— Irelia Pov —
Azure Coast, 986 AN
"Hold the line!"
The wind howled with smoke and salt as I moved—blades orbiting me in sharp spirals, dancing between enemy spears and falling bodies. The formation held.
A strong phalanx in front draw them in, then crush the flanks from both sides.
The battle was mostly over.
Partly thanks to the skillful Wuju swordsmen lead by Master Yi, but also by—
Alexander.
The catapults. The placement of our forces. Even their training—he'd drilled raw farmers into formation soldiers in a matter of days. He knew when, where, and how the battle would unfold.
Like always.
"Damn him. He is—"
"Monster!" someone shouted behind me.
I turned, already feeling the tension building before I saw it.
A human soldier had a Vastayan by the collar. Others stood close—silent, watching.
"Your kind have made our lifes miserable!"
The Vastayan slapped his hand off, "I have not. And even then, you don't get to judge us."
"You've allied with them!"
"I said I have not!"
"You animals are all arrogants pricks—you think you are better than us?"
The Vastaya snarled, baring teeth:
"Maybe we are."
I stepped in before blood did.
"Enough!" I ordered.
They turned to me. One with guilt, the other with fire.
"You judge him not for what he's done—but for what he is, and still call yourself better?"
I stepped forward, steady.
"He chose peace. You chose hate. And I won't let you call that loyalty."
The wind shifted with me, blades orbiting slow and sharp like a warning.
"We fight for freedom."
Neither replied.
The soldier held my gaze a second longer, jaw tight, then turned and walked away—shoulders stiff with something heavier than defeat.
I watched him go, knowing something had just cracked.
And it wouldn't heal.
It would fester.
.
Later, after the last scream had faded, I stood at the edge of the battlefield.
Bodies lay scattered like forgotten promises. The sea was calm again, uncaring.
We'd won. Overwhelmingly so.
And yet… something felt wrong.
Not here. Somewhere else.
"Captain," someone called behind me. "Where's the Arcanist?"
I didn't answer right away.
Just stared out over the corpses and broken steel, where glints of armor still caught the dying light.
"Alexander?"
I sighed.
"Who knows what he is up to."
Then quieter—half a smirk, half a wound—
"Fighting for the greater good… I suppose."
. .
.
Crackle
Fire. And the scent of blood.
I sat alone atop a hill of corpses. Armor cracked and steaming, blood long dried. Smoke curled through the air like ribbons, dancing in the heat.
My elbows rested on my knees. Eyes half-lidded. Thought adrift.
The Wuju Order had been saved.
Step, step.
Someone approached—cautious, faltering.
A messenger.
"E-excuse me, good sir—"
I didn't look.
Vrmm
The letter lifted from his hand, drawn to me by a flick of thought.
"A-ah!" he squeaked, then fled.
I opened it. Scanned.
"…Wuju owes you a debt."
I folded the letter. No emotion. No urgency.
Just smoke, silence, and the past clawing back.
The night before the attack.
I stood before the war table, lamplight flickering over the map. The monks surrounded me—old warriors, wise and wary, some skeptical, some simply afraid.
"They'll strike Azure first," I said, pointing at the coastline. "It's bait, they know they can't win."
One of them frowned. "Are you sure? Shouldn't we report this?"
I tapped twice. Inland.
"Don't worry about it."
"We have a fight of our own. They plan to destroy us here, then help their general at Placidium."
No one spoke. The implications settled like dust.
"Here's what we are gonna do.."
-
We prepared.
Traps in the open fields. Weakened the bridges, narrowed the kill zones.
Archers were positioned high, hidden in shadow.
The ones skillful in stealth and silence were placed where they could vanish, then strike.
A decoy unit was instructed to flee at first contact—then lead our enemies into a slaughter.
When I'm in command, victory is fate.
And this wasn't different.
-
During the siege.
Messengers filtered in like blood through cloth.
"North line is holding."
"The east collapsed—but the flank ambush worked. We're turning it."
Then the final report.
A younger monk. Pale. Hesitant.
"The west gate..."
Silence. All eyes fell on me.
"There was no order for the west?" someone asked, almost accusatory.
I stood. Calm.
"We lacked the numbers."
"And also," I look at them, "I will cover it."
A few murmurs. One voice louder than the rest:
"Alone?"
I smiled.
.
.
Now.
"That's settled."
They'd be useful in the real war—the one that mattered.
"Cannon fodder, at least."
But another matter pressed on my mind.
More important. More delicate.
Fae'lor.
Syndra had been sealed deep beneath its roots—forgotten by most.
I had the map. I'd studied it. Prepared. Honed my power.
I wasn't yet done with Singed's shimmer. Silver are still missing, but the experiment proved to be a success, and now I've been drawing its outline. Even my understanding of Runes, shallow as it was, would play it's part in my plans for her.
"I'm ready."
A final report reached me that night.
"But now I've to play my role."
The attack at the Placidium.
Irelia retreat from the coast and was leading the response.
I stood up.
The spark that would turn Irelia into a symbol.
That would shatter a Noxian general into a cripple.
The assault that would change the war's shape.
The Placidium burned.
And I intended to make the most of it.