. . .
Looking below, I could see the grandeur of the city.
A mountainous region stretched out beneath me—sharp, layered peaks and a valley shrouded in soft clouds and low mist. Vegetation was everywhere: thick trees tangled along the ridges, shrubs creeping down the cliffs, nature choking the stone but never quite silencing it.
Buildings clung to the terrain, grown into it—carved wood, moss-covered walls, and curved roofs that flowed with the mountain instead of defying it.
"Asian houses?" I muttered, eyeing the elegant angles and detailed trim.
Woosh
The air was heavier here. Thick with mana. I could see it—threads of power swirling just above the rooftops, clinging to roots, drifting like fog. The spiritual world moved close to the surface. It whispered. Not only voices, but presence.
I closed my eyes for a moment.
Three elevations.
Like a staircase—wide, natural steps. I could see the first clearly. The second was half-hidden by fog and forest. The third vanished into the clouds, high above.
A deep line cut through all of them, slashed by something ancient. Straight. Clean. Like a blade had cleaved the mountain from heaven to root—The Market.
"The strike was done by… I don't recall, that means there is no information."
My gaze returned to the path ahead. A modest building with low lantern light and shadowed entry.
"That must be a bar. I need information."
I descended slowly.
"This place current situation, my skin condition and that dragon moving tattoo."
The path twisted through thick roots and carved steps, stone merging with earth and moss. Closer now, I could see more. Ragged banners hung from wooden posts and cloth-wrapped poles, torn and faded—symbols I didn't recognize, but likely clan marks. Some were defaced. Others burned at the corners. Some hung limp in silence, as if waiting for something that would never return.
The people walked carefully. Light feet. Measured eyes. Most were human, but here and there, I saw Vastayas—ears sharp, movements quiet, expressions tense.
They looked at me.
All of them did.
A figure wrapped in bandages, dark wings folded behind, a golden bracer catching bits of light. I felt their gazes.
None approached.
Some slowed their steps. One child looked too long, and a hand pulled him back by the shoulder.
I didn't stop.
The smell of incense mixed with earth. The breeze was warm, but heavy—thick with mana, and something else beneath it. Like the mountain itself remembered pain.
Murmur
I saw two soldiers in red-black leather and steel. Noxians. Not rushing. Just walking—like they owned the land under their boots. One laughed, too loud. The other bumped a passing vendor without a glance.
And everything changed.
Conversations died. No one made eye contact. A man turned away mid-step. A woman stiffened, holding her breath until they passed.
"Why are there noxians here?"
My eyes followed the soldiers until they vanished around the corner.
Then I looked back to the low-lit building ahead.
The bar.
I stepped forward.
. . .
. .
I walked toward the mountain path, mind sorting through what I'd gathered.
Noxus had taken the House Xan. Reinforcements were expected soon—probably from the coast. Their next move was obvious: Placidium.
Someone mentioned a group gathering between the second and third elevation. A resistance force. Young, under-equipped, scattered—but growing.
'Enough to stall them at least.'
The skin was still peeling. No curse, no spell signature. Just slow decay. Magical, but not marked. The bartender said nothing useful—just fear in her eyes. But someone nearby had spoken of Karma and old spirits.
I asked about the Etwahl.
No answers.
Only silence.
But I did learn something else—the magical dragon tattoo.
Shojin monks carried something similar. Far east. Too far for now. But not forgotten.
For now... I'd join the resistance.
And Irelia.
. . .
. .
.
The ground was split open. My doing.
The moment hung in the air—still, suspended. Dozens of bodies frozen mid-fall, blades paused, screams locked in throats.
I stood at the edge, gaze steady.
Hm
One stood out, a girl with flying trembling blades.
Irelia.
She hovered just below, dimly lit by moonlight scattered through the trees. Dirt marked her skin, hair long, dark painted in blood. Her sea green eyes sharp—refusing to yield.
I watched long enough to be sure.
Then I spoke.
"Irelia, correct?"
She didn't answer. Didn't need to.
My fingers opened and the telekinetic grip dissolved.
Soldiers dropped like stone, screaming as they vanished down the hole.
I pulled the rest upward—a single push—throwing them onto solid ground.
After settling down someone muttered,
"He's bleeding—"
I looked down. Crimson had soaked through the bandages, blooming beneath my arms and legs. 'Again. Was it too much?'
"It's nothing," I said.
Pain didn't deserve attention. Not while I was standing.
. .
One of the resistance bases were buried deep in the mountains—a hollowed section reinforced by natural stone and wooden frames. Water ran in narrow streams along the outer walls, and low-hanging lanterns lit the walkways. The air smelled of wet bark, steel, and sweat.
Dozens of recruits moved in and out, none looking twice at me—or rather, they looked once, and looked away. Irelia was waiting near the side wall, arms crossed, watching.
'She didn't said a word. Was it shock?'
I walked up.
"What? Want to say something now?" I said.
She straightened, took a step back.
"I just wanted to thank you," She avoided eye contact, "For saving them."
"Sure."
She looked again. Not thankful—curious.
"What was that power? I've never seen anything like it." Her brow lifted. "Who are you?"
"Alexander. Far south. Secluded mountain tribe. Noxians wiped them out." I let my arms fall at my sides. "Already gave the story to the others. Ask them later."
Her eyes flicked to my wings.
"Are you even human?"
"Was born as one, not sure now. But as I just said—"
"Next question." She stepped closer and grabbed my hand, lifting it to reveal the blood-stained bandages.
"Are you dying?"
"Maybe."
She took a breath. Then a step back. Face cold now, jaw set.
"You killed those soldiers."
"Obviously."
"They were just doing their duty. That doesn't justify—"
"They were weak. The world doesn't forgive restraint."
She glared. "Killing them makes us no better."
"Irelia.." I let out.
She cut in, stepping close again, voice sharp.
"Call me Xan. We're not friends."
"Stop! Stop—hey!" Another girl's voice, coming fast.
She rushed between us, grabbing Irelia's wrist.
"Leave it, Liana—"
"No. Let's just go!"
They walked off.
I exhaled.
'....What was that all about.'
I stayed quiet.
No need for more words. I had what I came for.
Noxus would need four months to break through the coast. That gave us five, maybe six, before the push on Placidium.
It took a miracle to reach this far. Reinforcements are out of the question. They'd need to split their assault—coast and Placidium both—to divide us properly.
It's enough.
Mistfall first.
If there's something in this land that can stop the decay, it'll be there—with the ancient spirits. Or not at all.
. .
. .
Karma's POV – The Lasting Altar
The air was still.
Only the scent of incense moved.
I sat in silence. My breath quiet. My spirit tuned.
Thrumm
Not spirit. Not mana. Something else—dense, whole.
I opened my eyes.
Far, toward Bahrl, something moved.
Carried by the wind, but intact. Refusing to scatter.
I reached for it. Nothing.
The current folded around it. Wouldn't touch.
I closed my eyes again.
"That presence... it doesn't resonate like a spirit."
"But no mortal walks that deep into the currents."
A pause.
My brow furrowed.
The answer rose unspoken, bitter in the back of my mind.
"..an immortal?"