A/N: Places I got ideas from: How The Light Bends by Melted Jujubees, The Only Truth by Princess Garen, Knife in a Bird by Quarter 'till Class, and probably more which I'll add when I think of them.

Pray for me, League of Legends fandom, for I have been struck down by the dreaded Lux/Talon spy story cliché! I mean, ahem. Welcome one and all to the thing I'm writing while taking a hiatus from Chainlinks.

As always, lore is a bit dodgy, but I'm trying my best to keep things straight. The time period is, obviously, around the Kalamanda thing, but since Institute of War and the League is non-canon now, no one's about to butt in and tell Noxus and Demacia to quit it already.

I'll be trying a few new things in this, like probably viewpoint switches by chapter, so bear with me. Also bear with my horrible attempts at political intrigue. Yeah, it's gonna get conspiracy up in here. And keep in mind that unreliable narrators are in effect.

This chapter might start a little slow, or be slow in general. The whole story isn't going to be very action- or fight-heavy. But, thanks for reading, etc. You all make my daily drudgery more bearable.

Refract

Lux: How Does A Story Begin, Anyway?

Kalamanda.

Lux had grown to hate that word.

Demacia and Noxus had been butting heads over the mining city for over half a year, now. For her, it meant months and months of risky, back-to-back missions, from the slums to the prisons to the various houses of nobles. So many documents stolen when she could get away with it, and memorized when she couldn't.

But the worst part wasn't being run ragged gathering information, like the whole effort depended solely on her. The worst part was what she gleaned from the documents she collected, the whispers she managed to overhear – the speculation on Demacia's motives and the dry records of negotiations – the worst part was being so close and so far away from her country, from her people. Her brother.

She'd been in Noxus for such a long time. The crown needed her skills here, sending valuable information back to Demacia. She knew that.

Yet, when she scanned yet another report of the Might of Demacia's presence in Kalamanda…

Lux hadn't seen her brother for years. Why did her breath hitch in her throat when she thought of Garen?

(she screamed and cried and when that got her nothing she begged for her brother – always her brother, never her parents, not when this was because of them – but they never let her see him and when she asked it only got worse)

The 'negotiations' – read: pissing contest – between the countries might come to a close soon, though, given recent events. After all, the assassination of Boram Darkwill, apparently at the hands of Demacians, effectively cut off the farce of civility.

In Lux's not-so-humble opinion, if it had been Demacia who had killed the man, someone among the higher-ups had an awful sense of timing. Yes, it did leave Noxus leaderless, but there were several strong candidates in place and igniting the country's lust for blood during a fragile peace… No one had saw fit to let her know the truth, anyway, so she could do no more than speculate.

Did it really matter? The breakdown of negotiations meant war, yes, and war meant glory and honor for Demacian soldiers –

(glory and honor and you should be grateful to fight for demacia, die for demacia, reading and rereading the measured tread and is this really, truly)

– but it also meant they would need as many able-bodied young men and women back home as possible, to fight. And Lux knew she was good. Her magic was without equal, the strongest her country had produced in generations.

She'd be called back. She would be.

Because of a war. She couldn't even summon up guilt about that, because it'd mean she could go home. Blood spilled, lives lost, and Lux could go home. And that – that was what she wanted most. It was.

(demacia is country demacia is home demacia is everything)

It wasn't even a particularly important bit of information. Just another minor official's opinion on the whole debacle with Darkwill. He'd had nothing new to add, but it was still Lux's job to report it.

So she slogged through the slums in the middle of the night, in the guise of a street rat. None of the night-life gave her a second glance, but being in these areas at all always made her footsteps quicken, even after all these years.

She wanted the comforting weight of her baton in her hand. But no, it was an unnecessary risk for a mission as short as this particular one, that she should complete without the extra focus it provided her magic. Though, they did say she'd get it again soon, so there was at least that.

She risked a glance in a nearby oily puddle to confirm her glamor was still completely solid. A bony, dirty, mousy-haired boy dressed in rags gazed back at her, features gaunt from hunger and exhaustion.

A brief, tiny smirk flitted over her lips, before it vanished as if it had never been.

Lux hurried of through the grimy streets again, keeping her head down. She had to be five blocks away in about as many minutes to meet with the person she was supposed to report to.

The streets were dark. They always were – long ago, the lamps that lined them might have worked as intended, but they were all smashed and the power was cut off anyway. She'd memorized the path a while ago, though, and she could've found her way with her eyes closed.

Half a block from the warehouse that was her destination, Lux was suddenly hit by a feeling of dread, of wrongness. Her stomach roiled, and the hairs on her arms stood on end. She slowed her steps.

A quick, subtle scan of the area told her little. All was quiet, with only the standard, faraway noises of the city breaking the silence. Normal. This place was chosen as the rendezvous point because there was nothing here, so no one frequented it.

Still, her gut instinct told her something wasn't right, and it hadn't failed her yet.

(this will be your teacher and instincts screaming this is a bad man, this is a man you can't trust but what could she even do about it, and he's smiling and don't touch me and gods don't come closer)

A few steps closer to the warehouse, and the uneasy feeling only intensified. But, she had to go and check in…

Lux focused, biting her lip, and bent the light around her so she was impossible to see by normal eyes. She couldn't hold the invisibility for longer than a few minutes without her baton, but it would suffice.

That was what saved her, in the end.

She stepped into the building quietly. The person she sought, a stocky man in clothing so Demacian it made her cringe – honestly, did he have no notion of subtlety, they were all bad but this one was worse than usual – stood near the back, leaning against a wall of crates. She approached him, briefly relived.

And then, from a shadow, a blue-cloaked figure dropped down and sliced the man's throat open.

The newly-made corpse crumpled as if in slow motion, and the assassin caught it and guided it down slowly. No sound was made but for the slight rustling of cloth. The killer began searching the body, even as a thin trail of bright crimson leaked out across the cold concrete.

He hadn't even had time to cry out, and now everything was again silent – still silent.

Lux emitted a choked noise, almost a squeak, before realizing what she'd just don't. She immediately pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes wide, but it was no use. The damage had been done.

The figure in the blue cloak tensed. Its – male body type, his – head snapped up in her direction. A hood shadowed his features, but she could still sense his gaze – not at her, through her, she reminded herself, he couldn't see her, she was still invisible.

Upon seeing no one, the assassin vanished into the shadows of the warehouse again. A display of caution, perhaps.

An assassin wearing a blue cloak, she thought, a skilled one that killed quietly and efficiently… oh, no. No. Lux broke out into a cold sweat, freezing on the spot. Talon. Gods, no.

Half-remembered facts flitted through her mind, old briefings and warnings and wanted posters. Talon, of the Du Couteau family, little known about his past, one of the most terrifyingly effective assassins in Noxus's employ. Information about him was basically nonexistent – he was like a ghost. Mostly because any Demacian who came in contact with him didn't live long enough to pass on anything.

Well, she was royally screwed –

No, focus. Lux shook her head. She would be fine, she would get out. She hadn't failed yet.

(you are demacia you are our best and brightest you cannot fail you are not allowed to fail)

She'd given her presence away – like an idiot, a fresh recruit, why had she done that – so Talon would be on alert, since he knew someone was there. She had maybe a minute and a half before she couldn't hold onto her invisibility any more, two if she wasn't concerned about migraines later. Which she wasn't.

She glanced backward. The exit wasn't so far away, she could reach it in seconds in a sprint. And she could be quiet enough when she tried.

Lux took two steps toward the doorway. Her footsteps were as quiet as she could make them, barely a tap on the concrete. Why had she had the bright idea to wear boots, anyway?

Still too loud. Talon appeared out of nowhere, a dark blur speeding past the lines of rotting crates. He came to a stop a bare few paces away from her position. He hadn't yet made an audible sound.

She froze once more, her muscles locking in place. Her heart was pounding a frantic rhythm in her chest, and she could hear her blood rush in her ears. Her lungs burned, begging for air, but she refused to let go of her held breath. If she so much as drew in air, he was close enough to notice the sound and then she'd be dead, visible or no.

Invisibility… a minute or so left before she hit her limit, she noted grimly.

Talon hadn't moved. His head was turning, apparently scanning the dark building. His gazed passed her over, unseeing. She caught a glimpse of gold eyes, dark hair, and sharp cheekbones under the hood before he turned away.

Several long seconds that stretched into infinity, and he prowled out of the warehouse. Lux slowly let out her breath of air and wiped her sweating hands on her shirt. She let her invisibility sputter out after a moment longer, when she was more or less certain Talon wouldn't be returning soon.

Her heart was beating three times as fast as normal. She forced herself to take deep breaths. Her hands were shaking. She clenched them into fists.

Had to focus, to think. Talon was gone, but there was no guarantee he wouldn't be back. And the person she was supposed to report to was – was dead, meaning no new orders. She had to come up with a plan herself.

Lux made her way to the man – no, the corpse, just a corpse now – on unsteady legs, and bent down to examine it. The corpse wouldn't have been carrying any papers, naturally – it would be the height of stupidity to carry around a spy's orders in writing.

She bit down on her squeamishness and sorted through the dead man's clothing. Why did he have to be wearing so much, anyway? It was the height of summer, and Noxus was full of smog and suffered terrible heat waves.

Her gruesome search yielded no fruit, and she scowled in frustration before her attention was captured by a glint from the floor. Previously hidden by the corpse's voluminous clothes, there was a long glass cylinder with an open top sitting innocently on the floor, its cap lying in the dust a hand's breadth away.

Lux stared at it blankly for a moment. She recognized it, it was the case they kept her baton in for the missions she didn't need it on, but why would it be –

The realization hit.

Open. Empty. Discarded, as if someone had dropped it in a hurry, or had been distracted by something. And most tellingly, contents missing.

Well, then.

(thirteen years old and the last gift she ever got before everything was coldhardlonely and it was so warm, safe, late nights clutching it to her chest while the tears flowed and she felt her magic hum and bend and shine)

(and then noxus and why couldn't she keep it but it was alright she had to be alright, you are strong, but she got it back so it was okay, always got it back)

They'd notice when Lux's latest report failed to make its way to Intelligence, of course. But even in the best-case scenario, it would likely be more than a month before that led to someone else checking in on her. This… situation had never happened to her before, but she was well aware of both protocol and the snail's pace at which bureaucracy tended to move.

And that was discounting the tensions in Kalamanda that would undoubtedly keep Demacia's… slightly lacing intelligence department occupied. It would only get worse if and when a war erupted.

There was a twinge of guilt at the disparaging thoughts toward her country, but their information network was rather underdeveloped. A population raised to prefer more honorable combat combined with a general dearth of subtlety – she'd swear it was genetic, but that made no sense scientifically – made for a few issues. Namely, the overreliance on herself and the few other competent infiltrators that hadn't escaped Lux's notice, as much as it pained her to admit.

At any rate, it meant she was on her own for a month at the very least, but also that she had that long to try and get her baton back. If she told whoever came about the events that caused her loss, she'd probably be told to forget it and eventually be issued a new one. After maybe half a year. The baton hadn't been easy to craft, and she would hardly be recalled just so it could be attuned to her magic, either.

It wouldn't be the same, anyway. The amount of sentiment she had for what was ultimately an object was probably an issue –

(long days and longer nights and she couldn't bring herself to care, not for people, not after her parents, objects were so much safer)

– but even if it was silly, her baton was important to her.

Think of it like a mission, Lux told herself. Except, this time it's – personal. The thought brought a bitter smile.

What did she need to do? She needed to get her baton back. Currently, Talon Du Couteau likely had possession of it. She shivered. He probably didn't realize its significance, as she'd always been careful to hide it well when she did use it, but it'd been a suspicious object carried by a suspicious Demacian in Noxus for suspicious reasons,

Why were the people she delivered reports to all so awful at going unnoticed? Right, because if they weren't, they'd be spying, not taking reports.

The Du Couteau family had no mages, so they wouldn't know it as a magical focus. Noxian High Command, on the other hand, was connected to several mages, though the details were scarce. The Du Couteaus didn't get along with High command very well, but even so, if someone who did realize her baton's importance came across it, it'd be shipped off to them immediately. They could make everything far more difficult, even in their current leaderless state.

That was… actually, as far as Lux knew, Noxus was not aware of the existence of a Demacian light mage beyond vague rumors. This had just gotten far more important, hadn't it? Damn it all. Her superiors would have her head.

So. Get her baton back, and quickly, which meant she had to get into the Du Couteau household inconspicuously. And find out where it had been stashed, lest she be left to wander about aimlessly.

Infiltrate a mansion full of trained assassins – actually, only one, with the General Du Couteau absent lately, the eldest, Katarina, in Kalamanda, and the youngest, Cassiopeia, not trained as such – not that it made things any better. The mansion was probably full of maids and cleaning staff, too, if her past experiences in nobles' houses told her anything.

Servants… hm. Now that was an idea. Not a great one, or even a good one, but better than trying to sneak in, invisible, and conduct a search, hunting down Talon and questioning him – forget bad, that was downright suicidal – or not having a plan.

Lux winced. This was not going to be fun, at all.

(no it doesn't matter what you feel, you get it done and get it done well for the good of all, for the good of demacia, so she pasted smiles over the cracks and got it done like a good girl)

The disguise was relatively simple, and one she'd worn before, whenever she needed to be serving staff to some noble and the mission allowed her to end the employment in non-suspicious circumstances. It was mostly her real appearance, to sustain it easily, but with dark brown hair and slate-gray eyes in place of her painfully Demacian blonde and blue.

To complete the image, Lux gave herself a worn maid's uniform with a ragged cloak clasped over it. She examined herself in a nearby broken window and nodded, satisfied.

She strolled into a run-down tavern a block away from the Du Couteau mansion, keeping her head bowed and shoulders hunched. The hour was getting late, so there were a decent amount of patrons present, though not as many as there would be later. That would work.

Lux made her way directly to the bar, collapsing on an empty stool and propping her chin on her hand. The bartender – surly, bald, middle-aged – looked over at her.

"What'll it be, girl?" he rumbled.

She fixed a scowl on her face. "Whatever's the strongest drink you've got," she growled.

The bartender frowned. "Sure you can handle that?"

Lux nodded sharply.

"Your grave, girl." He set a chipped mug on the counter and filled it from a nearby bottle, then turned his attention to other customers.

She immediately picked up the mug and knocked back the drink, making sure to swallow less that she appeared to. The liquid scalded her throat on the way down, but she bore it without visible reaction. She'd hardly be a good spy if she had no alcohol tolerance, she thought wryly.

"Down on luck, Lucy?" The question came from a man sitting on the barstool next to her, and it took a second to realize it was aimed at her.

Lux set down her drink to look at him. He'd called her Lucy, the name she gave with this particular face, so he knew this persona. She scanned the man. Short dark hair, thin features – ah, she knew him. Adrian, if she recalled correctly, worked with her for a while in housekeeping while she was spying on that fat noble lady. She'd gotten the impression that he liked her, more or less.

"Don't remind me," she grumbled, keeping in character. "It's just been, ugh, bad luck after more bad luck lately." She took a sip from her mug.

"Really?" said Adrian, looking at her sideways. "I wouldn't have thought you… I mean, you do good work. Why did you bail on that job with Lady Mercier, anyway? It paid pretty well."

"I already said," Lux replied, "and you should've noticed even if I didn't, you know. I couldn't stand her, remember?"

He shrugged. "Yeah. I guess I'm being a bit of a hypocrite. I quit too."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Mhm. One tantrum too many, and half of us walked away. I actually work for the Du Couteaus now. You know, that assassin family a ways down the street."

Lux's eyes widened before she could stop it. The sheer chance – well, she supposed, with all the bad luck she'd suffered over the years, someone out there owed her. She carefully schooled her expression to one of mild curiosity.

"Them? Aren't they supposed to be a really important family? How'd you pull it off?" she asked.

"What," Adrian said, "are you implying I'm not good enough for the big-shots?" He shook his head, snorting. "Anyway, it wasn't all that hard. Ever since General Du Couteau up and vanished, they haven't kept servants well. His daughters don't exactly have easy personalities to get along with, though you didn't hear me say that, and with the youngest's condition…"

"Condition?" she repeated. She'd hear little recently about Cassiopeia Du Couteau in the past year, except that she'd become oddly reclusive.

Adrian sighed. "That, I really shouldn't tell you. I'd be skinned alive if she found out."

Damn. "No, I get it."

"But my point is, they go through maids and stuff like Mercier went through clothes," he said, shrugging. "Got worse when Lady Katarina went off to Kalamanda, since with her sister's – I mean, the person basically in charge right now is –" he glanced around, then lowered his voice to a whisper, "– Talon."

Lux's eyebrows rose. "Talon? You mean, that Talon? The assassin?"

"How many Talons are there?" he said. "But, yeah. The pants-shittingly terrifying assassin."

"Why do you stay, then?"

"Pay's good. Also, when I said they go through servants fast, I mean those servants get on one of their nerves and get fired," Adrian confided. "I'm afraid of what'll happen to me if I just up and quit."

"That's – um. Alright, then." She couldn't come up with an appropriate response.

"I guess you could come work there if you really wanted Lucy," he said. "Probably wouldn't last long, but –"

"No," Lux interrupted, "it's fine. I'll take it. I'm not looking for anything long-term, anyway."

He peered at her strangely. Had she been overly forward? She took slow breaths to calm her racing heartbeat.

"Right, then," Adrian said. "They're really understaffed right now, so I guess I could just bring you in and not get asked a lot of questions."

"Are you serious?" she asked incredulously.

"But getting paid would mean facing down Talon," he mused. "Ugh, I'm not looking forward to that. The things I do… you'd better be grateful, you know." The half-smile that quirked at his mouth showed he was mostly joking.

"Oh, believe me, I am," she assured. "I honestly don't know how to thank you." It was the truth, too. She'd have been stuck up a creek without a boat – metaphorically – if she hadn't run into him. They weren't even friends, not really, and this was Noxus, which made it all the more astonishing.

Adrian's cheeks tinged pink. "I just – oh, never mind. Do you want to, uh, head there now? I mean –"

"Sure," she said, with a shrug. She pretended to take one last sip of her drink, then dug into her pockets for change. Fortunately, she had some left from the last time she'd held a paying job in this city, because gods knew the idea that she needed Noxian currency never crossed the minds of Intelligence. What did they even expect her to do with coins with Jarvan III's face stamped on them?

At any rate, she decided, she might as well ride the wave of good fortune while it lasted.

(nothing good can ever last)