Yordles were creatures that, despite their existence spanning far before the dawn of man, were completely unexplainable to a mere mortal. However, there were some consistencies here and there. For example, a yordle was a very social being. Able to interact with spiritual beings and powers, many unbeknownst to man, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that interaction and conversation was the very key to their mysterious nature. So when Mordekaiser thought about how to best construct Veigar's personal hell, he figured it would be quite simple. Just deprive him of one thing that a yordle needed most: Social interaction.

And so Veigar was quickly sent to the deepest depths of his criminal dungeons, which was prior home to only stone brick and darkness. The place that sat below the Immortal Bastion, the heart of Mordekaiser's Iron Fortress, lay deep enough to where not even dust gathered, nor did lost spirits dwell. Magic-nulling shackles would restrain his arms and legs; food was slipped through a crack in the solid stone door to the yordle's small cell; spells of pain and agony would be cast upon him without warning by mages across the room without warning. It was a special damnation, prepared meticulously by the Iron Revenant himself.

But why would Mordekaiser need to drive Veigar mad? Was it entertainment, or just cruelty? Surely, as sick as he was, that blackened iron mail housed the soul of a sane man; a smart, decisive one that wouldn't waste so many resources for naught. No, he needed Veigar to lose his sanity. Because on that day at the conquered Noxii village, there was something that awakened within him which bore the potential of infinite destructive power; a power that Mordekaiser simply could not pass up. He saw it well up; pulsating within Veigar while he held that knife, struggling to contain his urge to kill. It was an awakening to dark magic affinity.

The most mysterious type of magic, as well as the most destructive, took the form of dark magic: the ability to manipulate dark matter. He had only seen twice in the spans of his several lives. The first, used by an elderly warlock, once renowned, who had grown a deep hate for the world. The other, in a novice mage adventurer who watched his whole party get slaughtered. The common factor, whether slow-brewing or instant, was their disdain for the world… Or so Mordekaiser had surmised. He had seen glimpses of the reckless power through his battles with those two, but his closest assistant, Rose, assured him that it was even greater yet; a definitive asset in conquering Runeterra if he ever came across it.

Veigar awoke from a hasty slumber, jarred by his surroundings. Or more accurately, the lack thereof. It was pitch black inside of his cell. There was no light that escaped from the small slit in his cell door when it opened either. Things had been like this for so long that he had forgotten what it was like to see with his eyes, and yet, he was still taken back; still afraid. His thin, brittle legs strained as he pushed himself back to the corner of his cell, where he felt safest. A cold, comfortable wall against his left shoulder blade, and another on his right. He had grown to like the cool surface of the bricks; It soothed his wounds after rounds of torture. And the corner of the room pressing against him at three angles always subdued him, as if he was being cradled. Veigar didn't know how to make expressions anymore, but his usual jitters had subsided a little after moving to his corner, signalling that he was calmer.

His eyes stayed open, so that he didn't fall back asleep. After going so long without sight, the loose, psychedelic imagery that met him in his dreams was frightening enough as is, but they were almost always signs of a nightmare. So he stayed awake, and chose to pass the time by scratching at the floor like he usually did. The scratching noise his overgrown claws made against the stone floor was a pleasure of its own, but he had more intention than just making pleasant sounds. He was drawing. Though he couldn't witness them with sight, he was able to make out the form and depth of his scratches by grazing against them with his fingers. He was, of course, drawing Lulu again. He was getting better, too. Even if his memory failed him one day, Veigar wanted a way to recall her face so that when they met again, he would never fail to recognize her. Not that a single detail of her image ever faded from his mind, but he was worried that it one day might. He didn't know how long he would be trapped in solitude, but he knew confidently in his heart that when he got out, the first thing he would do would be to go and see her. Surely, she was still waiting for him somewhere. Surely, she hadn't moved on, right? She couldn't have. Veigar needed her to not have. She was all that he had; his one and only salvation from insanity.

Suddenly, there were faint steps six floors above him. That's how far up he could hear from where he was. In response, Veigar felt a sharp tightening in his chest, all the way up to his throat. Torture was coming. Torture or food. He couldn't help but get anxious. They were five floors above now. His breaths got heavy, and he pressed a closed fist against his chest with what little strength he could. The anxiety he felt began to spread across his wounds and scars, causing them to throb with pain, mixing in with the heavy sensation of his pulse and heartbeat.

Food or torture.

Three floors up.

Torture or food.

Two floors up.

Food.

One floor up.

Torture.

They were on his floor.

TORTURE.

They were here.

His mind was filled with thoughts of pain and agony, spliced in with bits of food and nourishment, and then, suddenly, he heard a noise he had never heard before. A heavy rumble; the scraping of rock against rock. The door was opening. He didn't know why or how, and only cowered in fear as he usually did. Pressing his back further into his safety corner, he curled up into a ball and silently whimpered while smacking his eyes shut. It was only after the footsteps subsided, and a feminine voice spoke that he began to look. There was a soft orange glow that filled the room, sourced from a lantern in the hands of a thin, robed figure. Veigar had to squint his eyes at first, but eventually opened them enough to get a good look at the one facing him. His breathing sped as he realized that it was actually a live, sentient being that was standing before him. Somebody who had surely come down to meet him for a reason.

"My, you look horribly desolate. How do you feel?"

Rose, face to face with the degraded yordle, was trying her best to act composed, but she was, in reality, desperately curious about Veigar. Mordekaiser had planned to wait until the yordle escaped himself, but it had not yet happened and he was growing impatient. Using her position as his closest assistant, she had proposed that she go check in on him. There was no response from the small fur ball other than violent shivers, and she quickly realized that language would be of no use with him. While at a first glance, she was quite sure he had already been lost to the depths of insanity, she looked to her feet, and noticed something that caught her off guard. It was a mural etched into the floor from corner to corner. It looked to be another yordle of female sex, or so she figured. It was long since finished, but more and more detail was added despite that, giving it an unbelievable polish to the point where she wondered if Veigar had been able to sneak some sort of artistic tools into the cell. Clearly, Mordekaiser had made sure that was impossible, and yet he was able to produce such a beautiful piece of artwork.

Clearly, he had not yet gone insane like Mordekaiser had hoped. There was somebody dear to his heart, so much so that he was able to cling to the last bits of his sanity through them. Even she was a bit touched by his devotion and desperation. The girl thought for a moment, before continuing with her original intention. Rose came in close to Veigar as gently as she could, kneeling down and holding her hand out to him.

"You are safe with me, my dear. I am your saviour; your ticket out of this horrid place."

Veigar ignored her words, precariously staring at her smooth, small hand. He didn't understand her. He didn't want to. She responded by moving in closer, and carefully placing her hand on his head. He had a horrid stench and coarse, crusty fur, though she bore it nonetheless. Veigar's shaking suddenly stopped at the soft touch of her hand, so she took the opportunity and began to stroke his thick fur, soothing his perpetual fear.

"I know that you can understand me, though you try to act as if you cannot out of fear. You need not fear me however, as I am your ally."

Still, nothing. So she decided to wait until he seemed completely comfortable with her touch, then came in close to embrace him in her arms. She figured that he might try and remember the feeling of a real, warm embrace. In a soft whisper, she sang a lullaby.

The unseen hand

Which waters the vase,

Is the very same

Wherein you are embraced.

The rose grows old

And withers away,

But until it blooms

It is here to stay.

The seeds are saved

Amongst its final grace,

By the unseen hand,

Who plants them in the next place.

Despite her slow tune subsiding, it left a soft glow of ease and calm within the yordle embraced in her arms. His eyes twitched a bit, then went into focus. Veigar was gazing at her.

"Just wait a little longer, my dear. I will get you out of this place."

This time, he was listening. Veigar gave a slight nod, beginning to grasp a vague understanding of her words. Rose separated herself from the yordle, comparing the sensation with letting go of a plush doll. Cold and lifeless, yet comforting all the same. She left, with a slight change of plans in mind for the near future.

And Veigar waited patiently. He endured the torture, ate all of his rations, and sat in solitude, awaiting the day that the girl would come for him. He wasn't sure if he was even capable of hope, but he felt as if she would come back for him nonetheless. And it didn't take long for his intuition to prove true, as the stone door to his cell soon opened once more. However this time, it welcomed a different figure. A hulking, iron figure that he unfortunately remembered all too well.

"So this is the mural that Rose spoke of. A foolish waste of time."

His roaring voice boomed on the inside of the cell, echoing throughout the halls outside. Veigar did not listen, for his ears had grown selective to another, whom he knew was on stand by behind the ironclad giant.

"It seems solitary isolation will not suffice to properly prepare your mind. However, that is no matter. This has been a success in other ways."

No response from Veigar.

"It is as you said, Rose. He does not respond to me. In that case, I grant you permission to prepare him yourself."

"Thank you, my lord."

Rose took center stage in the cramped cell behind Mordekaiser, instantly grabbing Veigar's attention.

"I will leave the two of you alone for now, but please have him washed and clothed by tomorrow. We begin at noon."

"As you wish."

As Mordekaiser turned around and left, more rumbling of the stone flooring at his feet caused Veigar to cower back once again. "My, you poor thing. A shell of a being, locked up like this… But don't fret! Rose here has a plan to set you free."

"Free". That was a word that Veigar recognized. His ears perked at the utterance, and eyes had focused on her face. More specifically, the mouth that uttered such a magical word to him.

"Free…"

His voice croaked, but he spoke nonetheless. For freedom meant one thing and one thing only to Veigar. He looked down at the carved stone below his feet, reminded once again of his singular longing.

"Lulu…"

Leblanc pressed upward on the yordle's little furry chin, pulling his focus back toward her. She slowed her voice, and ruffled Veigar's chin a bit with the soft touch of a singular finger.

"That's right. Free. But you must do exactly as I say; follow my voice and my voice only. No matter the task, no matter the danger, you will carry out my orders. Your ears are not for anybody but I."

She traced the tip of her nail from Veigar's chin to up behind his ear, then to his forehead, and gave it a gentle scratch.

"And then, you will be free. Can you do that for me?"

Veigar was, for the first time since he dropped that knife, aware. Even if just a little bit, what he saw, heard, felt; it registered with him. Like a newborn taking in the world with curious eyes for the first time, the broken yordle gazed into the pearly, golden irises of the girl before him. He melted in pleasure from the stroke of her hand on his head that untangled his crusty fur. He was completely entranced.

And without hesitation, he nodded in agreement.

"Good. I look forward to making your acquaintance, Veigar. This is going to be the start of a long relationship."

Rose came in closer to embrace Veigar, but hesitated after a quick whiff of his scent.

"But first, let us take a bath. Your scent is wicked."

He nodded

The next day, training began.

As Veigar took his first step outside of the immortal bastion in what felt like centuries, he was quickly blinded by the bright white tones of Runeterra's sunlit skies. Veigar had forgotten the sensation of sunlight. He forgot the blanket of soothing heat that it provided him. Except it wasn't soothing at all. The bright light; the blazing heat; the open world surrounding him; it was terrifying. Veigar was anxious. He felt that same tightness envelop his chest, and desperately fell to the ground with his eyes shut scurrying about, feeling around for that safety corner. But there was only dirt.

What caught him instead was the only other comfort he knew, which was the slender arms of Rose. He suddenly fell still, and calmed down again. She uttered that same lullaby that he had heard from her back in his cell, and it put him at ease. Veigar decided to keep his eyes closed, but stood up, taking in the sensations around him and getting used to them.

"Twenty minutes."

"I apolog-"

"That's how long I've waited for you two. This is the first time I have had to wait this long on any human servant in the history of my several lives. What say you, Rose?"

Though he had already sensed Mordekaiser's presence, it did little to quell his absolute fear at the same reverberating voice that had put him through hell time and time again. He feared for Rose as well, who had been late due to his own inability to properly operate and prepare himself for Mordekaiser's presence. Veigar waited for Rose's apology, and hoped she wouldn't be punished for his insolence.

"Oh be quiet, you large hunk of scrap. I was helping Veigar readjust to his surroundings, or does your lack of eyeballs mean you are unable to see him struggling?"

Veigar's eyes flipped open. The both of them were doomed.

But much to his deathly surprise, Mordekaiser only sighed.

"Let us begin, then. I do not have the time nor patience for your petty remarks, Rose."

The astonished yordle looked towards the woman who stood behind him, dazed and confused, but she only flashed him a grin and a playful wink, signalling that there was little to worry about. Veigar was calm again, and so began his training with Mordekaiser.

The first day wasn't much. He simply showed what he was capable of magic wise, which wasn't much, considering his practice had dulled. Mordekaiser quickly beat him to a pulp time and time again, but it wasn't until the iron giant halted their sparring voluntarily, pointing out that Veigar was far too injured to continue. He opened his eyes again briefly, to take a good look at his mangled limbs and profusely bleeding flesh wounds. The pain, which had already been present before, suddenly registered with Veigar. He opted to scream out in agony, requiring the pat of Rose's hand on his head to bring him back to his senses. She congratulated him.

"Good work. I'm proud of you."

He gave a bit of a broken smile back to her, which had been the first time he could feel the muscles of his face stretch in such a way that he could recall. Rose guided him to the medical quarters, where his wounds were healed. Veigar was deep in thought while they tended to his wounds, and then again as Rose washed his fur. It was the first time since he had been locked up that he looked at himself. That night, back in his cell, he looked at himself more. No longer shackled by magic nullifying chains, he used some celestial tricks to mirror his image and produce a small light. There were spots of fur missing here and there; scars, cuts and burns, too. Some were healed, some fresh, but all of them were new to him. He touched them, ran his fingers up and down his roughed up skin, and even fiddled with a few of the wounds. The pain stung. It registered within him, and it stung. Veigar took a good look at his face, and the corners of his mouth curled up into a happy-go-lucky smile.

He could feel again. He could feel pain, and agony, and emotion, and it didn't scare him in the slightest. And it was almost funny to him, how he once thought that he didn't need something like emotions. He gave himself one last good jab in one of his deeper flesh wounds, and relished in the shrill and pained laughter that came out of his mouth as he did. And then, he fell asleep.