Legends of Runeterra

run.

She ran desperately, her bleeding feet stomping hard on the ground. She pushed through a thick thorn bush. The thorns tore at her tattered clothes. New wounds. New blood. New pain.

Her lungs felt like they were on fire. She couldn't breathe, and she longed for a break, but the voice in her head wouldn't let her go.

run.

She had only escaped yesterday afternoon, but so much had happened since then. First, she heard faculty members shouting her name across the campus. Then, there were the barking of dogs, one after another, as she tumbled and scrambled along the banks of the Glen River.

After nightfall, the distant clatter of cavalry hooves echoed like rumbling thunder in the darkness. She had lost her backpack, which contained the few provisions she had smuggled from the kitchens at Ravenblum Academy—two apples, a piece of bread, half a cheese, so stinky it made you think it had been shipped all the way from Knockmurchy. It was enough to get her out of harm's way, but only just. Oh, she was so hungry. She picked wild berries, nibbled on the tender shoots on the branches, and drank the rainwater that collected between the leaves.

She was constantly worried. If she paused, if she let fatigue slow her pace, the voice in her head would appear again.

run.

She fell, tripped by a jutting tree root. She landed so hard she felt like she'd broken something. She gritted her teeth, stifling a scream. A sharp pain shot up her leg, throbbing through her body, then gradually, with a throbbing pain, merged with the other pains. Her whole body ached. It burned.

For a while, she lay there with her face buried in the mud, the night rain pouring down on her bruised body, washing away her tears and the blood.

Run. The voice came again, this time with anger.

She finally responded. "I can't run anymore!" she cried, her voice as weak as her body. "I can't run anymore!"

The voice quieted down.

Some time passed, and fatigue and pain mixed together, sending her to sleep.

In her dream, the past flashed before her. Principal Telsi stood at the door of her dormitory, with the Arbiter of Thorns beside her. "You have been chosen," Telsi said. "The war in Ionia will require many weapons. Both new and old."

The Arbitrator's rough hands rested on the temples of her head. Flames flashed before her eyes, over and over again.

A high fever. A hot flash. That sound.

That voice.

Awake.

She woke suddenly with a start, and crawled to her feet, searching for any sign of danger. The rain had stopped, and the woods were completely silent, with only the whistling of the wind and the distant cry of an owl.

There's no danger. At least not yet.

She slowly lifted herself up with her tired arms and rolled over. The pain in her knee shot through her again, instantly spreading throughout her leg. She bit back a scream, waiting for the pain to subside and return to soreness.

She looked up at the swaying branches overhead, catching sight of the starry sky through the clouds. Memories of the past, beautiful memories, flooded her mind. She remembered lying in the fields at Fensworth with her grandmother, naming the constellations. The Fox. The Trickster. The Hope. Now, gleaming above her was the Witch—her favorite. A mixture of emotions washed over her. She sobbed softly, her breath puffing out in a puff of white mist in the cool winter air.

Cold. So cold! She hadn't even realized it, but her hands and feet were numb from the cold. She was freezing. She quickly sat up and huddled in a ball, trying to wipe off the cold, damp mud as best she could. Her breathing quickened, her panic growing. Her body began to tremble uncontrollably.

The voice spoke again. It was a new word.

fire.

She limped along in the darkness, holding onto the trunk, searching for dry branches and leaves. Anything to start a fire. But the earlier rain had already drenched the entire forest, leaving everything wet.

The shiver faded. The pain subsided. She was ready to give up, to let the cold carry her away. Then, across a small clearing ahead, a sliver of silver flashed across the landscape. It was moonlight glimmering on a smooth tree stump. She strained her eyes and saw a deep gash on the stump's surface.

She was overjoyed. "A signpost tree...it's a signpost tree!"

She had often seen trees like this one as a child. They dotted the woodlands, serving as trail markers for Imperial spies, often storing storable food and other supplies for camping. She limped forward, each step aching, until she reached the stump. She felt around in the hollow, hoping to find something, anything, that might be of use.

Found it! Her frozen fingers grasped something thin and brittle. Kindness. She pulled out a bundle of wood, neatly tied with twine. Inside was something else—flint, embers, leaves, dried beef, and a handful of wild mushrooms.

The bonfire was quickly lit. She sat by the new flames, knees drawn up to her chest, and dully chewed the beef. The meat was tough and woody, barely edible, but she didn't care. Now that the threat of death was no longer so imminent, she relaxed a little and began to reflect on the journey.

Principal Tels must be furious, she thought, gazing at the blossoming flames. The old woman had a stubborn temper and was prone to tantrums, her thin, wrinkled face giving her a menacing look. By now, she should have completely sealed off the academy and sent out her only two reconnaissance teams to search for her.

"Oh, Finn," she sighed.

He was the academy's chief scout, a kindhearted man who sought out people like her—talented individuals like her—and gave them a home. He had arrived at her cottage a few weeks after her grandmother's death, long after the other villagers had banished her. While the Empire generally recognized the value of mages, remote villages like Fensworth clung to old suspicions. Witch, they called her. She remembered the hateful stares. She remembered begging for help. Doors locked. Only loneliness.

Then, one summer day, Finn Litrick came and brought her something wonderful: hope.

She kicked the fire with her good leg. The wood crackled, and the flames danced again, burning her face. She stared into the flickering flames again, lost in thought.

Obviously, Finn had no idea what Tels was going to do. He was so nice to me. He was so—

She paused, suddenly aware of something strange in front of her. The fire seemed to form some shape, outlining some outline, but then