Runeterra: Alexander The Eternal

The air still vibrated with Bard's presence, a lingering hum that refused to fade. He stood there, head tilted, golden luminous eyes looking—not at me, but through me.

"Unknown."

His gaze swept over me, then beyond, as if reading something unseen.

"One bound to him? One who hears me."

His words—or whatever they were—unraveled in my mind like a half-forgotten melody, fragments slipping through my grasp, their meaning buried beneath something vast.

"Immortal? Winged. Mortal, yet."

He gestured slightly, the cosmic instrument at his side thrumming softly.

"One future… somehow, unable to hear—stopped from."

Something in that struck deep. As if the path ahead had already been written, yet somewhere, something—or someone—had forced a break in the melody.

Bard turned, his head toward the distance.

"It calls. Must go."

He raised his instrument and blew into it, the air vibrating with celestial energy. A chorus of meeps—little energy creatures—materialized in golden light, chattering excitedly as their master wove his power. Space twisted, folding inward like the turning of a page—then

Buzzsh

he was gone. And the artifact with him.

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders.

"Yeah. Just leave after that. Really helpful." My gaze dropped to my arm. "The bracer is still here."

Something felt off. A sensation crawled over my skin—not pain, not exactly. I looked down. My arms, my shoulders… my chest.

Peeling.

I ran a hand over my forearm, watching more of the old layers crumble away. Shedding. Like I was outgrowing my own body.

Instinctively, I flexed my wings, feeling their weight, the subtle shift of movement. Bigger. Stronger. More defined than before. At least that part was going well—even though still a headache.

I took a slow breath, steadying myself.

"Great. So, I'm dying. Or evolving. Or both."

Then, another realization. I looked down. No shirt. No sleeves.

Sigh.

"My coat before, and now my shirt. Do the gods want me naked?"

"At least I still have my chest plate."

.

A village on a plateau, burning—war brought by the Noxians.

I walked through the battlefield. Blades, farm tools, blood, bodies—even children. All dead. The Noxians had mostly gathered here, the battle nearly over.

I unsheathed my sword slowly as I approached them.

"Come." My voice carried over the crackling flames. "Let's finish this."

They charged.

My shoulders relaxed as I moved, the tip of my blade redirecting incoming strikes, parrying with precision. A slight miscalculation—I missed a parry by a fraction—one warrior's hand severed at the wrist.

Wah

"Sorry, my mistake."

AHHH

He screamed, clutching at the stump where his hand had been. The others faltered, their charge losing momentum. Hesitation rippled through them.

"In line!"their commander barked.

The enemy regrouped, forming a defensive wall.

At the rear, their commander sat atop his horse, thick beard, shaved head—raised chin as he observed.

I felt my heart beat, 'Just a few swings, and is already unstable.' I steadied my breath, putting away my sword and picking a spear up from the ground.

"…Join our empire," the commander called out.

I adjusted my stance, reading for battle.

"No thanks."

The man chuckled.

"A piety." Then, coldly, "Take him."

They charged.

WAAHH

AHHH

I tightened my grip.

The grass swirled. The air hollowed—even louder than their war cries—HIZZZ—I thrust my spear forward as a phalanx of wind crashed against them. The front lines were thrown back—THUD—bodies colliding midair before slamming into the ground.

'Wind magic. Still weak.'

"What the hell was that!?" someone shouted.

"The kid's a freak!"

"Kill him!"

A barrage of arrows hissed towards me.

"I said no!" the commander snapped. "Idiots!"

The wind moved again, gathering and thickened at the tip of my spear.

Zwing—a wind wall.

The arrows struck, most stopping midair—Some still slipped through.

Shit.

'Yasuo did it so easily.' I thought, deflecting, evading the remaining projectiles. 'Still too thin.'

I shifted my stance.

Sliding my boots along the grass, I stomped down—WHACK—The ground cracked, a violent fissure line cracking forward toward the commander.

The remaining shield wall stood in its path, they screamed as the earth diverged them.

The commander yanked his reins. His horse reared, then leapt aside—just in time.

'Not wide enough. Not fast enough.'

"Fine!" The commander roared, charging forward. "You have earned death!"

ZING

His blade unsheathed.

The pressure around me thickened, forming tiny balls of light. Mana spiked. His horse hesitated—then bucked violently.

"What—stop! What are you doing!?" he screamed as the beast threw him off, backing away in fear.

'Stolen horse.'

I smirked, stretching one hand.

"The horse is clever, it seems."

BUZZ

"Hellzone Grenade."

BOOM—CRACK.

. . .

. . .

The war had ended, but there was no party—only silence, only loss.

At first light, the burial began.

Carefully arranged stones and flowers stretched across the leveled grass, marking the graves. People knelt, murmuring prayers, their voices hushed beneath the weight of mourning.

The village lay in ruins—farms reduced to scorched fields, homes swallowed by embers, history turned to ash. The cries of the grieving filled the air. Children, mothers, fathers, elderly—all who remained, mourned, broken.

I sat at the back, resting against the trunk of a fallen tree.

"My mana is almost gone…"

I glanced down at my armor—golden chest plate dulled by magic. On my wrist, the bracer and its runic symbols.

"I need to study them."

Much had happened.

Linking with the egg had given me a dragon tattoo, only for it to vanish. My wings had grown. And one of the three artifacts had been lost. A shame.

'But what the hell was the dragon? The vision, that was definitely a reptilian eye.'

'That place was not a vision, it must be the spiritual world. I finally understand, everything in the physical world originates from there as energy—and vice versa. Also the domain of spirits.'

I lifted my gaze to the sky.

"…Celestials. I wonder how they see this world."

Footsteps rustled through the grass.

An elderly woman approached, on her hands—a red cape.

.

I returned to the place where I had last seen Silver.

The ground was scarred with deep slashes, littered with scattered bones—remnants of whatever battle had taken place in my absence.

"I thought the artifact was lost."

My red cape moved slightly.

"So Bard only took the egg remains?"

Raaahh

Silver's cry echoed from above, descending in a thud.

I met his gaze, drawing my dark blade, its edge pulsing with death mana.

"Do you remember shimmer? I do of course but now—I'm enlightened" I smirked, my eyes darkened.

"Do you volunteer?"

.

..I watched as Silver vanished into the horizon.

"Well," I exhaled

"Not exactly as expected—I disregarded his pain. At least it worked."

My gaze shifted to my wrist, where my nostalgic dark, form-changing slime sword now rested.

"Slimecite is back."

Hmm.

"…How do I get to Navori now?"

. . .