Chapter 48: Dance with the Devil
Karma was waiting outside the Gardens for Riven with her arms crossed and with her back to the doors. At the sound of the doors opening, she turned around quickly to face Riven, cross words already at her lips.
"Riven, I-" she began irately. As she saw Riven, however, the sharp remark died in her throat and she paled. Riven swayed where she stood as she closed the doors dully behind her. Her white shirt was painted a rich crimson with her blood and her red eyes were unfocused. She blinked, trying her best to bring Karma back into focus.
Rushing forward, Karma grabbed Riven securely as she swayed again, making sure she did not fall. Riven had her left hand firmly over the wound on her neck in an effort to stop the flow of blood, and even more blood dripped slowly from her tightly clenched right hand. Karma slowly peeled Riven's hand off of her neck, inhaling sharply as she saw the angry, raw cut. She did the same with Riven's right hand, opening the palm slowly to expose the shallow wound.
"What happened to you?" she asked hurriedly as she promptly tore off a strip of her cloak and used it to bind Riven's hand. Riven winced as her hand stung painfully.
"Cu- Cut myself," she mumbled, already feeling the numbing effects of blood loss. Karma stared at her, disbelief clearly written on her face.
"You mean it wasn't Yasuo who did this?" she asked skeptically. Riven shook her head drowsily. He had wanted to forgive her. He had wanted to… She could not finish the thought as her contemplations faded away into darkness.
"It wasn- wasn't him," she muttered, pulling herself out of her lull. He had wanted to…
Karma looked at her for a moment longer before she put an arm around Riven's shoulder in an effort to keep her standing. "We'll talk about this later, Riven. Right now we need to get you to the infirmary. Who knows how much blood you've already lost?"
Riven nodded sleepily, desperately trying to keep from blacking out. As they walked, Karma half-carried, half-dragged Riven over in the direction of the infirmary. When they arrived, she stepped forward, knocking urgently on the door with her free hand. For a moment, there was no reply, and Riven wondered if there was anyone there at all. But then, she heard the sound of light footsteps through the wood that stopped just before the door.
Riven looked up groggily as the door opened, intent on seeing who it was that answered.
"Riven?" asked Akali in surprise, her emerald eyes flickering worriedly from her blood-stained clothing to Karma. Riven could not be sure, but she thought she saw another emotion fade away as she saw the two. "What happened to her?"
"She… cut herself," said Karma after a skeptical glance at Riven that Riven knew Akali caught. "She needs help, Akali."
After the briefest of hesitant pauses, Akali stepped aside quickly, ushering them in. "Put her on that bed there," she said, pointing at the bed closest to the door. Karma lay Riven down gently, making sure to not open her wounds too much. Immediately, Akali was tending to her, inspecting her hand and her shoulder. The female ninja looked over her shoulder, seemingly at the wall behind her.
"Shen, I need your help," she said, her voice tight with an emotion unknown to Riven.
Riven's eyes snapped open, and she raised her head slightly in surprise. It was as though the Eye of Twilight had peeled himself from the shadows themselves; one second there was nothing, and the next second he was there. He stepped forward slowly from his hiding place leaning against the infirmary wall, his golden eyes shining as he looked down at Riven. Both he and Akali lacked both their traditional outfits of the Kinkou as well as the outfits they usually wore to the infirmary, and were instead dressed in plain white clothing. Had they been talking…?
"Of course," he said in his even voice. Without even asking Akali for what she needed, he strode calmly over to Riven's side, inspecting her wounded shoulder. Riven hissed quietly in pain as he began to clean the cut with disinfectant that he plucked from the bedside counter. He worked swiftly and impeccably, without once pausing or faltering.
"Relax your shoulder, please, Riven," he said softly as he pulled a needle and thread from within the bedside counter. Riven closed her eyes, exhaling and letting her muscles relax as Shen began to slowly stitch her skin back together. The disinfectant had a slight numbing agent, and given her own experience with wounds, Riven did not experience too much discomfort as he worked on her. Riven could not be sure, but the stiff way Shen moved his left arm made her wonder if he had been hurt. If he had, he was doing a good job of not showing it; his arm was covered completely with his clothing and his movements – though stiff – could have passed for normal ones to untrained eyes. But Riven was very familiar with wounds, and thus, she caught them.
Meanwhile, Akali had finished cleaning her hand and had wrapped it firmly in bandages; the wound on her palm was not as deep as the one on her neck, and Riven knew that it would heal without any true lasting marks. The gash on her neck was a different matter, however, and she knew that it would scar if she did not heal it by magic.
Akali seemed to detect her thoughts and she straightened. "If you would like, Riven," she said as she stepped away. "We can get Sona or Soraka to heal your shoulder wound and make sure it doesn't scar."
Shen had finished his stitching, and Riven's right hand rose unconsciously to her shoulder at her words. Her fingers trailed lightly across the bumpy texture of the stitches, deep in thought.
"No," she said finally. She could not explain it, but she wanted to keep this wound. Not to make Yasuo guilty, but rather to remind herself of the conversation they had shared in the Gardens. Even if they never spoke like that again, she would always have a reminder – of what they had both shared that morning. Like the scar on her abdomen, it would serve as a way to remember.
Akali looked at her in surprise. "No?"
"No," repeated Riven firmly. "I'll let this one heal normally."
"Riven, if you do that, it's going to scar," objected Karma. Riven looked at her. Her friend's face was fraught with worry, and Riven could still see the skepticism in her eyes. Obviously, she still did not believe what she had told her about how she had received the wounds. Though Riven was thankful for the concern they showed her, she had made her decision.
"I already have my fair share of scars," she said calmly as she let her right hand fall back to her lap. "One more won't hurt."
"But-," tried Akali insistently; it was Shen's slow voice that cut her off this time.
"It is her choice, Akali," he said steadily. "Has Riven not already made it clear what she thinks of us trying to force our own decisions onto her? She is a grown woman who can make her own choices. It is not our place to choose for her."
"But, Shen-," began Karma. Shen shook his head as he held up a hand.
"But nothing. Leave her be." He looked sharply at Akali, his golden eyes unblinking. "That is an order, Fist of Shadow."
Akali pursed her lips, but said nothing. Bowing stiffly towards Shen, she turned back to Riven. For a moment, she could see the resentment in Akali's eyes, but as her eyes fell on her wounds, they softened.
"I am sorry, Riven," she said, dipping her head slightly in respect. "I forget that we can be a little overbearing at times. Forgive my intrusion."
"Its fine, Akali," mumbled Riven, avoiding Shen's eyes. She was thankful that he had respected her wishes, but she felt a little guilty at having made him snap at Akali. "And thank you, Shen."
Shen nodded slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Though it is your choice, Karma is correct, Riven; if you do not heal that wound by magical means, it will scar."
"I know."
"Very well. Make sure not to strain yourself too much, Riven. Though the League heals external wounds for the duration of League matches, that does not mean you can be totally careless. I suggest you take a week or two off to allow at least your hand to heal."
"I understand, Shen."
Shen nodded, evidently satisfied. His golden eyes flickered to Akali, and Riven thought she saw a flash of emotion in their tawny depths.
"We will continue our conversation some other time, Fist of Shadow," he said somewhat tersely. Akali returned his stony look, her face a mask of neutrality.
"Very well, Shen," she said tightly. Their intent gaze broke finally as Shen looked at Riven.
"Unfortunately, I have other matters to attend to and I cannot stay," he said brusquely. "Make sure to get some rest, Riven, and I shall see you all on Summoner's Rift." His shoulder brushed against Akali's as he walked noiselessly out of the infirmary. Riven had expected Akali to watch him go, but the female ninja remained looking resolutely ahead at a point on the wall before her.
Once Riven was sure that Shen was out of earshot, she looked at Akali. "What's going on between you and Shen? Did something happen?" she asked nervously. She hoped sincerely that her appearance had not interrupted anything, but given the exchange that just happened, she knew that she had.
"Nothing," said Akali flatly. "Nothing at all." She smiled thinly as she looked at Riven. "But he is right; you need to make sure not to put too much undue or unnecessary strain on your shoulder. It will heal in time, but be careful nonetheless."
"I will be," promised Riven weakly.
"Good. If that is all, I, too will be off. Like our own Eye of Twilight, I have other… pressing matters to attend to."
And she left without another word. Riven watched her go, and as she looked at Karma, she saw that her worried expression was mirrored on the Enlightened One's face.
"Do you think…?"
"I don't know what to think," finished Karma with a weary shake of her head.
Yasuo stared at his shaking hand. He stood on the balcony outside his apartment, hair fluttering in the wind. The sky was a brilliant blue around him and the sun shone brightly down on him, but he felt none of it. Below him, he could hear the faint commotion of people milling about, but the sound hardly registered in his tumultuous thoughts. His elbows were propped up on the railing, and his right hand was held before his face. Gradually, his eyes closed as he clenched it into a tight fist, the fingers still shaking.
Whenever he closed his eyes, he could see Riven's blood on his hands again. He could feel her steady heartbeat against his chest and remember the warmth of her body pressed against him. He could still feel the slender but calloused fingers of her hand taking hold of his as he thought back to what had happened between them in the Gardens.
What exactly had happened?
Even now – back in his room nearly an hour later – he still had no idea. Sure, he had been a little drunk, but nowhere near enough so that he could blame what had happened between them on the drink. When he had seen her there as he mourned Yone, he had wanted nothing more than to kill her; nothing more than to spill her blood and at long last, end it all.
She had been at his mercy; no weapon, no one to help her after she had sent Karma away, no way to run without him catching her. He could have killed her and had it done with and ran from the League – with her dead, he would have been happy to die. But he had not – could not. The way she had looked at him after she had given him his own sword to kill her with had stopped him. There had been no anger in her gaze… just pain. Just sadness and remorse. If he had killed her right there, what then? There would have been no honor in that; he would have been no better than those who had killed Toru and his family in cold blood. How could he cut down a defenseless woman, even one who had brought so much pain to him?
He had not wanted to.
But then she had confronted him, and they had yelled and screamed at each other, and it was as if all their pent-up emotions had finally shown themselves. They had both kept them inside for so long that when they let them escape, everything had rushed out at once like a gale. The hate, the pain, the fury… the passion.
I wanted to kiss her.
Now, as he thought back to it, he realized that was where his thoughts had been: he had wanted to kiss her as much as he wanted to kill her. They had been so close, and he could still remember how her eyes had met his when they touched. There was a fire in their crimson depths that sent his heart pounding and his pulse racing.
Her fingers… her eyes… her lips… They had been so close and yet so far.
Yasuo clutched his head, mumbling incoherently as he shook his head. The same thought ran through his head like a broken tape, over and over in his mind:
IwantedtokissherIwantedtokissherIwantedtokissherIwantedtokissherIWANTEDTOKISSHER-
He gave an inarticulate shout, spinning around and striking the wall behind him as hard as he could with his fist. He felt a finger or two break as they collided with the unyielding stone of the Institute of War. He felt his skin tear against the rough stone as it scraped against his knuckles. The pain cleared his mind like a winter frost, and for a blissful second, there was nothing: no Yone, no League, no Ionia, no Noxus, and certainly no Riven.
But then the pain rushed back into his hand, and he fell onto his knees, gripping his hand as it flared with pain. As he clutched it, he chuckled darkly: he had just done what he had seen Riven do so many weeks ago in the Gardens. He wondered what she had been thinking of when she had done it.
I see… why you did it though, Riven, he thought humorlessly. It's a… good way to… clear one's head.
Wincing in pain, he raised his hand to examine it. There was no mistaking it: he had broken two fingers and had nearly ripped the flesh off of two others. He would have to go to the infirmary. He held his hand close to his stomach as he stood shakily. The heat of his blood dripped through his fingers and onto the balcony floor.
From prior experience – namely, bad hangovers – he already knew that the majority of the Champions associated with healing and the infirmaries had Ionian connections. Though he knew that they would be inclined to treat him because of their mutual association with the League, he did not appreciate being glared at for the majority of the afternoon by unfriendly eyes. That left a few options, and some – like Lulu – he did not feel would be all that helpful.
Finally, a name came to mind, and he stood, using the wall for support. Just to his luck, the effects of the drink were finally coming back, and he felt the world swim dizzily before his eyes. With a groan, he staggered off of the balcony and back into his room. Making sure his hand was securely wrapped in a bundle of make-shift bandages, he walked uncertainly out of his room.
I just hope she's… in a good mood.
"Yasuo?" asked Janna, the surprise evident in her airy voice as she beheld him. "What are you doing here?"
"Zac told me… you'd be here," he said dismissively. "But that doesn't matter; listen, I have kind of a problem and I was hoping you could help me out."
"Of course, come in," said Janna quickly, gesturing for him to enter. She stepped aside and allowed him to enter the private study she had been granted by the High Counselor. He imagined that it was different than her apartment, and it looked to be better suited to the study of magic: large bookshelves that were filled with scrolls and books lined the room, giving it a very library-like atmosphere; spheres of unidentifiable magical use hovered in jars set at seemingly random points in the room; a large table sat in the middle of the study, messily adorned with stacks of books and loose pages.
"Oh, excuse the mess," said Janna embarrassingly as she did her best to tidy the table. "I was working on something and I wasn't really expecting any visitors…"
Yasuo cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Janna, if it's too much of a hassle for me to be here, I understand completely, and I can go somewhere else-"
"No, no," assured Janna quickly. "You just caught me a little by surprise, that's all…"
The wind mage blew a stray strand of hair out of her face for emphasis as she placed her hand on her hips. She did not wear the outfit she usually wore on Summoner's Rift, opting instead for a much more modest white dress that fluttered as though blown by an unseen breeze. Her long hair was tied back into a single ponytail that waved lazily behind her and she raised a hand to twirl a strand idly in her fingers.
"So what seems to be the matter?" she asked finally with an attempt at a smile. Wordlessly, Yasuo unwrapped the clothes from his right hand and let show the grisly condition of his hand.
"Oh," said Janna simply as she saw the wound, lowering her hand to her mouth. "I see."
Without another word, she floated gracefully over to him and led him to her desk. Sitting him down on the chair, she disappeared into an unseen part of the study before returning with a small first-aid kit tucked securely under her arm. Yasuo hissed quietly in pain as she extended his hand.
"Oh my…" she breathed as she considered the wound. "This is rather serious, Yasuo. Why didn't you go to the infirmary?"
"The infirmaries are full of Ionians," he said tightly as she began to clean the wound. "They don't like me too much."
She nodded thoughtfully in understanding as she picked her staff up from where it lay on her desk. "I trust you want me to heal it?"
"Please," exhaled Yasuo painfully. She readjusted her staff in her hand, holding it over Yasuo's hand. He could hear her begin to mutter words under her breath, and as she did, an indescribably uncomfortable itching feeling grew in his hand. Arching his back, he gritted his teeth in an effort to stop from himself from scratching. It persisted for another minute or two before it disappeared as quickly as it came. He let the breath he had been holding out slowly as the feeling was replaced with one like his hand had just fallen asleep. It was done.
"Thank you, Janna," he said gratefully as he examined his hand; the skin that had been recently torn was now pink and new. It was stretched tightly over his hand, the skin shiny like that of a burn.
"We're not quite done yet," said Janna as she busied herself by bandaging his hand. "You better make sure not to hurt that hand again for a day or two, and…" She pulled the last of the bandages tight over his hand with a deliberate finality. "I want to know why you punched a wall."
"I was angry," he muttered as he tried his fingers beneath the bandages; they were stiff and uncomfortable, but he had faced far worse.
"Angry doesn't cut it, Yasuo," she said as she crossed her arms, her expression unimpressed. "Why were you angry?"
"I was thinking of someone."
"And this someone makes you angry?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
"She used to… but now… I don't know anymore. I don't know what to think. I don't know how to feel."
"It's a woman?" asked Janna in surprise. Evidently, she had not suspected it. Yasuo nodded and Janna looked at him strangely.
"Why don't you tell her how you feel? Maybe that'll clear things up."
"That's the point: I don't know how I feel about her. And I really think I'm the last person she wants to see right now," said Yasuo as he chuckled darkly.
"Why?"
He coughed awkwardly. "Let's just say we didn't leave off on the best of terms."
"Apologize, then," she said simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Apologize and ask her to talk to you. Beg, if you have to."
"I don't think that's going to work."
"Did you try it?"
"No, but…"
Janna straightened suddenly, pulling him to his feet. She pushed him helpfully towards the door with a little laugh.
"Go talk to her, Yasuo," she said as she prompted him through the door. "Go talk to her, and don't come back until you do!" With a final last giggle, she pushed him from the study and closed the door behind him. Yasuo, still unsure at what had just happened, stood in disbelief where she had left him. He did not know whether Janna had been serious or not; the Storm's Fury was as unpredictable as the winds she commanded, and Yasuo did not know what would happen if he tried to speak to her again. Slowly, he raised his right hand to better look at it.
Talk to Riven…?
Riven had only just stepped out of the shower when she heard a knock at her door. After her confrontation with Yasuo and her dismissal from the infirmary, she had wanted nothing more than a nice long, hot shower to wash off the blood – the blood on both her clothes and in her mind. She was in the middle of drying her hair thoughtfully when she heard it again. Ignoring it, she proceeded to completely dry her hair and wipe herself off slowly before she wrapped her bathrobe loosely around herself. The steam from within the bathroom flowed out with like morning fog around her as she stepped out.
She was fingering the stitches on her neck absentmindedly when the knock came again, more urgently this time. Frowning – and tugging her bathrobe more securely around herself – she made her way over to the door. She had only just unlocked it when it burst open and Irelia came storming in, an uncomfortable-looking Karma following at her heels.
"He attacked you," she said venomously before Riven even had a chance to speak, closing the door firmly behind her. "You tried to talk to him and he attacked you."
For a moment, Riven was at a complete loss for words, without a clue to what Irelia was referring to. But then she saw how Irelia eyed the wound on her shoulder, and understanding flooded her. Her gaze jumped to Karma, who had a stony expression on her face.
"I told you he wasn't the one who did this!" she hissed as she pulled her bathrobe over her shoulder to fully cover the wound. "Why did you have to go and tell Irelia?"
Karma crossed her arms and looked at her in barely contained skepticism that hid the guilt on her face. "Honestly, Riven, you expected me to just believe that you 'cut' yourself? You were with him, alone, the only weapon being his sword, and when I see you next, you're half-bleeding to death. I'm not blind; I can put two and two together."
Riven groaned, slapping a hand to her forehead in exasperation. "Fine. Maybe I lied about it. But why did you tell Irelia?"
"Because it's against the rules of the League, Riven," interjected Irelia heatedly. Her blades were quivering behind her, reflecting her distressed emotional state even better than her clenched fists. "You're not supposed to harm another Champion, remember?"
Rather than reply, Riven sat down casually on one of the chairs in her living room, crossing her legs. "I remember just fine, Irelia," she said finally, her voice light and conversational. "But what does it matter?"
Irelia and Karma stared at her in mutually shared disbelief. "He attacked you, Riven," said Karma slowly, as though trying to explain it to a child. "Attacked. As in harmed."
Riven shrugged as dismissively as she could. "And? We cut each other on the Rift all the time."
"I don't know if you can tell," said Irelia sarcastically. "But this isn't the Rift, Riven."
"I know it's not," she snapped. "But I don't really see what the big deal is."
"Riven, he attacked you-"
"No, he didn't," said Riven shortly. Before either of them could protest, she raised a hand to silence them. "Yes, it was his sword, but he wasn't the one who cut me. I cut myself, Karma, just like I told you."
"Why?" asked Irelia incredulously.
"I don't know, Irelia. It just… happened. We were talking, and I grabbed his sword and it cut me." It was not a complete lie; though Riven had indeed been the one to yield the sword, Yasuo had made the cut – albeit somewhat helped by her shouting.
"Talking?" asked Karma in disbelief. "What on earth were you talking to him about? He's a murderer, Riven!"
"So am I!" she snapped angrily. "He might not be perfect, but I'm not either, Karma!"
Karma opened her mouth to speak, but she closed it again with a confused expression on her face. Riven buried her face in her hands, emotions coursing through her like a sandstorm. They beat against her roughly, grating against her heart like rough sand.
"I wanted to talk to him, but… not anymore." She looked up at them blankly. "I don't want to anymore. Now I know exactly how he feels about me."
Nothing could describe how saying those words made her feel; it was as though someone had driven an icicle through her chest, piercing her and leaving her with an icy emptiness where her heart had once been. Numbly, she stared at her hands. She could not fight the feelings that he stirred in her stomach, but after what he had said – after what he had done – she could not lie to herself any longer. She closed her eyes tightly as she remembered how he had shouted at her and how his handsome face had been distorted by anger when he looked at her.
He hates me, she thought sadly. He has every right to, doesn't he? What did I expect? For him to love me back? I'm such a fool if I thought that could ever happen.
The shuffle of footsteps drew her attention back to her guests, and she looked up. She only just caught Irelia stepping away, her dark hair swirling behind her. She was walking determinedly in the direction of the door with purposeful strides.
"Where are you going?" she asked, raising her head fully. Irelia paused half-way through the door, one hand resting on the doorway. After a pause, she turned to face Riven. There was a hard expression on her face that almost frightened Riven; she knew how emotional her friend could be at times, and the fact that her blades could often act on their own accord did nothing to comfort her. At the moment they were tensed like a snake coiled to strike.
"I'm going to go find Yasuo," she said stiffly, and Riven felt unease blossom in her stomach.
"Why?" she asked uneasily, already making to stand. Beside her, Karma looked just as ready as she was to restrain Irelia.
"I want to… talk to him," said her friend finally. Her tone did not assuage Riven's fears.
"Don't do anything rash, Irelia," said Karma warningly, though Riven could hear her own uncertainty reflected in the Enlightened One's voice. Irelia's emerald eyes flashed with a dangerous light as she looked back at them. Her swords twitched restlessly in the air above her, as though thirsting for combat.
"I won't," she said in a deadly calm voice. "… As long as he doesn't."
And she closed the door behind her.
Yasuo had not been expecting to run into Calisto. But as he stood face-to-face with the Ionian Summoner, he wondered vaguely why it had not happened sooner. Certainly, he had seen him around the Institute these past months after their confrontation in the Gardens, but they had not spoken; Calisto had not taken to Summoning Yasuo, and so their contact had been minimal.
Yasuo had been in the Institute cafeteria wondering how to best approach his situation with Riven when he had run into the young man. Now they stood before each other, locked in place as they considered one another. The conversation of the cafeteria faded in Yasuo's ears as he looked into the gray eyes of Calisto. Yasuo did not know if it was just a trick of the light, but it seemed as though the distaste in their gray depths was not as severe as before. They reminded him uncomfortably of Riven's, and Janna' words came echoing back in his head: apologize to her. Perhaps if he spoke to Calisto, he would find it easier to talk to Riven.
"Yasuo," said Calisto stiffly as he made to move past him. Before he could even decide what it was he was doing, Yasuo had reached out a hand to place on his shoulder, stopping him. Calisto looked at him in confusion, his expression somewhere between anger and fear.
"I'm sorry," stammered Yasuo, stopping the angry words that he could see rising in Calisto's throat. Calisto's expression went from confusion to disbelief as he paused, staring blankly at Yasuo. He had not seemed to have heard.
"What?" he repeated, moving so he faced Yasuo once more. His dark eyes were searching as his gaze flitted over Yasuo's face as though looking for something.
"I'm sorry," said Yasuo again, more firmly this time. He let his hand fall from Calisto's shoulder and onto the hilt of his sword.
"Sorry? Sorry for what?"
"For everything. For all the pain I've caused you. For Syril and for that time in the Gardens."
Calisto looked at him with skepticism in his dark eyes. "Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?"
Yasuo shook his head. "No. It's no joke."
Calisto crossed his arms, his expression inscrutable. He did not speak, but he did not leave either. Yasuo spoke quickly so as to make sure he said what he wanted to say.
"I lied to you that day, Calisto," said Yasuo, finding that the more he talked, the easier it became. "I remembered your brother – and I still do. He looked like you, didn't he?" he muttered, almost to himself. Yasuo shook his head to get the image of Syril out of his mind.
"I've had a lot on my mind lately, stuff I can't seem to stop thinking about. The past is one of those things, and every time I see you, you remind me of your brother. I don't know what I hope to accomplish by apologizing to you… maybe peace of mind. I killed your brother, Calisto, and even though no words could ever bring him back, I'm sorry. He deserved something better than to die at the hands of a murderer, and you deserve to have your brother back."
He looked at Calisto, but the young man's expression had not changed. Instead, he sat down at a nearby table, staring at the wood beneath his hands. After inhaling hesitantly, Yasuo joined him, sitting across from the Summoner.
"Your brother was an honorable man, Calisto," said Yasuo quietly, watching the young man's face for any sign of emotion. But there was none. "He fought me and kept on fighting even though I- even though he couldn't fight anymore. I know there's not much I could tell you to make you feel better, but I just needed to get it off my chest: I'm sorry, Calisto. For everything."
Calisto was silent, opting instead to stare at his hands, which he had clenched into fists. He had given no indication that he had heard Yasuo, and remained staring resolutely at the table beneath his fists. Yasuo wondered at the young man's state of mind, but decided that he would rather be left alone. Just before Yasuo stood to leave, however, he spoke.
"Yone."
Yasuo froze, his injured hand pressed against the table. "What?" he said, certain he had heard wrong. Calisto looked up and his gray eyes were flat as they met Yasuo's.
"Yone," he said again in an emotionless voice. "That was your brother's name, wasn't it?"
Yasuo nodded slowly. Calisto smiled, though it was small and only made him look as though he were in pain.
"I asked around after that… that day in the Gardens. I wanted to know who you were. I'm sad to say I found out. You killed your own brother, didn't you?"
"I did. And it haunts me every day."
"Then why did you do it?"
"Do you think I wanted to? That I had a choice?" Yasuo shook his head as flashes of that night beneath the moonlight appeared before his eyes. "I had no choice. It was kill or be killed, and if I let him kill me… then the real murderer would have gotten away with it. And I can't let that happen."
"So you killed him. Just like you killed my brother."
"Yes."
"And have you gotten any closer at finding the true killer?" asked Calisto, his voice suddenly tight and harsh. Yasuo looked at him in surprise.
"You believe me?"
"I don't believe that anyone kills their brother for no reason. Even if you had killed the Elder, losing your own brother…" Calisto's eyes – though still flat – had a painful ache deep in their gray pits. "I can't forgive you just now, Yasuo. Not yet. Not after what you did to me and Syril-"
"I don't expect you to," muttered Yasuo without meeting his eyes.
"But I do understand." Calisto sighed, placing his head in his hands. "I don't think I can say I know what you went through by killing your brother, but I have a pretty good idea of how it feels to lose a brother." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Him dying is what inspired me to be a Summoner, you know? After he died, I thought… if there was any way to stop these wars and this bloodshed… it would be through the League." He sighed. "But look at where it's brought us. Just fighting again and trying to understand."
"That's all I wanted," said Yasuo in a low voice. "I just want you to understand. I just want everyone to understand what it is I've been through." Riven's face came to mind and he forced her away. "But no one does. No one understands." No one but you, Riven.
"I'll try my best to understand," said Calisto firmly as he stood and extended a hand to Yasuo. Yasuo took, and though it pained his wounded hand to shake, he did it nonetheless.
At last, he thought grimly. Someone else who can say they know what it is I've been through. Someone other than Riven.
"You didn't answer my question from before," said Calisto as they walked slowly out of the cafeteria.
"Which was that?"
"Whether you've come any closer to finding the real murderer."
Yasuo halted as a face with white hair and crimson hair swam to the forefront of his mind once more. The memory of her body pressed against his in the Gardens returned and he imagined he had her in his arms once more. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and he gritted his teeth to rid himself of the thought.
"No," he said through clenched teeth. "I have a hunch, but nothing definitive yet."
Calisto stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Yasuo looked at him, and he was struck by the ferocity in the Ionian Summoner's eyes.
"If you ever find them, tell me," he said in a dangerous voice. "I want to know as much as you do, Yasuo."
Yasuo nodded. "I will. I promise."
Calisto's kept his searching gaze on his eyes for several seconds longer before he removed his hand from Yasuo's shoulder with a small nod. He turned to walk away, and as he did, Yasuo could see the tension in his shoulders.
"Why did you lie to him, Yasuo?" came a familiar voice from behind. Yasuo spun around, coming face-to-face with the pale eyes of Varus. He had not heard him walk up or was even aware of his presence in the slightest.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, shaken at the sudden appearance of the Arrow of Retribution. Varus was leaning against the wall next to Yasuo, his body cloaked by shadows. He chuckled slightly as he pushed himself off of the wall and walked to Yasuo.
"I overheard your conversation. Why did you lie to him about Riven?" he asked, more urgently this time.
"Is there any reason to tell him the truth?"
"There is all the reason in the world!" hissed Varus as he patted the band over his chest with a blackened hand. "Without this – without the truth – we are nothing, Yasuo! Varus is no more. Yasuo is no more without this."
"Vengeance is not all we have, Varus. There is more to life than hate and rage."
"Perhaps for others. But for us?" Varus sneered. "There is nothing left for us, Yasuo."
"There is always redemption, no matter the crime. Even for us, Varus."
Varus' eyes narrowed suspiciously at Yasuo. When he spoke again, his voice was low and tinged with a venom Yasuo had not heard before.
"Are you talking about us… or her, Yasuo?"
Yasuo stiffened. "All of us," he said, hand falling slowly to his sword as Varus' left hand tensed as though readying itself to attack. He could see the beginnings of the corruption of Pallas forming into the bow, though Varus seemed to be making a conscious effort to keep it suppressed.
"There is no redemption for her," snarled Varus. "Dogs never lose their teeth, Yasuo. Especially not Noxian ones."
"Who are we to say that?"
Varus did not speak. Instead, his eyes bored into Yasuo's, searching them intently. The markings of the Owl were traced around his eyes, and Yasuo wondered if he could see his soul.
"What are your true feelings for her, Yasuo?" he asked finally, his voice no more than a whisper. Yasuo's heart leapt in his chest at the question.
"My feelings are my own," he replied stiffly, though his heart still beat quickly. "And I'm sorry if I cut our conversation short, Varus, but I have somewhere I need to be." He turned to leave, and he was almost out of earshot when Varus' voice rang out behind him.
"Yasuo!"
Yasuo stopped, but he did not turn to look back at his friend. Varus did not seem to care, and he spoke nonetheless.
"Be careful when the devil asks you to dance, Yasuo," he said, his echoing voice giving the words an otherworldly and sinister tone. "You may find that it lasts longer than you would like."
Yasuo did not turn and he did not have to; he could feel Varus' eyes on his back and knew that if he turned, the Arrow of Retribution would be there watching him go.
Even long after he had gone from the sight of Varus, he thought he could feel his eyes on his back. Even when he sat on a bench in one of the more crowded corridors of the Institute with his head in his hands. Before him, the other inhabitants walked passed him without sparing him a single glance. They were chatting happily, and occasionally, Yasuo caught the snippet of interesting conversation. All the chatter blended together and became nothing but noise in his head.
I have had enough excitement for today, he chuckled to himself as he lifted his head. His hand still stung him painfully, and he had his sword laid horizontally across his lap. After another minute or two of rest, he stood at last with a sigh, intent on returning to his room for a hot shower and a nice long nap. But as he stood, he heard someone calling out his name angrily.
"Yasuo!"
He turned in the direction of the noise, and over the heads of the others in the hallway, his eyes met the furious emerald gaze of another very angry Ionian. Once she saw him, she picked up her pace as she stormed towards him, her blades shining menacingly behind her and a murderous expression on her face.
Irelia.
So my inspiration for this chapter title comes from the Immortal Technique song "Dance with the Devil," and though the song is a little gruesome, the last three verses or so make it all worth it. Every time I listen to the end, I get shivers.
Peace.
