Legends of Runeterra

"Mom...I have a question."

"What's wrong, Nunu? You're getting angry again, and it's definitely not about Yukar this time. I'm not talking about you, Kona!"

"Haha, Yukal smells like poop! But... we still need them to pull the cart. I don't want to leave, Mom. I like that village. I found a war horn in the mud."

"Come here, my little wiry-nosed monster, and I will tell you. There is a reason why we Notai must leave when the snow falls. This is the adventure that Mother Winter has entrusted to us."

"You mean Anivia?"

"Hmm. They say she's a phoenix with icicles instead of feathers—a chill wind beneath her wings, croak! But we Notai know it's hope that carries Anivia, and she's not the guardian of our borders, as the Avarosans say. She's freedom, the spirit you feel when you follow your passion, no matter how difficult the situation. Do you know what passion is, Nunu?"

"Is passion like a barbarian kissing a war mother?"

"Well, almost, and also like a War Mother kissing a barbarian. But if I had to say, I'd say passion is... the final celebration at the arrival of winter, the warmth of a room all the more cherished as the snow and wind come. The dancing, the song, the lyre in my hand, it makes me burn and tremble at the same time—it's something I can't put into words! This is what Anivia has entrusted to us, and we will carry it across the Freljord. This is the wind Anivia rides! Some villages see us as untrustworthy traders, others fear us because the ice and snow herald our arrival, because winter means both life and death. But to them all, we offer song, unity, and our spirit connects every village. Can you imagine what a gift this is, Nunu? We have gained our knowledge because the bumps of the caravan have sifted it into our bones. Life is an endless string, capable of recording countless songs..."

"Like these?"

"Yes, like the strings of my harp. Each string is a song, each knot a note, and each note a place we've visited on our journey following Anivia. Take this one, for example. This note is the buzzing of pilgrims gathering to worship at the statue of Avarosa on Rakstak. Rakstak was once a gleaming frozen lake, a jewel too vast to be taken away. But the Avarosa built a monument beside it, claiming to own the treasure. Their lives are like statues. The War Mother, the Iceborn, they refuse to venture forth, afraid of the world beyond Avarosa's shadow. But in the eyes of others, they have already come too far..."

"The Winter's Claw. They hate the Avarosans."

"The Avarosan tribe. But the song binds them together, just like this verse. These notes are the sound of the wolf ships chained together in Glazer Harbor, and also symbolize the claws of winter in the past. Ancient customs, blood in the snow. They live on the broken ice. They believe that it is their own power that has opened a path to the sea, allowing the wolf ships to break through the ice... But relying on chains is not strength, and commanding others to support you is not strength either."

"I remember the wolfship, Mother. It was made of wood, not wolf! The Winter's Claw didn't have names."

"Some things, Nunu, should have no names. Like Frostguard Hold, and the Howling Abyss beneath it. All those secrets... my own secrets, the warmth I've found... They speak of the words of the Three Sisters, but I think their true faith lies in secrets themselves. How can you save a man from a threat he knows he has no knowledge of? Only this dirge, wailing from the abyss, remembers what the Frostguard fight."

"Are they heroes, like in the songs? I want to be a hero too."

"Hear this note, Nunu. This is the fortress atop Frosthorn Peak and the crypts beneath. It is quiet. Empty. The enemies of the Iceborn are long forgotten. Now, with no other enemies, they rule by force. Avarosa, Winter's Claw, the Frostguard, all alike. They used idols, chains, and secrets to bring men to their knees. But you... When I look to the road ahead, I see your future, Nunu. You will bring joy to many, as you have brought joy to me. Mother Winter is alive, she lifts you up with her winds, and I will offer my love too. You are the song of my heart, Nunu. What note shall we add next? Where will love take us?"

"We might go to another village. But there won't be a war horn in this village..."

"Yes, Nunu. There's always more out there, you just have to imagine! We might come to a bridge that once reached the sky! Only it collapsed in ages no one remembers, and all that's left is hidden in the clouds. But can you hear it? Someone is walking along it, step by step. We might enter the tombs of ancient creatures who may have ruled the Freljord before humans, seek out the frozen frost that gave shape to ancient dreams. What lies before you, Nunu? Can you catch dreams on your tongue? Or find the forking tunnels of the glacier, like the branches of the World Tree, even though our ancestors destroyed it and buried it beneath the ice. You can find all these things, if you only open your eyes. You can go anywhere you imagine."

"Can we go to the top of the world and sound my war horn? I bet Avarosa herself would hear it, and she would return!"

We can go right now, Nunu, if you just tell me what it's like there. What do you see? What's the story in your mind?

"I know where the story begins! A long time ago, there was a boy named Nunu. His mother was called Rekha... She was very beautiful. They lived together in a caravan, and... They were trying to figure out where to go next."

"How did they decide, Nunu?"

"They decided to stay together wherever they went! And then their caravan took to the sky because Kona sprouted wings from his butt and flapped them even harder than Anivia! And then they were warm and safe, mother and child, even when the snow fell. What was that feeling, Mom? It was like a hug, only more..."