Legends of Runeterra

Senna gasped as she regained consciousness, her breath rising and spreading in the cold night air. She was drenched in sweat, her arms, legs, neck, and back caked in sand. A single thought flickered in her mind.

You're going to Bilgewater.

She sat up and saw the black waters of the Hornnik River flowing past its lonely bank. Her intuition began to tug at her again, the voice that had spoken since she was a child. She had long ago learned to trust these feelings and premonitions—and now this voice told her to move quickly.

Lucian started in his sleep. He rolled over, pulling the blankets from their bed, leaving her naked. A light breeze made her even colder. She dug her toes into the sand, seeking some warmth.

The tide had fallen unusually low on the Harrowing, so they journeyed north to the southeastern reaches of Valoran, sailing inland along the rivers until they reached the Noxian border. The two heroes had just enjoyed a brief respite and a moment of solitude, away from their usual storms, a chance to reconnect after so many years apart. It felt comfortable, like a well-worn coat. It was the only sense of security he had felt since reuniting with Lucian, and her instincts threatened to tear her away from this warmth.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, closed her eyes, and searched her heart, hoping that she had misunderstood her, hoping that her intuition was not so cruel, and hoping that she could bargain with herself.

But the feeling is still there.

She stared into the endless darkness, feeling the gazes of countless stars, each a pitiful soul waiting to be saved, silently watching her experience this second life. She had no right to squander the life she had been given, and these precious moments with Lucian were a luxury.

He will understand.

Lucian groaned in his sleep, his head resting on an ancient leather-bound tome. His breathing quickened, and as his body twisted violently beneath the blankets, his moans grew louder. Senna shook his shoulder, and finally, he jerked awake. He lifted himself up on his elbows, breathing heavily. He adjusted to the world outside his dreams, staring at her, seeing through her, seeing the same woman from his nightmares, the woman he had never been able to free from Thresh's lantern, the woman he saw as a prisoner and tortured for years. He took another deep breath, and his gaze gradually relaxed.

"Sorry," he said, handing over the blanket.

Together they gazed at the horizon. The bright purple and indigo hinted at the approaching dawn.

You have to tell him.

Senna turned reluctantly to Lucian. “It’s time to go.”

"We've just settled down," he said, his eyes still on the water. He sighed heavily. "Where to?"

“Bilgewater.”

He shook his head. "If the Harrowing Night were to come, it would be too late by the time we reached the port."

There's still some time.

"If we leave now, we can get there in a few days," Senna said.

"All we can do after that is bury the dead."

His cold words made Senna nervous. They showed a disregard for the Light Sentinel's duty. But she knew it was more than that—his feelings were deep and true, his lapses were only temporary. "There's still a chance," she said firmly. "I can feel it."

Lucian said nothing.

His heart was elsewhere.

She looked at the ancient book lying flat on the beach, its brass clasp mottled and worn. "Perhaps we shouldn't have gone so far north," she said. "It's too hasty."

This ancient manuscript, a treasure Lucian had recently acquired, was the reason they had sailed here. He had purchased it in Kryxar, hoping it would reveal a way to lift the curse that had befallen her, freeing her from the Black Mist that had haunted her since childhood—an unnatural life-glow imbued her with a power beyond comprehension. Dozens of similar tomes lay aboard their ship.

She often woke up in the middle of the night, alone in her blanket, wrapped in darkness, while he lay over an ancient book by candlelight, desperately searching for answers that she no longer cared about.

Lucian finally turned to Senna. "It's been months since we've been to the Harrowing." Tenderness returned to his face, tinged with a hint of regret. "I wanted us to rest, however brief it might be."

Senna's selfish desires were all she wanted. She longed to forget the terror of the Black Mist, to see only stars when she looked up at the night sky.

"I know," she said, "we are the same."

Lucian picked up the heavy tome and slowly rose. Senna felt the chasm between them widen, and she felt alone on this side. She took his hand and squeezed it tightly. “We’ll leave at daybreak,” she said.

He sat back down on the beach and they watched the sunrise together.

They began packing soon after dawn. Senna hauled the last of the supplies onto the narrow planks while Lucian untied the halyards and prepared to hoist the mainsail. They toiled in silence, lost in their own thoughts, as they waited for the boat to enter the calm waters of Hornnik.

She slammed a wooden crate onto the weathered deck, beside other supplies. They'd depleted a considerable amount during their stay. "We need to resupply before we go to Bilgewater."

Lucian nodded. "We can sail along the coastline and resupply in Hedoram, but we'll also need to stop at Mudtown."

She gave him a curious look.

"There's a weapons craftsman at the Baju station there who can make silver grenades," he said.

"In that case, we'll have to spend at least half a day in the port."

“If we venture into the Harrowing, we’re bound to run into Thresh,” he said, his eyes cold and indifferent.

Senna gazed at the deep river, its currents gushing toward the ocean. Her instincts told her to go to Bilgewater, but something felt off.

“The fog spreads wider each time it sweeps in, as if searching for something,” she said. “So why does it keep coming back to Bilgewater?”

"That island is his favorite place to make trouble."

“We’re not seeking personal revenge against Thresh,” she said, her tone sharper than she meant.

Lucian didn't respond. He simply opened the kettle, took a slow sip, and put the cork back in.

"He has been plotting all this time," he said finally, "while the rest of the souls are trapped in their own torment. Who knows what obsessions will seep into what remains of their minds?" He looked away, his jaw set, his lips pressed into a hard line.

Senna thought of the patchwork of maps and interwoven lines on the walls of their cabin. Lucian had used his methods to track the Black Mist for so many years, all those years she had been imprisoned in the lantern.