A/N: Guess who. Alright before we get started this is a rewrite of my two largest projects Sparks and The Freljord Incident with the final installment following afterward. The parts I feel like I could have done better on I will be changing. Some chapters will be largely unchanged outside of some minor edits and structural smoothing. I expect more major edits later in both stories as things get more complex. My goal with this is two-fold. I want to bring more maturity to a pair of stories that are actually rather mature in their content anyways. I consider this a more final draft. Secondly I'd like more exposure so I can feel justified releasing a piece of writing that is taking place far within a developed head-canon; something tough to understand without first reading Sparks and the Freljord Incident.

This is almost a shameless tribute. Sparks and to a lesser extent the Freljord Incident are the pieces of work that made me into a confident writer and forced me to improve. Celene has a character isn't really a character to me anymore she's almost a signature. She is amusingly and secretly present in all of my fiction regardless of universe, time, setting and so on. I'm even doing the writing for an indie game company with my friend; guess who the bad guy is? Yeah; get excited for that but it's currently in the beginning phases. This project serves a number of purposes.

I'd like to revisit the less toxic parts of this community.

I'd like to extend my reach to new readers that won't dig through years of work and find sparks. Sparks still get roughly 200 reads a day but I still want to do it justice with a full revision and rerelease combined with its sequel and third part I'm currently working on.

I'd like to get in touch again with what makes Celene herself. Often time when writing an antagonist they end up being dehumanized. Celene's mixture of human and inhuman qualities is the core of her character and missing this would ruin her for me and everyone else.

I want to make sure I'm in practice writing emotional work for my jump with her over into her own canon.

The writing in Sparks is utterly garbage compared to how I write now, years later. I've known this for ages but going back and fixing it all was a tall task. You may not see much that's different in this chapter but stuff will change. I plan on reworking entire characters and plot arcs. Many characters will be streamlined and more true to the canon versions of themselves. some should be pretty simple fixes while other; like Vayne will require extensive restructuring, dialogue changes and so forth. Celene herself will see a huge amount of focusing adjustments, sometimes in Sparks And TFI she does and says things that make no sense given her age, experience, background and magical ability. The entire project is getting a more mature coat of paint and even though this chapter only contains a boatload of grammar, spelling and structure fixes it's largely the same.

Please not that unlike when I first released Sparks I had the story finished before I began posting, While that is Technically still the cause It will be posted after finished revisions instead of waiting to complete the entire the story. This means gaps in posts may occur as my life, my engineering degree, my girlfriend and my family kick my ass and eat my time like expensive chocolates.

If you're already a fan, I welcome you back. This time around I'm fixing everything about my work i didn't like or thought was stupid, out of character, shallow or just bad. The revision is a fair but more emotional.

If you're a new reader I hope you enjoy my work. If you REALLY enjoy it you can ruin it for yourself by reading Sparks on my profile, and then miss all of the massive amounts of changes that will be implemented in its rewrite.

Thank you.

A Temporary Respite
1:1

Because I could not stop for Death-

He kindly stopped for me-

The Carriage held but just Ourselves-

And Immortality.

We slowly drove-He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility-

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess-in the Ring-

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain-

We passed the Setting Sun-

Or rather-He passed us-

The Dews drew quivering and chill-

For only Gossamer, my Gown-

My Tippet-only Tulle-

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground-

The Roof was scarcely visible-

The Cornice-in the Ground-

Since then-'tis Centuries-and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses' Heads

Were toward Eternity-

-Emily Dickinson


The heavy oak door gave a long groan of protest as it was pushed ajar. A petite figure stood against crowded shapes and sounds of the Institute of War. A massive pillar lined room stared down at her, chill air seeping out of the archway that stood at least three times her height. The slim figure stared coolly back at the pillared room for a moment. Whispers escaped from the crowd clad in rope as the new comer advanced on the room. The doors closed with another loud protesting groan, sealing the intrigue of the crowd out and the silence in. The figure continued its advance across the room its goal in sight. A large staircase stood defiantly at the other end of the hall, above it a smaller and older looking wooden door with a shining strip of gold at eye level. No natural light entered the room. Its windowless walls were lined with torches, a magical blue flame silently dancing atop each one. The figure paused, reaching the top of the staircase. The golden plaque sat on the door a few inches above the figure's eyes, the words brightly shown in the flickering firelight.

"The Truest Enemy Lies Within" was neatly engraved on it. A pair of sky-blue eyes under short, ragged raven hair flicked along the engraved silver letters. A smile split her thin lips, and the figure returned the smile. Her hand came up, covering the engraved plaque as she pushed the door open. The door did not protest, swinging open and striking the wall with a thunk.

She stared through the doorway, her thin form immovable. The darkness glared back, a soft breeze shifting her worn brown traveling cloak as the thick air made a mad dash for the doorway and freedom. She stepped forward and the door swung shut behind her and the breeze was still. There was a pause; no sound but the intruder's heartbeat. Footsteps could be heard, echoing softly on the wall of the chamber.

"Why do you wish to join the League of Legends?" A woman's voice, soft but demanding, echoed through the black chamber.

There was a pause. The intruder stood silent, examining the question in the dark.

"A friend of mine is here." The intruder replied, her voice noticeably higher in pitch then her questioner. There was another pause. The Intruder felt the ground under her feet vanish, her weight suddenly supported by her waist and chest. Light flooded her eyes, she closed them to stem its flow. The sounds of a crowd, yelling in anger and despair could be heard. She opened one eye. She was in a valley, tall jagged mountains on either side of her covered in a blanket of lush green. The sun stared angrily at her from the end of the valley, casting long shadows across the earth. She turned her gaze down and buildings appeared. A small river flanking her left crossed by a wooden arc pitched. The bridge was new looking, painted white as the snow like the buildings to its right, made of stone with wooden roofs. A sharp pain snapped her back to attention, her eyes tracking a fist-sized rock clattering down the pile of wood she was atop. She remembered this, her eyes snapped to the people that surrounded her. Ionians- some sobbing, some frightened, most screaming and waving their fists in anger. She shifted her head away as another rock struck her cheek. She felt a crack, an iron taste flooding her mouth as pain shot through her jaw. She tried to move but couldn't, her arms tied at the wrists behind her back. A thick wooden beam pressed against her spine.

Her heart began to quicken as the realization of what was about to happen to her sunk in, her attention snapping back to the crowd as another rock struck her right breast. She recoiled, her binds keeping her still as pain shot up her front. She bit the inside of her lip, refusing to show any weakness as she glared at the person who had thrown the rock. She was a woman, about twenty with long black hair and a petite form, her face twisted in rage as she scooped up another rock and hurled it.

"Monster!" She shouted in Ionian, the rock meeting its mark yet again as the skin split on the bound woman's thigh.

"You took him away from me! He fought your black magic and you took him from me!" The Ionian girl advanced a step, her fingers curled, ready to claw anything in her way. The woman on the pole sighed loudly, looking at her feet. She felt horrible.

The crowd began to split. Her eyes followed the split and her gaze fell on an old man, wearing a white robe with long sleeves. He took slow, careful steps leaning on a thick wooden staff painted white, its top bent into a long elegant hook shape with a golden ring hanging from its curved tip. A box-like lantern hung from the ring, silver and shining in the evening sun like a beacon. He raised the staff weakly, planting the end stiffly in the soft foot-beaten dirt, releasing a small shock wave of dust before he took each step. Heads turned as he approached, the crowd parting to allow him to the head. He halted with a slight sway. His staff seemed to be all that was holding him upright. The angry yelling seemed to float away down the river, and there was silence for a moment.

The man's lip quivered. "What is your name, Demon," he spoke slowly, his voice strained and asthmatic, but soft as though speaking indoors.

She opened her mouth to speak, hacking out a few coughs. Her jaw didn't seem to want to move but she forced it.

"Fait-" she began.

"No!" The man shouted, his voice limping out like his walk.

"I asked for YOUR name, Demon." His lip quivered as he finished, more of his weight shifting forward onto his staff. Through the blood and the pain she felt a smile cross her lips.

"Celene," she half choked out. The man's expression didn't change, his old brown eyes looking into her pained blue ones.

His lower lip quivered and he spoke again, the tiredness in his voice audible. "Demon, do you name yourself, or was this name given to you by those cursed that bore you?" Her expression shifted slightly towards curious, her eyes shifting to the Ionian girl just a few feet from the man. She was glaring, as if trying to set the logs ablaze with her gaze. Celene scanned the crowd, their expressions were mirrored. A small sigh rose in her throat but she smothered it, her eyes settling on the village elder once again.

"It is a name I chose for myself." She paused, pushing the pain in her jaw into the abyss of her mind. "I was not born," she finished, feeling tired. The mortal body was at its limits. Pain, adrenaline and the feeling of death were taking its toll on her. Her whole body was throbbing. The blood on her skin no longer warm to the touch, the wind taking the heat away and replacing it with an almost soothing chill. The elder remained still, his face impassive. He shifted his weight back onto his feet, standing as straight as his back would allow. The action seems to pain him as his wrinkled lips pulled back in, revealing a few missing teeth. He held the staff out in front of him, towards the pyre. He looked back up at her, a hint of disgust leaking into his tired face.

He spoke. "You murdered the defender of our village. You are a monster that destroys and steals. You are past redemption. Welcome the fire, it will end your misery." The venom in his tone cutting the air like a knife, he stared at her for a moment, then lowered the staff. The lantern hit the logs with a metallic clunk, before tipping sideways, oil spilling out onto the wood and raging to life. The fire started to crackle and climb the pile of wood. There was a cheer as the elder turned his back to her and began to hobble away through the crowd. She let the sigh she had imprisoned in her throat free, not looking forward to the pain she know was coming. Not letting the panic take hold, she knew she would live. But she needed to figure out what to do. She scanned the crowd. After a moment her sky-blue eyes fell on the Ionian closest to the bridge, the girl who had thrown the rocks. Celene frowned. She was going to hurt her and there was nothing she could do about it. She wanted her to move but knew she wouldn't listen.

Her stomach turned over. The ground seemed to fall away from her. The pain was gone, and so was the heat; the taste of blood and smell of smoke. It was cold and silent as the night. Her stomach turning again, she looked down and saw nothing but black.


The first thing Celene heard were voices, soft but rising in volume and number. As the ground pressed itself against her feet a crowded market street melted into view. She was walking as swiftly as the crowd of people would allow. She strained her neck to see over the shoulder of a broad man who was inspecting some fish at a stand. Celene saw nothing but the maze of crowded streets working its way down towards the outer walls of the city. The city was circular and built around a large stone spire. Roads climbed their way up and around the spire, like vines climbing a tree trunk. At the top stood the wealthiest houses and government establishments, most of which proudly flew the Noxian flag. The rich or lucky had houses tucked into streets of the city below the great spire and naturally contributed to the Noxian rich market district in which Celene was now drowning. The poor, unlucky or weak all lived below ground in large slums. These slums has its own markets, schools, districts and as the spire is atop a cliff overlooking the open ocean open up to the sea, have their own ports. Because of its social structure and value of strength above all else, Noxus was often derogatorily called the two-faced city-state by its enemies.

Celene pulled the hood of her cloak up and stepped into the crowd. She was a nearly a head shorter then everyone around her but marched, uphill –cobbles under foot becoming less and less as she went higher and higher. The spire shaped upper city roads were steep but she hurried, today was a very important day for someone. A day Celene wanted very badly to ruin for her own gain –after all, it was the morally right thing to do. She told herself that over and over as she climbed, a shove her way here; a racial slur there. At one point the small Ionian was confronted by a large noble man. Thick jawed and strong with dirty brown hair as was common of Noxians.

"Don't you know we're at war? You rice picking piece of rat shit." He blocked her way. The Small Ionian woman groaned.

"Listen, I don't want trouble and I'm in a hurry." She said loudly, eyeing him past her hood. He stood two heads taller with shoulders twice the wide of hers.

He snorted and shoved her. Given the incline, the difference in stature and her flat footing she toppled backwards. Her arms slapped the ground, not allowing herself to hit her head as the cloak splayed around her and the man paused.

"I… I'm sorry, Miss. I didn't know you were in the employ of the general" He pounded his fist against his chest and hurriedly bowed as Celene got to her feet. Anger pulsed in her chest, mixing with the anxiety of possibly missing her deadline. She flicked her cloak back into place, covering the blade with this house seal on the scabbard that adorned her petite hip.

"Yes I am you halfwit, I don't have time for your presumptive, racist shit. You're lucky I need to be somewhere or id feed you your own cock." She spat, adding for flavor a bit of a lie "I defected to this nation because it was the strongest. I urge you to get the fuck out of my way." She paused, "Sir," added with no lack of spit. The man bowed again.

"Thank you. M'lady fo-"

"Fucking go!" She barked, the situation had garnered a fair bit of attention, guards, nobles, workers and the like were all watching intently. Her hand sat on the blade to force the point. He turned to his right and marched into the nearest shop. As the ring of the bell signaled his entry to the shop keep –whom was watching through the window Celene sighed, resting her arms at her sides and allowing the cloak to envelop her like before. A pair of sideways glances indicated everyone turned to go about their business, not to attract the wrath of the false noble.

She shifted the blade on her belt so it showed better and began walking. It was stolen of course, only adding to the limited window this once in a lifetime opportunity had. If it was reported missing to soon everything would be ruined. Her pace was quickening as the street began to level and she approached the line of mansions at the spires top. A gate stood in her way. A pair of guards with very expensive looking equipment eyed the racial oddity as she approached.

The moment one began to move Celene flicked her cloak so he could see the scabbard.

"Milady" he said somewhat confused but he began to open the gate regardless.

This happened twice more, once for the military district and again at her destination the mansion of General Du Couteau and his two daughters. Eleven year old Cassiopeia and nine year old Katarina. Celene bowed, as did the guard and butler.

"I'm Commander Kalmori of the Eastern Ionian front. I'm here to prepare the Prisoner under General Du Couteau." Celene introduced herself

The guard raised an eyebrow. "He didn't tell us Kalmori was an Ionian defect."

Celene thought for a second on how to respond. She decided the most Noxian course of action she could think of. Her hand shoot from her cloak and slapped sharply him across the cheek. "I don't Imagine the General tells is maids much about the war." She said.

The guard rubbed his cheek, making a note of the authority figures short temper. "The prisoner is was just escorted upstairs to Miss Katarina's bedchamber, Commander."

Celene froze.

FUCK.

"The General never told his maids you were coming." added politely.


The young redhead blinked at herself in the mirror. Katarina's room was much unlike her older sisters. In loo of books, makeups and perfumes Katarina had wooden swords, long and short. Her dresser was dented from her practicing swings against it when father wasn't around and when she couldn't go after the servant gutter boy her father liked. She scowled at the thought of him. She was upper class, educated and strong. He was weak, scooped up by father.

There was a knock at her door.

"Who is it?" she said. it was her ninth birthday and her voice had yet to take on the family depth she would have later. She sounded shrill -she was excited after all.

"Kat, It's You're father." the Booming voice made her smile. He was never home -always off in some far off land; conquering, building and fighting. Katarina smiled. She wanted to be like her father. She wanted to travel the world and conquer like him and when he came and asked what she wanted for her ninth birthday, that is what she told him.

The door knob turned and he entered but not alone. Next to him was a man, small from starvation; bound and gagged to the point of immobility but not blindfolded. Katarina noted the soft tint of his skin and slant to his eyes -scared, pleading eyes. "You said you wanted to be a warrior Katarina." Rather then kneel to eye level to her like he normally did he stood over her. She nodded.

"Show me the salute i taught you." he ordered. Katarina smiled, he was treating her like a soldier. She saluted, having practiced it in the mirror to perfection. He saluted back, to her delight. It was then that he knelt to eye level. His big hand landing on her shoulder. his other reached for his belt. her green eyes lit up.

The metallic pop of a dagger escaping a scabbard, her fathers dagger; the one had carried on him as long as she could remember flipped in his hand as he pinched the blade and held it out to her.

"What does it mean to be a Noxian?" he asked her.

"To be stronger then the rest." Katarina answered instantly.

"Good, textbook answer. Now here's something tougher. What does it mean to be Strong?" he asked more slowly. the dagger was held out to her, but she didnt reach for the hilt yet.

"To win?" she replied, unsure and feeling a little insecure. the muffled man in the background wriggling was making it hard to think.

"Everyone has their own answer to that question and that question defines all Noxians." he said pushing the dagger into her hand. "For me, being strong meanings doing things that you find hard." he released the blade and stood up. it was far to big for her. "Tomorrow you're going to begin training Katarina. But you need to show me you're ready." he said turning his back and making for the door. "Everything is hard the first time you do it."

The door closed, from the center of the room in her pretty white dress Katarina heard the lock click, leaving her alone with the bound man.

slowly she walked up to him, her hands shaking and reached for the gag, with a quick motion of the knife it fell from his mouth and he gasped.

he began to ramble, plead, swear as Katarina stood in place, slowly processing. Thinking about what her father said and why. she was really hearing him as she slowly adjusted her grip on the knife and began to advance.


From upstairs Celene head a man shriek in pain. She jumped slightly at the sound inside her cloak. She Swore out loud, earning odd looks from the guard and butler.

"Milady?" one of them asked. Celene wasn't listening.

As she opened the door to leave the ground fell away. She was floating in black. Silent, weightless black.

Her feet slammed into the grass bed of the deep woods. She was running. Her chest hot from butchering half of the Demacian encampment behind her. They would get in the way of what she was trying to do. She couldn't have them interfere; or see what was to happen. She'd failed the first time due to being just minutes to late. This time would be different.

Celene ran. Her chest burning, it was black as the void and any magic use to early would give her away and ruin everything -beyond what she had done at the camp behind her of course. Katarina was under the impression her mission to assassinate a low ranking officer came from higher command -this was a falsity. Celene had carefully intercepted and changed letters -moving the pieces into place. The Demacian General arriving to investigate the miscommunication was a bit of a stroke of luck, as it prompted the assassin to return and gave Celene the chance she needed. With half the camp dead by Celene's hand as they ran to assist the other half engaging the assassin; Celene was in the clear. But she could see the torches of the Noxian task-force coming to assist Katarina and had to reach her before they did. But the Noxian, now seventeen was fast.

Katarina grinned. Blood streaming down her face. She had killed her target, completed her original mission and redeemed her mistake -but she was wounded, fatigued from the fight and had all but her fathers dagger left and someone was chasing her. Her training had taught her better then to engage ill-equipped. Perhaps her pursuer was a Demacian warrior, likely at full strength -without her equipment and in the dark trying to fight with help so close was just foolish. But whoever he was he was hot on her tail. She could see the touches of her troops, help was coming. She just had to run, but she was tired.

A sound. Like the whipping of taught steel cable. Katarina's left foot was snagged and ripped from the ground. Her back smashed into the grassy earth as she was not knocked down but lifted and pulled backward with amazing force. The through the darkness and blood in her eyes she could just make out a figure.

Eyes glowing a faint blue under its hood, a cord; like a whip extending from its left hand shimmering azure. It orbited her once before throwing her backward, away from her troops and safety.

Katarina landed on her back, converted the force into a reverse roll and plant her feet in stance; ready for a the fight she didn't want. past her bloodstained eyes and the darkness all she could make out was the faint trail of light from the figures eyes, the cord was gone. her attacked watched her for a brief moment, still -then moved.

The young assassin had never seen something move so fast. it was some forty feet away and within a split second within striking distance with a blue flash. She ducked a blow aimed at her head, she couldn't see where from. A second hit her, but lightly; as if her attacker was not attempting to kill her. Katarina shouted at the top of her lungs and swing at the faint glowing eyes with her dagger; all she could see. The figure leaned backward, at least Katarina thought so. the figures arm came up, pinning her dagger wielding aim off to the side and and locking her elbow. Katarina inhaled, using the last of her stamina she could muster for a shunpo -something her father had taught her, the only magic she knew. A simple short range displacement spell for getting out of locks and evading targets.

with a puff of smoke she was behind her attacker, her arm free. with no light to go on she reversed her grip on the dagger and swung blindly downward at where she guessed the neck would be. A cord of blue light erupted from some limb she couldn't make out and to Katarina's amazement not only met the dagger but in a shower of sparks split the blade from the guard.

The blade less weapon struck her attacker. Katarina's arm was grabbed and twisted as her attacker flipped her over their shoulder onto her back.

From her back Katarina managed a solid, steel boot kick to the attackers midsection and scrambled to her feet.

"Did you see that!?" she heard a shout.

"Ya!, sparks! This way HYA!" the whinny of a horse.

Her attacker swore loudly in Ionian.

Katarina turned on her heel and ran towards the sound as fast as she could.

She could hear foot steps behind her. Katarina had to admit she was afraid as she ran for her life.

After some seconds of sprinting an exhausted, wounded and unarmed Katarina reached the torchlight brought by the galloping house-mounted Noxian.

"whoaa" the mounted man shouted, sword in one hand, torch in the other. Katarina nearly ran into the animal as it dug its hooves into the earth and slide to a halt.

"Milady!" he shouted. "What happe-"

Katarina grabbed at his leg and hauled herself onto the horse.

The man had paused, not in surprise. he could see something. At the edge of the torchlight, barely viable was the faint pair of glowing eyes.

Celene stared at Katarina, livid, frustrated. This was the second time she'd gotten away from her. She couldn't do what was needed with so many witnesses. The torchlight barely touched her, she could see both the Assassin and the rider squinting to make her out. Celene felt her eye twitch and pointed at Katarina. she then spin on her heel. They wouldn't find her. She strained her ears for speech as she speed walked into the forest.

"I think it was an Ionian assassin." she thought she heard Katarina say; huffing for breath.

Celene was no assassin but Katarina thinking such; and later reporting it just complicated things. The Ionian woman bite her lip angrily. She back tracked, rubbing the explosive heat in her chest. She had been so close...

Maybe a trinket will help, a memento.

she thought as she spotted the severed blade of Katarina's dagger. Kneeling down to pick it up she could see torches following her, slowly, searching. her blue eyes reflected in the expensive steel in her hand and she decided now was a good time to disappear.

All at once, the world seemed to fall away, she felt her weight rest on her feet. The thickness in the air returned as the heat in her chest drifted away. She was standing alone, in a stone chamber, too dark to see more than a few feet. Celene curled and uncurled her fingers, testing for another illusion. There was none, she was in control. There was a pause, only silence and dust in the air.

A woman's voice from the darkness echoed on the walls. "Why do you wish to join the League of Legends?" Celene paused, turning the question over in her mind again.

"To break the cycle. To have a temporary respite from my normality, to feel different than I normally feel," Celene said, the smile creeping back onto her lips. Her eyes fixed on the source of the voice she couldn't see in the dark.

"How does it feel having your mind exposed?"

Celene didn't even have to think about that question, the answer presented itself on her lips.

"I was there for all of what you showed me." Celene retorted. "I don't care to have strangers digging through my mind, it's dangerous in there."

"Welcome to the League of Legends, Celene." The voice responded stoically. A light appeared in front of her, a door had opened. Beyond it, she made out a hall with robed figures walking about. Some of the figures stopped and stared at her through the doors. Most of the faces were young, in their late teens or early twenties. The smile on her lips turned to a grin as she stepped through the door into the hall.


The crowd of summoners was growing slowly, whispering amongst themselves. Men, women, and even a yordle or two, from every city-state. They parted, as a man a head taller than them and two taller than her made his way to the front. The man was old, in his seventies at least, with a wispy white beard, and liver-spotted pale skin, his robes a soft gray as opposed to the purple and blue of the others. He stopped in front of Celene, looking down at her with a ponderous look across his face.

"Champion Celene, I am Elder Summoner Marten." He paused, drawing a breath. "I have been tasked with familiarizing you with our institute as well as the rules of conduct you must follow as part of the League of Legends." The crowd was shrinking, a few mutterings of her name could be heard on the still air. Marten's stoic face cracked and split into a wide, friendly smile, he knelt down so he was eye level with Celene. She felt a pang of annoyance as his eyes leveled with hers, making her feel like a child. She glanced at him sideways in irritation.

"Well, now that the formalities are out of the way," he beamed, putting her at ease. "Follow me, if you would, and please ask any questions you may have." She suppressed a small laugh, something about cheerful old men. He straightened up and turned, shooing away the remaining crowd with a few sweeps of his hand. He took a step- his walk was surprisingly fast for his age. She had to work beyond her comfortable pace to match him. Marten took notice and slowed his steps. She thought, examining the hall as they strode down it; the hall was large, with arches on the ceiling similar to those she had seen in some churches, supported by thick stone pillars and draped with flags. The walls were lined with wooden doors, some larger than others and more magical touches, filling the hall with a soft blue light. At the end was another large staircase. A row of tall double doors lined the top of the stairs. On all but one hung the flag of a city-state. Demacia's door lay in the middle. Her eyebrows climbed slightly higher on her head, pondering the politics that resulted from its placement. Celene looked up at the summoner next to her, but his hood made seeing his face impossible.

"Where exactly are we going?" The question seemed to ring in the hall as they reached the foot of the steps. Marten halted.

"Exactly..." He smiled, examining her again. "Well, first we are going to the dining hall, I'm hungry, and you need to see it anyway." He drew a breath. She felt her eyebrow raise very slightly.

"Then I will show you to your room, you are not aligned with a political power, yes?" Well, that explains what the flag hanging doors are for. She thought as she opened her mouth to answer.

"No, I am not."

He nodded slowly as he placed his foot on the first stair and began to carry himself up. She found herself slowing down for him now, his face stiffened.

"Well, after that, tomorrow you will be summoned for a test match, so we can make any accommodations you may need, then again for a practice match after that. The practice match is to teach you how a match on the Field of Justice works," he finished as they reached the top of the stairs. He pointed to an ajar door at least twice her height and wide enough for a small phalanx of soldiers to march through. From the doorway floated the smell of cooking meat and bread, as well as a plethora of spices. Celene felt her stomach growl and briefly considered punching herself in the gut to silence it. Marten hurried through the door, Celene in tow.

Celene's jaw nearly dropped as she scanned the room. It was large enough to fit hundreds of people. The far wall was lined with vendors giving out food from all around Runeterra, but it wasn't the scale that surprised her it was the room's contents. On the far right sat a large Minotaur, towering over the table in front of him, on which roughly forty pounds of food sat on platters. To the bull's right sat a woman, clad in a purple dress that reached the middle of her thighs and a tall purple hat. The two conversed, the bull gesturing with his hands as he spoke animatedly.

She panned her head around the room a second time, examining everything. To her right between her and the bull sat two men and a woman, all in Demacian battle armor. The largest man was facing her, eyeing her and the elder summoner suspiciously. He had short dirty-blond hair, thick straight eyebrows, and a square jaw. The other man had long hair in a ponytail and his shoulder pads were straight and rigid instead of the rounded ones that adorned his partner. The woman had her back to Celene. She was much more lightly armored and with shoulder-length yellow hair. She seemed to shine unnaturally in the torchlight. Probably a mage, Celene thought, continuing her scan of the hall. In the center of the hall was a large crystal sphere that hung from the ceiling, about nine feet across, giving off a dull magical glow. Underneath it sat a young woman in a seafoam dress with long flowing hair split into two ponytails that fell across her shoulders into shades of yellow. Celene recognized the woman as Sona, a talented musician she had seen in a theater a few years ago. A yell carried itself across the hall, causing a pause in the chatter.

"Hey, newbie!" The yell came from a shirtless man clad only in boots, greaves, a single shoulder pad, and a silver crown. To his left was a white-haired woman with her face buried in a book. Celene felt a pang of annoyance as the attention of the entire hall shifted to her and the elder summoner.

"I'll see you on the fields tomorrow, newbie, then you can see a real warrior." his words slurred slightly. He's likely drunk, she thought, as he sat laughing at his own joke. Her eyes ventured away from him to a white-haired woman sitting alone in the far right corner. She was dressed very similar to Celene. Aside from the few pieces of Noxian battle armor on her person, there was what resembled a large sword on the table in front of her next to her food, ragged at the end as if broken. The two women meet eyes. Celene noted the woman's eyes were a vivid amber, her face was ponderous as she turned back to her food. Celene's eyes followed the woman's gaze to her food, a prick of surprise as she realized the food she was eating was an Ionian dessert.

"Well, shall we?" Marten asked. He didn't wait for her to answer, hurrying off towards the vendor with the meat. Celene sighed and followed. Her course took her under the large sphere and past a table of ninjas, all of which eyed her curiously. Ignoring them, she gathered a plate of beef and some nuts. Moving to the next vendor, she stared at the sweets and gave in to her sweet tooth.

"This hall is surprisingly empty," she said, setting her plate down next to Marten, who was wolfing down his food already. He paused to swallow.

"It was built with expansion in mind. Only stable champions and experienced summoners may eat here, but it's still mostly empty." He speared a green bean with his fork.

"Stable champions?" she questioned, pausing and raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, some of our champions are imprisoned here because they're a danger to the villages and city-states of Runeterra."

"And you use them in your matches, just like those that come in and volunteer. Very utilitarian of you summoners," she almost teased, the tone geared at getting a reaction. Marten glanced at her and smiled.

"Might as well," he smirked, shoving the impaled bean into his mouth. The two ate in silence. Celene was content to watch the other champions come and go. Some, like the bull, returned to the vendors numerous times. Others like the amber-eyed woman left after their first plate. This woman intrigued Celene. She had a very intense gaze, but seemed to be extremely shy. The two traits didn't fit. What was the reason for this, Celene wondered. She watched her as she lifted her broken sword and left. The sword looked extremely heavy, but the woman carried it with ease. She seemed to lack a sheath for the odd weapon, understandably so, as she simply held it as she left the hall.

"Who is she?" Celene asked, her eyes turning to Marten.

"Who?"

"The champion that just left, the woman with the white hair and amber eyes." Celene turned her eyes back to the door, having cleaned her plate.

"Oh, that's Riven, the Exile. She's been here a while. Very complicated woman. She stood in the middle of the Noxian chemical attacks against Ionia. Probably the reason for her white hair at such a young age. Well, from her reflection afterwards, she was appalled at the bloodshed so she broke her sword and defected from Noxus," he finished. Celene nodded in comprehension. A smile spouted on her lips as she looked towards the door the exile had left from.

"A Noxian soldier with a heart. I'm guessing she's attempting prove something. Someone with her past probably wouldn't want to fight," Celene said, getting to feet, seeing Marten finish the last of his food.

"She doesn't want to, she's trying to reform the Noxian ideal," he said, getting to his feet. Celene raised an eyebrow.

"How, exactly?" They moved towards the exit.

"Ugh, my old mind hinders me, I don't fully remember. You could always ask her." Marten said. Celene nodded, happy with his answer.

I've been here an hour or so, and already so many interesting people. The thought put a smile on her face. This was exciting, and this wasn't the best part yet. She sped up her pace, Marten was beginning to outrun her. Celene passed the Demacian mage as she returned to her table. The mage was young, probably not out of her teens. She had brilliant blue eyes, unnaturally brilliant, likely linked to her magical field in some way. She wore a wide smile. The two exchanged looks. The mage opened her mouth to speak, revealing brilliant white teeth.

"Luxanna, we're leaving, we need to prepare for tomorrow," came a deep, overly noble voice from her table. The mage's smile faded slightly, her eyes flicking to the table, then back to Celene. The mage gave a tiny hurried bow, turned and half ran back to her table.

Ohhhh, Celene thought, her smile broadening as she turned over the event in her head.

Soooo many interesting people. She turned. Marten was waiting for her to catch up by the door. She didn't bother speeding her pace, as she would reach him before either of them fell over dead. Besides, he seemed excited to be showing her around anyway. Perhaps the Elder was procrastinating. As she reached him, Marten gave her a smile and turned to leave, signaling her to follow.

"Marten, is anything important happening tomorrow, besides my matches?" she asked. She was snooping, she knew, but snooping wasn't something that she was forbidden from doing morally. Marten gave a small chuckle.

"Probably not anything related to you," he said, teasing her, not giving her the information he knew she wanted. He sighed, his tone turning slightly more serious.

"Well, tomorrow, some of the Crownguard family are coming. They say it's to see how the League of Legends is representing Demacia." Celene cocked an eyebrow.

"But, the League of Legends is neutral, from what I've read about it. It doesn't represent Demacia," Celene pointed out, confused. Marten glanced at her, pushing the door to neutral champion living quarters open. He paused it, half open.

"We don't, but the Demacian champions do. The Crownguards' visit is likely to see how their kin have been performing. The reason could be worry disguised as business. They will likely want to see them perform when they arrive, which is a logistical nightmare for me." Marten groaned out of half dread.

"Heh," Celene said, putting two and two together. "I guess I know who my opponent is tomorrow," she stated, shifting her eyes to the pair of Demacian champions leaving the hall.

"Opponent?" Marten said, smiling. "I never said anything about an opponent."

"True, but you did say the league needed to gauge my abilities. How is that going to happen without someone to pit my abilities against?" Celene pointed out, watching the Demacian mage tail behind the soldier. Both noticed her eyes on them. The soldier straightened up, his eyes turning forward into a solid stare. The mage "Luxanna" put an even wider smile on. The two examined each other as she passed. Marten's voice tore Celene from the mage and back to the progressing verbal duel.

"You're a smart girl. I saw your reflection. When was the last time someone told you that you're smart?" He was smiling widely at her. Celene felt a pang of annoyance at the compliment, the seeming congratulations at the duel's victory seemed condescending. Despite her aggressive mood swings Celene was rather competent in her own personal skills and was exasperated the old man had misread her as an insecure child. She ignored it, as the man clearly meant no harm.

"You know Marten, I'm a lot older than you. Don't you think it's unfair to treat me like a child?" She jabbed at him jokingly. He laughed, gripping his stomach.

"I don't know about that, young lady, I'm pretty damn old," he jabbed back, stepping through the door. The hall behind was lined with doors, each with a plaque of silver. She glanced at the first to her right- "Jax, The Grandmaster at Arms".

"It doesn't matter which room you pick, so I would pick the closest one to the rest of the League you can." Marten stated.

"So, like that one?" Celene pointed to a door with a blank plaque.

"That's not the closest." Marten raised an eyebrow, pointing to the door next to Jax's room. Celene twisted the knob on the door she had pointed at, defiantly giving Marten a smirk as it opened.

"Whatever," he said, returning the smirk. "I need to take the plaque though, to get your name and title etched onto it."

"What's my title?" Celene asked, noting he had not said a single word about it, but all the champions seemed to have one.

"I haven't decided that yet," he said, his smirk now larger than Celene's.

Fuck, she thought. Maybe I should have let him win. She groaned in defeat as Marten removed the plaque from the door and tucked it under his arm. He began to leave.

"You can manage without me, the keys are on the table. Don't get lost looking around," he said with his back to her, waving with his free hand. She turned to the door next to hers. The plaque was blank. She panned her head to her other neighbor. Blank as well. She took a closer look. Thin scratches horizontally lined the plaque. Celene scanned the hallway. It was devoid of life. She reached up to the plaque and slid it out of place. It caught on the grain of the wood behind it. She wiggled it free and flipped it, examining the back. "Riven the Exile." She whistled a single note softly to herself. Intrigued, she decided to test Riven, flipping the plaque upside down then replacing it backwards on the door, the name once again hidden.

Celene pushed her own door open again, entering her new home. She pushed the door shut with her foot and scanned her space. It was large enough to comfortably house a few people. It was bare aside from a bed, a bookshelf which was empty, and an armoire. The room was lit by a small hextech orb hanging from the ceiling rather than the blue magical torches she had seen before. The room sported a small kitchen, and after some inspection, she found the sink had running water. Something only royalty had access to. There was a small bathroom again with running water and a closet. It was an interesting combination of royal treatment and compact.

"It's like a one room castle. " Celene muttered to herself with a small grin.

Celene decided the bed was worth trying out. The traveling to the institute had made her very tired. Maybe a nap, she thought, beginning to undo the buckles on her worn traveling outfit. Come to think of it, this was the only clothing she actually owned. The League provided champions with an allowance, however, so if she felt the need for more clothing, she could buy it.

The League's presence had caused a small town to spring up around it to support its trade and such. It started of just selling to the champions of the League and offering transportation. Over the nearly three years the League of Legends had been around, since its formation, the city had grown in size. It was still without a name, simply being referred to as the "Institute of War" in conversation.

The last of her clothing was shed and once on the bed she was asleep within moments.


The next day was one of chores. Celene found herself patrolling the shops below the institute in search of anything she thought she'd need. Everything was exceptionally expensive but that was hardly surprising. When she saw her allowance her jaw had dropped. The city-state tithes had built an economy around the Institute with goods of higher quality then many of the states themselves; though at triple the price. Truth be-told Celene wasn't all that attached to possessions. after some hours of exploring she'd settled on a bit of leather armor, nothing in any way obstructive, more of a corset and some feminine yet steel toed lace up boots that reached nearly to her knees.

A quick jog and she was already used to them. Deciding she wanted a drink she ducked into a fancy looking pub. "The Champions" it was called. an explosion of noise hit her the moment she walked through the door. there was cheering, booing -standard for a bar fight. The inn-keep; a large bearded man seemed completely apathetic however. Celene felt her attention snag. her short height made assessing the situation amid the swirling mass of drunkards impossible. she scowled in annoying and started to shove her way to the front.

in the process she was elbowed in the cheek but reaching the front of the ring she was greeted not with an all out brawl but a raised sparing stage. nets lined the sides to prevent injury and presumably interference. But that wasn't what had her attention. On one side of the ring was the drunken shirtless man that had yelled at her when she was walking with Marten. he was swearing drunkenly, posturing and swaggering around his half of the ten meter circle.

On the other half was the white haired woman with amber eyes, though they were shut tightly. Her face in a scowl as if suppressing rage at the mans words. Celene wasn't really listening, as he drunkenly rambled about Noxian genocide of the northerners. She knew what was happening.

It was at that moment the innkeeper piped up, his booming voice silencing the crowd and fighter. "Alrighty ladies and gents, the bets are tallied up, you know the rules. First knocked cold or out of the circle is the loser and so is everyone who wagered on them! Are you ready!?"

the jeers erupted again.

"Good, Fighters. 3, 2, 1!" the shirt man drunkenly charged, shoulder first and meet a prompt right handed hay-maker to the face. He landed on his back in the center of the ring with a cheer from the crowd. Celene grinned as Riven shook loose the hand she'd thrown the punch with. She had to try this -Knowing she was going to be tested later that day thanks to Marten a warm up may prove useful. The man staggered to his feet as Celene pushed back into the crowd toward the Innkeeper.

"What can i get you little lady, i haven't seen ya' roun' 'ear before." he greeted.

"I just joined the league yesterday. and if you have water id like that." She responded.

He gave a single laugh and batted his hand. "BAA YOU!? a Champion? Me' bar stoles are taller. ye' must be a mage." he grinned.

"We'll you'll find out later today I'm told. My Name is Celene." she took the glass of water he slide her across the counter.

"Aye, Celene. I'm Gragas, i run this here establishment and a number of other all over, i enjoy a stiff drink and enjoy a jolly brawl."

Celene was halfway through her water by the time he finished. "How does a bar stole like myself partake in one such jolly brawl, like over there?" She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb, time near perfect with the drunken man again being knocked to the ground again.

"That, young-lady is an arse' kickin'. Riven doesn' lose to drunkards often, champion or no."

"Im no drunkard, im a bar stole." Celene retorted back, finishing her water. Gragas grinned.

"You want a go at 'er do ye' lass? Riven doesn' like Ionians much. And we dont allow magic or weapons, only fists." he smacked his fists together.

A huge cheer erupted as the man was knocked out of the ring, into the net below. Riven stood over him, panting but looking very satisfied with silencing his tirade of racial slurs and family insults. She popped her knuckles and sat on one of the two stoles in the ring. there was a brief flurry in the crowd as gold was exchanged, guards pushing around to correct any foulness among the patrons.

"I'll give it a shot. You wanna bet on me?" Celene said. Gragas laughed loudly.

"Nay, not today lass." he handed her a sheet and pen. "Sign ye' name and pay the five copper fee, tis' for the health potions issued given to both parties after."

Celene took the pen and signed, her scrawl like that of an old woman, practiced and fine. handing the sheet to Gragas she good to her feet and exhaled. She was excited, and a bit nervous.

"Oi' Riven, you got anotha'." Gragas called as Celene marched up to the ring. She was handed a step ladder by a guard, climbed over the netting and into the circle. Riven remained seated. She looked as if Tryndamare had failed to hit her even one time. Her powerful eyes fixated on her less then five foot opponent.

"Hello" Celene said politely. Riven didn't say anything, simply staring as if trying to light Celene on fire with her glare. Celene popped her neck back and forth then went on. "I'm new to the League."

"Alright everyone, place ye' bets. Riven, the Exile versus Celene, The Bar Stole!" There was an explosion of laughter, Celene herself grinned. Riven's white eyebrow raised.

"The bar stole?" she said. her voice had an odd twinge to it, strong but soft spoken.

"I'm short as a bar stole." Celene replied.

Riven smirked "-Dumb as one too for coming up here." Riven gestured at her calmly with her hand.

"ohh." Celene playfully winced."I like the confidence."

"Alright ladies!" Get off ye' pretty asses and beat the shit outa eachotha'!" Gragas shouted. Riven got to her feet and kicked the small stole out of the ring. She assumed a stance. Celene remained flat-footed, her small hands raising to the small gold piece of jewelry that pinned her cloak. The Exile marched up to her, stopping within striking distance. Celene smiled up at her, unclasping the brooch and putting her left thumb under it.

"Alright! 3, 2", Riven's fists clenched, Celene felt herself flooded with a wave of adrenaline. She loved the sensation, her eyes dilating, feet parting into stance, hidden by her cloak.

"1!"

Riven's right hand swing upward towards Celene's face. the golden brooch popped out of place as Celene flicked it into Riven's face. Flinched flinched before she could complete the swing and stumbled backward, unsure what it was Celene did. There was a mix of jeers and boos. Celene resumed her soft stance as Riven regained her baring, the Ionians small hands wrapped around the normally pinned corners of her cloak. Riven growled in annoyance and lunged at her. Celene ducked the first swing, Riven followed right a left jab which Celene avoided by leaning her head backward. A stomach punch followed, Celene curled and that missed as well. Riven returned with a right handed elbow which Celene ducked, followed back a left handed upper cut -which brushed the side of the Ionians face as she moved backward. Riven paused for a split second before beginning a second combination, sizing her Ionian combatant up with another flurry. This time mostly jabs. Celene raised her forearms and elbows to meet each. Even with a favorable connection of the blow on her hand the strikes hurt -a show of just how hard Riven would be hitting her if she was. after a second Riven opened up with a missed right crossed. Celene rolled around it, her booted heel striking Riven on the back of the head in a reverse round house and knocking her to the floor.

There was a cheer. Riven shook her head and got to her feet. Celene assumed the same half stance as before, holding the corners of her cloak.

"You're pretty good," Riven complimented. "Very slippery."

"I'm told it's a bad trait for a seat to have." Riven smiled at her. This fight as different. Riven could see Celene was testing herself. Celene guessed Riven was doing the same. Not a fight to silence racism or injustice, just to see who was better.

This time Riven walked up to her more cautiously and started to throw a right hook, she faint and jabbed with her left striking Celene square in the face. Riven's right hand followed up but Celene whipped the cloak over her shoulder with her right hand and swiped it in a pass over the hooked punch and Riven's vision. slowing her around for Celene to lock her elbow around the right hook and pin Riven's elbow against her chest. Before Riven regained control Celene's right foot snapped up and struck her in the face. Celene let go of Riven's arm while she stumbled and stepped to the side, planting a side kick in her short ribs that knocked Riven to the ground a second time.

Riven snarled and pushed herself quickly back to her feet. this time keeping her distance for a moment. "That's a Noxian technique." she pointed out.

"I forgot which styles are from where, they mix together." Celene replied. "We still goin'?" the Ionian asked.

Riven smiled at her. "Of course."

"Alrighty" Celene strolled up to the Exile, holding her cloak.

Riven swung wide, fainting but her real left swing was met with a backwards step and the cloak swirling into her face. Riven reversed and Celene reversed as well. on the third pass Riven connected with Celene's fore arm and the Ionian slipped inside her guard. Riven would have none of that and headbutted her on the nose followed by and upper cut to the small womans chin. Celene barely recovered in time, to duck the following hay maker and knee Riven in the stomach. the Ionian hopped a pace backward and aimed to knock Riven over with a side kick -which Riven caught in her left hand. Celene was shocked as Riven with one hand; her off hand no less -pulled her by her foot and threw her as if she was a shock-put. Celene converted the momentum into a half cartwheel and tossed her cloak over Riven's face as the Exile charged after her, intent on pushing her off the stage. Riven ripped the cloak off her face just a second to soon for Celene's plan to work. the Ionian had got a running start into a flying kick, Riven leaned back and as Celene's midsection passed her Riven's elbow came crashing down on Celene's short ribs. before Celene could figure out what happened Riven's knee landed in the small of her back and she crashed to floor. Riven took a step forward and kicked her like a football in the stomach, sending her flying the remaining four feet over the side of the stage. She overshot the net and landed on table before rolling off the other side onto the floor. There was a Cheer.

Riven sighed, and hopped down after her. the guards were already next to the woman, force-feeding her a health potion. Riven stepped around the table and tossed Celene's cloak onto her lap. there was a pause. The Riven managed a small smile and extended a hand.

"You're tougher then you look."

"You're as tough as you look" Celene replied, allowing Riven to haul her onto her feet. "hey, lets get something to eat." The Ionian suggested after a pause. Riven looked at her stoically and decided to give the social encounter a try.

Riven looked at her feet, almost shyly. "Sure."

Celene smiled at her. She snapped her fingers then held her palm flat. A split second later the golden brooch fell into her palm from thin air. Riven blinked at her as Celene swirled the cloak over her shoulders and pinned it. "Wanna eat here or at the institute?"

"The institute is free." Riven replied, her mind pondering if Celene had actually fought entirely fair; perhaps some magic was at play she was unaware of.

"Alright, lets go eat." Celene said brightly.

A/N: Please be sure to Pm me with any questions. The current publication of Sparks exists now as a placeholder for the convenience of any readers that want to skip ahead and read whats written but un revised. It will be taken down after it's revision and upload is completed.

See you next uploads.