"Who made this? A loser? No effort! No effort, where's the effort? It's a disaster, a shame. How lame!"

"Who are you and what the hell are you doing?" Quinn said, poking the furry lump with the tip of her sword.

It delved deeper into the pile of rubble, and then shifted around to reveal a hairy, soot covered face. The first thing Quinn saw were goggles and a perfectly white set of much-too-wide teeth, and she had half a mind to stab the thing right then and there, because whether or not it was responsible for the bombing, it was certainly a talking monster.

"It's a Quinn!" the thing exclaimed. "And it meets a Ziggs! How fantastic, where are the explosions? Fireworks and reception? It's bombastic!"

Quinn sighed and put her sword away. The Yordle was a champion of the League, and while she'd heard of the name once or twice, she hadn't realized how completely, utterly insane he was. Even speaking with him was headache worthy.

"And what are you doing here?" Quinn said.

"Investigation!"

Ziggs didn't seem to see her as an interruption, because he returned to his work, pulling out random pieces of charred wood and nails, sniffing them in turn and throwing them into different piles on a cleared out section of nearby dirt. Quinn watched the process, trying to figure out what ends he was working towards, but the piles were steadily growing taller, and her confusion deeper.

Eventually, the name finally hit her. Her Yordle landlord.

"Are you here because Tinns asked you to investigate?" she said.

"She's no Tinns, not a Minns nor a Mittens, or any Finn. Could it have been a Quinn?"

"What – no. I didn't ask you to be here. 'She', you said? Who is she?"

"Lynn, almost! I think the boom didn't respect the room, and that's where it all is! Who, you ask? The Sheriff, I say and quiver until I shiver. She threatened to cook my liver!"

"Caitlyn told you to investigate," Quinn finally concluded.

"And so she bestowed upon me the responsibility to see... boom!" He lurched towards her, and Quinn stumbled back, intent on keeping a certain distance between them.

He broke into laughter, rubbing his eyes and apparently oblivious to the fact that he had destroyed the piles of rubble he had carefully been making over the past while. Once he finally calmed down, he looked up at her, and though his eyes were hidden behind green lensed goggles, she was pretty sure it was the first time he was actually looking directly at her.

"Once upon a time, I had this beautiful creation, and I had a testing fixation, so I blew up the Sheriff's station. She was furious, called me an abomination, an aberration! Threatened mutilation, said she would end my circulation," he cried, pausing for dramatic effect. "I searched for salvation, told her I would give her my cooperation! And so here is my investigation, for consideration!"

"And what have you found?" Quinn said, deciding she wouldn't translate his monologue.

"Speculation!"

"Not helpful," Quinn muttered.

He leaped forward, and Quinn tried to escape, but he was already in front of her before she could stumble over the debris and back onto the road. He held out his hand, short and furry fingers offering her a piece of rubble.

"Take it, maybe shake it, but do not forsake it!"

She took it.

"Lick it, but be careful where you stick it!"

"What? No. I'm not licking it."

"Lick it."

"No."

"If you want answers..."

Quinn waited for a rhyming follow up, but Ziggs was oddly quiet, staring at her intently. She looked around. There was nobody on the street; people were probably making large detours around the area, as rumours began to spread of a champion of the League of Legends being attacked. Cautiously, she brought the rubble closer to her face. Scratching it with her fingernail, she discovered it was metal. Perhaps from the bomb itself? Again, she checked the streets and found them empty.

She didn't have a Yordle's sense of taste, but if she needed to play along to get answers...

She licked it.

It tasted of soot. A dry taste that no amount of saliva could wash away.

Ziggs burst out laughing. "You licked it! You licked it! You actually licked it! What a weirdo. How chaotic! You're a lunatic, idiotic, so moronic!"

He fell to the ground, rolling around on his back as he laughed, further messing the piles he had so painstakingly created earlier. Quinn could feel her ears heating up, and she threw the metal fragment at him. It got caught in his fur, along with half the rest of the house's debris, and she watched him as he rolled back and forth, like a beetle stuck on its back.

"Give me answers," Quinn demanded.

"Not yet. But give me time, and I'll certainly solve this crime!"

Realizing she'd just been played by a ball of ninety nine percent fur, she left without saying another word.

Senta's best hospital was leagues above the one she'd been committed to in the Demacian capital. It was a massive structure in the middle of the city, dwarfing all the nearby houses and commercial buildings and only beaten by a select few churches, whose bell towers or spires peaked above the city's skyline. Inside, the place was very spacious. The ceiling was an extra story high, and the hallways were about the width of one of the main roads running through the city itself. It seemed almost overboard, but then again, humans weren't the only people admitted to the hospital; they had to be prepared for anything and everything.

Quinn wondered if the hospitals in Bandle City were miniature, since the region was walled off from the rest of the world by the Sablestone mountain range and they only needed to accommodate Yordles.

Arriving at the receptionist's desk, she stared dumbfounded for a minute. There was very little on the desk itself, but arrays of data, in the form of holographs, floated above the surface, and a line of receptionists were interacting with the information with waves of their hand. The scene evoked an image from a book she'd read, where technology had completely replaced paper but then magic had instilled it with a mind of its own, and the machinery rebelled against the humans, causing a great war.

Hopefully they wouldn't be going in that direction, but it certainly didn't seem like a good start.

In fact, it looked like holographic technology took precedence over everything in the hospital. Calendars on the wall, name plates on the doors to every room, and even the locks on the doors themselves all glowed and flickered with images. It might have been so prevalent because physical buttons and such were more difficult to keep sanitized, but Quinn found it more discomforting than her stay in the Demacian hospital.

"Can we help you, dear?" a heavyset woman asked from the other side of the desk. "If you require medical assistance, I can call a nurse."

The woman seemed very nonchalant about the offer, and Quinn realized she still had blood on her hands and clothing. Her body, however, was holding up surprisingly well, and the woman's trained eye seemed to recognize that Quinn didn't need emergency care. Or maybe she was just unaffected by sights of violence, after years of working in the hospital.

"No. I'm here to see someone. Luxanna Crownguard."

The woman hesitated, and her coworker silently flicked over a holographic page. Quinn tried reading it, but the text was small and flipped because she was looking at it from the wrong side. She caught one part of it, 'champion of the League of Legends', and knew the rest. The receptionist glanced up at her with what looked like newfound admiration.

"Room three fifty two," the woman said, turning her attention back to the floating data in front of her. It dissolved, and new text appeared. "She's not awake at the moment, however. And please be aware that she's under guard, so you may not be able to visit her. It is a policy of the Institute of War, not the hospital. Please understand, Miss Attridge."

Lux's guard was more impressive than Quinn had first imagined.

Three summoners were stationed in the hallway, one at each end and one standing guard against the wall opposite to her room, but those weren't the only people present. Soraka and Fiora stood directly outside her door, engaged in whispers. Their conversation broke when they noticed Quinn approaching.

"Where 'ave you been?" Fiora demanded, turning on Quinn before anyone else could speak.

They'd had so few interactions before, but there was no love lost between them ever since Quinn had been promoted within the military. With no other Demacian present, it seemed like Fiora had no interest in feigning politeness.

"None of your business," Quinn said.

Soraka looked between them. "I think I will take my leave, now-"

"No need," Fiora said, shaking her head abruptly. "Je pars."

She left in a brisk walk, heading down the hall in the opposite direction from which Quinn had come.

"I sense bad history between you two," Soraka said. She sounded very solemn, as if the tensions between them personally upset her.

"It's not really history," Quinn said. "We're just two very different people."

Hadn't she said something similar about another Demacian, not too long ago?

Soraka regarded her quietly for a moment. "May I?"

Quinn looked around, alarmed. "What?"

"Your wounds."

"Oh."

Her ability to completely forget about the state of her appearance in a matter of minutes should have been more concerning for her. Members of the League of Legends were celebrities - the equivalent of famed war heroes in the past - and had several newspapers dedicated to them. There would almost certainly be an issue printed tomorrow with pictures of her house and her walking through the streets bloody. Who knew what the gossip would spawn.

Soraka's magic would be faster than actually checking into the hospital, and hopefully less uncomfortable.

"Please," Quinn said after a short pause.

The effect was instantaneous, starting at the center of her back and spreading out slowly. Glass, which had been embedded in her back, began to slide out as the skin stitched itself back together, and it was an oddly pleasurable experience, like finally peeling off a scab of skin. Quinn heard a couple glass shards tinkle as they hit the floor, and she straightened her back – she hadn't realized it, but she'd been slouching.

There was now even more magic in her body. Instant recovery came at a cost.

"Better?"

"Much," Quinn nodded. "Thanks."

Soraka smiled – a small but genuine action that Quinn was pretty sure was a direct result of thanking her.

A fact which had previously eluded her now gave her pause. She had never met Soraka before, and hadn't realized how different the woman was, and Quinn didn't even need to take into account her singular horn protruding from her forehead, for the realization to give her pause. Soraka's dress was a silky yellow colour which contrasted with her skin, as if she wanted to make a statement about its purple hue, and her status as a celestial being was made evident through her eyes, which seemed so unnatural, as though they were seeing a completely different world from everyone else. Though it may have been true; the lens through which she saw the world made her unable to ignore the suffering of its people. She had sacrificed her immortality, in trade for living an existence of helping and protecting others here on Remnant.

Quinn found herself unable to speak. She was afraid anything she could say would be too trivial for the woman. It later occurred to her that she had been, literally, starstruck.

"You may experience some tiredness. It is a side effect of using my healing in this manner," Soraka said, indifferent or unaware of Quinn's quandary. "You came to visit Lux, then?"

"How - how is she?"

"Unconscious at the moment, but she will make a full recovery."

Quinn let out a sigh of relief, which she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She didn't know why she had been so worried – of course Lux would be fine, with some of the world's best healers at this very hospital, Soraka included. Even Taric had reassured her, before Lux had even arrived at the hospital, but hearing the words after the fact felt entirely different.

Nobody died.

Quinn clenched her fists, noticing for the first time that the blood was washed from them, too. Soraka's powers seemed to have a greater extent than simple healing.

In a matter of seconds, she ran through the entire emotion gauntlet which she had already experience throughout the day. Confusion, fear, anger, guilt. She wanted nothing more than the opportunity to take a swing at whoever had so spectacularly failed at killing her that they had ended up harming Lux, but she knew the chance wouldn't come on its own, and she would need to hunt it down herself. But at the moment, she had other business to take care of.

When she had first entered the hallway, the Summoners hadn't stopped her from approaching the room, so Soraka was the only obstacle left.

"I'm going in to see her," Quinn said, leaving no room for debate.

When she tried the door and found it locked, she forfeited her false bravado and turned to Soraka. The woman gave her a gentle smile and waved her hand in front of the door's handle. It clicked, and when Quinn tried again, the door opened. She stepped inside, closing the door after her.

Intentionally, she refrained from looking. She wanted a few more seconds to prepare herself, so instead she focused all her attention on the bed's surroundings. The light was off and only a bare minimum of sun penetrated the window's curtain, but it was bright enough to see. The dim lighting made the holographic calendar on the wall all the brighter, and Quinn stared at it for a moment.

She hadn't yet survived her first week as a champion of the League of Legends.

How hard would faking her own death be? Would she need to? Would she want to?

The room's cyan walls bored her, and, like every hospital's creed, there was little of interest in the room. There were no plants, which was a step down from the Demacian capital's hospital, but a few magazines and books were on the bedside table. A tabloid newspaper was at the top of the pile, 'Freljord Banquet, what will happen inside this exclusive gathering of champions' in large, uppercase, bold letters as its headline. On top of the tabloid, blocking the front page picture, a scattering of envelopes. Well wishing letters, most likely.

With nothing else to examine in the room, Quinn finally looked.

The last time Quinn had seen her, Lux had been a colourless, grey statue, but now she appeared completely normal, as though she'd never been hurt in the first place and was simply in an innocent sleep. Magic, perhaps entirely thanks to Soraka, had done its job. A white hospital blanket was partially draped over her, and her face's features were peaceful, which did a great deal in helping Quinn relax.

She sat down at the chair positioned next to Lux's bed. For a minute, she simply watched the rising and falling of Lux's chest as she slept, and then Quinn reached out, hesitated, and pulled back.

It was her fault – guilt was the only natural reaction to what had happened, but she hadn't expected it to be so powerful. The only time she'd clearly felt worse than now was when she had stumbled back into Everridge, with her brother's corpse on her back. Quinn would never forget the look in her mother's eyes, when she saw them. The instant where her mother realized Caleb was dead, and Quinn had survived, and everything would forever onwards be in ruin. Quinn had left that life behind, because she recognized it was not one worth living.

This time, however, there was nobody to hate her for what had happened, and that made it all the worse. She was left on her own, stewing in her mistakes, and she knew that wasn't the worst of it.

Quinn steeled herself and then reached under the blankets to find the girl's arm, and then hand, and pulled it free of the covers. Clasping Lux's hand between her own, Quinn rested her elbows on the bed and stared at the girl's sleeping face. Even her hair had returned to normal. Quinn wasn't entirely sure how that would have worked, but it must have taken delicate magic.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely a whisper. Though she spoke the words, she didn't intend on anyone hearing them. "This is the second time I've hurt you, and for no good reason. Not that I should care, but I do, dammit."

No, it wasn't the worst of it. The worst part of all was that Lux would probably forgive her. That was the kind of person Lux was. And she would put on a smile, forced or otherwise, as she told Quinn not to worry about it, and that it wasn't her fault. What would happen then? Nothing would change, but every time she saw Lux, she would be reminded of all the times she'd hurt her.

Was the solution to avoid Lux? Find the assassin and kill him, learn more about the Unwilling Passengers from Irelia and Janna – probably during the banquet – and then leave Senta for good? It sounded like a solid plan, but for some reason Quinn wasn't content with it. Maybe it was because plans were so useless, when the future was so uncertain and vague. For all she knew, Du Couteau could do something tomorrow, and shake up Runeterra's already precarious political situation.

So little made sense and there was no reason to believe any of it would begin to make sense any time soon, but now that she was in the hospital, inside a guarded room, Quinn felt safe. She pulled the blankets up to cover Lux's shoulders, returning the girl's hand under the sheets. Only after this did she realize how tired she was. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she remembered Soraka's words. It was more tiredness than she would have expected, but it might have been all the action from earlier combining with the magic to defeat her.

A few minutes to rest her eyes couldn't hurt. Quinn pulled the chair closer to the bed and, using the bed's edge as a pillow, rested her head.

Following the disorientation of waking up in an unfamiliar place, Quinn's eyes darted to the holographic clock on the wall. Orange numbers said it was three thirty pm. She had slept for over two hours. The chair screeched when she pushed it back to stand up, and she paused for a second to make sure the sound didn't wake Lux.

The girl didn't stir, and Quinn left the room.

"Are you leaving?" Soraka was still standing guard, having moved only a few meters to lean against the wall further away. Fiora was nowhere in sight, but the three Summoners in the hall were all there, watching her.

"Yes," Quinn nodded abruptly. Her brain was telling her not to be embarrassed by her nap, but the blood rushing to her face didn't listen.

"I did not realize you two were so close," Soraka said. "Lux is lucky to have such a good friend."

"I - I'm not-"

Soraka waited patiently for Quinn to formulate a response.

"Never mind."

Soraka nodded. "These are trying times for all of Runeterra, and while I do not have the answer as to how we will pull through, I believe maintaining close ties with one another is important. We will have to rely on each other, when everything else falls."

Quinn didn't frown, but she also didn't know how to react to Soraka's words, so she remained silent.

"And in case you were wondering, Lux will not be attending tomorrow's match," Soraka continued. "She was exposed to quite high doses of magic, so she needs to rest."

"Oh." It didn't change any of Quinn's plans. In fact, she had already somewhat came to the same conclusion.

"It just so happens that I will be replacing her."

"Oh. I've got some business to attend to, so I need to get going." Quinn hesitated, remembering how Soraka had reacted when Quinn thanked her the first time. "And thank you, for helping Lux."

When Soraka smiled, Quinn was able to accept the fact that even though the woman was once an immortal being, she still had some childishness left in her. Perhaps that was why they called her the Starchild.

Quinn knocked on the headquarters door, and she didn't have to wait long for it to open. The sheriff looked slightly surprised at her presence, but Quinn didn't waste her breath on any formalities.

"I'll do it."

A/N: Ziggs and Soraka. Who's next? I initially wanted to get the banquet chapter out around Christmas, but it doesn't look like that will happen (the next chapter is proving difficult to write). Oh well.