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The woman who had awoken him was reluctant to give him her name. She seemed intent to be cold towards the man who'd saved her life. Less reluctantly, when he asked, she told him of the destruction of the Shuriman empire. If Azir were to be honest with himself, he’d much rather have heard her name over the fate of his land.
"Do you know what happened?"
"Do I look like a historian to you?"
She left soon after. He still didn’t know her name, only that the blood that ran through her was the same as his. He could still sense her as she trekked through the empty sands. The barren waste that once was his beautiful empire of Shurima.
Shurima… Abbus, his lion-hearted son. His beautiful, gentle daughter Xita… Trima, and his unborn child...
Xerath.
What had happened to his empire? What had happened to his family, his faithful magus? How long had he slept beneath the sands?
What happened?
Azir shakes his head, feathers on his neck ruffling. That was new.
When he awoke, he felt caught between humanity and a strong drawing sensation of something else. At the time, he had no other thought in his head than to save the dying woman, whose eyes reflected his own. The frantic gaze she’d set him with before she’d lost consciousness quickened his movements. No being under my rule shall die as I live, he had once said.
The walk to the Oasis of the Dawn was long and painful. Azir’s muscles were not used to movement, not used to carrying such weight after being immobile for so many years. Though they burned, he pressed on, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't be too late to save her (and by doing so, save himself).
Gently lying her in the life-giving water, he felt a tingling at the base of his skull and along his spine. Behind him, the Sun Disc, iconic of his empire, rose from beneath the rubble, reflecting the sun’s light from above. He hardly had the time to process what was happening before the energy of the transformation ray shot into him. His skin burned and itched as feathers emerged from it. He almost felt as if he was dying as his bones shifted and grew anew. When it was over, the pain suddenly…disappeared. He felt power surge through him instead.
This is what it means to be Ascended.
This is how it was meant to be.
What had happened?
His descendant is far from the ruins of the Shuriman capital now. Azir is certain she can take care of herself, despite the state he found her in when he awoke. As he walks through the slowly shifting city, he keeps his eyes out for any of his citizens, however unlikely of any remaining is. He can tell from the wear on the broken buildings that it has been very long since its destruction.
He eventually reaches the Emperor’s Way. The sands of Shurima collect before him in a memory of its desolation as he walks it. Many slaves and citizens run from the center of the city, the Circle of Ascension. He sighs heavily, regret that he could not save his citizens weighing on his body. As he nears the end of the Emperor’s Way, the echoes of the past grow few and far between. The colossal statues of his predecessors glare down at him, the howling wind between them smothering the sounds of his sand soldiers tailing behind him, risen with the heavy staff in his talons.
Azir climbs the steps approaching the Circle of Ascension, diminishing starlight causing the stairs to sparkle. The simple beauty Azir found in it is quickly wiped away by the scene taking place on the Circle of Ascension. Near the stairs, in sand, stands his family. Abbus moves towards the center, stepping defensively between the cause of the empire’s fall and the rest of his family. Xita clings tightly to her mother, and Trima stares at the threat in shock and anger. In betrayal.
He's suddenly afraid to tear his gaze from the edge of the dais, from his family. But he forces himself to look.
First, on the far side and unconscious, he sees himself. Then near him, Xerath, face full of rage, rising, then curling in on himself, shaking violently. Ghostly sparks tell of the bolts of pure magic that cracked the dais beneath their feet.
The Xerath of sand explodes, and every sand-made memory is blown away with the blast.
Xerath stole his Ascension. He took the power meant for rulers, and used it to destroy the Shuriman Empire.
Xerath… Where had this hatred come from? The Xerath Azir had known was distant, but he thought the magus truly cared for––
Azir's new form had no capacity to cry over the grief wreaking havoc through his heart.
"Xerath..." Azir, crumbled on the ground, murmurs the man's name to himself over and over. "Xerath, why...? What did I do wrong…?" he laments, "Why…?" It was long that Azir mourned, silently.
"Azir."
The deep voice cuts through Azir's silent, tearless agony. He recognizes it. It brings him memories of scoldings and disagreements. The tone of an elder that always knows what is right, even when his ways are stuck fast in the past.
"Nasus."
"You are alive," Nasus observes, stone still where Xerath stood in the memory, "and your Ascension complete."
Azir is unsteady as he stands. "The daughter of the sands, she lied dying and I…"
"Sivir. A mercenary that uses an ancient key of her ancestors as a means of gaining wealth."
"I brought her to the Oasis of the Dawn, I saved her––"
"To what end? To preserve your line?"
"She needed me."
Nasus is silent for a while before sighing. He turns and walks towards the Sun Disc, boots hitting the solid ground of the dais the only sound other than cutting wind. Shurima's capital is much too empty and quiet. One glance at the broken buildings spanning near to the horizon, and despair starts to clutch at Azir's chest again.
"Do you know what happened?"
"I...was tricked. Taken for a fool."
"Your trusted magus convinced you Ascension was necessary, and you swallowed up his words without realizing they were poisoned. Ignoring the wisdom of Renekton and I, as well as your advisors, you made plans."
"I thought––"
"You thought wrong. Xerath stole your Ascension, leaving you for dead and destroying the empire. It was all we could do to keep him from destroying the rest of the world, at the cost of my brother's sacrifice." Nasus turned around, dark eyes on fire and burning into Azir, even as his tone nearly froze the air, "What I don't understand is why. Why did you listen to the words of a slave over those trusted to guide our empire to greatness?"
"He is...not a slave." His defense of Xerath was second nature.
"What was he, then? Did he enchant you––?"
"He wouldn’t...!" The dark side of his mind spoke out quietly, "Yes, he would. He destroyed everything you loved."
With a pained groan, Azir drops to the ground again. His talons scratch at the ground, shifting the collapsed sand of his long gone family. He wants to scream. Tear at his feathers, destroy the dais, kill Nasus for his knowing. He wants so much to destroy the remnants of his empire and end his own existence, wipe Shurima away for eternity in his spite.
But Nasus’ firm stare isn’t vindictive. When Azir looks up to him again, he sees compassion, respect, sympathy. He sees hope.
Nasus shuts his eyes, and takes a measured breath. "For centuries, I have watched, Azir. Perhaps…Shurima’s time has come." He holds a clawed hand out towards Azir, expression now soft but stalwart. "We approach a time of reckoning. Will you rebuild what has fallen?"
Azir’s despair begins to dissolve at those words, as the piles of sand do as the wind picks up. All is not lost, for the emperor of Shurima returns. Hope fills his heart, and brings power back to his body. All is not lost. His beloved empire’s potential is only limited by the sky.
When Azir takes his hand, Nasus pulls him up, not letting go until he stands on his own. The former emperor stares strongly now at Nasus. "I will return Shurima to greatness. The empire will once again stretch to the horizon."
Azir turns away then, just as the first rays of dawn strike the Sun Disk overhead. He’d seen enough. "Xerath," his voice tinted with rage, "your crimes will not go unpunished."
You will no longer control me. My love will no longer save you.
Nasus and Azir set off then. The rebuilding of an empire would not start in a ruin with no people, just as justice would not be brought down on uncaptured traitors. They had much work to do.