Like a fresh-faced archeologist on the night before their first field expedition, Ezreal wakes before sunrise.

He showers in record time, even if the water was freezing. Every crease is brushed out, and a gratuitous amount of perfume was sprayed all over his body to mask the smell of his weather worn clothes. Ezreal takes one last look at himself, goggles tucked neatly beneath his usually messy hair - combed to perfection. At least, as near to perfection as it could be.

"Yeah baby." He winks at his reflection, fastening a glove over the gauntlet of Ne'Zuk. "Looking good as usual."

It was like preparing for a date.

Not that Ezreal knew what that was like.

Despite his dashing looks and charm: no girl had ever asked him. For foreign regions, he could pin the blame on the general distrust they had for Piltovans: after all, no one liked being reminded of their status as the (objectively worse) place to live. Even the poorest of Piltovans had light and running water, Ezreal had seen far too many Noxian homes with only torches and wells. Regardless, it was still hard to accept the fact that people in his own city refused to give him a shot despite his myriad of outstanding qualities as an eligible bachelor.

Wonder if it had anything to do with his reputation for accidental property damage.

KNOCK KNOCK!

"COMING!"

The last bits of drowsiness fades as he throws open the door, bowing and fully expecting to see his host. He gets giddy just thinking about it, but his hopes fade fast when he notices the dull eyes of a helmet.

"Oh." The explorer coughs. "It's just you."

Right, of course that person wouldn't come all the way out of their palace for a guest. Ezreal chuckles awkwardly to break the ice, not that the guard cared or anything. He files into their ranks, bumping into a familiar Icathian shadow at his side. He couldn't help but notice those nasty looking eye bags: blemishes made more obvious by her pale skin.

"So, did you have a good night's rest?"

"Hm."

The tension is sharp enough to be cut with a sword's edge.

Every so often, Kai'Sa throws a glance at the many gargantuan windows they passed during their morning walk. Ezreal hadn't actually noticed until now, but she was shorter than him by a bit. The fact adds a bit of skip to his step.

"Nice view we've got, isn't it just great?"

No one replies. Ezreal takes the hint and shuffles on a little quieter.

Finally, they arrive at a door - a grand looking one at that. The carved visage of a large bird spreads its wings over a myriad of carvings, each one corresponding to some historic Shuriman dynasty or event. Ezreal could have spent days poring over it with his journal in hand, noting down all the little references.

"The Hawk Father is ready."

The lead guard presses their spear onto the solid surface, the eagle-headed door dissolving seamlessly into the sand below. Was the whole place one big sand structure? Was the whole kingdom just one big sand structure? His suspicions are confirmed as sunlight streams into their eyes, their entourage of one disappearing back into the sands.

"Holy shit."

The towering shadow of the Sun Disc looms directly behind an intricate throne atop of a raised dais, long-forgotten mythical monsters carved out of white stone and the purest gold in the desert. Pillars stretch up in challenge to the heavens, one part sundial and another part hanging point for dozens of gilded banners. An open air acropolis, not exactly the first Ezreal had seen, but the only one that was not completely in ruin.

"Holy indeed."

With how blinding the sun was, neither notices the shifting of a shadow on the throne. A shadow far too large to be human. Their voice is resonant, washing over across the stone.

"Welcome, foreigners, to the Throne Room of the All-Powerful and All Seeing."

"Welcome to the Heart of the Empire, to the domain of the Eternal Emperor and his Ascended Host."

Trumpets as loud as foghorns sing a once forgotten song.

"Welcome, mortals, to Shurima City."

The shadow on the throne rises to his full height, pure white cape trailing along like the wings of a great bird or streaks of rainclouds. The trickling sunlight gradually exposes an inhuman visage, one-part eagle and two-parts gold. The Hawk Father was difficult to look at, illuminant in the way that a lightning bolt or wildfire was.

"Oh how I envy you mortals." He waxes. "To see beauty of this divine caliber for the first time in your paltry short lives, how refreshing it must feel to be in the presence of a God. How the heart quakes at the presence of one of the Ascended Host."

"You're an Ascended."

"I am not just an Ascended, boy."

Wrapped within red and white silks, an Ascended commands respect few can even comprehend - like a looming mountain range or the crackling thunder of a stormfront. Ezreal just knew every archeologist in Piltover would kill to be in his shoes. With a dramatic bravado the god spreads his broad talons.

"I am THE Ascended."

The God Emperor Azir was alive. And he was speaking to him, to Ezreal.

Was this a dream?

"Speechless? Try not to grovel too much will you? I get it all the time."

"Now this I did not foresee."

The Emperor's brilliant blue eyes finally break away, letting the starstruck explorer catch his breath. Kai'Sa recoils at the attention, living cannons uncurling from her shoulders.

"To think that an Icathian had survived this long."

Ezreal's excitement peters out. Something was wrong. Kai'Sa never ever cracked under pressure, even when they were up against hordes of monsters. But now, her claws were clenched. Her second skin pulses with plasma. Was she - afraid? The explorer regards Azir with fresh eyes, noticing the way the Ascended leered at them.

Like they were stains on the floor. Stains in need of cleaning.

"Tell me, are your insipid people still wallowing in the mess you created?"

"I am not Icathian."

"Really now? Then why do you wear their armor? Are you some kind of new breed of monster?"

"If so, I must admire the pits for their ingenuity. I myself could never get my own creations to look so close to humanity. They always miss that little - spark in their eyes."

She doesn't answer. Every passing minute feels like an eternity.

"I asked you a question." The Hawk Father speaks with narrowing eyes. "I expect a response."

"I feel my actions are response enough."

"Uh, excuse me - Emperor."

He blinks away the radiance, all of Azir's attention focusing solely on him. Sweat forms on his forehead.

Ezreal knows he has to be careful, but he can't just watch. And Kai'Sa does not stand a chance against Azir.

There were at least several dozen myths that explained why disrespecting an Ascended was a horrible idea. Ezreal quickly reigns the conversation back in with a nervous laugh, nudging at Kai'Sa in a silent plea to show a little more respect before they both died in an act of God. Literally.

"Forgive our insolence, humble lord, for we're just tired - it's been a long trip here, oh almighty sire."

If it wasn't for Uncle Lymere's insistence on courtesy lessons Ezreal might have been vaporized right then and there. Who knew he would ever need to liaise with an Ancient Shuriman? He makes a frazzled mental note to thank his Uncle at some point, then discards the idea equally fast.

And to his complete shock, the Hawk Father did not obliterate them on the spot.

"You are pardoned. Icathian."

"Thank you for your mercy, oh Great Ascended." Ezreal quickly says. "This humble one lives only by your grace."

"Moving on, this humble explorer would like to - uh - ask a few questions to your excellency."

"What was life like back during the height of the Shuriman Empire?"

In truth, Ezreal was just trying to take Azir's attention off from Kai'Sa: but that meant that he was the focus of the conversation. It doesn't feel good. Or remotely safe.

"Actually, do you have a library? A royal archive perchance?" He realizes how stupid he sounds too late. Of course they had a library. "I'm an explorer from Piltover, a place far up north from here, and we would love to learn more about Shuriman culture and history and whatnot. I'd love a tour, if you would allow it - oh Mighty Hawk Father."

The Emperor's eyes narrow.

"But if you're too busy, running an Empire and all that, I get it. Do you have a historian we can consult with? Perhaps another Ascended? I mean, honestly I've heard many great legends of a Curator, of course none that paint him as superior to you, but-"

"Enough."

Something clogs up his throat. Ezreal spits out a bit of sand, thumping at his chest. He notices Azir's hand coming back to rest atop his throne, and Kai'Sa glaring at the Ascended with a cold edge. Her cannons rumble with imminent plasma missiles. Ezreal weakly reaches one arm out to stop her.

"As much as I appreciate your eagerness to learn the history of our people - there are much more pressing matters for us to attend to in that regard. Matters I think that you would do well to address."

His heart skips a beat, then goes off to the bilgerat races. The palace changes: sand weaving all around them to form an overhead dome. Shapes appear within the newly formed cathedral, dancing and moving into vague shadows. Ezreal takes a moment to marvel at the display of talent.

"As you likely know, in my absence Shruima has become overrun with enemies. Many enemies."

"Her treasures are lost, people divided and weak: all while armies of disgusting foreigners trample our most sacred of sites to plunder our heritage. Foreigners who were once our people, our vassals. Our once great nation has been broken."

Noxian soldiers ravage and burn a beachside city. Xer'Sai burst from beneath the sand with silent shrieks. A group of Solari warriors send holy fire onto a small temple, cheering as its pillars descend into dust. Ezreal feels a twinge of anxiousness at the sight of slaves working within a vast quarry. The gear and hammer logo of his nation proudly waves above it all.

"We have lost everything to their greed, and I intend to repay their transgressions. To take back what is rightfully ours, and to restore the Empire to her former glory."

A pit forms in his stomach. The blond manages a weak nod, praying to any non-Ascended Gods that the God Emperor was not implying what Ezreal thought he was implying. His left hand clenches around cold metal.

"Give me the gauntlet of Ne'Zuk."

SHITSHITSHITSHIT.

"Do I have to?"

He feels so small, so weak beneath the gaze of an Ascended. Ezreal looks down at the weapon, a comforting weight on his left arm. He looks again at the outstretched talon of the mighty Azir and steps away. One part fear, and another defiance.

"You dare?"

The ruler's eyes narrow dangerously close to an expression that could be interpreted as annoyed. Not something you wanted a God-Emperor to feel about you.

"You stole it from Ne'Zuk, and his final resting place no less. I have been very kind to not kill you where you stand or at Ar'Zurette, and even kinder still to not rip the gauntlet from your arms at this second."

"As the leader of the Ascended Host, do you think I would disrespect one of our most dedicated by letting his life's work be paraded around by a filthy Gravrobber? Do you dare mistake my generosity as cowardice?"

"You have to understand - I - surely we can make a deal right?" The boy squeaks a little too desperately. "I can work with you, I can help Shurima, and you if you want me to, I mean-"

The sand dome collapses into dust, replaced by a single statue.

Was his chin really that fat? Any humor the explorer has at the situation vaporizes at the Hawk Father's withering glare, a glare that only grew more potent as they watched a recreation of his greatest adventures. Those same adventures that left most of Shurima's prized temples in ruin.

"My gaze falls upon every grain of sand in the desert. I have seen who you are, what your heart contains."

"You are nothing but a child with a sword, a foolish ignorant thief of our culture. You cannot fathom the intricacies of its magic, of its history and its significance. You are but a common thief and nothing else."

"By holding onto it you insult Ne'Zuk. You insult all of Shurima."

Every image of a destroyed temple makes the Emperor look visibly less pleased. An invisible vice tightens around his arms and neck. The Hawk Father only speaks as the Ezreal-statue fades back into sand, and the real Ezreal was sufficiently trembling in his boots.

"And you insult me, most of all."

A two-pronged spear forms out of sand and gold; sharp enough to skewer him twice over.

"Please, you don't have to do this, we can-"

BANG!

Azir silences all protest with but a single step down the dais. A battalion of armed guards step out from in between the pillars with a variety of weapons. The room drops colder than the Frejlord's coldest winter.

"Shurima does not negotiate with thieves."

He looks to her for help, but Kai'Sa remains completely impassive. Ezreal's heart sinks as he realizes she is not going to help him. The sting of the betrayal ignites a fire in his heart, washing away the fear.

This wasn't her fight. It was his.

"I will not ask again."

His hands slowly curl into fists, shaking from the adrenaline. Ezreal looks over his shoulder, the dozens of open windows and open doors just out of reach. He wasn't fast enough to outrun the guards nor was he brave enough to blink out into open air. Both him and Azir knew he was a fish on the chopping block.

But that didn't mean Ezreal was going to roll over and die.

"Kai'Sa." He whispers. "Go invisible and get out of here, I'm going to do something really stupid."

The memories of his prior adventures bolster his spirit. Ezreal could escape anything, escape anyone. He was the Number One Explorer, Archeologist and Adventurer for crying out loud! What would he be without the gauntlet? An empty face in the crowd. A coward who runs away from danger. A nobody.

But Ezreal was more than that. He had to be more than that.

His wild gray eyes focus solely on the Hawk Father, the glove slipping off to reveal a pulsing and crackling gauntlet of Ne'Zuk. If the myths were true, then even the mightiest of Ascended could bleed. Even the mightiest could die. The Tear of the Goddess hums in silent reassurance.

Why not add Number One God-Killer to his resume?

"I earned this gauntlet. And if you want it, you're going to have to take it from me. One way or another."

Regret and doubt are pushed aside by Ezreal's sheer desire to fight for what was his.

"Ah, the stupidity of youth." The Hawk Father's laugh was cold and compassionless, condescending in such a way that shatters Ezreal's previous defiance. "Some things never change."

One snap of his fingers causes all the guards to move forward synchronously.

"Heralds. Reclaim the gauntlet."

The order is given. Everything descends into chaos.