Chapter Text
Deep within the heart of Ionia's mountain forests, time stood still beneath the eternal breath of the monsoons. A thick, rain-drenched tropical forest blanketed the steep mountain slopes, blurring the boundaries between earth and sky. A heavy mist hung in the air, turning a light drizzle into a dreamy veil that enveloped the First Lands. The forest breathed with rain and intoxicating blooms—something utterly unfamiliar to anyone raised among the cobblestones and steam engines of Piltover, but second nature to scholars like Santangelo and his followers.
The moisture of the Ionian morning crept beneath her clothes, but Pamellia was far too focused on her work to mind the chill. Holding a pair of tweezers, she delicately plucked a tiny, glowing blue flower, carefully transferring it into a glass vial to avoid any damage.
— A magnificent specimen for the nursery... — she muttered softly to herself, exhaling a quiet breath.
Examining the vial with intense curiosity, she lifted it toward the stray beams of sunlight cutting through the dense canopy. A faint smile touched the corner of her lips before she turned her head towards the young man, looking straight at him through the transparent glass walls.
The assassin hadn’t budged. He sat indifferently on a moss-covered, fallen giant of a tree, leaning his back against a neighboring trunk, seemingly entirely unmoved by all this botanical romanticism and phenomenal beauty. The rain continued to fall in a fine mist that swirled around them, but here, among the ancient shrines and wild nature of Navori, his calm presence was perhaps the only familiar reminder of a real world where people existed alongside plants and wild beasts.
— You seem to treat this like some tedious chore, Mr. Shieda, — her voice rang out brightly against the backdrop of the quiet forest and the distant chirping of birds circling temple roofs. — This is an entire uncharted eco-resource, and you look like you’ve been sent here as punishment. Are you really that bored with me?
The assassin slowly raised his gaze, his indifference almost ostentatious. He casually twirled a thin Ionian dagger between his fingers, letting the blade catch ghostly glints of light.
— For you, everything here is an "uncharted eco-resource" and exotic wonder, — his voice was low, cutting clearly through the sound of rain and rustling pine needles. — For me, it's just another thicket where it’s far too easy for a bandit to hide, or a local hunter who dislikes out-of-town guests, the Kinkou Order, or perhaps Noxian saboteurs.
Pamellia tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes, and abruptly lowered the vial.
The man gave a slight nod toward the distant, mist-shrouded mountain peaks.
— Sitting here watching you dig in the mud for a specimen that will die in a test tube within a week is the least risky part of this trip. So pack up your vials, Pamellia. If we want to get out of here before a real downpour starts—and before we're soaked to the bone—we’d better keep moving.
The pink-haired girl carefully corked the vial. She narrowed her eyes at his words, putting on a childish, theatrical pout, though deep down she knew he was right. The Piltovian scientist finally secured the cork and tucked the vial away into the inner pocket of her canvas bag, where other similar trophies already chimed softly against each other.
— Stop being so dramatic, — she tossed back defensively, turning away as she rose from the damp moss and brushed the raindrops from her knees. — This "specimen" adapts better than half the Piltovian politicians. Besides, you agreed to this escort. How could anyone trade such majesty for the concrete and stuffy walls of the City of Progress?
— I’ve never been there, and I have zero desire to go. Get bored enough, and... I’ll just leave you here all by yourself among these wild raptors and reptiles. Oh, and maybe bandits, too! Then we’ll see how you defend yourself—with your vials and bag, or with that sharp tongue of yours. — The boy smiled teasingly, cockily, clearly pleased by the thought that she wouldn’t last a minute in this forest without him.
Pamellia held a theatrical pause, indignation flashing in her eyes.
— Are you threatening to leave me face-to-face with the local fauna?! If you walk away right now, I swear at the very first opportunity I’ll make sure your favorite pants and your beloved scythe, Rhaast, smell exclusively of strawberry soap!
The assassin let out a quiet, mocking huff, devoid of an ounce of respect for her threats. He slowly stretched, adjusting the strap of the bag holding the wrapped scythe behind his back.
— Strawberry soap? — He raised an eyebrow, a thin, faint smile touching his lips. — Oh~ My apologies, my lady, that would be capital punishment! That little demon inside detests any smell other than blood. I’ve always wondered about that Piltovian habit of running your mouth where you ought to keep it shut, — he added more seriously, walking past her and taking the lead onto the slippery path among the giant trees. — Step right in my footprints. If you start staring at your little flowers again and fall even a step behind—I’ll look for you at the base of the temple, and it’s far from guaranteed you’ll be in one piece. Or~ I’ll just leave you behind. I hear raptors run around here. They’re such unpleasant creatures this time of year...
He began descending the path without looking back.
— K-Know what?! If you walk away and leave me right now! I will! I will... GRRRH!
Pamellia puffed out her cheeks, wearing the expression of universal tragedy, and sharply turned away, tossing her pink hair. She had just opened her mouth to unleash another wave of commentary on his manners when a terrifying, hoarse, yet loud sound suddenly echoed from the dense thicket to their right:
— Qvkr-r-r-gh-sh-sh-kr-r-r-p!
Milly dropped into a crouch instantly, squeezing her eyes shut and instinctively clutching her bag of vials as all descriptions of local predators flashed through her mind. Her indignation vanished in a flash, replaced by anxious, half-whispered rambling:
— Oh-oh-oh... A raptor... I wonder if that's a male's attack cry, do they hunt in packs? Though no, the anatomical structure of their vocal sac should produce a different resonance... Or is it a juvenile? Hoarse? Oh, poor creature, I must have wandered into its habitat...
She didn't even get to finish her scientific musings before strong arms swept her off her feet, and a second later, Pamellia found herself slung over Kayn’s shoulder. Since she was hanging facing the dense forest, she couldn't see a thing except the receding clearing.
— Hey! Put me down! What do you think you're doing?! — she shrieked indignantly, pounding her fists against his back. — Put me down right now, or I... I'll scratch your entire back!
— And leave you alone with a raptor?
— You're right there! This is a living creature under stress, and you're dragging me away! It could be a brand-new species, and you aren't even letting me document its behavioral patterns!
Kayn hid a smile and barely choked back laughter at her rambling about the "predator's stress," holding her a bit tighter so she wouldn't fall, and moved steadily forward through the bushes, whispering quietly under his breath:
— Easy, biologist. Judging by the sound, this predator is very angry at your lectures. Just bear with it.
— But, Kayn! They rarely ever come out near people!
— Qvkr-r-r-gh-sh-sh-kr-r-r-p!
The girl let out a frightened squeak, cutting her protest short.
The assassin maintained an icy composure, fighting hard not to give away his grin.
— Oh~ Did the biologist suddenly change her mind about studying angry raptors and decide to admire the forest from my shoulder instead?
— You are... simply... unbearable, — the pink-haired girl muttered quietly.
— I'll take that as a compliment, — Kayn purred playfully, giving her a slight, playful shift to settle her more comfortably. — Though you have to admit: you passed the stress— Kayn says flirtatiously and softly repeats the sound of a raptor softly mimicking a raptor's call.
— WAIT, THAT WAS YOU MAKING THOSE SOUNDS?
Kayn burst out laughing.
— I plead entirely guilty.
Pamellia gasped in indignation, and her hands, which had been dangling helplessly in the air, abruptly clenched into fists and began hammering against his sturdy back with double the energy.
— You... you fraud! A pathetic actor! MENACE! — she squeaked, trying at once to slap his shoulder and break free from his iron yet... pleasantly warm grip. — I was over here pouring my heart out about behavioral factors, worrying about the ecosystem, showing empathy for the wild, and you... oh, I'll show you... Urghhh!
Kayn just laughed, genuinely and infectiously. He loved teasing her. Millie was the only one who reacted at all to his stupid jokes. And the only one who secretly liked them.
He kept his balance with ease, despite all her desperate attempts to start a mutiny right on his back.
— Oooooh~ what a lovely massage! Keep going, my love. Though your enthusiasm deserves a better outlet, my dear researcher, — he chuckled, giving her a slight, playful shift to settle her more comfortably so she wouldn't fall. — Though you have to admit: you passed the stress test with flying colors.
— I'll show you a stress test... — she hissed furiously, though her voice already carried a hint of hidden, clumsy amusement at her own naivety. — Just you wait until we get out of this forest, I will...
— M? What will you do?
— I'll make you sit with me the entire night and listen to a lecture on baby raptors!
— Sounds like I'll have a wonderful bedtime story.
— Kayn!!!
Kayn burst out laughing, a genuine, infectious sound, adjusting her weight smoothly with a single movement so she wouldn't slip off his shoulder.
— Deal, — he replied with satisfaction.
— You're... some kind of phenomenon. Always inventing something new just to grab my attention and distract me from work... — came a muffled voice from his shoulder, though this time there wasn't a trace of real anger left—only genuine, helpless annoyance melting into the sound of the rain pouring over ancient pines, pink blossoms, and the mossy roofs of ancient shrines.
Kayn smiled softly, thoroughly enjoying her grumbling.
— I'm in love with you, what can you do about it?