The biting cold seemed to vanish once the campfire crackled to life, its orange glow casting long shadows on the snow around them. Adam sat silently on a fallen log near the fire, his knees drawn up to his chest as he stared into the flames. His mind was a storm of emotions—shame, frustration, and the sting of Tryndamere's harsh words earlier.
Ashe and Tryndamere worked in practiced silence, their movements efficient as they set up camp. Ashe was sharpening her arrows, her hands moving deftly as she sat near the fire, while Tryndamere used his blade to chop wood for the night. Adam couldn't help but glance at the towering man every so often.
*He's just like Connor,* Adam thought. His older brother had the same commanding presence, the same booming voice that left no room for argument. Connor was a cop back in Brooklyn, and even when they were kids, he was always the one who took charge, who stood tall and strong while Adam floundered in his shadow. But Connor wasn't a barbarian king with a giant sword—he was just a man who wore a badge and always knew what to do.
The thought made Adam's chest tighten. Was Connor looking for him right now? Did he even know Adam was missing? Or was time frozen back home, with everything paused like the world's weirdest dream?
Adam rubbed his face and sighed. *What if I'm stuck here forever?* The idea was too heavy to linger on, so he pushed it aside.
"Quiet tonight," Ashe observed, glancing at Adam.
"Yeah," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze.
Tryndamere chuckled darkly as he dropped the last piece of chopped wood onto the pile. "Perhaps the boy has finally run out of things to say."
Adam winced but said nothing.
The silence stretched, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire. Adam stared at the sword lying on the ground beside him. Its hilt was plain, its blade scuffed, but it had weight—it represented something more than just a weapon.
He reached down, picking it up slowly. The metal felt foreign in his hands, its coldness seeping into his skin. Adam had spent years honing his body through boxing and MMA, learning how to throw punches, grapple, and take hits. But this was different. This wasn't a ring. This wasn't a sport. He'd never been in a situation where someone was trying to kill him—or where he might have to kill someone else.
He tightened his grip on the sword and stood, swallowing his pride as he approached Tryndamere. The big man sat near the fire now, gnawing on a piece of dried meat.
"Uh, hey," Adam started, his voice hesitant.
Tryndamere looked up, one eyebrow raised. "What is it now?"
Adam hesitated, glancing at Ashe, who was watching him with mild curiosity. Finally, he forced himself to speak. "I need your help."
Tryndamere set the meat aside and leaned back, folding his arms. "Help? With what?"
"With...this." Adam held up the sword awkwardly. "I—I don't know how to use it. I mean, I know how to fight with my fists. Did boxing, MMA, all that. But this? Swinging a sword? It's not the same. And after today..." He trailed off, his cheeks burning with shame.
Tryndamere studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "You froze," he said bluntly.
Adam nodded, looking down. "Yeah. I've never—never been in a situation like that. Back home, the worst I had to deal with was some guy throwing a punch in the ring. I've never...I've never had to fight for my life."
"And you've never killed," Tryndamere added.
The words hung in the air, heavy and cold. Adam didn't respond, but his silence was answer enough.
Tryndamere stood, towering over Adam as he unsheathed his massive sword. "You're not wrong. Fighting with a blade is nothing like fighting with your fists. It requires strength, yes, but also precision. Control. Hesitation will get you killed."
"I don't want to hesitate," Adam said quietly. "I just...I don't know what I'm doing. So, will you teach me?"
Tryndamere smirked faintly, a flicker of approval in his eyes. "At least you know your own weakness. That's the first step. Come."
He led Adam a short distance from the campfire, where the snow had been trampled into a flat patch of ground. Ashe watched from her spot by the fire, her expression unreadable.
"Hold the sword," Tryndamere instructed, his voice firm.
Adam adjusted his grip, holding the hilt tightly with both hands.
"Too stiff," Tryndamere said immediately, stepping closer. He grabbed Adam's hands and adjusted them on the hilt. "You need to keep your grip firm but flexible. Otherwise, you'll tire out too quickly."
Adam nodded, trying to follow the advice as Tryndamere stepped back.
"Now, swing," the big man ordered.
"Uh, just...swing it?" Adam asked uncertainly.
"Do it."
Adam took a deep breath and swung the sword in an arc. The movement was clumsy, the blade wobbling as he brought it down.
Tryndamere snorted. "Pathetic. Again."
Adam gritted his teeth and swung again.
"Better, but still weak," Tryndamere said. "You're thinking too much. Stop hesitating. Feel the blade. Let it become an extension of your arm."
Adam tried again, this time putting more force behind the swing. The sword sliced through the air with a satisfying *whoosh*.
"There," Tryndamere said with a nod. "Better. But you've got a long way to go."
The training continued for what felt like hours. Tryndamere demonstrated different strikes and stances, correcting Adam's form with gruff patience. Adam listened intently, determined to prove himself.
By the time they finished, his arms felt like lead, and his breaths came in short gasps. But for the first time since arriving in this strange, frozen world, he felt a flicker of confidence.
"Not bad for a beginner," Tryndamere said as they returned to the campfire. "But don't get cocky. This is only the start."
Adam nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Thanks. I mean it."
Tryndamere grunted in response, sitting back down near the fire.
Ashe glanced at Adam as he settled onto his log, the sword resting across his lap. "That was smart," she said simply.
Adam looked at her, surprised. "What was?"
"Asking for help," she said, her tone softer than before. "Most wouldn't have the courage to admit they need it."
Adam gave a small, sheepish smile. "Yeah, well...I figured I don't have much of a choice."
The three of them sat in silence for a while, the fire crackling between them. Adam stared at the flames, his thoughts drifting once again to home. He didn't know how long he'd be stuck in this world—or if he'd ever get back. But at least now, he felt a little more prepared for whatever came next.
2 days later
The snow-covered path eventually gave way to dirt roads and signs of civilization—scattered wooden fences, smoke curling from distant chimneys, and the faint hum of activity. Adam trudged behind Ashe and Tryndamere, his legs heavy with exhaustion but his spirits lifting at the sight of a village.
The settlement wasn't much—a modest cluster of wooden houses surrounded by palisades, with villagers milling about in simple clothing. It was humble but alive, a stark contrast to the barren wilderness they'd been traveling through.
"Finally," Adam muttered, his breath visible in the frosty air.
As they passed the threshold of the village, Tryndamere waved off the curious stares of the locals. Most of them glanced at the massive warrior and his imposing frame, nodding respectfully before returning to their business. Ashe moved with quiet grace, her piercing gaze sweeping over the village like she was already taking stock of everything.
Adam, on the other hand, stuck out like a sore thumb. His mixed clothing and armor—looked bizarrely out of place even in the medieval setting. He couldn't help but notice the strange looks he was getting, but he avoided eye contact, focusing instead on keeping up with his companions.
"Wait here," Tryndamere said gruffly as they reached a central square near a market. "We'll secure supplies."
Ashe handed Adam a small pouch of coins. "You wanted a map earlier. There should be one for sale here. Don't wander too far."
Adam nodded, clutching the pouch tightly as the two of them walked off, leaving him standing awkwardly in the middle of the square. He looked around, spotting a merchant's stall with various parchments and scrolls.
"Uh, excuse me," he said, approaching the vendor—a wiry old man with spectacles perched on his nose. "Do you have maps?"
The man squinted at him. "Aye. That I do." He pulled out a rolled-up parchment and handed it to Adam. "Cost you five silver."
Adam fished out the coins from the pouch, handed them over, and took the map. "Thanks."
He moved to the side of the square, unrolling the parchment on a nearby barrel. The map was detailed, showing mountains, forests, rivers, and various settlements marked with names. As Adam scanned it, a strange sensation settled over him.
The names felt...familiar. Freljord. Demacia. Noxus. Piltover.
His brow furrowed as he stared at the parchment. *Where have I seen these before?*
It was like a word on the tip of his tongue, something teasingly close but just out of reach. The more he looked, the more it nagged at him, until suddenly, it clicked.
"Wait a second," he muttered, his eyes widening.
*League of Legends.*
He stared at the map, his pulse quickening. The names, the geography—it all lined up. Freljord was where Ashe and Tryndamere were from, right? Demacia was that place with knights and magic. Piltover had those tech-y steampunk vibes. He didn't know much about the game's lore, but he knew enough to recognize the world when he saw it.
His mind raced as he rolled up the map, clutching it tightly. He'd never actually played *League of Legends*, but he'd seen it everywhere—on gaming forums, in memes, and, shamefully, in *other* places on the internet.(if you know what I mean 👀)
"Oh, my god," Adam whispered, the realization hitting him like a truck. "I'm in League of Legends."
He covered his face with his hands, groaning. Of all the places in all the universes he could've ended up in, it had to be this one. He knew next to nothing about the actual lore of the game. All he could remember were the memes about *League* players being sweaty tryhards and incles, the endless jokes about them being toxic and smelly, and—he winced—the *questionable fan art* and now he's in it.
"This is bad," Adam muttered to himself, pacing in a small circle. "This is really, really bad."
What was he supposed to do? He didn't know the first thing about surviving in a place like this. He didn't even know which champions were friendly or which ones might try to kill him on sight.
"Hey," Ashe's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts.
Adam jumped, turning to see her and Tryndamere standing nearby. The barbarian king raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed.
"You're acting strange," Ashe observed, tilting her head slightly. "Did you find what you needed?"
"Uh, yeah," Adam stammered, holding up the rolled map. "Got it right here."
Tryndamere grunted. "Good. Then let's move. We'll find a place to rest for the night."
Adam nodded quickly, falling into step behind them as they left the market. His mind was still spinning as he clutched the map to his chest, his thoughts racing.
*League of Legends. I'm in freaking League of Legends.*
This wasn't some dream he could wake up from. It wasn't some elaborate prank. It was real, and he was stuck in it.
As they walked through the village, Adam resolved to keep his revelation to himself for now. The last thing he needed was to explain to Ashe and Tryndamere that he only recognized their world because of internet memes and, uh, *other things*.
For now, he'd play it cool, figure out a plan, and maybe—just maybe—find a way to survive in this insane new reality.
The room they rented for the night was small and spartan, with rough wooden walls and a faint smell of dampness. A single lantern flickered on the table in the center, casting long shadows that danced across the floor. Three cots lined the walls, each piled with coarse woolen blankets. Adam dropped his bag by the door, watching as Tryndamere set his massive sword against the wall and Ashe placed her bow carefully within arm's reach.
For a while, none of them spoke. The weight of the day seemed to settle over the room like a heavy fog, leaving Adam to stew in his thoughts as he sat on the edge of his cot.
"Where are we headed next?" Adam finally broke the silence, his voice tentative. He wasn't sure if it was his place to ask, but the question had been eating at him since they entered the village.
Ashe, seated by the table, looked up from sharpening one of her arrows. "We're heading toward the capital," she said. "Arctic Hall. It's a few days' journey from here, but the road ahead won't be easy. The weather is harsher, and the dangers more frequent."
"Dangers?" Adam frowned. "You mean like bandits?"
"Bandits," Tryndamere said, his deep voice rumbling. "Beasts. Worse things." He didn't elaborate, but the grim set of his jaw said enough.
Adam leaned back against the wall, processing this. A few days' journey sounded long, especially in a place as unforgiving as this. He glanced down at the map in his hands, turning it over and over. Should he go with them? They seemed strong, capable, and they hadn't left him to die in the snow, which was a plus.
But then another thought wormed its way into his mind. If this was *League of Legends*, wasn't magic a huge part of the world? Surely there had to be someone out there—some mage, enchanter, or whatever—who could figure out a way to send him home. Maybe he didn't need to tag along with Ashe and Tryndamere indefinitely.
As he sat in silence, torn between his options, Ashe's voice pulled him back to the present.
"You're quiet," she said, her tone curious. "That's unusual."
Adam blinked. "Oh, sorry. Just...thinking."
"You do that?" Tryndamere smirked from his cot, where he was cleaning the blood and grime off his gauntlets.
Adam gave a halfhearted chuckle. "Very funny, big guy. No, seriously, though—I don't really know what I'm supposed to do here." He gestured vaguely at the room, the village, the world beyond. "I mean, you guys have your mission or whatever, but I'm just...lost. I don't know if I should follow you or try to find someone who knows magic, or—"
"Magic won't solve everything," Tryndamere cut in, his tone dismissive. "Rely on your own strength first."
"Easy for you to say," Adam muttered. "You're built like a tank."
Ashe gave him a sympathetic look. "We all feel lost sometimes. You don't have to decide everything right now. Rest first. The road ahead will give you time to think."
Adam nodded slowly, grateful for her measured words.
As the conversation lulled, Tryndamere leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. "You want to hear a story, boy?"
"A story?" Adam raised an eyebrow.
Tryndamere nodded. "Of hardship. Battle. Might give you some perspective."
"Sure," Adam said, leaning forward slightly. "Why not?"
Tryndamere began to recount a tale from his past—of a brutal war between clans, of betrayal and vengeance, of the bloodshed that left him as one of the last of his kind. His words were vivid and unflinching, painting a picture of a life forged in violence and survival.
Ashe added her own stories—less about bloodshed, more about the struggles of leadership, the weight of responsibility, and the sacrifices she had to make for her people. Her voice carried a quiet strength, one that contrasted sharply with Tryndamere's thunderous presence.
When they finished, the room fell silent for a moment, the weight of their words hanging heavy in the air.
"What about you, Adam?" Ashe asked. "You've told us little about yourself. What was your life like before we found you?"
Adam hesitated. He hadn't thought about home much since arriving in this strange world, and now that he did, a pang of homesickness hit him like a punch to the gut.
"Well..." he began, rubbing the back of his neck. "I grew up with my older brother. Our parents...they died when I was young. Car accident." He paused, swallowing hard. "After that, it was just the two of us. My brother took care of me, made sure I stayed out of trouble. He's a cop—big guy, beard, kind of like Tryndamere, but, you know...less barbarian, more law and order."
Tryndamere let out a low grunt, which Adam took as a begrudging compliment.
"He was always the strong one," Adam continued, his voice softening. "The one who knew what to do. I guess I always looked up to him, even when we fought. And now..." He trailed off, staring at the flickering lantern. "I don't even know if I'll ever see him again."
The room grew quiet, the only sound the crackle of the lantern's flame.
"Strength comes in many forms," Ashe said after a moment. "You've survived this far, haven't you? That counts for something."
Adam gave her a faint smile. "Thanks."
As the night wore on, the three of them settled into their cots, the stories and memories lingering in the quiet of the room. Adam lay awake for a long time, staring at the wooden beams above, his thoughts a tangle of home, survival, and whatever shit is gonna happen next.
The journey through the frostbitten wilderness stretched on, but Adam found himself better prepared for the trek. His legs no longer ached as much, and he'd gotten used to the biting cold that clung to his skin. Ashe and Tryndamere, as usual, led the way, their strides purposeful and steady. This time, though, Adam kept up, the gap between them smaller with each step. He still wore the sword on his back, though it felt far less burdensome now.
When they reached a shallow stream, the trio decided to stop for a break. The sound of running water was a relief, breaking the monotony of the crunching snow beneath their boots. Ashe crouched by the edge, filling her waterskin, while Tryndamere leaned against a tree, his massive frame relaxed but watchful.
Adam, restless as always, found his eyes drawn to the bow slung across his back. It wasn't the most elegant weapon—just something they'd scavenged from a dead bandit—but it intrigued him. He unslung it and drew an arrow from the quiver at his side.
"You planning to hit something, or just wave that thing around?" Tryndamere rumbled without looking up.
"Ha, ha," Adam replied dryly. He nocked the arrow, drew the bowstring, and aimed at a tree a few yards away. His first shot sailed wide, missing by a laughable distance.
Tryndamere snorted.
"Quiet," Adam muttered, nocking another arrow. He took his time this time, trying to steady his breathing and adjust his stance. The arrow flew closer to the target but still missed.
"You're going to break that bow before you hit anything," Ashe said, her voice amused as she stood and approached him. "Here. Let me show you."
Adam lowered the bow and stepped aside, watching as Ashe took it with practiced ease. She drew an arrow and aimed at the same tree he'd been targeting. Her form was flawless, her movements fluid and precise. The arrow flew true, embedding itself in the tree trunk with a satisfying *thunk*.
"See?" she said, turning back to him. "It's all about alignment and control. You're rushing it. Watch carefully."
Adam nodded, his eyes fixed on her every movement as she demonstrated again, this time pointing out the subtleties of her stance and grip. When she handed the bow back to him, he mirrored her posture exactly. His grip, the angle of the bow, even the way he positioned his feet—it was as if he'd transformed into her reflection.
He loosed the arrow, and it struck the tree dead center.
Ashe blinked in surprise.
"That was...impressive," she said cautiously. "Try again."
Adam did, his movements identical to hers. Every shot he fired hit its mark with uncanny precision.
"Has anyone ever taught you how to shoot?" Ashe asked, narrowing her eyes.
Adam shrugged. "Nope. I've just always been good at picking things up,I'm a visual learner"
Her brow furrowed, and she exchanged a glance with Tryndamere, who was watching the scene with interest.
"Let me try something," the barbarian said, stepping forward. He unslung his massive blade from his back Tryndamere demonstrated a slow, deliberate sequence of strikes, the movements powerful and controlled.
He held his sword towards adam nudging it forward to him.
Adam hesitated. "Uh, you sure? That thing's, like, twice my size."
"Just take it," Tryndamere said. "Show me what you can do boy."
Grimacing, Adam took the blade, its immense weight almost pulling him off balance. He planted his feet and gripped the hilt with both hands, steadying himself
"Now you," Tryndamere said, crossing his arms.
Adam adjusted his grip and mimicked the barbarian's stance. At first, he stumbled, the weight of the sword throwing him off. But after a moment, something clicked. His swings became smoother, his footwork more precise. By the time he finished the sequence, his movements were a perfect replica of Tryndamere's.
Ashe and Tryndamere exchanged another look, this one tinged with suspicion.
"This is the same boy who couldn't swing his own sword properly yesterday," Tryndamere said, his voice low.
"I know," Ashe replied, her tone equally perplexed.
Adam handed the sword back to Tryndamere, who stared at him as though he were some kind of puzzle to be solved.
"So, what?" Adam said, shrugging. "I'm a quick learner. Big deal."
"It's not normal," Ashe said bluntly. "What you're doing—it's not just 'quick learning.' You're mirroring us perfectly. No one picks up skills that fast without years of training."
Tryndamere narrowed his eyes. "You're either lying about your past or you're some kind of prodigy."
Adam raised his hands defensively. "I swear, I'm not lying! I've always been good at learning things visually. It's just a thing I can do. I don't know why."
The two of them fell silent, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to press further.
"Well, whatever it is," Ashe finally said, "you'd better put it to good use. We'll need every advantage we can get out here."
Adam nodded, grateful that the interrogation had ended. But as they packed up their things and prepared to move on, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just revealed more about himself than he should have.
If they started looking at him differently now, he couldn't blame them. Even he wasn't sure what his abilities meant or what they might become.