He has completed a week's worth of training, pushing and breaking his limits. He can become no more prepared as he approaches his opponent. His opponent: a terrifying being that has captured Ionian folklore for millennia, a being that helped save all of Runeterra from the Black Mist, a being who is… more prone to dramatics than anyone would suspect. She waits for him on the roof of their shack, looking down at her challenger with crossed arms. One might ask why she's waiting on the roof posing 'menacingly'. The answer: it looks cool and sets the stage.
As Ahri watches her opponent walk towards her, she notices his clothes—different from his usual attire and vaguely familiar... A loose-fitting blue tunic with a gold trim and loose white trousers with a flimsy belt, both a few sizes too big. But what piqued her interest most were his hands and forearms; both wrapped in bandages. Though he had begun wearing them days ago, she assumed they were training injuries and that she would have to heal him before their battle. Strangely, he has yet to ask for such a favour.
"Dressed to impress, are we?" she asks, surveying the area from her vantage point. She takes in the sunset, its rays splashing the clearing surrounding the shack with a red and orange hue, noting the creatures that have begun skittering off to find shelter for the night, and the scattered unfitting boulders that add some much needed flare to the otherwise boring clearing. Though she knows this area like the back of her hand, examining her surroundings before a fight is instinctual.
"Mr Oliver gave these to me, said my other clothes were too tight and would get in the way," he explains, a slight tremble in his voice that he coughs away before continuing. "I told him I'd return them. He told me he didn't want them back. Reckons if I win, I should never come back, that I should be roaming the lands having the adventure of a lifetime," he chuckles, recounting his brief, odd, but nice goodbye to his mentor.
"Little Oliver wore something similar during war times, he never did care for the army's uniform. So he's been teaching you when I'm not around? Didn't think he was the type to take students; he must really like you," she says, wondering how 'Little Oliver' was roped into mentorship.
"I needed all the help I could get for today. And Little? Upright he blocks the sun," he says, tugging lightly at his belt and tucked-in tunic, affirming their stability, his brow raised at her comment about his mentor. "How do you know Mr Oliver exactly?"
"We fought together—well, adjacent to each other a few times. Naturally, he couldn't keep up with yours truly," she boasts as if her being stronger than a human was at all impressive. "Enough about that. Are you ready? Judging by the sun, nightfall is in about an hour. As promised, you only need to land one clean hit, and I won't use any magic. I'll take it easy on you." She says, her tone firmer as she reiterates the rules of the wager. Despite the sturdier tone, her eyes are bright, accompanying a cocky smirk; she's humouring him, not taking this at all seriously.
He gulps, his heart pumping wildly. The time to prove himself has come. He takes a few deep, long breaths, the same as those taught to him by his big-eared mentor during his meditation training, calming his mind and body. "I'm ready."
The world around them feels eerily calm as the two stare each other down. "You know, an hour is a long time. A little boy like you probably doesn't have the stamina to keep up with me for that long," she says, her cocky grin growing wider.
Her taunt reminds him of one of his first lessons: 'The importance of getting under your opponent's skin, make them make mistakes.' "Worry about yourself, wouldn't want you breaking a hip old lady," he retorts as quickly as he can. After all, a key element of trash talk is responding with creativity and speed.
"Well, that wasn't so bad, could use some work; practice makes perfect."
"Maybe I'd talk shit better if you taught me properly instead of writing terrible jokes. But I admit, this isn't my strong suit yet," he halfheartedly shoots back, being the good-natured, straightforward man he is, throwing cutting barbs is completely out of his wheelhouse.
"Well, that was better. But much like the gap between our shit-talking, the gap between us in all other aspects is that of Heaven and Hell. You should understand that by now." Uncrossing her arms and letting them hang loosely by her sides, her posture completely relaxed, unthreatened.
She zips down before he can fire off another quip, from roof to rock to the ground. Unlike her first surprise attack from the beginning of the week, this time he's ready, raising his guard so his forearm meets her speedy hook. "Keep your wits about you, right?" he smirks, proud of his well-placed guard.
A small smile plays on her lips as she jumps back, appreciating the reference to her first sudden attack and lesson. "You look so pleased with yourself. You shouldn't be. Blocking that was the bare minimum. Sun's setting so get to it," she says, beckoning him closer with a curl of her finger.
He dashes forward, throwing out a right hook, mirroring her own attack from moments ago. She moves her head lazily, evading the punch entirely. He doesn't falter, sending out a flurry of short, quick punches—mixing up angles, throwing in feints and using speedy kicks to break her footing. Unfortunately for him, she absentmindedly dodges and blocks each attempt, occasionally retaliating with restrained jabs of her own.
Time blurs for the nameless challenger, failing every attempt to land a clean blow. Soon enough, the sun begins descending over the horizon, marking the halfway point of their battle. Although her opponent is struggling, Ahri is enjoying herself far more than she expected. She's made some distance, dashing and hopping around as he gives chase. Each time he closes the gap, she quickens her pace just enough for any follow-up to miss, laughing and taunting him with each failure like a child playing tag. He grits his teeth, her never-ending stream of mockery slowly getting under his skin, causing his strikes and movement to become sloppy, unfocused and overly-hasty. Noticing this, he halts his pursuit, thinking while collecting himself. 'Her words are just distractions. Ignore them and focus on how to win. I have to try my new move, it might backfire but I have no choice. I've gotta be fast, I won't give her even a second to figure it out.'
She watches him curiously, feeling safe with the distance between them. So far, her opponent has used no magic outside of the fundamental enhancement of his physical ability, nor has he used any long-ranged weaponry. She maintains this distance habitually despite believing it's unnecessary. The gap in their abilities gives her an overwhelming edge in all types of combat, resulting in confidence, so much confidence that she hardly keeps her wits about her. He snaps into focus—his arms shoot out, and his hands clasp together. His index and middle fingers point forward, crossing over each other as he assumes a sturdy left-lead stance. Violent blue sparks coat his hands, concentrating between his overlapping outward fingers. He releases his attack—a blindingly fast arrow-shaped lightning bolt aimed at Ahri.
It's fast, almost too fast. She's barely able to sense his spike in energy, springing to the side and narrowly dodging the arrow. Capitalising on her confusion, he springs at her as fast as he can, hurling a desperate punch at her face. Ahri is shocked into full attention, no longer calm and curious. She blocks the blow, feeling that it's far heavier than his previous punches, the weight of the blow forcing her back. He doesn't relent, continuing with a flurry of precise blows, every strike faster, heavier and closer to its mark than moments ago. She's barely able to rally her defence as each jab, swipe and kick strikes closer and closer to home. But it's not enough, not to topple a demon like her. "Don't get carried away!" she snarls, dipping under a wild haymaker she retaliates with a series of light strikes to his chest, the final blow a heavy palmed strike that sends him flying into a boulder, crashing against it with a hollow thud that echos throughout his body, knocking the wind out of him briefly.
"Even that didn't work..." he mumbles as he stumbles to his feet, holding his chest and feeling the tender point of impact. "That didn't hurt too much did it? I didn't mean to…" Ahri's apology is cut off as she sniffs the familiar smell burnt wood, smoky and earthy and incredibly unpleasant. She looks behind her; his attack had pierced through a handful of trees, shattering its final victim into charred fragments in a controlled but violent climax. 'Close, way too close. When the hell did he learn that? How did I not notice him learning magic or using his attack?' she wonders, noticing her heart beating a few pumps faster, a single bead of ego-bruising sweat dripping down her temple.
She quickly begins piecing together bits of information: his bandaged hands, fighting style, his sudden spike in energy... Her eyes widen as his deception becomes clearer. "I get it now. You insisted on hand-to-hand combat to make me believe you had no long-range attacks... and those bandages cover up scars and burns from practising that attack, if I saw them I'd figure out your little ace right?" She says.
"Nothing gets past you does it?" He sighs, disappointed in himself. He looks at the sun again, the once orange sky has begun to fade into a deep red and purple spectacle, leaving less than half the sun above the horizon. "It's still an incomplete technique, it takes so much concentration—"
"And your use of magic is awful," she interjects with a raised hand. "You've had to compensate for your lack of practice with brute force, meaning it eats up far more energy than necessary. But what I don't understand is why I couldn't sense much energy from you. All week there was next to nothing and then suddenly..." she continues, arms crossed while rapidly tapping her foot.
"It's not that complicated. I'm sure you know, considering your oh-so-long life that all living things emit some level of magic, but do you know what it is you're sensing exactly?" He asks with a sly smile, pushing off the rock and trying to stand as tall as he can.
"Don't be coy and answer properly. I'm aware magic, energy or whatever you want to call it is complex, interwoven in a person's being and forming a unique 'flavour'. So what? It should be impossible for a novice to suppress it so well that I can't sense it; let alone while fighting," she retorts, raising her voice slightly as her competency comes into question.
"That 'flavour' is described as a signature in the texts. More specifically, magical expression is where a person's essence, energy, soul and mind meet before expression. Hiding all of my magic felt impossible; just my signature on the other hand was pretty easy."
She tilts her head, glancing at the stream running along the shack. "So, this signature is like where all the parts of magic meet. And if you hide that point... it's like blocking the streams that flow into a river."
"That's right. By blocking where my magic converges, it makes it appear as if I have no magic. I can't quite get it to zero, but I can get it low enough to hide my progress," he explains, a smug look creeping onto his face. "Honestly, I didn't think my disguise would work. Seems you've gotten quite used to not putting effort into this kind of thing."
He's hit the nail on the head. It's been second nature for her to easily feel someone's magical ability and emotions. Unexpectedly, she has to put effort into feeling his magic, lest there be another surprise. A human who this time last week couldn't throw a punch is causing her to exert effort. There may be no physical damage, but her pride has been wounded. "Very clever. But there's one more thing: Surely you can't hide your signature in your sleep. I may doze off earlier than you, but what if I woke in the night or got up earlier than you?"
"That's easy. Have you seen yourself sleep?"
"I don't know how to answer that," she answers drily.
"You sleep like a hibernating rock bear, snore like one too. I'm surprised you even wake up some mornings. Waking up earlier than you was easy—your snoring keeps me half-awake as is."
Her brow twitches as an irritated smirk creeps up on her lips, torn between frustration, embarrassment and amusement. "You said some really unnecessary and untrue things there, I'm going to forget I heard any of that. Your time is running out, get on with it," she says, hoping to cut their conversation short lest she die of shame.
Ignoring the trickle of blood dripping from his mouth, the heaviness of his arms and legs, and the blurring of his vision- he charges at her. Despite his compounding setbacks, Ahri notices his movements becoming faster, his strikes sharper and heavier than when they started, causing her to exert fractional increases in effort with each improvement to keep him at bay. She's surprised, not expecting this much improvement over the week let alone during the fight. Her fascination with him grows as he continues improving, enjoying their game far more than expected, wondering if she's ever had so much fun fighting while dodging and parrying each of his blows.
Their game begins to come to a close. The sun has vanished behind the mountains, their battlefield now a deep, dark, haunting purple. "Time's almost up, have any more surprises for me? You almost out-foxed me before you—oh wow I'm writing that down!" She chirps, producing her notebook from under her long sleeve and scribbling her quip.
"Firstly, that isn't funny, secondly, are you seriously writing jokes while we're fighting?" He asks in disbelief, clenching his fist.
"You're fighting, I'm brainstorming material and dinner plans," she replies absentmindedly while completing her entry in her joke book. "Don't feel bad about it. If it's any consolation, you've improved remarkably; stand proud."
"Well, a week is a pretty long time if you think about it."
"I was being specific to the past hour. You're not noticing it because your body acclimates so quickly, but you're growing stronger with each bout. So much so that it was offsetting your fatigue; though it seems that's no longer the case."
"And yet…"
"That's right, still not enough. You have a couple of minutes left, make them count my adorable little pupil," she says bright-eyed and smiling, enjoying herself far more than expected.
Sweat drips from his brow. He's exhausted but his mind continues to work in overdrive as the unfamiliar feeling of frustration bubbles within him. Frustration at being so powerless, frustration at not being clever enough to outsmart her, and worst of all, frustration at not being able to make good on his promise to himself and his mentor in town. Giving up however, is not an option, especially when he's being looked down upon by an ever-increasingly smug and enthused Ahri. Hastily he pools together everything he knows about his opponent, the way she fights and talks, her posture, the memories they've made… memories... He bites his lip as a devious idea forms in his head. Despite his reluctance to rely on a dirty strategy, he knows he has little choice. For the final time, he readies his stance, resolved to fulfil his promise to Mr Oliver, Ahri, and himself with this gambit.
He dashes in, throwing out a predictable hook. She's more cautious now, easily catching his fist in her palm. Swiftly, she grips his wrist and tunic, turning her back to him and tossing him over her shoulder. He crashes to the ground with a damp thud, blinking up at her dazed and dreamy. His expression quickly morphs into one of confusion. "Where am I?" he absentmindedly mumbles, looking around before noticing the figure before him. "Who—what are you?" he asks, crawling backward with laboured breaths, desperate to make distance.
Logic quickly flies out the window for Ahri. 'What just happened? He doesn't know where he is? That's not possible- I haven't used any magic! And I didn't feel any essence enter me… but that was also the case with… Him. Was I too caught up in having fun? Did my control slip?' Timidly she walks toward him, a slight tremble in her voice, "Hold on, I don't know what's happened but don't panic."
"No—get back you monster." He stammers, eyes wide as he continues to scramble away.
Her breath catches and her eyes flicker downward for a brief moment. Those words, they almost always sting, more so when they come from someone she's slowly growing fond of. She forces a calm smile, purposefully speaking in a low, soothing tone. "Relax. I'll figure this out," she says, discretely creating a small pink glow in her hand. With a subtle shake of her head, she flicks her wrist, dismissing the magic and habit, resolved to make amends as diplomatically as possible. With measured and slow steps she approaches the frightened boy, offering him a hand up.
He weighs his options momentarily. After a shaky breath, he takes her hand, and with a slight tug and some tension, she pulls him to his feet. The instant he stands, he tightens his grip on her generous hand. Before she can react, he yanks her forward, hurling a desperate fist square at her. Finally, his strike lands true on her jaw, knocking her flat on her rear; unharmed but terribly confused.
Time seems to freeze as their eyes meet, the heavy weight of realisation setting in. In a reversal of roles, he stands above her, blinking in disbelief. Hazily he glances at his outstretched arm, feeling the dull sting on his knuckles to confirm what happened. "I win," he murmurs, an exhausted smile forming across his weary face.
For a moment he teeters on the edge of disbelief and excitement before a light, throaty laugh erupts. No longer able to contain himself he celebrates in a burst of energy, thanking deities and shouting into the sky while bouncing giddily. As the thrill of victory settles down, he reigns his celebration in. "Sorry about that."
She's lost for words as her fingers graze her bottom lip—it's slightly tender to the touch, he actually pulled it off; he hit her. He won, she lost. She should feel angry, embarrassed, or annoyed for being deceived, instead, she feels pride and excitement just as he is. Proud her student has come so far so quickly, but her excitement puzzles her, maybe her student's elation is contagious. "That was clever, you're quite the actor," she says with a small smile, sitting up cross-legged. "I don't think I've ever had that much fun fighting someone."
Shakily he walks over and offers her an exhausted hand up. "That wouldn't have worked on anyone but you. Sorry, it was a dirty trick, you okay?" he asks, helping her up the same way she had earlier.
"I'm fine, outside of ego damage that is. And don't be sorry, I taught you to use your opponent's weaknesses against them," she says while dusting herself off and examining her outfit for any newly acquired flaws. "I suppose this means you get to accompany me," she sighs.
Unable to bear the stress on his body, the winner practically falls back against a boulder, the coolness of the well-placed object a welcome refreshment, somewhat soothing his heated, tender body. "So we're adventuring partners?"
Instead of answering, she kneels next to him, taking his hands and examining them. Her touch grazed his wounded and tender hands causing his breath to hitch for a moment. This time last week, this sort of gesture would cause his heart to beat wildly, make his eyes dart around to avoid contact or withdraw his hands in fear of being weird or for safety. But now, he's calm, more confident, and above all, knows that he can trust her fully.
The bandages on his hands are torn due to their lengthy battle, his hands from fingertip to wrist are horribly scarred and burned, less likely from their battle, more likely from creating his technique. Curiously, her fingers trace tentatively along the back of his hand, feeling the depth of his wounds, each curious trace causing him to grit his teeth. "I can't believe you developed that attack so quickly, or that you fought with these setbacks," she murmurs while producing a familiar gentle green glow from her hands that envelope his own and soon his whole body; quickly healing his wounds. "And to answer your question, you'll be less like a partner, closer to a sidekick."
She withdraws, sitting across from him cross-legged. He takes a deep breath, relishing the feeling of his damage-free body before speaking. "Beats nothing I suppose. I probably should have asked this sooner but: where are you—I mean we headed?" he asks, accenting the word 'we' to not-so-subtly rub his victory in her face.
She rolls her eyes at his gloating. "I'm unsure of the exact location, somewhere near Weh'le as far as I can tell. It's the dungeon that everyone's racing off to; I think it belongs to my people."
"I overheard some talk about that actually, are you worried that it might get ransacked?" He asks.
"Not really. Most of the other vaults I found were locked behind magic that only other Vesani could open. Even the ones that didn't have such barriers were impossible for common folk to navigate, I doubt anyone will do anything regrettable." She says, holding her knee up to her chest and picking at her nails, betraying her confidence.
He notices her worry, thankfully, like a good sidekick, he can put her mind at ease. "From what I've seen in town, adventurers and whatnot have only just started leaving for Weh'le. Everything's gonna be fine. If we leave tomorrow, we'll only be a day or so behind."
She stops her assault on her nails and sighs, hoping he's right. "I can't believe this is actually happening. Have you really not understood how dangerous this might be?" She asks.
"I did just fine versus you, I can take care of myself." He replies, his eyes growing heavy, having his injuries healed does little for his mounting mental fatigue.
"Just fine? You're green. I was hardly trying, if I was being serious I'd—"
"Don't be a sore loser." He interrupts, halting her brewing whining. "And if you think I'm still too weak, you'll have to keep teaching me, won't you… Master." He says, her new title laced with drowsy sarcasm as his eyes close.
"I guess I have to, don't I Sidekick? Get that Lightning Arrow up to snuff." She retorts cheekily, expecting a disagreement about her new name for him and his ability, instead, she's met with silence; he's fast asleep. Summoning her orb she quietly heads into the forest, her eyes assessing the dimly glowing amber stone attached to her hip. 'I need to stock up on essence, I need to be prepared for training to get more intense. I thought he was the one who bit off more than he could chew… maybe I'm the glutton. Gods just what have I signed up for?' She thinks, grinning to herself, unable to fully contain her excitement for the adventure to come.