Quinn was ten steps from the top when her feet slowed to a stop. Turning to look down at the city, she held back a gasp. Senta was a city bustling with action, unlike anything she could have imagined. The city sectors were clearly divided by busy roads, the upper and lower residential districts separated by walls actively being patrolled, and a magnificent river ran through the center of the city. It originated from a magical spring – rumored to actually be linked to a dimension of crystal clear water stretching as far as the eyes could see – and flowed outwards, towards Demacia in the west and Noxus in the east. Even from her distance, high above all the working people and mess of buildings, she could tell it was becoming more than the Demacian capital had ever been, and could ever be.
A city under the League's protection seemed to appeal to many people. The population had skyrocketed two years ago, when the League started bringing in more and more champions. She recalled reading a paper stating that when Jarvan IV entered the League, over ten thousand Demacian citizens immigrated to Senta. Built on neutral ground, the city had originally been the village of Summoners. Summoners were humans who could use a powerful class of magic – the strongest of which, able to connect to other dimensions – and were said to be descendants of those who fought in the rune wars. Slowly, the village grew as war developed around it but never touched it. People realized that even Noxus respected the magic users, and despite Senta being located between the two super powers of the world, it was safe. The creation of the League, bringing in heroes from around the world, only enforced this belief. Senta was the world's safe haven, and no matter what happened to the kingdoms, it would always stand.
Having had a chance to catch her breath, she returned to the monumental task of climbing the stairs to the Door of Acceptance. The architect was either a giant or he intentionally made the steps huge, as to whittle away the small and weak. There might also have been a metaphorical interpretation about greatness requiring large steps or something, but Quinn couldn't be bothered to think about it. The League's Yordles must have had a hell of a time getting up to the door. Each additional step she took, she felt the sense of unease growing. Valor had been circling her for the past while, waiting patiently for her to arrive at the top before settling again on her shoulder. Sometimes she wished she had wings.
Three more steps from the top, she could see it.
At the top of the stairs, a plaza. The mysterious and magical Door of Acceptance. She'd seen it in books, but the pictures hadn't captured any of the intense glare the golden door gave off, or the heavy atmosphere of magic trying to invade her personal being and fuse itself with her every fiber. With a restrained shudder, she quickly climbed the remaining steps and stood atop the plateau. The scene before her was even more surprising than the door. Rather than ancient runes and magical beings atop the mountain, the first object she saw was a concession stand. It was selling iced lemonade in the shade created by a striped yellow and red umbrella. People were lined up, some quiet and serious, but most laughing and relaxed, like it was just another day at the amusement park.
The grass was a dark shade of green that Quinn might have expected from some forested valley that saw little sunlight, but where she stood, the sun had access to throughout the day. There were picnic tables and blankets scattered on the grass with people resting on them, eating lunch and drinking their lemonade.
Quinn frowned, rubbing the back of her neck. Did they repurpose the place as a park?
Those within the crowd varied greatly. There were a few who looked as if they had simply crawled out of bed and somehow dragged themselves up the mountain, as though today would be their lucky day and the door would magically open for them. Not that it could open non-magically.
Then there were a handful of people in varying degrees of armor and magical robes. Half of them could have been mercenaries, the other half from the city guard. Quinn couldn't bring herself to look down on the hopeful individuals. After all, if not for the Demacian eagle on her side, she would have looked particularly unremarkable among the throng. Her best light armor had been damaged in her battle against Thresh, her good light armor had been shed following the battle with the Passengers in the marshland, and her newly purchased armor was old, didn't fit well, and was already starting to rust. Her dagger, too, was uncomfortable and she hoped there would be a chance to buy a new one before the next time she ended up fighting.
The atmosphere felt heavy underneath the baking sun. Thousands of people had their dreams crushed here each week. Ironically, most who made it into the League never thought much of it. Almost without exception, they were already heroes or demons or some other special case who would be more surprised if the door had refuted them. It was only further proof as to the impossibility of her making it through the door. Her and Caleb, despite their dreams of knighthood and fame, never would have stood a chance here. It was a disquieting thought. They never stood a chance, yet it had still cost her brother his life.
Could she blame the world at his misfortune, or maybe Demacia? The magic they kept to themselves, as though they were superior beings, could have saved them - could have changed their lives.
Not for the first time, Quinn wondered what part she had to play in her brother's death. A step to the left in the forest, changing their path only minutely, would have made a world of difference. She pushed the thought away just as quickly, with a resolute shake of her head. Too many days had wasted away along that path.
Fifty feet away, the Door stood silent, blocking access to the Institute of War. It was surrounded on both sides by flames that burned a sinister black. The flame to its left was the flame of Observation. The flame on the right, the Flame of Reflection. If both flames glowed green before five minutes elapsed of an individual standing in front of the door, they were in. As simple as that. Though, Quinn had overheard, it was a big event for even a single flame to turn green.
The flame of Observation determined a person's strengths, or capabilities. If the flame believed – not that it was sentient, or so Quinn hoped – that the person was strong enough to join the League, it would burn some shade of green. Otherwise, it would remain black or take on another color, such as red. Nobody wanted to see red; red essentially meant they never stood a chance, and to never return to the Door of Acceptance.
The flame of Reflection wasn't, as was widely believed, a mental test. What made it glow different colors, in truth nobody knew. If it required sanity or the intention not to destroy Runeterra, then those from the Void and Shadow Isles would never have been accepted. There were also people like Vladimir, who openly and honestly said he wanted to drain every ounce of blood out of the summoner who was overseeing the interviews that day. The flame, as far as some rumors went, took into account magical potential and personality, at least to some degree.
The flame of Reflection was the reason Quinn climbed the stairs. The witch-doctor, who had introduced himself as doctor Lezaro before she'd left, told her it was the key to answering her question. If it remained black the entire time, Quinn was guaranteed clean. If at any point during the test, it changed to violet, or any shade of purple, it was indicative of dark magic. All she needed was for the flame to remain black for five minutes, and then she could leave happy.
Beyond the lemonade stand and the flames and the Door, an interview was the only other barrier to becoming a champion of the League. The process itself was a well kept secret, but it was said to eliminate a good number of people who actually made it through the Door. There must also have been some kind of magic to prevent all the failed and bitter interviewees from revealing details of the process.
Again, Quinn turned to give the city another look. Three million citizens, was it? She could even see the smoke from the outer industrial district on the other side of the city. After a minute of fruitlessly searching for the witch-doctor's green roofed house, she turned to the Door. A line of four people were in front of it, with someone else standing in the designated spot to be tested. She was a short kid, couldn't have been more than fifteen years old. Her raiment was stained with dirt and the laces of her shoes missing, but she exuded an aura of well-formed magic. Quite possibly a reject from the institute's Summoner's school.
Silently, Quinn entered the line. Within seconds, Valor landed on her shoulder with a soft thump, making several people around her flinch back in surprise. It also drew the attention of a few of the picnickers. Cross her arms, she began waiting patiently.
Everyone in front of her failed the test, their flames not once changing color, and the twenty five minutes of waiting passed all too soon. Quinn found herself being gently shoved forward by magic. Her eyes quickly searched the area. A female summoner with long black hair and garbed in flowing red robes pointed at the spot in front of the door.
Quinn stepped forward, immediately feeling the Door's energy. As if it were starving, its magic rushed forward and enveloped her. Valor immediately took off from her shoulder, electing to hover several meters above her head. Quinn hated magic. Lots of weak magic users and normal people did, but her more so. It seemed to oppose her at every step in life.
The Door began to examine her and she felt the magic entering inside her. As if she were drinking a thick sludge, it slowly crawled down her throat and settled inside her. She kept her breathing calm and closed her eyes from the shining golden Door. The last words she saw were 'The Truest Opponent Lies Within', embossed in large black letters above the door.
The sounds around her faded; the clinking of glasses of lemonade no longer filled the air, nor the conversations of those around her. She could, however, still feel the gusts of wind coming down on her from above, where Valor hovered. She used it to track the time. Each second, it became more and more difficult to breath. She tried to remember what she had read of the Door in her books. It had never killed anyone, had it? She quickly banished the thought.
Standing suddenly took noticeable effort. Her legs felt tired, and numb at the same time, and she was surprised she didn't simply collapse on the ground like a heap of jelly. The magic didn't hold back in the least as she felt it begin to scratch around at her insides. It was a good idea to have not eaten lunch.
Two minutes, Quinn estimated. Two minutes left.
When the magic started pulling itself out and away from her, the sounds of her environment came back. She heard a loud gasp behind her. Slowly, she forced her eyes open.
More murmurs filled the plaza, and Quinn looked around, expecting a champion or High Councilor or someone to have shown themselves. But the hundreds of eyes were all staring at her. A sense of dread filled her. Without turning around, she knew with certainty that the flame of Reflection had turned a deep, unforgiving violet. She could feel the heat on her back as she started sweating.
General Du Couteau had done something to her. His promise of not harming her had only been a complete lie. She was now a danger to the citizens of Senta, to the world around her. What kind of dark, forbidden magic was it? Would a single, unknown word trigger her to go on a killing spree, murdering her fellow Demacians once she had returned home, or was it something more solemn, reticent thoughts that could cloud her mind when she slept, gradually changing her ideals and turning her into a monster like Vladimir? Or maybe something less conniving, and she was a walking bomb, set to explode and unleash a wave of magic never before seen to this world.
But then came a worse thought, one of self preservation. She was in the most dangerous place on Runeterra, not for her ability to harm others, but for her to keep her freedom. A single word from the female summoner overseeing her, and they would start teleporting in. In seconds, she would be subdued and then thrown in a dark underground prison to spend the rest of her life without ever seeing another friendly face again. If there was one thing in this world she loved, it was her freedom. Her freedom to go anywhere and do anything, no matter what others said or thought. They couldn't take it away from her. They wouldn't.
She spun around, a cry for action to Valor on her lips. It died on her tongue. The flame of Reflection was a pure black, unchanged from when she had first approached the Door. Instead, on the left, a sight she had never expected revealed itself. The flame of Observation burned an iridescent green, more vivid than any natural shade she ever had seen in the forest. A welcoming and warming green. A green of acceptance. A green for fighters, heroes who fought toe to toe against demons and the world's most terrifying monsters.
Her mouth hung open in pure bewilderment.
The magic no longer assaulting her, Valor settled onto her right shoulder, cawing gently.
But no, she wanted to say. No. She didn't have the power to match the champions of the League, no matter what a magical flame said. The ascended beings, Xerath, Renekton, Nasus, could have sliced her open in a second. Xerath's raw energy could have passed through her, obliterating her body without being delayed for even a nanosecond. Even Garen, for whom she and Valor despised, was leagues above her. The Might of Demacia would openly laugh if he saw the scene that was developing outside the Door. He had held his own against the most elite Noxian squad, only to duel their most powerful soldier, Katarina, afterwards. Quinn couldn't even imagine herself in a battle against such a monstrosity.
Then she had the fleeting thought that she had been poisoned by magic so forbidden, so dangerous, that it could fool the flames. Her eyes quickly jumped to the female summoner. Quinn examined the woman closely, to see if she had noticed any anomaly. She – Quinn's eyes opened even wider. She was Vessaria, one of the High Summoners. Someone of immense magical power and even more impressive control over the power. A person to be feared. And she was watching a small hourglass which she held in hand. From Quinn's distance, she couldn't see how full the lower half was.
When Vessaria looked up, Quinn met her eyes for a fraction of a second before quickly glancing away. There were a grand total of three Summoners in the world who could read minds without the permission or knowledge of the target. All they needed was eye contact. Of those three, two were living in Senta. Vessaria was, if Quinn remembered correctly, most definitely one of those two dangerous individuals.
The flames beside the Door were small, but it didn't reduce the heat they exuded. Valor must have had immense strength to willingly stay by her side. Quinn wanted to step back, to throw herself off the plaza to be cooled by the air as she fell towards the city below.
The high Summoner impatiently tapped her hourglass, as if a grain had gotten stuck and froze time. Quinn's gaze gradually returned to rest on the flame of Reflection. Nothing else mattered.
Violet or black. A life of imprisonment or a life of freedom.
How much time remained before she was cleared of the possibility of dark magic? A minute? Thirty seconds? She was lucky to have made it this far, only a little longer and her doubts would be cleared. Her stare turned into a glare, mentally threatening the fire to not change color.
The voices behind her had quieted down. They, too, watched the flame, albeit for a different reason. The fools hoped to see the – the... Quinn didn't know how many champions were in the League. She knew there were at least one hundred, but it had been so long since she'd spent time in a city catching up on the League's happenings. She hadn't ever thought it important. Nonetheless, the people hoped to see a new champion in the making. If Quinn had been a little more brash, she might have laughed aloud. The flame of Observance may have been slacking today, but it was impossible the flame of Reflection would allow someone in who had no intention of actually joining the League.
Instead, as the seconds passed, she realized the excitement was over. The concern gathering from the past week that she had been cursed dissipated all at once. At least four minutes had passed, plenty of time to find and recognize dark magic. So, Quinn moved her thoughts along. She could finally analyze the conversation she had with General Du Couteau without fear of being biased.
His ideology was appealing, but he meant it to be. He knew who she was. He knew she didn't get along with the Demacian elite. He knew she was an easy target to sway over to his side. That was the most plausible reason as to why she was alive and breathing, being melted by the green flames in front of her. There was no possible way to tell if he was telling the truth, no reason to believe a word he said. It sounded realistic. The League would fall eventually, from one of its many enemies, or simply from time itself. Then what? Demacia, Ionia, Noxus, the city states. It would descend into a chaos worthy of the back alleys of Zaun. Entire cities would be bombed, scorched, removed from the very earth during the war. Corpses everywhere, the dead and dying pleading for help. She would be caught in it, without trustworthy allies and friends.
It could be avoided if she responded to Du Couteau's call. His reason for wanting her hadn't been sound, but that didn't matter. If she could get ahead of the game – no. There were more ways than that to get ahead of the game. She would need a pen and paper and at least a full evening. She would need information, found by her own ears and eyes and rewritten by her own hands, before she could fully understand the situation. The world was changing, and nobody would deny it.
Quinn heard the sound of an ancient door creaking open.
She looked up.
Inside, a cobble path, winding through a garden of glowing vines and leaves and flowers. It was blindingly bright, almost like staring at the sun. A stream could be heard, the gentle trickle of water navigating through the garden unseen, hidden by medley of plants. Marble and stone statues, not all depicting humans, were visible, their features obscured by the glare of the sun they reflected. No buildings were in sight; they were probably hidden around the corner. For all the extravagance of the Door, it was not a large door, and now it was dwarfed in magnificence by the garden beyond it. Nonetheless, it had opened inwards to reveal a location never meant for Quinn's eyes.
Quinn closed her mouth, which she realized was slightly parted in disbelief.
The Flame of Reflection finally drew her attention. The green matched by the other Flame was no longer an appealing tone, but rather it looked to be gloating. As if it were sentient and mocking her, fully aware of what it had done. Quinn took a reactionary step backwards, her feet feeling heavier than was natural. The words above the Door took on a much more threatening demeanor.
The Truest Opponent Lies Within.
Adrenaline running through her body, she realized how much danger she was in. The League took prisoners. She had already proven herself halfway worthy of the League, by some twisted fire logic. At least half a dozen people – no, half a dozen entities – had been unwillingly taken by the League. Danger to the outside world, their strengths were exploited and exhibited on the Fields of Justice. If the institute had detected the dark magic, would this not be the best course of action? Let her through and then overwhelm her with force, lock her away and only drag her up for sunlight whenever politics conflicted and a battle had been scheduled?
She took another step back, this time more measured. Her eyes refused to look towards Vessaria. She enumerated her possibilities of escape. A grand total of zero passed inspection. No chance in hell she could outdo a high Summoner standing less than ten meters away from the walls of the Institute of War. And the thought of Doctor Lezaro, laughing, crossed her mind. He had to have known what would happen if she had had forbidden magic cast on herself. In fact, maybe he had known about the magic. He had detected it and sent her on a doomed path.
She had acted too quickly, she had been too rash. Such a thing would never have happened outside a city. In the countryside and forests, things were calm. They were slow. Animals didn't care about the minute of the day, as long as they could get food they were satisfied. Having spent forever among the animals, she had gradually adopted their calm attitude. When she had entered Senta, the largest city in Valoran, the bustling crowds had pushed her forward. She had been thrown into a mess of activity. There had been thousands of happenings around her at the same time, too much for her eyes to relay to her brain.
Instead of broken branches, missing berries on a vine, and crushed leaves underfoot, she found hundreds of feet plodding along the ground in different directions, countless ropes suspended overhead with clothing hanging from them, the smell of sweat and body odor filling her nose. The city was more alive than anything she had ever experienced before. Whereas the Demacian capital's less travelled routes were ones where she could idly walk along and enjoy the gardens and scenery, Senta's less travelled routes were as busy as the busiest Demacia could offer. She stood on the brink of an entirely different world and its atmosphere had distracted her and duped her.
She had allowed herself to be swept away, through the city gates and Lezaro's abode, past the hundreds of market stalls and restaurants and horses and people and up the stairs to the Door of Acceptance. And the wave didn't want to end there. Like a tidal wave, it was unstoppable and only building up towards a destructive end.
Vessaria stepped into view, her face stern. "The Door has opened. The interviewee will now enter."
Her voice brooked no argument. Quinn tilted her head to look Valor in the eyes.
Fly, she willed.
Valor blinked in response, his claws digging into her shoulder. Vessaria cleared her throat. With the growing clamor of the crowd behind her suddenly resounding in her ears, Quinn took a deep breath.
Reluctantly, she stepped forward.
A/N: I just finished reading Rush, a RWBY fan fiction (if you like yuri, definitely give it a shot), and it's made me realize how much my (romance) writing is lacking. Going forward, my goal is to improve on that. The following chapters may take a little longer to be released, as I try to better balance plot & romance.