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The river runs a deep maroon, cascading with the current steadily, breathing sound into the stillness of the warm night. The light of the moon illuminates the water, making the hues apparent and dense. Night creatures chirp softly, filling the silence with songs of calm and promise. The warrior stares into the water, her reflection swaying with the tide as she dresses the fresh wound on her face.
She adorns a gilded cloak, moonlight dressing it in galaxies of stars. With a slow breath, she unstraps her sword sheath and leans closer to the river. A large gash across her eye decorates her, adding an edge to her face that she didn’t need but is willing to wear proudly for her kingdom. A decoration of duty. A testament for her home.
“General Kiramman,” a soft voice echoes from behind. “The reports are in, we will retreat at daybreak.”
The warrior hums in acknowledgment, adjusting the bandage and patch across her face. She squares her shoulders, steady now, preparing to meet her commanding officer with her full presence.
“Magnificent,” the warrior responds. She pulls her fingerless gloves back on her hands.
When she looks up , she finds her commanding officer kneeling before her, head bowed in reverence.
“Ease,” she says slowly, but sure.
“Yes,” the officer exhales, their voice laced with husk and heat—an edge of something unspoken.
The silence stretches between the two bodies.
“You were hasty out there, Cait,” the officer breaks finally, voice soft and still. They rise from their kneel, eyes catching the moonlight. A shine that is smokey in worry and adoration. A half-mask covers the woman’s face, its surface etched with intricate mauve tracings that echo the curves of their uniform.
To the commander, to Caitlyn, it was the most beautiful sight of her life.
“Enough,” the commander raises a hand. “I did what I needed to do.”
“And here you are, wounded. Forced into another day of rest,” the officer snaps, her voice fraying.
“If I hadn’t, you’d be dead.”
“And if you hadn’t, we might’ve won the war.”
“The war?” Caitlyn’s voice hardens. She steps forward to embrace her officer, but is ambushed by her
“You could’ve gone home. Back to your family. Back to—”
“Vi—”
“Back to the comfort. The cushy throne. The prophecy is waiting for you in Piltover. You’d be without me, but you’d have everything. You always would.”
The officer walks away, away from the river, away from her commander, away from the love of her life. “We’ll figure it out in the morning,” the officer says evenly. Adjusting her belt, Vi glances over her shoulder.
Caitlyn traces the glow of her lover, the tension braided through the air between them. She wishes nothing more than a different situation for the two of them. For a different world, a different war, a different fate.
But for now, she will let it go. She lets her grief wash away into the lending ear of the river, with the serenity of cicada song and moonshine.
“You are dismissed, then, Officer.”