N.B. Hello, dear readers! I hope this chapter finds you and yours in high spirits. This is the last of the slower-paced chapters, the final piece before the fifth and final part of A True Champion. I will still attempt to finish this story by December 31st, 2013, so I apologize for long and frequent updates.
As always, thank you for reading. This story would be absolutely nothing without your support.
Lissandra's vast, dark-stoned fortress clung improbably to the side of a mountain. Its spires jabbed upward, threatening to pierce the clouds. The doors and windows were made of ice, brilliantly inscribed with color – the azure, silver and gold patterns shone against the bleak setting, even in the muted light of the moon.
From her fortress balcony, Lissandra could see the dark structures of Generators X through XIII crouching against the horizon. At first she'd questioned why Viktor needed so many – every Generator doubled as a garage for him, too, a base where he assembled his creations. But now she understood. At the center of each building lie the same structure – a mechanical heart.
Or at least that's how Lissandra thought of it, now that she'd seen Viktor's creations come to life. A large, thick-glassed cylinder, filled with the seeds of corruption and a viscous gel. Viktor had tried to explain it to her, but she'd been captivated by the substance's color and didn't hear him. It was a sickly yellow, like the noontide sun during early fall.
When Ezreal, Ryland and their hapless friends stumbled past Angel's Crossing, into her territory, Viktor would reach inside of his thermal-regulation coat and flip a switch. The machine-hearts would begin to beat, fountaining the Skelgarn into the air. As the seeds hit the ground, the earth around them would crystallize. The Skelgarn would grow and feed on the ice.
Some of the barbarians would die on impact. Their nervous systems would rupture, blown apart by millions of minute, conflicting electrical messages. Their neurons would be transformed to blackened pulp.
Those that didn't die would be made mad by the destabilization of their brains. At least, that's what Viktor said. Lissandra held that the corruption went even deeper, biting into the barbarians' souls.
Viktor had inclined his head.
We don't particularly hold to the idea of souls in the scientific realm.
Well, that's why you haven't completed your Glorious Evolution yet, isn't it?
He was silent for a moment. Past time matters not. The Glorious Evolution and much more is at hand.
There was that mention of his other plan again. His secrecy was starting to trouble Lissandra a bit. Somehow she refrained from asking.
But the Skelgarn. It would spread and coat the sky at a concentration thousands of times thicker than what her natural totems were generating.
Atop her icy fortress, Lissandra smiled. The natural totems were doing their work well.
Viktor's mechanical scouts had reported the disappearance of Jarvan. Since the scouts were Viktor's smallest, to pass unnoticed, they could only record minutes of auditory data. It was enough to convey Jarvan's state of mind – his fear and anger had opened a small portal into his mind, allowing the Skelgarn to slip through and begin to nibble on his sanity.
What interested Lissandra more was hearing Katarina harass her lover.
She felt a small thrill when she heard Ryland's voice, though the tinny speakers of the metal beetle didn't do its rich tones justice. So sweet, so sad.
The Ice Witch had always preferred the story of Skylan anyways. Broken characters were so much more compelling than perfection.
"Kat, I can't fight. I can't harm anyone."
"With those powers?" Katarina snapped. "You bet your ass you're gonna be on the battlefield."
Lissandra silently agreed. Like Ezreal, Ryland's powers were simply too immense to not use.
Besides, isn't his revenge on the world a bit overdue? It's done nothing but harm him. Why wouldn't he want to freeze it all over, be done with it?
She found herself ruminating on it all night, watching the moon traverse the black sea above. No longer a mortal, she had no need of sleep. What would be the best way to break him? Or will he turn willingly? Can I break Ezreal, too?
These questions and more filled her as the trolls scattered across the frozen tundra began their final preparations for the battle at hand. Her ice-cloaked body twinkled coldly in the starlight as she rested her chin on her palm – a gesture echoing her long ago days as a mortal.
"Kat, I can't fight! I can't harm anyone else!"
But you must, Ryland. And you shall.
Ryland's body slumbered beneath the dark, star-studded vault of the sky. His mind did not.
It shuffled through the events of the past couple days, forcing him to relive everything in vivid color and brilliant sound. He felt himself growing number, unable to distinguish between the different realities.
This dreamlike state had happened before, especially right before what Soraka called "the Breakthrough." His sleep had been so image filled – Darrigan's disapproving eyes, Gloriana's pitying smile when she caught a glimpse of his bare collarbone, irradiated with pink and black bruises – that he hadn't been sure which world he was living in.
"But why does my mind do it? If I'm trying to get over it, why do I have to relive it?"
Soraka cupped his cheek – much like Ezreal had, after he'd threatened to hurt him. "It's your subconsciousness repairing itself, Michael. It's healing you."
He accepted this answer uncomfortably, sipping his wildberry tea from Soraka's delicate Ionian cup. "I feel it. It's about to get worse."
"I'll be there for you."
And so she was. She was there when he awoke screaming. He swore Merilyn was standing at the foot of his bed, a Shade of her. He'd summoned it in his sleep. Soraka couldn't see the shadowy figure, but Michael saw it cock its head, leering at him with soulless eyes and a grin.
His mother with four double rows of glistening sharp teeth. And yet it wasn't as bad as the real her.
He was jolted out of sleep four or five more times by various events. Sometimes there were entire tribes of shadow people clustered around his bed.
The final time – the night before the Breakthrough – he'd awoken the entire Supports' Quarters.
He saw the circle of blue-uniformed legs closing in on him as the thin noose tightened around his neck, shoving deep into his skin, biting into his Adam's apple.
In the present, Ryland sighed deeply and rolled over. Not this one again.
But he couldn't stop Michael's memories from playing . Like Katarina, there was nothing to do but settle into it, and try not to resist.
Maybe this means that it's another breakthrough. That'd be nice. Maybe I'll be totally fine – no more wolves, no more trolls.
He felt himself become Michael again, and the cord slipped even tighter until his throat was a small river of fire. He looked up and into the merciless blue eyes of his fellow soldiers. The stars quaked overhead, and the frosty air froze his skin.
His fingers scrabbled at his neck.
Oliver's steel tipped boot crashed abruptly into his ribs. His roommate was one of the most anti-Noxian soldiers at the academy, and it showed. His ferocious hatred was almost out of line, even in light of the academy's passionate preaching. But not quite.
Some archangel you are. Can't even save yourself.
The cord loosened momentarily, allowing for one deep, drowning gasp of air, until it was pulled tight again. The pain was unbearable, even after all the beatings.
Looks a bit like a dog, doesn't he? Oliver surveyed the other soldiers from his barracks. Can you imagine having to room with this guy after training all day? Every time we pray before the afternoon run, I see his stupid face when Erclan mentions Michael.
Michael's own hands were wrapped around his neck. His vision darkened.
Well, come on, Michael. Oliver sounded bemused. If you want it off, you gotta ask nicely. Isn't that what the Noxians are into?
The surrounding company broke into whispers and chuckles.
Another sharp kick. Beg for it, you fuck.
Please. His lips moved, but nothing came out.
Try again.
He fought then, but couldn't do it well. Besides the whole lack of oxygen thing, his roommate Oliver worked out religiously, even on his days off. It was as much a part of his religion as the daily prayers to the guardians and angels.
It ended with him on his knees in front of him. Pleasepleaseplease.
His lungs were open again, but they hurt. Blood seeped from the ruby circlet ringing his throat.
He couldn't relax. Oliver still held the other end of the cord. He kicked dust into Michael's eyes absently.
Oh man. You guys haven't even seen the best part yet.
He lit a cigar then. The thick smoke strangled Michael even more, mingling with the breath of the other soldiers as it feathered out into the night air. The vapor was given a soft, puffy, white look by the dim porch light.
Take your shirt off.
Michael looked up at him, completely numb. He tried to appeal to his reason. After all, the academy emphasized that, too, as well as Noxian hatred. Please no. What have I done to you?
Oliver either ignored him, or didn't understand him. Either was possible – his words were a series of faint whistling sounds.
Beside Ezreal, Ryland flung an arm over his eyes and grimaced. Noxians are the cruel ones. Right. But Ryland knew the real truth – people were cruel, regardless of which side they were on. They were all monsters.
Do it or you die. Fucking Noxian.
Michael hurriedly shrugged out of his white sleep shirt – he'd passed out early, exhausted from the day's march. The others had slipped into their uniforms while he was asleep.
He closed his eyes as the soldiers around him gasped. He was surrounded by a wall of whispers, all fluttering from their uniformly masculine Demacian mouths. The dim light was enough to paint the attempted destruction of his body in vivid colors.
Some angel, huh? Oliver snarled. Look at him! This is what I have to come back to every night!
Ivan, the jokester in the group, suddenly burst into giggles.
What's funny, huh? Oliver glowered at him.
Maybe a fallen angel. Ivan wiped his eyes and snorted. A literal fallen one. Hit all the Noxian spires on the way down.
This was followed by an uproar of laughter so loud that Oliver shushed them, so other soldiers didn't wake up. This was their own special spectacle. A bit of bonding time.
Michael's fingers worked beneath the black cord. He looked away from them.
He tried a half smile and found his voice. It was a pale, ghostly imitation of it, but it was still his voice. One last try to integrate himself into the group.
Pretty ugly, huh guys? Sorry, Oliver.
Woah, it's talking. Ivan said loudly and sarcastically. I'm surprised it can.
Did I give you permission to speak?
Michael's Empath powers told him the kick in the back was coming. There was nothing he could do.
Oliver's foot struck the middle of Ryland's – Michael's – spine and sent him hurtling forward. The loop squeezed beneath his jaw, and his hands fell away.
He was in agony. The slow burn of dying oxygen suffused his entire body until he felt like he was being consumed by flame. Above him, the glowing Demacian crowns of hair faded into the galaxy, indistinguishable from the wintry stars. Both were equally out of his reach.
He could feel the soul of the academy working through Oliver. The world must be cleansed, scrubbed of ugliness, scoured of Michael's dark features.
A moment before he would have lost consciousness, a bobbing lantern appeared at the barracks' front doors.
What the hell are you boys doing? The soldier in charge of the barracks, Erclan, stumbled out in front of them. He clearly experienced a wave of nausea when he saw Michael. His lips and eyes tightened.
Michael fixed him with the most desperate gaze he could. His breaths were too loud, too ragged. He was showing weakness again.
He felt Erclan's thoughts. The officer regretted coming to check the situation out. He should have stayed inside.
Two more minutes and the poor thing'd be dead. Hell, it probably deserves to be put out of its misery.
No, Michael mouthed. He desperately flung whatever Empath he had at the officer.
"Make them stop. Make them stop!" This was what Michael shouted when he awakened. His cries reverberated around the myth-tree in the Supports' atrium.
His entire room filled with the other Supports in moments. Karma and Taric looking at him solemnly, tears in their eyes. Nami clutching her heart. Sona bowing her head.
So different from the uniformed men, but he couldn't stop. "Stop them! Please!"
"Michael, look at me." Soraka appeared in her loose, flowing violet nightgown. It brushed the ground lovingly as she walked.
She gently eased his locked fingers off of his throat, though she hurt her own hands doing so, his grip was so steely. He kept pushing past her hands, reaching for a cord that wasn't there. "Stop them!"
"No one's hurting you."
"They're going to kill me!"
"No, no one will." Soraka's calm, usually warm and unbreakable even during his worst fits, was beginning to crumple. "Michael."
"No!" He clawed at his throat. Red lines of blood appeared beneath his nails. Nami sobbed once, loudly, then bit her lip to stop herself. Taric pressed his fist to his mouth.
"Michael," Soraka whispered.
"They're choking me. I –" he gasped, unable to breathe. He coughed until his lips were flecked with blood. He couldn't stop.
"Michael –"
He shoved her away, then, with a blinding silver burst of Empath, and fell forward onto his hands. He couldn't stop his screams, even though he was choking on them.
Soraka broke then, under the weight of his pain. "No one's going to hurt you," she said through her sobs. He couldn't respond.
Taric moved in, pulling Michael close to him. Sona followed him, her breasts swaying beneath her white silk gown. Karma, her dark hair loosed from its usual bindings. Nami, her scales silver in the moonlight. Their bodies formed a warm, protective wall around Michael and the outside world.
His shaking stopped when Soraka joined them, resting her warm cheek against the top of his head, as if he were a sick child instead of a gangly 19-year-old.
But the next day, he felt better. His fugues – long hours of emptiness – stopped entirely, and he could speak more than five words without shaking.
The Breakthrough. Minor but miraculous, in Soraka's eyes.
In the present, Ryland sighed deeply. I'm glad that's over. I guess it really is a healing process. I think I'll be alright.
"I sure hope so, since I've started dreaming of you again."
Ryland jumped. He realized he was standing outside of his tent, under the cover of the darkwood pines. He felt a moment of terror – Ezreal had told him not to leave. "Am I still asleep? Am I dreaming?"
"Yeah, guess so. You're mighty weird, Ryland. You know that?"
He looked over to see a boy who was Ezreal, and wasn't. For one thing, he was skinnier, more petite and fine-boned. His hair was a slightly more autumnal gold, brushed lightly with a fiery red, and his eyes were the greenest Ryland had ever seen.
He looked like Ezreal in part because of his clothes. His tattered jeans were affixed to his slim waist with a leather belt. His dusty gray shirt was tucked into them, and a black bandanna was knotted carelessly around his neck.
Ryland's Empath powers strained towards him, yearning to touch the edges of the boy's aura. Impressions of wild, grassy plains, frosty peaks and warm oceans filled Ryland's mind. He felt the same power that had turned the world to spring, but it was without pain. Instead, it was a natural force, earthy and wholesome.
Nature. The heart of nature.
"This doesn't feel like a dream," Ryland whispered.
"I know, right? That's the scary thing! That, and the fact that you can hear me now." The boy squinted even more. "Or were you just ignoring me earlier?"
"I – no. I didn't hear you."
The boy shifted his feet. His movements reminded Ryland of trees swaying. "Great. I just had to sit through all of that. Horrifying. It's weird what I dream sometimes."
Ryland blinked. "What?"
"You." The boy flicked in Ryland's direction. "I don't know why you're in my dreams of all things. Rather have an Ionian princess any other day."
"I'm not the dream. You're the dream."
"Ha. No." The boy's grin was warm and summery. "Nice try."
"But –"
"I told Skylan about you yesterday. Dreamt of you a long, long time ago. Told you to hold on – there were adventures coming." He cocked his head, regarding Ryland with his glittering emerald eyes. "Figured I'd comfort you even if you were a dream, because you were dying. Or so I thought."
Ryland's breath caught. He remembered. When he thought he was dying, he thought Ezreal had shown up. But –
"Your eyes are green. I remember now. Who are you?"
The kid's eyes narrowed again. "Skylan told me not to tell dream people my name."
"Come on." Ryland extended a cautious hand to him. There were other, smaller differences between this boy and Ezreal. The triangles painted beneath his eyes were a dark forest green, and his eyelashes were lighter and longer. "You know my name, and if I'm just a dream, you can tell me, right?"
The boy readjusted the gauntlet on his hand. It was glowing a soft, sunny gold. "Hmmmm. You raise an interesting point."
"I'm Ryland."
"But is that really your name?"
"Yes."
The visitor's dark gold eyebrows shot up. "Of Ezreal and Ryland? Really?"
"Yes. Gods, yes. You – you look just like him. Ezreal, I mean."
"The Sun Child? Ha." The boy shook his head. "I think Skylan would beg to differ. He'd probably say I look like the Death Child because of all the trouble we get into."
"Sun Child?"
"Um, yeah. Ezreal, right?" The boy's eyes widened. "And you're the Moon Child. Yes?"
"Uh – sure." Ryland shook his head, totally mystified.
"Skylan was right. I need to stop reading so much before I go to sleep. This is weird." The boy stretched and yawned, exposing delicate canines.
"Your turn. Tell me your name."
"Aven," the boy said casually, and Ryland felt his heart stop.
"Of Aven and Skylan?"
"Yep, that's my husband." Aven squinted. "Gods, you should really eat more. You're skin and bones."
"Husband?" Ryland said numbly.
"Sort of." Aven blew a strand of red-gold hair out of his eyes. "What's it to you?"
"I – uh – hmmm." Ryland bit his lip. "I. Hm."
"Figured we spent all our time together." Aven shrugged. "Might as well."
"How old are you?"
"Eighteen. Gracious, for a dream, you sure are nosy."
"So he loves you back? I mean – you – oh, gods." Ezreal isn't going to take this well.
"Skylan? I'd say so. He fought off twenty Noxian robbers once, to save me. Then he slapped me really hard and told me never to walk down alleys again." Aven leaned closer. His scent was of crushed autumn leaves and petals. Ryland couldn't look away from his willow-colored eyes. "I was treasure hunting. He doesn't get it."
"That can't be right," Ryland murmured. He longed to brush the amber-gold hair from his eyes. "I would never hit you."
"Well, yeah. I said Skylan, not Ryland." Aven's face grew inscrutable. "I'm serious about the eating thing. I can see your veins."
"Aven?" Ryland whirled towards the voice. It was accompanied by the sound of twigs breaking. "Ouch. Fuck."
"I asked him to do the dream meld thing so he could get a look at you, but I waited 'til after the whole nightmare thing." Aven's tone was matter-of-fact, as if this happened every night. And maybe it did.
Skylan broke from the side of the forest with a grumble.
"Holy fuck. It's me," Ryland whispered.
"No, it's Skylan. Are you nuts? You probably are." The words didn't hurt coming from Aven, as they were accompanied by a beautiful, coy smile.
"What the fuck?" Ryland turned and almost bumped into his double, who had crept up when he turned to Aven.
It was like looking into the wavering ripples of a lake and seeing his own features distorted. Skylan had the same verdant, green triangles painted beneath his eyes. Though lean, Skylan was muscled. His arms and shoulders were strong, coiling smoothly beneath his tight gray shirt.
Their faces were the same, but he wore his differently – Skylan's eyes were distrustful, his jaw held tighter. The grace of his movement signaled to Ryland that he had martial arts training.
"See?" Aven stood on his tiptoes and pointed to Ryland. "This is that guy. The one I always dream about."
Skylan's eyes narrowed. He leaned into Ryland, who cowered backwards. After slowly and thoroughly examining him, and meeting Ryland's eyes for a brief look of disgust, he turned back to Aven.
"You mean me? Because he kinda looks like me."
"Good gods almighty." Aven huffed. "No. Ryland. You're Skylan. You're Ryland. You two good now?"
Skylan rolled his eyes. "What'd you see this time? Did he get beaten again?"
"No."
"Your imagination is so morbid. I swear these dreams are just you putting me in situations you'd like to see."
"He was with a bunch of soldiers."
"Did he beat them all up?" Skylan's smile was as brief as a gust of wind. "Your dreams are one long Demacian hero comic, I swear."
"No. He just – he kinda took it. One of them had a rope around his neck." Aven subconsciously mimicked Ryland's desperate grasp on the cord. "And was strangling him. And he didn't do anything."
"Wow. Real exciting dream, kid."
"Shut up." Aven's smile broke Ryland's heart again. "But listen. He can talk."
Skylan looked to Ryland expectantly. "Well, dream vision? Speak, Ryland of the Moon. I would hear more of your wisdom."
"He said you two were married," Ryland blurted.
Skylan arched an eyebrow. "According to a druidic priestess from the Freljord, which is all I care about. It was more of a warrior ceremony. Soul-pairing."
"Oh." Ryland blinked hard.
"Yeah. It'll be, what, two years in a few days?"
Aven nodded. Ryland noticed he had a single freckle on his pale bottom lip. "We were headed back to the Freljord to study tribal customs. We always go around this time of year."
"Then back to Noxus, to visit my dad." Skylan cracked his neck. "Darius apparently wants to tell me something important."
"Then Demacia, to visit your other parents. Merilyn's probably knitted me a fifteenth scarf by now," Aven finished. "And a book tour, don't forget."
"Yeah, yeah. You get to parade me around in front of a bunch of old academics. 'Behold, my greatest discovery. Someone who does my bidding all the time.'" Skylan smiled sardonically, ignoring Ryland entirely. "Worth more than all the artifacts in Ionia."
"I wouldn't go that far." Aven tried to hide his grin behind his hand. "There are quite a few worthwhile artifacts in Ionia."
Skylan sighed in mock-irritation. "Trust me. I've read your work on them."
"I've found flutes worth more than your whole body."
"Anyways," Skylan said, turning back to Ryland. "Dream guy. Aven is mine, even if he does annoy me by wanting to hug every animal we pass."
"Hey," Aven said, and Ryland's heart thudded painfully because he sounded just like Ezreal, just his voice's music transposed into a new key. And that same laughing smile. "Wolf cubs need hugs too."
Skylan walked over to him and ruffled his hair roughly. Aven smacked his hand away. "Yeah, bear cubs too. That was real fun, fighting the mama bear off."
"Stop. You're embarrassing me."
Skylan pushed Aven's protesting hand away and pulled the boy to his side in one smooth motion, his hand resting on the boy's hip. "So, anyways, why am I here again?"
Aven looked up at him. "I was hoping you could tell me what he was. I don't usually dream of stuff like him."
Ryland gritted his teeth. Their exclusion was painful. They still thought he wasn't real.
"Hmmmm. Nope. No idea, kid." He rested his chin atop Aven's head. The pair of them looked at Ryland until his face flushed. "You should try going to bed at a different time. And I mean, you can't dream of waterfalls or trees or whatever the hell you do all the time. Everyone has to have nightmares."
"Even Aven?" The boy looked at Skylan.
"Even Aven."
Aven's eyes lingered on Ryland's face. He felt his chest clench under their green regard.
"There's no reason for it, though," Aven muttered.
"I don't know. A Noxian mind-doctor would probably say he's some subconscious examination of your dead parents, or something." His hand stroked the side of Aven's face. Aven leaned against his palm, almost purring. He put his arms around Skylan's waist. "Or a ghost you picked up somewhere. Probably the temple we were at yesterday."
"Then why the hell am I dreaming you two?" Ryland suddenly shouted. There was a rustle in the forest as some slumbering animal fled. "Do I really have to go through this, too? Do I have to watch some cooler version of me be – be married to – oh gods. There hasn't been enough torment? Really?"
"Cooler version?" Skylan smiled. "Well, at least your dream guy is smart, Aven."
"No!" Ryland said shrilly. His hand clutched his chest. "This isn't fair! Am I unfit for Aven, too?"
Skylan froze. He slowly unwound his arms from Aven and cracked his knuckles.
Aven closed his eyes. "Skylan, don't."
"I don't take too kindly to people who get jealous, pal. Whether you're me or not."
"It's a dream," Aven whispered. "Relax. Besides, if he was you, wouldn't he love me anyways?"
"Weren't you the one who just told me that he was different?" Skylan shook his head. "There's that academic side of you, kiddo. Always changing sides."
"Look. I just want you to tell me what he is."
"I already told you I can't."
"Not even with the Empath?" Aven looked troubled.
"Are you kidding? I'm not going to use my powers on a dream."
"Please?" Aven kissed him lightly on the lips. The anger abruptly left Skylan's stature, drifting away like an errant cloud. He sighed and kissed Aven's forehead.
Ryland subconsciously squeezed his broken wrist. The physical pain flared inside of him like a lightning bolt, but it was a welcome distraction.
"Alright, guy." Skylan looked unimpressed. "Let's see if you really are Ryland, Son of the Moon."
Ryland felt a silver mirror of his own powers begin to press lightly against the edges of his mind. There was something else there, too. It took Ryland a moment to realize it was arrogance.
Skylan was totally confident that he would break him immediately, have full access to his thoughts in their striped, bloody glory.
Oh. I don't think so.
Ryland shoved back and was rewarded by Skylan taking a small step backwards. He was almost tempted to call forth his army of wolves, if only to see Aven's eyes sparkle in childish delight. He thought of Ezreal's broad smile the first time he'd conjured the Shades of Soraka's staff and Karma's fan, and longed to see it played out once more.
Another chance, free of Lux and death and broken wrists.
"What the hell?"
"Keep trying," Ryland said. He smiled at Aven, who returned it hesitantly. "Go ahead."
He felt his heart sink a bit when Skylan's hands took on a familiar silver glow.
The mental assault was twice as powerful now. Ryland's mind, undermined by recent emotional turmoil, braced itself. His defenses were still able to rebuff him, forcing Skylan entirely out of his head. Skylan gritted his teeth. Ryland heard a small portion of his thoughts as their consciousnesses collided.
Not letting some dream guy embarrass me in front of Aven -
Ryland shrugged. "That all you got? Go again."
"Stop resisting." Skylan scowled.
"No."
"Fine, then." Skylan still looked unimpressed. "You brought this upon yourself, Son of the Moon."
Ryland was forced to his knees by Skylan's next assault. His powers had to be two, maybe three times stronger than Ryland's. And if Ryland could change winter –
There was a brief silence as the two exchanged memories. Ryland watched as Skylan's mind was flooded by images of despair and assault. The Guardian's face whitened.
As for Skylan's memories –
Aven by his side as they traversed all of Valoran. Aven by his side since his junior year at Brightbridge, when he'd gotten the Torch in front of all the students. The constant praise of his parents and his teachers.
His righteous fury as he fought off twenty Noxian bandits. His staff whirling and jabbing them in the ribs, rushing like the wind. His body engaged in a whirling, tempestuous dance as he repelled their multi-pronged assault. A brief glance over his shoulder to make sure Aven was alright.
The last one lay broken at his feet. He crossed to Aven as swiftly as a panther and slapped him. Twice. Hard.
Aven looked up at him in the dusky Noxian twilight, bottom lip weeping blood, tears in the corners of his glass-green eyes.
I'm so sorry.
Don't you ever go down alleys again. Don't go anywhere in Noxus alone. You're lucky I found you. A third slap, busting his lip entirely. Do you understand me?
The shaking boy pressed his face to the front of Skylan's shirt. Shuddering, he nodded.
I –
I don't care what you were looking for. He pulled Aven closer. He, too, was shaking. What if I had lost you?
There were other similar memories. Aven's unquenchable thirst for adventure had almost killed both of them, many, many times. More than Skylan could count.
When Skylan had pulled his thin body out of the lake near Angel's Peak, he hadn't been able to contain his fury. He was equally consumed by guilt when Aven's pale right cheek was stained by a glowing purple bruise.
The worst was when Aven looked into the night sky and wished he were dead. Skylan watched the starlight glimmer in his emerald eyes and knew that he would never be able to conquer Aven's internal sadness. It was sadness borne of the trees changing season, of children growing older. I'm just ready for the next life, you know?
The depth of Skylan's hurt at this – why should he be sad when I'm by his side? – drove his anger. Aven's pretty face was painted a dusky red and violet – the same color as the Noxian sunset – by Skylan's rough hands.
The Guardian lay awake at night, Aven snuggled into his chest, tears drying on his cheeks. Is it abuse if he would die otherwise? How will he learn? How did he survive without me there to protect him?
Ryland met Skylan's eyes. His lips were quivering with fury. "Yes, it's abuse. Stop hitting him."
"Shut up. You don't know anything." Skylan's eyes slanted. "Aven, I don't like this. Let's go. Never go near him again. Don't speak to him."
Aven took a few hesitant steps towards Ryland. "But Skylan…he looks so sad."
"What did I just say?"
Aven hugged Ryland, looking up at him with brilliant green eyes. Ryland couldn't breathe again, though it was a pleasant sensation, unlike the cord drawing tight around his neck.
"Wolf cubs need hugs too," Aven said with a smile.
I'm sure we'll meet again.
Those green eyes were Ryland's last memory before he jolted awake. The morning sun pressed against the roof of his and Ezreal's tent.
Ezreal stared at him with sleep-filled blue eyes. "Ryland? You okay? Be honest this time."
"I just met Aven and Skylan."
"Wait, what? I thought we were Aven and Skylan." Ezreal blinked. He was tired, but Ryland sounded so agitated that he forced himself to full wakefulness.
"We are but not really. Ezreal." Ryland glanced sideways at him. "Is there anything in the Aven and Skylan myth about them being married?"
"What?" Ezreal rubbed his eyes. "Am I hearing you correctly? Married?"
"Yeah." Ryland laughed shakily. "They were. Warrior soul-pairing ceremony in the Freljord."
Ezreal stopped. "How'd you hear of that? I never put that in any of my books, because the information on it's fragmented."
"What is there?"
"There's a single sentence on a page of a manuscript that isn't even the Verisin Nox. Most scholars don't even think about it."
"Skylan just told me it was true, though." Seeing the Explorer's quizzical look, he said, "I'm being totally serious."
"You sure this isn't some, uh, coping mechanism?" Ezreal looked at Ryland's wrist.
"No! I promise!"
"Calm down." He touched Ryland's cheek. "It's alright."
"But they're married."
He meets the two gods from the Freljordian folktale, and that's all he's fixated on, Ezreal thought. "Alright, Ryland. I believe you."
"They called me the Son of the Moon. Is there – anything like that? In the folktales?"
"This sounds like a pretty detailed dream. Were you asleep?"
"Ezreal please listen," Ryland said in one breath. "Please."
Ezreal dragged himself out of his academic coping mechanism – he'd been busy mentally cataloging all the Demacian-Noxus battles he could remember, as soon as Ryland had mentioned that Aven and Skylan were in a relationship.
He put his head in his hands. Guilt was eating him alive. "I'm listening."
Ryland hurriedly described the conversation he'd had. His voice took on tones of anguish as he described Aven and Skylan's relationship, including its strangely abusive component. When he fell silent, Ezreal shook his head.
"But what does it mean?"
"I don't know. I really don't." Ryland sighed. "Maybe you're right. It's just some mental construct thing."
"It sounds pretty real to me."
"Yeah, but we're not – you know –"
"Married?"
"Yes."
"Well, you've also never hit me. And I'm pretty sure you're not a mixed martial artist." Ezreal looked up. "Are you?"
"Ezreal, I trip over my own feet on a daily basis."
"Then maybe it is real. They're us, but a different form of us."
"I still have Skylan's memories," Ryland murmured.
Ezreal took a deep breath and gave the question he really didn't want to know the answer to. "Are you jealous?"
"Are you kidding? That guy is a more awesome version of me. He had a totally happy childhood, except for a bit of bullying. His powers are stronger, he's on speaking terms with Merilyn and Darrigan. And –" Ryland shut his mouth abruptly. "Yes."
"Should I be jealous of Aven?"
"He's just you with green eyes, Ezreal. Sort of. He's…happier." Ryland's face darkened. "Freer. Still exploring."
Ezreal waited a moment. "You going to be okay?"
"Yeah." Ryland put a weary hand over his eyes. When he closed them, he saw Aven's green gaze peering back at him. "I hope so."
Katarina pulled her cleanest shirt on. The barbarian women had given it to her. It was a soft gray-green material that reminded Kat of Ryland's eyes.
Godsdamnit. Now I won't get either Ezreal or Ryland. I can still think of it, though…
But she knew she was distracting herself with sexual thoughts to hide her genuine hurt. For some reason, even after Ryland detailed his horrible experiences in the military, she assumed he would fight for Noxus.
"He's fighting for the godsdamned Freljord, for fuck's sake. Is he sleeping with Ashe?" She paused while packing up. There had been that gleam in Ashe's eye yesterday, and the Avarosan leader did think he was a god…
"No, I haven't fucked Ashe." There he was, standing beside her backpack. She wanted to fling herself at him and apologize, but didn't. "I'm not really sure I want to fight Tryndamere, after all."
"Have fun with your boyfriend?" Kat scowled.
"Yeah, tons of it. He threatened to hurt me. Told me he was going to scar me. It was great." He saw Kat's eyes almost ignite with anger.
"That's my job."
"I know," he said quietly.
"What's his deal, anyways? Is he bipolar?"
"Walk with me." He hefted her backpack onto his back and headed towards the slowly assembling barbarian army. "What do you mean, Kat?"
"He's all like 'I love you Ryland' and then he breaks your wrist and tells you he's gonna beat you."
"Sounds familiar." His smirk was so darkly Noxian it took her breath away.
"For that matter, what's your deal, huh? You're all healer-y and then suddenly you're the fucking king of Noxus."
"Does it trouble you, Katarina du Couteau?" he said in a flawless high Noxian accent. His slight grin was enough to arouse Katarina to a painful extent.
"You're giving me a heart attack."
"The feeling's mutual."
Somehow or another, the forces were assembled before midday. At Ezreal's call, the barbarians all walked forward as one, keeping their eyes trained on the gold and silver flares at the head of their forces. The wheel was turning, as was the dust as their boots tore the grass.
The Freljordian nobility strode directly behind him and Ryland, followed by the non-barbarians. Kat was still fuming because she wasn't allowed to walk with Ryland . Erinae sat on Jayce's shoulders, studying the crowd with topaz eyes. Soraka kept herself busy by reciting memorized prayers to the Aurora.
The Explorer felt a vague, menacing presence awaiting them past Angel's Crossing. Something dark and impressive, but also terrifying. Like the Shade of a Void Wolf, perhaps.
When he looked behind him and saw the hundreds of unfamiliar eyes staring back, he longed for Lux so badly that it hurt. He was tired of the constant fear.
Every few hours seemed to spawn some fresh horror. The worst part was that he couldn't see any of them coming – it was like stumbling through a black cave, into trap after unseen trap. Crazy kings and Noxian fugues; sex-hungry assassins and angry trolls. Hell, the Skelgarn was starting to seem comforting – at least Ezreal had heard of it beforehand.
There was his own Overflow to think about. The world was so chaotic he'd almost forgotten the golden flame, wrapped lovingly around him like the damp spring air.
And Ryland. Ryland had to be kept stable.
The extent of mental damage taken from this trip probably wouldn't even be able to be examined until they returned to the Institute. If the Institute was still functioning. He planned to explain to Lux that he was going to be affectionate towards Ryland regardless of what people said.
Gods above. This trip has almost broken me, and I'm fairly adept at handling myself. Ryland's had, what, a year and a half of complete sanity? He needs me to protect him. No matter what it takes.
So, as they exited the forest and entered the narrow valley leading to Angel's Crossing, Ezreal tried to keep Ryland talking. The trees around them were green and lush, and the multicolored flowers were still blossoming. The sheer, raw mountains cast purple shadows over the whole company. Everyone had forgotten about winter entirely.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Aven."
"Hmmm." I guessed that one right. "Bugging you, eh? I guess it would bug me too, if gods showed up and started talking to me."
"That's the thing, though. They weren't really gods. They were just people." Ryland's frown deepened. "And the idea of me being an abusive jerk in a different life –"
"It was probably just a dream," Ezreal said soothingly. "Doesn't mean anything."
"I've actually met Aven before, though."
Go with what he says, Ezreal heard Soraka whisper in his mind. He had no idea whether it was actually her or his memory of her.
They came upon a shallow river. The barbarians lifted their metal equipment above their heads as they forded it, the water warm and tepid from the brilliant sun. Ezreal looked back to see Kat muttering furiously under her breath. Soraka had tied her gray travelling gown to the side, to keep her dress dry.
"Have you met him?"
"Remember that time I thought I almost died?" Ryland laughed suddenly and covered his face. "Well, one of them? Where you showed up."
"More adventures. Just hang on."
"Yeah, that wasn't you. That was Aven. He said so."
"Hmmm." Ezreal wasn't sure what to say to that one.
"I just wish I could meet him again." Ryland sighed. "Really badly."
Sounds like I'm getting replaced. The Explorer winced. It actually hurt to think that he might not be the center of Ryland's adoration. Can I really blame him, though?
"What about him troubles you?"
"It's not him. It's Skylan. Here, I have a memory of his…" As they walked onward, Ryland reforged their mental connection and showed Ezreal Skylan fighting off the Noxian bandits. The memory was so colorful – so exact in details, down to the rill of blood on Aven's busted lip, and that pleading gleam in his green eyes – that Ezreal felt surreal.
Did he really meet Aven and Skylan? But – that's impossible. They're gods.
"I really did meet them," Ryland said softly. The company stopped on a plain between two iron-colored mountains for a respite. The warriors all seemed to tilt their faces towards the sun, drinking it in. "I don't know why you doubt me. I wouldn't lie."
"It might seem a bit more strange to me because I've written so much about them. You know, I've got this really big, concrete idea of them, and then they turn out to be – well, reflections of us."
"But Ezreal. You keep forgetting we're pretty close to being deities ourselves." Ryland bit his knuckle. "As much as I hate to say that."
"I don't like thinking about it. I even almost forgot about my aura."
"How?"
Ezreal shrugged. "There's too much happening for me to dwell on it. So I don't."
Ryland was silent. The blossom-scented air drifted across his face. Nearby, a small group of Winter's Claw recited a rough prayer to the wind gods, begging for the breezes to speed their steps.
"Would you have really hurt me last night?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
Ezreal saw Aven's scared face through Ryland's mind. It was quite clear that he empathized with the boy. Or the god. Or whatever he was. "Ryland?"
"I just – I want to see him again, is all." Ryland shut his eyes.
"You two have a lot in common," Ezreal said softly. Is this what he wants to hear? All I want is to help.
"Do we?"
"The same perseverance."
"I need to see him again."
"Ryland." Ezreal's voice was gentle. He thought of calling Soraka, then decided against it. "I'm not sure he's real."
"You're probably right. Just my mind playing tricks again. Just like it always does."
The Explorer wasn't sure which was worse – worshipping an abuser, or someone who didn't exist. At least with Aven he'll be a god, part of him whispered. And not a scared little boy.
They stopped to camp at dusk. The lights of Angel's Crossing winked at them from the peaks of the mountains. Ezreal thought the vista looked rather strange, deprived of snow as it was. He was used to the city's lanterns twinkling against the ice.
Tryndamere greeted him with a fist pushed against Ezreal's chest – an affectionate, brotherly greeting from his regional tribe. Ezreal responded in the same way.
"What news, sire?"
"Aven, the Freljordians ask your blessing."
"So they have it."
"What are your opinions on the watch?"
It took Ezreal a few moments to remember – they were nearing Lissandra's wintry demesne and, as such, might be under scrutiny or attack. The air and weather had been so pleasant, and the day so horror free, that he had forgotten. "Send your hand-picked Avarosan for the first watch, lasting half the night. Then the Winter's Claw."
"I thank you. And in terms of the Skelgarn?"
"Have Soraka examine as many people as she can. Ryland – Skylan –" He saw Ryland's dark look. "King Tryndamere, if it isn't too much trouble, can you have your tribesmen refer to us as Ezreal and Ryland?"
"Your will be done, Ezreal of Piltover."
"I will have Ryland conduct a secondary mental sweep of our tribes. Please disturb us only if there is an emergency."
Ryland's had a normal day. Let's keep it that way.
But there was no chance. As he and Ryland drifted into sleep, the first metal scouts of Viktor's army skittered towards them, their data-sensing antennae devouring knowledge. From Generator I, only a few miles away, Viktor emitted a small electronic pulse that sent his first strike force hurtling towards the barbarian camp, their metal bodies glowing beneath the sky.