The air smelled of smoke and blood and dust – destruction, at its finest.

Sitting on the ground, back to the remains of a brick wall, Lux leaned on her staff and took slow breaths. Blood trickled down her neck. Her left ear ached terribly, but she could still hear the whirring of the airship in the distance. From where they were, tucked into the shell of what was once a bookstore, it sounded far, far away.

"Here."

She glanced up to see an extended hand, golden gauntlet battered and dirty.

"Thanks," murmured the mage. The Radiant Dawn pulled her to her feet, giving her a light pat on the shoulder in response. "He left?"

"Retreated, as far as we know," answered the woman with a single nod. She turned hard eyes to the horizon, grimacing. "Were there not more pressing matters, we would give chase."

"The destruction he caused..." Lux shook her head, glancing around. "This isn't something I want to see anywhere else."

"The civilians have, for the most part, been evacuated, or are sheltered in the Yordle Academy," said Pantheon, as he converged upon them with her brother in tow. "Though we did not slay the beast, it seems our engagement was yet a success."

"I've received word from the Eye of Twilight," returned Leona, greeting her friend with a slight bow of her head. She gestured to the radio on her strapped to her belt – it looked strange against her armor, a contraption of modern innovation set against a sacred raiment of ancient rites. "We will be extracted shortly."

"What about Piltover?" asked Lux, surprised. "Aren't we going to do something about the voidlings, or the cultists?"

"More pressing matters have arisen," Garen answered, shaking his head. "The situation here has been contained."

"I wouldn't call this contained," she replied, irked, gesturing at the havoc around her.

Even though they were sheltered in the bookstore's remains, they could still hear the skittering of voidlings about – the crumbling of stones as more buildings collapsed. The very idea that they could leave Piltover in this condition...

"Duty calls elsewhere," her brother maintained tersely. He glanced at her, frowning. "And at any rate, you require medical attention."

She brushed aside the hand the had reached for her ear, shooting him a warning glance. Garen raised his hands in easy surrender, a faint, sheepish look washing over him despite the exhaustion evident on his face.

"I'm fine," she said, apologetically. He was just worried, after all. "I didn't expect for his screech to be so loud... but I can still hear."

"Miss Buvelle is part of the medical team on board," remarked Leona, turning assuring eyes on her brother. "She will be properly looked after. We all will."

Cho'Gath had definitely roughed them up – that would be quickly apparent should anyone give them a once-over. The bruises and batters from his ruptures, the cuts from his spikes, were a small price to pay compared with their lives, however. Glancing around at the half-eaten cadavers that littered the streets, Lux knew to be grateful for this, at least.

A low whirring – suddenly very deafening. The wind picked up.

"They're here," said Pantheon, over the roar.

Over his shoulder, she could see the rope ladder tumbling down, and the four of them trudged to where it had touched the ground. The shadow cast by the airship was huge, and smothering. It made her feel very small, and very tired. Lux followed after Leona as they made the long ascent to the ship.

When they finally boarded, her brother wiped the blood off of her with the end of his scarf, and then sent her to the medical bay.

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"Very well. We'll pick you up at the Howling Marsh. All right. Good luck."

He looked up from his place in the doorway, shooting her an inquisitive glance.

"The sheriff reports something strange occurring in the bay between Piltover and Zaun," sighed Akali, replacing the phone on its hook. The humming of the airship and its steel walls gave a metallic edge to her words, as if they were cradled by the room. "The Machine Herald has dispatched a group of his acolytes to investigate, while they travel to the marshes to regroup with us. He is insistent that they reach the Institute."

"To what end?" he asked. There was nothing left at the Institute but wreckage – the Voidborn had left little behind.

"I suspect it has something to do with the fact that he received word of a replacement crystal being secured," she replied easily, crossing her arms. "Though why it is so significant at this point, I cannot fathom."

"It is in our possession currently, is it not?"

"It is." Akali shifted back onto one foot. "The young explorer trusted it to our keeping – he said he had business in Demacia."

"I see." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "Any word on the Judicator? Or the Starchild?"

It had been several days since they heard from Kayle – something which was mildly concerning, considering her very meticulous adherence to their previously agreed communication schedule. He had been against her decision to travel alone, but the woman had been unmoving. The Eye of Twilight only hoped that letting her go had been wise.

"The Judicator has not sent word regarding her hunt for Icathia," she answered. He felt something ill settle in his stomach. "As for the Starchild, she and the Nine-Tailed Fox have reached Ionia safely. Last news we received, they were traveling to the Shojin Monastery to seek sanctuary."

"That is good," said Shen, nodding. If Ahri had recovered, all the better. They would be safe with the likes of the Blind Monk. "Ionia will, for the most part, be spared of this bloodshed."

"The same cannot be said for Valoran," she muttered under her breath. "Would it not be wiser to bring the Starchild here? To treat the plethora of wounded?"

He shook his head. "Soraka is no longer divine - her powers are not endless. We should not foster dependence on her abilities."

Akali shot him a sideways glance, telling in its skepticism. "You know what is best."

A familiar phrase to him. He wanted to sigh.

Maintaining the illusion of apathy and non-emotion only made him out as level-headed, at best. Whether or not he bore the wisdom the Kinkou so needed to guide them was a different matter entirely. He knew why they had such faith in him - it was his duty, after all - but Shen loathed to imagine what would ensue when he inevitably made the wrong call.

It would happen someday – he had enough foresight at least to know this.

Tempting as it was to shrug – such a careless, non-communicative gesture, yet so easy an answer – he remarked instead, "Your deference is appreciated. Ideally, it is not ill-placed."

"You are the Eye of Twilight for a reason," was her matter-of-fact reply, and she could not have seen the slight, self-deprecating smile that formed beneath his mask. "Kennen and I have full confidence in your judgment."

Shen averted his gaze from hers, watching the passing clouds out the window beyond. A brief moment of silence. He closed his eyes.

"For better or worse."

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Everything hurt.

He felt like he was made of lead – his limbs were so heavy. His skin had a strange, dull kind of burning feeling. And it itched.

What happened?

Graves smacked his lips, face screwing up in displeasure as he tasted the dryness of his own mouth. His tongue was like sandpaper. The Outlaw tried to turn his head. He could hear the creaking of his neck.

"Finally awake, hm?"

He blinked several times to try and clear the blurriness from his vision, but the light was still too bright for him to stop squinting. He could make out red.

"F-Fortune?" he groaned, and his voice crawled out of his parched throat. "What...?"

"Afternoon, old timer," she greeted him, and he didn't have to see her face to see her smirk. "If you can sit up, there's water on the night stand."

Graves coughed, closing his eyes again for a little bit. It was actually pretty tempting to go back to sleep.

"Well don't go under now," he heard her say. "You've been napping almost four days already."

For some reason beyond him, he laughed a little at that – a short, dry one that hurt the deepest part of his throat. Four days. Damn. His head hurt like hell. He couldn't remember if he'd been drinking last he was awake.

"They say that... dyin' of thirst feels like... a godawful hangover," murmured Graves. He shot her foggy visage a look, stopping to cough. "So tell me... which is it?"

"Maybe both," answered the Bounty Hunter with a light laugh, and he felt her hand on his shoulder. "Now come on. Up you go."

He grunted, opening his eyes as she pulled him into a sitting position. Every bone in his back creaked in protest, but he did it anyway and almost fell right back over as all the blood rushed from his head. Cold glass was pressed to his lips, and dizzily the Outlaw grasped at it, tilting the cup back to take a drink.

"I forgot what cold water tasted like," he sighed, wiping away the excess with the back of his hand. His beard felt coarse, unkempt, and most of all too long. He made a mental note to trim it when he got the chance.

"Too much booze will do that," she teased, taking the glass back. "Feel any better, old man?"

"Not if you keep makin' fun of my age," he grumbled, glancing at her. "I ain't that old."

He could see her clearly now. She looked much cleaner, and her clothes were patched up – maybe she'd gotten them laundered. Graves reached for the glass and took another sip.

"Where in tarnation are we?"

"A Demacian hospital," Fortune replied easily. "In case all the medical bits didn't tip you off."

"S'not like I was particularly lookin'," he snorted, looking around.

When he did take the time to survey the room, he could see the general makings of a hospital. Blindingly sterilized décor and all. He had to double-take when he noticed the IV in his arm, though – how in the hell he missed that, he had no idea. Maybe it was all the bandages.

"You were real banged up," she said. She must've noticed him glancing at the IV. "We were worried you wouldn't make it, for a good long while."

"Got the soreness to show for it," he sighed, carefully rotating his shoulder in the socket to test. Damn, that hurt. "Gotten spoiled off that fancy magic they got in the League. Now I'm all namby-pamby with pain."

"Well, be thankful you're alive. The doctors said you lost a lot of blood. You and him both."

He shot her a look. "That no-good card shark's still kicking?"

"The scum of the earth don't scrub off that easily," Fortune told him with a knowing smile. He had to give her that one. "You should know that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Graves shot back, one eyebrow raised.

"Takes one to know one is all I'm saying," was her breezy reply. He decided he'd ignore that one – for now.

"So what happened?" He rubbed the back of his neck with a stiff hand, trying to work out the knots. "Did we get the sonova bitch?"

"Just about," she said with a shrug. "When I brought some guards back, all we found were you two fools passed out and a torn up bag of hay and sticks."

"I wouldn't be sure of nothin' like that," he warned her, shaking his head. "That scarecrow wasn't made of this world."

"Must've been why he was in league with the Prophet," Fortune mused, tilting her head. "Or I bet he was. There were a lot of people out and about that shouldn't have been..."

"Wouldn't be surprised if he set them loose," he agreed. The Outlaw looked around the hospital room again – nobody other than him, despite the other cots. "What happened to Miss Karma? And the ghoul?"

"Oh, well." The Bounty Hunter shrugged one shoulder. "She got an audience with Prince Jarvan and got an airship back to Ionia, free of charge – after they locked down the ghost, of course."

"You didn't get one back to Bilgewater?" he asked, surprised. He reached for that glass of water again.

She fixed him with a pointed look. "Someone had to look after your sorry ass."

That gave him a little bit of a start, and he had to stop with the glass halfway to his lips, eyes widening. After a moment, the Outlaw took a sip, and collected himself.

" 'Preciate it," Graves muttered, but seeing her satisfied smile, added, "but don't be holdin' this over my head or nothin'. I didn't ask you to stick around."

"Sure, sure. Whatever you say, old man," she said, waving him off. Fortune grinned slyly at him. "Bet you would've been lonely without me."

He snorted. "Yeah. That'll be the day."

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