Quinn didn't divert her eyes, no matter how much she instinctively wanted to.
"Are you sure?" Caitlyn said.
"Yes."
"You're angry."
"What of it?"
"Come in, let's talk."
Piltover was famous for its technology and innovation. Appropriately named the City of Progress, it had been the trade hub of Valoran for years, before Summoners began to congregate north of the Mogron pass and created their own city. Even with Senta's founding, Piltover never slowed. Despite their differences with Zaun, their close proximity had led, inevitably, to trade relations which both city states quickly became dependent on. And, because Zaun and Noxus were already on good terms with each other, this had granted Piltover an opening for negotiations with the war-obsessed kingdom.
Everything that existed in the world could be bought from Piltover – which the Demacians often took advantage of, when they wanted something of Noxian origin – and even Bilgewater – whom raided everyone, even their own allies – became friendly with the city state, because their citizens needed somewhere to offload their illicit cargo. In short, Piltover was able to forge strong economic ties with every kingdom, and many rich merchants and shrewd scientists immigrated to the city state. These people furthered Piltover's cause. They created marvels such as the steam engine, and big buildings, aptly named skyscrapers, and in contrast to Zaun, their inventions were reliable and long lasting, and they actually cared about aesthetics, because the entire world was watching what came out of their factories and workshops.
The Piltovian headquarters in Senta was supposed to represent all this, and more, yet it seemed to shirk all these expectations. The first thing Quinn noticed were the stones and gears. Not stone gears – the gears themselves were made out of metal – but rather the walls were a gray stone and the gears were affixed to the walls, like a painting would be in a normal residence, and most of them were idle and separated, while others were attached to one another, creating trains of various sized gears leading along the hallways until a door had to break them up.
She cautiously reminded herself they were above ground; it wasn't anything like a cave.
There was a maze of pipes above their heads, as they walked through the building, and some of them hissed and others expelled steam. A few were vibrating, threatening to break free of their brackets and explode, but Caitlyn didn't seem to notice – or, more likely, she didn't care. In either case, it definitely contributed to the humid atmosphere. She could even see water droplets condensing on the stone walls.
Arriving in a large, well lit room, Quinn realized the entire place was probably self-sufficient, or very close to it. They were using steam power for the lights and heating. At the center of the room was a table, in the most abstract of sense. It was actually a large gear laid horizontally, massive teeth jutting out with enough space for Quinn to put her arm between them. Thankfully, the gear was unmoving. Caitlyn took a seat and, laying back in her chair, crossed her arms, and throwing her feet up on the gear.
"Someone blew up your house, tried to kill you," she said.
Quinn took a seat next to her, mentally holding back a sarcastic retort. "Yes."
"And they hurt Lux in the process. I've spoken to Vessaria about it."
Quinn didn't respond.
"The Institute of War is preoccupied already. They're busy preparing for the Freljordian banquet, and investing lots of effort into trying to save High Summoner Irvine. Vessaria told me they wouldn't have time to look into the bombing. So I volunteered."
"And then you sent Ziggs."
Caitlyn frowned. "You already know about this?"
"No. I just ran into him at my house."
"I'm sorry. I would have asked if it was okay, but forensic investigations like this are best done immediately, before nature can tamper with any evidence."
"It's fine," Quinn assured her. "I appreciate the help, though he's a little..."
"Hard to deal with?"
"Yeah. Putting it nicely."
"And how are you feeling?"
"What?" Quinn said, crossing her arms.
"Are you okay? Someone just tried to kill you."
"I'm fine. It's not a big deal. I'm sure you've had to deal with stuff like this before."
"Yeah," Caitlyn said with a tired smile. "But it's never personal. They just don't want to get arrested, and somehow think trying to kill me will help their cause. But you're angry, aren't you? At least a little bit? You said so earlier."
"Sure."
"I don't want you waking up tomorrow and regretting this decision. Or not being able to focus on the match."
"I'm fine," Quinn repeated.
"And I wonder how you can convince me of it. It's nearly five pm, and I honestly didn't think you would come. Why exactly do you want to fight on the Rift?"
"Why? Isn't it enough that I'm willing to? You were trying to bribe me, earlier."
"I'd still like to hear your answer."
"Because I told Lux I would." That wasn't the truth. She just needed a clear enemy, for once. It wasn't about Lux, but Caitlyn didn't want to hear that she was angry and needed somewhere to direct her anger.
"Considering the circumstances, I think she would forgive you if you backed out," Caitlyn said.
"Are you going to let me fight or not?"
"You don't have a place to stay tonight, do you? We have a guest room here, if you'd like."
"That's not necessary-"
"Accepting would do a great deal in alleviating any concern I have."
"But, you see, Valor-"
She stopped herself both because she didn't want to offer any weak excuse, and because of a worse realization. She'd been so self absorbed that she'd completely forgotten about Valor; she had no clue where he was or what he was doing, and she'd last seen him with the Unwilling Passenger's arm, which, with her luck, would reanimate itself and attack him.
Quinn took a few seconds to convince herself Valor knew what he was doing – and then she condemned herself to sleeping in a humid room, listening to the creaking and hissing of pipes all night long.
"Then it's settled," Caitlyn said, rising to her feet. "Orianna wants a strategy meeting in half an hour. I'm not a team member, but I'll be present to offer some input, too."
Caitlyn left, stating she had police business to attend to, before the meeting began, so Quinn was left sitting at the large, empty table on her own. In one corner of the room, she identified what she thought was an air purifier, which was humming quietly. It was doing a good job, because despite the building's contents, it didn't smell like machine oil and rock. She began contemplating the next machine in the room when the second member of their team arrived.
"I had thought you would say something, if this was your intention," Soraka said, looking about the room before taking a seat next to her. "You left the hospital rather abruptly."
"Sorry," Quinn said, though she wasn't. She also wasn't sure why she hadn't said anything further to Soraka, back in the hospital, but it was too late to worry about it now. Instead, moving on and making conversation was probably the best thing to do.
"They say Thresh is from the Shadow Isles," Quinn said. "Do you know if that's true?"
"I have yet to meet him."
"Is that why you volunteered for this match? To meet him?"
"No. He is irrelevant. My reason, as they say, is to keep my friends close, and my enemies closer."
"Your enemies?"
"Enemy, singular, in this case."
She didn't offer a name, and Quinn decided not to pry. Hopefully she was talking about someone from Zaun, and not Piltover.
"You're friends with Irelia, right?" she said, trying a different tack.
"I am," Soraka said.
"What do you know about the Unwilling Passengers?"
Soraka shook her head. "Irelia's obsession. She hasn't been the same, since she died."
"Since – wait, what?"
"Are you not aware? She was killed by Noxians at the end of the Noxian Invasion of Ionia."
"B-but – she's not dead."
"It depends on your definition of dead. Her soul had left her body and began its journey to Hel, but I stopped it. Of course, it is impossible to return a soul to its original body, once it leaves, so I did the equivalent of glueing it back onto her. An ugly process, and it will not last forever, but it was all I could do. Some people call her an undead, now, but she is not immortal. Far from it. She is on a time limit, and one that is much too short for a woman of her age."
"That's-" And then Quinn understood why Irelia wanted so badly to save the Unwilling Passengers, rather than kill them. A soul at odds with itself. Irelia saw them as her kin; souls that have left their body but weren't allowed to leave Runeterra. If she could save the Passengers, then there stood a chance for herself to be saved, too. "That must be hard for her."
"It is, for all of us."
"But what about Orianna? Isn't she in a similar situation? If you make Irelia a new body..."
"Orianna and Irelia are actually close friends, but their circumstances are fundamentally different. The same goes for Viktor, though I fear I would bore you, if I went into details-"
"Please do."
"Bore you?" Soraka said with a hint of a smile. "Then I shall. At its simplest, there exists a one-to-one relationship between the soul and body. Each and every human has one body, and one soul. This duality is complex in formation, easy to break, and impossible to mend. Your soul belongs to your body, and will not be content with any other. Your body, called by some as the soul's garrison, is fragile. When it is no longer safe – or capable of maintaining itself – then your soul abandons it. This, we know of as death. The quest for immortality is the quest to keep your soul content in its home, the body, for all of eternity.
"When Irelia's soul left her body, the one-to-one relationship was immediately destroyed, and she died. It isn't as simple as that, though. For all intents and purposes, we consider death as a single stage event, but it is not quite so. Death has, depending on who you ask, three stages. The soul leaves the body, and then it leaves its home dimension, and then it travels to – and enters – Hel. This process is uninterruptible. For Irelia's sake, I slowed it, before her soul could leave Runeterra. There exists a constant pull on her soul, from Hel, and eventually it will succeed.
"How long?"
"Weeks. Months. A year, at best, if she stays close by me so I can periodically strengthen the bond. But enough about Irelia. She is aware of this, and is working on a solution, and she is the kind of person who would respond to pity with anger, so you would best act normally around her. Now, Orianna and Viktor. Both of them had, at one point in time, a human body, and an accompanying soul, tied to this body. In their cases, their souls never left their body. Are you familiar with the ship of Theseus?"
"No. I recall reading about it somewhere, long ago, but I can't remember it. Something to do with philosophy?"
"Yes. Theseus was a Bilgewater shipwright, who also dabbled in philosophy. His thought experiment goes like this: if you have a ship, and piece by piece you replace every part of it – the wheel, the sails, the keel, the stern, and so forth – at the end of this, do you still have the same ship? As it turns out, this question, applied to human bodies, is answered for us by our very souls. If we replace our bodies, appendage by appendage, and organ by organ, as Viktor and Orianna did, our soul is not bothered. It will remain, though its garrison is not what it once was. The difference between Orianna and Viktor is that Viktor also replaced his brain – and consequently his mind – whereas Orianna retains her original mind. Of course, Viktor is much closer to immortality, as long as he continues replacing his body parts as needed, but it is quite possible his soul is confused, and that that confusion spurs on an obsession with his so-called 'glorious evolution'." Soraka fell silent for a second, running a finger along the metal table top, and then pulling it away and examining it closely, as though searching for dust. She sighed. "But you must remember, everything I have said pertains only to the human soul."
"Only humans? So it's different for Yordles?"
"Yordle, Voidborn, Marai, animal, monster, they're all different. There are countless races, and each has its own unique set of attributes instilled within the souls of its creatures. One of my most valuable possessions is an old diary from a being of the Shadow Isles, long deceased. He had the ability to see souls – a rare type of synesthesia – and he wrote much on the topic. Most animals have bright blue souls, like the aqua waters off a Bilgewater beach. Yordles, despite appearing quite similar to humans, are often a lime green colour, like the scales of a smooth Kumungu snake. Yet, for some reason he never elaborated on, the colour of human souls vary. They can be red, purple, white... anything. Your species is quite interesting."
The third member of their team arrived. Orianna, the team captain, stepped into the room.
People always admired how human-like she was, but Quinn couldn't see it. Orianna's skin attempted to match that of a human's, but it was metallic – lacking in saturation, the matte gray was a far cry from Quinn's own skin. It was an inappropriate thought, but her skin matched more that of a dead body, lifeless and cold. Yet somehow it was Irelia who was dead, and Orianna was considered a normal, living human.
Her movements weren't robotic, at least, but they were completely quiet. A human had bones shifting in their body, muscles contracting, ligament rubbing, and their footsteps made sound as they walked across a hard floor. Orianna lacked all of that, and she didn't breath, either. Like a ghost, she travelled across the room.
Instinctively, Quinn stood up.
"I am Orianna Reveck of Piltover," the woman said, extending her hand.
Quinn shook it. "Quinn Attridge, of Demacia."
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Quinn. It is my hope that we will have a good relationship and work well together."
Orianna's hand was cold, and it was a sobering realization that that was her hand's natural state. Her body didn't regulate its own temperature, simply because it didn't need to. It was, after all, Piltovian design. Efficient.
She wasn't all gray and dreary, though. Her hair, however immobile and clumped it might have been, was gold, and so were her shoulder blades. Her skirt was a series of golden slabs, every second one's end shaped like an arrow pointing down, engraved with an unfamiliar pattern. All in all, Orianna looked like she were wearing a suit of body armour with golden trim. It was elegance in machinery, Quinn thought. Again, only something Piltover could achieve.
Orianna's ball followed after her like a puppy. It, too, was gray, and featured a single golden band around its circumference. At one point on the band, a turquoise jewel was shining, like a lone eye watching out for danger. When Orianna sat down at the head of the table, it circled her three times, moving under the table to get in front of her when necessary, and then it gently lowered itself to the ground beside her. Its light faded to dark, and then blinked back on every few seconds, as though to tell any enemies that it was only resting, and not off guard duty quite yet.
All the while, Orianna didn't move a single muscle – or gear – as she waited patiently for the rest of the team members to arrive. It was creepy, as though she had turned herself off because nothing of interest was currently happening.
The fourth team member arrived a few minutes later. A Yordle shuffled into the room, looked around, and then found himself a chair opposite of Orianna. The two Piltovians had officially arrived. While Orianna moved and spoke less than normal, Heimerdinger was on the opposite end of the spectrum. His head was always tilting and turning, and his hair – mustache included – seemed to be alive, twisting and shaking with his every movement. His fingers were in his pocket one second, and then adjusting his glasses another, and when he sat down, his feet couldn't quite reach the floor to tap the ground so instead they were bouncing in the air, like an impatient toddler strapped into a high chair.
"Quinn," Heimerdinger said, stopping his fidgeting for two seconds. "My condolences, for the loss of your place earlier today. My cousin said he wouldn't pursue any recompense for the loss of his property."
"My landlord is your cousin?" Quinn said after a pause wherein she'd tried to remember the landlord's name and failed. "Thank you."
Before any further conversation could develop, Caitlyn and Lee Sin entered the room. They were the last two to arrive, and Caitlyn closed the door behind them.
"Opposite end of the table, next to Orianna," Caitlyn said.
Quinn watched as Lee Sin navigated around the table and took his seat. There was no hesitation on his part, and, once seated, he looked around the table, as if examining every member of the team. Quinn almost held her breath when he looked at her, because she knew how much information he was getting, just by listening to her breathe. It was, quite frankly, an amazing technique. Almost like echolocation, and Quinn wondered how much magic he used to assist himself in the skill.
He seemed to watch Soraka a fraction of a second longer than the others, and Quinn wondered if some communication passed between the two Ionians.
Orianna stood up, immediately drawing his – and everyone else's – attention, despite being completely silent in her actions.
"It is apparent that everyone is here. It is July twenty fifth, twenty second year of the League Era, at five fifty pm. We begin the strategy meeting now."
Orianna pulled a folded up piece of paper out of her metal armour. With nimble fingers, she unfolded it and flattened it out on the table, before pushing it forward.
"It is an official release by the Institute of War. A paper relating to Thresh, one of our enemies."
Everyone looked around at each other, and then back to the paper.
"Orianna," Caitlyn said. "Please read it for us."
Orianna obeyed, pulling the paper back towards herself. Though she was capable of emotions – or at least, the inflection required to exhibit emotion – she read the entire page in a tinny monotone voice, with unnaturally long pauses between sentences.
Thresh was once a prison warden of a magical community on the Blessed Isles – which were now known as the Shadow Isles – and he had turned evil. In recent years, he'd been roaming the countryside between Freljord and Demacia, killing people and collecting their souls.
"Is that even possible?" Caitlyn said, when Orianna finished. "Collecting souls?"
Heimerdinger cleared his throat. "Well, surely it is – the Institute of War wouldn't lie to us."
"But Professor-" Caitlyn said, though she had no follow-up argument and fell silent.
"Manipulating souls to such an extent is beyond even my own abilities," Soraka said. "And to keep them under his control for long periods of time? I'm not sure how he does it, but he must be very powerful."
"It does corroborate with a long lasting theory," Heimerdinger said. "The Shadow Isles and its residents have some unknown preoccupation with life and death."
Soraka nodded. "If this is true, he must have a diverse collection. Humans, Yordles, monsters and creatures alike. And I must wonder, how does he store them? If he has been collecting them since the Blessed Isles, he could have hundreds – no, thousands – by now. If he has some way to use them for combat..."
The entire time, Lee Sin was staring at Quinn. She hadn't been particularly bothered by it, since he wasn't actually staring at her, but eventually everyone else in the room, after having said their parts, turned to Lee Sin, and then to her. She already had no clue what she could say, as the resident Thresh expert, and under the pressure, she knew she wouldn't be able to come up with anything helpful. The Institute of War's paper had revealed more than she knew about him, aside from his fighting style.
"Does it matter?" she said, exasperated. "I don't know anything about his souls, and I didn't when I fought him, but it turned out fine."
Orianna nodded. "It is true, what Quinn says. It does not matter what his hobbies are. We focus on the battle, and his relevant capabilities."
"Though I have no evidence," Heimerdinger said, "I postulate that stealing his lantern will not suffice."
"The meeting shall proceed under the Professor's postulation," Orianna said after a short pause. "Then, I should like to know: why now? It is odd, he has not fought for Noxus or Bilgewater, despite them having matches in the past week."
"Maybe he didn't want to fight at all, but the Institute is pressuring him?" Caitlyn said. "Or maybe there just hasn't been an important enough match? If he's making a certain demand – some price for his cooperation – then it's possible Zaun is the only kingdom willing to pay it."
"It is time to discuss Warwick's position as team captain." Orianna put a piece of paper on the table. "Records indicate that the last time Warwick was team captain for Zaun was three years ago. It was a match played against Demacia, in regards to the punishment of a Demacian citizen whom was captured in Zaun while attempting to steal a certain magical item. He was sentenced to life in prison, after Demacia lost the match." Quinn could feel Heimerdinger staring at her, the only Demacian in the room. "It is believed he was team leader because Viktor was unavailable at the time. It is evident that this does not hold true now. Does anyone have insight into this matter?"
Heimerdinger tapped a finger on the table. "I have a theory. It is possible there is a connection between him and Thresh."
Soraka gasped. "His soul!"
"What about it?" Orianna said.
"Warwick was once man, but his soul has been undergoing a gradual change, as he turns into a beast. If Thresh has offered him salvation – a way to reverse the effect, or perhaps delay it-"
"But it's your soul Warwick needs, isn't it?" Lee Sin said. "Not just any soul will do."
It was the first time he'd spoken since he arrived, and it caused half the room to frown in confusion.
"I thought it was your blood he needed?" Caitlyn said.
"Years ago, that was all he needed," Soraka said, much quieter than her earlier outburst. "His transformation is almost irreversible now. At one point, a drop of my blood would have been enough. A year ago, it would have taken several litres of my blood. Now, nothing but my soul would suffice-"
"So my theory isn't very plausible," Heimerdinger said.
"No," Soraka said. "With Thresh, we cannot know. If he has the ability to manipulate souls, then he could potentially turn one into an imitation of my own-"
"Or he could be after your own," Caitlyn said.
"That is a possibility," Soraka admitted. "However unlikely. I am not human, nor any other species Thresh has ever dealt with. He would find it difficult to gain access to my soul. This is all conjecture, though. Bringing it back to battle strategy, Warwick is likely to be assisting bottom lane more than any other. He will not ignore the opportunity to cause me harm – no matter how imaginary it is."
Orianna nodded. "It is best if we leave you and Quinn to your own devices, then. Priority will be given to the Professor and Lee Sin, in the topmost lane. It is a slow battle, which Warwick wants. Not one of attrition, nor one that breaks out into chaos at the beginning. It is around the second or third hour when he'll try to make his move. We will not wait for that. Early pressure, courtesy of the Professor, with assistance from Lee Sin. I, also, will apply pressure, but it won't be as aggressive. We will aim to grow an advantage then."
"Is that all right?" Quinn said. "It sounds like Heimerdinger and Lee Sin will be doing the majority of the work."
Quinn hadn't participated much in the conversation, but she also hadn't expected complete silence in response to her question. Lee Sin sat watching her with a smile, as though she were but a young child who had made a stupid mistake. Usually, Quinn liked silences, but this one wasn't natural – it was awkward, and it had been created by her. Heimerdinger cleared his throat, and she expected him to speak, but he didn't. He stared straight ahead, fingers patiently tracing a line through his furry white mustache.
"The Professor," Caitlyn finally whispered to her. "He goes by the Professor, unless he's in battle or around fans-"
"Cecil," the Yordle interrupted. "Cecil will suffice, for someone who has never stepped into a place of higher learning."
Quinn nodded. She probably should have felt a little more insulted, both for him making such an assumption, and for practically saying she had no right to call him a professor, but she was already too busy wishing she wasn't in the room.
"I'm sorry, Cecil – and – um-" She turned to Lee Sin.
Thankfully, he could read her hesitation. "Lee Sin is fine. I've only ever been called Lee by the elderly."
The rest of the meeting passed with slow seconds, Quinn's eyes spending most of their time on the room's analog clock, which she noticed had the same design at its center as on Orianna's golden skirt. It also skipped the seventeenth second, spending twice as long on sixteen before making the leap to eighteen.
Quinn might have tried to sneak off after the meeting, but Caitlyn was immediately within arm's reach, and gave her a hard glare before seeing the rest of the team off. Once the room was empty. excepting the two of them, she circled around the table twice, as though checking for belongings that were left behind, and then she stopped in front of Quinn.
"Glad the meeting's finally out of the way. Orianna is a really organized person, so she's been bothering me about it forever – and this was supposed to be my break from the League, after being team captain so many times in the past two weeks. Anyways, dinner should be ready about now, let's go."
They moved out of the meeting room and down a few doors, into the kitchen. It seemed many pipes ended their journey here, where they pumped into machines that were busy making loud sounds and doing nothing else at all. The stone walls were almost completely obscured by shelves upon shelves of cookware, jars, and bags of food. Quinn might have expected some kind of kitchen staff to be hard at work, or maybe the table to be already set with a three course meal, but she certainly hadn't been prepared for a pink haired woman working alone over the stove.
"Heya, Quinn," the woman said, turning around.
She was taller than both Quinn and Caitlyn, and her features were very masculine, excepting the mascara and careful attention she'd devoted to her eyelashes. Her hair was bright pink, and despite being short enough to not cause problems, she wore it in a ponytail with a hairnet over top. On her left cheek, two letters. Vi.
Vi smiled, and though she was missing her Hextech gauntlets, Quinn could see the resemblance between her and Vi's picture in the League handbook, which she had scanned during her first night as a champion of the League of Legends. Vi had been on the last page – the book was outdated, lacking Thresh's information – and the picture had features her bulldozing a house with her fists, under close supervision of Caitlyn.
"Vi, was it?" Quinn said. She would never again presume to know someone's name – even if it was stamped on them.
Vi tapped the tattoo on her left cheek, and then gave an exaggerated bow, bringing an arm up to her chest. "That's me. Vi, five star chef, Piltover's Finest, warden, the Piltover Enforcer-"
"Fat fingers," Caitlyn muttered.
"I think you're missing an 's' somewhere in there, honey."
Caitlyn coughed, her face turning red.
"Oh. Right. Company," Vi said, unconcerned. "S'all good. You hungry, Quinn? I made beef stew, with lots of Piltovian carrots."
Caitlyn and Vi began setting the table, insisting Quinn, as their guest, take a seat and wait. A minor squabble broke out between the Piltovians over the cups, but a few minutes later everything was sorted out and Vi brought the stew to the table.
"You haven't been in the League of Legends for very long, have you?" Quinn said.
"Yeah, I joined about a month before your buddy, Thresh," Vi said, filling everyone's bowl. "I think me and the Door of Acceptance got along pretty well-"
"It's a spiteful door," Caitlyn said.
"Methinks it realized it wouldn't be right to keep us apart." The oven beeped, and Vi turned to Caitlyn with an innocent smile. "My buns are done. Caitlyn, will you grab them for me?"
Caitlyn glowered, and showed no signs of moving. A silence began to develop, wherein Quinn began to suspect there was some animosity between the two Piltovians, and it wasn't something she wanted to get between.
"Um – should I get them?" Quinn offered.
"No!" Caitlyn said, jumping to her feet. "I mean, that's not necessary. You're a guest. Please, just enjoy the meal."
"So how did the meeting go?" Vi asked once Caitlyn left the table.
"Good, I suppose. It was the first strategy meeting I've ever participated in, so I can't really say, but Orianna seems like she knows what she's doing. Though I did get off on the wrong foot with Cecil," Quinn said.
"Hmm? Oh, right. Cecil. What did he do?"
Quinn ignored the assumption. "I called him Heimerdinger."
"That old rat did it to himself," Vi laughed. "He picks such an awesome name, and expects people not to use it? Well, I wouldn't worry about it. Besides, everyone uses it when they aren't talking to him – he's not so naive as to get hung up on it. I mean, he knows he's a little odd like that. Even Twisted Fate is fine with his nickname being used outside battle – though that's probably because he hates his real name."
In Quinn's opinion, the League of Legends just had too many champions. When were they going to stop recruiting? There was already too much information for new members, and she had never been good with the people thing in the first place. But that didn't mean she would stop trying to learn – especially when her future plans were non-existent and she knew she would need to prepare for almost any eventuality.
"I see," Quinn said, mentally filing the information away. "What about Miss Fortune?"
"Best drinking buddy ever... oh, you mean her nickname? Yeah, she's fine with it too. Not because she hates her real name or anything. Wait – uh – what's her real name? Does she even have one? Is it 'Fortune'? Because that would be sick."
"It's Sarah," Quinn said, feeling a little proud of herself for having the answer.
"Oh. Boring. But yeah, she goes by Miss Fortune because she loves everyone calling her 'miss', like she's some respectable, upper-class woman. Stuffs her face with pretzels and beer and laughs at the irony. That kind of person – y'know what I mean?"
"I guess."
"Anyways, don't worry about it. You probably feel embarrassed and all, but nobody is going to remember it. The stuff we remember are things like what Vayne did during her first week. I mean, talk about awkward."
"Wait – what did Vayne do?"
Vi grinned, and Quinn got the feeling she was one of the more gossipy members of the League. "Well, you know how battles on the Rift are broadcast live? Vayne somehow missed the memo. And back in the early days, the cameras were positioned closer, and sometimes caught conversations between the champions, before the battles began-"
"Vi," Caitlyn interrupted, setting a tray of steaming hot bread on the table. "Here are your freshly baked buns. Now, if you don't mind, I'll tell the story. Unembellished."
Thresh was a ghostly specter.
Twitch was a mutated rat.
Soraka, a celestial being.
And Quinn, a peasant.
She was not born to heroes, nor was she the chosen one, destined to save the world, and she didn't have a magical demon slaying sword – or crossbow – so she knew it would be pointless to believe she was meant for something more. Her childish imagination had been left in Everridge, at her brother's grave, and there was no reason to try to truly understand the position she found herself in. Instead, it was easier to attribute her success to a lifetime of honing her skills and working hard. If she had been born in Noxus, she would have been well-respected, and leading an army regiment or two. At least if she were a Noxian, she would understand people wanting to kill her.
Quinn had had an entire morning to prepare herself, so she had went shopping for new armour and weapons. Because of her nomadic lifestyle, she always found it easy to adapt to new equipment. The armour was light, and on the Summoner's Rift rules rarely matched reality, so she wasn't too concerned about its defensive capabilities and the material it was made out of. As long as her mobility wasn't impeded, Caitlyn had said, the Rift would enhance the armour to be meet a baseline for defense.
For her crossbow, it was a little more important. In reality, accuracy tended to be the most important factor, but on the Rift, she needed to be able to reload and aim quickly – everything else would be handled automagically. Browsing through the shops, she had been sorely tempted to buy a bow, but she feared she might be too rusty and she didn't have enough time to brush up on her archery skills before the match. In the end, she bought a small crossbow – as was her preference, considering how much portability usually mattered to her.
Quinn clapped her hands, the sound echoing through the plains. Her palms stung. She turned and punched the stone monolith. It hurt. She walked around the monolith to the shady spot on the grass it provided. Soraka was there, sitting with her back against the stone. She opened one eye, idly watching Quinn.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
Quinn looked at her hands, and then pinched her arms. "These aren't our real bodies," she said, sitting down next to Soraka.
"No. They are not. If they were, things would become much more complicated. And even these bodies, as close to our real ones as possible, are bathed in layers upon layers of protective magic, so there is no chance our consciousness is affected in any way."
"So what about our real bodies? How exactly does this work?"
Soraka looked upwards. The sky was visible, but it was also a fabrication. "Nobody except the original High Summoners know for sure, but it is a necessary precaution, otherwise these fights would not be possible. In Zilean's case, matches would be over before they started, and Syndra would destroy the entire Fields of Justice if they did not give her a win by default."
"An entire dimension," Quinn said, looking around disbelievingly.
"Yes, she could. It might cost her a little bit of herself, but dark magic is never free, nor safe. If one ignores self imposed limitations, like she does, it can threaten the existence of an entire dimension."
"Even Runeterra itself? Could she destroy Runeterra?"
Soraka shook her head. "She tried, once or twice, I believe. Runeterra is several orders of magnitude larger and more complex than the Fields of Justice. I suspect the Void, too, would be too much for her to handle. Which is, quite honestly, a good thing, considering all the problems that would come with destroying such a place."
"Problems?"
"Its more powerful inhabitants would jump ship, and probably end up in Runeterra. The Shadow Isles are proving difficult enough already, no need to add another monster spewing region into the mix."
Their conversation was interrupted by a loud female voice which could be heard throughout the field.
"Welcome to Summoner's Rift."
"It begins," Soraka said, standing up.
Excitement should have been overwriting her nervousness, but it wasn't. She remembered so little of her first match – it was all a blur of magic, screams, and confusion – so it felt as if she was experiencing a battle on the Summoner's Rift for the first time. Her eagerness to kill had waned over the night, and she felt more of a desire to avoid disaster than to hunt rats, specters, and crazed werewolves for the next few hours.
When the first soldier on their side died, Quinn had ignored the oddity. Something was off, but it wasn't enough to warrant her attention. From underneath the tower, which seemed to lean over them like a god playing with his creations, Quinn's eyes roamed the battlefield.
The second minion to die, Quinn didn't – couldn't – ignore. The magical automation dropped its sword and threw its arms up in the air with a dramatic flair, before collapsing in a heap on the ground and slowly fading out of existence. Before it disappeared completely, a blue light emerged from within its red cloak. It rose into the air above the automation, and then floated there, unmoving. A glowing sphere, not unlike the speck of a firefly's lights when observed from afar.
Every iota of her attention was focused on the anomaly – she knew it wasn't a part of the battle's normal setup – and in the background, she barely registered the noise of laughter. An ungodly cackle originating from her enemy, which sounded like glee – or perhaps as close as a specter could get to the emotion.
Quinn took a step back, half turning to her ally. "Soraka, what's that magical sphere the minion left behind?"
"Sphere?" Soraka said. "What do you mean?"
"The bluish one, above where it died."
A pause. "There is nothing there, Quinn."
The denial irked her – she knew Soraka wasn't lying or joking, and the lapse of communication was concerning.
"Yes there is," Quinn growled. "The second minion to die – I'm looking straight at-"
From across the field, she could see Thresh, as he stepped forward, throwing his lantern out like he was casting a fishing rod. It landed on the grass below the sphere. For a microsecond, nothing happened, and then the sphere was gone. Swept into the lantern by an invisible force.
Thresh turned his head to stare at her.
Understanding.
He had caught his fish.
Is that even possible? Caitlyn said. Collecting souls?
Quinn's heart skipped a beat.
If not for the tower to lean against, she might have buckled to her knees as the realizations came crashing down on her.
Paz village, the Institute of War, souls, dimensions. Thresh.
Pieces of the puzzle stitched themselves together in her head. Intuitively, she knew what she was seeing.
"Quinn! What is wrong?"
This wasn't the first time she had seen a sphere like the one from the minion, but it had taken her a few seconds to remember where else she'd seen them. Weeks ago, when she and Lux had fought Thresh in Paz village. In a moment of desperation, she had latched onto his lantern, and when the world seemed to pause, she had been granted a supernatural sight.
Yet, for some reason he never elaborated on, the colour of human souls vary. They can be red, purple, white... anything.
Multicolour, floating aimlessly along the horizon, passing through each other and everything around them, as if they weren't part of the world.
If this is true, he must have a diverse collection. Humans, Yordles, monsters and creatures alike.
There were millions of them, and they had had a complete disregard for their environment, and even for Quinn's frame of reference. They had floated close and shrunk, and they had moved further away and grew, and a few had never changed sizes at all, no matter where they were.
If he has been collecting them since the Blessed Isles, he could have hundreds – no, thousands – by now.
They had danced with each other, traced helices in the air and figure eights and then continuous, concentric circles, like they were emulating the mating rituals of exotic birds. All the while, their speeds varied, as though in competition with each other, but sometimes they would slow down, as though dancing to some unheard of music, which started as an urgent fortissimo and then the decrescendo arrived and everything calmed down.
If she had tried to single out one of the lights, it would fade and all the others become more apparent. Hallucination, she had dismissed it as, at the time. It was as though they weren't part of the same world, and she had seen a projection from somewhere far away. From someplace else.
From another dimension.
And I must wonder, how does he store them?
Since her most recent run-in with the Unwilling Passengers, she had discovered what it felt like to touch a portal to another dimension, and it was the exact sensation she had experienced when she had touched Thresh's lantern in Paz. She hadn't thought of it since – because she'd been a overwhelmed by the fact that an Unwilling Passenger had somehow hunted her down – but if she knew what a portal felt like, taking into account her sensitivity of magic, and the fact that Thresh's lantern was very similar, then there was only one conclusion she could make.
Thresh's lantern acted as a portal to another dimension.
And it had just stole from the Fields of Justice.
"Focus, Quinn!"
"Soraka," she said, her voice hollow. "What, exactly, do souls look like?"
"Why do you ask? Did Twitch's poison somehow get you?"
Quinn wished. She wished she could dismiss it as an oddity, again, but she couldn't, because the alternative was too scary.
"Like an unfocused light, the diary said," Soraka finally answered. "If you were to look at a torch, from a distance, and squint your eyes – something like that."
It was the same.
It was a fact that should have been wrong – must have been wrong – but reality, her own eyes, told her otherwise.
"Minions," Quinn whispered. "Do they have souls?"
Soraka gave her an odd look. "No, of course not – it must be hallucinations Quinn. A trap, laid by Twitch?" They were under their tower, safe, and both knew it wasn't possible. "I cannot sense any souls nearby. Nor have I ever sensed any, in the Fields of Justice. It is an empty dimension – that is why the original High Summoners decided to use it."
"They're all different," Quinn said. "You said so yourself. Human, Yordle... alien. How can you be sure?"
Silence turned out to be a bad response on Soraka's part, because it let Quinn's mind continue working.
"So – so we did defeat him?"
Luxanna hesitated. "In a way."
"What do you mean?"
"The chain connecting his lantern snapped. Valor flew off with it and Thresh, he – well, he lost the will to fight, I guess?"
Had she really been so foolish as to believe Thresh had a dependence on his lantern? She was supposed to be the Thresh expert, according to Caitlyn, yet she overlooked a very simple fact: if Thresh had some sort of a magical dependence on his lantern, he would hold it close and keep it safe, not use it as a wrecking ball against his opponents. His obvious lack of concern for his lantern could only mean one thing: it was meant to be used aggressively, like a weapon.
So why had Thresh given up, when Valor took his lantern? He was winning the fight, up until he surrendered. The simplest solution was because he had wanted to be captured. Facing the facts now, it seemed entirely possible, even logical, that he had willingly surrendered, to be brought to the Institute of War. If he had souls of every species on Runeterra already, it made sense he was expanding his horizons, and the minions of the Rift were his new target.
There was one thing that didn't make sense, though. Why was Quinn seeing them, and not Soraka?
Her sensitivity to magic was a possibility, but didn't seem all that likely. A better explanation was the lantern, now at Thresh's side. She stared at it for a moment, and then looked at its owner. Immediately, he returned her gaze, and then, when a breeze passed through the field, he spoke, and the wind carried his words to Quinn's ears.
"Your eyes," he said, and Quinn only saw his bone mask as a twisted, perpetual smile. "What do they see?"
The wolves.
And the golems.
The dragon, and Baron Nashor, too.
When the blue Nexus exploded, amidst the cheers of champions, Quinn dropped her crossbow. The wait for the Summoners to pull them back to Runeterra took much too long for her liking.
Quinn was back in reality – which didn't feel real at all. She examined her hands and pinched her arm, hoping she would wake up in the guest room of Piltover's headquarters. It did not happen.
Heimerdinger was in a discussion with Orianna. Lee Sin, someone almost as quiet as she was, stood next to them, listening in on the conversation. Soraka and she stood separate from the rest of the team. They weren't the only ones in the room, however. Beyond the five pedestals where they had stood during the teleportation sequence, a line of Summoners stood guard, and past them, more pedestals, and the other team. It was a symmetrical room, and the Summoners present weren't the ones involved in the teleportation process, but rather they guarded the champions against each other, in case ill will had transcended dimensions – which wasn't an uncommon scenario.
The only interruption in the line of Summoners was at the very center of the room, where Suuntaava was positioned. The anchor which made it so easy to return to Runeterra seemed much more intimidating than before, now that she knew the Fields of Justice were more sinister than they appeared. And, oddly enough, Suuntaava, as though it, too, had a soul of its own, was acting differently. Before, the golden triangular pyramid always rotated on a singular axis, one perpendicular to the floor, but it was now spinning randomly. Its axis of rotation changing, it sped up until it was a blur, and then slowed down again until it was barely moving.
A few champions seemed to notice this too, and the nearby Summoners appeared ill at ease, unsure of what to do. Within a few seconds, everyone in the room had noticed, and was staring at it, waiting for it to stabilize. It didn't, and the whispers of the Summoners grew louder.
Pink smoke exploded next to Suuntaava, and High Summoner Vessaria appeared. Already facing the pyramid, she didn't look around the room or even pause. With both hands, as though Suuntaava were a divination orb, she reached out and held her hands in place. It responded immediately, shifting its axis of rotation back to normal, and slowing its revolutions to once every couple seconds. Without any more delay, Vessaria turned and stalked out of the room. Summoners watched her in disbelief.
Quinn waited a few seconds, and then followed.
"Vessaria," she shouted, her voice echoing in the empty halls.
Vessaria didn't turn around, or even break pace, forcing Quinn to run to catch up to her.
"Thresh is collecting souls," Quinn said.
"He does," Vessaria said. "That is what he was known for, on the Shadow Isles. I had hoped you knew this already."
"The souls of minions."
"Minions have no souls."
Soraka words hadn't made her question what she'd seen, but she felt a hint of hesitation at Vessaria's dismissal. Magic could easily deceive her, so there was the possibility that it had all been a trick – but to what ends? And was Thresh even smart enough to do something so complicated? Quinn didn't know if Vessaria believed it, or was lying, but she wasn't willing to give up yet.
"On the Rift," she said, "Thresh's lantern is sucking them into another dimension."
"That's ridiculous," Vessaria said. "There are no souls on the Fields of Justice-"
"There are. I saw them with my own eyes."
"Ridiculous. You spent five hours with Soraka – has she not said the very same thing as me? You can't see souls," Vessaria whispered. "You would be best not telling anyone else of your delusions, lest they think you've went insane."
"He's played you. He wanted to be captured and brought to the Institute of War."
This stopped Vessaria in her tracks. "The Fields of Justice are a vital component to the Institute of War, and maintaining a semblance of peace on Runeterra. Many people would be upset if the Fields used souls in an unethical way. Repercussions would risk shutting it down, while investigations are underwent. Nobody would dare take such a chance, and I can assure you, things are not as they seem." She resumed her walk, and Quinn followed. "If you actually believe that Thresh wanted to join the League of Legends to steal souls, then tell me, why has he waited two entire weeks before participating in his first match? Souls are his obsession – if we were to dangle them in front of him like you believe, he'd have been on the Rift no less than a dozen times. Naturally, due to his nature, Thresh is a concern to us and we are watching him closely, so there is no need for you to worry about him."
"And Suuntaava? What was that about?"
"As I said – stop concerning yourself with Thresh. In fact, your own situation should be taking precedence. Every champion has baggage that they bring with them, when entering the League of Legends. That's understandable. It's nothing new, and we continuously work with our members to make sure everything remains copacetic. Usually, however, they are capable of handling their own problems. Quinn, please make an effort not to be the first champion to die. We've a spotless record so far, and I'd like to keep it that way for another couple years, at least. I've read the report on the bombing, but we're unfortunately short staffed at the moment, busy dealing with High Summoner Irvine's situation, and organizing the banquet – which is something necessary in a time of doubt, as a show of force – so we can't afford to put people on this investigation-"
"So you've subcontracted it out to Caitlyn."
"Yes, something like that. She told you?"
Quinn nodded. "I can handle my own problems, you know."
"And only your own problems, please."
Vessaria nodded to her, then looked up to the ceiling. A second later, she was gone, a wisp of pink smoke taking her place.
Quinn stood still for a few minutes, trying to sort out her thoughts. Aside from what she had witnessed, there was no proof that minions had souls. Soraka and Vessaria both denied it. Thresh wasn't about to admit to his crimes, so who else was there she could go to? The Ionian fox – Ahri – was a possibility. But if she knew the truth, then why would she stay quiet on it? Did she feed off the souls of the minions, and thus wouldn't benefit by revealing the secret?
Quinn sighed. Vessaria had left her in a nondescript hall, somewhere within the Institute of War's maze-like interior. A large painting hung on the wall to her left.
Quinn had an excellent grasp on geography. The names of mountains, islands, rivers. Distances and landmarks, and flora and fauna specific to certain regions. She'd developed a wide knowledge base while travelling throughout northern Runeterra, and it was because of this that she could identify the river in the painting. It was the Liv River, located north of Piltover, which flowed down from the mountains and east into the ocean. After crossing the river, there was no civilization until deep into Freljord, where one might find a village in the snowy hills and mountains.
She examined the painting, finding the scenery soothing, after her recent discovery.
On the northern side of the river, the land was snowy. Trees were snow-capped, and the terrain was like a winter wonderland, covered in a fresh sheet of white, interrupted only where animal tracks led to the river's edge. Three Freljordian caribou had their heads dipped into the river's current. It was a mother and father surrounding their baby, as though to shield it from unseen threats. On the southern side of the river – the Piltovian side – everything was a lush green. Flowers were in bloom, reds and yellows vibrant and a little exaggerated, and furry balls of rabbit watched from a rocky outcrop as deer walked by to join the caribou at the watering hole.
The label at the bottom of the picture: River of Life, by Chantal Kearns.
The contrast between the two sides of the river was obvious. One was Freljord, the other, the Piltover Plains. There were no humans about, and no signs of civilization, leading Quinn to believe that the picture was inspired by the state of things centuries ago, when the ice age glaciers were still retreating to Freljord. It was a beautiful, yet solemn, painting. She didn't know how long she stood, staring at it, but it seemed to continually reward her, as she noticed new details. The birds in the top branches, the snow leopard in hiding, watching the caribou, the saplings growing in the background – evidence of a forest fire – and a singular blue flower which had made a foray into the sea of reds. She could even smell the roses.
Quinn took a step back, checking the hall around her.
Empty.
She sniffed again.
It was gone – but it had been there. A distinct fragrance, sweet, yet not overly so, which had overwritten the plain, musty smell of the Institute's hallways. A trick of the painting? Some magic imbued in it, to make the image all the more realistic? She didn't dare touch the painting to check. Instead, she left, taking turns at random as she navigated through the inner halls of the building.
It hadn't been intentional, at least not at first, but she gradually made her way in the direction of the library. Orianna, as team captain, might have wanted a post match discussion with the team, but it was much too late for Quinn to backtrack, and she didn't want to talk about the match, or hear the details on what had happened, because nobody would speak of souls, and it would drive her insane to be the only one who knew the truth.
The library was warm and dry, likely under some sort of dehumidifying spell. It was quiet, and she walked the ranks of tables – archivist stations, for the most part – and looked down every aisle she passed. Empty, one after another. She suspected the second and third floors were equally as quiet. With the upcoming banquet, it seemed nobody wanted to mull over ancient texts. There wasn't even a librarian; the Institute of War was content to leave their valuable books unattended most of them time – or, at least, apparently unattended. She could imagine a variety of magic watching her every movement and protecting the leather bound books around her.
On her last visit, she had been interested in dark magic, and more information on the Institute of War, in general. This time, she had a narrower vision. She found a large book, stationed at the end of one of the first aisles, and opened it. It was a six hundred page catalogue book, which she used to find one word. 'Souls'. Discovering the subject was conveniently gathered nearby, she quickly located the books, and began reading their spines.
Souls to Targon, first edition. Ascension. Balance of Souls, fifth edition. Understanding the Void. Argale's 'Beyond Death and Before Birth', second edition. Every Animal's Soul. Origin and Destination. Souls and Sapience, a thesis by Kervin Burnham. Feast of Souls. Trapped Souls. Essence of a Soul, third edition. The Shadow Isles, by Parke Kythera.
She stopped and backtracked a few books, pulling out 'Origin and Destination' and staring at the cover. Its spine – blocky blue text – was familiar, and so was the cover. Where had she seen it before? Everridge. Her hometown. It had been one of the books on the teacher's bookshelf. She had never had a chance to read it, since the teacher was stingy about letting anyone take from her collection. Quinn might have taken it without permission, but it had been on the top shelf, out of reach, its cover facing outwards as though to prominently display itself to the poor children who'd never be able to read it.
She cracked it open, a smile forming on her face.
Upon birth of a creature, its soul is created from nothingness. Under the guidance of the souls of its parents, the soul takes shape. It is inspired with traits and definitions which make it unique-
Quinn scrunched up her nose, but the smell wouldn't go away. For the third time in one minute, she lowered the book and looked around. The Institute's library was empty. Nonetheless, she had a feeling someone was watching her, and she felt like a hunted deer, about to be shot and gutted. At the very least, it was a pleasant aroma.
Origin and Destination turned out to be a short, complex book, from which Quinn had only been able to retain a few facts. She didn't feel any amount of satisfaction from finally being able to read the book, and she put it back with a sigh, before choosing another book and returning to her table. It was much larger, and she suspected she might take hours to finish it.
As Man shall not procreate with his Sister, a Soul shall not cross dimensional Boundaries. We are shackled to our Dimension of Origin, and so we shall not visit other Dimensions until our Death, wherein our Soul departs from our Mind and embarks on Its journey to Hel, which, upon arrival, joins Everything that has once existed, and becomes dormant for all of Eternity. Hel can not be visited by Mind, and Hel cannot lose what it has once gained. It is an absolute which transcends our very Concept of Existence.
Again, the scent of roses.
"Hello?" Quinn said, standing up and looking around.
Nobody answered, and she sat back down, toying with her current page, flipping it back and forth and waiting. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that the painting had sprouted legs and followed her – and that was part of what she hated about magic. There were so many possibilities and nothing could be excluded, and the rose fragrance was close to driving her insane, yet there was nothing she could do about it, so she returned to the book in hand.
Souls of sapient Beings differ no longer in Hel, for, during a Soul's traversal to the End of All Things, it sheds of Itself everything deterministic, and becomes-
With the rose scent at its strongest, Quinn felt a tickle on the back of her neck. Shoving her book away and kicking back her chair, she spun around with a dagger in hand.
A/N: Happy New Year, everyone!
Heimerdinger, Orianna, Lee Sin, Vi. Now, who could this rose scented person be?
Reviews/PMs for this chapter would be greatly appreciated. Since the plot is only going to be growing more complicated as things progress, I'd like to know if I made any mistakes - or even just hearing some opinions on the chapter would be nice.