Disclaimer: League of Legends is property of its respective owners.

Chapter One: Arrival in Demacia

Two Years Prior

I tugged uncomfortably at my robe's collar as I stepped off the boarding ramp. Demacia was chilly this time of year, but I had grown accustomed to the cold of the Freljord, so the ornamented purple-and-gold robes of an Institute of War Summoner only made me feel uncomfortably hot. I longed for the much more comfortable travel clothing in my luggage, but Institute policy said the robes stayed on until I left the airport. There was a thin silver lining in that the Demacian border guards seemed that much more inclined to quickly wave me through when I wore the robes. A pleasant breeze from higher up the ramp took the edge off the discomfort.

"It has been a pleasure, Summoner..." an ethereal voice spoke from behind.

"Pleasure was all mine, Janna," I turned around to look the wind spirit in the eye, "Though I do wish I knew why the senior Summoners were so vague about who I'm supposed to meet with. Some sort of...witch in the woods?"

Janna's expression darkened for a split second, her lips pressed into a thin line, before she returned to her normal serene self. As Champion to one of the highest-ranked Summoners in the Institute, I had no doubt that she knew more about this 'witch in the woods' than she was willing to tell me. I simply shrugged my shoulders: compared to some of the other Champions, a magic user who valued her privacy ranked quite low on the list of unusual things. Though why a practicing mage would choose to settle in Demacia of all places was quite beyond me.

"Doesn't matter either way. Either I form a contract or I spend another couple months in the Freljord standing around looking scary," I grinned as I pulled my hood up.

That earned me a brief giggle. In theory, the Institute's Freljord outpost monitored the vast demilitarized zone that was the Ice Sea, its formidable shore batteries and contingent of Summoners serving as a silent threat to any warships foolish enough to try and pass through unauthorized. In practice, the Sea was frozen over six months out of the year and both Demacia and Noxus had far more pressing concerns than fighting over a near-totally unnavigable waterway. Even the outpost's tourist center—I still wonder who thought it was a good idea to build a tourist center in the Freljord—had seen more use than the gun battery, having played host to a state visit from Queen Ashe during my time there.

The censer hanging at Janna's waist jingled as she planted her staff and floated down so that her feet just barely touched the ground, opening her arms expectantly. I saw several of the Institute soldiers milling about the hangar turn their heads to watch, but I paid them no mind as I hugged the wind spirit.

"Good luck with the League," I nodded as we let go, "I'll see if I can catch a broadcast."


Stepping through the door that separated the Institute-managed and Demacian-managed portions of the airport was a jarring transition. From the utilitarian architecture and uniformed soldiers that the Institute preferred to vaulted ceilings and armored knights. Airship travel was still extremely new outside of Piltover and Zaun, so it was quite possible that the Institute airship I had arrived in was the only arrival in the past few weeks. My robes stuck out amongst the more subdued Demacian fashions, and I felt dozens of pairs of eyes on me as I walked past. Adults gave me wide berth, and children hid behind their parents. Even the normally-stoic soldiers seemed a little jittery: as well-trained as they were, there was little they could do against the world-shattering powers of a Summoner.

"Papers?" a middle-aged border guard asked me with the faux boredom that hid nervousness.

I slid my travel documents, the enormous Institute of War seals prominently displayed, towards him.

"Reason for visit?" the man asked as he pretended to review my papers.

"Tourism."

I suppose that wasn't a complete lie.

"Length of stay?" the border guard stamped the documents with a little more force than strictly necessary.

"Two weeks at most."

"Everything seems to be in order. Please enjoy your stay."

Several nearby Demacians seemed unusually engrossed in the latest edition of the Demacian Constant as I moved past the checkpoint. I had no doubt at least a few of them were undercover magehunters. There was an unspoken agreement between them and the Institute: so long as I refrained from any overt displays of magic, the magehunters were content to watch from a distance.

I allowed myself to relax and my posture to slouch as I approached the main concourse. My final destination was so far out of the way that the Institute had chartered a private carriage. It wasn't scheduled to arrive for a few more hours, so I would have to tolerate the robes for that much longer. In the meantime, there was a restaurant serving Shuriman food that had received rave reviews from the other Summoners.


Three Days Later

The magehunters tailed the carriage for a surprisingly long time after we left the walled cities and well-patrolled roads of central Demacia behind, only giving up two days into my journey. Their mandates and authority meant little in the small farming villages of the Demacian frontier, and overly-zealous magehunters tended to "go missing."

Nevertheless, I carefully hid anything identifying me as a Summoner whenever we stopped. The Fifth Rune War had only ended five years ago, and the memory of its final day was still fresh in many minds. I still attracted some attention; it was virtually impossible not to, being the first outsider many of these villages had seen in months, and an Ionian to boot. Even out here, everybody knew of Xin Zhao, but few knew anything of the Seneschal's homeland. Tales of my home province and news from beyond Demacia's borders spent every bit as well as the gold I bought with me.

The first leg of my trip ended when the roads did, leaving me in a tiny farming hamlet of less than one hundred people. Consisting of a single street, a handful of cottages, and a seldom-used guest bedroom in the mayor's house that doubled as an inn. I left most of my remaining gold with them, though the coin paled in comparison to the parcel of medicinal herbs and potion reagents and the stack of days-old newspapers I also bought with me. A few small parlor tricks of the kind currently all the rage in Piltover—nothing actually magical, just a lot of misdirection and sleight-of-hand—and I both became the talk of the town and got the information I wanted.

The Winged Protector, I had heard of as far away as Ionia. Massive statues in Demacia's capital proclaimed a dozen tales of judgment carried out carried out with the stroke of a blade. I listened as closely as was polite, but what piqued my interest was the tale of the Veiled One. I had heard the title whispered in the Institute's halls, but only knew enough to know that early Demacia had gone through great pains to erase her from history: books and scrolls were burned and shrines torn down. Yet, some stories survived in the outskirts of Demacia. A shiver went up my spine as the village apothecary finished the tale of the cleric and his disobedient pupil. Part of me wondered what kind of judgment she would have in store for me.

I had spent much of the evening wondering how to casually bring up the "witch in the woods," and my efforts ironically proved for naught. One of the younger children eagerly volunteered the story. She was a little too young to be very articulate, though apparently this witch was "real pretty," "really nice," and "had these giant wings." I knew enough Vastayans that I found the last bit a little more believable than the girl's parents apparently did.


The clearing the little girl had described was just a brisk walk away from the hamlet. Far away enough that children had plenty of room to run around in the tall grass, but not so far that their parents lost sight of them. I could immediately sense a mage—and a powerful one at that—had passed through recently: magic residue, dark but not evil, was sprinkled over the entire area. It tasted of long-buried pain, quite different from the picture the little girl had painted. Left with no other choice, I closed my eyes and let the magic point me.

I walked for half a day before the trail ended. The woods grew steadily darker and more foreboding, the trees twisting together until they blocked the sunlight entirely. I drew my cloak closer, shivering slightly, and summoned an orb of light in my palm. My boot found something soft and hollow, and I bent over to inspect the object: a feather, too large to belong to any bird I had ever seen. I remembered tales of Lhotlan Vastaya who fought with razor-sharp feathers, and I focused some magical energy into my free hand just in case.

The feathers grew thicker, forming a trail through the woods, and I eventually came upon a small cave. The smell was overpowering, and a soft candlelight glowed deep within. There was no sound but the dripping of water from the ceiling, yet I felt something beckon me inside. I took a deep breath, drawing forth more magic to weave a protective aegis around myself. Not enough to be threatening, but able to deflect a spell or two.

I dispelled my light and stepped inside.


A/N: I like to sometimes use author's notes to muse on this topics that I couldn't really cover in the main chapter. Probably will happen quite a bit early on, then taper off as we go along.

So I should probably address the elephant in the room: the League of Legends/the Institute of War. Obviously, Summoners and the Institute exist in this AU. The Institute's purpose, however, is a bit different than it was in the old canon. It's both stronger and weaker: this Institute is less a supreme governing body and more an international peacekeeping force not beholden to any one government. Besides the stated public mission, its secondary purpose is to keep the remaining Summoners out of trouble: the Institute keeps close tabs on them and provides an outlet for their powers. Quite a few champions are "on loan" from their respective homelands rather than directly pledged to the Institute of War—and a few aren't affiliated with the organization at all—though as the opening scene hinted, this Institute does have access to conventional forces to make up for it.

Now as for the League itself, rather than the central pillar of the Institute and a method of international arbitration, it is only one organ of this Institute. Think of it as a combination of training, ping-pong diplomacy with swords, and the Institute's PR department. Summoners get a chance to let loose a little and train alongside their champion (more on that later), participating nations get to show off their latest military advances, and selling the broadcast rights brings in a good chunk of the Institute's budget.

Anyhow, enough of my rambling. Next up: the first meeting!