Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The weapons of the Sentinels.

Forged from concentrated righteousness, and born from their headquarters of long forgotten origin, these light-filled armaments have been mainly used to fight the Harrowings for the past centuries.

With Viego’s return, and Ruination under his direction, the Sentinels now point their weapons toward the newest and largest threat from the Shadow Isles. To that end more weaponry, and more sentinels to wield them, are needed. But the arms are very particular about who may wield them, created as nothing more than chunks of inactive relic-stone until interacting with their chosen user.

Thankfully, when a weapon is first created, so too is a means of both finding and recruiting this individual.

Along with the weapon’s creation spawns a two-part token, a four-point comet with a smaller one joined beneath the base of it. Emblazoned onto both pieces is the symbol of their order.

When the smaller piece is broken off, up to two current nearby sentinels are showered in light, before being teleported within a few kilometers of the would-be user. Then, the remaining larger piece lights up in the direction of who it seeks. Once found and placed in this individual’s possession, the token then moves the three of them back to headquarters.

Such is how Senna and Lucian traveled to Demacia so quickly after meeting Viego, having carried an unbroken token with them and then using it. It is also how the first of many new recruits took upon the Sentinels oath, Vayne being the first in a long time.

And when a weapon would be deactivated, returned to the armory and turned back into an unworking clump, another token would be created. To find its next user, whose touch would once again shift it into an armament matching its wielder’s style.

However, because the ability to teleport across the world is as powerful as it is convenient, in the earliest days of the order many tokens were used not to find recruits. Instead they were used for mobilization, the tokens being more of a gamble but oftentimes being the quickest means to enter the fight.

And with the fight so suddenly near, the remaining larger pieces of those tokens were sometimes discarded.

Due to this, four weapons had remained inactive for centuries. And circumstances made it so that these four were all that were available, outside of Senna’s and Lucian’s weapons. At least, up until recently. Vayne’s weapon had been forged just a month ago, Lucian's cullings over the past years in his quest to rescue Senna accumulating just enough light to create it and its full token.

That makes two Sentinels into three, but that alone would be nowhere near enough to defeat Ruination. Thankfully, through machinations unknown and forgotten, there was yet hope. The discarded pieces of those tokens remained fully effective even all this time after. As a result, sentinel after sentinel were teleported to HQ shortly after Vayne picked up her relic-stone weapon.

First after Vayne, was Irelia. Given their token from Karma who had passed it on from incarnation to incarnation, having waited for this moment and seeing the token’s light point towards the blade dancer, Irelia accepted the burden and the call to action. As she has grown accustomed to.

Then came Diana, having suddenly found the token on a long abandoned altar, in a place unknown to even her. It was only after a mutually lethal fight between mist-possessed Targonians was the location revealed. And seeing this all for the sign that it was, Diana embraced the token under the moon’s watchful glow.

Afterwards was Rengar, who spotted his token being used as an adornment by his latest hunt. Not that he knew what it was, or that he would have cared had he known in the moment. His sole concern was the thrill of the hunt, and the satisfaction he felt after felling his prey. And in the place of collecting his trophy, he received the promise of more and greater hunts.

Lastly, was Pantheon. A man who begrudgingly stowed his shield away as the token was flipped into his palm like a coin, from an aspect he does not and cannot trust. But for as little he knows of Harrowings and this Ruination, he knows he cannot stand idly by with man’s world in danger.

With that, all four of the formerly disused weapons had now been activated, and united with their chosens. For the first time since their creation.

But there was yet more to do. A result of the light that Lucian and Senna had managed to collect from their fight with Shyvana, another new weapon had popped into existence after Pantheon appeared at HQ. And an entire two-use token along with it.

Eager to continue the trend of their rapidly growing number, Senna and Lucian broke the token and were moved to Bilgewater.

. . . where they were blown off by the would-be user, Graves.

Who, while he still ended up joining just a few days after the fact, is still paying for it in the form of extra drills . . .

Chapter Text

The solid lines of glowin’ Sentinel-grade gold, which ‘cover’ me left arm in what has ta be the world’s most ineffective lookin’ vambrace, stop shining as I fail the training drill. Again. The constructs of light around me fade away as an off-tune chime ever so helpfully tells me and Lucian, the only other person in the training hall with me as well as my personal, second instructor, what we both already seen and know: I failed. 

I widen my stance and get me hands on me knees in a fluid motion - a motion I’ve had a lot of time perfecting, what with the past week or so of Sentinel training and extra you-need-more-training training - as I suck down air best I can. Me head hangs low, because I’m just that damn tired and because I’m gonna have to do another run o’ this.

If this weren’t my twelfth fail since we started today I’d have enough energy to give a loud an’ hearty ‘ COME THE FUCK ON’. As it stands- well. I can hardly stand. Lucian’s been drillin’ me fer the past hour, this last one in particular takin’ up the most of it. Makes me have ta run and leap all o’er the damn place, tryna make targets glow by getting close to em, and I am light. Headed.

But until I make all ten targets twinkle before the clock runs out, I aint allowed to stop.

The windowless room of white stone continues to dim from being overly bright to eventually still-hard-on-the-eyes as the drill resets. I continue to breathe heavy, the pristine floor beneath me - who’ve I’ve gotten real familiar with, after all this quality time we been spendin’ together - stretching on for a near five-hundred square, square-meters ‘fore reaching the entrance and the bleachers on the opposite wall. And my sentinel weapon, which I tucked away in the corner.

“My” sentinel weapon. The thought comes to me as I have to physically swallow from exhaustion, and the action helps keep me from passing out but fails to push down my dour thoughts. 

The weapon is similar to the shottys I’m used ta. In terms of overall size, structure, and function - save for the technically unlimited ammo - it doesn’t feel at all odd to hold or use. Just this time she aint built outta the usual metal and screws. Instead she’s a collection of magically kept-together chunks of ‘relic-stone’ - whatever that is; aint too interested in the diagnostics, seein’ as how I’ll never be able to nab even a pebble of the stuff ta sell off - which glow an’ move an’ work together to shoot out what I needs to be shot out.

Convenient, if a tad odd. Powerful, definitely. 

And no way is she stickin’ with me permanently.

As if anything I didn’t bring with me here is comin’ with me after I’m done. As if they aren’t just gonna rip her outta me hands as soon as they don’t need me no more. 

As if you didn’t come here knowin’ all that.

My mind wanders to the stack o’ blue cards in my pockets, and I get angry at it for doin’ so before forcin’ myself back to thinking ‘bout the gun what used to be a lumpy rock before I touched it. 

Less I think about him, the better. If he wants to fuck off ta guilt trip me into this Sentinel B.S. without warning, then he can fuck. Off. As if we both didn’t turn away from Lucian and Sir Senna when they first showed up. As if I shoulda been able to decipher that he was gettin’ pissy with me cus he changed his mind and wanted me to go join up; I thought it was cus o’ the cards! 

And so what if some of yer cards went on the fritz! Ye still had the non-colored ones. Ye still had yer wits, and yer lady luck! Ye still had me!  

Ye coulda talked to me like a fuckin’ adult about wantin’ me to join the Sentinels, rather than just disappearin’ and makin’ me a fool and a-!

. . . Tch.  

Sentinels. Sentinels, right, yea. They can have the stupid inert piece o’ rock back; what “New Destiny” lacks in infinite ammo and a transformation-sequence, she makes up for in character. And in her awesome soundin' name, which I gave her. Something the new shiny gun don’t yet have.

. . . Not that I haven’t been tryin’ to think up a name fer her, I’ll admit. She’s an alright lady, strong and reliable, but I aint used ta all the glowin’ and changin’. Makes it hard ta-

“Again.”

Lucian’s stern voice cuts through my thoughts, and I pause in between breaths when I hear him before continuing to take in gulp after gulp of air. The absence of any echo being applied to his single-word command in this large and open room no longer surprises me. After all the sparring sessions and the drill chimes and all the yelling the other instructor gets up to, I’d have been driven crazy listening to all that.

I lift me head up and meet Lucian’s gaze with me own, the man totally unmoved by my state of extreme exhaustion. Which is par fer the course, at this point. He’s in his usual attire with his usual seriousness, arms crossed and guns at his sides. I continue to look his way as I reply, hoping for even just another minute of respite.

“Can’t I,” I start weakly, before taking in a deep breath and continuing in as close to a normal voice I can get. With the occasional break to pant. “Come on, sir. We been on this one. Fer an hour. How ‘bout a break?” It’s a tiny lie; we done a few different drills in the past hour, but this is definitely the hardest and has taken the longest and I’m not sorry for fibbin’.

Lucian raises a single eyebrow, slowly and somehow threateningly.

“A break.” 

His voice is neutral in its disbelief at what he probably thinks is my audacity, but I didn’t hear no ‘no’ so I keep at it. 

“Yeah.” I move up from my forward lean and stand up straight, hands at my hips. Who knows, he might take me more seriously like this. Eye level, though the man is a bit taller than me. “Ya know, downtime. Catch a breather. Let the line run.” 

That last one gets a slight reaction outta him, and he lowers his eyebrow.

“Hmph.” Lucian shifts his footing slightly, his stone pistols staying perfectly parallel to him as they hover around his hips with magic rather than a hook or anything. “Never heard that line before.”

“Eh. It’s a Bilgewater thing.” I’m surprised that he’s surprised, but this just might be the closest thing to a break I can get so I keep explaining. Bit easier to talk like this, too. “Referring to a fishing line. When you’ve got a fish hooked, sometimes it’s best to just.” I gulp down some air. “Ta just not do anything fer a while. Let the sucker tire itself out. Then when you work the reel again-.”

“I know how to fish, Graves.” Lucian cuts me off, and though his voice is noticeably harsher, I know it aint because he thinks I’m insulting him. It’s just cus he aint interested in hearin’ it. The man then continues, “The saying just isn’t as instantly understandable as the others you used.”

“But ya still caught the meanin’, yea?” I reply immediately, too tired for any kind of filter or care.

Lucian blinks, before squinting at me, not a trace of humor on his face.

“. . . Was that a fishing pun?”

“Depends.” I move my hands from my hips to the top of me head, taking in a deep breath with the motion. “Was you saying you ‘never heard that line before’ a pun?”

Silence. One that lasts for several precious, restorative seconds. I’m not entirely sure what to say, and neither is Lucian I’m guessing, but I’m not complaining. The longer the silence lasts, the longer my break becomes. All good things come to an end, though, and as Lucian closes his eyes and exhales through his nose I’m full expectin’ some harsh words and possible even a gun or two drawn.

So I’m surprised when neither comes to cross.

“You know what?” he says in a more casual tone, eyes still closed. “You can take that break.”

“Sweet mercy, yes.” 

I plop down onto the floor immediately, butt first and almost falling back before keeping balance. I soak up the cooling stone as me ankles hit the ground with legs fanned, and palms pressed to the floor behind me. As I lean back and try to get as comfortable as possible without lying flat, I feel the pauldron on me right shoulder come real close to touchin’ me face. Not directly touching, no, but close enough ta be a nuisance.

I miss my old clothes. Bless her little seamstress heart; it’s comfortable and well-made and I actually really like the rope-cape thing, but it’s just . . . not me. 

I don’t care that these new digs purify or erase my sweat or whatever. I don’t care that light has been woven into the fabric and throughout the metal. The piece o’ metal stuck to the right side of me face, actin’ like what, eye armor? The thin, gold lattice of arches that magically appear and wrap ‘round me arm, all my knife and bullet wounds under it clashin’ with it’s attempt at makin’ me look sophisticated? 

The dumb tuft of dumb white hair that shows up like some kind o’ accent when I’m wearing the outfit - I’m not that old!

. . . Ugh. I loll my head back and close my eyes, face pointed to the ceiling. The cold floor is really helping, my breathing now starting to go back down ta almost normal.

It’s not like my old digs were destroyed or anything. They’re in a bag, near my bed. Hmph, ‘my’ bed. Or that there isn’t a good reason to wear the Sentinel clothes. It’s only because of the full set I’m wearing that I can even set any targets atwinkling, after all. A magic innate to the clothes, one that I have to learn to hone and direct. Which I’m havin’ an understandably terrible time gettin’ the hang of due to my being a normal, non-magic guy.  

The magic within the weapon responds well enough, recreating my smokes and bullets and even my ‘collateral damage’ rounds. But everything else with the clothes. . . nada. Apparently it’s just supposed to eventually click, ‘least that’s what Sir Senna told me yesterday after she first demonstrated the drill I’m currently running myself ragged over. Weaponless, the drill makes you have to extend the light from within yer getup to reach the first target it creates. Then another target appears elsewhere within the large room. Fixtures and floating ledges of solid light are also periodically created, though experience has taught me they are liable to de construct while yer using them. 

A drill meant to train both athleticism and one’s skill with that Sentinel light. A drill that every other Sentinel-in-training has passed by now, either using the movement they already had before getting the new gear or picking it up too quick to be fair.

Irelia and Diana can practically jump from one end o’ the room to the other just by usin’ their Ionian footwork-techniques or Targonian celestialmancy or something, respectively. Rango and ol’ Atreus can both literally just jump across the whole room unassisted. Just about the only other ‘normal’, new recruit here like me is Vayne, and all the Sentinel light in her gear warmed up to her immediately. She just walked around and lit the targets from a quarter o’ the room away with a wave of her hand, like a natural. 

And she was able to turn invisible before comin’ here! 

Sir Senna, though. She didn’t even need to move from the starting point, there in the middle o’ the room. Her . . . righteousness or whatever, reached far enough from there. She just pointed at each of the targets, took in a breath, and they would light up. But no matter what I do, the furthest I can stretch the light in the clothes is just a single meter. 

I spent most of yesterday’s extra training tryna push the light as far as I can, but it wouldn’t go any further than that meter. And so I have to run around, scamperin’ up the damn walls even to get close enough to the higher up targets that sometimes show.

. . . Dammit all. 

I shake me head, still tilted back, before pointing it forward once I’m done moping. None of this is any kind o’ new treatment or idea. If ye don’t got it, ye gotta work fer it. That’s just how it goes. How it’s been most my life, and what I pride myself on. For all the setbacks I’m facing here, after all, I’m still goin’ even across all the sparring sessions we’ve had. Down, but not out. Trainin’ is nothing I aint used ta, and it’s how I got to be as good a shot as I am.

And I’ll get that good here too. If not fer the world, then for myself.

I’ve recovered enough by now, to get through another drill. Although everything does still hurt. Days of continuous training’ll do that. I’m tired. Real tired. Me bones hurt. Which is natural, and is not a sign of age! But, dammit all. It’s high time I hop back up on that horse, and clear this damn-.

“I’ll just go and bring Atreus back here, then.”

Lucian’s words are enough ta stun me, the man never intending to let my ‘break’ last longer than a handful o’ seconds. And a handful o’ seconds is all the time that’s passed since I’ve sat me rear down. I pause to swallow for several reasons, none of them good. Ol’ Atreus is the other instructor I mentioned, the one in charge of training all of us during our bi-daily group sessions. The man’s a fellow new recruit, yea, but he’s also from Targon. Place raises one-man-armies for fun, and it’s where Demacians go to climb up the giant mountain as a test or something. 

Man’s merciless. I tilt my head and shoot the man a please-don’t-do-this-to-a-man-already-down kind o’ look. 

Lucian don’t care, eyes back open and not a hint o’ mercy in ‘em. ‘Course he don’t care; he was purposefully waiting fer me to get comfier on the ground before issuin’ that threat! 

“I’m gettin’ up!”  

The words come out raspy as I really do get up, not feelin’ too put out since I did actually get that break I wanted. Lucian can be a real hardass sometimes, but he aint unreasonable. Coulda told me ta watch my attitude just now fer instance - and he used to say as much the first few times he oversaw my extra training - but he’s got more of an understandin’ ‘bout what I’m about now. Man probably thought I’d crack and try ta runaway after the first day of bein’ grinded into the floor. 

But here I am, still me and not yet turned inta floor paste. Not that him and ol’ Atreus aint doin’ their damndest. I’m back on me feet now, and as I happen ta take a quick look over me shoulder, I take in the sight of . . . my, Sentinel weapon. 

Me face softens. Before readyin’ back up as I face forward again.

Nevermind what’ll happen in the future. Not important. Right here and right now she’s mine, and I gotta do right by her. For whatever reason, the girl chose me, and I won’t go and put her back on ice just because I’m going through some stuff. 

Doesn’t mean I’m gonna go replacin’ my feels-good attitude with soldier-seriousness anytime soon, though.

I go for a quick stretch, touchin’ me toes, and then look to Lucian as I stand up straight an’ bounce on me feet to get in the zone. I roll my shoulders as he uncrosses his arms at this point, opting to hold them behind his back for a while. And then he gives me a nod. I nod in return, and he primes up his own Sentinel magic to get ready to activate the drill.

“Sixty seconds, Graves.” Lucian speaks with the faintest bit o’ encouragement in his words, and I stop movin’ around and focus up. “Get set . . .” 

Lucian’s words trigger the familiar response within the training hall, a faint ripple of light startin’ from the door begins ta move throughout the floor and walls and ceiling of the training hall. It’ll stop once it collides with itself on the opposite wall, not that I’ll be watchin’ when it happens. As the light moves near Lucian it seamlessly moves from the floor onto his attire, passing atop his clothes and weapons but not his skin before joining the floor once more. 

It then moves underneath me, and again I feel nothing as it passes under like I’m not even there. The light does not acknowledge me, hasn’t fer the past week. No matter. I don’t need it to. 

Round-three-fucking-teen it is.

“Go!”

A chime more pleasant than the one that plays on a ‘fail’ sounds off, and the drill begins with the first target - a floating replica of the Sentinel symbol - showing itself to be eight meters hard left and at eye-level. I close the distance in four low-to-the-ground strides, and I reach out with my hand to the painstakingly perfected spacing I’ve calculated out in order to light the target with my limited light-maneuverability. 

Even after all the training, I’m not exactly sure what I’m supposed to feel or focus on ta get the light out. I stare at the target real hard, envisioning it turnin’ glowy. I try ta ‘feel’ my clothes more, payin’ attention to how different parts o’ it sometimes shine while in my periphery. I think about the warmth in me hands after holdin’ my weapon what’s been gettin’ hotter throughout a scuffle; the way the sun’s light flitters in between the sails o’ passing ships, or reflects and dances atop the glimmerin’ ocean. 

All o’ that together manages to light up the gold ‘round me arm at least, and activate the targets I reach out to. But it definitely hasn’t clicked yet like Sir Senna said it would.

But target number one lights up with me hand raised to it, and that’s enough for now. It shines and then fades away quickly to make way for the next target, and that’s all that matters. I scan the room for the next emblem and it’s fifty meters in the direction of the entrance, practically touching the floor. Easy. 

I bag the second target with no problem. And then the gymnastics come on, all on schedule.  

The third target appears thirty meters behind me and ten meters above, and it’s not the only construct o’ light that shows up. A path is made fer me, floating semi-transparent slabs o’ light scattered haphazardly ta make the awkwardest staircase/obstacle course ever, and I don’t waste no time leapin’ up it. I move fast and only let one of me feet touch any given slab ‘fore leaping to the next, focusin’ on the time limit and tryin’ ta make sure the fake floor don’t fall from underneath me again. 

I let out a loud, aggravated groan as I put no small amount o’ juice into the last leap, and the third target spins at it shines and then disappears. I’m ten meters off the ground now, standin’ on a see-through, almost-invisible, floating platform, as all the other platforms disappear and new ones show up to lead me towards the next target. Fifty meters that way, seven meters down. 

The next few seconds follow the same pattern: Snag a target, Increasingly difficult obstacle course to the next one materializes, repeat. Same as it was the previous twelve times, and those other times the previous day. I don’t technically count those ones because the targets wouldn’t take my light yesterday, even if I stuck me hand through one. Now though . . .

I launch myself off of the impromptu rope swing, just barely landin’ on the edge of the ninth target’s floating shelf, and I can’t help but fall forward onto me knees and look down to the ground several meters below me. 

Me shoulders and thighs feel like they weigh an extra hundred pounds each, the signals me brain are sending resultin’ in nothin’ more than small twitches. It’s so hot in this large, crisp roomI swear I can see my breath, me heart pounding so fiercely I can hear my burning blood race through me ears. Me lungs are workin’ overtime, barely managing ta take in enough air to keep me conscious. 

My vision starts ta swim and yea, maybe the white puffs I’m seein’ escape outta me are actually a hallucination. 

I’m still not fully recovered from yesterday’s training even, havin’ woken up and feelin’ like someone had dipped me into a tub of acid while I was asleep. Me body is wracked with pain that’s been added upon already-added-upon pain, and no doubt me face is contorted into somethin’ awful. The sweat that’s been drippin’ off me face actually starts ta pool and obscures my view o’ the training room floor. I wait long enough, I just might be able to see for myself how bad I look by way of a sweat-made reflection.  

But there’s still one more target after this one. 

I breathe heavy for another few seconds, before swallowin’ down my pain and lookin’ up. I see the target right there above me, and I set me eyebrows at the sight. I suck in a breath different from the rest, one that leaves just as quickly but takes with it my hesitation and my weakness, and I grit me teeth and clench me jaw. 

My entire body shakes as I rise to me feet, neck tenser and denser than any kind o’ magic rock. With a jittering hand, I slowly but definitely raise my hand and finally set the ninth target alight-

-as the light under me gives out all at once, and I’m sent free fallin’.

Chapter Text

SHIT-

I hit the floor with the loudest, most painful thud yet. I thankfully managed to turn my head and land flat overall, so nothing bleeds, but still. I didn’t even bounce I think; just. . . pain. The tiniest of groans escape me lips, the state that I’m in unable to verbally express just how much that fucking hurt.

But there’s no time to waste.

“Ten seconds.” 

. . .

Lucian’s indifferent tone as he tells me what I’m already aware of almost sets me the fuck off. But I don’t have the energy to waste. Nor the energy for the fight that’d follow after me unloadin’ on Lucian all the colorful words a Bilgewater pirate like me knows.

I squeak out something between a furious expletive and a pained whimper, and press me palms into the floor to push the upper half of my body off the floor. I look around, and don’t have to look for long. Luckily, the tenth and final target is in front of me.

Unluckily, it’s atop a lone, twenty meter light-constructed pillar, absent of any footholds. No other constructs were created, meaning all I’ve got ta help me up there-

I shift me eyes from the target to the wall next to it. 

- is another, completely flat surface.

You gotta be-

“Five seconds.”

. . .

I can’t fucking scream, so I let out a yell in my soul.  And.

That’s. The last . . .

thing . . . I . . .

. . .

. . .

I don't know where I am. I don't know what I'm . . . feeling.

. . .

No. No, that aint true. I've felt this before. A . . . pressure, somewhere at me head.

. . . ve . . .

It don't feel bad. Not at all. It's . . . familiar.

ra . . . v . . .

But something is off. The feeling is lasting fer too long. It should be over by now. 

. . . Gra . . . s

I don't want it to leave. It's nice. Better than what I was up to just a second ago-

G . . . ves

What was I doing? And why does it . . . feel like someone is talking?

Someone familiar. Someone that wants-

"Graves."

-?!

I come to with a loud gasp for air as I sit upright-

-or I would, if not for the sensation o' glass shards poking 'round me lungs and the pure, unfiltered agony blasting through every cell in my body.

"Bout time."

Reality settles back in, replacin' whatever it was I was thinkin' about while unconscious. I musta passed out, after spending the past hour bein' tormented. Helps explain why I feel the way that I feel. My attempt to sit up unleashed a cascade of pain throughout everything that I am, but it also got me to raise my head an inch or so off the floor. Which is frankly higher than I'm used ta being able to go, immediately after these drills. The finer details o' the most recent few minutes escape me, but I've passed out from training here in Sentinel HQ before. Aint new, and neither is the level of pain I'm in. It's easier on me to just keep my neck like this rather than put me head back on the ground, so I look to what's blocking the always-bright light in here from aggravating me eyes. 

The shade's coming from Lucian and he's squatted down right next to me, with his forearms resting on his knees. It was his voice that woke me up, like how it often is, and brought my mind back into me body what feels like it's buried under the full weight and heat of Shurima total.

Wonderful.

I take in a breath, another assault of pain washing over me as a result, and give the man the terrible news.

"I'm dying."

Lucian continues to look my way, unimpressed.

"No, you're not."

"I passed out," I fire back, closin' me eyes and smiling fer some unknown reason, in spite o' how awful I feel.

"Yeah."

Me eyes shoot open, brow furrowing, in response to hearing what Lucian just said. Because he said it . . . all nice-like? Is that something Lucian does? While I think on whether or not that's possible, Lucian shifts slightly and draws my attention.

And then he smiles. 

And then he says:

"But you 'passed' too."

. . .

It takes me and my slow brain a while to digest what the man says.

And cold terror instantly washes over me, my heart skipping a beat as it flips from pumping fire through my body to pumping ice.

Oh god oh fuck oh shit-

"Wait." I bolt upright, slower than would be normally but nonetheless, and my entire body turns numb as pain becomes a distant concern. Lucian's eyes widen seein' me do this, and then widen further when me hands grab him by the delts. "Waitwaitwaitwaitwait. Wait. I'm . . . ," me throat turns dry and I have ta swallow before continuing, Lucian's face starts turnin' concerned, and that does not help.

". . .actually, dead?" My voice nearly cracks as I lower my head, completely terrified as I am, and then Lucian's face goes from concerned to confused, and downright shocked.

"What?" The word is barely audible Lucian's so blindsided-

-and that's when it becomes obvious what done happened. Lucian don't get blindsided. He don't smile. 

I'm an idiot; how'd it take me this long?! His eyes dart all over me, as if he's confused, but I'm onto him now. Or it, now. I level a mean look right into it's eyes, and it tries to go for the "act more confused" angle, but that don't work on me! It was lookin' over me just a second ago; more like this thing mimicking Lucian's form was checkin' out it's next meal. Not on my watch, not on my soul!

"No!" It's voice is thick with both disbelief and an undercurrent of get-your-hands-off-me that's totally Lucian accurate, but too little too late. I tighten my grip on it, and damn if it aint good at what it does. It has the sudden and intense shift from any emotion on Lucian's face into downright furious down pat. But aint no way this thing is as tough as the real deal, and I aint afraid ta fight If I'm already fucking dead!

"Don't lie ta me, soulsucker!" I scream at it, flecks of spittle flyin' outta me mouth and landin' over its fake clothes and fake face, the latter of which somehow turning even more murderous but that aint stopping me. "I'm onta you! If I'm alive," I continue, saying 'alive' like I'm mockin' it cus I am, "then why'd you say I 'passed' huh?!"

. . . huh. I'm suddenly looking up at the ceiling.

Thunk!

The back of me head hits the floor, my body havin' just been flipped and tossed back-first to the ground, and my body arches from the pain. I try to recover quick as I can, but by the time I recognize the slowness in my still-somehow-exhausted-and-hurting dead body, there's a boot on me chest and a pair of relic guns pointin' at me head. Like that's enough ta-!

"You thick, giant idiot!"

Its words and volume started off slow and low, before quickening and rising in volume as the sentence progressed. It cuts off my train of thought, and the first thing I register is Lucian's face starin' angrily at me so I stare angrily back, ignorin' the chamber-less pair o' pistols pointed at me face and focusin' on not dying a coward. Silence takes up the room for almost a full minute, and the two of us stay like that for the entire time, mean mugging each other.

And then it removes its foot from me chest, and holsters them convincin' replicas. They even still float at the hip, rather than dangle, and it's hard not to appreciate the attention ta detail. But my soul is my own, and aint no way am I fallin' fer some ploy meant to-

"You lit. The tenth. Target." It grinds out each syllable, voice low, gruff, and exasperated. I don't bother listening, havin' blocked out what was just said by virtue of not bein' tricked! It can tell I didn't hear it, creature o' the afterlife that it is, and shoots me another dirty look. I do the same, pulling myself up off the floor, working through the feeling of having rust in me bones and get to standin' upright. We keep lookin' at each other, before it goes and turns about face, showin' me it's back.

And starts ta walk out the room.

"You passed the drill. The. Drill." It moves across the entrance's wide threshold, and then turns 'round the corner without so much as lookin' at me. Then, out of sight, it adds, "You're alive, Sentinel Graves. Same as me. See ya tomorrow." I hear it and its boots walk further and further away, and I'm . . . confused.

. . . And then the pieces all click together.

Oh. I passed the drill.

That's . . . good. That's good! It's what I've been chasin' after my whole time as a sentinel. Oof, but facin' off with Lucian like that . . . it's gonna bite me later. No way was that the last time I'm gonna have to do this particular drill - and Lucian will probably kick up the difficulty higher than necessary - but now I can at least do somethin' different. That was the deal; you have ta clear the first drill in order to unlock access to the next set. A stupid rule in my opinion but Lucian and Sir Senna swear by it, nevermind that they couldn't bypass it even if they wanted to. It's a function o' the building itself or something, only granting access to people that "earn" it.

Whatever. All that matters is I can finally break the monotony, and no way Lucian or even Atreus would deny me a hands-on first try at me newly unlocked drills. It'll probably suck, honestly, but the monotony of it all was seriously messin' with me. My tomorrow is lookin' a whole lot better now, no matter how exhausting it might turn out ta be. Anything's better than just more of the same things at the same hours like how my days have been so far durin' my training.

I almost feel refreshed! I take in an energized breath-

-or, I try to. Me body aint on the same page as my mind sadly, and I end up choking on air as me lungs essentially start punching each other for the extra exertion I dared ta put them through.  

After I'm done coughin', I get to wonderin' just how exactly I passed the drill. Some of the details are coming back ta me now, through all my exhaustion. Some o' the finer details come back into focus, but everything in those last five seconds is a no-go. Honestly I have no idea how I could have cleared it, the last target was so far away. Closest memory to the present that I can get to is feelin' like I was about to die and then . . . lookin' at a wall and, screamin' . . .

. . . it goes all hazy past that.

. . .

Ugh. 

I tilt me head back, and raise the back o' me hand to my forehead. The motion aint easy, but not undoable neither. I've gotten real good at acclimatin' to muscle soreness this past week - not that I didn't regularly and meaningfully work out 'fore coming here, this is just on such a totally different level - but a muscle pain migraine aint why I moved me hand like that. 

It's the itch.

I look to my right - at the corner o' the room where my Sentinel weapon is sittin' pretty - and go to pick her up, so I can carry her with me.

I need a smoke.

. . .

I walk out the training hall and head the opposite direction from Lucian. He likely went out to get some fresh air after havin' to deal with my freak-out, while I'm headin' to the dorms. The male dorms, anyway. The walk isn't too far, livin' arrangements set up intendin' for the people that sleep at HQ head to the trainin' hall first thing when they wake up. It's how we been doin' it so far, after all.

I stop in front o' the door, and get it ta open with a rap o' me knuckle, resting my Sentinel weapon 'gainst me arm as I wait. The slab takes a short second to slide on over to the right in response - at least this piece o' Sentinel construction respondin' ta me without issue - and lets me into the area. As I step through the entrance, it waits a short moment before slidin' itself closed with as little noise as it made when opening fer me. I'm alone in here, as expected. The others - literally just Lucian, Rango, and ol' Atreus - usually go an' do their own thing by the time I get here after me extra training. The room is a shared living-space arrangement, long rectangular room 'bout half the total size o' the trainin' hall. Don't think there's a single room in HQ with any windows, any and all light produced and released on command. Dozens o' plain cots with room under them fer our stuff press up 'gainst the walls and go all the way down the room, makin' a walkway spacious enough fer three people down the middle with a bed to yer left and right every few meters.

It's pretty minimal, but gets the job done. There are only four of us, so I don't have ta walk all that far to reach my bed.

'My' bed.

The itch under me brain flares up again, and I make an agitated growl at the back of my throat. I took my first drag in a long while a week ago when this all started, and been regularly takin' em since then. I go through maybe two a day, thanks to all the sparrin' and jumping 'round and workin' myself ta death. A good smoke is what I need, and none o' the other guys or gals care enough ta tell me I can't smoke inside. Probably cus the building's got a filtering system that keeps the smoke from lingerin', so I don't gotta worry about stinking up the place. 

Quit cold turkey a while back, when the itch slowly faded and then actually went away, but I'm working myself hard and deserve something nice. Or at the very least relieving.

I toss my weapon onto the bed - "Smokey"? No. "Shineshot"? Hell no. I'll think about it more later - and bend me knees with a groan. I tell myself it's from the exercise and not the grey hairs I spotted growin' outside o' the white patch what show up while wearin' the Sentinel gear.

I rummage 'round under the bed - and damn it all if it aint a trouble to even just squat and extend me own dang arm to the floor - until I end up accidentally swattin' the little metal container I was looking fer in my hurry. I grumble as I have to get my knees on the hard stone floor and stretch out even further now, the bed literally just wide enough to make it frustratin' to reach right uunder the center o' it. There's technically enough room fer me to crawl under, but nah I aint doin' that. I cans just reach. With the side o' me face squished ip 'gainst the frame, the tips o' my fingers just barely manage to tap 'gainst the container.

I start to extend and flex me fingers once, then twice, until finally with a quick reverse-flick I pull the damn thing close enough to get me hand 'round it. After gettin' me arm out from under the bed, and the container with it, I.

I just. Sit my ass down on the floor and. I guess. Look at the container. Damn, am I tired. All my energy just disappeared like that. Given that I thought I literally died and was already runnin' on fumes at that point, guess I shouldn't be surprised. I turn the thing over and around, watchin' the light o' the room bounce off it faintly. No special stickers or any paint on it - just a plain metal thing - with the scratches and dinks that come with living life. From being slid 'cross a table, or from absorbing a hit meant to bleed me.

Well, guess it's durable if nothing else. After sittin' there, looking at the thing fer a while, I get annoyed as the itch suddenly flares up again. It gets me clenchin' me teeth, and it's 'bout time I get ride o' the itch. I pop the thing open with a press o' me thumb, and although it opens with a slight creak what makes me even more annoyed, that all goes away soon as I sees them cigars. Thing could hold twenty at a time and I was down to my last three, but it would last long enough for the next supply run. We made 'em almost every other day and took turns gettin' what everyone wants, a quick boat road ta the nearest town not bein' too much o' a hassle. 

Don't know how the Sentinels get all their different kinds o' money or where it's stored. And, honestly, it's probably best kept that way. I like havin' me hands.

Cigars aint the most popular thing 'round, but they're in the nearby town. And I'm not picky with my brands or types. No fancy spice, no special wrap or bind. No need; I don't got the taste fer it. I've tried the uppity brands, and all I taste in 'em is a waste o' money. And aint no way anyone here gonna buy me fancy cigars. Most all cigars these days are the kind you can bite into without worry, and that's all that really matters ta me. 

Used to be I didn't have the taste for fancy beer either, but now I do. Now I'm used ta hidin' the good stuff, unless I ever feel like having it all pissed away by someone else the next mornin'. Used to be I just put bare cigars in my pockets too, up until that cardshark hit me over the head with this thing and told me to use it. Then he went and got all smug when he was right about the container helping keep me cigars good and fresh.

As if he wasn't always trying to get me to quit. Tch.    

I take out a cigar out and shut the container closed, both actions probably rougher than need be, but I need a smoke and I've been sitting here thinking like an idiot when I've still got a lighter to find - oh.

I had started to get up from the floor when a thought crossed my mind. A course of action that would probably go smoother if I asked permission from Lucian or Sir Senna first.

Which just makes goin' ahead with it all the more enticin'. It aint that bad, honest. It maybe besmirches a sentinel's image or station or whatever, but I'm already in their halls and I'm already me so big deal. I put my cig case in the pocket without them blue cards, and finish liftin' myself off the ground with a big smile 'cross me rugged face.

Surely usin' my weapon to light my cigars is totally fine, right? 'Course it is. In which case, I got me a name.

Everythin' had come together, and I knew both the location and the new name of the lighter I'd be usin' today. With both feet firmly on the ground, I look on the bed and grin down at me newly-named weapon.

"Decree".

She responds with a glow and the sound o' movin' pieces inside. 'Likes the name it seems, which 'course it does I came up with it! I swear, I'm almost back up to full energy with all the good that's happened recently, and I pick up 'Decree' with the hand not holdin' my cigar. Shiftin' my grip, I rest 'Decree' onto me hip as I move the cigar in front o' her and think bright as I can:

Let there be light.

And with that thought, the end o' 'Decree' erupts into a sputterin' burst o' wispy white light. She's not used to makin' a continuous flame like this - much more comfortable blasting an arm-long beam o' light into a target or wall - but she's doin' great, and I move my cigar nearer to the fire as I wait fer the sputterin' to stop. I know it will. I just passed my own little kind o' test after all, and I know 'Decree' will pull through just the same. Nah, she'll do even better. 

And after just a little while, my faith is revealed to be well-founded. The little sparkler settles, and turns into a perfectly steady, little greyscale flame. Perfect for a light.

"Thank ya kindly, 'Decree'."

I move the cigar into the fire, and let the blessed flame burn through the end o' it.

Tssst.

It's going good. The flame's burned through the end of my cigar nice and cleanly, releasing wafts of that familiar smoke ta fill the air.

Name's a little righteous, but I'm a hero-in-the-makin' now yea? Time to fit the part, in my own 'Graves' kind o' way. I pull my cigar over to me mouth as 'Decree' shuts off her flame - partly because I told her to and partly because she knew to - when I notice something new. Aint the first time I lit up a cigar in the room, so it's to my surprise that I see two different types o' smoke now minglin' up and around me. One kind's from the cigar, and the other . . . must be from whatever 'Decree' was burnin' ta get her fire started. If it actually even burnt anything. Could just be another mimicry, like how it copies the sensation o' a reloadin' mechanism when it don't actually have one in it.

The sight was admittedly real pretty - the two similar and yet different colors refusin' to mix together for whatever reason and resulting in a fancy show o' twirling and dancing. 

But as neat a sight as it all was, as I pressed the cigar to me lips I had to shut me eyes. All to make this special, after-training drag o' the day as special as possible. Somethin' 'bout closing me eyes during a smoke just feels right, 'bout how the room gets darker but there's enough light through me eyelids that it don't mean nothing. How I can't see nothing but myself and the light outside.

. . . Hah.

I don't know how to put it inta words, and I don't care.

Hrrrrrrrrfff. 

I take a good long drag, knowing like I always do 'bout the special time and work put into every lit cigar - this particular lighting in a league all its own - not caring ta put a word to any of the flavors or sensations I feel but the self-described ones I call joy and bliss.

. . .

Pfffaaaahhh.

And that's a damn good cigar.

When I open me eyes, the two different kinds o' smoke 'round me are gone now. Only my quickly evaporating puff o' smoke is left to fill the air, the magic of Sentinel HQ kickin' in.

Although . . .

I remove the cigar from me lips before takin' my second drag, as something catches my eye from within what I'd exhaled. It's quick to go away, so I try to stay still and squint as best I can. 

Huh. There are little silvery specks throughout the smoke now.

I just stand there - thinking about nothing, my itch now a long gone concern with a cigar in hand - watching that first puff spread through the room. It eventually disappears, the last speck of silver fading away from within the similarly fading cloud of gray. I take a few seconds to just stand there, thinkin' about nothin' in particular, before stickin' the cigar back in my mouth and gettin' another good puff out. I watch the exhalation come out this time - not exactly sure what I'm looking for - and this time there is no silver. No sparkle. 

Oh well.

I pay it no more mind and start to puff away freely now, not caring enough to take longer drags. Don't rightly know what that was about, but I know what I'm using to light my cigars from now on. I lean over to go ahead and pick up 'Decree' - damn girl is awful heavy but she done right by me, plus it's important to keep yer weapon on or near ya - and exit the room, itch satisfied and tongue in need of wagging, a faint and evaporatin' trail o' smoke following behind me.

Alright. Let's see what Dolls - no, she don’t like that nickyname - what Gwen is up to. An' Atreus too, likely.

My footsteps echo down the open halls of HQ, pristine pillars rising up to meet the ceiling impossibly high above. Not like I busted out the measurin' stick or nothin', but place is absolutely larger than outside appearances would imply. Which makes the very small amount of people in its halls all the more apparent, nobody else in sight. Though to be fair it makes sense, given the direction I'm headed.

Pretty sure it's just me and ol' Atreus that go and visit Gwen. Not that she seems all that evil to me, but apparently she's a "Hallowed" somethin' which isn't exactly "Ruined" but still related? 

Way the gossip goes, Scissors woke up at the upper west coast o’ Demacia’s region. She went and asked the nearest town about the Sentinels, heard about Lucian and Sir Senna, and beelined it for Demacia. Or, well, straight lined it best she could. She caught a glimpse of a map, pointed herself in the direction o’ the capitol, and then walked and swam and climbed towards there in a straight line. One hell of a compass on that lady. She then ran into Sir Senna just after comin' out of a Sentinel Slate and asked ta help fight against Viego however she can.

So fer now, Gwen is on a ‘trial’ period. She aint a Sentinel - no weapon fer her anyways - but she aids the effort by makin' our outfits. All she needs is a quick few seconds to get a recruit's measurements, a delivery of the materials she needs, and then by the time a few hours go by she's done with our new digs. Well, done with her part in it anyways. After she's done with all the non-metal bits, Sir Senna and/or Lucian have to take the clothes down below HQ and instill 'em with light or something. They say they use some kind o' contraption only skilled Sentinels can operate, and I'm inclined ta believe 'em. The downstairs aint accessible by newbies, the staircases on either end o' HQ lettin' everyone walk up it but not down it, some invisible field o' light keepin' all but the veterans from descending further down. Whey they came back up to ground level with my own new gettup though, the clothes definitely shined more and had new Sentinel-designed pieces of armor added to it.

Bit of a slap in the face to the person who sewed it up, but Gwen seemed ta be perfectly fine with it when I told her so I guess it's . . . excusable. She did one hell of a bulk order from what I understand; five new Sentinels popping up almost all at once, and then me alone some days after. 

And now, with all the weapons now taken up, she's outta work. Which is one o' the many reasons why I go visit her so often. Another reason being: trial period, shm-rial period. She wants to take down this Viego guy, and that's all that really matters. More the merrier, and sooner that loser is gone, sooner I can get back to livin' my life. Plus she actually listens an' reacts to what I say, somethin' not a lot of people do. From the interactions we've had I can tell she a good person, as well as a good fighter! Not that I ever shot at her or swung at her, but she's real light on her feet and can summon-

Oh, I'm here.

I stop myself midstep just as I'm about to pass the doohickey on the right that I was looking for, a large and sturdy lookin' stone slate with the Sentinel emblem on it. A big gray arch encloses the whole thing, making it look like a door. Which it technically is. HQ is larger on the inside than out, but is also some kind o' central hub for space-warpin', light-built walkways. From what I can remember, Sir Senna said that as we gather more power for HQ, more o' these slates will pop up, each of them connected to a preset place in the world. Real neat, especially when fighting 'gainst somethin' that can appear anywhere like Ruination does. Though, technically, we know where the main forces are gonna pop up.

Right now though, the HQ is low in terms o' power so we can only move to a few places.

Good thing Gwen chose a nice place ta crash.

Would love to have this kind o' thing in my own safe houses, if just fer easy travel between places to nab stuff you forgot to take with you here or there. 'Course, that aint ever happening but a man can dream, right? I remove the cigar from me mouth to try and look serious fer the rock in fronta me - since that's what Sentinels are apparently - and stare at the slate. Hard.

Nothing. Fer the other Sentinels, at this point the slate typically reacts and gets ready fer use. Doesn't like openin' up fer me though.

I keep up the mean mug for a bit 'fore I give up and try to wiggle my eyebrows every once in a while. I even say me name, both of em. And I do mixes of all of them signals.

Eventually, the slate picks up what I been puttin' down and starts ta glow, a bead o' light startin' at the top of the emblem on the stone and trailing 'round in the shape of a rhombus. Or a titled square, I guess. I'm still trying to get the hang of this Sentinel magic stuff. 'Decree' is doin just fine - responding to my "righteousness" or whatever - but these slates just don't wanna work with me. I'm at least makin' some sort o' progress with the clothes, but over the past week my control of these slates hasn't gotten any better.

Oh, whatever. Thing opens for me eventually. I take another couple o' drags while I wait-

-when I look down at the cigar between my teeth and another brilliant idea crosses my mind.

I should ask for a relic-stone cigar.

The rhombus-square thing fully lights up, and the slate begins to rumble before sinking into the ground. I watch it go into the ground, and a soft wave of light hits my brow as the slate disappears. I lift up me head ta look forward and see through the gray arch. Inside it is a now real familiar, opaque collection o' ribbons of light and smoke.

Heh.

I bite down onto my cigar, working my jaw and moving it to the other side of my mouth, takin' another short puff. 

Thoughts like that, are definitely why they single me out for more drills.

I smirk best I can with a cig and draw 'Decree', "fake-reloading" just for the hell of it. The action of pullin' me hand down the fore-end, the sound and sight o' a cartridge fallin' out and bouncin' off of the floor? Real nice.

I jog into the unknown - 'Decree' and cigar at the ready - and the door closes behind me without a noise.

Chapter Text

It looks a lot like standin' near Sir Senna when she gets movin' durin' her whole ghost-trick, travelin' through a Sentinel Slate. It gets hard to see outta the mist in front o' ya and all 'round ya, but as long as you stay near the center of it that's all that matters. If the smokey stuff ever starts to thin out in a strange way, backtrack and get closer to the center. Trust her, and trust the Sentinel Slate. They know where to go, just follow where they leadin'.

The two experiences look similar - save a color change - but they feel real different. Standin near Sir Senna durin' kinda make the hairs on me neck stand up, and if I pay too close attention to anybody and errybody around I see things. Like, extra limbs and shit. I aint the only one who seen it neither! I know I saw Diana smile a little her first time ghostin' with Sir Senna - which is a freaky reaction yea I'll admit - no matter how much she try to deny it. Everybody else probably seen it too, just don't feel like sayin' so what with the look Lucian shoots whenever I try ta ask 'bout it.

Sir Senna got it all under 'er control now, but apparently she was trapped in a ruined guy's lantern fer a spell and it changed her. "Thresh" I think was his - its name. I ever run into it, I'll be sure to riddle it with lightborn holes o' righteousness. Not just for messin' with the happy kickass couple, but for what it did to all them other Sentinels.

Don't know how Vayne got the info outta one or both of em, but apparently six years ago there were plenty of others in the order. Not a whole lot but in the double digits at least, and they'd deal with ghouls that pop up and fight against the Harrowings and such. But then that Thresh laid a trap and captured literally all o' them but Lucian, tauntin' the man as it disappeared with a laugh. Ever since that day six years ago Lucian had been on the hunt until finally, not even a single full year ago, he freed his wife by crackin' open Thresh's lantern.

Lotta souls popped out before gettin' sucked back in, and Sir Senna was the only one 'whole' enough to stay here. With Lucian, huggin' and refusin' to lose her again.

Ahem. Back ta describin' what travel through a Sentinel Slate is like though . . . well it feels weird fer different reasons compared ta Sir Senna's trick. In place o' hair raising we get a funny breeze thing that spins 'round us as we walk, makin our clothes flap and stuff. Weird, but I'd say at least that part is better than with Sir Senna. Still, with Sir Senna the ground is, ya know, the ground. Ya know what you're steppin' in. Here in a Sentinel Slate, you can't really see or hear or interact with nothing. Not anyone else technically in there with you, not anything.

Only thing you really feel is your feet moving forward across what sometimes feel like sand and sometimes feel like mud. Or worse. It changes every which way for no good reason, Lucian tellin' me that 'no, you don't actually walk through the entire world Graves it's just a teleport'. Right, I maybe don't track mud everywhere I go after leavin' the Sentinel Slate but I've walked in enough kinds o' stuff in my life to know what what is. 

I take another step - and as if the Sentinel Slate understands I'm running my mouth about it - it feels like me foot sinks at least half a meter into the floor and stands on somethin' mushy.

And this aint mud. Damnit.

Thankfully it's always real easy to unstuck yourself while walking through a Sentinel Slate - and again it don't track everywhere - so okay maybe it isn't so bad. Plus, a minute or so walking in one a these 's'all it takes to get from HQ over to-.

With one last step, the light 'round me suddenly kicks up the glow and I know I've reached the destination. I take a short puff of my cigar and stand ready with good ol' 'Decree'. Fought a lotta ghosts and ghouls in the past week, a lot of em seeming to know where us Sentinels can exit outta. Which honestly isn't too hard to get, seein as how we show up atop a nice fancy, gold emblem just slapped onto the ground. It'd just be beggin' for an ambush if it weren't fer the forcefield we get soon as we pop out. Doesn't last very long, but its apparently impenetrable by ruined thingies. Gives us ranged folks a few seconds to clean up the area before charging with everyone.

HQ itself is not too far away from Bilgewater, on an island kinda between it and Ionia. A short boat ride away from places we can buy our food and other stuff from, and kept invisible so mist can't find us. The invisibility applies to both the building and the island, and thankfully it don't seem ta require any special energy to keep up the "cloaking field" or however you wanna calls it. HQ is low on power, and it don't take no shortcuts and makes sure every active Sentinel Slate is workin' fully. The one I'm just about to go through situates us between Demacia and Freljord, another goes just outside the westside of Ionia, and the last one's hidden in a little pebble of an island near Bilgewater. 

That aint enough to cover the whole world, but when I brought that point up Sir Senna and Lucian told me ta just trust the people o' Runeterra to do their best until we get a Sentinel Slate active there ta help. Stationin' a Sentinel somewhere without quick travel aid or escape - stoppin' ourselves from makin' the most outta cross-world teleportation - aint smart, and I gotta agree with that.

The light around me just about finishes its crescendo - brighter and brighter but somehow not harsh enough on the eyes to make me even feel like lookin away or blinkin' - and I readily brace myself for the cool winds and incredible heights that greet me as I show up on that little floor emblem, up here in the mountains. I look 'round - lookin past the forcefield o' light protecting me, pointin 'Decree' here and there - for any sign o' ghouls or worse. 

I see nothin out o' the ordinary. I stay on guard for just a few more seconds, and as the forcefield falls I pull me forearm back and rest 'Decree' on me shoulder. Odds are, Atreus went and cleared up the place just a while ago. Thing about the ghouls is that they don' leave corpses after snuffin' it. Makes it almost impossible to collect a trophy or even just loot the damn bodies, but hey. I stay aware of my surroundings as I turn to look out and into the open.

What a view.

It's about a Demacia 19 o'clock right about now I'd say, usin' my ever accurate belly to tell me when it's time fer grub. Back over where HQ is it's probably around 11 o'clock, half way 'round the world as it is. It's a bit cloudy at the moment over here, and bein' up on a mountain a lot more o' the sky is taken up by the closeness of the clouds, but that just makes it better. The sun is just about ta set and shootin' a pretty pink kind o' underlighting to hit below all the clouds. Back above the clouds, the light blue high above slowly turns into that mead-color orange I like so much as it meets the horizon, good ol' sun just about to get there too.

And what a horizon.

Sentinels knew which mountain to pick, that's fer sure. I'm up on one of the higher ones they got over near Demacia, and while looking North gets ya nothing but more rocks and a lotta snow but maybe a lightshow if life as a Sentinel aint enough o' that already, lookin anywhere else paints ya a pretty picture what with how high up we are.

I can't at all see Bilgewater even all the way up here which is a shame, but what I can see is the tall white petricite monuments they got in Demacia, all guardians o' peace and majestic creatures o' might. From up here the place kinda looks cozy, especially them giant lakes. Sweepin' my head left eventually gets me a glimpse o' the tippy top of a skyscrapin' hexgate, or at least I thinks I see one. Aint no way I should be able to get me eyes on Piltover, another mountain range between there and Demacia, but if there's one thing you can trust a Pilty ta do its to build big. And takin' a full left-leanin' look gets me a sight o' the wide expanse of Noxus's western border, the carefully lain out roads and cities and mines that don't waste nothin' impossible to look at and not think to yourself: 'wow'. 

Used to find the slabs o' petricite ugly and oppressive, the animal-like statues somehow following you with their sometimes nonexistent eyes. I've sworn ta never take that giant elevator between Piltover and Zaun, the closed space and fat pockets too tempting in a city that's too serious. As for Noxus they got a brand o' violence that's too hot and too cold all at once, too many different ways to make your last mistake. And I got issues with the other regions too, but. Well, I thought Bilgewater would be the only place ever fer me. Where I'd been born and where I'd die. 

Maybe not anymore. New perspectives and whatnot.

I stand there a little while longer, takin a few more drags up until I notice I've almost finish a quarter of my cigar before doin' what I came here to do.

As good as the sights here are, I didn't come here to just shut up and enjoy the view. Came here to talk some ears off. I turn to the side and start my jog up the mountainside, no snow to crunch under me boots quite yet but it'll get there by the time I reach Gwen. Somethin 'bout HQ keeps her from gettin in, a point o' fact that the lady was really, genuinely sad about when I asked her 'bout it. Made me feel bad enough to bring a damn chair with me through the Sentinel Slate next time I came by. Not that she deserves anythin' less.

She lives in a cave. One that used to be a totally plain, unfurnished, an' uncomfortable lookin' cave. When I first saw her, comin' to get me measurements with Vayne havin' to show me the way, I found her just sitting on the floor, bobbing her head up and down like she was listening to music. She looked like she was having fun, somehow, when all I could think was 'damn if this whole thing aint depressin'. After noticin' me though - and only me, cus Vayne pointed to the lip o' the cave before wordlessly walkin' back towards the Sentinel Slate - she jumped up onto her feet and pulled a measurin' thread outta the air. I went an' pointed out the sad state o' her place to the lady while she darted around me in a blur o' white and blue, busy gettin' me lengths and circumferences, and she just replied with "Oh no, I'm happy just waiting!". Somethin' about her answer don't make sense, so I follow up with a "Waitin' for what?". For me to leave so she can go into her house somewhere nearby? For some money fer her services? 

Nope.

Sentinels went and got a seamstress, then abandoned her in some barren cave. Trial period, my ass. More like free labor. As if anyone else in HQ could do what Gwen does.

She don't even get paid or given food; sure she don't need or care about it, but I do! She’s apparently ‘hallowed’ enough to be allowed to make all our Sentinel getups, minus Lucian and Sir Senna who already had em, but clearly not 'not-ruined' enough to be compensated right. Hallowed or ruined or whatever, the only time a person should be robbed is when it's at gunpoint goddamnit! She didn't want my pocket change and she don't eat, so I compromised and started to bring some stuff over - obviously nothin' directly from HQ, wouldn't wanna poison her or anything so I got the stuff from supply runs - that I figured she could use.

First was that chair, and then a pillow, and then after those she mentioned ta me that she likes to sew just in general and not just as a job, so I got her a big ol' crate o' yarn and buttons and a mirror an' some other stuff. Cheaper materials than what Sentinel attire is made with, but she don't care. Her cave aint hardly barren no more, after all the extra clothing she's made. All the place really got is a chair and pillow in terms of furnishings, sure, but there are also a ton of quilts and curtains and dresses and sweaters and other knitted thingies. I brought up a lotta yarn and fabric, acquired through haggling and also pilferin' when appropriate which was of course a lot o' the time, and she's gone and turned most of into wearables already.

Real thankful for that too, since sometimes I want to sit down and I can't rightly ask Gwen to get off the chair and pillow I brought for her and give it to me. So instead, I take a bundle of some of the stuff she's made and already moved on from as a designer and sit on it. She don't mind the dirt, nor me behind. My kind o' gal. First couple days I met with her I just toughed it out in that wilderness, sittin' on hard stone and lettin' the howlin' winds cool me down after all the training. I've got a whole bed to myself back at HQ after all, and that place has a lot more temperature control than the cave she lives in and sleeps in! Let her rest on the damn chair. Bless her soul, she noticed me havin' a less than perfect time and gave me the go ahead to use her extra clothes fer warmth and rear cushioning.

Oh and while on the topic o' clothes, Atreus! Gods, what the fuck? Part o' why I left HQ to find Gwen in the first place was ta get away after the drills he put me through, shoutin' and demandin' I shout too. But then there he was in the cave! And ever since then. Every time I'm here he is here too, and I'm too me ta stick to any kind o' rigid schedule. Sometimes I eat or smoke or daydream or all o' that before comin' ta talk, an' somehow he's always with Gwen when I get there and always stays behind when I leave. Not like I want her alone or anything but it's pretty unnervin' to have mister instructor right there when I'm tryin' ta relax.

Course him bein' here aint enough ta get me ta zip it or dial back on the language, but still!

What's more, he don't wear the clothes Gwen made for him. More specifically, HQ can't go an' make him our special glowy clothes outta Gwen's clothes. Yet somehow, the man can still use Sentinel light-magic or whatever, the golden tattoos he already had on before becomin' a Sentinel functionin' somehow the same.

How does that work, and how is that fair? Cus of some weird loophole that nobody's gone and explained ta me, if any o' them even know themselves, Atreus is the only one of us who gets to use the fancy weapon and also gets to wear what he wants. Which just so happens to be very little! I aint never seen him with a shirt on and, okay, sure, he's a good lookin' man but come on! If I have to swap outta my favorite digs so then so does he, especially when Gwen personally and recently made all the flowy pieces.

Armor bits apparently come from the HQ magic but everything else is still all Gwen an' how disrespectful is that, standin' in your tailor's home like a statue and showin' em you don't even like their work? I've gotten pissy and tried to start stuff with the man a few times on a lot o' different things while hangin' with Gwen, but he just doesn't talk. If he aint on the clock as a drill instructor, he aint interested in talkin'. Or moving, beyond lookin' in my direction. Man is totally shut off, at least to me. Whenever I ask him something it's Gwen that ends up answerin' me, an' usually her answers make too much sense for me to keep bein' angry so it calms me down but doesn't fully satisfy without a reaction on Atreus's part.

Then Gwen went and explained that away too, sayin' that he's there to meditate with her. That that meditation is part o' why he doesn't talk so much out here, but is okay with screamin' while leadin' drills in HQ. She said it has somethin to do with better understanding the mist, ruination and hallow, together and apart.

That it requires a level of perception that then requires Atreus to focus so much, that he's too busy ta talk.

. . . Wayyy over my head. All o' that is probably true cus Gwen said it, so after failin' ta grasp what she said I just nodded and told em good work 'fore lowering me hackles.

'Think I saw Atreus roll his eyes out the corner o' my own at that time, but mighta just imagined it.

It's not like I hate the man, and I know the man don't hate me. I'm Bilgewater born so I'm real confident on that; I know pretty much every kind o' hate. Maybe Atreus don't like parts o' me, but if he hated the whole damn package no way would he sit through hours of me listening to myself talk and be so fine with just not sayin nothin'. Kinda like Vayne, except she actually talks with me or disappears 'round a corner when I follow her fer too long. Most I can get outta Atreus, outside o' drills, are some purposeful blinks. Maybe. 

Crunch.

I look down and see a little bit of snow underneath my boot, a bit of it sticking to my foot. Gettin' close now.

I continue on my way, the small amount o' snow on the ground not near enough for anyone to track a trail through. Even if someone could, Atreus makes sure to "cover the trail" every time he gets down from the mountain. Man's a real, real soldier. First time I sparred with him I got throttled. Literally. Thought I was doin fine, duckin' and dashin' away from his spear and even his shield and then suddenly he was in front o' me with his hand 'round me neck. Apparently there's a little bit o' God in him, so that at least helps nurse my pride a little.

Just a little, cus the man don't look like a capital "G" ta me. His cape does do that thing where it fades 'way ta nothin' - and it aint just invisible, cus if it were the damn thing woulda flapped in me face by now -  but 's'just clothing. He can toss that spear o' his 'cross the hall and then magnet it back or just summon a whole new one  - but 's'just magic. If fancy clothes and functional magic was all that it took ta be called a God, then Tobias could be considered a "God".

HAH.

I just barely pull the cig outta me mouth 'fore laughter rips outta me - sudden an' loud - and I scare some little squirrels back up their trees. Body is still kinda sore from all the exercise so laughin' do hurt a bit, but it's so worth it. The idea is so ridiculous and unbelievable my mind just keeps runnin' with it as I keep on walking, cigar still in me hand cus I'm still laughing. Gwen's hideout should be comin' into view real soon - I sees one o' the many landmarks I use to help me remember the way, this one in particular bein' the button-shaped tree knot - And me brain supplies me the fact that Tobias is always talkin' 'bout Lady Luck. 

'Twisted Fate' and missy Lady Luck.

'Two Gods in a Pod'.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

If I weren't carryin' 'Decree' in me other arm and havin' it rest on me shoulder, I'd have just stood there slappin' me knee and laughin' up a storm fer minutes. As it happens, both me hands are occupied and I did go through the trouble o' turnin' on and walkin' through a Sentinel Slate. That's a whole lotta effort gone to waste if I decide ta just keep myself company when I coulda stayed in HQ for that, so I just keep putting one foot in front o' the other best I can while I can barely catch my breath between bouts of laughter. 

Besides, aint right o' me to deprive Gwen of my company. And Atreus.

That reminds me of how I got started talkin' bout Gods - tryin' ta decide if Atreus was a God - and then reminds me o' 'Twisted Fate' God edition and laughter rips outta me yet one more time 'fore I start to cool it. I remind myself that I'm carrying 'round a big gun full o' light for a reason, and I put the cigar back in me mouth 'fore splittin' my mind between keepin' watch and thinkin' dumb shit.

It's a skill I cultivated over my lifetime, and one I use a whole lot. Takes a bit o' extra concentration, but man has it been worth it. 

Maybe it's just cus I'm a Bilgewater boy, but 'round those parts the kind o' Gods we know of are either o' the 'natural disaster' persuasion or the 'personification of a human condition' persuasion. Sometimes they can look sorta human - like tha reputable Tommy Kench, who's got a little bit o' human in his big catfish self - but most of the time it's a lot of ancient creatures o' the deep or apparently real symbolic pieces of clothing or gear and stuff. Or a mix of the two, like Tommy Kench.

Atreus don't look like a Tommy Kench. He looks human - if a bit taller an' more muscled an' more evenly tanned than should be fair, 'least for a non-Noxian - with a big and gruesome scar that goes all diagonal from his chest to his hip. The way it scarred - real thick and with those emergency elastin marks - it looks like the man was ran straight through. Like he had ta clamp his two sides together and then make his remainin' skin fuckin' stretch. Which I don't think any God would go 'round showin' off ta everyone.

It's a big reminder towards mortality - towards death - and Gods are supposedly immortal.

I hear somethin' ahead o' me and raise 'Decree' to greet it - mind no longer split and fully focused on the possibility of a scuffle - and look for somethin in need o' shootin'. Then that same somethin' makes the same noise again, and I recognize it now. I stow 'Decree' away it and look a little higher and see Gwen, standin' outside of her little cave, wavin' over at me and hollerin' 'hello's best she can like she always do, even though I can't barely hear her.

I wave back and start to pick up the pace, cigar between me teeth and over trained muscles bein' put to just a little more work to get her to stop wavin' and shoutin' a little quicker. And so I can get to talkin' a little sooner.

Chapter Text

"Hello Malcolm!-"

I look up at 'er while I make my way up the slope that lead ta her abode - the voice she speakin with always echoin' cus it's a fun thing she do, even when she aint speakin' inta the cave - and I give another wave o' my hand. Gwen continues on with her sentence:

"-How are you on this beautiful night?"

"Hold. On." I says, havin' maybe a little trouble talkin' while I haul myself and 'Decree' up there. "Lemme . . . get up there first."

"Okay!"

With that Gwen finally stops her waving and disappears into her cave, and I can take a break from my climb. I trudge my way up the all natural, poorly made mountain stairs that lead up to Gwen's cave, groanin' a little on my way up as everythin' starts to hurt. Thing about smokin'? Lung capacity gets iffy. That and you might hack up some black stuff later in life, but that only matters when you have a later, right?

I almost didn't even notice how I took the cigar outta my mouth and was about to chuck it behind me.

Damn, Tobias' preaching really got to me. But it's not like that's the only reason I'm havin' trouble makin my way up. Ran myself ragged for hours earlier today. Plus I'm lugging around an admittedly fine but real heavy piece of weaponry. Somethin' Tobias couldn't lift over his head if he tried!

Reinvigorated by my grief-givin, I stick the cigar back into my mouth and make the last few steps up to the entrance to the cave and look in. Place looks just about the same since last time. Lotta brown and black stone, lotta differently colored collections of knots and shapes. The chair and pillow - which has only ever been used as a chair cushion from I can tell - are placed at the very back at the cave, as usual, with Gwen sittin there all smiles.

I smile back before lookin a bit to my left, and Atreus is standing right there, as always. Shit I was lookin down while makin my way up, mighta seen me take that break. I shift 'Decree' to me other arm and look up at his face - he's at least a full head taller than me when I'm standing straight, which I'm not at the moment - for a hint o', well, anything really, but I don't see nothin there but that same watchfulness he always look at me with. I might be mean muggin' with how tired I am, but again, he doesn't seem affected.

Oh well.

I turn my attention back to Gwen - more smiles! - and gently remind her of what I asked her to call me.

"Remember the last thing you said to me?"

My voice comes out a little dry - forgot to bring a drink with me, shit - and she tilts her head as she thinks back to yesterday. And then she gets up from her chair all of a sudden and puts her hands to her face.

"Oh! Oh, oh no." And she looks like she 'boutta cry from forgettin' a nickname of all things. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-."

"-Ahhhhhh, it's fine! You're fine!"

I have to cut her off right there, because really she didn't do nothin wrong. That and because I didn't feel like getting kicked off a mountain by the watchful God behind me. He don't like me much, but he probably definitely cares more 'bout Gwen than me. 'S'not like I wanted to make her cry nothing.

"I aint like Tobias," I continue on. "Call me Malcolm, or Graves, or whatever else ya want. 'S'long as it easy for ya and I get that yer talking to me, that's all I care about."

I take another drag from my cigar, shifting the weight of 'Decree' off o' me arm for a bit and letting it rest on my belt. Gonna be talkin for the next hour at least after the day I had, and I was gonna make the most of my cigar during. Gwen goes and tilts her head a little, finger at her chin, about to ask a question and I aint 'boutta stop her. Was plannin' on talkin anyway.

"Who is this 'Tobias'?"

HACK.HEUGH. 

Damn, just when I went to exhale! The cigar pops outta my mouth and hits the floor as I bend forward and hack me lungs out, trying to get the fire and ash outta there. Fuck, hell, shit, forgot how much havin' it go down the pipe really smarts! And 'Decree', poor thing, she shifts off my belt all slow - SHIT SHE SMASHED ME TOES ON THE WAY DOWN. DAMNIT.  

'Decree' hits the ground loudly but don' make any other sound, the thing made too well to have anything like loose gears or plates. I, however, just barely manage to keep my sailor mouth shut in front o' Gwen as I hit the ground next to 'Decree' and roll away clutchin' me foot, moanin' and groanin' between tight breaths o' air as I still got ash in the lungs that need to get gone. I'm on the floor like that - dirt gettin' all over the nice whites I'm wearin', oh no - for a while, just coughing and shaking until I'm well enough and ash-free enough to clear my throat one last time and get back on my two feet.

One and a half feet. 'Decree' is damn heavy. I push myself up off of the floor and leave it and my cigar down on the floor, because I aint a glutton for punishment and a little dirt aint nothing. Light's gone out anyway, and I can just reignite the same cigar later. When I look up from the ground at the two other people here, I see Atreus - who hasn't really moved since I got here thanks a lot- and Gwen, who looks at me like I just went and saw my puppy get turned into fish food.

"I should not have asked about him. I am sorry."

The assumptions - the way she won't even say his stupid damn name - empty me lungs of the breath I just got back, making me almost go cold.

The pity on her face and the understanding in her voice keeps me burnin' , makin' me press me lips together 'less I say something that'll get me sewn into a quilt, or banned from ever comin over through this Sentinel Slate , let alone into her tiny cave home.

Or my head on a pike. I look over at Atreus and the man still looks on all neutral-like, arms cross his chest and just. Watchin' the two of us.

I take in another breath, airway still crispy but serviceable, and count to ten.

Okay, to three.

"It aint like that." I say a bit quick, voice raspy, not even sure what 'that'  might be in Gwen's head but knowin' it aint the truth. "Tobias just my-".

Partner? Not after ditching me this past week. Friend? That's a nothing word, and at the very least he aint nothin. Yet.

"-accomplice," I decide to settle on. I stand up a little straighter and keep on talkin, Gwen lookin at me but I don't what it mean this time. "We done a lot of stuff together, that's all. And he hates it when people call 'im Tobias." I say that last bit a little louder, because why not it's the truth. "Gave himself a fancy fake name 'Twisted Fate', and wants people to use it."

"Hmm." Gwen hums thoughtfully 'fore continuing. "Would this be similar to how you prefer to be called 'Graves'?" 

"That's my actual last name," I answer readily but quietly, not sure where all that volume and burning has gone and fucked off to in the past second. "'Fate' is his last name too, the 'Twisted' is the fake bit."

The answer to her follow-up question is automatic at this point. Practically muscle memory. Whole lotta people - from nobodies we stuck up to business we stuck up - seem to think they get to compare me to Tobias just cus we work together. Worked together. 'S'just names.

Gwen keeps lookin at me all unreadable-like for a long while. I think I see Pantheon move or somethin outta the corner o' my eye, but I don' say nothing. He's like a God or demigod or something, but even those things couldn't stand still as a statue for so long. Only natural to keep moving.

A silence takes up the cave, Gwen's little cloths and such billowin' in the wind that gets trapped in caves like this. Little bits o' the dirt on me fly off and land on some o' her things, and that don't sit right with me. I don't need to run me mouth today, not really. I can just talk to myself or daydream away, like I used ta before Tobias and everythin'. I'm about to break the silence with a poorly thought out excuse to ditch and head back to HQ, probably to just sit in "my" bed and puff my cigar away, when Gwen pipes up first.

"I know!"

Gwen claps her hands together and shoots another bright smile my way, voice bright and bubbly. I'm about to try and smile back - "proper" smiles always been hard fer me, 'specially when I'm doggone tired and running empty, but it aint right to look a happy lady in the face and be doing nothing - when she spins around and makes a great big cloud of mist same color as her locks for her to get lost in.

I'd already seen this trick once so, no , I didn't scream and jump back no sir, and I wasn't surprised to see her giant pair of glowy scissors cut through the mist - literally bigger than ol' Atreus over here who still hasn't uncrossed his arms since before I got here - before all 'a that mist went away and Gwen is there holding the thing in front of her like it weigh nothing, smilin' wide.

"'Scissors'."

She says the word slow and looks at me all expectedly, like there another meaning behind "Scissors" that I'm supposed to know. Sorry, but big scary murder scissors are still scissors. Yup, you are holding scissors and I do know what scissors are, little missy. Pretty sure I said the word plenty o' times when she first pulled em out on me too, so she knows that I know. Right? Is this some kinda heavy-handed dealing where she's giving me an out in case I forgot what the sharp-V thing was called?

I dunno what to say. The three of us are all real silent for a while, the damn opening of the cave whistling loud as the wind blows by and I just stand there, more 'an a little lost. A silent room with me in it aint gonna last long though, so I go and say the next thing that come to mind:

"Uh."

That's all I got. Gwen doesn't seem to notice or to care 'bout the atmosphere, still just lookin at me all polite like I know what I'm supposed to say and everybody's havin' a grand time. I like the girl a lot, but this part o' her that's all "proper upbringing" and "manners" and "unspoken expectation" is hard to navigate. You try somethin like this in Bilgewater you liable to get yerself messed.

Atreus though, of all people speaks up as he actually moves out of his statue-like pose to turn his head and look down at me - literally not figuratively, at least I think so - and I look up to meet em and he says:

"Your nickname," says the man in that different kind o' drawl he got, sayin the words full but with "style" as Tobias put it. "For her."

Man rolls his r's a lot more when he aint yelling. 'For herrr'. Wait, what he say? Oh. Oh! I shake the idiot outta me - my head, my shoulders, my whole idiot body really - and look back at Gwen, still all smiles and patience.

"I knew that. Yea. Er, ya want me to call ya 'Scissors'?"

And just like that, she smiles wide again and actually jumps in place a few times- like I just made her whole darn day or somethin, she's just too sweet - the giant scissors still in her grip and between us but I don't feel no danger.

"Yes, yes, yes! You may nickname me, 'Scissors'! That sounds like an appropriate name for me, yes?" She snips her giant death weapon in a somehow non-threatening way before hugging it close to her body and the smile shrinks all polite-like as she waits for me answer.

Whole lotta awkward to get to this point, but she right. Can' believe I didn't come up with it first. "Scissors" works just fine as a nickyname for her, seein' as how aint nobody in the world probably fights with scissors. And it's definitely something anyone else could hear and think 'yup, that fits the girl alright'.

Callin' people and things by other names - other good names - 's'always fun for me. Been wanting to call more o' my fellow Sentinels by a nickyname or two I been thinking on - 'Treus, Rango, V - but whenever I'm about to try they look at me like they know what I'm 'boutta do and look at me like 'No. Bad Graves. No nickyname for me.' Fine, least I got Rango and aint that wild! I just let it slip once without really lookin at the big cat an he didn't maul me face off, so guess he fine with it.

If I ever called him "big cat" that might change though, so I aint.

I smile and stroke my beard all refined like, givin 'Scissors' a good smile and not the proper kind because this actually do make me smile.

"Got a nice ring to it, 'Scissors'." I says to the lady, throwin' in a wink for good measure. "That'll be my little nickyname fer ya then."

"Oh it is a pleasure, 'Graves'." She says my last name like it's one of the most fun things she been able to do in a while and goes an grabs her skirt with one hand - holding up her scissors now with one hand somehow someway - and does a little bow.

And we both laugh a little at it all. Even Atreus smiles, his tough God-guy exterior cracking under the time-bomb o' joy that is myself. Everybody's mood have gone back up somehow, the little cave feeling a little warmer, with all the knitted stuff and the happy people.

And I feel like talkin'.

Chapter Text

The time flies by, like it always does when I'm given free rein to talk all I want. Scissors was a real attentive audience as usual, reacting to jokes and tellin' me to keep on talkin' when I try an' be coy. She the kind o' lady that makes everythin' ya say feel heard and appreciated, which is pretty much all me and my ego needs ta go on and on and on. Me throat got all dry at some point, but that aint enough to stop the likes o' me. Used to smoke real regular for years and could talk for hours and hours back then. Nowadays I can tough out a dry throat no problem, 'specially while I'm not busy suckin' down a cigar.

Atreus was back to bein Atreus, goin' back to focus on his meditation and once again not sayin' nothin', but I could tell I finally broke through to him. He still never uncrossed his arms or even looked my way while I talked - eyes trained out of the cave, probably to watch for ghosts or enemies or somethin' - but I know how to read people. Tobias may think himself on some kind o' higher level when it come to understandin' a face and all its tells, but I read somethin' he don't. Ya can't put it in just one word, cus everyone calls it somethin' different. 

Tobias said once that what I read is called "body language", 'fore he flipped a royal flush on the table and told me to practice on it. A thin-fingered gypsy went an' told me I could see a person's "aura", 'fore I stopped those thin fingers o' her's from takin' my whole coin purse. One o' those old, hat wearing elders over in Ionia said I had the "gift of 'mood synesthesia'" while they had their ninja pupils drag me into their house ta try an' convert me.

Don' know what to call it, and don' care ta know. What I care about is bein' able to look at a God-soldier-man like Atreus, see 'im over the course of a week, and instinctively know he sees me as more alright today than he did yesterday. And that's alright.

Never rightly know what I'm gonna talk about whenever I get here, sittin' on a rainbow pile of blankets and stuff and talkin to the most energetic listener ta ever sit in front o' me. I'd tried ta talk about just Sentinel stuff that first time we talked - thinkin it's the kind o' stuff Scissors wanted to hear about seein' how she's hear tryin ta help - but I ran outta material like that. Only so many ways a man can say they live a military-life now. A comment about the food bein more decent today than others. Embellishin' a good sparring sesh to make it go from a cool fight ta an amazin' one. That stuff ran outta steam for me real quick.

The last one - about our fights? - made fer a few good stories, but I got tired of it. 'Oh, flash a light here. Clang o' metal there. Sparrin' sesh over. Woooo.' Don't got the same feel as a good ol' bar fight, never knowin' if a guy is gonna smash a glass or keep goin' when the other guy is down or anything. Don't get me wrong, me and other Sentinels don't hold back with one another. We got a whole non-lethal, light-enforced ruleset established that makes for more intense fights. But really, I just don't have fun tryna describe fights where things I never seen before and definitely don't understand show up, and that's been my life since joinin'. Scissors liked the fight stories I told well enough, gasping and flinchin' at all the right places, but I'm the one tellin' the story. If I'm not into it, the audience sure as hell gon' pick up on it. And she did.

So we agreed to just do it how I always do it: say what come to mind first. Turns out she likes bar fights just fine.

Today? Well, on my way over I was aimin' to share with her my latest conquering of that awful obstacle course drill, but.

Well. Turns out I was feelin real nostalgic today. And the cards in my pockets make for a good prop.

. . .

"Why, this Twisted Fate seems like he exists at the corners of your life Graves!" she exclaimed, walkin' 'round outta her chair after I finished tellin her 'bout the time Missy Fortune almost sold me and Tobias' souls fer the next thousands year or something. "And those cards of his you keep sound positively fantastical! Why have I not heard you talk of him until today, when you clearly have so many wonderful things to say?"

The card is back in my pocket by now, the story over with, and it feels good knowin' I've still got the dexterity ta do some basic tricks. I'm already stretchin' me shoulder by the time she finishes her question, and decide to twist a little more to stretch me back also. Mainly it's ta buy me some more time, and I add a little whistlin' for good measure. 

Yea, I hadn't mentioned Tobias up until now. Don't know why, and don't know how ta answer her.

Stretching like I am makes it so I get a straight view out the cave, and Atreus is still right there, a constant against the changin' sky. It was more of an evening sky when I got here, and with the few hours that have passed since then it is definitely nighttime. Just pass a Demacia 20 o'clock now, and I don't really need me stomach ta tell me that when I got eyes. Most of the sky is a darker blue now, accented with some orange still hangin' at the horizon but just a tiny bit. The stars are due to come out anytime now, especially up here in the mountains. Thinkin' about all this though reminds me o' the fact that Sir Senna wants me to go and use universal time, just cus I'm a Sentinel.

What's wrong with me givin' a location and then sayin' a time based off of that location? I don't wanna have ta deal with a whole new way to tell time!  

"Oh."

It's Scissors that says that, and I almost kick myself fer forgetting to come up with an answer to her question. But, something's . . . off. I can't see her, turned 'round as I am, but I'm used to how Scissors acts and this aint it. Her voice is, flat. Atreus picks up on how odd this is, and I see him look her way. 

"It is getting dark."

And something's very wrong. 

I turn back to look o'er at her as well, cus something weird happened at the end o' her sentence and.

I freeze, eyes wide in disbelief.

Unsure of what's happening.

The light had dimmed by this time o' day, but with how high up this mountain is and what with the way the cave faces, we still get a straight - if pretty faint and fadin fast- beam o' sunlight up here. The cave is almost totally dark now, shadows dominatin' and creepin' in around the bumps and ridges of the untamed stone. 'Cept for this one, weak little beam. 

Scissors is standing right in the light, the beam havin settled right underneath the little tattoos she has on her neck, and everythin' under it disappears.

The beam of light finally peters out, disappearin' entirely, and light stops makin' sense. It's like something blot out the sun, what with how quickly almost everythin' in that cave turned black and gray, 'cept fer the hair on her head. Rather than turn black or gray, it started ta shift between blues an' greens.

My fingers reach for my pocket, for the cards I put there - the cards Tobias left me just in case I get in over my head again like now, right damn now - but soon as I graze 'em I know it's no use. All the effort goes from my body, and my arms just goes limp.

The cards don't matter, not without him here. Colors don't matter, not even the last ones I'm 'bouta see.

Nothin' matters. Not when you can't see the light anymore.

Gwen's skin turns from just pale to a pure white, and I can't rightly tell where the head stops and the neck starts. The edges of my vision begin to blur, and it starts gettin' difficult to even remember what a cave is let alone look like. The shape of her nose and mouth fade away into her skin, and all that is left for me to look at those eyes and hair.

Even in this world without light, the fold o' her bangs casts a shadow over her left eye, the one with the big ol' 'X' in it.

And it starts to grow in size, no longer held in just her eyes and begins to reach for me-.

When my vision is overtaken with a uniform, steely grey.

Soon as that crazy ass letter is outta sight - the edges of my vision focusing and color comin' back in - I get up and high tail it outta there before whatever that was tries and git me for good this time. Cigar be damned, 'Decree' be damned! But a hand holds me impossibly in place - one too steady and too purposeful, too righteous to be evil -and grips my shoulder. Me heart stops beatin' so fast and me head gets screwed back on, just a little. And the hand feels familiar.

Tobias?

No. No, his hands aint like that at all.

'Treus?

I don't think the words even come out with how dazed and out of my depth I'm feelin, but the shoulder he had his hand on gets a squeeze and I think that means he heard me. I remember enough about how ta exist to move my eyes enough to look over, and I see Atreus there in front o' me. He moves a bit aways from me, and I just barely register the thought that he put his shield in front o' me to stop me from seein' what I was seein'.

"You recover quickly. That is good." He lets go - willin' his spear to go from the floor and jump into his hand - and all I hear is the movin' of metal before everything starts to go hazy again. Don't seem like I recover as fast as ya think I do, Atreus.

WHAM.

Me feet slide 'cross stone as I give myself one hell of a haymaker to the face, fast as lightnin' and just as strong.

Good thing I know plenty different kinds o' recovery.

The sharp, familiar sting of a bust lip spreads through my face and down my whole body, finally settin' my mind straight. The colors still don't make all that much sense - everythin' being real dark and most colors kinda dimmed down 'cept for the whites in me and Atreus's get ups - but so long as colors exist in some way we'll be fine, I know it.

The cards in my pocket weigh so little, they seem to make me lighter too.

I auto-pilot a bit and get my guard up and tuck my chin down, not lookin' at anythin' in particular and just waiting for the next thing to hit or block. I spit out a bit o' blood, and I aint never been so happy to see its red splatter on the ground 'fore. I move me jaw 'round some and am surprised at how un-bad this time went, how much it didn't hurt. Usually when I gotta punch myself straight outta some magic or whatever, it hurts bad enough I have to stop talkin' which is just plain awful.

As I continue to move me jaw, I eventually feel that Sentinel-grade eye shield there on the side o' my face and remember the tiny dink I heard when knuckle met cheekbone. Armored cheekbone. And it don't seem like I hurt me hand none neither.

Guess the eye shield did somethin' after all.

"Together."

I hear Atreus's voice, tight and wary. Half like a command, and half like a reminder.

"And apart."

And I remember where I am. Who it was that said that phrase first, 'together and apart'. It was Scissors, and it was her I was lookin at before things went sideways.

And he's talkin to Gwen right now.

I raise me head, keeping my guard up but now actually trying to understand what I'm seeing, and what I see is Atreus and Scissors in a kind o' standoff. Atreus is in the stance he takes when we're all sparring, bendin' forward slightly with his shield up and grippin' his spear just below the head. Gwen aint just a floatin' head anymore and she looks about as normal as usual - and my vision's not swimmin' anymore than expected after takin a good ass punch - but she's gone and brought out her scissors again so it aint all good.

They're greener. Steamier too, if that's the right word fer it. I don't really know what's goin' on, but her weapon used ta be a simple blue and now it's a shifty green with some pale smoke leaking outta it. It aint right. She's gottem hugged up against her shoulder, arm in and wrapping around one of 'em holes, with the blades reachin' way out in front of her. Pointed at Atreus's throat.

And she's steppin' all over that gray shawl she don't let me sit on.

She's facin' forward, but not lookin forward. Her eyes are downcast - catchin' nothing but stone - not a hint o' a smile or anything on her face.

The color o' her hair has gone an' changed, no longer a vibrant blue and more a depressin' green. The tattoos on her neck - and the matchin' ones on her arms - have disappeared or maybe just moved, as the exposed bit o' her chest now has a glowy green triangle seemingly painted there. Me gut tells me fer some reason that the triangle on her chest aint as bad as it could be, but there's still every other thing I mentioned.

I look her again the face - try to, at least - but it's like she isn't there. And that's when I know.

I know that ain't Scissors.

Fuckin' hell.

I exhale, feelin' too many things ta just keep it in. I get outta my alleyway-brawl stance, and movin' my feet a little makes em knock into something behind me.

I'm a fool, so I tilt my head back away from the standoff in front o' me and see 'Decree' somehow at me feet.

I'm an idiot, so I show me back and turn all the way 'round to pick it up.

"GRAVES!"

Atreus shouts my name, furious at my risk-taking, and I can tell by the way his voice bounces off the wall that he's still looking at Gwen.

I turn back around to face the both o' them, 'Decree' in hand, and look at Scissors.

"I know yer in there."

I reload with purpose, the relic-stone cartridge jumpin' outta my gun and hittin' the ground behind me solidly, before lowering my gun ta the side and stepping forward.

She moves her hands ta open up her weapon, keepin' one blade pointed at Atreus and now one blade pointin' at me too.

That don't stop me and I keep walkin' on. Just a few more steps from here and she could snip my head off without movin' from her spot.

"You fool, what are you doing?!"

I stop at that, and turn to look at the man. The God. The soldier. He looks at me through the corner of his eye - still stone-faced, still lookin' at Gwen - ready to jump to action soon as need be.

Yeah. If it was just him and Gwen, he'd win. If Gwen went and tried to cut my down right now, with me nearby and not even looking, he'd probably save my life and still win the fight. But none o' that really matters right now, seein' as how he asked a question and will be wantin' an answer.

"Talkin' to a friend."

Atreus don't reply to me, he never really does. Just stands still as a statue, like he always does when the two of us just get to a little talking, and I turn back around to move a little bit closer.

She's still not lookin at me, not even when she twirls her scissors in the air and points both blades in my direction. Her eyes remain angled down.

Then I notice she's not lookin' at stone anymore. She's lookin' at 'Decree'. And it pisses me the hell off.

"Ye wanna cut somethin?" 

The words come and I can't stop myself. Not now, not never.

"Then cut the shit SCISSORS, AND SNAPOUTTA IT!"

I point 'Decree' at her, and she goes for my head.

She pulls her arms back and leans forward to get into reach all in one motion and way too fast, too fast for Atreus to come and put his shield in front o' me again. If all I had on me was "New Destiny", best I could do would be to raise her up and hope she can take the blow for me. Not likely, in this scenario.

With my 'Decree', it's a different story entirely.

The weapon listens to more 'an just what I want to shoot outta it. If it listens, I can get it to move how I want to.

And aint nobody in this cave ignorin' what I have to say.

I shift me feet forward a little and lift 'em off the ground, as I grip 'Decree' as tight as I can while it lights up and get ready.

SNIPSNIP.

She makes two quick cuts, managing ta take a few strands off the top o' my head, just after I get 'Decree' to hit me on my belt and knock me down onto my back quick as it can.

THUD.

Soon as I hit the floor I learn up to see what I'm doin' - finally gettin' her to look in my direction - and blast her right in the chest with a chunk o' light-filled relic-stone.

'Decree' can launch the thing with enough force ta crack a HQ pillar, but when it hits her right under the collarbone it barely knocks her back far enough to get 'er off the shawl. In fact, she mighta just stepped back to reel them scissors in 'fore slashing 'em across my face and tryna take more 'an just hair this time.

'Least until my 'canister' bursts open and covers her in Sentinel-grade smokescreen.

A big blast of silver and gold smoke escape outta the now open ends of the rock - which is floatin' over the ground now - with a hissss, a thick cloud now takin' up pretty much her half of the cave. When 'Decree' aint blastin' out beams of light, it's shootin' chunks o' real versatile magic rocks.

I scoot back 'fore hoppin' back up on the balls of me feet before standin' upright and Atreus is next to me now - shield up far away enough from his own bod to possibly cover me too, even though I just know he wants to chew me out fer bein' an idiot - when we both hear her coughin'. And it's still in that different octave. Her silhouette just barely peaks outta the smoke, and it looks like she's strugglin' against what was designed to be just a smokescreen, havin' trouble standin' straight and holdin' her weapon as delicately as she used ta.

Conversations over in HQ 'bout Scissors always included or lead ta "mist", or "ruination", or "hallow". How she may seem all decent, but when the next wave of Ruination comes all bets are off. How the best use of a Sentinel's time would be to work on the few concrete facts we do got, and not nothin' else. But it seemed real off ta me, how we talk so much 'bout someone that wanna talk with us but lives a bit too far for most everyone.

That's when something clicked in me, and I had me a hunch.

She made a big deal about how the Ruination mist and Hallowed mist are two very different things, but for some reason still related enough for HQ to affect her just like how it affects Ruination. Keepin' her at bay, keepin' the light safe. Forcin' her to do somethin' 'gainst her will.

So if one day, it turns out that the relation between Ruination and Hallowed turns bad enough that Scissors might be made to do somethin' else against her will, why not use a non-lethal kind o' light to keep that at bay and turn her back all normal?

I offered her a cigar once before, and she turned it down. This time I got a better smoke for her.

But my smoke don't last forever, and too much of it will absolutely do more harm than good. What's more, it takes a few seconds fer 'Decree' to be ready to shoot another smokescreen. Not as long as a 'Collateral Damage' round, but if Scissors don't pull herself together after this Ima have to improvise. Thankfully as the smokescreen begins fade even just a little, the blue bits o' her start to shine through before any o' the other colors and I know I'm on the right track. Seems my hunch is at least partly right. 

I hear Atreus shift his grip on his spear, and I look on over. And he's lookin' at me.

Can't read his face, but he aint lookin' at Gwen no more. And that's enough fer me.

I step forward again, 'Decree' at the ready, and Atreus lets me go without a word.

She never talked about her self much. Always asked about me and my life, and never made it 'bout her own. I get that. I know what that means. What kind o' life leads ta that. Plenty of people out 'round Runeterra see me and Tobias, two strangers dressed all different and smellin' different from 'em, and come on over to hear an excitin' and exotic tale or two. An' when you get used to tellin' stories, you get used to hearin' responses. What kind o' person it takes to react the way that they react. That's the kind o' stuff I really get, readin' a face not so much.

I also get what it means when she yanks somethin outta my hands and tells me she'd prefer if I 'didn't use that particular piece of clothing'. When she crosses her eyes and makes silly faces as she jumps around, gettin' me to hoot an' holler and then lookin' at me like it's me that just made her day. When, durin' those first few minutes we talked and I was thinkin hard on what other Sentinel business I could talk to her about, she went and said the name 'Isolde' so sadly and 'Viego' so meanly. 

I knew what all that meant, and it makes me fucking pissed to see the Ruination do this to 'er. Me face gets angry, and my clothes start to billow even without the breeze. I clench me fist and hold 'Decree' tighter, and her and the smokescreen get brighter.

I lower 'Decree', instead aimin' my voice at Scissors and scream me damn lungs out.

"YOU GON' LET THAT FUCKER VIEGO TAKE THIS FROM YA TOO, SCISSORS?! ARE YA?!"

The smokescreen crescendos like the Sentinel Slate did, before droppin' me off here. The light turns brighter but not blindin', no need to cover ya eyes. The smoke thins and parts, makin' way for the silhouette of a lady showin' Viego what for and kickin' that idiot outta her head. And through the light, I hear a voice slowly turn its back on the dark.

"Together." She loosens the death grip she had on her scissors.

"and." Her knees stop bendin' all weird, and she stands up straight.

"Apart." She looks forward, and wakes up.

I see her shake herself outta a daze before lookin' down at the scissors in her hands and then lookin' up at us. Scissors is back to lookin' normal now - her hair back to bein' blue and the triangle on her chest gone - tattoos fadin' back onto her neck and arms. She blinks, confused, before the confusion goes away and a smile lights up her face. She sends them scissors away before leanin' down - keepin' her legs straight as she does - and picks up the shawl. With it in her arms, she draws herself back up and smiles even wider. And I get what that means.

I put an arm cross me torso, elbow at me ribs and fingers at me shoulder while holding 'Decree' at my side all refined-like, and lighten the mood like how she deserves.

"A pleasure, 'Scissors'."

Chapter Text

When the first wave came, I just thought I was 'boutta bite it in that vengeance-magic kind o' thing. Dark stuff in the sky, a kind o' laser shootin' down and spreadin' that darkness on the ground. I been through Harrowings before, but none o' em looked like this. I knew somethin' was different. Me eyes on the laser, I kept watchin' it until it went away and then a ton o' that smoke went up into the sky to wrap itself into a big ol' ball. Then I noticed me and Tobias were surrounded. I looked 'round myself and saw a canvas o' green an' black - had no idea what the hell it was really made of, or what made it all appear in the first place - and just stood back-to-back with Tobias.

I'd heard the Bilgewater-brand stories. Seen some of em play out fer myself. A misty lady tossin' spears full o' vengeance. A drowned man crossin' names off his list with his jagged hook. Bunch o' Buhru, tattoo'd tentacles draggin' ye through the dock and down into the depths. Those 're some o' the more popular ways to die in a theme o' green.

They can try it; however I do end up croakin', it'll always be with a fight. Live hard, die hard.

But I didn't see no man or woman come outta the smoke. Or tentacle.

I saw little scrawny buggers of a breed o' monster - jumpin' outta the clouds and scamperin' their way 'cross the docks - and heard some girly off to the side call 'em 'ghouls'. "New Destiny" took out her fair share o' them ghouls, some hours passin' by as me and Tobias kept score. What with him outrangin' me and the ghouls bein' just skin an' bone, he won but only barely.

I remember this next bit real clear cus I was tryin' ta rummage through the lower half of a card-and-bullet-riddled ghoul at the time, lookin for some kind o' pocket for some kind o' coin. Didn't get nothing but the feelin o' sharp bones and too loose skin. If you could call it skin.

Anyways as I stood up and kicked away the ghoul's coinless, and now disappearin', body, Tobias tried tappin' me on me shoulder. He missed a few times 'fore finally hittin' me an' he said, while pointin' up with his other hand, 'Graves, you happen to know anything 'bout that?'

Hadn't even noticed how dark the ground had got. Neither o' us did. I looked directly 'bove myself fer the first time since the mist came 'round, no real need to look straight up when the buggers tryna off ya are loud as heck and don't reach 'bove the belt.

I saw that big ol' glob o' black and green - hangin' in the sky like some kind o' rotten fruit still 'ttached to its tree - mist drippin' down all sticky and wrappin' 'round all the clouds and buildings and crestin' waves inside and outside o' Bilgewater.

I was at a loss fer words.

And then the mist retreated.

Like when yer peelin' the fat off a piece a meat - can't look good as I do without watchin what I eat - I saw those similar looking little wires tryin' ta stay on everythin' as the mist was being peeled off o' Bilgewater. I could tell the mist wanted to stay - that it was definitely bein' peeled off and not peelin' itself - and Tobias didn't believe me cus it's a thought that didn't come from his own damn head. We bickered back and forth as, eventually, the mist all went away and the Bilgewater we knew came back.

Didn't take long for a certain couple to show up and bring me to where I am now, bowin' to a Hallowed lady.

Stayed like that fer a bit before pullin' myself up and turning 'round, just to verify what I already knew in me gut. Takin' just a few steps, I stood at the lip o' the West-facing cave and looked outta it.

That ugly green laser, that only shows up at the start, was gone by the time I looked towards Demacia. But the rest was still there. Capitol had a big ass sky fruit over it just like how Bilgewater did, coverin' the place in shadow as the mist came drippin' down. All that pearly white petricite, and its all gone and under the dark now. Lookin' off ta the side I become real confident in where Piltover is now, a tiny dark circle able ta be seen in the sky over it, far away. And aint no hexgate that 'glow' like that. And I just knew if I got outta the cave and looked way East, Noxus would be goin through the same, Ruination all o'er their territory and breakin' up the roads and everythin'.

The view was ruined.

The second wave was here.

. . .

I'm runnin' back down the mountain with half a unlit cigar in me mouth - 'Decree' all warm and glowy and at the ready - with Atreus and Scissors in front. 'Two of em are fast as all hell, Atreus leaning forward with spear and shield poised and legs pumpin', Scissors jumpin' an' skippin' low ta the ground and her hands in each o' them holes and pointin' the thing straight up. I don't even got the excuse o' bein sore, adrenaline handling any o' that kinda pain as I just barely keep up with 'em. I tell myself that if I did my best to haul ass - not carin a lick 'bout my aim with a shotgun in me arms - I'd be right up there next to 'em, though I doubt that'd be true. Odds are the two of 'em aint runnin' fully serious neither, holdin' their weapons the way they are.

'Course the second wave would come 'round when I'm a haul an' a half away from HQ.

We're about halfway to the Sentinel Slate when an ugly soundin' roar rips outta the skies above. We ain't exactly 'close' to Demacia, but the damn sphere that popped up over it and puked mist is big enough to darken the skies here too. I don't look up  - cus we're goin down a mountain and I need to watch me damn feet - but Scissors does look and in fact speeds up if anythin', breakin' ahead o' Atreus a little.

Cripes lady.

"He has noticed us," shouts Gwen, her emphasis all I need to hear to know she means Viego. "And sends ghouls up the mountain to try and stop us from regrouping!"

"LETTEM TRY," I scream back, not able to say it any quieter with how hard I'm running.

"Agreed!" Atreus yells, though he does it much more controlled and inspirin' like. " We will strike down all that approach, and attain power for the Sentinels!"

That's when 'least a hundred ghouls come up from over the next bend, all of 'em lookin' crazier than the way they been for the past week. They glow and emit way more green and mist now, teeth sharper and limbs fuller o' muscle. Their skin or whatever - what used to be a sickly kind o' pale - is now a thick and shiftin' black, like all that they are a bunch o' bones and glowy bits that are bein' held together by nothin' but a flesh-sack made o' mist.

The two of 'em shift into battle mode as they keep movin' forward, undeterred. Atreus's spear 'gins to glow a mix of blue and white as he reels it back with his jacked-as-hell arm, and Scissors twirls her nickyname around to hold em open and forward as if ta invite the ghoulies in for a mowin'. I move after 'em and get a front row seat to ghouls gettin' chopped and snipped into tiny pieces or getting holes bored through 'em and gettin' tossed aside after tha fact.

Gonna need 'least a million there, ya shirtless idiot.

I smirk and adjust 'Decree', totally fine with just watchin but ready with two barrels full o' righteousness just in case.

. . .

We're just another minute or so away from the Sentinel Slate now - still not havin' fired off a single round, but like I said 'm fine watchin' - and the two in front keep goin' off, slaying each and every ghoul that pops up in their way. I run past and over the trail o' quickly disappearin' ghoul corpses the two of 'em are cuttin' a path through - scissors spinnin' and snippin' and spear skewerin' and flyin' - when I take in a breath just a little too eagerly and my cigar drops out from 'tween my teeth and falls behind me. 

Just my luck.

Which is when four ghoulies come out from behind rocks and trees - waitin' for the two of 'em to pass - and try to jump me.

BANG. BANG.

I blast em all twice, first shot knockin' em all back and second shot evaporatin' em right then and there in a puff o' gray smoke - giant beams o' light shotgunnin outta 'Decree' and layin' down the law - and reload.

Chh-chunk.

I don't slow down nothin - leavin' my poor cigar on the ground unfinished, but it started ta hurt whenever it'd touch the part o' me lip that got busted so it aint a catastrophe - sprintin' on through the mist a la ghoul I just went and made. I continue with the double timin' it, chasin' after the two of 'em who didn't slow down neither cus they knew I got it.

Yea, I know I got it.

"HOLD."

Atreus suddenly stops on a bronze washer, what's a real small coin from Piltover, spear-arm raised at a right angle and fist clenched tight. Scissors stops right there next to 'im just as quick, the both of them standin' but not really tryna hide behind a big rock. A pretty familiar rock to me, as it's one o' the landmarks I use ta reach the cave.

I just barely catch myself from tripping and knockin' into the two of 'em like a clumsy bowlin' ball. I stay on me two feet, barely, and consider it win since 'Decree' is still in me arms.

"Why-" I manage ta get out, takin' a few deep breaths 'fore restartin' and continuin' as I walk the rest o' the distance to join 'em, "-why we stoppin'?"

"They surround the slate."

I get there - standin' between Atreus and Scissors and having our heights go like an unbroken line - and peer over the rock. Bit of a slope down from where we are to the Sentinel Slate, but most of the area 'round there is pretty flat.

And he's right.

Aint a million of 'em down there like I taunted earlier, but there are at least a thousand of them critters just sittin' 'round and waitin'. Sure the Sentinel Slate gets us a pretty forcefield when we pop outta there, but just fer a few seconds. Anybody would get overrun with so many of 'em ghouls, just waitin' for their turn until the wall goes down an' it becomes all ye can eat. Was kinda hopin' there'd be other Sentinels waitin' down here fer me by the time I got here. Now? Hope Sir Senna sticks to her guns and tells everyone to have me and Pantheon make our own way back.

"This at least explains why we have not been attacked in the past seventeen seconds," Scissors provides, tilting her head at the problem as she very visibly tries to think on how to proceed.

I aint got a clue - outside o' chargin' and maybe lettin' me hit em with some o' that righteous "Collateral Damage" - and am 'bouta say as much when I look over ta Atreus.

He aint lookin down at the Sentinel Slate no more. He looks off into the distance - not sure what cardinal direction exactly what with the sun outta the sky and the marathon down a mountain we just had - and looks all weighed down. Worldly. Troubled. I look in the same direction he does and I squint real hard, and maybe -just maybe - I see one o' those big ruination sky fruits way off in the distance, a tiny speck in the sky. Lookin' smaller than the one suspended over Piltover, but that's probably just the distance. Targon is pretty far, but its namesake mountain is even taller.

It hits me that maybe he wasn't keepin' watch all that time in the cave, lookin out rather than lookin in. Maybe he just liked the view, watchin' his home from a distance and thinkin' about the people there.

And now that's ruined too.

Atreus catches me lookin and turns his head back to look at me. I look in his eyes and see that steely glint o' determination an' grit, the look a man gets when he has an idea so dumb it has ta work. It's a look I get on me own face real often, and I smirk at the sight o' it on his.

"Got a plan o' attack, Atreus?" I ask, hand at my hip and juttin my chin out, challengin 'em to open up and just say what he wanna say. If I still had my cigar I'd move it 'round a bit - one o' my favorite things ta do, use it to punctuate the things I say - but I don't so I just smirk a little harder.

He continues to look at me-

-'fore crackin' a smile for the second time since I've known 'im.

"Yes," he says thickly and finally with some of 'em real emotions - mild annoyance and mild cockiness, all thanks ta me, yer welcome - and he sounds the most human as I've ever known him ta be. "I will scrape them all off of the side of this mountain, as I make my way to Targon. You will follow after and exit through the slate."

Nice. Real nice. 

Wait.

"Uh, come again?"

"Your ears have not betrayed you, 'Graves'."

I think that's the first time he's said my name an not been all angry with it.

I kinda just stand there 'til Scissors goes and pulls me down on to ground all gentle as Atreus gets up on the rock up in front, and bangs his spear 'gainst his shield once and then two three times right after each other. I hear the ghoulies down there scream as they notice 'em and charge their way on over here, sound o' all their poundin feet and gnashing teeth enough to make my hairs stand on end.

Atreus stands tall, holdin' his spear and shield in front of em and both with both his hands, as the air 'round him starts to glow that same blue and white from earlier. The wind rushes by as the light grows and sings, drownin' out the approach o' the ghouls and takin' away any doubts I mighta had about makin' it outta here.

"There may come a time, 'Graves', where I need to be called out to."

Atreus's voice has got a bitta reverb to it now, and he turns his head toward me. 

"At that time, call me as 'Atreus'."

His eyes are closed and his body is still facin' the comin' threat, focused that he is on whatever he 'boutta do.

"I can do that." I reply with a nod - straightenin' up a little while I sit on the ground - thinkin all o' two seconds 'bout not addin' some sass to my reply and then goin' on with it anyways. "I already do that, actually."

"Yes, you do." Atreus replies, even more reverb in his voice now, his gear and even his skin startin' to glow all Sentinel-like. "If you end up helping me the same as you have helped 'Scissors', however. Then, - and only then - do you have my permission to nickname me-."

Atreus turns his head to face forward, just before the ghoulies reach 'im, and he shifts off the top o' the rock onto its side. He plants his feet 'gainst it like a swimmer 'bouta cut through the water like a ship. He bends his knees and slams the end o' his spear into the rock and has his shield just make a small crater, and the light goes bright but not blindin'. And he continues to say:

"-'Treus."

So I did say that out loud.

He launches himself with so much force, the only way I can reason that Scissors and me weren't rightly kicked off the other side o' the mountain is divine intervention. Can't say the same fer the little rock he jumped off of though. Scissors and I ducked down low to the ground as large and small chunks of the rock were sent everywhere, little meteor-like craters shot into the sides o' this mountain. I closed my eyes so as to not get dust or ghoul bits in 'em, but as the powerful light that surrounds Atreus penetrating my eyelids started to fade as he got a little further away, I could tell that that was my cue to high tail it.

Me an' Scissors get up off the ground at the same, weapons in hand, and leap over where the rock used to be and mad dash it down. Atreus went and left a jagged path down the slope where he pulverized through ghoul and rock alike, but he also left enough o' a path down the side that we were able to make it without incident.

And we catch the last of Atreus - truly scrapin' em against his heel as he cleared away every last ghoul - and made it down pass the Sentinel Slate in a cascade of divine destruction, ribbons of divine wind and righteous light still billowin' off his shield. He stops in place, pivoting, and points himself in the direction I saw him lookin' earlier. He turns his head ta see me and Scissor on level footin' now, just a few guaranteed steps away from the safety, and opens his eyes. An' I get why he don't gotta wear the Sentinel attire.

His pupils are gone leavin' just orbs o' white, tattoos an' gear glowin' brighter than ever before an' radiatin' divinity. But his skin is kept normal an' human, the contrast between divine an' mortal he wearin' strange and somehow exactly how it should be. He holds our gaze for a moment, an' it's in that gaze that I see the same determination and grit he's always had, the one present in everythin' Atreus is. That Atreus stands for.

And that's more than enough. Scissors and I give 'im a brief nod - knowin' the fight's only just started and that he's got places to be - and he nods back.

The two of us set foot onto the Sentinel Slate - which immediately responds to me, rhombus fully glowin' an' erectin' that forcefield - as Atreus plants his spear and shield again.

He launches himself off the floor - kickin' up a cloud o' dust an' leavin' another little crater where he once stood - and jumps right into the clouds. There's a trail o' golden light left shimmerin' behind him - remainin' for a few seconds before fadin' out - and as that protective forcefield comes up fully around me, I see 'im pause up there in the clouds 'fore blastin' 'cross the sky like a damn shootin' star. 

Wherever he goin' gonna be put out real quick .

I hear the Sentinel Slate under us make a sound as it begins to open up the path. But as I stand there in the light - the Sentinel Slate just a second or two from activatin' and leadin' me over to HQ - it comes to me that Scissors can't be standin' in this kind o' light.

"Scissors-!"

I look next to me  - prepared for the worst - lookin' for a little lady with her big ol' scissors when all I see is-

-nothin'.

Nothin', until I look down and sees a piece o' clothing.

No, a real particular piece o' clothing. The gray shawl Scissors likes so much.

And when I pick up the shawl, I see what's under it.

A doll, lookin' almost just like Scissors.

. . . becauSE IT IS?!

I pick Scissors up as gentle as I can - keepin' my digits ta myself best I can - before screamin' my question at 'er button-eyed face.

"YER AN ACTUAL DOLL?!"

She don't give me any kinda reaction - which has me worry but also not worry, as I know Scissors wouldn't go suicidal on me and wouldn't turn into a doll if she didn' need ta- and the light 'round me grows bright enough to block any sign o' me from the outside.

A second later the light fades out, and the mountain has no more Sentinels. No more ghouls.

Just signs o' a fight that been beat into the mountain, and the creepin' mist o' Ruination.

Just signs o' a life found in that there cave with its chair and yarns, and a Sentinel Slate gone dark but still full o' light.

Chapter Text

"You brought the doll."

I recognize the voice. With the kind o' subtle and easy comin' rasp that make 'er sound like she always thinkin' a quickdraw ahead.

I step outta the Sentinel Slate, door risin' through the floor behind me, and see Vayne standin' there in the halls of HQ. She got herself waitin' and leaning 'gainst the wall, fully geared up and lookin' lethal, those circle glasses o' hers makin' it impossible to see where she lookin' and how she lookin'. Even with 'em on though I can tell she's goth both trained on Scissors, her arm hangin' at her side all casual like with that shinin' arm crossbow of her's open and set to fire with a relic-stone bolt sittin' pretty right in the middle o' it.

I sense a too familiar atmosphere, the kind that has a coin on its side that 'bout to fall one way or the other, and adjust the shawl over Scissors' button eyes.

"Her name's, Scissors."

I cock 'Decree', makin' my point more 'an clear enough to a marksman like Vayne. Just cus we're friends don't mean she get to do what she want to me, or to another friend o' mine.

'Night Hunter' she calls herself, havin' dedicated the past years of her life to the killin' of all kinds o' monsters. But she worked that life all by herself for most of it, and shadows get ta jumpin' when you live like that. If she sees Scissors as just another monster . . .

Vayne just keeps lookin' and leanin', and not foldin' up her arm crossbow.

"Great," Vayne replies, and she don't think it's great. "You're not carrying her around while on the job."

I lower my chin a fraction as I weigh my options quick as I can, puttin' the thinkin' speed I've developed over the years of runnin' con after con to work. What she just said aint technically a threat on Scissors, but she's also been talkin' 'bout how Scissors shouldn't be trusted for the past few days so it's up in the air. Any kind o' scuffle is gonna be in Vayne's favor, since I'd be down an arm and carryin' a passenger all at once. A passenger that can't seem ta move and is just 'bout as close to a sittin' duck as could be.

So I can either try my luck and press 'gainst the now closed doors o' the Sentinel Slate behind me an' hope they open, an' fuck up almost everythin' I got goin' on here in the process-

-Or I can keep talkin'.

"An' now why," I say, voice low an' slow as voices do when a parley gets tense, "is that? Why can't I carry her 'round-"

"She turned into a doll for a reason, Graves."

Vayne answers my question before I can even get all of it out, and she answers it so readily - and with such an undercurrent of 'duh idiot' - that it takes me a few seconds to understand and stow my hackles away. She aint here for a fight. Sounds like she has some clue as to what is goin' on, Scissors willingly enterin' HQ even though it hurts her and turnin' into an unmovin' doll before hand.

She seems ta knows more 'bout Scissors than I do. Guess that makes sense, she talks 'bout her more 'an I do.

'Decree' goes back to my side and I relax a little. Vayne maybe relaxes too, movin' herself up and away from the wall after all, ta stand up straight. She don' fold up her arm crossbow still, but after thinkin' for a bit I don't she ever does. Always at the ready I guess.

"An' that reason bein'?" I ask flatly, fully expectin' her to do that thing where she don't wanna talk but talks anyway cus we're friends lady just 'cept it already.

She makes a show of sighin', tiltin' he head to the side and back a bit, before turnin' and startin' to walk down the hallway.

"If we're gonna talk, we're gonna walk." She looks back at me as she keeps walkin' away, givin' me the opportunity to actually see her eyes as the glasses turn parallel ta me. "You missed the brief."

Her eyes are open in that intense sorta way where you haven't blunk in a while and don't feel the need to, so focused on a goal that nothin' - not even basic body functions - matter.

She faces forward again, and I eye the giant monster-killin' crossbow on her back, and I get what the goal is.

I follow after her, 'Decree' in one arm and Scissors and her shawl still in the other. 

. . .

As we walk an' talk, Vayne tells me 'bout Scissors. An' while I do listen and I do hear what she says, it's durin' our convo that the gravity of this here situation sinks in a little more fully.

The clock has started, an' the guidelines o' Ruination run through my head.

'Played a few different kinda board games with Tobias over the years, checkin' out that scene to see if any new popular games might have a cheat or two we could pull off. A couple of 'em did this 'asymmetry' thing where one player does stuff on their turn one way, and the other player does stuff real different like but to kinda the same effect. Different resources and units, but same kind o' goal: winning. When I was given my first spiel 'bout how Ruination works, all I really got was that we was essentially part of an 'asymmetry' game. After a lot more lectures, some o' them tellin' me that 'this isn't some damn game', I got the more fine details 'bout Ruination drilled into me head.

'Sentinels of Light' have been around for a long, long time. The exact origins o' the order aren't known, but 'way the story goes, our HQ and our gear wasn't even made to fight against Ruination originally. The hidden island that HQ is on, and all the righteousness-powered relic-stone we got, were actually all put together in secret ta fight against a guy called "Mordekaiser". He was apparently a big deal way back when - some kind o' super, mega tyrant - not that I've ever heard of him. Never cared fer history. Still, he was a big enough asshole for the Sentinels to form up and all plot to murder the bastard. That's as obvious a sign as any that someone's a real piece o' work.

Then, one day, just when all the sentinels were hypin' themselves up to bring down the big bad, they all got beat to the punch. Usin' their own special gear and their own magic powers, a bunch o' Noxians from three different groups all worked together to tear down the tyrant and build up their own empire in place o' his. Which makes this Mordekaiser fella an even bigger piece o' work, if he brought together groups o' ancient Noxians. Still, even with his defeat apparently bein' how Noxus started ta come into its own, aint no doubt in my mind that I should be thankful that the guy was put down and won't be troublin' me or the world again.

Huh. Is that why Noxus likes the number three so much? Or at least the "Tri-" prefix? Trifarian soldiers, the Trifarix leaders. . .

Meh. Don't really matter.

With the final boss o' the Sentinels already taken care of for them, most of them just quit on the spot after hearin' the news. They got what they wanted after all, and didn't have to potentially risk their lives to get it. They had loved ones ta get back to, and probably parties to hold and pass out during! HQ emptied out pretty quickly, save for a handful o' guys who stuck behind for a just in case. 

Turns out that 'just in case' wouldn't involve Mordekaiser at all. Seventy or so years after the fall o' Mordekaiser, the Sentinels' ranks havin' thinned out even further, Ruination reared its ugly mug. With an explosion that could be heard world 'round and what sounded like a scream, the Shadow Isles released a giant wave o' mist that just began spittin' out ghoul after ghoul. Not expectin' something like this but able ta tell that this was possibly another threat on Mordekaiser's level, they leapt into action. Dustin' off their gear, them sentinels hopped through the Sentinel Slates that were active back then and got ta work. 

As luck would have it, all the trouble they went through to get their relic-stone gear was worth it. Don't know what it'd have done to or taken from Mordekaiser, but after pushin' back that first wave an' killing tons o' ghouls they noticed HQ had powered up in a way they weren't expected. More weapons had popped up. More Sentinel Slates too.

They took it all as a sign, as they definitely should have. A sign that their order was meant to fight against this new threat. With that they recruited new people and formed new plans, and were all the more ready when that second wave hit.

But the mist had suddenly changed and gotten stronger. Craftier. It was now bein' controlled by something, something which hindsight informs us to have been a weaker an' far less conversational Viego. A shade o' a man, not even havin' a physical form back then. Still, with him at the helm o' Ruination the fight got a lot harder. A lot more people died, non-sentinel and sentinel both, and now the mist could make them bombs and go around tryin' ta control people. After just two hours of barely stayin' alive, one of the bombs had managed to grow to a worryin' size.

But then the mist receded, and Viego never came back until now. He only summoned up that second wave o' Ruination and maybe the first before disappearin', but the Sentinels learned enough from that to know at least an outline of how this gonna go down. An' to know that he'd come back, just like how he's doin' now. 

Rules go as follows: Viego starts and ends the clock o' each wave. While the clock is runnin', both him and us Sentinels get to work gatherin' resources and bein' a pain to the other side.

What Viego does is throw his endless amount amount o' ghouls at us, while he tries to mind control the strongest folks he can find. He does this cus the ghouls he got would need ta number, again, 'least a million to take any one of us down. And no matter how infinite his ghouls may number, you can only fit so many things in one place 'fore a Sentinel can just book it and get outta dodge. What happened back with the crowded Sentinel Slate back on the mountain almost never happens. That's cus while Viego knows where us Sentinels can pop up outta, he doesn't know when and can't exactly create his mist immediately over a Sentinel Slate. He can only do that over densely populated places, the mist naturally called to greater abundances o' souls or somethin'. 

And if he could summon and control all his infinite ghouls all at once, if he could place a literal million at every slate we had, we woulda already lost by now, so he can't.

But ghouls can occupy our time, and give him the opportunity to take over somebody. He does this by snakin' his mist 'round their head and making all the bad thoughts louder. If the person listens to this bad side of themselves, they go turncoat against their better judgement and fall under Viego's control. Bein' a Sentinel makes us a hard target to grab onto, the relic stone and the attire keepin' back the darkness. But that bein' said, there's a whole world o' targets for Viego to try and sway. Him havin' a harder time takin' control o' us isn't something all that important to his plans I reckon.

There are some real strong folk just in Bilgewater that I'd hate to go up 'gainst after all, let alone all 'round Runeterra. 

The outline of them cards in my pocket feel more noticeable, and stop that train o' thought before it can pickup speed. I dial back into the here an' now, followin' Vayne through HQ past archways and rooms. We've been walkin' for 'bout a minute now - started goin up the stairs a bit ago, and it's murder on me legs - and HQ starts ta look a whole lot more poorly lit. The training room and most o' the ground floor is almost too bright, with the upstairs gettin' darker the higher up you go the staircase. A side effect of HQ's lack o' gathered light-energy. And while the shift ta darkness is as forebodin' as it is depressing, I'd be lying if I said the upstairs wasn't easier on the eyes.

I look down at Scissors, the buttons she's got fer eyes not covered by the shawl no more, an' think back to what happened at her cave. Viego tried to ta take over her, but she kicked his stupid influence outta her head like a champ. I let out a sigh. If only everyone could do that. 

An' if I think o' one man in particular who I hope keeps Viego's mist outta their brain, so what? He'd be a pain in the ass ta fight, chuckin' those explodin' cards with reckless abandon now that he's gone full bad guy. Everyone should want Tobias to stay mist-free! It crosses me mind that everyone should want everyone ta be mist-free, but I skip over the contradiction by continuin' ta run through those rules o' Ruination in me head, followin' Vayne on autopilot.

Viego uses the people he controls like upgraded ghouls, to take the souls o' folks and then suck 'em skyward into those big knots o' mist up in the sky. He ever get enough souls in one o' those things, it explodes and leaves the area under it desolate and ruined. Permanently ruined, if all the different and failed rituals, spells, and prayers done on the Shadow Isles are anythin' to go by. An' all that death any one bomb causes leads to a big harvest for all the other bombs too. If one goes off, the odds of the others goin' off skyrocket too.

No one knows for certain what happened on them Shadow Isles, but the workin' theory is that one of 'em bombs went off immediately an' that's why we got big scary Ruination over the major regions today. Maybe, he won't try and ruin the whole world. But he's at the very least tryin' to kill off everyone in every capitol, which puts his body count in the hundreds o' millions, all to bring back a queen that wouldn't want his sorry behind back if she's even the tiniest bit sane. 

Fuck this guy. No way am I just gonna let him spread that Shadow Isles gloominess all over the world. Not me, not the people fightin' fer their homes, an' not the rest o' us Sentinels.

What us Sentinels do is pick up the weapons we got and go out into the world to do two things: Take care o' ghouls and take care o' those rottin' sky fruit.

Killin' ghouls aint all a waste o' time. If a ghoul kills a 'normie' for lack o' a better term their soul is taken too, so we gotta put em all out. Plus, every bit o' mist we cut out from the world is registered by our weapons o' light and send some kind o' energy to HQ. It uses this energy to unlock the Sentinel Slates, make us hit harder, help us mobilize faster, and even create new weapons fer more Sentinels to maybe use. Right now the armory's been emptied, all the weapons taken up by us new Sentinels, but more will pop out.

Doesn't seem like we'll get to too many new weapons though. Sir Senna went on about how her own weapon was forged from the scraps o' other weapons she found in that Thresh's lantern. Sounds to me like she did what she had to do - Lucian now used to fightin' with the weapon she couldn't take with her into that sadist's prison, where she had to fight 'gainst mist on the daily - but now HQ thinks we have more geared up people than we actually do. A put together weapon from the scrap o' other weapons is costly in terms o' energy.

That's another thing; Sentinel gear aint unbreakable. It's sturdy an' powerful, but supposedly if ya keep pushin' its limits an' it'll eventually break. Still, 'New Destiny' has always been able ta take a beatin' and 'Decree' is a lot tougher than her! She aint busted on me yet, not even a scratch on her, an' the same can be said o' all the other sentinels too. S'not like this stuff is brittle! These weapons come in quite the variety too, in more ways than just how they look. All the weapons got some kind o' inherent preference fer its user, Irelia's gear lookin' like borin' chunks o' metal 'fore she willed them to shape into those dancin' blades she fights with. 'Least, that's what I heard. I wasn't here ta see it.

Would be cool to see how future Sentinels first interact with their own weapon, my own lookin' like a spiky cylinder 'fore shapin' into a fancy shotgun, but odds are I'll be up in my neck with drills whenever a new one joins up. Sentinel recruitment is technically a third thing we do, but I been denied tha right fer some reason. Probably cus I'd go an' make too many friends. Probably cus they like makin' me run drills much as possible just cus my agony is fun.

Okay. so maybe I made a joke 'bout tellin' people there a joinin' fee, but I was jokin'!

Okay I wasn't.

We can also generate some o' that energy HQ uses through acts of 'righteousness' or somethin'. It'd be real helpful if we had some kind o', I dunno meter or something, to help show what exactly constitutes a 'righteous' act and how much power HQ currently has from ghouls and acts alike. Would be nice, but no such luck. Sir Senna and Lucian have been sentinels fer years so they know how the what-to-do and how-to-do for different places and devices in HQ, but not everything is operational or even here. Goin' by their own inventory as of around six years ago, we're at 'round thirty percent functionality overall compared to then, when they still had a handful o' fellows fightin' back the darkness o' the Harrowings alongside em.

As fer how we go 'bout defusin' them bombs Viego has over the capitols, all we gotta do is keep fightin'.

'Ventually, after we fight enough, our weapon glows real bright and we get even more o' those Sentinel symbols under and around our bodies. Bright to the point where if we point it up at a Ruination bulb and tell the light to blast the damn thing, a giant beam comes out and disarms the bulb real good if not removin' it without issue. That also ends up as one less bomb he can make total, all over the world.

He run outta bombs, we win. Not even any more ghouls, just an absolute and total victory. Mind control takes a lotta work and is still a risk, but he can't go an' feed his bulbs with just ghouls or we'll definitely break em down. Us Sentinels stayin' as a big group would make this all a cinch, but we can't cus he might swarm another place and make it explode. What's more, there is such a thing as too much light. If two Sentinels that been fightin' together have both their weapons glow, that's one bomb down and one lightshow wasted. So bein' a Sentinel is a bit of a solo gig.

And apparently there's some kind o' mandatory time limit to a wave of Ruination - in the past the Sentinels were real close to losin' a town, when all of a sudden the mist retreated and everyone went on livin' - but hell if anyone but Viego knows what that is. Knockin' out a controlled an' ruined folk bad enough to keep em sleepin' the whole wave don't turn em back, but it does count as one hell of a fight and fills the participant weapon with light. The amount o' light gained is proportional to amount o' damage dealt though, so while keepin' them baddies untouched until us Sentinels get there is technically fer the best, aint no civilian or soldier gonna stand around and do nothing.

That bein' said sir Senna and Lucian knocked one down before, so they'll probably be the first the blast those beams o' light. Vayne fought by their side too but didn't have 'er weapon at the time, so no charge fer her. Not that she won't make up for it real quick, killer that she is. Also, straight up killin' a guy under Viego's control don't do nothin' more than if you just knocked em out. They keep comin back up 'til the Ruination is actually over no matter how the latest wave ended. Which really is just a load o' b.s.

The Ruination is a stormy sea, and us Sentinels the rickety boat keepin' all o' humanity from drownin'.

Do it fer the riches o' a hero, Graves. Fer the riches.

"Put her down on the map."

I hear Vayne talkin' again and pull myself back to reality, findin' myself walkin' through the top floor of Sentinel headquarters and just about the pass through the archway.

The only sources o' light up here come from odd-looking, stone-made chandeliers that shoot it out like a waterfall. These lighting fixtures all hang and continue down the middle of the walkway, but like I said: the upper level of HQ aint all that well lit. It's very poorly lit to be honest; at least a dozen meters in-between each source o' light, which result in the walls and corners o' the place to be cast in shadow. A stark contrast to what it's like on the ground floor, where there doesn't even appear to be any kind o' light source. It just is, and it's everywhere. The floor designs are also different; up here we walk on black floors with golden lines accentin' the walkway, while most o' my time here is spent on a marbled smatterin' o brown an' gray.

We finish walkin' through the archway, and the hall opens up into a big room. To my left is another, but shorter, flight of stairs which lead to the shut-doors of the armory. To my right is the main attraction: the map. Ye can tell it's important because it has it's own personal waterfall of light above it. That, and the fact it's beautifully crafted.

Rather than bein' written or drawn onto a piece o' parchment, right in the middle o' this room sits a giant five-by-five-by-one meter slab carved outta one-hundred percent relic-stone. A three-dimensional height map o' Runeterra's continental structures are chiseled atop it, land masses potrudin' out the perfectly flat and level ocean. As an artistic flourish, chunks of the slab that would only contain empty ocean have been removed to add visual interest, makin' the map into somethin' other than a circle. The sides o' it are carved to alternate between resemblin' the walls o' a canyon and the jutting geometry of a man-made dam, with a three-point perspective givin' off the impression that all o' Runeterra sits within a fort of this table's makin'.

Really, every time I sees it, I almost have ta hold back tears.

Imagine how much it would sell for!

But I suddenly remember who it was I was following, and tentatively look over ta Vayne. She sees me break outta my reverie, before rollin' her eyes and pointin' right on top o' said table. It takes me a while to get what she's sayin; at, me needin' to remember what she said earlier, but I eventually gets that she wants me to put Scissors down. On top o' the map. Which I aint sure how I feel about it. 

"What, right in the open?" I didn't exactly have a plan as to what I would do with Scissors, but leavin' her just out in the open feels wrong. Vayne puts her armed wrist on her hip, and it's better there than bein' ready at her side, as she offers her explanation.

"It's obvious that she can't defend herself like this, Graves." Vayne gestures in my direction with her unarmed arm, which I 'ppreciate. "If she gets put anywhere less obvious, someone might find a reason to take her out with no one knowing. Permanently." She then points at herself, raising an' eyebrow like what she's sayin' is obvious. "Like me."

And yea, it is kind o' obvious once I think about it. Especially the part where Vayne admits to wanting to take Scissors down.

'Least she's honest. 

I look down at the map, and see all the darkness on it that I had ignored durin' my whole appraisal of it. The dark aint actually a physical part o' the map, like I said it's pure relic-stone, but rather it's some kind o' magic indicator what represents the mist. Useful for foretelling the location of an oncomin' Harrowing, but not the timin' of it. And that's just about what we get with Ruination too. I'm used ta seein' shiftin' shadows over the Shadow Isles here, but now all throughout the world are tendrils and circles of black. The largest of these circles hover over the location o' each region's capitol, and although it's the first time I'm seein' them I know what it's meant ta represent: Viego's bombs.  

While we made our way over to the center o' HQ, Vayne had spilled the beans on Scissors. She finished some time 'round when I was goin' over how a Sentinel is meant ta defuse one o' those mist bombs, speakin' back up when we got here to this table of a map. Bein' able to think an' pay attention at the same time is a skill I grow more an' more grateful for each passin' day.

First there was just a doll, owned by Queen Isolde. Then Isolde died, and Viego threw his tantrum. The doll was left forgotten ever since, up until the Hallowed mist came 'round and woke 'er up. It's not that Scissors is the doll and Hallowed mist moves her. It's that the Hallowed mist is Scissors, and the doll is just what she inhabits. So when she removes herself as best as she can from the doll, all that's left is just that, a doll. As is, she is no more affected by the light of Sentinel HQ than any o' the yarn I brought through.

But it's not like Vayne asked fer her life story. Vayne never asked for any o' this information, just learned it from talks with Sir Senna and Lucian who met Scissors first. No one know if Scissors can hear us while she's like this, or anything. If she could move she'd already tried it, I know she would. I look at her doll in me hand, takin' note o' how much more vulnerable bein' made out o' yarn an' stuff is compared to skin an' bone.

. . . this really is the safest place to leave 'er.

I put down 'Decree' first, right on top o' the Shadow Isles because fuck Viego, and then Scissors. I put her doll down on the open ocean, away from the shifting shapes of Ruination's influence, and wrap that shawl o' hers right 'round. It;s almost like them button-eyes look up at me, the unchangin' smile there on the doll's face continuin' ta smile. I smile back, faintly, unsure if anythin' I'm doin' is gonna be noticed or remembered.

The sooner this wave is over, the sooner I get to throw an afterparty. 

I feel something, somethin' hard in a kind o' fluffy wrapper, hit me on the shoulder 'fore it hits the table with a klink and a slosh. I look over to where the thing came from and see Vayne in an after-toss pose, before she settles to her normal stance.

"It's 'Sentinel Juice'," Vayne explains, clearly dislikin' the name and yeah I agree most Sentinel names are pretty bad. "It takes some power from HQ to make it, but it's apparently tradition for everyone to take their share before going out for a fight. Should at least fill you up."

My stomach rumbles, and how tired I am fully hits me. I typically have my meals after talkin' with Scissors - I know I know, sooner you eat after a workout the better, but I need ta talk before eatin' or I'll talk durin' and then it just goes everywhere - but that didn't happen today. Couldn't, happen today. I rip off the wrapper easily enough and look at what's inside. This 'Sentinel Juice' is kept in a corked, mouthful-sized wooden bottle. The bottle itself is borin' and lackin' any important features, and after I remove the cork I can see why.

A non see-through bottle was mandatory.

"Argh!" I hold the bottle at arm's length and turn away, basically blinded fer a few seconds.

As far as actual contents go, from what I could see it reminded me o' those drinks where it's mainly milk but with loosely shredded flesh o' fruit in there too. A ladle o' that drink though don't glow fierce enough it could guide ships safely to harbor in the middle o' a storm. My vision returns and I look over to Vayne, who's standin' there with her arms crossed now and clearly waitin' for me to just down the damn thing and stop wastin' time in the middle o' Ruination. And she keeps makin' them good points o' hers.

Bottoms up.

I take it down in one gulp, knowin' it's probably not milk and fruit but not wantin' to go down that road and think about what it's actually made of. Thankfully it don't any kind o' smell, cus if it did I just know it'd be an awful one. Goes down smoothly enough, and when I look down my stomach don't glow through my skin so that's good.

I'm in the middle o' takin' in a breath when my airway suddenly clears. Me eyes turn wide and awake now, and the tiny bit o' tension in my head I wasn't even aware of disappears. I'm not hungry no more neither, feelin' like I had just the right amount o' food to fuel me up for some action without slowin' me down none. I roll my shoulders and there is absolutely no fatigue, and when I go to touch what should be a closed but still busted lip all I feel is a faint ridge that would normally take a few days to naturally come to be.

"What," I start, almost dazed by what just happened, "in the hells, did I just-"

"You're coming with me to Demacia."

I whip my head 'round and look to Vayne, who has . . . opened a circle latch in the wall? One I never noticed was there? She looks at me over her shoulder again. "If you want to defend Bilgewater, be here on time to leave with the group assigned there."

And it dawns on me, as she jumps down the hatch, that of course a group as serious as the Sentinels wouldn't want their global teleportation devices too far away from their planning room. I just wasn't expectin' a group o' such serious people to have . . . a tunnel slide. Not that I hate slides or nothin', it's just that somethin' about this whole arrangement seems . . . odd. The latch ends up closin' after I end up takin' too long to jump in, and the sound of it lockin' back up within the wall is incredibly loud and jars me outta my thoughts.

I'm left standin' there awkwardly as I suddenly have ta deal with the wrapper an' the bottle. HQ is a big place, but somehow still pristine. One reason why that's the case is because Sir Senna made it a point that we not disrespect headquarters, meanin' we pick up after ourselves. I look 'round seein' if there is a receptacle or somethin' nearby - and there aint one, which is ridiculous seein' how likely it is that people are gonna be in this room! - when my eyes land on Scissors' doll, sittin' pretty on the table with its hands unoccupied.

. . . Sorry, Scissors.

I leave my trash next to her doll before pickin' back up 'Decree' - the load heavy in me arms, but a welcome one - and run up to the latch that definitely blends in with the wall too well and seriously suffers from the poor lightin' on this floor. I rap on it a few times with me knuckles, and it opens almost instantly, smackin' me hand away in the process. I eye it funny for a moment, but I've really gone and dawdled for too long now. If I don't hurry, Vayne might not leave enough o' me left fer the ghouls.

I sit myself into the wall, 'Decree' clutched against my body, and down I go.

. . .

Turns out, there wasn't much to go. It was too dark in the slide to really see anything, but after what seemed like no time at all, a light shone from where I was headed.

Given how high the stairway goes, I shoulda been slidin' down for at least a little while longer at the angle I was going. Some kind o' magic seems ta warp the space traveled while goin' through the slide, and after a brisk but not heart-stopping couple o' seconds, I hit ground level heel-first. The floor is smooth enough that I slide fer a bit when landing, myself reactin' just quick enough to not hit me head on the floor. I sit up and turn 'round to see the hole I was spit out, and just manage ta catch a matchin' latch close at this end before concealin' itself. The outline of it glows momentarily, and as the light goes so does all traces of it's existence from the wavy white wall it's built into. Guess it makes sense; hidin' an exit.

I start ta stand up, and I notice that I'm now at the other wing with Sentinel Slates in it, at the opposite end of the one what leads ta Gwen's place. The existence of that magic slide makes me wonder if there's some other kind of quick travel secret, like in case me and Vayne immediately wanted to go here rather than upstairs, but my attention is pulled by a kind of whirring sound nearby. I look towards the noise and, speak o' the devil, I sees Vayne. She's standin' not too far away, not even lookin' in my direction, waiting in front of what's supposed to be the platform for an inactive Sentinel Slate. The two active ones are right on over to her left, but there she is standin' not in front of 'em.

Except now there's a little light show happening in the air above the platform, shiftin' shapes and speedy sparks meshing together.

Changin' my grip on 'Decree' from havin' ta hold her against me while goin' down the slide into somethin' more comfortable, I jog up to her as I run me mouth. 

"Bilgewater's fine," I says, reassurin' her possibly-fake-but-also-possibly-real concern. It's nice to hear a Bilgewater namedrop in the middle o' her version of sass anyways. "Ghost murder is a fun change of pace from all the regular murder." She nods in reply, and it's at this point that I'm standin' right next to her and right in front o' the floatin' sparklers. I jut me head towards it. "This, uh, this mean what I think it means?"  

"New transport corridor is waking up. Senna says this one leads to Demacia, and should be any second now."

Vayne keeps lookin' straight ahead, and I take the hint without takin' it personally. She don't care if I talk, but would prefer if I didn't. Obviously. That's kind of how she's always been with me, but after seein' her, uh, not turn Scissors into a pin cushion. I thinks I owe her a little peace. Hells no will it last forever, cus I'm just incapable o' silence, but I'll try fer now. I was gonna ask her if Demacia'll be fine, but now that I've went and holded me tongue, I recognize that might not be the smartest thing to ask. 'Tasteless', I think is what people say. It's her home after all, and we're headin' there explicitly to stop a damn bomb.

Vayne then surprises me when, after a few more seconds of us waitin' in the quiet, she turns her head ta look at me. And she's the one ta break the silence.

"Took down a lot of ghouls out there, huh?"

And she breaks the silence ta compliment me. I blink a few times, frankly stunned at her very-minimal-and-yet-still-definitely-a-compliment compliment. When I get ta thinkin' though, it makes sense. New doors are supposed to turn operational the more light we gather. Guess clearin' the mountainside got us just enough fer a door to Demacia! Take that, Viego! I get a terrible sense of deja-vu from how I went overboard with Lucian, though, and end up answerin' more humbly than I meant ta. 

"Scissors and Atreus did most o' the work." I made the split-second decision to go for humble, but even then, I can't push down the smirk and the cocky shrug. To be fair, I think it's the closest I've ever gotten!

"You don't say." And I see one o' the corners of her mouth tick up ever so slightly, just for a fraction o' a second.

Too bad, I seen it now.

But speakin' of ol' Atreus . . .

"You don't seem surprised. Ya know, about Atreus not bein' here." I look over at her and give her a 'what gives' kind o' look. Personally, if I were expectin' two people an' only got one it'd be one o' the first things I asked 'bout. "He tell you 'bout his plan to literally leap in the direction o' Targon?" She takes a second or two ta reply, not feelin' the need ta look at me while she does. 

"To put it bluntly," Vayne says, draggin' out the first part slightly, "I doubt Atreus would sacrifice himself just to get you and Gwen into HQ. Didn't know about him heading to Targon, but it's not like I got worried when you showed up and Atreus wasn't behind you." She shrugs. "The man can handle himself."  

"We all can." I shoot her a friendly grin.

"Mhm."

Vayne makes it sound like she's just agreein' ta shut me up, but all us Sentinel have done some sparrin' sessions with one another. I know first hand how kickass the men and women we have here are, and I know she does too. There are some matchups that heavily favor one Sentinel over the other an' end predictably, but even she just about breaks even in terms o' wins and losses overall. Same as me an' the rest o' the Sentinels And it was clear she wasn't expectin' to find herself among equals.

Among at least one shotgun-saavy friend. 

We fall into a kind o' comfortable silence-

-'fore I open my mouth again.

"So what's it like in Demacia?" I end up askin' about Demacia anyway, cus it's Vayne we're talkin' about. "Not the venue I means, more like any particular mind-controlled folks I should prepare fer?" She don't reply to me fer a few seconds - probably wishin' I'd just shut up fer a moment, but that ain't happenin' - and then goes and gives me a pensive hmm.

"If you took any longer out there in the mountains," Vayne says eventually, "you probably would have run into Shyvana."

Ting.

A small noise comes from the lightshow I been ignorin' right in front o' me, and at some point the sparks flyin' everywhere and all the different shapes had been replaced by an accurate recreation of the Sentinel's symbol. The same kind on all the others Sentinel Slates. In the blink of an eye, the top of the platform disappears under a bright swathe of light, and pieces o' relic-stone big an' small start ta float up. There are hundreds of the little guys, each of 'em knowin' where ta go to make that familiar stone arch and lockin' in place once they get where they need to. Every second that passes, at least a tenth o' the big door is constructed in individual splotches what give off a temporary glow when they touch before joinin' together perfectly. 

Kinda weird that there are three slates here and one over there, when we could go fer a two and two, but oh well.

"Who's that?" I ask Vayne, still watchin' the door be constructed cus it's honestly kinda mesmerizing, not forgettin' she mentioned a 'Shyvana'.

"Oh," She replies, unaffected by how the door is constructin' itself. "A monster that can shapeshift into a dragon."

I feel me eyes go wide as I snap my attention away from the door and towards Vayne. She raises an eyebrow in response, and Vayne takes that large crossbow off her back and starts ta fiddle with it. I just can't help but grin real wide and eager, what I just heard her say like music to me ears. 

"Always dream of taking down a dragon, Graves?" Her big weapon passes the short inspection, and she rests it back behind 'er. I reload 'Decree' as part o' me response, the way the reload mechanism feels and the way the created cartridge hits the ground make it all better an' better.

Perfectly in sync, the Sentinel Slate finishes its self-creation, the platform under it turnin' into a solid again. Instantly it unlocks, the rhombus shinin' bright as the stone door fall away, and reveals that familiar glow beyond it. The same kind o' glow I just witnessed spit out all those pebbles one by one, except this is the one that we go through.

"Nah." I reply, all quivery, unable to hold back my excitement. Because it is a dream come true, technically.

"Always wanted to rob one."

She walks forward into the light with a tut after hearin' that and I go right on after, barkin' a big an' bright laugh.

. . .

By the time I get outta the Sentinel Slate, Vayne already went and killed the dozen or so ghouls waitin' fer us, their bodies fadin' and the bolts she stuck in 'em fadin' too. Barely get enough time to register there's some grass under me boots and the walls o' Demacia are right over there when Vayne tumbles outta the forcefield - breakin' it mind ya, the tall wall o' light immediately bendin' and breakin' to let a Sentinel out - and foots it over to Demacia. 

Can't blame 'er though. It's her hometown we're talkin' a bout here, and even though we're still pretty far from the wall, I can hear the unmistakable sound of a rough an' tumble. Mix that with the primal screams o' ghouls an' the fact that it's both nighttime and there's a swirling black bomb above us, and that all adds up to situation that seems real bleak.

But I was in a pretty bad situation earlier myself, Sentinel Slate clogged up with ghouls. And the similarities here gets me to try an' add somethin' new to that classic dash o' mine.

I bend me knees - takin' a page outta Atreus' book and lookin' just as good doin' it - and imagine myself kickin' off of a platform with nothin' stopping me. I remember what Lucian looks like, a flash of white an' blue, and focus some o' that 'Righteousness' throughout me body and into me toes.

The light builds up for a full second, lines o' light appearin' 'round me feet and the dark around me fadin' away, before it feels just right, and I dash.

The world 'round me passes by in a blur o' grayed out colors and silvery light, and I get myself right up next to Vayne. 'Fore I get to say anything, a whole lotta ghouls suddenly jump out of a misty cloud just ahead of us - Viego apparently noticin' our appearance - and start a stampede over towards us. Now that I'm up in the front fer a change, I see a whole lotta ghouls comin' right at me and it's a different feelin' sure.

But this kind o' thing aint all that bad, 'least with an accomplice next to ya.

"Finally got some magic, eh Graves?" Vayne's eyes are locked on them Demacia walls, the gate itself destroyed and lyin' in rubble, still runnin' quick and keepin' her reloaded crossbow ready as I match pace with her. "I take the left, you take the right?"

Heh. The magic words. 

"Watch out-"

And I reload - just for the hell o' it, fuck yea! - and continue an' warn the darkness 'bout the smackdown it's 'bout to take:

"-Now I shoot good and bad people!"

Vayne and me run right into the mob o' ghouls, our weapons and our getups glowin' - and alright, glowin' capes are pretty snazzy so maybe the getup is alright - and makin' us look like a bullet and a bolt piercin' through the darkness o' the mist, as we race over dirt and grass and tumble and dash into the fray.

. . .

I get through them Demacia walls and head ta the right, Vayne headin' to the left. Place is a mess, but a controlled mess. Ghouls are everywhere and mist is slitherin' down the walls and writhing around, but even late at night when most people are tired or sleepin' them Demacians do not mess around. Soldiers are everywhere fightin' the good fight, the only reason Vayne an' I were able to enter past the blockade bein' somethin' Vayne shouted which made them open a path fer us before closin' it quick behind us. 

They knew we were here ta help, so it's time I get to helping. Immediately I see a a large crowd o' ghouls clumped up over a poor soldier that tried his best 'fore croakin', a few stragglers walkin' in a line to what looks like a family not too far off. The mama looks likes she's nursin' a twisted ankle, and the bloodstain on the dad's shirt keeps getting larger. The children seem unharmed for now, if turned away and hidin' under their parents counts as 'unharmed'.

Them ghouls aren't gettin' any closer to the family. I dash again, gettin' real good at goin' the distance now, and put myself between ghoul an' man.

"EVERYBODY!" 

I shout real loud, ghoul almost right up in me face, and they freeze they're so shocked at the speed I got 'ere. Heh.

I shove the heel o' my boot right into the ghoul's gut, hard, and send it back a few meters slidin' cross the floor. It manages to stay on its feet after bumpin' into one o' its ugly friends, but went and expected that too. I shoot an "End of the Line" into that pack o' ghouls 'round the corpse, and watch how it leaves a neat trail o' light as it skids 'cross the ground, right through all 'em ghoul legs between us. Some of 'em look over and hell I welcome it - might as well make the last thing their ghoul eyes see be someone real, real handsome - and they miss how my trickshot gets the relic-stone to suddenly jumps up into the air.

The trick goes a step further an' makes the stone crash down like a burnin' stake through the heart o' evil, bright burst o' light shootin' out from impact and followin' through the trail it left prior. The ghouls over at the explosion are all turned to dust immediately, the ones who had the the rock go through them legs? Everythin' but their heads go and get crisped.

An' I see the heads o' ghouls in need of dustin'. An' I see the floor they're about to land on challengin' me. My aim. My speed.

Bullet time, baby.

Time trickles by slowly, the heads movin' so slow I manage to notice the soldiers in the background killin' off a few ghouls o' their own. My gear feels weightless, my whole get up and 'Decree' and even the eye armor wholly and truly an extension o' myself. I feel weightless, absolutely lackin' in encumberment o' any kind in the physical, the mental, and even the spiritual I reckon. But I don't even need all that ta know, in that moment, that I can stay right where I'm standin' and still get 'em all with one. Good. Shot.

'Decree' goes and reads my mind - the three black 'n white prongs on its outside already moved back, and pressin' their ends to the base to better open up the firin' end - and revealin' the raw and uncut chunk o' charged relic-stone at the center o' 'Decree'. From where I am, with 'Decree' in me hands, I can both see and feel the light pulsatin' out from its core.

I aim right at the nearest head, the rest of 'em in a cone behind it, an' fire.

'Decree' lurches forward real fierce - needin' me to really plant me feet 'less I get takin' on a ride - as its inner mechanisms twirl outward and expand and lock. Charged relic-stone is quickly covered in spinnin' cylinders o' plated metal and tempered light and 'Decree' thrums in my hands. My only heads up - heh, heads - and all that I need. I feel a ton o' kickback - feel it press cruelly into my shoulder the way a devastatin' shot does and should do, and I have every reason to laugh so I do - as a shinin' cube o' righteousness comes blastin' outta the end of 'Decree', in a burst o' white so intense it goes and warps the colors 'round it duller.

The stone hits the first head, bustin' it open 'fore burstin' itself open, an' releases a blast of light and smoke so over the top and everywhere I could only best describe it as violent. Not a trace o' ghoul left.

'Collateral Damage'.

Underneath where the blast occurred - not a sign o' any ghouls or their leftovers, something else there followin' along with the cone-shaped explosion - lay the marks of a Sentinel's weapon. Geometric lines and the actual symbol o' the Sentinels there, painted in shimmerin' silvery light, 'fore bullet time ends and the paint goes away with it.

All o' that happens in under a second, the laugh that came outta me when I fired the only thing I hear for a moment, 'fore the rest o' the world manages to catch up. The family behind me shuffles around and gasps. Nearby guards, busy catchin' their breath from fighting, look at me and go all perplexed. More Ghouls show up in the distance jumpin' out from clouds o' mist, growls in their throats.

I grin real wide, silvery motes 'n threads of light hangin' in the air and all 'round me after firin' off some "Collateral Damage".

Shyvana can wait, wherever she is. I got thankful - hopefully the coinpurse-heavy kind o' - civilians and soldiers ta impress.

I continue sayin' what I was sayin' when I got here:

"WATCH ME HAVE YER BEST INTERESTS AT HEART!"

I shout that last line upward - not carin' who exactly hears and just wantin' the most people to hear it - and reload, prepared to reload as many times as it takes 'fore the Ruination is done and beat.

If I had the mind fer it, I'd charge per reload!

Chapter Text

I set the doll right on 'er chair - that pillow havin' rolled off to somewhere I can' be bothered to look fer right now - and wrap the shawl 'round her again. The thing droops off o' her shoulders again, and I fix it. 

I'm back in the cave again, same as I always am after a workout. The second wave o' Ruination is over, havin' lasted for three intense hours.

I finally manage to keep the shawl to stay all wrapped 'round her, and I turn to walk the short distance from her end o' the cave to the lip.

The view is back. The sun is low in the sky again but the other way now, comin' up instead o' goin' down. The clouds in the sky are smaller an' more spread out, 'gainst a backdrop o' quickly brightenin' baby blue. Demacia still stands, a few tons o' stone on the floor when it should be elsewhere but the place still exists so I did my job. I maybe see flashes o' blue light over on that shimmerin' horizon, them Piltover Hexgates kickin' it into overtime to rush supplies here and there. The border between Noxus and Demacia is roughed up more than usual, but quiet.

I sit down - nevermindin' ta grab some o' the nearby clothin' fer a cushion - an' just plop myself down on the cold stone.

Takin' a bracin' breath, I look to my left-

-and I see that Atreus ain't there.

Aint anywhere near here.

And I didn't do nothin'.

I close me tired eyes -throat tightenin' - and the fight starts its playback near the middle. Again.

. . .

Demacia is a big place, the capitol itself nearly a hundred miles in width an' in length. I figured I'd be moving through the whole place fer Ruination but the ghouls keep comin' at me nonstop. Makes me end up fightin' in the same mile or so radius for the whole o' Ruination, rackin' up a whole bunch o' kills yeah but leaving the rest o' Demacia ta defend itself. I'm really makin' it sound worse than it is though. The soldiers near me fight good, some of 'em takin' real nasty licks and keepin' with the sword swingin' regardless, and I know the same can be said for all o' em everywhere. Demacia has more than "just" its soldiers too. Off in the distance I hear them telltale rumblings o' Demacian statues startin' ta move and fight, and the sound funnily enough gets a chuckle outta me. In an awkward-relief kind o' way. Gettin' chased down by a towerin' animal statue was something I never wanted ta be on the receiving end of, so bein' here and actually benefiting from the damn statues instead was . . . an unexpected event. 

So I let the Demacians and their statues do their thing, and keep 'my' area under control. 

This wave o' Ruination goes on for little over an hour, my ghoul kill-count havin' been reset a frustratin' amount o' times by then, when a new challenger makes her somewhat poetic entrance. At least fer me in particular. As it would happen 'Decree' had been gettin' warmer the more I fire her - a sensation she's probably just simulating, explosions o' light not as hot as the actual explosions guns makes, but she does it cus she knows I'm used ta it and like it - and now here comes lady fire herself. I was worried that I might not notice how this 'Shyvana' that Vayne went an' mentioned might look in their human-form, but yeah she fits the bill.

I manage ta just finish gettin' a good look at her when a soldier from somewhere goes an' shouts her name - Shyvana! - and then some other word before all movin' quickly and efficiently into a line o' shields and blades. It was almost beautiful in a way, that level of coordination, but even as they charged her I knew their formation wouldn't hold. Shyvana - who's sportin' long white hair, moody eye makeup, a scary black ensemble o' clothes an' armor, an' big green punchin' daggers - went and touched the tips o' her weapons together and lit em up in spinnin' green flames. The action illuminated her face and made that savage grin o' her's all the more menacing, and I know trouble when I see it. I'm too far away to shoot somethin' at her an' have it land, so I try and tell the soldiers ta back off.

But you try tellin' a Demacian soldier to ignore their orders.

She leaps at em when they get close enough, hands over her head like a hammer, and sends the soldiers flyin' as she drives an explosion o' green and black into the ground. And I know I have ta do something. I focus some righteousness into me toes again, thankful ta not see any melted limbs or metal on the blackened floor she made, and dash towards her. She snaps her head 'round ta look at me, them multi-color dragon eyes drillin' into me own, and smirks her silent challenge at me. Darin' me to face her head on.

But like hell am I fightin' her head on after seein' her do that!

I cut my dash short and fire off a stone o' smokescreen right at her. I hit my mark, the stone fast and catchin' her off guard as it smacks her right on the nose with a thonk, pissin' her off. She looks ready ta kill me and worse, fangs bared and hands all claw-like, and I'm not interested in seein' the expression any longer. I give a two-finger wave - it's important ta keep spirits up with the world threatenin' ta end - as a large blast o' smoke totally covers her. The glimmering powder is provin' itself to be real effective against Ruination, since I see her silhouette go an' clutch at her throat before slinking ta the ground. This cloud should last longer, since I aint tryin' to hold back like how I was with Scissors, but that also means it'll take longer for me to shoot another smoke out. 

I'm about to plan out what to do next when a cacophony o' steel boots sound off, and in an instant there are soldiers all gathered 'round me. In most other circumstances that would make me jumpy, but they're all currently lookin' into the smokescreen and the 'sedated' Shyvana in it, so I'm not too worried about them turnin' them swords on me. Not fer now. Except there's a more important issue here that I just recognized: it's clear that all these soldiers gathered up ta take down Shyvana, but because o' how these Sentinel weapons work I need to hit her as much as I can to farm up some light.

And, because a shotgun don't mix well with havin' friends in melee range o' targets, that means it's one-on-one time.

I make a loud noise and tell em all to wait - which makes all their helmeted heads point at me in unison and that makes me a bit jumpy - as I try and explain what a Sentinel is and why I need to fight the dragon lady alone. I get all the important points across, but as I finish I don't get much of a reaction from anyone. It's a tense couple o' seconds, especially with Shyvana still in my smoke right over there, before a soldier goes and hums like she's thinkin' on what I've said.

I look at her, and she's got a few decorations on 'er chestplate. Put that together with the massive sword and bladed-shield she's got, and it's easy to tell she's a high-ranking lady. Which isn't a good thing fer me when she starts to a bore a hole through me with her stare, and I remember that the wanted posters in Bilgewater aint kept exclusively there. She's probably puttin' it together than I'm a wanted man! I keep my cool as I try to keep the situation from escalating, about to tell her that robbery is on hold while Ruination is going on, when a ghoul jumps in from outta nowhere and tries to blindside her-

-and is unable to, as she cuts it down while I'm in the middle o' tellin' her to duck and aimin' 'Decree' at the already evaporating undead. I go dumbfounded at her speed, pulled back ta Runeterra when I notice the lady's unblinkin' stare is now lookin' down the barrel of 'Decree'. Which is pointed in her direction. Practically at her head. Which the soldiers nearby don't take kindly to, makin' a tighter circle around me.

Swordgrips tighten, and so do me chest.

A group o' soldiers see a mind-controlled shapeshifting dragon with me next to it, and I'm the biggest most immediate threat. Demacia's brightest are close enough to hear and see me try an' help their commander lady, but forget all that when they realize I'm usin' a gun an' not a sword.

And ya know. Even though I do stick people up for real. Even though I lie. And cheat. And steal.

Even after all this time. Even after all the ones before.

These misunderstandings, still. Always.

Really fucking hurt.

I grind me teeth together as I look down at the floor, grippin' 'Decree' tighter as she goes through probably not the first injustice she gonna go through in me hands, resolved to dash outta there with my righteousness or whatever at this point because o' course nothing changes-

-when the decorated lady says they're relocating and that they're all leaving this to the Sentinel. Ta me. My head snaps up, not believin' what I'm hearin', but within not even a full second the disciplined soldiers o' Demacia around me move away from me and line up behind the lady. I look towards her, my face slack, and she looks back at me.

She gives me a single stoic nod, 'fore leadin' her men and women off to battle elsewhere. Leavin' me with Shyvana.

I don't know how to feel. I don't know what I'm feelin'.

But what I do know, as the situation sinks in and I refocus myself, is that my smokescreen is runnin' out. Stowin' all that complex stuff away to digest later, I keep things simple and walk towards the smoke-covered silhouette o' Shyvana. Who, as the smoke-emittin' stone runs out and stops spinning, is revealed to be face down on the floor. I'm still a bit out of it, but as I get a better look at the sharp punching daggers of her's I get a better grip on myself. Not one ta kick a girl when she's down but also not interested in her wakin' up and bitin' me head off, I reload with a ca-clunk and aim at her. If she's really a dragon lady then she'll be way too durable fer me to take down with one shot, so I gotta make this freebie count. 

That's when her eyes go and snap open at the sound o' the stone ejected outta 'Decree' hittin' the floor, and I'm too late.

Damn it. Instantly she conjures up a towerin' pyre o' flame 'round her, the pull o' it almost suckin' me in as it only goes higher and higher up. I barely manage ta keep me feet on the ground as I back up an' shoot alternating rounds o' normal shots and 'end of the line's into the fire. Can't even tell if they hittin' anything, but that's when I hear Shyvana start ta go an' laugh at me an' that pretty much confirms I didn't hit nothin'. It messes with my already annoyed mood and I'm boutta ask her what's so funny as I reload, when the fire disappears in the blink of an eye and Shyvana is nowhere in sight. But then the sky above me goes and gets darker all o' sudden, darker than with Ruination above-

-and me eyes shoot wide open as I realize what that shapeshifter's just done.

Not havin' enough time ta curse nevermind prepare a dash, I leap roll an' slide outta the way of the now dragonified Shyvana slammin' onto the ground. I just barely dodge in time, her maw making a viscious SNAP as she bites down where I just was, but that's not the end of her attack. She spins her whole body, her tail lethal and almost lightning-fast, and I just barely manage ta hold 'Decree' up and stop me ribs from gettin' powdered. 'Decree' takes the brunt o' her tail swipe well, barely makin' a sound as Shyvana's momentum has me grit me teeth as it lifts me off the ground and has me bent over her tail. I'm taken fer a ride as Shyvana makes her full 360 before I get me arms right enough to push myself off and under her still moving tail. And her hand is there, ready and waiting, claws the size o' me thighs and ready to slice 'em off o' me.  

Nah. Lady's been havin' it her way fer too long.

Using some o' that righteousness of mine to get 'Decree' to move on her own, I manage to spin my body 'round and get both me feet to land flat against her giant palm. Shyvana weren't expecting that, and I take advantage o' her surprise to push myself off and away before she can reflexively close her hand 'round me. With her claws just barely missing my boots, I land on the ground and let myself slide further back to maximize my range advantage. Shyvana's a big girl in her dragon form, covered in ominous black scales and steamin' green blades, but 'Decree' is faster. Brighter. And has a longer range than Shyvana's dumb tail.

Finally outta the range o' her claws and still close enough for some shotgun action, I stop my sliding and let loose a barrage o' blasts. Explosions o' light land all over Shyvana, each hit hurting enough to interrupt her frustrated roar, and the fight starts goin' my way. Real my way. Shyvana tries ta close the distance, but her attempt at a stampede is foiled by all the pain I'm dishin' out, her steps faltering and failing to catch up to me even when I have ta reload. She aint fast enough with them claws or her tail ta punish me reloading, and I'm taking full advantage.

Thing is, a dragon's got more than just their speed and their size.

Takin' in a breath, and no longer flinching from me attacks, Shyvana's neck and mouth begin to glow an ominous green from within. I try to break her concentration, shoot her in her still-open eyes, but she doesn't even blink for me trouble. She stares right at me, them eyes of her exactly the same as they were when she were human.

Dangerous.

Knowin' what comes next I take off quick as I can, very purposefully runnin' at an angle away from her. Running towards a dragon about to breathe their element is a good way ta get yourself immortalized as an idiot. Dragons become more durable while charging up fer some reason, and like hell am I closin' the distance to something that doesn't even blink when I hit it in its eyes. I needs me a plan.

But the planning will have to wait.

All I get as a warning is that iconic sound, the sharp end to a dragon's inhale, before she lets loose her jet o' green flame and singes any coherent thought I have besides run for the next several seconds. The stone behind me sizzles as I barely outpace the turn o' her head, and I can tell by the steady angle of her flame that she's not just sitting there. She's a-coming. There's a weight to a dragon's breath after all, something that makes 'em aim more groundward than they'd like most o' the time, and it's because of that fact that I started ta run in the first place. Increases my odds. But the fire is at me heels and she's walking towards me now, and this time I'm too busy running away to slow her and her wide strides down.

I can't just keep running. You don't win a fight by just running away, and I need ta win this fight in order to fuel up 'Decree' with that bomb defusing energy stuff. What's more, Ruination's been on fer a while now. And it's been draining. The ghouls have been easy pickings admittedly, but I'm not a bottomless tank o' stamina. Me body's gonna give eventually, and me legs will go first if I keep sprinting like I am. I can't die now and I can't afford to keep wasting my energy away when I don't know how long this wave'll last, so I needs me a damn plan. I start to take in my surroundings more, trying to look for something I could physically take advantage of or at least find some kind of inspiration-

-and inspiration finds me in the form of a pile o' rubble. Two specific pieces of rubble, ta be specific. A thick and chunky slab that seems to stand upright, and a smaller bit o' stone that almost seems to have been slidden underneath it lengthwise. Somehow, while I'm running full speed with a big ol' gun in me hands with dragonsbreath heating up me behind, my mind sees these two pieces of debris and thinks it looks sport-like. Thinks it looks like-!

. . . Well. I've already hit her plenty o' times. She's gotta be running low herself. It could work.

And I mean.

Technically, she aint charging up no more .

With those famous last thoughts, I ready myself to follow through with my plan. I don't exactly got the luxury o' time or even the luxury o' calm with how Shyvana is tryna fry me alive after all. The fire's been feelin' way too close fer a while now, Shyvana having been steadily picking up the pace, so it really is now or never.

Stoppin' my run sideways from her and now turnin' at her, I barely crouch forward in time to not get me face melted off as her breath attack covers the space where me head was just at. There's at least one big weakness to a dragon's breath: they take up the lower half of their vision while using it. With probably the scariest part of this plan over with, it's time for the most difficult part. Loosening my knees and using some of that righteousness, I instantaneously switch myself from a crouching position to one where my legs are stretched out forward and I'm balancing on me heels. Next I tell 'Decree' to knock me onto me back, and just in time too since Shyvana starts to angle her firebreath downward, presuming I'm there since I suddenly disappeared from her vision.

But she's too late.

With one last risky maneuver, I do the most awkward bit o' righteous magic yet and "dash" towards Shyvana with me back and me butt flat on the ground. It is not a comfy ride, the rugged stone hitting me tailbone and shoulderblades roughly again and again, but at least the angle I ran away at made it so the floor I'm slidin' across aint scorched. That would have left a mark, a melted one at that. 

Battered but still breathing, and not yet fried, I scrape me elbows 'gainst the ground to get me to stop when I needs ta. The skin breaks and I can feel myself bleed, but that's the furthest thing from me mind at the moment. There was only a few meters o' distance between us when I started this maneuver o' mine, and Shyvana's still running towards me on them dragon-clawed dragon-hands. A fact that I am sharply aware of, as I am now fully stopped underneath a possessed dragon with their claws inches from me gut and about to stomp down. It comes down to a bet between which is faster: a dragon's claw or me trigger finger.

And I like them odds.

'Decree' practically aims herself right at the ugly triangle in Shyvana's chest, and I let the dragon lady have a taste o' her own medicine.

'Fire'.

'Decree' shoots out a wave o' light what turns me an' everythin' nearby into a casted shadow, and the symbol o' the sentinels is etched onto the floor as Shyvana's fire breath is stopped with explodin' stone. 'Collateral damage' hits her with enough force ta launch her large dragon-self several feet back, and I don't even have to wait fer her to hit the building to know that the fight is over. If dragons weren't so tough, I'd have worried I might have snapped her spine in half with how she crumpled. Shyvana hits the building hard, shakin' it roughly but otherwise leavin' the building standin' and no worse for wear. Given this is home-of-Durand-Demacia we're talkin' bout I should stop bein' surprised by the durability o' everything.

With a labored groan, I pick myself off the ground as the Sentinel symbol fades away. I walk nearer, and even though she's still in dragon-form it's clear that Shyvana's out of commission. That big scary claw I was keepin' an eye on is now lying limply across her chest, and one o' her eyes is squinted close as she pants and does something between a roar and a groan.

An' I need ta catch my own breath too. Most Bilgewater firefights don' last more than five minutes, and even the real short ones often got a break in the action where we shoot insults at each other instead. The fight me and Shyvana just had took a lot outta me, and there aint no tellin' how much longer Ruination gonna go for. 

Meanin' I gotta end this. Maybe there's no difference between knockin' out and killin' a mind-controlled person what with them comin' back next time, but I don't got any crowd control. Senna seemed ta bind Shyvana or something last time they fought rather than kill her, but that aint an option fer me. I was hopin' my smokescreen might have powered up, but no dice. Takin' in a breath, I level 'Decree' at Shyvana's head. She aint even lookin' at me, too beaten to register that I'm even here. Closer up and without me brain in fight-or-flight mode, I get a better look at her. And I can see an oozing black mass leakin' outta the triangle in her chest. 

I think back to Scissors an' that weird triangle on her own chest, how I somehow knew back then that it could get worse and now see it fer myself, and this whole situation gets me down. 

I aint heartless. It aint lost ta me that Shyvana is a victim here, controlled by Viego to listen to the worst thoughts in her head. But this is just how it's gotta be. Until I do the same ta Viego himself, I'll have to put down the ruined people I end up fightin'. I look away from the damn triangle, focus back on them fangs and ignore her pain expression, and that makes it at least a little bit easier.

I pull the trigger, 'Decree' recoils into me shoulder, and Shyvana goes still.

I stand there for a moment, catchin' my breath among other things, and listen to what's happening around me. I'm not the only one that's been fightin' for over an hour. It would look and sound like, however, Demacians are trained a little better than a brigand like myself. The capitol sounds just as well-defended now as it did when I first got here. Their uniform armor makes it hard to tell exactly who is who, but I'm pretty sure that lady not too far away is the same one from earlier I convinced to let me solo Shyvana. She punches a ghoul in the throat with 'her shield before sticking her sword through it, when her eyes land on Shyvana. And then me.

We look at each other for a moment, herself lookin' way more put-together and badass than my tired ass probably do, when the corners of her mouth go up a bit. I blink in surprise, and then she goes and nods at me again before turnin' to the fight alongside the soldiers around her.

I think that's the first time a Demacian soldier ever smiled at me.

The realization leaves my head empty of any other though for a second 'fore I get a lopsided grin on my face, the uplift in my mood helpin' me breathe a bit easier. Then 'Decree' suddenly goes an shines a bit brighter. It starts to glow like a flashlight, an' it takes me a moment but I remember why I insisted on fightin' Shyvana solo in the first place. How these rules o' Ruination work. I took down one o' Viego's puppets. Meanin' I now got a big ol' serving o' light injected into 'Decree' here!

'Decree' keeps on shinin', and with me now knowin' why it's doin' it I feel real good. I mean I, technically, just successfully robbed a dragon. That's somethin' off the bucket list! I'm still tired, but if I keep it up maybe I can get rid of that eyesore in the sky this very day. If I did, that'd mean Demacia would be off Viego's shitlist since he can't bomb this place after a Sentinel disarmin'.

Meanin' I could get Vayne ta come with me ta BIlgewater!

I been breathin' hard for a while now, but that thought alone gets a bright chuckle outta me. I turn 'round, refocused and ready, just in time ta see four ghouls tryin' to take advantage o' me an' my moment. Too bad for 'em, cus I've just had me a mental pick-me-up. With a practiced snap o' me elbow, I point the still glowy 'Decree' towards the four ghouls.

and BLAM!

Four rays o' light, four dead ghoulies. After a few more seconds o' extra shine, 'Decree' eventually dials it back ta how she regularly is. An' I can't wait to get 'er all shiny again.

Come on, Sentinel, I think, eggin' myself on. Don't let up on the lighting 'em up. 

I start into a jog, back on the hunt-

-and me heart skips a beat as the sky gets darker again. My head snaps up to look at it, expecting a surprise Shyvana clone or something-

And see a meteor.

With a speed and control o' righteousness I didn't know I had, I go low to the ground and pour as much light as I can into me feet. The meteor, easily the size of a popular tavern, approaches the ground while emittin' a chorus of dyin' screams what get louder an' louder, and I aint interested in bein' under it when it touches down. I dash as far away as I can from the falling mass - pulled down by bloody Ruination, a giant blob o' black an' green - and end up just far enough to save myself.

But no one else.

. . .

"Graves?"

I stop tappin' at the dried blood on me elbows and forearm as I hear Scissors's voice echo doubly, as it does within the cave, and I open me eyes. 'Way I'm seated -  still sittin' me ass down on the bare stone o' the cave - the first thing I see is Demacia far down below. Wrecked, but not ruined. I look at the city a little longer, focusin' in on the crater I know too well, 'fore I turn to look at her. Scissors looks like she always does, seemingly unharmed by her time in the HQ. Though if she just uses the doll as a vessel, any damage she took probably wouldn't show.

It's when our eyes meet and I see them big and bright and happy that I know she's fully okay.

"Hey Scissors."

My voice is raspy, again, even though I went and had a few drinks 'fore comin' here. Scissors looks surprised an' then unsure, and it's clear she don't know what to say fer some reason. So I help.

"Second wave is gone," I say, smilin' as best I can though my best aint worth much. "Ya notice that?"

I move me mouth and I hear my voice, but the words feel so distant. Still, I'm smilin'. Scissors blinks a few times 'fore she seems to register I said somethin', and then nods.

"Oh, yes!" Scissors presses her palms together next to her head an' smiles, one o' them proper ways o' clappin' while also saying "thank you" at the same time. "I can see Demacia from here and it looks fantastic!"

I could argue that point, but I don't. Lotta buildings and walls and statues got chunks knocked outta em, but she's obviously comparin' Demacia's current state to how it would look if the Ruination took it over. So yea, she sees it as fantastic and she technically right.

"Coulda went better," I say, tryna put some more oomph into my words but comin' up short. Then I ask the question I prepared on my way up here. "Hey, could ya hear us while you were just a doll in HQ?" She shakes her head, an' 'fore answering she pulls the shawl up a little closer to her face an' closes her eyes.

"No. I have no way to sense the world when I removed myself from it."  She opens her eyes now, an' now smiles with all her teeth. "But you knew to bring me out of HQ and just wait for me to return. You are incredible, Graves!"

Doubt I look all that incredible. Sure don't feel incredible.

And if it walks and talks like an idiot . . .

A silence hangs in the cave, an' those drinks I had 'fore comin' start to affect me. Scissors ends up waitin' way too long for me to finally notice I never responded to her compliment.

"Oh," I murmur out, lookin' down at the ground. Me mouth hangs open with the one syllable.

That's all I say. All I can think to say. Scissors notices me lackin' in the charm department today and, after waitin' even more, she says to me:

"Did something happen, Graves?"

Somethin' in me burns as I hear her ask, and I just go an' say it. I stop lookin' at the ground and look up into Scissors' concerned eyes.

"Yer Isolde's playin' the game too."

It takes a moment fer my words to sink in, and when they do Scissors' can't believe it.

I go an' close me tinglin' eyes an' relive it.

. . .

A ringing in me ears. Colors in me eyes. Dirt on me tongue. Them's the first three things me brain can process as I wake up in a daze.

It takes me a second to gather my bearing, to remember where I am and what I was doin'. Demacia. Sentinel stuff. And then, that meteor . . .

I blink once and then several times more when my vision doesn't un-blur. When it finally does, my ears no longer ringin' either, I look around. A lot of broken structures and trails o' brown, dirt-filled smoke wavin' through the air, from upheaved stone and still crumblin' buildings. Some soldiers and civilians are on the floor, knocked out or possibly worse, with most that are awake havin' shaken outta their stupor and got back ta defendin' Demacia. What's left o' it anyways.

But there is an awful lot left of the place, not broken and clearly still standin' nearly undamaged, now that I look over it again. A meteor like that, fallin' down where it did . . .

If Durand didn't look over the construction of this place, at least half o' Demacia woulda been wiped off Runeterra. But he did, and looks like only a residential district got flattened.

"Only".

I keep sittin' there, people watchin' with me brain still jumbled up, when me eyes gravitate to the ground an' I see one o' them Demacia military decor things on the floor. Tattered. Dirty. A corner of it wet with blood. And the thing starts to look familiar . . .

I remember that smile, an' I sober up.

I stand up - maybe a little too fast, with how I lurched downward before catching myself - an' look around for the lady. While I do that, me eyes dartin' all across the place, I see me weapon, 'Decree' a few feet away from me. It's got a coat o' dirt over it, but other than that no signs o' damage. I stare at it as I think.

Even if I went around askin' fer her, s'not like I know what to call her. That, an' I don't know how long I been knocked out. Besides, she's too tough ta die. That's what military decorations are for right? For tough people?

'Decree' lets out a pulse o' light, interrupting me thoughts. I stare at it a moment longer, my resolve eventually hardening, and then move to pick it up.

Focus up, Sentinel.

I wipe the dirt off - o' both 'Decree' an myself - and look skyward. 

And Viego's bomb is right there, lookin' larger after the meteor-caused deaths, this wave of Ruination still goin'.

Got a bomb ta defuse.

I look back down and towards the meteor-made crater, with smoke still billowin' outta it, an' see a pair o' ghouls swayin' around. Looks like the meteor disoriented his own forces too. Serves him right, tryin' that wild ass shit. I jog up ta the ghouls who tilt their heads at me, 'confused' being the last thing they feel as blasts o' light knock em back 'fore they are disintegrated. I keep a lookout, searchin' and listenin' for any more ghouls ta take down.

That's when I hear the footsteps, comin' from the crater.

I snap me attention to the sound, footsteps coming from inside a plume of smoke, and point 'Decree' right where she needs to be pointed. Right next to the crater I can really grasp the size o' the thing. It's at least twenty-five meters goin' down, and fifty meters goin' across. And with the sound o' footsteps gettin' louder and louder, someone is obviously walking its way up outta there. 

If not something.

Not willin' to take any chances, given that this is Ruination we're talkin' about, I take several steps back and aim at where I expect them to trudge up outta the crater and into view. I debate on whether or not to say something like 'I'm a Sentinel. Freeze!' or 'Yer getting robbed!', but me brain must still be a little scrambled because I see the top o' their silhouette come into view quicker than it should. I decide to keep me mouth shut and keep 'Decree' aimed at 'em, since they can definitely see my silhouette through the smoke if I can. They're the ones comin' outta a crater, let them talk first! They don't talk, and just keep walkin' until they reach their full height, taller than me, at the lip o' the crater. We look at each other through the smoke for a short, single-second standoff-

-when he reaches out to his right, and summons that familiar shield-like outline to his nondominant hand. 

I relax far too soon, me mouth movin' quicker than me brain as I register too late that even if the meteor turned out to be ol' Atreus, the Atreus I know would never kill civilians. 

"Well shit, Atreus-"

-And he's gone and throttled me again.

His grip is way tighter this time. Tight enough ta make me immediately drop "Decree" and grip his arm with both o' mine as he lifts me off da ground, me legs kickin' the air as I try to anythin' and everythin' to taste air again. He's got his thumb pressed hard where jaw and neck meet - makin' me look up at sky and the ugly ass Ruination bulb up there and I can feel blood vessels poppin' - and I can just barely strain my eyes down enough to get a look at him.

And it aint him. Aint the Atreus I know. His skin has gone an' turned from that nice tan to a lifeless and ashy gray, all dyin' and wrinkly. The thing in front o' me got depressin' black armor, with me neck in the hand that typically holds a spear. The shield he carryin' now is a lot more ominous too, the thing resemblin' some face of a mean old guy. This version of ol' Atreus is an actual ol' Atreus, a miser's hatred o' everything in his pupiless and now mist-emittin' green eyes. The normal if large scar 'cross his torso is replaced with a malice-radiatin' one too, glowin' a bright unearthly green. And one more thing.

There's a triangle in his chest now, just as bad as Shyvana's. Like a chunk of his chest was ripped out and replaced with the shape, a dark gunk festering within it.

Man's lost a bit o' muscle definition too, and that's just another nail in the coffin. 

He squeezes 'round me thick neck harder - chokin' out that last bit o' light outta me - and sound stops comin' through me ears clearly. Me arms start to go numb 'round the shoulders as they fall to my sides, unresponsive.

I try to move em to my pocket. Try to grab them cards, but I can't wiggle a finger no more.

'Close, but no cigar.'

That damn cardshark's go to taunt is one o' the last things my brain can give me 'fore it starts to shut down.

My vision swims - last thing I see bein' the comin' darkness from above - and me feet stop kickin'.

. . . I'll save ya a seat, T-

I'm about to close me eyes and sleep all permanently when my dying thought is interrupted with a bright splash o' gold. It's an intense shock o' color in contrast with the gloom o' Ruination, and ol' Atreus drops me because of it.

I fall ta the ground, kickin' myself away from the spot I just about died at, and just barely rememberin' to take 'Decree' with me. Weapon in hand I keep on chokin' on me own spit and beggin' fer air, the undeniable hand print 'round my neck feelin' way too cold to have come from any kind o' man.

And when I can actually breathe right and the world stops spinnin' enough fer me to understand what's goin' on, I still don't think I'm seein' right.

Cus Tobias is here - in a new an' blue get up I never seen him in, the fabric givin' off wisps o' blue an' purple - chuckin' explodin' cards at ol' Atreus, who roars a terrible and witherin' sound that I don't think no God should make neither. He summons his spear, or a green-glowing version o' it, and charges at Tobias.

A scoundrel and a soldier get to fightin', an' all I do is watch.

Chapter Text

The Ruination above had changed once Tobias showed up. The bomb had changed from blacks an' greens with little soul orbs goin' through it, to just every shade o' muted blue possible. The dark shadow cast onto the ground also changed into a blue-ish kind o' glow, colorin' everythin' more blue 'sides a Sentinel's white digs. Those stay the way they were.

As did ol' Atreus.

Tobias is fightin' like he never done before, teleporting 'round the field in the blink o' an eye and just as often, tossin' cards 'cross the area too fast ta see. And he needs to, cus without it ol' Atreus woulda speared him through the gut 'least a dozen times in the past minute alone. On the ground, on the walls, in the air; the two of them show up somewhere for barely any time at all an' then teleport or leap away. The spear has yet to touch Tobias while he's gone and blown up a shed-full o' cards on top of ol' Atreus by now, and even the goldy cards aint slowin' the soldier down.

Neither of 'em are slowin' down, and neither are the ghouls. Or, were.

I keep my wits about me, explodin' every which ghoul that comes my way as I do my best to watch the two of 'em fight it out. Eventually though the ghouls stop comin' near the fight, Viego probably noticin' that hundreds have been taken out through the crossfire o' cards and spears - nevermindin' my own contribution to the death count - and I no longer have to focus on the small fry.

Tobias and ol' Atreus been fightin' fer six minutes total now - an eternity on the life-or-death-scuffles timescale - keepin' their arena 'round the same place when they could be teleportin' and leapin' all over the town. All over the continent probably, but still they stay in the same maybe mile radius. I try an' look fer a way I can cut in an' help my partner - my. whatever he is now. - but it's all just outta my league. I move my gun to where I think they'll be, and then they're there and gone off to another two places by the time I pull the trigger and end up hittin' nothin'. 

Vayne was there too - havin' ran over once she felt ol' Atreus crash on in - before takin' in the situation 'an movin' on to kill the ghouls that moved to another part o' the city.

I think she mighta told me to move too, but she went and dipped eventually. Didn't hear a thing she said, me back to her the whole time.

I sit and jump-in-place and stand, eyes wide and focused, just waitin' for my chance. Any kind o' opening I can make use of or make fer Tobias. The two of us have worked out some subtle and not-so-subtle signals we can show each other durin' an altercation - to give the other person clues as to what we're thinkin' and expectin' - and I keep me eyes peeled for any kind o' sign.

What me unblinkin' eyes catch is a spear goin' through his chest.

And I can' breathe.

The two of 'em show up at the bottom of the crater ol' Atreus made on entry, right in front o' each other. Tobias's body seizes up - havin' clearly not expected to teleport and find a spear stickin' into his front and outta his back - and he drops the cards he was holdin' to the foor with a quiet Tshtsh.

There ain't a drop o blood on the spear's point, an' it gets me worryin' that something happened ta Tobias. No fucking shit he just got killed in front o' me! And ol' Atreus don't make any kind o' attempt to leave or to even just take the damn spear out. Like it's reveling in its fucking murder. I tell myself to move. To slide down into the crater an' blast ol' Atreus' face off.

But I can't. Cus me body's too busy shakin' to do anythin' else, an' I don't. Know. Why.

The colors start to go an' leave again, an' I think another Gwen-Scissors scare is 'boutta happen, when no.

It's just the blue that's leavin'. The blue that Tobias brought with him.

And me hand twitches for the pocket.

TShtshtshtshtshtsh.

More and more cards tumble outta Tobias's sleeves as the blue - o' not only the ground an' the sky but his own get up too - starts to fade away quick, too quick, and he starts to look how I 'member him. 

Not how I'm used ta seein' him after all these years, dressed up and talkin' all fancy. Dressed in stuff he grew ta like but grumbled about at first. Talkin' more proper than comes naturally fer him, the consequences of his past as a kid gypsy conflictin' with his needs as a travelin' conman. 

'Can't have two scruffy looking cheat come by, Graves, because that scares off all the customers! You're all the scruff this team needs - the rugged charm! - and you pull it off better than I do anyhow. Play to our strengths, right?'

Watch each others' backs, right?

My own response echoes back at me, tauntin' me as I see this Tobias with a spear through him. Through the back I was watchin' when I should have. Should have done something. He came back, dressed up to the nines, but now I can tell that he's startin' to just . . . give it all up. Starting to not just fade away, but fade back into that scruffy guy I first partnered up with. He starts to stop tryin'. Fightin'. The blue glow o' his clothing is almost all gone now, and it's lookin' like he's dressed in a tailor-made variety o' the scratchy browns and blacks I first saw him in.

We used to talk so easy with each other. We still do, but after . . . it, something changed. I wasn't right for some time, and after I got better he got worse and now things are okay but. But fer all the times we both walked out, we always walked back in. Eventually. There was a new distance between us, but it weren't nothin' our words couldn't travel over.

Right? 

I don't know who or what I'm beggin' to. But I'm beggin'. And that's when I finally figure out what's wrong with me. What's keepin' me slack jawed and silent, 'Decree' in hand but with no words or actions in mind. It's me, thinkin' of a future where me and Tobias don't work together no more. Don't talk no more.

It's a new kind of afraid. One I didn't think existed in people like me.  

The cards stop fallin'. The spear goes through deeper. Somethin' goes down the side o' his chin.

- can't tell if it's sweat or tears or blood, blue and red not makin' sense no more -

And he just barely manages to looks at me 'fore he croaks, his eyes hidden behind that stupid damn hat-

-when he tilts his head the way he does when he winks all conspiratorially. When he thinks no one is watchin' us.

And that's when all the cards he had dropped ta the floor change from a dullin' blue to an explosive red.

Red is the only color I see as he blows the both o' them to smithereens.

KABOOM.

Another unearthly scream is torn outta ol' Atreus, rivalin' the explosion itself in volume an' destructiveness. Stone goes flyin' in every direction, an' a giant plume o' black smoke and red embers take up the space. The scream and the explosion just about liquify me insides I'm so close to the epicenter, but I barely feel a thing.  

I'm out o' breath. I might have screamed. More likely I just forgot how to breathe, cus I can't get air back into me lungs. Can't even think o' tryin' to. I'm left just standing there - still just fuckin' standing around - smoke billowin' anew in that same crater, a fire smolderin' at its bottom. I don't know just how long I stay there, but long enough for the fire to go out.

The red starts to leave, an' in the aftermath tiny specks o' blue and green start to fall through the air. They twist an' turn in front o' me eyes - gaze still locked in on the bottom o' that crater, fire gone but a deep red tattoo'd into the cracks an' cracklin' there - 'fore landin' where I'm lookin' and just. Disappearin'.

Like they both did. Like he did.

Tobias left a week ago, but today he's gone.

Me face goes slack. Me shoulders relax. I hold 'Decree' more readily.

I remember how to breathe. How ta fight. I'm calm. Quiet. I don't feel scared anymore.

A ghoul comes up from behind me, and I dodge. It manages to draw blood, cutting up me arm, before I feed it 'Decree' 'and blast its head into nothin', makin' the enviable thing into how I feel.

Nothing.

I fight for the rest o' the wave without a word - keepin' as far away from the crater as possible - cards pressin' 'gainst me thighs as I run, too little too late.

. . .

I toss one o' the cards he left that week ago between me hands - still blue and still magicky, the rest in my pocket - and it's the only thing keepin' me sane. 

The nothingness is gone, and I feel everythin'.

"She has 'em lining up like they're sacrifices, Scissors!"

I'm right smack dab in the middle o' the cave now - pacin back and forth - and Scissors stands over at her end o' the cave right next to 'er chair, watchin' me wear a path.

"Please, Graves, wait! Do not jump to any conclusions-"

"-Jump ta?I  I saw Tobias blow himself up with my own two eyes and yer tellin' me to calm down?"

"I did not tell you to calm down, though it would be appreciated, Graves! You mentioned a gem-adorned representative of the Hallowed talking to the Sentinels-"

"Wastin' time talking ya mean, when it's Isolde herself that should be here tellin' us why she got Tobias blowin' himself up fer-"

"-Please, Graves, all I ask is that you wait-"

"-I AINT GONNA WAIT FER THAT BITCH TA TELL TOBIAS TA DIE A SECOND TIME!"

I scream at 'er - louder than when I snapped her outta that mind control, and I aint proud o' screamin' but I did it - and me whole body tenses so bad it shakes.

I told her what happened after the wave ended. I didn't come out here cus I felt like it. I was kicked outta HQ. Cus when that Taric fellow appeared an' "reassured" me that Tobias was okay. When he told me that Tobias went and joined up with Isolde an' that he was back safe in the mist. An' that he'd reform when the next wave hit an' be able to fight next to me again.

I shot at the man an' almost everybody yelled at me as I walked outta the room - Scissors' doll in one hand and a stashed bottle in the other - an' made my way fer the cave.

I'm outta breath, again. I Can't remember how ta breathe. Again. How to move. Again. How ta blink. I'm starin' right at Scissors, with that unreadable an' passive look again 'cross her face. I just called her mom or somethin' a bitch, and she ain't gone and snipped me head clean off. And don't look like she 'boutta neither.

Cus we're friends.

I suck in a shaky breath, and look away from Scissors. I move me clenched hands - tryna use a wrist ta wipe the dust outta my eyes what makin' em wet- and notice somethin' crumpled in me hand.

I'm an idiot.

I unball my fist quick as I can, the blue card I'd just gone an' wrecked fallin' to the ground. The blue light that only came from its front is now dimmed and restricted to thin beams, leaking through the sideways cracks. I watch it, my eyes unable to look anywhere else, as it bounces every which way before it hits me foot and then bounces a little further away. Slowin' down now, it lolls in place before reachin' a full stop.

Then the card slowly starts to uncrumple itself, rumple by rumple. Bit by bit.

Like it always does. Like Tobias specifically made it do. Makes it do.

The card undoes a large fold, and the wash of blue light shakes free some memories o' mine outta the cobwebs of my memory. Moments from what feel like a lifetime ago. From when Tobias had barely enough magic in his blue cards to flip over a coin, let alone teleport him an' me out of a room. He got to where he was workin' the trade, livin' his life . . .

And he's still alive.

I feel my whole body shake as I choke out the unmanliest exhale I done ever made, 'fore me knees go an' buckle from under me.

I fall, but I don't feel the hard unforgivin' stone o' the cave. Instead, all I find under me is a pile o' yarn. I finally look away from the card, and see a a large an' compressed pile o' differently colored clothings there under me, which weren't there just a moment ago.

I look next ta me, and Scissors is there. Didn't even notice I fell 'gainst her, the two of us now back-to-back and sittin' on the floor.

"I am sorry."

And that's Scissors talkin', soundin' like she's in the middle o' cryin' though she physically can't, not that that makes it any kind o' okay.

I did that ta 'er, me an' my stupid mouth.

I shake me head, not deservin' an apology.

"No. I'm sorry. A sorry excuse fer a man."

"You are 'Graves'-" she says, puttin' emphasis on me name and sayin' it like she tellin' me ta shut up the nicest way I ever been told, "-And that will always, be enough."

Aint never enough fer the people I care 'bout.

I think I says the line - and maybe I did - but Scissors don't say nothin' and we just. Sit there. I'm too tired ta talk, the bottle I chugged the way over here movin' from sitting warm in me gut to sittin hazy in me head. I close me eyes fer a bit, and the momentary lessenin' o' light on me eyes feels good. Cave isn't all that bright I'll admit but I . . . I just take the moment ta rest a little. Lettin' myself stop thinkin' and stop caring 'bout the world so much. I take in deep breaths, and listen to the distant chirping of birds and the crunching o' snow that the little mountain critters' feets make.

When I open me eyes again and let the light back in, the sky and clouds are still the same color as when I closed 'em. Didn't pass out nothin'. No more than just a few minute had passed. Which is when my stomach grumbles.

It's a Demacia 5 o'clock.

I still haven't eaten anythin', skippin' two meals by now. Which means I gotta choose between four hours o' sleep before the Sentinel mornin' alarm goes off or eatin' first and sleepin' for only two. I put me tired brain to workin' at that problem as I look over to where the card was busy uncrumplin' itself before. It sits there on the floor - still lookin' a bit rough an' bumpy - but slowly and surely it's undoin' what I just put it through. I watch it while it works for a while, until I get tired o' feelin' sorry fer myself.

I'm still Graves, like Scissors said, but I'm a Sentinel too. S'why I get all the fun toys in the first place. Why I've earned em.

It's to keep the world how it is. I'm here, so that me an' Tobias can go on and rob it blind when it's done bein' saved.

That's enough mopin'. Time fer grub.

I move me legs out from under me and start to get back up. Scissors doesn't offer ta help which I appreciate, and I exhale outta my noise as I try to think through the alcohol in me blood. Tryna find somethin' ta say 'fore I head back and eat ta keep the hangover back. A stomach o' nothin' but rum is not what I need right now, nursing a hangover during Sentinel trainin' could actually be the thing that does me in if I'm not careful. Besides, spendin' a little time ta eat will give me time ta think 'bout my report. Well, full report.

Right after the second wave was done, Sir Senna got all us Sentinels ta gave a brief report 'bout what happened at each location we was sent to. After the last of us got done talkin', she excused us with the expectation o' givin' a more in-depth retellin' after a day or so o' rest. I took the opportunity to skip food an' knock out on a bed an' got a not-enough amount o' sleep in before that Taric guy showed up. Shortly after that bein' when I shot at him and got kicked out.

She's gonna have things ta say, and I aint lookin' forward to that, but not like I don't deserve it.

I notice I been standin' for a while now, so I look behind me and see Scissors still sittin' there, who looks back with a smiles and tired, but bright, eyes.

"Yer a good friend, Scissors." I talk without thinkin', and when it registers what I just said I get embarrassed.

Sentimental sap. 

She chuckles a little, before givin' a tiny bow o' her head and replin' with:

"You are a good friend too, Graves."

I go silent at hearin' her say that, 'fore I end up chucklin' too.

I'm 'boutta leave the cave - havin' forgotten that I was supposed to tell 'er I was leavin - when I blink an' the unoccupied entrance to the cave is suddenly occupied. A guy shows up all of a sudden just within the cave's entrance, leanin' heavy 'gainst tha wall with half his body, the other half still outside the cave. There is very little light left in the cave so all I can really see is his silhouette from this far away. If I tried I could maybe make out more o' his get up, but I was too occupied with one standout fact:

I didn't hear a single noise when he made his way up the slope to the cave. If he did. 

you. 

An' his voice is all wrong - like it belongs ta half a man with no other half in there ta keep it company - soundin' like it's all comin in one ear even with 'im right there.

I sober up best I can and put up my dukes. Can' believe I left 'Decree' back at HQ.

Then Scissors puts a hand on me shoulder, an' I look over at her. She isn't lookin' at me - curious gaze fixed on the man o' the hour - an' I can tell she wants me to stop. I get outta my stance and look over at the man a little more, not seein' much before cus I didn't care to. He's shirtless all the way up here in the mountains, so first thing I think is he some kind o' wild man probably livin' a hut somewhere nearby. But then I see his real shiny if hastily trimmed hair and know that aint sustainable without some product. Then I get ta actually lookin at what Scissors probably wanted me to focus in on first. What made her not summon her weapon in the first place most likely.

His whole left arm and part o' his left chest is covered in some blue rock crystal. Scratch that, not covered in. Cuz on closer inspection, it actually replaces the skin o' that are 'fore changing back to the rest of the skin o' his body. He moves a little bit, just an inch, and as he does so I catch wisps of blue floating off of his arm.

An' it aint crystal what's he got there. It's mist. Hallowed mist.

female.

He speaks again - voice still awful and weird ta listen to - but Scissors hears him loud an' clear and walks toward him. Not as slowly as she probably should, so I keep next to her 'case this guy try something. The man is still leanin' real heavy on the wall, makin' him at least half as tall as he would be, an' he has to tilt his head up to look Scissors in the face. I look him in the face, an' I see that what happened to his left-side extends up to there as well. The man's left eye totally gone. I can almost see the back o' the socket, that greenish slime and shiftin' blue where his eye should be. He straightens his back 'fore steppin' forward - off o' the wall - and brings into view the scythe he been hidin' with his other, thankfully, normally-skinned arm. The thing is real big an' scary, extra blades and hooks here an' there, with one side of it a Hallowed blue-

-and the other side a Ruined green. At the same time, he takes another step and the light shines through his arm in a way to reveal a whole lot of ruin mist in there. The reveal woulda put me on guard if it wasn't so obvious that the man was 'bout ta pass out from the pain o' movin' just that much.

help. me.

An' that's all the man gasps out 'fore he falls ta the ground - Scissors quickly kickin' a bundle of clothes there to catch his fall - the scythe thing he was startin' to lean on disappearing in a puff o' blue an' green mist. A lot like what Scissors do with her giant weapon, save the green. All this happens real quick, one after the other, so it takes my tired and hungry and slightly drunk self a while to piece it together. Scissors starts hover her hand over the stuff that's replaced the skin of his left arm - that area more blue than green on closer inspection, thankfully - when I finally connect the dots and think.

Damn.

I stand there, in a mix o' disbelief and exhaustion. After thinkin' this Ruination stuff can't get no more complex with them hallowed champions, this guy shows up in blue and green and just resets the table again. At this point, with the man havin' knocked himself out and Scissors knowin' how to take care o' herself, I wanna just forget the food and sleep for the next week.

But I remember somethin' which actually gets me a bit worried, and I turn around and go back deeper into the cave. I find what I remembered - the card I left on the floor - and pick it up. It's fully uncreased itself now, lookin' like the pristine ol' magic card it always does. 

Magic.

The word echoes in my head for a moment as I look at the card. His magic card. And I recall that Tobias does do them Tarot readings every now and then, card man that he is. Lookin' into the future or whatever. So I figure what the hell. I go an' close my eyes 'fore tappin' the crisp blue card 'gainst my forehead and ask it:

How many more sides and players we gonna get, 'fore it's all said and done?

I open me eyes and pull the card down to look at it. Wait fer a hot second, flip the card over too ta check the back just in case, but don't see no change or message on it. Don't know what I was expectin' anyway, and after givin' it a little more time I accept that an answer aint gonna come that easy.

An' lord am I doggone tired - and hungry - but I smile anyway. Sentinels did a lot this wave, built up a lot o' light. New slates appeared, one that brought that Taric here in the first place over from Targon, and new weapons too. New sentinels ta recruit, new sides ta learn about, new colors ta learn. Lotta cards in play at the moment, and more are definitely on their way. But ya don't complain 'bout tha hand yer dealt. You play the cards and do yer best, then do it again.

A smoke wouldn't hurt though.

Scissors calls me over to help move the guy and the smile on me face stays - picturin' how Tobias would be actin' if this crazy man came up to us, first wantin' nothing to do with him then wantin' to try somethin' crazy - before I go on over ta help her help him. After puttin' the card back in my pocket with the rest of the cards. 

And pullin' my cigar case outta the other, o' course.