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Chapter Four: Meeting of the Avatars

Located in the vast no man's land between Demacia and Noxus, the Institute of War was an imposing complex built directly into a mountain range. The Fields of Justice were built atop the largest peak, but even that massive structure was dwarfed by the complex buried directly into the mountain below it. The airship hangar, as one of the most recent additions, was located in one of the range's outermost peaks.

"Welcome to the Institute of War," I turned to face my companion, "Impressive, yes?"

After we boarded, Morgana could not get rid of the Summoner's robes fast enough, much to some of the guards' poorly-concealed amusement. Compared to the simple dresses of rough homespun fabric she had worn in Demacia, her current attire was quite a bit more...daring. Dark purple fabric trimmed with black fur that hugged her figure in a manner that turned quite a few heads as she walked past. The dress was backless, allowing her wings to move freely, with a plunging neckline that accentuated her ample bosom. The skirt was slit up to mid-thigh, exposing shapely alabaster legs. Yet the iron chains that bound her third pair of wings remained.

"Very," Morgana admitted, "I suppose the Summoners had a hand in building it? This would have taken many lifetimes otherwise."

I nodded in the affirmative as the airship began its final approach. The night was clear and cloudless, and I could see the spotlights shining from the Fields of Justice—signaling that the festivities had yet to conclude—even at such a great distance. I was a little annoyed that I couldn't keep my promise to Janna and catch a broadcast: even with little more than pride on the line and on what essentially amounted to a massive sparring circle, watching some of the Institute's most elite Summoners and their Champions in action was a spectacular sight.


Unease crept up my spine as the boarding ramp dropped, and I found myself sharing a sidelong glance with Morgana before pulling my hood up. The airship guards seemed more nervous than usual, many of them flipping their helmets closed and gripping their weapons more tightly. My posture reflexively stiffened as I glanced down the ramp to see a massive man clad in bronze armor. His face-concealing helmet left only a pair of glowing red eyes visible, and the massive spear and shield set off alarms in my head even though they were strapped securely to his back.

Pantheon, a literal avatar of War. There was nothing wrong with his presence per se, but he had never shown any interest in the Institute of War beyond the occasional piece of intel on Targon's enemies or spar on the Fields of Justice. I don't know why he was here of all places, and I let some magic bubble to the surface as the two of us descended the ramp. He seemed to notice, but his weapons remained stowed: an encouraging sign.

"Much as I would relish the chance to battle a Summoner, I do not come to fight today," the armored warrior laughed harshly.

I sensed he wasn't looking at me anymore, and I unconsciously shuffled forward to put myself between him and everyone else. In such close quarters, there truthfully wasn't much I could do if he suddenly decided he did come to fight, but I could at least weather an assault long enough for more senior Summoners to respond.

"So the missing child returns at last," red eyes locked gazes with purple, "A sword suits you far better."

The hairs on the back of my head stood up as the temperature in the hangar seemed to drop several degrees. I could sense the buildup of magic behind me as Morgana visibly bristled.

"I left it behind a long time ago," she hissed, "Rejected it and everything it stood for."

"One does not simply reject such gifts," Pantheon's tone was that of one scolding an unruly child, "You will accept your birthright one day, Morgana."

I looked between the two confusedly, and apparently not as subtly as I had thought, considering the armored warrior turned to face me again.

"Oho, your face says it all," the avatar barked, "You still don't know who your so-called 'Champion' is?"

I was briefly knocked off-balance as Morgana pushed past me, features twisted into a snarl and sparks of dark magic arcing from her clawed fingers. That seemed to flip a switch in the hangar guards' minds, as they hurriedly slammed their helmets shut and readied their weapons.

"Good. You have lost none of that fire," Pantheon laughed, clearly feeling more amused than threatened, "You need not worry. Your secrets are yours to tell, though I do recommend you address them soon. The first bond between Summoner and Champion is one of trust, after all."

With that, the armored warrior strode past the two dozen armed guards without so much as acknowledging their existence and out through the hangar doors. With a mighty leap, he arced through the air and disappeared beneath the mists.

The hangar stood still for several seconds, with even the ground crews pausing to process what they just witnessed. I briefly wondered if I would need to intervene, but the hangar guard lieutenant slowly lowered their rifle. The other guards followed suit, and motion gradually returned to the surroundings.

Morgana seemed to deflate, all that fire dissipating to be replaced with exhaustion. Her back slumped and her hair fell down over her face to obscure her eyes. She slowly turned around, and I could tell from the way her wings subtly twitched that she was weighing what to say next. I lowered my hood and put on my best attempt at a disarming smile.

"Don't worry too much about him. Pantheon's a dick," one of the nearby guards was struck by a suspiciously-long coughing fit, "Trust me, nobody at the Institute particularly likes him."

That last part wasn't a lie, at least. While many at the Institute respected the avatar of War, it was for his formidable martial skills rather than is less-than-charming personality. At the same time, I couldn't deny that his words got me thinking.

"I'm sure you're tired from the journey," I picked up our paltry luggage and offered my free arm, "Why don't I walk you to the guest wing? We can probably squeeze in a quick tour on the way over."

The corners of her lips curled into a grateful smile as she took the offered arm.


Two Hours Later

While the Institute never truly slept, there was not much to see between the airship hangars and the guest wings so late at night. The guard barracks, a tucked-away eatery or two, and the less-sensitive libraries. Anything actually important was at the heart of the Institute, buried in the mountain beneath the Fields of Justice. After bidding Morgana a good night, I had plenty of time to think as I wandered the Institute's near-empty halls. There was no rush, so I took the long route to my destination and stopped to greet the occasional passing Summoner or Champion.

The brief exchange with Panetheon had left me with many questions and no answers. Despite its brevity, his description of the bond between Summoner and Champion was completely correct. The contract was a union of minds that allowed two to act as one, and in exchange the Champion was granted access to the Summoner's vast reserves of magical power. Finding Morgana was the easy part; building up enough trust to successfully form a contract will be the hard part.

Throughout our journey, she had freely spoke of the events she had witnessed but remained coy on what she was doing during them. I had initially shrugged it off: every Champion had secrets, and the fact didn't always hinder their ability to contract with a Summoner. The revelation that Morgana and the Veiled One were one and the same—no doubt a fact the senior Summoners were aware of before sending me to find her—together with Pantheon's declarations was forming a picture I wasn't liking. Nothing involving Targon was ever simple.

My final destination was a tiny library tucked into the heart of the Institute of War, my target an ancient and supposedly-lost tome. The Institute's libraries were full of other volumes fitting that description, but what made this particular leatherbound tome unique was its alleged final resting place: the Crownguard Family library located in High Silvermere. I had no idea how it wound up in the Institute's possession, and I suspected it would be rather unhealthy for my to try and find out. Under the watchful gaze of the library's armed guards, I took my prize to the sole reading table and gently blew the dust off the aged leather. The book was small but quite thick, and I turned it over in my hands a few times before running my fingertips over the brass nameplate.

Canticle of the Winged Sisters


A/N: So today's topic will be the relationship between the Institute and the avatars of Targon. The short version is: it's complicated. Every avatar has their own motivations for working (or not working) with the League, and the extent of their allegiance depends from avatar to avatar.

Pantheon, as we saw, has a loose give-and-take with the League. He can fight on the Fields of Justice and the Institute passes him some choice intel in exchange for not sticking his spear in the Institute's business. He comes and goes as he pleases, and the Institute looks the other way whenever he flouts their security perimeter. He's middling in terms of commitment to the League, I would say.

Diana and Leona are a little more attached to the Institute, but are still largely doing their own thing. They lend their powers to the Institute in exchange for protection and access to Institute forces. This decision has led to some tensions with the Solari, though neither side wishes to press the issue. Irrelevant AU note: neither has been seen at the Institute for some time now. The last Institute members to see them were a squad of gate guards who remarked that the pair left in a great hurry, whispering to one another about some world-shattering truth they discovered regarding the Targonian faith. The Institute has suppressed this information for obvious reasons.

Taric and Soraka represent one extreme of the scale. Both are full Champions of the Institute, complete with a contracted Summoner. Their reasons are their own, but both coordinate the Institute's outreach efforts. They travel to some of the areas of Valoran hardest-hit by the Rune Wars to help ease some of the suffering, and the Institute has invested significant resources supporting these efforts. Soraka additionally serves on the Institute's New Horizon task force, a first-in last-out elite team sent in to contain Void incursions. And yes, there is a second such squad code-named 'Brightburn.'

Zoe is the other extreme. She doesn't particularly care for the Institute, and as valuable as her hints and messages can be, the havoc she wrecks in their wake is the cause of many a headache for the senior Summoners.

And Aurelian Sol doesn't care about the affairs of petty mortals.