Darius awoke with a jerk. He was lying in his bed, and no sooner had he opened his eyes than an incredible pain shot through his shoulder. Looking down, he saw his torso wrapped in bandages, the ones around his shoulder stained a brownish-red.

"Morning, brother" came a voice from the other side of the room. Darius looked over to see Draven sitting on a chair, idly twirling his moustache, an evil smirk playing around his lips.

"What happened?" Darius asked. He tried to sit up in his bed, but the pain was too great and his shoulder and arm too weak, so he was forced to lie where he was.

"You lost."

"What?"

"You lost. That Demacian prick put a sword through you, the troops broke, you lost." Now Draven's smile was open on his face.

"And what are you grinning about?" snapped Darius. Draven looked at the floor, gave a short chuckle and stood up. He walked over to the bedside and leaned over, meeting his brother's fierce gaze. He clapped a hand to his shoulder, and Darius felt a bolt of pain shoot through his entire body. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but made sure not to break eye contact. Draven's smile was gone.

"Ever since we were little, you were always the big one. The mighty Darius! The fiercest of them all. My bigger, better brother. We both kept each other alive when we were orphaned, but you were the one who got the credit and the fame. And now" Draven increased his grip on Darius' shoulder, forcing him to breathe heavily from his nose. "you got beat!"

"I'm glad you find this so funny, little brother" Darius retorted "but I would have bested both of them in a fair fight."

"Well, keep telling yourself that." said Draven, his smile now playing across his lips again. "But what's troubling Swain more is this shadow knight that fought with the Demacians. We've heard reports from all over Runeterra about this figure; he always seems to appear when troops are massively outnumbered, and always seems to be able to turn the tide of battle."

"So what does Swain want to do?"

"He doesn't want to do anything. This figure is a relatively unknown force to us. However, we've also had reports that there's some kind of archaeologist who has done extensive research into this, and Swain wants you to hunt him down."

Darius gave Draven a look.

"I can't until my shoulder heals." Darius considered for a moment. Then an idea came to him. As he thought about it more and more, it made more and more sense. "Send The Blade's Shadow. He'll find him."

Talon was perched on the top of one of the seemingly endless houses of Piltover, the streets below totally oblivious to the shadowy figure crouching on their rooftops. Talon looked out over the sprawling city; it was all constructed around the central university that stood as a huge white shard stabbed into the top of the mountain of Piltover. Off away to the west was the coast of Valoran, and Talon's honed eyesight could make out the white ships of the merchant fleet, preparing for their journeys to places all across Runeterra. The terraced houses and many houses of study were punctuated with the industrial funnels of factories and the huge structures of the workhouses where the skilled workers of Piltover crafted their machines.

But Talon had not travelled the width of Valoran to observe the Piltovian architecture. He had been asked to go on a special mission by that meat-headed axe spinner; normally Talon would have told him to go to hell and learn to fight properly, but this one was different. Not only did Draven have the wishes of Jericho Swain and his older brother Darius behind him, but Talon was intrigued. This figure who had helped the Demacians could finally be a worthy adversary for Talon, and the archaeologist could also have some tales of interest. For once, Talon did not wish to kill this target, and was thankful that he had not been asked to; he had never been one for academia, but maybe this explorer could have items or articles of bladelore that Talon could use to further improve his skills.

Talon rotated on the balls of his feet, so that he was perched parallel to the rooftops. He breathed in, centering himself, and then dashed away, his feet barely making a sound as he ran. Not even the people in the rooms below would be aware of him. He came to a gap in the roofs and leapt gracefully across it, barely breaking his stride. He had learned the streets of Piltover long before this mission; he had only to locate which house the archaeologist lived in, commit it to memory, and then do what he had been doing all his life.

He slowed, noticing the house he needed. He dropped, hanging off the edge of roof, his body level with the top floor window. He let go with one hand, retrieving a small knife from his belt. Talon pressed the stiletto tip to the window and drew it around in a wide circle, cutting a hole out just large enough for him to fit through. With a flick of his knife he jerked the circle out, catching it before it dropped to the ground, resting it on the top of his knife in the palm of his hand. He reached up and lay the glass in the gutter, making sure that it would not slip and betray his position. Gripping the gutter again with both hands, Talon placed both his feet either side of the hole he had created. He pushed off the window, swinging himself back in and slipping through the open hole and into the room within.

Talon looked around. He had managed to slip into the archaeologist's bedroom, and saw him now lying fast asleep in his bed. Talon walked over to him, his footsteps making no noise at all on the carpeted floor. He slipped another knife out of his belt as he walked, and stopped at the edge of the bed. In one swift movement he placed a hand over the explorer's mouth, holding his knife to his throat as he did so. The boy woke with a start, the absolute terror undisguised in his eyes.

"Be silent. I have not come here to kill you. If you raise the alarm, I will slit your throat. I wish only for information." Talon whispered. The fear seemed to dull, but the archaeologist's eyes were still wide. "I am going to release you now. Please do not make any loud noises or sudden movements." Talon slowly took his hand away and sheathed his knife.

"Who the hell are you, and why are you in my house?" blurted the archaeologist. "And what the fuck have you done to my window?"

"My name does not matter. You are Ezreal, the explorer and archaeologist?"

The boy nodded. Though Talon knew him to be nearly a man, the boy's shoulder-length blonde hair and mousy features belied his years, giving him the impression of being much younger.

"What do you want?"

"I have been sent from Noxus to ask you about the shadow knight. The blood knight who turns the tide of battle when all seems lost."

At the mention of his homeland Ezreal's features displayed obvious disgust, but when Talon mentioned the dark figure he was searching for, a mask of surprise and excitement came across his face.

"I thought I was the only one who knew about him! I've been researching this guy for years, there's no one in all of Valoran who knows more about him than me! Follow me, I'll show you what I have." Ezreal hopped out of bed, his excitement clearly visible. He was wearing a grey shirt and shorts, and rather than getting dressed, he simply put on the brown gauntlet he had on his bedside table and hurried off out of the room. Talon followed; he was not an easily enticed man, but the excitement present in Ezreal's voice gave him no choice but to follow.

The archaeologist led him downstairs, to a wide front room. Ezreal flicked a switch and the whole room was illuminated by glowing crystals. Talon was about to ask how he had got hold of this technology, but thought better of it; Ezreal had a reputation for 'borrowing' things. Talon was led to a huge desk over in the corner which was a maelstrom of papers, artifacts, books and one particularly odd-looking dagger with a bone handle, the blade of which appeared to be carved out of glass. It was this that he showed to Talon first.

"This is a dagger from Freljord. The blade is carved from solid ice, which never melts! Anyway, look at the etching on the blade. That figure is the guy you're looking for, and the serrated design is the same as the sword on this urn." Here, Ezreal placed the dagger back on the desk and picked up an urn. "I got this from a ruin in the Shurima desert. It's dedicated to a warrior who turned up to save a warlord when he and his men were vastly outnumbered." Ezreal carefully placed the urn back on his desk and looked around to see Talon holding a small wooden figure.

"Is this the same warrior?"

"Yeah, I got that from Noxus." At the look Talon gave him, Ezreal shrank back a little and coughed. "Err, you can probably take that back. If you like. I don't need it. It's yours. But look at it! It's the same guy! Why is the same guy appearing in stuff from Noxus, Freljord and Shurima? He pops up in things from Demacia and here in Piltover as well."

"Do you know who he is?"

"From what I can make out, he's an ancient warrior who always appears at the last second when an army is about to be destroyed. He has some kind of power that boils the blood of everyone around him, turning the broken warriors he fights with into murderous butchers."

"Anything else?"

"Well, I think he might be part of a really old race, one that isn't in Runeterra any more. They might have been wiped out by the Rune Wars."

"So how do I find him?"

"As far as I know, you can't. He only ever seems to appear when an army is about to be annihilated. There's only one person that I know of who could help you, and he isn't exactly in the mood for talking to this warrior."

"Who is he?"

"Umm, he's the king of part of the Freljord. His name's Tryndamere. He was almost slain by this guy, but just survived, and now him and his queen are rulers of the Avarosa tribe, and rule over Rakelstake and the Ursine Villages."

"Very well. Thank you for your help. I present to you a gift from Noxus." Talon produced a card with a golden dagger on it. "If Noxus bears you ill will, and sends one of my brethren to remove you, then present them with this card. It will spare your life."

Ezreal looked down at the card, the incredulity apparent on his face.

"Err, thank-" he bagan. But Talon had already gone.

Talon was running back over the rooftops. He had learned a lot from the archaeologist. Now he had only to return to Noxus and relay the information to Swain and Darius. As he rushed silently over the rooftops in the warm Piltovian night, he thought he heard a loud click and a buzz, as if someone had activated some kind of techmaturgy. Before even his enhanced reflexed could react, a huge ball of energy slammed into him from the side, knocking him clean off his feet. He felt the indescribable sensation of falling, and then nothing but blackness.