In a darkened and ominous back alley, noticeably more dark and ominous than the back alleys of other city states, was a small slotted door backed up with people. The air was thick with youthful energy, the spark and crackle of ambitious spirit that fuels this progressive city. It smelled like a bleeding armpit.

Inside was Pentakill's dark basement of a venue. Wide cement corridors connected a catacomb of modest and bare rooms lit only by strobes and colored floodlights. Graffiti was everywhere, still letting off fumes. Left disoriented by the stimuli, some ineffectual paranoia dwelled in the back of my head. I reached the band room. It was relatively small for hosting a concert for any kind. A stage dominated most of the floor, only a single step high. No seats either. The audience was expected, I was figured, to stand and mosh together in a crowd. I was surprised to find myself not fearful of this concept. It sounded more enriching than intrusive or harmful.

I was wrong about one thing. Everybody was intruding on every part of every body. I walked in with a clean robe, and the moment I started swimming through people somebody puked on my leg. After another two minutes, I had to smother my robe because a part of it burst into flames. As I examined it amongst the antsy crowd, I realized the cloth picked up a shimmering green ooze off the ground (the 'shimmer' drug mentioned earlier) so I promptly took it off and slung it over my right shoulder.

When I finally reached the foot of the stage, my wardrobe underwent a Zaunite makeover. Smoldering holes perforated the lower half of my tunic, and the top was covered in green handprints. I felt dirty in a new sense of the word. The important thing, to a Zaunite, is that the outfit is new, novel, unseen.

The concert began with a loud cheer. Mordekaiser appeared onstage from an elevator under the deck. Just like in the poster, his muscled chest was bare and accented with tribal tattoos. I imagined something less human to be hidden under Mordekaiser's armor. He wielded an instrument that could be best described as a gigantic red axe turned into a lute. He most definitely slays people with it.

Yorick lazily grasped a more subtle version of Mordekaiser's. In place of his leather cloak, he wore a denim vest and a grimly adorned top hat, which teetered on his head. He focused intensely on his instrument, visually shutting out the crowd with his gaze locked downward.

Front and center emerged Karthus in a flamboyant and gruesome red cloak. His skeletal head was smeared with blue and white face paint. A wig of wild and flowing blue hair erupted from his cranium. Karthus held true to his noble aloofness as he floated toward the microphone.

Sona, in her measured grace, caught the audience and their passion. Picking up on this, she put on a cruel smirk under her wicked eyes. Just like on the poster. Is this the true Sona? Am I pursuing this woman? All I could do is grip the locket on my chest. And wait, while I cheered her on with the rest of the riot behind me.

Yorick strummed a stomping series of chords, deep and full of fearful burden. The crowd screamed in reverie. Mordekaiser followed with jagged overbearing notes which subjugated the crowd to jump and cheer to the quickening beat. The sound of these instruments can be best described as the essence of a beast's rage, the sheer force of its anger ripping and tearing a metallic string. Karthus grabbed the microphone and in his soprano voice screamed the title of their opening piece.

"Empire in Flames!"

Here's the first verse and the chorus:

Crushed in the dark

The city screams!

A king on his throne

Agony and despair he breeds!

Frozen in fear

Short on his breath

A king on his throne

Waits for a slow death!

The righteous prince

Rides in the dark!

Alone and weak

Searches for the spark!

Fire and rage!

Burns the age!

Climbs the heights!

Lights the night!

Ceaseless and eternal

The hellfire inferno!

It's a long narrative about how the prince finds a sorceress of fire and brings her back to the king to save the kingdom from darkness. The king steals her power and burns the entire city in a cataclysmic firestorm. Everyone dies. Great stuff.

Yorick and Mordekaiser masterfully shred sound through the air as the vibrant prince and the defiled king. Sona's etwahl was especially intriguing. The normally delicate tones of Sona's chords were amplified into searing expressions of passion which accompanied the metallic fury of the other two stings very well. In the last verse, the king clashes against the sorceress in a duel of grinds and riffs which really got Mordekaiser fired up. He poured all his molten metal heart into the final solo.

Sona responded with sweeping wails and sharps. Her eyes were closed in intense focus as she strummed through staggering melodies which exploded and died like fireworks. I stood not caught under a spell, but ignited into flame, head banging with the crowd. Mordekaiser persisted, pressing harder and faster on the assault, absolute like an executioner. Now keeping pace with him, Sona overcame him in a primal rampage of rolling anger and spirit.

And then with a long chord, Mordekaiser silenced her. Now under the king's dominion, the fire exploded through both Sona and Mordekaiser in perfect synchronization. It immolated my eardrums and made me forget why I came to this concert in the first place. Yes, it is very painful being near one of those gigantic speakers. More pain than pleasure.

The pleasure of forgetting was short lived. As the music rang to a stop and the audience applauded with fervor, all I could do is stand in contemplation. Sona smiled weakly as the band took their ovation. They left through a backdoor near the stage.

Donning my robe, I snaked my way through the crowd and slipped into that same door. The hallway was dimly lit, around four feet wide. Small doors ran along the walls with signs on them. A shady figure in a sharply neat vest appeared next to me. He had a thin build and no hair. The man examined me with a pair of glowing yellow eyes. "Ah, a summoner." said he. "I almost flung you out of here on instinct, nobody allowed here without official business. Let me get these lights and..."

The lamps flickered on, and Singed appeared in a black vest and slacks, neatly worn over his bandages. I froze dumbfounded. The tension was so thick I could almost see it. Singed laughed at this. Slowly I sighed and put on a modest grin, accepting this reality with grace. I said hello.

"Hello, summoner." Singed replied quickly. "I'm not in trouble again am I? Perhaps...if I could have your name..."

I told him who I was, without any embellishments or titles (I have quite a few by virtue of being a summoner).

"Oh?" His interest was piqued slightly. "I remember you. Vaguely. The poor wretch who almost went crazy from summoning me so often. Oh, the time we spent together..."

There was another period of silence, maybe fifteen seconds. Singed produced a flask from suit jacket and pulled down his bandages to drink. The amber liquid drained too fast for the eye to see.

"You've made something out of yourself, summoner. Now with your little romp with Sona, the press is having a hard time figuring out which gossip-monger to listen to."

I asked him about that. Singed tried to hold back some chuckling.

"The sensation isn't nearly as big as Janna's lingerie scandal, but I've been questioned by the Journal of Justice twice so far. By the way, I can't help but question you about your own...lewd secrets." From behind his bandages escaped a short but intense laugh. "Have you been keeping up with your chemistry studies? Did you finish that landmine project? Hahaha!"

There haven't been any episodes since I became friends with Sona. I'd forgotten how I wrote of it in my diary so many months ago.

"I was hoping you'd say otherwise. Did you know that I'm still looking for an apprentice? Haven't found anybody as promising as you, boy. You were quite literally absorbing my lessons! Ha!"

I laughed too, out of relief; out of gratitude for Sona's help. Singed started to continue down the hallway and I followed.

"I've no interest in any of your other perversions. I'm done torturing you, summoner. For now. What's your business here?"

I related to Singed the recent complications between me and Sona. We stopped walking in front of a door with a big skull cut from sheet metal hung on the front. The chemist listened without any apparent interest. It took only about a minute to run everything from the meeting on the balcony to the present.

"Yes, yes. I hear you" he said disingenuously. "Now you're here to dump her for good. It's the best for both of you. I'm relieved."

At some point during our conversation, Singed momentarily stopped caring about me and Sona. We stopped talking for a bit and leaned on the wall facing the door. After thirty seconds, Singed woke up. "You're the most tolerable summoner I've met. That is a very special distinction."

Right on cue, the door burst open. Mordekaiser emerged first in his more traditional metal shroud. He stopped short of us on his way out. "Mordekaiser!" said Singed with genteel enthusiasm. "Welcome back to Zaun!"

"Yes." said Mordekaiser. "We are eternally drawn to the pestilence that afflicts your city. Zaun and your...er...basement is blessed by our disease"

"Pentakill is always welcome in my home! Zaun, I mean."

Mordekaiser, after a brief exchange of their unusual pleasantries, relieved himself of Singed and bore his menacing gaze down onto myself. I gave him a reserved bow and a greeting.

Without blacking out at all, I remarked that the show was very enjoyable. The fear of him sucking out my very soul did not escape my countenance. This required a superhuman willpower-I'm not trying to boast here. Summoning him is an obstacle twice as large. He's a walking embodiment of death and pestilence.

"I am puzzled as to why your ears are not bleeding at my very presence, summoner. But know that your tribute has been received."

I joked that he was just sending out good vibes.

"I recall a certain songstress making that same remark." Mordekaiser groaned. He strode out through a door leading out into the streets and was gone.

Shortly after, Yorick emerged from the room with his leather hooded cloak over his denim vestments and his hunched form. Under his long hair and its shadow was an expression of accomplished fatigue. He smelled bad, but spending the better part of the day in Zaun prepared my nose for anything.

Grim on every word, Yorick greeted us with reluctance. "Have a good night." he said to nobody in particular.

If death is sleep, Yorick really is (un)living the dream. He trudged out the exit with his lantern lit brightly

Karthus floated out of the room with his regular shadowy vestments and his face clear of makeup. The air chilled immensely, like he had just opened the door to a blizzard. Singed appeared unfazed as he greeted the lich with a buffering forwardness. The exchange progressed quickly, almost in the same manner as Mordekaiser. Karthus gracefully crept through Singed's queries and reacted in concise yet hauntingly earnest rasps. Mentions of Sona topped off the conversation. The lich began to float out toward the exit, but stopped to turn his cryptic gaze to me. His skull was fitted into a horrific frown.

"You" he pointed. "You are Sona's tramp?"

I nodded and gave my name.

Karthus made a jerk with his jaw, almost as if to spit. "What a whelp you are. Sona has no need for a companion, let alone road kill like you. Capricious, foolish, dense headed summoner. The woman has Pentakill. We are the closest thing to family to her. Why can't you just let go?"

I closed my eyes and breathed, holding back a lump in my throat. The Innervating Locket began to pulse very strongly now, detecting something nearby. It was comforting, I felt connected to something familiar and empowering in my unconscious self. Something akin to a hug.

I told him, plainly, with finality. As much as Sona and I both thought otherwise, through all the blissfully comforting moments we shared together, and the affection she has shown me in my suffering, it pains me to know that...

"I don't think I understand her."

I turned my head in contemplation, staring at the exit. My eyes ached. "With everything Sona has done for me, I owe her my life. But if things won't work, then I can at least give her this much-an understanding of her. That's why I'm here."

Karthus raised his head slowly, deliberately. His movements pointed to every emotion and none at all. Singed took out his flask and stared into it, searching for a feeling. The locket was still beating, to a slower tempo now. Thump, thump, thump…

Five notes were plucked to this beat, and then quickly stifled in afterthought. Sona was standing in the doorway watching. G sharp, G, G sharp, C, F. These are deciding notes, an invitation to solemn examination. Free of her grim black dress and wig, she was almost back to her old self. Her mouth was slightly open, and her hands were clasped over her chest. Those subtle high class chastity in her body language were gone. Her etwahl floated aside her thigh. The three of us turned to her.

"May I kill your boyfriend?" Asked Karthus.

Sona shook her head in a chiding manner.

Karthus bowed, motioned to leave, looked back at me and said "You have a choice to make, summoner. It is yours as much as it is hers, summoner. So too is the burden." He floated away promptly.

Singed nodded to both of us. Thoughtfully, he muttered "Yes, do that. I'll be cleaning up my basement." before walking out the way we came.

And then silence. We stared at each other for another while longer, both of us locked together in this gaze. She really is beautiful. Her blue dress was slightly creased and worn. It's cut pretty low, revealing her delicate shoulders and chest. The cleavage marks the dress overall not too modest. Her accompanying robe is a lighter blue with gold accents, wispy and flowing like her ponytails. Her hair falls over her right eye, adding to the seductive, mysterious, alluring quality of her face. Yet I feel also that her features are guarded in equal force. Sona keeps a well proportioned figure, overtly organic and natural. I realize that she wouldn't look half-bad painted in some abstract brushwork.

Sona finds the lock that binds us, and smiles with reservation. I smile back. She invites me into the modestly furnished room before sitting on a red couch, noticeably unused. I follow her in, putting ample space in between our bodies.

From a table in front of the couch, she produced a pen and a tablet of paper. She wrote and handed both tools to me.

"Hello."

I looked at her. She still wore her smile, unsure and absent of its seductive charm. I wrote a similar greeting.

"Hello, and thanks again. Your show was very memorable. Pentakill and the League have a great songstress in you."

As Sona read this, her smile faded. We were school children again, passing notes. But this is an acceptable pace for now. The silence can stay for a bit longer. I was still afraid.

For the first time in a very long time, we were both ready to experience something we hadn't tried yet. Dialogue. We sat side by side on the couch, passing back and forth that piece of paper, thinking very hard on what we would write. Sona did a good number on me with that endearingly downcast face. I struggled to look at her for more than a moment each glance, nervous that I'd never be able to avert my eyes again. The maven handed me the paper delicately.

"I'm sorry I deceived you. Somehow it felt wrong to let you in on my past. I wanted to keep it out of the way, forget about the pain."

I sighed in deep thought before writing carefully.

"I'm sorry for being a fool who didn't care to ask. I was just a reckless cripple who ended up being a burden to you. Just something to be protected. I got frustrated and depressed. I wanted to show people that I could think for myself. But I'm still out of tune with the world. Anything I manage to think and communicate comes out wrong. I wanted to walk away from it all, go and disappear. Somehow I couldn't resolve to do even that. Always was a burden-to you especially."

Sona hesitantly wrote her response, a hint of shame in her eyes.

"You don't realize what an impact you've made on this Runeterra. Even within your limits, a great many people were touched by your efforts. Some you may have not even met."

"That's being optimistic." I said aloud. "A career...a life of failure isn't worth your time to fix."

Sona forcefully gave me a piercing stare. She looked into my very soul, as the cliché goes. My chest fluttered under her gaze. I bet she would be yelling right now. With expediency Sona looked downward and took the paper. Her motions were oddly fierce.

"You are no failure in any sense of the word. You are, to put it simply, a kind person. Believe it or not this sympathy, this empathy you and I share between us is powerful and sincere. That's the reason why I chose you. You were that someone-" Here she stopped writing and chanced a glance at me. "Someone I could share things with."

I blinked, a conjecture coursing through my mind. On account of her being mute and a celebrity, she mustn't experience often the spontaneous aspects of a heart-to-heart conversation. Everything is measured and composed beforehand. People and ideas pass over her like she's invisible, running too fast to stop and listen, perhaps reluctant to even get that close. To her admirers she is a distant star, beautiful from a distance, but so unreachable. We were alone. Both of us, in our own way.

Giving up some ambition to keep my distance, I shuffled over to her and handed her the paper with my reply.

"Why did you send me the locket? After what I said?"

"Because you were a comfort to me." she wrote with a look of helplessness. I terribly missed hearing a voice. I wanted to measure her tone. "Remember our first time in that dark room? How our hearts beat as one? That was the first time I felt at home since my time with Lestara. She tapped into my being and showed me what speaking really is. After her passing I never experienced it until you came along."

A feeling of grief crept over me as I read. Sona's composure slowly deteriorated at the sight of my apparent resignation. I looked down at the floor for a long while.

"...That was the music overpowering me. Your enchantments." I said solemnly, unsure in thought. "I haven't the strength to comfort anyone ..."

"No!" Her inner voice burst out of her being, full of dread and anxiety. She felled her whole body weight on my frame and grabbed my shoulders forcefully while I instinctively rode into this motion. "Lestara was the only one who would accept me-the real me! And...then the etwahl slew her. It was the instrument's doing, but I never forgave myself! Don't tell me you gave yourself to me! I do not deserve! If anything, I surrendered myself to you! I need you, just like you need me!" Silently, she breathed heavily as her telepathic voice ebbed into a painful moan. "Just stay with me. That's all I ask."

The gravity of this moment set in quick. Her deepest, darkest secret was laid bare before me. There was no room for hesitation or retreat. The weight of Lestara's murder threatened to crush her. I embraced her tightly, finally realizing how glad I was to be close to her again, in spite of the terrible act of her etwahl. Slowly, I distanced my mind from my physical self in rings of blue energy. With the last of my nerve I let my hand lift Sona's face from my chest. Her tears were dried off thanks to my robe, and her eyes were deep and expectant. I finally did it, I found my star and I won't let her fall again.

I whispered to her weakly the summation of all our endearment.

"I hear you."

Sona closed her eyes and breathed, smiling more earnestly than I've ever seen her smile before. She began to tear up again. "Now, let's get started." she whispered. "We'll go the whole way this time, no secrets. Keep me close. Just like this. Don't let go."

It's not like I can promise forever. Mortality will see to that. But for as long as I possibly can, her light won't ever be far from mine. A song began to emanate from the etwhal beside her as our faces drew closer. The melody rang with sweet conclusion, a swinging emulation of swaying grass under a starlit night. It encircled us and caressed our souls in a soothing finality as our minds converged completely, coupled with equal parts joy and pain, in a dance of exploration. But this does not imply an end to our struggle for understanding. With a long delicate kiss, and a duet of intimate exploration afterwards, we made our first steps toward a future of progress, our new song and dance, the reemergence onto a brighter, grander stage, waltzing forward one step at a time, rocking across the limitless sky to the slow beat of her etwahl.