him, and he dreamed of vengeance on all who had put him there.

After fifteen wretched years, a young volunteer from the Illuminators named Luxanna began to visit him. Even with his shackles, Sylas recognized her as a singularly powerful mage, and over time the two forged an unusual and secretive bond. In exchange for Sylas’ knowledge of the control of magic, Lux educated him about the world outside his cell, and brought him whatever books he desired.

Eventually, through careful manipulation, he convinced the girl to smuggle a forbidden tome into his cell—the original writings of the great sculptor Durand, detailing his work with petricite.

The work revealed the secrets of the stone to Sylas. It was the foundation of Demacia’s defenses against harmful sorcery, but he came to see that it did not suppress magic, but absorb it.

And if the power was held within the petricite, Sylas wondered, could he release it…?

All he needed was a source of magic. A source like Lux.

But she never visited Sylas again. Her family, the immensely powerful Crownguards, had learned of their contact, and were furious that Lux had broken the law to help this vile criminal. Without explanation, it was arranged for Sylas to be executed.

On the scaffold, Lux pleaded for her friend’s life, but her cries fell on deaf ears. As the headsman pushed past her to raise his sword, Sylas managed to touch Lux. As he had predicted, her power surged into the petricite shackles, ready for him to unleash—and with that stolen magic, Sylas blasted his way free, sparing only the terrified young Crownguard.

He left the mageseeker compound not as an outcast, but as a new, defiant symbol of the broken and persecuted in Demacia. While traveling the kingdom in secret, he amassed a following of exiled mages… However, perhaps he always knew that even their combined power would not be enough to succeed in toppling the throne.

Which is why, with a band of his closest followers and several hardy oxen, Sylas eventually journeyed over the northern mountains to the frozen tundra of the Freljord.

There he seeks new allies, and the great elemental magic of ancient legend, so that he might return to Demacia and demolish the oppressive system that has made him and his fellow mages suffer for so long.

Raised in the wharf alleys of Bilgewater, Malcolm Graves quickly learned how to fight and how to steal, skills that would serve him very well in all the years ahead. He could always find work hauling contraband up from the smugglers’ skiffs that came into the bay each night—with a tidy side-gig as hired muscle for various other unsavory local characters, as they went about their business in the port.

But the alleys were small-time, and he craved more excitement than they could offer. Still little more than a youth, Graves stole a blunderbuss and smuggled himself aboard a ship headed out of Bilgewater to the Shuriman mainland, where he stole, lied, and gambled his way from place to place along the coast.

Across the table of a high-stakes—and highly illegal—card game in Mudtown, Graves met a man who would change the course of his life, and his career: the trickster now known to many as Twisted Fate.

Each immediately saw in the other the same reckless passion for danger and adventure, and together they formed a most lucrative partnership. Between Graves’ raw brawn and Twisted Fate’s ability to talk his way out of (and occasionally back into) almost any situation, they were an unusually effective team from the outset. Their mutual sense of roguish honor grew into genuine trust, and together they stole from the rich, swindled the foolish, handpicked skilled crews for specific jobs, and sold out their rivals whenever they could.

Though at times Twisted Fate would blow all their shares and leave them with nothing to show for it, Graves knew that the thrill of some new escapade was always just around the corner…

On the southern borderlands of Valoran, they set two renowned noble houses of Noxus at each other’s throats as cover for the rescue of a kidnapped heir. That they pocketed the reward money, only to ransom the vile young man to the highest bidder, should really have come as no surprise to their original employer. In Piltover, they still hold the distinction of being the only thieves ever to crack the supposedly impenetrable Clockwork Vault. Not only did the pair empty the vault of all its treasures, they also tricked the guards into loading the loot onto their hijacked schooner, for a quick getaway through the Sun Gates.

In almost every case, only once they and their accomplices were safely over the horizon were their crimes even discovered—usually along with one of Twisted Fate’s trademark calling cards left where it would be easily found.

But, eventually, their luck ran out.

During a heist that rapidly turned from complex to completely botched, Graves was taken by the local enforcers, while Twisted Fate merely turned tail and abandoned him.

Thrown into the infamous prison known as the Locker, Graves endured years of torture and solitary confinement, during which time he nursed his bitter anger toward his old partner. A lesser man would surely have been broken by all this, but not Malcolm Graves. He was determined to have his revenge.

When he finally clawed his way to freedom, with the prison warden’s brand new shotgun slung over his shoulder, Graves began his long-overdue pursuit of Twisted Fate.

The search led him back home to Bilgewater, where he found that the wily old cardsharp had acquired a few new bounties on his head—and Graves would be only too happy to claim them. However, just as he got Twisted Fate in his sights, they were forced to put aside their differences in order to escape almost certain death in the ongoing conflict between the reaver king Gangplank and his rival ship captains.

Once again, Graves found himself escaping his hometown… only this time, he had his old friend in tow. While both of them might have liked to pick up their partnership where they left off all those years ago, such resentment couldn't simply be forgotten overnight, and it would be a while before Graves could bring himself to trust Twisted Fate again.

Still, he feels Bilgewater calling to him once more. Maybe this time around, the pair of them will find their stride and be able to pull off the ultimate heist…

Okay, I’ll admit slamming the door in their faces was a bit of an overreaction.

“Lulu.” I make the words come out calm and easy, but I can feel my palms go sweaty in the oven mitts I’m still wearing. Can’t forget about dinner. I keep my white-knuckle grip on the front door handle. Lulu stops her absent-minded twirl in the hallway, coming up to stand next to me. I take one more breath in and out before turning towards her. “Do you know why Ahri’s teammates are standing on the porch?”

“Yep,” she says, nodding her head. She draws herself up a little taller, “You said, ‘This is a man-da-tory Star Guardian council meeting.’”

Just my luck. I instinctively release the door handle, as I hear Lulu do an extra bubbly—but very stern—Lux impression enunciating each of those syllables.

I definitely said that.

To Jinx.

Who still isn’t here yet.

Lulu makes for the handle, the smile on her face positively beaming. “They’re Star Guardians, right?”

I nod dumbly.

“Super,” she says as she opens the door wide.

The three of them are still standing on the porch where I left them, although in decidedly different positions. Ez looks like he was mid-sentence trying to calm down a much more annoyed Sarah Fortune.

No, not ‘Sarah’, I remind myself. Sarah’s for friends. I learned that all too well from last summer’s outdoor adventure.

Miss Fortune’s usual smirk is now an angry grimace as she furiously texts something on her phone. Behind her, the quiet girl with mint green hair—Soraka—is carrying a bakery box from Pantheon’s Pastries. They look at me intently, probably wondering if I’m going to slam the door again. I can actually hear crickets in the bushes.

Lulu reaches out into the uncomfortable silence and takes Ezreal and Fortune by the wrists, pulling them inside. Fortune’s so surprised, she goes along with it, nearly dropping her phone. I can feel the pink climb up my cheeks as Ezreal flashes his trademark grin in my direction as he passes by. I wave meekly with one oven mitt.

Soraka leans in close and whispers “Cinnamon rolls” in my ear, like a spy password. She smiles, hands the heavy bakery box to me, and walks quickly to catch up with the others.

“Welcome,” I hear Lulu announce from the living room, “to our Star Guardian sleepover party!”

This is awkward.

I can hear the second hand of the clock in the kitchen tick off another minute that we’ve been uncomfortably quiet. Ezreal is wedged on the small couch between Fortune—still texting on her phone—and Soraka, who’s quietly watching Lulu while nibbling on a cinnamon roll. Janna and Poppy are sitting on the stiff dining chairs Lulu dragged in from the other room. Lulu is bent over the coffee table, folding a piece of paper into some complicated shape. I have no idea what she’s making, but her soft humming is the only other sound besides the clock.

And me, well, I’m pacing a well-worn path in the carpet.

The first to break the silence is Fortune. She stops texting, lets out a disgusted sigh, and finally puts her phone face down on her lap, the small pistol charms on the end jingling loudly. She looks around, taking in everything in the room from the faded pattern on the curtains to the beige-colored couch for the first time. Her disappointment is evident. As she sinks back into the cushion behind her, Ez leans forward.

“You all do this regularly?” he says. “Get together like this?”

Poppy and Janna stare at him. Poppy still doesn’t understand why Ez was chosen as a Guardian. I keep telling her the First Star chooses each of us for a reason. She crosses her arms and watches him, clearly still not convinced.

“Yes, doesn’t your team?” Janna asks. She’s calm, at least on the outside, but there’s a slight breeze circling the room even though the ceiling fan isn’t on. I can tell she’s just as on edge about them being here as I am.

“Ahri…” Ez starts and then looks at Fortune. Fortune rolls her eyes, her perfectly feathered bangs rippling as she shakes her head. “Well,” Ez continues. “Ahri prefers to be out and about where there are people. She’s not much of a homebody herself, and she figures most trouble wouldn’t be either.”

Great. They think we’re homebodies. Could this get any worse?

“Is that why she and Syndra didn’t come? They have something better to do?” Poppy asks, her foot tapping out an impatient rhythm against the foot of her chair. Janna stiffens at the mention of Syndra.

Soraka jumps in and tries to change the subject. “Your friend, the one with the long red pigtails—”

“The loud one,” Fortune interrupts. “The one with a rocket launcher.”

“Yes, the one with the glitter bombs,” Soraka finishes. “Is she coming tonight?”

“Jinx? She’s always fashionably late.” I look at my watch. ”She just loves to make an entrance.” The words are barely out of my mouth when the front door opens and slams loudly. I hear the familiar sound of a tote bag full of Shiro, Kuro, and a handful of fireworks hitting the ground in the hallway.

“Luxy-Poo! Windchimes! Shortstop!” Jinx calls out in a sing-song voice. “I’m home!”

Jinx saunters into the living room just as Lulu triumphantly finishes the last fold in her project. Jinx lowers her sunglasses to the end of her nose. It’s dark outside. It has been dark outside for more than an hour. “Looks like you got the party started without me.” Jinx smiles, obviously enjoying all eyes on her, until her gaze finds Ez stuffed in the middle of the couch.

“Oh, he’s here too,” she says, the enthusiasm sucked out of her like a fast-leaking balloon. She tugs on the bow in Lulu’s hair and focuses on what looks like an oversized paper pincher in the young Guardian’s hands. “Whatcha got there, Loops?”

Lulu takes her hands out of the folds of paper and hugs Jinx around the waist. “I need another number.”

I stop my pacing to take a better look at the star-shaped object Lulu’s made. It’s a paper fortune teller. I haven’t seen one since primary school. The numbers on the flap show how many times the fortune teller should open and close it, with the last number chosen revealing some kind of mysterious destiny. My fortunes always ended in doom. Maybe because I always played with Jinx.

“Four,” I say. Maybe Lulu’s paper project can be over quickly.

“Twelve,” Jinx says.

“Two hundred forty-six,” Fortune says. Her satisfied smirk is back.

“Two hundred and forty-six it is.” Lulu smiles at Fortune and grabs a pen off the coffee table, scribbling the number onto one of the flaps. Lulu sits down at Soraka’s feet, offering up the paper oracle, encouraging her to pick a number to start the game.

“Do you braid each other’s hair too?” Fortune asks watching Lulu and Soraka, her words dripping with sarcasm.

“No—” I begin.

“Sometimes,” Poppy says at the same time, rushing to defend the unaware Lulu. Janna nods enthusiastically.

Ugh. Can neither of them play it cool?

“What I mean is, no, not all the time. We don’t braid each other’s hair all the time,” I stammer. “I mean, we discuss team stuff. Important Star Guardian matters.” I cough. “You know, saving the universe.”

“And braid each other’s hair,” Poppy adds truthfully.

Fortune rolls her eyes and goes back to her phone.

“How about we skip the usual slumber party stuff and talk serious Star Guardian matters?” I offer.

“Bor-ing,” Jinx says. She eyes Lulu as she slowly opens and closes the paper fortune teller for Soraka. “How about we play a faster game with more consequences?” I hear the trigger click of Shiro and Kuro waking up.

Ezreal claps his hands and rubs them together excitedly. “Sounds dangerous, I’m in.”

“Great. Let’s start.” Jinx smiles, but then quickly turns on Ez. “Truth. Or. Dare. Is it true that you have romantic intentions towards our Luxanna?”

“Jinx!” I shout.

Ez opens his mouth like a beached fish, definitely not having prepared for this particular game.

“Truth,” Janna says loudly, diffusing the rising energy in the room as if blowing out a candle. All heads snap towards her.

“Ez has to answer,” Jinx says watching the color rise in Ez’s face.

“First person to volunteer goes first,” Poppy says. “That’s the rule.”

“Fine,” Jinx says, obviously dissatisfied. “Is it true that you are older than Poppy’s hammer?”

I watch Janna’s look from Jinx to Poppy. Jinx is thrilled to see Janna momentarily flustered, while Poppy absently touches the handle of the hammer where she’s set it against her chair. Janna’s gaze settles on Soraka for a moment and then moves on. “False.”

Poppy eyes her hammer with a newfound awe and respect.

“Really?” Jinx raises an eyebrow. “But, it’s true that Short Stack’s hammer has more personality, right?”

“You can’t ask her another question, Jinx.” Poppy points out. “It’s Janna’s turn to ask a question. That’s the rule. Janna, go on, who are you going to pick?”

“Soraka,” Janna says gently. “Truth or Dare?”

Soraka is halfway through a cinnamon roll, staring attentively at Lulu opening and closing the paper fortune teller while counting under her breath. Shisa sits on Soraka’s shoulder monitoring the whole operation with a focused frown, at once completely confused at what Lulu is doing, but intent on making sure it happens with the utmost efficiency. Without missing a number—and to Shisa’s satisfied approval—Lulu nudges her elbow into Soraka’s knee, letting her know she’s been tapped into the group game.

“Yes,” Soraka smiles, a bit absent-minded. “That’s me.”

“Truth or dare?” Poppy repeats, taking her self-appointed position of game referee very seriously.

“Uh, truth,” Soraka says.

Janna thinks for a minute. “What do you remember—”

“Well,” Soraka jumps in, excited to be included in the game. “Ezreal and I went to Pantheon’s earlier. I had a cinnamon roll. He had an iced coffee, no milk because his tummy doesn’t like dairy—”

Poppy clucks her tongue. “Janna, it has to be an ‘Is it true’ question.”

Soraka sits up straight on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her, and waits. Zephyr floats in from the dining room and curls up in Janna’s lap. Janna rests a hand on her companion, a slight breeze rustling its fur.

“Soraka.” Janna’s voice is low and calm, barely above a whisper. “Is it true you can remember a time when the First Light was whole?”

“Oh, yes.” Soraka nods with her whole body. “I mean, true.”

The room goes eerily silent. She looks around. All of us are staring at her. Jinx can’t remember what she had for lunch today. Even Poppy and Lulu can only say what it was like when they were called. I’ve asked Janna about the First Light and especially its guidance, but the memories, even for her, are murky and broken.

“Wait, you all can’t remember?” Soraka’s voice wavers a bit. “But—”

“You have to pick one person to ask a question, Soraka,” Poppy says cutting her off with the rules of the game. “And they have to pick truth, and—”

“We get it, Smalls,” Jinx jumps in, changing the subject before Janna or I can ask more questions about Soraka’s memories. I’ll have to find a quiet moment later to talk to her.

“My turn to pick. Okay, mmm…” Soraka bites her bottom lip and then turns in her seat to face Ezreal. “Ez. I pick Ez!”

“No fair. I wanted to pick Ez,” Jinx pouts.

Poppy shakes her head. “You already went.”

“Ladies, please. There’s enough adventure to go around.” Ez tucks both hands behind his head and settles back on the couch. Fortune pulls out one the small throw pillows from behind her, fluffs it, and slams it back into the sofa and Ezreal, conveniently knocking the literal wind out his gallant sails in the process. I stifle a giggle into one of the oven mitts I’m still wearing.

Ez blushes and tries to recover his normal breathing gracefully.

“Dare,” he chokes on the words. “I choose dare.”

“I… dare… you…” Soraka pauses between each word, watching Poppy to make sure she’s getting it right. Poppy nods. Ez waits expectantly. “I dare you to do that thing you do,” she says finally.

Ez shrugs, totally not following whatever Soraka is talking about.

“You know, that thing you do. With Yuuto,” Soraka continues, clapping excitedly for him. “And the portal thing.”

“Oh, yeah. Cool. I can totally do that.” Ez reaches into his backpack and taps on the bright blue of his Guardian emblem. “Hey, bud—wake up. It’s showtime.”

“Portals? Portals sound dangerous.” Poppy asks as a white-winged familiar pounces into the room. It leaps into the air, wings spread, its bright blue eyes the same color as Ezreal’s.

“Portals are dangerous. Very dangerous. But lucky for you, you’ve got me. And this isn’t quite a portal. Technically it’s a shortcut through another dimension.” Ez flashes a lopsided grin at Poppy and starts looking around the room, eyeing a black ceramic bookend and a small potted plant. “Alright, Soraka, do you think that bookend is good enough for a demonstration of a little arcane magic?”

Soraka shakes her head, wrinkling her nose. Between Yuuto’s chirping loops, I can hear Lulu deep in concentration.

“Two hundred and forty-four. Two hundred and forty-five,” she counts. “Two hundred and forty-six!” she announces triumphantly. “It’s done, Soraka.” Lulu waves the paper oracle around in her hand.

“The fortune maker!” Soraka lets out a giggle. “I almost forgot.”

“Fortune maker it is!” Ez says, “Yuuto, let’s go. Time for a true display of skill.”

Yuuto arcs in the air, turning towards Ez. It looks like Yuuto is going to crash right into Ez, but at the last minute, Ez and Yuuto combine, granting Ez a brilliant set of white feathered wings that fill the room. Less than a second later, Ez disappears through a wavering portal to reappear hovering over Lulu. He plucks the paper fortune maker out of her hands.

“Just going to borrow this for a second,” he says and then a moment later he blinks back to the sofa, leaning comfortably back against the couch cushions with no wings and a happily purring Yuuto. He unfolds the flap and reads the fortune aloud. “‘Opportunity can’t knock if you don’t build a door.’ Huh. I like it, Lulu.”

Poppy groans. “She copied that from our takeout cookies last night.”

“That’s not her fortune,” Lulu says. She gestures to the flap to the right. “It’s the next one.”

Ez unfolds the second flap and reads it to the group. “Only in darkness can the light shine brightly.”

“The First Star told me that,” Lulu says.

“The First Star talks to you?” Fortune cocks her head in disbelief. “Still?”

“Yes,” Lulu’s face is a serene smile. “Ezreal, when you open a portal like that, where did you say you go?”

“Uh-oh,” Ezreal whispers.

“What’s ‘uh-oh’, champ?” Jinx leans over Ez as he struggles to keep a grip on the folded paper.

“We may need to get rid of this.” Ez gives a weak smile. “Like right now.”

Before anyone can make good on that suggestion, the paper oracle rips itself out of Ez’s hands. It tumbles around the room like a possessed autumn leaf. A high-pitched whine begins to grow. It seems like it’s coming from the fortune teller itself.

The paper folds and unfolds a dozen times, finally dumping out a small but squat, black and green, glowing creature. Everyone is on their feet.

“Did you just bring an annoying, interdimensional hitchhiking demon into Lux’s living room using your not-a-portal portal power?” says Jinx, watching the unruly little monster jump from the arm of the sofa to the carpet.

“I might have,” Ez whispers. “Arcane magic doesn’t come with an instruction manual.”

“Cool,” Jinx says.

Ez looks at me, mouthing the word Sorry.

“This has only happened once before,” he says.

Fortune elbows Ez in the side.

“Okay,” Ez corrects himself, “This may have happened more than once. Possibly six or seven times, but it’s totally not a big deal.”

The little creature jumps on the coffee table. All I can see is Poppy’s hammer rear back and take a wide swing. There’s a crack of wood and the coffee table splinters. That is definitely not going back together ever again. The dark shape darts away unscathed.

Janna stands up, her arms lifting in the direction of the creature. A breeze starts to build, shifting the debris of the coffee table and fluttering the pages of one of the books that had been sitting on it just a moment ago.

“I got this, Janna.” Jinx is returning from the hall, Shiro and Kuro nipping at her heels.

“No,” Fortune says. I snap my head around to see one of Fortune’s shiny white pistols leveled at my face.

“Woah, Sarah. Not so fast. That’s a little close quarters, don’t you think?” Ez tries to step closer to her to push her guns off their mark. I feel my stomach drop as adrenaline coats my insides. This was her plan all along. My luck’s run out. She is going to end me.

“Fortune—”

The words barely leave my lips before I hear the pull of a trigger.

“Time to say goodbye,” she says. There’s a sharp pop like a balloon. My hands go up to my nose and eyes, quickly checking them out that they’re all intact and where they belong. A second later, there is no demon, and fine bits of paper start to rain down on everyone as the fortune teller explodes into confetti. It looks like it is snowing in my living room. Lulu is dancing in it, of course.

“Look, now it’s a party,” she exclaims. Shiro and Kuro tumble each other in the remains of the coffee table, while Shisa looks very disturbed at their delight in wanton destruction.

Unfortunately, my relief at being whole is short-lived. An angry, beeping alarm begins to wail as a smoky haze creeps throughout the house, originating from the kitchen.

“Smells like burning,” Jinx says.

Oh, no. Dinner.

The air is thicker in the kitchen. What was dinner for the team is now charred ruins stuck to a metal baking sheet. I cough and wave the oven mitts I’m still wearing, trying to move the smoke haze around. I open the window, letting the cool fall air in. The alarm finally shuts itself off.

My eyes are starting to water. I tell myself it’s from the smoke and the mess in the oven, but I’m pretty sure it’s from the mess of things going on in the living room.

“Everything’s ruined.” My voice is small and pathetic even to my own ears.

Then I hear a shuffle of footsteps on the tile floor. Janna or Ez must have braved the smoke to offer some comfort. I wipe my eyes quickly, surprised as I turn around.

It’s Fortune.

“Well that’s definitely not edible,” she says.

I nod my head in agreement. “Definitely not.”

Fortune’s phone vibrates with a text message. Ahri, I’m sure, telling her what all the cool kids are doing.

“This is probably not the way you wanted to spend your Friday night,” I offer.

I pick at the burned bits of what was dinner on the aluminum foil. “Sorry Lulu dragged you into all this. Dinner’s ruined. The party’s ruined. I totally understand if you want to go. We’ll figure things out by ourselves.”

Ugh. Too many words. Why can I not stop talking around her? I take a deep breath and try to start more clearly.

“Fortune—”

“Sarah,” she interrupts. “You can call me Sarah.”

“I thought Sarah was for friends,” I say.

Fortune’s phone vibrates again. Instead of looking at it, she puts it in her back pocket. “I came in here to apologize. You looked pretty freaked out back there.”

“Have you ever been on the other side of one of your pistols?”

“No, I guess not,” she chuckles. Her voice takes a serious turn. “You need to understand I would never hurt another Guardian. Not ever.”

I nod. There’s something more behind her declaration, a pain she hasn’t quite put away.

“I know Ez kinda made a mess of things, he does that sometimes, but would you mind if we stayed? Soraka would be fine if dinner was nothing but cinnamon rolls, but Ez ordered some pizzas to say sorry for the little portal mishap. But I totally get it if you want us to go—”

I hold up an oven mitt-clad hand. It’s Sarah who seems to have too many words now.

“Wait, you want to stay?”

Sarah opens her mouth, but is interrupted by an ecstatic Lulu skipping into the kitchen, a bouquet of pastel fabric and ribbons spilling out onto the floor around her. She shoves an armful of trimmed white flannel into both Sarah and my hands.

“These are for you,” she chirps before skipping back out of the kitchen.

“Lulu, dear,” I call after her. “What are these?”

Sarah holds hers up by its shoulders, inspecting Lulu’s handiwork.

“You’re right,” she says, smiling. “This is not how I usually spend my Friday nights, but I think this whole pajama party thing might actually be a little fun.”

“Really?”

“Well, yeah.” Her grin takes on a particularly mischievous bend. “And, I’ve always wanted to see what Ezreal looks like with braided hair.”

Abris’ stomach tightened into knots as he waited on the steps of a shining temple. Standing watch before the temple doors was a statue of the Protector. The setting sun silhouetted its face, casting a radiant aura around its bowed head. It was carved in white stone that sparkled with flecks of gold. Great wings framed its shoulders as it held two swords against its chest. The statue’s helmeted expression was blank, austere, more perfect than any human. Hundreds of candles covered the plinth at its feet.

Abris leaned his sword and shield against the base of the sculpture. They were as pristine and unmarred as the stone swords above him. He was told that the Protector blessed virtuous soldiers of Demacia, and felt a strange comfort at its presence.

An elderly woman cloaked in white exited the door of the temple.

“Please, do you have a moment?” Abris called out to her.

She made her way, slowly, over to him.

“The Illuminators always stop for those in need. Tell me, what do you seek here?” Her face crinkled as she spoke, but her eyes were kind.

“I… I leave for battle tomorrow,” said Abris. He opened and closed his fists, nervous. “My sword arm is strong, and I am proud to defend Demacia's honor. But I wonder—how can I claim to be any better than the barbarians invading our lands if I slaughter them just the same? What good are our white walls and resplendent banners, if below them we spill their blood as they would ours?”

“Ah,” the Illuminator said. “Yes. Killing is not to be taken lightly, even as a soldier. Let me tell you a story.” She gazed up at the statue. “Will you light a candle for her as I speak?”

Abris knelt and took a flame from one of the votive candles at the statue’s feet, using it to light another.

The Illuminator’s voice cracked with age as she began the story, and Abris was reminded of his late grandmother, who’d often told him myths and histories of their people. He never knew which stories were true and which she had conjured from her fanciful mind.

“Long ago, in a land now lost to time and crumbling decay, a cruel king led his people into poverty. During a time of great famine, the king gathered everyone from across the realm into his castle courtyard. There, he declared he would cast aside the old laws in order to end their time of scarcity, as was his right. He took their gilded lawbook and cast it to the floor, naming himself the law. Whatever rules or decrees he spoke would become law, no matter what.

“Under guise of protecting the people, he announced his first decree. Since there were too many mouths to feed, the king said, the elderly had no right to food. They were to be killed, and there was no other way.

“The starving citizens had no strength left to fight this injustice, and the king’s guard forced the elderly folk to line up for slaughter.

“The first in line was a man with silver hair who stumbled as he stepped forward. He pleaded with the king. ‘I am a baker! Let me make bread for you and the people,’ he cried. ‘Spare my life!’

“But the king responded, ‘Can you be young again? Can you knead muscle back into your broken and sorry limbs? No? Well then, there is no redemption for you.’ And he motioned to his executioner, who raised his blade, and the baker’s head rolled to the floor.

“How deplorable!” said Abris, interrupting the Illuminator. “Did no one resist the king’s new laws?”

The Illuminator smiled. “Thankfully, there was one who stood against this grave injustice.”

“Our immortal Protector had not been seen in this land for centuries. But perhaps extreme injustice sends ripples that echo far beyond the realms unknown. In any case, at this moment she appeared. The heavens opened with blinding light, as if the stars themselves had focused all their beams in one place. The Protector emerged, wondrous and terrifying in her majesty. She confronted the cruel king, who stood still as stone at her sight.

“‘No king stands above the statutes of the law.’ she declared. ‘Speak thy name and prepare for judgment!’

“‘I am not merely above the law, winged beast, I am the law.’ With a nod, he motioned for his guards to advance. They did so in unison, raising their spears to the sky as one. ‘Because of me, my people have purpose. My people know their place. And my people thank me for it.’

“‘The law is justice given form; it is true and fair judgment writ in ink. It cannot be undone,’ said the Protector.

“She drew her swords, which blazed with holy fire, filling the air with the scent of truth and punishment. Her wings unfolded, which fanned the flames with great strokes, and soon they too were aflame. It was a fearsome sight to see.

“‘You say you lead your people. Be now the first to be judged by my blades,’ the Protector said.

“The cruel king looked upon the Protector’s blazing swords, and her wings of fire. But most fearful of all was the burning in her eyes, gleaming and grave with uncompromising wrath. He felt like he was staring at the sun, beautiful and terrible in her glory, and the King wept in fear. He appealed to the Protector’s mercy and fell to his knees, pleading at her feet.

“‘I can change,’ the king begged. ‘I see now the error of my ways. I was selfish and corrupt and did not deserve my crown. Let me live and I shall follow the rule of law.’

“The Protector watched him with a steely gaze. When he had finished speaking, she drew breath. It is said that her voice in this moment echoed as if the very gods were speaking through her.

“‘Can you undo your deeds of injustice, King?’ asked the Protector. ‘Can you unspeak your lies and unmake your false laws against fair and righteous judgment? No? Then there will be no redemption for you.’

“In one quick motion, the Protector thrust her burning blade through the king’s heart, and he cried out as she impaled him on the gilded lawbook he had cast to the floor.

“The lawbook burst into flame which burned with the terrible heat of the heavens. This was a holy fire—one that would scorch the evil sinners from the land and cleanse the just, leaving them unscathed.

“The cruel king screamed as the Protector’s fire burned his guards and councilmen, his executioner and his servants. The fire did not stop as it spread throughout the land, fueled by the lies of the false king and his wicked followers. The survivors forever remembered this day of glory, for in the ashes of their society they were given a chance to rebuild in justice and honor.

“And, if the land ever returned to unlawful chaos, they were certain the Protector would descend from the heavens once more.”

The Illuminator smiled down at Abris.

“We must all act with virtue and honor,” she said, “from kings to bakers, servants to soldiers. For no one is above the law, and no one is above justice. The raiders who attack and invade our southern borders are lawless and malevolent. With every breath, as they march forward, they threaten the safety of our land. Your role as a shield for Demacia is a great honor, and a just endeavor. And the Protector looks kindly upon those with justice in their hearts.”

“Aye,” said Abris. He looked to his sword, unblemished by acts of war. He vowed that from his first strike to his last, each would be in the name of justice.

“If ever you feel uncertain, soldier, think on how the Protector would act. If you act with integrity and truth, as the Protector would, surely she will guide your blade. Even if you must wet it with blood.”

The Illuminator bowed and returned to her temple.

Abris watched as the candle he had lit flickered in the dark. He stood up to walk back to his camp for the night. As he turned to look toward the statue one last time, he thought he saw the shine of another flame, deep within the stone helmet of the Protector.