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She did not know how far she had run. Ever since the Mage rebellion had happened, the once beloved Maven of Strings had been forced to flee her mother’s manor and seek refuge in whatever allies she retained along the peoples of Demacia.

They were good people, but like many good people they were so easily swayed by the words of authority and bribes that would improve their lives. She understood that everyone had their own to feed, but still Sona felt betrayal, when she had awoken to hear the Mageseekers downstairs asking for her whereabouts. It broke her heart, when the family whose children she had babysat the very same day had offered the songstress up the silver platter to these brutes.

So, she had slipped away in the night and vowed never to look back.

However, she did not hate her adopted homeland enough to join with Sylas, if that was his name, but rather the army of mages he commanded.

For in his prison were harbored the most malicious and dangerous of the magician kind, men and women that made her Ethwal and its urges look downright benign. As Sona ran through the shadowy forest of Old Bargate, the branches tore into her already dirty dress as her Ethwal sung melodies, offering possible help in her situation, but the Maven refused to awaken such powers ever again. The sight of bodies twisting into unnatural dance, the spectral strings cutting the unfortunate flesh, Sona simply could not stomach such violence.

Moon shone brightly overhead as she came in the clearing. Strangely, the voices of her pursuers fell silent as their footsteps. Looking back, her chest beating and breath quivering, the blue haired woman realized that behind the clearing, waves of mist were mounting. Either to protect her from the Mageseekers or to devour her. Calling forth the Ethwal to protect herself, the blue haired woman strummed the strings as it drew nearer, in the distance she could hear chimes of a bell that grew louder and louder.

Haphazardly pulling on a string, a shield sprung up around her, but the mists did not devour her or try to force their way into her cocoon, rather the strange phenomena pooled around her. It stretched out across the clearing and pooled between the stone idols of the clearing. Yet Sona found no strength in her to move and the thought terrified her.

In the distance again the sound of bell chiming could be heard.

Eyes darting from one side of the forest to another, the songstress only now noticed that small yellow lights now dotted the edge of her vision as the chiming drew ever closer. Out of the corner of Sona’s eye, the woman saw a white furry shape dart pass her and a cacophony of chimes accompanying it. The shape stopped in front of the strange altars as the sounds of the bell chimes overwhelmed her. Out of the being she could only make out the golden round mask on it’s face, the three dots placed in a triangle shape, evenly apart.

Hello, what are you doing? Sona asked the strange creature through her instrument, strumming strings.

Whoever this mysterious being was, it decided not to speak as the holes of the mask started to glow and turn at incredible speeds which bathed the clearing in a much brighter light. With terror Sona cried out and tore at the strings of her Ethwal, desperate to stop whatever was happening, however when faced with a being such as his, any power beneath it was futile and as her vision turned white, Sona Buevelle could hear the ensorcelled instrument crying out to her as they knew no more.

First thing the Maven noted that she seemed not to be anywhere she could recognize, lush plains staring ahead from her, dotted with scant patches of trees that looked small compared to the mountains that set the backdrop of her new stage. With no food and the small amount of money on her person, it was not advisable to remain here and find civilization. Luckily her Ethwal had heard her and pulled the woman along.

She did not know how far she had run. Ever since the Mage rebellion had happened, the once beloved Maven of Strings had been forced to flee her mother’s manor and seek refuge in whatever allies she retained along the peoples of Demacia.

They were good people, but like many good people they were so easily swayed by the words of authority and bribes that would improve their lives. She understood that everyone had their own to feed, but still Sona felt betrayal, when she had awoken to hear the Mageseekers downstairs asking for her whereabouts. It broke her heart, when the family whose children she had babysat the very same day had offered the songstress up the silver platter to these brutes.

So, she had slipped away in the night and vowed never to look back.

However, she did not hate her adopted homeland enough to join with Sylas, if that was his name, but rather the army of mages he commanded.

For in his prison were harbored the most malicious and dangerous of the magician kind, men and women that made her Ethwal and its urges look downright benign. As Sona ran through the shadowy forest of Old Bargate, the branches tore into her already dirty dress as her Ethwal sung melodies, offering possible help in her situation, but the Maven refused to awaken such powers ever again. The sight of bodies twisting into unnatural dance, the spectral strings cutting the unfortunate flesh, Sona simply could not stomach such violence.

Moon shone brightly overhead as she came in the clearing. Strangely, the voices of her pursuers fell silent as their footsteps. Looking back, her chest beating and breath quivering, the blue haired woman realized that behind the clearing, waves of mist were mounting. Either to protect her from the Mageseekers or to devour her. Calling forth the Ethwal to protect herself, the blue haired woman strummed the strings as it drew nearer, in the distance she could hear chimes of a bell that grew louder and louder.

Haphazardly pulling on a string, a shield sprung up around her, but the mists did not devour her or try to force their way into her cocoon, rather the strange phenomena pooled around her. It stretched out across the clearing and pooled between the stone idols of the clearing. Yet Sona found no strength in her to move and the thought terrified her.

In the distance again the sound of bell chiming could be heard.

Eyes darting from one side of the forest to another, the songstress only now noticed that small yellow lights now dotted the edge of her vision as the chiming drew ever closer. Out of the corner of Sona’s eye, the woman saw a white furry shape dart pass her and a cacophony of chimes accompanying it. The shape stopped in front of the strange altars as the sounds of the bell chimes overwhelmed her. Out of the being she could only make out the golden round mask on it’s face, the three dots placed in a triangle shape, evenly apart.

Hello, what are you doing? Sona asked the strange creature through her instrument, strumming strings.

Whoever this mysterious being was, it decided not to speak as the holes of the mask started to glow and turn at incredible speeds which bathed the clearing in a much brighter light. With terror Sona cried out and tore at the strings of her Ethwal, desperate to stop whatever was happening, however when faced with a being such as his, any power beneath it was futile and as her vision turned white, Sona Buevelle could hear the ensorcelled instrument crying out to her as they knew no more.

First thing the Maven noted that she seemed not to be anywhere she could recognize, lush plains staring ahead from her, dotted with scant patches of trees that looked small compared to the mountains that set the backdrop of her new stage. With no food and the small amount of money on her person, it was not advisable to remain here and find civilization. Luckily her Ethwal had heard her and pulled the woman along. Despite its quirks the instrument hadn’t steered her wrong and so she allowed herself to be dragged down from the hill she found herself on and through the grassy plains towards the large city in the distance.

It was a simple mistake, really. Sona had mistaken the stronghold of bandits for a grand city bustling with life when the Ethwal had first guided her there. Thankfully these brutes were fearful enough of her magic that instead of tying her up and doing all sorts of cruelties they had decided to take her to their leader that ruled this keep. Their armour- furs and segmented mail was uniformed enough that they might have been an official army, but nowhere as advanced as the forces of Demacia and their warlike ways did not resemble the cohesiveness she had seen from the Noxians.

Six large men with chainmail veils guarded the door she was pushed through and into the throne room of what she assumed was the leader of these men. Drapes with victories emblazoned on them hung on the walls, while richly crafted sculptures orderly.

If there was a personification for careless ruthlessness and intelligence, then the tall man, a decade or two older than her, sitting on the throne covered with furs and segmented, shining armor was one. A two-pronged crown of Iron rested on his brow, two narrow blue-green eyes peering at her, while the rest of his face was as carved from stone – statuesque and cold.

“Sahn-Uzal, Master of the Great Green Ocean, Conqueror of the Seventy Tribes, your ignoble servants bring the Unconquered King a gift” the shorter of the men that apparently served this conqueror groveled and knelt as his thugs pushed Sona in front of him. Not rising from his throne, the now introduced Sahn-Uzal merely raised one of his wild eyebrows and a deep voice filled the hall as those present stood silent.

“Another cheap concubine, Togh? You’re lucky that with the recent conquest, your ability for organizing has left you somewhat indispensable.” Frankly the idea was insulting and despite her lack of a mortal voice, she could not remain silent.

I am not a concubine and neither am I for sale, Lord Uzal...

Immediately the warlord’s eyes narrowed, and his fur cape fluttered as he stood up from his throne revealing a veritable mountain of a man, body tempered in the furnace of war, a map of scars that marked each battle fought and triumph earned.

“No, you brought before me a witch. Leave my sight, before I decide that the priests should declare you a heretic and use your bones to pave the way!”

Besides her, the nasty old man immediately paled and those who had brought her here exchanged worried looks, before they hastily retreated through the open door as the courtiers started to mutter among themselves, but far less than in Demacia as the court held here was far different than the one held by the Lightshields. It was less refined and a palpable aura of unease permeated the hall, their attention, like leashes were held in the warlord’s hands.

Looking at the rest of the throne room, the crimson haired man tapped his foot once, albeit quite audibly and no one dared to remain there, save Sona herself, who continued to whisper defiantly in his mind.

Shall I leave as well?

“So, you cannot read thoughts?” the warlord smirked as only he and his guards remained in the hall “And I here got my hopes up. Tell me sorceress, what other tricks do you know”

The Ethwal floated in front of her and delicate fingers strum the chords and thus Sona Buevelle begun a performance that while not exactly changed the fate of Runeterra, did ease a burden on countless souls in ages to come.

There was movement outside her door and climbing out of fur pelt bed, the maven threw on an embroidered silk robe of dark green that reminded her of a far cruder Ionian fashions and with her Ethwal ready, she boldly opened the door.

In front of it stood two guards and a wizened old man, dressed in grey robes, with strips of inked parchment and skulls of creatures hanging over his bony shoulders, Khurgan, her mind supplied, one of Sahn-Uzal’s chief advisors, a priest and a mage versed in arts of calamity, something that was forbidden after the Rune Wars.

“Maven” the almost black eyes regarded as if she was particularly blank sheet of parchment “Master has demanded your presence in the next campaign and now- in his war chambers”

Didn’t we agree that I would be a musician? She strummed her Ethwal and it’s sound found only the ears of the mage-priest, whose grimace turned as if he had drank spoiled milk. The guards eyed one another warily, but did not react.

“You and I both know that this position was never permanent and to fulfill the Master’s vision all must work together to achieve it”

She relented, there was no better way than with Sahn Uzal’s blessing, she would resume her duties. Sona smiled her most courtly smile and nodded.

Then the master will decide.

Khurgan merely huffed and turned, beckoning her to follow him with a bony hand covered in ceremonial inks.

Sahn Uzal’s war room was more than what she expected of the warlord. Maps of Valoran and other continents of Runeterra were painted on sprawling tables, where the crimson haired warrior was barking orders to grown men, who shifted small wooden figurines around the map. The blue haired woman knew of more refined traditions present in Demacian Academy of Battle as her late foster father had told her. It was miraculous that this practice was alive so many centuries even before Demacia was founded.

“We have grown large enough that we can simply demand they bend the knee and the grass will remain green” spoke Sahn Uzal to a slightly shorter man with black hair and a small goatee, two swords hanging from his belt.

“The Potnei are a proud and their walls are sturdy” the swordsman spoke “They would sooner slit their own throats than to bend their knee to the Noxii.”

“However, they have no true mages...”Shan Uzal murmured as he scratched his chin.

The towering warlord walked over to a different table, where an imitation of a large city could be seen. Atop a hill sat the fortress with two rings of walls protecting the keep and the most important buildings. It overlooked a wide river and such advantage was enough for them to want it.

You called for me. Sona strummed the instrument and Sahn Uzal turned his head to face her.

“You’ve arrived, perfect” he straightened up, looming over the blue haired woman, who to her credit refused the sheer size of him intimidate her.

“This will be a hard battle and I need all my mages to soften them up, before we smash them to pieces” he explained, before adding “If they don’t surrender first, of course.”

I am not skilled in ways of war and you gave me your word that I would ply my trade in peace! Sona protested ardently and the warlord nodded

“You will” the crimson moustache shifted and he was smiling “I reckon it’s time you will show me your true powers”

What do you mean, Lord Uzal? Her brows furrowed in confusion and in unease at the way he said it.

The towering man smiled and opened his arms wide “how many can your voice reach this way?”

I know not, Lord She shook her head, the closest she knew was that her voice and music had been heard through the royal palace in Demacia, when she had made her debut to the court there. Slowly she realized what Sahn-Uzal wanted.

You want me to serve as your voice on the battlefield… She trailed off and the crimson haired man nodded with a knowing smile.

“Right you are, with this I will be able to make my orders known instantly and if you can change your voice, you can deny the enemy their will to fight!”

If I will be in danger on the field, I will need to be protected the Maven threw her thoughts into the warlord’s head. Resisting was futile, she knew that as she had learned what Sahn Uzal wanted, he would go any lengths to achieve it.

“I forget how brittle you sorcerers can be” he laughed and pulled the silent man, who had been eyeing her this entire time, into the figurative spotlight “This is Khatash-Li and there is no man I would trust more than he”

To his credit, the newly introduced Khatash-Li seemed a little embarrassed at such introduction, but still gave an affable nod to her.

It is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Khatash-Li gentle whispers touched the swordsman’s mind and it was clear he did not appreciate the intrusion as he almost jumped, causing his liege to heartily chuckle and clap him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. Now, you two will remain with me in the first stages of the siege, but until then,” he turned to Sona “You have a little task ahead of you, Maven.”

“Hear me, People of Ansces! A great calamity is coming! One you cannot hope to survive!” a shrill and terrible voice that sounded like hammers striking bells screamed through the slumbering city, taking root in their heads and waking the inhabitants of Ansces from their beds. Children cried and ran to their parents, who held one another in reassurance as they tried to make sense of what had happened.

A mile away, on a distant hill, Sona stood, her Ethwal’s strings’ glow slowly faded as Sahn Uzal merrily clapped by her side as did Khatash-Li, who looked astonished by the display.

“They can block Khurgan’s and other mages spells as they are little more than siege engines, lacking finesse” the warlord’s red hair slightly swayed in the night’s wind “However, they can’t block what they can’t understand”

How long is the pause?

“I believe we shall try again in three hours time” His eyes glowed with malice “Don’t let them sleep. You will rest during the day.”

I understand Sona nodded her head, while privately she wondered had she surrendered herself to evil too easily? She had made herself a tool for conquest and was an accomplice of torturing innocents to weaken the city before it’s conquest. She was also aware that should it turn into a siege, she would be called upon using her power far more than what she had agreed.

Does conquest need to exist at all? She thought to herself privately, or so she had thought.

“Life is conquest” Sahn Uzal took a swig from the wineskin attached to his belt “The deer does not willingly wait for the arrow to find it, nor does the river wait for the stone in it’s path to move. In life there is always someone or something that is conquered and made to submit to the conqueror’s whims”

You have put a lot of thought in this. Yet this is quite a bleak view of the world to hold Sona strummed the instrument and a soothing melody filled the air, a light song from Demacia, something she played on a light summer days, when the breeze gently caressed her and sun kissed her cheek.

“This world is bleak and unforgiving” he shrugged “I’m fighting to make it less bleak for myself and those that are mine”

By making it bleak for those who stand in your way?

“Had they not sinned against the world, the gods would not have sent a punishment such as me”

Then they must have sinned greatly indeed...the Maven trailed off and this made the tyrant chuckle loudly as he elbowed Khatash-Li in the stomach, making the smaller man wince, but both had smiles on their faces. Inwardly she did not feel so joyous. Sona Buevelle was now an accessory to a brutal war, an instrument of terror.

Once she was led back to her own tent, she grasped the silk cushion and after making sure that she was alone and no one was listening, pressed it to her face and let out a mournful sob. Her family would be disgusted and she quietly prayed that her actions would cause less lives to be lost in this bloody war. She prayed to her future victims, asking forgiveness that she knew she wouldn’t receive.

After three hours had passed and there were still scant hours before daybreak, with slow and measured steps Sona Buevelle trod outside her tent and beheld the city of Ansces. Her hands did not tremble, the Ethwal hovered in front of her. Khatash-Li walked behind her, keeping couple of feet in distance and once she stopped and prepared her morbid performance, the black haired man quietly spoke.

“It is not easy, but I hope you know how much you are doing for people if you don’t see it”

How is this helping people? She asked skeptically We will kill and pillage them, soldiers will torment the innocent and Sahn Uzal’s borders will grow.

The general sighed “Before Sahn Uzal unified us, the tribes often fell prey to rampaging monsters, illness and rival tribes. Through conquest he united all of us in blood and purpose. You will see that once we stand on the banks of river Drekan we will have peace!”

As she listened to his explanation, the songstress noted that her bodyguard was a true believer of Sahn Uzal’s bloody path and like his liege believed all problems to be solvable through violence. Perhaps currently they were right, but when the administrative and bureaucratic work set in, they would see that their force of arms could not steer the empire they sought to build.

Your belief in your Lord is well founded She flattered with the best of her ability, slightly altering her timbre through the strumming strings He just might be able to achieve his dream

She knew whether or not Sahn Uzal would succeed, for the history between the Darkin Wars and the Reign of the Iron Revenant was largely forgotten, even what happened before the Rune Wars was shrouded in uncertainty.

The general nodded with a smile and allowed Sona to work her magic in peace.

Gently her fingers touched the strings of the instrument and the magic within resonated with her. Wind blew her hair back and with ease, she began to play.

In the bedchambers of the King of Potnei, Lord of Ansces, the slumbering ruler was awakened once more. He sprung up in cold sweat as a voice of thousand shrieking crows, a different one from tonight, shouted

“The Prophesied Lord commeth! Heed him lest ye be trod underfoot!”

The campaign proceeded as she had expected and by the end of it, Sona was exhausted. Through her magic and the foreign nature of her Ethwal, Ansces was plagued by maddened whispers and voices striking seemingly at random, with the message that their days were numbered and destruction was inescapable. When Sahn Uzal’s army appeared over the horizon with their horses, drakehounds and siege weapons, the city of Ansces had opened it’s gates and a procession of exhausted nobles rode forth to beg Sahn Uzal for clemency and spare the city the horrors of war.

The Unconquered King granted it and in a rare show magnanimity, allowed the King remain as it’s steward, welcoming them nobles into his empire.

As they sat in the castle’s throne room, during the cellabratory feast, the King of Ansces made a grand show of hospitality, but compared to the massive bulk of Sahn Uzal, adorned in gold and glimmering jewels, he seemed humble. Khatash-Li sat on his right and Sona had been given a seat further, but still within the eyeshot of the warlord, but far enough, not to arouse any suspicion.

Despite her misgivings of such spiritual torture, the songstress decided that she had minimized any casualties that might have been incurred in the fighting and subsequent looting. She did not mistake the King presenting the crimson haired man a gaggle of girls dressed modestly, but not enough to hide their bodies. She understood that they were most likely daughters or relatives that would join Sahn Uzal’s concubines or become hostages- to secure the pact in blood.

Had she been born without her magic, her fate would not have been much different. Of course, it would have been an arranged marriage, but that was just the pretending that it was anything, but the same scene happening before her eyes.

Sona raised the goblet of wine to her mouth and watched her captor and liege. He seemed terribly bored by the flowery girls sent his way. However, he hid it well. Without words, Sona had learned to coax out information through more physical cues and in this case those were his slightly pursed lips and couple of exaggerated blinks that betrayed his disinterest.

Hopefully he would not turn in her way in hopes that she would entertain him and those gathered for the feast.

As the lesser musicians plied their craft and entertained the guests with strumming of harps, raucous beating of drums and whistling of pan-pipes, the Maven allowed herself a subtle breath of relief as she had successfully melded into the background of the colorful feast.

Perhaps she was mistaken, but for a moment, Sona thought had she had caught Sahn Uzal looking at her.

A month had passed since the conquest of Ansces, but Sahn Uzal’s hands were rarely idle. In his court, he summoned mages and scholars, adventurers and thieves, who would point him to artifacts thought long lost or doubted to have existed in the first place.

Sona had become something of a fixture in the warlord’s life, one of the few women that weren’t his wives or concubines as she was expected to accompany Sahn Uzal much like Khatash-Li was. However, that man was his right hand and she was a musician and a budding mage. Though it was evident that he wanted to change that, Khurgan taught her his understanding of the magics of war and tutors from all over his empire were sent her way. She knew better than to understand this as kindness, Sahn Uzal wanted her potential fully realized and to make her hate herself, the songstress in a lofty way wished to see the heights she could reach.

Another problem arose due to this, she had hardly time left for herself and music, though before her appearance in this age- the two often blurred.

Her quarters were next to his as he refused to let anyone touch that was his. It was a measure he had taken when during a small feast, a foolish boy, barely a man, had touched her too boldly, for all to see.

Sona being the fool, had not noticed his intent, nor the eyes upon them.

The Maven shivered as she recalled the one-sided massacre in a makeshift arena, where she watched, terrified, as Sahn Uzal, using his grand iron maul, reduced the youth into a bloody mess for all to see. While she couldn’t see the remains, the body was quickly rolled up into a carpet and carried away.

Since then, she had understood that her fate was tied with the conqueror, more for the sake of others than her just own.

What surprised her more was that after the so called duel, nobody dared to mention the slaughter that had occurred before their eyes. Was it so common in these savage times? Were life and death dependent on hazy, unwritten rules?

Her door opened and without any surprise, the barbarian warlord entered the quarters, the top half of his robes hanging on his belt as his naked chest was marked with black tribal tattoos shaped like like sharp turned tendrils and arcane sigils. Wait, were those fresh nail marks on his arms and shoulders?

My lord, what brings you here tonight? I must profess that I lack the skill of vanquishing nightmares. Sona did her most practiced smile and put down her Ethwal, but still let it remain by her side, just in case.

He shook his head and brushed his hair aside, she recognized now that his body was covered in sweat and the details of his disheveled looks drew together a picture that was straying dangerously into forbidden territory that her thoughts sometime took, against her conscious will. The smell that just reached her nose was another piece of distracting evidence.

“There is a campaign mounting in Spring” he admitted “Your skill with that magic instrument has grown enough that I may scoff at our traditions and take a woman with me, when we will be riding the Death Charge.”

Deep within herself, this was the moment she had been waiting for! She had purposefully shown off her more destructive melodies on those that had suffered the red-eyed tyrant’s wrath and now it had paid off! Though as vile it was, she would slowly gain freedom underneath Sahn Uzal and then disappear in a blink, when no one would expect her, fleeing like the wind, lest none of his hounds and falcons catch her!

I will do as you bid, Master. Though you have not answered my ignoble question- why d id you s ought me out, so late at night?

“I must admit that there was another reason, but surely you can guess what man such as I would want from a beautiful woman such as you?” he approached her, like a dragon cornering its prey. She knew that behind those green-blue eyes a will burned that would not be denied. He would have what he wanted, and no one could stand in his way.

I am not worthy of your embrace! You have wives, my lord! Think of them! Think of the vows you have taken! Sona shook her head as surrounded by candlelight, the warrior sat down beside her, his large hand grasping hers. She shied away from his gaze. He let go of her hands and cupped her chin to face him. Sona couldn’t help, but stare in his smouldering eyes.

“Compared to those goats, you’re a Valkyrie sent to guide me to the Hall of Bones” he spoke with softness that the blue haired woman had never thought he had possessed “You know not what fiendish enchantments you have cast managed to cast on me…”

Those are your wives! The Maven protested fiercely Do they not deserve your fidelity?!

“Bah! They are hostages, though they themselves have forgotten it.” Her dainty hands pressed against the solid muscles of his chest and in vain she continued to protest.

My Lord, will you force me to smell other women as you take me? The warlord did not cease, she tried to be brave, but the tears still swelled in the corners of her blue orbs- her adopted mother had taught her of love that was fair and chaste, not this…

Inevitably, she awaited the cool night air on her bare flesh with helpless despair, the feeling of his large and rough hands pillaging her, the pain of the struggle.

It did not come to pass.

Instead, she was pulled close against his chest, the large hands that had grasped her now held her carefully, like a small bird, while the songstress certainly felt the heat and inevitable crimson tinge on her cheeks as she felt the slab of muscle against herself, while his large hands tenderly wiped the tears from her face. At odds with his previous actions, she looked at him with confusion, unable to voice her question.

“The night has already grown old” he simply said and with one hand raised her chin, so that her blue eyes met his gaze.

Indeed it has, My Lord. Sona nodded as much as she could, with her chin being held by his hand.

“Regrettably I must leave you” He let go of her chin “However, before I do that, I have a request.”

Seeing her alert look, the warlord shook his head saying “A simple one, one that would not tarnish your honor or invite my touch”

What is it you wish? Curiosity, got the better of her

“Play to me your most treasured piece. Let me see the wellspring from which this beauty flows”

This was not what she had expected or even thought possible, for Sahn Uzal was not a man of rich artistic palate. His art lied in destruction and subjugation, things that were incompatible to her creation and healing.

She had played many pieces, some out of request, some out of consideration of the public, but there was a single piece, an Ionian song, coming from the isle of Fae’lor. It was a light piece, a dancing song for the village folk, requiring drums, pan-pipes, cymbals and a harpsicord, which surely wasn’t invented yet.

With her Ethwal, she was an entire troupe!

As she started playing slowly and quietly, Sahn Uzal left her bed and made his throne on the large pillows and mattresses on the ground, reserved for her lounging maidservants. Even on them, he seemed majestic and imperious. Yet as she played, he became a fixture in the background, only thing mattering- the music she wove in front of him.

Her Ethwal sang and her soul with it.

Only when she finished her performance and wiped sweat from her brow, she noticed that the indomitable conqueror had fallen asleep- an uncharacteristically peaceful expression adorning his face.

True to his word, Sahn-Uzal did not enter her chambers after that night when he had fallen asleep next to her or the following months that followed after. This brought mixed reactions from Sona, who one part was relieved that he had not decided to press on, but the other was incensed at the thought that the warlord had decided that he could attempt to ravish her once and then never darken her door at such an hour or attempt to court her as a proper man would, not that she would have agreed, immediately. It did not help her to hear that the women who suffered in her stead happily welcomed their torment, which left her open to imagine things best unsaid.

One thing she hated about her dangerous new life with Sahn Uzal and his warbands were the sinister and plainly unsettling priests and mages that always were present in whatever council the Lord of Dalamor Plains decided as necessary for her to attend. They were always old, sallow men who spoke of rites, schemes and magicks that seemed harmful for her and always there was the look of discontent in their eyes, one that could have been envy, sometimes aimed at her, but mostly at their towering master.

They also looked at her with disdain and eyed her magic with distrust, quick to deride her in public and keenly using her silence to continue their verbal abuse, whenever Khurgan and his master weren’t watching.

In time she learned that some people only understood strength and soon these mages started to suffer in subtle ways. During their ceremonies, the horns calling the Gray Man now hurt their ears and whenever they ate, the food had the taste of ash. To give them credit, the younger ones immediately understood the cause and realized that complaining to their overlord would yield little fruit, so Sona’s everyday became much easier as the elders found little support to antagonize the Maven and Sahn Uzal grew ever tired of their baseless complaints.

Yet the mages weren’t the only opposition she faced. The wives of the Conqueror of Dalamor Plains and now seventy-eight tribes eyed the new courtier with undisguised jealousy. What the women lacked in character, they had to spare in low cunning. After the Warlord’s visit, their hostility had spiked and thrice her Ethwal had turned the would-be assassins into warped, broken bodies laying on the floor. Luckily for them, Sona did not come to her host with this information, for she had the feeling he wouldn’t be as understanding as she was.

Despite him keeping her imprisoned, Sahn Uzal was far more benign than she had thought first.

Not to be mistaken, he was brutal, merciless towards his enemies, harsh towards his servants, but there had to be a reason that the towering man had a mass of willing followers. Again, as the musician noted, this wasn’t her home Demacia, but until time came for escape, it was, for better or worse.

Treacherously, her mind supplied that she had wealth, influence and safety serving Sahn Uzal and what little she could recall from Runeterran history told her that anything like Demacia was not going to exist for centuries to come.

“Can you teach me how to play? Father is busy and mother hit me when I first asked her” Chawuer, the secondborn son of Sahn Uzal and Yelin of Dalamor asked Sona as she was tuning her ethwal in the palace gardens. He was a kindly boy, inheriting his father’s eyes, his mother’s thin frame and white hair.

The Maven smiled and nodded, surrounded by flowers, servants and blue sky above, the two started their first steps- her in teaching, him in playing an instrument.

To her children were always something to be cherished and if it helped her to get leverage over other scheming women, given that Yelin was close with the warlord’s first wife, who ran a tight ship among the women.

Sona was not included, of course and she was thankful because that woman was a witch par excellence and the moniker was not because of her arcane talents.

She noted after a quick glance, that here, in the shadows of the trees, Sahn Uzal’s towering form looking at her with intent she could not fathom. Yet seeing his son amateurishly plucking his own instrument’s string, she noted quickly that his eyes softened for a blink and it was enough for her.

For all the assassination attempts she had experienced thus far, only one needed to succeed.

The barrage of arrows found her and her captor as they rode out in the verdant plains atop their horses, Khatash-Li galloping a polite distance in back.

The attempt happened on the way back as the sun descended upon them, blinding them with its auburn glare.

Her only warning before the ambush was Sahn Uzal grabbing her by the arm as he was next to her with incredible speeds, green-blue eyes intense and frowning lips as horses screamed in pain.

They tumbled down in the shallow slope and before his arms wrapping around her waist, she saw the arrows that pierced both of their horses, her Ethwal crying out as it remained in the grass. If she could, she would have screamed, but the strings were far from her reach. Still, she hung for her dear life. Under his breath she heard curses that would be unthinkable to come from the mouth of a ruler, yet she privately shared the sentiment.

Once they reach bottom, the warlord already has withdrawn his sword and stood as a grand oak tree, while four horses stop atop the prairie hill. Sona couldn’t make out their clothes or faces behind veils, but without hesitation they continue their attack with another salvo of arrows. Sahn-Uzal batted away the arrows casually and with a bestial roar ran towards the would-be assassins, blades of grass trembling in his wake as if a hurricane was chasing him.

Khatash-Li was nowhere to be seen, but she heard fighting coming from where the general had ridden with them.

As the arrows continued to rain, there was the sudden realization of relief and the feeling of gratitude as the red-haired man was shielding her, but it was time to make everyone realize that she was not one to be trifled with. Maybe if she had been the same careless musician before the Mage Uprising in Demacia, the same naive mage just appearing in Sahn Uzal’s court, then she’d have loathed to use violence to defend herself, perhaps some part of her still did, but that was an ever decreasing minority.

She hummed and the instrument awoke in the grass.

It flew swiftly to her, past the attackers, who were trying to pull their horses away from the enraged warlord, who beheaded one of their horses with a single strike. Arrows pierced his leather armour and shoulders, but with his unsurpassed wrath, Sahn-Uzal struck true and struck again, until the grass was scarlet with the blood of their would be murderers.

As Sahn Uzal killed, Khatash-Li was done with his share of assassins as he dragged bodies by their hair towards them, he seemed not to be too injured. The warlord’s health came first, then the general’s.

Sona managed barely in time to glide over to the scene of carnage and struggled not to retch as her eyes beheld the spilled entrails and shattered skulls. Thankfully one of the men was still alive. Before her stood the crimson eyed man soaked in blood. His breath heavy and hair wild. Yet she did not fear him and strummed a ballad of healing, green strings of life enveloping the warlord.

His shoulders relaxed and his breath became normal as the arrows were pushed from his body. The disbelief was clear in his eyes as is one of the assassins, who before was on the verge of death. Now the assailant was still wounded but would live. Though, that was dependent on his goodwill.

Do you need help? Sona asked the dark haired man, who had finally reached them. He sported no arrow wounds only a shallow cut grazed his arm.

“It’s only a scratch, Sahn’s wounds are much more important” the general retorted and threw the bloodied, but still breathing body at their feet.

“They won’t die, but they’ll wish they had...”he growled and she was inclined to agree.

“Who is your master? Such bravery can only come if you do not fear repercussions…” Sahn Uzal growled, his entire body radiating malice.

“Y-you c-craven” the assassin wheezes out “d-dish-honoring y-your v-vows for some m-mute whor- Agh” as Sahn Uzal coldly increased his grip on the man’s throat, choking the insult before he could say anything. Upon a closer inspection, Sona knew that she recognized the man from somewhere. His painted beard and glass beads woven into it reminded her of one of the more spiteful spouses of Sahn Uzal, who continued to interrogate the would be assassin.

“Was it her or the old man?”

The answer was a spat in Sahn Uzal’s face, who turned to her, eyes calm and simmering with dark fury, no mercy would be found in them.

“Can you heal him?”

I can, my lord. Sona knew what she was doing was wrong and a betrayal of her family’s values, but otherwise she would always be a target to them

“Excellent.”

Then the Lord of Dalamor Plains plunged his fist into the unfortunate man’s stomach, deeper into the wounds she had not healed just yet.

“I can drag out your suffering, your entrails, then tear you apart in front of your family and tribe, then bring devastation upon each and every one of them as you watch” he twisted his hand inside the bleeding hole, grasping something “or you confess, and the Hall of Bones await you without further pain.”

“May the Gray Man take you!”

“Heal him once more.”

Sona nodded her head and the Ethwal sang, almost in unison with the cries of pain as she was deafened to those of her would be killer.

When the warlord tore out the beating heart of the father of one of his wives in front of the court, the Maven knew that this would have repercussions.

It did not take a single night after the incident, when assassin tried to have her smothered with a pillow. In alarm, Sona quickly willed her instrument to take flight and as golden light shone through her bedchambers, the body of her assailant crumbled into bloody slices of meat on the ground. Quickly rising from her bed, the blue haired woman slowly approached the body and seeing just who had come to end her life, her eyes watered and bile crept into her mouth at the sight before the Maven.

On the floor lied the wife, Anva, her mind supplied, the one whose father Sahn had executed and among the crimson pieces laid a small malformed head that could have had a life of its own, if their mother had chosen a different path.

It didn’t take long for Sahn Uzal to tear open his chamber door only to find her crying, blood covering her hands.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t m-

Before she could say anything more, two heavy arms enveloped her in a smothering embrace allowing her dignity of sobbing.

Khatash-Li was posted to the entrance of her chambers immediately after the incident.

In the midst of the funeral, the deceased’s other son, barely taller than her knee, watched Sona with hard eyes and Chawuer stopped to coming to her lessons. Her handmaidens too became more aloof, more formal in their approach, as if they were dealing with their liege not her. These and other blows to her health of the mind were the reason why songs became so mournful and melancholic that the only one who would listen to the melodies was Sahn Uzal, who sat in her chambers for a moon after the incident, before leaving. Allowing the maven to heal the self inflicted wounds of her spirit until she could look at herself in the mirror.

It was when her wounds were still raw from the event and her fingers refused to touch her Etwhal, Sahn Uzal sought her out in her chambers. He arrived one darkening night, clad in dark crimson night-robe, with inlaid golden thread. In the darkness, Sona didn’t see what he was carrying in the night.

“I figured you would have trouble sleeping” he began and offered her his large hand “I know a place where these regrets won’t touch you.”

How can they not touch me?! I killed a child! She screamed and immediately brought her hands to her lips seeing Sahn Uzal vince and shake his head.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you…

“Sona, Don’t worry. You can’t hurt me.” He said it so confidently, she almost believed him “Stop moping about and leave your Ethwal here.”

In any other time she would have vehemently refused and carried the instrument everywhere with her, but now she wanted nothing more than to get away from it.

Where are we going? She rose from the bed and blushed when she noticed that her liege was still watching as she pulled her night-robe close and tied her sash with far more force than she would’ve in any other situation.

“You’ll see” Sahn Uzal replied and she sighed, before approaching the warlord. He offered her his hand and she took it.

They walked through the slumbering halls, any sentinel they encountered, swiftly averted their gaze and kept their heads down. She too made herself look smaller, to hide her body behind the warlord’s towering frame, knowing that in the morning her name would be on the palace’s lips.

Yet his disregard for it was inspiring and she wished that she could steal some of that irreverence and keep it to herself.

Cool late summer wind hit her face and she saw that the crimson haired man had taken her to the private garden of his wives and children, where she had taught the prince how to play his own instrument.

“I thought that you would appreciate this” he spoke, stopping before a bench and presented to her two Ionian Sanshins, or at least one, the other was far smaller and had only two strings.

“And I figured you might prefer a change of instruments” he offered her the Sanshin, while keeping the other instrument.

How is that one called? She asked, out of habit, before realizing that the warlord couldn’t hear her due to Ethwal’s absence.

“This one is called Tovshuur” he explained and sat down on the wooden bench, resting the instrument on his upper thigh.

Sona couldn’t believe it! Before that she could only speak when she was using the Ethwal, her voice being lost as long as she could remember. Newfound appreciation of her liege swelled her heart and she took the Sanshin in her hands and tears of joy fell against the black lacquer.

I can speak Sahn, She cried with joy I can talk to people without my Ethwal!

“I thought that you could do it all the time” he admitted slowly blinking, before shaking himself out of his surprised state “Now let’s make you forget all about that mess. I will play you a song my father used to play me, it’s called Kara Suu- Spring Water”

It was strange to imagine Sahn Uzaal as a child, compared to the mountain of the man he was today. She had the stupid image that he just appeared in the world, fully formed, with the mission of conquest from his mysterious conqueror.

It’s beautiful, can you show me the chorus? She asked with and immediately he switched to the a different tempo and with her dexterous fingers Sona attempted to match him.

So the two spent practicing and playing until the dawn broke, showering them both in gold.

Sona kissed him first. He tasted of iron, but maybe it’s just because in her stress and anxiety, she bit into his lip.

She has been kissed before. A boy at the orphanage stole one before she knew what it was and the memory was more lost than there. Sona remembered the shock and clumsiness, maybe that’s what Sahn Uzal felt too, right now.

He was trying to convince her that she shouldn’t ride with him to their possible deaths.

As their kiss broke, Sona felt herself grasped and lifted into the air, before he kissed her, Sahn Uzal’s grinning face was what she saw and then his mustache tickled her nose.

She survived her first cavalry charge and thanks to her- all of the men riding in said charge. Her spells emboldened and protected the riders as they crashed into the defenders, while Khurgan and his priests dealt the death blows to archers and the entrenched mages from above. In the thick of battle all she could hear and see was Sahn Uzal’s towering form crashing against scores of men, bashing them aside, launching some into air and crushing those unfortunate where they stood. One arrow was launched at her and that just made the archer sign a death warrant of dozens as the warlord along with Khatash-Li charged in a straight line, heedless of danger and trampling all that stood in their way.

Worst of all, both men had merely laughed about it later at their camp, when she had dared to chastise them.

This was how she found herself sitting at the card table, where Sahn Uzal and Khatash-Li played their game. The blue haired woman did her best to learn the rules, but what could she learn when the game was as foreign to her as the Ethwal was to Khatash-Li, who was beating his master and handily, she might have added.

The game was called Demon’s Hand and a modernized version could be found all across Valoran, proving that their fight wasn’t doomed, or so she hoped.

“Ha! A Demon’s Hand” Khatash-Li barked with laughter and the redhead angrily threw down his own cards.

“That’s it! I’m never playing with you again!” the warlord shook his head and shoved the paper cards in Sona’s hands and the mage looked at him with confusion.

Wait! What I’m supposed to do with this? She asked him and he just shrugged

“Avenge me, lose me more of my spoils, I don’t care! I’ll need more wine if I’m going to be losing this badly-”

Apparently all good things needed come to an end. She suddenly felt a chill and there was a distinct feeling that something was watching them.

Sona made the mistake of looking up.

The creature was a twisted monster with long, gangly limbs and clawed hands made for tearing through flesh. Pars of its’ body faded into blackened mist where its legs should have been. Its skin was dark and shadowy, stretched over a hunched, almost insect-like frame, with glowing red eyes peering out from beneath a mass of shadowy tendrils perched atop of their tent.

With a petrifying screech it launched itself at Sahn Uzal, cutting him deeply across his chest as the warrior barely dodged the swipe of it’s deathly claws. As Sona called her Ethwal to her, Khatash-Li struck at the demon, for what else it could have been, with it’s two swords. She knew that he would succeed, for she had seen him cut through steel and magic shields alike.

Her hopes were dashed when the blade broke on impact and the creature turned it’s attention to him. The brave general grunted as he blocked it’s claws and until Sahn Uzal had his mace, they had to deal with it.

Sona refused to wait and as soon as the instrument was in her hands, she sprung a shield around him, just as the crimson light started to emanate from the claws of the beast. Her shield shattered and Khatash-Li was knocked back, at a nearby tent, but he was alive.

He was alive and she was in danger as the shadowy being loomed over her. Like a centipede it barreled towards her and the maven threw up her strongest shields, battered it with cutting waves, but it seemed only to irritate the monster, who unimpeded continued onward.

As it was upon her, Sona raised her arms to block the blows that would rain upon her, but a spear shattered against his back and more dread bloomed in her heart of what could happen.

“That’s my woman you’re about to kill, coward!” Sahn Uzal roared, holding his signature mace, hair wild and eyes manic “You came here for ME!”

These words seemed to resonate with the demon, who let out a series of screeches that she could interpret as laughter and launched itself at the redhead. Sona couldn’t just let the man she felt attraction, yes just attraction, to die. She imbued him with speed and a thin layer of shimmering shield enveloped him.

“I didn’t ask for your help” he growled as he readied his mace to swing at the demon “But I would be a fool to refuse it!”

As the mace connected with the demon’s jaw, it was knocked back and the appendage hung limply. Claws like knives slashed at the Unconquered King, but imbued with her magic, Sahn Uzal was like the wind. His boots only left dust in his wake as he danced around the creature, striking at it from wherever he could, battering and crippling the ambusher.

Slowly Sahn Uzal started to slow down and the demon no longer attacked, but rather evaded his blows and Sona felt it in her bones that it would attempt to flee.

Not on my watch! She sneered, twisting her delicate features and launched her most destructive magic wave at it, demanding, no- ordering it to stay.

The golden light struck it and for a second, two, this creature was frozen in a daze, which was all the warlord needed as he smashed the mace into it’s head, knocking the demon into the dirt, where it ceased it’s struggling.

“Summon the priests!” He called to Khatash-Li, who stumbled back onto his feet “I want them and that scroll here! NOW!”

“You stupid beast!” her lord rested against the mace as his chest bled scarlet “You decided to court death by attacking me! Afterlife will be bared to you!”

Sona wondered what he meant, but she was quickly swept away by the gaggle of mages and priests who came running, with them carrying incense, parchment, bones and other items that were necessary for whatever was that they wanted to do. Surrounding the demon’s body, Khurgan and Sahn Uzal barked orders to acolytes as a geometrical ritual sigil was drawn with salt, runes painted by their own blood and that of Sahn Uzal, who oversaw the process.

“Do you have the swords I gifted you, Khatash?” he asked and the warrior nodded, procuring a bundle with two hilts visible “You will have revenge for your lost blade!”

What are you going to do now? Sona asked, unsure about the ensuing ritual “It’s dead, isn’t it?”

The priests surrounded the beast and aimed their staves and talismans at it’s slowly stirring corpse.

“They, the demons, are almost immortal, notoriously difficult to slay” he explained to her and unraveled a scroll of crimson parchment “However, the Darkin seemed like that as well…”

She knew of the Darkin War and how it had ended, from this knowledge, her eyes widened and she turned to him as the emperor nodded.

“Indeed, I will bind this beast into Khatash’s blades- a worthy gift for my greatest soldier!”

“I am honored, my lord” the general reverently bowed and coming down from the post battle surge of bravery Sona continued her private conversation.

Is it so difficult to say the word friend? She teased as she watched Khatash-Li unfurl the cloth and place the blades in front of the captive demon.

Sahn Uzal willfully ignored that question, but his smile betrayed his answer as he proceeded towards the ritual circle, where the mages and priests had already begun their chanting. Crimson light lit up the area and the demon finally awoke, it spasmed in attempts at leaving the ritual circle, but crimson chains of blood sprung up from the ground and the runes pulsed violet-blue as did the two swords, who rose in the air, their steel burning red hot.

Khurgan tapped his staff on the ground and joined the chant with his raspy baritone in a low, monotone chant coming from the throat.

Then the screeching started, for a being of pure malice, the demon was in pain as it was being forcefully split into two and drawn into the swords. It’s claws rent the earth as they slowly became translucent and non-existent, flowing into the metal.

The glow of the swords grew and they even started to burn with black flame that blackened the very steel the blades were crafted from and when it seemed that the shadow would escape from it’s prison, the darkness was drawn back inside and vanished. No longer suspended in the air by magical power, the now blackened and slightly bent swords fell to the ground.

“All hail Sahn Uzal- Demon’s Bane!” Khatash-Li called loudly from outside the crowd. Murmurs rose like waves in the sea and soon all those that had gathered loudly and proudly called.

“Demonsbane!”

“Demonsbane!”

“Demonsbane!”

My valiant hero! Sona called to Sahn Uzal, who without a word pulled her by the hip closer to himself and she knew very well how the two of them would celebrate this achievement in private, once the feasting would reach it’s inevitable end.

This time his attentions were more than welcome and well worth the aching muscles.

With the defeat of Atakhan the Ruinbringer as Sahn Uzal had dubbed it, his reputation hit unprecedented heights. His infamy was enough for cities to open their gates without a fuss and those who still resisted were introduced to Ruin’s blades that Khatash-Li wielded. Thus far no champion had survived an encounter with him on the battlefield.

Continuing his bloody conquests, the Unconquered King had stopped taking wives as hostages to negotiate with the conquered, instead the warlord used his well earned reputation as a vicious tyrant to force surrenders, marry his heirs into his most ardent supporters and Sona was there to ensure their compliance to lessen the blow to the innocent people that would become her liege’s subjects. It was strange of the Maven to refer to the crimson haired man as such, but ever since that night after Atakhan’s defeat, most of her nights were filled with rigorous lovemaking and tutelage in pleasure that she was now aware she had greatly lacked.

Yet this only made her position in the court even more precarious as Sahn Uzal’s wives openly showed their disapproval and would often give snide remarks regarding whatever they thought would be unnoticed by their lord and husband. Yet Sona had no wish to tolerate this and with her music she repeated the haunting melodies that haunted the priests of his dark religion and with emboldened by Sahn Uzal’s unspoken support, soon the women too fell in line, seeking not to impose their will upon her as the Maven didn’t wish for power, simply to be left alone in luxury and play whatever captivated her heart and for people who loved her music to enjoy it freely. Unfortunately, his favoritism was clear and some dared to call her a queen, but that was where she put an end to it herself. She wanted no part of commanding other people, that was in her warlord’s purview.

So Sahn Uzal continued to conquer and she continued to pluck at the strings of her Ethwal. It was so for the first five years of her time spent in the distant past.

With their conquest reaching the site of Immortal Bastion of Noxus, her master had decided to stop. When she had asked why, the warlord had offered her a smile and placed a goblet in her hand as he showed her the city he had decreed would be his capitol. She only now recognized that it was the location of Noxus Prime and that was a strange coincidence if she remembered anything of history, but it was not the gigantic structure she knew, but the similarities were there.

Towering spires, wide streets and powerful walls of stone was what the warlord had erected and showing her the view that she had seem time and time again, it still managed to astound her.

“I promised my people that I would lead them South” he waved his hand at the plains “Then we grew and so did our enemies”

He remained adamant that his armies would not cross the Drekan as his people had called it and for a time she had believed him, before his fortieth birthday, he summoned his priests, generals and advisors and within a fortnight it was decided that they would march again to conquer more lands and secure more favorable access to the sea.

Sona, naturally was bidden to come with her towering master for her skills with with magic, she almost felt proud that she had managed to lie to herself so consummately.

After that campaign Sahn Uzal gifted her a golden pendant encrusted with brilliants and rubies, and kissed the back of her neck as he put it on sending shivers down her spine as he told her as long as she wore this, he would always find his way back to her.

It was the twelfth anniversary of her appearing in this era, not that she would have revealed it to just anyone.

Sahn Uzal had started to grey, currently it was just bits of hair around his temple, it suited him. He had turned from a barbarian warlord to a true emperor, learned in both statecraft and diplomacy. It would have been natural and nothing out of the ordinary, if Sona herself had followed the rational aging processes and not stuck into the eternal age of her early twenties.

“I really wanted to grow old with you together” He admitted, enveloping the blue haired woman in a close hug “Now it seems I shall enter the Hall of Bones alone, without my personal musician. Now I know the entertainment there will not be up to par…”

Oh cease your complaining, there’s no way you’re dying yet and wherever you go, I will go too! The maven proclaimed. Life here had been good to her and she had been foolish in thinking that she would escape this man.

“I know, I know” her warlord nuzzled her cheek, causing her to recoil as the mustache scratched her cheek “You know I never expected to survive past thirty, much less fulfill all of this”

Do I hear you doubting yourself? Sona sarcastically asked him “Am I dreaming?”

“There were too many things that could have gone wrong” he replied.

But they didn’t. She bid cheerfully as her hands tightened around him.

“Indeed” Sahn Uzal nodded and a calm silence settled between the two.

Quietly she thought to herself that maybe he deserved to be the one to know where she had exactly come from. They had done so much together and it felt not fair to keep him in the dark about this. Sahn Uzal may not have been the paragon of chivalry like Garen, but he was the best she could have in this savage era. Underneath that violent and domineering exterior lied a heart that beat and had bled for those who put their faith in him.

I never told you about where I came from, did I? She began quietly, not daring to look at him, her voice little more than a whisper in his head.

“I always assumed you came from the First Lands or Mount Targon, right?” he shrugged and the maven shook her head, causing the warlord to pause and truly look at her.

“Not Freljord, your clothes were too light” the red haired warlord scratched his beard “Not Shurima as they had it worse than here, before I started conquering...”

I think you should think of ‘when’, beloved… She said and awaited the inevitable shoe to fall.

“When?” Sahn Uzal repeated the question “That doesn’t make any sense woman!”

I came from a different era She rested her hands on his as his eyes widened in true surprise I came from a future far away, a thousand years or more to be exact…

“A thousand years?” the emperor echoed the words slowly, shaking his head “Are you playing tricks on me, Sona?”

No tricks. The city you built will be the birthplace of an empire called Noxus. It will reach Shurima and Ionia. She explained patiently and watched as pride filled him and she loathed to shatter it as all men were mortal, no matter how powerful.

“I see! I have gained the best of both worlds, then!” He laughed and gently grasped her shoulders “I will feast in the Hall of Bones and be remembered on land forever!”

She averted his gaze and he grasped her chin “What is it you aren’t telling me?”

You are forgotten in the future, Noxus does not claim you as it’s founder. I’m sorry, Sahn…

“Then you will have to correct that oversight!” He told her and kissed her on the brow “You are immortal after all! You will hold the memories of this age and make sure that my empire survives the ravages of time! You will be the Eternal Steward, to watch over my heirs and shape their rule”

You are cruel! Tears swelled in her eyes To leave abandon me and force to watch over the children of your wives to rule the empire you built!

“Shh,” He pulled her close against his scarred chest “I still have decades left in me and maybe until then you will get bored of me…”

Idiot, you may have loved many women, but I have only you and will love only you.

“What a cruel man I am, to be the first to ensnare and wound an immortal heart” Sahn Uzal murmured and together they mourned in their embrace, the hand that fate had dealt them.

It happened a month later after their conversation.

Sona strummed her Ethwal and Sahn played his Tovshuur, both enjoying each other’s company, which had become a little ritual of theirs.

They were playing a lively folk song from his tribe without a care in the world, when out of the corner of her eye she spied a familiar occurrence. The songstress noticed that small yellow lights now dotted the edge of her vision as the chiming sounds of chiming drew ever closer.

Sahn! Sahn! She called to her lover and tackled him, throwing his instrument aside as she grabbed him by the collar of his robes, pressing feverish kisses on his face as if they would be their last.

“Sona, what’s gotten into you?!” the emperor asked shaking himself out of stupor.

Out of the corner of Sona’s eye, the woman saw a white furry shape dart pass her and a cacophony of chimes accompanying it.

No matter what happens, I will love no other man than you, Sahn Uzal! She cried, tears swelling as she cupped his face n her hands I pray to my gods and yours that this isn’t a goodbye.

“What’s going on Sona?” He grabbed her by the shoulders looking around for whatever it was that was endangering her as tears rolled down her cheeks. Alas, she only smiled sadly and caressed his cheek.

“I love and will always love you!”

The shape stopped in front of them as the sounds of the bell chimes overwhelmed her. Out of the being she could only make out the golden round mask on it’s face, the three dots placed in a triangle shape, evenly apart.

Please don’t take me back! I beg of you! Sona screamed with tears rolling down her face to the strange creature. This impervious and mysterious did not speak and once more the holes of the mask started to glow and turn at incredible speeds which bathed the garden in a much brighter light.

With terror Sona cried out and held onto Sahn Uzal with all her might, desperate to hold on. However, when faced with a being such as his, any attempt was futile and as her vision turned white, Sona Buevelle could hear the magical instrument, her lover crying out to her and then- she knew no more.

She landed on the soft moss carpet in front of the stone altars she had found when fleeing the Mageseekers and all she could do was cry in utter agony.

Again she had lost everything. Her life, her home, her love- all had vanished at the hands of this mercurial, accursed being. She wanted to scream, to curse, to beg for it to take her back, but Sona had grown enough to understand that things did not happen just because they could. It was useless to even try to go back as Sahn probably was long dead, his name and deeds forgotten. She hoped that at the very least he was feasting in the Hall of Bones, like he had always wanted.

He must’ve been devastated by her absence, but she hoped that he would forget her and let his wives make him happy as they had tried so hard before. Maybe he would reconnect with Khatash-Li, who was sent to lead the campaign eastward- to Demacia’s current territories.

Stuggling she rose from the forest floor and dusted off her Ethwal, knowing that she had to keep moving.

First Sona needed to know the year she had found herself in and then decide her next steps. Hopefully she was around the same year when she had vanished.

She would go back to that small hamlet first and if any mageseeker wanted to arrest her, they would rue the day. While she still hated hurting people needlessly, the Maven had resigned to the fact that violence, in fact solved many problems.

As she had guessed, barely a year had passed in her time and the most recent development being that the order of mageseekers were de-fanged by Jarvan IV’s decree. This meant that she could return home without repercussions and that was what she would do.

After a days travels, on her way outside the hamlet, she spied a small girl, no older than ten, loitering on the stone fence. She was a small thing with deep crimson hair, an eared tiara and holding a one-eyed teddy bear that was worn at the seams. Obviously the child caught her gaze and defiantly asked “What you’re looking at?”

Sorry, I was just looking at your small bear, it looks like he needs a toy doctor. I’m Sona the Maven replied.

“You’re a witch too? Wicked!” her eyes glowed with childlike wonder, but that was immediately replaced by her sparking hostility as she held up the worn doll that looked that it had been torn apart, burned and put back together “This is Tibbers and he is in his prime!”

Who am I to dispute that? The songstress smiled He looks like he’s an able protector.

“He is!” The girl replied and hugged the bear to her chest, before putting it to her ear and nodding.

Is something wrong? She asked and the child shook her head.

“Tibbers likes you!” the little girl chirped, her green eyes twinkling “I’m Annie. You can’t be bad if he likes you!”

A high praise coming from a valiant toy bear Sona smiled, but curiosity got the better of her Where are your parents, Annie?

A dark look overcame the child’s face, quickly vanishing and she shook her head “It’s just me and Tibbers. Always have been…”

Sadness overcame the maven’s heart. No child should be left alone to fend for themselves and Sona knew far too well what it meant to be an orphan. Her mother had adopted her and provided her with a home, the least Sona could do was to offer Annie the same.

If you do not have anywhere to stay, you can come with me She bid gently.

“Are you working for an academy?” She asked with suspicion evident in her voice.

Now it was the blue haired woman’s turn to be perplexed, but that could wait.

I’m not with any academy, but it sounds like some bad people have tried to harm you…

“Yep” the child popped the ‘p’ “Tibbers helped me though, he’s got a worse temper than I”

Was it just Sona or did the toy bear’s remaining button eye look blazing with fire for a moment?

“You said that you weren’t with any academy and we believe you” Annie hopped down the fence with the toy bear in tow and the songstress was now feeling a distinct sense that she had witnessed something familiar.

When Sona returned home to town Buevelle, with Annie in tow, the long awaited reunion with her mother was as she expected- tearful and heartfelt. The older woman enveloped her in a bone crushing hug and flooded her with questions including about her strange dress, jewelry and Annie, who seemed to be taken with her new surroundings.

Lestara Buevelle of course asked many questions and she couldn’t lie to her mother. At first hearing her ridiculous tale, she thought her mad, but when looking at her ancient Noxian jewelry dressing, she started to believe her daughter’s words. When Sona asked about Sahn Uzal, her mother was as knowledgeable as she was, that is to say, she knew nothing.

Her heart sank at this, that her beloved was forgotten, but a new fire had been lit in her. Weeks slaving away at a desk, she wrote all she could remember of her time with the warlord, sparing no explicit detail. In the end she had finished the first draft, but any further editorial work was stopped in her tracks by a miracle.

She was pregnant.

Sona knew whether to laugh or to cry as her and Sahn’s attempts had been successful in the end, but she was a widow now. She commissioned a golden band with Sahn Uzal’s emblem engraved in it. Her mother said that the high society will be shocked, but Sona no longer cared.

Annie was not thrilled that she would be a big sister and one night the Maven caught her standing outside the garden.

Where are you going, Annie? The pregnant woman asked her.

“I want to go away!” She stomped her foot “Once you’ll have your baby bad things will start to happen! You’ll just forget me!”

Annie, I offered you my home because I’m an orphan too! Me having my child will change nothing! You will still be loved! Sona protested, but it fell on deaf ears as the child shook her head vigorously.

“No! It’s best I go. Otherwise Tibbers will get sad and everyone will go away” Annie protested, squeezing her bear closer to her chest and the bear looked less friendly the longer Sona looked at it.

Annie…

“Look big sis,” The crimson haired child huffed and threw the bear on the ground. Never before Sona had been more grateful that Buevelle estate was walled off from the town as the bear sitting on the ground transformed.

It grew into the size of the bear, his claws became sharper and fire could be seen permeating inside his entire body and it’s maw was full of razor sharp bone teeth. The bear stood there burning and Sona immediately understood what had happened. She had seen it, even participated in it.

You bound a demon to your toy bear? she quietly asked.

This question confused Annie, who rigorously shook her head “Tibbers has always been with me, he’s no demon! He’s my friend!”

Tibbers continued to look at Sona with indecipherable look in it’s eyes, but she did not sense hostility from it. It sniffed the air and then turned it’s head to Annie.

“He says he knows you from somewhere” she chirped

Impossible, I haven’t met a fire demon in my life She shook her head vehemently at which the bear shaped demon scratched his head.

“Well no matter that, we really ought to go” the child sadly smiled and Tibbers returned to his toy form, allowing Annie to pick him up “You were really cool”

Wait, Annie don’t go! Sona called for the child to turn back, but Annie refused to heed her. She started to walk, but the bear dropped to the ground, causing the girl to sigh.

“No what’s is it with you?” she asked, looking at the disguised demon “You want to stay here?!”

Fixing a hard stare at her companion Annie groaned and stomped her tiny feet again and again “Ugh fine, we will stay! Don’t get mad if this place burns to the ground though!”

It means you’re going to stay? Sona’s eyes widened and immediately she enveloped Annie in a hug against which the child thrashed, before succumbing and crying into it Shh, its fine, you and Tibbers always be welcome here, but please don’t burn anything down unless I say so, alright?

“*Sniff* alright, big sis” Annie wiped her snot in her dress “Tibbers says that he will behave as well”

Sona rubbed her back, but in her mind she questioned just what had happened to her Sahn and the empire she helped to build.

Noxus was falling.

Without any explicable reason, the dormant reservoir of Mordekaiser’s power had re-emerged from it’s millennia of stasis. A blast of dark magic shot out of the Immortal Bastion, darkening the sky and making it crackle with green-blue lightning. Out of the veil first flew souls with wings and trumpets. They flew through the Noxus Prime, proclaiming their message

“He comes! The Dread Lord Commeth! Heed him, lest be ye trod underfoot!”

Soldiers who had experienced the Ruination were frightened, those who had not were quickly informed and the city soon entered the state of total pandemonium and anarchy as monstrous undead titans accompanied by heavily armored undead soldiers stormed through the Immortal Bastion, showing no quarter to once thought peerless Trifarian Legion. They eviscerated, squashed, disemboweled and beheaded those that put up a fight. Yet these monsters weren’t the worst of Noxus enemies that had awoken.

Deathgrasp Cultists, those who had sworn themselves to the rightful ruler of Noxus, launched their strikes all across Runeterra, seeking to disrupt the empire, like snake’s venom, to allow for swifter consumption by their master who had just stepped into the material plane.

In Noxus Prime, they dealt the most damage, where they attacked guards, marked important targets for their undead brethren and committed indiscriminate attacks to sow panic and disrupt the well oiled Noxian war machine.

The powers that ruled Noxus were long aware of Mordekaiser’s imminent return, but they had underestimated how soon the attack would commence and by it’s sheer magnitude. Even with all their resources it was impossible to predict his intent.

“He comes! The Dread Lord Commeth! Heed him, lest be ye trod underfoot!”

This was the second time the message was sounded and the Immortal bastion, which was crawling with undead had fallen. Any and all symbols related to the Trifarix and the Black Rose were smashed, slashed and melted with ghastly flames to cleanse their master’s seat of power from the stench of betrayers. The steps to the fortress ran red with blood as wholesale butchery ensued. Paradoxically, these beasts kept to the Immortal Bastion, aside from the winged messengers and mages who occasionally destroyed Noxian Ballistae and other siege engines that could have attempted a counter-attack.

In the sanctum of Black Rose, one of the many clones of LeBlanc tried to escape, but ghostly chains pulled her into a monster that resembled an iron maiden, which shut its own door and enjoyed the splashing blood.

Among one of the undead that walked outside of the gate was a towering figure, clad in intimidating and ornate plate armor, wielding two blades, behind him marched a legion.

“That Pale Witch will pay for stealing my blades” the commander of these undead snarled and pointed at the nearest tunnel “You will uproot those weeds! Show no quarter!”

Outside the messengers cried the third and final time.

“REJOICE! REJOICE! OBLIVION COMMETH! HE IS HERE! THE DREAD LORD HAS COME!”

Inside the most secret of chambers, only known to LeBlanc, the Matron of the Black Rose, laid a suit of armor, enchained and covered in seals. However, the Pale Woman should have known better than to think Mordekaiser’s anchor was sufficiently imprisoned and now she would pay for her arrogance. In the horned helmet’s depths, two pinpricks of green-blue light ignited. The armour which had waited for more than a millennia was filled by the spirit it was tailored for. Gauntleted hand grasped Nightfall’s haft and lifted the gargantuan mace over his shoulder and took his first steps into the material world once more.

Mordekaiser, the Iron Revenant, the Only King of Noxus had come and he allowed himself a dark chuckle at the expense of frightened Black Rose cultists that had remained in the room when he arose. He did not even raise his mace. They fell back, simply dead from their exposure to his magic. Those were plain, average souls, but even those had a place in his paradise, his Mitna Rachnun.

There was almost nothing better than a sack of a city, but his vision was turned to the shining golden pendant resting in a silk pillow. This was how he had endured all this time, this was what he had built all of this for and there was nothing of greater significance than the wearer of this pendant.

“Answer me woman!” Jericho Swain shouted at his rival and lover as he slammed both of his hands, both human and demonic onto the paper ridden desk inside the captain’s quarters aboard the Noxian Dreadnought, “Leviathan”

“You assured me that the Revenant was still gathering his forces!” he did not care that he could’ve been heard outside the room.

“I thought the same!” Emilia LeBlanc shouted back as she continued to breathe shallowly at the news of Mordekaiser’s return.

“No matter, we’ll have to fight him, or else we can tell Runeterra goodbye” the silver haired general pinched the bridge of his nose with his human hand as Raum was terrified, refusing to even leave the ship’s confines.

The Deceiver nodded and finally having calmed herself looked him in the eye “What is it that you called me here for? A very fortunate sixth sense? It’s a long way from Noxus Prime...”

“I knew nothing of this imminent catastrophe” the Grand General answered “The reason I came here is that I believe that I have found something of Mordekaiser’s, before his resurrection as undead, when he was first a man of flesh and blood”

“And what do you expect to find there?” LeBlanc remained skeptical “We both know that he was Sahn Uzal, a right bastard and a legendary conqueror”

“But what do you know of him as a person, before his death?” Swain asked and savoured the thoughtful look in her eyes “If we can understand him as a person we may find better ways to defeat him. You found Atakhan’s blades, didn’t you?”

“I and Vladimir took them from his Captain’s corpse” she nodded

The Grand General nodded back, but the curiosity got the better of him “Did you succeed in releasing the Demon within?”

Ruefully the raven haired woman shook her head “We need more time, the binding was too thorough”

“A pity” Swain conceded “Perhaps now with the added pressure, you will be swifter in finding a solution”

“If you don’t succeed in losing Noxus first….”

So bickering and trading barbs continued as both left the ship together and trekked through the coastal mountains of Drakkengate until Swain stopped before a mossy stone wall in a seemingly random spot and pressing a stray protruded stone that was jutting out of the wall, a doorway opened with a hiss.

Quietly the two walked inside, before that reassuring themselves that they won’t end up being trapped inside the vault.

“I expected something more grandiose” The Pale Woman admitted, while Jericho couldn’t disagree more with the statement.

“It was a matter of secrecy, it should be hidden, lest grave-robbers loot this place as well.”

“Oh what would be so damned important that this bastard hid it so well?” the illusionist huffed as they proceeded inside small stone hallway leading up to the vault. It was fit enough for two people and surely they wouldn’t waste the chance to be both of the first to see the vaults contents.

The door was made from stone with three layers of enchantments, each more complex than the last, but they were positively ancient and child’s work for LeBlanc, who deftly turned each enchantment on one another and the door was safe in under a minute.

“Let’s see what we have here” the Matron of the Black Rose muttered and cast a spell of light from her staff, to illuminate their way. As they proceeded into the vault, both of them found that there was little conventional treasure to be had.

No jewels or chests of gold were strewn about, jewelry there was sparse and instead of magical storehouse, they had found something intimately private. Emilia saw statues of a beautiful woman strumming an Ionian Ethwal, paintings of the same woman blue haired woman who demurely smiled at the artist, withered flowers laid in piles to the most detailed and beautiful sculptures of them all.

Yet while LeBlanc continued to inspect the art to find the identity of this mysterious woman, Swain had already done so. He could not come to grips with it, but there was something more interesting, a shelf full of scrolls and leather bound tomes. Unrolling it, the Grand General of Noxus saw in modern Demacian, clear as day a written title for one of the scrolls

“Of Sahn Uzal and the founding of his Empire- by Sona Buevelle -Volume II”

“How can this be?” Jericho Swain muttered to himself as his hand slightly quivered and LeBlanc was quick enough to teleport over and peer over his shoulder, eyes widening in recognition.

“Is this the little chit you were enamored with? The Mute Demacian Maven?” she asked in disbelief as well, taking another look at the vault, before another very unladylike gasp escaped her.

“At least we know that there might be a mortal weakness. Now we only need to find her” LeBlanc shook her head again as she read what the songstress had written, only now believing its contents.

“Sona Buevelle has been missing for the past year and I doubt even she could stop it” the warlock admitted casually and the Matron sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I will call my forces together and you better start reaching out to other nations as soon as you can.” she ordered Swain and vanished before his eyes, before the demon’s host could say something.

“How typical of her” he muttered at her vanishing act, then stole a single glance at one of Sona’s portraits and sighed before leaving “It’s truly such a shame...”

As Noxus was being torn apart by the undead legions of the Iron Revenant, another army had split off mainland and was making it’s way East, towards Demacia. Unlike the methodical destruction and conquest that Mordekaiser’s host was known for, this one was a force of almost only cavalry and messengers. Eyewitnesses reported that they only retaliated when attacked and at the helm of this formation, atop of gargantuan skeletal iron steed, rode a general of sorts, for not many knew how the Iron Revenant looked and those who did were far busier to combat the ever growing undead horde that fought to reclaim Noxus and deliver into their master’s cold undead hands.

Their Grand General had called a summit of peace in Noxian controlled Shurima to combat this undead threat, though it was unclear which nations would attend as to name a few, Piltover and Zaun were hastily fortifying their holdings, while Ionia had doubled down on expelling the Noxian invaders, who found themselves outmatched and without supplies due to Mordekaiser’s actions.

Demacia was of course starting to mobilize, lifting all restrictions on joining the military, even issuing pardons to Sylas former and current followers, if only they would work to curtail whatever ambitions the Iron Revenant possessed.

Sona Buevelle, was almost immediately conscripted, but then, as a scion of nobility, was given captaincy from the start, but the general staff was far more hesitant to grant Annie her officer’s commission despite her magical capabilities. It was reasonable, but reasonable quickly fell out the window, when in the demonstration Tibbers turned into a gargantuan monster of flame with too many mouths and appendages. Both women understood that once they had saved their home, they would need abandon it.

To their misfortune a spy was planted in their midst, Sargent Dithers former and “reformed mageseeker”, whose hidden and fairly obvious task was to follow them and report to his superiors any sign of treachery. Annie had already offered to sic Tibbers on him once, but Sona at least wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Nokmirch had called for aid and it was better for your allies land to suffer instead of your own, no matter how pragmatically ruthless and wrong it sounded.

They were currently in Alderburg, which was one of the routes the undead host would take to Demacia and thus defensive lines were erected there, to keep Central Runeterra a contested grounds, not just ceded to the enemy.

Sona had been given a mageseeker’s azure frock coat, with Petricite breastplate enchanted with runes of protection and thankfully missing the quarter mask that was iconic to the order. Annie on the other hand wore a Demacian schoolgirl’s uniform and Tibbers was dressed as a miniature Garen. Underneath all that clothing and armor, she still wore the pendant Sahn Uzal had given her, it being the source of her strength and inheritance to their child who would come into this world in half a year’s time.

She was given command on one of the battlements of the western flank, where it was a lesser chance that the undead would strike there as the eastern flank led straight to Demacian cities and while she did not like it, it was safer that way and Annie’s safety was a priority. Sona had tried sending the little spitfire away, but she refused, going as so far as to climb out of carriage as it drove off.

Lieutenant Buevelle, are you ready? Sona asked the little girl, who nodded excitedly.

“Yes ma’am, Captain Buevelle, ma’am, Private Tibbers as well!” she did her best imitation of a salute and raised the stuffed bear for all to see.

The ordinary soldiers around them chuckled at Annie’s antics, but some rightfully blamed Sona for allowing a child into a potential warzone. Yet they didn’t know just how dangerous Annie was and that there was no way to keep her away from the fighting.

The Maven was confident in her skills and if it came to worst, both of them would just run away.

Little Spitfire, Sona adressed her adopted daughter sternly This is going to be very dangerous. If anything defeats Tibbers, call me and we’ll run away together. Alright?

“Alright big sis” she nodded and sat on a crate on the battlements as armed with crossbows and Piltovan matchlocks, Demacian and Nockmirchian forces awaited their dance with destiny.

It was little past midday, when the advance scouts on Silverwings returned exhausted, carrying missives that they heard from the enemy. Unlike the Ruination that had come from the Shadow Isles, this enemy was far more insidious, for it proclaimed a message one wouldn’t expect from such creatures.

“Emissary! Send your Emissary! Send your Emissary to entreat with the Master!”

The message was confusing and as the skies darknened and on the horizon Sona could see the green-blue galloping host of undead, at the helm of it rode a gargantuan knight of iron, carrying a large mace on his shoulder, one that seemed to glow with dark magic. His steed spit fire and his riders were beings whom upper half that belonged to knights and lower half belonging to that of metallic horses, on their backs sat skeletal archers with bows and burning arrowtails. Running in front of them was a vanguard of metallic lizard-centipededes with spectral hands for appendages.

They carried no banner, for none was needed.

As the host neared, in the sky the trumpeted metal angels of death repeated their proclamation now louder and louder.

“Emissary! Send your Emissary! Send your Emissary to entreat with the Master!”

The defenders among them clutched at their weapons and the Maven strummed a melody of bravery, of calmness that spread across her men and those others on the battlements, despite the fact an undead army was swiftly approaching them, numbering into untold thousands. Even with the bulk of Demacian military here it would have a lot of casualties since she doubted that the spirits would lack a mage among their ranks.

Again the winged monsters proclaimed their master’s will, only now they hovered above the grand gate of Alderburg.

“Emissary! Send your Emissary! Send your Emissary to entreat with the Master!”

In all of Alderburg, there was only the young Lady who had spent nary a year as the ruler of the country and Sona felt pity for her as she would now have to face the Iron Revenant by herself on the open field. However, the Iron Revenant waited, his armored form sitting comfortably on his gargantuan steed. With a slow trot, he rode out of his formation and set down his mace on the ground looking more like a statue than an undead being. Standing at 20 feet height with his steed, Mordekaiser was a horrifying sight to behold.

Those green-blue eyes burned with malicious intelligence as he waited for the poor lady Odelyn.

The gate creaked open with a suffering groan and Lady Odelyn, dressed in full plate with the heraldry of her house, rode out on her horse to meet the Iron Revenant, with a small group of knights for protection, as if that could save them.

the Iron Revenant nor his horse looked at them, focusing solely on Lady Odelyn.

Sona could not hear their conversation, but she saw that she was talking with the undead and both exchanged pleasantries, she saw that the Lady shook her head with rejection and Mordekaiser raising his mace in the sky as the living retreated back to the castle walls. The undead imitation angels continued to preach their master’s will

“You refused! You refused Master! You refused his kindness, you invited death!”

The response was instantenous all ranged weapons, magic and siege weapons were unleashed upon Mordekaiser and his host, but it proved to be futile as all arrows and spells bounced off their metal shells. This barrage continued until Mordekaiser threw his mace at the city gate, cracking the wood, but not destroying it immediately.

Annie, now! Sona called and the little girl tossed the plush bear over the battlements with all her might, where first a smell of sulfur appeared, then the fiery demon in all his glory lighting up like candle in the night, evaporating all of the water in the city’s moat as it took first steps towards Mordekaiser and his army roaring with it’s thousand mouths and tongues of flame.

“Tybaulk” he addressed the demon, who stood before him “have you too betrayed me? My iron burns badly compared to the living. There is always a place for you at my side.”

“YOUR NAME IS TIBBERS!” Annie hollered from the battlements and the demon actually turned it’s monstrous head towards her “YOU PROMISED THAT YOU WOULD BE MY BEST FRIEND! YOU LIAR!”

“What a powerful sorceress” the Iron Revenant said as watched Tybaulk struggle between the two commands.

“Join me” he spoke to the child “I will grant whatever is your heart’s desire!”

“I WANT TIBBERS AND I WANT YOU TO LEAVE ME AND MY BIG SISTER ALONE! SWEAR-!” she tried to answer and the sargent immediately clamped her mouth shut.

What are you doing?! Sona screamed at Dither

“The witch is a danger to all of us, she summoned that creature and will lose control over it, then it will kill all of us!” the former mageseeker spoke in frenzy to the soldiers, all of them as Annie struggled in his grip, attempting to kick him in the shins “if we kill her, the demon might disappear and we will have a far better chance of victory than with her alive!”

I’m warning you- let her go! It is the only way we can survive this! Sona tried to plead with the man, but he was resolute in his rigtheousness.

“Seize the captain too, she will be judged as she brought this little monster here in the first place!” Dither ordered the Demacians, her own countrymen as he drew a dagger from his belt. While some had doubt and regret in written in their faces, they did not stop. Some mouthed a cowardly “sorry”, some looked at her with disgust. Even Silverwings and their noble riders refused to intervene.

She had been a participant in Sahn Uzal’s conquests, she had killed people by his side and if she had hurt those that would want to harm her Annie, Sona would excise them from Runeterra without hesitation.

The Maven of Strings strummed her Ethwal and within a heartbeat, those who heard it became enthralled, even if they wore petricite armor, as long as their helmets or earmuffs didn’t have the magic weakening material in them, they would be helpless before her power.

Release the girl! Sona commanded and with disgust watched how pleasant and gleeful the former mageseeker was, as he let Annie go, who kneed him in his groin for her troubles. In this moment, she was the same kind of traitor as was Sylas, but that did not mean that she wanted to join with the undead tyrant who had terrorized Runeterra for centuries.

“I am still waiting for your answer!” the Iron Revenant called out, before the Maven’s voice touched him.

Spare me, my sister and the innocent and you will have no quarrel from me, Tybaulk and Annie. She spoke to Mordekaiser directly and to her surprise, the undead iron horse, together with it’s master rode on air itself as it was solid and stopped so that his helmet slits could look into her eyes and she in his.

“ “Wherever you go I will go too” Do you remembers those words you spoke to me all those thousands of years ago, Sona?” The deep voice rumbled almost too quietly that she was the only one who could hear it, but already there were other Silverwings in the air and as instructed the messengers moved to intercept those that dared to interrupt their lord.

Sahn? is it really you? Have I finally lost my senses?! Now she no longer could hold her tears at the questions, at her treachery, at this realization What happened to you?

“You see clearly-I died, my love” Mordekaiser, no Sahn Uzal, replied “There was no Hall of Bones for me”

Her heart broke again, a second time in this short while, seeing him like this, instead of the dashing and rough around the edges conqueror, the man she loved had become a walking fortess, a hollow shell of iron, puppeteered by his will.

He had become Mordekaiser! The most frightening being that had walked Runeterra! Demonbinder, Destroyer- those were only a few of his titles and all of them earned. She felt lightheaded all of a sudden and her knees wobbled.

One brave Silverwing avoided the undead and was heading straight for Sona, when with a casual swing of his mace, the eagle and its rider plummeted straight to the ground, struggling to stay afloat.

“Are you going to take us away? How do you know big sis and Tibbers? How is that horse flying?” Annie attacked Mordekaiser with questions and Tybaulk nodded as well, while Sona wanted to protest, to scream that this was not right that they shouldn’t come to him. Tears streamed down her face and a spectral hand pulled them towards him. Metal arms caught Sona and her adopted daughter with surprising gentleness and the three of them sat on Mordekaiser’s steed, including the still dazed mageseeker.

“Tybaulk, receive your first reward!” the Iron Revenant called as he litfed the mageseeker, still grasped in hand, before turning to Sona.

“Cancel the spell,” he spoke to her as the man dangled, being held on a single leg “The fate we’re bestowing him is a kindness he would not return”

If a year ago anyone would have told the blue haired woman what she would be doing today, she would have claimed them insane, but now. A smile slowly grew on her lips and with righteous wrath, the mageseeker was freed from the Ethwal’s power.

It lasted for exactly that long for Dither to realize:

Who held him;

Where he was being held;

Where were the witches he tried to harm.

With a scream from the condemned’s lips, Sahn Uzal dropped the man into the myriad fiery maws of Tybaulk. The screaming ceased shortly afterwards and he was devoured so swiftly that Sona didn’t even smell the burning flesh.

Above them his iron messengers gathered, like flocks of metal carrion crows, some were a little battered, the rest were untouched. With a wave of Sahn Uzal’s, no Mordekaiser’s, hand, the creatures flew out to proclaim again and again.

“A Queen! A Queen! Finally we have our Queen!

A Queen? Sona looked at him uneasily You never gave up on it…

“On you?” Mordekaiser shook his boulder sized helmet and with a single finger lifted her chin to look at where his eyes would’ve been “Never!”

You’re insane She muttered, shaking her head, pushing away the large metal finger to wipe her tears and...and... I’m no better for loving you!

“And what a pair we’ll make!” Mordekaiser chuckled and turned his steed to gallop back onto the ground, as Tybaulk shifted back into his doll form, allowing Annie to catch him back.

As they safely landed onto the ground and Tybaulk was secured in the redheaded girl’s arms, Mordekaiser urged his steed into full gallop as he and his army retreated.

Exhausted beyond measure, the blue haired woman let herself rest in his metal arms next to the very energetic Annie as they rode into the sunset towards the night and the following day.

In this single day Sona Buevelle had become the enemy of free people of Runeterra and the Black Rose, the Queen of Mitna Rachnun and the Queen of Noxus. Before she would have been anxious and feared for her life, of her suitability in such a status, the enemies she had made, but as she closed her eyes and Mordekaiser’s face in her mind’s eye shifted into Sahn Uzal’s, she recalled their many rides through the plains with her in his arms, wind caressing her cheeks and this feeling, at this moment was enough for her.

Tomorrow she would tell him of their child growing inside of her.

Tomorrow he would show her the thousand years of his labor

Tomorrow they would argue with each other about all the things they couldn’t argue without one another.

However, that day would come- tomorrow, but not today, where this tale leaves us.

Fin.