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Chapter 17
Summoner's Vault
Like a swift shadow, Ephrial makes his way through the ruins of what used to be the front doors to the Institute. The finely-polished marble floors and columns that decorated the interior are now reduced to rubble. Banners and curtains bear the scars of a severe battle. Signs of recovery show in the lack of remnants, belonging to summoner and transfigured minion alike, and debris having largely been swept to the sides of the halls.
The League is on high-alert, with guards posted at every entrance. Knowing that the deep-seeded corruption within has rendered the Institute untrustworthy, the Blazing Swordsman proceeds without taking chances. He cannot allow his presence to be known, lest countermeasures are taken, and he brings further danger to the remaining champions. There's no doubt that such a large disturbance in the Crystal Scar would catch the attention of the League, especially the mysterious faction that had set the trap to begin with. With any luck, they will count him as dead, and he can remain hidden from the eyes of those responsible for this chaos.
With time being of the essence, Ephrial continues sneaking his way inward. The holes that have been blasted in the very walls, as well as ruptured ceilings, allow passage from room to room in the most impractical ways, evading the sights of the sentinels. As far as he's concerned, he is in hostile territory. Maintaining his cover is imperative, limiting his resources to his quickness and cunning. Using his signature blade, letting anyone see his face, or otherwise compromising his identity, cannot be allowed.
He peers over a corner, reaching the inevitable point where three guards stand poised at the end of a hallway, with no way past them other than straight through. Grabbing what looks like a robe left behind by one of the deformed minions, he swings it around himself, and strides down the hallway as if he belongs there.
"Halt!"
"No one is allowed to roam the halls unescorted!"
Ephrial ignores their orders, his pace unwavering. Once he's in range of them, he dashes forward. The back of his palm swipes away the poised head of a halberd, stepping well inside the sentinel's guard, preventing him from being able do anything with it. A swift kick to the knee disrupts a neighboring sword from being unsheathed, crippling the second guard. Back to his initial target, a solid right hook slams into a helmet, allowing Ephrial to grab the polearm from a failing grip, and swing it widely along the ground as he dips behind the enemy line. The three guards are knocked off of their feet, and at once, begin to recover in order to combat the intruder. Before any of them can rise off of their elbows, the mercenary-knight drops the halberd in front of himself, parallel to the ground, and with a well-placed boot, kicks it straight into the trio of helmets, sending them into a rattling unconsciousness. Without skipping a beat, Ephrial turns around, ditching the improvised cloak behind himself.
The determined half-blood resumes his journey deeper into the Institute, unaware of what he was sent here to look for. His only guess, judging by the clue Zilean gave him, is some method of transportation. Perhaps a zeppelin or some sort, seeing as how Zaun and Piltover have competed viciously in their annual races, using the League's resources to better their innovations. Ephrial quickly dismisses the idea as he would not know how to fly such a device. Another thought comes to mind, though perhaps as futile as the first. He dares to set his path to the most heavily-guarded of all places in the institute: the "Summoner's Vault" in the Arcanum Majoris. It is the chamber in which all of the original artifacts are housed in while their replicas take their places on the Fields of Justice. Even more, it is a workshop for the creation of more powerful artifacts as advanced summoners strive to refine their skills, crafting unique weapons and armor to be used in the League.
With a handful of rooms cleared, and a trail of unconscious guards, he arrives at the magic-clad entrance of the Institute's most secure sanctum. Two enormous doors bar the way, covered in various glowing runes, some etched into the very doors while others hover just above the surface. The various circles of magic rotate at different speeds, each their own size and color. They look like gears in motion, acting as tumblers of a one-of-a-kind lock that must be triggered in a very particular way with the utmost precision.
In front of the masterpiece of security, a row of elite summoners stand vigilant. Their long, delineating robes shadow their faces. While most entry-class summoners pick a banner to represent, those whom wish to climb to higher ranks must abstain or forfeit their allegiances in order to cross into the elite divisions. Their loyalty must be to the League, and to the balance and order it is meant to uphold, meaning they can harbor no favoritism for any nation or faction. They become fierce instruments, wielded by the three High Councilors of Equity. With Heywan's conviction in the Institute's scandals, and the mysterious summoner messenger claiming that a High Councilor issued the order to gather champions to Kalamanda's trap, Ephrial knows the Elite summoners are bound to be corrupted to the High Councilors' whims.
From the corner of a wall, he stealthily studies the shrouded men and women just ahead, searching for some course of action that might even the odds against extremely powerful magic. While it is very possible his sword can block a few magical attacks, it is debatable if he would want to. Destructive blasts can only be so mitigated by few feet of metal, and the slightest bit of impeding force to slow him down can spell out a hasty death. A form of distraction is in order, just long enough to get the drop on them and leave one standing in order to open the doors…
Footsteps approach from behind, and a steady hand of resolve does not hesitate. Fire arcs out of a sheath, stopping under the chin of a purple hood with a familiar face as it turns the corner behind him.
"HOLY SH—"
Ephrial moves the blade out of the way and covers the mouth of the summoner he had once knocked out during his first intrusion of the Institute.
"You… If you're in on this, too…!" a sharp, cerulean gaze.
"No—! I just followed the trail of guards you left behind!" matching a hushed tone. "You sure have a knack for roughhousing summoners, Ephrial."
"That's about to become an understatement," his blade flares lively.
A discerning mind, having once connected with the mage in front of him, quickly surmises a conclusion. Being as new to the Institute as himself, there is no way he could have gathered the credibility, much less the skill, to become included and enveloped with the schemes involving the Institute. Shared minds during the battle underground have found no reason for discord or distrust between the two, and Ephrial sheathes his blade
"Tell me, Summoner…what do you know of the situation?"
"Ricky," the young graduate crosses his arms.
Ephrial takes a breath out of an Ionian-level of patience, despite the race against time. "…Tell me, Ricky, what do you know of the situation?"
"Well…after we finally cleared the Institute of those…things…a curfew was issued, and we've been kind of kept in the dark about everything since."
"A curfew?"
"Yeah. We're not allowed to roam the halls this late, and we're especially not allowed anywhere near this wing," glancing worriedly around the empty hall. "They won't even let any of the summoners leave to go back to their own nations."
"So…they want to keep this whole thing under wraps for as long as they can. That means they still have some ways to go before whatever they are planning can be achieved."
"What do you know of what's going on?" the novice turns the inquiry around.
"Just that there is something inside that vault I need…and that you're going to help me get it," determination brimming.
"Are you crazy!?" Do you know what that place is? That's impossible!"
"With the numerous strange things that exist, 'impossible' is a weightless word in Runeterra."
"Seriously, I wouldn't know the first thing on how to open that place up. There are very few privileged personnel allowed access in there. Only senior summoners and high security possess the means of entry."
"High security…" A trustworthy name comes to mind. "Where is Kayle?"
"Beats me. No one has seen her since most of the champions of the institute were swept away in the blink of an eye."
"The Master Nexus…" he murmurs to himself. "You said 'most'. Who's left?"
"As far as I know, only those kept captive in the dungeons remain."
"I see…" contemplating the fate of the champions of the institute.
"Look, I may not be of much help to you right now, but perhaps you can help me. Some of the other summoners and I have been talking about ways to break out of here, but we're a little lacking on the resource department…"
"That's not something I have time for right now. I need to get inside that vault."
"Perhaps I can be of assistance," a third voice enters the scene.
"Who—…wait…is that…!?" a startled Ricky utters.
"High Councilor Vessaria Kolminye," Ephrial says flatly, with a glare.
A strikingly beautiful woman approaches with robes as ornate as a royal throne.
"Must you look at me with such distrust?" she meets oceanic eyes.
"Call me old-fashioned, but trust has to be earned. Curfews and armed guards at every door is not a good start."
"Merely precautions, I assure you. There has never been an attack on the Institute such as the likes of this one. We must do all that is necessary to assure that what happened here does not happen outside of these walls."
"Just what did happen here?" prying for an answer.
"That is still under investigation. Until further notice, we are not to discuss details of the matter, lest we invite some rather…unwanted attention. Tell me, Blazing Swordsman, you storm into the Institute, incapacitating all those in your way, and make the daring attempt to reach the most heavily secured chamber in our establishment… What is it you seek with such perseverance?"
"…A means to reach the same conclusion as you have previously stated," carefully calculated words attempt to open a progression.
Raising her eyebrow while looking at a pair of unconscious guards, "By doing 'all that is necessary', I take it?" Realizing her words and point have been cunningly thrown back at her, the faintest of smiles paints itself across her face. "Very well, Newcomer. I believe your defense of the Master Nexus has earned yourself a modicum of trust," she begins leading the way around the corner and toward the elite mages guarding the rune-covered doors. "You may come, too, Summoner Ricky. I believe you played your role as well."
The novice summoner, frozen with chills, forces himself to follow after, keeping close to Ephrial. His worry of the unfolding conspiracies he has found himself in the midst of begins forming a sense of paranoia.
"You are dismissed," a commanding voice disperses the row of elite summoners from their posts.
The champion and summoner observe the High Councilor as she raises a palm toward the barrier of magic and negatron coating. A subtle light begins forming a circle beneath her feet, then spirals into a bright rune of magical energy. With a series of flashes, more begin appearing out of thin air around her, each matching up to their respective doppelgangers on the obstruction ahead. Intense concentration and precise form conjure the sigils to float towards their mirrors, rotating in the opposite directions of the door's seals. They begin spinning faster and faster, slowing down the seals and causing them to shift rotation in the same direction and speed as the unlocking spells. One by one, they achieve their harmony, and their various colors turn white before dissolving. With a thundering click from within, the doors open.
"Let us proceed," Vessaria leads inward.
The chamber is exceedingly expansive, like a small town in its own. Shelves taller than buildings tower in rows like a library for giants, each slot filled with a priceless relic or tome of mystic background. Display cases for the most esteemed collections decorate the floor with exquisite and ancient pieces of history and power. Everything from the rugs lain on the floors, to the banners hanging high on the walls, is gilded in ornate finery. The windowless archive and workshop is lit only by the bluish luminescent runes and carvings that also serve as crown molding along every border, wall, and shelf.
"Wow…so this is what the inside of the Arcanum Vault is like…" Ricky, bewildered at the sight of what no one of his beginning rank has ever been privileged to lay eyes upon before.
"Relics and artifacts of untold power and potential, as far as the eyes can see," the High Councilor summarizes. "Now, as you can imagine, I cannot just simply let any of these leave this place for the sake of casual means. Tell me, what is the desired nature of such a device that you seek? Destructive power? Invisibility? A shield against spells?"
"Ow!" Summoner Ricky flaps his hand in pain after reaching for an item off an adjacent rack, much to his regret.
"I must, of course, warn you that no small measures were taken with the safety of our collection. If you wish to obtain a piece, you will need me to disarm the protective barrier first. So…what will it be?" turning back to the mercenary-knight.
"…Movement," Ephrial says vaguely, stalling with short answers as he peruses the displays and shelves within close reach.
"Surely you did not go through such lengths to reach this far for a pair of Mobility Boots. What kind of movement do you have in mind?" further probing as she walks across from him, keeping a close, but watchful distance.
"…Perhaps something…quicker."
"You'll have to be more specific than that," almost a playful tone.
"Why are you inclined to help me so quickly?" cutting to the point.
"Have I not already stated why? You prevented the escape of the League's most dangerous creatures, stopping untold bloodshed from soaking the soil of Valoran. You are no threat to the Institute."
"And yet, the Institute recognizes itself as a threat," implying the imposed curfew as well as Vessaria's mention of unwanted attention.
"Yes. The embarrassment of Heywan has not yet been forgotten. This is why we must exercise extreme caution, lest another attack comes to finish the job."
"Just what is the condition of the Master Nexus?" the novice joins in.
"I'm afraid it remains inoperable for the time being. No physical damage was done, but a form of sabotage, yet to be deciphered, has rendered the Nexus null for all intents and purposes."
"…I heard that one of the High Councilors had dispatched a small expedition sent to check on the nexuses in the Crystal Scar. Any word of their findings?" Ephrial introduces the event that brought him here.
"The Crystal Scar? I've no previous knowledge of this affair. If what you say is true, then I've no doubt Grieve is the one to have issued such an order."
"Grieve? Senior Summoner Grieve?" Ephrial recalls his brief encounters with him right before his Judgement trial and in the Master Nexus chamber.
"It is High Councilor Grieve now, if you have not yet heard. His promotion was rather recent, in order to fill the gap in the balance that is the High Councilors of Equity. He is often…enigmatic at times, but no more than Mandrake herself. Nonetheless, she had elected Grieve as a worthy candidate, and I seconded it."
"An administration that holds the power to elect their own co-representatives hardly seems balanced to me."
"Quite so. Which is why we held a vote with all of the bodies of summoners held in the most elite ranks of each respective city-state partner with the League. Grieve won with the majority vote, despite the Ionian dissenters' protesting."
"I would think that an empty seat for a High Councilor of the Institute being filled would be big news."
"The public announcement of his ascension to the title was cut short by this unprecedented assault on our own soil. As you can imagine, we would like to refrain from news of our current…situation from being spread faster than we can mend it."
"What about all of the champions that were teleported across Runeterra?"
"An incredibly unfortunate side-effect of the Master Nexus' failing. On top of that, we cannot summon them back, meaning the witness they bear of these events has most likely taken wind across the lips of Runeterrians from all over. However, very few know the true severity of our present condition. That brings us back to the matter at hand… Providing you with aid in a mutual goal."
"I see. You cannot trust your own summoners, so you employ the service of someone that has not been affiliated with any faction, much less the League, with my very short time here," Ephrial, reading between the lines.
"Well, you are a mercenary, are you not?"
"Depends on your perspective."
"Quaint. Exactly what I would expect from the 'mercenary who cannot be bought; the knight that cannot be sold'," quoting the murmurs and gossip following his deeds that define his legend. "A sword with no price, and loyalty that cannot be commanded. That is precisely why I would entrust to you a relic of our collection. You would not use it against us, much less the order and justice you so crave."
"…Very well," being satisfied with Vessaria's open responses for the time being. "I've come here to seek the means to travel to the Freljord and back by the quickest of methods."
"The Freljord, you say? That is quite a journey from here…and one too wayward, even for a traveler such as yourself. Why do you seek passage there and back with the utmost haste?" curiosity piqued.
"For reasons I will keep to myself."
"Still don't trust me?"
"The less known about my whereabouts, the less 'unwanted attention' there will be."
The High Councilor examines his gaze, seeing that fiery determination swimming in a pool of disciplined collectedness. One again, her own words come back at her, and a sneer carves itself on her lips, but with a degree of admiration.
"Very well, Master Swordsman. Follow me."
Vessaria leads Ephrial to the far side of the chamber, passing by numerous artifacts of the massive collection. Ricky follows silently, feeling out of place in a conversation of politics and war.
"These don't look very promising," approaching a workbench at the inviting gesture of the Councilor.
"The latest tinkerings of our most esteemed crafters, based on the salvaged research notes of our former Lead Archeologist and Master Artificer, Alowicious Chucat. Fortunately, Ramune Numer, his successor, was able to continue the project in his stead. Mere stones to the average person, but they are vessels of a highly elaborate form of magic."
Ephrial picks up a small stone tablet the size of a Graggy Ice bottlecap, and no thicker than a few coins stacked together. On one side, a rune has been carefully engraved. On the other, the emblem of Noxus is painted on the surface.
"Elaborate, huh?"
"Is there a better word to describe the control of space and time itself? Summoning, you see, is the art of connecting with one particular being—one specific life-force in an ocean of innumerable sources. One must not only reach, but resonate with such a source in order to establish a link. Once that link has been achieved, the target can be 'summoned' to a designated point. It is a pull through space and time itself, and no small feat. For some time now, we have been trying to discover a way to harness that pull into a 'push', so-to-speak."
"A push?" Ephrial, looking at the tablets with various nations' emblems painted on them."
"We can bring something towards us, and set it down to a specific point, even from beyond other dimensions. However, putting something toward a location, namely ones we cannot see during the process, is a far different formula altogether. It's not as simple as reversing the process of summoning. Allow me to demonstrate…"
Well-polished nails pluck a stone with a simple square symbol brushed on it. She takes a few steps towards a nearby chair standing on a pedestal, and with a flick of her wrist, flings the stone at the piece of furniture. With a loud snap, the stone breaks with partial ease, and a small vortex of light and magic quickly envelope the chair. At the same time, a ball of light materializes over an empty pedestal, forming a small rainbow vortex of its own, and the chair appears in its new location, as quickly as it had disappeared.
"…A teleportation spell, but without the cast time and the need for a specific target," the silent summoner speaks up.
"And with far greater potential."
"…Such as the ability to immediately transport something, or someone, directly from here to anywhere in Runeterra?" the gears in Ephrial's mind begin working out the many factors in such a concept.
"Theoretically. This is still experimental, after all. Who knows what oddities and…errors might occur."
"It's almost like the Master Nexus. Without much warning, other than a glimpse of light, and without a casting time, the champions of the League were teleported out of the Institute. Am I to take it that the Master Nexus itself was involved with the development of these stones?" Ricky contemplates.
"How very astute, young summoner. Yes, you are right to assume such, as that is very well the case. It is no secret, of course, that nexuses contain immense amounts of raw magical energy. Much of its potential has still yet to be discovered. Chucat's research has yielded an incredible window of opportunity, and all of the hard work behind it may pay off this very day."
"You mentioned the risk of some possible…effects. Is there any documentation of organic subjects post-teletransportation?" a scholar finds himself in a subject closer to his element, fascinated with the experimental concept.
"As far as I know, there has never been an experiment conducted on a living being. I have heard of a rumor involving Ramune's pet degu being accidentally transported alongside a pocketwatch, only to arrive at the landing with some…unpleasant ramifications. Although, I believe that to be only mere workshop humor."
While the two exchange more explanations and theories on the science behind the new frontier of magic, Ephrial keeps his thoughts relevant to the track he set out on.
Summoners use the nexuses to channel their power across the land to create domains of magic where they can conduct summoning, as well as a degree of 'summoner spells' on the Fields of Justice. The network is a vital element to the League and its influence. However, with the known nexuses damaged or destroyed, and a new way of transport without those conduits, Ephrial suspects a new imminent threat. Armies would be able to transverse Runeterra in an instant, rather than weeks, leading to a mess of issues. Surprise attacks would never be more devastating. With such devices in the hands of a group capable of striking a critical blow on the Institute of War, all four corners of the world could be shattered off their foundations within days. Such catastrophic potential already lies within this room… It would be an unstoppable onslaught at the hands of the very organization supposedly born to prevent such destruction. The number of teleportation stones in front of him is few, but creating replicas of a magical object is a specialty of the Institute's artificers. The only step barring them from that is the completion of their study to remove the possibility of errors during transport. Suddenly, Ephrial finds himself racing against more than one clock.
"Are these all there are?" the mercenary-knight cuts in.
"Only Alowicious Chucat would know the answer to that question. He has to physically journey to each place in order to set a waypoint for the spells inside of the tablets. They are not always precise, but the algorithm tends to land the target within the general area."
"I see… Very well, then. With your permission, I would take these for the purpose of resolving the matters at hand."
"I imagine Chucat would be rather cross with me if I allowed all of his research be taken without his consent. You may take what you need, but reserve at least one of each location for the completion of his work."
Ephrial acquiesces with a nod, grabbing the handful available, and leaving one of each symbol on the desk. He pockets all but one bearing the symbol of a blue bow and arrow.
"Are you sure about this?" Ricky, concerned with the risks involved in experimental magic.
The Noxian-Ionian shuts his eyes, clutching the small tablet in a closed fist. Still fresh in his mind, a vivid image appears—a shattered blade glowing red-hot amidst prodigious destruction, serving as the remnants of a last hope that was snatched away. With that ever-burning fire in a cerulean gaze, and steel in his voice, he turns to the questioning summoner.
"It is the only path left for me to take. There is no room for uncertainty."
"Good luck, Blazing Swordsman," Vessaria crosses her arms, eager to see the newfound teleportation magic at work.
Ricky takes a few cautious steps back from the mercenary-knight. "Best of luck, then… Try not to land in a wall or anything."
Ephrial draws a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he prepares for the pioneer voyage of the experimental form of teleportation. A gloved hand raises the small tablet above his head. He hurls the vessel downward at his own feet, and a burst of light envelopes his surroundings. Just like the previous times before, he feels the sensation of being flung through a vast space of air and nothingness; perhaps the "push" the High Councilor described the spell as.
The piercing of an icy chill is the first thing that greets him as his vision recovers from the whiteout. He feels his boots sink deep into the thick blanket of snow and ice. An unforgiving wind howls through the air, and a mild snowfall wisps erratically with it. In the distance, behind the permafrost peaks of the Freljord, dawn cracks through with a gentle glow.
Surrounded by the frozen wilderness, he begins setting one foot in front of the other, the crisp sound of snow crunching beneath him. Each step is firm with resolve against the icy test he has found himself in. Guided only by the cryptic, time-lapsed words of Zilean, he ventures forward with the heavy implication that he is already on the right track. The race against time proceeds further, as this segment of his journey is not yet over…because it hasn't happened yet…and it will happen again.
With no sign of civilization in sight, Ephrial walks with enough fire inside of him to contest the arctic expanse.