. . .
. . .
First month.
"That kid's still out there?"
The lake was cursed. Storms never stopped—lightning fell every hour, clouds never moved. No one fished there. No one even looked at it anymore. Just noise, wind, and static.
But for a month now, that boy—maybe Vastaya, maybe not—sat on a stone in the middle of it. Meditating. Alone.
We thought he was dead ten times over.
Then the air changed.
He stood. Raised one hand.
A bolt came down fast—louder, sharper.
And curved.
The lightning twisted mid-air and shot back into the sky. Another followed. Then another. His bracelet glowed. His hair lifted. Wings—dark ones—opened wide.
ZAP
The clouds tore open without a sound.
Light spilled down, clear and soft, washing over the lake's surface until even the water looked like it had exhaled.
I stared, jaw half open, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
"...thunder monk."
By the time I blinked, he was gone.
. . .
. . .
Second month.
"It's coming back…"
We'd seen it before. The wind starts spinning above the valley, slow at first, then fast—fast enough to rip the roof off a house. Last time, it took half the crops and almost killed my son.
This time, there was no time to run.
HISSSH
The cyclone was already forming above the ridge. People shouted—Bam—doors slammed—Doong—someone rang the warning bell.
Then we saw him.
Standing on a narrow path, cloak fluttering, one hand raised toward the sky. A dark long sword.
He didn't speak. Didn't move.
Swishh
The wind hit—but didn't reach. It condensed sideways, as if a barrier pressed back with more force than the storm itself.
The cyclone howled, spun on itself, and broke apart in the air.
Silence followed.
The leaves settled. My knees gave in, but I couldn't look away.
"The spirits haven't forsaken us," Someone muttered behind me, bowing down.
"..wind spirit."
He vanished.
. . .
. . .
Third month.
"There—by the ridge. He's not one of us."
The flood had left nothing but mud, rot, and silence. Our homes sagged. Tools floated in brown water. No one had spoken all morning. What was there to say?
Then, someone pointed.
He stood at the edge of the flooded path. Young. Cloak torn, soaked. Black hair clung to his face. He didn't hesitate—he moved forward, his wrist golden bright.
SNAP-PUNCH
A sudden strike. A wave of force cracked through the air like thunder.
The flood pulled back.
Violently curving and sliding down the valley like it had been waiting for command. It spilled into the lowlands below, forming a new lake.
He spoke. Not to us, but to the air.
Then he turned, eyes cold.
"You built in the wrong place. No trees, no roots to hold the rain. Of course this happened. If you want to live here, plant the mountain."
He pointed up the slope.
"I've asked a spirit to help. You'll repay it with growth."
His crimson eyes swept over us.
"So don't even think about leaving."
We didn't answer. No one dared.
He walked off without waiting.
Someone near me whispered, barely louder than the wind:
"..spirit might."
. . .
. . .
—Irelia's POV—
Navori, capital.
The chamber breathes silence.
An ancient hall, buried beneath the earth, white wood clinging to stone bones. Light from mana crystals slips through a gash in the ceiling, breaking against the arches and dancing over the still pool at the center.
I walk.
Vines lean over the base of the walls. I brush them aside.
"Ancient markings... I can't read them," I mutter, stepping back as they cover themselves once more.
Past the arches, I move. My fingers trail the leaves of the massive potted plants lining the corridor. My steps echo alone.
"At last," I whisper. "A moment of peace."
Steam softens the air. My clothes fall behind. Bare skin greets the warmth of the water.
Breathe.
The third elevation is secured. Placidium won't fall tonight. Relax, Irelia.
Sigh.
My eyes close.
When the Noxians came, they burned everything. Slaughtered my family. Took our home—turned it into a fortress to strike deeper.
Second elevation, just beside Placidium… That was my house.
My eyes open.
"I wish I could do more," I breathe.
The resistance formed to protect what was left. Some clans joined. Some stayed silent.
"Fear. Honor. Principles. Useless things when you're dead."
I rise.
Relaxation is a lie.
Water runs down my body, drips from my hair.
"I'll rest when this ends. Or I will."
. . .
Resistance Base
The stone walls stretch like cliffs. A narrow stream cuts the path ahead, shallow but steady. Hidden from Noxian maps.
I stride through it.
"Any volunteers?!" My voice cuts through the murmurs, fingers lifted to carry my words higher.
There are people waiting for us. To join. But Noxians are always patrolling.
"Again?" someone groans. "They're too strong, girl. How many more do you want to lose?"
I meet his eyes.
"Sacrifice for our land… or our land is the sacrifice."
His mouth shuts. Silence walks the path beside me.
"I'll go," someone mutters.
"Count me in. That's why we're here, right?"
. . .
We climb.
A wide stair carves up the mountain, blocks of polished stone lining each side, a wooden arch above, swallowed by leaves.
"You were right, Lady Irelia. They didn't see us."
"Of course. As expected of our future leader."
"Stop it. We're not there yet," I say, gaze forward. "Keep moving."
A blur. A scream.
A Noxian soldier explodes from behind a stone block, axe first—crushing a skull. Blood sprays. The weapon's stuck.
"Hey! Sword! Need to finish this bastard!"
More step into view. Twenty, maybe more.
"You always do this," one mutters, drawing his blade.
"The axe got stuck again! Ha! Every time!" laughs another, flipping his knives.
I clench my fists.
With a breath, I launch.
WHIZZ
Blades flash. Limbs fly. My fury carves through them—unstoppable.
I'm winning.
But they're many. Too many.
Some break past, diving toward my allies.
"No—!"
They're taken. Weak. Hostages.
"Girl," one growls, blade to a throat. "Surrender, or they die."
My body stills.
'I'm worth too much. If they take me… it's over for the resistance.'
I lower into stance. Just a second.
'Ionia won't fall.'
Then—
CRACK
The earth screams.
Trees tremble. Leaves scatter. The air—stops.
'What—? A trap?'
'No. They're panicking too.'
Another crack—louder, sharper.
Stone splits beneath our feet. The stairs fracture, crumble, collapse.
We're falling.
Time slows.
'Is this it...?'
Humm
My fall halts. Suspended midair. So are they—all of them.
No one breathes. No one moves.
Above—
A shadow.
Black wings. Bandaged skin. Eyes like scars across reality.
He looks down. Straight at me.
Then—
His mouth parts.
"…Irelia, correct?"
My heart drops.