Samir II

"Chip. That's a cliff."

As strange as it was to see that the mythical Mount Targon had a stairway, it didn't change the fact that it made climbing a lot easier. Despite the length of the climb and the multiple times we spent camped in a convenient cavern, it was still a lot more palatable than the trials and tribulation that I expected from a journey that supposedly had less survivors than I have fingers.

I had started to think that Lord Renekton was exaggerating when he told of how the Legendary Taric suffered a lot in his journey up to the peak.

That lasted only until we reached the higher parts, where the air was too thin that only a childhood living on top of a mountain sized animal made it possible for me to continue, where the weather was as finicky as the deities that were supposed to reside on Targon's peak.

Yeah, the seemingly random bouts of snow and rain didn't help.

"Yeah! We hop across it to get over there, and then we walk on that road over there!" Chip raised his right foreleg in an attempt to point out directions.

They didn't help.

"Chip, that's a really long jump. I don't think I can make it."

The light blue orbs that acted as the tiny rock's equivalent of eyes stared up at me in what I assume to be an attempt at reassurance.

It didn't help.

"Yeah! But if we miss, we'll just bounce all the way down to the bottom of the stairs!"

That'll teach me to doubt Lord Renekton's warnings.

I walked up to where the steps ended and then stared down the edge. I looked up to where the tiny ledge of rock that Chip wanted me to jump to waited, across an approximately ten foot chasm. Then I turned my gaze sideways, where the tiny ledge. which was apparently the 'road' that Chip wanted me to walk on, crept along the mountainside

"Chip, I'm not made of magic rock. I won't bounce if I fall."

Chip stared up at me, his glowing orbs flickering in what I now know to be the glowy talking rock version of blinking. Then he hopped up and down a few times, the glowy rock version of nodding.

"Oh. Dat make sense."

I suppressed the urge to groan.

"So, now what?" I asked my tiny guide. Chip bobbed up and down on his tiny legs, the glowy rock version of shrugging.

"I dunno."

The crunching of rock and ice and snow from somewhere above us drew our eyes upwards. There, on a snow burdened outcrop that jutted out of the higher slopes was a massive beast. Quadrupedal, with an avian face and fearsome talons, the white mottled feathers coating its form fluttering in the chilly wind.

I'd fought worse, under the aegis of Lord Renekton. Xer'sai that roamed the deserts, bands of roaming bandits and marauders, and even an entire invasion of brainwashed people. This time, I had no legendary warrior to hide behind. This time, it was I who stood between the glaring eyes of a predator and someone who needs my protection.

I had no bolts for my crossbow. I met the creature's gaze, my throat tight and the creature's legs tense. My knife felt very small in my hand. Time seemed to slow as the creature bent its knees, a sign of the imminent death from above that my companion and I were facing.

I was prepared for the shriek of a raptor that found its prey. I was prepared to try and hold off a cruel looking beak and deadly talons. I was prepared to pray to Lord Renekton and beg the family I left behind for forgiveness.

What I wasn't prepared for was for the mountain to move.


Garen IV

The fighting in the city has reached its lowest ebb when Prince Jarvan gave the order for me to lead a small squadron of Demacia's finest and break out of the city. While neither side were eager to restart hostilities, the Mageseekers were understandably unwilling to let us simply pass through the city gates, leading to our current conundrum.

I grunted as the petricite head of a mace glanced off my right pauldron. My retaliatory strike lopped off the silver masked head straight off my opponent's shoulders.

"You take me to the strangest of places, Sir Crownguard." The heavily accented, flirty voice that used to make me uncomfortable now only drew forth a resigned sigh. Our forces were slowly pushing the Mageseekers back into the gatehouse, slowly making an opening for us to get through the gates. The thought of leaving them behind as we flee the city left a sour taste in my mouth, but we all have our roles to play.

"And you subject me to the strangest of humor, Sir Laurent." Well groomed blonde hair, a flirtatious temperament and a not insignificant level of pride and narcissism. The very picture of spoiled upper crust. Andre Laurent was someone that the past me would have had no qualms in calling a fop.

This 'fop' carved through an entire group of silver masked madmen that surrounded us, the signature Laurent sword in his hand, thin and feeble looking, moving so fast that not even his victims' blood could stick to it.

"Saddle up, Sir Laurent." I ordered, moving to clamber up my own armored horse. "The moment our vanguard makes an opening, we ride."

I eyed the battle carefully, each fallen soldier, loyalist or Mageseeker, a stab in my heart. A sad waste of Demacian blood.

"Ride!"

It was a short lull in the fighting, a tiny moment where the path that led to the gate and beyond it, a path that leads outside the city, was vulnerable. I saw nothing but that path, a straightforward charge, the first step to doing my duty, to rallying the loyal Demacians in the name of the Prince, to relieving the city with reinforcements from the outside, to forging a strong and united Demacia once more.

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand, my instincts screaming at me to move. I leapt off my horse, just in time to see the poor equine incinerated by the sudden conflagration that erupted in front of us. I held up my hands in front of me, as though it would help against the massive storm of fire and smoke.

'Those who wear armor fear death. Shed your armor, Garen.'

Despite the raging inferno, despite the screams of fear and anger around me, I heard the voice, a silent whisper, sultry, flirtatious, seductive.

'As long as you fight for the downtrodden, I will walk with you.'

For a moment, I could have sworn that I was surrounded by flickering purple flames, but I felt someone pulling me up, shouting my name in my own ear, and the flames were gone.

"Sir Crownguard! The enemy has mages!" The accented voice of Sir Laurent drove me from my shock.

"Such hypocrisy." I growled under my breath as I saw the collared forms of our new enemies, their eyes lacking the spark of life. Beaten. Downtrodden. Enslaved.

It used to be normal. Mages fall under the authority of the Magseekers. They either use their magic for the good of Demacia or they are to be shackled in petricite. The sight in front of me was a revelation.

There was no difference between the two choices.

They would have done this to Luxanna.

And that wasn't even the worst part.

A massive blade, forged from solid steel and lined with petricite, stabbed into the ground, its pommel clasped in two armored hands. Cold, harsh eyes glared at me and I felt my heart shatter into a thousand pieces.

Head Adept Eldred, of the Order of Mageseekers.

"Greetings," His voice was as hard as his eyes, "nephew."

I clenched my fists, my fingers grasping the hilt of my sword tightly, ignoring the painful heat that resulted from the steel being swallowed by the earlier inferno.

"Uncle Eldred."