It was an ambush, the forest whispered to her. There were lots of them, and she was already surrounded.

Quinn picked up her pace, moving towards one of the thicker trees she could see. Her and Valor's mission completed, Valor had left her to report to the army and get their next orders. She was on her own. As soon as she reached the tree, she put her back to it and pulled out her crossbow. The forest was silent, now. Not a peep from the birds or squirrels, but that alone was telling. She swallowed, as if the simple action could keep her fear down. The Noxus soldiers must have sent a squad out after her, when she'd left their boats burning at the docks. It hadn't taken them long to catch up to her, as she'd set a slow pace back towards Ionia's interior.

A branch broke, signaling the start of the battle. Quinn saw the first soldier, as he charged through the trees. She took aim, waited a moment to ensure he wasn't going to change his trajectory, then fired. The bolt left her bow with a clean twang, and it found its mark. Her enemy lurched back as the bolt entered his head, but Quinn was already looking away, for another target. She got three of them down, before an impending sword had her drop her crossbow in favour of the dagger at her side. Their blades clashed and Quinn quickly found the leverage necessary to stagger her enemy and move in for the kill.

They were fearless – somehow able to continue a brazen offensive when three of their comrades had already fallen. It was as if the psychology of war didn't affect Noxus soldiers, and they would keep fighting until the last of them fell, only for their scientists to raise them from the dead, condemning them to a endless war. Fortunately for Quinn, she was on top of her game. Their stabs and slashes weren't as fast as she'd expected, and she was easily able to parry and offer an attack in return.

One by one, they fell to the ground. Before she knew it, the forest was quiet again, the screams of Noxians gone. She knelt down, checking each body in turn. Their swords weren't useful, but she looted a little Ionian currency and took a spare dagger.

She heard the sound – the unmistakable sound of an arrow's flight – but wasn't able to react in time. It cut into her leg, low enough that no armoured plate could stop it, but high enough that her shoes didn't impede the arrow.

Quinn took a fraction of a second to visualize the arrow's trajectory. Fingers on her looted dagger, she spun and released in a single motion. Her aim was true, and even as she saw the archer, half hidden by a tree, the dagger caught the dead center of his neck. He fell.

Confident he couldn't survive, Quinn immediately rolled over. The arrow had caught her from behind, digging into her cartilage and muscles. Ripping it out now would cause long lasting injuries. Even without seeing the arrow's head, she knew its design. It was made to cause massive bleeding if it didn't outright kill its target, and the blood swelling from the wound indicated the arrow was doing its job, even if its owner was already dead.

She would have died – unconscious and slowly bleeding out into the river she'd collapsed next to – if she hadn't been found so quickly. When Quinn woke up, she was in a small shack. Looking around, she could see no traces of electricity, or any magical system for that matter. It was a modest place. Made of wood, it looked to be old and worn by the weather. Boards were warped, and Quinn could see out through a crack next to her bed. It was midday, the grass outside was tall and swaying in the wind. Looking up at the sky, she couldn't see any clouds. She was at peace, momentarily forgetting the war that tore the lands apart.

On the bedside table, a broad-headed arrow lay, the shaft broken into many smaller pieces.

She learned that, by sheer luck, the village's doctor had found her while out collecting medicinal herbs. Quinn had been nursed back to health in the village, and slept for several days before finally making a nearly full recovery.

The children had apparently never met an outsider before, and were swarming her at seemingly every corner. They pestered her for stories, and they asked her about her weapons, and what she was doing in Ionia. At first, Quinn had been overwhelmed. She'd tried to brush them off with curt words, but they never took the hint. When the village's only teacher invited her to the morning session of class, Quinn gave up. She'd never thought of herself as a teacher, but the children clung to her every words, as though she were the world's best storyteller. The teacher, Bellina, and her discussed politics and the war. She'd offered her insight on Demacian policies, and how they operated. In return, she would garner bits of information from the children, who'd been eager to teach her more about Ionia. By the end of the day, Quinn finally extracted herself from the eager students, but only after being forced to promise more lessons.

The next day, she had duped them – though they were so willing she didn't feel the least bit guilty – into making arrows and bolts. She met the village's fletcher, and together took the kids out into the forest, pointing out the various trees and their uses. The day after that, half the children wanted to shoot her crossbow, and the other half were pestering the village's guard for bows. In the end, Quinn oversaw the students as they navigated arduous process of making these weapons from scratch. Valor returned, and the children were in an uproar again, amazed at the sheer size and intelligence of the Demacian eagle.

She and the village's doctor – whom she'd thank at every opportunity, for saving her life – had become friends. They would search the surrounding forest for herbs, sharing information on their vast knowledge of the forest and its contents. Mornings were most often spent in class, where Quinn assisting in everything, from maths, to language, to history. Quinn had also occasionally joined the hunters, who spent their evenings hunting Ionian deer for everyone's meals.

It was a place unaffected by war and magic. It was a haven, to escape the atrocities of the world. Quinn didn't want to leave, even after she'd read the letter Valor brought back and received her orders to pull out. The League of Legends was officially negotiating peace, and their presence was no longer needed in Ionia. In four weeks time, there would be a battle on the Summoner's Rift, where the Noxus occupation of Ionia would either come to an end, or become fully cemented on Ionian soil. Of course, the villagers didn't know. They wouldn't, until one of the kingdom's messengers passed through the area in the following weeks.

Quinn had even had a house in the village, given to her by the mayor. She'd made more friends there than in the rest of her life. She didn't want to leave, and didn't think Valor was completely set on returning to Demacia either. Why she left – why she abandoned the best thing she had ever had – Quinn didn't know. She told them she would return, promised the children, and had Ionia lost the battle on the Rift, she might have caught the very next boat to the mainland, to fend off the Noxians and protect the village. In the end, however, Ionia won. Noxians were expected to pull out of the kingdom, returning to their homeland. With the Noxian battalions suddenly back in Valoran, looking for action after being denied, Demacia went into full alert. She'd been distracted with missions, spying on the enemy every other day, and slowly the promise she'd made to the children faded in her mind, until she had become a slave of the army.

Waking up, Quinn hesitated. The dirt was too hard and unnaturally flat for a forest floor. In a single motion, she shrugged her blanket off and pulled herself to her feet. There was no dirt, only the tiled floor of the room she was in. That room, of course, was in the Institute of War. Where else would it have been, she thought to herself glumly? At the very least, her head was much clearer and she had somehow not fallen ill from all the magic she'd experienced. The previous day still felt like a half forgotten dream.

Valor was nowhere to be seen, but after a second of gathering her thoughts, it made sense. He had probably perched outside somewhere for the night, unwilling to enter through so many small doors and long, magical hallways to reach the room where she had been condemned to sleep.

Quinn shrugged off her lightweight sleeping shirt that the institute had thoughtfully provided. They somehow didn't think to provide a bottom for the sleepwear, so Quinn's thoughts wandered to doing laundry, as she stretched her arms out to the side and yawned. Feeling a little more alert, Quinn examined the room. The stone walls reminded her of a Noxian prison she once saw, but the institute lacked the stench of death and the dying. Instead, Quinn could feel traces of magic on every surface. It, and the Door from the previous day, left her feeling grimy. Unfortunately, it wasn't the grime of sweat and dirt of a forest, but rather an intangible layer of magic on her skin that she couldn't ignore. She needed a shower, but first, adherence to her morning routine. Forest or not, skipping a day would only make it harder to resume the day after.

A piece of paper on the ground caught her eye as she wrapped up her morning exercise. It appeared to have been slid under the door. She fetched it. Signed by Gerrit in messy handwriting, the note was only several lines long. She would be introduced by High Councilor Linden at exactly noon to a crowd of League champions. It would also be broadcast on live television to all the citizens of Senta. Quinn dropped to the bed, feeling a growing sense of agitation in her stomach at the thought. After staring lifelessly at the clock for a minute, she realized she still had five hours before her introduction.

Yesterday, her mind hadn't been functioning at its peak. Things seemed foggy, yet there was one pressing thing she could remember. Whether it had been announced yet or not, she was already officially a member of the League of Legends. Gerry had her sign papers last night. Desperate for sleep and overwhelmed by the magic around her, she hadn't questioned them. While paper and words hardly felt legally binding to her, she had a feeling it wouldn't be easy to simply walk out and never be seen again. That, and Valor. Valor would find her signature on a paper more compelling than she would.

There were two doors attached to her temporary room. Quinn peaked out the first one. A large hallway, wide enough for Valor to easily fly down, was presented before her. She could see countless other doors along the walls, with candles at even intervals. They all glowed an unnaturally bright red. Magic, she thought with a sense of unease.

It was foolish to think like that while she was standing in one of the most magical places on Runeterra, but it couldn't be helped. Or at least, she hoped it wouldn't be helped. Unless she learned some magic herself, she never wanted to feel comfortable around it. It would be a weakness, to relax when a raw burst of energy could kill her before she could so much as blink. Besides, she had enough weaknesses as it were.

She closed the door, retreating back into the room.

Quinn didn't consider herself a member of the League, but nonetheless, she mentally ran through the list of champions in the League – her potential opponents. When she realized she couldn't count more than a couple dozen, a book by the bedside table caught her attention. It chronicled every champion the League had admitted, along with various details. The table of contents gave her a quick list of members. Too many Demacians was her first, unfiltered thought. More than Noxians. Though oddly enough, both kingdoms were outmatched in quantity by the Ionians, who had joined the League only recently as compared to the two other super powers.

Setting the book back down, she tried the room's only remaining door, finding more success. The bathroom. No freezing bath in a too-shallow river for her. She could live a little extravagantly for a day. She stepped inside the bathroom and stripped, freezing temporarily in front of the mirror. The last mirror she'd looked in was months ago in Demacia, when she had been examining scars given to her by Thresh.

Quinn was taller than the average female her age and much stronger. Growing up on a farm, she had done physical labour every day in the fields, determined to keep up with her brother. When her brother passed on, she had found herself gravitating towards physically intensive jobs, enjoying the strain it put on her body, as if it were strengthening her and bringing her closer to her goals.

The shower was revitalizing. She could still feel magic wafting through the room, but the dirt and grime that for weeks in the forest had been ignored was finally wiped off. There was a shampoo in the shower that she had used and now regretted – it smelled too strongly of mint. Quinn did a quick check in the mirror, wanting for all the world to leave her hair and continue about her day. Generally, she found that her hair's rare and natural purple color worked to distract attention from its messiness. Today, however, she would be introduced to a great many people, Quinn feared. It wouldn't be good to slack in the appearance department. She spent a moment trying to tame it a little. A handful of knots were quickly defeated, and she left the bathroom feeling successful, but with the butterflies in her stomach growing stronger.

The process of finding Gerrit and joining up with High Councilor Linden was easier than expected. The High Councilor was, fortunately, not one for talk. His grey beard and slow movements left her wondering his age. Together with Gerrit and Linden, their walk to the public stages west of Bilgewater Avenue was a one sided conversation. Gerrit was spouting out information that probably would have needed note taking for her to remember even of fraction of, and it seemed like every five minutes he reminded her not to agitate the Noxians and Zaunites.

She bit her tongue each time, wanting to tell him she would be more likely to agitate the Demacians instead. Actually, she thought, just her very presence would royally screw them over. Point in case, she wasn't royalty. Not from a noble family, or even upper class, she was simply a country born girl who, when King Jarvan III wasn't watching, was promoted by the prince. Prince Jarvan was very possibly the only ally she had in the city, aside from Valor.

Her presence in the League of Legends would tarnish the Demacian reputation. Maybe even warrant another assassin, if they weren't too afraid of the League's enforcers. While crime at the outer rings of the city were common, the closer one got to the Institute of War, the cleaner everything got. The homeless and beggars disappeared, and the thieves didn't risk it, even though the nobles were ripe targets. Garbage accumulated in the outer residential district, while in the inner district was regularly cleaned. Not that there was much to clean near the Institute – Summoners were scary individuals and you didn't want to be caught littering near their homes.

Their small group was now behind the stage in a makeshift tent. The High Councilor had papers in hand, examining them carefully despite probably knowing the contents word for word. Gerrit was talking to her, his hands moving around animatedly and displaying all too much energy. It was probably something she should have acknowledged.

"You aren't to say anything. When he calls you, you simply walk up there and stand upright until he starts heading back to the tent, then you follow him. Sounds real easy, but the trick is you gotta do it looking good. This is when all your potential allies and enemies are going to be sizing you up. Uh – Valor – try to look intimidating, I guess. Man, we really should have done something about your armor. Anyways, while Prince Jarvan might pick you up any time it's Demacia participating on the Summoner's Rift, the other times are just as important. Bandle City can't go onto the Rift always choosing between their eight natives. Their enemies will know exactly who they're going to be facing and will pick up champions who've bested those Yordles many times before. Befriend some peeps and you can help Demacia more than you've ever expected."

Some time during his lecture, the High Councilor had left the tent and appeared on stage. Quinn couldn't see the crowd, but she could hear it. Was it too late to run away?

"You nervous or something?" Gerrit said.

"Maybe," Quinn responded offhandedly. Much too late to run. She would at least enjoy the look of astonishment and disbelief of Garen. The thought was accompanied by Valor affectionately rubbing his head against her ear.

"Actually," she said, "do you know if Garen is here?"

"The Might of Demacia? Yeah, he's here, along with his sister. So is the prince and Shauna, and a whole bunch of other Demacians. I guess they're all here for a show of force. Looking to show Noxus that they keep growing and getting stronger."

"Uh huh."

Nothing else to say, really. The Demacians, unless someone had contacted them in the last twenty four hours, had no clue what was about to transpire. Quinn grimaced. How badly could it go? An elderly voice resonating from the stage caught her attention.

"And thus, we introduce the League's one hundred and eleventh champion, Quinn Attridge, of Demacia!"

Gerrit shoved her forward, and she moved on autopilot. Thankfully, she didn't trip on the steps up. As she had been instructed, she took her place beside High Councilor Linden. He didn't look at her, or even acknowledge her presence.

"The League becomes stronger with each passing day," he said amid the flurry of talk.

His speech continued on, but Quinn had her concentration on the crowd, examining it intently. It was immediately apparent that the crowd was divided into two. Civilians out far and champions in close. She kept her head held high, as though not the least bit intimidated by the countless people below her who could kill her without so much as stretching their arms out. Her decision not to eat breakfast had been a good one.

There were at least forty champions present, Quinn realized when she did a rough head count. It seemed to be an unusually large number, but she didn't really know. Demacian champions like Garen and Jarvan spent several weeks at a time in the capital, before travelling to the League and spending a few weeks there. If most champions spent so long in their home kingdoms, Quinn would have expected the crowd to be much smaller. There were also a large number of champions who didn't go out in public, or didn't care about new arrivals in the League. All in all, there were too many people watching her. Too many potential opponents. She didn't want to be long in the city.

As Gerrit had said, the Demacians owned a corner of the front crowd. They were all staring at her like she was an alien – alright, probably not. They had seen their fair share of aliens in the League. More like she was a leper, hellbent on spreading her disease to them. Irrationally, the thought pleased her. They would have to pretend to be unsurprised around their peers or else look weak. They had no choice but to welcome her with open arms.

The captain of the Dauntless Vanguard was adorned in his usual shiny silver Demacian armor. It was trimmed gold and he had a dark blue cape decorating it. It entirely hid his figure, but Quinn knew how powerful he was. He was only allowed to hide beneath his armor because his strength always spoke for itself. Anyone who thought to mock him for needing such protection was either a soon-to-be-dead enemy or had never heard of the Might of Demacia.

When he saw Quinn, he grimaced, wide eyes frozen on her. Quinn met his eyes and smirked, causing him to turn to Jarvan, whispering quick, unheard words. The prince of Demacia nodded a few times, listening intently.

On the other side of Garen was a girl who immediately caught Quinn's attention. The butterflies in Quinn's stomach calmed for a moment when she saw the familiar face. Luxanna Crownguard was among the youngest champions in the League. Quinn was only 20 years old, and she was pretty sure Luxanna had been born a year after her. It made for a giant gap, when comparing them to the ancients and immortals of the League of Legends. Yet despite being much younger than everyone around her, Luxanna had joined the League even before her prince, and she'd experienced success after success on the Rift.

A girl of indescribably powerful light magic – or so she was described - she was also the dream of half men in the Demacian army. To Quinn, she looked simply like a petite, smiling girl. An innocent appearance, but a dangerous family name, and a mage to boot. Quinn pushed the fond memory of their dinner together out of her mind. That was the exception, not the norm, when spending time around mages and nobility.

Quinn had to keep a stoic face, in front of the thousands of live audience, but she nearly frowned when she caught sight of what Luxanna was doing. The girl was tilting her head left and then right continuously, as if trying to get a better view of something just behind Quinn.

Quinn's peripheral vision told her that was not true. Instead, she saw Valor, perched tightly on her left shoulder, copying Luxanna's exact moves. His head paused tilted towards the High Councilor, then, like a pendulum, it swung over and paused centimeters from Quinn's hair. It repeated in synchrony with the blonde girl a few times before Quinn quickly twitched her shoulder. Both bird and girl stopped.

Who had been copying who, Quinn wondered? At the very least, Valor must have looked very intimidating cocking his head back and forth. Quinn gave Luxanna a glare. The Crownguard daughter gave a mock pouting face in return, and Quinn looked away with a roll of her eyes.

The thought hadn't occurred to her that the Demacians would freely reject her in front of everyone, but Luxanna's actions indicated they were already setting up to make her look bad. It was entirely possible they wouldn't ever take her onto the Rift. She did, apparently, have several courts-martial on her name. Things could turn very ugly, very quickly, if she stayed in the League.

Since Vessaria and the Door had tested her for magic, Quinn had grown more confident that she was clean of any curses. In combination with doctor Lezaro's inspection, she would have to have terrible luck to have missed anything.

Once she spoke with Valor, and convinced him that breaking the League's contract was in their best interests, she would leave the city. She would leave all the cities behind, and find a peaceful life in the forests of Ionia.

Although, there was one more thing she wanted to do. To put her mind at peace, she would have to pay a visit to Luxanna. Ever since their dinner, something had been bothering her. For some incomprehensible reason, she had let the mage pay for their dinner. Accepting a meal from a Crownguard didn't sit well with her, and she would need to pay Luxanna back.

The League had already given her her first month's pay, so she would clear her debt with Luxanna and then disappear. It was a bridge-burning plan - she was already wanted by Demacians and Noxians, angering the Summoners was questionable - but it was the best way for her to get what she wanted. Besides, Valor would never want to stay in the League. The two of them belonged to the forest, not a massive city owned by magic users.

Quinn's thoughts settled, she turned her attention back to the world in front of her.

Behind the champions, a sea of people. The citizens of Senta who managed to sneak time off of their busy schedules had accumulated to see the newest celebrity. There was no point in even attempting to estimate their number. Starting a meter back from the farthest champion, the mass swelled in size, heading down the road as far as the eye could see. A few buildings with access to the roof had people piling on top. And then Quinn noticed the large sphere floating in the sky. It looked solid with a gassy blue layer of magic obscuring the core. Hovering perfectly still, it recorded everything in its surroundings, sending a projection to millions of other spheres stationed around Senta. Her image was being seen in houses, bars and pubs, stores and hotels, everywhere.

No reason to panic, Quinn thought. She literally had nothing to do but stand still. Millions of people sizing her up, imagining how should would fare against an expert of the League, such as Jax. There was no way anything could go wrong.

Pressure on Quinn's shoulder alerted her. Valor launched himself into the sky. A few people in the crowd cried out, and Quinn started to look around wildly for the reason behind Valor's actions. For some inexplicable reason, Quinn hesitated. Someone shouted words that should have made sense, but Quinn couldn't focus. As if suddenly submerged in water, her next breath failed to come. She reached for her throat, half expecting to find something constricting it. Even before she could act, however, her vision blurred, and when she blinked, she found herself standing in the makeshift summoner's tent. She spun around.

"That's your queue!" Gerrit hissed.

"What?" Quinn said, gasping for air.

She felt a familiar weight on her shoulder. Valor, settled calmly next to her head, as though he'd never left. The summoners in the tent, the faint talk of the crowd outside, and Gerrit urging her into stage… Quinn staggered a little, unable to comprehend what happened. Gerrit gave her a forceful shove, and she instinctively began walking up the stairs onto stage. She stopped next to the high summoner, who didn't look at her, or even acknowledge her presence.

"The League becomes stronger with each passing day," he said amid the flurry of talk.

Quinn froze. Valor tensed – but this time only in reaction to her.

It took no more than a moment to evaluate the crowd, the position of the clouds, and the old man's speech. Indeed, she had lived all this before. That, alone, didn't explain anything. There was an enemy out there, and handling it was top priority. Time manipulation was the most powerful magic imaginable, and perception magic was equally as dangerous. Whatever had happened to her, she knew she had to act quickly. Her eyes took the crowd in in a different light. She skipped the civilians, realizing there was no time to look for an enemy in their midst, and instead started through the champions. Under pressure, she recognized many but not enough names were coming to her. LeBlanc, a metal girl, a mutant crocodile monster. A large number of them appeared hostile, but they were League champions. She was specifically looking for someone who was preparing to cast magic or make an attack. What did the enemy gain by setting her back in time?

She had never thought too much about the details and laws of time. She'd heard about chronomancers south of the Great Barrier, but they were few and lived vastly different lives than the rest of the world. Chronomancers, irrelevant of their appearances, were centuries wiser than the rest of the continent. They grew bored of interactions with normal people, thinking of them as inferior, brainless children. These super beings isolated themselves so they could practice in peace. The rest of the world, afraid of the power to manipulate time, had no complaints and generally left them alone, giving the ruins of Urtistan a wide berth.

Quinn forced herself back to the present issue. No, it wasn't time control, that was too far fetched. It was perception manipulation. It had to have been. Valor had seen it first. He had launched himself towards the crowd before Quinn had known anything was wrong. What had Valor noticed? Quinn couldn't see any Summoners in the mass of people.

Valor tilted his head. Quinn immediately found Luxanna in the crowd. She was mimicking him. An enemy, or coincidence, Quinn wondered? In the normal run of events, this process would continue for at least ten seconds.

Quinn snapped her fingers, getting Valor's attention. Two hand signals, danger and patrol. Valor understood, and took off into the skies. The crowd gasped. There was less than half a minute before she was back into to where she was before. Subconsciously, Quinn rubbed her throat.

A massive object was flying towards her. A blur, so much so that Quinn didn't think to stop it, but rather threw herself out of the way. She hit the stage hard, catching sight of Valor dive bombing a target in the audience. She could hear the high Summoner's speech sputter and die, but choose not to rely on him to help. Even Summoners reached an age where their reactions were too slow to fight.

The enemy decided to reveal themselves before being spotted – meaning either they were either confident or impatient.

Quinn got to her feet. Knife in hand, she leaped off stage and charged into the crowd, which quickly parted ways for her. Arriving at an isolated person in the crowd who was fending off Valor's claws, Quinn realized she was already facing her enemy. Valor pulled back, momentarily, large wings bringing up a dust storm in the crowd.

Skin tanned from years of hard work in the desert, the woman wore cloth designed more for protection from sand and heat than anything else. Her brown hair was kept in place with a tiara, a large sapphire embedded in it. She was attractive, in an exotic sort of way, and she was staring directly at Quinn.

"Sivir?" Quinn said, the name somehow immediately coming to her.

The battle hardened mercenary had no visible weapon on her, and her eyes were unfocused, almost as if not interested in the battle at hand. For a second, Quinn couldn't believe Sivir had been the one to attack her, and then the woman grinned. The quickest flicker of her eyes gave away a more important realization.

Sivir. Boomerang.

Quinn began to turn so she could avoid acting blindly, but it was too late. The boomerang's return caught her, colliding with her back and knocking her off her feet. She caught sight of Sivir following up, and Quinn rolled when she hit the ground, creating more distance. It all happened in an instant. She recovered as Valor moved in, and Quinn saw her opportunity.

Swinging her boomerang like a sword, Sivir fended off Valor's attack, and Quinn was on her in a flash. Prudence kept her from attacking with her dagger, instead settling for a quick punch and sweeping kick, knocking Sivir to her feet. Before her attacker could react, Quinn stepped on her arm and twisted her foot, freeing the boomerang. Enemy disarmed, Quinn drew her dagger and dropped on top of Sivir. Straddling the mercenary's chest, Quinn brought the dagger up to Sivir's neck.

"We done here?" she hissed.

Her anger almost wanted a negative response so she could finish the job. It seemed everyone wanted her dead, and Quinn was sick of it. She had left Demacia to avoid this very thing.

Sivir grit her teeth and remained silent. Before Quinn could draw blood, however, someone pulled up and away from the mercenary. Quinn elbowed them as hard as she could, before turning around to see Gerrit stumbling back.

"Enough, Quinn," he gasped. "You won."

"I won," Quinn said. "What the hell was it, exactly, that I won?"

Sivir climbed to her feet, sending Quinn back a few steps. "Relax, hunter. I was just testing you – nothing else. You didn't look too impressive, so I thought maybe the League was trying to pull a quick one on us." She shook her arms, wincing, and retrieved her boomerang. When she turned to face Quinn again, it felt as though she were not looking at Quinn, but rather behind her. "You passed, if it means anything to you. If you want to hold a grudge against me, we can settle it on the Rift."

Quinn opened her mouth, but found she had nothing to say to Sivir. As if content, the mercenary nodded and left, easily breaking through the crowd.

"Let's go, too, Quinn," Gerrit said.

Quinn only nodded. There were too many eyes on her. As they left in the opposite direction of Sivir, Quinn thought to look back, to see what Sivir had been so intent on watching during their conversation. Aside from the summoner's tent, all she could see was a clock tower against the backdrop of the blue sky.

"Valor, I saw you and Luxanna."

Valor cocked his head, as though he didn't know what she was referring to.

"You think you're funny, Val? Is that your tough act?"

He responded by buffeting her hair with an extended wing.

"Yeah, yeah, you're a sucker for cute girls. I get it. Something we need to work on, eh? Need to be wary of that light magic."

If a Demacian eagle could look surprised, then that was how Valor seemed to be. Quinn brought her hands up.

"Whoah, slow down there buddy. I meant that it - it's an objective observation, isn't it? She's attractive. I mean, remember that time last year when we were scouting the Serpentine river for that squad? Whenever I overheard their conversations, it was always about Luxanna. So quit giving me that look, and pack your feathers. We're leaving town as soon as I wrap up some business here.

He gave her a negative caw.

"Valor... you can't be serious?"

The Demacian eagle had one of the most intense stares imaginable when he was serious. It sometimes terrified her, how easily and quickly he could go from playing to 'my knowledge is infinite and you had better listen to what I say' serious.

But that was how it worked. Quinn unequivocally trusted Valor. While she dreamt of the pure lands of Ionia, if Valor said they were staying in Senta, then they would. At least for a little while longer.

A/N: This concludes the first arc. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed the story so far - I always appreciate the feedback.

While writing this chapter, something was bothering me: should 'summoner' be capitalized? What about 'high summoner'? If you want to offer your input on this (and perhaps on 'door of acceptance', 'flame of reflection', 'summoner's rift', and other League relevant vocabulary), feel free to PM me or simply leave your opinion in a review. And while you're at it, I'd love to hear any criticism for the first chapter. I'm only retaining 30% of readers going from the first chapter to the second, and have been thinking about rewriting it (or perhaps it's the story summary I need to rewrite?).

For the story, I expect at least 80k words, though I'm hoping of hitting the 100k mark. Next chapter will be up soon.