this hurt to write oh god. i apologise if i break any feels.
note: forgot to add this but the inspiration for the 'ta - aikah' parts comes from vOceanic. my apologies for not doing that before!
The delicate sound of water dripping off the leaves in the morning after a late night rain was something the archaeologist loved. No more the tiny boy who was excavating the undergrounds of Piltover; he was not yet a man, barely eighteen - not even, only just freshly seventeen. Naught but a parent to take care of him, only an uncle who was rarely there; Ezreal, the Grandmaster Explorer of Piltover was a free bird. And yet...
He was far from free.
The Institute of War had crumbled, war around the world had ceased. His adventures and teachings were taught in schools, his finds shared through all the city-states in order to showcase his talents. Hell, even his story was whispered like a fairy tale, as if he were nothing more than a tiny wisp of smoke, ready to vanish.
This did not make him happy.
Fame and glory were not what Ezreal wanted, rather; he wanted someone to come home to, something to keep him wanting to stay home for more than a few days at a time. Be it a woman, a man, even two people just to pose as the parents he never had; it would be better than having an empty, silent home with a cluttered desk to greet him. The thoughts that permeated the early morning post-rain made little beads of crystal slide down his lightly tanned cheeks, streaking through the red triangular war paint he wore out of habit.
Ezreal was a loner, through and through; but that did not mean he liked to be alone. Fingers rubbed away tears, the war paint smudging along his cheeks and giving an even odder look than normal. 'So this is what the phrase going alone means...' A bitter laugh came from him as Ezreal replayed memories of various people from the Institute.
'Sona was a sweetheart... I loved her, but couldn't ever say it, wow I'm so stupid now... Morgana was like some of the cookies she baked - hard on the edges, but soft on the inside... Lux... She was different than a Demacian general would really be. Or, well, the conventional male one. Ahri taught me much about her story, taught me much more than I thought. All the women were more eager to share knowledge than the men, but even some divulged information. The Void was an interesting story, thank you Kassadin...'
The small beads of crystals grew into thick, fat diamonds, dripping faster as sobs wracked the explorer's helpless body. He had been harmed through an expedition, stupidly assuming the latest temple excursion wasn't trapped with anything more than the usual. He hadn't expected an ajunta poison more potent than Teemo's to be his downfall. At least, on the Rift, Teemo couldn't permanently kill him.
Footsteps sounded around him - members of the League, one by one, appearing over the grassy hill. Arguing childishly like old times, Ezreal rubbed his eyes and sat up the best he could. This was no hallucination, no side effect of the ajunta.
This was reality.
"Ezreal, you look like shit." Well, Miss Fortune wasn't wrong; though her eyes did hold a strange tinge of concern.
Sona's fingers delicately stroked blond locks back, her healing instincts noting his cold sweating and pale skin.
"Well, you would too if you have a more potent version of Teemo's ajunta poison flowing through your veins." Ezreal had accepted death as a calm, natural part of life; tired sapphire eyes ignoring the concerned glances of his fellow Champions that had managed to not only find him, but dared to even come and see him during an excursion.
"No wonder you don't look so good... Hold on, Taric, Sona, and I can -" Ezreal weakly held up a hand, barely able to keep sitting.
"Don't try, Soraka. It's fine. I've accepted it. I made a stupid mistake on my excursion and I need to pay for it."
Soraka's golden eyes welled up with anguish - this was the first time a target of her healing had refused it. Taric, not one to understand mortal or human emotions, felt something akin to sorrow: while Ezreal would sometimes curse his stunning spells on the Rift, he knew that Ezreal didn't mind Taric's company.
Miss Fortune was at a loss - this kid was braver than most of the pirates of Bilgewater, doing things that no other kid his age should. Not to mention accepting death as inevitable, despite him losing his battle to even speak. Sona could not speak of her love for the explorer, could not tell him how her heart fluttered. Instead, she gripped his shirt, weeping in silence on his shoulder.
Kneeling, Miss Fortune picked up Ezreal's bag. With a painfully raised brow, Ezreal managed to inquire from her: "What are you doing with that?"
"It's got your shit in it so far from what you know, right? Maybe another explorer could pick up your legacy. But I'm not gonna let whatever bullshit knowledge you got left in here be wasted to rot in the wild, kiddo."
For the second time in her life, Sona seemed to manage a tiny bit of speech.
"Eh... Eh... Ehzriill..."
Archaic in pronunciation; but it seemed to shock some life back into those rapidly depleting eyes of ice that he possessed. Weakly, his fingers grasped for her's; trying to offer a little bit of comfort to the upset musician.
Finally, the Outlaw standing behind Miss Fortune spoke; voice gruff. "We're not gonna leave yer body out here, kid, if yer so adamant about dyin'." While Graves and Ezreal had never been much on speaking terms before; this offering was more than the young man could believe.
"... I'd rather you keep me here. Better than to let you guys carry a corpse, ehe." Laughing in the face of danger, in the face of death: Ezreal's silent, unspoken credo.
"Do you want to be alone?" Taric's question pierced into his soul - the Gem Knight was too observant.
"... No. I've... Been alone all my life. I didn't think I'd be scared of dying alone, either..."
Soraka could do naught but brush Ezreal's hair back and lay her staff down, closing her eyes. A silent prayer to the stars was mumbled; her golden eyes looking deep into Ezreal's sapphire blue.
"We will not leave you. Even now, in the early morning, the stars are calling for you, little explorer... They will take you, soon, I believe... And they will care for you where this world had failed; they will make sure you are never alone again."
The explorer's eyes welled up with tears, Sona shifting to cradle him in her lap as she selfishly wept. She was more than a mere healer; she was a woman who could never express her love for the man she loved most. Brushing his tears away kindly, the musician managed to abate her tears, to abate her own sorrow and put on a brave face for the man dying in her arms.
"Yer not just a kid, Ez'eal... Yer a soldier, through and through. Life's made a man outta ya before ya were even outta yer diapers and not cryin' for mama." Graves' strange choice of words fit, oddly enough. Miss Fortune, despite all her original misgivings about the carefree explorer; wouldn't let him die alone, pained and fearful. She sat, across from Soraka and Taric, holding the young man's bag on her arm.
"Bilgewater would'a welcomed you at any time, kiddo... It would'a made a fine home for you, as well as Piltover." Miss Fortune let her fingers delicately brush his feverish arm, the feeling of his tepid skin sinking deep into her memory - and it would never leave.
"So would Ionia, or Demacia. Even Noxus would have opened their hearts to you." Soraka's words were delicate. "But now, your home is to be free amongst the stars and heavens... I'm sorry it had to be this way, instead of any other... I only wish I could ease this pain, just a little..."
Sona's eyes welled with silent tears; but her mental strength of herself made them vanish again. Not now. Only later. Only later could she allow herself to cry out her sorrow.
The redheaded bounty hunter gave the outlaw a solemn look; the two knew, without the healers' intuitions, that Ezreal was just about to slip away. Their tiny band of people who had wanted to see the free spirited kid after the League had not expected this. Even Taric's heart, however he may not experience human emotions, was in turmoil.
A silver light appeared behind the trees, floating closer and closer until a figure erupted; kneeling to touch the blond's cheek. He was still, his only signs of life being the shallow breaths he took. The figure had taken a form, had sprouted wings previously burned and molted beyond repair - Morgana, after having destroyed her sister Kayle and her tyranny, had taken her place back into the Heavens.
"A lonely soul... As Soraka would say, the stars welcome you." Her voice was but a mere murmur; her presence there for mere moments. Shallow breathing slowed to nothing as the silvery soul of the explorer slid out, escaping to where he could truly be free of the earthly realm that was his cage - the stars, heavens, and moon.
"Ta - aikah... The wheel turneth." Soraka mumbled softly, tears slowly leaking down violet skin as Sona wept silently; Graves standing and turning to retain some composure of being a man despite not being close to the kid. Ezreal was more than anyone thought, and Graves could only berate himself for not getting to know the little guy.
Miss Fortune openly wept, but dare not utter a sound - she had gone up against Ezreal many a time before, and been the carry on his teams when he replaced the mage (dual types were funny, she'd mused). Taric felt no tears, but could only express his sorrow for the lost life the way his people could - by creating a gem in remembrance of the dead.
A sapphire, burning bright with an internal flame that would never go out: that's what Taric melded from the dirt and rotting leaves, the gem having the scent of the ocean breeze that only Ezreal would know of. Tucking it within the rapidly cooling hand of the dead child - and he was naught more but a child - Taric managed to scoop up Sona, managed to tear her from the man she loved while Graves and the rest of them began to rise.
With a desperate hand, Sona snatched up the gauntlet Ezreal always wore - it slid from his dead hand easily, revealing how much paler the one hand was than the other. Perhaps it realised its wearer was deceased, and thus let him go. Clutching it like a scared child, she could do not but silently weep against it within Taric's arms as they made their way back to civilisation, leaving Ezreal to the world he loved the most.
Ta - aikah - the wheel turneth.