Chapter 5

She was done waiting, writhing within the filth and dirt of their subterranean tomb. Her heavy head dug deeper into the nook of her companion's shoulder, trying to find nonexistent comfort. Five mages huddled against each other, having turned from humans to semi-conscious sacks of meat, nurseries for maggots, rot and fungi. Her moans echoed against the stone walls, rebounding off the cavern surfaces as losing themselves in the wails of the wind. The scraping of steel against stone drowned out the sounds that had managed to withstand the gusts.

Bats screeched and clicked at them from their roosts overhead, mocking them like the spectators in a Noxian arena, pelting them with their faeces. She was a fallen battle beast, choking on her own blood and guts, waiting for the reckoner to deal the coup de grâce. Her fingers scratched out the twentieth day of her imprisonment on the cell walls.

Her father and her baby boy were buried under her feet. How could she leave their bones in this dark, desolate hellhole of a place for bears, jackals and foxes to dig up and chew? She moaned as the dagger of pain dug deeper into her liver, making her squirm in her disintegrating rags. The woman was done with her punishment for being a mage; her well of solidarity to her leader's ideas was as dry as her tongue. She peered through the sliver of an opening between her swollen eyelids.

Luxanna Crownguard was still unconscious from the poison of the Hinterlandian ivy. It sprawled across her chest, digging its roots into her sodden drapes and weaving a net from its green tendrils and angular leaves. Her visage was a pale blue, marbled with the purple of her veins and the deep red of her arteries. With her folded hands and her serene face, she looked more like a goddess statue carved into azure stone than a human being. A dying human mummified into immortality within a tomb. The woman knew from her fading heatbeats that she wouldn't survive for long. Why call herself a healer mage if she couldn't save a life?

The poor girl had fought tooth and nail to keep the bandits at bay, and the warmth of her light had kept them safe from the winter's hungry jaws. She had nursed her baby like her own blood whenever his mother fell unwell. For someone used to being sucked dry of her daily wage by the Illuminator tithe, Lux was worth every coin she had paid for. The woman's fingertips found the softness of life under her cheeks as she reached out. Her heartbeats fluttered in her arteries like trapped butterflies. The mage felt overwhelmed by the fear of them slipping into oblivion from her grasp. "Hmmm," came a soft response to her touch. She mumbled her gratitude to the goddess, and traced a circle on her cheek. It glowed yellow, retracing itself into perfection and sprouting a rune of reception in its centre. The mage exhaled and rubbed her digits out of magical stillness. Golden sparks of electricity blossomed on her fingertips, grappling against the fatigue of her fingers and flowed through the circle. The current of mana surged through Lux's body, detecting and repairing tissue damage. Colour crept back into her skin, and her heart began to drum in a lusty rhythm. The mage's weakened body swayed under the force of her deep coughs but she held her position, adamant to restore the girl to life. Her companion stirred beside her, stimulated by the sudden rise in magic energy around her.

"No," whispered the girl through her puffed lips as she woke up from her slumber. She caught hold of the healer's wrist and threw it off herself, aiming for the baker woman slumped against the healer. The sparks from her fingertips fizzled into particles of yellow light and faded from existence. "You live."

The woman said as she retracted her hand to her chest, "This-s is no j-jesting matter, Luxanna, s-stop fooling around. Let me heal you."

"No," repeated Lux, shaking her head. She jabbed a feeble thumb at the woman's chest, and insisted, "You live. . . please."

This was the same voice that had comforted her when her magic bounced off her feverish son. The woman grittted her teeth and lunged for her hands. She clasped them tightly within her palms and let the rune of reception trace itself onto her skin. Lux mumbled gibberish under her haggard breath, but the woman had stopped listening.

Her eyebrows scrunched together as another one in the series of loud sounds rang through the caves. Steel still scraped against stone, followed by howls of pain and rage. Just as quick as it was in arrival, the noise died down into bat screeches. The pitter patter of rain, of wet winds whipping against rocks filled the awkward silences in between. She shook one of the two soldiers awake with her remaining energy and collapsed against the wall.

"Wha?" He asked her, rubbing the dirt and boogers out of his blood-red eyes. He whipped his head in the direction of the oculus and muttered a curse. "S-someone's coming, and it's neither the bandit nor the bread kid. T-this aura is very different," he said, fixing the oculus within his gaze with a glare. "C-can you read them?" asked the healer.

"Too far," replied the soldier. "Can't tell much. It's. . . it's a he, young, strong, and determined. He's very determined, and angry, very angry. Vengeful even, the aura is intense, scorching." The soldier squinted, and fluttered his eyelashes as he exhaled. "Oh, how mistaken was I, I know this aura very well."

"Miss Crownguard," he whispered.

"Hmm?"

"It's him."

"H-him who, Kip?"

The healer woman ducked in reflex when she heard the rattling of chains. Links scraped painfully against the stones and boulders, emitting shrill wails. The heavy bootsteps neared their cage, rising in timber to be audible to their ears. Kip's magic-sharpened sensitivity, combined with his friend's hiding glamour had saved them countless times from their antagonists.

There was no hiding from the face that had come into view through the oculus. The healer thought that his face had changed a lot.

She remembered the boy who had run errands for her father whenever he was summoned. A smart little boy, with shining grey eyes, nimble with his fingers and a joy to have around. She remembered slipping him her strawberry tarts and smiling when the boy beamed at her.

"Look at you today, Sylas," she used to tease him back then. "Your face is glowing like one of papa's candles." The boy had blushed as he pulled out the casts filled with molten wax. He quickly dropped the long cotton wicks, wincing and sucking on his digits whenever wax spilled on them. "Oh, it's nothing, Renee. Father has allowed me to go to school from tomorrow. I'm just giddy and– ow, ow, hot!"

What an odd kid, she had thought as she packaged the dried candles.

"Why bother with school, Sylas? It's so boring from what I've heard."

The boy had looked at her and replied with all earnesty, "I want to study hard and become a Magistrate one day, so that I can serve both Demacia and everyone in Dregbourne. I'll reduce the taxes and the tithe. You won't have work this hard to pay the taxes then, you can slink away and see that handsome guy you've been see–"

She had grabbed his mouth shut before any of the others overheard him. When he had stopped his giggling, she confronted him. "Why do you want you from me you, little imp?"

"Strawberry tarts," he had said, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Please, Renee? You're really, really good at making those. I promise I won't tell anyone about the guy."

The man hovering over them still had the same twinkle dancing in his grey irises. Instead of the innocent mischief they had possessed in his childhood, they gleamed with madness. She cowered and retreated into the shadows. This was not their Sylas. This was. . . something else. If she was told that the boy had been sacrificed on the altar of an elder one and had his body stolen by a wraith, she would've believed them. "No," came the firm reply yet again, addressed to the person guarding the oculus. Lux's lips quivered as she peeled open her gunky eyes to see the mage's face. Kip fidgeted as he sank back into the shadows, trying to hide himself from the mage's piercing stare. But Sylas refused to leave them in soltitude, walking round and round the oculus all night, humming a song.

It sounded vaguely like a harvest song to the healer's ears. Then it struck her, the memory of one harvest season from all those years ago. The memories of a young boy being sold out to Inquisitors; his mother clutching his father's hand and accepting the death of her son. She had been waiting for him outside the candle shop, holding a box of tarts for Sylas. But all she saw was a boy being dragged out of his home, by soldiers thrice his size like a wild animal, spluttering and drowning in his own tears. On her firstborn's birthday, she had heard of the same boy being dragged to prison. Her husband had said, "King Jarvan's too soft on these mages. They're walking, talking hazards to us normal folks. Have you heard of that mage girl who burnt down her house with her parents still inside it? Why go further, that girl hiding. . ."

"How. . . dreadful," she had said, fear gripping her heart as she brushed the hair out of her daughter's eyes.

The hairs at the nape of her neck stood up as he circled the oculus, dragging his chains behind him.

A thought flitted across her mindspace – he was the carrion bird waiting for the grim reaper to end her life in the arena.

Author's Note

Hello everyone! I'm just popping in to dedicate this chapter to YashaIgnisVolk, who's a really talented author! If you'd like to read more stories featuring Lux and Sylas, do check out his works!

Stay home and stay safe, everyone.