Work Text:
She Wants It, So I’m Going to Get It
A woman with long golden hair sat silently by the living room window, her hands folded in her lap, her gaze distant. The light that poured through the glass painted soft gold across her face, but her expression remained untouched by the sun—solemn, drawn, and filled with quiet worry. Her sky-blue eyes traced the vast expanse above the wheat and berry fields that stretched beyond her cottage. The sky mirrored her irises in color, but not in spirit. It was too calm. Too perfect.
The sun shone brilliantly, warming the earth below. From somewhere near the creek, the sound of children’s laughter danced through the air, light and carefree. A gentle breeze drifted in through the open window, carrying the scent of fresh bread from the bakery down the road and the murmur of peaceful conversation from the heart of town. Terbisia, in every sense of the word, was tranquil.
Under different circumstances, today would have been perfect.
But inside her, a storm churned.
Normally, she would’ve been busy—tending to her duties as governess, welcoming new mages to the province, checking in on the families who’d made Terbisia their home. Afterwards, she would have gone to her workshop. But for the past week, she hadn’t been able to summon the energy.
She split her days between her cottage and her office in the town’s center. Mostly the office. The cottage… the cottage reminded her too much of her.
And that reminder, that ache, only made the silence louder.
She sighed and turned her eyes back to the horizon. The sky remained stubbornly empty. No hum of an engine. No contrails. No sign.
Not today either.
Knock, knock.
The soft, familiar sound of knuckles on wood stirred her from her thoughts. She rose from the chair, that faint sliver of hope pressing once again at the back of her mind—foolish and fragile. She knew who it would be. And still… every time she reached for the handle, a small, traitorous part of her wished it would be her.
The door creaked open.
“Good afternoon, dear Sister.”
Garen Crownguard’s broad frame filled the doorway, his strong jaw and short brown hair catching the sun. He leaned slightly to get a better look at her, the corners of his eyes softening with concern.
“Hello Garen,” Luxanna replied, stepping aside to let him in.
“Have you eaten yet? You’ll be happy to hear I’ve brought fresh bread and jam,” he said, lifting a cloth-covered basket with a little grin. “Thought you might enjoy sharing it over some tea.”
His cheer matched the day outside—bright, warm, a little too loud for her mood—but she didn’t turn him away. She never did. Because she understood what he was doing. He wasn’t just bringing breakfast.
He was trying to bring back a piece of her smile.
“Thank you, Brother,” Lux said softly. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
She managed a small smile. Not quite real. But real enough.
They sat at the small wooden table, sunlight pooling across the surface, warming the plates of bread and steaming mugs of tea. Lux broke off a piece of crust and dipped it absently in jam, her gaze fixed on her brother as he spoke.
Garen was in high spirits, his voice lively as he recounted the latest from the Vanguard—tales of travel, skirmishes, and the slow, deliberate dismantling of what remained of the Mageseekers.
“—and then Cithria came riding in on a—” he began, his hands gesturing animatedly.
But Lux wasn’t really listening.
The words floated past her like leaves on the wind, brushing her ears and vanishing into nothing. It wasn’t that Garen lacked skill as a storyteller—he could paint a battlefield better than most—but her thoughts were elsewhere. Her mind wandered, always returning to her. That blue-haired girl who’d disappeared weeks ago with nothing but a scrawled note and a kiss on the cheek.
“…ux…”
Lux blinked, barely registering her name.
“Lux!” Garen said again, louder this time.
She jolted slightly, tearing her eyes from the table and offering a sheepish smile. “Sorry—I was just… what were you saying?”
Garen’s cheerful mask slipped, and concern settled in his features. His voice dropped into that familiar mixture of firmness and gentleness that only older brothers could manage. “How are you, really?”
“I’m well,” she replied too quickly. “Just distracted. Please, continue your tale.”
He didn’t.
Instead, he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. “Any word from your letters?”
The question struck too close. Her forced smile faltered. For a moment, she said nothing. Then, softly, “Caitlyn wrote back.”
Garen raised an eyebrow. “That’s something.”
“She said they spotted her in Piltover a few days after she left… but no one’s seen her since.” Lux's voice was barely above a whisper, her gaze dropping to her tea.
Silence bloomed between them.
“You told me she goes off sometimes,” Garen offered gently. “Takes her little adventures, then comes back. How is this different?”
Lux looked up, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Because it’s never been this long. A week, maybe two, sure. But it’s been nearly two months, Garen.”
He opened his mouth, searching for the right words. But they escaped him.
He hadn’t liked Jinx when she first arrived—how could he? A troublemaker, a criminal, a walking ball of chaos. But he’d come to understand her, in time. He’d seen how she looked at Lux. As if the world made sense only when she was near her. Jinx wouldn’t just vanish. Not like this. Not without reason.
“All I keep thinking,” Lux said, voice breaking, “is if she’s safe. If she’s hurt. Or locked away somewhere. Or—” She stopped herself, chest heaving. Her eyes drifted toward the desk near the front door.
A scrap of paper sat there. Bright pink ink. Big looping letters:
“Going out. xoxo”
Garen stood and stepped beside her, placing a broad, calloused hand on her shoulder. “She’ll be alright,” he said quietly. “I’m sure she’ll be ba—”
The sharp blare of the town’s alarm cut him off.
They both froze.
Then they moved at once—Garen to his sword, Lux to her staff. They rushed to the door just as a thunderous crash shook the earth. Something had hit the ground. Hard.
Outside, the peaceful wheat fields were no longer peaceful. Smoke rose in thick coils from the far end of the valley, and the scent of burning canvas and scorched metal tainted the wind. Without a word, they broke into a run.
The destruction became clear the closer they came: furrows carved into the ground, wheat flattened in chaotic patterns, blackened patches of dirt. And at the center of it all—an airship.
Or what was left of one.
It leaned awkwardly to one side, hull torn, envelope scorched, makeshift patches covering some wounds while others still smoldered. It had seen battle—of that there was no doubt.
They crept forward cautiously, eyes scanning, breaths tight.
Bang.
They froze.
Bang. Bang.
Something—or—someone—was alive inside.
The hatch suddenly exploded open, smoke billowing out like a thundercloud. Lux raised her staff. Garen stepped in front, hand on his blade.
Then a voice:
“Wait! Nononono! AHH—!”
A figure launched out of the hatch like a slingshot, limbs flailing wildly before crashing into the field in a graceless heap.
Lux gasped.
Blonde hair. A glint of gold on his left arm. An unfamiliar red-and-white academic tunic.
“Ezreal?” she breathed.
The explorer groaned as he pushed himself upright, grass sticking to his tunic. “Damn it, Jinx! I said I needed a boost, not an artillery launch!”
And then, as if summoned by name, she appeared.
A second figure leapt from the wreckage, long blue braids trailing behind like banners, boots hitting the ground with casual grace.
“This way was quicker,” Jinx said with a wicked grin, eyes gleaming with triumph. She offered out a hand to him.
Lux didn’t breathe.
She stood frozen, a hand over her mouth as tears spilled freely. Garen could only stare, stunned into silence.
Jinx looked different—she wore a red-and-gold armor dusted with soot. Held a sack over one shoulder. Had a fresh cut above her eye, bruises on her arms—but her smile, reckless and radiant, was unmistakable.
“I’m never helping you again,” Ezreal grumbled, accepting her offered hand.
“You had fun,” she teased, sing-song, before her gaze flicked up—and landed on Lux.
Everything stopped.
“Jinx…” Lux whispered, breathless.
Jinx froze mid-step. Her grin softened.
“Wha—Ahh!” Ezreal yelped as Jinx dropped him unceremoniously and bolted forward. “Lux!”
In a blur, she crossed the field, kicking up dust. She dropped the sack and wrapped Lux in a fierce embrace—arms tight around her waist, spinning her in a circle as Lux laughed and sobbed all at once. When she set her down, she didn’t wait. She kissed her. Deeply, desperately. As if the weeks apart had stolen her breath and this was the only way to get it back.
Lux clung to her, her forehead resting against Jinx’s.
“Where were you?” she wept, voice raw.
Jinx pulled her closer, whispering, “I’m sorry I was gone so long…”
Then her eyes sparkled.
“Wait here,” she said, darting back to the sack she’d dropped. She rustled inside it, humming.
Lux wiped at her eyes, watching, heart still racing.
“Guess what I got you?” Jinx beamed, holding something behind her back like a child hiding a secret.
Lux couldn’t stop smiling. She tilted her head, curious. “What?”
Jinx held up a blackened box with divine glyphs still glowing faintly. She opened it slowly.
Lux’s eyes widened. “Is that…?”
—
People bustled around the cottage in a frenzy of curiosity and concern. Some drifted toward the fields, eyes wide as they took in the wreckage of the downed airship, while others clustered in front of the home, hoping for a glimpse of the chaos incarnate they’d come to know—and begrudgingly adore.
“Is it true? Is she back?”
“Move! I can’t see!”
“Miss Jinx! Is she alright?”
Excitement buzzed through the crowd like electricity, voices overlapping, children climbing shoulders, and neighbors whispering speculation as if Jinx herself might burst through the front door and set off fireworks for their amusement.
“Please—make way!” Garen barked, trying to shoulder his way through. No one moved.
His patience thinned.
“Terbisia!” he bellowed, and the sound of his voice sliced through the commotion like a sword through fog.
The crowd stilled. Heads turned. Silence fell.
Garen stood tall, his Dauntless Vanguard cloak billowing slightly in the summer breeze, commanding every eye.
“I understand your concern. I know how much this town cares for Miss Jinx,” he said, voice firm but even. “And I want you all to know—she’s safe. She’s here.”
A wave of relief rippled through the people, audible in the sudden hush.
“But right now, what she needs is rest and quiet. So I ask—no, I order—you to return to your homes and let her recover in peace.”
No one argued. Not when Garen used that tone.
The crowd began to disperse, murmuring to one another as they shuffled away, casting lingering glances over their shoulders like children being sent to bed during a fireworks show.
Once the last of them faded, Garen opened the cottage door.
What he found inside stopped him in his tracks.
Jinx and Ezreal had taken over the small table where he and Lux had shared tea just hours earlier. The bread was nearly gone, crumbs scattered across the surface. The jam was being eaten with spoons. And the tea had been drained like water in the desert.
They looked like two half-starved vagabonds who’d just survived a war. Which, judging by the state of their clothes and bruises, they probably had.
All the while, the town’s elderly doctor moved around them with impressive patience, tending to their wounds between bites—wrapping gauze around Ezreal’s wrist as he chewed and trying to dab ointment on Jinx’s temple while she dodged and laughed.
By the fireplace, Lux sat in a low armchair, her posture stiff, eyes locked on the small wooden box resting in her lap. Her hand hovered over her mouth, her expression unreadable.
“I’ve got the herbs and supplies you requested, Doctor,” Garen announced, shutting the door behind him.
“Much appreciated, Commander,” the doctor replied without looking up.
Jinx turned toward the sound, her mouth full of bread. “Big Bear! Look at you! Long time no growl! What’re you doing back in ol’ Terbi?”
She grinned as if she hadn’t vanished for nearly two months without a word.
Garen didn’t smile. He stared at her with that older-brother glower that could shatter stone.
“Taking care of my sister,” he said coolly, “since you clearly weren’t.”
Jinx blinked, clearly catching the change in tone. She swallowed her mouthful, a little slower now. Ezreal wisely said nothing, chewing his bread with the quiet precision of a man who had seen too much.
“Where were you?” Garen asked, crossing the room with deliberate steps. “Lux was sick with worry.”
Jinx tossed back the last of her tea and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “I was getting her the present she asked for,” she said casually, as if it explained everything.
Ezreal perked up, interested now in more than just food.
“For two months?” Garen’s voice sharpened, the edge of his command voice creeping in. He was about to launch into a full Crownguard Lecture™—about duty and reliability, and how dare she disappear and leave his sister crying—
But before he could begin, Lux spoke.
“I asked for?”
All heads turned to her. She hadn’t moved from her chair, but her voice carried a quiet tension, a confusion that bordered on disbelief.
“I don’t remember asking for…”
Her brows knit, eyes narrowing.
Then they shot wide open.
“Jinx! That was a joke!”
Jinx looked genuinely baffled. “A joke?”
“Yes! I was being sarcastic!” Lux got up, beginning to pace now, rubbing her temples. “It was implied!”
Ezreal stared daggers at Jinx while shoving down a piece of bread.
“Well, babe,” Jinx replied with a shrug, “you really gotta work on your tone, ‘cause I definitely thought you meant it.”
Lux looked like she might explode. Instead, she dragged her hands down her face and let out a long, tortured sigh.
“Unbelievable.”
Jinx just popped another piece of bread into her mouth, unbothered. “Worked out though, right? I mean, I found it. And I only had to fight a cult for it!”
Lux slumped back down into the chair, eyes darting to the box.
“…How did you even take that?” she asked, her voice quieter now, filled with something between awe and dread.
Jinx’s grin widened, a glint in her eye. “Funny you should ask,” she said brightly.
She tore another hunk of bread and pointed it at Ezreal like a stage performer cueing her assistant.
“When I left, I didn’t know where to start, so naturally, I went to Piltover…” She took a dramatic bite. “And kidnapped him.”
Ezreal opened his eyes to a blinding white.
It wasn’t the soft morning kind. It was harsh—sterile and unforgiving—like waking up under stage lights after being knocked out cold. He groaned and raised a hand to shield his face, only to regret the motion immediately. A lance of pain cracked through his skull, sharp and unforgiving, as though he’d lost a boxing match to a gorilla wielding a crowbar.
His head throbbed with every heartbeat.
He was lying on something thin and stiff—a mat, maybe. Not the worst place he’d ever slept, but far from the best. The surface beneath him rumbled slightly, a quiet, constant hum vibrating up through his spine. There was the faint tang of metal in the air, mingled with a dusty, dry scent he couldn’t quite place. Somewhere in the distance, a fan whirred.
Ezreal blinked up at the ceiling, his thoughts sticky and slow. He stretched his arm, felt the reassuring weight of the golden gauntlet on his left, and let out a long, groggy breath.
His vision adjusted gradually, the world sharpening in hesitant layers.
He was in a small room—tight and industrial. The walls were lined with built-in bunk beds, bolted directly into the metal. He was in the lower bunk of one. The door was wide open, sunlight flooding in. Everything around him swayed gently, too subtly for solid ground.
He sat up, boots thudding against metal flooring. “Where… am I?” he mumbled, voice rough.
There was a disconnect. His brain lagged behind his body, as if the two had only just reconnected. He stood and stumbled slightly, gripping the edge of the bed to steady himself. The floor didn’t feel still. It felt like—
“…an airship.”
The words left his mouth just as the realization hit. He spun, eyes flicking across the room, every detail slotting into place. The layout was familiar now. He’d slept in crew quarters like these before.
He bolted for the open door, blinking hard as his vision finally caught up with the daylight.
Beyond the threshold was a narrow hallway lined with long windows. He stopped, jaw falling slack.
Outside stretched an endless sea of golden sand dunes, glinting beneath a flawless blue sky. The horizon shimmered with desert heat, and not a single cloud hung above the Shuriman expanse.
“Shurima!?” he blurted, stunned.
He was on an airship, alright. But not just any airship.
That’s when he saw it—bright pink and electric blue doodles scrawled across the walls, sprayed over pipes and grates like some manic raccoon had gone wild with a stencil kit.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered, dry-mouthed. “It’s Jinx’s ship.”
His stomach dropped. He turned, half in disbelief, and half in search of an escape. But there was only one place to go.
The bridge.
He stumbled toward it.
His last clear memory was walking home after a meeting with his uncle in Piltover… then nothing. Just this.
He reached the bridge door. It was slightly ajar, and pulsing synth music was blasting from inside like a party had been raging without him.
He pushed the door open.
Jinx stood at the helm, back turned, swaying to the beat. One boot tapped the floor in rhythm, and her long braids bounced with every move. Her hands gripped the controls like she was piloting a race rather than navigating an open sky.
“Jinx,” he called.
No answer.
“Jinx!”
Still nothing.
“JINX!”
She spun around at last, beaming. “That’s me!”
She waved, then flicked a few knobs on the console to lower the volume. The music dimmed to a tolerable buzz.
“Oh hey, Sparky! You’re awake! Sleep well?”
Ezreal stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “Jinx,” he said slowly, “what am I doing here?”
She gave him the most innocent, devil-may-care smile he’d ever seen. “I needed your help. Tracking down an old magic trinket.”
He blinked. “What? Why? Is this… is this for a job? Are you a mercenary again?”
She shook her head. “Nope. It’s for Luxie. She wanted it. So, I go and get it.”
Ezreal’s brows rose. That changed things. If Lux was involved, it wasn’t just some petty theft or shiny distraction. There was a reason. ‘Must be important.’ He thought.
He rubbed at his temples. His head still throbbed, and none of this was getting clearer.
“So…” Jinx leaned in, waggling her brows. “What do you say, Sparky? Up for an adventure? You still owe me for Bilgewater, remember?”
She held out a hand, smirking.
Ezreal looked at her. Then at her hand. Then back at her. He sighed deeply, already regretting the decision he hadn’t even made yet.
“…Alright. I’ll help you. If Lux wants it… it must be important.”
“I knew I could count on you!” Jinx cheered, turning back to the controls. “This is gonna be fun.”
Ezreal took a step back, exhaling slowly. But something still bugged him. He frowned, the missing time gnawing at the edges of his mind.
“Wait,” he said, the thought finally taking shape. “How did I end up here? I don’t remember anything after I left my uncle’s place.”
Jinx glanced over her shoulder, completely unfazed.
“Oh. I kidnapped you.”
Ezreal stared at her for a long moment. Then blinked. Twice.
“…You what?”
“Surprise!”
—
For the next six weeks, Jinx and Ezreal tore across the blistering sands of Shurima in search of their elusive prize.
They chased rumors like mirages—chasing stories through ancient ruins and half-buried temples, chasing maps scrawled in crumbling scrolls and whispers in desert bars. The artifact they sought, half-myth and half-memory, had no name they could confirm. Only traces. Only tales. But wherever a story led, they followed.
Jinx piloted the skyship through howling sandstorms and searing daylight, the endless dunes stretching out beneath them like a golden ocean. Their journey took them to the shattered bones of once-great cities, to crumbling tombs sunken into the earth, and to long-forgotten shrines swallowed whole by the shifting desert.
And Shurima did not welcome them kindly.
They fought off bloodthirsty marauders mounted on giant crocodiles—cutthroat riders cloaked in leather and sun-scorched rage. They fended off packs of starving sand wolves, all glinting teeth and low, guttural snarls beneath the dunes. They even faced down a chittering swarm of scarabs the size of housecats that descended on them like a living tide, clicking mandibles and brittle wings a deafening chorus.
But it wasn’t always fights. Sometimes, they ran.
They fled screaming from the cavern of a hibernating rockbear—after Jinx poked it with a flare "just to see if it was really asleep." They barely escaped from a gilded warlord’s palace after helping a thief “liberate” a jeweled dagger and the man’s entire liquor supply in exchange for information. And when their path strayed too close to the cursed remnants of Icathia, they ran faster than they ever had before—chased by Void-twisted horrors that defied shape and reason.
And still… nothing.
After six weeks of scouring Shurima, they had no artifact. No map. No trail. Just sand. Endless, mocking sand.
Ezreal, sunburned and ragged, stood at the edge of a dune one morning and stared down at the shifting sea of gold.
“Maybe it’s gone,” he said quietly. “Maybe it’s buried under a hundred feet of sand, or it never existed. Maybe we’re chasing dust.”
Jinx didn’t even look at him. She stood with her boots half-buried in sand, staring at the rising sun with her sunglasses pushed up on her head and wind in her braids.
“She wants it,” Jinx muttered. “So I’m gonna get it.”
Her voice wasn’t manic like usual. It was quiet. Steady. Unshakable.
And that was what made Ezreal pause.
He sighed and wiped sweat from his brow. “You’re insane.”
“You just noticed?” she said.
And that was the end of that.
They pushed on.
Their luck finally changed in the crowded, colorful chaos of Marrowmark Market. The air smelled of spice and sweat, the streets pulsed with bartering voices and swindlers, and it was there—while Ezreal was busy haggling for rations—that Jinx picked a fight with a gang of thugs shaking down an elderly man.
Well, not so much picked a fight as threw herself into it headfirst with a broken bottle and a smile on her lips.
When the dust settled and the ruffians ran off with bruises and broken egos, the old man stood tall, brushing off his robe as if nothing had happened.
He was striking—tall despite his years, with a long white beard that reached his waist and eyes sharp as flint. He looked like someone plucked out of a legend—like he belonged to a different age.
When he spoke, his words made them both still.
He didn’t know the artifact’s location. But he knew of its bearer. He spoke of her with reverence—as if he’d met her long ago. A traveling scholar cloaked in gold, and carrying something ancient. Something holy.
He told them where to look.
To follow the sun westward. To the mountain that touches the stars.
To the place where the sky meets the gods.
Mount Targon.
Jinx’s grin stretched wide. Ezreal groaned under his breath.
And the chase began again.
—
Jinx and Ezreal lay flat on their stomachs at the edge of a jagged cliff, a coarse brown blanket draped over them to blend into the rocky terrain. The wind nipped at their exposed skin, carrying the thin, biting chill of high altitude. Far below, nestled at the base of the titanic Mount Targon, the Solari settlement came into view through the lenses of their spyglasses—etched into the stone like a sacred engraving, alive with sun-drenched movement.
It had been a few days since they’d first arrived on the mountain.
Even Jinx, never one to slow down for scenery, had paused in awe when they’d first caught sight of Targon’s peak cutting into the heavens. The sheer scale of it made the sky feel too small. But reverence was a luxury they couldn’t afford. Their prize wasn’t up there among the stars—it was hidden below, behind Solari walls and solar devotion.
Their mark was housed in the Rakkor Caves. And the Solari guarded it with a zeal that bordered on fanatical.
Ezreal adjusted the focus of his spyglass, eyeing the movement in and out of a tall, polished structure at the heart of the settlement—half-temple, half-fortress. Priests moved in flowing robes, soldiers marched in patrol rotations, and the golden banners of the sun fluttered proudly above it all.
“Okay,” Ezreal muttered, still watching. “We’ve got the plan, we’ve got the disguises… Now we just wait for dusk.”
He swept his gaze toward the temple’s entrance, tracking each figure that entered. His attention flicked to the far edge of the settlement, where a field of armored warriors trained in formation. He frowned. “We’ll need to be very quiet. Those guys don’t look like they’d hesitate to throw us off a cliff.”
Jinx didn’t respond immediately. She was already locked onto the training yard, her gaze following the synchronized strikes and formations. But her attention wasn’t on the soldiers.
It was on her.
A tall woman stood at the center of the field, commanding both the battlefield and the sun with equal grace. Her armor gleamed red and gold, polished to a mirror sheen. Auburn hair flowed down her back like silk set aflame, and in her hand, a golden shield caught the light with blinding intensity. The spiked crown atop her brow marked her for what she was: not just a leader, but something more.
“That’s Leona,” Ezreal said, lowering his glass just enough to glance at Jinx. “Host of the Aspect of the Sun.”
His voice lowered unconsciously, the way someone might lower their voice in a temple—or when speaking about someone who could break your spine with a look.
“Really, really not someone we want to bump into while robbing her sacred tomb.”
Before Jinx could quip, a piercing screech tore through the air.
A sunhawk swooped above the cliffside, its wings slicing across the wind like knives. Both of them immediately ducked under the blanket, holding their breath. The bird circled once, twice, then drifted away toward the peak, satisfied with the lack of movement.
Only then did they crawl back, silently and quickly, to their ship tucked behind the ridge.
Inside the hold, the final stage of their plan waited.
Their stolen disguises hung on a pair of hooks: one set of ornate Solari armor, its crimson and gold burnished to holy perfection, and a set of dusty scholar’s robes that still smelled faintly of ink and old sweat.
Ezreal tugged the robes over his shoulders with a theatrical sigh. “You ready?” he asked, adjusting a scroll pouch on his hip. And pulled the long sleeve over his left arm.
Jinx emerged a second later in full Solari regalia, her lithe frame hidden beneath the heavy plate of a shieldbearer. One arm held a tall ceremonial shield, the other a gleaming spear. Her blue braids were hidden beneath the plumed helmet resting against her hip.
She gave her reflection in a polished metal panel a once-over and grimaced.
“Sucks I can’t bring Pow-Pow,” she muttered. “But I guess this’ll do.”
She leaned the shield and spear against the hull and pulled the helmet on with a grunt.
“Shit,” came her muffled voice. “How the fuck do they see outta these things?”
Ezreal smirked as she shook out her arms and adjusted to the restrictive weight.
“I think the secret is they don’t. They just hope the sun blinds you first.”
Jinx let out a snort and retrieved her weapons. Her gait stiffened, clunky, like someone pretending to be noble. She gave a mock salute, the spear slanting dangerously close to a lantern.
“All right,” she said with a grin, the visor catching the light. “Let’s go knock on a sun cult’s front door.”
Ezreal rolled his eyes and followed her out, muttering, “Why do I let you talk me into these things?”
—
“RUN!”
Ezreal’s voice tore through the air as a blinding lance of sunlight slammed into the stone just inches behind him, vaporizing the wall in a burst of molten sparks.
Jinx spun, eyes widening as she caught sight of the golden tide chasing them—the glint of shields, the thunder of boots, and at the front, a figure ablaze in divine fury.
“After them!” Leona’s voice rang out like a war drum, righteous and resolute. “Do not let them escape!”
“Shit,” Jinx hissed.
She jammed the small black box—etched with pulsing glyphs and humming with magic—into a sack at her hip, then bolted. Ezreal didn’t wait for her; he was already sprinting.
They tore through the Solari settlement, ducking into narrow alleys, scrambling over rooftops, slipping between columns and over market stalls, all with a battalion of furious warriors behind them. Spears clattered against the stone. Swords hissed past their shoulders. And again and again, searing beams of sunfire burst overhead, detonating against walls and courtyards with divine wrath.
They’d gotten in easily enough. Days of watching patrols, memorizing schedules, and forging passes had paid off. They’d walked into the scholar’s tomb like ghosts.
But they hadn’t planned for the Aspect of the Sun to be casually strolling outside the exit.
Another beam of light exploded just behind them, close enough to singe Ezreal’s cloak.
“Fuck!” he shouted, ducking behind a pillar. “Do something! We’re not outrunning her at this pace!”
Jinx reached over her shoulder and yanked out a cylindrical canister covered in tape and bright doodles.
“Cover your nose. Don’t stop running,” she barked.
She yanked the pin with her teeth and hurled it behind them.
The Solari soldiers had already moved into a defensive formation—shields locked in a perfect golden wall, prepared for an explosion.
What they got was worse.
The grenade burst with a hiss and a pop, flooding the air with thick, electric-blue smoke that burned the lungs and stung the eyes. The soldiers coughed and shouted in disarray, some dropping to a knee as the irritant filled their noses.
But Jinx and Ezreal didn’t stop to admire the chaos. They ran, vaulting over barrels and weaving through side streets.
When they glanced back—just for a heartbeat—they saw her.
Leona.
Emerging from the smoke, untouched. Her armor gleamed through the haze, eyes bright with celestial fury, the fire of the sun swirling around her like a halo.
“Shit,” they said in unison.
They ran faster.
The airship was the goal. If they could reach it, get off the ground, they might have a chance.
But the streets weren’t empty anymore.
Solari forces began to appear ahead of them, cutting off alley exits and sealing off side paths. The net was closing. They tried to pivot, to reroute—but the soldiers were herding them now.
Corralling them.
And finally, they were forced into an open courtyard, hemmed in by high sandstone walls. There was nowhere left to run.
The soldiers formed a semicircle in front of them, spears raised, shields braced. Behind them, the wall. Before them, a golden gauntlet of holy might. And at the center of it all, striding forward like the sun itself had taken mortal form—Leona.
Her sword burned in her hand. Her eyes glowed like twin stars.
She stopped a few paces from them, her voice calm but thunderous.
“You don’t belong here,” she said. “Who are you? Why are you stealing from the Solari?”
Ezreal straightened his robes, cleared his throat, and put on his most dazzling smile. “Ma’am, we’re from Piltover. I believe there’s been a misunderstanding. We’re archaeologists, really. Explorers! Here to document the—”
“Grave robbers,” Leona cut in flatly.
Ezreal’s smile died a quiet death.
She turned her burning gaze toward Jinx. “Why did you steal the scholar’s relic? The tool granted by the Aspect of Justice?”
Jinx slowly pulled off her helmet, letting her twin braids tumble free. She grinned, bright pink eyes gleaming with mischief.
“My girlfriend asked for it,” she said.
Leona blinked. For a second, she seemed… caught off guard.
“You’re telling me,” she said slowly, “that you would risk your life, desecrate a sacred tomb, and steal a divine artifact—just because your lover asked you to?”
Jinx winked. “What can I say? Things I do for love.”
She laughed, full and wild and unapologetic.
A beat passed.
Then Leona laughed too.
It was a rich, unexpected sound—one that made even the soldiers shift in confusion.
Ezreal, unsure if they were about to be incinerated or invited for tea, let out a nervous chuckle just to be safe.
The laughter died abruptly.
“Absurd,” Leona said, raising her sword. Flames licked up the blade, curling toward the sky. “For the crime of desecration and theft, I, Leona—Aspect of the Sun—sentence you to death.”
The temperature surged. The soldiers tightened their formation, stepping forward with military precision.
Jinx rolled her neck and lifted her fists. Her grin returned.
“Nice light show,” she said. “But my girl? She shines brighter.”
Ezreal raised his gauntlet, energy crackling at his fingertips.
“Jinx…” he said, tense. “If we survive this, I want you to know… I’m never working with you again.”
Jinx let out a breathless giggle.
“We’ll see.”
Jinx had everyone inside the cottage hanging on her every word.
She stood near the hearth, her hands moving animatedly as she spun her tale. Garen sat in a chair by the fireplace, eyes wide with childlike wonder, completely enchanted. The town doctor, his treatments finished long ago, remained seated just to hear the rest. Ezreal, however, sat at the table with his hands folded, gaze fixed on the wood grain, his expression unreadable.
And Lux—Lux watched her with one hand pressed to her lips, her eyes full of so many emotions that not one could rise clearly to the surface.
Jinx smirked at the attention, clearly enjoying herself.
“So what happened next?” Garen asked, leaning forward in his seat.
Jinx snapped her fingers, picking the story back up with flair. “Just as Lady Sunbeam was about to fry us where we stood. Boom! Outta nowhere, a bunch of moon-heads crashed the party.”
Garen blinked. “Moon-heads?”
“Lunari,” Lux clarified softly.
“Yeah, them,” Jinx nodded, waving a hand as if centuries of religious conflict could be brushed off like dust. “Apparently, they’ve got beef with the sun cult. Some chick with a glowing moon tattoo on her forehead showed up and started throwing hands with Leona. If you ask me…” she smirked. “There was history there. They fought like bitter exes.”
Lux gave her a look—half amused, half horrified.
“Anyway, while the cults were busy clobbering each other, we took our chance. Fought our way through the chaos, made it to the ship, but they were relentless.” Jinx’s tone dropped slightly, turning serious. “We took a few hits on takeoff. One of their sunhawks shredded part of the canvas. Still, once we got over the Conqueror’s Sea, they finally stopped chasing.”
“And the crash?” Garen asked.
Jinx shrugged, casual. “We were crossing over the Argents when I noticed the fuel was dropping fast. Turns out, one of their spears pierced the chemtank. Didn’t break it entirely, thank the stars, but we lost a lot of pressure. So from Wrenwall to here, we had to glide and pray.”
She laughed, hands on her hips like she'd just told a bedtime story. But the room didn’t laugh with her.
They were stunned.
Especially Ezreal.
He stood abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping across the wooden floor. He pointed an accusing finger at her.
“You told me this was an important mission! That Lux needed it!” he snapped, his voice rising. “You dragged me through Shurima, made me one of the Solari’s most wanted, and nearly got us killed—for a present your girlfriend joked about!?”
Jinx raised a brow. “Hey, I never said it was important. I said Lux wanted it.”
Ezreal opened his mouth—then stopped. His shoulders sagged as the rage drained from him. He looked at Garen in pure exasperation.
“Does this town have a bar?”
Garen sighed, standing up. “Down the hill. I’ll show you.”
He walked to the door, grabbed his sword, and threw a parting glance at Jinx.
“I’m glad you’re back,” he said with a half-smile. “Next time, tell my sister where you’re going.”
Ezreal muttered, “Never again,” as he trudged after him.
The doctor gathered his satchel and slipped out quietly, leaving only the two women behind.
Silence settled into the cottage.
Jinx stood in the middle of the room, shifting awkwardly on her feet.
“Hey, Lux—” she started, but the words caught in her throat when Lux stepped forward.
“Did you really go through all that…” Lux whispered, her eyes wide, her voice trembling with disbelief, “just to give me this?”
She looked down at the box in her hands, lifting the lid. Inside was the relic—a feathered quill, gold at the base, the tip fading into a soft crimson hue. It shimmered faintly, a divine glow pulsing from within the delicate etchings.
A gift once bestowed by the Aspect of Justice, meant to chronicle truth.
Now in her hands.
“Well… yeah,” Jinx said, quieter now, a nervous edge creeping into her voice. “I thought you wanted it. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to see you happy.”
Lux’s eyes lifted to meet hers.
Jinx shifted again, scratching the back of her head. Her voice dropped, fragile and unsure.
“Do you… like it?”
For a moment, Lux said nothing. Her eyes lingered on the artifact, then back up to the girl who’d risked everything to get it.
“Jinx…” she began.
Panic flickered in Jinx’s chest.
“You don’t,” she blurted, hands going up. “I—I’ll return it, I swear—”
Lux stepped forward and gently placed a hand over her mouth, silencing her.
“Before I met you,” Lux whispered, her voice trembling with something deeper than joy, “no one has ever done anything so romantic for me.”
She lowered her hand.
Jinx’s lips curled into a shy, hopeful smile.
“So… you like it,” she said.
Lux laughed softly, tears in her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“You love it,” Jinx teased, emboldened.
“I love you,” Lux said—and pulled her into a kiss.
It was tender, aching, and long overdue. When they broke apart, they remained in each other’s arms, heads pressed together.
“I’ve missed you,” Lux whispered.
Jinx buried her face in Lux’s neck. “Missed you more.”
They stood like that for a while, arms wrapped tight as if nothing could part them again.
Eventually, Lux pulled back, just slightly. “I do love it,” she murmured. “But… we’ll probably have to return it. I really don’t want to piss off the Solari.”
Jinx sighed. “Yeah… fair.”
Lux smiled. “But we can deal with that later. Right now…”
She looked up at Jinx through golden lashes, mischief gleaming behind her eyes, and pointed toward the stairs leading to their room.
“I just want you.”
Jinx didn’t need to be told twice.
She swept Lux into her arms, grinning wildly.
“Get ready,” she growled. “I’m not letting you go.”
Lux’s laugh rang out, high and breathless.
“Good. I’d like to see you try.”
They disappeared upstairs, their laughter echoing behind them—loud, reckless, and deeply in love.
Two Months Earlier…
Rain fell gently over Terbisia, a silver mist veiling the town as the afternoon melted into evening. Inside a modest cottage at the edge of the village, the world felt far away. The steady drum of rain on the rooftop mixed with the soft crackle of the fireplace, a lullaby of peace.
Jinx sat cross-legged on the floor, hunched over a small, whirring contraption laid out on a cloth between scattered tools and spare parts. Blue sparks flickered now and then as she adjusted something deep inside the humming core. Her brow was furrowed, tongue slightly poking out in concentration.
Lux moved through the room in soft steps, a teapot in one hand, two mismatched ceramic mugs in the other. Steam drifted lazily from the spout, curling into the warm air of the room. She set one mug down beside Jinx without a word.
“Here’s your tea, dear,” she said gently, but Jinx didn’t respond—too absorbed in the intricacies of her tinkering to notice.
Lux smiled to herself. There was something irresistibly endearing about watching Jinx like this—so immersed in her work, completely unaware of anything else. She gave her a light nudge with her knee.
Jinx blinked and turned abruptly toward her. “Huh? Yeah?”
Lux nodded toward the mug.
“Oh. Thanks,” Jinx said, reaching absentmindedly for it.
“Careful, it’s hot,” Lux warned, already moving to her chair by the fireplace. She set her own mug down on the side table and scooped up a well-worn book from the cushion. Settling into the plush armchair, she curled her legs beneath her and flipped to the page she’d marked earlier.
The book was an unusual find—bought off a traveling merchant who claimed it was taken from an old scholar’s collection in Shurima. The leather binding was sun-bleached, the pages etched in delicate ink. It chronicled legends and myths long buried beneath the weight of time, stories Lux had never encountered in her formal studies as a Crownguard.
She murmured aloud as she read. “It is said that Mihira, the first Aspect of Justice, gifted a single feather to the Solari’s first High Scribe. That feather became a quill. Its ink flowed smoother than speech, guided only by truth…”
Jinx grunted in vague acknowledgment, still tightening screws.
Lux grinned. “Can you imagine having that thing when I’m writing my reports to Jarvan? The quill would probably write the whole thing for me. Maybe it can even write better letters to him so we can get more supplies.”
She laughed softly at her own joke and reached for her tea, taking a sip. The warmth bloomed down her throat.
Then, on a whim, she looked toward Jinx and called out, “Hey Jinx, I know what I want as a present—that quill.”
She chuckled at the absurdity of it, expecting a playful jab in return. But Jinx didn’t even look up. She just paused momentarily, screwdriver in hand, and said plainly, “Yeah. Okay.”
And then she went right back to work, like it had been a perfectly normal request.
Lux chuckled. She rolled her eyes affectionately and turned the page, the firelight catching the curve of her cheek.
Outside, the rain continued to fall. Inside, the moment quietly nestled into memory—small, warm, and soon to become far more important than either of them realized.
The End.