A lone figure trudged along the mundane sand dunes that could run along for miles to come. The sun is hot, scorching. The glare that hits the eye also blinds it, leaving said lone figure to forge on aimlessly without any knowledge of where it was heading.

It wasn't his first time, and he most certainly knew that this wasn't his last.

"Fucking Shurima." He muttered as he swept aside his sandy blonde locks. Not because it was the colour of his hair, but also because it was also riddled with sand that would sift through into his eyes as he dragged his feet along heavily.

Terrible experience if you would ask him, the annoying grains of sand sticking to the dry eye in the middle of a desert nowhere any source of water, a pain in the ass. That was the reason he had his goggles on, wasn't it?

He slowly unscrewed the cap of his water canteen and took a small swig, he couldn't risk downing it all at once, it wasn't a smart thing to do. Of course he knew that, he had been doing these for years now, hadn't he? I mean, it is common sense isn't it; don't drink it all at once so that you could have some when you actually need it. Rationing. Ah yes, that was the word he was looking for.

Now he is kicking himself for turning Belen down for additional supplies that he might need before he teleported himself and Nasus back to the Institute. He actually had intended to go back with them until Heimerdinger had sent him a message saying that he wasn't done with the ruins at the outskirts of Shurima. Can't say that he didn't see it coming though, shit was always flung at him when he least expected it.

The warm winds blew against him again as he soldiered on, the stray sands fleeting along with the winds scratching at his face. He had long prepared for that, the rough material of the linen scarf lining his face had kept them from entering his nostrils and his mouth, the remaining length of the scarf forming a hood into a makeshift headwear.

He had his usual outfit on, a brown leather jacket with blue denim jeans and various belts decorating his waist and the calves of his legs. A tan canvas backpack slung over his right shoulder and the left hand which his gauntlet was snugly fitted on was carrying the half-empty water canteen. And an ugly scowl on his face.

Ezreal didn't actually think that he would actually be lost, he was known as the Prodigal Explorer for a reason. His current predicament would have proven otherwise and it was unbefitting of someone of his reputation.

"Who needs a map?"

Wasn't that his line? The cold hard irony.

He then thought about how he could be back in his penthouse suite in good ol' Piltover, going through over some of the faded blueprints of the old machinery found at who-knows-where that Jayce had sent his way, or even having a nice bubble bath at his hot-tub with a tropical fruit smoothie.

Shit. Now wasn't the time to cry over spilt milk, it was getting dark.

The wastelands of Shurima were are harsher and much more treacherous in the darkness of the abyss. The cold prickly winds had slid through the cracks of the crumbling rock walls of the ruined building as it made a low whistling sound, subliminally taunting Ezreal as he began to build a fire pit.

It wasn't wise to do so, if it weren't for the fact that he might not make it through the night and end up as a human popsicle by the next morning.

Through sheer luck (and a little bit of skill as he sorely insisted), he found an abandoned town near the old tombs of the Shuriman royalty, that was before they began the construction of the Tomb of the Emperors in the centre sector of the capital city and the tradition and practice of preserving the bodies of the dead nobility in there.

Sitting down on the dusty floor in the dark room and pulling his impromptu headdress off, he swept his hair backwards and shook all the sandy grains out.

Ezreal then carefully took off his goggles and looked around at his surroundings.

Too dark for his own good.

The faint lights of the mystical gem embedded in his gauntlet glowed brightly as he fired out a mystic shot to ignite the kindling that was made up of dried twigs he had found outside and the firestarters that he had always brought along in any expedition.

The kindling sparked and a small flame appeared and had slowly began to build up, burning brightly and illuminating the small room that he chose. Strategically, it was ideal as it was a shed in the back of a house that no one would think to look for valuables. He was pretty sure that anything of value was already seized by the sand bandits or the wandering nomads of the desert that have probably inhibited the settlement while travelling.

He rubbed at his sore neck and tended to the burning fire while looking grimly around the room. An ancient wooden table was at the back and many tools such as sickles and shears are piled up on the other side of the room. Why the hell do they need a wheelbarrow in the middle of the desert?

There must be more than it meets the eye. Making sure that the fire was safely contained by the old clay bricks that he had found in the shed, he took off his gauntlet and placed it on his backpack, revealing a matching fingerless glove and got up onto his feet.

Ezreal gingerly walked up to the table, the furnished wood worn away, to find a leather-bound book and a single candle stand on the dusty surface. Wiping the sweat off of his brow, he returned to the table with a burning twig within his fingers and relighted the wick of the candle before dusting the musty journal off and setting it back on the table

The metal buckle of the journal was rusty yet rigid, holding the leather strap going around the book in place. He unclasped the buckle and slid the leather rope through and off it, reading the almost-elligible writing on the ancient parchment. Flipping through it, it told first-hand accounts of the settlement in its prime (assuming the journal is talking about this town), of how it prospered and flourished and the trade in its market, and also the life of the journal's owner as a farmer and his family. Skimming through its contents, he finally came across the final entry which was dated at… there was none?

1st Day of the Golden Sun

It has been a wonderful month, the harvest was plentiful and the Gods have been kind to us. Aneela and our children are now outside harvesting the fruits of our labour, we will not have to worry about money for the rest of the month. Rajar is going to be shocked at all of the fruits and vegetables he is going to sell at the capital city. We are going to have to rent a bigger wagon for all of the produce!

Speaking of the capital city, today is the day of Emperor Azir's ascension. Everybody has gone to the capital of Shurima to witness the ancient ritual. Such sorcery is unheard of and are not to be tampered with, the Gods have decreed that it should be done in times of great distress and dire need, we must not incur the Gods' wrath. Lord Azir is ambitious but brash. He is a good man but he is young and inexperienced. His greed will be our downfall. Mark my words.

Has his court and council done nothing to stop him? Rumours and whispers around the market is that Lord Xerath, one of the court's magus has been manipulating him like a marionette.

I fear the worst is at hand.

It is going to be time soon, when the golden light touches the disc and then it begins.

May the Gods protect us all.

Ezreal fell back on the chair and took a deep breath.

The date of the last entry was the day when Shurima fell.

He had heard about the whole incident from Nasus and Belen in the Institute's Archives.

Xerath, now nothing but an amalgam of debris and raw arcane magic, was once the Imperial Magus under the servitude of Azir, the then Emperor of Shurima. Well technically he still is, now that he has returned and… Argh. That's not the point.

Azir was tempted by the prospect of Ascension by Xerath, who brought up the concept of great power and immortality to him. With this power, he could easily destroy great armies with the snap of his fingers and conquer entire cities at a wave of his hand.

All would fall beneath the name of Shurima.

Azir had recklessly and very foolishly went on ahead with Xerath's plan, which deep underneath lies ulterior intentions. Although warned against by the members of his council and the other mages of the court, Azir was already blinded by greed and the hunger for more power.

On the day of the Ascension itself, Xerath had audaciously pushed Azir out of the magical rays of the reflection of the Sun Disc and took the powers of the Ascended from himself.

Nasus, as he recounts, and his brother Renekton, by the time they had gotten to the Circle of Ascension.

It was all too late.

Xerath was elevated into a form of pure arcanery, free of his mortality and with limitless energy at his command, had already laid waste to the city itself.

Azir was nowhere to be found.

Fearing for the worst, Nasus and Renekton engaged Xerath in an arduous and blistering fight when they soon realised that he can't be defeated and it was only a matter of time when they themselves will fall.

They sealed the Magus Ascendant into a mystical sarcophagus, where he was bound by ancient and powerful magic that had locked him in.

It was not for long until he overpowers Nasus' spell and break free from his prison.

Renekton saw the only way.

He dragged the trembling sarcophagus down the steps into the Tomb of the Emperors and Nasus followed him with uncertainty mounting in his heart.

He threw the sarcophagus down and began to wrap long heavy chains around it before yelling for Nasus to seal the door shut.

Renekton was a warrior in heart and soul.

And he had chosen to die like one.

Nasus closed the doors silently as he wept, guilt and anger at himself for damning his brother for an eternity.

He tightened the grip on his sceptre and slammed it hard onto the doors.

Swirling purple energies materialized as runes as they began to write themselves onto the doors, it has been done.

He turned away and walked up the steps to the now ruins of Shurima.

His brother had made an honourable sacrifice.

Renekton is no more.

Ezreal strode back to the fire pit, scooping up his backpack and gauntlet and laying them both on the table. He stuffed the leather journal into the inner pocket of his rucksack and pulled out the other contents of his bag and took inventory.

An intricately engraved compass given to him by his father for his sixteenth birthday, a sleek machete in a leather sheath (tree vines were hell in the Kumungu Jungles), his wallet, a bed roll, some emergency flares, a spare jacket, a rolled up scroll of cartography papers with a pen tied to it and finally his half-empty water canteen.

Well, at least he did try to find water. Keyword he being "try".

The oasis on the outside of the town was dried up, nothing but a huge pile of sand and bones in the middle of the desecrated pit with the ominous trees withered away by the sands of time.

He already expected that, after all Shurima was hidden away for centuries until the recent rebirth of Azir and his alleged descendant Sivir.

Hmm.

Sivir.

He being an honoured champion of the League of Legends and also one of the most famous explorers that ever lived, is still a young boy with healthy urges.

He found her really hot.

All that time spent raiding and running around in the desert had done well to temper her complexion into a nice tan.

And those mysterious blue eyes that hid away many dirty secrets and unscrupulous lies.

Not to mention the whole "sexy mercenary for hire" thing that she has going on was really a turn on.

If only he could "hire" her to let him have his way with her- What the hell is wrong with you, Ezreal?

He chided himself for thinking of such lewd thoughts, his mother had taught him better than that.

"To properly court a girl, buy her flowers and chocolates like any real gentleman would do."

Yada yada yada.

But still, Sivir is pretty fucking hot.

I mean come on.

Look at those thighs.

That sexy toned mid-riff that she had always flaunted in the Fields of Justice!

And imagine the messy greasy after-sex hair that she would run her fingers through to try and disentangle it- OKAY THAT'S ENOUGH, EZREAL.

Wait. Was he literally having a conversation with himself in his own head?

He must be really losing his marbles.

He had actually ran into her a few times on various expeditions to the Shuriman pyramids, sneaking and prowling around as usual with that usual impassive look on her face.

When he tried to team-up with her to navigate through the labyrinths together, she had already skittered on with that cocky smile and her throaty voice claiming that she didn't want to split the potential profits of any loot and treasures they might discover.

He didn't even insist or try to convince her to change her mind.

He was too busy staring at her luscious ass while she skipped away.

Shit, he was already hard just thinking about her.

He sighed and packed up the rest of his stuff back into his rucksack and laid out the bed roll next to the campfire.

He knelt down as he ran his palms over the bed roll, smoothening out the fabric and the padding underneath. Thank the Gods that he had the sensibility to bring some necessary equipment along. Not that he would actually be in trouble, Piltover was just an Arcane Shift away.

He made himself comfortable as he laid down on his side, staring into the mesmerizing embers of the fire as it crackled softly.

If he was interested in Sivir, not saying that he actually, okay maybe he is a little tad interested, at least he had Azir's approval.

Right?

What happened this morning was basically a green light and an encouragement if he ever decided to pursue her.

Was it?

Azir had practically asked him to-

Oh boy.

Sleep first.

Contemplate about life later.