She finds her long fingers clenching into fists under the table, her frame lightly shaking.
Ezreal is glowing. As he shuffles around in his chair, almost carelessly handsome, magic radiates off his tanned skin, as brilliant gold as his wavy hair. The crystal she has instructed him to call light to rests smugly on the stone table, the sides throwing off multi-colored rays like a rainbow, giving off soft radiance but no heat; he's playing with the mirror she has given him, creating multiple images of himself in the glass, some frowning, some smiling, others staring at her and whispering mischievous words.
"Enough, you," she hears herself say, and is relieved when she can still sense a tinge of stern authority in it. "Stop showing off."
He smiles sheepishly, his bright eyes apologetic as he passes the mirror back to her. "I can't help it. When they first made me do it a little bit over ten years ago, I didn't have such nice crystals."
"You should have told me you've done this before." The room has grown dark again; she inhales deeply, taking in fully the greasy scents of the inn, hoping with all her heart that he's noticing her indignation, not her anxiety. Why did I expect him to be a complete novice? Why? He was as much a prodigy as I was, and not just in archaeology alone. The Piltoverian Academy threw fits – huge, Noxian-nasty fits – over him when he decided to leave.
"I didn't know you just wanted to test the fundamentals. I thought the crystal might have been something special." Those doe eyes of innocence again, especially large and earnest under the dim moonlight. She can't tell what he wants from her, and it disturbs her to no end. Does he just like to flirt? Does he just want to feel superior? Does he just enjoy probing my boundaries and my motivations? Fuck you, Ezreal. If you were born in Demacia, you might have made a better commando than me. You're awfully good at coaxing secrets and stories out of everything, but I'm human, not an artifact, and no one has been able to toy with me for many, many years.
"It's just a crystal. I would have thought a naturalist like you – especially with your expertise in geology – would have immediately recognized its place of origin and magical properties. Era of origin, even."
He chuckles. "I apologize for disappointing you, Master Luxanna. As much as I'd like to, I can't go back in time to watch these crystals be born. The error on these kinds of time estimates is thousands and sometimes millions of years long."
Turning it up, huh? "Why did you think my crystal might have been something special?"
Ezreal frowns before breaking into a smile. "You, of course. You've obviously used it often for your work. They say things of jade and sometimes crystals, that those precious stones would absorb their owner's power and personality. Your crystal is… brilliant. Brilliant like a diamond. You're a lot stronger than you let on, Master."
Both ways, she thinks to herself, irritated that he's picking up so much from so little. Both magically and mentally. The term you used, you might as well have read my mind; I really don't appreciate it. "Did you ever learn about magic circles?"
"Not in Piltover," he replies ruefully, seemingly amused at her silent discomfort. "I've seen and read about a hundred magical circles in my studies and on the road, but I've never made one myself. They say you have to be immensely talented – like, ridiculously talented – to make them, and they're highly personal to the mage, but they can potentially amplify the effect of a spell tenfold – oh…"
He trails off as she swirls in the night, determinedly graceful, sparkles falling off her fair skin as if she's a phoenix bathing in meteors, the rays converging into silvery crescent moons and golden gleaming symbols beneath her feet. His eyes are a mixture of unwilling admiration and wariness. "Oh."
"How did you ever deal with ancient spells without them?" She seals the circle with a strand of her light hair, kissing the last sparkles goodbye as they fade like old fireflies come their time. Well, he's at least impressed with something now. "They would have helped you immensely. Don't you ever get hurt, especially when you're dealing with ancient spells?"
She's surprised to see him suddenly flash bright scarlet. "I use my gauntlet. It can do very much the same thing. It's not as strong, sure, but I don't usually get spells that can blow up worlds. And, and… I have scars, yes… but I mean, which self-respecting archaeologist doesn't?"
But that makes absolutely no sense. "Injuries slow you down, Ezreal. Don't you always want to go as efficiently as possible? When you sit down and rest, don't you always think about that final Burial Chamber door?"
He's fumbling for words. He's crimson and caught off guard and pacing and she doesn't know whether he looks despicably weak or strangely adorable. "Actually, no. I'm goal-oriented and don't want to bleed to death, sure, but… I guess the romantic part of me likes getting a scratch every now and then. Did you know the triangles beneath my eyes started off as such? They're like souvenirs. Proof that I've been around, proof that I'm human when I explore the world. I love the 400-something hours spent sweating and bored trying to find a tomb nearly just as much as the hour when I get to open it and gasp in awe. If I only like results, I can't be an archaeologist."
He's staring straight outside the door, panting a little. He probably didn't intend for all of that to just slip out. It's not like I know what to make of it, either. That was quite the confession. "Oh. Um. I never knew."
"I don't really tell." He forces a crooked smile, still looking away; his hands are holding the water kiln so tightly that his knuckles appear white. "If you don't mind, can we continue the lessons tomorrow? It's almost dawn."
She jumps. The stars have all but disappeared, and there's a faint light on the horizon. What the fuck. I swear we weren't up that long. "Oh, wow."
"I'm glad we actually got some sleep. I really, really don't want to fall asleep around Janna in the day." He sounds plaintive. As he spins around and looks for the door, knocking up a little cloud of dust in his wake, she notes a wistful look in his eyes, a look she last remembers from Piltover, floating above a silvery steel city polished mirror bright, sitting next to distinguished guests in satin and cologne. Not like here. That's the opposite of here. "Want to see the sunrise with me? Should be a part of your expertise."
Something in her stirs, something she's not sure she still remembers. It throbs, making a part of her ache. She blinks, trying to clear her field of vision.
He stands right next to the door, half a silhouette, holding out a hand. The first rays of dawn are spilling through the door and lighting up his delicate features, bestowing a mystical quality on him that reminds her of what she had once seen. Fans of Ezreal in Demacia and Noxus, dressed in gleaming gold or provocative violet, opposite in every prospect except the same excitement in their eyes when they speak of the boy who has walked the world. The one who swam with the swans of Serpentine. The free spirit who charmed the oldest flower in Kumungu to bloom again.
They had said life would be worth living if you had half Ezreal's heart. This is archaeology. This is innocent. This has nothing to do with my loyalty.
Somehow, he feels sincere.
Somehow, it feels like home.
I'm going to regret this, she thinks to herself, taking his hand.
During the night, she had dreamt of things she had sworn to never remember again.
"It is the greatest honor you could bestow upon our household to take Luxanna. She will serve you well, just as Garen has before her."
"It is all in the King's name. You will provide all the parenting that she will need."
It was snowing in Demacia, the thick flakes turning the world into an inconsolable greyscale still-life, and a thirteen-year-old girl huddled in a corner of the military library, shaking violently with sobs. With her silky blond hair and slender frame, she could have been beautiful; but here, with her hair cropped short, her body stuffed into armor a size too large and bruises covering every inch of her skin, she was pitiful.
My shoulders hurt. My legs hurt. Every part of me hurts. I don't know why I'm still here, why I haven't just collapsed on the field and gotten taken away to be buried just like I was taken away to be tortured. Why wouldn't they care about me? Why wouldn't they love me? I was their daughter. They had given me birth, watched me grow up, been there when I threw myself into their arms and covered their faces with kisses.
You are nothing, a voice said dimly in her head. You are nothing to them, just as you are nothing to Garen. You are nothing to anyone. All you can do is hide in a corner in the middle of the night and cry.
Lux, another voice injected, why is life worth living?
A wave of pain spread through her back as she accidentally hit her arm on a bookshelf; she yelped, and then fell onto the floor as the agony spread, flaring white-hot and making her bite the inside of her cheeks until she smelled blood. The world flickered red and black, silent and uncaring; she tried to climb back up, only to fall back in a heap. The veins in the marble floor gazed into her soul and she broke out in laughter, completely ignoring the possibility of being caught. She laughed until she was out of air, until the voice turned from hers to something she could no longer recognize, until she had smashed her hands on the floor so much that she could no longer feel her bones. She laughed as she numbly crawled towards the window. She laughed as she forced it open and found herself staring at the ground below, a 100-feet drop.
"Luxanna," a voice behind her said. Calmly. "Luxanna Crownguard."
She whipped her head around, the insane laughter still echoing in the old, empty room.
"Luxanna Crownguard, do you want to be loved?"
She was not sure she heard it. The girl stared out of the window, feeling the snowflakes fall onto her hair and the hollowness resonate in her bones as her tears froze and stung. The night was silent, as silent as her heart as she felt her pulse race without meaning. This is not a beautiful day to live, only an adequate day to die.
The laughter stopped as something heavy fell into her lap. Dazed, Lux looked down instinctively, and was shocked to see a jar of healing balm.
"Lux, listen to me. I was a child once, like you. I hated everything once, like you. There's only so much difference between heaven and hell. The only thing you need to do is to shine. Be the light you were promised to be. Be the best battlemage Demacia has seen in centuries."
"I can't," she whispered. "I'm nothing. I cannot shine. I can only play tricks on people or cite things from a book. I care about making people better… not making people die. I can't make lasers to kill people. I've tried. I just can't."
"I know you can. Take this crystal." A perfect crystal, as large as an egg, fell into her hands; she looked up, the tearstains still on her face, her eyes bewildered as she examined the beautiful stone. "Before I retired from active service, I was a light mage like you. I am old; I have given the country my life. My song is going to end soon, but yours should only be beginning. There should be enough of my energy in here to sustain you a while."
"Why are you doing this?" The girl demanded, her voice raw.
"Because you are a diamond in the rough, and it'd be a great pity for you to fade. You're brilliant, oh very much so brilliant, if you could only realize it. I can see you as a beacon of light for Demacia, leading all our troops to victory, loved by all who set eyes on you… You can have anyone's love, anyone's light, as long as you live through this and trust in your power. I've watched you from the Academy, and I'm still watching you now. Lux Crownguard, a diamond's light is pure and unfaltering. There's one way to become loved in this nation, and that is by being perfect."
"Being… perfect?"
"Serve Demacia. Serve the King. Serve our ideals." The old woman's voice was solemn. "Become the perfect Demacian, and even the saints underground will give you their love."
She twirled the crystal in her hands, her eyes intent on the young man in front of her. Ezreal stood leaning on a large brown boulder, his eyes closed and his expression peaceful.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" He sighs, his lips curving to a blissful smile. "Sometimes I feel like life is worth living just for these moments."
A half of her is exasperated and another half of her is fascinated; the whole of her glances around and smiles quizzically, as polite as she can be. "I don't see anything special besides maybe the Sun and the special coloring of the clouds. Could you explain it to me?"
"Oh, no one said we actually have to see anything." He murmurs, his eyes still tightly shut. "How do I say it – it's all the little things, the things you feel and realize when you stop to think. I'm here, I'm alive, I'm healthy and traveling under a warm Sun with friends who appreciate me and will provide me comfort. The air here is among the sweetest in Valoran, and the sky the bluest, since we're actually in the middle of nowhere, far from Noxus' coal mines or Zaun's chemical discharge. The boulder I'm leaning on comes from mountains several days' ride away, carried here by massive sheets of ice. This field used to be a breeding ground for birds as large as you and I, majestic avians whose wings used to shimmer like those of butterflies. Do you smell the mushrooms on the soil near the lake, the ones that stink? Those are patmunti, spirit mushrooms, highly magically potent items with a semi-sacred status, and they'll feed one of the families in the village for at least a month. And finally –"
He leans down to pick up a small shrub from the ground and pass it to her. She hesitates before leaning in for a sniff – the flower of the shrub smells more pleasing than any cologne or perfume she has ever smelled in Demacia or Piltover.
"How do you come up with these things?" she asks, awed despite herself, overwhelmed by his encyclopedia-like volume of knowledge. "You're still so young."
He shrugs. "I care. I look into things more than other people. We haven't even talked about the people; the villagers' children are ecstatic to be spying on us right now. I won't be surprised if they come for signatures later."
She has known that from her peripheral vision. "Well, they're harmless, at least."
"I mean, Valoran itself… this is home. We're floating on a ball in space, surrounded by what we can only assume to be ethernal darkness. Piltover, Demacia, Noxus, Ionia – we all have our differences, but in the end, we're all living under this Sun. Under this lonely Sun there are everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you have ever heard of, every human being who ever was. Every hero and coward, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, every inventor and explorer, every mage and warrior, every saint and sinner… we all just live a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam, and if something happens, none of us have anywhere to go. The more you think about where we are or where we're going, the more interesting and disturbing it becomes." He notices the look on her face and does a slight double take, blushing heavily again. "Oh God, I'm sorry. I got carried away, didn't I?"
"Luxanna."
"Yes?" She looked up, still a child, still smiling from having played the trick to Shauna and Laura. The look of wonder on their faces has made her want to do more. "What is it?"
"Luxanna, stop doing what you're doing. That's not any form of light magic you need to know. Focus on your studies, and stop distracting your peers."
"Is that what Piltoverians spend their entire days studying and contemplating? I worry for your health in my royal library. You're going to go in there and never come out." She carefully places the white flower in her own hair, hoping that the soothing scent will help her when she finally goes to sleep.
"Oh, I'll be fine." He flashes a decidedly guarded smile, uncertain about the tone of her voice. "Since your people prize order so much, I'm sure Demacian libraries are easier to navigate than the Howling Marsh."
"Ezreal? Luxanna?"
"Janna!" Ezreal calls back. He turns back to her, nodding. "Thanks again for that specific offer, by the way. We need to head out early today, so let's just pack up our bags and get moving."
"Ezreal?"
"Yeah?"
"Take the crystal. I want you to keep practicing calling light to it. Make sure it's completely illuminated all the way from here to Mogron Pass."
I'll learn more about light magic. If I'm so good at it, shouldn't I know more about what defines who I am? Why would I ever have to focus my studies on only one field or another, when Garen and military personnel like him are the only ones who have to specialize? She snuck into the restricted sections of the Royal Museum, climbing on stools to allow her eleven-year-old self to reach the highest shelf.
"Got it. Let's meet here in half an hour."
She thinks about questions she wants to ask before swallowing them and deciding to forget them.
Lux, you know why you are here.
Don't forget who you are, and don't lose to an encyclopedia.