Legends of Runeterra

As he slowly walked into the heavy door, a feeling of nausea and vomiting surged in his heart.

At first he couldn't see who was inside. The arcades and pillars surrounding the room seemed to deliberately hide the person. The sound of swords striking each other echoed loudly in his ears.

After skirting one pillar after another, he finally saw the prince, swinging a heavy iron sword he'd used for training at a wooden dummy. He was sweating profusely, panting heavily. His expression spoke of agony, and his moves were wild and unpredictable.

Zhao Xin stood still in the shadows. The sight of the young prince saddened him. He longed to reach him, to comfort him, to help him through this difficult time, for the prince and his father were more than family to Zhao Xin. But how could the prince wish to see him here? He was the king's personal guard, and yet now he was alive, while the king was dead.

This hesitation was unaccustomed to Xin Zhao, and it made him uncomfortable. Even in the meat grinder arena of Noxus, he had never hesitated before. He shook his head and turned to leave.

"uncle?"

Zhao Xin cursed his own stupidity, wondering why he didn't leave immediately.

They weren't blood relatives, of course, but twenty years earlier, shortly after Xin Zhao began serving the king, the prince had begun calling him "uncle." Jarvan was just a child at the time, and no one corrected him. At first, the king had found it amusing, but over the years, Xin Zhao's relationship with the royal family had become as close as blood, and he came to regard the king's son as his own.

He slowly turned around. Jarvan was no longer a child; he had grown taller than Xin Zhao. His eyes were red and rimmed with black. Xin Zhao realized he wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep.

"Your Highness." He knelt on one knee and bowed his head deeply.

Jarvan said nothing. He simply stood there, looking down at Xin Zhao, breathing heavily.

"I'm sorry." Xin Zhao still lowered his head.

"Is it because you disturbed me, or because you didn't protect me in time?"

Xin Zhao looked up slightly. Jarvan glared at him, his training bastard in hand. He didn't know how to respond, how to articulate his feelings.

"I failed him," he said finally, "and I failed you."

Jarvan stood there for a moment, then turned and walked towards the weapon rack on the wall of the room.

"Stand up," Jarvan ordered.

As Xin Zhao rose, the prince threw a sword at him. He instinctively caught it with his left hand, still holding his spear in his right. It was another training sword, weighted and smoothed. Then Jarvan lunged at him, swinging his heavy sword fiercely.

Zhao Xin jumped back, avoiding the attack.

"Your Highness, I don't think this is—" He began to speak, but was interrupted by Jarvan, who rushed over again. The sword was thrusting straight at his chest. Zhao Xin deflected it with the spear and took a step back.

"Your Highness..." he said, but Jarvan attacked again, even more ruthlessly than before.

This time, two consecutive blows, one high and one low, were unleashed. Though Jarvan held a training sword, a hit was enough to break bone and shatter stone. Xin Zhao was forced to parry. He parried the first blow with a sidestep and the butt of his spear, then met the second with his sword. The jolt of steel clashing raced up his arm.

"Where have you been?" Jarvan yelled, pacing around him.

Zhao Xin lowered his weapon. "Does this really have to happen?" he whispered.

"Yes." Jarvan was furious and clenched his sword tightly in his hand.

Xin Zhao sighed. "Please wait a moment," he said, stepping aside to place his spear on a weapons rack. Jarvan waited, his grip on his sword unclenching and unclenching.

As Xin Zhao returned to the center of the room, Jarvan attacked. He rushed over, growling with force. His attacks were haphazard, but his anger fueled him. Xin Zhao parried each blow, using the momentum of the enemy's opponent's attacks to his advantage, unwilling to engage in a head-on confrontation.

At any other time, he would have relentlessly berated the prince for his disgraceful behavior—he had focused solely on attacking, leaving himself wide open and vulnerable. But Zhao Xin wouldn't disturb the prince; he had plenty of reason to vent his anger. Nor would he exploit the prince's weakness. If the prince insisted on a beating, then let him have his way.

"Where—have—you been?" Jarvan asked between swings.

"I should have done so long ago," said the King, without looking up from his desk where he was writing a letter.

Every stroke of his quill was a stab of fury. His brushstrokes were like fierce artillery fire.

It's rare to see a king so emotionally exposed.

"Your Majesty?" Xin Zhao said.

"We were too stubborn in our fears," the king said, still not looking up, but pausing his furious scribbling. "We were foolish. I was foolish. To protect ourselves, we created the very enemy we feared most."

A powerful blow aimed at his neck was blocked by Zhao Xin. The force was so strong that he took a step back.

"Don't you have anything to say?" Jarvan asked in a commanding tone.

"I should have been with your father," he replied.

"You didn't answer the question," Jarvan roared. He suddenly turned and swung his sword aside with a clang. For a moment, Xin Zhao hoped the prince would give up, but then the prince pulled another weapon from the rack.

Dragon Spear.

The prince raised his spear and pointed it at Zhao Xin, his expression firm and refusing to give in.

"Get your gun," he said.

“But you’re not wearing armor,” Xin Zhao retorted.

Weapons used for training can easily break bones, while weapons used in actual combat can cost a life if not handled with care.

"I don't care," Jarvan said.

Xin Zhao lowered his head. He bent down and picked up Jarvan's discarded training sword, carefully placing it on the weapon rack and replacing his own sword. With a heavy heart, he reluctantly retrieved his gun and returned to the center of the vast hall.

Without saying a word, Jarvan attacked.

"Excuse my ignorance, Your Majesty," Xin Zhao said.

The king paused. For the first time since Zhao Xin entered, he looked up. In that moment, he looked suddenly older. His forehead was furrowed, his hair and beard already gray. Neither of them was young anymore.

"I blame myself," King Jarvan said. His eyes drifted off into the empty distance. "I gave them too much power. I've always had my doubts about this matter, but they argued for it, and they had the support of the Council. Now, I see my mistake, my oversight. I'm issuing a decree ordering the demon hunters to halt their search."

Jarvan effortlessly thrust his Dragon Lance towards Xin Zhao. The divine weapon's handle stretched nearly twice as long, its sharp edge tearing through the air, heading straight for Xin Zhao's throat.

Steward Debon dodged, swung his spear to block the fatal blow, and was careful not to let the jagged edge of the spear snag his weapon.