The spirits on the Shadow Isles were restless. The waves washed over the rocky coast, lapping against the dark stone in a ceaseless drone. But now, a noise not heard for some time on these shores could be heard. It was the steady thunk thunk of waves slapping the side of a boat.
Karthus, the dreaded lich of the Isles, floated silently over the land. He sensed the disturbance through the lesser spirits that were bound to him, and he followed them to the source. There in the distance he saw the source of the commotion; a small life boat washed up on the shore. Tendrils of the Black Mist curled about it while above, wraiths weaved in the air and swooped low over it. Kathus approached and the restless spirits drew back with a low wail. And then came another sound, only faintly heard over the waves and wails. It was a soft cooing.
Karthus peered down into the small boat and beheld an infant. Unbothered by his piercing, icy stare, the baby starred back up at him and smiled. She continued to coo as he picked her up and held her out. Instantly, the spirits began to circle Kathus, curious about the tiny life held in his dead hands, but they did not attack. Kathus examined the baby, his own curiosity having been piqued.
She was pale and cool, and, most surprisingly, unharmed. No injuries from spirit attacks were visable, nor did she show any major signs of the Isles sapping away her vitality. Her eyes followed the spirits around her with the same interest that they showed in her.
"Child," Karthus's voice echoed, "Who are you?"
As foolish as it was to ask an infant for any information, Karthus could not help himself. She was too young to understand how beautiful unlife was, so she could not have come here herself looking for it. It was far more likely that her lifeboat had simply floated astray and washed up here by accident.
"Why are you here?"
Again the baby was unable to answer his questions. Instead, the Black Mist answered for him. It ghosted over from the boat to reach out towards the baby. It wrapped about Kathus's arms and in that moment, the lich knew what was expected of him. She had not floated here by accident.
"I know why you are here."
He brought the child closer to him, wrapping her swaddling cloth protectively around her. Her tiny fingers gripped at the edge of his robe and the Mist billowed away. With the baby held tightly and his spirits hovering about him, Karthus set himself on a path home.
He did not make it home before the furious sound of hoof beats broke the silence. The spectral centaur, Hecarim, galloped up to him, sending the loose stones of the spraying away from him. Karthus turned away from this other specter in an attempt to hide the baby from him. Hecarim's foresight was short, his ability to be reasoned with shorter, and his patience shortest of all.
"Something is wrong," Hecarim's deep, hollow voice tolled, "I sense it. You must feel it too."
"The matter has been dealt with, Hecarim," Karthus answered in a steady tone, "return to your patrols on the far side of the island."
"But it is not dealt with, I feel it. There is life nearby."
"There is always life. Insects, fish, birds; animals always remain near."
"It is near and it is human."
As commanded by some cruel fate, the baby sneezed.
Hecarim loomed over Karthus and starred down with his eyes of flame. Karthus starred back upwards, his icy sockets no less intense.
"You have it," boomed Hecarim, "but you have not killed it."
"I was not meant to kill her."
"Give it to me. I will kill it."
No response.
Hecarim's hooves pawed the ground impatiently. The spirits around Kathus hissed. Neither took their eyes off each other. At last, Kathus broke the silence.
"Hecarim, you are restless. The Mist is not ready for the Harrowing, but if you must have your bloodshed now, go down to the beach and spear some fish. She will not be killed."
Hecarim snorted. The enormous brute reared and turned to gallop away.
"We shall see about that," were his parting words.
The infant in Karthus's arms began to whimper, and the lich had to turn his attention back to comforting her. His spirit host became restless again. Following an unspoken command, they shrieked as they spread out and searched for any other threats. They were safe for the moment, but Karthus knew that with Hecarim spreading word of a living human on the Isles that safety would be short lived. He hastened his return to his sanctuary.
The ruins of an ancient cathedral, Karthus's lair, towered before them. Many of its pinnacles and statues had long since fallen off and the windows, which once may have held spectacular rainbows of stained glass, were now empty. Despite the destruction of its beauty, the core of the building had remained intact. Best of all, the other inhabitants of the Isles gave it a wide berth, knowing that this was the lich's domain, but that was not the case on this day.
Karthus approached the heavy wooden door and they swung open to welcome their master home. The many spirits bound to him glided through the aisles or waited in the pews, but none of them dared approach the choir for fear of what waited there. Lounging in Karthus's throne-like cathedra was Thresh. The spirits of the cathedral cowered in the presence of this greater specter, with the boldest doing little more than hissing their displeasure at him.
"Hecarim tells me you have a gift for me, Karthus," resounded the voice of the Chain Warden, "it is appreciated, though I do find infants to be unengaging. It takes little to make them scream."
"Hecarim told you falsely," replied Karthus in a steady, stern tone, "she is not to be killed or maimed. She is mine."
"Oh," Thresh mused as he shifted in the chair, "and why would you keep such a weak, uninteresting, tiny mortal?"
"Because she has been chosen by the Isles."
Thresh threw his head back in laughter, causing the intimidated spirits to bolt even further from him.
"I told you he harbored a mortal," Hecarim said as he stepped forward from the transept in which he waited, "and now he speaks madness. The Isles would not choose the living to be its champion."
"Then what does that make me?" the hauntingly alluring voice called from the shadows where a large spider, bloated from a recent meal, crouched.
"You told Elise as well?" Kathus asked in disbelief.
"He did not," Elise answered as she stepped from the shadows. Crimson smoke rose from the spider and a woman, slender and deadly as a stiletto, emerged from it.
"I am never invited to anything," she finished.
"You are not welcome here, deceiver," Karthus said, voice harsh with disdain.
"I am pleased to see you as well, Deathsinger," Elise returned in mock courtesy, "Hecarim bellowed so loudly that I did not even need my little messengers to know what you had done."
She peered down at the bundle in Karthus's arms.
"And there's the baby herself. What an adorable little morsel."
"She will-" Karthus began but Elise cut him off.
"She will not be killed. I know. I have heard. I have no interest in killing the child, but she will die nonetheless, either by Hecarim's blade or wasting away."
Karthus clutched the infant even closer as he stood between these three predators, all of who were interested in her.
"I could help prevent that," she continued, "for a price, of course."
"Leave, Elise," he commanded, "neither you nor your god will have her. She will live, I will see to that."
Elise scoffed.
"As you wish, Karthus, but when you realize that you need me, you know where I can be found. I will be on the Isles for two more days before I sail for Noxus."
With that, she retreated to the shadows where, with a clicking sound of chitin, she regained her spider form and skittered away. Kathus returned his attentions to the front of his cathedral. Two remained.
"You allowed Elise to leave unharried, Hecarim," Karthus taunted.
"She is bound to the spider god," the horseman answered, "the Mist does not hunger for her."
"And neither does it hunger for the child," Karthus said, "no wraith, save you, has wished her harm."
"Oh, and why is that," Thresh inquired, "how do you know that Hecarim is the only wraith that wishes her harm?"
Thresh rose from the chair, chains clanging, and walked to the edge of the choir. Karthus refused to be intimidated by the larger specter and spoke plainly.
"Because Hecarim is the only greater specter without long-term foresight."
Hecarim stamped his hooves against the pavement in a fury. Still, Karthus retained his level head.
"But that, Hecarim, is why you have allies. When I picked up this child, I heard the Mist speak to me. It told me that she would help spread its influence."
"And how will it do that? It can't even hold up its own head," Hecarim demanded.
"I do not know, but I know the answer will come when she is grown."
Hecarim snorted, displeased by Karthus's answer. Gliding through the choir, Karthus ascended towards the altar.
"Were she to extend the reach of the Mist, think about how each of our powers would grow," he continued, "Thresh, there would be nowhere your prey could hide from you. Hecarim, with the Mist growing more powerful, you may not even have to wait until the Harrowing to shed blood. Consider it."
Thresh tilted his head backwards as he thought of the lich's proposition. The idea of easier hunting appealed to him, but on another level, the idea of watching Karthus attempt to raise an infant intrigued him just as much. He wanted to see him struggle.
For Hecarim, his reaction was far less silent. He stamped and the ground, clenched his fists, and let the iron armor he was clad in rattle, but he did not speak out. As Karthus had begun to speak, more of his servile wraiths had begun to pour into the cathedral. There were enough that even Hecarim realized that were he to attack now, he would not be able to triumph over their number for long. And so he contained his rage for the time being.
By now the lich had reached the altar. He placed the baby on the cold stone. She reached her tiny hands up to grab at him, but the Black Mist had begun to rise and encircled her. Karthus showed no signs of worry.
"Hear me," he said, "henceforth, this child will be my daughter."
As he spoke, the Mist began circling the child faster. Tendrils rushed forward and wrapped around her, but she did not cry.
"A daughter of the Isles."
The Mist was now lifting her into the air, cradling her as gently as Karthus had.
"I name her,"
Unseen by the wraiths, a small sliver of Mist separated and was absorbed into her chest.
"Achlys."