Darkness

It had been a week since the invaders had attacked the Shadow Isles, a week since many wraiths were severed from the Mist, a week since he had killed her, and Thresh was still basking in the pleasure of it all. It had not been an easy fight. The two had fought with the ferocity of all the hells, but he preferred it that way. It made it all the more satisfying when they would finally break, either through their bodies being torn open or their wills crumbling to nothing as they realized the futility of their fight. Of course, considering who his opponents had been, it had been obvious from the beginning in which way they would be breaking.

They were Sentinels, warriors of an ancient order that had dedicated themselves almost exclusively to fighting Harrowings wherever they occurred. And how had that been going for them? Every year there were fewer and fewer members of their order while the legions of the Isles swelled. It was a hopeless struggle but one that only seemed to make the Sentinels fight harder, even to the point that they were now desperately trying to strike at the heart of the Isles itself. Despair it seemed, was not something they were capable of.

A small, dark chuckle left Thresh as he ran his clawed fingers along the length of his scythe.

Sentinels could despair.

In their fight he had felt it. He had caused it. When his blade sunk into the back of the woman, it all came pouring out with the shock of her last warm breath. Love, warm and sticky, for her partner as she tried to protect him, pain, sharp and cold, as the blade hooked her flesh, fear, primal and exhilarating, at the sensation of encroaching death, and despair, heavy and sweet like a bitter pomegranate, at the realization that this wasn't the end. There would be no afterlife, no reward for self-sacrifice, only the lantern. And her husband, oh how he wailed! Such grief! Such anguish! It all fed him just as bloody meat feeds a wolf.

But that was not all. The woman's soul had not been alone. No, another was entwined with her; a piece of the Shattered Queen. And how his self-proclaimed king had been overjoyed to have this piece brought back to the Isles. How fervently he had proclaimed his affections for this fetter of her soul and how he promised Thresh a fair and worthy reward for such a service rendered, and how he, playing the part of a loyal vassal, had professed that all he wished for was to continue his work as Warden of the Isles. Yes, how delirious with hope in his partial victory he had been that he was still completely oblivious Thresh's true intentions.

The Warden let out a sound that could be considered a sigh of contentment. He placed his hand over the lantern's top. At the touch, he could feel the souls within recoil with terror, but there was only one on his mind and he looked forward to picking her apart bit by bit and savoring each moment of it.

Though Viego had explicitly forbid him from tormenting the soul of his wife, he had said nothing about the woman she was attached to. With them being so intertwined however, it was likely that what distressed one distressed the other, but Thresh did not feel as though it were his concern. He was not forbidden from torturing the soul of the Sentinel and if the queen happened to be caught up in it, well, that was simply unfortunate for her. All he cared about was reducing the other woman to a broken husk because, as he had come to learn over the centuries, the suffering inflicted upon one was felt doubly by the spouse.

But he could dwell more on the anguish to come later. For now, he had a lesson to attend to. Thresh released his lantern and scythe to hang idly by his side so he could ensure that the place was ready for his young student.

The month was coming to an end, which meant that Karthus would be leaving his daughter with him. He had been waiting for them in their agreed upon place, the ruins of an old academy (a fitting enough place that Thresh could think of and one not too far from an entrance to the Vaults if seclusion was needed), when a sensation he was deeply familiar with washed over him and he knew Achlys was approaching before he even saw her. Sorrow was rolled off her soul like waves washing upon the beach; steady, tepid, and constantly eroding at the shore.

So when Karthus alone entered the room and spoke, Thresh was not at all surprised by what he had to say.

"Achlys is not feeling well."

"You did not need to tell me that," Thresh replied, "I can feel the poor girl's misery from here."

"Then you should understand that I do not want you doing anything to worsen her mood. Do not test my patience on this."

Thresh let out a dry chuckle.

"I can never tell if you trust me or not. Even after all these years, you still assume the worst of me and yet you are willing to leave Achlys with me. Even now, with her mood so fragile, you trust me enough."

"What I feel of you does not matter now. I believe some time away from the cathedral is what she needs, as is trying to maintain some schedule of normalcy. The incursion the other week has left her understandably upset."

"Yes, I can imagine that was terribly frightening for her timid soul."

"It was. I want to help her focus on something different instead. Magic is what works best."

"And so you insist that she still goes to her monthly lesson."

"She needs it and since the event, she has been reluctant to practice with the members of my choir. It reminds her of Fito."

"Fito?"

"A wraith destroyed by the invaders. She was using her gift to help him regain form."

"A pity."

"Spare me your false sympathies."

"They are not entirely false. About your choir, you are correct, I do not care about what befalls them, but Achlys, the poor dear shouldn't be allowed to suffer too much."

"She should not have to suffer at all."

Thresh let out another chuckle.

"Suffering cannot be avoided forever, Karthus."

A scowl crossed the lich's face.

"You've done admirably this past, oh, nearly a decade now, isn't it," Thresh continued, "but sooner or later, she was going to have a problem that 'Father' could not fix. It looks like this was the time. But do not fret too much, I will take care of her and give her something constructive to focus on."

"Do not make me regret leaving her here," Karthus said, displeased with the almost gleeful way Thresh had been speaking of Achlys's troubles.

"You keep saying that and yet you never regret it so much that you stop bringing her."

Karthus gave Thresh a final disapproving look before leaving the room to collect Achlys. The young girl looked like a wilted flower as she shuffled in behind Karthus.

"Hello, Achlys," Thresh said.

"Hello," Achlys responded, raising her head just long enough to return the greeting.

Karthus placed his withered hand on her shoulder and gave an encouraging squeeze.

"Thresh said he will help you learn new magic," Karthus said in a gentle tone, "I think you will enjoy that."

Achlys nodded but didn't say anything.

"Or perhaps," he continued, "he can assist you with practicing your levitation magic if that is what you would prefer."

Again, a nod was her only response.

"It makes no difference to me," Thresh said with a shrug.

"Whichever you prefer," Karthus reaffirmed.

"Okay," Achlys sighed.

Karthus gave her another squeeze on the shoulder.

"I'm going to give you two the space you need to practice. I will return later."

He then turned to leave but Achlys reached out grabbed his robes.

"Not too long," she weakly asked.

"Not too long," Karthus promised, "no more than an hour or two."

"No more than two."

Achlys gave Karthus a final hug, reassuring his daughter a final time before departing. Once he was gone, Thresh turned his attentions fully to Achlys.

"Little Achlys," he commented, "it has been a while since we have had a lesson."

Letting out a long sigh, Achlys nodded and leaned back against the wall.

"Yeah," she mumbled.

"Do you know which magic you want to practice?"

"No," she crossed her arms over her chest and curled in on herself, "whichever. I don't care."

A small frown twisted on Thresh's face. No, it would not do to have her like this. He would not deny that he took some small measure of enjoyment in seeing Karthus's little spark of light dulled by sorrow, but if he were to delay his other engagements to teach her, he wanted her to be a little more animated, and to do that, he would need something to shake her from her melancholy.

An idea came to mind. Perhaps now was the time to teach her something Karthus had been reluctant to, though it would be necessary for her survival in their unforgiving home. Achlys would need to learn how to fight, not simply command other to protect her as he had seen before, but fight for herself. Or, if he were being realistic with what could be accomplished in 'no more than two hours', at least have Achlys accept that some problems were best solved with violence. And if what he believed he sensed within her was correct, all she would need is a little push.

"You do not want to be here, do you Achlys?"

"Not really."

"That's unfortunate," he stated bluntly, "because you are here. I am being generous in allowing you to decide what I will teach, but if you do not decide something, I will."

"You can decide."

There was no enthusiasm in her voice.

"Very well, but first, I want you to tell me what is causing this misery to hang around your soul like a fog?" he asked, though he already knew what her answer would be.

"Bad things happened," she mumbled.

"Bad things?"

"Really bad things."

"You are going to need to give me a better answer than that. There are many 'bad things' and 'really bad things' that can befall a person. Tell me what happened and do not lie to me. We will not proceed unless you do."

For a few moments, Achlys was able to keep her expression neutral as she searched for the right words to convey her feelings, but as she thought about what happened, her expression crumpled.

"They're gone forever," she whimpered, "they were destroyed by special magic and now I will never see them again. Not ever."

Shining tears began to well up in her eyes as she spoke. Thresh could sense her sorrow, but he could also feel that second emotion bubbling up within the young girl. It was one he needed her to feel, one he knew could make people make people behave in ways they normally never would, be it a rational mind panicking like a beast, or a supposedly kind-hearted people tripping a companion in a desperate attempt to increase their own chance of survival. He needed Achlys to fear. Only then would she be receptive to what he wanted to teach her.

"But there is more on your mind, isn't there?" he goaded, "Is there something else you wanted to say, Achlys?"

"It's, it's not right," she continued as a tear rolled down her cheek, "We are supposed to be forever. But Fito isn't anymore. He's gone, and if he can be gone then that means that can happen to others too. Katherine could be gone, you could be, Father could be, I could be. I'm scared. I'm scared of losing together forever."

Thresh leaned over Achlys and brushed away her tears with a clawed finger.

"Such an understandable thing to be afraid of," he said in as soothing a tone as he was capable of, "but you can hush now. You do not need to worry about me being destroyed, though I appreciate your concern."

He stood back up and gave her a moment to rub her own eyes as he continued to speak.

"Do you know why I know I will be safe, Achlys?"

She shook her head.

"I make the scary things afraid of me."

"Huh?"

She looked up him.

"The invaders on the Isles, I killed one of them."

"You did?"

"I did."

With little more than a flick of his wrist, his weapon snapped back to his hand. He dangled it before Achlys. Her pale face was awash in the unsettling light the blade gave off.

"I tore this blade into her back and ripped out her soul. She is in the lantern now, and there she will stay."

Achlys gave him a confused look and Thresh had no doubt that she wanted to ask questions. It was likely that Karthus had spoken to her about how death was liberation and souls should be allowed to be free and now what he was saying was completely contrary to that, but he did not give her time to dwell on that. The conversation needed to continue as he saw fit, and it would not be that way if she were to barrage him with questions. He would be the one asking.

"I imagine that you consider this cruel, but I am simply continuing the work I did in life; I keep dangerous things under control. And to do that, sometimes a little cruelty is needed, a little forcefulness. But it is worth it, because everything I do is to keep things here on the Isles as they should be. Tell me Achlys, do you think it was better for me to kill the invader, or should I have stood by and allowed her to destroy more wraiths?"

"No."

"And," Thresh continued, not allowing her to speak more than the answer he wanted, "if you had been in my place, would you have fought to protect other wraiths?"

"I don't want to fight though," she mumbled.

"The question was not about if you wanted to fight, the question was if you would fight."

"I- I-," she began.

"Would you fight to protect other wraiths, Achlys?"

"I think so."

"You did not sound confident in your answer."

Achlys shook her head.

"No, I don't want to fight."

"Would you rather do nothing?"

"I don't know."

Thresh believed that Achlys did know in her soul what she wanted to answer with, but her mind was too ashamed to admit it. Perhaps a more forceful push was needed. He crouched down to her eye level and spoke directly to her bewildered face.

"You are conflicted," he stated, "almost every part of your timid soul is telling you not to fight, that violence is not needed, that you can simply continue to run away or have others fight for you. But part of you is not. That last part of you is screaming. It's terrified of what will happen if you don't fight."

He watched Achlys's expression change and he knew he had struck a nerve. Now he had to just keep twisting the blade in it.

"You felt powerless when your father told you that Fito was destroyed and that wasn't even your first time feeling powerless, was it?"

Achlys shook her head.

"No, it wasn't."

"And do you enjoy feeling that way?"

"No, I don't."

"Then do something about it."

"What?"

Ah, there is was, the one question he wanted her to ask.

"Fight."

"Fight?"

"Yes, Achlys. Fight, struggle, lash out! You were not so hesitant to fight when you were younger. You even attempted to attack me once."

"Oh, sorry."

"Do not be. I want that Achlys to come back. I want the Achlys that will fight."

"I don't know if I want to be that kind of me again."

"You will need to be."

"Why?"

"Because your father was wrong about something. He kept telling you that someday you may need to fight. No, what he should have been telling you is that you will need to fight," as he continued to speak, his voice grew more intense and carried tones of corrupt excitement, "those invaders, they were not the first to attack the Isles and they will not be the last. Look Achlys,"

In one swift motion, Thresh righted himself back to his full height and snatched his lantern back. He tore the lid back and ripped a soul from within before throwing it to the ground. In a flash of sickly light, the soul had regained the form it had in life. A young man, clad in silvery armor and bound tightly in wicked chain, was now between the two of them.

Achlys stumbled back in shock. Even without touching the wretched spirit, she could feel the terror radiating from him, causing her own heart to beat faster. She looked down into the pleading eyes of the soul and tried to discern what muffled words he was trying to say with the chain lashed about his mouth and neck. Beside her, Acheron let out a hiss as his charge filled with fear.

Thresh put his boot down onto the writing soul's back.

"Do you pity this man?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Yes," she replied in a trembling tone.

"Do not."

"He looks like he's hurt."

"Perhaps he deserves it."

Achlys looked to Thresh. Once more her eyes had tears glistening in them.

"Do not feel pity for him," Thresh repeated, "for he would have shown none to you. This man was a Demacian, a soldier who fought against the Isles, and hunted mages like you."

"Like me?"

"Just like you. And he was just one of many. There was a whole company of other soldiers like him. All of them wanted to destroy wraiths and many of them are still out there in the world, still hunting for things like us."

Terror was etched onto Achlys's face.

"But there is some fortunate news," Thresh said, his tone once more growing calm, "this one at least," he lifted his boot before bringing it down on the soul's head, dissipating him instantly, "won't be hurting anyone anymore."

As the dead man's soul drifted back into the lantern, Achlys blinked the tears from her eyes.

"Now calm yourself, little one. This may all appear terrifying, but all of this is to defend our way of existence. This is necessary. You may not like how it feels to fight, but ask yourself this, does the anger and discomfort of confrontation feel worse than the sense of powerlessness you have felt every time you have had to run and hide?"

"I don't want to fight," she said before swallowing her tears, "but I don't want to feel powerless any more. I don't want to have to hide. I don't want other wraiths to be destroyed. I'm supposed to help wraiths. That's what my destiny is supposed to be, right? And if I need to fight to do it, I will."

A smile twisted onto Thresh's façade at her words.

"Very well," he said, "if that is what you wish to learn today, I will be more than happy to oblige."

"I want to learn."

"Then I will teach you how to fight. Conjure your magic, Achlys! I will help you discover how strong you can be."

And the balefire that blazed forth from her hands burned with an intensity that it never had before.