Quinn had a strong constitution. She could punch walls and jump off low cliffs, and she was confident enough to eat the meats and plants found in the forests around her. It was something she took for granted, and then it brick-walled her at the most unexpected of times. After drinking water from the marshland, Quinn had fallen gravely ill. Her four day trek to Senta turned into a nightmare. A tornado tore through the marsh – coming from the south and hellbent on God knew where – and she huddled under a rock as tree branches rained on her and rain rained on her, and with her head swimming she puked out the scarce meal she had eaten earlier that day.

The tornado left, but the illness was persistent and she still couldn't keep food down. It had been several days since she'd eaten, and huddled under the rock, Quinn knew she was getting weaker by the hour. There was no wildlife left in the vicinity for Valor to hunt. Marshes didn't have many animals in them, and that was before the tornado came through to fly away all the birds and marsupials Valor would find them. And then, before she could recover from her illness, they came.

It wasn't some local phenomenon. No matter where one lived on Runeterra, tornadoes were something to be feared. Tornadoes killed the weak and striped the defences of the strong, and in their wake, without fail, packs congregated. Quinn had never seen them before; most speculated that they come from underground, like ghosts rising up from their long forgotten coffins after being woken from the noise above. Part ephemeral, part solid manifestation, they were Frankensteins' monsters – not belonging to the world.

The first one, leader of the pack, entered into her sight.

It stood on two shaggy legs, twice the height of the tallest men. Its chest was bare, and a cavity revealed an empty crevasse where its heart should have been, the flesh folded away as if it imploded. Blood still dripped from the fetid skin, despite the body being long dead. Its hands were skeletal, the flesh long ago worn and ripped away, bony fingers visible and holding a rusted spear. Behind it, its companions held a myriad of other weapons, each in their own state of disrepair, having killed many men and survived countless skirmishes. The worst part of it all – the head. Quinn could have handled a clean, white skull, but their heads had survived. Likely protected by whatever magical capabilities the monsters had, their heads were those of young men. The whites of their eyes were visible as they scanned the broken lands, and the only disfigurement Quinn could see were the threads that tightly clasped their chapped and bleeding lips together. If not for the threads bounding their mouths shut, the marshland would have been guest to the chorus of screams from the Passengers.

Quinn couldn't move – both from sickness and from fear. Valor was close beside her, keeping her company underneath the rock which had become her home for the past few days. They watched as the Passengers approached, and Quinn kept a tight grip on her crossbow. When the inevitable finally happened and she was spotted, Quinn could do nothing but shiver. The Passenger in lead picked up speed, its body in contrast with the terror in its eyes.

He wished for death, yet Quinn couldn't act. Valor did, instead. Without hesitation, Valor dived the enemy. When its eyes were torn out of its sockets, it didn't scream. There was just the stretching and snapping of cartilage. If she had been in the right frame of mind, she might have wished Valor didn't target the poor man, yet at the same time there was no other part to attack. The legs were thick and hairy like a work horse, and it would take several bolts to send the Passenger stumbling, and the heart wasn't there in the first place – it certainly wasn't what kept the Passenger alive.

As it turned out, they did not need eyes to fight. They swarmed, their approach slowed by the muddy bog, and all she could do was watch as Valor tried his best to stop them, to delay them in the slightest. With magic on her side, the fight would have been over in a second.

A sword clipped Valor's wing, and he cried out before redoubling his efforts to stop the wave of enemies approaching. Quinn watched silently.

With magic, she could end the fight without so much as standing up.

One whose people will all benefit by magic, equally, and whose people won't die so easily.

If Du Couteau's words were honest, then what he was chasing was a good thing, wasn't it?

Worthy ones. What exactly had he meant, Quinn wondered? She pulled herself to her feet with the help of a nearby tree branch. Maybe she could survive, to see this new age that he promised? No, there was no reason to believe his words. Not now, at the very least. For now, she would focus on surviving.

Quinn dragged herself up the large rock she'd been sheltered by, scratching her knees in the process. From her new elevation, she surveyed the enemies. Her vision swam and rather than risk losing balance and falling off the rock, she dropped to her knees for a moment. After taking a few deep breaths, she stood back up.

"Valor, to me!" Quinn shouted in her strongest voice possible.

Her companion responded immediately, rejoining her. It was their rock now, and losing it would be their death.

The first Passenger arrived moments later and started climbing, and she spared him no expense.

She may have looked weak, and the Passengers may have been below her, but it made the battle no easier. Her dagger was coated in blood, the stickiness dripping down the blade and between her fingers and the hilt. They weren't smart enemies, but their weapons were sharp and there were enough of them that Quinn couldn't relax. Her vision narrowed and periodically dimmed as she tried to keep upright and fighting. Their tears and undisguised fear sickened her, and Quinn had to keep reminding herself they were too far gone. Not human, anymore.

Valor fought by her side, but she couldn't see him, or risk the time to check on him. She had the good fortune of fighting from elevation, but while the corpses of those she dispatched fell backwards, stalling the others, they had gradually surrounded the rock, and each time she had to spin around to fend off an attack from behind, the world kept spinning, and she would stumble, blindly swinging her dagger at where she thought the enemy would be, while focusing her vision at the bloodied rock beneath her.

At some point during the battle, she had lost her crossbow, shrugged it off intentionally when she realized it wouldn't help in the battle. Her aim was horrendous and any bolts she fired off would most likely miss. It helped lighten her movements, but they were already too sluggish.

The spike of a halberd caught her stomach, and she kicked the offending Passenger away before taking a moment to cough and recuperate. She didn't have a moment, however, and she could feel a blade cut through her thigh. With her remaining good leg, she spun around. It might have been the end, Quinn thought, but what an end it was. With a brazen shout, she embedded her dagger into the Passenger's neck. Like the others she killed, it looked up at her, showing emotion only a human should.

Quinn and Valor communicated through a myriad of methods, but the quickest one was simple eye contact. Sometimes, Quinn could look at Valor and know exactly what the bird was thinking. The Passenger who cut her legs wasn't crying in its last moments, nor was it terrified. Rather, its eyes conveyed something unexpected. Who had they belonged to, what had those eyes seen, she didn't know. But what she saw - understanding, gratitude, encouragement - she wouldn't forget for the rest of her life.

The body toppled over, falling into the bloody mass of corpses. Without allowing herself to hesitate, Quinn continued the fight. Only one leg was uninjured, and she kept on her knees, making more aggressive attacks whenever the opportunity presented itself, while wishing she had a longer weapon. Focusing entirely on the battle, her eyes had glossed over the halberds, scimitars, rapiers, maces, and countless other weapons abandoned and ownerless on the stone beside her.

When the piles of bodies threatened to grow taller than the peak of the crag she stood on, Quinn's luck ran out. A projectile arced cleanly through the sky, and though she saw it at the last moment, there was nothing she could do. It hit her chest, denting her armour and sending her off balance. Another followed shortly after, and as if the Passengers' second battalion consisted exclusively of archers, the marshland's empty skies were replaced with a rain of wood and metal.

Quinn's actions slowed to a stop. Valor cried out, and she recognized the cry. It was one she'd heard only twice before. Reinforcements. Help is on the way.

A faint grin crossed her lips. Too late, she thought. Just a little too late. There was no stopping the arrows descending on her head now.

At that moment, the tornado returned. Quinn could only watch as the inexplicable happened. With a fury unlike any she'd other seen before from nature, winds shot through the area, blasting the marsh ruthlessly as the sky darkened and clouds flew in, as though the heavens had been put on fast-forward. Quinn and Valor were cut off from the earth, caught in a bubble of translucent material.

It encircled her and dimmed her vision of the outer world, distorting the sounds as though she were listening through a thin layer of water. Quinn remained, collapsed on the ground where she was, as the rest of the world was caught by the blast of wind, and lifted off. Corpses and weapons were torn from the ground and hurtled through the sky, disappearing from Quinn's view and into the distant fog to the north. The arrows that had been threatening her moments ago were gone, Quinn having not even had the chance to see where they went. The Passengers surrounding the rock, some in mid-climb, weren't spared from the storm's violence. They were taken by the wind, their limbs flailing helplessly in the air as they collided with each other and other objects caught up in the tornado, and the tornado continued past, taking everything outside the magical bubble away.

Fighting a coughing fit, Quinn looked up towards the skies. The cries of the Passengers, Valor, and herself had abruptly come to a stop. During her earlier fight, the skies had been clear, but now one of the strongest storms Quinn had ever seen was brewing. It took a moment for her to realize the fight was over, the tornado was gone, and she was still alive. Everything ended in less than a minute. Quinn stared, bewildered, as the explanation descended from the skies through an opening in the clouds only possible by magic.

Above her, an angel. Floating, the woman surveyed the marshlands before continuing her slow descent.

Quinn clutched her bleeding leg, not noticing even as Valor settled beside her, nursing his own wounds. A few minutes passed before the woman touched her feet to the ground on the same rock as Quinn, mere meters in front of her. Their bubble popped; their shield from the world gone. Colour didn't immediately return to the world, though, and Quinn knew she didn't have long left. Struggling to remain conscious, she stared.

The woman was missing her halo. Her hair, thrice the length of Quinn's, was blonde and flowing, as though a constant stream of wind was gently keeping it afloat. Her skin was pale. She wore white gloves, and a white bikini, revealing more skin that Quinn would have expected from an angel. Was she hallucinating? Atop of her saviour's head rested a tiara made from some unrecognizable cyan crystal. Quinn saw then her staff and felt unexpected bitterness. Of course it had been a mage who had saved her; no one else could possibly be so powerful. Was it also magic that made her saviour so entrancing? Quinn, uncaring of her saviour's opinion, continued to stare at the woman, drinking in the sight of her flawless skin and reassuring visage.

"Brave warrior, what is thine name?" the angel said.

Her voice was airy and accented by a faint echo, leaving Quinn breathless. Valor cawed, but it was too late, and too much. Quinn closed her eyes, succumbing to the darkness.

When Quinn awoke, only Valor was nearby.

"Well, I sure screwed that one up, didn't I, Valor?" Quinn said, sitting up.

She was lucid. Magic had patched her up; she could feel it within her. Rather than remain sitting for another half hour, to appreciate being alive and all, Quinn jumped to her feet. She was impatient. She had too much energy, a drastic change from earlier.

Blood still coated her and Valor's rock, but there were no corpses nearby. No weapons either. Her dagger and crossbow had been swept away in the attack. She had bought those weapons no more than two weeks ago, back in Demacia. It wasn't setting a good precedent, losing them so quickly. There was, however, the fact that she had fought the Passengers and survived. It was most certainly an unpleasant encounter, but it was also a valuable learning experience. They weren't as strong as the rumours Quinn had heard. If Quinn could handle their vanguard while sick and weakened, then they wouldn't be nearly as threatening as she thought if she were at full power.

Pacing back and forth on the rock, it took her a moment to realize she was no longer sick, and another moment to get over how unfair it was to be able to cure any disabilities with magic in an instant. Quinn tore off her armour, letting it fall disgracefully on the ground below. It had been dented and stained red in the battle. Dented armour was dangerous to use, and its discomfort and weight didn't warrant her packing it into town to be fixed. She had a few coin which would hopefully be enough to purchase new equipment in Senta.

Quinn looked around. There was no smell of death, like she might have expected. She also took a moment to examine herself, before smirking. Magic could do lots, but apparently her saviour decided not to clean her up; she looked as though she'd jumped into a vat of blood and went for a swim.

There was nothing left for Quinn to pack, so she jumped off the rock and began to walk. Behind her, she could hear Valor take to the skies. Only after half a dozen steps did she turn back to stare at the rock. They had mounted a successful defence on the nondescript stone, and she felt as though she'd developed a rapport with it. It had also been her shelter for several days, through illness, starvation, and a tornado. Perhaps she ought to name it.

Next time she passed through the area, Quinn would make sure to visit Passenger's Fate.

With a satisfied nod, she orientated herself towards the south and resumed her trek in bloodied shoes and clothing. Her feet felt light, and she ghosted over the marshland much faster than before, not sinking into the mud as much with every step.

Quinn redoubled her efforts to reach Senta and find a physician skilled in the arcane – both the common and the sinister. When her path joined the main trade route, her pace quickened, no longer needing to be wary of magical beasts and monsters hiding in the forest. The magic was there, faint traces on the roads and when carts led by horses passed her, but it was also a safety she appreciated because of her lack of weapons and recent sickness strong in mind.

Quinn had never been to Senta before, nor had she ever seen pictures of it, or heard little more than adjectives describing its grandeur. It started with the tallest walls she had ever seen, with crenelations along the top and regular pairs of soldiers patrolling along it. At intervals along the wall, even higher towers were built in, which would give a bird's eye view of a good portion of the city, and of the farmland extending out into the countryside. Behind the wall, columns of dark smoke filled the sky, indicating a large industrial section of the city. Most obvious of all – almost to a nauseating degree – was the magic. It had been gradually growing stronger as she approached, and standing just outside the gate it felt like each breath she took was contaminated. Having never been to Zaun, it was what Quinn might have expected of that city state, but she had never heard bad words about Senta.

Valor didn't seem to mind the atmosphere being chocked full of magic, and neither did anyone else that she could see. It was something she probably could have adapted to, but Quinn had no intentions of being in the city longer than a day. Hearing the 'okay' of a doctor and restocking her supplies was all she wanted. Afterwards, she would try again for Ionia, while keeping an ear out for news on Du Couteau. There were other places that sounded appealing to her too, such as Bilgewater and Kumungu, but Quinn didn't yet dare go south of the Great Barrier. She wasn't yet confident in her abilities to survive less friendly environments – after all, the marshes between Demacia and Noxus were supposed to be comfortable territory, and she nearly fell prey to them.

The gates had long lines of people waiting to be allowed into the city. She quickly discovered there were two lines, one for individuals and others for carts of material. Thankfully, the line for lone travellers moved quickly and she was at the gate's entrance in minutes.

"Reason for entrance?" the guard droned, before bringing his hand up and yawning.

Quinn hesitated. "Buying... stuff? I lost my weapon."

The guard straightened up, giving her a quick appraisal. "You look like the tornado and Passengers had their way with you."

"They passed near here?"

"Sure did. Had the city in an uproar, even with the League here on full alert." He narrowed his eyes. "Does that mean you actually ran into the Passengers?"

Quinn nodded, and the guard let out a low whistle before stepping aside. "You're damn lucky to be alive. Welcome to Senta."

The city didn't have a northern gate. Quinn had entered directly into the residential district from the western gate, and was overwhelmed by the sheer size of the place. Every main street was paved with stone, and there were children playing in large fields of grass in front of houses – something which most properties in the Demacian capital didn't have – and the streets were filled with the clopping of horseshoes as a wide variety of carts moved about. Quinn took a moment to try and shield herself from the uncontrolled magic which wafted through the city's streets. Open stares from nearly everyone who passed her reminded her that while she was fit for the forest, her clothing had accumulated too much sweat, blood, and mud to stand around in crowded public areas. Without a weapon on hand, Quinn had never risked stopping in the marshlands to clean herself off.

She felt in her pockets, retrieving a couple Demacian notes. Demacian currency was accepted everywhere except Noxus. Even most Zaunite shops counted it as legal tender. The notes in their current state, however, might prove to be a little more challenging to use. They had been stained with blood – hers or the Passengers', she didn't know – that had seeped through her armour and pants.

After a quick stop by a public bathhouse, where she showered the blood off her body and purchased new garment, Quinn started through the city as quickly as she could, following the more ragged dressed people to eventually find the plebeian market. Her bloody notes proved useless in bartering, and she was forced to use some of the gold coins she had on hand to purchase a new dagger and some old armour which was already showing signs of rust. A new crossbow could wait. She didn't have enough for both the bow and bolts.

Quinn saved the bulk of her coins for a doctor, and after asking around for a short while, she found herself standing outside the door of a building located on a river's bank, just outside the industrial district. It had vines growing up the side and the roof was covered in moss, making it look more fit for a forest than a city. Quinn approached the wooden door.

Her knock was immediately responded to with a welcoming shout, followed by a short, unpleasant coughing fit. Quinn opened the door, peering inside.

Her over-the-top expectation of witch-doctors hadn't failed her in the least. The old man stood over a massive cauldron of boiling, oozing green liquid, stirring it while a faintly purple gas permeated every cubic centimetre of the room around him. Quinn held her breath and took a step inside. The senior continued his work, quietly muttering numbers to himself. When he reached one hundred, preceded, naturally, by seventy one, he let the stir stick fall to its side.

"Welcome, welcome, to my humble abode," he said, with a dramatic sweep of his thin arms. "How can my magic assist you?"

Quinn stepped deeper into his 'abode', making sure to lean away from the endive growing on the wall and garlic hanging from the roof by string. Was he afraid of vampires, or something? Vladimir probably wouldn't even quench his thirst if he drained every drop of blood from the old man's frail body.

"I'm looking for-"

"Purple hair!" the witch-doctor exclaimed, quickly stepping forward. He reached out towards Quinn's hair with surprising agility, and she quickly backstepped. "I must have some!"

Quinn ran a protective hand through her hair. "Excuse me?"

"Hair has deep-seated magical properties that can be exploited with the proper preparations and there's so few people with naturally grown purple hair." He gave her an accusing glare. "It is natural, no?"

"It is," Quinn said, still on her toes.

"My last source, from that terrible, horrible, no good angel, was used up months ago. I must procure some more. Now tell me, how much will it be?"

"I'm not selling my hair," Quinn said, while refraining from asking how much he was willing to pay. "I'm here to know about dark magic – I need to know if I've had any cast on me."

The old man grinned. "Fine, fine. An inspection bath? If you're not willing to part with hair, it will cost you good coin."

He was chintzy too, refusing to barter. When Quinn handed over every last gold coin she had, he started moving about, collecting items.

"How old are you?" he asked as his hands hovered over jars on a shelf in the back.

"Twenty," Quinn said. "I think."

His hand dropped on a jar containing unfamiliar mushrooms. "Bispora it is, then. I think."

As it turned out, the inspection was a literal bath. The witch-doctor generously turned the other way as Quinn stripped and submerged herself in the tub of yellow. It didn't kill her, nor did it cause her skin to shrivel up and disintegrate. Instead, the thick, yellow substance felt surprisingly normal. It was warm, and a little too viscous to compare to water, but Quinn didn't mind. Instead, she was focusing on taking deep breaths to calm her heart. In only a few moments, she would know if Du Couteau had any dark magic cast on her while she was unconscious in the forest.

And then what, Quinn wondered? Head back north through the marsh, for the Ironspike mountains again? It was a possibility, but retracing her steps didn't appeal to her. Maybe she could alter her path a little, and run through Noxian territory and then Zaun, on her way to Piltover.

The water changed colour. In a surprisingly quick process that started from where her skin was in contact with the liquid, it raced outwards towards the edges of the tub, colouring her bath a bright orange. If she wasn't imagining things, it was also slightly warmer than before. The warmth was almost relaxing, but every time she shifted she could feel the resistance from the liquid, which made her skin tingle uncomfortably. The old man approached, scrutinizing his potion.

"Orange, is it?" he said pensively, before leaning in. "And no smell?"

Quinn covered her chest defensively, despite the liquid obscuring everything but her head.

"Well?" she demanded. "What does it mean?"

The man shook his head. "You're clear of the simple hexes and curses, but by the sounds of it, you're afraid of something worse. Something much more dangerous." His last word stretched and faded to silence as he chewed on a blade of grass procured from a nearby table top. "There's something not helping, here. Some magic is interfering. Not dark magic, but it's still a problem. I can't clear you one hundred percent."

Quinn's thoughts immediately went to her saviour, who healed her after the Passengers attacked. It had been several days since then, but the magic had been more than healing. She had felt lighter and quicker for her journey to the city, though it had seemingly worn off shortly before her arrival. There must have still been remnants of it in her body.

"Not one hundred percent?" Quinn said, frustration escaping her lips.

The old man shook his head, looking just as displeased as her. "If they rest on exact opposite positions on the spectrum of identifiable magic stratums, they will destructively interfere with each other and weaken each others' presences. As it is now, it's a very real possibility. All right, up you get. The potion is looking tired and you don't want to stay in there when it quits on you."

Quinn's eyes widened as she watched the liquid. Was it just her imagination, or was it beginning to emit a faint gas? She quickly grabbed a nearby towel and jumped out. Drying herself off, her mind was conflicted. It would be foolish to assume she was safe. What was she to do? Was there an alternative, perhaps some bath that could nullify any magic on her? When she asked the witch-doctor, he shook his head. It wasn't feasible, requiring materials, time, and magic he didn't have. To Quinn's surprise, however, he returned the gold she had paid him.

"My magics failed to satisfy you. I cannot take your coin," he said, before hesitating. "Yet there's still one way for you to learn the answer to your question. It's quick, free, and guaranteed to work."

She turned to face the witch-doctor. His voice had grown stronger, more composed than previously, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

"What do you know about the League of Legends?" he whispered. "Or... more importantly, the flame of Reflection?"

A/N: As always, reviews/PMs are appreciated. Feedback is extremely helpful. There's 2 or 3 more chapters left for the introduction arc before we start looking at all these plot lines that have been opened up.