Legends of Runeterra

"Is there anything you don't understand about what I just said?"

Tifalenji half-knelt in the darkness. She didn't follow the voice, for it was part of the darkness itself. It filled the closed room with a sour warmth and a sickly sweetness, the scent of rotting flowers. But this was nothing to be alarmed about, for she had pledged her life to the flow of runes—even a young artisan like Tifalenji wouldn't question the things around her at this moment.

She knew when to accept something beyond her understanding.

"I understand completely," she replied.

"very good."

The darkness made a sharp, scraping sound, like a sudden intake of breath. "Your mistress speaks highly of you. She said, 'You are resourceful.'" When it spoke of this word, its voice changed, becoming that of Tifalenji's teacher. "Resourcefulness is the key to great use."

Tifalenji swallowed. She felt a stirring in the air, a rise in temperature in the enclosed room, as if it were suddenly filled with people. She dared to glance to the side and saw the folds of a robe—people were standing along the wall, surrounding her and the source of the sound.

"Look at the moon." Suddenly, a flash of light shone on the stone floor, cold and bright. "Observe its movement and understand its changing path."

Her mind raced, reflecting on what might happen, and every moment, every scene, fell before her eyes like grains of sand in an hourglass.

"Remember, your mission is paramount." A hand reached out from the darkness and gently grasped Tifalenji's jaw. "What we entrusted you to find, what you will bring back, nothing can replace." The hand lifted Tifalenji's face. She looked up and saw a perfect reflection: her own face, but with another person's smile.

"But you can."

Erath was a child of Noxus. From his generation on, all newborns were born into the Noxian Empire, and his training began the moment he took his first steps.

Perseverance. Discipline. Determination.

He was raised by herders, tending to the herds and pack animals daily, keeping them fat and strong until harvest. He learned to butcher, cleanly and skillfully, and to never leave his knife. These childhood lessons would prove valuable later, as Noxus would call upon him for its service.

He learned to kill, the enemies of the Empire, but never to hate them. Because with a single ritual, the enemies of the Empire became new brothers and sisters in his family. Yesterday's enemies would become Noxian soldiers today, bearing honor and duty, standing beside Erath to build a line. It made him stronger.

"Take your enemies and turn them into your own family," his father had said, showing him the dark purple scars he'd received from his past battles. Erath had never hated his enemies, but standing here, looking at the wonders surrounding him, he couldn't help but feel pity for those he'd never met.

The streets buzzed with activity, an endless procession of thousands of soldiers marching along the avenues around the Immortal Bastion. A dozen different languages ​​mingled, shouting out primal prayers, slogans, and war songs. The unstoppable force of the Noxian army was on full display, swords and men from all corners of the empire gathered here. War representatives from the local tribes, clad in leather and ceremonial dress, strolled along the roads, followed by a steady march of soldiers, draped in black iron plate armor, and a squadron of Shuriman sailors in the brightly colored uniforms of their soldiers.

Behind them were more troops, one after another.

Countless nations, yet one empire. This magnificent spectacle, this display of pure power, left Erath stunned.

Erath's own tribe was among them. They had sailed south from the Darama Plains, crossing the river to the capital, and were now disembarking. As they rowed, he and his companions had been struck by the imposing presence of the Immortal Bastion. The ancient monolith, towering at the heart of the empire, had come into view two days before they reached their destination. Now they had entered the city limits, and the tribal chieftain, Yahavi, was arguing with a group of quartermasters. Erath looked up at the Immortal Bastion again. The sun was blocked by the three massive stone towers at the fortress's center, like a dazzling treasure hidden away.

The thought of those unknown enemies returned to Erath, and he smiled. Who could stand against such an army?

Dunis, one of the spearmen, nudged Erath, breaking his reverie, and then nodded in the direction of their chieftain, who was addressing Erath. Erath quickly approached Yahweh. The chieftain had just received a roll of fine parchment containing the orders they had received.

"We will set off soon." Yahavi said in their tribal language, his eyes still scanning the military orders they had just received.

"Did they say where the battle will be?" Erath asked, his excitement evident.

"No." Yahavi frowned, squinting at the Noxian handwriting. "But don't worry. You're not coming with us."

"I don't understand," Erath frowned, joining the chieftain in this frown. "I was to be your swordboy." Before leaving his homeland, Erath had earned this honor in a bloody trial. He would have the privilege of carrying Yahavi's equipment on the march, polishing and oiling his ancient sword before battle, dressing and dressing him on the battlefield. If doom befell, he would also be responsible for keeping vigil over Yahavi's spirit. If not Erath, who else could it be?

"You will indeed be a swordsman," Yahavi said, "but not to me. You have been temporarily assigned elsewhere." He sensed Erath's doubt, and he spoke firmly. "For Noxus."

Erath stood at attention, his doubts cast aside. He suppressed his emotions, clenched his fist, pounded it against his chest, and saluted. "For the Empire."

Yahavi returned the salute and nodded approvingly. "We all must heed the Empire's call. Swords in hand, fighting in heart."

Erath took a deep breath, and then he pushed aside his disappointment. "I'm ready."

Yahavi's expression softened, and he offered the boy a warm smile. "I know, Erath. I know he would be proud if he saw you today." Erath lowered his gaze as Yahavi handed him a small scroll, tightly sealed with a wax seal. "Cross the canal ahead of us and proceed to the ninth gate of the fortress. Legionnaires will stop you. Show them this."