Chapter Text
Riven trained with Morgana in the arts of politics and war for many years, but where Riven walked the path of justice, Morgana envisioned a world ruled by the gods alone, ultimately defeating their master and assuming the title of empress. Now tasked with bringing her friend to heel, Riven must face her in combat, or join her.
Valiant Sword Riven.
The candle smoke curled lazily above the brazier, thick with incense and prayers Riven no longer believed in.
Its been weeks since Morgana left. And it's been years since Yasuo wasn't the same.
She stood by the polished mirror, brushing the tangles from her hair with rough fingers. Her armor lay neatly folded across the bench beside her, today she wore something simpler. A ceremonial robe of black and crimson, emerald gems gracing her neck and waist, patterned in silver pleated armor and red ribbons, its sleeves stitched with celestial threads. It clung to her shoulder like a burden.
Riven’s reflection stared back, stoic and uncertain.
..Am I still who I was when Morgana trained me?
Outside, the wind carried a strange fragrance; sweet, but not clean. Not temple incense. It was thicker. Wilder. Like flowers blooming where none should be.
She stepped barefoot onto the stone path, blade sheathed against her back, eyes narrowed as she followed the scent past the shrine gardens. The trees here were sacred, untouched for centuries.
Riven knew what it felt like to be exiled, to be thrown out for your wrongdoings, to not have a say in your own perspective.
But her duties as a demigod lay flat, if lady Irelia says Ionia is in danger, Riven will do anything to make the people feel at ease, it doesn't matter that she isn't a warmblood Ionian.
But upon the start of her investigation, or should she say, 'hunt', the petals had turned a deep red.
Not from pigment.
From blood.
She stopped at the edge of the forest. The shadows swayed unnaturally in the branches, as though something breathed within them.
“You wear devotion like a chain,” came a voice; silken, echoing. Feminine.
From the trees stepped a woman cloaked in red and thorns, her hair like a cascade of vines, her eyes glowing like wildfire as her fingertips shine a bloody red. She moved like she didn’t touch the ground. Her very presence made the flowers turn toward her, some bloomed, some withered instantly.
Riven didn’t move. “..Zyra.”
Zyra smiled. “You say it like it’s a slur.”
Riven’s hand drifted toward her blade.
Her eyes flicked toward the gesture, unfazed. “You guard this land, yes? Such a waste. You could bloom into something beautiful under our moon. Not bound by gods, not shackled to righteousness.”
“And become like you?”
“Like me? No, no. You’d be worse. And so much more fun.” Zyra tilted her head, mock-offended.
Before Riven could reply, the trees behind Zyra shifted.
Something else was watching.
A flicker of red.
A sliver of steel.
Then it was gone.
Zyra turned slightly, sensing it. Her smile faltered.
“You’re not the only one being hunted, little sword.”
She stepped back into the shadows; her voice carried on the petals like a whisper:
“Soon, you’ll crave what we offer.”
The divine feminine figure was nowhere to be seen. After some time of travelling back to the shrine, she thought about what to tell Irelia, she knew some sort of encounter would happen, but not by this sacred cult that torments its people. The scent of wild ginger and osmanthus drifted through the air, curling like a memory.
.
.
.
The teapot whistled softly over the flame; its clay etched with symbols older than either woman in the room. Irelia moved with precise grace, setting two cups on the table, fingers never hesitating. Every action was deliberate. Controlled. Just like her.
Riven entered slowly, the soft clink of armor being removed piece by piece echoing off the polished walls of the mountain retreat. She laid her chest plate on the stand near the window, brushing her fingers along the dent left from last week’s skirmish. Her fingers paused there.
“You’re late,” Irelia said simply, not looking back.
“I went south. Past the shrine gates,” Riven replied, sitting on the floor with her sword across her knees. She took a worn cloth and began to polish the blade.
“The veil is thin there.”
“I know.”
Irelia poured the tea with measured silence.
“You’re not assigned to patrol that far out.”
Riven didn’t answer immediately. The steel in her hands shimmered in the candlelight, catching the faintest edge of red in its reflection. Petals, blood, or something else, she couldn’t tell.
“I felt something,” she finally said. “Someone.”
Irelia set down the teapot and took her place across from Riven, hands folded neatly in her lap.
“The Blood Moon stirs,” she said. “And where they walk, things begin to twist.”
Riven glanced up.
“I don't think they have enough power to kill me.”
“I think,” Irelia said, “that you saw more than you’re saying.”
Silence.
Riven’s cloth slowed in its motion, the edge of her blade almost too clean. Almost gleaming.
“There was... a woman. Not human. Not quite spirit. She spoke of freedom. She called me wasted.” she added on to her statement. “It was Zyra.” Riven exclaimed even more.
Irelia’s voice was sharp enough to cut.
“She’s corrupted dozens of women with her words. Persuating them to be priestesses. Makes poison taste like honey. Do not listen to her, Riven. You are not like them.”
Riven didn’t reply.
Irelia picked up her cup and sipped. Calm. Poised.
“You’ve always been stronger than temptation.”
But this isn’t about temptation, Riven thought. It’s about choice.
She set her sword aside and reached for her tea.
Outside, the wind picked up again. A low howl swept through the trees. This time, it didn’t feel like the forest.
It felt like someone was watching. A new day starts, the atmosphere is the same as before. The village was empty.
Riven stepped lightly across the stone path, her boots scraping against wind-swept leaves and broken offerings. Lanterns still swung from the gates, blood red and flickering. as if the festival had only
just begun. But no voices echoed. No breath stirred. Only silence.
Too quiet for the living.
She passed beneath a broken arch. Petals scattered across the earth, but in unnatural spirals. They were arranged; placed, not fallen. Each swirl formed a symbol she recognized.
Wind.
Three of them, carved into the ground with the tip of a blade.
A hum broke the silence. A soft string note. Then another. It grew into a melody, drifting through the air like perfume.
“Beauty lies... in the pause before the scream.”
A shot rang out like thunder.
Riven twisted just in time, the bullet grazing her side and tearing through her sleeve. She dropped to a knee, hissing in pain, hand clutching her ribs.
A figure stepped onto the stage of the ruined shrine, his mask shining under the blood moon’s glow. Tall, poised, draped in silks and crimson threads, Jhin moved with the grace of a dancer and the cold thrill of a murderer.
He bowed slightly.
“My, my. They said you were divine. But this... this is far better.”
Riven pushed herself up, blood slicking her fingers.
“You’re a coward with a gun.”
“And you,” Jhin whispered, raising his weapon again, “are already bleeding.”
Another shot. She rolled behind the archway.
*Too far. Too fast. I can't reach him like this.*
The wind stirred again. Soft. Brushing her face like a ghost’s kiss. It circled her once, lifting a petal into the air, then carried it forward, toward Jhin.
A path.
She narrowed her eyes.
He didn’t see it. But she did.
She ran like never before, watching various colors flash before her eyes.
The second shot shattered the stone behind her. She kept moving.
Blood dripped down her arm. Her breaths came hard and shallow. She couldn’t close the distance; Jhin was too far, too fast, too cruel. Every movement he made was orchestrated. Deliberate.
She saw it in his stance. The next shot would be the last.
He lifted his arm, slow and graceful, as if savoring the scene. His voice rang out, rich with the thrill of perfection.
“Now, hold still.”
The wind stopped.
A single breath.
A single gust coated the scene.
It whipped across the field like a blade, tearing through petals and dust. Jhin faltered. Just a moment. But enough.
The shot veered. It clipped her shoulder instead of piercing her heart.
Riven didn’t wait.
She ran, through pain, through wind, through the red-washed woods, until the shrine lights vanished behind her.
It's like something in her heart stopped, knowing something - or someone, saved her life. She quickly ran through the gates to their shrine, blood dripping with every movement until she entered the gates, smelling the familiar floral scent lingering around the area.
Steam rose gently from the basin as Irelia wrung out a cloth. She sat on the floor of the temple’s inner chamber, half out of her armor, blood soaked into the bandages wrapping her ribs and shoulder.
“You should be dead,” Irelia said calmly, dabbing the cloth against her wound.
“I was nearly there.”
“Jhin?”
Riven nodded once.
Irelia paused, setting the cloth aside. “You’re not ready for him alone.”
“I didn’t plan to find him,” Riven muttered. “He wanted me to. He made it a performance.”
“You’re part of the stage now.” Irelia chuckled as the silver haired woman nodded.
Silence hung between them. Irelia continued her work, more gently this time.
“And the wind?” she asked.
Riven hesitated.
“I don’t know. But... It moved for me. Just once. At the end.”
Irelia didn’t look up. “You were not alone, then.”
Riven’s gaze drifted to the open door, where the wind stirred the curtains once more. Just enough to whisper.
Not yet. The world around her twisted into black and crimson.
Riven stood in the heart of the shrine, her sword raised high, but no enemies came. Only shadows. Shadows that seemed to stretch into endless night. The air was thick with the smell of blood; damp, metallic, clinging to her skin like ash.
A whisper.
She turned sharply, but the voice was everywhere.
“..Do you feel it, little sword?”
Zyra’s face materialized from the shadows. Her eyes glowed bright, wild, untamed, like fire in the heart of a storm. Her lips curled into a sadistic smile.
“You’ve made a mistake, Riven. A grand mistake.”
The wind howled through the broken temple, and in the distance, she saw a figure approaching. Tall, cloaked, his face hidden behind a mask, but she knew. She could feel it. His presence was overwhelming.
Yasuo.
“No,” Riven whispered, stepping back. Her grip on her sword tightened. “He won’t-”
“You think he saved you?” Zyra’s laugh cut through the darkness, cruel and venomous. “No, my sweet warrior. He saved you for a far darker purpose.”
The figure in the distance took another step forward. His footsteps were heavy, purposeful. Riven could hear the swish of his cloak as he moved closer, like the whisper of a blade being drawn.
Zyra leaned closer, her voice a poison-laced caress. “You’ve heard the stories. The grand executioner who takes no mercy. The one who slays the unworthy. The one who has been called to end you.”
“No,” Riven protested again, her voice trembling as she backed away. “He’s not here to kill me.”
“Then why,” Zyra purred, “did he spare you?”
Riven turned to face the approaching figure, her breath catching in her throat. Yasuo’s eyes glowed with an unnatural light as he drew his sword; the blade master that had once been hers.
“You see, little sword,” Zyra continued, her voice fading into a distant, haunting echo. “The grand executioner has chosen you. And when he comes for you, there will be no mercy.”
“NO!” Riven cried, raising her own blade. But it was heavy, sluggish, as if the weight of her past was bound to the steel itself. Yasuo’s eyes locked onto hers, and with a single, smooth motion, he brought the blade down to-
.
.
.
. . . Her breath came in sharp, ragged gasps.
Riven shot up from the bed, her body drenched in cold sweat. The room was dark, only the faintest glow from the moonlight slipping through the curtains. The silence was broken only by the sound of her frantic heartbeat.
She looked around, wide-eyed, searching for something, anything, unfamiliar. But nothing. Just the quiet, still air of the shrine room. Her sword rested against the wall where she’d left it, untouched.
N.. None of it was real?.. It was.. a dream? But the wounds are still there.
What is happening?
Zyra’s words.
The weight of Yasuo’s gaze.
The certainty that he was coming for her.
Was it true?
Riven ran a shaky hand through her hair, staring at the floor as her mind raced. She’d seen it before, but now, now it felt so real. Too real.
The grand executioner.
She closed her eyes, pushing the nightmare away, but it still clung to her thoughts like smoke, twisting in the back of her mind. Riven sat across from Irelia, the warmth of the morning sun filtering through the open windows of the small, quiet shrine. The faint hum of nature outside felt peaceful, a soft contrast to the turmoil that constantly churned within her.
Irelia was already making tea, her hands steady as she worked, the grace of a skilled fighter lingering in every movement. The smell of jasmine filled the room as she poured the steaming liquid into two cups, setting one in front of Riven.
“Bad dreams?” Irelia asked softly, noticing the dark circles beneath Riven’s eyes. Riven nodded, stretching her back. "What even happened after you tended to my wounds?" she asked. "You ended up falling asleep shortly after, didn't look comfortable though. Did the dreams get worse?"
Riven’s gaze lingered on the tea for a moment before she looked up. “The same as always. But... this one felt different.” She paused, her voice lowering. “Zyra was in it. She spoke of Yasuo... said he was coming to kill me.”
Irelia's eyes flickered with concern. “Do you believe her?”
“I don't," Riven admitted, feeling a flicker of doubt. “I’ve felt his presence before; he finds joy in death ever since he became a member. I miss him, I miss the real him."
Irelia set her cup down and leaned forward. “Riven, I know the Blood Moon’s tricks. They’ll say anything to twist your thoughts, to make you doubt. But you have to trust in yourself. Not all paths are meant to end in death.”
Riven nodded but didn’t speak. Her mind was still tangled in the nightmare, the image of Yasuo’s sword, the blade she knew so well, the one he wielded so expertly, piercing through her organs one by one.
Irelia reached for the kettle to pour more tea, but as her fingers brushed the surface, something flickered on the metal. A symbol, glowing faintly in the light.
The Blood Moon.
The icon of a crescent moon with blood-red tendrils, etched into the kettle, suddenly pulsed with a life of its own. The air in the room seemed to grow colder, the temperature dropping rapidly as the symbol burned brighter.
Riven’s breath caught in her throat.
“Irelia...” she whispered, eyes narrowing at the mark. “This isn’t a coincidence.”
Before Irelia could respond, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed outside, quickly followed by a soft thud, like the movement of someone landing silently on the ground.
"Maybe your dream prepared us for something." The dark-haired woman said firmly.
A cold wind swept through the open windows, rustling the curtains and carrying with it a familiar, unsettling scent. Blood.
The large temple door swung open with a creak. Their soldiers dead, becoming nothing but a memory from their shrine.
Standing in the doorway was Zilean, his ancient clockwork gaze locked onto Riven. His presence alone seemed to distort time, the ticking of his clock blending with the sound of her heartbeat.
Behind him, Katarina appeared, her blades gleaming in the dim light. Her smile was sharp, mocking.
And then.. The man himself.
His face was shadowed, but Riven could feel the weight of his gaze. The same gaze that had haunted her dreams, the one that held both promise and danger.
“Riven,” Zilean spoke, his voice like gravel scraping against stone. “It’s time to face the reckoning.”
Riven’s hand instinctively went to her sword.
Irelia stood, calm as ever, but her expression was tight. “We didn’t ask for this.”
Katarina’s laugh echoed through the room, dark and vicious. “You never do.”
Before Riven could react, Yasuo took a step forward, his presence suffocating.
“I’m here to make things... clearer,” Yasuo’s voice was low, tinged with something she couldn’t place. “Executing is not a simple task.”
Riven felt a chill run down her spine. The wind began to pick up, swirling around them, shifting like an invisible force, crackling with energy.
“Get ready,” Irelia said, her stance already shifting into a fighting position. “They won’t stop until they have what they want.”
The tension was unbearable. The calm before the storm.
Riven’s sword was already in her hand, her body tense, prepared to move. The tension between the five of them was palpable, crackling in the air.
“You can’t hide forever, Riven,” Zilean’s ancient voice echoed in the shrine. His eyes locked onto hers with a knowing, almost pitying gaze. “You know what has to be done.”
Before Riven could retort, Katarina’s blades gleamed in the low light, her voice dripping with mockery. “You’re still a fool if you think you can run from destiny.”
Irelia didn’t wait for a response. Her blade flicked with a sharp motion, sending waves of energy toward Zilean. He countered, raising his time-manipulating hourglass, but it was clear the two were evenly matched.
Irelia’s movements were fluid, her style a blend of grace and power.
“You’ll have to do better than that!” she called, her blade clashing with Zilean’s staff. “Stay focused, Riven!”
But it wasn’t Irelia Riven was focused on. She couldn’t take her eyes off Yasuo.
His expression was unreadable as he stepped forward, a playful glint in his eye that sent an unsettling warmth through her.
“You’re still looking at me like you don’t know whether to kill me or kiss me,” Yasuo’s voice cut through the chaos, smooth as ever, even in the face of battle. His tone was casual, almost too calm for the situation. He stepped closer, his wind-swept hair flowing like a tempest. “You’ll have to choose soon, Riven. But I don’t mind waiting a little longer... if you need more time.”
Riven’s heart hammered in her chest. His words made her falter, just for a second, but enough for Yasuo to close the distance between them.
With a sudden movement, he grabbed her wrist, pulling her with him. The world around them twisted and shifted. The shrine, the chaos of battle, faded into nothingness.
A crimson void surrounded them, swirling blood-red mist and the scent of decay in the air.
“I think this is a much better place for us to spar, exile.” Yasuo mused, his grip on her wrist still firm. His face was close now, his breath warm against her skin.
“You've changed." Riven began, trying to break free, but the air around her seemed to hum with power. Every step she took felt heavier, as if the very essence of the void was trying to trap her.
Yasuo smiled, even if his mask blocked the sight, Riven knew what he came for. “It’s just you and me now. No distractions. No interruptions.”
Riven’s heart raced, but her voice remained firm. “Your're bat-shit crazy if you think you can kill me, i'm not playing this game with you.”
“You’re already in one,” Yasuo’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of challenge and something else. “But if you don’t want to play, that’s fine. I’ll just have to make you.”
With that, he drew his sword, the wind around them picking up like a storm. The crimson void pulsed in time with his movements, making Riven raise her blade in defense.
As the two of them clashed, the winds howled, and Riven couldn’t help but notice the way Yasuo’s movements mirrored hers, the way they fought as if they’d known each other for years.
He was good. Too good.
“You’re not getting away this time, Riven,” Yasuo’s voice was low and dangerous, though there was still an underlying playfulness in his tone. “Not until you bleed.”
The wind howled in the crimson void, swirling around Yasuo and Riven like an unstoppable storm. Their blades clashed once more, the sharp sound echoing through the oppressive silence, but it was clear that this battle wasn’t one of mere fury. This was personal.
Riven’s eyes locked onto Yasuo’s, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “You think you can just do this?” Her voice was strained, angry, but there was something else in it; fear. “You think I don't yearn for the old you?”
Yasuo’s grip tightened on his sword, his gaze flickering with something unreadable. For a moment, he hesitated. His usual playful grin was gone, replaced by a grim expression, one that made Riven’s stomach tighten.
“The mask defines me, Riven,” he said, his voice low and strained. “But if you refuse to follow the path you’re meant to, if you refuse to embrace the Blood Moon, it leaves me with no choice.”
"..You also changed, exile."
.
.
.
Riven’s heart slammed in her chest. She had known this moment would come, but it didn’t make it any easier. Yasuo was no longer the carefree, teasing figure she had known. He was something else now; a weapon, an instrument of fate that she couldn’t escape.
“It's what I had to do." she said firmly, her voice resolute. “I won’t bow to that corrupt power. There is a reason why I was chosen to lead these territories."
The words stung. It wasn’t that she didn’t care for him; she did, in ways that terrified her. But she could never surrender her beliefs, her freedom, to something as dark and twisted as the Blood Moon.
"You've become nothing but a soulless shadow to me." Riven said sternly. "But I know the second that mask is ripped off of your face, your desire to pierce me will end. Cause you're a coward. A real one."
Yasuo’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. He stepped closer, his blade still raised, but this time, there was no playful edge to his movements. He was serious, dead serious. The wind around them picked up, swirling with an intensity that mirrored the storm raging within him.
“We taught each other to never be vulnerable." Yasuo said, his voice quiet but filled with a dangerous intensity. “I’m giving you a choice. But if you refuse, then you leave me with no other option.”
Riven’s throat tightened, the weight of his words sinking deep into her chest. The desire that had once burned between them was still there, but now it was entangled with duty. A duty he had to follow. She could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he struggled to reconcile his feelings for her with the mission that had bound him.
“Coward,” Riven said, her voice breaking slightly. “If your brother could see you, if he could see me, us, now. He'd never look at you the same again."
Yasuo’s face softened, but only for a moment. The wind around them died down, and the silence between them grew thick. He lowered his blade, his gaze never leaving hers.
“DO NOT SPEAK ILL OF HIM!" he said, his voice high and pained. “But if you refuse to die... then I have no choice. You’ll make me do this.”
Riven’s sword trembled in her hand as she stepped back. The weight of the decision hung heavily in the air, but she couldn’t bring herself to run. Not from him. The masked man swung intensely at her, dash by dash, but nothing seemed to hit. She still remembers how he fights, it's like she still knew who he was. Who was under all of this.
“I'm not fighting you, Yasuo. But I'm not letting you corrupt my people." she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. Her blade still acted as a shield as she spoke.
Yasuo exhaled, his hand reaching out, fingers brushing her wrist. The touch was soft, almost gentle, too gentle for someone who was supposed to eradicate her entire existence. “I never wanted to be the one to end this, Riven. But if you leave me no choice...”
“I refuse to be your priestess,” she said again, her voice firm, despite the cracks in her resolve. She turned her back to him, facing the void ahead of her. “I wish I could just be yours.”
Yasuo didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped up behind her, his presence a suffocating weight.
Before she could react, he pulled her into his arms, lifting her off the ground. Riven struggled, but his grip was unyielding. The air around them thickened, and suddenly the crimson void seemed to pulse, as though it were alive. Yasuo’s heartbeat loudly in her ears, drowning out the storm.
Riven’s chest tightened as she tried to twist free, but Yasuo’s hold on her was firm, his voice low and filled with regret. “I wish this didn’t have to happen, Riven,” he whispered, almost to himself. “But you’re forcing my hand.”
Her breath caught in her throat. He was going to do it. She will face what's coming to her.
But then, his voice softened, almost imperceptible. “..If I do this... I can’t take it back. You have to know that.”
Riven closed her eyes, her heart aching, her sword heavy in her hands. This was it. There was no escape. No future for them.
But she couldn’t let herself go down without a fight.
“I won’t make it easy for you,” she said, her voice strong despite the pain. She turned to face him, her heart pounding in her chest.
The wind howled again, swirling violently around them.
“Then fight me,” Yasuo said softly, his eyes searching hers. “Let me know you’re not giving up.”
The crimson void crackled with energy, the very air thick with tension as Yasuo and Riven clashed in a furious storm of blade and fury. Yasuo’s wind-swept movements were as fluid as ever, each strike cutting through the atmosphere like a blade slicing through the fabric of time. Riven’s sword, once sharp and steadfast, now faltered beneath his relentless assault.
Her breath came in ragged gasps, each blow driving her back further, her feet sliding across the ground like she was caught in a tide. The force of Yasuo’s strikes was overwhelming, and though she fought fiercely, she could feel herself losing ground. Every time she swung her sword, it felt heavier, as if the weight of the battle, and everything she was fighting for, was pressing down on her.
Finally, with a powerful swing, Yasuo’s sword connected with Riven’s, sending her weapon flying from her hands. It clattered against the ground, useless, leaving her vulnerable in the face of his power.
Riven staggered, her legs nearly giving out beneath her. The void seemed to close in around her as she struggled to breathe, her heart hammering against her chest. She was too close to death, she could feel it. The edges of her vision blurred, and her knees buckled, sending her collapsing to the ground.
Yasuo stood over her, his expression conflicted, his sword raised high as if ready to end it all. His chest heaved with every breath, but his eyes; the eyes that had once been filled with playfulness and warmth, were now cold and distant.
This was no longer the Yasuo she knew.
This was the Yasuo that had been twisted by duty and darkness, the one who had been sent to betray every view he had.
But as he stood over her, his grip on his blade faltered. He hesitated.
For the briefest of moments, time itself seemed to stop.
Riven’s heart raced. She was so close to the end, so close to never having to fight again. But in this final, fleeting moment, she couldn’t help but hope. Hope that Yasuo, the one she had cared for so deeply, wouldn’t end her life. That maybe there was still something left of the man she had known.
“Do it,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. “End it.”