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Chapter 28

Firestorm

City lights gleam ahead, brightly filling the night's horizon with a dazzling scene of modern technology. Piltover lies straight ahead, like an enormous lighthouse, with a variety of different colors blinking and flashing in the distance. Towering buildings stretch for the sky, and zeppelins of different shapes and sizes float majestically in the air. The faint sound of clanging and giant clockwork ticks from the mechanical marvels that turn heavily, endlessly working to keep things running in the giant machine that is the City of Progress.

A hint of grease reaches Riven's nose as she reaches the edge of a plateauing hill, setting her eyes on the nightlife ahead. She has arrived at the last stretch of her trek to Piltover, and she takes in the view of the future-in-the-making. This city-state has always been home to scientists, scholars, and the curious. Many adventurers seek this place in hopes of finding knowledge, and never leave disappointed. Some view Piltover as a business to invest in, while others see it as a beacon of hope to solve the problems of the struggling commoner. Right now, the gaze of a veteran sees the next step in finding those behind the assault on the Institute.

The Exile sighs. "I'm here… Just how am I supposed to find him in all of that?"

"There you are…!" a disgruntled voice calls from the side.

"You…!? Why are you—?"

A wandering swordsman stares at her with fury. Scuffs and tears across his clothing tell of recent strife in his latest travels. The large pauldron on his shoulder suffers new scratches and dents, having taken its share of a beating.

"Enough! Raise your blade… It's time to face your reckoning!" Yasuo unsheathes his katana, a scowl of dead seriousness strewn across his face.

"I don't have time for this!"

"You're right… You're all out of time. There are no Summoners to save you here!"

"I don't need saving!"

"Pah! Is that why you're running from your past? Only the guilty run."

"It seems you should know."

"I am guilty! There is blood on my hands that can never be washed off… Yet, I will reclaim my honor with yours!"

"Killing me will not bring you any honor. I was not the one that killed your elder!"

"Let your blade do the talking! Or has it run out of lies?"

"A broken blade is more than enough for the likes of you!"

Tempers flare, and blades poise with razor edges. A steady wind blows through the area, tickling the grass and brushing leaves around them. It seems to stream around Yasuo, whirling around his very blade. A greenish glow wraps around the runic sword of the Exile, charged with Ki energy.

Eyes narrow, and the wind around them slows. A single leaf flutters between them, descending like the countdown for a decisive duel. The rivalry between suspicion and suspect meets on a battlefield of a technologically-illuminated night sky. As the article of foliage drops, the tension rises. With the weightless touch on the grass, the two leap forward, and the scene flashes like lightning. Blades collide, and confusion washes over them.

"What…!?" the Unforgiven, taken by surprise.

A bright light erupts from the side, and a streak of bright red intervenes, placing itself between the contesting swords. Staying the katana's gale force is a longsword of fiery assertion. The runic blade retracts in bemused familiarity, and a small flurry of fluttering white particles of frozen precipitation only presses the confusion further.

"Ephrial…!? How did you—!? Is…is that snow!?"

"You!? I had heard about another searching for her… This is not your fight! If you have a bone to pick with Riven, you can have what's left over after I'm finished!" Yasuo grits.

"She's off limits," the Blazing swordsman states with a calm fervor.

The two break off their sword-lock, leaping back a step with their opposing force.

"I will not be denied my honor!"

"Honor, huh? Is that really something you can take back after what you've done?"

"You know nothing about my past!"

"I know enough. The Institute likes to keep a rather detailed record of us, starting with their invasive Judgement session… Some more well-guarded than others. Yours was interesting, to say the least."

"You know the truth, then? That I was not the one who killed my master?"

"Yes. I know of your innocence in that matter."

"Then stand aside!"

"I've no intentions of allowing you to engage her."

"Ephrial, I don't need you to fight my battles for me!" Noxian pride scolds.

"Apologies, Riven. I'll have to insist that I cut in on this dance."

"You would defend this slaughterer…? You, who know the destruction Noxus brings? What this monster has done!?"

"…I would defend the one that would sooner forsake herself for her mistakes, rather than assign the blame to others."

"Hmph… Just another fool running into my blade. Very well, then… Face the wind!"

The two men of resolve lunge forward, blades meeting with frightening speed and impact. Wind and fire swirl on all sides, dancing around the warriors in a growing squall. Each slash answers another, echoing out like thunder in a maelstrom of intensity. Riven can only watch at a fair distance, being kept at bay by the elemental forces that dance wildly with each ferocious flash of a blade.

"Why are you in my way!? Surely you should know something about honor. Or are those that refer to you as some sort of 'knight' just mistaken?" Yasuo lashes his wind-sewn techniques.

"You and your contrived version of 'honor'… Have you forgotten those you have slain on the path to prove your innocence?" the Blazing swordsman counters.

"Do not speak of my brother! You are not even worthy of speaking his name!" wrathful strikes becoming heavier.

"Not just him. The warriors sent after you; some of Ionia's best, judging by the praise behind their names. Call them assassins if you will, but they did not deserve to die at the hands of someone who is supposedly innocent. Even before them, how many of your own kin have you killed, knowing their course was set by a false accusation? You had long become guilty of the very crime you have been seeking acquittal from."

"Is that what you think? Funny thing happens when you're facing people that want you dead… Somebody always dies."

"If they wanted you dead that badly, they must have really not liked you. You fought on their side, in plain sight, and they still did not question to brand you as a traitor. That can only mean you had quite a rough relationship with your people, prior to abandoning your duty of guarding your elder."

The prod to Yasuo's pride causes a storm to brew in his blade. Wind swirls around the sword, like a tempest begging to be unleashed. "You were not there!"

Ephrial's blade flares up, slashing forward to meet the attack-head on. A violent explosion howls, spreading around them in a song of storm and fire. Shielding barriers of their respective elements stand their ground inside the cyclone of flames, wavering in the state between thriving and fading with the simultaneous forces.

"The League's Judgement record stated that you didn't know the true nature of the accusation against you until after you killed your brother. Either you had a very serious history of breaking some trust, or the honor of your entire tribe finds itself dubious if they did not explain why you were their suspect. Nothing about that sits right, especially if you were entrusted with the elder's protection to start with."

"I've no need to explain myself to a dead man," Yasuo growls.

The two rapidly launch themselves across the scorched ground, dashing at and around each other in a frenzy. Swords scrape and clash with sparking collisions, bursting with decisive precision.

"All this talk from a person who had someone of his own to protect…and failed!" the Unforgiven jabs.

"I did not leave her side for the sake of pride!"

"Abandonment is all the same, if you ask me. You didn't have to leave your sister. Your people weren't engaged in an all-out war!"

"No…not war. Just an all-out slaughter before the war had started. Unlike you, we did not have an army to defend ourselves with. We didn't have people we could trust. Can you say the same?!"

Fueled by passionate resolves born of death and tragedy, the two cleave forward, locking swords in a tight embrace of raw determination.

"I journeyed out to find a peaceful place, even if I had to make one myself. It was my duty. You abandoned yours out of a sense of arrogance!" Ephrial presses his blade.

"You still failed in the end! Tell me…what is it you fight for now?"

"Justice…no matter the cost!"

"Hah! 'Justice'!? That's a pretty word. You're just like me; a wanderer searching for a killer, chased by his own people, and bent on ending things with the edge of a sword."

"Only I actually know who—what killed my sister! I'm not going by some accusation with flimsy evidence I hadn't seen with my own eyes!"

"Flimsy!? What other wind blade could have killed my master!?"

"Had it ever occurred to you or anyone in your village that he had died by his own hand?"

"Ridiculous!"

"Is it? With all these men, women, and creatures of mysterious power constantly being discovered, it is truly out of the question that one could have killed your master?"

The two push off each other's blade, panting from a decisive skirmish that presses them past their limits, both already severely worn from their respective travels.

"You just said that he may have killed himself… Now you're saying otherwise?"

"I'm saying there is far too much unexplained, and your prime suspect isn't even the stealthy, assassin-type. With all of the oddities fighting within the League itself, is it not possible that such a being that can mimic, or even deflect such wind-based assaults, resulting in your elder's demise?"

"That's…!"

"Enough!" Riven asserts herself in between them, cleaving her blade into the ground. "I am not running from this!" She turns to Yasuo, "If that's your way, then I have no choice…"

"There are more pressing matters to attend to, Riven," Ephrial keeps a watchful eye on the Unforgiven's blade.

Yasuo retakes a battle stance. "If she is truly innocent, then let her sword do the talking. Only one of us can be allowed to walk in this world!"

"Stand aside, Ephrial. This is not something you can stop."

The Blazing Swordsman examines the gazes of the two. They stand as hunter and hunted, yet both locked in a cage where the bars are their misdeeds, and the lock is unbridled guilt.

"I see. Very well, then…" he says. "However, it will have to be at another time!"

With a quick motion, he snaps his hand from out of a small pouch on his belt, launching a small object at Yasuo. The keen and deadly reflexes of the Unforgiven locks onto the projectile, and a drawing slice splits it down the middle in the air.

"What the—!?" his expression changes in the middle of the strike.

A bright light flashes over Yasuo, and a vortex engulfs his presence in a blink. With that, the only trace of him that remains is a small gust of dispersing wind, carrying a leaf off into the distance.

"What did you do!?" Riven angrily shoots him a look.

"I put a raincheck on this whole thing. No need to worry. He'll be fine back in Ionia."

"Ionia…!? How?"

"The same way I got here so fast," thumbing behind himself, at a circular pad of stone that serves as a node for the teleportation tablets marked for Piltover. "A fancy little magic trick cooked up in the Institute. Speaking of which, we should carry on while there still is an Institute to save. The last thing we need are more out-of-control wars spurring off what's happening," keeping the history of tensions in Runterra in mind.

Riven snorts, still irked by his interference. However, she knows he's right. If she is to at all accomplish her endeavor to restore Noxus, it cannot be done without the Institute at this point. It would be even more impossible to do so in the midst of a continent full of warring nations. The Exile calmly puts aside her frustration and begins walking to the lively city below them.

Side by side, the two quietly resume their suspended travels. Weighing on each of their minds are questions and concerns that drive them forward, urging them to seek answers and a way to preserve their missions.

"…I'm glad you made it here in one piece," the mercenary-knight breaks the silence.

"…I don't know if it's accurate to say the same about you. It seems you've barely made it here without losing a limb," acknowledging his rough condition.

"A fair statement. I suppose I could do with a bandage or two later," his voice softening in weariness.

"Are you going to explain to me just how you came out of nowhere? Or what these 'errands' of yours were?" feeling flustered with mixed consternations, especially with the dramatic event that occurred spontaneously just moments ago.

Drained of energy from an excruciatingly demanding slew of objectives, Ephrial begins blacking out. Adrenaline no longer sustaining him, he falls forward to a knee, too exhausted to utter anything. The Blazing Swordsman collapses over, and slips into the depths of unconsciousness caused by severe overexertion.

"Ephrial?!" Riven, taken by surprise.

She swiftly kneels down, reaching for his neck to check for a pulse. It's faint, but he's still breathing. The Exile can only imagine what sort of stress he has endured, noting the present state of his armor in comparison to when she saw him last.

Noxian eyes look toward the City of Progress, then back at Ephrial, gauging the distance left to travel. She sighs, hoisting the unconscious swordsman's arm over her shoulder, while keeping a grip on her own hefty blade. Hunching slightly, she begins dragging Ephrial along to Piltover, step by step. A tempered body manages to move fairly easily. It is almost like marching with heavy weights back in her days at boot camp, or lifting the former heft of her blade along with the rest of her missing armor.

With a steel gaze set on the technological horizon ahead, Riven now lends her strength to the man that has spent his on her behalf. Though she is normally apathetic to those that fall behind, much due to her military background, she makes an exception. In her mind, this is the least that she can do. Yet, an unfamiliar sense of uneasiness settles upon Riven. As a solitary warrior that has cut herself off from all ties to her past, she is extremely far from having known what it is to repay someone, much less to have ever known what it means to feel indebted.

All she has ever been taught is the strength to survive, concerned with no lives other than her own. That's how it is in Noxus, after all. Everyone has to watch out for themselves, and only themselves. Though, she suspects an exception to that rule may be right beside her, after hearing the mentions of his sister in the unanticipated skirmish.

Auburn eyes glance over at the face of the mercenary-knight, lost in a forced slumber. The flare of anger at him for intervening dissolves, and she titters with a slight grin, gently shaking her head with amusement.

"You're not the first in the League that I've had to carry."