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Chapter 24

Strength for Two

The air is very thin at this reaching altitude, and a small cloud wisps over the peak of the ice-capped mountain. Heavy breaths of excursion plume visibly from the mercenary-knight's mouth as he pulls himself upward. One hand over another, and careful choices of footholds, he climbs out of the passing mist of a fluffy body of water vapor. Weary oceanic eyes look above, spotting an opening in the permafrost that glitters in the sunlight of an early morning.

A chilly breeze sweeps through his hair, and specks of snow flutter like embers around him, flying into his cheek before skipping off into the expansive sea of blue. With a tired, deep, yet conservatively-paced breath, he reaches for the next ice-clad rock. Ephrial continues with caution, knowing that rushing can lead to carelessness, and result in every deed done for naught.

Small pebbles crumble away, descending into the abyss the swordsman has summited, as he hoists himself over the cliff. He shuffles himself away from the edge, making sure he is too far to accidentally slide off to his doom. Lying prone on the frozen shelf of his destination, he takes a moment of respite to gain the strength to rise to his feet, but no more than needed. He cannot rest until he has fulfilled his duty. If his willpower won't finish carrying him through, then the pain of failure will.

Exhausted, the Blazing Swordsman steps into the cave, his eyes scanning the icy walls for signs of life. In the middle, an enormous nest sits, made of branches and thin trees, frosted in place with true ice. As the journeying swordmaster approaches, the sound of his fatigued, but unfaltering steps, softly echo throughout the dwelling.

"You're a hard bird to reach," subtly squeezing in a sly play on words as he stops in front of the bundle of gathered nesting. "…Anivia?"

He sighs at the lack of response, finding an empty roost. There is no time for a major delay. His only option now is to fly on those ancient wings of ice. The closest teleportation spots to Kalamanda in his collection of runes are in Noxus and Demacia, both places he would find himself facing far more difficulty traversing than even this mountain.

Ephrial closes his eyes in contemplation, struggling to come up with options this late in his journey, and in his present location. "There has to be a way…there's always a way!" recalling the disciplining words of his past. He hammers his fist in frustration against one of the partially-frozen logs of the avian's bedding. With a loud crack, a branch snaps off, bouncing a few times before landing at well-traveled boots.

The half-blood slowly opens his eyes, examining the piece of ice-coated timber. Thoughts begin to stir in his mind, racing to the conclusion of a brewing idea. True Ice never melts; however, these trees and branches still remain intact underneath the layer of enchantment. Additionally, the film of magical permafrost is rather thin, making it quite easy to shatter. Ephrial turns his gaze to the clear, open sky outside. It would be extremely easy to see a smoke signal above any clouds that may obscure sight of it. There is only one known being in the Freljord that dwells at this altitude, making its origin unmistakable to the eyes that spot it.

With a loud series of snaps and crackles, Ephrial gathers the nest, sections at a time, placing the broken structure at the entrance of the cave. He does not take chances, and moves every last bit of flammable material to the outside. Much of the ice still clings onto the wood, forming tubes with kindling stuck in the middle. It isn't perfect, but it should suffice just fine. If anything, the trapped pieces of bark might help the fire burn longer, seeing as less of it is exposed to flame at a given time. He places the last of the fuel onto the pile, and ignites a signal pyre with a lick of his blade.

"Apologies, Anivia. Looks like I owe you a new nest."

Before long, the stack turns into a blaze, and smoke fills the air with a distinct plume that can be seen for miles, depending on the clouds in the surrounding area. It would be hard to misconstrue this as a normal signal fire from a Freljordian tribe, and only one resident of the frozen wilderness can reach him before it long burns out.

Having nothing left to do but wait and hope, he walks over and turns his back to the wall. Pressing against it, he slides down, sitting restfully and letting himself fall limp. Flakes of snow fall off the dark brown locks of his organized mess of hair. A perilous trip to the frozen wilderness, with all its buried secrets, combined with virtually non-stop mountain climbing, has taken its toll.

As nothing beyond silence and the small crackling of flames fills the peaceful ambience, the half-blooded swordsman slowly slips away into an overdue slumber.

`*~\-~vVv~-/~*`

"Is that all?" a gruff, stern voice asked me.

With a blunt, metal sword used for training in my hand, I knelt on the ground, rapidly running out of breath. Wooden weapons aren't used in Noxus for training like other places. They betray the true heft of a Noxian weapon, and cannot be taken with the full seriousness of a life-or-death situation. Timber simply just didn't hurt as much.

"…Not…yet…!" I gasped as I tried to steady my breathing.

Using the blade as a support, I rose back up and readied myself for another round. The stalwart man in front of me waited, wearing the full armor of the height of his career. He was a Noxian general whose name could strike fear into battalions across the land. At least, when that name still existed.

With a calculated charge, I lunged toward him, arcing my blade in a form difficult to counter. It was useless; decades of experience overwhelming what little I had. There was no way for me to contest against an opponent with such an advantage over me. Yet, that was the whole point of my training.

I flew across the yard with the force of a powerful, one-handed swing. The sword let loose from my grip on impact, and before I could react, a military boot pinned my wrist to the ground. He looked down at me, pointing a shining blade to my neck.

"You've let your sword escape your hand. A careless mistake like that could cost you your life," he said.

"Weapons are important, but it's as you said…" huffing. "Only fools trust their lives to them!"

I would not let it end there. A daring backhand on the blade to clear it from my throat, and a flexible kick to the back of his knee caused him to step forward to keep his balance, and off of my arm. Swiftly, I turned over, but before I could reach the hilt of my sword, I was struck back down. Pinned once more on my back, a heavy boot weighed on my chest, under a tower of muscle clad in medals and victorious adornments.

"Not quick enough! You must be faster than that! Your enemies will show you no mercy, no quarter! For every one second, you must be able to accomplish three moves! If your opponent is just as swift, be swifter still!" he pressed down, as if physically instilling the lesson into me.

I held my silence and glared up at him, as I ineffectively tried to push his foot off of me.

"Hmm…" With a contemplating stare, he rubbed his hand along his dark brown beard. "You possess the spirit for it… However, you must be stronger, faster, more ruthless! You are not fighting for just one life."

A short silence, and a thoughtful sigh later, he released me and began walking back into the manor. "Pride is not a weapon; It is armor. That is why your foes constantly strike at it, hoping it will sunder and let them reach your core with their daggers." He sheathed his blade with poise and dignity. "Those who use their pride as a means of offense make themselves vulnerable to those who can take a hit. The only question is…who will break first?"

With that, I was left alone to recompose myself. I merely remained flat on the ground, surrounded in silence under the veil of night. A full moon gleamed in the distance above, amidst a starlit sky. My body riddled with pain, each bruise and mark swelling with a lesson. That's what training with my father was like. To anyone that didn't know him, they might have thought he was going full-force on me. Those that did would know he was holding back a great deal. In short, it was unfair, brutal, and more than exhausting.

Gentle footsteps approached along the grass. It was Cerina, coming to heal me as she always did after a fight. She knelt down alongside me, and spoke softly.

"Are you okay…?"

"…Yeah."

"…What do you think is going to happen?"

"I assume you mean with the headmaster?"

"Yes…"

"Nothing good, I'm sure."

"…I'm so sorry, Ephrial. It's all my fault, isn't it? If only I would allow myself to fight, maybe—"

"You've nothing to apologize for. It's not you that needs to change. It's this world. Noxus may be the pinnacle of keeping war alive as a tradition, but every nation has a history matted in blood. None of the current city-states would exist otherwise."

"Still…for violence to be the thing to end violence… Is there really no other way?"

"…Everything abides by rules of some nature. It is the victors that not only write history, but the rules of the age. For such to change, it must be rewritten in blood."

"War being the answer for everything is a true Noxian way of thinking… What of Ionia? What of Mother's lessons?"

"…It would be nice to think it were so simple. If you believe in something, that means you must stand up for it. Simply being passive can only go so far for so long. For a way of life to exist, so, too, must there be a way to defend it. There will be a time where even the most patient people of Ionia will be pushed to take arms, and they will use them with everything they have."

"I see… So, you think the world needs to change, yet it is unable to?"

"Don't know. I've never tried to change it."

She tittered and shook her head in a swelling sorrow, "…Now that it has all been said aloud, it does feel like a foolish thought that the world could change."

"…Perhaps, it starts with a place."

"A place?"

"The world is too big to change all at once, should it ever be possible. Yet, the biggest changes often start off with the smallest. Perhaps such a start could begin in a small place. A city, or town—one where prejudice is not a factor, and you don't feel as though you are wrong for being who you are."

"…Is that what you truly believe?"

"I believe in you."

She smiled. "Not an ounce of inherited magical aptitude, but ever the wizard with words. …Thank you. Now, let me treat your wounds," she began weaving a stream of healing arts.

"Not yet."

I slowly picked myself up, aching with every motion. Break time was over, and I needed to get back to training.

"But you have to meet Headmaster Ronin in the morning! You need your rest!"

"Rest? I know not the meaning of such a word," as I picked up a sword almost as battered as I.

"…Very well. Just be sure to wake me before you go."

She reluctantly departed, leaving me to take my stance and swing my blade. We always looked out for each other, but in different ways. As the one that inherited our mother's healing gift, she found me as her frequent patient to train her magic on. There was definitely no shortage of practice for her.

There I was, crickets chirping, and the wind whistling beneath my training sword. Every form, every last stroke had to be perfect, from beginning to end. I could accept nothing less…and neither would all the strife that lied ahead. Every move stung, but I worked through it. It was only pain, after all. Only a reminder of the importance in feeling it. It meant that I was alive…and so long as I was, I could make sure she would be, too.

`*~\-~vVv~-/~*`

The sound of flapping wings approaches from the side, growing louder with every beat. A small gust of wind trails ahead of it, beaconing Ephrial from out of his slumber. The gentle flutter quickly becomes a gale, causing the mercenary-knight to slide across the icy floor, along with the burnt and permafrost remains of a giant nest.

Swiftly, the swordsman uses the force to somersault along the ground to his feet. He turns around with his hand over the gilded hilt of his blade, ready to respond to the abrupt entrance of a legendary figure. Looking at him is the icy glare of the Cryophoenix.

"This is perhaps one of the bravest things a mortal has ever done…or the most foolish," her voice coos with strength and wisdom.

"I've heard similar statements many times before. Honestly, I'm starting to think there is not much difference between the two."

"You have journeyed far from Valoran, and further yet to reach this summit. I do not believe we have a personal quarrel so parlous that you would come into my domain just to destroy my aerie. Tell me, what brings you here, Blazing Swordsman?"

"It would seem you know not of the current state of the League."

"However, it appears that you do," she approaches a few steps, towering over Ephrial.

"I'm currently pressed for time, and do not have the luxury of giving you a full explanation. There are still many unanswered questions, so all I can say for sure is that the Institute is under attack. I know not of who is behind it, but it would be fair to say they have connections deep within the League itself."

"If what you say is true, then why has word not spread of it immediately?"

"They are trying their best to suppress news of this from getting out, at least for as long as they can. Seeing as the Freljord is rather far, it would make sense that such scarce information has not yet reached you."

"There have been many great lengths traveled to organize such an opportunity," she turns her head to look outside. "Ancient forces have been stirring for quite some time now. The Watchers have returned, and they bring death and darkness with them. If other dark forces have awakened in other parts of the world, converging into one great storm, it would not be the first time."

"I suppose that saves me the effort of having to convince you."

"I would not be so quick to say so," she turns back to him, lowering her head to eye-level. "You still have yet to tell me what you want from me. One would not ascend such a treacherous mountain for a mere exchange of words."

"I've done a lot more than that just to get here," Ephrial takes out Avarosa's Eye for her to see.

"This is…!"

"Correct. If anyone alive has seen this before with their own eyes, I'm sure it had to have been you."

Anivia's interest piques. "What interest have you in such a relic? It holds no magic to benefit from."

"I've obtained it for a different purpose. The same purpose I have sought you to ask for your aid in."

"Tell me, young swordsman…what purpose do you speak of?"

"…To right what has been wronged. To fix something that should have never happened, and make sure it never happens again."

"And what role would I have in this?"

"I need you to fly me to Kalamanda before noon tomorrow."

"Kalamanda?"

"If you would like a deeper explanation, I would offer it on the way there."

The ancient being peers into his eyes, a sage gaze worth eons of life experience. Ephrial stares back, openly allowing her to gauge him. She tilts her head, and slowly cranes her neck back upright.

"I do not need an explanation. I see nothing but honest eyes set with resolve."

"Then you will help me?"

Anivia walks toward the entrance of her dwelling, stepping over the remains of what used to be her nest. "The world is changing. It always is. This wind, however, whispers of darkness unlike any before. We need all the light we can get to dispel the forces that would destroy us all."

"I may not exactly be a part of your Winter war, here in the Freljord."

"We are all connected. There is meaning in every snowflake," a strong benevolence speaks. "Climb aboard, swordsman…and mind the flames."

"You have my thanks." Ephrial approaches, and carefully climbs onto the Cryophoenix's back, trying not to ruffle any feathers, figuratively and literally.

She brings up their last encounter, in which the mercenary-knight landed on her, mid-flight, for a surprise attack. "It would appear that we are on the same team this time. I would expect you not to fly me into my own ice walls, should the opportunity arise."

"Apologies. If it's any consolation, that tower did not make it an easy landing for me."

"Do not apologize, Young One. Use that resourcefulness against that which threatens us all."

"Will you be able to make it to Kalamanda in time?"

"We should arrive there before the sun peaks. If we have a decent tailwind, even sooner."

"I think that's the first bit of good news I've heard for some time."

"You have endured a great deal to reach this far in your journey, for which this purpose has taken you through. Rest for now, mortal. Life passes so swiftly… You must find peace where you can."

Ephrial, too exhausted to refuse the offer, silently puts himself in a relaxed state. Anivia's record as a guardian through many lifetimes, as well as her alliance with the humanitarian and altruistic archer known as Ashe, has earned her the swordsman's trust.

The eternal creature extends her wingspan, and the very air around her seems to come alive in response. As the frozen sentinel of many eras past, she is the snow, wind, and ice of the Freljord.

"Let's soar!"