Bel'Zhun's harbor was alive with sound and chaos.
The air was filled with the strong smell of salt and the ocean, mixed with the sharp scents of spices from the shops along the streets. There was a loud mixture of sounds: sellers calling out their goods, sailors giving orders, and children happily laughing as they moved through the crowds. The creaking of wooden ships and the steady sound of waves hitting the docks created a background to the busy scene.
I moved through the crowd, my eyes locked on a group near the edge of the harbor. Sona was among them, sitting quietly on a wooden crate. Her posture was serene, almost detached from the surrounding chaos. A man stood nearby, gesturing toward the children gathered around him. At his signal, they began to move, Sona rising gracefully to follow them.
I stepped closer, weaving through the throng, but before I could reach her, a figure blocked my path—a man dressed plainly, yet there was something in his stance that gave him away. A guard, likely one of the traders.
He raised a hand, stopping me. "You can't go any further," he said firmly, his voice low and clipped.
I didn't blink, meeting his gaze with calm intensity. "A Demacian," I said, my tone carrying a hint of finality. "You're here for the orphans." I reached into my cloak and retrieved a folded letter, its seal unmistakable—a sixteen-rayed star pressed into crimson wax. I held it discreetly, letting him catch a glimpse.
His expression shifted, a flicker of recognition breaking through his guarded demeanor.
"That symbol…" he murmured, studying me closely. "You must be from House Alexander."
"In the flesh," I replied evenly. "Now, may I see that girl?"
His shock was brief but telling. The weight of my name hung between us, unspoken yet undeniable. After a moment, he exhaled and stepped slightly aside.
"Your Piltovan is impeccable," he said, his voice carrying a grudging respect. "Impressive. Fine, you may speak with her. But make it brief."
.
The wooden floorboards creaked softly beneath my boots as I entered the ship. The corridors were dim, lit only by the faint glow of lanterns swaying gently with the ship's movement. Yet, amidst the muffled chatter and the occasional thud of footsteps above deck, a melody reached my ears.
The sound was delicate, yet it carried a haunting weight. It drew me deeper into the ship, the notes threading through the air like whispers. My pace slowed as I followed the music, letting its beauty guide me.
I stopped outside a slightly ajar door. Through the gap, I saw her—A young Sona. She sat on a small stool, the Etwahl resting in her lap. Her fingers danced across its strings, each movement weaving a melody that seemed to ripple through the very air around her.
I observed, leaning lightly against the frame, 'Does she possess inherent talent? She certainly performs with skill.'
But it wasn't just the sound that captured my attention. Mana moved around her, flowing in perfect harmony with the music. The Etwahl glowed faintly, its energy intertwined with hers. It didn't take long for me to realize that the instrument wasn't just a tool—it was an actual extension of her being.
Yet something about the flow of mana felt… wrong. The energy emanating from her was vast, but the Etwahl shifted it, bending it in ways that seemed unnatural.
'A restraint.' I concluded. Whatever her power was, the Etwahl seemed to keep it in check. But what exactly was that power?
I stepped into the room, the creak of the floorboards cutting through the song like a discordant note.
Sona flinched, her hands freezing on the strings. Her wide eyes locked onto me, startled. In an instant, she clutched the Etwahl closer, her body tensing as though bracing for a strike.
Careful not to spook her further, I stopped in my tracks, raising my hands slowly. My hood slid back as I revealed my face.
"You're safe," I said, keeping my tone as soft as the music she had played moments earlier.
She didn't respond, her posture rigid. Her eyes darted to the door, calculating an escape.
"I'm not here to harm you," I continued, lowering my hands and stepping back slightly to show I wasn't a threat. "My sole intention is to converse."
Her grip on the Etwahl remained tight, but the fear in her expression softened slightly.
Taking advantage of the moment, I tilted my head, letting curiosity show on my face.
"If I'm not mistaken, your name is Sona. Your performance is truly exceptional," I remarked, my voice sincere. "I've never encountered such artistry."
Her lips parted slightly in surprise, but she quickly averted her gaze, her fingers fidgeting against the strings. Slowly, she raised a hand, gesturing toward her throat and shaking her head.
'I'm aware. You're unable to speak.'
I let my shoulders relax, offering a faint smile. "So, you won't say anything?" I teased lightly, my tone bordering on playful. "Good. I have a stronger grasp of that anyway."
Her tense posture eased a fraction, and though she didn't smile, her expression softened.
Taking a step closer, I reached into my cloak and retrieved the sealed envelope. I held it out to her carefully, not breaking eye contact.
"This is for you," I declared. "I wish to assist you."
Her brows furrowed as she hesitated, glancing at the letter before slowly reaching out to take it. Her fingers brushed against mine as she pulled it back, her gaze filled with cautious curiosity.
"I am Alexander," I stated, my voice calm and measured. "A nobleman of Demacia. This letter will guarantee your safety and provide you with a place within my family."
Her eyes flickered with confusion, her grip tightening on the envelope.
"Join me, Miss Sona." I stated, my tone assertive yet courteous.
Sona gazed down at the letter, her expression revealing nothing. For a moment, the room was filled with only the rhythmic sway of the ship.
. . .
I stepped off the ship, the bustling energy of Bel'Zhun enveloping me as I approached the disguised Demacian guard. He stood near the dock, his gaze steady as he waited for me.
"Everything's alright?" he asked, his voice low but clear.
"Of course," I replied, my tone calm yet purposeful. Reaching into my cloak, I pulled out a small pouch of coins and handed it to him. "Make sure she's kept safe, and deliver the letter to Lord Barret personally."
The guard nodded, his grip tightening on the pouch. "Understood, my lord."
Without another word, I turned away, my boots clicking against the wooden planks of the dock as I moved toward the chaotic streets of Bel'Zhun.
The city was alive with activity. Merchants shouted their wares, dockhands hustled to unload goods, and the air buzzed with the hum of countless conversations. Above it all, Noxian banners fluttered in the breeze, a stark reminder of who controlled this land.
As I walked, my mind turned inward.
"She'll be mine, whether she like it or not," I murmured to myself.
Thinking ahead, I considered her place in my plans.
'In truth, not much will change for her. She'll bear my house's name but still be raised by the Buvelle's, given that Barrett is managing my domain in my absence. But Sona's power is extraordinary—one glance and it's obvious how unique it is. Her abilities, her lineage… even her fame will be essential to solidifying my newly established house.'
I turned into a narrow alley, the noise of the city fading slightly as I stopped in the middle of the secluded space. Closing my eyes, I let my senses expand outward, using telekinesis to map the area around me. The vibrations of movement, the hum of energy—it all painted a vivid picture of my surroundings.
"Secluded enough," I muttered, opening my eyes and looking down at my hands. They glowed faintly, a soft, magical radiance emanating from my palms.
"Two things are clear," I whispered, analyzing the shimmering energy. "Her power is immense, and that Etwahl is definitely holding her back."
The faint glimmers of mana swirling in my hands mirrored the signature of Sona's magic, albeit imperfectly. I could see its unique colors shifting subtly as I tested it. Flowing harmoniously in mixture colors.
"Even this copied version," I said, my tone hardening as I studied the energy in my hands, "Seems more effective than what she shows. That instrument…I'll figure out how to sever their connection."
Extending my arm, I attempted to channel the power further. The glow intensified, but nothing materialized—only a sharp, searing pain shot through my back, catching me off guard. My breath hitched as the familiar discomfort, which
Extending my arm, I channeled the power further. The glow brightened, but nothing happened—just a sharp pain shooting through my back, catching me off guard. I'd grown used to over the years, but now became worse. But I ignored it.
"How irritating," I muttered, steadying myself.
"How do I wield this power?"
I paused, thinking back on my old ways, sensing the connection from earlier.
"Sound and connection…" I murmured, my voice low. "Do I have to sing?"
I sighed, shaking my head. "I'll try something else later."
Looking skyward, I brought two fingers to my lips and whistled—a sharp, amplified sound powered by my voice heightening power. It cut through the air like a ripple, far-reaching but undetectable to anyone except Silverwing. As I waited for his response, it struck me, and I spoke aloud.
"Her power resonated with this… did they overlap?" I mused, tapping my chin thoughtfully. "Maybe there's a connection I haven't uncovered yet. Something I can exploit…"
"I have an idea."
Before I could explore the thought further, a shadow passed overhead. Silverwing descended gracefully, a fresh kill clutched in its talons. As it soared lower, I broke into a sprint, running up the side of the nearest wall and leaping at the perfect moment to catch its saddle as it passed.
"Let's go, Silver," I commanded as I adjusted my position. "We're done here."
Silverwing swallow his pray as it climbed higher into the sky, carrying us away from Bel'Zhun.
. . .
Morning in Zaun
The polluted air of Zaun hung heavy, the dim sunlight barely piercing through the layers of smog. I adjusted the worn leather jacket I had donned for the occasion, the muted colors blending seamlessly into the chaotic, industrial atmosphere of the city. It wasn't my usual attire, but the disguise was necessary. My usual presence carried too much weight, and here, I needed to move unnoticed.
The streets buzzed with chaos—merchants shouting, laborers hauling, and scavengers watching every passerby like wolves sizing up prey. The stench of chemicals and oil hung thick in the air as I moved through the winding alleys. Predatory eyes tracked my every step, sharp with suspicion and hunger.
Ignoring them, I pushed through the crowd until the weathered sign of The Last Drop came into view.
Pushing open the heavy door, I stepped inside.
The bar was dimly lit, the light from the outside barely cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke. Conversations hummed low, the clinking of glasses punctuating the occasional burst of laughter.
I approached the bar counter, where a broad-shouldered man with graying hair and beard was wiping down a glass—Vander.
'So he lives.'
I slid into one of the stools, and Vander's gaze shifted toward me.
"New face around here," he said, setting the glass aside. "What'll it be?"
"What do you recommend?" I replied, keeping my tone neutral.
Vander raised an eyebrow but grabbed a clean glass, pouring a deep amber liquid from one of the bottles behind him.
I took a sip, noting the lack of alcohol almost immediately. "No burn. This is… nonalcoholic?"
"Sharp eye, kid," Vander said, crossing his arms and leaning slightly forward. "It's a bar, but not everyone who walks in's old enough to drink. You're what—fifteen? Sixteen?"
'Thirteen.'
That caught me slightly off guard. I swallowed my surprise and leaned back slightly. "Not quite. Most mistake me for older, considering my height."
He chuckled. "Figures. Well, enjoy it—it's on the house for newcomers."
I nodded in thanks and took another sip, letting the atmosphere settle around me.
After a pause, I broke the silence. "This place—Zaun—it feels… tense, a lot of unspoken anxiety here."
Vander tilted his head slightly, studying me. "That's Zaun for you. Always on edge. Peace here's a fragile thing—it doesn't come easy, and it doesn't last."
"Peace never does," I said, my tone sharpening. "It's always a prelude to war. The question is how you prepare for what comes next."
His brow furrowed slightly. "You sound like you've seen your share of conflict."
"Enough to know that peace without preparation is just an illusion." I replied, setting the glass down. "You can't build a future by hoping the storm will pass. You fortify for it. You grow strong enough to weather it."
Vander sighed, his gaze distant for a moment.
"Not everyone sees it that way, kid. Some would rather take their chances, even if it means bowing their heads. Not every fight's worth it."
"You are right." I said, my voice firm.
'He is not. To gaze upon the face of war and choose to kneel is to mistake submission for peace—a path paved with regret, leading only to one's demise.'
I didn't argue further. His perspective was rooted in years of hardship, but my mind was already elsewhere.
The future.
.
I sat there for a while, observing the bar and its patrons.
My eyes caught a group of children entering from the back—a girl with short pink hair leading the way, followed by a smaller one with blue locks, her gaze sharp yet curious. Two boys trailed behind them, their chatter filling the room with youthful energy.
'They're young,' I thought, watching them disappear through a side door. 'So, this is likely before Arcane. Three or four years, surely.'
I finished the drink and set the glass down, my focus sharpening as my thoughts turned to the blue-haired girl.
'Timeline aside, seizing Jinx could offer future benefits. The army I envision can only be built will exceptional intellect, and Jinx certainly possesses that quality. Her sister worth otherwise, is certainly limited.'
Leaning back slightly, I pondered my approach.
'Considering my time, I need to act fast. Gaining this girl's favor will require precise acting skills.'
The thought lingered for a moment before I nodded to myself.
"Two weeks will suffice." I murmured, tossing coins onto the counter.
I stood and pulled my hood up, heading for the exit. The faint hum of the bar faded as I stepped back into Zaun's chaotic streets, already piecing together my next move.
. . .
Zaun's streets grew narrower as I approached Benzo's Shop.
The faint hum of machinery mingling with the distant clamor of the marketplace. The shop itself was modest, tucked between larger industrial buildings. Its exterior bore the marks of Zaun's chaotic charm—grime-coated windows and rusted metal signs that swung faintly in the polluted breeze.
Pushing open the door, I was greeted by the metallic tinkle of a bell overhead. Inside, shelves were cluttered with an assortment of gadgets, tools, and various mechanical contraptions. Despite the disorder, there was a strange precision to it all, as though every piece had its place in the chaos.
Behind the counter stood a small boy with a shock of white hair—Ekko. His eyes were sharp, and his hands moved deftly as he fiddled with a small contraption. He looked up as I entered, his posture straightening instinctively.
"Welcome to Benzo's!" he said, his voice bright but guarded. "What're you looking for?"
I stepped further into the shop, glancing around the shelves before meeting his gaze. "I'm in need of tools, potentially an equipment," I said casually, feigning an air of curiosity and hidden meaning.
Ekko tilted his head, a hint of suspicion flickering in his eyes. "What kind of equipment?"
I pretended to ponder for a moment, letting my eyes wander over the shelves. "Hmm. Are any of these your creations?" I asked, gesturing toward the gadgets scattered on the counter.
His expression shifted, a flicker of pride replacing the initial caution. "Yeah, some of it. Why?"
"You appear quite intelligent," I remarked, my tone lighthearted yet purposeful. "It wouldn't be surprising if you were behind them."
Ekko smirked, setting the device in his hand down. "Well, I've been working on a few things. Benzo lets me tinker when he's not around."
Perfect. The moment I'd been waiting for. "You're impressive for your age," I said, stepping casually closer towards the counter. "Are your friends the same? They must be jealous of their young one."
"I'm not," he said, puffing out his chest slightly. "There's a girl who's one year younger—shes eight—she's just slightly taller. Ah, that's why they keep pestering me, saying 'little man.'"
'Little man. A concern that will never trouble me.'
I nodded, filing the information away. Everything was aligning as I suspected.
I picked up a small gadget—a compact mechanical device that seemed functional, though I had no real need for it.
"How much do you want?" I asked, holding it up.
Ekko squinted, tapping his chin theatrically. "That one? Uh… fifty coins."
I smirked, immediately recognizing the exaggerated price. I could've called him out, but I chose otherwise. Pulling one pouch from my belt, I placed the full 150 coins on the counter.
Ekko's eyes widened, and he quickly held up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, that's way too much! I mean—uh, thanks, but you don't have to—"
"Take it," I said firmly, sliding the pouch closer to him. "Consider this as an investment."
His hesitation melted away in an instant, a grin spreading across his face as he pocketed the money. "Thanks, mister. You're not so bad."
'He's clearly a genius. Strangely, didn't amount to much.'
I turned to leave, pausing at the door to glance over my shoulder. "Keep up the good work, little man. You've got potential."
The bell above the door jingled as I stepped out, the faint echo of Ekko's delighted "Come back anytime!" trailing behind me.
'So, that boy will possess some type of time loop machine…' I thought, my steps rhythmic echoed through the streets.
"Another useful one, indeed."
. . .
. . .
The dim light of the apartment bathed the room in muted gold as I stood before the mirror, droplets of water trailing down my dense, muscular frame.
My reflection stared back at me, matured far beyond my years. My damp, jet-black hair clung to my forehead, accentuating the sharp angles of my jawline and cheekbones. Crimson eyes flickered with intensity beneath the shadowed lighting, though my thoughts wandered elsewhere.
"Ekko is older. Jinx is eight now," I mused, my gaze lingering upon my reflection. "The girl, Jinx, was intended to be eleven years old at the beginning of Arcane. This suggests the show's events commence in the year 988 AN."
"Three years still remains," I murmured under my breath, a hint of resolve in my tone.
The dull ache in my back—the one I'd grown used to over the years—intensified abruptly, sharp and searing. The sudden spike in pain pulled me out of my thoughts, forcing my teeth to clench. Instinctively, my hand reached back, my fingertips brushing against something strange beneath the surface of my skin.
I turned, craning my neck to get a better look in the mirror. My breath caught. Two small, unnatural mounds pressed outward from my upper back, their form alien and wrong.
'What the hell is this?'
The pain flared again, fiercer this time, as if whatever was beneath my skin was struggling to break free. My fingers reached for the blade resting on the countertop.
Without hesitation, I pressed the cold edge of the blade against one of the mounds and dragged it across in a sharp motion. Agony shot through me, but the pressure eased instantly, the torment giving way to a visceral relief. Blood trickled in rivulets down my back, painting the mirror's reflection, but I didn't stop.
The second cut was harder, my breaths shallow and ragged as I steadied myself against the countertop. But as the blade opened the second mound, I felt something unfurl.
In the mirror, their appearance was unmistakable—wings.
Two embryonic appendages emerged from my back, no taller than the span of two hands, their black feathers slick with blood. Yet, even in their underdeveloped state, they emanated a presence both dominant and divine.
The dark feathers gleamed faintly in the dim light, pulsing with energy that resonated deep within my core.
I stared, silent and still, as the mirror reflected this new truth. The pain lingered, but beneath it, an inexplicable sense of fulfillment coursed through me.
'So, this is it,' I thought, my fingers brushing them, analyzing the connection between us. The sensation was foreign, raw, but not unwelcome.
Straightening, I locked eyes with my reflection, the dark, fragile wings framing my back like a shadowed promise.
. . .