Disclaimer: All characters mentioned here are owned by Riot Games. No copyright infringement was intended in the making of this fanfiction.
Credits to Artsed of DeviantArt for the cover photo of this story.

Enjoy!

Prologue

"Oy! Get back here, you little runt!"

He made a run for it, as fast as his legs would allow. Blood rushed to his ears and pounded like thunder as he scouted the perimeter for an escape route. Everything felt surreal to him – the merchants, the stalls, the hardness of concrete against the thin soles of his boots. There it was again, that familiar sensation of flying across pavement – his mad dash in a desperate attempt to keep his head on his neck, to fill his pockets with a few gold coins.

A nice, dark corner. He needed to find a nice, dark corner to get rid of the guards at his ass.

He secured his tattered hood above his eyes and pumped his feet harder beneath him. He knocked down a few carts and kiosks along the way, leaving angry vendors at his wake. His muscles felt like they were on fire, but the impending voices of the foot soldiers and the sound of swords being unsheathed kept him darting street after street.

"—The bastard went here—!" He twisted his neck for a split-second to see one of the guards pointing to a direction which led northwest from where he was heading.

The things I do to fucking eat, he thought as he found an alley leading to the east side of the marketing district.

The boy slipped into darkness and barrel-rolled to the back of a garbage bin. He panted painfully as he clutched his chest. A blade. A fucking blade the size of a fucking kitchen knife and he almost got his head chopped off for it. He nearly laughed at the irony, but it didn't matter as long ashe was given what was due to him.

This piece of shit had better be worth at least twenty gold coins or a watch—

With shaking hands, he rummaged through his satchel to make sure that—

It wasn't there.

The knife wasn't there.

What the fu—

"Touché."

He instinctively drew a dagger from his belt, but halted as he felt the cold edge of a sword against the hollow of his neck. A playful giggled rang from above his head – a frilly, high-pitched kind of laughter which unmistakably sounded like it was from a—

The tip of the blade dug dipper into his skin.

"Cambrioleur," the voice accused.

"What?"

There it was again. That laugh. It was a girl. "It looks like you're not from around here," she whispered in his ear.

"Obviously, you are," he retorted, mentally slapping himself after recalling that he was at razor's edge.

"And…" the girl trailed off as he felt her breathing down his shoulder, her tone heavy with the sound of aristocracy. A hint of expensive perfume filled his nostrils. "…you smell différent."

"What?" he was becoming more annoyed than frightened despite the blade still hovering above his cold, sweaty skin. Damn, did this girl know how to keep a someone at bay. And damn, what language was she talking in?

"I said, you smell different." She sounded exasperated at his apparent lack of knowledge as she grabbed the back of his cloak and tugged him backwards into the rubbish bin behind them. The boy stumbled into a heap of crumpled parchments and, in a blur of motion, the girl landed in front of him, pointing her thin, silver rapier at his nose in a stance unrecognizable to him.

He looked up to see that she, who threatened to slit his neck, was no older than him – around eight or nine, with black hair cut off just below her shoulders and a pair of blue eyes. She was in a plump, yellow dress that was made from silk from neck to toe, adorned with laces and small gems at the hems – enough materials to feed a small family for a year or so if sold.

She smirked at the look of surprise on his face. "Take off your hood, thief."

"Now, why would I do that?" He returned her expression with a smirk of his own. He didn't even bother denying her allegation – he really was a thief. No point in denying the obvious.

"Because," –from her back, she took out a dagger which he immediately recognized— "I have something you want."

"Turns out I'm not the only one here who has a knack for stealing," he countered coolly, but his black eyes narrowed with greed at the glint of the small weapon in her hand.

The girl rolled her eyes, and for a brief moment, it reminded him of Valoran skies during summer time – something which he had only heard of before. "From what I understand, it's not considered stealing if I took back a family heirloom."

…which explains why it's so important that I nearly lost my head for it.

"But… I promise I'll return it to you if you do as I ask you."

"You wish, princess." The girl stabbed the tip of his nose, enough to make it bleed but not deep enough to hurt. That much. He cringed and withdrew his face from the point of her foil. "What the fuck was that for—?"

"I am a lady, not a princess. And I'm not used to repeating myself, thief."

He gritted his teeth in irritation. She would be the end of him. He was no stranger to the hierarchy of society, and from how she looked she was definitely someone of high stature. Surely there would be family guards searching for her now. And if they found her, they would find him.

If he wanted to live, he could – no, he should run now.

This was Demacia after all, a place where thieving was a crime punishable by either chopping off his hands or his head. Or both. And his being a Noxian would not aid his predicament – an outsider unknowingly smuggled in by a caravan from Piltover. Nothing, not even the gods, could save his skin here.

But he couldn't leave empty-handed either.

"Give me the dagger first."

"No." Her sword was as steady as the air that hung around them, her cerulean eyes unyielding.

"Fine."

He stood up from the rubbish on the pavement and pulled off his hood, letting his dark, unkempt hair frame his face. The girl scanned his features with a gaze so sharp it was as though she was trying to remember every crevice and fold on his skin.

"Are you done?" he asked her impatiently. "I'd like my dagger ba—"

"C'mon! The merchants said he went right through here—Couldn't have gotten far!"

The boy hissed a curse and turned to run towards the opposite direction, only to be met by a dead end. A wooden fence about thirty feet high stood in his way of freedom. He scrambled up in vain, attempting to climb its smooth surface before falling down, arms flailing at his side.

"Over here!"

He looked up from the cloud of dust as the girl kicked the rubbish bin away to reveal a sewer entrance. She sheathed her rapier and jerked her head towards the opening before disappearing into its depths. He stared for a good few seconds more and, as the guards rounded the corner, he followed suit, taking a dive into darkness.

His shoulders were begging for relief as the girl's shoes dug into his skin with her weight. The underground gutters were dirty, dank and smelled of dead rats, and he didn't mind at all, but damn, did she really have to wear heels? She was a child for fuck's sake. "Is it clear yet?"

"The guards have disappeared," she whispered down to him as she closed the bronze manhole embossed with the Demacian crest above her head. "Help me up, peasant."

With a push that left him exhausted, he lifted her up into the streets. She clambered up clumsily and turned to reach out her hand to hoist him up as well. As they straightened up, they were greeted by a street glittering with boutiques. The casual food stand or souvenir shop at every stall or so dotted the road here and there. There were buildings encrusted with gold and blue and passersby wearing ridiculously decorated attires and headdresses. His eyes widened. He had never seen such a place before. Not even in the better parts of Noxus.

A particular window caught his attention though – a store selling gems of all shapes and colors. He swallowed in an attempt to control himself. The temptation to just enter and grab something – anything – was so overwhelming it made his shake. A ruby would be enough to buy bread to last a month… A small sapphire would get him a new pair of boots. If only he could reach out and—

Is that… food?

His stomach grumbled at the sight of the bakery right beside the jewelry store. And the smell… it was so good it was intoxicating. The churning he felt slowly turned into pain. It had been over a day since that apple he stole and his knees were beginning to feel the weight of hunger. Something which he was very familiar with.

The girl followed his line of sight with a raised eyebrow. "Do you want something?"

"I'm fine." He felt dizzy and tried to steady himself.

She looked unconvinced, a look of half-pity, half-disgust in her eyes. Well, at least she had some sort of concern beneath that perfectly pink, posh face. "Don't move an inch, peasant."

The boy watched as she trotted into the bakery and emerged after what seemed like no more than a few moments. Upon her return, she tossed him a big loaf of bread so heavy it felt like a newborn child in his arms. He stared in disbelief at the lack of a polite response to something so unexpectedly generous.

Nobody, in his life, had ever shown him this sort of kindness before, and it shook him in more ways than one.

If she had known he was a Noxian would she still have done the same thing?

"Eat." The girl crossed her arms. "That's called bread. It's really soft and it's spelled B-R-E—"

"I know what it is—!" he blurted before biting his lip to stop himself. "I'm sorry—I mean, thank y—"

"Eat."

Without a second thought, the boy gobbled up half of the loaf after a good one minute and reluctantly deciding on finishing the remaining half for dinner later. He dropped it into his satchel as the girl watched with poorly-hidden repulsion at his eating etiquette. Or lack thereof.

The apparent emptiness of his pack reminded him of something though…

"I appreciate the food, but I'd still like the dagger back," he said to her.

"No," was the girl's firm reply as she dragged him by his cloak into an alleyway much more picturesque than the one in the marketplace. "I think I've already told you that his belongs to my family. And that I also don't like repeating myself."

"What's it for anyway?"

"It's a parrying dagger, you fool."

"A what?"

"A parrying dagger," the girl hissed the words in frustration. "To put it simply for your little peasant mind, my sword is for stabbing and this dagger is for blocking attacks."

The boy looked more baffled than he was curious. "Why do you need something to defend you with when you can just outrun them?"

At his words, she looked as though he had just said something so forbidden and revolting. She straightened up to her full height with pride. "Fencing is a battle for honor, you imbecile. It's an art! You can't just run away from a duel. You have to win! And if you don't, you have to accept your defeat gracefully. Not that I've ever been defeated in a duel before," she added smugly.

Honor.

He couldn't believe his ears. Here he was, fighting tooth and nail to survive day after day, stealing to eat, always on the run, nearly killing others to live, while others fight for honor. What did that word even mean? In Noxus it didn't matter whether a man was whetted in the backstreets or trained by the High Command. All that mattered there was strength. Here, it was honor. To give pride to your name, not to your abilities.

It was then that he realized why the Demacians were known as they were.

They didn't wage war against the Noxians to defeat them – they did so to let Valoran know that they were as resilient as what the hearsays told. They didn't pick fights at random street corners, because there was nothing to fight over. Instead they fought to give dignity, to instill fear to the names they carry…

This girl… she was just like any other Demacian.

Yet…she was so kind to him—

"Are you alright?" the girl's heavily-accented tone snapped him awake from his stupor.

"I'm fine," he said for the second time, pushing the train of thoughts out of his head.

The girl raised a thin eyebrow at him. "I hope I've made my point clear—"

"Lady Laurent!" a male voice boomed from across the street.

Soldiers.

The girl's blue eyes rounded, at to which he felt something flutter in his stomach. And he knew it wasn't hunger. Her eyes... they really did look like skies in summertime. How could a pair of irises the size of sickles remind him of something so vast?

"I have to go," she whispered to him, her face a mere inch from his. "Listen, there's a caravan in the marketplace, parked in the west road—"

"—Have you seen her?" The guard was drawing nearer. He had to run. Now.

"—It's headed back to Piltover by sunset. It's the safest way out of here." She twirled, her soiled yellow dress brushing the dusty pavement of the alley, and began running back into the main street.

She knew?

"W—Wait! How did you that I'm not—?" he blurted.

For a short moment, the girl turned around to face him. "I told you," she said as her lips flattened into a barely recognizable smile. "You smell different, peasant."

And she was gone.

TBC