Chapter X

It felt like a dream.

In front of him, stood Malzahar – that same smirk on his lips that he always wore. His blue eyes were watching him carefully, eyeing him up and down as if watching his every movement. Talon's fingers were twitching in response, body shaking, as if out of fear.

The Prophet opened his mouth to speak, yet no words emerged; he simply stared at the assassin, as if expecting him to do something specific.

Talon was at a loss for words.

His arm raised, extending towards Malzahar. He wanted to reach out and touch him, just once, and only once. Place his hand on his shoulder, as if to test and see if he was truly a solid form in front of his very eyes.

Yet, the closer he got, the further the Prophet appeared to be from him. It began to grow ridiculous, as Talon broke out into a near sprint, trying to catch Malzahar whom wasn't drawing closer in the slightest. Until a single moment, when Talon cried out his name.

"Malzahar!" The assassin called, and immediately, he drew closer, as though the magic spell that had limited their distance had been shattered.

Closer, and closer, until his fingers were mere inches away from reaching his shoulder.

Everything immediately froze; Talon's body was kept in place, mid run, fingers just barely touching the cloth of Malzahar's scarf. His blue eyes were alight with a soft glow as he narrowed them, smiling wide at the assassin. Yet, the Prophet made no move to take his hand, instead floating back away from him before soon disappearing into the darkness.

Talon's eyes widened in shock at the quiet, saddened whisper that filled his ears next, as though Malzahar was still just next to him.

"You're a fool."

(======)

Talon's body jolted as a rough hand touched his forehead.

Brown eyes shot open, the assassin crying out the name of the Prophet as he sat up, startling the man next to him as he took a few steps back. Talon groaned in pain, placing his hands on both sides of his aching head as he breathed heavily, trying to shake away the feeling of nausea that also plagued his stomach. The dream coupled with the previous events left his nerves in a fritz - he hadn't even noticed the man next to him, until a pair of large hands gripped onto his shoulders and forced him back down onto the bed.

Though Talon was reluctant of the touch, he hadn't the strength to shy away from the man's wishes.

"Lay down, boy." The man growled in a light accent, pulling the blanket back up over the trembling Noxian. "You're in no condition to be movin' around so much."

Talon's dark eyes flicked over to the one that had issued such an order, his curiosity becoming piqued.

This man... didn't seem to be Shurimian at all. His face was aged, thin age lines trailing along the bridge of his nose and under his dark eyes – he was clearly in his mid, to late fourties, Talon assumed. A dark brown, scruffy beard was plastered over the bottom half of his face, equally dark brown hair slicked back on his head to keep it from obscuring his vision.

Though, what drew Talon's attention the most, was the worn brown cigar that rested between his pale lips.

"Who... are you?" The assassin asked, gulping as he realized just how parched he truly was. His lips were as dry as his mouth, making it hard for him to speak properly.

"Call me Graves." He replied, walking across the room and taking a seat in one of the wooden chairs that rested around a small, circular table. Atop the table lay a stack of playing cards, a box of cigars, a lighter, and a large canteen. It wasn't much, but it was enough for even the most basic of travelers."You're lucky, boy... you nearly died out there. Hadn't been for me, you would've been buzzard bait."

"...You don't look to be from around here." Talon stated bluntly, ignoring the introduction as he addressed the main issue that was on his mind at the current moment.

He earned a smirk in response.

"Got that right. Not from these parts at all. Merely travelin'." Graves scratched the scruff of his beard as he leaned back in the chair, kicking his legs up onto the table as his sharp eyes watched the assassin slowly push himself into sitting against the headboard. "I'm a drifter. I go wherever the road takes me."

Talon nodded in understanding.

"Road took me to you, last night. Found you in the mornin' right after the rain had stopped. You were nearly dead, boy; your skin was cold, and your pulse was faint, I was sure the desert had claimed you before I had found you."

"Yet... you saved me?"

"Sure did." Graves held a proud expression as he lifted the silver canteen, rolling it over in his hands a couple times to test how much water was left inside, before turning his gaze towards the Noxian. "Here. Catch."

Talon rose a hand to catch the canteen as Graves tossed it at him, eagerly proceeding to unscrew the lid and gulp it down greedily. The water was consumed so fast, Talon nearly choked, sputtering a little and earning an amused chuckle from Graves. He couldn't help but drink quickly – it felt like heaven to his dry mouth, after all.

"Slow down, there's plenty where that came from." Graves snorted, placing a hand on the table as he let out a quiet huff. "...Where you from, boy? You don't seem to be from here either."

The assassin released a pleased sigh as he finished drinking to his fill, growling under his breath at the question. He couldn't tell the outlaw where he hailed from; Noxus was hated by most of Runeterra. It was a risky move, that could perhaps put his life in jeopardy once again.

Thus, he did the only thing possible.

"...I'm a drifter, just like you. Don't know where my 'home' is." Talon lied, watching Grave's lower lip curl upwards in an expression of interest. "I... uh... came at a bad time to this desert, I suppose..."

A loud guffaw came from the outlaw, "No kiddin'! Nearly cost you your life. Only a fool would travel the sands during a monsoon."

Dark eyes lowering, Talon placed the canteen down on the floor beside the bed as he lowered himself back down under the covers. His body still ached for rest; he needed it, after all he had been through. He only hoped that Graves wouldn't object to him staying around for a little while longer.

"I'm... going to rest a bit longer, if that's alright... I'll leave by morning."

Graves nodded, pulling the cards from the table as he began to shuffle them between both hands in expert, trained motions. "Suit yourself. I don't mind you stickin' around. Stay as long as you need."

(======)

It was the dead of night and a harsh wind was blowing outside, rattling the windows of the small inn.

Talon tossed and turned in his bed; his sleep had been long since disturbed, ever since the wind had begun to howl. Part of him didn't wish to sleep any longer, but given just how tired he truly was, he attempted it. The bed was comfortable enough, so there was no harm in it.

But, the wind outside held other plans.

With a heavy, frustrated sigh, Talon gave up. He stood from his bed, placing a hand on the far wall to steady himself. His legs were still rather sore yesterday, but he would fair rather well with walking, at the very least; running, could be another story.

Dark eyes darted around the room, spying nothing out of the ordinary. Graves seems to have gone elsewhere, no longer present, as far as Talon could see; the stack of cards and box of cigars had disappeared from the table. Only a metal canteen that was half full of water had been left behind.

In the very corner of the room, however, Talon spotted something that made his blood run cold.

Malzahar's dagger, and cloak; neatly folded, with the golden dagger resting idle on top.

Talon stumbled his way towards the items, dropping to his knees next to them. His fingers lightly stroked the fabric, before they curled themselves around the delicate dagger. There were still traces of blood adorning the gold of the blade, staining it, almost as if it had been burnt into the metal as a grim reminder.

His eyes even grimaced as he stared at the blade, holding it up towards the window and allowing the moonlight to shine upon the stained metal.

"...For such a beautiful dagger, it's rather flimsy... the blade is far too thin to cope with an actual battle..." Talon mumbled to himself, turning the dagger over and over in his hands, "Guess this is what he meant by a 'sacrifical dagger'. Why would you even carry it around with you in the first place...?"

Just as he was about to say his name, Talon stopped himself.

Snarling in frustration, he stood, grabbing the cloak from the floor and wrapping it hastily around his figure. His hands grasped the canteen and the dagger, tucking them both safely into the blue belt that wrapped around his hips. There seemed to be nothing else of value in the room for him to scavenge, so he promptly took what he had and left.

Quietly, he shut the door behind him and stepped carefully through the hall of the inn. The floorboards creaked as he took each step with his metal boots, though Talon hadn't a care; he swiftly fled the small shelter and stepped out into the quiet village. Everyone was asleep, as far as he could tell – it was definitely a very late hour.

The only ones roaming the desert streets now were beggars and thieves; ironically, he felt almost at home in the company of such people.

The wind rushed past him as he made his way through the center of the village, cooling his warm cheeks. The thought of the Prophet had... angered him, in an odd way. Angered him, due to his own weakness, and the way he had dealt with the problem.

Yet, in his mind; it was the only way he knew how.

Violence solves everything. It was Noxus's way of dealing with those that caused trouble. In his thoughts, stealing his heart and attempting to sacrifice him to some dark entity was... a large amount of trouble.

Though he couldn't deny that each time he thought of the Seer, his heart gave a small jolt to his senses.

A jolt of pain, and regret.

Just then, at that very moment, Talon froze. A sudden gust of wind carried much more with it than just sand, this time. A low howl; a word seemed to have been spoken, carried by the air itself.

"Talon."

His lips quivered, biting the inside of his lower lip with his canine. Talon's hawk-like gaze scanned the area, looking past the sandstone houses that brought forth barely any light. Yet, he saw nothing.

Passing it off as an odd coincidence of the wind, he exhaled a shaking breath and continued moving.

He had taken not even ten steps, when he heard it again. Clearer, louder this time; it seemed playful, yet wise. Like it knew of his troubles, knew exactly what he had done and what plagued his heart.

It sounded like his voice, and Talon knew he couldn't mistake it.

He ignored it, and continued onwards, picking up his steps with a bit more life and spring to them, ignoring the dull pain that continued to course through his legs. He was nearly running by the time he had gotten to the outskirts of the city, only to be met with a large wooden gate that had been raised just after dusk. Cursing under his breath, Talon looked around frantically.

A large wall, made of sandstone shielded the city from the creatures that crawled through the dunes. It was all that stood in his way of freedom, by this point. He didn't wish to stay in this city for a second longer, so he would need to scour for another way around.

It was then, out of the corner of his eyes that he saw a faint glimmer of blue. Two, glowing blue orbs that stared at him from the shadows cast by two buildings. His head snapped around quickly, though they had faded just as soon as they had appeared.

It was beginning to rattle his nerves – everything was beginning to become a bit too... eerie for his tastes.

Almost as if a certain someone was taking pride in haunting him.

Growling, Talon slung the long edges of the cloak over his shoulders, making a makeshift cape. Moving to the sandstone wall, his hands and feet fumbled around the rocky, smooth surface, trying to find any form of irregularity he could use as a foothold. After a few moments of searching, he found a particularly rocky spot, where it hadn't yet been sanded down.

It was a little difficult to navigate, by the looks of it... but it would need to do.

One step up, followed by two. Talon carefully gripped and placed his feet onto the small round edges that jutted forth from the wall, pulling himself upwards. He was used to this sort of thing, so he was able to climb it rather quickly with little problems – as a child, he had climbed many worse for wear walls in Noxus, and even more so when he became an assassin serving General Du Couteau.

Talon was used to scaling rather... odd places, so his training proved useful here once more.

Once at the top of the wall, Talon exhaled a heavy breath. Looking out over the dunes, his eyes narrowed. The sky was clear, on this night, and the air was warm; perhaps the only thing he would need to worry about were the creatures of the desert, but even then, he was an expert at knowing when to run or fight, so he could handle himself just fine.

Or, so he hoped.

Nimbly, he lowered himself down the other side of the wall, down onto the soft sand. He quickly pulled the cloak around his form once more, pulling up his hood and giving one last check to his side to make sure the canteen and dagger were still in place. With everything accounted for, he took a step forward and began his journey through the desert.

This place seemed to be on the outskirts, near the border of Mount Gargantuan. If he could just make it to the Mogron Pass, he would be home free; it was only a short trek from there to Noxus, so he should be able to navigate it with little effort. His legs were feeling a bit better now that they had had a small workout, easing the aching muscles that once nearly prevented him from walking.

Talon was on his way home, now, and while he should feel joyous, his heart was plagued with a heavy burden. One that stopped him in his tracks after only a few minutes of traveling. His fingers curled into tight fists as he let out a low growl.

He had heard it again.

The wind – calling his name in a familiar voice.

As he tried to step forward, a sudden gust forced him backwards, nearly toppling him over. It was trying to tell him something, and he was nearly too stubborn to listen. Well, at first he was; now, he was simply growing annoyed.

"What?!" Talon shouted, raising his voice nearly as loud as it could go, looking up towards the starry dark sky. "What do you want?!"

A laugh, this time, a wisp that drew by his ears.

"Do you find this funny?" Talon growled, "I can hear you, if that's what you're trying to prove. I can hear you, and you're growing annoying!"

It pushed him again, this time with enough force to literally land him on his behind in the sand.

Talon hissed a low curse.

"Talon."

Again, it spoke his name; this time, it sounded... sad?

"I'm listening." The assassin spoke loud and clear, "What is it you want?"

"Come back." It called, another push against him, from a different direction this time, almost as if telling him the way to go. "Come back."

Talon's dark eyes narrowed, head lowering to hide them underneath the guise of his hood. He knew who was calling him; his heart was leaping at the chance to go back and see him. But for what?

Malzahar was dead.

"Why do you want me to come back? Aren't you dead?"Talon asked the wind, and the harsh gusts died down to a light breeze that blew gently against his cheeks.

"Come back."

Talon sighed at just how persistent it was being, clicking the tongue against the roof of his mouth as he tried to arrive at a decision. Part of him would find it to be a waste if he were to go back now, given the fact that he had killed the Prophet for the sole purpose of getting away from him. Yet... he found himself wanting to go back.

Just... to see for sure.

"Fine. Fine!" Talon growled, loudly, standing up in a huff and brushing himself off. "As long as you lead me there. This is absolutely ridiculous."

It spoke no more, only blew in a certain direction. The wind was agreeing to lead him towards Malzahar's hut, so that way he wouldn't get lost in the seemingly endless desert. At least he had a guide; even if he couldn't see it.

Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was dreadfully wrong.