I'm back from our trip to the Serpentine River. This cold January afternoon, our fight for the old man's shop was hard fought and won. His granddaughter sent me flowers from her town near Demacia's border. A bouquet of poinsettias sat on my windowsill to welcome me as I came home. Honestly, I've never had anyone give me flowers since I moved to the Institute. Seeing so much of the girl's own cheerfulness disappoints me that I haven't got the chance to meet her grandfather personally.

He's a watchmaker, and his granddaughter is a metalsmith. The latter is in close contact with the Laurent family and supplies Fiora with both artisanal and practical fencing blades. However, a case was made that the forge counted as a military installation and therefore should be subjected to the appropriate League imposed tariffs on arms and weapons. These taxes extended not just to the swords leaving Demacia, but the old man's watches and lockets. That didn't sit well with the not-so-well-off family, so the legal battle quickly percolated through Demacia's courts (because of the League's involvement) and within two weeks I met with the young lass in need, her name is Amatea, to set up a skirmish to settle it once and for all.

Both contesting parties met a day after that, all ten summoners selected their champions, and notices were sent out. A month later, today, I fought alongside Sona on the Serpentine River for the first time.

And so it was that I joined countless other summoners who can call Sona their own. Not in a possessive fashion-that would be demeaning. I can write another one thousand words about her beauty, her grace and what other superlatives come to mind. But I must not forget where my obligations lay. The Institute of War is such a fanciful place. Deciding the fate of nations on the line of gladiatorial battles is a very Utopian very dystopian concept that I support with my feet on the ground.

I felt so relieved that today I, for once, wasn't fighting for a cause so dire to spill blood over. I wish this were the case every match.

War and violence is a nightmare, a gag forced on a nation's people while they are deafened by a horrid dissonance, a very tired song and dance called hate. The champions who volunteer to be a part of this ritual I must commend for their inhuman conviction. It takes a champion's conviction to surrender yourself to this punishment. Among this League of Legends here is a musician. And she's mute! Who has time to appreciate music during battle? Who has time to sing, let alone have the voice to sing while it's not talking?

Of course we try to listen to the abstract ideas coming from the peace-mongers of the world. That's what I've been trying to do whenever I'm close to Sona. But my feelings are thus: she's not mute. We're all nothing but deaf. Deafened by the noise of talk. At least, I felt quite a bit like I was deaf some time before match.

Yesterday I was wrapped up in a humor of ineptitude and anxiety as I consulted Lucid, now thoroughly embedded in his etwahl practice. Over his repeating of basic chords, he told me to not worry and have fun summoning. This is from the man who swears by a philosophy of mystic fate. I nearly pushed back with the observation that I am fated to worry. Thankfully the Maven of the Strings silenced this notion in earnest.

I experimented with simply letting go and focusing on my sight. She wears her blue hair in ponytails to match her sky blue dress. Every day the noise builds on her as it does to all of us. Everyone gets tired of talking and conversation sometimes, even politicians. Sona and I went together to Summoner's Rift to breathe in the clarity of exercise.

I entered Sona's mind soaked in past tears, a mangy helpless thing. That time she took me in with a great deal of hesitation. Noting my jumpiness, she picked me up and shook me off, murmuring assurances into my head with her etwahl. The anticipation was nerve wrecking still. I stood over my conjuration, concentrating with the ten other summoners in the Institute's circular Summoning Chamber, while Sona and the other participating champions arrived at Summoner's Rift in rings of blue light. As soon as she touched down, her fingers ran across the strings on her instrument. She started an idle melody, a song of noble strength which honed our senses. On our blue glowing platform was the silent armor-dillo Rammus, the indomitable iron man Mordekaiser, the large and intoxicated Gragas, the instinctual voidling Kog'maw, and Sona. She closed her eyes and sighed contently. Quickly gearing up, everyone headed out to their lanes. A pang of fear froze me for a moment while Sona floated on, a fear for her well being, a dangerous sympathy. As I shivered in this panicky fit, Sona reached out with her mind and grasped my hand in the same manner as before. Like setting time on a metronome, she stilled my pulse with hers. With hands like those, everything is an instrument that can be tuned.

Kog'maw's summoner lengthened his leash, and the void creature merrily followed behind Sona with what looked like a smile. And then we heard the most peculiar thing to escape the mouth of the void-he began to sing! Yes, the mouth of the abyss began to gurgle out notes alongside Sona's song as we walked together. "Laaa la la la! Largh garr gaah!" No audience could be more heartwarming to perform for. Sona led him along as she played. Kog'maw began to sing quieter as we reached the outermost turret, turning into a content humming as the clock ran down seconds. Briefly exiting Sona's mind, I turned to my teammate next to me and got a glance at his face. The summoner was blinking sharply as if something were in his eyes. They were bloodshot-probably from lack of sleep. The disparity of calmness between Kog'maw and his summoner puzzled me. Behind us came the blue minions marching without a sound. They clashed with the purple minions up ahead. We could see a grizzled walnut of a man emerging from the fog of war, a soft talking gunslinger named Graves. Kog'maw eagerly began to spit at the purple minions, felling them one by one as he was bade by his summoner. I was obligated to simply wait for an opportunity to strike at our opponents. Graves fired a buckshot round at us-there was a distinct blast of sound which distorted our vision. It caught on Sona's arm and on her instrument. The pain was sobering, yet not acute. Sona's face didn't chage one bit while I frowned in concentration.

We responded by forcefully strumming a chord on the etwahl. Her mind guided me through this maneuver, and I yielded quietly. Dialogue would put us off timing and serve no end. A cone of blue magic honed in on Graves, and he staggered backwards. Sona took this opening and fired a high note that pierced his gut, causing him to bleed. His summoner backed off while Graves growled to himself. At first I thought this power was unreal. To inflict that much damage at such an early point in the match astounded me. Other summoners tell me that this ability is a major strength of hers and advise me to use it frequently. But its potency falls off later as the other champions gain power, so one must abuse this advantage early.

Graves was escorted by Soraka, a pious mystic with an extensive knowledge of healing magic. Her summoner liberally cast these spells on Graves to keep him standing. It seemed that their endurance would win out against us. Thankfully Kog'maw had brought healing potions to keep himself healthy (and to quench his thirst). We managed to push them back to their own turret, securing our small victory in the early game. Both of us teleported back to the summoning platform to recover and prepare. Kog'maw idly bobbed his head to Sona's envigorating tune. I still wonder why a ravenous being could react in such a way. We sensed his own heartbeat keeping time to a different drummer. He is a slave to instinct-yet the creature sings and dances. Is this an exertion of Sona's enchantments? Or does that same instinct drive him to take pleasure from her song?

Our dominence was felt sorely by the other team, and appreciated by our allies. Things seemed to be going well. I hope Amatea and her old man were watching today.

Then the beat changed. Baron had emerged from his slumber in the river, and both teams were eager to fell it and gain his power. As everyone grouped up in the forest, a flurry of alerts and talking took shape. Earlier Mordekaiser's summoner and that of Gragas began to spout insults to eachother. The former got royally irritated that the latter had let Gragas die one too many times. Sona expressed her annoyance through her face, and played louder in a vain attempt to calm them. They started to yell over her. While this was going on, Mordekaiser himself boomed in an echoing voice so that everyone heard. "Stop bickering like fools! Let us strike in tune to the Maven's music and not your c cacophonous squawking!" His will subdued the two summoners like with his metal fist. Vocally grabbing them by the neck, he shook them violently and threatened menacingly "We have the advantage! You will not squander our victory by making our ears bleed!" Sona retreated backwards cautiously. She stopped playing, thinking it a futile effort.

For the first time in the entire match, there was total silence. "Now...if you please my dear Sona, let us shred." Mordekaiser said, as if he expected us to find the keys and emerge from our prison of paralysis that quickly. Sona and I did so, thankful for his strong pep talk. Metal is receptive to sound, and we felt his entire body resonate with musical energy. He gave it a deep and oppressive accent. Sona smiled as she and Mordekaiser walked side by side towards Baron's nest; occupied already by the other team. I caught a sense of companionship between them, although I do not know how any specifics. Her pulse becomes slightly labored in his presence. I directed her behind Mordekaiser as we dove in headfirst to strike the final blow against the giant worm. Kog'maw and his summoner expertly did so with a single blast of his 'Bio-arcane barrage' technique, stealing the kill and sealing our victory. With absolute power flowing through us, we turned to the enemy and engaged. A parental side of us elated when Kog'maw proceeded to mercilessly pelt all of them with his caustic spittle. Mordekaiser lumbered about, practically executing each champion one by one with his gigantic metal mace. We scored a total wipe, an 'ace', in that battle. And with that the match was won in a quick stroke afterwards.

I had a brief moment to thank Sona before we broke the link, in words this time. The metalsmith Amatea was in an adjacent room watching the match with other League observers and fans. I said very little as she shot toward Kog'maw's summoner and kissed his cheeks. In no time we had to leave to hear a verdict by the League. I expected no showy displays of gratitude. These red poinsettias are all I could ever ask for. For a summoner of my skill level, it's more than I deserve.

But if Sona and I can save an old man's trinket-shop, maybe I am still of some relevance to the affairs of Valoran. Granted, the pay I received from Amatea and her grandfather amounted to only a week's worth of groceries, but what's important is that I got to test my bond with Sona. And things feel smooth.

There will be another concert later in the month, and I'd like to meet her again, one more time, just to make sure I'm not dreaming.