Winter, 1004 AN
"Y'think this kid can tell you much?"
Draven's teeth crunched into an apple, its juices dripping off his chin. Wiping his mouth, he waved to a pair of ecstatic young women, realizing they just crossed paths with celebrity.
"He could be Shocked, for all we know. I mean, can ya blame him? He watched an entire warhost get gutted like yellowbellies in a fish market. It's a wolfdamn miracle he's still breathin'," he said as he chewed, before tossing the apple over his shoulder.
Darius grunted. The brothers rounded a corner in an intersection, passing a department store where warmly-dressed patrons bustled about. Red Glades is always a site to behold, no matter the season. The hundred-meter walls that stood sentry on the suburbs border were iced over. Fresh snow encompassed the expansive downtown suburb. Two-story buildings with angular roofs and glass windows creaked against the chilly wind. Slumping trees with long branches bent over cobblestone streets, parks and frozen rivers, coated with red petals that drifted sparsely across ice and snow. Despite the popularity of the glades in summer, when the Weeping Widows grew in full force, the Hand of Noxus preferred winters here. The contrast of scarlet on a white canvas continued to be breathtaking.
"Shocked or not, he'll know something."
Draven shivered, blowing into cupped hands before shoving them deep into his coat pockets. "I don't buy it. One man wiping out an entire division of Legionnaires and Crigen by himself sounds bout as possible as a basilisk doing party tricks. A mutiny sounds more likely, you could pull it off while the warhost is at its weakest. Plus, I can think of plenty of reasons someone would want to off Crigen, one of them being his breath," he said, shivering again in disgust.
"It wasn't just a few men on crutches that died, Draven," Darius said. "If what the report says is true, it was a full-blown massacre. Almost a thousand dead, each body so badly mangled it was like a pack of starved Gorehounds set on them."
Draven shrugged. "Who knows, maybe the vultures and hounds did get to them? A week went by before the Legion found the bodies."
"Then those are some mighty hungry vultures," Darius grimaced.
"It's just hard to believe one man could've killed so many of our soldiers by himself," Draven replied.
The Hand raised an eyebrow. "That's rich coming from the Fleshing Host himself."
His brother shrugged. "Well, yeah. I'm Draven."
Darius groaned, turning his gaze towards the shops above as his boots crunched snow. He didn't wear his bulky armor, instead trading it for a cloak of wolf furs. Protocol demanded armor be worn at all times out in the open, precautions against an ambush even inside city walls. However, Darius could handle a fight if it stumbled across him today. He wasn't going to war, rather he was only going to have a chat in one of the most beautiful parts of Noxus Prime. Getting frostbite from wearing iron armor in this weather was a bad idea, anyway.
The grizzled general remembered days where he and his brother would run in alleyways like these as kids, little more than mangy mutts eating scraps off tables whose legs were worth more than them. They stole what they could to survive in Basilich. He, Draven, and the other orphans would jump across rooftops, dangling their legs over the edge as they laughed about swiping off a cheapskate grocer. Those days were hard and unforgiving, but in some ways, were better days than the present.
As Darius peered at the snow-covered roofs above, he caught sight of a figure disappearing under the ledge. His eyes narrowed.
"They don't listen, no matter how many times I tell them," Darius sighed, "I don't need bodyguards watching over my shoulder every waking moment."
His brother raised an eyebrow. "You're a leader in this country, bro. One of the big dogs. Bodyguards in any other nation would lose their heads if they lost sight of their king."
"Don't make me say that I can handle myself."
"Oh, I've known you long enough to know better. Thing is, they don't, Trifarian or not. They're only gonna be more worried seeing that you're not trapped in that metal box you're always wearing."
"I'm not looking for a fight today, Draven. I want to talk to this Witten, not scare him."
"Tell that to the urchins and ne'er-do-wells too stupid to not be scared of stealing the shoes off your feet," Draven retorted, gesturing to sketchy figures on the street who kept to themselves.
Darius laughed. "You think I've gotten that careless? I must be losing my touch if even you start to notice."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draven smirk. Turning his head, he saw Draven wagging a coin pouch between his fingers, which had been in Darius' pocket seconds earlier. Darius frowned, snatching the pouch out of Draven's hand, then punched him in the arm.
Draven chuckled, rubbing where he got hit. "Don't you think you should be covered up at least a little? Put a hood over your head? You practically got a sign on your back screaming 'Hi, I'm the Hand of Noxus, come put another stick up my ass!' or something like that."
"You're just mad that you have to walk instead of taking a carriage," Darius said flatly.
"No!" Draven said. "…Ok, maybe a little."
Darius sighed. "I'm not gonna hide in my own home. The least I can do as a leader of this empire is walk among my people and be seen as someone who cares about their well-being, instead of a noble sulking on a tower balcony, thinking of his peers as beneath him."
"You've got a point," Draven said. "You sulk enough already."
"I'm being serious."
"I know, I know," Draven sighed, lifting his hands apologetically. "It's just, we're in the middle of a war. The biggest one we've ever been a part of. If a knife found your back, the Demacians and Freljordians could be wiping their feet on our rug before spring. I'm just saying you should be careful."
The pair walked over an arching bridge, passing an old lady. Draven scratched the back of his head, peering at the overcast sky. "Remember when we were younger, how we used to run around streets like these in Basilich? Those were better days."
Darius nodded.
"Remember when we stole a turkey this time of year all those years ago?" Draven smiled. "We snuck into one of the lower noble houses and raided their pantry?"
Darius grinned for the first time all day. "How could I forget? That was the best meal we had for years."
"Then there was another kid in our party who went with us, it was the runt. Oh, what was his name…" Draven thumbed his chin.
"Fimble?"
"Fimble!" Draven snapped his fingers. "He practically ripped that turkey leg out of the patriarch's mouth!" The man cackled.
"When we were leaving, you slipped on the roof cause of ice," Darius replied. "If I didn't catch you, you would've been street soup."
"But the supper we had that night was so, so worth it. Food today doesn't compare to that feast," Draven sighed. "Those were the good ol' days."
"Then, we grew up," Darius said softly. There was an awkward silence between the brothers as they passed a fountain in the town square, a statue of a Noxian hero of old standing atop a stone podium. Water that normally would've flowed out from the hilt of his sword had frozen, forming a wickedly sharp longsword. "Made names for ourselves in the army," he added.
"Almost saw Wolf. Then, He sent me back to the chef. Apparently, I wasn't seasoned enough," Draven joked grimly.
"We did what we had to," Darius said quietly, but firmly.
"Just what I'd expect a hardened general to say. Nothing fazes you."
The Hand shook his head, distracted by a group of kids playing in the snow in front of the fountain. "I still have dreams about that place. All the battles I've won, that we won, haven't erased those memories, even after all these years. I tried to stop it, and I failed."
Darius scoffed. "They call me a hero and the Pride of Noxus for what we did in Ionia. The vaunted Son of Basilich. All we did was try our best to survive that nightmare. There was so much fire…"
Draven's grin disappeared; his expression solemn.
"Then, everything at the Placidium went wrong," Darius began. "Quill…"
"Stop it."
Darius turned to his brother, who was clenching his jaw.
"There's no point in opening up old wounds," Draven muttered. "So, drop it and focus on what you're gonna ask the kid."
There was silence between the brothers as they walked. Then, they came to a T intersection, where a park filled with Weeping Widows laid beyond. A hooded figure rested against a building on the corner, their arms crossed.
As they came closer, Darius' eyes narrowed.
"I told you to get some rest."
The figure shrugged, removing their hood. "As observant as ever, I see," Seren smiled.
Darius frowned. "You've been following us. You should be back at the Bastion."
Seren faked a puzzled look. "I don't know what you're talking about, General. You dismissed me. I'm using my free time to pay a house visit, and we just so happened to cross paths," she said, thumbing at the sign above her. Then, it dawned on Darius where they were.
A three-story building towered over them, surrounded by an iron-pronged fence. Salt laid on icy stairs that led up to a door made of expensive wood. Mannequins wearing fashionable suits and dresses stood behind large rectangular windows. The wooden sign hung from a post jutting out from the building. It read 'Needle Works'.
It was a high-class tailor shop, owned by the reputable Blacklyn couple. Seren's parents.
"You should come inside, my parents would love to see you," the foxy woman smiled.
"I appreciate it, Seren, but my brother and I have an important meeting to get to," Darius began, before his retainer cut him off.
"It'd only be a few minutes," she waved a hand. "Besides, you're gonna need some new threads for the departure party."
The general's shoulders slumped. He hated parties.
Draven whistled a long note. "Well, well, well, is this my brother's beautiful retainer I've heard so much about?" He stepped forward, placing his hands on his hips. "Seren Blacklyn, the Fox of Red Glades. I've heard a lot about you. I'm glad we finally meet," he said with a sly grin. "You already know who I am, everyone does. Please, hold your admiration."
Seren turned her nose up, scowling. "I know who you are, Draven. How bout you stop spending so much time in front of the mirror and start leading our warhosts?"
The man rubbed a long whisker. "Nah."
Seren growled in frustration, turning towards the shop. Then, the door swung open. An older, tall, spindly man stood inside, bent over and still clutching the handle. He had a gray horseshoe hairline and a goatee, wearing a navy-blue suit with grey tie and spectacles.
"I thought I heard Seren out here!" he exclaimed. "Honey, Seren's home!" He yelled back into the shop. "About time you came home!"
Seren blushed as the older man hugged her, glancing back at Darius. "Hi, Dad."
A short, plump woman appeared in the doorway. She wore a short-sleeved, low-cut red and white dress that exposed her bust. A belt wrapped around her waist, holding scissors, rulers, and other tools. The woman had a round face with laugh lines, her grey hair tied in a bun and small glasses that sat too low on her nose. She squeaked as she spotted Seren, hurrying down the steps and embracing her daughter, who stood a head taller.
"You're finally back!" she shouted with glee, tightening her hug. She then examined her daughter up and down. "Seren, my dear, your outfit is absolutely boorish! We'll get you fixed up right away." Seren tried to protest, but her mother ignored her.
The parents' gaze then fell on the brothers at the foot of the steps. "And General Darius, what a surprise!" the older woman said, waddling down the steps and shaking the general's hand vigorously. "I'm so glad you dropped by."
Seren's father followed down the steps, his eyes widening. He approached Draven, lowering his spectacles.
"My eyes must be deceiving me, are you Draven, Brother of the Hand and Champion of the Pits?"
Draven beamed. "The one and only."
Seren's father shook his hand excitedly. "I never thought I'd get to meet you in person! Welcome to our humble establishment."
"Always a pleasure meeting a fan," Draven said, sharing glances at Seren, smiling smugly.
"Please, come inside! We'd be happy to outfit two of Noxus' best," the father insisted, gesturing everyone inside.
"Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Blacklyn, but my brother and I already have an appointment," Darius said. Mrs. Blacklyn was having none of it.
"It won't take long at all, Darius," she said, moving behind him and began pushing him toward the door. The man tried to protest, but the old woman was surprisingly strong. As Darius and Seren's mother disappeared into the shop, Draven and her father followed behind.
"You can stay outside," she growled at Draven, pointing at the ground. Mr. Blacklyn glanced between the two, confused.
"Why? I'm sure Mr. Draven would like to see how we dress the Glades," he peered back at Draven, who nodded.
"If you knew what he is, you'd leave him at the rug," she said flatly, crossing her arms.
Mr. Blacklyn leaned in, placing his hand on her shoulder. "C'mon, hun," he whispered, "You know how long I've watched the Games. He won't be here long, if you wish. Please?"
She tried to argue, but stopped when she saw her father's expression, shoving her hands in her pockets.
"Fine."
The older man smiled, turning back to Draven. "Right this way, sir," he bowed, holding his hand toward the door. Draven nodded, following behind. Then, he smirked at Seren and winked. She begrudgingly fell in at the rear, and closed the front door behind her.
The shop was fancy. It had a large chamber, where the latest Noxian fashion was displayed on headless mannequins. A chandelier hung from a high ceiling. To the left of the front door, long rows of shoes lined a shelf. Further down the wall, colorful coats and pants hung from hangers. A mahogany staircase led up to a balcony where the dressing rooms were. At the back of the room was a honeycomb shelf that lined the entire wall, filled with a myriad of different colored fabrics and rolls of cloth. Past the second-floor balcony, another staircase led up to an apartment on the third floor.
Darius sighed, but smiled as Mrs. Blacklyn led him to the second floor. Geoffrey and Anni Blacklyn are two of the most renowned tailors in the capital, and some of Noxus' best craftsmen in the whole empire. Despite growing up poor like Darius and Draven did, they gained fame as talented outfitters who acted as servants for one of Noxus' Great Houses. Eventually, they saved up enough money to open this shop, which has served some of Noxus' most important figures for over thirty years. Whenever the Hand was forced to attend a gala, it was the Blacklyns who made him look the part.
"I've been a season-ticket holder for almost thirty years. I must say, you've only been getting more and more impressive lately in the pits, sir," Geoffrey said as he measured Draven, who wore a smug expression and shrugged.
"What can I say? I'm just that good. Not even the old me can keep up."
Seren audibly gagged at Draven's bravado.
"Dad, how many times do I gotta tell you to stop going to those stupid games? Those games are despicable."
Her father waved a hand dismissively. "Bah. An old man needs some entertainment, hun."
They tried several different looks. Despite looking almost fetching in a few of them, the pit-fighter wasn't interested. Then, the tailor introduced him to a green suit with a popped collar and snakeskin vest.
Draven grinned. "I'll take it," he said, as he opened the vest to Geoffrey's dismay, exposing his chiseled and scarred abs.
After Draven was finished, Seren's parents got to work on Darius. They removed his cloak and his trousers, leaving him in a long-sleeved white shirt and drawers. He lifted his arms as they took his measurements, buzzing about like worker bees.
"I hope work isn't drowning you, Darius. You must have a lot on your plate lately, with the war going on," Anni said.
Darius nodded. "Nothing I can't handle. In fact, most of my subordinates say I put most workaholics to shame."
"Is that a challenge? If it's a contest against us, you don't stand a chance," said Geoffrey, which brought a laugh out of Darius.
As Geoffrey moved to a backroom looking for fabrics, Anni measured Darius' legs. "Seren tells us you have another ball coming up. Celebrating anything in particular?" Anni chimed in.
Darius shrugged, looking at the assortments of clothes displayed on the walls. "Just a departure ceremony. We head back out to the field next week." He couldn't tell civilians classified info such as him sailing to Needlebrook.
Anni sucked her teeth. "I know you have armies to lead, but you work yourself too hard, my boy." She traced a scar on his thigh with her finger, a souvenir of a Shuriman who swiped at him with a curved dagger months earlier. "Is this new too?"
"Seren's right, you worry too much," Darius sighed.
Anni frowned, slapping his thigh. It was an act that a stranger would lose his head over. "Excuse me for caring for a friend's well-being." She glanced at her daughter, who sat on the couch chugging coffee. "Are you leaving too?"
Seren nodded, wiping her mouth. "Gotta make sure he doesn't get himself killed," she jabbed a thumb at Darius.
Mrs. Blacklyn sucked her teeth, running her hands up Darius bicep with measuring tape. "I better not be making your funeral suit right now. I'll bring you back to life and put you in a coffin myself."
Darius chuckled. Anni glanced at Seren. "Do you have a dress in mind yet, hun? You'd look absolutely stunning in the blue Shuriman silk we brought in a few weeks ago."
The retainer groaned, setting her mug on the coffee table. "Yeah, no thanks Mom. I'll go with something a bit more modest."
"Nonsense! If you put a bit of effort into it, you would be the most beautiful woman in the room. Lamb knows how many noblemen would be head over heels trying to court you."
"That's exactly what I'm trying to avoid," Seren groaned.
"Oh, don't be like that. It's about time you got married. Most women your age already have three to four children by now. Use those looks and charm Lamb blessed you with.
Seren shook her head, standing up from the couch. "You know I'm not up for courting one of those snobbish fools. I simply haven't met someone who satisfies me yet. At least the Legion has men with backbone," she said, before walking down the stairs.
"She's pretty busy herself too, Mrs. Blacklyn. Give her some slack," Darius said.
Anni sighed. "I know. An old woman would just like some grandchildren, you know. Someone has to take over the business after Geoffrey and I are gone, cause my daughter sure won't."
She finished her measurements, rolling the tape back onto her belt. "Besides, I've told you several times, call me Anni. We aren't strangers." She yelled to her husband in the backroom Darius' measurements, and there was a faint response.
"Well, Anni, your daughter is one of the best soldiers I've ever met. I couldn't tell you how many times she's saved my life," Darius said. "Among even the Trifarians, Seren is the ideal."
The older woman nodded, Geoffrey appearing from the back with a red jacket and pants folded over his arm. "Things were different under Darkwill. It was harder for women to learn a study," she said. "When she was growing up, we wanted her to marry into a noble house. Earn a good education and make a name for herself in the Houses' Court, maybe even contribute to a Ministry. Under Swain, it's easier than ever for a woman to attend colleges, and you know many high-ranking Ministry members are women."
She smiled. "But you and I both know Seren would never do it. Always so headstrong. Always has that chip on her shoulder."
"That chip on her shoulder got her to where she is today," Darius said.
"What my wife is trying to say is that we are very proud of her," Geoffrey piped in. "It is an honor that our daughter personally serves one of the Trifarix."
Darius stepped into silk pants and black boots while the couple dressed him in a white cotton button-down and a red overcoat. A black cord hung from his left shoulder to his right peck.
"Really?" Darius said, examining his new suit in a tall mirror. "I wear enough red already."
Anni patted him on the back, beaming from ear to ear. "Red suits you."
Red Glades isn't just a wealthy suburb. It is also the cultural hub of religion in Noxus.
Marble courtyards stretched across the city. Grand temples stood tall near aqueducts and rivers. Fountains and Weeping Widows decorated the valley. Crowds bustled about through the courtyards, providing offerings and prayers before the holidays. With the fresh snowfall, it was almost impossible to distinguish the structures from the snow that buried them.
As one of the leaders of the empire, it was Darius' job to understand it, which included the importance of religion among his people. While Swain's decree allowed people of all races, ethnicities, and religions to be accepted under Noxus, religious activity also brought friction and tension. On the north-side of the Temple Square laid the largest sect in the empire, the paganistic Kindred Spirits. It's a faith several millennia old, shared by a majority of Noxians and even Demacians. Their belief is based around deeds done in life that will be judged by two masked spirits, where benevolence grants you a painless death from Lamb's arrow as She leads you to the afterlife, while malice leads to eternal penance under Wolf's jaws.
On the south-side of the Temple Square lies the second largest sect in the empire, the Church of the Divined One, a faith that has grown across the Empire quickly in the past fifty years. It is a belief based off of the story of a Shuriman Ascended demigod in the guise of a lion, who was the sole survivor of Shurima's First Devastation. Believers attest the Ascended King will one day return with an army of Ascended to cleanse the world of evil, and bring judgment on the living and the dead.
Tensions have always been high between the two sects, and it's only gotten worse since the war started. Darius personally had to intervene in the city when riots broke out over a priest's son after he was found dead on the Church's steps. Despite Swain's best efforts, it was hard to cool things down. As a faith much older than their counterpart, Kindred Spirits believe the Church to be blasphemy, and that Wolf will destroy the heretics in divine punishment.
Seren tagged along with the brothers as they entered Temple Square, who had stayed in her inconspicuous cloak despite her mother's wishes. With his retainer present, the other watches over Darius that had been on the rooftops left for City Center. The Hand had asked the tailors to hold onto his suit, as he'd come back for it after he was finished with his meeting.
Darius peered at his retainer and smiled. He would've given anything as a younger man to have loving parents like Seren's.
The group passed a pair of Church priests in white robes. Draven yawned.
"Y'know, gotta hand it to your parents. They're pretty damn good at their jobs."
Seren stayed silent.
"The suit they made for me was great," Draven said, cracking his neck. "Although I gotta say, I think I'd look better at the party bare rather than in fancy clothes. Night would be a lot more fun," he added with a wink.
"As expected of the court fool," she muttered.
"What was that? Couldn't hear you over all the choirboys singing," he growled, clenching his fists.
"Knock it off," Darius ordered, glaring at his brother. "We're here. Hold yourselves like Trifarians in the church, not children."
Draven and Seren exchanged murderous looks, then nodded.
The first thing Darius noticed entering the church was how much security was present. Legionnaires posted every exit. The bored soldiers at the front entrance snapped to attention and saluted as Darius approached. Inside, a massive cathedral hall awaited them. Archways laid in rows in the ceiling, held up by marble pillars. Candles flickered softly on the pillars, wreaths hanging below them for the holiday season. Mosaic glass atop the walls depicted the story of the church's Ascended, from His victories to the Devastations of Shurima. Rows of pews lined parallel to a black carpet that stretched to the altar at the front of the building.
Other than the soldiers, a few civilians sat in the pews and prayed. Nuns passed the group. A guard was stationed in a corner of the room, in front of a staircase that led to the upper balcony.
The guard saluted as Darius approached, leading them upstairs. At the top, Darius spotted a priest wearing a long religious hat similar to a night cap. The old man sighed, taking his cap off, exposing his bald head. As he came closer, the Hand was surprised that the priest was one of the few men taller than him. He had a bushy white beard and thick eyebrows, wearing a white robe with gold trimming that fell to his feet.
He noticed the three, and casually stretched his back. "Gentlemen, miss," he nodded. "Welcome to our church. I am Archbishop Garfiel. I assume you're here for the young man?"
Darius nodded. "Why is the archbishop looking after him? Where is the chaplain?"
Garfiel shrugged. "He was called away for another matter. They didn't stop to tell me why. But that doesn't matter. Let me show you to his room."
He opened a door into a hallway that housed the bishop and nun's quarters. He opened the first door in the hall. Inside the bedroom, a small table was rounded by four chairs. A fire crackled inside a chimney, warming the otherwise cold church. Two beds sat in either corner of the room. On the bed to the right, a young man sat, eating soup out of a wooden bowl across from a young nun. He was thin. Barefoot, he wore simple trousers and a white shirt. His wiry brown hair had cowlicks, and his cheeks were sunken. A ruby broach hung from his neck.
As the four entered the bedroom, Witten saw Darius and dropped his bowl, startled.
"Y-You're…" he stammered, before giving a stiff salute.
"General Darius," he replied. "At ease, private."
Witten's eyes darted from Darius, to Draven, then to Seren and the archbishop. "Father Garfiel, a-am I in trouble?"
Garfiel shook his head as the nun placed her hand on his shoulder. "No, my boy. The general simply wants to talk to you about what happened."
Sweat dripped from his brow, his breathing faster. He exchanged looks with the nun, then with Darius. Then, he took a deep breath, turning to the Hand.
"I-I can try, sir," he said, his hands fidgeting.
"Great. I'll be here if you need anything," Garfiel said, before he and the nun walked out.
Darius and Draven took seats around the table, Draven flipping the chair and sitting the wrong way. Seren rested against the wall, folding her arms.
"Never thought I'd meet with the Hand of Noxus himself," Witten laughed nervously. "My family would never believe me if I told them."
Darius' expression was solemn. "Tell us what happened, from start to finish. Leave no detail out."
Witten nodded.
The boy told the brothers of preparing for his first battle right out of boot camp. How chaotic the fighting had become, especially after the rain started to pour. There were times Darius had to calm Witten down, like when he spoke of the private he impaled at the end of his spear, or Sergeant Doss approaching him after the battle.
As Witten described the Black Baron, Darius' eyes narrowed. The boy choked up when he talked of Doss coming back to life and Gaius sacrificing himself so Witten could escape. The more they heard, the more wary Darius, Draven, and Seren grew. Then, he told them of his encounter with General Crigen in the tent.
"Sure sounds like Crigen, alright," Draven said, spitting on the floor. "Lazy piece of shit."
Witten talked about Crigen and the baron, and then the general's death. "Um… 'I've decimated your army and undermined your victory. All that you'll be remembered for are your war crimes and your failures as a commander. This is your reward for your cruelty,' I think is what he said," the private stated.
Darius nodded. "One moment," he said, before he and Draven stood up and walked to Seren, huddling close.
"Welp, this has officially escalated from cuckoo to batshit insane," Draven said.
"'This is your reward for your cruelty'? Sounds like a vendetta to me. Maybe he crossed the wrong person." Seren whispered.
Draven rubbed his eyes. "That doesn't narrow it down at all. There are too many people who wanted him dead. Hell, if what the kid is telling is the truth about how he died, bastard got what he deserved."
Darius' brow furrowed. "War crimes and failure of a commander…" he mused. Images of burning bodies and charred mountains blazed in his brain.
The general turned back to Witten, who still fidgeted. "Is that all you have to report, soldier?"
Witten nodded, to which Darius motioned to leave. "We're done here," he said as they stepped toward the door.
"Wait."
Darius stopped, and peered back at the young man. "Can I see my family now, sir?" Witten asked quietly.
Darius turned away and looked at the floor. "I don't have an answer to that."
The young man frowned. "Well, when can I leave?"
"I don't have an answer to that, either."
The private went quiet. Then, to Darius surprise, Witten jumped out of bed, furious. "I've been kept in here for weeks! Guards always bringing me food, sleeping in an attic, and I barely see the sun anymore. Why can't I go? I told you everything I know!"
Darius frowned, crossing his arms. "Because you have important intel. You were the only survivor of an entire warhost being slaughtered by one man. No one can know. You don't get to go home when we're in the middle of war.
"Really? Because y'all seem just fucking fine without me, while I'm locked in this church!" He pointed accusingly at Darius, which took the general aback.
"Watch your tone, boy," Draven said warningly, clutching the custom scimitar at his waist.
Witten scoffed, astonished. "Whatcha gonna do, kill me? Already should've died back on the plains. I'm a dead man walking!" He laughed darkly. Draven took a step forward, but Darius held out a hand.
"You see this broach?" he said, holding the ruby necklace up. "This came off a dead Demacian officer. The guy who gave me this died to save me. He was the talented one, not me. He was gonna become a Trifarian. Yet, I'm the only one left."
Witten turned back to Darius and scowled.
"If y'all really care about my 'service', then let me go home. I've done enough for you people. Don't treat me like a prisoner because I committed the 'great crime' of surviving a massacre!"
A tense silence hung in the room. Then, Darius spoke.
"If you wish to return home, then I won't stop you. You've seen enough."
Witten's eyes widened. Draven tried to speak, but Darius silenced him.
"However, I have a question first."
Darius stepped forward, then crouched down, staring eye-level with Witten. "The nuns and priests have tried to help you heal from your Shock," he said. "What will happen when you return home? Will you wallow in your misery at the bottom of a bottle? Seeing your family again won't make the guilt go away. I know from first-hand experience.
"It's clear you have backbone. You survived a massacre, and now you're standing up to the highest senior-ranking officer in the empire. Are you satisfied with how things ended? That you gave up on the chance to avenge your comrades?"
Witten looked away. Seren tried to intervene. "General, I think you're being too harsh," she said, before she stopped dead in her tracks as Darius glared at her.
"Don't interfere."
He faced Witten once again. "Well? What's your answer?"
The young man bit his lip, and didn't speak. After a few moments, the Hand stood.
"I'm disappointed," Darius sighed, heading for the door. The archbishop and the nun watched nervously as the three prepared to leave.
"Stop!"
Darius did. Witten took deep breaths, holding his hand out. He licked his lips. "What would you have me do?"
The general moved quickly towards the private, startling him. "Call it the gods, call it the universe, call it fate. Whatever you believe in, gave you a chance. An unbelievable chance."
He stopped in front of Witten, his towering figure looming a shadow over the young man that split nations in half and struck fear into the hearts of men.
"Noxus wants you to stand, so you can be reforged into an unshakable warrior. A warrior who brings glory to his family, his nation, and himself, by avenging the warhost who died to save him.
Witten chuckled, to which Darius raised an eyebrow. "Are you kidding me?" he said, unconvinced. "Look at me! I'm weak and scrawny. I could barely hold a sword on the battlefield. Meanwhile, the Black Baron killed an entire warhost by himself. I'm no warrior."
Then, Darius did something that made both Draven and Seren's jaws drop.
"Then I will train you myself, with the help of one of the best War Masters in the Legion. I will take you under my wing and show you what you're capable of."
Witten was stunned speechless. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke. "I-I'll think about it…" he stammered, turning away.
Darius nodded. "I look forward to your answer."
Draven hungrily chomped off half of a kebab.
The gang stopped at a Shuriman restaurant on their way back to the Bastion, a hole-in-the-wall establishment that would be better described as a closet. The entrance was covered in imported southern drapes, leading to a bar that stretched to both walls, splitting the kitchen off from customers. A chef with chestnut skin stood behind the counter, wearing an apron and a green bandana. He shook a skillet over a flaring flame, before moving to a cutting board and dicing vegetables with swift precision.
The group sat on thin barstools. Darius sat in the middle, with Seren on his left and Draven on his right. Besides the three soldiers, the only other person present was an old man, slumped over his soup in at the end of the bar. In front of each of the three was a steaming plate of five kebabs, skewering boar, orange peppers, and onions. If Darius was a younger man, he would consider this plate a feast. As one of the Trifarix, it couldn't compete against seven-course meals crafted by Valoran's best chefs. However, this meal felt so much more personal and homier than the cuisine in the Bastion.
Seren didn't touch her plate, placing her chin on her hands thoughtfully. "What the hell were you thinking?" she said.
Darius bit into a slice of boar that melted in his mouth. "I wanted to see what he could do with the right training. Given proper guidance, I can see him becoming an excellent Legionnaire, possibly even a Trifarian if Lon Qu works his magic."
Seren stared at him quizzically. "What makes you so sure?"
Darius shrugged. "Call it intuition."
"Well, I still find it hard to believe," she said, ripping a chunk aggressively off the skewer. "Only Sion has ever been brought back to life, and it took years of research and half the empire's magic reserves to pull it off. He was one man. We're talking about an entire warhost resurrected as undead. Then, after this necromancer appears with an army, there weren't any witnesses who might have seen a figure in black moving across the plains?"
"He'd be long gone by the time we went looking," Draven mumbled as he chewed. "It'd be hard enough to find someone with the number of rolling hills you have to cross. Pair that with the thunderstorm that night, and it's practically impossible to track him."
Draven swallowed, then took a big swig of ale, slamming it against the bar. "We've got bigger things to worry about anyway. We can barely spread any manpower as is with the sieges of Delholm to the south and Castle Harrows at the Graygate. Shipments of Hextech to the frontlines have been aggravatingly slow, and it's hard enough getting troops to the south with how treacherous the land is past the Gates of Mourning. Lamb forbid some jackass officer leads his sorry men through the Silent Forest. We simply don't have the luxury of a manhunt right now."
Seren glowered at the pit-fighter. "You seem well-informed," she said, finishing off a kebab.
"When you're Draven, you gotta know everything," he shrugged. "It's a hard job, but it's one only Draven can do."
The retainer snorted. "I cannot believe you. You're one of the most powerful men in the empire, who could rip through the Demacian Line if you were given a warhost, and you waste your talents on spectacle and theater."
"People pay to see spectacle, Ms. Blacklyn," Draven said nonchalantly, licking his fingers. "That's my job now. Need to give the people what they want in such stressful times, and what they want is Draven."
"Maybe you should start looking at the empire's needs," Seren growled. "Instead of sitting around with your thumb up your ass, being pampered by whores."
Draven and Seren shared murderous stares. Meanwhile, Darius ate in silence, deep in thought.
"War crimes and failure of a commander," he said suddenly. Seren and Draven eyed him curiously.
"Huh?"
"Crigen was the head of the southern invasion of Ionia. We reported to him in the beginning," Darius mused.
"What about him?" Draven chugged the last of his ale, slamming the mug against the counter and demanding another.
"The only reason why I took command was because Crigen and all the senior officers were injured as we went deeper into the mountains."
"Yeah, and under your command, you led our armies in securing the beachheads in a matter of weeks, when it should have taken months," Draven said. "What's your point?"
Darius drank from his mug, foam dripping down his chin. "I think Seren might be on to something." He turned to his retainer. "You said it might be a vendetta. Crigen has likely made suspect actions across his career, but I can only think of one time he'd be accused of committing war crimes."
"Get to the point, bro."
"What I'm saying is, and this is just speculation, I think the Black Baron was in Ionia when we first landed," Darius clenched his fists. Unwelcome memories haunted Darius, shadows of a burning village dancing on the cliff-face.
"He was in Kaiji Bay."
Draven leaned in, his expression darkening. "You think he was one of the Ionians there? He survived the burnings?"
"Or worse. He could be one of the Legionnaires who was forced to do it."
An uncomfortable silence set in, with only the flames on the other side of the counter making any noise in the bar.
Darius took a long swig of ale, then sighed. "Draven is right, we've got too much on our plate to lead a manhunt. I'll leave this issue to the Faceless." The Third of the Trifarix, Guile, and Head of the Ministry of Inquisition, the Faceless deals with internal threats to Noxus, foreign and domestic.
Seren grimaced. "Creepy bastard," she shivered.
"But oh, so effective," Draven chuckled, finishing off the last of his kebabs. "They and their Inquisitors could find a needle in the Shuriman desert."
Seren leaned in. "Have you ever actually seen what's under the mask?"
Draven and Seren stared intently at Darius, but disappointed by shaking his head.
"Only the Grand General knows the Faceless' identity."
Draven scoffs. "So much for balance of power."
"I trust Swain with my life," Darius retorted. "And this is the last we speak of this. This conversation isn't appropriate in public."
The chef gave him the check, the Hand generously tossing him a few gold coins. He opened the drapes, exposing himself to freezing wind.
"Besides," Darius said, "if the Faceless is involved, you shouldn't be worried about this 'Black Baron'. Be worried about what will happen when the Faceless finds them.
Winter, 1004 AN
Whoever this kid was, I knew one thing. Trouble followed him.
Sneaking through an alley, I lifted Eddie to a balcony ladder hanging mid-air. As I was about to jump, the sound of boots thundered in the street in front of me. I ducked behind a mound of trash as Piltover Enforcers sprinted through the streets, startling the locals. I adjusted my mask, then climbed up onto the roof, following behind the boy.
I had covered Eddie's eyes when we left the bloody basement. Escaping the building wasn't exactly quiet either, which lead to where we are now. As we escaped Viral Warden Headquarters, Ryv was nowhere to be found. I wouldn't be surprised if he took the blame for getting Nightcrawler's men killed.
Now, I have to deal with Enforcers, Viral Wardens, and the Noxian soldiers patrolling the streets. What a day.
As Eddie and I slipped onto the rooftop, a squad of Enforcers and Legionnaires crossed paths in the street below. Relations weren't great after Noxus' political conquest of Piltover a year ago. You could cut the tension with a knife. As Eddie and I jumped to another rooftop, a scuffle broke out between the two factions. I smirked.
At least they'd be distracted.
Just as we're about to move to another building, I spotted an Enforcer posted at the corner of the rooftop. Worse, he spots me. Before he speaks a word, I charge him, swiping my sword down at him. His chest spurts blood as its cut open, before I slip around him and slice his throat. He gurgled, before dropping to the floor and falling still.
I turned back to Eddie. The boy was horrified. I looked down at myself, adding even more blood to my bloody visage.
"It had to be done. Those men are trying to put you back in that box," I said, wiping my sword on my coat before sheathing it. "Do you want to go back in there?"
Eddie emphatically shook his head. "Good," I nodded, "then follow me."
We moved swiftly across the district. I scanned desperately for a path to the lower layers. Most would be locked down by security, by now. Then, I saw it as we exited an apartment complex in an older area of the Financial District. Built into the chasm wall was an ancient elevator shaft. As we approached, I pulled open the rusted gate and entered the elevator, praying the elevator worked.
Eddie looked around nervously. "Are you sure this is safe?"
"No, but there's no other way," I grunted, pulling down a lever.
With a loud groan, the elevator lurched down. Both of us collapsed to the floor as the elevator sped out of control down the chasm. Eddie yelped. I grabbed hold of him and grasped whatever stable grate in the wall I could find.
Then, as soon as it started, the elevator's descent began to slow, before making an abrupt stop, throwing us off balance. I cautiously peered outside. We were in a coal shaft, one that hadn't seen light in a long time.
I looked at Eddie, who glowed like a firelight in the darkness. "Looks like you're the guide now," I said.
We stumbled through the coal shaft, stepping over fallen support beams and wooden barricades. When we exited the tunnel, we came to an abandoned coal factory. It was significantly darker in the Industrial District than the layer above.
Leaving the factory behind, we traveled a couple miles before moving into a neighborhood. The air was thicker down here. Two-story buildings and huts snaked up the canyon wall, shining faintly with orange light. There was no sign of any of our pursuers. They must have assumed we'd never get out of the first layer, I thought. We snuck past Zaunites covered in years-worth of soot and ash that you'd never fully clean out of clothes. Some of them were withered and coughing weakly.
As we moved through the neighborhood, I had one place in mind. A two-story building that was less dilapidated than the others came into view, light faintly shining through closed shutters. A clinic sign hung above the door. A rickety bridge at the top of the building connected to a natural staircase, which then lead to a wood house built further up into the chasm.
I grinned. We made it.
Eddie and I climbed to a rooftop adjacent to the clinic, then jumped over. A hatch laid in front of us. After, helping Eddie catch his breath, we entered the clinic.
We cautiously walked down creaking stairs. It was dark inside, with only Eddie's glowing blue figure as light. As we reached the bottom, I poked my head inside a doorway. It was a storage room, with aisles of locked cases filled with an assortment of medicines. I stepped forward.
Light suddenly filled the room. To my left, a lever-action rifle chambered a round.
I glanced at the old man holding the rifle, then held up my hands. He was bald, with thick white sideburns that filled his cheeks. He wore a patchwork brown vest and an old pair of pants.
"Wolfdammit, Lucius."
He lowered his rifle, and sighed with relief. "I thought you were an intruder," he said. "I was about to blow your brains out."
"Good to see you too, Urich," I muttered.
The old man scanned the two visitors who broke into his clinic. "Why the hell are you covered in blood?" He asked in a gruff voice.
"Don't worry about it."
Then, Urich gestured to Eddie, who hid behind me. "And who, or what, is this?"
"Actually," I said, stepping forward, "that's why I'm here. I need your help to find out…"
"Why he's glowing?" he interrupted. Urich put away his rifle, then scratched the back of his head. "First you break into my place, then you demand me to help you past working hours."
Urich groaned. "What a pain in my ass." He stepped away towards a door, then peered back at us, who stood still. "Well?" he said, more annoyed. "You coming or what? I don't got all night."
We followed the old doctor into another room. A high-grade lamp hung from the ceiling and illuminated a surgery table. "Sit," he pointed at Eddie, who complied.
"City's gotten a lot louder tonight," Urich said as he put on spectacles. "Does that have something to do with why you show up to my doorstep in the middle of the night, covered in blood?"
"You could say that," I replied, removing my mask.
"What was it this time? You finally piss off a Chembaron?"
I shook my head. "Nope. Just the Viral Wardens, along with every other Enforcer and Legion dog in the city."
"Lamb's ears, Lucius. I'm killing you myself if you just lead them to my door."
"I don't doubt that."
"And really, stop wearing that stupid outfit," Urich grumbled. "Every time I see you, I think you're one of the Wardens."
"As a fellow doctor, you don't seem too fond of them," I said.
"Doctors? Bah. More like bureaucrats collecting checks and threatening anyone in the way. A real, self-respecting practitioner would be down here in this shithole with me."
Urich began to dress into a containment suit, slapping a pair of rubber gloves on, then reached into a cabinet and put on a welding mask. After that, he rolled a pair of surgical tools toward the table. Eddie did not like that one bit.
"W-What are you doing?!" he exclaimed, backing away from Urich on the table.
"Trying to help ya, runt," the old man snapped. "Now lay down and sit still."
Eddie held his head in his hands. "No, no, no, no…" he stammered. "Y-you're just like the Wardens! You want to e-experiment on me!"
I couldn't help but feel sorry for the boy. He'd clearly seen more than a kid his age deserved, and clear as day he was Shocked. I didn't blame him; anyone would be afraid of lying on a table while a masked doctor goes to work on you.
I squeezed Eddie's shoulder, who glanced up at me. "Urich is one of the good ones. He's one of the best medical alchemists on the continent. He's going to help you."
Eddie hesitated, then laid back down on the table. "Are you going to cut me open, Doc?"
Urich sighed. "Hopefully, it doesn't come to that. But I won't think twice if it's what's best for you."
"Urich, shut up. You're not helping," I snapped.
The doctor muttered under his breath as he rolled a stool over to the table and began to examine the mysterious boy. I took up a position on the opposite side of the table.
Urich clicked over his mask what looked like a spyglass lens, slowly moved from his legs, then began to move quicker the more he worked. Eddie's body fluctuated as Urich hovered over him. His skin coursed with electricity. A volt snaked around a gloved index finger as Urich inspected Eddie's eyes through the lens.
Eddie shifted uncomfortably. "Sit still, dammit," the old man grumbled. Eddie peered at me, uneasy.
I put on a paternal smile. "Don't worry about him," I said, "Old dog may bark a lot, but he doesn't bite."
"Shut it," Urich snapped.
Then, he lifted Eddie's index finger, and in one clean, quick motion, sliced the boy's finger with a scalpel. Eddie yelped with surprise, but Urich had already rolled over to a worktable against the wall, with more tools designed with the same spyglass lens. He put the blood sample on a small piece of glass and clicked through different sized lens. Urich seemed more awake now.
"What do you see, doc?" I asked.
Urich didn't answer.
"Doc?"
"Incredible…" he muttered.
"Huh?"
Urich pivoted in his seat, and flicked up his welding mask. "This is way above my paygrade."
I was taken aback. "What? What do you mean 'above your paygrade'? You were one of the best alchemists in the Ministry of Medicine!
Urich rubbed his eyes, rolling back over to Eddie. "In all my years of practice, I have never seen anything like this," he held the boy's arm up, voltage striking his gloved hand like angry hornets. "His body is pulsing mana, with reservoirs deeper than some King-class mages. It's like the kid's a giant battery," he explained, slapping his knee, stumped. "Frankly, I have no clue how he's still breathing. That much magic energy coursing through his veins, his cells should've fried ages ago. He should be dead."
Eddie peered at me with a worried expression. I frowned. What the hell did the Wardens and Trifarians do to Eddie?
Urich sighed. "No wonder top layer is so riled up. You break the kid out of some basement?"
I nodded. "Warden basement. Whatever they were doing, Trifarians are involved."
"Well, that's just fantastic," the old man groaned. "You might have just blown the lid off one of their secret weapon projects. Something they could've used in the war, from studying this kid. Legion dogs are gonna flood into the city soon, and turn the Lanes upside down. Damn, as if they didn't breathe down our necks enough."
"Did you find anything else?" I inquired.
Urich hesitated, staring at the floor. Then, he rolled to the table and pulled out a lens that was the size of his palm. He placed it on Eddie's chest, electricity crackling across the copper outline. In the lens, I saw an x-ray view of the inside of Eddie's chest. I was amazed at his physiology. Even inside his body, plasma danced through veins and muscle. His heart radiated blue light. However, as I looked closer, I noticed that the arteries in his heart were purple, with ribbons of light wrapped around the organ like rope. At the center of his heart, the symbol of a jagged 'V' glowed.
"Is that…a rune?" I guessed.
Urich nodded. "This is the biggest thing I can't wrap around. I've never heard of this kind of magic bonded to an organ, let alone the heart and with a rune. My best guess, it looks like an ancient form of lock."
"A lock?" I stared flatly at the old man. "Why would there be a lock around his heart?"
"Not a friggin' clue," he said, thumbing his chin thoughtfully. "Although, maybe lock is the wrong word to use. See these purple cords?" He pointed at the ribbons. "They act very similarly to dispelling and warding magic."
"You're losing me, doc."
Urich grunted, leading me away from the table. He whispered so Eddie couldn't hear. "You could say there's a limiter bonded to his heart."
My eyes widened. "Are you saying Eddie's not even close to the amount of mana he could be emitting?" I whispered back.
"It's just a guess," Urich shrugged. "But, if something happens to where that limiter breaks, all the energy that was soaking into those wards like a sponge will flood his circulatory and nervous systems. It'll be too much for his body to handle, and it will give out."
"Wait, are you saying…?"
Urich stared me dead in the eye.
"Yes. Without the limiter, this kid will turn into a bomb."
I walked back to Eddie, who was still skittish. I tried to reassure him with a smile, but it felt fake. Even Urich, one of the foremost experts in medicinal magic and research was stumped. If his condition was permanent, Eddie would never have a normal life, even if he wouldn't be constantly on the run.
Like you're one to talk, a voice whispered in my ear.
"It's gonna be problematic if he causes more power surges. Is there any way we can lower his mana output?" I asked.
Urich stared blankly at me. "Wait, you're telling me that power surge that shut down half the Lanes a few months ago was because of him? Wolf's claws, Lucius," he groaned. He leaned over his work table, studying the blood sample. "I-I'll think of something. In the meantime, the best way to avoid surges is to prevent the pot from boiling over in the first place."
"Speak Common, doc. I'm a surgeon, not an alchemist."
Urich rolled his eyes. "He needs to release some of the energy he's storing. Ideally, in a controlled environment. It'll also help him learn how to control his output." He stretched, groaning as his back cracked with a loud pop. "If you truly want to help this boy, you need to find someone who can teach him how to control his power."
"Great advice," I said sarcastically. "You do know that every King-class mage on the continent wants my head, right?" Little did he know, I could now be classified as a King-class mage after my years of training with the demon's powers. This, however, was outside of my expertise.
"Sounds like your problem," he replied callously.
Urich removed his containment suit and welding mask, then wiped his spectacles with a handkerchief. "Let me guess, you need a place to stay tonight too?"
I lifted my arms and showed off my blood-soaked clothes. "Wouldn't hurt, would it?"
"I have a spare bedroom, but only one night. After that, I'm kicking you out."
"We'll be out of your hair by morning."
Urich led us up to his house. It looked more like a patchwork hut than a house, with a rustic wooden balcony and log walls. He led us inside into a simple living room, with a leather chair and couch rounding a coffee table covered with papers. Philosophy books and medical texts littered bookshelves and stacked like towers on the floor.
"This is the first time I've been in this house, Mr. Kepler," I noted. "Lot different from your last one in Noxus Prime."
"Not all of us can afford to be pampered in mansions and jerked off by maids like the glorious House Rimgar," he fired back.
We followed Urich down a narrow hallway where two bedrooms were placed parallel to each other. His study was at the end of the hall. No pictures hung on the barren walls.
"Here we are," Urich grunted. "Don't expect room service."
I glanced back at Eddie, who remained quiet since we left the clinic. For such powerful and dangerous energy that flowed through the kid's veins, the containment suit amazingly, well, contained it. I made a mental note to study it when we made it back to my safehouse.
"You get the bed. I'll be fine on the couch."
Eddie snapped his attention toward me, eyes wide with surprise. "Really?"
"I insist." I raised my hand to the doorway. "After you."
The kid was speechless for such a dull space. The bedroom was small. A quilt laid on top of a mattress with no frame. A single pillow collected dust. A desk sat against the wall. No pictures anywhere.
"Is it really ok if I have the bed?" Eddie asked.
I smiled and nodded. To my surprise, the boy embraced me, his head just above my waist. Lightning jumped from his exposed, bald head and zapped my chest, causing me to gasp.
A look of terror crossed Eddie's face. "No, no, I didn't mean to! I'm sorry, I…"
I held up a hand as I bent over. That zap definitely did more than tickle. "Don't worry about it. I'm okay. No need to apologize." I stood up slowly, then patted him on the shoulder. "Take the bed, kid. You deserve it."
Tears began to well in his eyes, causing the voltage coursing through his skin to go even wilder as they danced through the liquid. He quickly wiped them away with his arm. Then, he smiled, a sincere and earnest grin that probably he hadn't even seen for a very long time.
"Thanks, Lucius."
After Eddie slipped under the covers and the lights went dim in the house, I spent an hour laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. After all these years of living in the Undercity, I was practically a Zaunite now. It's a miracle I've maintained my anonymity all this time. Moving between Piltover and Zaun was always tedious, especially after Noxus' political conquest over the City of Progress above. But it had to be done.
For the past ten years, I resided in Zaun. Tracking down any lead towards the Black Rose or the Alchemist, the secret seventh Chembaron. Keeping watch over the Incognium Runeterra in Piltover, in case the cabal came for it. All these years, I've spent preparing for the fated day. The day Noxus burns and I destroy Morelli. Destroy Swain and his empire. Rarely have I ever stepped outside of the twin cities, except for the incident in the Cyrilean hills.
That was personal.
I sighed, turning over on ripped cushions. Ten years of training, ten years of begrudgingly working alongside the demon, led to a version of myself that was unrecognizable. The power of necromancy was a power unlike anything I had ever experienced. It both amazed and terrified me. This unbridled art was not only powerful, it was hungry. Using it took every ounce of willpower to keep it under control, and lately, I'm getting more and more afraid that it's gonna jump its leash.
The Message Man was even more of a mystery. Whenever I asked about himself, he would speak in vague terms, or the sound of whispers would cut off his sentences, like a breeze. That same sound happened whenever I asked what he knew of the Grey Warden and Urbe Mortuos.
"Good luck getting a word out of me, friend," he had said, "The one who cursed me prevents me from ever speaking of anything regarding myself or shshshshsh."
Whatever the curse was, it's an impregnable seal. Not even yes or no questions get through him, as it keeps his unnaturally long neck stiff.
Finding intel lately was taking a toll on me too. Finding Eddie in the Warden's basement was the first lead I had in months, and the only reason I went looking was because of the power surge. Or, in other words, sheer dumb luck.
I rubbed my eyes. I spoke an incantation, and a small ember flickered in my palm. I pulled the pocket watch out of my coat and clicked it open. Inside the cover was a pencil-drawn portrait of my family in Feywind. A wave of pain and guilt washed over me, seeing the smiling faces of my wife and daughter. Then, of myself, the helpless fool who could do nothing to save his family or his friends. I shut it, swiftly pocketing the watch.
Then, before the flame in my hand went out, I spotted a picture frame, buried in a pile of books. I sat up, and dug it out, blowing off dust.
I nearly dropped the frame. A new wave of guilt hit my gut. In the frame was a sketched photo of an old, blond friend.
I stood up, and silently walked down the hall towards the study. A faint light peaked beneath the door. I knocked softly, then opened the door. The study was easily the nicest room in the house. Bookshelves overstuffed with dusty texts filled every inch of wall and almost the entire floor. An oil lamp cast long shadows in the room. Urich sat in a plush leather chair, reading a book on his desk.
As I walked in, he adjusted his glasses. "You should get some sleep."
I laughed under my breath. "Can't. Men like us, there's so much to do-,"
"-and so little time to do it," Urich finished. "Your father used to tell me that all the time."
I sat down in the chair opposite of the old man. "Urich, why did you move to the Undercity? Why leave home?"
"I could ask you the same," he retorted. He took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. "Like you said, there was so much work to be done. In my last years at the Ministry, I saw how ineffective they'd become, even if I didn't want to believe it."
He turned to me. "Years ago, long before the empire pressed its thumb on Piltover, I attended a conference. As any first-time tourist in the City of Progress, I was amazed by its spectacle. Riches galore, buildings that touch the heavens, and the many ways you can make a name for yourself, opportunity sucks everyone in. That is, until I started inspecting the general health of the city, and discovered the festering wound beneath it."
I leaned in, placing my elbows on my knees and my head on my hands.
"I was so angry at first. The disease and hunger that ran so rampant in the Lanes was stifling. Working for one of the Noxian Ministries, I pulled some strings and got an audience with Piltover's council." He grit his teeth as he said the last words, clenching his fist. "Useless bureaucrats. All they said were vain, empty words. 'The council is doing everything it can for its people', 'it's a problem we're continuing to work on', or some such crap. Then, when I needed my friend to back me up the most, to urge the council to finally address the Lanes, he turned away."
I stared at the floor. "Sure sounds like him. Probably said he had 'more important matters to attend to', huh."
Urich laughed. "Took the words right out of his mouth. You're sounding more and more like your father."
"Don't compare me to him."
The old man rubbed the back of his head. "Al and I used to talk about how helping people should take priority over furthering our own careers. The best use of our talents, as well as the talents of the Ministry, is cutting the sickness out of this city. Getting rid of the Grey."
Urich shrugged. A sad look clouded his eyes. "Alabaster forgot. It's not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick."
I smiled, but my eyes didn't share it. "You know, he always told me that as a kid. Before the plague." I licked my lips, looking for words to say. "He wasn't the same after."
Urich pulled out a cigar from his desk, lighting it off the oil lamp. "We all lost someone to the plague, son," he said softly, rolling the tobacco in his hand, puffing smoke.
A silence hung between us for a moment. Smoke rolled through the room from the cigar. Then, I placed the picture frame on his desk. Urich glanced at it for a second, before quickly reverting his gaze back to his book. The photo was of a blond kid at a festival, hugged from behind by a beautiful, slender woman wearing a blue dress.
The old man took a deep breath, letting out a plume of smoke. But I could see him slightly tremble. "Your wife Adel, I remember when she looked after me and my older sister while my parents were gone on 'noble business'. She taught Cecilia how to make the best damn desserts," I reminisced, my mouth watering just thinking about her treats I ate as a kid.
"She really was something…" Urich said quietly.
I stared at the picture, at the lovely lady and her son enjoying life. I clenched my fists until my knuckles were white. Memories of sickly corpses in the Placidium invaded my head. Of that horrible green gas.
"I was there when it happened, Urich. Your son, he-.."
"Stop," he said harshly, lifting up the cigar with his lip. "I don't want to know the details."
I looked back down at the floor, ashamed. This was a man I looked up to, growing up. Yet, I couldn't even keep his son, one of my best friends, safe.
"Grigorn was so excited when he was accepted into the military academy," Urich said suddenly, his eyes wandering. "I remember passing by his room in the middle of the night, and he'd still be training. He was so dedicated…"
The old man choked up for a second, then pushed it back down. "My son wanted to be a hero. It's a shame he wasn't treated like one when the boats came back."
I couldn't listen anymore. I stood abruptly, and headed for the door. "Believe me, Mr. Kepler. I wish I didn't know the details either."
As I opened the door, Urich puffed more smoke. "You've changed, Lucius. I remember the Rimgar boy who aspired to be a Ministry surgeon." I didn't turn around.
"That boy died in Ionia."
I walked out, closing the door behind me.
Eddie slept soundly under the covers; the blue light emitted from his body now dim. The sounds of the city could be heard faintly. It was truly a city that never slept. Water periodically dripped through the roof from the chasm. All was quiet except for the boy's soft breathing.
A kitchen knife hung above him.
Beads of sweat dripped down my temple, my muscles tense. "W-What a-are you doing?" I whispered, struggling against an unseen force. It took all my strength to keep the knife in the air, like holding the leash on a starved basilisk. It was hungry.
A dark aura filled the room, bringing with it an ominous chill. "He is a threat to us." A voice said in my head.
Eddie stirred in his sleep, his expression now troubled. I grabbed my arm, trying to fight back against the demon's influence. "He's just a kid!" I hissed through my teeth.
"That pup will be the end of us!" the voice snarled. "He will undo everything!"
"How do you know? How can you be so sure he can't help us?" I said, my arms straining. "I won't kill a kid."
The voice cackled. "How foolish. You've killed plenty already, Lucius. Have you forgotten? Noxus' destruction will bring with it mountains of dead men, women, and children alike. One more won't hurt. Don't let your feelings distract you, you hypocrite."
"Don't call me that," I growled, pulling the knife back toward me. Then, a realization hit me. He's scared of Eddie, I thought, incredulous. This was the first time in ten years I felt desperation from the demon.
"I've made good on my end of the bargain. Trust me for once," I said, voice trembling with desperation. "I don't care what happens. You will not lay a finger on the boy's head."
The influence over my arm disappeared. I gasped as I regained control of my body, my arm falling limp to my side. I breathed a sigh of relief as Eddie stirred. I hid the knife behind my back, then slipped out of the room, closing the door.
I tossed the knife in a cabinet drawer, then shut it forcefully. I looked back down the hall and saw an unwelcome sight. The tall, ominous form of the Message Man stood with his back to the wall, arms folded. Beady red eyes locked onto me. I passed by, ignoring him.
"You're making a grave mistake," he said in his grating voice.
This time, I turned my head and stared him dead in the eye. It was like staring into an abyss, those eyes that plagued my nightmares years ago. But this time, defiance and anger ruled over fear. I scowled at the demon.
"We'll see about that."