Across the desolate landscape they glided. Karthus had tucked Achlys into her back sling and had set off into the Isles. It was a peaceful walk. Achlys was resting against her father, contentedly taking in the ethereal sights of the Mists before falling asleep.

The gentle rhythm of her breathing was the only sound. Karthus exerted his will over any spirit they encountered, commanding them to be silent and let the baby sleep. And so she slept peacefully for most of their journey. The sound that woke her was sound of waves crashing against the cliff side.

"Eh?" Achlys asked with a yawn.

"Did you have a nice nap?" Karthus asked.

"Mmm," she replied with a nod before asking again, "eh-er?"

"We are going to sunken Helia. There is somebody I want you to meet."

Down to the broken streets, they descended. Unlike before, when the city was emptied for the Harrowing, now it was filled with the countless souls who had perished in the Ruination. The lesser spirits drifted overhead and hid in the shadows of the ancient buildings. Dozens of spectral eyes watched their passing, though none approached the lich.

This did little to dampen Achlys's excitement at seeing the other wraiths. She watched them with wonder, whether they floated aimlessly or attempted to mimic the actions they performed in life. She reached out for them. Her magic formed its thread-like tendrils and she willed it to latch onto the nearest spirit. It hissed in surprise at being hooked and tugged feebly at the tether. Achlys, giggling, pulled it closer to her.

"Ig Mim!" she cheered, "ig Mim!"

Karthus peered over his shoulder at the commotion. Despite barely having control over the first wraith, Achlys was already forming the treads to try and lasso another.

"Achlys," he sighed, "why are you doing that? I am grateful you were able to do this the other day, but sometimes I wish Thresh never taught you this."

She pointed to the wraiths.

"Ig Mim," she explained.

"Grim is packed in my bag. You can play with him when we get to our destination. These wraiths are not toys."

"Not Mim?"

"No, they are not Grim."

"Aww."

Karthus stopped moving and called the wraith Achlys had binded to him. The weaker spirit obeyed.

"You have a responsibility," Karthus explained, "as one with a strong will. These little souls need people like us to look after them. Alone, they are weak but if properly guided and cared for, they can become strong. Think about how I am raising you to become strong. Someday, you will do the same for them."

"Bah-bey?"

"Not exactly like a baby, but that is a better outlook than considering them toys."

Karthus coaxed the wraith down and placed it into Achlys's outstretched arms. Achlys hugged it tightly, wrapping her arms as far around the spirit as they would go. If it were not for how the wraith was weightless, it would have immediately slipped from her grasp since it was far larger than she was.

"I will allow you to hold this one as long as it remains calm. Remember Achlys, we are here to help them find peace so that they may truly appreciate the wonders of their existence. Will you take good care of it?"

"Yea," she agreed.

Satisfied with her response, Karthus resumed their journey. The whole way Achlys babbled to the wraith. What she was trying to tell it, Karthus had no idea, but the wraith was nolonger struggling against the girl, so he was content.

At last they arrived at their destination, the great library of Helia. However, rather than descend into the vaulted halls of the old library, Karthus approached a different building in the same walled complex. It was a great tower. During the ruination, part of it had been blasted off and now hung suspended in air by the magic of the Isles. The top room of the tower was completely intact, and Karthus could see a pale light glowing from behind its glass windows.

"We are here, Achlys," he said, "you need to let that wraith free now."

Achlys sighed, but did as her father asked. She released the spirit and let her magic fall from it. Like an arrow loosed form a bow, the wraith took off; moving so quickly that it looked little more than a streak of blue.

"Bye!" Achlys waved.

"Well done, Achlys," Karthus praised.

Karthus entered the tower. Up the spiral staircase he hovered. Scriveners and Scribes passed them as they ascended. At one time, the tower had been connected to the library by a sky bridge, but it had been utterly destroyed in the Ruination. Where it had been, there was now a massive hole in the wall. Achlys peered through it at the broken roof of the library.

"Airy?" she asked, hopeful that they were going to one of her favorite places.

"Perhaps later," Karthus answered, "but I think you will enjoy where we are going to just as much. Today you will meet the Chronicler of Ruin. She is another powerful specter and many of the other spirits here are bound to her. Do not fear, unlike Hecarim, she is of sound mind and logic. I believe she will like you."

At the top of the stairs, Karthus paused before a heavy wooden door. He knocked and the doors slowly opened without a noise. The sanctum was tall ceilinged, and had large gothic windows, still holding their glass. The far side of the room was covered by a bookcase of dark wood which, thanks to the extra protection of the glass, had been protected from the elements. Each and every book was still legible. And standing before her immaculate collection, was the specter known as the Chronicler of Ruin.

Her thin frame was only slightly taller than Karthus, but her crown with its tall points, gave her the more intimidating silhouette. The black metal had an iridescent gleam like a beetle's shell. This armor continued down her body, covering her chest with fragmented armor and her face with a grim mask. From behind this mask, her eyes shone forth, cold and bright as stars. Her robes, which flowed loosely about her, began as dark fabric but soon turned to scrolls of paper. Words continuously appeared, disappeared, and rearranged on the ethereal parchment; their meaning known only to the Chronicler.

"Karthus," she spoke, "Tallyman, Pilgrim, Deathsinger."

Her voice echoed through the chamber.

"You have finally brought the child to me. I knew I would meet her someday. Achlys, Little Bug, Daughter, Herald."

"I should have brought her before you sooner," Karthus said, "I apologize for not doing so. I have been consumed in my task of raising her."

The Chronicler raised a hand.

"No apology is needed. I know of what you have done to keep the child safe."

She lifted a heavy scroll that was bound to her waist and held it aloft. It was blank for a moment, but glowing words soon began to form upon it. At the top was Achlys's name.

"I hear the song of the Mists and the cries of the Lost," she said, "from them I learn of every soul on the Isles. Many deeds surrounding her are already known to me."

Karthus let out a small chuckle.

"I am starting to believe that our visit was unnecessary," he said.

"No," the Chronicler responded, "I still desire to meet her. My records of her are thorough, but not complete."

"I will be pleased to introduce you two."

Karthus unfastened Achlys from his back and cradled her upright.

"Achlys," he whispered to her, "this who I wanted you to meet. This is the Chronicler. She is an ally. Will you please say 'hello?'"

Achlys raised her little hand and curled her fingers as she waved.

"Ello," she chirped.

"Hello, Achlys," the Chronicler returned.

She reached out her hand and placed one of her fingers into Achlys's palm. The child grabbed it with a smile.

"I have some questions for you, Achlys," the spectral woman said.

"I regret to inform you that her vocabulary is limited to a few words and mostly babbling," Karthus explained, "she will be delighted to talk with you, but allow me to answer any questions you may have."

"I do have questions for you, Karthus, but these are for her. If I can understand the wailing of the Lost, I can understand the babbling of an infant. It is her soul I am listening to. It is quiet, trapped in her mortal body, but I can still hear it."

She took her hand back from Achlys. With her palm held open, the Chronicler began to pool an eerie fog in her hand.

"I am going to cast a spell on her. Do not worry, Karthus. The magic is harmless. It will encourage her to speak freely and aid in my understanding. With this spell, no language is unknown to me."

Karthus nodded in agreement. He didn't like the idea of others casting spells on his daughter, but he also knew that the Chronicler never lied and was one of the least aggressive spirits on the Isles, more content to observe and record rather than participate in any major event.

The Chronicler raised her hand to Achlys's face and let the magic billow over to the child. Achlys sneezed as she breathed in the fog, but otherwise seemed unbothered by the whole thing.

"Achlys," the Chronicler said, "I have some questions for you. Will you answer them for me?"

"Yea," Achlys replied with a nod.

"Thank you, child. First question. Do you have any recollection of you came to the Isles?"

Achlys thought for a moment before responding.

"No."

"A fair response," the Chronicler said with a chuckle, "you were so young when you arrived. I believe that story may always be a mystery to us. The next question is more open ended. Take as long as you need to answer it. Achlys, how are you being raised?"

Achlys immediately began to chatter excitedly. Minutes ticked by and she hardly stopped to take a breath. Karthus, who had always believed that he had a strong understanding of his daughter's sentences, found himself struggling to pick through her verbal deluge. He was able to pick out names, such as her words for himself, Grim, and Elise, as well as the other words she could pronounce perfectly or close enough. Unfortunately, if asked, he would have to admit that most of it sounded like a run on of babble. Despite this though, the Chronicler continued to thoughtfully pay attention to Achlys, occasionally asking for clarification on a statement or a follow up question.

"Another question," the Chronicler said, "you possess magic and have sway over the souls here. Please describe the connection."

Achlys nodded and launched into another animated explanation. She let up her hands with a glove of magic as she babbled about her abilities. Next she went to demonstrate her ability to grasp spirits and attempted to grab a passing Scrivener. The Chronicler assured Achlys that a demonstration was not necessary, and she brushed the threads of magic away as easily as though they were spider web. Lastly, Achlys attempted to describe how she had summoned the spirits to her, but when the Chronicler asked for details about how it was done, all Achlys could do was offer an unhelpful 'eh' as an answer.

"One more question," the Chronicler stated, "do you know your purpose here?"

There was a minute of silence before Achlys answered. Unlike before, her response was not an excited jumble of babbling and words, but instead was a slower more thought out jumble of babbling and words. Karthus watched intently as his daughter answered the question and wished that the Chronicler could extend her spell to him.

As Achlys finished talking, she pointed up at Karthus and stated, "Fah. Me noh. Fah ove Ah-leh."

The Chronicler smiled and pat Achlys on the head.

"Thank you, child," she said, "I will ensure that all is properly recorded." The ancient spirit returned her attention back to Karthus, "you are fortunate, Deathsinger. The child is like a bright light here in the shadows. Her thoughts are unclouded. It is no wonder the Lost are drawn to her. She is eager to learn, to grow and discover her purpose here. She does not understand it, but she trusts you. It was the last thing she told me. She does not know why she is here, but she believes you know that answer, and that is enough for you. She trusts you implicitly, because you are her father. She loves you."

Karthus looked down at the baby smiling up at him. She yawned, worn out from her conversations.

"I know she does," Karthus said, "and as her father, I love her in return."

The Chronicler with approval.

"Remember what you have said," the ancient specter commanded, "foresight is not my gift, but I have read the patterns in her life, and from them I know that the affection she feels for you will be the base upon which she grows. Never allow your bond to weaken. It is your bond that will push all doubt from her mind and allow her to fulfill her purpose."

"I will not forget."

Greetings Summoners,

I hope everyone is having a safe and fun Harrowing. I'm thinking of doing something new. How would you all feel about a Twitter account to better stay up to date about my publishing? I also plan on having polls, posting previews for upcoming chapters, and floating potential ideas for other fics. Let me know in a DM what you think. As always, feed back is appreciated. Best of luck on the Rift.

-Gwoo