A/N: Long time no see.

I know it's been quite a while since I first posted anything on this site - four years, to be exact. In that time, quite a lot of things have happened in my life, and I've overall changed quite a bit compared to who I was when I began writing Liberation of Tamriel, a story I might end up reediting in time.

But you're not here to read about my exploits; you're here to read about this story.

This is set during and after the events of the Rise of the Ascended cinematic. I intend to closely follow the newly established lore, complete with the map and universe sections of the site. I might take some liberties here and there with some characters, but nothing too major. Mostly when it comes to consistency and explaining things regarding our champions and how they came to interact with one another within the setting. It will all make sense, I promise.

I intend to update this weekly; I already have the next chapter fully written, but I'm writing ahead just in case.

Chapter I: Resurrection

Blood dripped from the gaping wound upon her back, turning the golden sands beneath her into mud, yet still Sivir's gaze remained set upon the cross-shaped blade.

Even now, on her final, labored breaths, it called onto her, begging her to wield it once more.

A grim smile reached the mercenary's lips, now marred by a thin trail of red seeping from their corner. It was fitting, she supposed. She had murdered in cold blood in order to call the mesmerizing crossblade her own, and now, so too was she betrayed so that another would take it and use it for herself.

At the very least, said purpose was the betrayer's undoing. She could hear the Noxian woman's screams grow fainter, green ooze still dripping from the teeth of the serpent statue that had poisoned her. So much more had happened following that moment; events she could only truly attribute to fabrications of her dying, hallucinating mind... Yet, even so, Cassiopeia's torment was firmly ingrained in her memory as truth, giving Sivir much peace.

Now, all she could muster was the same want, the same longing for the blade laying discarded on the floor in front of her. She had struggled to walk towards it, yet her feet buckled beneath her long before she could take her second step. Instead, the daughter of the sands could merely crawl, her lungs burning from the blood pooling within them.

She stopped moving just a few feet away from the object of her covet, her hand stretched outwards as a last, defiant statement to the fate she had been dealt. As Sivir's vision grew blurry, the last vestiges of her thoughts could not help but notice the mesmerizing way in which her lifeblood poured upon the sands beneath her, tracing lines and circles oddly reminiscent of the old symbol that once adorned the Sun Disc.

Scorching, seething pain crawling through one's skin, akin to lightning dancing upon the clouds of a magic-infused sandstorm. Reborn from the jaws of oblivion and snatched back into the land of the living, the mind of Shurima's lost emperor could only sense the torment of his former death at first, as if only now coming to terms with the suddenness of his demise.

The ritual… have I failed? Was I not deemed worthy?

When he had all but forced the Sun Priests to commit to the Ascension Ritual, and bathe him in the power of Shurima's demigods, he had been consumed by hubris. Standing at the precipice of immortality, his empire stronger than under the rulership of any predecessor, he truly felt like a god. He remembered Xerath's awe at his words, at the promise that he and all other slaves of Shurima would be set free. The masterstroke of his decades of planning.

And then, nothingness. Had the Divines forsaken him? Of course they did. As his disembodied mind gazed at the broken, eroded ruins of Shurima's once great capital, the wise emperor saw his folly. His arrogance had been his undoing. What was to be given to him he strove to take, and for that he paid not only with his life, but with the life of his empire.

And yet, Azir's mind spawned more questions. For, if Shurima had truly been lost, why then did his mind come back, only to gaze the decaying ruins of his once proud home? Was he only brought back as a final insult? For the Divines to grant yet another punishment?

No… There is another here. Dying.

He could see her body, lying motionless on the floor. A once-fair skin, tanned under the strength of Shurima's sun. Black hair, kept away from her gaze by a golden circlet, upon which a blue gem rested. Her body wrapped in silks and leather armor, save for a still bleeding wound upon her back, from which rivers of blood had poured onto the sand below.

As he gazed upon her, he remembered his long-lost wife, Nephri. He could still see her gaze in the wounded woman's figure, one who once brought Azir reassurance when the tribulations of the empire became too great for him to suffer. He knew then, without a shadow of a doubt.

Resurrection… A long lost daughter.

He remembered the tales. A former failed predecessor of his, eons before his rule, had sought to live forever by tying his life to the blood of his descendents. Though he failed, his magic endured… and with it, so too did Azir's mind return from the dead, powered by the pain of one who bore his blood, however faint.

It was sickening.

Protesting against that which laid before the former emperor, his mind dug deep into the blood-soaked sands. Filled with the charge of magic laid to slumber long before his birth, Azir willed the grains to obey his will. First, his bones, then his muscles and skin, the ground shifted to reform his body, until eventually the figure of a tall, ebony-skinned man stood kneeling before the dying daughter of the Great Sai.

Even as the magic he had summoned garbed him in the royal clothings that he had elected for his Ascension, Azir paid no heed. He had little thought of empires or rulings; those were of an age long past, one that brought ruin to both himself and those he led. Now, the emperor was but a broken, disgusted man; deep down, beyond his hubris and his quest for power, he wished for but a safe and secure life for all of his subjects.

To see, then, the life of one of his descendents fading away for his own return from the grave… he would not let her perish. His arms still numb, the man nevertheless brought her in his embrace, raising her from the ground.

He could still remember the corridors he walked upon, now decayed and eroded by time. He remembered the halls in which he spoke philosophy with his teacher and mentor, Nasus. The arenas where Renekton taught him the path of war. The terraces at which he would meet with Xerath, his most trusted advisor and friend. And yet, despite these memories, one shone brighter than all else, fueled by the fleeting life he carried in his arms.

The Oasis of the Dawn. The navel of the Mother of Life. Though the halls through which its magic seeped now laid dry and untouched, Azir could smell its waters beckon to him, coaxing him into bringing the wounded woman closer; to the womb which once nourished the blooming deserts of Shurima.

With every step, the forgotten emperor sensed an awakening brewing beneath. The sands turned to mud, then to clear, crystal blue waters. As he reached the Oasis' center, he knelt, allowing the long-lost descendant of his line to float upon its surface. The nourishing, healing pond, brought back from its death much like Azir had been, seeped into the woman's broken body, mending flesh and returning her blood… until, moments later, her azure gaze steadily rose to meet his own.

He saved her. For the briefest of moments, that was all Azir could ponder upon, the weight of the moment wiping away all thoughts of his former arrogance, hubris and pain. And as his mind thanked the Divines for giving him the chance to save a mere stranger, his body was struck by a ray of light, its brilliance blinding him fully.

As Sivir was roused from her slumber, she could tell that something had changed. The pain that once spread from her back was gone now, as was the feeling of the coarse sands biting at her skin. Instead, she could feel her body float upon cool, gentle waters… and a strong, almost blinding light floating above her.

Bringing a hand to shield her eyes, she could faintly see the outlines of a man cloaked in a sphere of pure light, the build-up of energy so great she could feel her entire body pulsate with power merely from standing so close to the event. Her other hand clutched at her crossblade, something that had momentarily caused her to shift her gaze towards it; her last memory was of her desperately striving to regain her lost weapon... yet she did not remember grasping it.

Before she could make sense of what occured around her, however, the brilliance faded… revealing a sight that shook Sivir to the core. In front of her, where once a simple man stood, a great being gently lowered itself upon the ground. Garbed in royal purple silk and golden, gem-encrusted armor, and sporting the head, talons and feet of an eagle, an Ascended stood before her, his eyes glistening with the remains of the light that had almost rendered her sightless.

"My child. Do not fear me. For I am Azir, Shurima's lost emperor." As the man's voice boomed within the Oasis of the Dawn, the very stone around them shuddered and groaned. Risen from a slumber thousands of years in the making, the fabled capital of Shurima shifted, fallen columns returning to their rightful place and broken walls mending themselves together.

As the cacophony of rebirth echoed endlessly around her, Sivir would then see Azir's hand offered towards her. "Come. We have much to see… and even more to discuss."

A deep and uneasy silence lingered between the two strangers as Azir led the daughter of Shurima through the corridors. They could feel the land beneath them shake as the fabled Sun Disc rose from its slumber, magic coursing yet again through its once dried veins.

"What is your name, my child?", Azir spoke yet again, his hands clasped behind his back as he walked. Though his new size and shape would take a while to get used to, the emperor did not mind; he had other, much more pressing matters to attend.

Though slightly apprehensive, the weapon at her side gave her the strength to push through. "Sivir. A mercenary."

A pause. Though his figure was no longer that of a human, the brunette could still note the forgotten emperor's more slumped figure. "So it is true, then… Shurima is lost." As he noticed the woman's confused look, he elaborated. "I was brought back from the dead by a long-lost magic… one powered by the blood I sired. Your blood. You are a descendant of Shurima's emperors."

Confusion turned to shock as Sivir struggled to keep her hold on the crossblade. "A… descendant? I'm of royal blood? But how? Shurima fell millennia ago!"

"Millennia, you say… For me, it was but moments ago." The woman took pause at Azir's sudden bitterness, noting the way in which the emperor grasped at his talons a little tighter.

"I'm… sorry." The mercenary's gaze fell to the ground. She couldn't imagine the torment through which the being beside her went. The thought of being thrust into the future, alone and with no bearing on the present… it was simply incomprehensible.

However, she owed him her life. It was clear to her that the emperor's presence was the reason why she now walked the sands yet again, with no blood seeping from her back.

"What happened?" When her mercenaries were down-trodden with guilt, shame or despair, they made for poor soldiers. In order to prevent this, she had long learned the trade of being a good listener, and knew when one was in need of such skills.

"I know not. But I plan on learning." As he spoke, the two reached an exit from the bowels of the Sun Disc… causing Sivir to gasp.

When she had first caught sight of the ruins, they were buried deep beneath the sands of the Great Sai, to the point where it was difficult to tell whether the ruins were but mirages of the dunes. Now, in their place, a great citadel stood, walls of stone overlooking a great chasm of clear, clean waters. The walls were overlooked by many tall towers to the north, standing watch over the desert that spanned beyond the horizon, whilst great southern ravines allowed the life-giving liquid to seep from the chasm and into the surrounding desert, slowly returning life to the long-dried river beds of Shurima.

Framed thusly by these structures, connected to the walls via numerous bridges, was the Sun Disc itself. A massive half-circular plateau rose from the chasm, with a single gaping drain placed to the south, thus allowing for the Oasis of the Dawn to fuel the waters below. Upon this plateau was the city proper, a conglomerate of buildings of different shapes, sizes and conformations, all nested at the base of two great towers, their curved, inward-facing edges charged with powerful, potent magic.

For held afloat between these two structures was the namesake of Shurima's former capital. A gargantuan golden Disc, etched with the empire's symbol, the nexus of the long-lost power of the desert.

It was beneath this massive structure, at the place where the two curved towers met, that Azir and Sivir emerged. While the latter marveled at the wonder that laid hidden in sand but moments ago, the emperor's thoughts were far darker.

Kneeling at the Shuriman emblem nested within the center of the main plaza, the Ascended sighed. Placed right below the lowermost tip of the Disc, surrounded by numerous other, smaller circles, this was where the Ascension Ritual took place. He could still remember the Sun Priests gathered in those other circles, trembling with fear as they uttered their incantations, for he had forced them to do so under the pain of death.

Yet again, the hubris of Azir's reign struck another dagger into his heart. He remembered the look of sheer surprise on Xerath's face, mere moments before the ritual. He promised him he'd be set free… but his death mere moments later had likely unmade his promise. Had his 'brother' been doomed to return to slavery after? Did he even survive the fall? So many questions left unanswered.

Thus, he resolved to find them.

Drawing from deep within the Disc above him, Azir mustered the strength of Shurima's magic. The structure hummed with energy, causing great strands of sand to ruse from beyond the walls and gather above.

"Shurima! Your emperor has returned! Grant me sight of that which was lost! Show me your demise!" With his thunderous cry, the sands plummeted into the streets below, imbuing itself with the souls of those who attended the ceremony of his failed Ascension.

"What is this?", Sivir asked in awe, her hand passing through a wisp of sand that took the shape of an attending Sun Priest, her figure of fear and shock still captured by the shifting dust.

"My final moments.", Azir spoke simply, his eyes centered upon the image of his own self, kneeling in the circle that would come to judge his right to Ascend.

And then, an arc of lightning - or, at least, that was what the sands seemed to wish to convey - bounced forth from Xerath's fingertips, vaporizing both Azir and the Sun Priests instantly, leaving nothing behind but charred corpses; something eerily familiar to the corpses of his father, mother and brothers, all those years ago. With complete disregard to the resurrected emperor, the after-image of his once greatest friend moved forward, stepping into the circle to be gifted by the powers of Ascension instead.

With that, the image of Xerath shifted, his body dissolving under the immense powers that graced him, powers he was not meant to wield. The remaining Sun Priests quickly summoned their own magic, seeking to trap the man into a sarcophagus of stone and runes, yet this merely gave the betrayer a physical form. Unrelenting in his assault, the Ascended mage drew power from the Sun Disc to form a great spell, causing lightning to cackle and spread throughout the streets below… leaving the entire capital devoid of life. With his newfound power at his fingertips, Azir's murderer moved onward, to places unknown, leaving the Sun Disc's fate to be claimed by the sands.

The eagle-headed being fell to his knees, his eyes still set on the air that once harbored the image of the twisted, consumed monster that had replaced his friend. A brother he had stood side by side with, through hell and high water. A man who emboldened him to free the slaves of Shurima from their chains, one who taught him that all were equal under the sun of the Great Sai.

A man who, at their brightest hour, shrouded the entirety of Shurima in darkness.

"That… thing...", Sivir eventually spoke, piercing through his thoughts. "Because of the one who stabbed me, he escaped from a tomb. One opened by this." As she explained, she presented her crossblade to Azir's gaze, whose eyes seemed to snap from the nightmare that tormented his mind. "I don't know if it means anything to you, but… he's still out there."

As she spoke, the talons of the Ascended eagle grasped at the golden weapon, as if to coax it into his grasp. Though Sivir was at first unwilling to leave the weapon into his hands, a wave of calm washed over her; for once, she did not feel the nagging threat of her crossblade being taken away in the back of her mind. With it in Azir's hands, she would not need to fret.

"This weapon… the Chalicar. This was wielded by my ancestor in the final days of the Icathian War. An old weapon, even in my times. Though I know not of any tomb that it may open… This is news for me." As he spoke, he pondered upon the ramifications of this development. For Xerath to be locked away meant that he was eventually defeated, though at the hands of who he could not know.

There were other, more pressing matters to attend, however. Rising from the ground and granting the weapon back to its owner, much to her gratitude, the emperor returned his gaze to the streets ahead, still hosting the sand apparitions he had summoned. These were simple apparitions no longer, but instead the living remnants of those who attended the doomed ceremony. Their lives forfeit in a gathering of power that drained the Sun Disc dry, they were now forever tied to the capital's fate.

"Shurima! Hear my call! Your lives, our lives, were taken from us! We were robbed of a prosperous new era, one where all those within the Great Sai would be treated as equals! As brothers! Yet it was not to be. Because of the betrayal of the one I called brother, we have all been lost to time. Yet fate has not let this injustice come to pass! With my descendant's blood, we have risen again. Your emperor has returned! And with my dying breath if need be, Shurima will once again stretch to the horizon." With that, the Ascended walked into the streets, his hands outstretched at those around him. "You need not follow, but you must witness. With a single cripple or with a thousand soldiers, I will turn the Great Sai into a land of plenty for all those who wish to live under the light of the Sun Disc. Shurima's legacy will endure! So I ask you, not as servants, but as brothers. Will you join me?"

As he spoke, one of the wisps that had once been a woman of Shurima bowed her head in reverence. "My Emperor. You have always led us with a just hand. I shall not break faith with you, whether in my first life or the second." It was then that the forgotten emperor placed a hand upon her shoulder, causing strands of sand to imbue her further; where was once a peasant girl, now stood a warrior of dust, garbed in the armor and spear of a proud Shuriman soldier.

Once the first warrior joined him, many more followed. Azir walked the streets of the Sun Disc, taking the time to greet each of his subjects. No more were they but numbers in his mind. Each turn from specter to soldier was personal, almost intimate, further solidifying their belief in him. Made humble by his fate, he would not let hubris unmake him. He would rise again, stronger and wiser, and make Shurima the land he wished it to be so long ago: a land of the free.

And as his army grew stronger, Sivir could only look on in bewilderment, her hand gripping tightly at the Chalicar, as if to gain comfort from it. To say the least, she had not foreseen such a development when she first stepped into the Sun Disc's ruins.

She shuddered at the prospect of what was yet to come.