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Chapter Seven: Assignment
Breakfast the next day was at an Ionian-style tea house I was rather fond of. I was released from my normal duties in preparation for departure to Demacia, and neither of us were particularly keen on facing the Institute's gossip circle. Nothing steamy had happened: a few shared drinks and a leisurely stroll through one of the Institute's gardens before parting ways at the entrance to the Champions' dormitories. Convincing people of that would have about the same chance of success as taking on the entire Void by myself, and I had little doubt that my circle of friends would make sure I heard some of the funnier rumors before I left.
The place was nearly empty this early in the morning, which suited both myself and Morgana just fine. The calming aroma of fresh-brewed tea filled the air as we perused the orders delivered to our quarters at some point the previous night. They were only a handful of pages long—more detailed orders would be unsealed when en route to Demacia—and only covered the basics: investigation timeframe and scope, available resources, and special considerations. Neither of us spoke as we scanned the documents, and any needed communication could be handled over the link. It would take a long time before the two of us were used to having it always active, and every little bit of practice helped.
I best prepare to meet with the other Champions, alarm bells were going off in my head as I looked up to see the laughter in Morgana's eyes and the barely-noticeable smirk on her lips.
"There you are!" a familiar voice announced triumphantly.
No! Don't leave me here alone! I futilely begged as she left a handful of gold pieces on the table and stood up.
"Soooo..." one of my eyes twitched at the sight of the new arrival's shit-eating grin, "I heard some rather interesting rumors this morning..."
The resulting smack of my forehead meeting the table drew brief stares from the patrons and staff, but I was beyond caring right now.
This was going to be a long morning.
Though I had heard stories even in Ionia, I had never seen an airship until the Institute recruited me. For all their seeming simplicity, it took a literal army to keep even one flying, and the Institute had three of them. The chance to watch the one I would be traveling on be prepared for takeoff was the perfect excuse to extricate myself from the increasingly-uncomfortable interrogation. From the observation platform, I watched as the hangar crew dragged massive fuel lines and laden supply trolleys across the floor.
I made a pointed effort to not look as she sidled next to me, her expression that of a cat that had caught the canary. We stayed that way for several minutes, watching as the people below attached lines to the airship and began to slowly guide it out of the hangar.
That, I thought, was not funny.
You're regularly up against the might of nations, she mentally riposted, and a little gossip is enough to send you running?
Huh. I suppose she had a point there, and...was she preening herself? I spared a glance to my right.
Left your end of the link open again, the corners of Morgana's lips curled upwards as she flicked my forehead.
So, which one was your favorite? I raised an amused eyebrow in an attempt to change the subject.
Hm, she audibly hummed while rubbing her chin in thought, Probably the one where I'm an angelic being from a parallel plane who's planning to use your power to wage war against a tyrannical government.
I burst out laughing at that one, drawing confused stares from the passerby.
Let me guess, I finally forced air back into my lungs, From the same Summoner who insists that Jax fights with a lamppost to protest some obscure League regulation?
The very one, she giggled.
Well, mine's boring compared to that, I paused a moment for dramatic effect, There's one going around that bringing you to the Institute was part of a cover-up for an arranged marriage to end the war between Ionia and the Lhotlan Vastaya.
I'm not so sure, Morgana buried her face in her hands to stifle the laughter, That one's actually impressive in how many things it gets wrong.
I guess you're right, I shrugged, Even if there was a chance a plan like that could work, we wouldn't be allowed anywhere near it.
Between the Lhotlan Vastaya's lack of anything resembling a unified government and Ionian culture's lack of anything the nations of Valoran would recognize as a formal marriage, it was a rather big "if."
"We should probably meet with the others," I announced after several minutes' comfortable silence as the airship finally slipped out of the hangar.
"Summoner Liu, Captain Xan" I greeted, fist to palm and bowing at the waist.
"Summoner Jin, Champion Morgana," Summoner and Champion returned the greeting before returning to their preparations.
I had only fought alongside them a handful of times during the Fifth Rune War, but there was hardly an Ionian alive who did not know of Xan Irelia and her Summoner Liu Yaling. As the rest of us hesitated for lack of the elders' approval, Yaling quietly left the capital to join the growing resistance. While we followed in the invasion's wake, offering aid that was both too little and too late, Irelia lopped off a Noxian general's arm at the Navori Placidium. When we finally resolved to intervene, approval or no, the two had formed a contract and began the grueling task of driving Noxus back into the sea. When the elders exiled them after the war, many others followed in protest.
The other three Summoners and their respective Champions, I knew only by appearance and reputation. A severe-looking dark-skinned man wielding two massive sidearms and his equally hard-faced Summoner who I recognized from the few mission reports that trickled out of the Shadow Isles outpost. A pair of hextech-augmented women of indeterminate age, one of them walking on blades instead of feet, whose implants and prostheses cost more than I would see in a hundred lifetimes. A young blue-haired woman who "spoke" through her etwahl, each note pulsing with barely-contained power, and yet her Summoner seemed to understand every word without using their link.
I turned to meet Morgana's gaze, and I knew in an instant that we were both thinking the same thing: we were an untried team, and they were some of the Institute's heavy-hitters. The alarms going off in our heads only grew louder and shriller. Those alarms were promptly drowned out by the heavy synchronized footfalls of a full three squads of Institute soldiers boarding the airship.
Even after traveling on quite a few of them, I was always surprised how quiet airships were. The deckplates below my feet vibrated and there was a persistent low droning sound, but I could work through it just fine. It was quiet enough that I heard the soft knocking on the bulkhead door.
I opened the door and made a pointed effort to ignore the grin and thumbs-up from a passing soldier as I ushered Morgana inside. Her lips began forming an easygoing smile before my expression made it clear that I hadn't called to her for the company.
"Johann," she greeted, now all business.
I offered her the only chair in the room as I passed her the leather binder. It was thicker than the one we had received this morning, the contents detailing the specifics our assignment and giving a brief overview of what little evidence the Demacian authorities had gathered so far. A sharp intake of breath and the sound of a binder dropping to the desk told me all I needed to know.
The latest attack had happened so recently that Demacian authorities had not yet officially released a report to the Institute of War, and I decided it was better not to speculate how we got a copy. Intelligence had not even had enough time to fully review it, and handwritten notes were hastily scrawled into the margins. The caravan contents were nothing of note: a load of armor and weapons. No, what made the raid notable was the injury pattern of the dead guards: surgically-precise slashes by enchanted blade. The magic was of a particularly vicious variety: there was not a form of armor known to the Institute that could defend against it, and the surrounding flesh was flash-cooked by the heat.
If the implication weren't already clear, the physical evidence spoke volumes. I decided not to question how the Institute had acquired it to begin with, much less smuggle it out of Demacia on such short notice.
Numbly, Morgana turned the object over in her hands: a single feather, too large to be from any bird and white as fresh-fallen snow.
A/N: So this marks the end of what I would consider the "origin story." Things should start slowing down as the main plot gets underway. Don't really have a good estimate for how long this story's going to be, but I'd be surprised if it's significantly more than 40k to 50k words.
So just a brief musing today. From what I've gathered from the lore stories, Ionia does use the last name, first name naming order, so nice bit of attention to detail on Riot's part. I've adhered to that convention here.
