The Lesson

Karthus had been hoping that this would come. Achlys had asked him to teach her how to sing as a gift for her ninth finding day. She had been attempting to mimic him fir years now, singing along with him and his choir, even if she didn't yet fully understand what she was saying. Now that she has a better command of her vocabulary, she was ready to begin learning in earnest.

In the days leading up, Karthus had instructed her on the proper posture needed to project her voice and given her breathing exercises, something that had been more difficult to instruct than he had originally intended. It had been well over a century since he had taken his last breath, after all.

As part of his preparations for her lesson, Karthus had drawn pages of sheet music and written beginners scales upon them. But as he stared down at the sheets, he wondered if they were even necessary. He had been taught how to read and transcribe sheet music by other dirge singers at the temple of the Kindred, but when he was younger, when he was learning how to sing, he had no formal training. He had simply mimicked what he had heard; the marching chants of soldiers, the lamentations of the tally-men, the slurred songs of the slum's bars, the lullabies his sister sang to him.

"I never found music theory helpful in my work," Karthus mused to himself, "a proper dirge will be moved by emotion, not rules written down by scholars. Scales will serve as a foundation for her, but it will be her passion that grows her talent. The Isles reward passion."

Karthus gathered up the materials he had prepared for Achlys and went to find her. She was leaning back in one of the pews in the main chamber of the cathedral. Balefire flickered at the tips of her fingers as she was staring into the hypnotic swirl of greens. Atop her head she balanced Acheron, who seemed more than content to rest there. At the sight of Karthus, Achlys extinguished her magic and jumped to her feet.

"I'm ready!" she chirped, "Are those papers for me?"

They are," Karthus responded as he handed them to her.

Achlys excitedly took the sheets but as she looked over them, an expression of confusion crossed her face.

"It's just dots on lines," she said, "Where are the words?"

"This is sheet music. Those dots are notes."

"And notes are what we sing when we say the words, right?"

"Correct. These notes are the scales I sang for you yesterday. Today, you shall sing them."

"Not something with words?"

"Scales are your foundations, Achlys. They may not be as interesting as the dirges we sing, but they are important. We do not want you to hurt your voice."

"You can hurt your voice? How? You can't touch a voice."

"You are still alive," Karthus explained, "you still require your muscles to speak. Let me see your hand."

Karthus knelt down next to Achlys, took her hand, and uncurled her fingers before placing them against her throat.

"Sing a note."

Achlys did.

"Did you feel how your throat vibrated?" Karthus asked, "that is your vocal cords, special muscles, moving with the air from your lungs. Do you remember when you were helping me dig in the garden? Your arms became tired and they were sore into the next day."

Achlys nodded.

"It is possible to do the same with the muscles you need to sing."

"I don't want that."

"That is why you will practice and use these to warm up your voice."

"Does the same thing happen with your voice? You sing so much and so loudly."

Karthus took her fingers and placed them against his throat. Then he sang a note.

"I don't feel anything," Achlys said.

"I do not need muscles any longer," Karthus answered, "my soul is all I need to sing now."

"And someday it will be the same for me too, right?"

"Someday, my dear. But until then, you still require your muscles, which means you still to practice your scales to warm up your voice."

"Okay."

"After you are ready, I have some simple songs you can practice, but now, listen with care, and repeat back to me."

The cathedral was filled with the clear notes of Karthus's voice. Though his spectral form did not need to move to produce sound, out of memory, Karthus mimicked the motions his body would have in life; chest rising and falling in time with his voice and shriveled lips parting to over exaggerate the shape Achlys would have to make. The members of his choir that were nearby began to wail in an attempt to sing alongside the one they were bound to, but Karthus raised his hand and commanded them to be quiet. Achlys had to listen and learn without interference. They could all sing together later.

As Karthus ceased to sing, Achlys began. Her voice, soft and cherubic from youth, repeated back the scales as best she could. The lower notes, those that Karthus's dolorous songs most frequently used, she sang with no difficulty, but with the higher notes, her voice faltered. The feedback of the wraiths was immediate, and they let out distressed shrieks as they mimicked her cracked note. Achlys's cheeks flushed red, the warmth of the blush standing out starkly against her pale face.

"Do not fret," Karthus comforted, "you will improve with time and practice. It took me years to be able to sing as I do now."

"How long did you keep practicing?"

"Until the moment I died."

"Oh, that's a long time."

"Nurturing anything, be it a talent or a special, young child, takes time. What is most important is that you are willing to put effort into what you love."

"Put effort into what you love," Achlys repeated with a nod, "I love singing because it reminds me of you. You love singing too. Why?"

"I always had a talent for it. It brought me peace to sing and it brought others comfort."

"You made other feel better by making them feel sad first but in a good way sad, right?"

"Yes. Catharsis. That is what the word is for that feeling."

"And you will teach me these good way sad songs."

"You already sing along to many of them, but yes, someday I will teach them to you. For now though, you still need to practice your basics."

Achlys nodded and began to recite the scale again. As he listened to and instructed her, Karthus's mind began to recall when he was her age and beginning to nurture the same talent in himself.

The cold stung his lungs. He knew he should be home, trying his best to keep warm, but it was cold everywhere in Noxus's slums. Given the choice between being uncomfortably cold inside and uncomfortably cold outside, he had chosen to venture out. This way at least, he could watch the tally-men of the Kindred work.

Winter in the slums was a death sentence for many, and it was not uncommon for people to freeze to death in the night. He had heard that's what had happened to old man Tosi, and if it were true, Karthus knew that meant the tally-men would be at his apartment.

Over the crunch of snow beneath his shoes, the somber tones of the dirge singer's song carried through the still air. Excitement shot through him and he quickened his pace in the direction of the sound until he rounded a corner and there they were, Tally-men of the Kindred!

He crept into a nearby alley so he could peer out and watch them without being seen. He did not want to disturb them as they performed their sacred tasks. Two of them carried Tosi's body between them. It was covered in a white shroud so thin that even if Tosi had still been alive, he would have frozen under such meager protection. But as it stood, the shroud was sufficient. The dead did not feel the cold, and Tosi was placed in the cart with the other unfeeling bodies.

Beside the cart, stood a third tally-man, who was carving another notch in his staff as he sang a dirge for the dead. It was a song Karthus had heard many times over the years.

"Snow comes falling from grey cloud,

Bidding those below to sleep,

And covers them with a white shroud,

In darkness, stillness, and peace to keep."

Karthus repeated the dirge in a loud a tone as he dared, little more than a whisper.

"Snow comes falling from grey cloud,

Bidding those - to sleep,

- covers them with a white shroud,

- darkness, stillness, and peace -keep."

Muffles and mumbled, the verse was sung with several words mouthed so quietly that there was no sound at all. But Karthus could hear his own voice, and that was enough. He wanted to hear more. So as the tally-man continued to sing, he sang back louder.

"Swirling bright, encroaching dark,

The snow muffles the Hunters' steps,

Unfailing pursuit after their mark."

His confidence swelled with his voice. He knew the words. He knew the song. He didn't need to listen and repeat. He sang along.

"Should your soul hear winter's call to slumber,

Fear not, fight not, the chilling of your breath,

Let arrows guide you to the umber,

And walk with courage towards death."

As his voice lingered upon "death," the dirge singer turned and looked at him. Karthus's voice froze in his throat as a sense of embarrassment flushed his cheeks with warmth. But the dirge singer did not appear angered by the interruption and returned to his song, though as he sang the next verse, it was slower and more deliberate. It was easier for Karthus to sing along.

"To those above the snow who stay,

Of your passing we shall sing,

To lead through grief as they pray."

He sang out clearly along the dirge singer, their voices somber but passion filled. Before him, He could see the song pour from his lips like a mist, the warmth of his life dancing in the cold air.

"Go now to see what beyond will bring,

Let this world melt away,

And awaken to a world of spring."

As the dirge reached its conclusion, Karthus stepped forward from the alley to sing the final line and all the attention of all the tally-men was turned upon him. As the last note left his lips and his chest was shaking equally from cold and exertion, a sense of pride warmed him. And then one of the tally-men spoke.

"Child,"

The voice was stern and devoid of anger, but that did not matter to the young boy. Embarrassment swiftly twisted the warmth he was feeling. It didn't matter how well he had sung, he had interrupted the tally-men!

Without waiting to be scolded, Karthus turned and dashed off as fast as his scrawny legs could carry him, but even as he ran, a smile remained on his cheeks. He had been noticed. He had done well.

"Well done," Karthus said as Achlys completed her scale.

She nodded in acknowledgement of the compliment, and then took a deep breath before letting out a profoundly long sigh.

"This is more tiring than you make it look," she said after several more seconds of deep breaths, "but you're dead, so nothing tires you. That's one thing I am looking forward to about being a wraith. Not getting tired. I could do so much more if I didn't need to sleep."

"In time, Achlys, you still have much growing to do."

"I've been growing for a long time. This is my ninth finding day. Next one will be my tenth. I won't be able to count them all on my fingers anymore. I hope I do a lot of growing this year."

"I have no doubt you will," Karthus said with a nod, "and that you will learn many new songs and perhaps, write one of your own."

Achlys's face lit up in a smile.

"Write one of my own!"

"You are my daughter and I have no doubt that this is a talent you will have."

"Maybe I'll write a prayer or a happy song or maybe a dirge. Maybe I'll write one for the next person who dies. It can be a happy dirge that's also a prayer. Something to let them know that death isn't the end. They get to stay here on the Isles."

"I can think of no one who would make a soul feel more welcome."

"Then I will have to keep practicing, right?"

"That is correct."

"Then I am ready to go again!"

"Then we shall."

Karthus opened his mouth and sang with his daughter.

Enjoy this moment of peace, Karthus, the next year of your daughter's life will not be an easy one.