-
Chapter 27
Valor
"So much death…" Riven whispers to herself, gazing at the scene of a freshly-ravaged caravan.
A dozen guards lay dead amidst their slain mounts, arrows and deep gashes telling of a heavy ambush. The cargo has been taken, and the rest left to rot away in the ashes of a barbaric aftermath.
Just another merchant convoy gone awry after taking the risk of going through the narrow ravine of the Ironspike mountains. Traveling with the weight of many goods is a gamble, and that's why so many peddlers employ the aid of guards and mercenaries to trek through these parts. Even with the danger, it is far less risky than taking the path that cuts through the mountains between Zaun and Noxus.
Judging by the lack of a long, trailing mess, this was a very swift and decisive assault. There are no traces of an extended battle, and all of the bodies belonging to the convoy lie close to the wagon. A few fallen men, lacking an organized uniform, lie amongst them, clearly sporting the dirty, rugged look of marauders. Unlike the previous encounter with the zeppelin, this doesn't look out of the ordinary.
As the Exile cautiously passes by, a small rustling disturbs some of the debris, causing her to raise her blade in preparation. One of the boards hanging onto the chassis of the caravan collapses, and a little girl coughs her way out of the heap. Riven lowers her sword at the sight of a miniature survivor.
A few steps away from the mess of flaming wreckage, and the young blonde girl's coughing settles. She looks up at the Noxian, and her eyes grow wide with fear. She screams in terror, sprinting in the opposite direction. The walls of rock around them carry her high-pitched voice, and Riven dashes out for her, crossing the remains of the doomed convoy.
"Wait—!"
The nimble Exile follows the child down the path and around a small corner, to a crevice in the rocks where she has cornered herself in exhausted fear.
"Don't hurt me! Please…! No more!" her words dissolve into an incomprehensible mess of tears.
"I'm not here to hurt you," a somber voice reaches out. Riven places her oversized blade down, leaning it gently on a nearby rock. "Look… See?" showing her empty hands.
The little girl, no older than seven or eight years old, looks at her with glassy eyes, her vision blurred by paralyzing distress. Fear and panic hold firm her distrust, and she remains in the fissured wall, shrunken just beyond reach.
"What happened here?" Riven asks.
Efforts by the Exile provide no avail. She can't help but think her own appearance may have something to do with it. The little survivor in front of her wears a dainty little dress, layers and frills decorating the rich fabric, complimented by tiny bows of lace. It's the kind of attire that would be associated with a member of the upper-class in Piltover.
On the other hand, Riven is still wearing remnants of her old armor, and certainly doesn't have the prim qualities that would strike a chord with the Piltovan child. Everything about her is still very Noxian and warriorlike, which is perhaps the last thing this victim would want to see cornering her.
The white-haired wanderer tries a different tactic, and reaches into a small ration pouch. She pulls out a piece of dried meat and offers it to the little girl, slowly reaching her arm into the crevice, avoiding any quick movements that might frighten her.
"Hungry?" the Noxian tempts her.
An appetite, provoked by the offer, begins to slowly triumph over trepidation. With extreme caution, the little Piltie takes tiny steps closer, and nervously reaches out for the article of food. With a quick grasp, she snatches the piece and begins devouring it. Funny how brittle things like poise and manners are in the face of battle or distress.
The faintest of grins sneaks its way on Riven's lips, only for a quick moment. A feeling of doing something right glints in an otherwise gloomy spirit. With the small child reaching a much calmer state, she begins investigating. "Are you okay?"
A full mouth can only respond with a slightly more trusting gaze and a gentle nod.
"Can you tell me what happened here?"
Exhaustion and despair cause the little girl to sink down, her knees and tall socks becoming dirty in the rough ground. "The bad people…they…" she musters through another oncoming wave of tears. "They took my mommy…!"
She dissolves into helpless sobbing once again, causing Riven to feel a bit on the uncomfortable side. Having grown up in a place where such displays were not tolerated the same way as in other regions, she has no clue how to handle it.
"It's…alright…" fidgeting slightly. "Do you know where they took her?"
A grieving girl shakes her head in response, her blonde locks and tiny butterfly hairbows swaying with the motion.
Riven lets out a sigh, foreseeing a detour in her steadfast journey. "Well, it appears like we'll just have to look for them."
Teary eyes like emeralds look up from a huddled position. "You—...you're going to help me…?"
"I am. We'll have to get going now if we're going to have any chance of finding her," she looks up at the sky, a dying sunset swiftly burning out.
"…I don't know…" still shaken up.
"Want another bite?" offering an extra slice of jerky.
A hungry little Piltie reaches for it, missing as its yanked away.
"Ah-ah! For this one, you'll have to come on out," Riven gestures.
Hunger dominates over weary reluctance, and the little blonde rises up. She climbs out of her hiding place and receives another helping of rations. Wolfing the food down, she wipes her eyes and looks up at Riven, wondering what's next.
"I'm Cecilia. What's your name?" an innocent voice questions.
"I-I'm… It's not important. I won't be around here long enough for you to need to remember it."
"Oh…"
Stung by her crestfallen reaction, the Exile softens up. If she's going to take on this detour of aiding a little girl, she might as well act the full part at this point. "…It's Riven."
"…Th-thank you for the food, Miss Riven."
Miss? What an oddly unprecedented title given to her. She can't help but find it amusing on one level, and then darkened on another. If only this little girl knew to whom she is addressing as such.
"Alright… Let's go find your mother," picking up her shattered, but hefty blade.
"…Are you a soldier?" the tiny voice asks.
Riven pauses at the question, then resumes walking back toward the wreckage with Cecilia trailing behind. "…I used to be."
"What happened?" young curiosity persists.
"…Something similar to this," walking past the slain guards.
Hearing the sudden lack of small footsteps behind her, Riven turns around to see Cecilia gazing at the scene of horror, as if in a trance. With a sympathetic heartbeat, Riven strides back and quickly grasps the child's fragile hand, forcing her away from the repugnant picture of death.
A few silent minutes of walking along the dull, gray rocks, darkened by the shade of the surrounding mountains, and they come across a fork in the road. Three paths lay in front of them, split by walls of rock that make the narrow valley even more restricted.
"Okay, it's time to focus," kneeling down, getting on the little Piltie's level. "Which direction did they take her?"
"I don't know…"
"I need you to try."
Cecilia takes a look at the diverging paths, looking lost and confused. She takes a few steps forward, as if gazing far down each one. Her face grimaces slightly as she reviews a tragic memory, still fresh in her mind. The little girl points on the path to the left and begins running down.
"Wait!" Riven calls out, chasing her.
The two follow the narrow passage as the night creeps over them. A handful of campfires light up a series of holes along the side of the wall around the bend. Riven pulls the girl to the side, behind the cover of a nearby boulder. She looks on ahead at a network of tunnels inside the mountain itself, like a roughly-made catacomb of various chambers. Those that dwell within must have been inhabiting the place for quite some time, making it a base of operations, well-hidden in the labyrinth of the Ironspike mountains. Most that trail along stick to the one path that leads straight ahead from one side of the mountain range to the other. While there is more than one way through, many passages lead to dead-ends, providing easy targets for the bandits that know this area best.
A contemplating Exile peers at the silhouettes that roam the entrances. Cheers and clinking of tankards echo along the walls of the gorge, telling of a celebration about their latest plunder. A trained mind counts this as an advantage. The heavy drinking and merriment will make it far easier to sneak past slumbering and distracted guards. Infiltration is not quite her style, but while having to babysit a vulnerable target, she will have to make an exception.
"Twelve…thirteen…fourteen…" Riven counts under her breath.
"…Is my mommy in there?" Cecilia tugs at her skirt.
The Noxian hesitates, reluctant to give the young girl an unfortunate likelihood, or a false hope. "We'll find out soon. Come on. Stay close, and be very quiet."
As Riven takes the lead ahead, she feels a tiny grip reach for her hand. Caught off-guard by the notion, she looks back at Cecilia, who innocently looks back at her with a worrisome look. Reddish-brown eyes look at the tiny hand clutching her own, feeling a contrast with her own grip on the hilt of her runic blade. The only familiarity Riven has with this kind of act is purely secondary, only witnessing it between mothers and their children on her travels. A heavy mind stirs with conflict—the years of guilt and hardship not sitting well with a situation that requires a certain brand of tenderness. It's as if this is but another unprecedented challenge, taunting her at the very core on a sensitive level. Still, she must atone for her sins, somehow…
With Cecilia in tow, the Exile quietly sneaks closer and closer to the brigands' stronghold. The aroma of roasted meat and ale fills the air, smoke still rising from the fires pits burning below the carved remains of boar and raptors. The two approach the nearest entrance, and stay just out of sight of one of the men as he takes a stroll to stretch out his legs. It is way too early to resort to lethal tactics and leave any signs of blood or distress for a passerby to find. Taking a small rock from the abundant pebbles scattered around the loose terrain, Riven throws one over the head of the man. The resulting sound catches his attention, and with a small degree of wariness, he moves over to investigate.
Silent steps sneak their way into the unguarded opening, and slip into the first chambers of the cavern. Broken crates and furniture that have seen better days litter the floor and walls. Small, wooden chests lay open with trinkets and fabrics of little to no more interest to the murderous thieves.
Just from the view of the outside alone, Riven surmises that exploring each chamber would take far too long. Not only must she locate any prisoners, assuming any are left alive, she must find a way to safely get them out of the bandits' territory. It's an extraction mission, something she is not quite accustomed to. Such efforts from Noxus' military are usually reserved for those of a quieter, more…shadowy nature, like those involved in recovering Sion's remains from Demacia.
The quickest way to gather any useful information is through interrogation. It would be preferable to catch someone that looks easy to crack, sparing valuable time and effort while this far behind enemy lines, where one misstep can cost them everything. As the two carefully make their way from one room to another, concealing themselves behind rock formations and shadows, they see no traces of anything that might lead them to their destination.
In the next chamber, a group of brigands lay passed out from a hard celebration, and they carefully pass over them. Like ghosts of the night, they reach a tunnel just ahead, undetected so far. It's dark, and the only sign of light is on the other side. Remaining low, they infiltrate further in, keeping their eyes and ears open for any approaching bandits.
At the end of the corridor, they find themselves elevated at the second story of this stone hamlet. It's a room of no particular interest, host to nothing but litter, dust, and empty cots. A crudely-shaped hole, serving as a window that has been chiseled through the rock, beacons their attention. Riven peers through, seeing the ground below teeming with ruffians. The fact that so many of them can eke out a miniature civilization here impresses her. Not many of those who choose such a dishonorable lifestyle tend to do this well together. By the looks of everything, they've been doing this for quite a handful of years. Perhaps soon will come a time where they can no longer survive on the merchants that tread these mountains, and will spread to other lands to satisfy their desire to pillage.
The sturdy eyes of a soldier continue to scout the area, scanning the chambers located on the opposite side. Like a dangling string just out of a cat's reach, her objective appears to lie just ahead. Through another window, across the lake of armed mountain men, she makes out the steel bars of a rudimentary prison. Though she cannot see anyone, the mere sight of a cage in dim firelight is enough to point her in the right direction.
"Do you see her…? Do you see my mommy?" Cecilia tugs at Riven's skirt.
"Not yet…but we might be close."
'Close' is a relative term, as to reach them by normal means would require they backtrack all the way down where they had come from, and sneak past dozens of brigands to get to the other tunnels. A messy, warrior's ponytail peeks out of the opening, looking for another path. The jagged edges of the mountain's surface provide a small ledge, just big enough to shimmy over to the next section of chambers carved into the terrain. Judging by sight, she approximates a distance of fifteen meters from window to window, just about the same distance as they are from the ground.
Riven looks at the worried little girl. "How do you feel about heights?"
"I…I don't like heights. Heights make me dizzy! Dizzier than usual…"
Great… Caught in the middle of dangerous business, with this ledge being the only way to continue on, and the young girl has vertigo. Left with no choice, Riven resorts to giving her the only treatment familiar to her—the Noxian variety.
"Alright… We're going to cross this ledge, and you are not to look down under any circumstances, understood?"
"B—but…!"
"Here," she kneels down. "Get on."
With reluctance and hesitation, Cecilia silently agrees, and hops onto Riven's back. She wraps her arms around her neck, at first, enjoying the piggyback ride. Her grip tightens as the fear begins to seep in. One step through the window, then the other foot, and the little Piltovan's heartbeat intensifies.
Riven holds her sword firmly, carefully bringing it with her as she finds herself outside. With both hands, she begins to maneuver along the ledge, keeping the runic blade as flat as possible against the wall in front of her.
She feels the trembling of the fearful girl clinging on. Step by step, she focuses on making it across the obstacle, slowly but surely. A few more cautious feet, and the shaking arms begin to slip.
"Don't let go!" Riven lets out a hushed whisper.
"I…I can't do it!" Cecilia's dizziness begins to come into play.
"Just don't look down!"
"M…mommy…!" she begins to sob gently, paralyzing fear keeping it from being loud enough for those below to notice.
The Noxian ex-soldier grits her teeth at the situation, dividing herself between keeping her balance, and making sure not to move in a way that would cause Cecilia to release her hold.
"L-look… Just close your eyes, okay? Try to think of something else," Desperately trying to improvise some form of comfort; irony forming out of her own discomfort at the newly-found job of babysitting.
The little girl shuts her eyes tightly, her face scrunching like she had just been sprayed in the eyes with lemon juice. "Like what…?"
"I don't know…" catching herself off-guard from her own suggestion. "What do you want to be when you grow up…?" resorting to the most basic of inquiries.
"…I…I want to be a Legend…" she sniffles.
"A what…?"
"I want to be like those heroes I hear about in the League…"
Riven's face changes with the unexpected reply. Judging by her wording, she has never seen a League match, but has most certainly come across some information on it. A sheltered girl such as she would perhaps be kept away from spectacles of a violent nature, seeing as how it could be considered too brutish for nobles that find themselves far more concerned with economic politics. Yet, that kind of imposed safekeeping may be the reason she might find a heavy interest in things outside of her enclosed world. Quite a young, rebellious soul in-the-making. With the images of repetitive death and struggle of the League in mind, Riven asks the only question she can.
"Why…?"
"I don't want to be scared anymore… I don't want to be dizzy all the time, and I don't want all the others to keep making fun of me…!"
A stirring of guilt washes over the wanderer. She has underestimated the struggle that even wealthy, protected nobles go through. Strength takes a variety of forms, including the spirit to break free from the chains that bind one to their nation's expectations of them.
"I see… Tell me about some of your favorites."
"I don't know… I've never seen…—" fear of the current situation grips her again.
"It's okay. Just tell me what you know of them."
"W-well…there's the fox lady with a bunch of tails. She shoots fireballs at her enemies and blasts them away with her magic orb."
Ahri, a bigtime fan favorite makes it first onto the list. As one of the champions with the largest number of viewers-per-match, it comes as no surprise to hear the vulpine combatant mentioned in social gatherings of any kind.
Cecilia continues. "…Then there's Teemo! I saw a poster of him once. He's cute, and he doesn't let himself get bullied, even though he's small…"
Almost anyone else would laugh at such an assertion. Riven would have lost her grip, if not for her level of seriousness and grave mindset. The Swift Scout is hardly a 'victim' of bullying, though he always finds himself the prime target of a League match. He's a strong warrior that lives to his code about size being an unimportant factor, but his methods are arguably…irksome.
"Oh, and there's a new one! He's like a knight in armor, and he fights with a big, fiery sword, and he's not afraid of anything! His name is…Eph…ree…"
"Ephrial," she corrects the pronunciation.
"Yeah, him! He's really strong…and he doesn't like bullies! I heard he can take several Legends at once!"
Riven smirks to herself. Newcomers have always gotten a lot of attention in their first days; a common 'flavor of the month' type of syndrome. However, it seems to be slightly different in his case. She remembers seeing some of the publications herself—headlines covering the current events of the League. Articles remarking on the fiery swordsman's fervor and unmatched determination. While many of the veteran champions have learned to steer clear of direct confrontation with some of the more vicious and sizable combatants, he has always faced them head-on. It's the type of exciting display many have come to expect and enjoy when spectating the League, and the form of warrior's honor appreciated by those that realize how rare such a thing is now. Ephrial has made quite a splash in the Institute, and yet, with his short time there before the attack, nothing has really come of it. He's still very much a stranger to many others that fight in the Fields of Justice.
"It sounds like you know quite a lot about him."
"Well…he's the one all the grown-ups are talking about now. Some people don't like him because he's from Noxus…"
"…What about you? What do you think?"
"I think he's a lot nicer than the others… I've never heard stories of them saving villages and stuff…"
The truth seeded in those words stings Riven's core, having been a part of the very stories contrast to those told about the Blazing Swordsman. No…not even just the mere tales, but the very reputation that he must fight against. The Noxian standard of bloodshed and brutality that causes those to doubt the honor he holds in his blade and soul. This very string of thought begs the question Riven has held onto since they began traveling together: 'why would he want to fight alongside me?'
At last, the two infiltrators approach the hole in the wall that serves as a roughly-shaped window. Sharp eyes peer through the opening, seeing an opportunity to step inside without being spotted. With a careful twist, she throws one leg over the ledge, and then the other. Riven sets down a very relieved Cecilia, both glad to have crossed such a hurdle without incident.
"…Were's mommy?" the young girl looks around in confusion.
"We're almost there," replying with a hopeful suggestion, for Cecilia's sake.
The echoing of cheers in this section of the caverns is much quieter than the previous. Their surroundings consist of lanterns and storage boxes. Worn-out weapons and pieces of armor rest on degrading racks. This is, without a doubt, their armory. A wooden door stands at the entrance, creating a different feel from the rooms they have traversed so far. Somehow, this portion feels more refined, with the walls being straighter, and the floor flattened out. Just how long have these bandits been here?
Cecilia eyes the weaponry with a fearful curiosity, having seen such tools devastate her caravan just earlier. Riven approaches the door and slowly pushes it open, peeking through with caution. She sees a silhouette of a lone brigand walking across the hall, yawning after an eventful day. A quiet room and an isolated guard create an opportunity they cannot afford to miss.
"Hide," Riven commands Cecilia with a grave look.
The little girl scurries to the corner, laying low behind a crate full of various, stolen helmets. With a single, audible knock on the door, the Noxian lays out the bait for the man across the hall. She crouches by the entrance, waiting for the door to open. Curious footsteps approach, and a voice calls out as he enters.
"Grimm, is that you messing with the knives again…? What the—!?"
Before he can react, Riven floors him with a solid fist to the face. A runic blade holds itself steady above him, just centimeters from his jugular.
"The caravan you attacked earlier; where are the prisoners!?" Riven cuts straight to the point.
"Who the hell are—"
"Where!?" crouching lower, getting face-to-face.
Fierce eyes drive the aggression and directness of Noxian interrogation to the man's very core. A cold sweat quickly forms over the man's forehead, fear showing in his eyes.
"T-they're being held in the cell straight down the hall. Just keep following it until it ends, then cross the platform…! Please…don't…!" the blade, pressing against his flesh.
Coward… Ruthless in the face of a powerless target, but their true colors always show in the face of strength superior to their own. It's something she simply can't stand. Riven may have committed atrocities, but she never took pride in attacking civilians. She always wanted to be at the head of the battle, spearheading her unit into the enemy's ranks for a worthy fight. The extermination of unarmed families in Ionia exhausted her more than anything. Still, orders were orders…
She offers no excuse for her actions, but these people are different. They murder not for a nation, not for a belief, but for mere amusement. They show no remorse for their actions until they find themselves staring their own demise in the face. Yet, is that not the case for herself…? The moment of her turnaround started with death of a most gruesome nature, devouring all that she had known and held dear. Is she truly no different from these fiends…?
Riven's gaze turns up to Cecilia, who watches with wide eyes, peeking out from her cover. The Noxian looks back to the pitiful man at her mercy. While she would normally dispose of him, a resolve of violence to end violence, she decides to spare him for the girl's sake. The little Piltie has seen enough death for one day, not to mention that her mother's fate has still yet to be determined.
"Hand me that rope," Riven tells Cecilia.
She knows he will not give up his ways, and will continue to murder and steal. However, if she kills him now, the true death will be Cecilia's innocence; a glimmer of hope in a gloomy world. Riven still loves Noxus, and the pure vision she holds, but until the city-state is cleansed of corruption, the docile nature of other nations will have to do for now. The resolution of bloodshed to end bloodshed will have to take a backseat tonight. She rockets her gauntlet into the guard's face, sending his skull back into the ground, knocking him out cold.
Riven fastens a thick rope around the brigand's hands and feet, hogtying him in a sure way that he cannot break free when he regains consciousness. With another careful peek outside of the doorway, she begins walking down the hall. Cecilia rushes to her side, grasping her hand for a feeling of security.
Small torches light the path of barren walls. The stretch slowly turns into a tight-knit corridor of bed chambers. Some of the doors are wide-open, empty tables and cots inside of small rooms. Others are closed shut; the sound of snoring from alcohol-induced slumber rumbles from inside.
Voices approach from ahead, and an alerted Riven pulls Cecilia with her into one of the rooms, closing the door almost all the way. They press against the wall and quietly listen as the two pass.
A content, relaxed voice reaches their ears. "Ahh… It's been a while since I've tasted such rich mead."
"Once you've spilt blood for Kirin, you get all the good stuff," the deep voice of a veteran warrior replies.
"What about the prisoners? Namely, that woman."
"That's not for us to decide. Don't worry, though. The boss is very generous with the spoils."
The two share a grinning laugh as they pass, and the hallway falls quiet once again. Riven can safely assume that one of the two is a new recruit, possibly from the caravan itself. It's not out of the ordinary for bands of criminals to recruit some of their victims, especially sellswords struggling to find consistent work. Weak hearts fall to dishonor for the sake of self-preservation all the time.
"Let's go," Riven whispers to Cecilia.
Swift steps continue down the corridor, following the path as it curves. They pass by a worn stairway, a crude hole carved into the stone floor, that leads to the lower level of the stronghold. Moonlight becomes visible once again as they come across an outdoor walkway of wooden planks. Carefully, they crouch to the edge, getting view of the camp below them. The unlikely pair find themselves on the opposite end from which they came, directly across the window they had entered the armory through. A new angle allows them to see a stable down below, off towards the right.
In the shade of the overhanging rocks, Riven can make out the wafting tails of horses and a hay-bearing cart, just beyond an open door. If she can somehow manage to get them far enough, it would prove to be invaluable for getting the prisoners out of here.
"Is she close?" the worrisome girl tugs at the rugged shawl around Riven's shoulders.
"Let's keep moving…"
A left turn, and they cautiously move across the walkway, keeping themselves pressed against the mountain. There's no cover, save for a single barrel that sits at the very edge, and they pick up their pace to avoid being caught. Silvery moonlight from above lights up the entire stronghold, making them easy to pick out if someone down below happens to look in their direction.
A few more fleet-footed steps, and they enter a large chamber with a dim campfire. Tending to the flame is a guard, poking at the embers with a stick, his back facing the intruding girls. Riven's sandals creep closer, and she releases Cecilia's hand, bracing herself for a surprise attack.
"Mommy!" the little girl can't keep her excitement bottled after seeing her mother behind thick bars of iron.
"Cecilia!" a woman replies with a mixture of relief while being terrified at the sight of her daughter in such a place.
"Huh? Intruders!?" the guard springs up, drawing a rusty scimitar from his belt.
The Noxian legend quickly hops forward, bringing her blade crashing down on his. She quickly subdues the bandit, and Cecilia runs past them, straight to her mother. The two exchange an embrace through the bars of the cell, and burst into tears.
A quick look around the perimeter finds that the commotion has not revealed them. Riven searches the unconscious prison guard for the key to the cell, finding it on a large ring around his belt.
"Oh, I'm so glad you're okay! But…how did you get here…? And who is that?" Cecilia's mother, looking at the ex-soldier, almost as if she were one of the villainous riff-raff around here.
"That's Miss Riven! She's here to save us!"
"Riven… Where have I heard that name before…?"
She hasn't recognized the Noxian for who she is yet, and that's just how Riven prefers it. With a twist of the rough, iron key, the door of the cell grinds open. The Piltie's mother and four others walk out of the cage, creating a total of six people Riven has to look out for.
A woman, still in her prime, curtsies slightly in gratitude. She is well-dressed, and shares the same brightly-colored hair as Cecilia. Her poise displays a sense of dignity and refinement, with a steady, direct gaze when speaking.
"…Thank you. Riven, was it?" feeling wary. "I'm Erin, Cecilia's mother. Words cannot express my appreciation for taking care of my daughter."
"We need to leave now."
Riven examines the survivors. Judging by the torn and dirty state of their clothes, they've been roughed up a bit. These are not men and women of physical labor. They are slim, making a living off of buying and selling products, and have virtually no combat experience. Two of the merchants support a third on their shoulders; a twisted ankle hindering his mobility. Making a mad dash out of the settlement is not a feasible option. Getting them all out of here will be no easy task.
"What do we do now, Miss Riven?" Cecilia tugs.
She sighs, feeling the burdening weight of being slowed down. "We need to get you to the wagon in the stalls…but that effort won't be worth the trouble if we can't form a distraction as you ride out."
"A distraction, you say?" the crippled young man speaks up. "As they brought us here, I overheard some of the bandits talk of stolen explosives in one of the chambers below us. If you can find a way to ignite that, I think it will provide more than enough distraction!"
"That sounds dangerous…" Erin says, worried for her daughter.
"First, we have to get you down to the stalls. Quietly."
"How are we supposed to do that? The area is teeming with those guys," a battered captive questions.
"There's a stairway that leads to the ground level," Riven nods in the direction she had come. "It should lead to a path to where the wagon is kept."
"Should lead us there?" further uncertainty arising.
"Their armory is located very close to their barracks. It's a military tactic to have arms located close to the sleeping quarters, and mounts nearby in order to respond to attacks. This minimizes the amount of time needed to prepare."
"Sounds like you know what you're talking about…"
"That's not fair, Marcus! She helped me!" Cecilia protests his tone of suspicion.
"Please, forgive my nephew, Miss Riven. This has been quite a perturbing experience for all of us," Erin follows.
His distrust is not completely unfounded. Aside from her career in the Noxian military, a long journey of wandering and solitude has made her appearance not too unlike those surrounding them. Riven's nature is not exactly a gentle one, though a sense of honor still holds a gap between her and any brigand.
"The time for talk is over. We need to move."
The Exile takes the lead, pressing her back against the wall and peeking out of the corner. Making sure no wandering eyes are looking up in their direction, she motions the freed captives to make their way across the moonlit wooden boards of the walkway. With the wounded member of their group, they make their way as fast as they are able.
In her anxiousness, a spell of dizziness causes Cecilia to lose her balance, and she trips with a loud thud on the shaky boards of the timber flooring. Hearts skip a beat with the revealing sound, and they drop flat to avoid being caught. Almost against her deeply-driven training, Riven dives out from her cover, and pulls the little girl along with her. Using the last of her momentum, she rolls behind the barrel sitting by the edge, holding the young Piltovan with her in its shade.
Her jaws clench, listening intently for any talks of suspicion or orders to check the area out. The laughter and cheers of the celebration below proceed unbroken. A wave of relief washes over the group, and with an extra degree of caution, they continue their way to the barracks. With a fearful mix of guilt and gratefulness, Cecilia walks alongside Riven, clinging tightly onto her skirt.
The corridor is as quiet as before, with the only signs of life slumbering away behind closed and partially-opened doors. They reach the break in the wall and floor, where a long row of stairs leads into a dim chamber.
"Stay here," Riven whispers an order to them.
"I'm coming with you," a defiant child sticks to her.
"This is not a game."
Erin reaches for her daughter. "Cecilia, Darling, please…do as she says."
Reluctantly, the little girl releases her grip, and surrenders to her mother's gentle restraint.
Riven, holding a stoic gaze, proceeds onward with a solid grip on her blade. The chamber is poorly-lit, and voices echo amidst the sound of clinking bottles. The path from the stairs to the exit is wide and clear, but in order to maintain her stealth, she takes a turn alongside the wall. Various shelves and containers flood the area, granting an abundance of cover in this cluttered mess. As she makes her way through the narrow labyrinth of a large storage room, the nearby conversing of two men becomes more audible.
"Ay…where's all the good rum at?"
"Cliffe must have gotten the last of it again. Blasted dog, hogging all the good stuff."
"Nng…I'm sick of wine," the first one grunts in frustration.
"Relax. I have a stash somewhere close in case this sort of thing happens. If you tell anyone about this…"
"I won't, I won't! Just promise me you'll save me a bottle every so often, eh?"
It appears that these two have come here alone, perhaps without permission, to seek a finer refreshment than the spoils they have recently plundered.
In order to get the prisoners out safely, this room must be cleared. All threats have to be eliminated, lest they compromise a delicate rescue operation. Riven takes the time to make certain they are the only people in the room, and follows them to a cache kept secret from the rest of the stronghold. With a sense of honor taking the helm of her next move, she approaches them, making her presence known before engaging in combat.
The Exile taps her blade on an empty glass bottle next to her, and the two men she has been following jolt in surprise. They look at each other in confusion, and then a sigh of relief.
"Ah – you had me worried there… I thought you were Kirin."
"Well, well. I haven't seen you around here before. You must be one of the new recruits from last week. What's your name, little lady?" an unrefined attempt at being charming.
"Draw your weapons," Riven says, coldly.
"Easy there. This little private stash can be kept a three-way secret. Things don't have to get messy," eyeing the size of her blade.
"I don't think she's here for a drink…" the first one takes a step back.
Riven closes in, giving them one last chance to retaliate. The provocation reaches its limit, and the two pull out their weapons from their belts. A large knife stabs downward, cutting nothing but air. The crooked blade, still in a tight grasp, falls straight to the floor. A severed arm causes the man to stare at a sharply-cut stump where his limb used to be, and a scream of pain is silenced with a glint of green before it can even let out.
The second of the two men fidgets with an axe in his hand, backing away from his slain friend. "That symbol…I can still tell what it is. You're from Noxus, aren't you…!?"
He points to the faded insignia on Riven's pauldron. Traces of white paint still hold onto the tarnished armor, partially forming the signature Noxian emblem. It's just another reminder of where she comes from and what she's done…as if she is capable of ever forgetting.
"Don't you dare look down on me…! You people have done far worse than we ever have!" he steadies himself.
The encounter concludes with a devastating swing of a runic blade. With the room cleared, she swiftly makes her way to the exit. Maintaining her cover, she warily looks outside. Fortunately for her cause, the area is rather empty. A man in charge of tending to the mounts leaves the stalls, mumbling to himself as he heads back to the celebration. Another quick scan just to be sure, and she turns around to view the stairway from which she had descended.
A handful of silhouettes stand eagerly at the last of the steps, gazing back at her for some sort of sign. Riven cues them with a gesture of her head, and the group hurriedly finishes climbing down, making their way across the room to join her. Together, they creep along the wall of the mountain, sticking to the shadows. Using the boxes that formerly belonged to their caravan to hide behind, the group manages to creep their way into the stalls unnoticed.
The room is almost pitch-black, silvery moonlight leaking through a shabby door. An odor that commonly accompanies livestock wafts thickly in the air. In front of them, a large wagon stacked with hay sits in the middle of the room, with horses sharing bites and nibbles at a time.
"All right. Prepare this wagon to go straight out of here, and don't stop," Riven, looking Erin dead in the eyes.
"What about you?" little Cecilia looks up.
"I need to make sure they don't follow you."
Erin, between breaths of a stifled anxiety, "…Thank you."
"Wait for my signal."
"How are we supposed to know what the signal is if we're enclosed here?" Marcus speaks.
"You'll know."
With that, the Exile slips back outside, deft and experienced steps moving against the clock. As the celebration will be nearing its end, the bodies Riven left behind will surely be discovered soon. She moves along the wall, passing the storage room and making her way into the next opening in the rock. Following the tip she received from the crippled captive earlier, she begins exploring the chambers just below the prison cells.
Dying torches light the path, and the walls seem to widen. Unlike the previous rooms, this one stretches far deeper into the mountain. Chains hold skeletons by the wrists, broken bones telling of brutality and merciless flogging. Empty clasps still await for the day another unfortunate soul joins their ranks.
Metal bars come into sight, gating the entire width of the cavern. As she approaches, Riven can easily tell these are a much higher grade of metal, and set in with far more craftsmanship than the prison cells. These are the kind of bars meant to keep people out, not in.
Inside, a vast amount of glittering treasure sits in open view. Small and big chests, plain and ornate, overflow with coins. Various gems sparkle in between the strands of pearls and accessories fit for royalty. Surrounding the entire chamber are barrels of explosive powders and sticks of dynamite, no doubt retrieved from the plunders of the past. It would seem that somebody has taken the extra precaution of rigging the place to blow up their treasure rather than allow it to be taken from them.
A sturdy hand tests the gate. It's locked tighter than Lee Sin's Kung Fu grip on the jungle in Summoner's rift, and it doesn't look like her blade can easily coax the door to open by force. Riven notices the two torches on either side of the entrance, just beyond the gate, burning especially brightly. They've been freshly replaced recently, and the feeling that something is not quite right descends upon her.
"Well, well, well…like a moth to the flame, as predicted," a woman's voice echoes from behind. "What's with that look? You didn't honestly expect your presence to have gone unnoticed, did you?"
Riven now faces a group of six men, each armed with a vicious blade in their hands, and daggers in their gaze. Standing in front of them, a woman with a large, red snake tattoo winding around her body, rests her foot on an axe as big as her frame. Long, raven hair drapes down in a large ponytail, and a scarred face grins impishly at the Exile.
"You're pretty sloppy, you know that?" She sighs, "Then again, the same can be said about my men, just letting you stroll on in."
"Maybe if your men were as trustworthy as steel bars, it wouldn't have been so easy," Riven bites back.
"My, you certainly have spirit. I am Kirin, leader of the Blood Vipers. And you are a trespasser that has wandered deep within our jaws."
"I don't need to know the name of a coward that preys on unarmed civilians for entertainment."
"I see you have fangs of your own," remarking at Riven's disposition and large blade. "We always welcome new additions to our ranks. However, I am more than aware that certain people need to first be…persuaded. Thoroughly."
The Exile braces herself for combat. These guys lack a proper stance, and their handle on their weapons looks weak. Veteran eyes of someone who has seen war can easily tell. Each of these men is already dead without knowing it… All that remains is for them to step forward and seal their fate.
She, however, is different. Kirin stands there with that same smirk on her face that she came in with. There's no inkling of any kind of anxiousness. The woman already knows exactly what the outcome will be. A black heart has sent her own men to die for her own amusement, just to witness the capability of the intruder first-hand.
The sounds of metal clashing and scraping echoes loudly through the cavern. Battle cries turn to screams of pain, blood painting the walls a runny crimson. As per the Noxian code, only the strongest remain standing, leaving Riven and the grinning Kirin to lock eyes.
The leader of the bandits claps mildly, "Bravo, bra-vo. You'll make an excellent addition."
"I would never join the likes of you!" Riven swings the blood of several men off her blade.
"Oh, everything surrenders at one point or another. Whether it's one's mind, body, or spirit, there's always that threshold where even the most formidable soul…" Kirin's voice trails into a taunting whisper. "Breaks."
The remark on the shattered sword, and quite possibly on the Noxian's questionable past, sets the two in motion. A green blade clashes with the devilish head of a devastating axe. Both set off in a flurry of attacks and retaliating strikes, using raw strength and ferocity.
Riven finds no disappointment in her new foe. This Blood Viper is holding her ground quite well, maneuvering the weight of such a large weapon around her body with ease. Every swing is dealt with conviction; a certainty born out of drive and bloodthirst. One could classify her as a berserker of sorts, only with a cool head, making her far more lethal than one that relies on pure rage.
Their surroundings begin taking a toll as blades sheer across the walls, cutting and crumbling the rock around them. The two stay mobile, leaping and dashing with every swing. Riven feels like she is in the League again, fighting a determinative battle where any moment can decide the victor.
A vicious cleave comes downward, directed at Riven's head. With a nimble dash out of the way, the blade runs through the lock of the gate, sending a heavily damaged door swinging open with a loud crack. The two find themselves fighting on the hoard of gold and riches, a slippery terrain that jingles with every step. Coins toss around them with the warriors' speedy movements, glittering and spinning in the air as their weapons clash in between.
Kirin takes a small leap back, winding her axe up behind herself. With an uppercut, she sends a shower of treasure hurling toward the Exile, causing the Noxian to shield her eyes. Using the underhanded tactic to grant her an opportunity, a heavy strike swings forth for a wide blow. Riven sees the attack coming just in time, barely managing to respond. The greenish glow of the runic blade flashes above, and upon a shout, releases a burst around the Exile.
A sudden daze hits the Blood Viper, and before she can counter, a somersaulting strike meteors down on her position. Using the pole of her axe to spare herself a fatal slice, Kirin crumples under the heft of the attack. She hits the pile of gold hard, and the force sends her sliding down the mound as the rustling of thousands of stolen coins sing her defeat.
Without wasting time, Riven leaps off the treasure. The tip of the broken blade pierces a barrel, and she pushes it down on its side. With a kick, she sends it rolling to the gate, explosive powder leaving a black trail in its wake. Using her sword for reach, she flips up a torch off its stand and catches it on her way out.
The mount of coins rustles loudly again as Kirin claws her way back up. "Run, rabbit, run. It makes no difference. Sooner or later, the snake always catches its prey…" she cackles through a bloody grin.
A rushing Exile sprints down the tunnel, hoping to make it in time. If they knew she was in here, do they also know the whereabouts of the prisoners? Could the League really have softened her to the point of not being aware that she was being followed? Was loaning her strength to a little girl in desperation crippling her? It doesn't matter. The course she has chosen would remain the same, given the chance to decide again. This is her choice…her path to redemption.
She turns around, and with a mighty flick of her arm, sends the blazing torch into the dim abyss behind her. Riven resumes her dash toward the moonlit end of the tunnel, and the fiery device skips across the ground. As the torch rolls, the flames catch onto the black powder, sparking a line of crackling combustion. Within moments, an explosion thunders from behind the Noxian, and fire devours the darkness behind her. She reaches the end of the cavern, and dives to the side, just out of the way of a conflagrating inferno. Rock and rubble spew out, rocketing into the celebrating crew of Blood Vipers.
Ash and smoke cloud the scene of clamor and panic. The brigands scramble, screaming of an attack on their stronghold. They drop their tankards and wineskins, stumbling out of the way of fiery projectiles. Riven cuts through the chaos with a sharp edge, trying to get a view of the stables.
The door has been splintered and torn off its hinges, and the wagon is missing. Her eyes dart back and forth through the crowd, looking for Cecilia and the others. With the tremors of the earth and loud shouting, the brutal members of the stronghold swarm wildly back and forth, arming themselves while fleeing from falling rocks. The ominous sound of heavy, distant rumbling from above begins to enter the scene. Riven glances upwards, spotting a rockslide incoming from the surrounding mountains, triggered by the preceding explosion.
"Ceclia!" shouting for a response.
A high-pitched scream answers her call, and the Noxian's eyes shoot in its direction. There's the cart, being driven in a wild circle around the stronghold. Erin has lost control and is barely hanging onto the reins. Rampaging horses run through everything in their path in a fear-induced frenzy. The passengers manage to cling on for their lives; the lower halves of their bodies being tossed around like rag dolls with each sharp turn. Hacking and slashing her way through obstacles, Riven sets a course to intercept the trampling steeds.
Cutting through a pair of brigands standing in her way, she hops onto a wooden table, and knocks over the remaining scraps of a devoured feast as she runs along the length of it. A well-timed leap, and she catches onto the side of the out-of-control cart. The Exile pulls herself onto the seat, proceeding to take the reins from a panicking Erin.
Noxian might tugs at the straps, pulling hard, and demands control from the stallions. A strong yank, and the cart takes a sharp, halting turn, causing the wagon to lean and skitter across two wheels. Sliding along the ground, a hard slam against a handful of Blood Vipers corrects the wagon's position. The pair of horses attached to the vehicle buck on their hind legs, whinnying loudly at the crumbling surroundings. A no-nonsense whip of the leather straps, and the cart begins to rocket ahead, toward the stronghold's exit.
Boulders and waves of dirt crash down around them on all sides, like a violent storm of earth instead of wind and rain. The last of the hay on the wagon flies off with the speed, leaving a fluttering trail of golden straws in its wake. Constant tossing back and forth causes a spell of dizziness in Cecilia. As vertigo takes its hold on her, so does a Blood Viper.
Pulling up next to them with the loud popping of a motor is the leader of the bandits, riding aboard a strange, three-wheeled machine. The oversized wheels make it stand tall, and a sleek, clock-work design forms its body. A devious grasp takes the defenseless girl off the wagon, hoisting her onto the mechanical revolution. She pulls slightly away as the two vehicles race to escape the stone hamlet.
"Cecilia!" a mother, scared for her child, flutily reaches out.
Riven glares with clenched jaws. How can Kirin still be alive? Magic? A secret passage? It doesn't matter… She cannot be allowed to get away!
The ex-soldier forces the reins into Erin's hands. "Keep it steady."
With that, she enters a dangerous game, posing herself at the edge of the wagon's seat. Kirin gives her a challenging stare, that taunting grin still painted across her face. Timing is everything. If she jumps too early, the axe-wielding Viper can pull away, letting Riven fall to her demise. However, if she waits too long, the Piltover Roadrunner will acquire the lead, becoming impossible to catch by horse.
With all the focus of her training, Riven waits for the perfect moment. The crying of the little girl tightens the grip on her blade with every tear. Locking eyes in a duel of anticipation and reflexes, the two warriors stare off. They feel every bump in the road as they cross over, calculating to themselves.
A daring feat, Riven's sandals propel off the wooden chassis. She lands on the back of the giant, motorcycle-like invention. Cascading boulders smash into the ground between the two transports, causing them to diverge further apart. Kirin cackles at the opportunity to fight again, and revs up the handlebar to full-throttle, leaving Erin and the others behind.
The Exile hangs on to the back of the roadrunner with one hand, her feet planting themselves on the large mufflers by the rear wheel. The wind runs wildly through her hair as they continue to accelerate, and she swiftly thinks over her options.
"Riven!" the little blonde girl cries out, restrained by the back of her dress.
This thing has to come to a stop, and as risky as it might be, there's only one way she knows how to get things done: by force. The white-haired Noxian jams the broken blade into the body of the vehicle, hoping to hit something vital to slow it down.
A sudden jerk to the right gives a promising start. Riven continues to pierce the machine, twisting the sword for the most damage in each strike. Sparks and whirring start off a series of odd and foreboding sounds. An irked, yet amused Kirin begins to take sharp left and right turns, attempting to shake the hijacking wanderer off.
Riven can feel them losing velocity, and she relentlessly continues her efforts. One more strike, and…bingo! Thick, blue fluid begins leaking and sputtering out behind them, leaving a translucent, splattering trail.
"Hahahaha! This is the ride of a lifetime!" an excited shout of a madwoman rings out.
"It's over!"
A powerful arm thrusts the blade into the wide spokes of the rear wheel, acting like a forceful brake. The revolutions of the tire begin to tear itself apart as the sword remains fixated into place. Riven releases it to allow a quick maneuver against Kirin. She swiftly climbs up and over the Blood Viper, landing a tiger-like grip on the pressure-point between the shoulder and neck. With her other hand, she grabs one of the handlebars, trying to steer in favor of her plan.
Exerting her strength on Kirin and her roadrunner, Riven leans back so that the damaged wheel grinds itself out of place. Something gives way, and sparks begin to shower behind them in a bright blanket of yellow as they rapidly decelerate.
With a devious laugh, the sinister brigand tosses Cecilia off, sending her into the air. The little Piltie screams, and Riven's honed skills take over. With the same lack of fear of injury or death that led her to become Noxus' former posterchild, Riven leaps for the innocent child.
She catches her, and while holding tight, the two tumble across the dusty Ironspike terrain. Bruised and battered, the Exile begins lifting herself up with her arm. Auburn eyes open to see a very scared, disoriented girl beneath her. Shivering and scuffed, but otherwise unharmed, Cecilia looks back.
Riven lets out a sigh of relief, and with a labored strain, rises to her feet. The sea of sparks crashes into the side of the mountain across from them. A vicious Blood Viper stands atop the lopsided roadrunner, apathetic to the combusting pieces of machinery below her feet.
With the enormous axe in her clutches, Kirin steps down from the demolished vehicle. "Now, the real fun begins."
She grabs the lodged blade and yanks it out of the wreckage, giving the Noxian a sly smirk. For the sake of more excitement, Kirin hurls the blade at Riven's feet, letting it land sticking out of the ground.
Holding her side, the Exile steps forth and reclaims her runic sword with a large gauntlet. Scratches and scrapes from Riven's journey so far bleed along her arms and legs. A ruthless resolve, always finding itself when pressed in combat, turns her mind away from the pain. Right now, all she can think about is eliminating this threat before her.
Fierce eyes lock, and the skirmish begins. The two lunge forth, and their weapons meet with devastating force. Echoes reverberate in the narrow gorge with each strike. Giant, war-born weapons face off in a brutal display of raw strength and ferocity. White, chemical-induced scars and red tattoos pit experience and form against each other. Both women, hardened by time and battle, savagely break the ground around their footing. Blades divert each other, sparking as they grind across, edge-to-edge.
At the first opening, Riven raises her sword above herself, letting out a runic discharge. Kirin responds by leaping straight into the air, out of the range of the burst of Ki energy.
"Not this time!" she comes back down, hammering the ground with her axe.
The Exile leaps back, dodging the attack. Jagged stones of the ground bounce upward with the heft of the assault, and Kirin flashes a menacing glance at Cecilia. Before gravity can claim back the rubble, the devilish axe swings forth, sending the improvised projectiles toward the little girl with lethal velocity.
Going against her instincts and training, Riven lurches out in the path of the missiles. The volley of rocks explodes into powder with the immense force behind them, devouring the Exile in a haze of dust and sediment.
"Riven!" the young Piltovan cries out.
The Blood Viper laughs, retiring her axe to a restful position at her feet. A small breeze that funnels through the ravine gently wisps away the cloud of pulverized rock, and her Cheshire smile fades slightly.
Riven stands, unfazed by the cheap shot. Four large runes of green rotate around her, like echoes of the lost fragments of her blade. One by one, they dissolve away in an orderly fashion until they are called for again.
"That's a fancy trick," the leader of the bandits brings her axe over her shoulder. "I've had enough fun for now. I think I'll save some for another time… Think fast!"
Using her axe like a golf club, Kirin sweeps low at the demolished roadrunner. With a loud scraping, the vehicle shreds across the ground toward the Noxian and Piltie. The sparks ignite a trail of fuel, and a blaze of fire follows the screeching metal.
Continuing her streak of protectiveness, quite contrary to her nature, Riven springs into action. She dives for Cecilia, tackling her into a shallow hole in the path just behind them. With a fluid motion, she rolls back to her feet, and poises her sword upward, then cleaves downward with all her might.
The glowing blade passes right through the roadrunner, severing it in half. Two separate pieces of speedy technology part ways around the two as the trail of flames catches up to them. A pair of explosions ignites their surroundings as the remains of the vehicle skip along the ground, tumbling into the wall of the ravine. Heat and tongues of flame wave over the heads of the Cecilia and her savior—the dip in the road providing them with a very narrow escape.
Riven perks straight back up, ready to end the conflict. A brief scan of the area reveals no Kirin in sight. The death-defying woman with such strength and skill—prowess definitely not acquired by pillaging merchant convoys, raises many questions in her mind.
"Cecilia!" a distant voice approaches amidst the distinct sound of galloping hooves.
Wooden axels roll to a halt beside the two, and a worried mother jumps out to embrace her daughter. Riven, out of her comfort-zone yet again, silently helps the little girl out of the scorched hole, and begins stepping away. A quick look at the stars in the night sky for direction, and the Exile begins resuming her path to Piltover.
"Miss Riven!" a little voice calls out.
Cecilia breaks free from her mother's grip, and the pitter-patter of her shoes trails up to the Noxian. The clasp of a little hug around her leg catches Riven off guard.
"What are you—?"
"Where are you going, Miss Riven?"
She looks into the teary-eyes staring up at her. "…I have to be somewhere."
"Where?"
"Just…somewhere," not wanting to mention Piltover and give her hope of meeting again. It would be better that way…
"Why?" innocence persists.
"I just have to go, okay!?" Riven says coldly, closing herself off to keep a distance. A response born of immense guilt and much reflection.
"…M-miss Riven…?" startled at her raised voice.
The self-exile sighs. "…I'm sorry… I—"
"It's okay…" she sniffles, then looks up with a smile. "That's what Legends do, right?"
"What?" a flash of worry of finally being recognized.
"You beat up the bullies for mom and me! Legends have to travel to all sorts of places to do that, right?"
Riven chuckles slightly, her coldness dissolving into a faint grin.
"I am forever in your debt, Miss Riven," Erin expresses her gratitude.
"You're not in—"
"Er…thank you, Miss Riven," following his aunt's example, Marcus sheepishly approaches, and bows slightly. "I apologize for my inexcusable behavior towards you earlier."
"Thank you for saving us, Miss Riven," Cecilia gives a small curtsy.
The infamous Noxian, with mixed feelings of not being known to this family for who she really is, can only give a silent nod before turning away. With her sword in-hand, haunting memories in her mind, and a stirring inside of her soul, she resumes her journey to Piltover.
Choosing to fight for someone else's behalf causes a new, vastly unfamiliar feeling to wash over her. Is this what Ephrial does? Is this what it feels like to be a 'mercenary-knight'? To loan one's strength to another; a purpose for the sake of others rather than for one's own ascension in social status.
Is this…what redemption feels like…?
Today has made a difference in several lives. In saving a little girl and her mother, Riven has taken a direct step in atoning for her past misdeeds. The thought of how many families she has destroyed drives a stake in her heart, but her steps do not waver. She cannot stop to pity herself—she doesn't deserve to. Only the road ahead holds any possibility for change… A change to reverse the monstrous tyranny she helped set in motion.
A realization has opened up for her, amidst a sea of fleeting uncertainties. Rather than questioning why she is drawn to Piltover at the request of a man she hasn't known for long, she just feels she must. If this is truly an example of what he has made his purpose for…of his intentions for seeking her out…then perhaps she truly can find a way to atone for herself. After all, Ephrial is the very first and only person that has offered her any form of aid in her endeavor; a Noxian-Ionian mix that has endured prejudice from a nation that resents his very existence, and has willingly put himself at risk of becoming a target for those that want her head.
The brew of irony and guilt is just too much for her to process all at once. For now, all she can think of is making it to Piltover. Whatever lies there can only lead to another step toward redemption.
She takes out the fried piece of circuitry that serves as their first real clue. Riven clutches it, seeing it as not only a vital object concerning their investigation, but as a seed of trust given only to her. Ephrial could have brought it to the others' attention at the Crystal Scar, but he only included her in it. Even after everything she has done, he has the nerve to trust her of all people. Perhaps she really can rely on him…an odd notion considering she has only ever truly counted on herself. At the same rate, he, too, has chosen to believe in her. It would be a foolish, fatal mistake to throw that away.
Under the veil of a starry night, Riven continues toward the City of Progress, leaving one more doubt behind.