Prologue

"Are you … Jinx?"

Yasuo stood in a courtyard of the Institute of War, a massive, ancient building which dominated a small city. On this particular day, an autumn storm was brewing on the horizon, pushed south by Freljord winds. The frosty cool morning breeze fluttered across the compound, rustling leaves and tugging at his clothes. Yasuo, himself an expert on wind, mused that it might bring snow.

Confused and receiving no answer, the guard addressing Yasuo continued.

"We just have several new Champions coming in today, and I don't know which one is which. I mean, the summoners who do the judgement didn't provide descriptions or anything."

Yasuo refocused, temporarily forgetting the potential snow. Adjusting his azure poncho tightly around his shoulders, He replied tersely.

"My name is Yasuo." And after a second of thought, he added: "Though Jinx might suit me all too well."

The guard nodded, checking his notes.

"Right…" He leafed through papers, desperately trying to find some lost piece of information.

"Sorry.. the regular check-in clerk is sick today… sorry."

Yasuo shifted, resting his left hand on the hilt of his sword. The two men stood near a portcullis at the outer walls of the Institute. Though a whole city was built and based around the Institute of War, The Massive, castle-like structure in the middle dominated the skyline.

Yasuo studied the small, frustrated man, smirking to himself.

"Okay, a couple of things I need to clear up. Have you committed any crimes?"

"Yes." Yasuo replied.

The guard grimaced, writing on a slip of paper.

"Well, we get all kinds here. Are your past crimes your reason for joining the League? "

Yasuo had to think for a second.

"No. I'm searching for someone."

""Who?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't be searching."

"Fair enough, friend. That was just a personal question."

Yasuo watched behind the man as a group of people walked together, laughing and joking. Having failed to watch any of the matches magically broadcast around the world, he did not recognize them, but wondered if they might be champions.

"Okay, What's your political affiliation?" The guard continued.

"Not applicable."

The guard hesitated, pen in hand.

"Sir, we have people who listed their affiliation as being loyal to a desert or a tree or a rock. Surely you have something you're attached to."

"... Put me down for wind."

"Oh, very well. Last question, what is your tagline?"

Yasuo raised a single eyebrow.

"I'm sorry?"

"You know, a tagline. everyone here has a one or two word line that describes them, it sums them up so the people have something to identify new or unfamiliar champions by. 'Fizz, the Tidal Trickster' or 'Katarina, the Sinister Blade'. You get to pick your own." The guard smiled, as if his last sentence was a birthday gift. Yasuo thought for a moment before he answered.

"Yasuo, the Unforgiven."

I

Dirge for the Living

The opulence of the room frequently stunned newcomers into silence, spanning eighty feet with a vaulted ceiling of nearly thirty feet. The arch of the ceiling was filled with intricate, awe-inspiring designs, images of battles and victories of Valoran's past. Inside, tables were laden with food and decorations, each more expensive than the last. Crowds of people milled around the tables, mingling talking, gorging on gourmet delicacies. The wealth of the attendees was obvious, as they all wore only the finest of apparels and jewels, each more decadent and shining than the last.

All of which disgusted Yasuo.

The disparity between the dress of those around him and his own garb was stark, as he wore only his shaw, a set of loose fitting pants tied around his waist, a pair of leather sandals, and his sword in its sheath.

His eyes were downcast as he walked across the carpet, his sandals sinking into the velvet an inch with each step. Paying no heed to his direction, he made it to the other side of the room before turning to view it as a whole. He leaned against one of the several columns supporting the vaulted ceiling, crossed his arms, and frowned. As he surveyed the crowd, Yasuo was once again overcome with disgust at the opulence of the room before him. In his mind, images of the slums of Zaun flicked past, reminding him of his brief times there. He could not help but to contemplate how much even the money spent on this party could improve the poverty in Zaun. As he watched the crowd, a single person broke off and made her way towards him. She was clad much like the others, extremely formal. She was much less opulent, wearing less jewelry and sporting a very revealing skirt and a low-cut blouse. She had striking blonde hair and was quite beautiful. Yasuo briefly considered removing himself from the party, his only reason for attending being that for new champions, it was mandatory. The young woman reached him before he could act on his plot.

"Hi! I'm Janna." She offered a hand "Pleased to meet you."

He accepted her hand, replying with only his name.

"Yasuo."

The young woman was not deterred by his brief reply, instead attempting conversation.

"Hi Yasuo, where are you from?" She smiled broadly.

"East." Her smiled faltered a bit, as Yasuo continued to gaze out across the room. She followed his eyes, and finding nothing, attempted to continue the conversation.

"So are you from Noxus, or Ionia..?"

"It doesn't matter now." Yasuo cut her off, his gaze still fixed upon the crowd.

"Okay, Yasuo from the East, what are you looking for?" Janna replied, glancing out over the crowd.

"Just thinking." He said, his eyes still fixed on the party.

"If you do your thinking while someone tries to talk to you, you may run the risk of seeming rude." Janna shifted her position so she was directly between Yasuo and the party, standing in front of him. His eyes broke focus, and met hers. She continued, "There. So what were you contemplating, Yasuo?"

"Don't you think that they could be spending money better than this?"

Janna's eyes grew dark, narrowing in frustration. A cloud seemed to loom around her, chilling the air. She eyed the opulence of the room, massive bowls of punch, extravagant hors d'oeuvres, and expensive alcohol flowing freely.

"Oh, I understand that better than you do, Yasuo from the East. Don't assume this was my idea, or that I didn't fight against it."

Janna's eyes flicked about the room, taking in the tables laden with delicacies and the many, many bottles of wine making their rounds.

"It's all about money, really. The funds for running the League come directly from the governments of the various city-states represented here. But those in charge of the League have found other ways to make money… ways that benefit greatly from having a party for the more influential citizens to meet the champions. Merchandising and sponsorships, you see."

Yasuo laughed.

"So we're on display."

"Precisely."

Across the room, a small, pale, incredibly thin woman was becoming quite disruptive, and, much to the surprise and horror of the guests, was halfway submerged in a massive bowl of punch, mock bathing herself with it. Yasuo watched as guards moved in and extracted her from the punchbowl, her piercing laughter echoing the whole time.

He said nothing as they dragged her from the room, merely raising a single eyebrow.

Janna continued, undeterred by the interruption.

"Almost none of the champions come to these events anymore. Usually it's just me. Like you pointed out, they're extravagant and boring. "

"You're a champion, then? Why do you come?" Asked Yasuo. He no longer seemed interested in Janna, instead moving his focus to a bottle of rum being offered by a waiter to guests nearby.

"Like I said. Merchandising. Sponsorships. But also to invite new champions to the real party."

Yasuo largely ignored her, beckoning the waiter over.

"Sure. Sounds neat."

"You're coming off as a little rude again, Yasuo from the East."

The waiter reached him, and Yasuo rejected the glass offered, instead taking the whole bottle.

"I'm not really interested in your after party."

"It's not the after party. It's the real party. My friends and I throw one every time new champions are admitted to the League. We really can't stand that the only party to welcome the new guys is this," she continued, sweeping a hand across the room. Yasuo upended the bottle, drinking deeply from it. Janna remained silent as he took a healthy gulp, draining nearly a quarter of the bottle. When finished with his drink, Yasuo placed the bottle back into the somewhat perturbed hands of the waiter. When he was finished, Janna continued.

"It would mean a lot to my friends."

"I have no reason to go."

"You have no reason not to go."

Yasuo sighed, reaching for the bottle of rum. Instead he grasped air, finding the waiter to have moved on.

Janna persisted, leaning forward.

"Pleeeeease? You'll make a very pretty group of girls very happy."

Yasuo smirked the slightest amount, amused. It had been a long time since anyone had tried this hard to talk to him, instead of trying to kill him as soon as he said his name.

"Why do you want me there so badly?"

Janna straightened.

"Well, no one ever comes. It's just disappointing to put together a party every few months if no one ever comes."

"What about the other new champions?"

"One of them refused to say a word to me, and I believe the other was just forcibly ejected." Yasuo looked around, noticing the absence of the thin, pale woman he had seen in the punch bowl.

"Will there be drinks?" He asked.

"If that's what it takes."

Yasuo shifted, standing from the column he had leaned on and gesturing towards the door of the great hall.

"Might as well."

Yasuo followed Janna down a long, well-lit stone corridor. The castle that now housed the League of Legends had been built many years ago for war, and had simply been repurposed. Nonetheless, the ancient stone corridors utilized lighting and decorations to lighten the mood of the otherwise war-like interior. Janna moved along soundlessly, walking, and occasionally floating, swiftly through the castle. In her hands were two bottles she had attained at the party, much to Yasuo's amusement. The waiters in the party had been rather agitated by her procurement, with Janna merely promising that she was good for it. As Yasuo followed the young lady, he reflected on his decision to attend her party. He had spent the last nine years roaming Valoran, and very rarely spent any great deal of time in one place. Yasuo planned to move to the edge of the party and fade away, taking solace in his drink. Now he wondered why he had accepted this invitation.

His thoughts were interrupted by Janna's sudden stop. She had paused outside of a small wooden door, watching him closely.

"You zoned out for a minute there." Yasuo ignored her, nodding towards the door.

"Is this your room?"

"No. It's a friend's room, actually."

They both stood in the hallway, silent. Neither said anything until Yasuo remembered.

"Your hands are full. Right."

The air in the hall was tense and awkward. In the back of his mind, it occurred to Yasuo that she was much colder now that he had agreed to attend the party.

Yasuo reached for the door, opening it. The room inside was a simple apartment kitchen, with a table, sink and stove. It was largely undecorated, save for a scattering of pictures on the walls. A banner hanging above the cluttered kitchen table read, in hand drawn script, 'Welcome New Champions'. Seated at the table were two young women, both quite startled by his entrance. One of the women had long hair in pigtails, strikingly blue save for its yellow tips, and wore a simple blue dress. She was light complected and had broad smile which switched immediately into a confused look as he entered. The other woman was far more unique, with Lavender skin and large, amber eyes, wearing a simple tan overshirt. Her most noticeable feature was the single horn growing from the center of her head. A short silence filled the room as the three occupants looked at one another. The lavender skinned woman was the first to speak.

"Hello. Are you lost?"

Yasuo contemplated the question, attempting to formulate an answer. It was never a simple question for him to answer. From the hall, Janna cut in, saving him the trouble.

"He's with me. We're here for the party." Immediately, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The young, blue haired woman broke into a smile and stood, searching frantically for something. Janna pushed past Yasuo into the room, setting the bottles she carried on the table.

The woman who had originally spoken stood to introduce herself, offering a hand to Yasuo.

"Welcome. My name is Soraka, and this," she gestured to the blue haired woman now digging through refuse piled on the table. "Is Sona." Yasuo watched as the young woman rifled frantically about in a mound of cups, streamers, and napkins. He shook Soraka's hand slowly.

"Yasuo. Is it just the three of you?"

"Unless you brought friends."

Well, so much for fading into the background. He mused.

Sona found what she was searching for, pulling a set of matching, conical party hats from the litter on the table. She strapped one in place on her head, offering the remainder of the stack to Yasuo, Soraka, and Janna, a bright smile across her face.

"No, thanks." said Yasuo. She seemed undeterred by his decline. Janna took a seat, accepting her hat and fastening it on her head. Soraka did the same, smiling. She gestured to a chair at the table, indicating she wanted Yasuo to sit. He accepted the seat wearily. Yasuo couldn't help but feel their behaviour was a little odd, each of them wearing the demeaning party hats. The room grew quiet, the silence palpable. Several seconds of tense, awkward passed before Soraka spoke again.

"So, Yasuo, what made you decide to join the League?" Soraka had threaded her fingers together, resting her chin on her hands, the very model of interest and curiosity. Janna seemed to have changed her demeanor entirely, making no attempt to hide her lack of interest in Yasuo, she studied her fingernails. To him, it seemed she had achieved her goal of getting him there, and that was all she wanted.

"I'm looking for someone." Sona was now shuffling about the kitchen, gathering plates and silverware hurriedly. Soraka did her best to ignore the distraction, continuing her conversation with Yasuo.

"Is this person a friend of yours? What's their name?"

"Not exactly, a friend, no. I don't know their name yet, either."

Soraka raised an eyebrow as Sona finished her searching, placing a plate and fork in front of every person at the table. The young woman was fairly glowing, Yasuo's attendance having obviously brightened her mood. Soraka continued.

"How will you know when you find them if you don't know their name?"

Sona pulled a platter from a cabinet, revealing a cake.

"I believe the person I'm looking for will have two characteristics. They will be a master of a swordsmanship technique that utilizes wind elementalism. That and they'll probably be Noxian." Silence briefly shrouded the room as Sona served slices of cake to all four attendees. She then offered them punch, which Yasuo rejected in favor of the rum Janna had 'acquisitioned' from the official party.

"You wouldn't happen to know anyone who fits that description, would you?" He continued. Janna and Sona both looked to Soraka, awaiting her response. For a moment, she focused on her cake, toying with it.

"You don't intend to offer this person friendship." It was not phrased like a question, instead her inflection led Yasuo to believe she had made the assertion with some certainty.

"No. I don't."

"Violence is not permitted between Champions of the League, Yasuo. Not outside of the Fields of Justice."

"Let me worry about that. Do you know this person?"

The tension in the room was now palpable, Yasuo tensed and leaned forward in his chair, his eyes meeting Soraka's unflinchingly.

"I need to know." The other women in the room had up to this point chosen not to take part in the conversation, but as the situation grew more tense, Sona pulled a sheet of paper from the heap of rubbish on the table, snagging a nearby pen to write on it. Soraka waited to reply, looking for Sona to finish. She did, placing the paper in the middle of the table for all to read.

"Let's not fight. We're all friends here."

Soraka exhaled audibly, setting down her fork and glancing at Yasuo.

"I'm sorry if I seem upset, Yasuo, I really cannot condone unsanctioned violence. If you have good reason to know this person's identity, speak with me later. Perhaps I will agree your cause is just."

Yasuo frowned slightly at the idea of a woman he had just met judging his cause. He briefly considered pressing the topic, but decided against it. He had no reason to antagonize them.

"Of course." He offered no apology, and made no attempt to further the conversation, returning his attention to his cake and rum. Mostly his rum. He wondered if Sona was a mute, but chose not to beg the question. A few short moments passed in silence, with everyone pretending to be wholly absorbed in their share of the cake. Sona seemed unsatisfied with this, retrieving her scrap of paper and adding another message.

"Thank you for coming to our party, Yasuo. It means a lot to us."

"I wondered about that. Why throw this party if you're not certain anyone will come?"

She once again began writing on the paper instead of speaking, her handwriting flowing and organic, almost calligraphic.

"We have no contact with the new champions before they join, so we can't invite them ahead of time. It would be a shame if somebody wanted to come and we hadn't thrown them a party. That's why we get Janna to invite people from the real party."

She thought a minute before adding:

"It can be quite fun to throw a party every few months, anyway."

Though her points made no sense to him, he nodded, returning to his meal. Yasuo reflected that it didn't seem like they were having fun before he arrived.

He studied the, room, noting the streamers, party hats and handwritten banner. It reminded Yasuo of an Ionian child's birthday party. The decor didn't seem to embarrass any of the occupants, so Yasuo assumed it was a traditional party for non-Ionians. Sona continued to write.

"So, what are you most looking forward to here at the League?"

Though Yasuo hadn't thought about it much, his sole reason for joining was to exact justice, but that had occurred to him as a touchy subject. He opted to pursue a less confrontational answer.

"I suppose I don't really know what to look forward too. Is the pay alright?"

Soraka laughed, shaking her head at Yasuo.

"Vengeance takes a man to crazy things Yasuo, but I've never heard of anyone joining the League without a full understanding of how it works."

"I know what we do." Yasuo noted Soraka had assumed he was seeking vengeance. "We fight to settle disputes. We take the place of war by killing each other."

Soraka smiled before continuing, sipping her punch between sentences.

"Yes, that is the majority of what we do. But quite a lot of responsibilities come with that, Yasuo. We're so much more to so many people. Though it sounds arrogant to say it, Champions of the League are frequently celebrities, giving us quite a lot of influence, along with our wealth."

Yasuo smiled, his first of the evening.

"So the pay is good."

"Yes, the pay is good. and legions of adoring fans can be nice too. Ask Janna about that."

Yasuo didn't bother, and Janna didn't look like she wanted to talk about it either.

"Soraka! Stop it." Janna blushed, smiling. Soraka continued, grinning like a proud mother.

"I'd say there's hardly a tabloid in the world that wouldn't kill for some juicy tidbit of Janna's personal life, not to mention an army of loyal fanboys who would kill to meet her."

Yasuo finished his cake, downing a swig of rum before corking the bottle. In the back of his mind, he decided not to become inebriated, though the decision did bear with it a certain melancholy that sobriety always bore for Yasuo.

"Hmph. Sounds unhealthy." He remarked.

Janna, still blushing, stared intensely at the floor as she replied.

"They mean well…"

"Of course you're right Yasuo, sometimes her fans do cross the line of good taste…" Soraka's thought trailed off, as if alluding to a particular event "... but Janna's a smart girl, she takes care of herself." As Soraka continued, Yasuo could not help but draw parallels between Soraka's bragging and that of a proud mother's. He noted that Janna's response was not unlike that of an embarrassed child. The conversation paused for a moment as Sona wrote a message out on her slip of paper.

"Do you like any music, Yasuo?"

Yasuo smirked, recognizing the attempt to distract from Janna's discomfort. He reached into his cowl, pulling his recorder from it's confines within his pouch.

"Some." He blew a set of notes, a simple descending scale. Sona began to write again.

"Go ahead."

He shrugged, playing a simple Ionian nursery rhyme. The others listened respectfully, and Sona clapped at the end. Yasuo found this quite interesting, as it was the only sound he had heard the woman make.

"Thanks." He said. "It's not much, but I've had a long time to practice it." Sona continued writing.

"May I?"

She held out her hand, smiling. He offered her the recorder, and she accepted. Her fingers found the holes, and she blew several notes experimentally. She then proceeded to play the same descending scale Yasuo had, then another scale in a different key. She did this several times before playing a song, a haunting melody that lead into an inspiring crescendo. All of which was something of an amazement on a simple recorder. Yasuo was impressed.

"Did you set that up just to show off?"

Sona smiled, nodding as a response to his praise. "How long have you been playing the recorder?"

She wrote her answer.

"Almost three minutes now."

He chuckled, "Cocky. What instruments do you play, then?" She raised a single finger, the universal gesture for "Hold on a minute" as she stood and exited the room, recorder still in her hands.

In her absence, Soraka continued the conversation.

"She's a very confident girl. It startles people who meet her sometimes. People tend to assume she's shy, simply because she's a mute."

Yasuo wasn't interested in the conversation, but he continued in an attempt to avoid awkward silence.

"How did you meet her?"

"Oh, we met when she joined the League. Janna and I frequently fill the role of support in the matches, and so does she. We just got along, really."

Their conversation was interrupted as Sona returned without her party hat, carrying a large stringed instrument, so large that it seemed impossible for her to carry. The instrument simply floated along effortlessly next to her, guided by some unseen magic. She pulled her chair out from the table, sitting down to continue writing.

"This is called an Etwahl, an ancient Ionian stringed instrument."

Yasuo nodded after reading the note, gesturing to her Etwahl.

"By all means, play."

Sona, smiled, nodding. Her excitement was palpable, and Yasuo sensed she didn't often get the chance to show off.

Her fingers flowed across the Etwahl, and she began to play. At first she played a short, happy movement, blending in several other tones as she continued. after a short period of play, she closed her eyes and moved into another song, one Yasuo was unfamiliar with. As the song began to progress, it grew in power as it did in tempo. Her chord strokes seemed impossible for one instrument, their number falling over one another to create a veritable rainfall of sound. The tune itself was intensely emotional. It started strong, with powerful chords, like a hero's melody, building strength and inspiring confidence. Sona squinched her eyes, focusing intently. Yasuo felt a sense of familiarity in the song's beginning, as if it was about the beginning of his life, when he had felt invincible, powerful. When he was young and naive. The song played with his emotions, pulling him back to the days of his childhood. the days when he was happy. Dramatically, the song shifted, dropping into a melancholy, mournful tone of regret, a minor key striking sadness, as if the hero had experienced great loss and regret all at once. The pain at this point of the song was palpable in the room, her music bringing the other occupants to tears. From the crescendo, the song slowed in tempo, as a sad slow mourning dirge that seem to drag on, as if years were passing with no happiness in them.

From the beginning of the song, the melody had brought forth emotions that reminded Yasuo of his past, putting them all in order and ending with his years as a wanderer. To Yasuo, it was as if Sona had composed a song that described his life, and it touched him deeply. It was intensely nostalgic, a reliving of his victories and failures. For a time, he was simply stunned. He noticed the song had impressed similar emotions on Janna and Soraka, their countenances showing that they had felt the sadness of Yasuo's life.

"That was… Beautiful. Thank… thank you. Your magic is unique." Sona made no attempt at response, her eyes still closed as if meditating. Instead Soraka filled the gulf, her cheeks wet with tears.

"She has this affect on people, Yasuo. If you've never heard her before, it can be… intense."

His mind was reeling, as though his emotions would overwhelm him. He slowly began to regain control. The emotions in his mind, though his own, were not brought on by his own thoughts. They were emotions he had lived through once already, from the beginning of his life forward, as if she had read his mind to compose the song. It felt as if he had been invaded. He struggled, trying to regain control of his own feelings. Happiness, sadness, rage, regret, all his emotions, recalled from his past.

"It wasn't just intense."

His eyes met Sona's and he glared at her intensely.

"Did you invade my mind? Your song… it was my life story. It was too personal. You have no right."

Silence briefly filled the room.

Sona nodded once, and silence filled the room again.

After a short time, Sona began reaching for her notepad, and Yasuo turned to leave. Soraka called after him.

"Yasuo, please, she didn't…"

Her words fell on deaf ears, as Yasuo was already out the door.

Outside, it had begun to rain. He pulled his cowl tight about his shoulders, leaning his head down into the moisture. His thoughts were dark as he walked into an open courtyard, his mind confused. He had no concept of where he was going, but that was not a strange feeling for Yasuo. He was upset for the first time in a while. Being a very private person, He had always felt very uncomfortable sharing his story. It hurt him to think about his life, and being forced to render his memories into spoken words was always a painful process for him. Sona had done that for him, creating a hymn of his life, the story of his failures in the form of emotions brought on by a song. And she had done it all without his foreknowledge.

He continued walking, eyes on the ground and thoughts surrounding him.

As he continued into the center of the courtyard, something caught his attention. Or rather, a lack of something. The sound from the rain had died, and the light from the courtyard seemed drawn from the area. A fog localized around him seemed to affect everything, fading it to a point of nonexistence. Blackness covered him, as if the shadows had become a blanket. He immediately sensed something was wrong, and his hand flew to his sword,drawing it fully from its sheath. In the dim light, the edge of his sword was all that was visible, his hands appearing black. The wind warned him, and he brought up his sword. He had timed it perfectly, his fresh drawn sword blocking a hit from an unseen foe. As she struck, she faded into view, her dark, piercing green eyes meeting his. He pushed her away, his sword flashing in the veiled light as he swung a counter strike, hitting only air. His attacker wore a dark green gi, rendering her nearly invisible in the fog. Her dual kamas sliced the mist so quickly his eye could barely follow.

"Akali. I thought I might run into you here." She said nothing, adjusting her position low to the ground and once again disappearing into the mist.

"How's Kennen? Still adorable?"

He turned short, concise circles, blade at the ready. His lack of vision had him on full alert, his senses primed. The wind told him where she was, his sword meeting Akali's next attack before he saw her. This time she did not relent, slicing one blade high, which he blocked. Her other weapon went low, aiming to injure his legs. He stepped back, dodging the blow and then pushing off, swinging his torso low and attempting to ram her with his shoulder. Again he hit air, adjusting to block the attack he knew was coming. And it did, a similar one-two attack, this time low then high. Her low kama bit into the leather of his grieves, going deep enough to draw blood, causing his knee to buckle. She did not remove the blade, leaving it lodged in his lower leg. The high attack he blocked with his sword. The force of this one knocking him off his feet. He hit the ground with tremendous force, knocking the breath from him. Akali's kama was still firmly caught in his leg, temporarily stemming the blood flow he knew the wound would bring. The mist around him continued to impair his vision. Now firmly planted on the ground, he found himself unable to use the wind to his advantage, unaware of the direction of Akali's next attack. When it came, he saw it late, and attempted to block. Her small, extremely fast blade ringing off the grip of his sword, knocking it from his fingers and cutting them deeply. The pain forced his blade from his hand. Time seemed to slow for him as she recovered from her attack, bringing her blade around for another strike. He was defenseless now, his sword lying several feet from him.

Yasuo closed his eyes.

He saw the elder he swore to protect, beheaded and lifeless beneath a pale dawn sky.

He saw his parent's pained faces at his trial.

He saw his brother, lying in the rain, slowly bleeding to death.

And he saw his failure, now more than ever.

Suddenly, he was aware of something else. Something covering him. A small figure, her body between himself and Akali. The very next moment, a kama slammed into the dirt next to his head. He opened his eyes, and Akali's own eyes filled his vision.

"Hey, pretty girl. Weren't you about to kill me?" Her face was covered, but he could almost feel her frow.. he looked down to find two women on top of him, His would-be killer, Akali, on top. The force of her blow coupled with her redirection in aim had caused her to fall. Below her thin, wiry frame, Sona's much smaller, much less muscular form lay. When he made eye contact with Sona, she smiled, her eyes as innocent as possible. Akali rolled off, standing and straightening her gi.

Sona rolled off of him as well, staring resolutely at Akali.

For a time, there was silence. Then Akali spoke.

"Yasuo, you have been judged by the Eye of Twilight, and found an imbalance. You will be destroyed. However…" She gestured to Sona. "The actions of the Maven of the Strings, jumping between you and your executioner, does count for something. Today I will spare you." Akali shifted forward, stepping on Yasuo's leg. She wrenched her blade from his flesh, an audible crack accompanying the action.

"Looks like I hit bone."

Yasuo screamed wordlessly, his mouth agape, the pain unbelievable. Akali turned to walk away.

"Balance will not favor you twice, betrayer."

(Intermission)

The Short but Happy Life of Roger's Crush on Leona

He watched from afar as she walked in and stepped up to the bar, immediately captured by her. He loved her long red hair and bright amber eyes. He loved the way her turtleneck sweater perfectly accented the curve of her body, and (Though he would not admit it himself) the fact that she was a champion of the League.

His first mistake was to tell his friends.

"Guys. Guys. Look over there. That woman…that's Leona!"

Roger nudged his friend Marco, pointing towards the bar. Marco raised his head from the table, gazing groggily in the indicated direction.

"So it is." Marco pawed lazily around the table, his searching hands grasping a bottle of whiskey, now almost empty.

"Shit." He muttered. "We're dry." He sucked down the last mouthful of liquid, lowering his head back to the table with a thump.

"Benny." He moaned with his mouth pressed into the table, "Go get us some fuckin'... some stuff." He pushed the bottle blindly towards the third occupant of the table, missing his mark as the bottle crashed to the floor. Roger took no heed of the state of his friends, instead absorbed with the woman at the bar.

"She's so beautiful… I'm going to go buy her a drink." Marco laughed, lifting his head from the table.

"Ey,Benny, you hear that? Roger's in love with a Champion!" Benny had passed out some time ago, but neither of the other men noticed. Marco frowned deeply at his friend. Roger continued.

"I have to try man. Look at her. She's… gorgeous." Marco laughed again, oblivious to his friend's sincerity.

"No, fine, go ahead, go talk to her. Get rejected. Like I care. Just bring back some booze."

"I'm going to buy her a drink."

"Of course you are, that's what you're supposed to do. But then after you're rejected, you bring the drink to me. That's also what you're supposed to do." Roger stood from their table in the corner, hope and passion filling his eyes.

"I'm going to do it!"

"You said that already mate, just go. And Bring. Me. A. Drink." Roger strode off to the bar, confidence in every step.

Leona perused around the town, looking for a bar suitably off the beaten path. Champions of the League weren't uncommon in Kersh, the town surrounding the Institute of War. As such, the small, backwoods town had quickly become a tourist town, with bars and souvenir shops popping up everywhere, guided tours of the town promising visitors at least a sight of a League champion. For Leona and the other champions, this sort of notoriety and focus made it quite difficult to find a decent drink in the town without being mobbed. This, coupled with Leona's own preference for isolation made the smaller, off the beaten paths a prime target for Leona on that night, a Champion who wanted a drink without being bothered. She had intentionally worn her most plain clothes, doing everything she could short of hiding her face to not be recognized. She walked down a small street near the edge of town, avoiding eye contact with passersby and simply stepping aside for large groups of people. After nearly half an hour, she found a suitable establishment, a small, indistinct bar with less than twenty occupants. She slipped inside and made her way to the bar, choosing a stool and signalling the bartender.

"Hello. I'd like a pint of ale, if you don't mind."

"One ale." the barkeep replied. "Anything else?"

"No thanks. Perhaps later." The man nodded, searching for a clean glass.

Leona couldn't help but smile. No one had recognized her yet, and today was one of her favorite times of the year.

She didn't go out often, preferring to keep to herself. She spent nearly all of her time at the League preparing for and participating in matches, so her personal times were always few and far between. Her birthday was one of the few times a year she really treated herself. The bartender brought her drink, and she sipped it happily, enjoying the atmosphere of the establishment. At the bar, several men were drinking far more than they should, their antics already drawing the notice of the bouncer. In one corner, a group of three men sat, two of them discussing something while a third slept his alcohol off. By the door, another large group of men were enjoying the evening over a plate of oysters, no doubt imported from Bilgewater. To her, it was all relaxing, a calming break from her normal life.

Until the man next to her spoke.

"Hey there pretty lady. What's your name?"

His breath stank, and he leaned in much too close. He was dressed like a vagabond, and he smelled worse. He was a massive man, and Leona was confident he weighed a good deal more than twenty stone. Leona decided to cut off this conversation before it began. When she faced him to reply, she noticed pieces of food caught in his unkempt beard.

"You're repulsive, don't speak to me."

Tact had never been her strong point.

"Hey c'mon, lemme buy you a drink, tough girl. Maybe we can go back to my place later, eh?" Leona tapped her fingernails on the bar, mentally urging the bartender to hurry up with her drink, fearing she might lose her temper and ruin the evening.

"What's the matter?" the man next to her continued. "Pussy all locked up tight? You a prude? That why you wearin' a turtleneck?" Leona silently wondered to herself how the man was still single with pickup lines like that. The bartender shortly returned with her drink, and Leona picked up her ale and stood, preparing to relocate to another part of the room. And relocate she would have, had she not at that moment run into one of the men from the corner table. She collided with him, spilling her ale down the front of his shirt.

"Oh, I'm sorry." she said, placing her empty glass on the bar. For a moment, the man was silent, simply staring at her before replying.

"No, I .. it's my fault I… let me replace it." She began to tell him not too, but the man at the bar continued his clumsy advances.

"Hey, fuck off, scrub. You want me to deck him for you, pretty girl?" the man leaned forward, placing a grimy hand on Leona's shoulder. She slapped it off, staring the drunk in the eye.

"If you ever touch me again, you will regret it." He seemed startled, backing down.

Leona returned her attention to the young man she had bumped into.

The man at the bar was growing more offensive with every word he spoke, and Leona was beginning to become flustered. She needed to get away from him, before she lost her temper and ruined the evening. She turned to the man she had collided with, desperate to put distance between herself and the drunk. She found herself suddenly thankful for his timely intervention. "May I take you up on that drink?"

"I, um, I mean yeah. Sure." Roger could hardly contain himself, gesturing towards his table in the corner of the restaurant.

"If you'd like to have a seat, I'll bring you something." She smiled before replying.

"Thank you, friend." He watched as she left, sitting at the corner table with Benny and Marco. His heart was thumping audibly in his chest, and he felt like he'd never felt before. He was succeeding!

He turned to the bartender, impatient to rejoin the object of his affection.

"Bartender! Two ales, double time." He took Leona's now unoccupied seat, legs shaking in anticipation. Soon he realized his choice of seat may have been a mistake.

"You miserable little cunt." Roger turned to the man next to him, making eye contact.

"I'm sorry?"

"You think you can just walk up here and steal my woman?"

"I don't think she liked you very much, mate." The drunk stood from his seat, showing off his impressive height and size.

"I'm gonna fuckin' demolish you, you prick." The big man shoved Roger out of his chair, a painful crash knocking the breath out of Roger. He scrambled to his feet, facing the drunk giant. the man swung and missed, lurching forward as Roger backed up. Knowing he couldn't win, Roger attempted to calm the angered man down.

"Hey buddy, I don't want to fight, I'm just trying to enjoy the evening."

"FUCK YOU!" He swung again, this time connecting.

When Roger was a child, he had run to his grandfather, crying to him that he had been in a fight.

"Did he knock your block off?"

Roger wiped his red eyes before answering.

"I don't know. How can you tell?"

His grandfather had laughed, lifting the child onto his knee.

"You'll know when you've had your block knocked off. It's not a real fight until someone's block is knocked off!"

In the present moment, Roger's head snapped back from the force of the punch, smashing into a supporting post. His front teeth shattered from the impact of the blow. His jaw now hung limply on his left side where he had been struck, and he had great difficulty maintaining consciousness as he slid down the post into the floor. He could feel blood flowing from the back of his head, and he was having difficulty breathing. It occurred to him that for the first time in his life, his block had indeed been knocked off. He looked up at the drunk, enraged bear of a man, expecting his first real fight to be his last. Leona was up in a flash, sprinting at the aggressor from the side, her hair abandoning its ponytail and flying about her face. She had never looked more beautiful to Roger, rage filling her eyes. She cocked a fist back, jumping fully into the air and extending her right arm into the side of the drunk's head. An audible crunch accompanied the attack, mangling the man's jaw and lifting him fully into the air. Time slowed for Roger as he watched the man float, gracefully almost, across the room and into the bar. The weight of his body shattered the construct, caving as the man tumbled to the ground. He didn't get back up.

"Fug be." Roger gasped. His words were not coming out clearly, as his jaw was not fully attached. Leona landed gracefully, twisting to face the rest of the room., her fists raised.

"Anyone else?"

When the story was told later in taverns across the city, where the reports were perhaps exaggerated, it was said that no one even breathed for a full ten seconds.

Leona pulled her hair behind her head, retying her ponytail. She turned to Roger, looking down on his broken and bloody face. She smiled.

"Come on, my knight in shining armor. Let's get you to the hospital."

She pulled him to his feet, throwing his left arm around her shoulders. Roger was vaguely aware of Marco on his other side, helping Leona carry her burden. He was aware of them talking as he passed out. Throughout the night, he was in and out of consciousness. He remembered vomiting, but he wasn't sure where or when. He remembered Marco's drunken yammering, and a doctor tickling his face. The best part to him, was once, just once, he remembered Leona laughing.

He woke up in Marco's house, recognizing the dingy couch he slept on. The room was cramped and dirty, the couch was uncomfortable. But the things that stuck out to him the most was the pain in his head and jaw. The light hurts his eyes, and he couldn't move his neck. Marco interrupted his thoughts.

"Heyyy buddy! How you feeling?"

Roger tried to reply, but his mouth wouldn't open. He opted to stare at the ceiling as his friend continued to talk.

"Yeah, you can't actually answer. The doctor wired your jaw shut. You'll be eating through a straw for a couple months." Marco paused as he leaned into Roger's vision, blocking his superb view of the ceiling.

"Don't worry about the bill though, Leona payed for it."

Roger scowled as Marco laughed.

"You made quite an impression on her, by the way. Specifically when you puked on her."

Roger tried to convey hatred with his expression, but he didn't feel like it did justice to his emotions.

Marco continued laughing.

"We took you to the hospital. She got you priority treatment. Apparently the fifteen seconds you spent with her while conscious meant a lot. She even kissed you."

Roger's eyes widened, his face suddenly not hurting as much.

"I mean, on the forehead, but still."

Roger resumed his scowl.

"And the best part;" Marco ducked out of view for second, returning with three slips of paper in his hand. "Tickets! for a tour of the Institute. I even got her to give me a third one when I mentioned that we left Benny passed out in the bar. Which reminds me that Benny's pissed at us. The owner threw him out on the street after the fight. He spent the night in a gutter." Roger sighed through his nose. Things could have gone a lot worse. At least they had tickets to see the Institute.

Marco disappeared again, this time followed by the sound of him sitting down in a nearby armchair. He continued his story.

"The big guy who attacked you is in traction. She broke his spine with that punch.

Damn, that was awesome." Roger smiled at the silver lining.

"Anyway, Leona left before I brought you here. She had to get back to the institute before the gates closed. I'm sure it rained on her, poor girl. She left you a note, too." Marco shuffled over, dropping the note on Roger's chest. "Don't worry, I didn't read it. All yours." Marco left the room, and his comrade, in silence. Roger shifted into a sitting position, the brace around his neck making the maneuver difficult. He opened the letter clumsily, bending at the waist in order to look down at the note on his lap.

Hey Roger, sorry about your face. It's too bad we didn't get to have that drink, huh?

Anyway, I wanted to thank you and Marco for the good time I had. That was the most fun I've had in years, minus the puke. Tell Marco I said thanks for everything. I know I can't make up for the damage that guy did, but I want you to know that I enjoyed knocking his block off. It was the perfect birthday, really.

Your friend, Leona

II

Inner Strength

The courtyard was silent, the rain had abated slightly. Yasuo lay on the ground, his leg bleeding profusely. Sona lay next to him, her once clean dress bloodied and covered with mud. He had blacked out for a moment after Akali retrieved her kama, and now his mind raced, attempting to find something to say, trying to appropriately voice his feelings.

"Ouch." For a moment, that did things justice. Next to him Sona stirred, rising to a kneeling position. Yasuo felt his right leg being lifted, his muddy, bloody appendage now resting in Sona's lap. He said nothing, his eyes closed as the rain began to fall again. She tore part of his pants leg, swaddling his shin. He opened his eyes to find her looking at him, a smile on her face, but her eyes sorrowful. The rain, slight drizzle though it was, had plastered her hair to her face and soaked her dress. She looked much smaller without her pigtails, and in Yasuo's mind, she looked quite pitiful.

"Why? Why did you do that?" Her face contorted as she remembered something, searching around in the mud briefly. When she located her target, she grasped it, eyes brightening with joy as she held his recorder out to him as fi it was the most important thing in the world.

"Oh…" He smiled, accepting the instrument from her grasp.

"Thanks." He leaned forward, bringing his uninjured leg up to his chest. He examined his injury, running a finger down his blood soaked bandages.

"I thought that was it, Sona. You… I owe you."

Sona stood, gesturing back towards the Institute, simultaneously offering her hand to Yasuo. He accepted it, coming to stand on his one good leg, keeping weight off his injury. Sona handed him his sword, and he sheathed it. Yasuo wobbled a moment before he tested bearing weight on his injured leg, a sharp pain bringing him immediately to his knees. He gasped, the pain was unbearable. In order to move inside, he would either have to crawl, or…

He felt her thin arms under his chest, lifting him to his feet. Sona put his arm around her narrow shoulders, supporting the weight of his injured side with her own strength. She was clearly straining, as Yasuo was a good deal larger than she.

"Sona, you don't need to do this."

She turned towards him, their faces inches apart in the rain. The smirk on her face was undeniable, a challenge to him to try and tell her not to. He laughed at the girl's resolve, unable to restrain himself.

"Alright. Feel free to drop me if I annoy you." They started towards the Institute as the rain picked up again, drenching them both as they made their way through the mud. It was a tedious process, Yasuo was forced to lean most of his body wait on Sona, and she stumbled frequently under the burden. Upon reaching the entrance, Sona slipped open the door and pulled him through. It was late, and the entry hall was devoid of all life. It occurred to Yasuo that he had no idea where they were going.

"Sona, are we going to the infirmary? Is there an infirmary?"

Sona shook her head, then nodded in answer to his questions.

"Are we going back to Soraka's room?"

She nodded. Though he hesitated, Yasuo decided against arguing. The look on Sona's face was now one of grim determination, her jaw set and her eyes narrowed. He knew what a burden his weight must be on her. They continued down one of the three corridors which split from the main hall, heading towards the west end of the building. He felt Sona shaking as they made their way down the hall, and knew she wouldn't make it.

"Set me down. I can crawl from here." She refused, shaking her head sternly. "Sona," he continued "There's a fine line between being stubborn and being stupid. Let go of my arm."

Again she refused, though her shaking frame now suggested that she might be forced to drop him anyway. "Sona…" As he prepared his final plea, he felt himself lifted into the air, riding on someone's shoulders. Sona released her grasp on his arm, her sigh of relief audible. Yasuo struggled to gain his balance, finding himself much nearer to the ceiling than was comfortable. Below him, the woman now carrying him spoke.

"Dear brave Sona, the dawn is far, but you're up late with an injured stranger. That seems to be going around tonight."

The woman was obviously muscular, though of no large frame. She wore a burgundy turtle neck sweater and a long yellow skirt. Her flowing red hair was kept in a ponytail, and the ease with which she held Yasuo aloft spoke of her massive strength. He felt ridiculous, like a child, riding on her shoulders through the hallway. He knew better than to question the person carrying him, so instead he introduced himself.

"My name," He grunted as she shifted her grip, carefully placing her hands to avoid his injury. "Is Yasuo."

"Yasuo, friend of Sona, my name is Leona, the Radiant Dawn. It's nice to meet you, though I must say I regret the circumstances. What did you do? That's a nasty wound." Leona paused as Sona caught her breath, her struggle having obviously worn her out.

"Take it easy, girl. You're tougher than most Champions, carrying around someone twice your weight."

They paused in silence until Sona gave a thumbs up, indicating she was ready to continue. Leona turned and set a slow pace down the hall, carrying Yasuo as though he wasn't there.

"So." She continued, "Where are we going?"

"Soraka's room;" Yasuo answered, "And thank you, Leona. You're very kind."

"I wouldn't dream of letting poor Sona carry an injured man around." She replied. "Though I feel like you owe me the story."

Yasuo paused, contemplating how to answer. He thought it best to mention as little as possible.

"I was attacked."

"Obviously. Who by?"

"Akali."

Leona laughed aloud, the tremendous sound echoing down the hallway.

"And what did you do to upset our friend Akali, Mr. Yasuo?"

"It's a long story. I'd rather not discuss it." They arrived at Soraka's door, where Leona gently lowered Yasuo to the ground, like a mother setting down her child. His pride was greatly wounded, and he found it difficult to make eye contact when he offered her his hand.

"Thank you again, Leona. I owe you."

She shook his hand, her grasp firm but gentle, a broad smile on her cheery face.

"Of course. I'll get that story from you sometime." She turned to Sona, who grasped her in a massive hug, extracting another laugh from Leona.

"Take care, strong, sweet girl."

Leona left them both standing outside of Soraka's door. Yasuo raised an arm and knocked.

"Sona. Thank you. You're very kind." She smiled at him, her eyes still sad.

Moments later, Soraka opened the door, her expression delighted at seeing Yasuo and Sona.

"Oh my goodness, I hadn't expected you to convince him to come back, Sona. Yasuo, I really appreciate you forgiving Sona, she's such a kind woman once you get to know her. Come inside, please." She turned back into her apartment, oblivious to the wounds Yasuo bore. He hesitated, quite uncomfortable with asking for help. The idea seemed silly to him now, having been carried through the corridors of the Institute of War like a child.

"Soraka, I … I need your help." She turned, confusion upon her face.

Her expression change when he gestured to his leg. She rushed to his side, lowering him into one of her kitchen chairs.

"Oh my stars, what have you done?"

Yasuo grunted, the pain from his movement consuming his thoughts. Sona followed them in, collapsing into another of the kitchen chairs. On the wall, the party banner still hung, welcoming new champions. Janna was nowhere to be found, but the kitchen table had been cleaned considerably.

"You didn't try to fight Riven, did you? Please tell me you didn't find her."

Yasuo paused as she bent to take a look at his leg.

"No. I ran into Akali. She's doing well, if you're curious." Soraka grimaced as she pulled his bandages off.

"Those blades of hers are quite terrifying. This is a nasty cut. My stars, did she hit bone in there?"

"You know, now that you mention it." Across the table, a cough broke Soraka's concentration. She looked up at Sona to find the young lady quite disheveled. Her clothes and hair were soaked, her face was pale, and her shoulders sagged considerably. Soraka stopped fussing over Yasuo's wound the instant she noticed Sona.

"Sona! you poor child. Go to the back bedroom. You look exhausted. Clothes off, in the shower. I'll prepare you a hot meal. Go! I'll take care of Yasuo." She pushed Sona out of the room into what Yasuo assumed was the bedroom, closing the door between them. She sighed deeply, leaning against the door and closing her eyes. Her words were measured and even, her voice tinged with suppressed anger.

"Did you hurt her?" Her eyes opened to slits, the venom in her gaze surprising. Yasuo was chilled by the fury with which the question was asked. He leveled his gaze, eyes meeting hers.

"No."

Soraka relaxed, the tension leaving her body.

"Oh thank the stars I don't have to kill you." Her response surprised him. Somehow Yasuo felt as though he had underestimated this matronly woman. Soraka stood in silence for a time, eyes closed, still resting against the door. Yasuo said nothing. After a moment, she jumped suddenly, eyes focusing on Yasuo.

"I'm so sorry! your leg." She rushed through the kitchen, gathering a bowl of water and several towels. "Do you have your rum, Yasuo?" He reached to the pocket within his shawl to find where he had stashed his drink, only to find broken glass and a soaked pouch. He grimaced, before remembering the second bottle. He glanced wildly about the kitchen, his eyes resting on the spare bottle. He gestured with his head, unable to move.

"Could you….?" She acquiesced, grabbing the bottle and uncorking it before handing it to Yasuo. He took a hearty swig, readying himself.

"What's your plan?"

Soraka soaked a towel in the water, and Yasuo watched as the towel began to glow.

"This is much easier on the fields." She remarked. Soraka continued, bending to look closely at the wound. "I'll clean it with the towel, set the break, and heal it, all in one go. This will be quick, so bite down on something." Yasuo took the strap of his left pauldron in his teeth, the taste of leather filling his mouth. He bit down and nodded, giving a thumbs up.

It took Soraka five seconds. She swabbed the wound twice with the towel, used her shoulder and a table leg as leverage to pull his leg out and reset the bone, then quickly cast a spell, mending flesh and bone alike in one go. The pain was immense, but over immediately after Soraka's work was finished. Yasuo exhaled, gasping. He tested the wound, poking at it, amazed.

"You're the one of the best healers I've ever seen." He remarked. "I didn't know it was broken."

"You make it hard to be modest, Yasuo. But this was relatively easy." She began cleaning the towel she had used, washing his blood down the drain.

"I've dealt with much more threatening wounds that were far beyond my scope." Soraka set about preparing a meal, dicing potatoes and beef, throwing them in a pot to stew. Once this was done, she sat down across from Yasuo, looking him directly in the eyes.

"What happened. Every detail. That's my best friend, I deserve to know. I've never seen her look that rough outside of the fields."

Yasuo owed the woman a great deal, and as such did not hesitate to give her the entire truth.

"Akali attacked me. She was going to kill me, too, until Sona jumped between us. She risked her life to save me. I made it out with just a broken leg because Akali decided Sona's sacrifice meant I might be worth something. I couldn't stand, and she carried me halfway here. Leona did the rest of the carrying." It was difficult for Yasuo to read Soraka's feelings. But then, emotions had never been his strong point.

"Did you thank Leona?"

Of the questions he had been expecting, that was not one of them. It was hard for Yasuo not to laugh, he couldn't imagine that being the foremost concern on her mind right now.

"... Yes."

Soraka laughed, her eyes brightening.

"I don't know why I thought of that," She said. "It just popped into my head." She giggled a moment longer before seeing to the stew.

She spoke aloud as she idely stirred the pot of soup.

"I'm sorry for everything that's happened, Yasuo, we really do welcome you here."

"I'm sure you do." He replied, taking another swig of rum. He seemed to have forgotten his promise to himself not to drink too much.

"Sona went after you to apologize, you know." Soraka continued, ladeling the stew into bowls.

"She truly does feel badly about invading you."

"My memories are my own." He was unapologetic in his stance, refusing to look up from his bottle of rum as Soraka spoke.

"I understand," Soraka continued, "But Sona with her music, she has a hard time containing herself. She didn't truly read your life story directly from your mind, either. She simply read your emotions. Your feelings are incredibly powerful, Yasuo, and when she plays her Etwahl, she is almost… empathic. I suspect with some advanced honing of her skills, she might even become a telepath. I assure you, she was simply showing off. She wanted to give you the best concert she could."

Yasuo studied his bowl of stew as Soraka served him. Sona had made him feel things he hadn't felt in years. Conjured memories of his mother and brother, happiness and regret. He considered her words deeply for a while before replying.

"She obviously meant no harm. She wouldn't have risked her life for me if she didn't care. I'm still owed an apology." Relief filled Soraka's face as she smiled at him.

"No one will disagree with you there, Yasuo. Thank you for being honest."

They sat in silence for some time, listening to the shower run. When the water was stopped, Sona appeared wearing a pair of slacks and an overshirt which clearly belonged to Soraka. There was an awkward silence as she entered. Sona stood still for a moment, signing with her hands. She formed intricate symbols and sweeping gestures. Yasuo watched silently as Soraka replied in kind, the two women communicating silently for nearly a minute. At the end of the unheard conversation, Soraka stood, leaving the room to Yasuo and Sona, the latter of whom collected a pen and paper before sitting down. She held her pen over the paper for a moment before writing.

Hi.

"Strong start." Yasuo immediately regretted saying it. Sona stared intently at the table, blushing furiously.

She shushed him with a single finger on her lips. He was surprised by this, but obeyed her request.

"I'm sorry. What I did was invasive. Just please, understand, I didn't think"

She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts.

"Everytime I play, the Etwahl reads the emotions of my listeners. I'm world renowned, because every song I play is custom made, on the spot for each individual listener. It has a much less potent effect on a crowd. I didn't know it would make you feel all of that."

"I don't believe this is the first time anyone's been offended, Sona."

"No one I know has felt pain like you, Yasuo. Your song was a dirge for a living man. I had no idea you were so hurt. Your pain was… uniquely intense."

Silence filled the room for a time. Sona did not look up until Yasuo spoke again.

"I understand. You couldn't have known."

Sona's reaction was immediate, she raised her head and smiled, running around the table to hug Yasuo.

He paused for moment, unsure of reciprocation. He settled for a pat on the back. Sona then returned to the bedroom, pulling Soraka out for another hug. Soraka smiled broadly in Sona's embrace.

"I take it you two talked it out."

"If it's alright, I'd like to talk it out with you now." Soraka's expression switched to confusion, but she broke the hug with Sona. They signed back and forth for a moment before they both sat down, Sona tucking her legs underneath her as she dug into her stew. Soraka threaded her fingers, leaning on her elbows.

"Of course, Yasuo. What's wrong?" Her eyes were filled with concern.

"Who's Riven?" Soraka flinched visibly at the name. She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

"I suppose I did say that name, didn't I?"

"You did." Yasuo gazed at her unflinchingly, no emotion on his face. Soraka continued.

"I won't lie to you Yasuo. She was a member of a Noxian elite task force during the Ionian invasion, and she uses a particular set of attacks modeled after wind elementalism."

Yasuo stood from the table, his hand on his sword. He buckled on his leg, testing it to find the wound bothered him none.

"Where is she?" Soraka reached up, placing a hand on his shoulder to guide him back to his chair.

"Yasuo, sit do-"

"Where is Riven, Soraka?" His steel grey eyes met hers, unflinching resolve mirrored within them.

Soraka met his eyes with no hesitation or fear.

"Nobody knows, Yasuo. It's not safe for her here, she only comes to the Institute on occasion. She betrayed Noxus. Not a lot of people survive doing that, and the ones that do are very careful." Yasuo stood tensely for a moment longer, ready to walk out should any information be given in contradiction to Soraka's. Eventually he sat, eyes clouding with thought.

He took another swig of his drink.

Soraka continued speaking.

"I think I ought to know for what reason you have set your will on Riven." Yasuo glanced up at her, shrugging.

"She may be the one who killed a man I was sworn to protect."

"It's not quite that simple, is it?" She asked. Yasuo hesitated to reply.

"No."

"Then tell us. Yasuo, trust us. We'll know soon enough anyway." His head shot up, and he looked at Sona, mistrust in his eyes.

"How could you possible know?"

She immediately shook her head.

Soraka put a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention from Sona.

"The League publishes every Champion's backstory, Yasuo, you must have told them. It's a requirement to join. Sona doesn't know anymore than I do."

"They publish that?" Yasuo was upset, for the first time, visibly. Soraka and Sona both looked at him sadly.

"Oh, you poor man. You didn't know." He shook his head, clearly frustrated. Soraka continued.

"They publish some of the Judgements as well, Yasuo."

His eyes softened, showing his anger dimming.

"They wouldn't dare publish mine." He chuckled to himself.

" I'm going to go find a place to sleep. Thank you for the healing and food, Soraka. And Sona…" Yasuo looked across the table as she raised her bright, happy eyes to his. He struggled for the words to say, remembering her willingness to push herself to the brink of exhaustion to carry him to safety. He thought of her throwing herself between himself and Akali, saving his life at the risk of hers. Not in many years had someone cared for him.

"... Thanks."

He stood to leave, nodding to each of the ladies in turn. As he began to walk to the door, Soraka stopped him with a question.

"Yasuo, where is your room.?"

"I don't have one."

Soraka was baffled.

"Then where do you plan to sleep?"

He opened the door, then turned back, smirking slightly.

"I always manage to find a place."

"You haven't received your room assignments from the League?"

"We get rooms, pay, and adoring fans?" He replied sarcastically. Soraka stood from the table, motioning for him to return.

"I won't let you sleep out in the rain or in some doorway, Yasuo. You may stay on my couch, if you'd like." He paused for a moment, the concept of sleeping in the rain never was appealing.

"I have no money,"

"I have no use for money."

He returned to the cozy kitchen.

"You're very generous," Sona stood from the table as well, writing a message on her slip of paper.

"I'll be getting to bed too now. Good night Yasuo."

He read the letter, nodding. Sona hugged Soraka and left, her Etwahl floating along beside her. Soraka left for her bedroom, and Yasuo made his way to the couch in the next room over, opposite of the bedroom. He removed his pauldrons, greaves, and sword, setting them all within arm's reach. Yasuo stretched out on the couch with his rum, taking a healthy swig and contemplating the day's events. His thoughts were interrupted when Soraka returned, carrying, a blanket and a pillow. She seemed amused that he had already settled in.

"Were you going to need a blanket, or will you be doing things Rakkor?" Yasuo stood, accepting the blanket and pillow.

"Thanks." She smiled in return, turning to leave.

"Goodnight, Yasuo." She stopped at the door, looking back at him. "Don't try any funny business. I sleep with a weapon."

He almost laughed.

"Of course. Goodnight, Soraka." Yasuo lay down, closing his eyes. In his mind, he planned to leave before the sun rose. He considered it his duty to avoid bothering the woman who had shown him so much kindness.