The Northern Plains of Piltover
The wind raged across the plains, bending the tall grass past a human's knees.
Rain poured relentlessly from the heavens, the dark clouds blanketing the sky, leaving no trace of light behind.
Snap! Snap! Snap!
Puddles scattered across the plain rippled and splashed as a group of soldiers trudged through the storm.
At the head of the unit marched a heavily armored man, Imistan, leading a group of three soldiers. Among them loomed the monstrous figure of Sion, his hulking form a menacing shadow in the downpour.
Suddenly, Imistan raised his right hand.
Snap!
The soldiers immediately stopped in their tracks, raising their weapons in a defensive stance.
Only Sion, oblivious to subtle commands, continued forward.
Imistan's face hardened as his raised hand clenched into a fist. His voice cut through the storm.
"Mage! Protect!"
At the back of the group, a young mage stepped forward. He clutched a cerulean staff, its gem flickering like a captured star.
The mage, clad in iron armor, extended his hand, and the tip of his staff ignited with faint blue flames.
The flames flared upward, forming a shimmering shield imbued with fire.
Tiny embers dispersed from the shield and floated into the hands of the mages stationed throughout the battalion.
He infused his own magic into the embers, maintaining the protective barrier.
Suddenly, the water pooling on the ground began to shift, flowing unnaturally in one direction.
In front of Sion, a massive water column erupted skyward, carrying debris and uprooted vegetation with it.
From the column emerged a towering figure—a giant formed entirely of water, with stones embedded in its limbs.
The water giant stood over ten meters tall, its stone-fused arm crashing downward with immense force.
"Roar!"
Sion bellowed in response, raising his colossal battle axe to meet the attack. The axe clashed with the giant's stone fist, creating a deafening roar that echoed across the plains.
But the water giant wasn't alone. Around it, the rain coalesced into smaller creatures—leopard-like wolves made of water.
The creatures howled as they charged toward the fiery shield, their forms distorting briefly as they passed through it.
Flames clung to their bodies, but they seemed unaffected, their glowing eyes locked onto the soldiers.
The shield wall held firm as the creatures' water-formed claws struck it, leaving faint scorch marks.
A spear thrust from within the formation, piercing one of the leopard wolves. The creature's body splashed apart into the water, only to reform moments later, unyielding.
Some of the wolves lunged at the shield wall, clawing and slamming in an effort to break through. Others leapt into the air, attempting to bypass the formation entirely.
Shing!
Imistan unsheathed his longsword with a resonant ring of steel. In a fluid motion, he leapt forward and sliced through a wolf mid-air. The creature's body dissolved into a harmless cascade of water, splashing to the ground.
"Greatswords! With me!" Imistan commanded, his voice resolute.
The heavily armored soldiers brandished their greatswords, leaping into action despite their cumbersome gear. They met the airborne wolves head-on, their blades slicing through the creatures with practiced precision.
Meanwhile, Sion continued his battle against the water giant. Despite his raw power, the relentless force of the giant's stone fists kept him on the defensive.
On the battlefield, the leopard wolves persisted, their numbers seeming endless.
They pressed against the shield wall, testing its limits, while others regrouped for another charge.
The rain hammered down, turning the ground into a slick, treacherous mire.
Above the chaos, thunder rumbled, and lightning occasionally lit the sky, casting the battlefield in brief flashes of eerie light.
Far away, perched on a high mountain overlooking Piltover, Ryan sat calmly at a stone table.
In front of him was a chessboard, its pieces arranged mid-game, and two steaming cups of tea.
He watched the storm with a serene expression, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of a chess piece.
The battle raged below, but for Ryan, it was nothing more than a game.
The raindrops fell freely from the stormy sky but vanished before they could touch him, evaporating as if repelled by an unseen force.
Opposite Ryan, the once-empty stone seat was suddenly occupied.
A slender figure materialized, her pale skin glowing softly in the dim light.
Silky black hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face of exquisite beauty that held an air of mystery and menace.
Her body was draped in a form-fitting black trench coat, her elegance laced with an undercurrent of danger.
She sat gracefully, her legs crossed, her posture poised yet relaxed.
Her face was like a rose blooming after the rain: alluring, delicate, and deadly.
Her crimson lips parted slightly, her voice smooth and mesmerizing.
"Ryan Meredith," she began, her eyes gleaming with intrigue.
"I must admit, you surprise me."
Her gaze wandered unabashedly over Ryan before falling on the chessboard between them.
On the board, the black queen sat in the back row, her king encircled by white pieces.
The black knight, having ventured too far, now lay vulnerable to the range of a white mage.
Ryan's expression remained calm. He spoke as if addressing more than just the game.
"Every black rose needs nutrients to bloom. The Empire is full of roses, but such abundance makes it fragile."
The woman chuckled softly, the sound like silk brushing against steel.
"An empire? Authority?" she mused, her lips curling into a wry smile.
"What are such things compared to supreme power?"
Her gaze turned northward as if her vision pierced through the storm to the battlefield where the soldiers fought valiantly.
Her eyes lingered, unseeing, on the beleaguered Sion as he struggled against the towering water giant.
"In this dull world," she continued, her tone almost playful, "the value of ordinary people is to nourish us—the exceptional. Thousands of lives mean little compared to the rise of one true power."
Her attention returned to Ryan, her dark, penetrating eyes locking onto his.
She regarded him with an intensity that seemed to strip away pretenses.
"Happy…" she began, but her voice faltered. Her expression darkened.
"What did Swain tell you?"
Ryan's lips curved slightly, though his tone remained measured.
"You're overreaching, Pale Lady. Or should I say, LeBlanc?"
Her composure flickered at the sound of her true name, her eyes narrowing. Though she quickly recovered, a faint shadow of old pain crossed her face.
The mention of her name stirred memories she preferred to bury—memories that had haunted her for centuries.
"You're still clinging to the past," Ryan observed, his voice calm, almost indifferent.
"But it's been a thousand years. For the supposed puppet master behind the Empire, such a reaction seems... misplaced."
LeBlanc's smile thinned, the earlier amusement replaced by a faint weariness.
With a delicate hand, she reached for the black knight on the chessboard and pushed it forward with a decisive motion.
Click.
The sound of the chess piece echoed faintly, but its effects rippled far beyond the board.
On the battlefield, the flames of the Netherfire shield flared ominously, their turquoise glow intensifying.
The leopard wolves, relentless in their assault, lunged at the shield, only to be consumed by the icy flames.
Their watery forms froze instantly, shattering into crystalline fragments that rained down onto the bloodied plain.
"The Embrace of Netherfire," Ryan murmured, his gaze steady as he watched the chessboard.
"Flames brought back from the Underworld by the immortal master of the Noxian fortress. They burn not just the body, but the soul itself. Even the undead cannot escape their wrath."
Ryan's hand moved with practiced precision, sliding a white mage piece diagonally forward to challenge the knight once more.
Above the battlefield, the torrential rain shifted. The droplets began to condense midair, their forms sharpening into countless blades of water.
The compressed liquid shimmered briefly before hurtling downward.
Swish!
Thousands of water blades collided with the Netherfire shield in a violent clash, hissing and steaming as they fought against the unquenchable flames.
The shield flickered but held, weakened just enough for the leopard wolves to surge through once more.
Below, the soldiers of the garrison maintained their formation. Faces grim beneath their helmets, they moved with mechanical precision, their defenses impenetrable and their strikes swift and calculated.
LeBlanc leaned back, her smile returning as she watched the distant battle. Her voice was light, almost teasing.
"The Rain of Blades. A technique that once terrified the Ionians," she said with a note of admiration.
"You were the first to master direct-attack water magic, weren't you? Join the Black Rose and your name will be etched into Noxian history for eternity."
Ignoring the trapped knight on the board, she lifted the teacup Ryan had prepared. Taking a sip, she let out a soft sigh of satisfaction.
"It's still that strange taste," she remarked, her voice lilting with amusement.
"But somehow... intoxicating. Especially the hint of black magic within it."
Tea had once been a rarity, reserved for the isolated monks of Ionia to aid their meditation.
Under Ryan's influence, its cultivation had been enhanced with magic, transforming it into a unique brew.
Most Noxian generals preferred their strong spirits, but LeBlanc was different.
For her, the tea's subtle aroma and mystical undertones were irresistible.
She set the cup down and glanced at Ryan, her expression unreadable.
The storm raged on outside, but a different battle was being waged here, amidst the chessboard and the quiet tension between them.