N.B. Hello, readers! Thanks again for the reviews. I really appreciate them and need them as well. This is my first piece of fanfiction, so I'm not familiar with what you guys want. Leaving me a review is a great way to let me know exactly what you're expecting or what you'd like to see next. As always – thank you so much for reading! I love you guys.

After the battles, Michael felt directionless. So much of his emotional energy had been focused on those moments. He had poured his will into getting every single action and reaction correct, precise, fluid.

Now, standing among the other Supports and champions congratulating him, the energy steadily drained from his body along with his sense of purpose. His heart beat sluggishly. There was nothing he could do. The decision was in the hands of the Venerable Summoners.

He watched as Ezreal followed Lux, jogging after her, out of the Sparring Grounds. A sharp blade of loss seemed to stab him in the ribs, piercing his skin. He gasped in pain. This is why I don't get attached to people. I can't always control my power or its consequences...

It wasn't - or shouldn't have been - surprising that Ez had decided to pursue the cheerful general. To some extent, the two of them had much in common.

Physically, the blonde hair, the blue eyes, the flashy abilities. Tactically, their frailty and distance from combat, but also their power.

And personally. Their sense of humor, moodiness, empathy for other people. Their sharp intelligence.

Michael felt himself pining for the Prodigal Explorer and quickly quashed the feeling. It wouldn't be fair to Ezreal, he knew. Ezreal had joined the League, so he should enjoy someone who was actually in the League.

Besides, is it not enough for me that he's my friend? That alone is more than I ever could have imagined. I'm getting selfish.

So absorbed was he in his thoughts that he didn't notice Katarina slinking towards him, eyes glimmering with an emotion he could only label as Noxian - a mixture of lust, greed and avarice.

Surprisingly, he found himself responding to it positively.

She tugged on his black shirt, red lips forming a soft smile. "I have a new nickname for you."

"Oh, please, indulge me. Snake Man? Flute Boy? After Skeletron, I suspect anything will be an improvement."

Kat's face remained serious. And the emotions pouring off of her - hot waves of desire coupled with utter sincerity - threatened to overwhelm him. "Your fighting out there reminded me of a story I heard long ago, about ages past. About a warrior prince." Michael glanced around nervously, noticing the other champions averting their gazes.

"Can we take this somewhere else?"

"Why? Am I...unsavory?"

Michael felt an unbidden smile play across his lips. "Not to me."

The two of them wandered off back to the Support's Quarters in companionable silence. The rest of the Supports had convened to write up a recommendation for Michael while his performance was still fresh in their mind. The pair passed them on the way to Michael's room, sitting in a circle in the Void lobby. Kog'Maw oozed green acid while Soraka steadily patted his head, nibbling the tip of a pen intently. The circle didn't notice him.

Once inside Michael's room, Katarina pushed him down to the bed and kissed him with a feverish intensity. So that's what they mean when they say someone's hot, Michael thought dimly. Katarina's every touch crackled along his nerves like heat lightning. Her lust consumed him. Michael responded with lust of his own, merging with hers. Soon it felt as if they were in the center of a supernova.

He broke away from her and leaned back, breathing heavily, dark hair clinging to his temples.

"They always say the best lovers are Noxian." Katarina said quietly.

Michael licked his lips. "I can see why. So, what about that nickname?"

Katarina nuzzled his chest. "You can tell I'm attracted to men with power. Well, once, when I was a wee child, I came down with a terrible flu. My father was home on furlough, and my mother, who had already had enough of taking care of me, told him to tend to me. You see, since Father was a general, he was gone all the time and Mother was the one who took care of us.

So I remember Father saying, 'I know nothing of how to take care of a child, Vera!' and Mother said, 'You go in there and you tell her stories and feed her hot soup!' So Father got this huge bowl of hot soup - he ate most of it - and came in to tell me stories."

Michael watched her face intently as she spoke. Gone was the sly watchfulness that traditionally accompanied Noxians. Now Katarina's face was the picture of innocent beauty as she recalled her childhood. Michael felt a sharp pang. Even a Noxian assassin's childhood was better than mine..."Go on."

"Father bustled into my room, looking silly. Think of it - a general carrying soup! He was wearing my mother's apron, too! And he says, 'My Kitty Kat, I don't know many good stories for children. So I'm going to tell you the stories my father told me. Is that okay?' And being weak with the flu, I nodded. And then he tells me the best story I've ever heard, Father does. So unlike the ones Mother told me. Mother always talked about magic and princesses and talking animals. But Father - he told me of Ryland.

Ryland was a Dark Knight of Noxus, but he was also a prince by birth. He joined the Dark Knights out of respect for their power, giving the group much status. He wasn't the strongest man, so all the men in the military laughed at him because he was pale and weak." Michael wrinkled his nose. "But Ryland had amazing powers that he beckoned with his voice. Everyone loved his voice so much that they fell in love with him instantly - the plants, animals. Some even say the rocks. As far as Dark Knights go, he wasn't spectacularly cruel or evil.

But here's the part I and my father loved. One night, a Noxian necromancer opened a portal to the Void." Katarina sat up and imitated the gruff voice of her father. "The Wolf of Night sprang from the opening and began to terrorize Noxus, eating children and feasting on horses. Blood ran through the streets as the Noxian Military tried in vain to catch it, to rout it with flaming arrows. Alas, nothing worked."

"What a cheerful story for children," Michael commented.

Kat smiled and continued, "At last, the military turned to Ryland, the man they had mocked. The wolf came face-to-face with him, snarling and bellowing. And Ryland sang." Katarina closed her eyes and intoned several words in the original Noxian language. Her voice was clear and crisp. Michael made a quick mental note of the melody. "The wolf sat on its haunches like a friendly sheepdog, and Ryland patted its head and tossed it a whole chicken, which it ate. From then on, Ryland and the Void Wolf were the best of friends. There are many tales about them."

"So I remind you of this Ryland because..."

"Because, though you do not have the most physical strength, you are still very powerful. And, like Ryland, you can influence others' emotions."

"I try not to. It feels unwholesome, much of the time."

"Ryland thought the same thing." She kissed him slowly, deeply. "I had an enormous crush on Ryland while I was growing up. So now, I'm going to call you Ry."

Michael's lips moved down her pale neck, tasting her skin. "I'd like that. I've never particularly cared for my name, anyways."

"It's a Demacian name," Katarina whispered, shivering as Michael mouth reached a sensitive spot near her ear. "You're not Demacian."

"Is that true?" Michael felt the last attachments he had to his parents fall away. His guilt, his anger, his name. The Void Wolf seemed to be howling in his head.

"If I tell you, will you side with us?" she said, even more quietly. Her green eyes met his. "Do you want to be Noxian?"

"I haven't a choice, have I?"

"I know your father," Katarina said. She had decided her course of action. She didn't plan to reveal his father's name. Even so, she felt his mind probing hers, even as his fingers kneaded her shoulders. Just like a true Noxian. Trying to take advantage of a moment of distraction.

"But you don't plan to tell me yet."

"Yes."

"I believe you."

Kat met his eyes once more. "You're a Noxian."

Ryland's body seemed to turn to ice. His heart froze in his chest, chilling him. But Katarina's kisses thawed him, her ruby lips inspiring heat from every nerve. I'm Noxian, he thought mutely. Noxian. Evil. Dark. Only a Noxian would join forces with a wolf from the Void.

But I can't hide any longer.

Ezreal arrived shortly afterward. After Katarina left and Ezreal sat down and explained the basics of his mother's plan, Ryland sighed. "When it rains, it pours. Is that what they always say?"

"Yeah." Ezreal looked at his lap. Ryland noticed the bright marks of Lux's teeth - good lord - stippling Ezreal's tan skin and arched an eyebrow. Noticing him, Ezreal said, "Let me shower. I'm totally addicted to hygiene now."

Ry laughed, trying to suppress another wave of hurt. His imagination painted a vivid picture of Ezreal and Lux's tryst. "Better to be addicted to showers than to drugs. Or at least cheaper."

Ezreal scrutinized him. "Michael, are you okay?"

Ryland held up a palm. "I'm changing my name."

"To what?"
"Ryland." He saw Ezreal's eyes widen and shrugged. "Katarina suggested it. Because I happen to be one of those Noxians that my mother wants to kill. Does it sound weird?"

Ezreal's breath gusted from his nose. "No, it's not that. It's just…that's a popular name from Noxian mythology."

Ryland nodded. "I know."

"So you want to overtly support the Noxians?"

"Would you rather covertly support the Demacians who are covertly trying to kill the Noxians?"

Massaging his temples and biting his lip, Ezreal at last said, "The more I think about it…the less I like Demacia's ideas. Particularly when they might involve my roommate. They didn't mention you, by the way. Only Katarina, Swain and Darius. But changing your name…"

Ryland stretched. "Might make me a target? I've already been a target. That's why I'm not in the League. Besides, if they try to kill me, my skills aren't regulated here as they are on the Rift." Compared to what he could actually do, the skills on the Rift were party tricks.

Ezreal thought for a moment. "Neither are mine."

"You'd do that for me?" Ryland was absurdly touched.

Ezreal flicked him a glance. "I support justice. That's what this place is supposed to stand for. C'mon, let's go get clean."

Even though Lux had appeared confident when she told Ezreal to let Michael know of his mother's intentions, she didn't feel it. Uncertainty seemed to follow her every step. Truth be told, she was dreading talking to Garen. But she knew it was inevitable.

Not even Garamond's stony, immovable form, shining softly beneath the moon, was comforting.

She wished she was Katarina. Noxians were accustomed to having internal problems, disturbances within their own forces. Demacians, though…they were generally unified in one purpose, marching towards one goal. There was never any intrigue or subterfuge.

She was scrubbing her makeup from her skin when someone rapped on her door lightly. "Just a minute!" she called, forcing cheer into her voice. Pulling on a conservative set of light-blue pajamas, she answered the door, acting as if she wasn't anticipating the visit. "Garen? What's wrong?"

Garen: her brother both in blood and in combat. Sometimes they allowed themselves moments of familial affection, like when they cooked dinner together or faced one another in volleyball. But most of the time, as the military demanded, they were cool and distant from one another, addressing one another as if they were unrelated in the slightest.

She wondered briefly if he resented Ezreal. She'd heard from other members of their contingent what he said about her and Ezreal: "Lux has to act very manly on the field, so it makes sense that she'd be attracted to someone slightly more feminine. It's a way of balancing herself out." Sometimes she wondered if that were true.

"I need to speak to you of a matter of great importance. Do you mind if I come inside?"

"Not at all." She made a show of glancing at her wall clock. "Does it have to be right now? It's fairly late."

Garen bowed his head. "I wouldn't have disturbed you if I didn't think the matter merited your attention."

She went to brew him tea in her tiny kitchen while he made himself comfortable. He looked so strange without armor, she thought. Naked, despite his jeans and black t-shirt. "So, what's up?"

"Merilyn approached the Demacian forces concerning a plan that could possibly end the aggression between the Noxians and our forces."

She poured the tea into two twin glasses. Passing him one, she took a small sip. "That's fantastic! I'm glad the Institute is interested in ending the war once and for all. What sort of treaty did she suggest?"

Garen winced. "Actually…it's not a treaty so much as a series of decisive actions."

"So, we're to give up certain territories we've gained from them?"

"No."

Lux's eyes widened in mock confusion. "What on earth could she be talking about, then?"

Garen's frown deepened. "As you know, we have quite a few prominent Noxians housed here at the Institute. Their removal would deal a crushing blow to the Noxians, such a large one that, possibly, their forces would crumble without strong leadership."

"That's interesting! Removal how? From their positions?"

Garen closed his eyes. "Removal from life."

Lux could quit acting, now, and let her actual feelings begin to show. "Garen…what you're talking about is political assassination." Over the steam rising from the tea, he nodded. "That's not very Demacian, now, is it?"

Garen's eyes met hers, stony and immovable. For a moment she glimpsed what the Noxians saw before he brought his great blade crashing down, smashing their spines. Smoldering anger and ruthlessness. His voice was harsh when he said, "What, so marching thousands and thousands of troops to their deaths is honorable? Is that what being Demacian means? Being stupid?"

Lux slammed her cup down, splattering hot brown liquid all over her hands and her table. "I know what being Demacian means. It means not assassinating political leaders dishonorably."

"I'm sorry that your friendliness towards Katarina is clouding your judgment."

Lux gasped. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that it's quite clear that your judgment as a general has become impaired by your personal connections. And that you've spent far too much attention on that little blonde boy." He shifted his massive bulk with a grimace. "The level of affection you give to him is utterly ridiculous, unheard of in terms of the Demacian Legion. You don't see any other generals running around with pictures of celebrities plastered all over their walls. It makes you look weak, Lux. Feminine. Ineffective."

Lux quivered with rage. "Why have you never said this before?"

"Because it hasn't interfered with our operations thus far."

"It's not interrupting operations now," she said, her voice rising. "Who came up with this plan, Garen? Merilyn?" Garen became very still. "That's what I thought. Has it occurred to you, Garen, that the Venerable Summoner could be taking advantage of you? That your personal connections have influenced you? As Garamond said –"

"'When you see a problem in others, check to see if it could be remedied in yourself,'" Garen finished. The fire of determination in his eyes turned to ash. Seeing the hurt trembling in her eyes, he placed a massive hand on her shoulder. The weight should have been comforting, but it wasn't. "Luxanna. Sister. There's no decisive plan in place yet, Lux. I urge you to consider thinking about helping us develop one."

"I will," Lux lied. Well, in a sense, it was true – she'd be thinking about it quite a bit, but she wouldn't be considering it. "Please keep me apprised of the situation."

"You won't betray us, will you, Lux? You won't tell the Noxians?"

"Of course not," she lied again. Lying was such a Noxian thing to do…but so was assassination.