A/N: A note about lore changes, (particularly those regarding Freljordian politics) because they happened again and I'm not entirely sure what exactly is no longer canon, but I'm mostly deferring to the old version of the lore and will incorporate what I can in regards to new information.

Again, thank you so much to everyone for being patient and reviewing and just being awesome. And a big thanks to AerithRayne for beta-reading this chapter for me!

Chapter 12: Shattered

Something is wrong.

Katarina's eyes shot open to total darkness. She was on high alert, her eyes darting around as she tried to make sense of her surroundings, feeling the reassuring weight of a blade in her closed fist. The darkness was not what had unnerved her – though it had certainly been disorienting - nor had it been the realization that she had no idea where she was. Though her location, or seeming lack thereof, was highly disconcerting, she knew her instincts well enough to know that something else had tipped her off and woken her senses.

Something is VERY wrong.

She turned her head to look around, but there was nothing to look at. The darkness was so complete that she questioned, for just a moment, whether her eyes were even open. She held her blade out into the darkness, feeling for anything solid, but, once again, found nothing.

There is nothing.

Nothing except for the knife in her fist. She clung to the feeling of cold steel with all that she was, as if afraid that the familiar weight could fade at any instant. Everything in the world she could do without, but she had never gone without a knife in her hand.

As Katarina stared into the darkness where she knew her hand to be, she became aware of the outline of its shape. A dim light was beginning to spread, but she could not detect its source.

…There is nothing but the knife.

The blade was stained crimson. Her knuckles stood out, stark white against the red of the hilt. Her hand shook. Panic gripped her as she slowly returned to herself – blind, horrified panic, the kind of emotion she had worked long, tireless years to eradicate.

Her wide eyes moved to her feet, where a puddle was forming around the body on the floor.

"Katarina."

There were others around her, but she did not hear them, did not acknowledge the tone in her father's voice, a shocked fondness that she would never have a chance to hear again.

"What happened?" asked another, somewhere off to her right, and it registered because, in her mind, she was asking the same question over and over again.

The body at her feet moved and she stopped trying to contain her urge to scream, but the man who had touched the corpse immediately retreated at the sound, ducking low and holding his hand out as if she were a frightened animal.

"He's Ionian," said the man – a young Noxian soldier, who looked as though he was fresh out of the Academy.

Marcus Du Couteau's eyes never left his daughter. "And who let an Ionian assassin this far into the city?"

The soldier stiffened and turned away from Katarina. "Sir –"

"An untrained child just killed a man that your entire guard could not detect."

The man seemed at a loss for words. "I didn't…that is, we never received any reports…"

The general still did not look at him, even as he spoke. "I will deal with you another time. Step away from my daughter."

The man blended into the background, and at the movement, Katarina's eyes finally rose to meet those of her father.

His eyes were cold and calculating as he considered the petrified girl in front of him. They fell eventually to the knife – to the crude, ineffectual hold she had on the weapon. When his gaze traveled to the corpse and landed on the horrific, uncontrolled gashes around his neck, he snorted, as if in amusement.

"Had I any doubts before, Katarina, I certainly do not have them anymore." As he spoke, his face began to change. His skin darkened and his eyes shrank back into his head, turning a deep crimson that stood out against his black face.

Katarina watched the transformation, too horrified to move as his mouth disappeared and the end of sentence was punctuated with a guttural "squawk."

"F-father?" she stammered as the man-sized raven stared back at her, its gaze boring into hers, as if accusing her.

"Squawk!"

Katarina's eyes flew open to meet Beatrice's.

"Stupid bird!" she shrieked, hastily swiping at the creature, who leaped away in a flurry of feathers just before her fingers could make contact with her throat. The raven touched down on the window sill, where an unusually large scroll sat waiting for her.

The assassin disregarded the scroll for the moment, lifting her fingers to her face. In the dim light, she could visibly detect their shaking.

Furious, the Sinister Blade balled her hands into fists and flew out of the bed, startling Beatrice, who shot across the room to perch on the top of her dresser.

"What the hell does he want?" she shouted to no one in particular. The general usually liked to keep his instructions short. Katarina ripped the seal open and held the letter out into a beam of moonlight.

She scanned the letter briefly, cursing his long, meandering sentiments before something caught her eye and brought her wide eyes back to the top of the page.

Katarina,

I must confess that, through all of the years of your youth, as I watched you grow, I hardly dared to hope that we would ever reach this exact moment in history. All of those years gave me enough knowledge of you to understand that much of what I write in this letter will mean very little to you at present, and that, even as you read this sentence, I am already trying your patience.

Bear with me. I am an old man, very much accustomed to my ways, and you must indulge me for just a bit longer.

The news I am about to impart to you will surely reach the ears of the Institute before too long, but Beatrice flies far faster than any messenger. If this letter has reached your hands, it means that I have achieved the title of Grand General.

I have kept much of my plan largely hidden prior to this point, and therefore, this change may come as a shock to you.

However, from this moment on, I no longer have reasons to conceal my motives. This letter is primarily to explain my vision. From this position, I can finally enact the entirety of my plan, first discussed before the council. And you, as promised, have a key role to play.

Noxus has lost sight of its purpose. I have believed this since I was young, and it rings especially true today. I know for a fact that you agree with me; you have vocalized your frustrations in council enough to get that message across. Meetings are full of old men squabbling, too lost, too buried in their hatred of Demacia to keep focus on that which really matters. Power. Today, we sit in our cage, bound by the constraints of the League, watching our enemies thrive in peacetime. Noxian Imperialism was once a force to be reckoned with. I would see it resurrected.

However, my words to the council still ring true. We cannot simply go charging into a confrontation that we are not fully prepared to face, particularly at this stage. We needed to prepare. So we gathered information, sought weak spots. And this is where you come in. Below is a list of orders you are to issue to those below you. I cannot stress enough, it is imperative that, whatever happens tonight, these orders must be carried out. You'll notice that I'm recalling all but you and your sister to Noxus. I cannot reveal my reasons at this time…

Katarina let out a frustrated sigh. So much for "no longer having reasons to conceal his motives."

…but I assure you, any questions will be answered after your task is completed. The time has come to sever our ties with the League. I realize this is sooner than projected, but we find ourselves with a perfect opportunity that is not to be squandered.

I am not sure how aware you are of the consequences of your actions, but I assure you, you have done quite a bit of damage to an already tense political climate. I must commend you on your quick thinking. You asked me why I chose you over Talon, and this is precisely the reason.

Your own orders are as follows. On the night you receive this letter, kill Ashe.

Katarina froze. No.

She is vulnerable.

Gods, no.

Her death will prove an excellent statement. I want your deed to be known. I want all of Valoran to know that the Sinister Blade murdered the Freljord Queen.

This wasn't happening.

When she lies dead, seek refuge in the forests surrounding the Institute. You will certainly be followed. A vehicle will arrive for you by midday, precisely ten miles north of the Institute, and you will receive further instruction when we can speak in person.

I know how little you are inspired by words, but I feel compelled to tell you that a bright future lies ahead of Noxus, and you are helping to pioneer that future.

We will speak soon.

-Grand General Jericho Swain

Katarina scanned the last few written lines only long enough to notice that none of them had killing orders, only her. Swain had delivered on his promise. Katarina's hands began to tremble. The paper slid out of her grasp and fluttered to the ground. She watched as it fell, her eyes unable to move from the words "kill Ashe." They seemed to taunt her. The scar across her eye throbbed once, startling her out of her trance.

No hesitation.

She would strike quickly, go for the throat before she lost her nerve. Once the Queen lay dead, she would make the body more…memorable…Swain would appreciate that.

She banished the thought, forcing her hands to remain still as she reached inside of her bottom dresser drawer. Her fingers closed around the hilt of one of her largest blades, which she removed for inspection. It was longer than her arm and perfectly straight, its midnight-black metal gleaming in the dim light. Near the tip, an elegant but vicious hook jutted out. The blade was simple, but its style was prominently Noxian. If the long, barbed weapon didn't send the message, nothing would. Her eyes moved to the twisted, horned creature that comprised the guard and imagined the beast protruding from the Frost Archer's chest. "I want all of Valoran to know that the Sinister Blade murdered the Freljord Queen."

Had word reached Swain of Katarina's failure in the tournament? Was he aware of her moment of hesitation, the instant that had lost Noxus the tournament? Paranoia consumed her. It had been just a fleeting second. Whispers were made, but no one knew the truth. No one knew that the Sinister Blade had experienced, just for a moment, a sickening flicker of doubt.

No. No! I never doubted anything! Angrily, Katarina threw a punch at the wall, unflinching as her fist made direct contact with stone. Her entire arm reverberated, including her abused wrist, which screamed in protest. She may or may not have heard a knuckle crack.

Ashe was to die by her hand. Not on the Fields, but in reality. And if that was to happen, she could not allow herself to dwell on her one moment of weakness.

Nothing happened.

Slowly, she pulled her fist from the wall, examining the impact, willing the pain to distract her. At least now she could dismiss her trembling fingers for tangible pain. That she could understand. Cursing herself, she removed a roll of bandages from her drawer and began to wrap the knuckles, working methodically.

I have to move. It must be soon.

The roll slipped from her fingers and her hands rose to cover her face.

Do not hold back! Fight! Fight with everything you are! Her father's angry voice rang in her head, sounding thousands of miles away. Her scar throbbed again, now in time with her knuckle.

"Father," she whispered to no one. He would be ashamed, had he seen her now, had he known of her hesitation.

It was that thought that pulled her out of her reverie. Her father would not tolerate her failure. He never had.

And I NEVER hesitated.
Katarina picked up the scroll from the floor and pocketed it with shaking fingers. If this had been his assignment, the Freljord Queen would already be impaled, lying in a pool of her own blood. Just like the Ionian assassin.

Bile rose in her throat at the thought, but her feet began to move of their own accord, leading her into the hallway. None of the few whom she passed thought anything of the sight of a famed Noxian assassin moving with absent steps towards the hospital, weapons drawn in plain sight. She was Katarina. She was the Sinister Blade. It was almost normal.

Until…

"Katarina."

For one sickening moment, she heard the voice of her father from all of those years ago as he stood before her and the dead Ionian. She froze mid-step as her brain caught up with her.

"Grímnir."

The summoner stepped in front of her field of vision and lowered his hood, revealing his long, well-kept blonde hair and eyes that shown as blue as those of the Freljord Queen. "You should be in bed," he scolded, "you have an early morning, as usual."

The Sinister Blade said nothing, afraid that her voice would quiver and reveal her intentions.

"…But instead, you choose to wander the halls barefoot, with drawn weapons, while on probation."

Stupid, she scolded herself, ignoring the part of her that had wanted to be caught.

"Is everything alright?" he asked as she continued to stand in silence, her face betraying nothing. Before she could answer, she felt the familiar force of a foreign mind entering her own, breaking her spell of stoicism.

No! She reacted quickly, fighting against his stern gaze, struggling to find an answer. In a split-second decision, she filled her mind with images of her dream instead of the Frost Archer. She took him through the darkness, showed him the man at her feet and her shock, her father's hungry look and gruesome transformation.

Grímnir's face showed mild surprise and a small amount of sympathy as Katarina severed the link and expelled him from her mind.

"Is there something you wish to discuss, Sinister Blade?" his voice betrayed mild concern, but certainly not the anger she was expecting. She shook her head once, dismissively, and pushed past him.

"I just want to practice," she growled. Instead of continuing towards the hospital, she made a point of turning towards to the training room.

"I am aware of the conditions of every champion's entrance to the League," called Grímnir to her retreating figure, "and yours are no exception. We are here to help you, Sinister Blade, and I for one do not care if you are Noxian."

The last phrase stopped her in her tracks, but she did not turn to face him. Did he know? "Maybe you should."

"The distinctions of city-state are, to me, obsolete in peacetime. We are all of Valoran, and we are all here to ensure that it stays that way."

After a moment, Katarina again moved towards the training room, and the summoner made no attempts to follow her.

When she was sure that she was well out of sight and earshot, she turned back around and took a long route to the hospital.

The entrance was empty, which was odd. Usually a healer or two would be patrolling, even at this hour. But there was no one to notice Katarina, no one to take in the faraway gaze or the barbed blade in her hand, no one to stop and question her.

It was fate. It had to be.

Her grip tightened.

She moved down the corridor, passing the closed doors of the sick and the injured before turning into the ward that held the closed doors of the psychologically wounded. She recognized Cal's door by the incoherent babbling noises within, but she would not let herself pause. She couldn't. Not now.

Towards the end of the hallway, she stopped. Her feet had automatically led her to Ashe's door. As if in a trance, she pressed her ear to the wood and listened.

Silence.

Her hand found the doorknob, turned it, pulled her into the dark room. She stopped halfway to the bed, gripping her hilt tighter, letting her eyes adjust to reveal the sleeping woman.

Ashe was restless, agitated – her sleep had clearly been invaded by nightmares, as well. Her sheet had twisted around her body and she made soft noises of fear as she twitched on the bed. As Katarina watched, the other woman turned her head so that her face fell into a pool of moonlight, revealing a tightly creased brow, a grimace of pain.

The Noxian swallowed past the lump in her throat. Watching her was a mistake. Still, she made no attempt to move closer. Another minute passed before the Frost Archer began to relax, smoothing the lines on her face. Her fist unclenched, releasing the sheets that twisted around her.

"Katarina…" she whispered, so softly the Noxian almost did not hear. Still, the sound of her name shocked the assassin's unquiet mind into brief stillness. She closed the distance between them, coming to a halt at the woman's bedside, the blade still clutched tightly at her side. Had she really spoken her name, or was Katarina's imagination betraying her? She waited, but no more words fell from Ashe's lips. Her fidgeting ceased and she slept peacefully.

Kill her, commanded a voice inside of her. She could no longer distinguish whether the voice belonged to Swain, her father, Raina, or herself.

She bit down on her lip and forced the teleportation. The next instant found her on the bed, straddling the Frost Archer's waist, thrusting the barbed tip of her blade towards the hollow of Ashe's throat. Her arm froze halfway through the motion, metal hovering a mere breath above skin when a pair of cold eyes shot open in fright.

The archer gave a small gasp as she saw the blade, her eyes rising to meet its owner.

Kill her! Katarina commanded herself. Another half-inch and Ashe's life would be hers. Both women had turned into statues, holding each other's gazes. The Noxian watched the stream of emotion pass uncensored through Ashe's eyes. Confusion gave way to shock, betrayal, fear…anguish. Her expression twisted into one of pain, as if the assassin had already wounded her.

"K-Katarina…" her voice broke, and whatever else she had been about to say died on her lips, leaving the name hanging in the air between them. It echoed in Katarina's ears, louder than her own commands. Her will was breaking. She became aware of this fact as soon as she felt Ashe's body trembling beneath hers. Her eyes passed over the blade, which shook as well.

No, Ashe wasn't the one trembling.

"Fuck…" Katarina forced her eyes shut, rage consuming her as the knife slid from her fingers and off the bed, clattering to the floor.

I've failed.

She wanted to scream, to wrap her hands around someone's neck and squeeze until their life slipped away. It didn't matter who. Tryndamere, Renekton, Grímnir, Swain…anyone. Anyone but Ashe.

Her disgust with herself began to rise, consuming all else. She threw herself off of the other woman immediately, clinging to the wall opposite her, desperate for space between herself and the terrified blue eyes. Sickening thoughts swirled in her head, of corpses and flashing blades, sharp reprimands and a sickening throb behind her left eye.

"Was that another trick?" asked the Frost Archer softly, eying the Sinister Blade with wariness.

"Shut up."

"Why did you –"

"I said SHUT UP!" she barked in a voice that could make even a queen flinch and obey. "I need to think!"

Her head was clamoring with noise, screaming at her to kill Ashe and begging her not to, cursing her hesitation and praising her for it, denouncing her as a traitor and pulling her attention back to the figure that was now slowly standing from the bed and approaching her.

"Stay away," she said quickly, but Ashe shook her head and stepped closer.

"You taught me a lesson," she whispered, "now I'm going to teach you one."

"Back up!" she yelled, pressing further against the wall.

She ignored her, closing the distance between them and placing her hand on Katarina's cheek at the same time. Only then did the assassin detect a strange wetness on her face. She flinched at the contact but did not turn away, the initial shiver from the coolness of her touch traveling the entire length of her body. "You do not have to be angry."

Despite her words, Katarina could feel heat rising to her face.

"You do not need to kill."

Her fingers twitched in defiance.

"You are more than just violence."

In her mind, Katarina replayed every scene in the Academy that said otherwise, every exercise and training they put her through, all to craft a weapon.

"You answer to yourself, above all else."

I am the Sinister Blade. Noxus' Sinister Blade.

"Allow yourself more than your rage." The thumb at her cheek absently brushed away a tear.

Why had she hesitated? Why was she still hesitating? Why could she not close the distance right now?

"You're afraid." Cool breath fanned across the Noxian's heated face as she spoke.

There had to be a reason. Gods, there had to be a reason why.

"Don't be."

Katarina wasn't aware of movement. The moment passed suddenly, and, unlike when she had held the knife, she didn't hesitate for an instant as her burning lips crushed against Ashe's cold ones. There was no thought, not even when Ashe responded as if the action was perfectly natural, her hand moving to tangle in the Noxian's hair, her body tightening sharply. Katarina's own hands gripped the archer's waist in an iron grip, pulling her in closer.

The kiss quickly deepened, becoming urgent, and then breaking briefly as the assassin felt a surge of released tension. She spun Ashe around, slamming her roughly against the wall before reconnecting their lips, cutting off the deep groan the other woman had released as she very quickly caught her breath.

The assassin's body pressed tightly against the archer's, as if to hold her in place as her hands traveled slowly up the length of her sides. They separated again, a soft moan slipping unchallenged through Katarina's lips, her chest heaving as emerald eyes met sapphire.

"Gods, it's better than I imagined," whispered Ashe breathlessly, kissing the woman with a desperation all her own. The feeling proved infectious, and Katarina's fists clutched at the thin hospital top. After a few tugs, the archer's head fell back in acquiescence. The flimsy shirt was no match for Katarina's dexterous fingers, and the cloth shredded in her hands before finding more deliciously smooth, cool skin.

As her fingers quickly explored, her eyes slid open, falling to the shaft of pale moonlight that fell across Ashe's body .

She froze.

Oh gods.

The snow white skin of her torso was marred, covered in bruises in various shades and stages of healing. And suddenly the reality of what she was doing hit her. Ashe was an abuse victim. Ashe was the queen of Freljord. Ashe was the one she was supposed to kill. Ashe was in mortal danger. Ashe was a woman.

She was across the room in a puff of smoke before Ashe could even finish opening her eyes.

"You need to get out of here," said Katarina, her voice stern but breaking.

Ashe's eyes cooled slowly as her arms quickly rose to cover her exposed chest, but her expression was bewildered. "Katarina, I…"

"No, there's no time for this!" The assassin shook her head, agitated. "If you stay here, you could be killed."

"But you –"

"GO!" she roared. "Get everything you need right now and get away from the League." Katarina turned away from the bruised woman.

She heard silence behind her for a moment, then footsteps. A cold hand touched her wrist, but she shook off the touch.

"Look at me."

The Sinister Blade did not move. "I tried to kill you."

Ashe shook her head. "You did not attack me with the intent to kill me."

"I did!" she yelled.

"No. Or we both know that I wouldn't be here right now."

"God damn it, Ashe," she growled, "what would you do if you had to kill me for Freljord? What then?"

There was a long pause before Ashe spoke again, with so much conviction that Katarina felt her heart drop into her stomach, "Under that condition, Freljord would not be a place I would want to rule."

There was no answer she could give but one. "You need to get somewhere safe."

After another long moment of silence, the footsteps retreated, paused, and then the assassin heard the rustling of clothing, then nothing for a long while. She could feel Ashe's eyes on her, but she closed her own and made no movement.

After a moment, the footsteps left.

Katarina waited five entire minutes before allowing her legs to collapse beneath her, disturbing the knife from where it had fallen and sending it across the floor and into the metal bedpost.

Clang.

"Ashe," she whispered to herself, feeling her thoughts numb to all else.

Katarina could not allow herself to think about what she had done – not tonight, not with so much still to do, plans to salvage. She moved through the halls quickly, sticking to the shadows, wary of any more unexpected stops, but she saw no faces at this hour.

Her lips were still slightly chilled. She could not think about that.

She arrived at the Noxian wing and tensed further, but she could not think about her betrayal, either. She slid inside Talon's door without even knocking.

"Get up," she said to the dark room, and after a few confused murmurs, light revealed the man in his bed. When he saw her, he sat straight up at attention.

"Sinister Blade –"

"Save it," she cut off, pulling Swain's scroll from her pocket. "Listen to me. You are to report to Noxus immediately. Take everything you have and get away from the Institute before sunrise."

Talon's brow furrowed. "With all due respect, Sinister Blade, you do not have the authority to order me from the Institute."

Katarina grit her teeth at his insolence, but technically, he was correct. "No. But the Grand General sure does." She ripped off the bottom of the scroll with Swain's lines of orders and showed them to Talon. Next to the words, an ornate crimson seal filled the rest of the page.

Talon showed no surprise, merely nodding in understanding. Katarina motioned for him to take the paper. "Give the orders here; show anyone the seal if they question it. I will speak to my sister. Do not let anyone see you leave, particularly summoners or enemy champions."

"Enemy champions, Sinister Blade? Are we at war?"

"Dismissed."

With that, the assassin closed the door and silently moved to her sister's room, again entering without knocking.

"It's four in the morning."

Katarina tensed at the voice, and turned around just as her sister flicked a light on.

"Apparently, I didn't wake you up," she countered.

Cassiopeia smirked. "I don't sleep quite like I used to," she said, "but that doesn't change the fact that it's four in the morning."

"You are on standby."

The serpent woman's eyebrows shot up. "And why is that?"

"You are to remain in the vicinity of the Institute, but not to reveal yourself to anyone. There was a reference to some sort of pipe system in the walls - you are to stay there until further notice. Orders of Grand General Swain."

Cassiopeia did not hide her surprise. "My, he's been busy. But what am I on standby for?"

Katarina felt her heart accelerate. Swain's orders would need to be altered slightly. "Any fallout from the mass exodus of Noxian champions from within the Institute's walls."

Her sister gave a humorless laugh that was filled with an eerie hissing noise. "Funny, that's not Swain's style," she mused. "I know him well. He would want to leave more of an… impression." She turned back to her sister and her eyes narrowed. "Why did you leave your room earlier this evening?"

Katarina's blood ran cold, but she disguised her shock well. "I was receiving his orders. He's not at the Institute."

"Oh, I know about that," said Cassiopeia, flicking her wrist dismissively. "I hear you squabbling with that damn bird every night, and I saw which direction she flies in. In fact, I heard it earlier in your room, so you left for another reason, and I would like to hear it."

The assassin clenched her jaw. "That's classified."

"Don't you dare pull rank on me."

"You are required by law to follow my orders and defer to my judgment, Cassiopeia, and if you fail to do so I could make your life very difficult."

Her sister gave another hissing laugh. "No more difficult than it already is. How about you tell me about the wonderful show Swain gave you. I know you were itching for some action around here, and after seeing you go after the crocodile, I'm sure you could use another target to reduce to ribbons, so please, enlighten me."

Katarina said nothing.

"Oh come on, sisss," she whispered, turning the term of endearment into a slow, deadly hiss. "I want to hear about the bodies you made, since that's what your good for."

"I didn't kill anyone, Cass."

"No?" she sighed, sounding disappointed. "And I do so enjoy your work…though not like Swain does. I'm surprised he didn't give you a target…the little Freljordian playing queen, for example."

Katarina forced herself not to react. "You have received your orders. Await any further instruction." She turned to leave, but her hand fell on the scaled tail that was tightly gripping the doorknob instead.

"There is a reason I want to know. Do you understand? I need to know what he's planning, as surely as you are standing here, trying to piece it together."

There was a long pause while Katarina struggled with how much to reveal.

"I was ordered to make an assassination. The target fled in the night and left no trail for me to follow."

"Scared them off? You?"

Katarina sighed and closed her eyes, willing herself to remain calm. "The target had reasons for leaving the Institute, possible motives, people to get away from, so an absence – although unexpected – can hardly be considered surprising." She recited the words she had been constructing to repeat in her note to Swain.

To her immense relief, Cassiopeia seemed to drop her failure for another pressing matter. "But you're still going ahead with all of Swain's orders, even if the assassination wasn't successful?"

"That is what I was instructed to do, yes, and yours still stand because our sudden absence will not be overlooked," stated Katarina with authority.

Instead of suspicion, Cassiopeia's face gave way to confusion. "But why? Why would he order everyone home after an assassination?"

"I was instructed to make it quite clear that I had been the murderer. It would have been a war crime, and no Noxian would have been safe here, which is why you were instructed to remain hidden. The killing was the message that he wanted to send as a warning to Demacia."

There was a long pause before Cassiopeia slowly shook her head. "But it can't be. Swain talks about this place like it's a gold mine of resources. He wouldn't use the Institute for one death, Kat. He would use it to start a war."

"Of course. He wanted the death to serve as a warning, to throw the Institute into chaos before he could declare war against Demacia. That didn't work, but I'm about to ask him what other damage I can do before I'm instructed to return –"

"Why do you think the declaration will be against Demacia?"

Katarina stared at her sister blankly. "All they do in those stupid meetings is talk about how to crush Demacia. Did you forget why we're here?"

"Did you?" she asked. "Swain isn't planning on attacking Demacia anytime soon, he's made that very clear."

"Explain," came the answering demand.

"Demacia has…something in production. I don't know the specifics, but it's scared Swain away from the thought of attacking them for awhile. But if he were to, say, turn his new weapons on other, lesser targets –"

Oh gods, no.

"What new weapons?"

"If you had let me talk about what I'd learned from Heimerdinger, you would have known this ages ago, but we managed to track down plans for some new stuff Ziggs had been developing."

"Bombs?"

"No, mittens," she sneered sarcastically. "Yes, of course, bombs."

Katarina ignored the attitude, her dread rising. "How big?"

"Big. Big enough to wipe out an entire region. Just not quite big enough to go waving at Demacia yet."

"…Then what is he doing?"

Cassiopeia looked at her intently. "Are you ready to tell me who you had to kill today?"

Katarina hesitated, but let it go. "Ashe was my target."

"The final piece of the puzzle. A smaller, weaker city-state, fractured, already at high tensions due to old tribal conflicts and, most notably, some revelations that led to their king's imprisonment and their queen's state of vulnerability…at least, until she's murdered right before the invasion begins." Cassiopeia smiled as she recited the words, as if they were poetry. "Yessss…much more Swain's style."

His words danced through Katarina's head. "Noxian Imperialism was once a force to be reckoned with. I would see it resurrected."

She had told Ashe to get somewhere safe, away from the Institute.

She'll return to Freljord.

"I have to go," she said, swallowing past the lump in her throat. "Await further instruction and stay out of sight."

As soon as the door closed behind her, Katarina felt her gut churn, and before she could think of anything else, she bolted down the hall to her room, threw open her door, dashed into the bathroom and emptied her stomach into the toilet.

From her position on the windowsill, Beatrice squawked. The sound only made her insides constrict further.

After several minutes, the assassin pulled herself up from the floor and walked into the room, leaning against the doorframe for support, her eyes never leaving those of the perfectly composed raven.

I could kill her right now, she thought to herself, but she didn't.

She finally broke the stare, wandering to her desk to scribble a hasty note.

General,

Orders received. Assassination unsuccessful. Target no longer at Institute, believed to have departed earlier in the night. No trail left behind. Orders given to all others. Remaining at Institute to await further instruction.

-SB

"Get over here," she growled, teleporting across the room to land right in front of Beatrice, whose squawk was cut off as Katarina grabbed the bird roughly and tied the small scroll to her foot before throwing her unceremoniously out the window.

Even as she watched her disappear into the clouds, she knew that she could not afford to await a reply. Unsure of what exactly that meant, she began to pace nervously, trying to decide her best course of action.

The thought of murdering another target occurred to her, and while it was tempting at first, she quickly admitted to herself that it would not help her situation. She could simply meet with her ride from Noxus and take it home, or wherever else it had been instructed to lead her, but the idea of being so firmly under Swain's control made her stomach swim again.

She was a traitor. She had been studiously ignoring that fact since giving out her orders, but she could not deny that she had disobeyed a direct order from the Grand General himself.

Her eyes fell on the Noxian crest over her bed and her frantic pacing slowed, then stopped. She imagined it, for just a moment, flying high over every building in all of Valoran. She was filled with a sense of calm and pride…until she imagined Swain standing beneath the banner, Beatrice taking up his shoulder perch, glaring down at her with a dark, sinister smile.

I answer to Noxus above all else, but what does that mean anymore?

With a frustrated cry, the assassin lurched forward and grabbed the banner, ripping it free of the knives that held it pinned to the wall at the corners. She balled up the cloth in her fists and threw it across the room in rage, as if removing the symbol would solve everything.

It didn't.

Katarina fell onto the bed, covering her face in her hands, catching herself before she had the chance to do anything stupid, like crying again.

Damn it all.

She spent the next few hours loudly cursing everything and everyone she could think of, from Tryndamere, to Raina, to Grímnir, to Ashe, to Swain, but when the first few rays of sun began to peek threw her window, she stood up, making her choice.