"Wake up, old man."
Deep below the earth, in a decaying prison as old as the relics above, an elderly mage stirred within his cell. The stone floor was cracked and uneven, the result of earthquakes and the magical warping of the land. Stalactites hung from the high roof, drops of cloudy dew hanging tediously off the tips. He could feel the insecurity of the foundation around him; the underground caves were ready to collapse at seemingly any moment. But something very powerful was holding it all together, willing it to stay perfectly intact and giving no permission for it to crumble.
The old iron gates rattled again. "I said wake up," the voice hissed. It spoke his language, but was far from human; it was thick and throaty, and ran shivers down his spine with every word. With tired, pained eyes, he gazed up his jailer in fear. The terrifying insectoid creature would be taller than him, were he standing, and covered in a thick, shiny purple exoskeleton. Large, leathery wings grew from its back; bright green eyes shone from its disgusting face. Impatient, it rattled the gates once more by punching the gates with its long, scythe-like arms.
"Our King commands your audience," it hissed once more.
The old man shivered, his thin rags providing little shelter from the biting cold of the prison. But still, an unadulterated, completely unconditional rage burned within him, fuelling his spirit with intent.
"I will never cooperate," he rasped. His anger was unfounded, completely irrational; and yet it fueled him. He felt in his heart that he was facing injustice.
Who was he? Why was he there? What was happening?
The monster hissed impatiently. "Have it your way then," it growled.
Throwing back its head, a high-pitched vibrating sound echoed from its throat. After a few seconds of this, there was utter silence; then, a sound grew louder from down the hallway leading to the cell. It was a clicking, soft and sharp, mixed with a symphony of sharp tapping noises. The insect monster threw open the iron gate just in time as a horde of small, strange creatures came reeling around the corner.
The monsters flooded into the cell, and the old man let out in involuntary, wheezing shout. They too were insectoid, and walked on four sharp, thick legs, balancing on needle-like points. They seemingly had no eyes, their fronts only distinguished from their backs by their large pincers. One particular creature, the largest of them all, snapped at the old man, scuttling between his legs. It then reached its pincers beneath him and lifted him with unnatural strength, summoning another shout from the old man.
The other insects scuttled around him and held him up with their pincers as the jailer clicked with laughter. He felt his body lift entirely from the ground as the horde scuttled underneath him and carried him towards the gate. He screamed as well as he could, his throat dry and cracked from his long term of imprisonment, but he could not squirm away from their grasp. He watched as the gate passed behind him and was dragged down the hallway.
It was a treacherous, tedious climb to the surface, and up every broken stairway the old man was sure he'd be dropped. But the little creatures never released him from their grip, held tight in their strong pincers. Despite their size and the power the old man himself held, he had no chance of escaping; he was far too weak physically, even without the magical barriers they'd placed upon him, and there were too many. Instead he watched the cavernous ceiling grow closer and closer until he finally saw dim light around the corner.
Looming before him was a giant iron door, larger and sturdier than the one guarding his personal cell. It seemed to be rippling in the air before him; the old man knew it was heavily fortified with magic. From behind them a sharp fluttering sound exploded and the insect-like jailer leapt over the mob of tiny creatures, its vibrating wings propelling it forward. It landed before the gate and pushed it open as if it weighed nothing, though the old man knew it was far heavier than it seemed. The very properties of physics seemed distorted in this place… and nothing was as it seemed. He was rushed out from the cavern by the mob and onto the land.
The air aboveground was hot, but fresh and clear. He almost choked as he breathed in; after however long he'd been imprisoned underground it was extremely difficult on his throat. The night sky loomed above them; he'd lost track of time in captivity. He tilted his head backwards and saw that the prison had been built into the side of a mountain; around him were giant, archaic walls, creating a courtyard. On either side of the gate to the prison were two more creatures, grotesque and large in their own rights, clutching foreign weapons that he could not identify. Then, raising his head, he gazed forward to where he was being taken.
Across from the prison gates was a short stairway leading into what seemed to be an old relic, twice as high as the courtyard walls. It was ornately designed, but crumbling and deteriorated – like everything else around here. Beyond the building the old man could see spires and towers reaching up towards the dark night sky amongst the strange mountainous scenery, twinkling with stars and overcome with a bright full moon, illuminating the land.
Icathia, the old man thought to himself. The lost city itself.
The mob of beasts scuttled him up the stairs and into the very dimly lit building. Small candles were alit in grates, only providing enough light to splash giant shadows of the creatures upon the walls. Deeper and deeper they went into the ruin, until at the very end it opened up into what looked like a much larger, better-lit room.
Indeed it was. The chamber was massive, completely circular with a high domed ceiling, painted with runes and murals of ancient stories. Larger grates hung on the walls, burning with a dark, sinister intent. The floor was all cracked and uneven marble, and the walls had large, spider web-like fissures in them, emphasized by the shadows from the grates. Arches to hallways leading to different areas of the relic palace loomed darkly.
At the far end was a large dais, decorated with the crumbled remains of what appeared to be a throne. Behind it, two large, torn curtains were drawn upon the wall, concealing something very fearsome. Even with his limited magic, he could sense something horrible was behind those curtains, but before he could take a closer look he was suddenly dropped in the center of the room.
The beasts scuttled away, and the fearsome jailer marched past him. The old man got to his knees and looked up at it in fear as it was analyzing the curtains, which had another two grotesque guards placed on either side. Something flickered in his mind; memories of a forest. Memories of a guardian, standing in the center of a stone path. Memories of war.
"Who are you?" he managed to whisper.
The creature looked down at him, his alien expression unreadable. "You remember me not, old man?" It analyzed him for a while before laughing softly and returning its gaze to the curtain. "Such a pity to see a great mind wasted. Change has not done you well."
Minutes passed in absolute silence, just two the guards, the jailer and the old man, all watching the curtain intently. As time passed, more and more memories flooded back to him. A tall tower… a dark room… magic, flowing through his veins like a river, filling him with absolute, total power. Control and strength; absolutely nothing like what he was now.
And then, as sudden as the memories were slow, a wave of empty, pure noise echoed through the room, so loud it knocked the old man over. He screamed as loudly as his condition permitted, hands clamped to his ears. The monsters were not affected. The note continued, low and strong, as the two guards beside the curtains pulled either one aside, filling the room with a mysterious light.
The old man looked up to see a large, round portal behind the curtain. Swirling purple and black masses moved within the space, splashing a sinister illumination throughout the chamber. The lights were mesmerizing, almost hypnotic; he could have stayed there for centuries, watching intently, until something poked through the portal.
It was a large, clawed foot, or so it looked. Next the leg poked through, a similar purple colour to the jailer, but much, much larger. Then it seemed to pull itself through easily, revealing an insect-like body covered equally in patches of sturdy exoskeleton and thin, membrane-like skin, showing every vessel and organ within. Lastly the head came through. It was almost as large as the entire torso, with dark patches of fur, or perhaps hair, growing from the cracks in the exoskeleton. A giant rune mask covered its face, obviously from their world as nothing from their dimension could be created such as that. In its giant clawed hand was a massive scepter, spiked and sharp, seemingly pulsating in its grip. At the tip was another rune, glowing a shadowy purple as it emerged from the portal. The monster was nothing the old man had ever seen, and he had an immediate instinct to vomit, though he couldn't drag his eyes away.
The rune on its face he clearly recognized as justice. The rune on his scepter was judgement.
The noise cut out once the creature, twice as large as either guard, was free from the mysterious void space. The curtains dropped behind him, covering the portal once more. It was nearly surreal, seeing such a being in this plane of existence; like a nightmare, or a terrible vision. Nearly too much to comprehend for the old man.
From behind the rune mask, the creature began to speak.
"So," the creature began. "We meet again."
Its voice was peculiarly human, but echoed as though it were the voice of a mountain. It confused the old man; nothing made very much sense. The magic in the room was a different kind than the one he could comprehend and once could control; the very laws of his world had all been broken by this monster's appearance.
It was clear the creature was waiting for a response.
"I am afraid I have never set eyes on you before," the old man spoke, his voice weak and his eyes wide.
The monster didn't move for a moment, seemingly sizing the old man up from behind the rune mask.
"Perhaps I've not been clear enough for your mortal mind to comprehend," the monstrous creature spoke. "My offer to you remains standing. But I warn you, the previous time you evaded me was your last. If you attempt to escape our forces again, we will not hesitate to eliminate you… and I suggest you don't test our honesty."
The old man's mouth hung open, his jaw wobbling like a fish's. "I – I'm sorry, but I have no knowledge of what you're speaking," he finally wheezed.
The room echoed with what sounded like a growl of sorts. "I have no time for your insolence," the monster snarled, its voice lowering and growing louder. As he spoke, the fires in the room seemed to dim, and the old man could swear he saw shadows moving on the wall, echoed from nowhere. Even the monster before him seemed to grow.
"May I interject, your majesty?"
The jailer stepped forward on its insectoid legs. The rune-embezzled monster turned its head towards the purple creature, removing the attention from the old man.
"The Chronokeeper is not known for his sanity," it spoke. "His perverted misuse of time magic has warped his mind. It's entirely possible he remembers nothing of us."
Chronokeeper. The word sparked a lit in his mind, like a candle in the darkness. Slowly the flame grew, illuminating the dark corners of his brain; he looked up at the creature, who turned its head to keep one eye on the prisoner, and suddenly it registered.
"Voidreaver," the old man whispered. "Kha'Zix… it's you."
Kha'Zix, the demented insectoid jailer, turned fully to the old man. "Perhaps Zilean's memory has finally returned to him," he said sarcastically. "Answer the Void King before we annihilate you, twisted mage."
And like a bolt of lightning, his mind was illuminated, brighter than the chamber, blinding him to the reality before him. He was Zilean, Chronokeeper and time mage, one of the many guardians of Runeterra… he had also been a Champion of the League of Legends, a protector of the continent of Valoran who fought for the peace of the land. He would represent city states in small, contained battles upon the Fields of Justice to determine what ideals and laws would be selected… Kha'Zix had been one too. He had been from the Void, a realm between the physical planes of existence… a terrible, warped place, or so he'd heard.
But try as he could, he did not know who the monster before him wearing the runes was. Kha'Zix had called him the Void King; the creatures who'd carried him from the prison and the guards of the portal must be from the Void as well. It all fit within his mind like pieces of a puzzle as he watched the situation around him… and a feeling of dread filled him. The portal behind the curtains was a portal to the Void, permanently opened. And the Void had invaded Runeterra.
A stone felt like it had dropped into his stomach. How much had he missed, flickering in and out of time periods, swept away by the uncontrollable passage of time? What had happened? Where was he?
"I still know not what you speak of," Zilean answered, looking up into the rune mask of the Void King. There was no doubt about it; the insectoid body and strange voice were all trademarks of the Voidborn. Zilean had only met very few, as he could count the number who'd managed to slip through the dimensional walls on one hand, but it shared the qualities most of them seemed to feature, though it was much, much larger.
The Void King returned its gaze to Kha'Zix. "You must have been mistaken, Kha'Zix. This old man is utterly useless to us."
"His power is undeniable," the Voidreaver insisted. "Perhaps his memory has been altered by our restraints."
Zilean looked at Kha'Zix again. The Voidborn looked even larger than it had been when they fought together in the League of Legends, but in the presence of the Void King even it looked small. If it was there, it must have joined the ranks of the Void King… a terrifying ally if the Void King's intent was dark.
He had to think, and think fast, if he was going to get out of there alive. The second the Void King and its allies believed he would not be of use to them he would surely be executed; this obviously wasn't the first time he'd been in their grips, either.
What he needed was time. Something his entire life had been centered around, but something he did not have the power to control.
"May I ask what has occurred since my memory last served me?" Zilean asked, his voice still hoarse. "I still remember my days in the Fields of Justice… but I am afraid I can recall nothing else. Perhaps I'd be more willing to accept this offer you have if I'm aware of the situation Valoran is in."
The Void King returned its gaze to the old man. Zilean pondered how the beastly entity could possibly see through the rune mask, but it was obvious that the Voidborn contained a power he couldn't comprehend. It was swimming all around him.
"Five sun cycles have passed," the Void King began, "since we Voidborn have infiltrated the thin portal from the Void to Runeterra. With the help from the Voidborn Champions of your so-called League, Valoran is now entirely in the hands of our forces."
Zilean wished he could be shocked, or terrified. But his mind was too advanced to not have seen this coming. What he was most frightened of was that five whole years had passed without his consciousness. Or perhaps time had been dragging him through the cycles, and he was merely near the beginning of the loop?
"We have yet to invade the eastern continents of North and South Zezanoba," the king continued. "But that will be unnecessary once we manage to drag the entirety of Runeterra into the Void, bringing us a step closer to our goal of intergalactic domination. Soon the universe will know the strength of the Voidborn… and of Nul'Golagria, the Void King," he added with a terrible snarl. Zilean thought he could see the rune mask upon its terrible face almost glow with mention of the name.
Zilean's mind was a complete blur. "And… the fates of Demacia… Noxus… Piltover?" he asked wearily, mentioning the capital city states of Valoran. However, he felt as though he already knew.
"All in ruin," the Void King snarled. "All government of Valoran has failed. The League of Legends, your pathetic mortal attempt at seeking justice, has fallen. The only state alive and well is Icathia, where you now reside… the capital of the Void's infiltration."
The Chronokeeper swallowed hard, his throat aching. He felt something tug at his stomach… fear? Or something greater? The knowledge of the fall of the League of Legends meant nothing good to him. If the League of Legends was destroyed, and the Summoners who controlled the Champions within the Fields were eradicated… Zilean would once more become a slave to the magic he'd spent so long trying to control. Even in his riddled state he could remember the anguish of being torn from time to time, walking through realities that no longer existed or would never exist. The Summoners of the League of Legends were the only thing that kept his mortal body grounded firmly in the presence, and with them gone…
"What do your kind want with a mortal such as me?" he asked weakly, looking away. He felt the ground beneath him; it seemed to ripple beneath his touch. Something was happening.
"We cannot hope to complete our mission of complete dominance without assistance," the Void King admitted. "Runeterra is a land firmly protected and grounded with magic… by far the most difficult realm to control we've experienced. There are certain… artefacts which we must locate in order to bring about complete assimilation of this land. And as very few have knowledge of where these artefacts are… you may be integral to our mission."
"I'm afraid I have no knowledge of any items that could be of use to you," the Chronokeeper said, holding his hands together. They seemed to pass through each other for a moment, as though he were a spectre, until they righted themselves before his eyes. He could feel the flow of time shifting around him… no doubt he would be victim to the forces of time within the next few minutes. It could be the exit he was longing for.
"Then you will help us in finding the Champions who may," the Void King suggested. "When we overthrew the Institute of War we only managed to capture five champions. The rest we assume are scattered across Valoran… one must know where to find the objects we seek. Thus far all have managed to evade our attempts at capturing them, but someone with powers such as yours could be of great use to us."
Zilean looked up at the Void King. All eyes were on him; Kha'Zix seemed suspicious. And he had every right to be.
"And if I refuse?" Zilean inquired, feeling a mysterious strength returning to him.
The Void King paused a moment. "Do not challenge us, Chronokeeper," it hissed. "You are perfectly expendable to us. If you refuse us, then you confirm yourself as an enemy of the Void, and we will not hesitate to have you executed."
Zilean shrugged, looking away. "Then I suppose you should have me executed. Never in my lifetime will I serve such a sinister purpose as yours; Runeterra is the most magical realm in the universe, and the likes of your kind could never hope to conquer it." Zilean locked his eyes on the rune mask; the mage's glowed a bright blue, streaming light across his face. "And as long as I live, never would I permit this world to succumb to the darkness of the Void."
The Void King looked almost shocked behind its mask. "Kha'Zix," it snapped. "Relieve this man of his duties. I believe his life has existed far beyond its due expiration already."
Kha'Zix lifted an insectoid leg and kicked Zilean over. The old man began laughing, rolling onto his back like a madman. The guards of the portal lifted their weapons, holding them at the ready, pointing to the Chronokeeper. Even Kha'Zix seemed frightened.
"I'll make this quick," the Voidreaver hissed. "For our history together, Chronokeeper."
Kha'Zix lifted his scythe-like arm above his head, preparing to sever the human's head from its shoulders. But as he locked eyes with the old time mage, he paused. The blue light had receded slightly, allowing him to look into the Chronokeeper's eyes.
"Goodbye, my friend," Zilean said quietly, a smile on his lips.
Enraged, the Voidreaver forced his arm down, bladed forearm ready to slice head from neck in one fell blow. But just moments before the edge made contact with Zilean's mortal skin, a mysterious golden light seemed to blind him; the last thing he saw of the Chronokeeper was the smile growing upon his old, wrinkled face.
And then he was gone. Kha'Zix's scythe arm collided with the marble floor, making a terrible clanking noise. In confusion and anger, the Voidreaver looked around the room, from the ground to the ceiling; when he could not find Zilean anywhere, he let out a cry of fury and anguish.
"Where did the old man go?!" the Void King shouted, his voice echoing around the chamber.
Kha'Zix turned in circles, alight with anger. "It seems time has favoured the old man once more," he hissed. "Zilean… has escaped, my King."
Heavy arms grabbed the Voidreaver's neck; choking, the Voidborn stumbled backwards, caught off guard. He was dragged around to face the Void King, restrained by the portal guards.
"I warned you last time," Nul'Golagria hissed, his voice quiet, but seething with anger. "I will not be made a fool of. If the Chronokeeper truly has escaped again, it will be your head that will replace his."
The Void King turned, moving a curtain aside to reveal the portal. He then looked over his shoulder, rune mask barely covering the shadows behind it. "Bring Kha'Zix back to the Void for punishment, and then alert the armies… Zilean will not escape again. Find the Chronokeeper."
Kha'Zix let out a screech of fear, anger and frustration as he was pushed and bullied by the guards, dragged towards the Void Portal behind the monarch of the Void.
