Chapter Text
They say that the best season to visit Piltover is spring. Open-air markets are slowly opening back for business, and the festivals are slowly starting to roll out. Although the difference in spring is quite big between a tourist point of view and a dweller one. Once you are here all the time, you slowly start losing sight of the first seasonal leaf buds and flowers on the trees. The first warm rays of sunshine as well as the chirping of the birds - their song of the spring - are muffled by the day by day life. It all becomes a blur for the happy but rather fast paced livelihood of Piltovert.
The only aspect of spring (as autumn to be honest) is the rain. Not yet quite warm, but not too cold to be considered a threat to the health of the youngest.
People scatter around in search of covers, under the canopies of shops, trees and umbrellas. Kids jump happily in the puddles, enjoying the drizzles under the protective watch of their parents and caretakers. Shopkeepers quickly cover their merchandise in fear of water destroying their wares. That is what warm showers look like.
Now today however the weather decided to put some mischief over Piltover.
In the middle of spring the temperatures dropped and the rain was not the one you would expect anyone to willingly put themselves through.
Majority of inhabitants decided, thoughtful and with no surprise, that they will wait over the cold pour down served to them. He… could not.
Just coming back to Piltover, expecting sunshine and cool breeze, and getting more of a cold shoulder and wind that wants to freeze your ass rather than provide any kind of cooling service.
He saw it coming to be honest. As he was closer and closer to the city, he hoped that he was having a bad case of daydreams. The desert sun heated his head a bit too much and this is some kind of hallucination, one more minute and he will see some interesting avantgarde rabbits hopping around with watches and top hats… any minute now.
Quickly enough the cold wet sensation of droplets coming down his neck convinced him that life is showing him the middle finger - again. Nothing new.
The difference in temperature was surprisingly bigger than he expected and before he got to the main square, he was more than ready to start writing his last will in case he gets frozen solid on his way to the apartment.
He never was against cold showers, nor the stronger, chiller kind of winds. But for the sake of any and all gods (if any was willing to listen) even those normal late winterish conditions WILL seem like an apocalyptic event, when you are coming from the desert. There the weather is always the same - full blown oven during the day when you will wonder why humans decided materials will be good to wear, but then you remember the sand and everything makes sense again.
He made a stop at his favourite place looking frantically for some kind of change in his backpack - now full of mud.
Thanks rain, just what I needed, a nice mud mask.
He let out a happy little sigh, when he counted the amount to be just enough for some takeout food - no sense in going around making some kind of shopping as he really needed to get back to his place, unless he was up for a round of pneumonia. He was not.
A vision of a hot shower was another thing that pushed him for the quick takeout food option.
When he got to the building in a back alley leading to the university and went through all the floors (blasted things) to the last apartment on the rooftop he was almost ready to drop to his knees. The urge to kiss the concrete floor was strong at this moment - finally home.
He did not kiss the floor, nor did he collapse under the doors, any way not outside of them. He opened the door and smiled hearing the small creek of hinges welcoming him back after 4 months.
His life, at that moment, never had more set goals and priorities. Sitting under the door, now locked, he wolfed down the takeout food paying no attention to the dripping water from his hair nor the heavy backpack still glued to his back.
He managed, somewhere between the bites of rice and breaded chicken, to kick off his shoes and even throw them in the general direction of his shoe rack.
Almost finishing the portion he was able to get up and turn on the lights. Throwing the carton pack to the bin he took off his backpack and placed it carefully near the sofa going for the second most important thing after filling his belly - shower and fresh clothes.
For five weeks he dreamt, quite literally, about his bed, soft and comfy, about a hot shower - soap the best discovery of the century, and of course a cup of hot black liquid that fills the soul with the power of existence - coffee in the morning. It's funny how a person can start missing those simple things when they see all around, day and night, sand, sand, and a bit more sand.
And if not the blasted work that is waiting for him, he would more than gladly just jump into his bed and hibernate for half a month.
But not today, not now anyway, there will be time for sleep and laziness, he just needs to do a few more things.
Refreshed and in clean clothes he sight, he was tired, but the sleep will have to wait an hour or two. He had to take everything out of the pack and start to categorise and describe. Well he did not have to really, he could bet - ha - that someone in the museum was more than competent to do the job he was sitting to do now. But he did not trust anyone then himself on those kinds of things. He was there after all, he knew what he saw, and where he found the trinkets and pieces he did carry over. Happy little chaos had to be sorted, at least a bit before he said his goodbye to the artefacts of the old and hello to a bit of money.
Getting himself a hot cup of coffee that he desperately needed, for moral purposes mostly, he started gathering all the scattered on the table maps. He might have left in a bit of a hurry last time, and he did not find time to get all the papers in place, as he used to before. He did note the most important map pieces, and he did redraw some of the older maps into his notebook. He did not really use them, but he could apply any changes to the terrain he was going through which, was fantastic when he needed to get back there at any stage. Other than that, useless.
Who needs a map?
He started without much more delay, maybe a quick sip of coffee but that was it. From the biggest findings, figurines, idols and scrolls, which he had yet to decipher to the smaller and less significant in his eyes like jewellery and some old looking material patch with golden threads.
They guys from the museum will go ballistic over the jewellery for sure, he was pleased with the findings, few more notes and sips of coffee he was mostly done with the small findings.
Meticulously segregation the noted items in two separate groups, one bigger with more important findings and smaller, with mostly jewellery pieces - the big one for the museum the little one… No one will know that something is missing right? He was alone when getting those so, a bulletproof little boost for money and maybe a bit of fame - it is not like he will sell everything, but he knows a guy, who knows a guy and sometimes they have nice forgotten maps, fair deal.
Whatever scrolls and notes he found, he left for another day to study them properly, and not like the barely functioning ferret that he was right now.
He counted all the coins noting all the faded away reliefs and inscriptions, trying to more or less, pinpoint them to an historic period, he would have to double check that later as well.
The time flew by, and by the time he was almost done with his findings it was already completely dark outside.
He sighed heavily, stretching a bit before looking through his own notes about murals he saw in the long forgotten temple. They seemed more like scribbles, much less aged than the other mozaiks and illusionist paintings he took a glimpse of.
The only entrance that he found was way under the sand dune, or was before he found it, so if the mural was there looking newer than the rest it had to be before the sand covered the whole thing.
The scrawling was infuriating him in the beginning, but passed once he noticed that the shapes and form are repetitive, then it was starting to draw his attention.
Taking another look at the notes he had a feeling that he should have known those. The more he inspected them the more pissed at himself he became.
What the hell are you…
He shoved the papers away and reached back to his pack for another thing to inspect, when his hand stopped at something cold and smooth. He grasped the sphere pulling it out of his bag, a round perfectly smooth surface and a weird deep dark purple shade.
He did not remember putting this thing inside his bag. He did not even remember seeing it in the temple, let alone taking it out of there.
Maybe he packed it up in a rush when he was getting out of there? In a pile of little trinkets, it could be possible… but he highly doubts it, he would have noticed something so unique.
He stared at the object for a few more minutes, slowly noticing delicate, bluish vein-like markings seen under the right lightning. Making patterns like marble or more like a night sky cut with stormy lightning marks, and after image of electricity passing through air molecules. Yes, that was like it.
-A fragment of something? - he murmured, barely hearable, inspecting the orb for a second longer before getting up and heading in the direction of the kitchen aisle a few steps away from his table. Maybe it was some kind of trash, or unfinished piece of … something… No the orb was too smooth without a trace of a clasp or a scratch, which was suspicious as he had A LOT of sharp or hard edged items inside the pack.
The kettle was on and he was still glued to the new finding. All the little lines were mesmerising, like an old labyrinth, following one line just to lose yourself when another was crossing it’s path.
Like in a daydream he started remembering the ancient temple which he explored not so long ago….
Dark, dusty, covered in cobwebs and partially covered by sand, which seemed to be there for ages, room. Chilling musty air mixing with the fresh but so hot one, which now slowly creeped into the space with Ezreal through a creek exposed by the passed sandstorm.
The swishing sound coming from the creek and the grinding of the sand under his feet broke the almost everlasting silence that filled the crooks and crannies. The lower and deeper into the room, the sand slowly gave way to a solid stone floor. Although the light here was poor, Ezreal noticed that the floor seemed like dark marble with now dull yellowish, once possibly golden lines.
He was walking slowly, lit by only his hand torch one hand on the walls, inspecting the walls' decorative paintings, as far as the light was reaching.
This sullen dead silence was something that could easily deprive the most hardened person of their sanity, but Ez was used to it, and came to some kind of acceptance with the serenity of the hush. He even learned to like it, it was the only proof he needed to know, that whatever lies ahead, was untouched and in some way safe.
He stopped when he saw a huge entrance before him. So far so good, suspiciously even good.
No traps indicated that whatever is here, was not prepared for future riders and an end to an era, when the building was still in use.
For a few minutes he did feel something aloof, a feeling that he might not be alone. As if someone was watching his every move. Whenever he stopped to take a note, something was stopping with him, or so he thought. But he heard nothing, and could not see anything in a relatively narrow passage he was in. With his gauntlet ready he pressed on, it is not like just some sort of slight paranoia can stop him from what he came to do here.
He stood before the huge doors for a long time, examining every visible bas-relief the light of the torch showed. A story of a kind with monsters and men alike moving towards a bigger figure, that he only got a glimpse of from the place he stood. Too high to be fully seen, he concluded it was some kind of a god or goddess.
Before he pushed on the door, he took a quick sketch of the details he made out so far, noting any inscription that was barely visible, the time has done it deeds.
When he did lean on the door, he met a restrain, the heaviness of the door would not allow creating any slight gap he could sneak into. But he did not yield. Pushing in, the door eventually gave up, leaving him sweaty and tired, but nonetheless the persistence and determination stayed with him.
The creaking sound probably woke up everything that might have been dormant inside. He took a deep breath and moved on.
The violent sound of the kettle took him out from this daze of memories. He blinked, coming back to his senses. Coffee, no tea he was making.
After a second the place smelled like cinnamon and anise. A warm and cosy smell.
He got back to his desk and went back to his notes, not for long however. Few phrases written down later, his eyes were on the orb again. Taking a sip from his mug he took the object up to the bright lamp light again.
It was rampaging his mind, where could this be from? He needs to remember. It was like one of those things that are similar but you cannot place why, or from where you know it. Like a melody on a loop not leaving your head until you hear the song.
Maybe it was from the smaller chamber he was in? The same place where things went… south. Unfortunately it does sound like a trope from a bad adventurer movie, one auto-pilot move, one thoughtless action and everything can crumble. And it was not a dramatized assumption.
He spent quite some time in the main big room, almost completely covered by the sands statue that, he was more than sure, was breath-taking when still in full glory.
When he was done, and he could not say how long it took, probably a day or so in the dark, he stumbled across another passage behind the sand lump in the middle. That way was leading straight to a few smaller rooms, probably used for storage and whatever this place was used for. He gathered there a few of the trinkets he had brought back.
The passage led further down from what he could assume - he could not see much in the complete darkness after all.
Then he entered this weird, different then other small cell before, chamber. More like a bedroom of sorts. Maybe the temple's priest bedchamber? It could be, by why the prediction it was a temple? Well that is what he was looking for, or anyway the few mentions in some old manuscripts were describing a temple in an oasis, on a path of caravans and merchants trails.
That and the almost screaming wall decor saying - Attention, we do worship here.
So the conclusion was really simple here. An old Shurima temple abandoned after the fall of the imperium.
This new chamber piqued his interest for some reason. Maybe it was just luck putting him in the right place at the right time. Or maybe it was the opposite.
When he entered he stood mesmerised for a few minutes looking at old paintings almost perfectly intact, like the ruination did not reach here. When he gathered himself he moved on to look around. His eyes were drawn to a pile of materials somewhere in the corner. Once near, he saw a shape forming under the dusty textile. A chest it was, thank you lady luck, he began rummaging in the chest looking and taking some of more interesting objects out and in his pack. After he was satisfied with his gatherings (khem stealings) he stood up ready to look further what might be lurking in the dim light, and when he put his pack back on he froze.
Not without a reason. He felt ever so slight breath on the back of his neck sending a wave of chills up his spine. He was not alone.
Before that thought sprung into his mind his body reacted. In a blink of an eye he was covered by light just to arcane shift on the other end of the room near the exit. Ready to shoot the intruder, oh wait he was one. The other being that was there, but… the room was empty.
He listened focused completely, but everything was quiet and still, as it so far was. Maybe he imagined it, maybe there was a draft of wind from the desert making its way up to here? Unlikely. He checked his neck, to see if maybe there was some kind of spider web or something that would give a similar kind of experience, but found nothing. The feeling of being observed remained.
Now he really was thinking that, maybe, he was just losing it.
Pushing his luck a bit further he turned inside, going straight to the last interesting place in there, the table near the wall. He found a book, way too beautiful to be in this room. Golden (after he blew off the dust) with stones as a decoration.
They had splendour for days. But why was it just left here?
Thinking about it now, it all looked like abandoned in a rush. Material on the chest, the book left there, and if he would pay attention, or if he thought about it that way, he could pinpoint some things being in odd places. And not because the building collapsed.
Maybe this place was left like that because of other reasons than just merchant tracks being placed on a different route. What if something more violent came this way.
He put the book in his pack trying not to overthink it, but maybe he should. He heard a rustle behind him as soon as the book was secured. And this time, he was more than sure it was not something he imagined, like the breath on his neck.
From underneath.
In a few quick steps he was back at the entrance to the room, in a few more he was heading to the room with the sand covered sculpture. Not daring to use his arcane shift again, it might be needed after all in a second, he rushed. And something followed, now he heard it clearly. He wanted to smack his own head at this point. The only thing that would be buried so deeply in the sands, Xer’Sais. And if the floor was not yet cracking open, that would mean that those are the younglings. He did not know if he should be happy or more terrified if that was the case.
Now the big ones, the kinda swallow you whole, job done, welcome digestion tracks, the smaller ones on the other hand… He did not feel he wanted to check if the stories are true - he did not see himself as a nice shredded beef dish.
He fixed the hold on his backpack jumping over a small pile of sand. And oh boy, now he was sure those are small Xer’Sais. He little piece of crap wanted to snap his leg off when he was making his jump.
Maybe the definition of small was not the best here either. They were babies, but still almost as big as him.
Running full speed he slipped and tumbled over looking for a moment back, just to find the small beast munching on a piece of his pants. Some other was making sure nothing is left from the little site he set, and there went his sleeping bag as well. He did not dare to look any longer.
Blindly he sent a mystic shot behind, possibly hitting the creature, as he heard a weird screech and rumbling of the floor. There was no time to check if that, he knew there were few of them, two that he saw already. Thankfully the way was straight from there, he passed the door and kept running towards the exit. Hearing the scratches on the floor and little sound of pointy feet - or whatever those things have he would leave that to the biologists.
With a skid he passed the entrance once more using his gauntlet to send a bolt on the relieving triangle, barely visible under the sand that was still covering the building. He heard it crumbling when he was rolling down the sand hill.
Ah a sand bath, just what he needed another peeling session, as he did not have had it enough for the past few weeks. He gathered his stuff that fell out of his bag, and dusted himself a bit. That would be it for the temple and its short lived time back on the surface.
He will find it again, but for now, he needs to find himself, in this endless desert. He only hoped that the noise was enough to scare the little beats off. He ran for quite some time…
He stretched, putting the finding that distracted him up to this time. Enough for today. It's time to finally get some rest. He would have loved to just hibernate for a week.
If he wasn’t so tired, he would notice, once the lights were out, the dim purple hue coming from the table…