The realization that she was older than the Institute of War hit her like a bullet. At the youthful age of twenty-four, she stood at its gates, staring up at the large buildings with a sense of trepidation. She felt anything but young. Her life had been full of adventure and activity since she'd been a child, from her time at sea, fighting criminals and monsters of the deep, to her time as an ambassador to Noxus. She had seen her closest friends breath their last breaths, and she had kicked the last breath out of her enemies, watching them bleed out at her feet.
She had had enough action to last a normal person several lifetimes, and when she stood next to the world's most powerful magic and buildings, she couldn't believe they had existed for a mere sixteen years. It was almost a crime, for all the kingdoms to so readily submit to the Institute, when it was but the equivalent of a baby. A powerful one, but still immature. It spoke to the insecurities of people, that they bowed down to the first choice they were presented.
Vessaria eyed the guards of the gate carefully. They wouldn't let her in. The security was top notch. Despite the guards not wearing armour, like the city guards, and were seemingly empty handed, Vessaria knew they were lethal. She didn't know how – one might have had a mastery of fire, and the other the ability to distort space and gravity, but there was no chance she could walk in without trouble.
It wasn't her plan, though. Her business was with the Door of Acceptance, which was located at the eastern entrance, meaning she would need to backtrack and walk for another half hour or so. She didn't mind, though. Walking through Senta was always an interesting activity.
The Door of Acceptance wasn't anything like she had imagined. Perhaps it was because the people of Bilgewater weren't easily impressed, but when they spoke of the golden door, they always sounded disinterested and bored of the subject. In person, the Door was enough to leave her awestruck. It was a massive, golden barrier. It had to have weighed more than the entire city, because it seemed to hang over her like a tsunami, ready to crush her and flatten everything. She took a couple steps back, diverting her eyes.
Its magical presence was ominous, too, but few people seemed intimidated. Those who didn't realize the greatness of the Door weren't likely to stand a chance, and, in their ignorance, they didn't realize that lining up for their turn was hopeless. Vessaria sat on the grass, in the shade of a tree. It was early morning, the air brisk and the dew on the shady grass wet the butt of her jeans. She adjusted her position until her back was resting against the tree, and then turned her attention forward.
Her intentions were to watch for a few minutes, until the line emptied a little more and she felt calmer. At the half hour mark, she was still watching. The flames hadn't changed colour yet, and one after another, the people left, disappointed. Her stomach growled, and she realized she might have dozed off for a few moments.
When lunch arrived, she hadn't moved an inch. Her body would be sore from keeping still so long, but the air had warmed and the grass was soft. She didn't want to stand up, not yet. The line grew to ten people, the largest it had been all day, and Vessaria spent her time analyzing the 'contestants', as she grew fond of thinking of them.
Her trip to Senta must have tired her more than she thought, because she fell asleep again. When she woke, it was to almost complete silence. Crickets had taken up their song, among the bushes at the top of the plaza, and everything was basking in the orangish glow of a sun setting over the kingdom of Noxus. She stared off into the distance, under the sun, and felt a growing anger rise within her. If she had more power, or even money to hire power, she would walk with an army and destroy the kingdom and everything it stood for.
She would kill the council, execute any remaining royalty, and demolish the castles. She would hunt down every flag, and pile them together and burn them in a massive bonfire, and declare the end of Noxus, because it had taken away all she had ever had and all she had ever wanted.
"You failed," a voice said.
Vessaria snapped her head towards the Institute. A man was approaching her, his red robes billowing in a gentle breeze that she hadn't previously noticed. It took her a second to clumsily climb to her feet, fighting the tingling sensation in her half-asleep legs. Leaning against the tree, she watched the man carefully, realizing he was the source of the wind. She had watched him for the greater part of the day, and his presence, combined with her recent rest, meant she was completely alert.
He reminded her of an Ionian monk. The man was barefoot, and red robes covered most of his body. His face was wrinkled and his hair graying, as though he was in an all out war against age, which was odd, considering magic could easily combat the visual side effects of aging. His eyes were unfocused as he stared off into the distance, where Vessaria had been looking a moment earlier. She watched his brown eyes for a few seconds, before they flickered back to her, as though they were in the middle of a conversation.
"You're a High Summoner," she said, clearing her throat after it came out slightly raspy.
He nodded. "I am High Summoner Irvin. I was overseeing the Door today. I was expecting you to try, but you never did."
Vessaria looked around the plaza, realizing they were the only two people remaining. She took a step away from the tree to glance down into the city proper. It was still lively. The restaurants, with their massive chimneys exuding columns of smoke and large torches at their entrances, showed the most life. There were smaller lights, coming from windows of the residences, but it surprised Vessaria that the city was going to bed so early.
Beyond the houses, she could see empty fields and wooden structures, posts and support beams that outlined future houses. The amount of construction work that had been going on during the day only proved how quickly Senta was growing. Within a few years, it was very possible the city would become the largest in the world.
"I'm in no rush. Maybe tomorrow." Her voice took on a harder tone. "And what do you mean I failed?"
"I saw you this morning. I watched you this afternoon. And I approach you this evening. The Door is an intimidating thing, and you were well advised to get your thoughts in order before you challenged it, but I come to you now, at the end of the day, and you are still angry. Or at least, you were. It seems you'd best not dwell on the past."
"I'll dwell on what I please."
"And... did you learn anything, sitting quietly and watching?" he said, managing to not make it sound like a query at all, but rather a simple fact.
Vessaria shrugged, but didn't feel the need to oppose him anymore. "There were lots of people, but why is it done this way? It was obvious most of them had no control over magic whatsoever. It seems inefficient to let everyone try."
Irvin turned to the Door, holding out an empty fist. The air around his hand shimmered, and a wooden staff appeared in his grip. Vessaria tensed before realizing he had no intention of using it. He simply rested it on the grass, leaning against it like a crutch. She had the rogue thought that kicking it would result in him collapsing and breaking a hip. His insistence on appearing feeble confused her.
"It's about equal opportunity, I believe. Humans are fallible. We shouldn't judge who is worthy of representing on the world's stage. While the Door has proven troublesome before, it can see the potential in us much better than we can. A homeless man without coin or family to his name won't be dismissed by the Door because of his stature, just like how this is the only door that isn't assured to open for a king."
In silence, the two of them watched the Door, as if expecting it to react to their intense stares.
"I won't be here tomorrow, but I would like to see," Irvin said.
"The Door is scary."
"It is."
Together, they approached it. High Summoner Irvin took his spot once more, pulling a small hourglass from his hand.
"You may approach the Door," he said in the same tone she'd heard hundreds of times that day.
Vessaria took the quill in hand, clutching it tighter when she could see it visibly shaking. The quill was large, perhaps scavenged from a Demacian eagle. It was longer than the point of her index finger to her elbow, and its weight meant she had trouble keeping it upright. Once it was dabbed in the ink provided, she had two false starts before she settled it onto the paper, quickly scrawling her signature down. Her cursive wasn't the best, but she had practiced for this moment many times, albeit not with such ludicrous stationery.
When she finished, she carefully set the quill aside, parallel to the now signed paper. In silence, everyone waited for the ink to dry. It wasn't supposed to be a momentous affair, that would be later, but rather it was the necessary paperwork. Still, she felt accomplished. For the first time in four years, since the Door had rejected her, Vessaria was hopeful about her future.
"Congratulations," High Summoner Irvin said, waking everyone present from the reverie that had descended upon the small room. "You've already done great things for the Institute, and I hope you continue to work hard, but now, as my equal."
The clerk reached forward, gingerly pulling the now signed document into his portfolio.
Vessaria smiled. As she stood up, she felt an inexplicable calm descend over her. Many people worked hard their entire lives, only for their work to never pay off. She had made great steps in such little time, and all the while she had been questioning herself, wondering if it would all be for naught. Even if her newfound powers weren't enough, at least she wouldn't worry she had let the opportunity pass.
"High Summoner Irvin, I still have much to learn, and though I may now be your peer, your wisdom is unparalleled. It is my hope that you will continue to guide me on the next step of my life."
What is god?
The question hung over Vessaria as she walked through the halls of the Institute of War. Summoners stopped in their tracks to bow to her, but she didn't divert her eyes from her path.
Everyone had their own answer to the question.
While not common knowledge, Shurima had many gods. These gods weren't creators, nor omniscient super beings. They were powerful and few, and they fought in wars, preferring to take human form as they delivered punishment to the non believers. The quantity of wars faded with time, and so did the presence of these gods, but they weren't forgotten. Walking through abandoned cities in the Shurima desert, it was common to find pottery and etchings devoted to these mighty beings.
Noxus and Piltover had a single god, believed by a few to be the very same. It may have stemmed from the early days, before Zaun was founded, when they enjoyed a mutually beneficial trade agreement. Their god was said to have created life on Runeterra, after arriving on the bleak and rocky planet. Ionia, Demacia, and the other kingdoms and city states all had their own beliefs, too.
Senta wasn't a kingdom, nor officially a city state, but it was a melting pot of cultures from around the world, and some people looked at the Institute of War as not merely a governing power, but as a new god, whom regulated every kingdom on Runeterra. What did that make her, when she was one of three people at the top of the Institute?
"Gerrit, ma'am."
"You're top of your graduating class," Vessaria said. "Best marks we've seen in several years. I'm already aware of your history, but I can't see into the future."
Gerrit looked around nervously. He was young, not even twenty years of age, but he had a solid grasp on magic, and almost more importantly, politics. He had shown motivation, yet she couldn't sense in what direction he was moving. While his social skills still required work, he would soon be a force to be reckoned with.
"Are you asking me what I plan to do, now?" he said.
Vessaria nodded.
"Move my stuff out of Zaun."
"I'm more interested in your long term plans."
Gerrit bit his lip. "Look, you can't tell anyone what I'm about to say. You see, I've been working on something in secret, and recently the Zaunite Council has been sniffing around. They'll confiscate it at first chance, I think, but moving it out of the city will be a monumental task. It could take as long as a year, and once it's done I need to rebuild it somewhere else-"
"Here."
"Yes, here, if I can get the required permits. And once it's rebuilt, well, I'll continue my work on it. Maybe finish it, maybe die before I do, I don't know."
Vessaria contemplated his words. He was talking about a lifelong project, and those tended to be dangerous.
"I see," Vessaria said. "And what exactly is this project of yours?"
...but I have never once called into question your love for me, and that is where I find my drive. I look forward to the day you learn to accept that death shouldn't be feared, and the day when we can then be together again.
Vessaria left the quill on the piece of paper, blotting the final period as she became lost in thought. Perhaps the day would come sooner that she imagined. With a sigh, she put the quill aside, and filed the paper into her desk.
It was foolish, to write when she had no address for the recipient. And even if she did, would she sent it? Not likely. There were other matters to take care of, first.
"I've got some good news, and some bad news," Gerrit said, seating himself in her guest chair.
"I'll take the good news first," she said.
Gerrit hesitated a moment. "It doesn't work like that. You're supposed to take the bad news first and then make it less bad with the good news."
"I said I wanted the good news."
"It's not going to make sense without hearing the bad news first."
"I don't care."
"Okay, fine then, here goes. The Zaunite Council says they aren't going to turn it into a bomb."
Vessaria collapsed her head into her hands. "What on Runeterra have you done?"
The Garden of Judgement had taken on the form of a botanical garden.
They walked along the garden's path in silence, Vessaria trying to get a read on the girl. Young, she was outwardly nonthreatening, but carried herself with a confident air, not unlike her companion who flew in the sky far above them. Her head was constantly moving from side to side as she examined her surroundings, taking in probably more than the average champion of the League of Legends would.
Vessaria had taken an immediate dislike to her.
She wasn't taking the interview seriously, and she had seemed surprised that the Door opened for her. It was jealousy, to be sure, but Vessaria was also questioning whether the Door hadn't made an honest mistake. Unfortunately, no matter how she tried, she couldn't twist logic enough for it to be possible. The Door had successfully created over one hundred champions prior to Quinn, so there was no reason to believe it had malfunctioned.
Valor let out a piercing cry as he descended from the sky. She watched intently, ready to act if he showed signs of attacking. Instead, he stopped in front of her, large wings beating against the ground to hover at eye level. She hesitated. He was a Demacian eagle, surely there was nothing behind this action, aside from defending his companion? His eyes stared at her, and she find herself unable to look away. Gravelly white eyes, with a pure black iris of an intensity she couldn't have imagined coming from a bird. She was clearly being welcomed, but that in itself disturbed her.
Nonetheless, Vessaria acted.
A vast forest of green, unmarred by man and replete with wildlife. Trees reaching up to the sky, their trunks as wide as houses and their bark thick enough to protect from any attacks. From Valor's eyes, she watched as he travelled from the forest, and then upwards. He travelled up the mountains and through the clouds, past the snow capped peaks in the freezing, thin atmosphere. Beyond the Great Barrier, Valor arrived at a desert.
Within the desert, a thriving city of people.
Urtistan, as it was five centuries ago, before it had been wiped off the map by the First Rune War. The city was clearly in its heydays.
The people, most powerful chronomancers or mages, or at the very least related to one, led startlingly normal lives. The children laughed and played with each other and their toys in the morning and evenings, but were condemned to schools made of sandstone during the afternoons, where they were taught an assortment of subjects not unlike present-time schools. The wives stayed home, cleaning the house, washing the laundry, or preparing supper.
There were obvious deviations from the norm, such as the cloth on the clothesline drying in minutes, rather than hours – and Vessaria suspected it wasn't due to the desert's heat, as much as it was magic being used to assist in the chores. The caravans were pulled by camels, yet they glided light as a feather across the bumpy and dusty roads within the city.
All in all, it wasn't a dangerous city of violent, magic obsessed people. The gates weren't closed to outsiders – in fact, there weren't any city gates at all, nor were there any walls to enclose the city. Urtistan wasn't a solitary congregation of people, as the history books so oft loved to claim.
Valor's memories, jumping from one scene to another, sometimes so fast she couldn't make sense of what she was seeing, settled on a man. The Demacian eagle's companion, Vessaria surmised. She was thankful that it wasn't Quinn, nor any familiar face for that matter. The man looked to be forty or so, well built but not over-muscular, and surprisingly pale for living in a desert. One of his eyes was unfocused and glassy, indicating blindness.
The scenes continued moving, mingling, and disappearing. Both eagle and man were travelling. The Fyrone flatlands weren't flatlands, but windy and covered in dunes. They passed through an oasis, the man pausing to draw more water into the small lake with his magic before they continued on their way. South of the Great Barrier, the two travelled to countless places, running into enemies and acquaintances and fighting monsters that lived deep in the jungles and swamps.
The remaining memories were compacted into a span of terrifying, heart-stopping scenes.
They were back in Urtistan.
Despite Vessaria being so far distant from it, she couldn't help but shiver as, over the horizon, an army approached. The only army in the world powerful enough, and brave enough, to challenge the chronomancers of Urtistan. They covered the dunes with great speed, unimpeded by the billions of grains of sand that sank beneath their feet. Like water, they flowed forth, hundreds of thousands of them blackening the horizon and darkening the desert. Their machines, large contraptions that Vessaria couldn't begin to ponder their purpose, drew ever closer. No sound accompanied the image, but she saw drummers and couldn't not hear their drum's beat as they marched to war.
The chronomancers stepped outside their city, forming a human barrier. There were pitifully few of them, compared to the invading army. Behind the chronomancers, a clock tower rose up far above the city's buildings. The clock was massive, the hands large enough that the invaders would be able to read the time from where they stood, on the horizon. If historians could be believed, it was within that very tower that Zilean was trapped in a time stasis, conjured by himself while he explored the depths of time and magic itself.
And then, the air around the chronomancers shimmered, and as though surrounded by charged wires, electricity crackled around them. Despite not being there, and sight being the only sense available, Vessaria could tell the atmosphere was charged with powerful, unparalleled magic. The conjuration continued, even as several of the magic users collapsed into the sand, their magical reserves dry. The electricity began to show pattern. It took the shape of a sphere, twice as wide as the city's oasis, and it rose into the air between the two armies. The sky was cloudless, yet somehow it seemed to blot out the sun, darkening the desert as though it were night. All the while, the wind grew stronger. The sand, disturbed, whipped up and dusted the horizon. The grains began spinning clockwise around the circumference of the sphere, and Vessaria realized she was watching a massive, unnatural tornado take shape.
Valor rose above the armies until the individual people weren't distinguishable and the city under siege was completely in his sight. Utterly devastating, yet cloudless, the tornado dove into the opposing army. Anarchy broke out among the attackers as the columns of soldiers tried to move out of the way. Men were physically lifted off the ground as sand grated their skin and flayed them. Silent screams echoed through the desert as soldiers were thrown away like rag-dolls, and then everything went dark.
Vessaria stood, frozen, in the Garden of Judgement.
Valor blinked at her, as if to ask if she understood – and she didn't – before he left, returning to his position in the skies above. She didn't move her head, and she didn't blink, afraid she might forget the fantastical images she had just seen.
It was almost impossible to believe, but the tornado hadn't been enough to win the battle. History recorded what came next, and the attacking army supposedly defeated the chronomancers, looting the city and demolishing it, leaving only ruins in their wake. It had been the final battle of the First Rune War.
"Uh, I suppose I'll be going now."
Quinn's words woke her.
"Yes, yes," Vessaria said, the words sounding funny to her ears.
While she held no interest in Quinn – in fact, the girl's lack of responsibility bothered her – but Valor was a puzzle which she wouldn't let escape. She would solve his mystery. Truth, or deception, she would figure out how an animal had come to have such amazing scenes locked within its mind.
Vessaria looked in both directions down the corridor. No one was visible. She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes for a moment. It took a few seconds before anything happened, but she could feel the magic begin to form. A thin layer coating her skin, permeable. It would absorb intense heat and cold, protecting her from fluctuations in the environment. The spell was simple, taught in the first year of Summoner training, yet infinitely useful because of the existence of people like Brand and things like Anivia, and the guest she was about to welcome.
At her fingertips, she conjured a flame and brought it beneath her chin. She felt nothing. Satisfied, Vessaria dispelled the fire and put a key in the lock, turned it, and opened the door. Descending the stairs, she knew the temperature was getting gradually colder. The lights flickered. They were old, and used electricity rather than fire. The basement room itself wasn't used often, and its original purpose was an interrogation chamber. Putting a guest in such a room had given her pause, but Dandridge had insisted their guest wouldn't care in the least.
For some, environment mattered so little it couldn't even be construed as an insult or intimidating tactic.
The concrete room was sparsely decorated, or rather not at all. A single wood table was in the middle of the room, with four chairs. Only one was occupied, and it was by their guest. Stone benches were positioned against each wall, and sitting in each bench was a Summoner. They all stood at attention when Vessaria entered. She examined the dismally grey room, before approaching the table.
"Welcome to the Institute of War, Lissandra. I am High Summoner Vessaria, acting on behalf of the institute for today's meeting."
Lissandra nodded her head.
She wasn't human, or so everyone concluded. She took the shape of a human, but the proportions were all wrong, like a toy doll that little girls played with. Her neck with unnaturally thin and long, and her head had very sharp contours, like it had been chipped from a block of ice. Her skin was a cloudy blue – that was to say, white at first glance, but a hint azure if someone was brave enough to take a closer look.
She wore armor of a very dark blue, but at a glance the material wasn't distinguishable. The armor spiked at her shoulders, and only protected her arms up to her elbows. Her fingers were long, spindly appendages with fingernails in great need of cutting, though Vessaria suspected they were used for cutting, and were much stronger than the average person's nail.
Perhaps the most startling feature of the ice queen were her eyes. They were a deep red that contrasted her with the rest of her body, but they weren't staring at her with any intensity, nor were they examining to room or trying to be intimidating. They were surprisingly normal and unchampion-like. Dare Vessaria even classify them as innocent, or friendly?
Perhaps, if Lissandra had once been human, those were her original eyes, and everything else had undergone a transformation as she turned into the ice witch that she was now. But there were more important matters than dwelling on Lissandra's past. She had arrived at the Institute of War late last night, walking unnoticed through the city and through the front gates until a Summoner stopped her and nearly suffered a heart attack when realizing whose shoulder spikes he had just grabbed.
"Why did you come here?" Vessaria asked, finally, after a minute of silence had passed. Even as she spoke, her breath fogged the room and she realized it wasn't just cold, but actually freezing temperature. Lissandra's aura was something to be feared, even when it mingled with all the magic within the Institute.
"An acquaintance told me," Lissandra said. Her voice was even, if a little quiet.
Vessaria pulled out a chair and sat down, crossing her legs. "You're telling me you came here on someone else's orders?"
The other Summoners in the room shifted their feet restlessly, and Vessaria thought that maybe the room had dropped an additional degree. She almost wished she had thought to bring a thermostat with her. Vessaria, however, didn't react. She waited patiently for a response. They were on thin ice, literally, as it were, by taking in the guest. Protocol didn't support using such secretive measures, but Vessaria wanted to interview Lissandra before the general public had a chance to do anything. The media was stupid, and if not provided with an explanation, tomorrow's headlines would read: 'Immortal Ice Witch from Freljord Comes to Subjugate the Institute of War'.
"It wasn't an order," Lissandra said, resting her hands flat against the table. "It was a fact. Coming here would shorten the path I take."
Vessaria gave a minute shake of her head. There was no need to ask about the path, everyone already knew that Lissandra was attempting to restore the ice age of centuries ago, when all the land above the Great Barrier was glaciers and ice, hospital only to a few clans of humans. Lissandra was doubtlessly a true threat to the world. She had the experience of combat from hundreds of years of violence, and rumour was that she was especially conniving. Her presence at the Institute would be a headache for everyone involved.
Unfortunately, during an emergency meeting earlier in the day, it had been determined that Vessaria was responsible for deeming Lissandra as 'safe'. What exactly that entailed, no councilor or either Dandridge or Irvine could tell her. She had to use her own judgement and hope there wouldn't be any icy stalactites impaling civilians during their daily routines tomorrow.
"The Institute of War has rules to ensure the safety of people and the proper administration of power," Vessaria began.
She continued, and it took her half an hour to read the rules and laws of the land. All the while, Lissandra seemed to be paying attention, making the occasional eye contact and nod of the head to show she was listening. After mentally checking off every item on the list, Vessaria fell silent. She spent a minute ensuring that she'd caught every point she intended on saying.
After the laws, came the reason for Lissandra's visit. It was a monumental task for only Vessaria to handle, but perhaps for that reason she trusted only herself, and not Irvine or Dandridge, to do it. She believed Irvin relied too much on prior experience and Dandridge his instinct to handle situations, but this required caution at all times. Lissandra had little input as the discussion continued. One of the Summoners was diligently taking notes, but his magic shielding must have been completely saturated, because he was sketching out the plans with numb fingers and a shivering body.
The process took two hours, and went surprisingly well.
"Then you will agree to the terms laid forth by the Institute of War?"
"Would you rather I not?"
Vessaria gave a brisk smile, before clenching her teeth. She was beginning to feel the cold. "We are a neutral power, only here to mediate between kingdoms. My opinion on this matter is irrelevant."
The woman gave a chilling laugh. It was the first sign of hostility since their meeting began, and the four Summoners tensed, as though they expected a fight.
"To pretend my arrival has little significance would be a fatal mistake, High Summoner. In fact, I know some are already curious."
"Curious? As to what?"
"Your institute is young. Compared to me, it is but a child, yet so many people believe that whomever the Institute declares worthy will become the true queen of Freljord. For the earth itself to recognize the Institute, is that not the birth of a new god?"
High Summoner Irvin had been important to her, and when the news arrived, the first thing Vessaria did was try to deny reality.
The second thing she did was entertain the idea of altering the past. This had resulted in Dandridge slapping her and reminding her of their duties. She couldn't take offense to the action, because Dandridge and Irvin had been best friends. He, if anyone, had the right to sulk, but he was already organizing an investigations team. With a few curt words, she was sent to her office and told Quinn, a suspect in the murder, would be sent in shortly.
In the meantime, she read the report on her desk.
Irvin was a close friend of hers, and while she felt numb at the moment, she wouldn't know if she would be able to fall asleep tonight without showing at least some tears. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, his condition wasn't curable. He was destined to die, when the petrification wore off, and she would then grieve a second time, when that happened.
An intelligent and respectable man, Irvin had a knack for teaching, and every Summoner, young and old, learned from him. They were supposedly equal, but so much of Vessaria's knowledge came from him. When she tracked down Irvin's killer, their last memory would be of Bilgewater's Walls. Vessaria promised herself that. If it meant a detour from her goal of toppling the Noxian empire, then so be it. She had dedicated the past five years of her life to it. A few weeks distraction could only do her good.
The door opened. Gerrit and Quinn entered. With a wave of her hand, she sent Gerrit away. He would be busy; there was no reason to delay him.
"Take a seat, please," Vessaria set as she rearranged papers on her desk, aligning them against its edge.
Quinn was an odd individual. A liar who always seemed wary of her surroundings, yet who knew so little. She was supposedly from Demacia, yet her own kingdom's heroes scorned her, and she showed no allegiance towards them. If Vessaria was to be honest, Quinn didn't belong at the League. It was her companion, who'd seen the world as it was five centuries ago, that Vessaria respected.
More than once, in the past few days, she had found her idle attention drifting towards what she had seen in Valor's eyes, during the interview. The memories had been fuzzy and disjointed, but they had shown a puzzle that Vessaria was determined to solve.
Quinn was staring at her hair, and Vessaria realized she hadn't properly prepared for a guest. With a quick motion, she brushed her hand through her hair, turning it from red to brown. She examined a lock of hair, to ensure it was the right shade.
"I'm a little envious of your purple hair," Vessaria said, delaying their upcoming conversation. "It looks good no matter what you're wearing. For me, I actually have to put effort into it. Red hair and red robes don't go well together, I discovered early on."
Quinn looked uncomfortable, as if unsure how to respond to Vessaria's oblique compliment. Vessaria smiled, leaning back. On a fundamental level, Quinn bothered her. There were people who loved their kingdom and devoted everything to it, and those who proudly called themselves independent, shirking the obligation to their kingdom or city state. Quinn was neither of these. She wasn't brave enough to declare herself independent, and she showed no respect to her kingdom. Vessaria couldn't believe that Quinn held a high ranking position in the Demacian army.
The Door didn't open for her, when she had given herself an important task, yet it opened for Quinn, who had no clear goal in life and who didn't even want the Door to open. There was obviously a reason behind it, but Vessaria couldn't get over how unfair it seemed.
Finally, the girl spoke. "I didn't kill him."
Vessaria already knew that.
"We'll talk about Irvin's fate in a moment, but there are other things I want to discuss. You are, after all, a new champion of the League of Legends. I haven't spoken to you since the interview, have I? I heard Sivir attacked you during your introduction, but that you handled it quite well. Despite the League's generous pay, she's still an active mercenary, so don't take it personally. It's likely someone else wanted to test you, or kill you.
"Yeah, I'm already aware that there are people who want me dead."
"Aside from Noxians?"
Quinn nodded, but said no more.
"It may be a few days early," Vessaria said, "but we're both here, so I'd like to hear your opinion on Gerrit. It is my intention to fast track him through to the council, and if he plays his cards right, perhaps he'll one day become a High Summoner. He may replace me, some time in the future."
"I haven't really spoken with him much," Quinn said.
"That's not what I asked. Tell me your opinion of him."
"I don't know. He's good, I guess."
Vessaria refrained from sighing or showing any signs of irritation. It was her own fault for looking for insightful feedback from the girl. Assuming Gerrit's project, which had fallen into the hands of the Zaunite Council, didn't cause any global disasters, she would still push for him to work towards joining the council. Beyond that, it was up to him. Vessaria would find another pupil, another who shared her hatred for Noxus, and the training process would repeat.
"I've heard you rejected a house on Demacia avenue," Vessaria said. "If you want, I could change your status to 'independent'. Usually, it's assumed a champion's allegiance is to their home kingdom, so I didn't ask you, but it takes little effort to change the records."
"What exactly does it mean, to be independent?"
"Not much," Vessaria admitted. "I suppose your pay would increase, if your home kingdom taxes your income – which Demacia does."
In fact, and Vessaria wasn't sure if Quinn was aware of it, but the Demacian king rose taxes again for the second time in a one year time frame, spurning riots in the streets from small businesses that were struggling to get by. Demacia was one of the only kingdoms left that was run by a monarchy, rather than some form of government with a council. It said a lot that both Zaun and Noxus had already abolished their monarchies and were run by a council of people, while the Demacian royal family insisted on staying in power, despite the growing discontent of their people.
Aside from Freljord, which would very soon return to a monarchy, albeit possibly in a very broken state, all the other kingdoms and city states had a proper governments.
Vessaria continued. "It also means no one needs to ask your ambassador for permission to recruit you into a rooster. They'll deal directly with you. The largest difference, in my opinion, is the public's opinion, which I suspect you care little for. There are a handful of smaller things, but the benefits and hindrances of such would be up to you to discover. Are you interested?"
Quinn hesitated. "Can I think about it?"
"Yes." Vessaria's dislike of Quinn only grew. Of course the girl would hesitate. She didn't even know if she wanted to remain loyal to Demacia. "Now, onto current matters. High Summoner Dandridge is in charge of the investigation, but for some reason he wants me to interview you, who, in his opinion, is suspect number one in the attack on High Summoner Irvin."
"I didn't do it. There was another man there, his companion," Quinn said, sounding desperate. "What about him?"
High Summoner Dandridge had informed her of the peculiar news. Irvin's companion, who was very likely no longer still in Valoran, was the primary creator of Suuntaava, the orb which connected their world to the Fields of Justice, and one of the three original High Summoners. His name was Rayburn Cardwell, and he was a man well past his years. His visit to Senta, a secret only known to few people, brought great concern to his successors. Unfortunately, things had turned south and he bolted before he'd had a chance to explain why he was there. A warning, he had told Irvin before the attack, but that was all they knew.
As the last of the original High Summoners, he had knowledge of the inner workings of the Summoner's Rift. It was for that reason he had retired to a cottage overlooking the cliffs on a remote area in Bilgewater. Ridden with guilt, he had left the world of summoners behind, but something had brought him back – something potentially dangerous enough that he felt obliged to give them forewarning.
"Relax, Quinn. I don't believe you did it. But you are a witness, so I do need to interview you. Irvin's companion is not a suspect. Now, there's two ways we can go about this interview. If you open your mind to me, we can be done quickly and I'll know I didn't miss any information-"
"No," Quinn said, immediately diverting her eyes to the ground.
"It would only take a minute or two."
"I refuse."
"You make this more complicated than it has to be," Vessaria said. It was the expected response, though. Very few people would be willing to allow her to read their mind, even though she was in a position of power and respect. "But we'll tackle this the old fashioned way. What were you doing at the restaurant?"
"Eating dinner," Quinn said flatly.
Vessaria raised an eyebrow. Quinn wouldn't normally visit such a place. Was she trying to conceal information?
"It wasn't my idea. It was Lux's."
"Lux's," Vessaria repeated. She hadn't meant to sound so disbelieving, but it was a surprise that Quinn was associating with another Demacian. "The report did mention her. I'm glad to see you're getting along with your fellow Demacians. You were the first to notice that the high Summoner had been petrified. Is that correct?"
"I don't know." Quinn crossed her arms, leaning back further against the chair. "I felt a shift in magic, but I didn't immediately realize it was him."
"We both know you can't use magic on your own, yet you say you noticed it before the squad of Summoners we had positioned within the restaurant?"
"That's how it is," Quinn said. "What about Cassiopeia and Katarina Du Couteau? Considering the petrification..."
"Swain is cooperating, and we sent the Du Couteau sisters out of town. They're returning to Noxus for a few weeks, until things cool down."
"Why?"
"For their own safety, of course. We have sufficient witnesses for their alibi, and are quite confident the petrification does not match Cassiopeia's abilities. Now, tell me about your waiter."
Much like her meeting with Lissandra, their discussion continued for a long time as Vessaria tried her best to make sure she covered every possibility.
A/N: Throughout the rest of the story, we'll be seeing at least 3 more 'insight' chapters, which show events from the past and/or from a different character's point of view.