In the frozen wilderness, Kylen had rediscovered a sense of vitality, though he had to relearn what it meant to be a father—a role he had long since forgotten. Caring for his young apprentice required him to adapt on the fly. Over six months of training, her magical power grew at an alarming rate, both exhilarating and concerning. His own magic influenced her more deeply than he had anticipated, often driving her to bouts of aggression and a lack of restraint. She exhibited cruelty without cause, delighting in her dominion over the lives of predators she hunted. Recognizing that this behavior was pulling her deeper into the abyss of darkness, Kylen decided to focus on her mental discipline.
He frequently shared stories of people—their goals, motivations, and the consequences of their actions—imparting wisdom even though he doubted his qualifications after all he had endured. Gradually, his efforts bore fruit. She remained fierce in battle, but outside of combat, the magic no longer dictated her behavior. Kylen meticulously observed her smallest changes, prepared to intervene before it was too late.
Meanwhile, Kylen pursued the limits of his own magic, seeking to master every aspect of his abilities. In doing so, he stumbled upon something horrifying. While experimenting with his constructs, he created an icy boar and tested its resilience. During one test, something strange happened.
"Good job, Drago," he praised the creation, as he often did during training.
"Oink-oink," the icy duplicate responded, nodding its head just as the original had.
Kylen froze, paralyzed by disbelief at what had occurred. Wrestling with his emotions, he began issuing commands the real Drago had once obeyed, and the creature responded with near-perfect compliance, seemingly autonomous. A chilling thought struck him: had he, in that moment of freezing and shattering Drago into countless shards, somehow preserved its spirit? Or was this merely an imitation?
He attempted similar experiments with other animals, but only Drago's copy retained this eerie semblance of life. Afraid of delving further into the realm of souls—a taboo and repugnant domain—Kylen decided the power wasn't worth the cost. He resolved to focus solely on his constructs of True Ice, pushing his control to its utmost limits. He could now manipulate these constructs within a radius of a hundred meters; any greater distance became unbearable.
Kylen's mastery extended even further when he developed the ability to freeze targets from a distance. He had dabbled in this power during his moments of rage, annihilating entire settlements, but now he refined it into a precision tool. By freezing an opponent's blood, he discovered a more subtle and terrifying application of his magic.
He also turned his focus inward, enhancing his own body with magic. His physical form became nearly indestructible, capable of withstanding steel strikes when shielded by even a thin layer of True Ice armor. His blows, augmented by this power, could fell trees in a single swing. Yet despite his growing strength, Kylen knew he was no match for a god—especially Volibear and his fearsome lightning.
Determined to find a way to resist Volibear's might, Kylen journeyed southward, braving thunderstorms to test himself against lightning. He would touch even the weakest bolts, hoping to develop a resistance. The results were always the same: his body would collapse, his nervous system aflame with electric agony, convulsing uncontrollably. Even a single lightning strike was enough to subdue him completely.
Realizing he needed a new path forward, Kylen resolved to seek the Kinkou Monastery. They were said to transform ordinary humans into warriors of immense power. If they could accomplish such feats, perhaps they held the key to unlocking the strength Kylen needed to challenge a god.
"We're heading to the Kinkou Monastery," Kylen announced with unwavering resolve.
"Finally!" Syndra exclaimed, her voice brimming with relief. Though she had grown accustomed to the cold during their time in the frigid lands, her disdain for the icy winds and the mountain of clothing required to endure them had never faded. As a true daughter of the south, she longed for warmer climes.
Kylen merely shook his head, the opposite sentiment tugging at him. He wasn't ready to leave this place behind.
"When do we leave?" Syndra asked eagerly.
"Tomorrow. Start packing your things," Kylen replied.
"Understood!" she said, dashing off with infectious enthusiasm to prepare for the journey.
Kylen had calculated their next move carefully. If Bak had returned to his smuggling routes, he would likely follow the same pattern he'd described to Kylen before. From Ionia, Bak would sail to the Pirate City, where he could unload Ionian goods onto the black market. Next, he'd head to the deserts of Shurima to acquire precious gemstones, trading them for supplies that desert-dwellers valued. From there, he'd venture to Demacia, where intermediaries would sell the goods for a share of the profits. Finally, he'd return to Ionia, trading smaller shipments along the way. The entire circuit would likely take over six months, though the exact timing was uncertain.
In any case, Kylen planned to intercept him at the ancient city of Nava. He had already sent word to the monastery's abbot, requesting they inform Bak to wait for his arrival for at least a week.
The day was consumed with preparations and decisions about what to leave behind. Kylen resolved not to waste their hard-earned furs, opting to sell them cheaply at the nearest market. As for the other items they had crafted during their stay, they chose to leave them behind for any travelers who might seek refuge from the relentless cold.
That night, Kylen felt a strange unease gnawing at him. The feeling was persistent and impossible to ignore, pulling him from his restless sleep. Stepping outside to clear his mind, he was greeted by the biting air, but instead of calming him, it only heightened his senses. He wasn't alone.
"Who's there?" he called out, his voice sharp and cutting through the silence.
A feminine voice, mocking and filled with malice, echoed around him. "Heh-heh-heh, could it be that the Frozen Death feels fear?"
"Don't toy with me," Kylen growled, his tone deadly. "Or you'll pay dearly for it."
"You call this a game? You're far from me, and there's nothing you can do even if you wanted to. But you… you are entirely within my grasp," the voice of the unknown woman taunted.
"I know who you are, Lissandra," Kylen replied, his senses sharp as he detected a foreign presence manipulating the ice and snow around him. There were few beings capable of commanding such power—chief among them, the Ice Witch herself.
"Ahaha, clever boy," she said with a cold laugh.
"What do you want?" Kylen demanded.
"Wrong question," her voice now came from behind him, chillingly close. Kylen spun around, only to see a tall silhouette of snow taking shape before him.
"I need nothing from you," Kylen declared, his voice turning hostile. Without hesitation, he unleashed his ice magic, shattering the figure into swirling snowflakes. But they merely coalesced into a new silhouette farther away.
"You're mistaken. I could offer you something… in exchange, you'll bring me one thing," Lissandra said, her tone almost teasing.
"I will never work for you," Kylen shot back, his rejection firm and absolute.
"A pity. I thought you also wanted to kill Volibear," she replied, her words stopping him in his tracks.
"How would you help me defeat him?" he asked, his resistance faltering. Lissandra had lived for over three centuries—perhaps she knew more about the gods than anyone else alive.
"Not now. He is too powerful, and no mortal could contend with him. But a time will come when we can destroy him effortlessly," she said with quiet conviction.
"I don't need your empty promises," Kylen retorted.
"Very well. But if that's your choice, you'll leave the Freljord—and your people—to drown in blood," Lissandra said, her silhouette turning away, fading into the snowstorm.
"Wait! What are you talking about?" Kylen called out, his unease deepening.
"Of a threat far greater than the gods. Yes, they are mighty and capricious, but they still depend on humanity. What is coming seeks only the world's utter destruction," Lissandra said, her voice grave.
"And who, or what, is this? Or is this just another one of your schemes to use me?" Kylen asked, skepticism dripping from his words.
"Hmm. Cautious. I thought you were just a brute with magic, but I see there's more to you. Tell me, what do you know of the War of the Three Sisters?" she asked.
What followed was a tale both ancient and harrowing.
Lissandra spoke of how she and her sisters were once united, devoted to the betterment of the Freljord. But her downfall began when she placed her trust in entities from another world. Their words were sweet, their promises seductive. They persuaded her to construct a portal, a gateway for their arrival into Runeterra, sealing the pact with a dark bargain.
Her sisters, horrified by her betrayal, sought to stop her at every turn. Thus began the War of the Three Sisters. Lissandra wielded every weapon and tactic she could muster, seeking to destroy her sisters and their armies in her pursuit of immortality and power.
When their forces clashed in a climactic battle, the Void's entities finally broke through the veil into their world. It was only then that Lissandra realized her grave mistake. Knowing she could not allow their corruption to spread, she made a desperate choice. Sacrificing her sisters and their allies, she used their lives as an offering to seal the Void creatures in True Ice, trapping them within an eternal prison.
But the ice grows weaker with each passing year, and the Void's influence begins to seep once more into the world.
"Wonderful. So, the destruction of our world will be your fault?" Kylen asked, his tone laced with bitter sarcasm.
"Yes," Lissandra replied curtly, her lack of remorse chilling.
Kylen exhaled heavily, his mind racing. "What do you need from me?" Despite his deep mistrust of the witch, the desire to protect his homeland outweighed his hesitation.
"You've agreed? Good," she said, her tone shifting slightly, almost as if she were pleased. "I've been watching you, Kylen. Every step of your journey, observing how you command True Ice—better than I ever could. But even your mastery will not suffice. In these ancient lands, there lies an artifact once used to kill gods. Perhaps it will be strong enough to deal with the Void as well."
"Where do I find it?" he asked, his voice steady.
"In the Dead Wastes," she replied. "There, you will find no living soul, no sunlight, no breath of wind. Only silence and desolation."
Kylen hesitated for a moment before stating his own terms. "I will find this artifact. But in return, you will find my son."
"You believe he's still alive?" she asked, her question met with a fierce glare from Kylen. "Fine. I will send my people to scour what remains of your clan."
"Why now, Lissandra? Why didn't you come to me earlier—when I was still in the Freljord?" Kylen's voice carried a mix of suspicion and frustration.
"They cloud my mind, Kylen," she confessed, her tone uncharacteristically vulnerable. "The Void knows what happens around them. I couldn't risk even a hint of my plans being discovered. But it's becoming harder to resist their influence. Soon, they will take full control of me. Perhaps not for centuries, but they must be destroyed long before that."
"Leave," Kylen said firmly. "I'll fulfill our agreement. But you must protect my son and my clan. And find a way for me to return home."
"I know the way," she admitted. "But it will not be easy. Ornn gave the artifact to the Troll King, who locked it away in a vault behind the sturdiest doors ever made. Your connection to the artifact binds you, preventing your return."
"Then retrieve it yourself," Kylen demanded.
"I cannot. You must find the path yourself," she said, her form dissipating into the icy air.
Collaborating with a centuries-old witch was proving to be as infuriating as Kylen had expected. She gave orders freely but offered little in return. Frustrated, he began the trek back to his dwelling. Why was it that someone always seemed to interfere with his plans?
"Such is life," he muttered to himself, his tone tinged with grim humor. "Tell the world your plans, and it will laugh in your face."
His thoughts turned to Syndra. She wasn't ready for such challenges. He'd need to find a place to leave her behind for now. Keeping her in these frigid lands was out of the question—he'd shouldered the brunt of the burdens for their survival here. Physically, Syndra couldn't endure the cold for long periods, nor did her youth grant her the strength needed for such an unforgiving environment.
The plan to head south seemed like the best choice. Perhaps Kylen would return Syndra to her village of Navor, to her parents, or request that the abbot take her under his care for a while.
When Kylen returned to their home, his pupil was still fast asleep. He, however, couldn't rest. As dawn broke, he prepared their belongings for the journey and woke Syndra. They shared one final meal in the icy north before departing.
It wasn't long before they left the frozen tundra behind. As they stepped into the warmer lands, Syndra eagerly shed her heavy winter clothing, her relief evident. Kylen, on the other hand, grimaced at the oppressive heat, having grown unaccustomed to such weather.
They soon reached the first village, where they managed to sell most of their cumbersome supplies. The coin was far more useful than the weight of unnecessary items slowing them down.
As they approached the monastery, they were stopped by a group of villagers. Mistaking them for warriors of the Kinkou, the villagers pleaded for help. A wyvern had taken up residence upstream and was wreaking havoc on the area. Though it had yet to attack the village directly, its presence was devastating. The creature was a venomous type, and its lair had poisoned the water supply. Fish floated dead on the surface of the river, animals were succumbing to thirst, and the villagers could no longer fish or use the water for crops.
What struck Kylen most was the sight of the dead elder tree at the village's edge—a place Syndra had once spoken of with reverence. This was her birthplace, though the villagers didn't recognize her.
"Will you help your people with this problem, Syndra?" Kylen asked, his tone neutral. He didn't feel obligated to aid the villagers, but he would let her decide.
"I... don't know," she replied hesitantly.
"It's up to you," Kylen said plainly.
"Let's help them," she decided after a moment, her expression resolute. Whether it was an act of forgiveness for the way the villagers had treated her in the past, or a desire to atone for the death of the elder tree, Kylen couldn't say for certain. Perhaps his lessons were finally bearing fruit. Or perhaps it was something else—a burning need to test her strength. "I want to see how powerful I've become," she added, her eyes glinting with determination.
Following the river upstream, they passed piles of rotting fish and carcasses scattered along the banks. The stench was nearly unbearable. The villagers had asked only for the wyvern to be driven away, but the extent of its contamination suggested that merely forcing it to leave might not suffice. The creature's presence was a blight, threatening every living thing dependent on the river's waters.
Their trek led them to a small pool at the river's source, framed by a cascading waterfall. The natural beauty of the place was marred by death. Bones littered the shore, trees were stripped bare, and the grass was yellowed and brittle.
"The wyvern is likely at the bottom of the pool," Kylen said, his senses attuned to its presence.
"What's the plan?" Syndra asked.
"No plan," Kylen replied, stepping back and assuming a meditative stance. "This is your challenge."
Syndra puffed out her cheeks in frustration. To some, this approach might have seemed cruel, but Kylen knew better. She wasn't in real danger—he was nearby and ready to intervene if necessary. It was a controlled test. In his homeland, children Syndra's age were often sent on hunts with little supervision, expected to learn self-reliance through experience.
This was her hunt. She needed to face it alone.
"Teacher," she said with irritation.
"Alright, I'll give you a tip: lure it onto the shore," Kylen offered, briefly opening his eyes before returning to his meditative state.
Syndra, turning away from him, focused on her magic. Five glowing orbs materialized around her, orbiting briefly before merging into one large sphere. She hurled it into the water below. Anticipating what was about to happen, Kylen quickly created an icy dome around himself.
A deafening explosion followed, sending a massive plume of water skyward and spraying waves in all directions. The force immediately swept Syndra off her feet, drenching her to the bone.
"Hmm," Kylen smirked at the situation, clearly amused.
Syndra stood in shock, shivering from the cold. The pond water was far from warm, and she shot a glance at her teacher, noticing that he remained perfectly dry. Frustration bubbled inside her—she vowed silently to get back at him for this. Why hadn't she considered the potential backlash? She had acted too hastily.
"ARARARAR!" a guttural, angry roar echoed across the clearing. From the now-turbulent pond, the wyvern began to emerge. The creature bore a resemblance to a dragon, its body covered in sharp, gleaming scales. It had four legs and a long tail but lacked wings. Its maw, lined with menacing fangs, displayed two prominent venomous canines glinting dangerously in the light.