Hello friends, follows and readers! Yes, the new rewrite is here and fresh off the editor. This is just a quick concept I wrote up. What do you all think? Please notify me of any mistakes or lore errors.


Prologue.

A large amount of dark dressed people stood in a field.

Sweeping through the assembled crowd, a butler made his way to the front of the procession. He held a rose and an unmarked card in one hand.

A coffin stood in front of the grave that had been dug and people were laying flowers at its feet. Reaching the coffin, the butler stepped to one side and spoke quietly to a man in an expensive suit.

The deceased's father. The mother stood next to him in a black floral dress, weeping silently.

As the butler talked, the man's face creased, then changed to one of anger. He took the rose and threw upon the floor. Taking the card, he said to it, "I promise to find you, and make you suffer for what you have done."


A man in a black suit stood in the crowd, blending in perfectly with the scene. A pair of heavily tinted glasses rested upon the bridge of his nose, hiding his eyes. Red eyes. Standing only a few feet away from a rage filled father, he allowed himself a small smile as he heard the words. Past the smile were two rows of sharpened teeth. And if one looked closely enough, one would notice the color of his skin: light gray. All the sadness averted the attention to the coffin, and no one noticed. Approaching the coffin, the man knelt down, and placed a single, perfect rose alongside a tiny calling card. Then the man straightened up and disappeared.

Life is harsh. Without a single hesitation, it can ruin one's future and, simultaneously, make another prosperous. Then it turns everything inside out and upside down.

A boy experienced these events first hand. With red irises and pale skin, his race, the Reds, was believed to be part of a demoniacal group: The Darkness. This was not true, even if campaigns for rights and independence were presented to the Minister of the city. The boy's parents were dead, long dead, from an independence march. A group of Reds had been on the street, peacefully walking together in protest for their rights. The boy was there, on his father's shoulders. "This is a peaceful protest," chanted many of them, holding signs like, "Peace march!" or "Peace for our rights".

Without warning, a group of local militia attacked. No one really knows why. The Reds were massacred in what came to be known as "Red Day". None were believed to have survived the attack, but one did. The boy. He was the only one with knowledge of the terror that reigned that day.

Reds weren't allowed anywhere, much less live anywhere. So, the remaining Reds took refuge in alleyways and homes of sympathizers for the pale skinned race. And here's where it starts.

Absentmindedly, a boy gutted a rat, careful not to accidentally cut his own fingers. He was thinking of the days his parents were still alive. All he could remember was his mother's flowing hair and his father's voice.

Stay alive son.

Voice echoing, it faded, and a single drop of moisture appeared.

The boy blinked back the sudden tear and returned his focus to the rat. Carefully splicing the meat off, he ate it, the rat's blood splattering down his chin. In the dark atmosphere of the alleyway, the red liquid went unnoticed. The boy cut off another piece and paused, glancing into the darkness. A pale hand reached out, shaking slightly, blood splattered across its fingertips. Unperturbed, the boy dropped the piece of meat into the outstretched hand. Another face loomed from the darkness; another boy.

"Ravenous as always, I see," said the first boy, as the other shoved the meat into his mouth. "I reckon it comes from all that time sleeping." The second boy snorted, "Shut up Viel. We're all hungry." Viel shrugged, calmly cutting another piece off the rat, "You're just hungrier than the rest of us, pinkie." "My name's Yal if you didn't catch it the last ten times I told you."

Yal's left eye had a slight discoloration. The normal dark red was a more of a neon pink, glowing slightly in the darkness.

Viel cut off two more pieces of the vermin and passed them to Yal. Cutting his own pieces, Viel sat in silence, quietly eating his 'meal'. Glancing over to Yal, he discovered that the other boy had already lay down on the floor, observing the sky. Yal broke the silence, "I wonder what's it like to be normal." Raising his eyebrows, Viel replied, "We are normal. People just think we're different." Taking the rat's now empty carcass, Viel tossed it aside, continuing, "Don't ever think we were ever different from normal people."

Yal gave Viel a side glance, "But we are different. Our eyes are different and we look, act, and speak differently." "I just said, don't ever think we were ever different," was the only reply Yal got. Yal huffed, returning his gaze to the sky, "I just wish we weren't so hated by others." Viel's skin seemed to glow a little with irritation. "Life isn't fair," Viel said, so softly Yal barely caught the words.

"Hush you two! Mali is trying to sleep!" A feminine voice whispered loudly close by. Both boys answered simultaneously, "Yes, ma'am."

Universally known as "the caretaker", the elderly woman was the oldest known person of the Red race. She had also devoted her entire life to caring for all of her kin, making her the only person who was able to help the Reds through sickness. Mali, her latest patient, breathed quietly. The poor girl had come down with a case of stomach flu. When she wasn't upchucking, she was sleeping it off, hoping her sickness would dissipate. But Yal and Viel knew better. Without an vaccine, the flu wouldn't stop and the girl would die in agony. All they could do was provide her all the peace and comfort that was available. Nearby conversations in the darkness hushed when the girl stirred, but resumed once the steady breathing was audible once more.

Yal whispered into the dark, "Viel?" "What?" Yal looked over to the edge of the alleyway, "When's the scouting party coming back?" Viel followed Yal's gaze to the edge, and indeed, the weekly scouting party had yet to return. Shrugging, Viel sat back against the wall, closing his eyes...

A loud whisper sounded throughout the alleyway, "Patrol!" The crowded passage was suddenly full of motion, frantic to get out of view. Viel grabbed Yal's shoulder, pointing soundlessly at Mali. They raced toward the half-asleep girl, carefully picking her up, then disappeared into the endless maze of the city.

Just as the last footstep and swish of clothing disappeared, four heavily armed men turned into the alley. One stooped and examined the dissected rat. "Damn," he growled, straightening up, "We just missed them. These demons are fast. Let's keep looking." As he signaled them to move out of the alley, a flash of fading daylight caught the symbol on his chest plate.

A single yellow circle stood out, surrounded by ornate markings. Soldiers of the Light. A group that only exists to exterminate other race: The Red Race.

The harsh voices faded and a single, pale head peeped out of a well placed hiding spot. Whispering into the darkness, he called, "All clear." And just as quick as they were gone, the group of Reds settled back into the darkness.

Viel and Yal carefully made their way back over to the Caretaker, who was sitting back down on the hard pavement. Setting Mali down, the pair stepped back hastily as the girl began to retched. The Caretaker rubbed her back soothingly, her stare clearly passing a message to the boys. Move along.

Yal breathed out slowly, "Man, when will they give up?" All he got was shrug from Viel.

Footsteps, scraping and the soft whispering sounded in the alleyway once again. Everyone looked over to see the commotion. The Scouts were back. A man, hood hiding his pale skin, spoke to the closest person in the alley before turning and walking down the street. His message jumped from person to person, and soon everyone knew the news.

The Reds weren't even allowed to live in the City of Piltover.

Scouts were Reds, disguised as 'regular' humans. All of the pale-skinned race had pitched in their valuables to help the Scouts survive in the harsh reality of life. Now, it seemed, the only place left to look was the infamous Shadow Isles. Either that or the dark alleys of cities, living in constant fear and alertness.

Viel twirled his knife expertly, the blade glowing in the darkness. He scowled, "Bloody Piltover. Their just afraid that the other countries will target them if we stay there." Yal didn't respond, but he silently agreed with his friend.

The alley was quiet after that.

Viel suddenly stood up, startling Yal. "Where are you going?" Yal called after Viel's retreating back. "Somewhere," was the fading answer. Yal sighed, relaxing against the dirty wall. It wasn't the first time Viel had been outside, so he should be fine.

Viel moved quietly, moving quickly at the same time. Just over seventeen years old, time had given him the experience to move as quietly as he did. Viel's definition of somewhere? The bar. Duh.

Vaulting a fence, Viel pulled up his father's hood, letting the cape settle behind his feet. Viel passed through a street. "Red Street". The one where Red Day happened. Every week, Viel paid his respects to his parents by simple passing through the street. It wasn't much, but it was the least he could do without getting seen.

It was the same old path. Left turn, box vault, wall jump to the ledge, slide down to the adjacent alley and make a right. Viel came sliding to a stop and the dirty wooden door of "Anyone's Bar" came into view. Literally anyone could be there and no one would care. The range extended from the common drunk to some of the most dangerous criminals. Wondering how they weren't caught? Well, the bar keeper would be behind bars unless he found a way to hide all the mean faced people that came to his place daily. So, even outcasts and rejects were allowed inside to be treated just as fairly as everyone else. Viel managed to stumble across it when he was scourging around for food. Holding a dead rat, he had scurried through the barely open door as an escape from the Soldiers of Light. Instead of shoving him back out, the bar tender thew Viel -almost literally- into the back room. The group of people already inside had almost been caught when a criminal near yelled, "What the bloody hell is that?!", while indicating the dead vermin in Viel's young hands. Viel lifted his eyes and the man realized just who -what- he was. The room grew silent as Viel's eyes glowed red in the darkness. "By the Gods," someone whispered, "a Red." No one moved until the bar keeper suddenly burst through the door half-shouting, "You all almost got yo'selves caught! Someone better explain all the commotion in here." In the same instant, he noticed the pale thirteen year old, clutching the rat close to his chest. The barkeeper face-palmed, stretching his cheeks downward. "All that, 'cause all of ya scared of a kid? That race isn't any different ya idiots. Get over it." Viel had looked on in wonder. Someone was actually standing up for his race! Was he for real?

One by one, the people slowly crept forward. The first one reached out and softly touched Viel's head. Scared, Viel recoiled and ducked his head. Laughing, the barkeeper said, "Ah, don't worry laddie, these folks are about as harmless as flies when they're in the bar. Come, the next round is on the house." And with that, the small crowd cheered and rushed past him to take the best seats.

That happened four years ago. Now seventeen, Viel entered the brightly lit room, carefully closing the door behind him. Lowering his hood, several voices went silent, but resumed once Viel had taken his seat on the high stools. "Just the usual, bar keep," Viel murmured tiredly. A glass of iced tea slide down the bar at the perfect speed, keeping its contents within the glass. Catching it, Viel raised it, saluting the bartender, and took a sip. No one really knows how to make it just like him, Viel thought. And it was true. No one else could make iced tea like the guy behind Anyone's Bar. "Your welcome, Viel", said the man as he noticed Viel's relaxing posture. Viel smiled, "Yeah, thanks Mitt." Both individuals fell into a comfortable silence.

Mitt immediately recognized the crestfallen expression and was the first to break the ice, "No dice on the scouting party eh?" Viel shook his head quietly, "We aren't allowed in any of the cities anymore," he murmured over his rapidly emptying glass. Shaking his head, Mitt thought, Not even over huh. Mitt knew he was one of the only ones that actually knew the truth about the Red race. That didn't faze him in the slightest, but he also knew the authorities would start questioning him and the location of the remaining members of the race would be eliminated. Looking over at Viel, who was silent, Mitt wondered how any race could be so discriminated against. It's almost like someone wants to make the entire race extinct. Mitt snorted derisively, The Reds are still humans, pale skin or not. Viel looked up from him position, slightly confused on his friend's unexpected noise. Mitt chuckled at the look on his face, but waved him back toward his drink. Viel eyed him for a moment, then shrugged as if to say, whatever. Smirking, Mitt plucked a glass of the counter and began to polish it. The door to his bar opened with the customary creaaak.

Everyone froze. Mitt's thoughts whirled, alarmed. The alarm didn't catch it? The worst part? He had no idea who the newcomer was. This is bad. The young woman (well, she looked young enough) turned toward him slowly, red eyes flashing and pale skin glowing beneath her dark hair. A Red? No, she was too skinny and she wore a high class outfit of the finest cloth. No Red would be able to purchase that kind of luxury. Long bangs whipped around her forehead to stare at Viel as he stood. Mitt could tell that Viel was afraid, but he was quivering slightly. Mitt wasn't sure if it was fear or excitement. Crouching slightly and facing the stranger, Viel said carefully, "Please close the door." An arched eyebrow appeared and a slight frown adorned her features as the woman closed the door silently. Usually, a drawn out wail would have been produced from the hinges. Mitt knew this well, he had owned the building for almost his entire lifetime. And yet, the woman had opened and closed the same door with absolutely no sound. Mitt's customers knew this as well. Half of them were standing, eyes narrowing, and the other half completely confused as to what was unfolding.

As soon as the lock engaged with the door frame, the woman stepped forward with authority and much of the room stepped back, alarmed at her posture. She raised both eyebrows at the reaction and took another step, but this time, it was clear she was aiming for Viel. Viel stayed still, but reached out, fingertips trembling. The woman cocked her head fractionally and started to come forward, but Viel suddenly stumbled back as she stepped within arms-distance. Coughing, Viel noticed everyone staring. "What?" he demanded, "Her perfume is really strong!" Mitt would have laughed under different circumstances, but the atmosphere was still extremely tense. As an awkward silence settled over Viel, Mitt decided to step in, "Listen, who are you, exactly, and what are you doing here?" He kept his voice level and controlled, not wanting to provoke the woman.

A voice flowed from her, elegant and exquisite. "That is none of your concern." Viel asked another question almost immediately after she was finished, "Are you a Red?" When the woman's gaze returned to him, Viel's face tinted a slight pink, but he forged on, "You know, like me." Silence settled once again, but it remained just as tense. The woman answered suddenly, "No, I am not part of the pale-skinned race." Viel fired another question just as quickly as the first, "Then why are you here?" The woman seemed to consider her answer and spoke slowly, "I am here to deliver a message." A voice sounded from the back, "For who?" A single hand rose from her side, a manicured fingernail gleaming, pointing toward Viel. "For him."

Viel, not knowing what to do, asked the obvious question, "What's the message?" The woman simply removed a small envelope from the depths of her jacket. As soon as the envelope was in Viel's hands, she briskly turned around and, once again, soundlessly opened the door behind her. Then she was gone.

The air was still, everyone stared at Viel like you know her? Mitt saw the look of apprehension on the pale boy and motioned for everyone to sit down, "Alright, alright, sit down everyone. We'll figure this out later." All eyes seemed to give a glare toward the Red boy, but obliged to Mitt's demands, talking in low murmurs. Mitt turned to Viel, "You might want to read that elsewhere." His tone of voice left no room for argument and Viel, still trembling, carefully pocketed the envelope and raised his hood. The door opened with its customary creak and Viel was gone.


Viel's mind raced. Just who...? He shook his head, concentrating on his route. Viel wasn't going to go back to his home alley just yet, he had an envelope to read. Finding an empty alleyway, Viel carefully opened the envelope and he finally noticed his shaking fingers. Viel shook his head, who was that stranger, and why did she have that kind of effect on me? Returning to the envelope, Viel unfolded the thick, formal paper. A single sentence was hand written in the exact middle of the page. Viel was confused. All that for a single sentence? Then he read the words.

Complete your dream.

Now that left Viel truly perplexed. Just what-

Oh.

Oh.

Viel's eyes fluttered closed as his memories entered the forefront of his mind.


And that's it. Sorry for the cliffhanger. But hey, I got a new computer and I can type to my heart's content. Shoutout to the fellow writer who helped design this new plot line. Thank you everyone, IJM.