Ezreal dipped his fingers into the tin of warpaint and carefully shaped the blood-red triangles beneath his eyes. The paint was so cold it burned his skin. Behind him, Luxanna watched, her blonde hair fanned out like the corona of a star. In the mirror, her blue eyes met his.

"What happened to your parents, anyways?"

Ezreal sighed deeply, replacing the lid of the tin. "Why do you want to know?"

"Everyone's curious. You don't have a last name. We know you're from Piltover but…" Lux sat up, stretched.

"They died." Ezreal frowned, focusing on the triangles. They were perfect. He was almost ready. "They died a long time ago. It was my father's last wish that I be trained in archeology and geology." He shrugged self-consciously, and went to the door to pull on his boots. "I always tell Ryland that I don't care who one's parents are –"

"Lineage is important to a lot of people," Lux said quietly. She dug around in her travel knapsack – Darius had been considerate enough to snag it before the pilgrimage to the Supports' Quarters. She began to comb her hair, carefully untangling it. The repetitive action soothed her.

"It doesn't surprise me, hearing a Crownguard say that." Ezreal looked away.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That your family gave you a name to live up to."

"Have I?"

"I think so." Ezreal stood up, still facing away from her. "Are you going to join us in the hunt for the assassin?"

"Of course. Just give me a few more minutes."

"I don't think you should go," Ezreal began.

"- but you know I'm going to."

"Yes. So there's no point in trying to dissuade you."

Lux splashed her face with water from the sink. "Revenge isn't a particularly Demacian idea, Ezreal. I hope I'm not making it seem that way."

"No, no." He turned to her, touched the side of her face. "I know how you feel. It's an insult to the League, what's happened."

Lux studied him. As she watched, a tiny sliver of golden light traced the triangle on his right cheek. She frowned. "Ezreal? Are you okay?"

"What? Why – oh. The light." He glanced away from her. She lifted his chin with her hand, looking into his face.

"Yeah…that's weird." She leaned closer to him. Something about his eyes wasn't quite right… "Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"What is it now?" he asked, voice tight with worry.

"Your eyes. The striations in your irises. They're gold now." Luxanna gazed into them. The shining threads shot through the deep, oceanic cerulean of his eyes. The beauty awed her, but also worried her.

Ezreal flinched.

"Ezreal, has this happened before?"

"Has what happened before?"

"The –" Lux was lost for words. "Color changes? Random lights? The sparks?" she added, as a few embers twinkled at the edges of his hair and vanished.

"No. No, it hasn't." Ezreal closed his eyes. "Ryland said something about my powers being amplified. The Supports think stress is causing it. Or something. Or even just regular use. I've never – I've never had to channel the magic so continually before. Hasn't this happened to you?"

"Overflow?" Lux shook her head. "I have to concentrate to cast spells. It's never happened to me naturally."

"Oh." She heard the disappointment in his voice. "Overflow?"

"That's what we call it in Demacia. Pent up energy comes to the surface of your body. I've never seen it happen so suddenly or so forcefully, though."

"Forcefully?" Ezreal tried to laugh. "It's just a few lights in my hair."

"Your eyes are changing color. That's pretty serious."

"It's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," he said. In the dimness of his room, his eyes glittered like topaz. The light on his glove thrummed, emitting a deep, mysterious blue glow. "We have to meet Zandred soon."

"I know." She kissed him, ignoring the electricity humming from his skin. "We'll be fine."

Ryland listened to Katarina's tales of Noxus with wide eyes.

"So then we killed the elder of the village and put his head on a pike and took all the children and put them in the military," she finished, combing out her damp hair. Already it was drying to ruby silk. Ryland longed to touch it.

"That's pretty brutal."

"Of course it's brutal. And that's what the Demacians would say." Her eyes glinted at him. "But they do pretty much the same thing. Don't let them lie to you."

"Have they ever killed a village elder?"

"In Noxus? You bet they have. By the cartload."

"So you think the assassin is Demacian?" Ryland frowned. "I don't know if that's true. I didn't feel a Demacian."

Katarina leaned towards him, face alight with eagerness. "Use your empath powers. C'mon, Ryland. All that training has to be good for something."

"I was too scared during the attack to pay attention." Ryland rubbed his jaw. "If it was someone I knew well, I would've known them instantly, but…"

"Oh well." Katarina sighed, disappointed. "I wanted to skip the whole meeting with Zandred and get straight to the heart of the matter, if you take my meaning." She whipped out a dagger and pressed it to Ryland's chest. He swallowed hard and pushed it away, ignoring her feral grin.

"Why do you want to skip the meeting with Zandred?"

"It's going to be boring. Blah blah blah, protect the League, Demacians are the best, et cetera." She shook her hairbrush at him. "You know what I'm talking about."

"If I'd've known sex put you in such a good mood, I would've given in to you earlier." Katarina was practically bouncing from foot to foot, pumped with adrenaline and energy.

"I told you so!" She hugged him impulsively, pressing her small form against his larger one. He blinked in surprise and hugged her back, blushing. "You're so shy and awkward, Ryland."

"What does that make you?"

"Katarina," she said. She brushed the hair from his eyes. "I'd much rather stay here with you. It's a pity that we have to go waste our time killing this guy."

"Killing him? We're going to kill him?"

"Technically speaking, he killed Lux."

"Oh." Ryland's voice was soft and small. "That's…"

"You won't have to do it. If I have my way, you won't even have to watch." Katarina whirled away from him. Hair brushing finished, she turned to her teeth, scrubbing them with Ryland's toothbrush until they gleamed. "Wouldn't want to spoil your innocent eyes," she said through the suds.

Kat and Ryland fell into step next to Ezreal and Lux. Already there was a sort of pilgrimage taking place, as groups of champions and Summoners headed towards Central Fountain.

The rule about remaining unarmed had fallen by the wayside. Tryndamere's blade reflected the hazy orange glow of the setting sun. The mages' powers were evident by the purple, blue and black auras surrounding their heads, hands and eyes. Even the Summoners carried pocketknives by their sides, unwilling to take any chances.

"Is this what being in the military is like?" Ezreal asked.

Lux chuckled. "Sort of. Only all of our weapons are the same."

"That's because Demacians are uncreative." Katarina nudged Lux playfully. "In Noxus, we carry whatever we want, whenever we want."

"How do you regulate that?"

"We don't."

Ryland snorted, but remained silent. Ezreal clasped his elbow. "You ready?"

"I won't be doing any fighting. But I'll be with you to assist you."

"What else are Supports for?"

"Hopefully Ryland doesn't steal the kill." Katarina swatted him. Ryland frowned.

"That's not that funny."

"Oh, please." Kat rolled her eyes. "All of you are so serious. I swear, the atmosphere around here is just as gloomy as those rainclouds."

Ezreal glanced skyward, ignoring the lightning flickering across his forearms. It seemed to echo the blue heat lightning that sprang from cloud to cloud. He whistled. "Looks like it could get pretty ugly."

"Don't worry. If I can protect Kat from knives, I can protect all of us from rain." Ryland's eyes traced the orange outlines of the clouds.

Eventually, they arrived with a crush of other champions and Summoners at Central Fountain. Ezreal noticed Malik from the gym. At his waist were two half-swords. LeBlanc and Twisted Fate gazed moodily into each other's eyes. TF looked decidedly grim.

Graves caught his eye and hacked onto the pavement. Ezreal's lip curled with disgust. He turned away.

Ryland tugged his shirt. "There's Soraka and the Supports. Let's go."

Ezreal followed Ryland, the Summoners and champions parting around him. He heard the whispers start back up. Whether they came from the crowd or from in his head, he couldn't tell. He sensed a rumor starting – he was the next target. Or maybe it was foresight. He blinked hard and scrubbed at his eyes, jaw clenched. His temples were beginning to throb.

Lux caressed the back of his neck. "Are you alright? Ryland, is he alright?"

Ryland's larger hand joined Lux's. Ezreal felt the familiar invasion of Ryland's presence, flinching slightly as he touched Ezreal's mind. The whispers around Ezreal grew louder with Ryland's touch, and he swiftly withdrew. "I'm amplifying his power," Ryland muttered.

"What?"

"He'll be okay," he said aloud for Lux to hear. "He's just a little stressed out."

With a deep breath, Ezreal forced his eyes open. The beginnings of rain began to patter to the pavestones around them. The scent of parched plantlife welcoming the water filled Ezreal's nostrils.

"His eyes are almost entirely gold," Lux whispered.

Ryland met Ezreal's gaze grimly. Ezreal shrugged. "Soraka's eyes are gold. So are Twisted Fate's. I don't see what the big deal is."

"Ezreal –" Lux sighed. "Never mind."

"Look. We can't worry about this right now." He grabbed her hand, squeezed it hard. "We have to find the assassin first. Then we can worry about my eyes."

"I agree," Kat said suddenly. "But you must be careful."

"Everyone keeps telling me that." Ezreal shook his head, feeling the headache swim around like a distressed goldfish. His head was the bowl. His brain was the water. He pushed the disturbing image away.

"This way!" a Summoner called at the head of the crowd. With a last hopeful smile, Ezreal began moving forward with Lux.

Zandred stood at the head of the group, purple robes in disarray. "If you intend to hunt the assassin, please go to the right. If you are attending the Summoners' Meeting, stay to the left!"

"They're makin' this feel like the Mayday Parade," Graves growled. Caitlyn nudged him.

"They have to keep order some way. Not everyone's as brave as you, cupcake."

"Don't call me cupcake." Graves frowned as Caitlyn tickled the edges of his goatee. "And stop that! What do you think you're doin', Sheriff?"

"Not everything is serious all the time."

"Tell that to the Demacians," he muttered. He stuck a discreet thumb towards the group of Demacians, huddled near the back of the crowd. Their blue and gold armor gleamed in the dim light. "They're in full battle gear."

"I noticed." Caitlyn surveyed them. Though outwardly, the Demacians appeared impressive – and who wouldn't, with the burnished gold playing against the ocean blue? – Caitlyn detected fear lurking in their eyes. Shyvana, obviously uncomfortable in Demacian regalia, shifted from foot to foot until Jarvan rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. Garen's jaw was tightly shut, and Quinn stroked Valor over and over again, murmuring words of affection to him. "Boy, if the Demacians are scared – "

"I think it's for a different reason." Vi leaned into Caitlyn's ear. "People say they supported the attacks."

"Oh." Caitlyn blinked. "Oh, my."

"The peace will hold," Jayce whispered from the corner of his mouth.

"Why am I always the last to know these things?" Caitlyn huffed. Ever since hiring Vi, she got information at the strangest times and in the strangest ways. It was usually correct, though.

"Nothing to worry about, Sheriff!" Vi smiled, exposing her pearly white teeth. "Jayce and I got your back."

The Summoners departed from the champions, leaving their group much smaller.

In the lobby of the eerily silent Central Fountain, Novice Summoners whisked from place to place, their blue robes whispering against the ground, lighting oil lamps. The flames danced over the champions' faces, painting them a warlike orange. The banter ceased. For all the sound, the people around could have been shadows.

Not everyone was present, Ezreal noticed. The carries and Supports were there, along with some mages. Leona, Zyra, Riven, Diana, Karma, Yi, and a few others were conspicuously absent.

Ezreal didn't blame them.

Zandred strode to the head of the cluster of silent champions, his boots echoing from the high ceilings, and clasped his hands together. "If you are willing to remove this threat from our Institute," he said without preamble, "raise your hand now."

Every hand shot up.

"I cannot guarantee your safety." Zandred bowed his head. "I cannot guarantee anyone's safety right now. You may be harmed." He lifted his head, indigo eyes scanning every champion. Ezreal shivered. In the fluttering light of the flames, Zandred appeared ancient, beyond time, as eternal as the marble sculpture of the Summoner that sat outside the Summoners' Quarters.

The air within Central Fountain grew denser, thicker somehow. Ezreal's eyes locked on to Zandred's face. He didn't notice the golden spray of light surrounding him, enveloping him. Zandred made an effort to ignore it for the sake of the other champions.

"These attacks on Luxanna and Katarina represent the deepest affront to our Institute anyone could imagine. It is only through the bravery of Ryland that both young women were saved."

The champions shifted to look at Ryland. He quickly hid his face. Given his tall, lean frame, and his ebony uniform, he couldn't hide his body.

"Thus, tonight, I urge each of you – warriors all – to undertake this task. To confront the darkness that the Summoners cannot. I ask you to carry this burden, just as you carry the burden of the Summoners' disagreements. I know I ask much of you. But I need you. We need you." Zandred's face betrayed his weariness. "The Institute needs you. If you'll stand with us, with the Institute, let me know."

The silence seemed to stretch out like an unfurling length of black silk. Somewhere far away, thunder rolled.

Ezreal lifted his gauntlet into the air, the blue light a beacon that attracted every eye. He roared a battle cry so deep and ancient that Zandred flinched. His golden aura flared as he surrendered control of his power. After a moment, Graves joined him with a guttural shout of his own. Then Tryndamere. The Demacians. The Noxians.

Their voices filled the chamber of Central Fountain, ringing the building like an enormous bell. Zed, nearby, heard their triumphal, united shouts. With a derisive sniff, he collapsed into a shadow and faded away.

Let them seek him. He was ready.