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

Chapter Three: The Fallen

A million memories swirled around me, shards of a million existences cut short, of a million cries for help. I was a soldier huddled in a foxhole as fire and brimstone rained from the skies. I was a parent holding their children close as the ground beneath them tumbled away. Bio-acid burned my flesh and Void-infused spikes skewered me for a ravenous four-armed monstrosity to enjoy at its leisure. I struggled for breath as great waves buried my home and battered me back underwater every time I surfaced. The very earth shook and I knew not why, only that I could do nothing about it. I felt all the fear, the pain, the hopelessness of the Rune War's final day.

"Do not mistake my methods for mercy," a massive figure looming over me boomed, "Death is mercy. You shall earn your absolution!"


I awoke laying on something soft, and I could see two pinpricks of purple light floating above me. I reached up towards them, only for some unseen force to gently push my hands back down. I blinked several times to refocus my vision. A beautiful angel hovered above me, and I was sure I was dead up until the pain hit me. Every inch of my skin felt like it was on fire and my head felt like it had split in two. The scream died in my throat, reduced to a faint gurgle. I felt a damp cloth be placed on my cracked lips, and I suckled greedily at the moisture.

"Hush, save your strength," a hypnotic voice soothed "I admit I underestimated how quickly you'd break the restraints."

Through the painful haze, I remembered shattering the ethereal chains with a shockwave of magic. I remembered sinking to the ground, uncaring as the arcane flame ate through my robes and licked at my flesh. I remembered the veiled figure kneeling down beside me, any sense of detachment discarded, as I clawed at my flesh and beat my head against the stone; anything at all to make the pain stop. I remembered a pair of slim arms wrapping around me, a heaven-sent cooling touch against my burning flesh, to protect my head as I thrashed about.

That explained the pain, at least. I was just coherent enough to glance down. My outer robes were gone, no doubt damaged beyond repair, and clean bandages were wrapped tightly around my upper body. The sharp smell of antiseptic and painkilling balm assaulted my nose, and I nearly passed out again from the shock. I gathered most of my remaining magic into one hand and prepared a healing spell when a small but surprisingly strong hand squeezed my wrist until I released the half-formed spell.

"None of that now," a finger pressed my lips shut as I prepared to object, "Summoner or no, your body is still human. Rest tonight. Heal yourself in the morning."

Her voice left no room for argument, and my eyelids slowly drooped shut.


Morning bought a fresh bout of agony, and I bit down on my tongue as I forced myself into a sitting position. It was mid-morning by now, judging by the sunlight streaming in the nearby window, and I took a few seconds to take in my surroundings. The simple yet comfortable surroundings starkly contrasted with the dim and forbidding cave from yesterday. The furniture was spartan: a bed, a shelf, and a table. It was all simple yet clearly handmade with great care.

I flexed my fingers experimentally and tried to summon a wisp of power. Even the normally-trivial action sent a renewed jolt of pain up my air. Every nerve in my arm burned, but I held on and began shaping the magic. Just as the pain became unbearable, I released the build-up power and a green wave of magic washed over me. My wounds briefly reopened as torn flesh stitched itself back together, and I inhaled sharply between my teeth as the pain died down to a dull ache. I was far from in any condition to fight, but I would be well enough for the trip back.

I slowly made my way through the cozy-but-not-cramped cottage, leaning against the wall for support. Despite my best efforts, my footfalls were loud and uneven, my bad knee choosing now of all times to act up again. The cottage was small enough that I just followed the humming, and the heavenly smell of buttered dough reached my nose as I drew closer.

"Pigheaded, even for a Summoner," the witch sighed, turning around as I gingerly staggered into the cozy and surprisingly well-equipped kitchen, "Sit. Eat. I suppose you'll want to leave as soon as possible?"

Looking at the witch from behind, my eyes were immediately drawn to her wings. A single massive pair were attached to her lower back, while a second smaller pair curled around her shoulders to form a high collar. What I initially thought was a tail turned out to be a third pair of wings bound in heavy chains. I was beginning to reconsider the whole Vastaya theory. Granted, I had only seen two Lhotlan Vastaya before, both as drawings on wanted posters.

"Does that mean you'll come with me back to the Institute, uh..." I rasped then trailed off.

"Oh, where are my manners?" the witch chuckled as she turned around, "I have your name. I suppose it's only fair you get mine in return."

She looked a little bit younger than I expected, seemingly four or five years younger than myself, though appearances could be deceiving when mages were concerned. A slim figure, unnaturally pale skin, and dark hair that matched her feathers. I was drawn to her eyes: they glowed purple even in the sunlight, framed by what looked like tear-streaked makeup but was clearly part of her skin after a second's inspection.

"Morgana, born in a time where commoners did not have last names," she curtsied.

Yep, appearances definitely deceiving. I realized a second later that I was still staring. If she noticed, she didn't say anything.

"Jin Zhihao," I slowly stood up and bowed, "But please just call me Johann. A pleasure."

I somehow managed to lower myself back into the seat before the newfound strength in my legs gave out.

"To answer your question, Johann: yes, I agree to your contract," my mouth watered as Morgana set two plates and a loaf of fresh-baked bread on the table, "But first, eat, regain your strength."


"A tourist center," Morgana deadpanned, raising a curious eyebrow, "In the Freljord."

"We got that one a lot," I shrugged, helping myself to another slice of bread, "It was the first outpost the Institute ever built, so I doubt it was to use up leftover budget, either."

We both carefully avoided acknowledging why the Institute rushed to build that particular outpost.


Six Days Later

The trip back to the hamlet took significantly longer, my still-healing injuries forcing us to frequently stop for rest. My companion's slim frame hid a surprising amount of strength, as I quickly discovered. We slipped back into the settlement in the late evening, after most of the citizens had gone to bed, to find the carriage already waiting. The extra stops added nearly two extra days to the ride back to Demacia's capital, though the company made the trip infinitely more tolerable.

Morgana was a walking contradiction. Young in body but ancient in mind. A being of both harsh judgment and gentle nurture. Calm and quietly dignified during some times, yet surprisingly childish and sharp-tongued during others.

We spoke at length about whatever topics struck our fancies and traded stories. My teachers back in Ionia would have paid any price to learn of the first Rune Wars and the early history of modern Valoran from one who had witnessed it all, and I would not squander the opportunity. Our return to the Institute would be marked by a whirlwind of training and ceremony and rituals, and then we would be thrown wherever peacekeepers were needed with little time for rest.

The magehunters resumed their surveillance almost exactly where they left off. They almost certainly detected a second source of magic alongside me, and our tail was accordingly more numerous and better-armed. We both steadfastly ignored their presence.

"Anything you wish to declare?"

"No."

The magehunters had clearly warned the airport's security detachment ahead of time. The number of otherwise-inconspicuous Demacians unusually engrossed in the most recent Demacian Constant had increased, and the guards were patrolling in pairs and in heavier kits than last time. My Institute-issued travel documents would have covered a prospective Champion as well, but it was ultimately proving easier to let the Demacians think I had picked up a second Summoner at some point in my journey. Let their intelligence community scramble around for a couple months chasing a nonexistent leak.

"Everything seems to be in order," the border guard practically slammed the stamp down, "We hope you enjoyed your stay."

Morgana's robes rustled around the hips and shoulders, and I could tell from the way her lips were pressed into a thin line that her current outfit was far from comfortable. I pulled my hood back just enough that my sympathetic expression was visible before dropping it again.

"The airship's not scheduled to arrive for another few hours," I received an annoyed growl for an answer, "Tell you what, I'll make it up to you. There's this Shuriman place on the concourse. Their kibbeh is amazing. My treat?"

A/N: Back to the Institute at last in the next chapter!

So, something that'll probably come up a few times is the power disparity between Zhihao/Johann and Morgana. The short version is that, in terms of magical ability, Summoner wins, hands down. I imagine him as fairly middling for a Summoner, which still means he can hit about as hard as a nation's nuclear arsenal. At the same time, as we saw in the prologue and in the start of this chapter, he's still a squishy human underneath it all. For all he can fortify his defenses with magic, he'll die just as easily as any other human if caught off-guard or if those defenses are somehow pierced.

As for Morgana, I go 50-50 between Riot's statements and using my own headcanon to fill in the gaps. Since their mother's power is split between her and Kayle, she won't have as much raw Aspect power as, say, Taric or Pantheon, but she's also far more in control of it and has more experience with it. Relative to the other Champions, I'd also put her and Kayle somewhere in the middle. Enough to give even an army a hard time unless they come with specialized training and equipment, but they can still be killed to death faced with enough firepower. At the same time, her body isn't as fragile as Johann's. Creating an avatar is an investment, and Justice will want to protect its investments.

As for how the blessed blades in the intro could cut Morgana's wings? Something her lore says is supposed to be nearly impossible? Well, that is something for another day.