This takes place almost three months post-first chapter injury. Just a heads up.

The fire crackled quietly in her hands, her skin unharmed by the flame that rendered the flames that melted all else it would touch. It had been weeks since she had fought properly, weeks of practicing only her control.

Dahlia would never admit it, but she felt a power in using her flames, a power she simply couldn't find in a simple sword and shield. Even here, in her room, alone in the moonlight, she found herself feeling stronger for the flames at her disposal.

Yet each time she used simply one or the other, she found herself unhappy, found herself feeling as though something was missing. She wouldn't speak of it to her father; he believed magic, as strong as it could be, was a method of cheating. It was part of why he'd fallen for her mother to begin with; she was strong with both weapons and magic, and never used her flame in the heat of battle.

Somehow, she did not believe that was her method.

She looked up, staring at the blade and shield she'd used in her first campaign and every fight since. She was young, yes, but it didn't matter; she was devoted to Noxus, and the cause it stood for. Unity through strength; peace through control. It was a simple concept, though hard to enact. It cost many lives.

It couldn't be avoided. That's what she had always been told. Some part of her doubted it, but the rest knew better; she had no experience worldly, and she trusted that those who were older knew what they spoke of.

Her gaze fell to the arm she had injured, the bandages no longer covering the wound that would undoubtedly leave a scar. It looked as though she had only barely scraped by with her arm. It would serve as a constant reminder of her mistakes; it would always be a mark of her strength to continue with it.

Quietly, she let the flames die out on her hands. Her eyes stared curiously at the now faintly gleaming steel across from her bed, shining in the moonlight as though egging her to come closer. She pulled the blanket off her legs, swinging them out to stand and pick up the blade and repaired shield. Yes, the strength was there- but not strong enough.

She turned her head. It was empty outside her window- surely it wouldn't be that hard to simply…

She was glad she wore breeches to bed now. It was easy to put the belt on, to hook the blade under it and climb over the windowsill in careful silence; her shield caused a minor stir, but after a moment of sitting still in the window, she was certain her parents were too far asleep to notice.

Her bare feet felt the cool ground beneath her, solid and firm and comforting. This was not a dream.

She stepped away from the house. Almost three yards away, she stopped, glancing over her shoulder to make sure neither her father nor mother was watching. Once she was satisfied, she pulled the blade from her belt once more, gripping it as firmly as she could as she focused her gaze on the ground in front of her.

"I am Dahlia of Noxus Prime."

Her hands burned, but the heat was ebbing away. Her eyes closed. She didn't need to see.

"I am rage unbound."

She took her stance slowly, eyes barely opening to see what was ahead of her; the empty stone wall that had once served as a boundary. The there was light emanating from her, from her blade and shield, yet still she felt restrained.

"I am destruction unchained."

Her feet were grounded. Her eyes were focused. It only got brighter.

"I am fury unrestrained."

As she changed her stance, fell into the pattern of practiced sparring she knew so well, she felt free. Her eyes closed, but she felt the heat of the flame in her heart. Her feet left the ground, her blade cut the air, her shield scorched the earth as she turned.

I will protect my home with my strength.

Her feet hit the ground again. Her eyes opened when she heard the gasp of another; her head shot up to see her mother in the doorway, overshadowed by her father. She expected anger, scolding; her hands registered pain, and she dropped both her blade and shield. She stared at them both; they were melting, white-hot from flame that still danced along the edges.

Her father's gaze leaped from Dahlia to whatever she had left behind her. Her mother had covered her mouth; even as Dahlia turned to witness the still-flaming wound upon the stone, she could hear the words of the Hand of Noxus.

Power overwhelming.