An AU wherein Soraka, after becoming assigned to Draven, becomes a prison medic under the Noxian banner.
Five years.
Five years had not particularly been kind to the starchild as she walked the grubby halls of the Noxian prison.
Hadn't Soraka walked this path before? Long ago, hadn't she too come fresh-faced, flanked by guards, and eager to better the world? This time, she is alone, gait even and dare one say … comfortable. Her helmeted head was held high, the steady clink, clink of her armor punctuated lowly over the cries of the incarcerated.
This was her calling now, to be the sole beacon of light in this forsaken place. To the prisoners, Soraka was either a harbinger of doom … or their salvation. Today she is neither, merely a ghost drifting through the halls. Today, the life of another would end, and Soraka would be there to observe it.
The celestial shoulders a door aside, the harsh glare of sunlight and the roar of the arena's crowd making her head spin. Between the cries for blood and the glitz and glamor, one truly never got used to it. Soraka wasn't used to much of anything these days.
He stands a few paces away, and even now does the sight make Soraka's pulse quicken, her hoofsteps possessing that slight tremble when he turns to look at her with that surefire, cocky smirk.
"Took you long enough, starshine."
There's a smile, natural albeit nervous. They're standing shoulder-to-shoulder now, and Soraka allows her eyes to fall before their charge near the center of the arena, a battered Noxian youth with many a count of assault and theft on his head.
One must die to benefit the many. The stars would mourn him, but his victims would not. Part of Soraka was thankful that their voices had long become silent for her.
She feels him beside her, unsheathing his axes and reveling in the crowd's intoxicating screams for justice, for blood.
Soraka presses a cold kiss to his jaw.
"I'm right behind you, dear executioner."