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“When the last leaf has dropped away,
When tired wings no longer fly,
When every sea has dried its salt,
And all the world turns to ash and die,
Will you still stay by my side?”
Lately, Rakan had been crooning those same dismal lines over and over again. Every time he reached the final sentence, he would turn to look at her with a bittersweet smile, just like back when he was still trying so desperately to win over a stone-cold Xayah. She knew his hodgepodge nature all too well. He sang simply because he felt like it; it had nothing to do with their actual circumstances, or his mood for that matter. Hearing it two or three times a day was honestly getting a bit tiring.
Look at him, pulling out the instrument again, warming up his vocal cords once more. That song was originally a Vastayan love ballad, or so Rakan said, though Xayah had never heard it before. She knew very little about music.
“So back when we first met, where were you hiding this song?”
“I hid it right after the first time I sang it.”
Rakan smirked playfully. What a completely useless answer. The morning sun cast mischievous glints through his eyes, matching his grin. Xayah smiled too, but only for a fleeting moment. Rakan still liked to call her smile a purple smile, which always sounded a bit odd.
“It’s good, right, miella?”
“Since when do you ever sing badly, mieli?”
“But singing it too much gets boring,” Xayah kept the second half of her thoughts to herself. She didn’t want to throw a bucket of cold water on her golden-shining lover.
“That much is obvious. But the song itself is really wonderful too; it’s just a pity I only remember this much.”
The peacock danced his fingers across the strings of the brand-new lute. He’d borrowed it from a familiar tavern. After all, traveling through battlefields hardly left any room for carrying an instrument to satisfy his heart’s desire. Safe to say, the feeling of holding a lute again was pure bliss, the kind of ecstasy that comes after being starved of it for so long.
The forest birds chirped in a lively chorus, their crisp song seemingly melting into the lush green canopy, blending into the violet raven's ears that were already overflowing with music.
It had been a long time since she last returned to this forest. She had missed it so much that amid the chaos of war, she had carved out a little time at early dawn to stay here with him. The stream by her feet still bubbled with the same joyful song, bringing back that untouched feeling of cool refreshment that caressed her heart. Every high-water season, she and her father used to come here to catch those shimmering blue-finned fish with their slick, slippery skin. She had been told those fish journeyed across countless rivers and streams, only to gather right here at the headwaters. And then there were the sweet, plump fruits she could never tire of eating, the nutty tubers sleeping deep underground as autumn rooted itself, and the short, stumpy mushrooms used for the rich, fragrant soup her mother used to brew. The forest of Puboe gave her tribe everything they could ever ask for: nurturing and gentle as a mother’s embrace, resolute and unyielding as the posture of fathers and brothers.
She remembered the dawn perching upon a forest greeted only by bird songs, and the twilight fading slowly over every leaf. She remembered a hunting trip where she and her father were trapped in a stone cave by a violent storm. She was shivering with cold despite the extra coat her father had offered her, her ears ringing from the roaring wind as it searched every corner of the cave, eager to snuff out the fire they were desperately struggling to keep alive for light and warmth. The thunderous rumbles sounded like exploding artillery. She endlessly regretted losing two fat rabbits in the frantic rush to find shelter, a broken promise to her mother. When the new day dawned, her father carried his sleeping daughter on his back, exhausted from her childhood fears, trudging through the forest to get home. Standing at the threshold, her mother looked terribly worried. Brushing aside the matter of the two lost rabbits, she wrapped her arms tightly around them both.
Oh, there were so many stories from her childhood, as nonstop as Rakan’s chatter. He knew nearly all of them by heart. She felt relieved that they had not yet trampled their filthy feet into this forest, a place brimming with childhood memories that had taken root so deeply, much like the ancient trees standing here.
Xayah cupped a handful of water and splashed it onto her face. Now, those memories were all that remained. Everything had drifted away into the realm of the past. She gazed at the water, wishing she could freeze the stream that continuously carried her longing away.
“When peace has vanished from the land,
When all her children come to hear
The weeping of their home and kin,
Will you rise up with me, my dear?
To crush the foe, to take our stand.”
Rakan’s voice swelled, growing far steadier than the faltering melody from before. Xayah was a little surprised, but she let him lose himself in the song drifting from his memory anyway. “Damn, that peacock's really got a voice,” even someone as indifferent to music as her couldn't help but admire. The closer two people become, the more they came to embrace and delight in each other’s quirks and passions. Without them, true intimacy would never be complete.
With the melody in his memory completely faded out, the peacock had no choice but to carry on with aimless, shapeless humming. Xayah blurted out:
“Once the Noxians are gone for good, I’ll build a house right here. I’ll sit and listen to you sing and play all day, or whatever else you want to do.”
“Awesome! We’ll become wild birds. Wild birds of Puboe! Though I hope we don’t turn into those mutated ones. Their calls sound utterly ghastly.”
“We won’t. We’ll hunt them, then roast them right by this stream.”
She let out a soft laugh. Rakan suddenly felt a wave of lightness wash over him, as weightless as the radiant golden feathers draping his back. Xayah was rarely—so very rarely—like this. Her heart remained heavy with worry for the Vastaya, for Ionia. With every drop of their kin’s blood spilled, her heart seemed to tighten just a little more. He feared that one day, it would break completely.
“Do you remember that stretch of forest filled with ground orchids I once mentioned? We’ll get married there, and we’ll have beautiful children. I’ll try cooking, learn to play an instrument, practice singing… I’ll try not to touch my plumage, and I’ll wander through the forest of my childhood, only to collapse right in front of the doorstep of our future home when I return. I’ll love you all day long, Rakan.”
Xayah spoke tenderly, letting the words fade into a lingering silence. Rakan seemed utterly overjoyed. He listened intently, not missing even that brief moment of quiet, waiting for her to continue.
“Of course, all of that will only happen after the two of us fulfill our duty.”
Smiling, he plucked a deep purple wildflower and spun it effortlessly on his fingertips, causing the blossom to whirl round and round. He then placed the stem in his mouth, savoring the pure sweetness of the nectar oozing out. He loved these flowers, even if he could never remember their name. Their sharp, deep-purple petals resembled Xayah’s plumage, though her feathers were far tougher than this.
“We will. The two of us.”
Without a word, both of them stood up together. Rakan stretched, slung his instrument over his shoulder, and whispered a quiet promise.
“I’ll be returning you soon. Just wait; I’ll make sure to buy you for real. And that love song will be played on you, once I remember every last bit of it.”
Xayah spoke in the language of the Lhotlan, her feathers gleaming for a fleeting moment.
“Anta kh’ali-sa, Rakan?”
The flamboyant peacock smoothed back his hair, catching his reflection in a tiny bronze mirror. He tossed it into the air, caught it deftly in his palm, and looked straight into the raven’s eyes. She saw those sky-blue eyes flash with resolve.
“Kh’aliz-sa.”
The children of the wild moved swiftly and surely, striding forward to meet the approaching war.
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Meaning of the dialogue in Baraashi (the language of the Lhotlan tribe): “Are you ready, Rakan?” “I am ready.”
This short exchange is based on my own research into the language, as Riot hasn't provided these exact lines in-game.