Chapter Text
In the light you find us
A watchful eye above.
In the dark you guide us
So gentle is your love.
May Mother Moon hide us
From the merciless sun.
This night is impenetrable, absent of the moon’s comforting glow. It coaxes, gentle as a mother’s weathered hands. The Noxian ship finally docks well into the early hours of the morning. They brush over the land like looming shadows, silent and traceless. Their footsteps are surgically precise but as graceful as dancers’. Four pairs in total, half in number of the phases of the heavens. Any more, and their convent’s defenses would be insufficient. Aphelios’ absence in particular was dangerous as the swiftest and deadliest blade against their oppressors. But he is needed here, now, in the First Lands.
The Spirit Realm is a tangible thing upon these islands. It thickens the air that siphons through his damaged throat. He can feel her, Alune, even more so than under the effects of the Noctum. It’s as if she stands right behind him, peering over his shoulder. Her touch reassures him now, sensing his emotions. But it only intensifies his mournful affection, for Aphelios has not known her embrace since she crossed into the Spirit Realm. He has not had hands upon him that didn’t intend harm.
Their orbits have realigned. His numbed heart quickens for the first time in ages.
Only now have the four Lunari warriors reached this Ionia that their most sacred champion has disappeared to. Aphelios has followed her trail for months, first stowing away on a Shuriman merchant ship headed for Noxus, and then a wealthy Noxian aristocrat’s leisure vessel to Ionia. The Noxian woman was oblivious to their true affiliation thanks to their disguises, mistaking Aphelios for an Ionian native. All she required as payment was a handful of jewelry, trinkets really. Most of it had been pilfered from Solari corpses and held no value to any of them. Holding the gemstones against his bare flesh made it burn as if he’d touched hot coals. They desired to be rid of it more than anything.
These Ionians do not trust outsiders. Aphelios knows this the very moment he and his brothers and sisters leave their boat. This is a Noxian territory, carved from the ancient land through flames and blood. Those subjugated by the empire eye the Lunari group with suspicion. Dockworkers and fishermen, the only souls milling about here at this hour. Though Aphelios is welcomed as a “child of the First Lands.” There is irony to it, given he had never stepped foot here before in his life, and most assuredly his parents have never done so either. Alune finds amusement in this as well, her laughter echoes in his head.
They will stay in this Noxian territory for several days gathering intel and securing a base of operations. Soldiers point them towards a local innkeeper who cares little for their origin or loyalties as long as they pay up. It’s owned by an elderly man and his wife, but their son does most of the actual work. Business is apparently poor, the son tells them as he hands them their key. The Ionians refuse to stay here and any Noxians this far away from their homeland are either soldiers already supplied with barracks, or nobles with their own vacation homes.
After settling into their shared room, the Lunari sleep most of the day away. It is their custom to avoid prolonged periods of being up and about beneath the sun. Back home, it leaves them vulnerable to attack from the Solari. But living among civilization complicates that habit. They awake in the afternoon to the sound of Noxians doing patrols on the streets outside. Aphelios jerks upright, reaching for a weapon that does not exist. The sound of heavy armor clanking with every footstep…it sends his pulse racing. Warmongering Solari never travel light. For a moment he must remember where he is.
You’re safe here, Phel.
When they filter out of the borrowed room the innkeeper’s wife insists on preparing them food and cleaning their clothing. It is a service Aphelios is entirely unused to. They sit cross-legged around a low lying chabudai table. When the short plump woman shoves a plate of food in his hands he hesitates. This generosity makes him feel uneasy, and it’s clear looking around that his fellow Lunari feel the same way. It is a luxury to them, one that they could not repay with their paltry funds. When Cygnus tells the innkeeper’s wife this she insists that it’s on the house.
The foodstuffs are a culinary fusion of the Navori staples with a Noxian flare. Steamed fish paired with scallions and spices. Seaweed and tofu, and a bowl of various vegetables. Noxian meats aren’t worth shipping overseas so the implants raise and hunt local animals. The soldiers also tend a herd of worax, large bovine beasts with goat-like snouts and horns. The meat was quite delicious served over rice with an oyster sauce.
Food atop Mount Targon is far less exciting. Aphelios has lived most of his life off of root vegetables, buckwheat, and cave fungi.
When they are sated and slightly rounder they thank their hosts with deep bows and head out to question the locals. The language barrier is a challenge. Between the four of them, they can communicate in Va-Nox fluently, but their Ionian is amateurish. Aphelios sounds like he’s reading it off a page when he tries to speak it. His lack of ability draws attention to the fact that he’s an outsider, so he avoids it by using Va-Nox. Most people in Navori are familiar with the language, and not just those in the Noxian territory.
But usually, Aphelios doesn’t speak at all.
His brothers and sisters outclass him in oration. So he allows them to shine while standing nearby and looking intimidating. Eventually their efforts find them a proper lead. An off duty soldier leads them in the direction of the Navori underground. A breadcrumb trail of smugglers and bootlegger informants that the Noxians keep around to stay on top of things. So the next day the Lunari travel further inland, away from the occupied shore and into the heart of Navori. Their true goal remains unspoken to these criminals for secrecy’s sake, but there’s always a business for people-hunting. They pretend to be looking for someone who owes them money. That a woman of Diana’s description had hired them for mercenary work and never paid up.
“As a fellow entrepreneur, I always say; ask for half up front,” a weapons dealer tells them. He then extends his hand to show them a shining example of this personal creed. Only after counting each individual coin does he continue with, “Go to the pits, if there’s anyone who knows this woman’s whereabouts, I guarantee they’ve passed through there. Maybe she even poked around there herself, looking for fighters. If you’re lucky you can even ask the Boss. Usually you need to impress him to go one on one…” The weapons dealer’s eyes travel along Aphelios’ body, taking him in. “You? I wouldn’t worry about it.”
This “Boss”, they learned, is the center of Ionia’s ink-black underbelly. He is the gravitational pull that keeps the entire system in orbit. The worst that Ionia has to offer flock to him. It sets Aphelios on edge. If this man is so feared, then the Lunari must handle this matter differently. Aphelios can already feel the phantom weight of Severum against his palm as Cygnus prepares their method of attack. Is it wise to draw these criminals’ attention to Diana?
Aphelios ponders this silently, Cygnus has never misled him before. He should trust his judgement, but some anxiety eats away at him. The sensation is unwanted, typically drowned out by the poison’s overwhelming pain. He wants to tear it out of his chest.
Breathe, brother. I’m here.
Aphelios does not voice his opinion. He is not here for strategy, he is a weapon to be pointed at the enemies of the faithful. What Cygnus demands will be done, Diana will return to her people. They will not fail, because they cannot.
You’re so much more than that.
Back at their inn room Cygnus decides they will scout the fighting pits tonight. They will travel light, carrying only defensive weapons and cloth armor. One will act as an ordinary attendee while the other three examine the grounds. Studying guard positions and rotations at the same time as the layout of the buildings.
They decide Aphelios will play the role of the crowdgoer. He will blend in to the masses the best among them. His task is simple; to get an impression of the Boss and his most trusted allies. It is the least risk prone of their objectives. There are no complaints to voice, for he knows he should be grateful.
It’s okay to relax, Phel. You might enjoy the show?
“I doubt it,” he whispers to the air. Luckily the others have moved on to discussing their own roles and pay him no mind.
He leaves to prepare for the mission. There are few belongings in his pack, his wardrobe is limited. Aphelios chooses to dress in an unremarkable hanfu lacking in any ornament or embroidery. The fabric is a solid midnight blue, nothing particularly eye-catching, but also polished enough to pass as formal wear. The sleeves are excessive and impractical, but Aphelios is not fighting tonight. At least he still has pants.
He also must paint his face with a skin toned cosmetic to hide his tattoo. Any weapons he could potentially need will come from Alune, so instead he gathers some money for the entry fee. Currency is wasted among the Lunari in their hidden villages and remote caves. They deal in services and bartering as payment. When they need coins for times like these they must pick pockets or sell whatever goods they can craft.
The fighting pits are not an easily accessible feature of Navori, they are meant to be a secret. But given the lack of centralized authority, the only thing stopping people from shouting about it in the streets is social decorum. They are tucked away from the city center in a more wooded area. A winding path adorned with paper lanterns guides him and the rest of the eager crowd towards the den of depravity.
The actual complex is massive. It is not just a den, but a whole city dedicated to flagrant hedonism. It seems that every merchant in the business of vices has set up shop in tents surrounding the pits. Brothels spill over with scantily clad men and women, luring in patrons with elegant movements and heady perfumes. It is a peculiar sight to someone as secluded as a Lunari warrior. The prostitutes are practically naked on the street, waving around ornately embroidered fabrics and transparent painted silks depicting sexual acts. Aphelios keeps a neutral expression, allowing no weakness to show. Though he fears that if one of those lithe men propositioned him he would forget all his training in an instant.
Besides the brothels, there are various merchants selling dried hallucinogenic herbs as well as alcohol. There’s also some relatively normal appearing food carts advertising right by the entrance to the pits. Aphelios tries a ball of dough filled with octopus and immediately buys two more. Ionian cuisine is rather delicious. Alune agrees whole heartedly, making sad sounds as she jealously watches him devour it all.
He must recall that he is here for a reason, reluctantly tearing himself away from the wonderful takoyaki and into the deafening sea of bodies. It seems like every soul in Navori is here under this roof spectating the bloodshed. After paying his fee Aphelios must elbow his way through to actually see a glimpse of the fighters battling at the center of the arena.
Do you think this is a special night? There’s so many people. Have we ever seen so many at once before?
The building itself is truly beautiful, an architectural wonder unlike anything Aphelios has seen before. In Ionia the land is alive, but here the structure is literally supported by living trees. The pure white bark contrasts the swooping almost mushroom-like roofing. The organic shapes are a feast for the eyes, it’s almost ironic that such a grisly sport is harbored within.
The central arena is inlaid into the floor while the spectating areas are elevated to accommodate for massive crowds. There also seems to be private areas dedicated to wealthier customers or esteemed guests. Aphelios must endure the deafening cheers and minimal personal space in the general admission. By the time he finally finds a decent place to stand, it appears the bout is over and that a thick muscled horned woman has won.
It goes on for two more rounds before Aphelios figures there’s little to learn standing here and watching. His focus instead goes to the parties in the private balconies. Ionian elite in finery occupies most of them, but some harbor Noxian aristocrats as well. Aphelios swears he spots the woman whose boat they’d arrived on among them. In the most opulent balcony sits a group of what he assumes are the most skilled fighters. One had disappeared only to reappear moments later inside the ring. They are more physically impressive, at least from where Aphelios is standing.
In the center is a massive beast of a man, almost twice the size of an ordinary human and covered in rippling muscle. He watches the proceedings leisurely, drinking and chatting with his companions. Aphelios assumes this one must be the Boss he’d been warned about. But he is too far to make out any definite details.
As the round nears its end, Aphelios reluctantly returns to watching it instead of spying. The sight clearly does not stimulate him the way it does those around him. It’s almost frustrating to see those without faith throw their lives away so easily. Aphelios has felt every death among his sect as if he had lost a piece of his own heart.
Perhaps that is why it’s lost all sensation.
Not all bouts end in death, but this arrogant swordswoman all but demands she be slain. After losing her match, she begins to attack her opponent once more, ignoring the guards attempts at stopping her and the announcer’s clear disapproval. She launches a spear at one of the men trying to contain her. It pierces through his shoulder, spraying blood out the other end as he’s launched back by the force of the blow. But the woman has left herself open with such a move and a blade finds her throat mercifully swiftly.
The crowd roars with excitement. The Boss hardly reacts. Her pointless death is just entertainment to them. Aphelios closes his eyes and swallows uneasily.
How terrible, Alune murmurs. Be careful, Phel.
“Mother Moon help me,” he prays under his breath in the tongue of his tribe. “These people do not know compassion.”
Overwhelmed, Aphelios tries to push his way out of the stands and towards a walkway. Perhaps he may escape outside for a chance to breathe without cigar smoke and sweat invading his nostrils. Though as he dodges around a particular man, that man reaches out to bar his path. Immediately Aphelios is put on edge, confrontation is never a good sign. And despite the countless people surrounding him he is utterly alone. What criminal is going to stand up for a stranger when they can just watch and enjoy the show?
“Where do you think you’re going?” The man growls, the accent on his tongue painfully familiar. It washes over Aphelios like freshly melted snow water.
Rakkor. Solari.
Even several seas away he’s not safe. Of course. He shouldn’t have let his guard down.
Breathe. You need to breathe. You can’t fight your way out of this.
Aphelios listens to Alune, he should always listen to her. Air is desperately sucked into his lungs as the Solari narrows his eyes. Silence is a damning form of confession. Aphelios must speak, but no words come out. Even if they did, how could anyone hear them over all the noise?
The Solari grips his shoulder firmly, an obvious threat. What is he doing here across the world? Are they hunting for Diana too? “I asked you a question, boy.”
“I do not want any quarrel. I just want to get some air,” Aphelios says, enunciating each word with care. His grasp of the Ionian language is rather shaky, so he uses Va-Noxian instead.
“Is that right?” The Solari mocks him. He leans in, until Aphelios can feel the man’s breath tickling his ear. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you, heretic. I will make you face the sun’s wrath—!”
Before the Solari can finish his threats Aphelios is already slipping from his grasp and weaving through the crowd. They part for him, or at least he forces them to. And in his graceful wake the Solari barrels through any bystanders on his path, knocking them to the ground.
There is a gourd flask tied to his waist sash, fashioned for storing rice wine or similar spirits. Aphelios has filled it with sacred poison, and now he reaches for it instinctively. He’s operating on pure muscle memory as he races down the walkway toward the balcony’s fenced ledge. Alune whispers in his mind, instilling him with a sense of calm.
I’m here, remember? Already in arm’s reach.
The realms are imposed upon each other. An eclipse. Aphelios doesn’t need pain to make their connection flourish. She’s right.
Severum!
The hand scythe manifests already within his palm. The familiar weight of moonstone comforts him as he flees. Even just holding it invigorates him, Alune’s magic hastens his movements and builds his strength. Aphelios spins as he leaps atop the wooden railing, the long fabric of his hanfu swirling around him. Despite the wood’s dainty organic shapes it is sturdy beneath his feet as he balances along the narrow width. Seconds later, the Solari reaches the railing and chases after him, running along the edge rather than testing his acrobatic abilities. Aphelios is already springing off the rail and landing on the floor below. He doesn’t look back to see if he’s still being followed.
Amid the chaos the Solari cries out, “Burn!”
Watch out!
Aphelios barely evades an orb of pure light. It melts through the wooden railing and leaves a smoking crater on the floor. Nearby bystanders scream in alarm, reeling back to avoid the flames. Smoke billows, catching in Aphelios’ lungs as he sprints away, blue sleeves trailing behind him. He drops down another floor level, landing in a full body roll to lessen the impact before taking off down the hall. Down here, the only possible exit is the stairway back upwards. He must lose the Solari’s trail before fleeing.
At this point, the arena announcer remarks on the explosive commotion and warns the crowd to remain in place. That the guards will apprehend the assailants and to stay calm to make it as quick as possible. But then another voice booms across the massive room, momentarily drawing Aphelios’ eyes to its source.
“Hey, you pick a fight in my house, you pick a fight with me, pal!”
The earth shakes and the crowd positively roars. The Boss effortlessly lands from his viewing box, as if he’d just taken a short drop rather than jumped down from a height of four stories. He leaves a crater in the floor on impact, splitting some of the white stone open. Then he stands to his full height and—
Turns.
Crescendum!
Golden eyes find Aphelios, keen like a predator. Slit pupils look to his face first, then to the chakrams in his grasp. Calculating, curious. For a second Aphelios’ heart threatens to break out of his ribs all together. Will the Boss try to attack him in tandem with the Solari? Aphelios and the Boss are far away from one another even now on the same elevation. But this man is no mere human from his size and the swiveling ears sticking out of his hair. Aphelios himself is a deadly hunter, hawk-like in his vision. His hunting ground is an unforgiving mountain under the faint light of the moon. He has no issue making out the details of his potential prey. They regard each other in the manner of beasts sizing up their opposition before the Boss falters with an eager smile.
That’s when the Solari hurls another ball of light at the Boss’ exposed flank. Taking advantage of the distraction, Aphelios flees.
He does not stay to watch the Solari’s jaw get grabbed by the Boss’ mighty hand and slammed into the ground face first. Foolishly, he attempts to resist, calling upon the sun’s blinding rays to burn a hole through the fabric of the Boss’ coat. It leaves a bright red welt on his bare chest, but doesn’t smite him where he stands as the Solari expects. He laughs at this failure, playing it up to the crowd. “Can’t take the heat, huh?” He yanks on a fistful of the Solari’s short hair, using it to haul the man up off the ground.
“Clearly ain’t no one taught you any manners. So let me do you a favor…!”
Aphelios is long gone by the time the Solari has been knocked unconscious. The fighting pit guards do not bother stopping him as he rushes out into the refreshing night air. Mother Moon is entering her next phase, waxing. The period of growth and action. Standing under her gentle embrace as the cool breeze rustles through his hair fills Aphelios with spiritual clarity. Yet now a peculiar feeling has begun flickering about inside his chest.
He stops to rest amid the various tents of middling legality.
Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, allowing his elevated heart rate to subside. He is grounded here, his feet growing roots into this ancient land. Perhaps this is why Diana has come here? Serenity. This feeling of wholeness Aphelios has not felt in years. He must be going mad, for the wholeness in his chest makes him giggle like a child. Is this what living feels like?
Alune rests her hand upon his wrist—a moment of revelry—but when he goes to reach for her he finds nothing there. He’s done this a thousand times, but he will never learn. Still, his mood cannot be ruined by his sister’s intangibility. Aphelios feels wild, free, happy. Despite the Solari recognizing him, he has gotten the rare opportunity to be an ordinary person for the hour. Being among the nightlife, eating delicious food, and spending time with Alune.
“If you could do anything,” Aphelios begins quietly, speaking to the emptiness beside him. She perks up at the sound of his voice as he casts his gaze towards the sky. “Go anywhere, be anyone, what would you do?”
He doesn’t look at the moon, but at the stars and their infinite mystery. These are not the constellations he recognizes.
I would be your sister, she smiles. Always.
“And?”
Without our endless conflict, I would spend much more time reading. At the very least. Alune giggles, her smile audible in her tone. I have seen many places inside the Spirit Realm, like a broken mirror. Jagged fragments put together all wrong. I wish to see them as you do, but with my own eyes. I wish to feel the earth shifting around me.
“You would love it here. The land is seeped in magic. And even I can admit it looks beautiful.”
Mother Moon has led us here for a reason, I’m sure of it. Pulled in by gravity, you will find your fate-threads woven in this land’s tapestry. Even if only for a moment.
“A flash of light, a comet in the sky.”
Here then gone…but maybe it needn’t be? She muses thoughtfully. Captured in a bottle.
“It's a fanciful dream.”
It doesn’t have to be one. She reiterates.
“You shouldn’t speak of such things, sister. We cannot stay here. Have you forgotten? It is our duty to defend our people.” Aphelios raises his voice slightly, but not quite enough to be shouting.
How could I forget, when I am stuck here in this temple? Phel… Alune sighs, her voice wavering with sadness. If you could do anything, wouldn’t you want to be happy?
“I do not want. I cannot want. I am a conduit of the faithful’s will. Humility and service in all things.”
You deserve it. No matter what anyone says.
They do not speak much after that. The mood has been soured by their disagreement. It is an often recurring one these past months. Aphelios fears the distance away from their tribe has allowed rebellious thoughts to grow in Alune’s mind. Nothing good can come of it. To partake in the things she suggests would be akin to treason to him. He will not be unfaithful.
Time passes. The stars are ever shifting. Eventually his brothers and sisters gather at their designated meeting spot. Aphelios’ brief taste of freedom is over.
They share information. The other three have jotted down notes, drawing out a floorplan and ideal routes for the next course of action. In two days there will be a festival in Navori, one bound to draw attention away from the fighting pits and towards the city. No fights are scheduled for that day, so the security will be lax. It’s likely many of them will be drunk on rice wine or high on spirit herbs. If they want a private conversation with the kingpin, it will be the ripest opportunity.
Aphelios wonders if this might all be unnecessary. He does not want to speak it, because thinking of the Boss’ golden eyes on him makes his stomach twist. Voicing his thoughts will make it all the more real. That man wasn’t anything like Aphelios expected. He imagined someone older, for instance. And leaping into danger to assist a stranger is unusually valorous behavior for a crime lord.
Aphelios begins to worry that committing to this interrogation will be a betrayal of the kindness shown to him. Normally, doing such a thing in the service of the moon would inspire zero reflection, so why does it now? Why has this Vastaya left such an impression on his psyche? Aphelios doesn’t even know his name.
During the walk back to their inn, Aphelios replays the same scene over and over in his mind. The Boss’ canid smile during their standoff. The magnitude of his size up close, and the sheen of sweat that made his bare muscles glisten. Aphelios memorizes it all like a strike plan, but these nerves aren’t based in fear. Something raw and unidentifiable settles between his ribs and makes his blood hot.
He eventually decides there is something wrong with him.
Oh, Phel. Alune sighs. Should I cover my ears?