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“Piltover, hmm. A wondrous city, its people live in wealth and splendor. Zaun, on the other hand, stands as the remnants. However, the two enjoy an interesting relationship. Piltover's technology and bustling streets are a sight to behold, while Zaun's roughness makes its people sharp, living a dangerous but, at times, content life.”
A young man, slave of the caravan leader, walks with me, carrying my water bag. He is no servant nor slave of mine, but the decades of service rendered to those in need of guidance through the desert and beyond have garnered the favors and friendship of those well beyond my stature. This leader is one whom I've guided for many years before. I've accepted him as a friend, though he, in his own words, owes his life and wealth to me. Though I rarely care for it, I sometimes allow a smile to escape my lips, accepting my importance. I let the boy take some burden from me, the slave he is. In any case, I tell him stories as a sort of payment, to teach him a little of the world I know so that when his time as a slave comes to an end, he may try his own hand at life.
The evening sun, though its strength fading, still warms us as the grass around the lake at the oasis center comes into view. We push through, but with no real haste. Indeed, today the caravan rests. With how lightly I travel compared to the rest of the group, I can afford to enjoy my time now. The sun, its white, yellow, and orange light peeking through the tall grass, touches my face. My heart tenders at the sight and feeling, so I pull down my mask and enjoy the sensation in its fullest.
At the lake, we bend down and both take a sip, me drinking slowly but deeply, while the slave can't help but almost shove water down his throat. At one moment, his cupped hands are pouring water down when he chokes, eliciting a laugh from me. As he clears his throat, I take my water bag and refill it. The young are lively, especially those of Shurima. What they may lack in other things, they make up for it with their eagerness of life.
"Kassadin, over there!" The slave, resting on the sand, suddenly gets up and points. Following his finger, my eyes take hold of a bloodied man. Though I can't hear, his shivering form and ragged movements laying on the ground are no mistake. He's had no food or water and has just barely clawed his way to the lake. Wasting no time, I run along the sandy edge to him, the slave trailing close behind. The slave grabs the man's body in his arms and lifts him while I cup water from the lake and pour it on his face. Luckily, he isn't as close to death as I initially thought, as his eyes flicker and he sputters.
"At ease, friend. We're not going to hurt you. Kassadin, apart from the many wounds across his body, as long as he is treated soon, he should be fine." The slave knows his stuff, so I grab my water bag as I tell the man to open his mouth. He drinks long and hard until he's satisfied. He tries to get to his feet, but the slave urges him, saying "Lie down, we'll help you." He nods, saying "Thank you." I leave the slave, running to the gathering of trees where the caravan is situated around.
"I need a doctor! There is a wounded man by the lake, by the slave Shu Fa. We may yet save him." I've just arrived in a large tent, a gathering of sorts for the main parties of the caravan. Any greetings and joy from the men and women are halted, as worry instantly spreads. "I can help. Take me to him." A woman, dressed in green robes with a bag on her side, calls out from the mess of people, so I grab her, saying "Follow me."
An hour later, he is resting on a mat, bandaged and sleeping soundly. I sit by him, but the worry that began in the gathering tent has affected me too.
I know him.
Rather, I know of the village he is from. It is a small one, laying at the heart of rocky canyons in the south. Though small, it bustles with life and work of its inhabitants. We make a living by hunting and raising livestock, using the surrounding areas and caravans to resupply us of what we need. Thus, it is thoroughly average, with nothing unique to its existence.
But for me, my wife, and my daughter, it is more than enough. My binsikhi, the joy of our life, I'd think. The smiles of her and her friends, the way she runs around, outsmarting and outrunning even the boys of the village, warms my heart. Yet, after all is done, there is no hate to be found; though at first impression, she may seem cold, her cheerfulness and ability to make friends, coupled with a profound sense of maturity, makes it so that she's no lack of friends. Even the most outcast child, like how I was, eventually find themselves laughing and playing with others once she eventually draws them in. I can't help but sometimes wonder how my life may have been different, had I been offered the luxury of her childhood and not that as the bait of a caravan.
My wife, oh my beautiful wife. I could still remember her voice, slightly raspy that of the rough life that most Sumerians live. She herded goats with her family, going out day and night to do the job that her father was too sick and her brother too dead to do. I'd recognized that same life in me, where childhood was rushed out in place of a grim reality that sought to instill only despair in those who wouldn't stand it. She was rough but capable, dextrous with her words and her voice. I still remembered the day when I'd found that my love, which I believed to be but a lonely tree blossomed in isolation, had managed to plant a seed in her that had grown towards me as well. The tears she and I shed as we clasped hands, while her parents rolled their eyes and said, "Took you look enough, Kassadin", were enough to create a river.
Din. Din. Kassadin. KASSADIN.
"Hmm!" I open my eyes to a different man, shaking me awake. It is deep in the night and the man from my village is awake. More importantly, as I assure the other that I'm alright, there are other wounded men, all being taken care of. Some are asleep while others moan and yell. I look at the villager and ask, "What happened? Why are there so many wounded?"
His words shake me from the dregs of my slumber. "We were just from a nearby village with goods when the whole canyon began to shake. We immediately began to rush back to our homes, but a great light suddenly pierced the sky as the ground beneath us began to crack. We tried to maintain balance, but the world seemed intent on eating us whole. A large hole began to appear, as dark, purple smoke and mist began to rise from the ground. Then, creatures began to climb out, tearing at us and our animals. They seemed intent on killing and consuming everything that lay before it."
I can only try to believe what I hear, but his words seem borne from legend. Countless creatures that come skittering from the earth, bent on destruction? Holes in the earth that were unfathomably deep? No sane man would believe it, but his next words make it that I don't care.
Faster than I've ever gone. Faster than I've ever needed to sprint before, I will my legs to be but air upon the ground. I trip over a rope and hear a note of alarm, but I pay it no heed. I weave my way through the encampment until I find my tent. My mount is there, waiting in a makeshift stable. I grab a few things from my tent and cut the rope tethering my mount; I've no time to spare. The leader of the caravan has seen me running like the wild chicken I must look like and tries to greet me, laughing. However, his laughter stops and his face turns to horror as my hair and face, torn where I tripped and distorted from the turmoil that my mind is going through, greets him instead of the usual aloof face I'm aware he's accustomed too. I grab and bade him a quick farewell, then before he has time to speak, I've climbed on my mount and we set off to where the village is.
Where I hope it still is.
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My mount is barely breathing now, but I urge on. He is strong from our years together, my friend. That is the reason I could guide anyone at all. We've rode for...how long? I am unsure, but it seems that we've yet to slow down. But we are getting close, I am sure of it. The sun is high in the sky now and gives no clue to where I might be, but as my name is Kassadin I know this desert. I know my home.
Yet, the villager's words seem almost thrust into reality. The rocky landscape before me is...more sandy. It covers features of the world that I'd come to take for granted as eternal. The canyon is somehow shorter now, but what strikes me more deeply is how...exhausted the world seems. It is a strange word, but as I see the lumps of sand and dust swirling in the wind, with structures and formations laying at angles, torn apart, or not present at all, I struggle to find different words.
There it is. The last marker of the sole road to my village. It lies at the top of a hill that will lead to a village deep within a canyon. Each step my mount takes motivates the horror, the bile within me to leave my body, but I force it down. No, when I reach that hill I will see my village lay before me, its buildings and small town center bustling with sound and life. Goats, dogs, cats, birds, and people will be seen in the makeshift streets. To the left mid of the town center will be a medium sized house, unassuming from a distance, but home to my entire world to me. There, my Kaisa will be taking refuge from the heat for a moment before rushing outside again to join her friends. My love will be there, watching her and nodding her head but secretly treasuring our binsikhi. We reach the top of the hill.
Sand.
There is no village bustling with life. I begin to fall off my mount, but I catch myself and manage to land on the ground uninjured. I don't tether my mount anywhere; it does not matter any more if he runs off. I begin to descend, at first watching my step but soon I am running, tripping and falling wherever the earth decides. I know where my home is. I know where it...should be. I am tired; I've not slept, the water and food I packed shared between my mount and I. That doesn't stop me as I fly across the desert sand. Even now I feel it shifting, like a creature that has finished its meal.
I finally reach it, the location that contains my life. The debris, bits and pieces of the village still exist as I desperately sift through what I can. I can hear sounds now; cries, moans, screams, and groans, but in my fury and sorrow and I know not that they are my own. I fall to the ground, banging the ground, screaming for my daughter-my little explorer, screaming for my wife. In my madness I begin to dig with my hands, trying to find something, anything, for now my hole has a heart to fill and this damned canyon seems intent that that hole be large, gaping, and empty. The ground beneath and around me is wet now. The river that began when my wife had first confessed her love to me is gone. There is but an ocean now; my tears are proof of that.
I roamed this desert. I know so many of its secrets that it would take a year for me to even begin to write down. I'd wanted only one thing to call my own, something I could hold dear and protect. When the beasts, yapping and drooling, came for me, I'd wanted but something of my own from then. I'd never taken but what I needed from the desert; I'd respected my home. That was for others to do, yet now, when I'd finally taken something, Shurima reacted in a vengeance that I could never see coming.
I have nothing.
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It is days after when my madness breaks. Tribe leaders, caravan leaders, fellow guides, friends I'd made along the way, have to come to see the creature which they once called Kassadin. In its place is a silent, solemn, sorrow-filled thing that wishes a return to his dreams. I was found still weeping and calling out the names of my family. Dehydrated, hungry, I noticed not as I clawed at the sand, demanding they return to me my life. It did not answer.
I learned of the event now. The source is from old legends, of horrors and evils so dark and deep that they make skin crawl at their mention. I know of Icathia, the ruins tainted by that evil. The Void. I know of how the old empires of Shurima fought, the ascended warriors fighting to keep the corruption at bay. Those like Horok, who slayed the first of many to come.
I'd fought to stay in the ruins of my home, but after being dragged back, I am no longer broken. No, no I may still be broken. The hole in my heart is carved with glass sticking into my life blood, constantly reminding me of the life before. However, I have a purpose now. There is a prophet, supposedly telling all of the Void. I can't stand it. Tell me there is something to hope for, wish for, revere, in a power that has taken my own from me. No, your death, sure as the sun rises and falls, is now set. I will kill you, your creatures, your power, all that you have. You have taken mine after all.
For my wife, my daughter, and my hate, I will take from you as well.