Legends of Runeterra

"That's what you said last month before Master Wulantuo proposed the plan."

"is it?"

"Yes, Master Rigoma said the same thing before you."

"Ah, yes, that's true," she said sadly. "Then tonight's meeting should be a little different."

"what do you mean?"

“I will present this to the elders tonight,” Noria said, pulling a scroll from her robes and handing it to me.

"What is this?" I was almost reluctant to take it.

"Open it and take a look," she urged. "You'll know once you see it."

I took the scroll and slowly unfolded it. My jaw dropped as her charcoal sketch came into view. If not for her stonemasonry calling, she would have become one of Shurima's greatest painters.

She painted a face that no one could match, a perfect blend of divinity and grandeur. Half-closed, her eyes were deep and intelligent, revealing infinite compassion while also incorporating the fierce murderous aura inherent in every god-warrior.

"It's... unbelievable. How did you draw that?"

"It appeared in my dream." She smiled mischievously, suddenly seeming decades younger. "Just like your Setaka sculpture, remember?"

"But I lied. Is this really the Ascended Zolani?"

Noria shrugged. "It could be."

"What does that mean?"

She sighed. Now, I saw the weight of age on this brilliant woman. The dullness of her fingertips, the weariness of her bones, and—now that I could see clearly—the growing mist in her eyes. She turned her head and looked up at the carved rock face where the statue's face had been.

"This will be my last sculpture," Nohria said. "I have a heart condition. My mother had it, and my mother's mother had it. I've outlived them all now, so if I make it to the end of this year, I'll be lucky. But I don't want to die without seeing my greatest work completed."

"But is this her true appearance?" I asked her. "If the elders agree and we carve her, will this be her true appearance then?"

She took the picture back, her expression betraying her disappointment in me. She looked down at the brown-gray lake.

“I just want to see the blue river flow again,” she said. “Just once.”

I lay in bed, tossing and turning. My gaze followed the moonlight slowly across my mother's floorcloth. As I endured the silent night alone, the elders' discussion remained unresolved. The stonemasons' hall echoed with heated voices, just as boisterous as the first time I heard them, but I already knew the outcome.

High Mason Noriah was a highly respected figure whose voice carried weight among our group, and her sketch was more powerful than any previously presented to the elders.

I'm sure they would accept this as her true appearance, simply because of the magic of the painting itself.

They will accept it because they have had enough of the confusion.

We all want to see the masterpiece completed in our lifetime, to let the heavy stone in our hearts fall to the ground, and to ensure that the face of the god who has favored us all these years can finally be completed.

We all want to see the river flowing again.

For decades, we have discussed, debated, and argued countless times, but every conception we have of Zolani's true appearance is constrained by our own ordinary feelings.

How can we, now that the Ascended have long since departed, possibly even dream of understanding them, of imagining their appearance? They are beings forged by the power of the sun, endowed with divinity by an ancient and sacred power.

It's absurd that us mere mortals should decide what they look like. So when I think of Noria's vision, I feel a searing hatred rising in my chest. My hands grip the edge of the bed, a storm of emotions churning in my stomach.

Worry and fear make my mouth dry.

For a moment I eagerly hoped that the Archmason's sketch was real, but how could I prove it?

I scooped a handful of water from the pitcher and splashed it on my face. It tasted stale and gritty, rubbing against my teeth. I scraped my gums with my tongue and spat the muddy water into the dust on the ground.

Working diligently for so many years, only to slack off at the last minute just to make things easier, I think that's wrong. I understand Noria's desire to see the project completed in her lifetime, but she can't just assume that the illusion she saw is real, right?

What if our work was built on a lie? I dared not think any further, so I stood up and grabbed a plush cloak to shield myself from the cold night wind.

My foot stepped on something.

The dense-toothed worm was crushed to death by my foot.

Its body, crushed by the sole of my shoe, broke into several pieces, gleaming faintly in the moonlight. Tears suddenly welled up in my eyes. Although it was just a small insect, its avoidable death was heartbreaking.

I was scolding myself for being so useless as to be sad about the death of a little bug. Suddenly, a warm breath came in through my window, and with it came a long-lost sound, a sound I hadn't heard since leaving Kennesor.

I'm not entirely sure, but it sounds like a pygmy night owl. They usually roost in the night woods at the edge of Koharise, luring insects with their clattering calls. I climbed the ladder to the roof and opened the trapdoor. The cold night wind pierced my cloak, making my hair stand on end.

I stood on the flat roof, and although I knew it was impossible to see the dwarf night owl, I still glanced around.

As expected, I didn't see any birds. But when I lowered my gaze, I saw something even stranger.

The lake in the center of the town is gone.

The lake's water level rises and falls with the seasons, but it never dries up.

The water had completely vanished now, leaving only an empty, gravelly basin. A strange spiral pattern appeared on the exposed shore and lakebed, as if the water had sunk into the mud and then disappeared.

A wave of hot air surged from the lakebed. I looked up at the faceless god on the cliff.

“Zorani, please guide me,” I whispered, jumping from the rooftop to the sandy ground and walking towards the dry lakebed.