For Kevin of Piltover. May the Wheel turn once more in your favor.


Death balanced himself, unseen and unknown, atop the highest spire of Lissandra's dark ice fortress. The sharp-fanged wind blew past him, whistling in his ears.

It was here decreed that Ezreal and Ryland would meet him, and their accompanying demise. This was the fate the Aurora was struggling so hard to unwork - to mend with her troublesome multi-colored threads of light.

That was, if the Wheel even continued to turn. Death had watched Skylan snap Aven's wrists with wonder. How can the Aurora love these creatures? They're merciless.

It mattered not. The Lightbringer and the Destroyer's souls were breaking. In fact, Death wasn't even certain the Wheel would last one more revolution through the eventide. The whispers in Ezreal's ears were growing by the second, and the light in Aven's eyes was fading.

Can't have my Ryland guard your son? Death smirked. Ha. Great work your emissary of perfection wrought. Great work for me, that is.

It was a shame. Almost.

Death had contented himself with listening to Lissandra commanding her trolls to and fro. He found it adorable that the Ice Witch thought herself wise for living what - six hundred years? T'was hardly a dandelion seed in an ocean.

The wind caught some of the snow and twirled it upward. The Aurora materialized from the white. Her green eyes and auburn hair were muted, and her gown had become longer, flowing far past her feet. Her eyes sought the horizon.

She glanced sidelong at him. "Go on, Death. Gloat."

"My dear, I have no need to. As far as I'm concerned, I've won our wager."

"You have not," the Aurora muttered, but there was a note of doubt in her voice. His son, his Ezreal, was far stronger than Aven.

"Really? Listen, and hear it." He gestured upward. The Aurora closed her eyes and tilted her head.

Death had a moment - a dandelion seed - to appreciate the Aurora's beauty. The gentle curve of her lips, and the flawless swan-white of her skin.

Her face was fearless for a moment. Then she heard it - a soul-deep, grinding, creaking noise, one as large as a star's collapsing. Her eyes opened, blazing with terror.

"No! He still lives! He and Ezreal both!"

Death steepled his fingers. "Perhaps you wish to forfeit, love?"

"Forfeit?" She gaped at him. "Beg pardon?"

He fought to keep the smile from rising to his face. It was so difficult to be serious about this whole thing, this petty game. I always drive a hard bargain. This time is no exception.

"If you forfeit claim to the Wheel, I'll make all of their extinctions peaceful. It will come upon them like sleep - one moment dreaming, the next gone."

"You're mad," she said softly.

"It's something you may wish to consider." The Wheel grated, and the Aurora winced. "As the time draws near."

She lifted her chin defiantly - gods, that's where Ezreal got it, aye, and Aven, too. That stubbornness. "I never shall, Death. Not until the last moment."

"Well," Death said cajolingly, "You'd save your sons a lot of pain."

"Pain?"

"My love, the ending of the universe - of many of them - is never pretty."

"You shall not win."

"But if I do? Can you imagine?" He took her hand and showed her what he foresaw.


The world - the Wheel - turned black-red around Ezreal's body. The ruby-gold fire arced and swooped around him, whispering. Our time has come at last. Come, Sun Child. Come, Destroyer.

He could disobey them no longer.

The boy's hateful, fear-filled eyes turned to Aven and Skylan. Aven's chest was heaving - all his pretty toys, his green earth and its creatures, were already nothingness. He would join them soon.

The Guardian took the Lightbringer in his arms, desperate to shield his body. But not even those muscles formed from the light of the moon itself could withstand the burning. A wall of fire engulfed them both.

Skylan roared with fury, but it mattered not. Deep in his bones - before they were turned to ash - he knew he'd failed his only task. His Aven.

Ezreal fell to his knees choking. The rings of red emanating from him made the ground hum, made reality itself bend like a certain boy's skinny wrists. He sought the Healer.

"Ryland. I can't - I can't control it."

Ryland got to his feet. He thought he'd seen hell with his own eyes. But he hadn't - not compared to this.

Is this what it really amounted to? All the people he'd saved? That he'd loved? Nothing but dust and darkness?

"Ryland," Ezreal whispered. "It hurts."

The Destroyer's heartbreakingly blue eyes met Ryland's. Then Ryland felt it - Aven still somehow lived. His chest drew shallow breaths beneath the weight of Skylan's carcass. His heart still fluttered, desperately clinging to hope - the hope that the Son of the Moon would save him, as he always did.

"Ryland." Ezreal was weeping flames. They fell to the earth around him, sizzling. "Please. It hurts."

It was then the Healer made his choice. He didn't want Aven to see this. To feel this.

He reached one last time into the Lightbringer's pure soul.

Come with me, Aven.

The boy - he was seven again - looked at Ryland, quivering, clutching his stuffed kitty. The Healer stood, shirtless and lean, in the sweet springtide meadow. Somewhere, a cooling rain was falling on the outskirts of Ionia. The lights were dancing across the midnight sky. The Healer and nature were beckoning.

Ryland closed his eyes. Come here, my love.

Aven took a few hesitant steps, then ran to Ryland's arms and kissed his cheek. A brief moment of joy.

And the Wheel, groaning in pain, turned. Ryland stopped the Lightbringer's heart, and held him until his breaths ceased.

His springtide eyes begged Ryland. Why, moon son? Dost thou not love me, like the world?

I love you more than you'll ever know. Ta - aikah, Aven Lightbringer.

The last thing Ryland saw were the two large tears rolling down his cheeks into his green paint markings. Peace and goodwill.

"Ryland, please. Please. I need you." Ezreal began to sob. The Healer crossed to him, ignoring the fire grasping towards him, hissing, mocking. Useless. Useless. Useless.

Ryland was smiling, as true healers did. Ezreal looked up at him through his blonde, unruly hair. "I don't think you can help."

"Shhh." The Healer knelt beside Ezreal, then embraced him. The fire washed over him as he took Ezreal's pain, as he always did.

"Ryland."

"Just trust me," the Healer whispered as his lungs turned to superheated sacks, then burst. Ezreal's powers broke free entirely and began to feed on both of them.

"I love you." Ezreal buried his face in Ryland's shoulder, burning him clear through to the bone.

The Healer mouthed the words back. He longed to speak, but his vocal cords were gone.

Ryland's last feeling was regret - regret that he couldn't heal them. He imagined lying shoulder to shoulder with Ezreal and Aven while the gentle rains caressed the land.

He died as he lived. In pain.

Ezreal thought nothing. The whispers had turned to shouts. His soul soared like a supernova, and the Wheel -


"Stop!" the Aurora shrieked above the Freljordian wind. A few of the aimless trolls wandering about looked skyward and saw nothing. "Stop!"

"Your Wheel isn't so pretty now, is it?" Death grinned.

"I hate you!" Her eyes glittered.

"It matters not, my love. So does the world." Her eyes filled with tears as she realized he was quoting Aven. "T'is no different."

"I will not - I shall not let this happen." Her voice was a whisper.

"Ha. Even if Aven lives, Ezreal and Ryland have yet to face the Ice Witch. Their deaths here. They shan't escape them."

The Aurora had quickly regained her composure. Save for the twin tear tracks, her face was the picture of calm, which irritated Death to no end.

"Ezreal will defeat you. I know it."

"No you don't," he snapped. "Not any more than I do."

The two glared at each other, despite Death's lack of eyes. There at the top of Lissandra's fortress stood creation and destruction, light and dark, Aurora and Death.

Their endless tug of war was what created the Wheel, through age and age again. Never before had the Aurora won their bet. But never before had she been bold enough to mingle herself with Death, give birth to their essences at two points on the Wheel.

"I am determined to win at last, Death. You cannot escape our sons."

"God speed, Aurora, and good luck."

She snarled and vanished into the next spray of snow.

And Death smiled, and waited.


The Center World: Aven and Skylan's

I lied to the moon son. Aye, I did. Skylan struggled with the white cloth bandages. Aven stood mutely, green eyes downcast. Ryland is far more fit. I've been praised on my anatomical drawings of the Shurimanan Night Mouse, studied the bones of every fish in the Southern Sea, yet know not how to mend a boy's wrists.

Aven winced in pain as Skylan drew the bandage tight with his teeth. "Sorry, Sky Child." In more ways than one.

The boy opened his mouth but still couldn't speak. He settled for a kiss on Skylan's forehead.

After double checking their backpacks, he took Aven by the elbow and led him from the tiny room. Skylan hoped neither of them had to see it again.

He felt the boy's conflicting emotions. Part of Aven sprang for joy at having escaped at last, while the other surveyed the abandoned hotel with silent misery. This Freljordian hotel had once been grand, but the fountains had long ago stopped spraying water. The chandeliers were so coated in dust that none of their sparkle shone through.

And of course, Skylan noted, the tapestries would be of Ezreal. Aven shuddered at the boy's blue-eyed warrior's gaze.

The largest cloth was dingy and faded. Even still, the red blood of the slaughtered deer at Ezreal's feet was brilliant.

Skylan sighed. Part of him hoped that the outdoors would be better, though he knew otherwise.

And he was right. The leafless trees were stark and black against the gray sky. There was nothing - no flock of winterdark crows rustling in the trees, or gray-bellied coyote stalking past them. Not even a breeze.

And the air was bitingly cold.

Winter.

Skylan felt the boy's heart weakening. Winter had always made the Lightbringer uneasy - before the world stopped loving him, Aven had only ever cried on the last night of autumn, when he was obligated to bring the Tides of Ice once more.

They haven't done anything wrong, Skylan, Aven would murmur, every year. Those moths and foxes haven't harmed a single soul.

Such is life, Aven Lightbringer. He would leave the boy to contemplate, one last time, the majestic reds and golds of the leaves, the rich auburn of the lightblossoms by his toes.

When the boy would stumble into their Freljordian cabin a few hours later, Skylan would have cocoa and a fire prepared. The frost would already be sparkling outside, and little creatures dying by the thousands.

Winter had come early this year, but Aven couldn't stop it.

I can't let him weaken. Ah, gods. I never thought the darkness would last this long, not until winter. Winter was always hard enough. Skylan's jaw clenched. What the hell would Ryland do? Distract him?

Give him affection, the moon son whispered in his mind. As much as possible. Comfort him. Make him feel it.

"Emotions are so fucking stupid," Skylan muttered.

So was breaking his wrists. Ryland's voice was gentle, but insistent. You're the Guardian, and I'm not there. You must help him however you can.

Skylan took a deep breath.

"Aven, you know I love you, right?" The boy looked up at him curiously. "Well, I do. Just - try to remember it. I know - I know the world is a scary place right now. But you're the one who always put that preface in the front of all your books - except the field guides and such."

Skylan felt the Lightbringer not remember. Aven could understand words, but not form them.

How does Sir Ryland do this all the time? I'm already exhausted.

"It's what you told me every day, before the world turned tail. 'The darkest sky can hold the greatest light.' And I'd - I'd always draw a little piece below it. I drew a heron for you once. Then a fox."

Aven nodded again, smiling a bit more brightly.

And that's when Skylan saw a flicker of movement behind him. Oh gods. Again? Already?

"Sky Child," he whispered. He put a large hand on top of Aven's head. "Please. Don't move from the safe spot. Even if it's only for Ryland that you live. I care not."

One more nod, a look of bleak acceptance replacing the grin. Skylan yearned to see his smile again, smile as he always had when they were younger, or even just a year ago.

But, that day, it was not to be.

When the arrows came, they came all at once, whistling through the air and turning it into a mess of sticks and points. Skylan deflected them with Empath and surrounded Aven with a sphere of silver magic - a kin of the one Ryland had made.

I love you, Aven mouthed behind the shimmering globe. Skylan smiled in return, and turned to face the assault.

It was a mob - how they'd gotten there with neither of them hearing, Skylan couldn't guess. Sixty barbarians stood before him, their eyes flat and lifeless save for a dim gleam of greed.

The largest one drew himself up. Dressed in black wolf's fur, he had seven silver knives tucked around his waist, and three dangling from his neck.

"The boy's heart price demands you give him up." The man's voice was deep and grating.

"I think not."

"We'll have him regardless. Submit now and you may live. You shall submit regardless."

Far away, Skylan heard a pack of wolves howl in agreement. Closer, he heard the archers readying their bows again, strings humming with tension.

The Guardian formed a staff from Empath energy and glared at the tribe. "Again, I think not."

"Then you'll die," the Aitah said softly. Behind him, the tribe began to murmur. They hefted their hatchets and swords.

"Once more. I think not."

The arrows sang from the trees around him. A quick wall of Empath caught them all, breaking them in half. The barbarians charged him, calling an Ionian death sacrament - words they shouldn't've known.

The Child of the Wind whirled his staff. Sixty were naught compared to the six-hundred of the Fleshing.

Aven watched the men fall before Skylan's force, skulls crushed, necks snapped. The colorless winter grass was soon stained red and brown. A few Skylan flipped upwards - they fell, splintering their spines.

His face was alight with fierce joy. Aven knew it wasn't the joy of killing, but fulfilling his purpose as Guardian.

The third wave of arrows he sent whizzing back towards their archers. A chorus of yelps and screams filled the silent woods, taking the place of bird cries. There were soft thuds as Adam's apples shattered.

Skylan had just finished the barbarians when the pack of white wolves came running. They were as large as tigers, with paws the size of Aven's head.

But it wasn't their size that gave the Guardian a moment of pause.

They had no eyes. Not a one of them. Black holes against their snowy fur.

Aven clutched his chest. Seeing horrors in Ryland's mind was expected, but on the earth, his earth?

The alpha wolf bared its teeth, revealing four silvery rows crammed next to each other. The fangs glistened even in the dim sunlight.

These were even worse than Void Wolves. Could it be, then - Shade Wolves? Was such a thing even possible? If so, who had summoned them?

Aven's fists beat on the side of the sphere, struggling to form words. Skylan looked at him reassuringly. "Worry not, little one. They're still merely dogs. Just - trust me, alright?"

The wolves leapt as one, a sea of white fur and gaping eye sockets. Skylan called upon the teachings of Irelia, leaping from wolf to wolf, smashing the juncture between skull and spine. Always the spittle-caked jaws snapped at his limbs. Always they missed.

When five or six broke and dashed towards Aven, he was there to destroy them. Their muzzles burst beneath his staff.

One of them tore his weapon away, and he strangled it with his bare hands. His fingers sank into the soft fur. He could feel its throat swelling beneath his palms. Its breath was hot and smelled of corpses. At last it fell away, gray tongue lolling.

The terror in Aven's green eyes sent a bolt of sorrow into Skylan's heart, like an arrow. He fought the sensation, turning instead back to the next assault.

There was another wave of nearly two-hundred Avarosan coming, Aven sensed. Coming like a snow storm.

Skylan felt it too and readied his staff. A sort of warrior's joy was echoed in his posture.

Then they both heard it - the mutters and rumbling of a much larger crowd. The muted glow of torches appeared to their right. A second, coarser ensemble of whispers came from their left.

Skylan's staff wavered. He said he could fight the Noxian army, and he could. But not while ensuring Aven was safe. As frustrated as they were with him, the mobs would likely fling themselves at the Lightbringer and eat him alive.

"Sky Child," the Guardian murmured. "What's the population of Fairlight? We're a mile out from there."

Aven forced himself to speak. It made his temples ache and burn. "Around three-thousand."

"We're going to have to run, then." There was a hint of disappointment in Skylan's voice that made Aven sad.

He longs to fight. He could if I were not with him. Why does he put up with such a burden?

"Because I love you." He slung Aven over his shoulders and tied his elbows together as tightly as possible with the remainders of the cloth bandages. Their enormous supply bag went over his back.

Close your eyes, Aven.

Aven did. The frigid wind coursed across his face, and he buried his nose in Skylan's shoulder. The voices grew louder, then softer. The one time he looked, he and Skylan were hurtling over a huge chasm. The brief view of the tops of trees made his heart drop.

Later, his toes brushed wintry water, and his thigh was snagged by thorns. How the Guardian bore all this without comment was beyond him.

Despite the obstacles, still they came - shouts, screams, and the vicious, blood-hungry snarls of more wolves. After a time, eerie groans joined them. Skylan swore quietly.

"Be these the demons of hell, Aven?"

The Lightbringer peered out between the bag and Skylan's back. Men with rotting faces, missing jaws and leprous fingers were shambling after them. As he watched, one's skull fell off. The rest of its body crumbled to the ground.

"The Land-Seizer, here at last," Aven whispered. Corruption in the Center World. Death's servant and ambassador. Time was short - much shorter than he'd imagined. "I prevented it for so long."

"Matters not, love." Skelgarn took a breath to stretch his limbs before leaping onto the sheer cliff face in front of him. Wherever there weren't safe grips, he made them with silvery ledges of Empath, there then gone.

The sounds gradually faded. They were replaced by the eerie, quiet voice of the mountain wind. Aven heard it form words. The Son of the Sun is coming to destroy you. He will set you aflame.

Skylan found a cave at last. The air had been growing thin.

"Trolley stops here. Gods, this is a great view." The entire forests of Freljord were visible from their mountain perch. It was a pity that everything was dead and gray. "We'll have to come back here when it's spring."

If it's spring.

He untied Aven's elbows and carefully set him down. The Guardian's hair was mussed - a pleasant daily jog instead of outrunning death. He went about lighting their two lanterns and spreading their blankets into something resembling a bed on the cold stone ground.

"You can have the soft one tonight," he said, gesturing at the green blanket Merilyn had made for them. It was a bit of a running joke - they argued about who got it for the night, because it was so comfy.

Aven shivered. "Skylan, I love thee."

The Guardian blinked. "I -"

His green eyes sparkled in the lantern light. "I thank thee, too. For being with me. For caring. You're a wonderful warrior, you know?"

Skylan blushed. He'd been expecting the boy to curse him as he usually did. Curse him for forcing him to live.

"I've been ungrateful. You're very fit for me." Aven climbed into Skylan's lap and covered his jaw with butterfly kisses.

"Thanks." The words escaped him before he could stop them. "I love to hear that. Makes it worth it."

"Well, it be true," Aven murmured, then yawned. "How'm I tired when you've done all the work?"

It's winter, Skylan thought. You're always tired when life is dying. Luckily, this thought stayed in his head.

"A nap won't harm thee. Or shouldn't, anyways."

The boy was already asleep, snuggled into the crook of his neck.

A year ago, Skylan would've been perfectly content. But he couldn't be. Not while the world loved Aven not.

Careful not to disturb him, Skylan fished the experimental Piltover radio-screen device from their bag. Some enterprising company had given it to them - an irony that didn't escape Skylan. They were two of the only people who could afford it, and it had come free.

Come on, father, he thought while tuning it. The device projected a wavery, flickering screen before him. Darius' face winked into view.

The Demon General took in the cave, the wildness in Skylan's eyes, and the bandages on Aven's wrists. He sighed. "I don't know, Skylan."

"Please. Father. You've got to."

"I don't know who issued the heart price."

"If it's money you want, you can have it. Hell, all of it. And the rights to our books." Darius said nothing. "I - I can't even take him to buy sweets anymore. We can't be seen."

"Skylan. You're my son. I would never -"

"No more lies. Please. Please." Skylan's voice broke.

"It's not me!" Darius shouted. He brought his fist crashing down on his desk. Aven twitched, but didn't awaken. "Jericho Swain and I have been trying to find who it is. We've bribed just about everyone in this godsforsaken country, from the lowliest bootlickers to Katrina herself."

"It's not just Noxus," Skylan whispered. He stroked Aven's hair subconsciously. Aven pressed against him. He loved to be touched.

"What's that?" Jericho sat down next to Darius with a sigh. In this world, his features were unblemished. He was a tall, thin, handsome Ionian man with red hair and gray eyes. "What's happened?"

"Two barbarian tribes and the entire city of Fairlight just ran us to ground."

This proclamation was greeted with silence. Jericho rested his chin on his hand. "Skylan, I don't suppose you're a spiritual man?"

"The gods are rubbish." He glanced at Aven to make sure he was sleeping. "Even if Aven's met them."

"This doesn't sound like it issues from the world around us. Does it, Darius?"

"No, sir. I mean - no, it doesn't." Darius had retired, but old habits were difficult to leave.

Skylan sighed. "What do you mean, Jericho?"

"There are forces, child. Hell, you and Aven are sorcerers - you should know there are forces. Aven controls the seasons, for godssake."

He used to, Skylan thought. His chest ached. "What do you mean, forces?"

"Forces of darkness." Swain's lips pressed together. "I think that's where the heart price comes from. Has to be."

Skylan felt numb again.

The eyeless wolves. Ezreal, glowing like the sun. Ryland and I fought off the demons of hell.

The Guardian smiled tightly. "Suppose I'd better learn to pray, then."

Darius looked helpless. "If you can get him to the citadel -"

Skylan barked laughter. "Get him through Noxus? That'd make the Fleshing look like a sunny spring day."

Swain nodded. The emotion in his gray eyes - was it sorrow? "I suppose you won't be coming home for the Wintertide Festival, then."

"No, probably not."

Darius nodded. Sorrow was there in his eyes too. But he hid it better.

"Godspeed, Skylan. Son."

The screen winked out. As the Guardian held the Lightbringer in his arms, the first flakes of snow began to fall to the dead earth.


The Northern World: Ezreal and Ryland's

Snow here, too, was falling. It spiraled down from the clouds, cloaking the stone statues, evaporating when it brushed either he or Ezreal's aura.

I just don't understand how either of them could hurt Aven, Ryland thought for the fiftieth time. He couldn't stop reliving the breaking of Aven's wrists - the pain in those pretty green eyes, the look of betrayal. He's so sweet. But I've got to stop. Stop thinking of him.

It wasn't easy. Desperate to protect itself from thoughts of Quinn's impending death, his imagination was painting detailed daydreams about what life with Ezreal and Aven could be like.

Brothers. They're brothers.

He saw the two of them buried in Piltover's library, lying among stacks of musty textbooks, green and blue eyes dark with concentration.

He saw Aven tagging Ezreal's shoulder before darting across a summertide meadow, an ocean of stars shining above them. Turning back with a mischievous grin. Catch me, brother. Bet you can't.

Oh yeah? Ezreal took off, running, flying like a hawk, at peace with the night. We'll see about that.

One left a white comet trail in his wake, the other golden sparks.

Or their lectures. My gods. They could sell out entire countries. Two boys - neither fully comfortable in their suits, but handsome - regaling Piltover University with knowledge of this world and others. Princes and ancient warriors, sparrows and magic machines. Then both returning to Ryland's arms after the champagne and caviar.

Reality was much, much different. Much uglier.

Ryland knew he and Ezreal's strength was failing. They'd had little actual sleep and nothing to eat, save coffee. Their black shirts and faded jeans were stained with dirt and sweat. The shadows under the Explorer's eyes were dark, and Ryland was sure his were too. Not a moment had passed when they weren't fighting, be it the Skelgarn, trolls or each other.

Or themselves.

At the Institute, Ezreal had Overflowed at the slightest provocation - from Miss Fortune calling him pretty, to Graves taunting him after a match. Now, with such enormous stress, the Storms were inevitable.

Which is why Ryland wasn't terribly surprised when Ezreal muttered, "Stop thinking about him."

"Aven?"

"Yes. Gods, yes." Ezreal closed his eyes. "I can't stand it - have I told you that? For the past - I don't even know. Few weeks? He's all I see whenever I touch your mind. I'm actually…"

"Yes?"

"I don't think Skylan should've broken his wrists. But I'm glad Skylan won't let him see you anymore."

Ouch. "That's not nice."

"Neither is having your friend being obsessed with someone you hate." They made their way into the High Conference Room. The colorful windows of Aven still looked the same, oblivious to worldly suffering.

It soothed Ryland's heart to see the Lightbringer again. Even if only in works of art.

He's so beautiful.

Ezreal's breath drew in sharply.

"Ezreal?"

The golden energy flooded the room, spilling onto the floor and tables like molten plasma. Ryland heard the whispers for the first time. How burningly insistent they were. Come, sun child, come. Son of Death.

That - that doesn't sound like the Skelgarn, Ryland realized. I don't know what that is.

Ezreal's eyes glittered as streams of liquid light poured from his fingers. He was afraid, but not surprised. I don't want to destroy this place. I love it.

Ryland nodded and protected the table, chandelier and windows with silver membranes of Empath. It's alright. Nothing's getting hurt. Just relax. I'll take care of you.

He'd said and thought those words so many times, and he meant them every single one. No matter how exhausted he was.

Ryland saw the Destroyer's hands and jaw begin to quiver. The energy flickered up the walls - the winding metal branches of the cathedral turned dark orange as they grew hotter.

The Conference Room became a fiery, hellish mockery of Aven's cathedral of light - golden fire joined the plasma. Instead of a calming haven, a beacon of destruction.

The Healer felt the room temperature rise and pressed his tiny surge of panic back down.

Ezreal, I know it's difficult, but please relax.

"I am relaxed. But I can't control it," Ezreal said quietly. "I just can't."

For once, the lack of seizures terrified Ryland more than their presence. "What do you mean?"

"My aura. It's listening to the Skelgarn."

The chorus of whispers got louder, overlapping one another, hissing like the wind. Shouting, murmuring. Son of the Sun. Son of Death. Fire child. Destroyer.

Ryland shivered. The molten gold was battering the Healer's powers in frustration.

"What's wrong?"

"I hate him. Aven."

"I know, Ezreal, and that's alright. You feel how you feel. You should make peace with hating him instead of injuring yourself."

Ezreal's brow furrowed. If not for the steadily increasing temperature, the conversation would've been entirely normal. "Doesn't that make you like me less?"

"Not at all." Ryland wiped sweat from his forehead and looked at the windows. The designs had disappeared, replaced by blistering-hot white.

"You're sure?" Ezreal's eyes met his. A few months ago, such concern about Ryland's affection would've been flattering. Life fulfilling. Now it was terrifying.

"I am sure. Healers don't lie - we can't. It's our curse."

"Don't lie, huh?" Ezreal's eyebrows rose. "Then I can get a straight answer out of you. Who's your favorite?"

Ah, fuck. Really, Ezreal? I should've known that conversation wasn't over.

Ryland sighed. "Well, you can't really quantify matters of the heart."

"No healer bullshit. Me or him."

The Healer saw the first hint of red appear in the golden flames. His knees went weak with terror.

Pulsefire II. It shouldn't exist.

Oh my gods. It's one thing to see it in a dream, but - but - I have to keep calm.

"I told you. I love both of you equally, in different ways."

"Then you're a faggot," Ezreal spat.

"Well." The Healer grinned ruefully. "You did tell me that a while ago."

The Destroyer's eyes widened. "Are you really, Ryland?"

The roar of the red and gold competed with the whispers. Destroy him. Destroy him, sun child. Kill him. Get rid of him. It will solve everything - fix the Wheel.

How can anyone have this sort of anger in them and live? Ryland wondered. "I - uh - guess so."

"Then I've really got to kill him," Ezreal said simply. The red edges of the flames grew darker, the color of dried blood.

"Help me understand." Ryland stared at him blankly. "You - you lost me."

"It's obvious, isn't it? You weren't like that before you met him."

Well, Ryland thought bitterly. The Healer's Handbook never prepared me for this one.

"It's a bit like with you, I guess."

"What?" The flames rose a bit. Ryland flinched. "I thought you didn't think of me like that. What happened to that, huh? What the fuck happened to that? Healers not lying?"

Fuck. "No, I mean - the admiration. It's in a different way."

Ezreal's blue eyes were so furious that Ryland's heart stuttered two beats.

"You'd better keep talking. Fast."

"Ezreal, why are you doing this?"

"Answer the question. Stop fucking hiding."

"Stop avoiding it! You do whatever I ask, right?" Ezreal's eyes flashed, on the high, golden plains. "Then stop avoiding the question. Tell me you love me."

Ryland took a deep breath. "For healers, love isn't a gendered thing. It can apply to anyone. You weren't open to feelings of romantic attraction, so I wasn't. Aven is, so I am."

A pause, quiet save for the crackling fire.

"That's disgusting," Ezreal muttered. The flames died down a bit. It was still hot in the High Conference Room, but not quite painfully so. "All this time on the road with you, and - ugh. I'm glad Lux told me to stop hugging you."

Ryland blinked. "I - I don't really know what to say to that one."

"She was right about you." Ezreal's eyes narrowed. "I knew it."

"Ezreal, are you serious?"

"I can't trust you."

You can't trust me not to molest you, but you can trust me to bring you back from the dead, stop your Overflows, fix the things you've broken, protect you, and save your girlfriend twice. Wow. Ryland shook his head. Am I still in a Fugue? I wish I was. Holy shit.

"But Ez. You aren't Aven. Come on - listen. Just for a moment."

"Go ahead. Sure. Whatever. It doesn't matter."

"Alright. You have Lux. You're romantically attracted to Lux. And you were friends with Katarina, right? Were you - "

"Well, I still fucked her." Ezreal's eyebrows rose.

Ryland was speechless.

"And if she hadn't gone about it the wrong way, I would've enjoyed it."

"Why does this change anything anyways?" Ryland was wide-eyed now. He didn't notice, but his silver aura was flickering and snapping against the gold-red flames. "You always just assumed I wanted to sleep with you."

"And was I wrong?"

"Yes! And you still are!" Ryland shook his head, mystified. "It's the same way with women too, you know."

"Glad to know you aren't picky."

"I haven't even - he's not even - wow." Ryland laughed. "This is ridiculous."

"Besides, you didn't sleep with Quinn."

"Yes?"

"And she wanted you to."

"Yes."

"And you were about to kiss Aven."

"Why does it matter?" The room temperature soared alongside the Destroyer's anger. "Honestly, Ezreal. Is it because he's your brother?"

"Brother?" Ezreal fixed him with an unblinking, steely-blue stare. "Is that some sort of sick joke?"

"I thought you knew."

"Knew what?"

"Sons of Death, and Sons of the Aurora. I thought you knew."

"You're not making any fucking sense," Ezreal snarled. Sweat began pouring off both of their bodies.

"I thought you knew," Ryland whispered.

"There's no way that weakling is kin to me. I can't believe you would love someone so pathetic, so stupid, so useless -"

Ryland's aura flared. "Is it really wrong for me to feel affection for someone who won't abuse me? Who doesn't threaten to kill me with their Overflows, or torture me for their sexual satisfaction, or who ditches me the second their girlfriend shows up? Is it really that wrong?"

"He's using you!" Ezreal thundered. The fire hissed in agreement.

"What, are you going to break my wrists again for standing up to you? You want to be a real man like Skylan? Go ahead. I don't care. I've saved your life so many times - so many, many times - that I don't care what you do anymore. I love you - you know I do - but I'm going to let you harass me out of one of the good things in my life. One of the two good things."

"What's the other one?" Ezreal asked softly.

"You. Yes, even still. You can have whatever else you want from me. But I'm not choosing between you and Aven. I can't."

Ezreal looked away, cheeks flushed. The flames snapped and sizzled for a few moments before he spoke. "It's just - the jokes. Everyone thinks I'm not manly."

"Ezreal, the entire Freljord is convinced that you're an incarnation of their warrior god. Not manly? You've got men who kill their supper with their bare hands who look up to you."

"But Graves."

The fires were dying. For now.

"Graves changed his mind, remember? He's been through the same thing with his wife."

"Jarvan." Ezreal's voice was even softer.

"Jarvan's a weakling compared to you. That's why he's so angry. He's jealous. Defensive."

Ezreal looked down at his boots. "But people make fun of us, and if you're - you know." The last flames went out with a tiny hiss. Nothing was harmed, thanks to Ryland's powers. "I never used to care. You know how it is in Piltover. Men are manly but not - you know -"

"Warriors," Ryland finished. "Like in the League."

Ezreal nodded. "Yeah. No one there made fun of me."

"Because they knew how smart you were. No offense, but I don't know why you're so worried about it when you're stronger and smarter than the Marksmen put together."

"Because Lux called me a faggot. The night I hugged you in front of everyone." Ezreal's cheeks and ears were burning almost as brightly as his aura. "She said that if I loved you so much, you and I could go be faggots together. Because I told her I loved you as a friend and she got really mad. I'm sure she didn't mean it, but - "

Ryland almost spoke without thinking, then remembered one of the most basic tenets of being a healer. Speak kind words whenever possible.

He took a deep breath. "Oh man. I made Lux moan like a bitch. You wanna watch next time?" Katarina grinned. "I bet she'd like that."

Another deep breath. "No offense, but you're a bit of a wimp, Michael," Gloriana said politely. Same blonde hair and blue eyes as all the rest of them.

A third. "You're creepy! You're not fooling anyone with Kat! This is rape!"

He met the Destroyer's eyes. "I'm sorry, Ezreal. It's how she was raised."

"I've just - it's stupid."

"It's not stupid," Ryland said quietly.

"It's bothered me ever since, you know? Especially because she's my first real girlfriend."

"Yeah, I can totally understand."

"Which is why it makes me uncomfortable that you're - you know."

Ryland leaned his hip against the marble conference table. "Can I explain? It's a bit easier to think when I'm not surrounded by fire. Well, more fire than usual."

"Yeah." Ezreal gazed at the Aurora window wistfully. "I'll try not to be a terrible person, for a few seconds."

"You're not a bad person." Ryland sighed. "You're just really, really misunderstood. And so am I. It's a dangerous combination. Anyways - healers don't experience normal sexual attraction."

"But you slept with Kat. A lot."

"Yeah, I know. But listen. If I see, say, Ashe walking down the street, I don't think of her as hot. Or Syndra. Or Nidalee."

"Is that how all the Supports bathe together? Cause Karma - I mean -" Ezreal blushed again. "I was pretty jealous. Janna's kinda hot, too."

"Yeah, that's how. Karma and I's relationship isn't physical. So I'm automatically not sexually attracted to her."

"Not at all?"

"Not a bit. But the same goes with guys. If I see Tryndamere, I don't think 'damn, that's a fine piece of barbarian ass.' Or look at Jayce and want him to power slam me in bed."

That startled a laugh out of Ezreal. A comforting sound, when the world or Aven's wrists weren't on fire. "Alright, but I'm still not entirely sure what you're saying. Your relationship with Kat was pretty sexual."

"That's where you're wrong. Katarina's relationship to me was sexual. But my relationship to her was as a person. I was focused on how smart, funny and passionate she was." Gods, I miss her. "She just related best to me through sex. So that's the form our relationship took."

"So you would've dated her without having sex with her, if that's what she wanted? And been okay with it?"

Ezreal can grasp the mysteries of techmaturgy, but he's struggling with the idea of an affection-based relationship. Gods help us. If there are any, besides him and Aven.

Ryland sighed. "Yes. Exactly."

"So your sexuality is entirely dependent on your relationship to the other person."

"Yes." Ryland could tell he still didn't quite get it. "Look, don't worry about it."

"No, no. I understand. So, you don't find Aven sexually attractive?"

"Correct," Ryland said, almost feeling relieved. In his mind, he saw Aven roll his eyes. Healers don't lie, moon son? Sure. And Bilgewater rats have never seen the ocean.

Whatever. He's close enough.

"But you're obligated to him for healing your wrist and the Skelgarn thing."

"Yep."

"So you can't refuse him," Ezreal finished. "Guess it was a good thing I cut in last night."

Ryland closed his eyes. "Do you feel better now?"

"Holy fuck." Ezreal breathed out a long sigh. "Yeah. Definitely. You're not really gay or straight. You're just kinda - there. Not even bi. That's fucking weird." He paused. "No offense."

"It's a healer thing. Soraka might be able to explain it better. And we're definitely going to see her after this meeting. We need to stop the Storms." Ryland took another deep breath and tried not to picture Aven laughing. Laughing until tears streamed from his eyes. "Is there anything else? I need to know, because the Skelgarn's just going to get stronger the closer we get to Lissandra."

"Nope." Ezreal looked at him. He was the Explorer for now, and not the Destroyer. "Um. Thanks, Ryland. Thank you for caring. You're - you're a good healer, you know?"

The Healer was all that stood between Ezreal and destruction. But neither of them knew it.

"I love to hear that. Makes it all worth it."

"Well, it's true."

Echoes from the Wheel.


How old are you really, Erinae? Jayce wondered. Two or three snowflakes drifted into her blonde hair. She smiled shyly as she handed Graves his breakfast. Then she saw him and her smile brightened.

He tried to return it but was too slow. And she saw his hesitation.

When she jogged over to him, she asked in a low voice, "What did he tell you?"

"Erin - we have the meeting. With Ryland, remember?"

"What did he tell you?" she whispered. Her eyes glimmered with fear. Then, because she was Erinae, she got mad. "Huh? What'd he say?"

When Jayce didn't respond, she dragged him into a nearby alley and punched his arm. "Tell me!"

"Erinae. No bullshit this time." He forced himself to look at her. Somehow it was more difficult than meeting Graves' eyes. "How old are you? Honestly?"

She hissed, fangs protruding past her lip. But the fear shining in her golden eyes made it unconvincing. She was a vulnerable mixture of girl, cat and goddess. "I'll kill him."

"You can tell me. I - I know you don't have much reason to trust men, but -"

"Bullshit. You'll leave."

"No, I won't. No matter what it is."

"You sure? You better be sure, or else I'll get Ryland to summon the ghost of the fat guy to sit on you."

Jayce couldn't smile. He looked inside himself to answer honestly. It was difficult, as he no longer knew who he was.

In Piltover, he was an affable playboy with good taste in wine and better taste in cigars. At the Institute, he was a Champion.

But here, among these cold, gray stones, with history being rewritten around him, surrounded by people he couldn't understand, he wasn't sure.

If life's a Wheel, does it even matter if I leave her or not? If we're all gonna end up like those ghosts?

Then he looked into her golden eyes and saw how bright they were against the gray stones and snow. Yeah, it mattered. A lot.

"Nope. I won't leave you, regardless."

"Really?" she asked softly.

Jayce wasn't sure where the words came from. "So long as I am able, aye, I shall not leave thee." They both blinked. "What the fuck did I just say?"

"No fucking idea," Erinae breathed. "But it was super romantic."

Of course, neither one of them could know the origins of their souls. In another part of the Wheel, Jayce had been the thunder god T'saia. Erinae had been a faerie maiden named Mynthra, who'd fallen in love with rain storms. So much had Mynthra loved the thunder god that she scaled the highest mountain in Freljord - despite (or maybe because of) her faerie tribe telling her not to.

Touched by her dedication, the thunder god took her in his enormous palm and swore to never leave her. Storms would follow wherever she went. Their souls had been chasing one another through the Wheel ever since.

But they knew it not.

"You really won't leave me?"

"I promise."

She took a deep breath. "Alright, but you can't tell anyone. Especially not Zandred. He thinks I'm fourteen."

Jayce tried not to let the punch to the gut show on his face. "Alright. I won't."

She closed her eyes. "Twelve."

The Defender's teeth gritted.

Oh, fuck. He's going to leave.

"Wait. Erin. Did you say something just now?"

"Uh. That I'm twelve."

Fuck, he's in denial. I knew better. Victoria always said to lie until your face falls off.

"I can hear you," Jayce said in wonder. The world had hit him with a one-two punch, right in reality.

"Well yeah. Have you been deaf this whole time?"

"No. Your - your thoughts." Can you hear mine?

Holy fucking - Jayce, what the fuck did you do?

I guess I said the magic words. Fuck. Jayce laughed aloud. We're really Ezreal and Ryland now.

You're still Ryland. You're my bitch.

Jayce scooped her into his arms. This - this was reality. The halfling girl in his arms.

Erinae. My Erinae.

Do you think stupid shit like this all the time?

He held her tighter. Yep. And you'd better get used to it.

As Erinae rested in Jayce's arms, Death unfixed their fates. No longer were they destined to live. While their deaths were not certain, they were possible.

But, thankfully, or perhaps no, they knew it not.


"They're sending the boys alone?" Lissandra unconsciously placed a hand over her mouth. The farther the Wheel turned, the more human her gestures became.

She didn't notice the odd beeping, grinding noise Viktor made before he answered. "Not quite alone. But close. The casualties will be - inconsequential."


Fate clapped Graves on the shoulder. The twin trails of white smoke from their cigars drifted into the falling snow. It was coming down faster now - a few of the statues already had capes of white.

"Why're you lookin' at me like this is my last rodeo? Godsdamn. You magic fuckers make me skittish."

"One of them's gotta be, right?" Fate looked up at the snow.

"Yar, sure. Life is a Wheel, or whatever they're saying these days."

"Yep," Fate said softly. "You be careful, alright?"

Graves snorted and crushed his cigar beneath his boot heel. He didn't want to show it, but having Fate caution him scared the piss out of him.

"Same to you."

"May we meet again."

"Not if you keep spouting that healer bullshit." Graves stomped off, black cloak swirling behind him.

Oh, Malcolm. Dunno if even your gun can stop this mess.

Fate touched his fingers to the brim of his hat and went inside, where it was warm.