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The sweet scent of rain was carried on the back of the southern wind. Dark clouds traversed an ocean of blue overhead, not yet blotting out the sun, but promising that soon, the small field below and the nearby town would be embraced in a cold drizzle.
Riven had never been a fan of sweets, but for the rain, she could make an exception. Raising her head, her hair, a spot of snow on the small field's green canvas, flew gracelessly in the wind, kept in a short ponytail so that it at least wouldn't get in her way while she worked. Calloused hands gripped the wooden handles of a wheelbarrow as the woman cast her earth-brown gaze to the skies. She welcomed the gentle breeze as it cooled a spot of sweat on the back of her neck.
Many, many months ago, the same field she worked on had been on its last legs, the life it had once breathed into the air snuffed by the choking grip of war. Now, Riven pushed the wheelbarrow along a narrow break between the tall plants of the small field, carefully pulling the crops up by their roots to harvest them for the small family she had grown to love, memories of the past buried deep beneath the healthy soil.
In the aftermath of the Noxian invasion, Riven had stood through a trial for the murder of the town's beloved Elder. Over time, through serving the people she had slighted and repairing what had been destroyed with what she could, Riven had slowly made amends for the crimes she had committed. A sense of peace and belonging she hadn't felt since fighting beside her brethren, reinforcing bonds through blood in the name of the Noxian empire--a nation she despised with every part of her being now--had settled in Riven's heart. That peace was a gift from the Kontes, just as the opportunity to atone had been a gift from the village she served, and she was deeply grateful for it.
Riven returned her attention to the plants, getting back to work. Hardened fingertips dug deep into the soil and calloused hands gripped and tugged, eventually uprooting a strong stalk which she quickly tossed on the top of her pile in the wheelbarrow. She repeated this many times. She had developed a rhythm, and eventually got lost in her own thoughts. Memories she had created recently, feelings about the people of the place she was starting to call home, new loves for new foods, they all swam in her mind like restless fish, happy and carefree.
Despite the serene atmosphere and the small, blossoming bud of optimism in her soul, there was a slight shift in the wind and a sound in the forest not too far away that made Riven stop, her many years of experience in war keeping her alert and ready for anything. Sharp eyes stared daggers into the shadows of the woods, but the sound wasn't of growling engines or the thud and slice of weapons through air and flesh.
The sound was gentle and melodic; an instrument whose low, slow notes and occasional highs were carried delicately on the wings of a warm breeze.
The sweet song was not enough to smooth Riven's edge and unease. Since staying here, the woman had acquired a long steel knife with Ionian words engraved in the blade, a gift from Shava Konte. She kept it on her right thigh; though she had never needed it, and had never planned to use it on anyone from the village anyway, its presence kept her at ease. Now, she slowly pulled it from its sheath as she surveyed the wall of trees before her. Would this be the day she’d finally have to use it?
The song in the breeze kept flowing, drifting through the trees and quieting the birds. Riven had to admit, there was a mysterious allure to it that pressed insistently at her curiosity. Cautiously, she approached the forest. A strong sense of duty to protect the Kontes urged her to confront whatever was lurking in the shadows.
As Riven drew closer, she could hear the breaths of a man as he paused between the notes of his song. Without interruption, the stranger revealed himself, stepping into the light of day.
The man's sun-kissed skin was rough, drawn over the sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw, and the warm light of the sun created a thin shadow beneath the scar over his nose. He had distinctly Ionian features, sharp but naturally kind, with soft, emotive brown eyes and fingers that danced over the body of a flute with practiced grace. Long bangs fell over his face, and the rest of his dark hair was kept in a wind-whipped ponytail, endearing in its chaos.
Familiarity flickered inside of Riven like a nervous candle when her eyes glossed over the scar on the man's nose. His clothing--a woven blue mantle, a single pauldron with fluted edges, and a blade sheathed on his hip--reminded her vividly of her trial months ago. Of the broken blade and its final piece that had solved a mystery whose villain was thought to be someone else. Of the man who had come to kill his master's murderer to reclaim his honor, and then realized that his ghosts were just as heavy as hers.
But unlike her, he had been unwilling to face his past. To redeem himself.
"Yasuo?" Riven breathed.
The grim warrior lowered his flute after playing the final note to its song. "You remembered my name," he said as if that fact had pleasantly surprised him.
Curiosity wove itself into Riven's eyebrows. She lowered her blade but kept herself guarded. Her gaze fell upon the long wooden flute in his hand. There was nothing special about it, but she found herself missing its music. She had never heard anything like it. Of course they had instruments in Noxus--they were few in number, and rarely played, but they had them--but no song sounded so peaceful and sweet.
"It's hard to forget," Riven finally replied. Of course; this was the man who had been accused of the murder she had committed. He had been there for her sentencing. More than that, he had nearly killed her for what she had done.
"I'm glad to see you're still around." Riven looked back up from the instrument; she couldn't tell if the man was being sarcastic. They hadn't exactly parted on the friendliest terms. She wondered why he had returned. Had he changed his mind about killing her? Why else show up in this field in particular, where he was most likely to find her?
Looking around, she realized that the spot in the forest that Yasuo had chosen to play in had less undergrowth and sparser trees. He stood in between two touching boulders, leaning against one. He looked so relaxed she might've assumed he had been to that spot many times throughout his life and grown fond of it.
Perhaps she was too quick to assume his intentions.
"Is my presence unwelcome?" Yasuo asked when Riven failed to reply. He was trying to read her, head canted like an owl's, earthy brown gaze piercing as he watched her movements and studied her expression like a cat.
Riven realized she had defaulted to her reclusive, silent demeanor that she often saved for outsiders of the village--for people who would recognize her accent. Around Yasuo, it was unnecessary. Clearing her throat, she spoke softly. "I wasn't expecting someone in the forest."
"I should hope not." But it seemed the wanderer had quickly adapted to Riven's lack of words, following up quickly with, "Are you in service to the village now?"
Riven nodded, and she noticed a twinge of sadness in the man's eyes. The ghosts he had carried with him when he left--they still haunted him. "Why have you returned?" she wondered aloud.
Before he could reply, Riven heard her name soar over the field from the farmhouse behind her. "It seems you're needed elsewhere," he said instead.
Riven looked over her shoulder and spotted Shava at the top of the hill. She noticed the dark clouds overhead had overtaken the village already; soon, rain would fall. A gentle breeze blew the hair from Riven's face and as she turned back around, Yasuo was gone.
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Some days, Riven was eager to get to work. She enjoyed the feeling of rough plant stems in her hands, their stubborn resistance testing her strength as she tried to rip them from the earth. It let her mind relax, and whenever it wandered, it was hard for her to be plagued by dark memories. There was too much bubbly birdsong, too much green, too much life to remind her of the death that used to follow her like a shadow.
Other days, Riven rushed through her work with one goal in mind: to relax by the edge of the stream in a place just outside of the village, where she would sit upon a boulder and watch the swirling eddies and tiny fish swimming around in shallow water. The sun would always hit that boulder just right, and even on the windiest days, its surface was as warm as a blanket.
Those days sometimes challenged her. The lack of trees invited a calm quiet only bothered by a breeze. Her mind drifted to places that haunted her nightmares. But being there taught her how to live with them. It was her own choice of music, in a sense, dictated by how she felt in the moment.
Three days after she had encountered Yasuo the first time was one of the days she felt drawn to the stream. He had come back each day, offering different songs every time, but she didn't spare him many words. Sometimes he asked questions--curious and harmless ones, wondering about her day, how the folks were doing, and even what her favorite meal was. Riven had mentioned that she didn't cook often; it usually resulted in massive spills or mild burns.
Riven heard the flute's song in the wind yet again as she pulled up crops and piled them up in her wheelbarrow. She was gradually getting used to her ears filling with the flute's gentle notes, and instead of approaching the line of trees immediately, she let her work naturally guide her there.
The presence of music while she harvested the crops was somehow energizing. The tune the wind warrior had chosen for today was uplifting and bounced quickly in the air like an excited bumblebee. In fact, over the other two days he had been here, the song he played was happy and sweet. Although it didn't match her mood now, it made Riven quicken her pace without realizing it. All the better in the end, of course, if it brought her closer to the stream.
But her appreciation for it dwindled as she fell deeper into her thoughts. Memories of the past started to creep to the forefront of her mind, and she tightened her grip on the wooden handles of her wheelbarrow.
When the wheelbarrow was pushed to the edge of the field, Riven stopped and cast her gaze into the forest. Yasuo was leaning against an old tree. His song came to a conclusion and the note it ended on posed a lingering question. He opened his eyes and they shared a gaze in placid silence until the most likely of them decided to break it.
"Are you bothered by the music?" he asked. Had he seen her restlessness in her movements? Heard it in her voice? Found it hiding in her eyes? Riven took note of his intuition.
"No, it's fine." Riven studied him. The music was fine, but not knowing his intentions was bothering her more by the day. Last time he had appeared to her he had a reason that threatened her life. Of course, back then, part of her had wanted very much to die. But that part had been shattered by the love and compassion Ionia had shown her. Now that those she had wronged had forgiven her, she was learning to forgive herself.
The last thing she needed was someone ruining that.
So, she was cold and guarded in her responses. Yasuo didn't seem to be the type to take so long if he did intend to kill her, but she could never be too safe.
"Do you enjoy working every day?" Yasuo asked with nothing but harmless curiosity in his voice.
"I do. Shava and Asa are kind people," Riven replied carefully. "And they need all the help they can get."
"What do you do in your free time? Or have you any at all?"
"I prefer to keep busy."
"Always moving." There was a twinkle in Yasuo's eyes. "I can respect that."
"It keeps my mind where it should be."
"And where is that?"
"Here, where I am needed." Riven spoke matter-of-factly. "I have a duty to this village. I can't disappoint them." There was a solemn shadow that fell over Yasuo's brow that Riven almost didn't catch. "And yours?"
"Mine?"
"Where has your mind been?"
Riven waited for him to say something--to fill the growing silence as he seemed prone to in her presence. More specifically, she waited for an answer to her most burning question. Why was he here, and did his presence threaten her?
But he didn't respond, and her suspicions made her antsy. She turned around, spinning her wheelbarrow with her. She surveyed the field, and, when she decided she was satisfied with the work she had done today, she spoke again. "I'm leaving."
She didn't wait for nor receive a response, or if she had, she hadn't heard it. After she reached the other side of the field, she chanced a look over her shoulder. Yasuo was gone; he had vanished without a trace once again.
Once the crops were properly stored and the wheelbarrow was safely locked away in the shed, Riven made her way up to the stream. On these days, she kept her distance from other people. She didn't dislike them; she just needed to be alone with her thoughts. So she traveled on the edge of the village until she entered the meadowland.
Riven climbed onto her boulder after she arrived at the stream. It was a large, flat thing she could half lay on if she propped herself up with an elbow and tucked her knees in. A few other smaller boulders were scattered along the shore of the stream, most covered in moss and cobwebs or too damp to be a seat.
At some point, Riven dozed off. She never fully fell asleep, but she disconnected enough that she didn't notice someone else's presence until his music filled her ears.
The flute's song was somber this time, slow and filled mostly with low notes or the occasional high, drawn-out minor. The sun was already setting when Riven blinked her daze away. When she raised her head she spotted Yasuo across the stream with his back turned to her. He was walking away down a path that led across the meadow. It didn't seem like he had even noticed she was there.
She found the music pleasant this time, and she debated calling out to him. She wasn't usually a social person, but something about this song in particular pulled at her curiosity.
He was a fair distance away when she tried to catch his attention. "Yasuo!" But her voice was too quiet and the wind blew her words in the opposite direction.
Yasuo kept walking. Resigned to their different paths, Riven watched him go and listened as he played a song just for himself. She wondered if this was the last time she'd see him.
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It was not the last time she'd see him. A few days later Shava sent her to a nearby village in the early morning to deliver a package to her friend. Riven had visited this village a few times because the alcohol that was sold there was better than what was served at their local tavern, and there was a man she helped often who requested she bring him some almost every two weeks. She enjoyed the walk, and surprisingly, she had managed to make a few acquaintances.
After she delivered the package, she made a beeline for the tavern. It was a pretty establishment; all of Ionia’s architecture was pretty, really. And the people there were kind, though not all of them knew of her situation and most gave her odd looks, recognizing the distinct sharp features that were characteristic of Noxians--that is, if she didn’t let them hear her accent first. Which, usually, she didn’t.
But the bartender was always nice. He was a large man with kind eyes and a happiness that pulled at the corners of his eyes and created dimples in his cheeks. He was one of the only ones who talked to her frequently, and the only one who had managed to convince her to speak to him regularly.
Today, however, was particularly busy, so he spared few words for her. She didn't mind. She ordered a glass of her regular drink and prepared to leave after only one glass until she caught sight of a familiar dark ponytail.
Yasuo noticed her before she could carry on without a word. He had been sitting quietly in a corner of the tavern, drinking alone. A little smile blossomed on his lips that brought more warmth to his grim face than she had ever seen. It was weak, like a flickering candle, but it was remarkable on this particular man. He was tipsy, she reasoned--or more likely, drunk. But he betrayed no signs of it in his movements or in his voice when he approached and greeted her.
"I wasn't expecting you to ever come here." The wanderer leaned on his elbow on the bartop, strong hand face down against the wood.
"I was just leaving," Riven replied. She was still anxious around him, but part of her wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.
The broken warrior couldn't help but notice the disappointment that flashed in Yasuo's earthy eyes. "Ah. Alright," he murmured, tapping his own tall glass gently against the counter, rolling its contents around like a wave.
This reaction made Riven curious. "You weren't at the field yesterday," she mentioned abruptly, searching his face for any emotion.
Measured surprise and a few blinks were the only reactions she earned from Yasuo. "You noticed?"
"The music stopped," Riven replied. "I was just getting used to it." Half of a smile tugged at the man's lips. She couldn't tell if it was real because he turned his side to her afterward.
"I decided to pay a visit to one of my oldest haunts."
Riven tried to peer into his tired eyes, but he didn't meet her gaze. "You were going to leave for the road," she corrected, crossing her arms.
"Always moving," the man echoed. "Same as you. Would you have stopped me?"
"It's a bit unfair for you to ask me that question before you have answered mine."
"Which one?"
"Why have you returned?" she asked again, determined to get an answer this time.
Yasuo threw the rest of his drink down his throat. He slid the glass over the bartop and nodded at the bartender for a refill. When he responded, his eyes were lost in the grooves of the fine wood his new drink sat upon. "Not for vengeance," as if he sensed her worries.
The man was elusive, but Riven chose not to pry further. This answer was enough, and as long as she wasn't in danger, she didn't mind his presence. She felt her shoulders relaxing, and she breathed a quiet sigh.
A question bubbled up in her mind, one that she had forgotten when she had first caught him in the forest. "Why do you visit the stones by the field?"
Yasuo looked at her. His stormy eyes betrayed nothing of what was brewing behind them. "My brother and I used to play there when we were young," he replied. "Usually we went past the trees. There is another meadow nearby that's good for sparring."
Riven had heard very little about Yone, but she knew the man had been revered by everyone--and that he had been sent to bring justice to his wayward kin. He had not been heard from since, and it was speculated that Yasuo had killed him. "I'm sorry," she offered regretfully.
"I'm drinking," he muttered and shrugged, seemingly indifferent. But Riven knew the pain was there. She knew, because she felt the same every time her suppressed memories were reawakened.
"When did you learn how to play?" Riven asked, redirecting the conversation.
"The flute?" Yasuo clarified, providing her the Ionian word for the instrument. "My first lesson was when I was six, but I didn't respect the art much back then." When Riven did not push any further questions onto him, he spoke again. "Would you like to hear another song?"
Riven nodded and Yasuo turned around again, leaving his glass on the bar and pressing his back against the wooden edge. She was grateful that the man didn't seem to mind her abrupt questions.
The wanderer procured his simple wooden flute and held it up to pursed lips. The song he began to play was the same she had heard when he unknowingly left her by the stream. Now, she could listen to its end. The wordless story it told tugged sharply at her heart; somber notes and unanswered questions were carried over her head to the tavern ceiling, whisked away by an imaginary breeze and taking her train of thought with them.
She was reminded of how she had lived up until her trial and her sentencing. She had been plagued by uncertainty, an aching emptiness, and a desire to find a place she could call home. Now, she felt as if she belonged with Shava and Asa; she felt needed and wanted in the village, and she had a way to atone for her sins--a purpose that drove her forward. A broken sword made whole.
But the memory of self-hatred and that bottomless, hollow ache in her soul was still fresh in her mind. She wondered if Yasuo felt the same now as she had then. Was the song he played the same as the song that had haunted her while she wandered Ionia?
"My apologies." Yasuo's voice startled her; she hadn't even noticed the song ended when it did. The wind warrior lowered his instrument. He was watching her carefully, a hint of concern woven in his eyebrows. "Did I upset you?"
Riven realized that her self-reflection had twisted her features; she could feel the droop at the corners of her mouth, the heaviness in her eyes, and the pinch in her brow. She shook her head and relaxed. She felt a slight tension leave her shoulders and she sighed quietly. "No, you're fine," she replied. "The song was nice."
"You're hard to read, you know that?" Yasuo toyed with the flute like it was a pen, letting it surf through his fingers idly.
"You're hard to predict," Riven returned.
"Always one step ahead." After a few rounds around his hand, Yasuo returned his flute to a pocket.
"That explains why you were difficult to fight back then."
"You did struggle to hit me." Mischief played in the man's eyes.
Surprised offense made Riven blink. "I definitely tired you out."
"Are you sure that wasn't an act?"
Riven narrowed her eyes. "If it was-"
"It wasn't," Yasuo admitted before she could tear into him. "You are an impressive fighter." Riven scoffed. "One of the best I've ever seen," the man added genuinely before taking a sip from his glass.
Riven knew she was a skilled warrior. She didn't need anyone else to tell her that. But for some reason, those words, fueled with a mild warmth that didn't quite match Yasuo's stoic facade, made heat and color rise from her chest. She turned away, preparing to leave before it made its way to her face.
It was getting late. The orange blaze of sunset painted the floor beneath the windows behind the broken warrior and bathed Yasuo's boots in warmth. Riven needed to return home. She turned away from the bar but her eyes didn't leave Yasuo's. "I'm leaving," she said, the same words she had given him at the field days ago.
Yasuo dipped his head to her. "May the wind guide you safely home, Riven."
But the woman hesitated. It was the first time she felt something when leaving someone else since she had been taken away from Asa and Shava by armed Ionian riders for her trial, but she couldn't quite place the emotion. It didn't match what she had felt back then. Although her most important question had been answered, it felt like something was still missing. "Will I see you again?"
Yasuo looked back at her. "If you wish to."
"In the field?"
"Consider it done."
With a final nod, Riven walked away from the man, leaving him to return to the shadow at the corner of the tavern that he had been sulking in before.
Something possessed Riven to bring a basket of food to Yasuo when she went into the field the next day, carrying it with her while she worked on pulling any weeds and readying the soil for the next season. Again, the song he played for her was happy, filling her with energy. She was at his boulders before she knew it, the sun still high in the sky.
The basket was dropped at Yasuo's boots, making him halt his fluting and peer down at it. "What's this?"
"A trade," the white raven replied. "You play music for me without a price. This time, I offer you something in return."
He looked at her. "You don't have to pay me."
"I wanted to," she insisted. Riven dropped down to her knees, prompting the man to follow her into a crouch as she opened the basket. There were a few sandwiches and apples. "Shava made them," she confessed.
The two enjoyed a small, pleasant meal together at the base of the boulders, sitting side by side. "You must have free time," Yasuo said at some point. A breeze whispered softly overhead. "I find it hard to believe that all you do is work."
Riven had to admit, she was a little amused that Yasuo brought this topic up again. "At the end of the day, when all of my work is done, sometimes I visit the stream between this village and the next," she confessed. "I don't go there to drink very often, though."
"Not a fellow alcoholic, I see."
"I feel as though I would end up drowning myself if I was."
Yasuo looked away and took a bite of his sandwich. Riven knew then that the man drank to drown, too. She held him in her eyes. They were not too different, she thought; in fact, their paths were very similar. A part of her was drawn to him, eager to see if they could understand each other in ways nobody else had.
"The songs you play," she began, choosing her words carefully, as if any misplaced question might make the man disappear; "Why do you choose them?"
"What do you mean?"
"They are all sad except the ones you most often play when I work."
Yasuo shrugged and finished his food. "I suppose the somber notes are more pleasing to my ears."
"And the happy ones?"
He took his time to form an answer, meeting her gaze, but the softness in his brow told her he wasn't bothered by her questions. "Perhaps they are not to your taste, but they are what I'm drawn to when I see you."
A 'why?' perched restlessly on the tip of Riven's tongue like a hungry bird, but its wings were clipped; it couldn't fly. What did that mean? The warmth that blossomed in her cheeks made her turn away, and confusion made her head spin.
She had to admit, no one else had ever managed to spark her curiosity like he did. Riven conversed very little with very few, and the only extensive conversations she held with others and actually enjoyed were those with Shava and Asa.
"...I will take that as a compliment," Riven finally murmured. As if the urge to bring up her suspicions was a tangible object, Riven's fingertips twitched. She busied herself with a stray string that hung stubbornly from her shirt.
"I'd hate for you to take it as an insult."
When Riven managed to tear the string off, she looked into Yasuo's eyes. "Yasuo," she began, feeling the cold touch of anxiety creep behind her nose and into her throat, but she steeled herself. She had taken a step of faith and put her trust in someone else before, and it had brought her here, a place she now called home. Maybe she could do it again.
"Yes?"
"You came back because of me, didn't you?" When the words left her mouth, shame filled Riven's chest. She controlled it well enough for it not to show outwardly, but the realization of how direct and presumptuous her question was nearly made her wince.
Yasuo's silence didn't make it any better.
"Sorry," Riven muttered before he could. "That was abrupt of me-"
"Yes, I did."
Riven stared at him, speechless. So he had returned home for her, just as he had the first time. Had they still been walking the same path, just out of sight of each other? One ahead of the other? Riven had been the other half to his story for so long; she wondered if perhaps he was the other half to hers.
Riven started putting all of the paper wrappings and napkins from their meal back into the basket. Yasuo watched her politely, hands in his lap, his legs crossed one over the other like he was preparing to meditate. The position amused her, but his gaze burned at the back of her neck. Once she was done, she rose to her feet, holding the basket loosely at her side.
"Are you leaving?" came Yasuo's question, and Riven found it funny, considering how they had parted ways up to this point.
"Yes, I'm leaving," came the white-haired raven's reply, in a voice that trembled on the last syllable and threatened to break a laugh.
The wanderer seemed to notice her struggle to contain herself anyway. "Careful, I'm going to start thinking you're making fun of me for wanting to make friends."
Only one part of Riven felt bad for not responding directly to Yasuo's confession. The other part felt like it made up for his incessant mystery. "And if I am?"
"I will be very hurt."
Riven rolled her eyes and turned away. "Good night, Yasuo."
"Good night, Riven." Again, Yasuo wore a twinkle of a smile on his features that, albeit small, was more genuine than his usual expression.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow."
Promises made were promises kept. For days, and then for weeks, the broken warrior visited Yasuo at the far end of the field to share a meal and friendly words. They talked about their lives, from Riven's language studies, to Yasuo's favorite places he's traveled, to happy memories of the past--some of which included Yasuo's brother, or even Riven's spars with her comrades, or…
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"One of my earliest low points…" Yasuo echoed Riven's question thoughtfully. A few heartbeats passed before he spoke again. "I was bullied often as a child. Yone usually defended me, but I snapped often, too. I was impulsive. I fought them, and I almost always won. But one of these times, I was so angry I ran into the woods at night to avoid my mother and brother, and I encountered a beast."
Riven listened intently to Yasuo as he spoke. They sat close--so close, in fact, their shoulders almost touched. Even Riven was surprised she allowed the near-contact.
"Yone came to my rescue, because, well, big brothers know everything that little brothers do." The fondness in Yasuo's eyes and his voice was crystal clear. He didn't say it, but Riven could see how much he had looked up to his brother. She wondered if Yone had ever seen it, too.
The warm tone and his demeanor shifted to something more somber as he continued. "The realization that he would never believe me after it happened was…" Devastating, Riven finished wordlessly, and she looked into his eyes.
"That's why you ran away," Riven murmured.
"I needed to find who did it. I needed that. Nothing else could prove my innocence."
"But running only proved your guilt."
"I realized that too late."
Riven could understand, to some extent, Yasuo's suffering, though for a long time, she had endured her own struggles with shattered memories and foggy nightmares. Yasuo had to go through his own struggles with a clear head and memories that haunted his dreams instead, and Riven always preferred the strange nightmares over the visions of her past.
Riven wondered, then, whether Yasuo had returned for her to seek the same ending to his story that she had found. She wondered if she could even give that to him.
The white raven pressed against Yasuo's shoulder to provide him the comfort she couldn't offer with words. He looked down at their touching shoulders, and she looked up at him.
It was one of their longest stays at the boulders together. Riven only left when sleep tugged at her eyelids and she caught herself nearly resting her head on Yasuo's shoulder. Arguably, that night there were more stars in her eyes than in the sky.
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Yasuo's voice was always softer when he spoke to her than when he spoke to others. To her, his presence was a song, growing more familiar every time she listened. Almost everything was shared, even the bittersweet memories that tugged at the shadows in their past.
Almost everything.
When almost really became everything, the sky was cloudy. Riven had always been fond of grim weather. It wasn't that she disliked the sun or pretty blue skies; the scent of the air, the gentle breeze that carried it, and the gorgeous grays and whites that painted the heavens with millions of unique patterns just made her feel more at home.
It had been a little under a month since her first encounter with the wind warrior, and no shift in weather had stopped them from meeting since. They had grown closer, but they were a cautious pair, and it had taken many nights for them to loosen up around each other.
"That one looks like a mug of beer." Yasuo pointed a finger up at the sky, a sandwich in his other hand, half-eaten. The two sat side by side in the grass; it wasn't wet yet, but it would be soon.
"What?" Riven muttered, confused.
"The cloud," he reiterated, and Riven looked up.
"There's no way you believe that looks like a mug," the white-haired raven snorted.
"What do you think it looks like?"
The cloud was fat, fluffy, and dark, and it took a very rounded shape. "A rat's rear end," she replied confidently. Yasuo scoffed, but a satisfied smirk rode on Riven's lips. She pointed at another cloud. "That one looks like a deer."
"That's obviously a dragon," Yasuo corrected.
"What dragons have you been seeing?" A part of Riven wondered whether the wanderer had actually seen one up close.
He had not. "Only the ones in my dreams."
Riven looked at him. "What else do you dream of?"
Yasuo was lost in the clouds; his answer came late, as if Riven's question had to navigate the dark sky to find him and guide him back to reality. "When I have them, my dreams are not usually that great."
"I understand."
"What do you dream of, Riven?"
Riven didn't dream very often, and she still got recurring nightmares. Images of her comrades dying around her haunted her regularly. So instead of answering the question directly, she spoke of a different kind of dream.
"Sometimes I think of the boys," she began, referring to Shava and Asa's sons, whom the two elders spoke of occasionally. "Asa told me once that their youngest wished to join the sword school here. I think… given enough time, perhaps I could join the school, too, and maybe teach the younger children. I'm not sure how they would take it, though. Bringing in Noxian fighting techniques may be a bad idea."
"They may be opposed," Yasuo agreed. "They are strict, and many are still stuck in their old ways."
A small ache tugged at Riven's heart. Although she was facing her ghosts now, guilt still returned in small waves, knocking on the rocky shores in her mind. It would be a long time before she could even consider being accepted as a true member of the village. Perhaps she never would.
"I'm content, regardless," Riven eventually said. "I'd rather be here than anywhere else."
"That's good. If it means anything, I think you'd make a fine mentor."
Riven smiled slightly. "Do you have any dreams like that?"
Once again, Yasuo's response came slow. "Once, I imagined fighting to defend Ionia. Now, I’m not sure." Riven could sense the longing in Yasuo's voice, tailing behind his words like a lonely wolf following the empty howl of the wind. "Those kinds of dreams have since evaded me."
"You could stay, you know," Riven offered gently, but she knew what his answer would be before he gave it.
"No, I can't." Yasuo's response was quick and sharp. "The air here is stale and bitter. If I stay, too much will catch up to me. I need to keep moving."
"Always one step ahead of the past," Riven murmured. But with Yasuo's words came the truth she had been trying to ignore for the past few weeks. "When are you going to leave?"
"...I was considering tomorrow."
So soon? He had given no sign until now. "Were you going to tell me?"
"I was trying to find out how." She knew he saw the hurt and anger in her eyes when he spoke again. "I'm sorry."
Riven stayed silent as she gathered the remains of the picnic into the basket. She tried not to let too much of her frustration seep through, but much of it couldn't be helped. So he was going to leave without a word, just like that. As if everything had meant nothing. As if they weren't slowly becoming close.
When she got to her feet, Yasuo spoke again from the grass. "You could come with me."
"No, I can't," she echoed curtly. Her hand was tight around the basket handle. "You know that by now, Yasuo."
The man rose and her stormy eyes stared deep into his. "I know. That's why I was hesitant to tell you."
"So if I hadn't caught you, you would've just disappeared?"
"No, I would've said something."
"Something that still gave me hope of your swift return? I am no fool, Yasuo. Speak your mind, and make it the truth."
Yasuo chose his next words carefully. "The past few weeks I've spent here mean more to me than you know." Riven sensed the sincerity and knew he spoke from the heart, but it only made her more frustrated.
"Then stay," she insisted, and thereafter, she couldn't stop herself from being straightforward. "It's good to face your ghosts, Yasuo. Running from them won't solve anything." The white-haired warrior noticed Yasuo flinch, but she wasn't going to take anything back.
"The ghost I must face cannot be found here."
The sharp truth in Yasuo's words hit Riven like a sheet of ice and snow. Her irritated expression dropped when realization followed. Yasuo's ghost wasn't the elder he had left behind, nor the townsfolk who had scorned him for it. And although part of it she knew was his own refusal to forgive himself, there was one thing that prevented that.
"Yone?"
Yasuo looked away. "The Spirit Blossom festival arrives in Weh'le in three weeks. Now that the truth is known, I need to speak with him."
Although Yasuo's delay in telling the truth about his departure wasn't entirely dismissed, Riven could forgive him for it. And now that she knew what the purpose was behind it, she understood that his path was much more complicated than she could follow.
At least, for now, their paths branched off. Yasuo's was twisted and shrouded in darkness, but maybe one day, they would intertwine again.
"Okay," the white raven finally breathed in a resigned sigh. She stared at Yasuo's sheathed blade and wondered how much blood tainted it and how long it would take for him to wash it away.
Yasuo stepped forward, and Riven felt his rough hand against her cheek, bringing her chin up so he could hold her visage in his eyes. It was more intimate than either of them had been so far.
"I can't promise you I'll return. I won't do that to you." A deep, restrained longing quivered in the man's eyes like a caged bird. "But if our paths do cross again, I would like to spend more time with you. That is, if I haven't already ruined that chance."
"I may allow it," Riven replied solemnly, searching his eyes for any uncertainty, any possibility that he may change his mind. But all she found was steel resolve and rolling clouds…
…And a question she took a moment to answer.
Yasuo's similarities had drawn Riven in like a moth to a flame, but something else drew her in now. Their lips met only briefly, uncertainty commanding the atmosphere as it had their entire lives, but the connection was settled deep into Riven's heart.
Although they were very similar, Riven noted as Yasuo pulled away, they were also very different. The man before her, though kind in many ways and mostly pure of heart, was a wavering shadow that echoed her past self. Riven was guided by the compassion of those around her and a hope that Yasuo had yet to recognize and understand for himself. His future was unknown, like an unsettled lake that may hide either treasure or destruction beneath its rippling waves.
Yasuo turned away, the wind ruffling the fabrics he wore in a similar way. "Goodbye, Riven," were his final words.
"Until we meet again, Yasuo," was Riven's reply.
And may we meet again.