Shadows of the Past
Tomas led Powder and a group of curious children deeper into the forest, his excitement evident in the spring of his steps. Ekko and Maya followed a few paces behind, with Ekko keeping a watchful eye on Powder as she strode confidently ahead.
“Powder!” Ekko called out, concern lacing his voice. “What’s going on?”
Powder glanced back at him and shrugged. “No clue. Ask the fearless leader up there!” She gestured at Tomas.
The other children giggled nervously, sticking close to one another as the dense forest canopy swallowed the sunlight. The deeper they went, the quieter it became, save for the rustling leaves and the occasional crack of a twig beneath their feet.
Powder spoke up, her voice breaking the stillness with mock seriousness. “How many times have I told you kids not to wander too deep into the forest? What if we get eaten by, I dunno, mutant bunnies or something?”
Tomas turned his head briefly, grinning. “We’re almost there, I promise!”
The group finally arrived at a peculiar clearing where the forest seemed to shift abruptly. Among the vibrant, lush greenery, clusters of decayed and hollow trees rose ominously, their twisted branches reaching skyward like bony fingers clawing at the heavens. The stark contrast between the lush surroundings and the skeletal remains of the trees gave the area an eerie, almost otherworldly vibe.
Despite the unsettling scene, the clearing carried a peculiar beauty. The ground was blanketed in multicolored weed flowers, their vibrant petals ranging from fiery reds to deep purples, soft blues, and sunny yellows. They sprouted wildly in the absence of thick undergrowth, their untamed spread giving the clearing a surreal, almost magical atmosphere.
Sunlight poured easily into the space, unfiltered by the sparse canopy overhead. Many of the trees surrounding the clearing were lifeless and broken, allowing wide beams of golden light to cascade down, illuminating the wildflowers below. The interplay of sunlight and color created a soft, dreamlike glow that seemed to shimmer as the breeze gently stirred the flowers.
Tomas stepped forward confidently, unbothered by the scene’s haunting beauty. The rest of the group slowed their pace, their eyes taking in the vibrant chaos of the clearing. The children murmured among themselves, a mix of awe and unease spreading through the group as they walked further into the meadow of decayed grandeur.
Powder put her hands on her hips, smirking. “What’s this? A tree graveyard? Did somebody bury the poor things, or is this, like, a haunted tree hangout?”
Tomas ignored her teasing and motioned her forward. “Come on, Powder, you’ve got to see this.” He led her to one particularly large, hollowed-out tree, its bark riddled with small, jagged openings. Tomas pointed to a hole near the base. “Look through there.”
Powder crouched, squinting as she pressed her face closer to the opening. “If this is some kind of prank, Tomas, I swear—” Her words trailed off as she gasped audibly.
“What is it?” Ekko asked, stepping closer with Maya.
Powder stood and gestured dramatically at Tomas. “Okay, credit where it’s due. Kid’s got a good eye.”
Ekko and Maya exchanged puzzled looks before taking turns peeking into the hollow. Inside, a massive beetle sat perched on the decayed bark. Its shimmering shell glowed with hues of emerald, gold, and iridescent blue, its delicate veins sparkling faintly in the dim light. Its mandibles twitched slightly, catching the group’s collective attention.
“Wow,” Ekko muttered, impressed despite himself.
“Eh.” Maya stepped back, brushing off her hands. “Cool bug. I’m out. Got a job to get to.”
She walked past Ekko, but as she did, she leaned in close and whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “When you do decide to give her flowers, maybe sneak a bug in there. Y’know, to keep it on brand.”
Ekko froze for a moment, his face heating up as Maya straightened and casually waved to the group. “See ya!” she called, as she headed back to the town.
Ekko scratched the back of his neck, mumbling under his breath, “Yeah, real funny…” He glanced at Powder, who was crouched by the hollow tree with Tomas and the other kids, completely oblivious to the teasing exchange.
Meanwhile, Powder and the kids were already debating the beetle.
“You think there are more of these around here?” one of the children asked.
“I don’t know,” Tomas replied with a shrug.
Ekko stepped forward, his natural curiosity kicking in. “These kinds of beetles burrow into hard mud or soil, usually in places like this. Dead trees are their favorite hangouts. They thrive in decomposing wood and build little tunnels—almost like underground fortresses.”
Powder tilted her head, smirking. “Oh, great. So they’re not just bugs; they’re bug rebels. What’s next? They’re gonna start their own Firelights knockoff? Call themselves the Firebugs and go all-in on tree revolution?”
Ekko groaned but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Yeah, sure, Powder. They’ll probably come after me first for stealing their brand.”
The kids burst into laughter as Powder grinned triumphantly. “Better watch your back, Genius. The bug uprising’s coming.”
A moment later, the kids scattered to search through the dead trees and hollow trunks. Powder leaned over a splintered tree stump, her hands on her hips as she directed the children like a chaotic, self-appointed leader.
“Check inside the hollow parts, but don’t get too excited!” she called out. “Unless, y’know, you’re looking to start your own bug army or something.”
Ekko had been helping too, crouching by one trunk and brushing away the loose dirt at its base. The group had already gone through several decayed trees and termite-riddled hollows, uncovering little more than fragments of bark, wood dust, and the occasional harmless beetle.
As Ekko moved to another tree, his sharp eyes caught something unusual. In the hollow of a rotted trunk, buried beneath a layer of compacted mud and dead leaves, there was a faint, silvery glint.
“Hey, hold on,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. He knelt by the tree and reached inside, his fingers carefully digging through the damp soil.
The shiny object was buried deeper than he expected, and he leaned in closer, his full attention on retrieving it. He was so absorbed in the task that he didn’t notice Powder and the kids slowly gathering around him, curiosity drawing them closer.
Powder leaned lazily against a nearby tree, her expression equal parts smug and intrigued. Finally, she cleared her throat loudly. “Uh, Genius? You find treasure in there, or are you just planning to move in with the bugs?”
Ekko jumped slightly, startled out of his focus. His cheeks reddened as he realized everyone was watching him. “I—uh—saw something shiny,” he stammered, brushing mud from his hands. “Just... gimme a second. It’s stuck in there.”
The kids giggled as Powder gave him an exaggerated eye roll. “Alright, dig away, Genius. Don’t let us stop you.”
With renewed determination, Ekko carefully worked the mud loose, his fingers closing around the object. “Got it!” he exclaimed triumphantly.
As Ekko turned to face Powder, still kneeling amidst the vibrant carpet of wildflowers, the scene took on an unintentionally dramatic tone. He held the muddy object in one hand, offering it like a treasure, the sunlight filtering through the twisted branches of the dead trees above, casting a soft glow over the colorful flowers surrounding him. The object, still caked in mud, caught the light faintly, its metallic surface just beginning to glimmer under the grime.
Powder stood above him, staring at the object without a word. Her eyes were narrowed, her usual energetic demeanor subdued as she focused intently on the muddy jewel, turning it over in her mind, trying to figure out what exactly she was looking at. Ekko waited for her to speak, but the silence stretched on. A few seconds passed—long enough for him to start feeling the weight of the moment—and neither of them seemed to realize how much time had passed.
Around them, the children watched in silence, the air thick with curiosity. They exchanged quiet glances, some of them snickering, others blinking in disbelief. To them, the scene was unfolding like something out of a storybook, and it certainly seemed like Ekko was... proposing? The position, the waiting, the way Ekko held up the muddy jewel—it all felt like something out of a romance, even though neither of them meant for it to come across that way. Some of the younger kids even whispered to each other, eyes wide with excitement, while Tali and a few of the others kept glancing back at Powder, expecting some kind of response.
The awkward stillness settled around them, both of them seemingly caught in the quiet between what had just happened and what might come next.
Just as Ekko was about to speak, the silence was broken by Tali’s teasing voice, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Wait... are you proposing, sis?”
Ekko froze, his face instantly going red. His mouth opened, but no words came out as he scrambled to his feet, flustered. “W-what?! No! It’s not— I mean— No!” he stammered, his heart pounding in his chest.
The kids erupted into laughter, some of them clutching their sides as they giggled at the misunderstanding. A few of the younger ones even whispered to each other, eyes sparkling with intrigue, unsure of what had just happened but clearly entertained.
Powder, who had been turning the jewel over in her fingers, let a faint smile cross her lips, though no one noticed it amidst the chaos. As she finally picked up the jewel, the children erupted in cheers, shouting “Hurray!” with wide smiles and excitement. They had clearly misunderstood the situation, believing that Powder had accepted Ekko’s “proposal.”
She then simply tucked the jewel into her pocket. There was something oddly familiar about the jewel—the way it gleamed in the light, the design that seemed to tug at a memory just out of reach. She shook it off, dismissing the thought as she focused on the children's excitement. “Guess we’ll have to clean this,” she muttered under her breath, her tone light and casual, though there was an unspoken weight to her words. The sudden surge of attention, the cheers, and the weird sense of déjà vu from the jewel left her with a strange feeling. Without a second thought, she grinned and clapped her hands together. "Alright, let’s head back before someone else gets any dumb ideas, yeah?"
She gave a wink to Ekko, her usual playful energy back in full swing. With that, they turned and began to head back, the sounds of the children’s laughter fading into the distance as the group made their way through the forest, back to the town.
Outside Kalstead City
An abandoned dockyard stretched along the desolate shoreline. The once-bustling hub had long since fallen into ruin, its piers reduced to rotting wood and jagged stone. Broken crates and rusted chains were scattered across the crumbling pathways, remnants of a place forgotten by time. The air was heavy with the faint tang of saltwater and decay, and the cries of distant gulls echoed faintly through the stillness.
Mireya, the red-haired, second-in-command of the fake mercenary guild, sat alone on a fallen piece of wall. Her dagger glinted faintly in the fading daylight as she ran a scrap of fabric along its edge, slow and methodical. She wasn’t sharpening it; the motion was more for her own focus, an attempt to keep the storm of emotions at bay.
Her mind kept circling back to Rovan, her leader and the only father figure she’d ever known. He had raised her, taught her to fight, and given her a purpose. And now, he was dead—killed like a pest by Rengar, the monstrous hunter. She could still see it clearly: Rengar’s massive claws, the blur of white fur, the sickening sound of Rovan’s body being torn apart.
Her grip on the dagger tightened, her hands trembling. Hatred burned within her—not just for Rengar, but for the people of Ravenhurst who had celebrated Rovan’s death like it was some kind of victory. But more than anything, she hated herself. She had failed him. She hadn’t avenged him. And now, she was a shadow of her former self, a puppet bound to the will of Swain, a man who saw her as little more than a tool.
Her hand faltered, and she stared at the blade, her reflection distorted in its polished surface. Slowly, she raised it, angling the point toward her chest. Her breaths were shallow as the tip pressed against her skin.
“Maybe it’s better this way,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Her heart pounded in her chest, and the dagger wavered in her grip. She was so close—one push, and it would all be over. The suffocating guilt, the endless frustration, the hollow existence of being someone else's pawn.
But just as she steeled herself to drive the blade into her chest, Swain’s voice echoed in her mind, calm and chilling.
"Killing yourself would be such a waste, Mireya."
Her breath hitched, and she felt it—that oppressive presence pressing against her mind, like dark tendrils curling around her thoughts. She gritted her teeth, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Leave me alone, Swain. Haven’t you done enough? You took Rovan. You took everything!”
“Rovan died because he was weak,” Swain replied, his tone cold and surgical, each word slicing into her. “And you—you’re proving to be just as pathetic.”
Her grip tightened on the dagger, her knuckles white. Fury surged through her veins, hot and wild. “Shut up! You don’t know anything about me. About us!”
“Oh, but I do.” The voice slithered through her mind, relentless. “I saw the way you cowered when Rengar ripped him apart. I saw the way you ran when the people of Kalstead tore your bases down, laughing at your failures. Tell me, Mireya, how did it feel to watch your world burn while you did nothing?”
The blade quivered in her hands as her fury collided with her shame. The memories crashed over her like a tidal wave—Rovan’s bloodied body, the beast’s claws, the cheers of the townsfolk as they celebrated her guild’s destruction.
“You think I didn’t fight?” she snarled, her voice cracking. “You think I didn’t try to stop it?”
“You didn’t fight hard enough.” Swain’s words were like poison, sinking deep. “But it doesn’t have to end this way. You have the power to make them suffer. To make them all suffer.”
Her breath quickened, her heart pounding in her chest. “Revenge,” she whispered, her voice trembling. The word tasted like ash on her tongue.
“Yes,” Swain said, his tone softening into something almost seductive. “Revenge. On the beast who killed him. On the people who spat on his grave. On all of them. And I can give it to you.”
“Revenge?” she hissed, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and despair. “You keep dangling that in front of me, but I’m still here. Still rotting in this gods-forsaken ruin, hiding like a rat. How am I supposed to avenge him like this?”
Swain’s voice remained steady, cold, and deliberate.
“You’ll have your chance. I’ll give you back the respect you once commanded. The power to make them suffer.”
Her lips twisted into a bitter smile, and tears pricked her eyes. “Respect? Power? Don’t mock me,” she spat, venom in her voice. “You’re using me just like you used Rovan. Just like you use everyone.”
Swain’s voice coiled around her thoughts, low and insidious. “And yet, here you are. Still alive. Still fighting to be heard. If I’m truly as cruel as you claim, why haven’t you ended it already?”
Her grip tightened on the dagger, her fingers trembling. “Don’t push me,” she hissed. “You’ve already taken everything. My pride. My purpose. What’s left?”
“What’s left?” Swain’s tone shifted, now almost mocking. “Look at you—sitting here, wallowing in defeat. If this is who you are, then yes, perhaps there’s nothing left. Perhaps you were never strong enough to begin with.”
The words cut deep, sharper than any blade. Mireya’s hand faltered, the dagger trembling in her grasp. “Shut up,” she whispered, though her voice wavered.
“But I don’t think that’s true,” Swain continued, his voice softening, slipping into something almost comforting. “You’ve come this far. You’ve survived when others would have crumbled. That isn’t weakness, Mireya. That is power. And power, no matter how small, can grow.”
Her chest heaved, her breath shallow as she fought against the pull of his words. “Power for what?” she muttered, tears threatening to spill. “To be your puppet? To keep doing your dirty work?”
Swain’s presence seemed to loom larger, his voice more commanding. “To take back control. To be more than a tool. Yes, I’ve used you—but I’ve also given you something no one else has: a chance to rise from the ashes. You can let your hate consume you, or you can wield it. The choice is yours, Mireya.”
Her grip on the dagger loosened, the weapon slipping from her fingers and clattering against the cold stone floor. She slumped forward, gripping her knees as her body trembled with anger, grief, and something she hated even more: the faintest glimmer of hope.
“You’re lying,” she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.
“Am I?” Swain’s voice was calm, assured. “Then prove me wrong. Show me that your strength is greater than my control. Or give in, and show me you were never worth the effort to begin with.”
Before she could respond, a rustle came from the shadows. Mireya tensed, her hand darting instinctively to her belt, though her dagger lay discarded on the ground.
“Who’s there?” she barked, her eyes darting toward the source of the noise.
Figures emerged, their boots clicking against the cracked stone. The moonlight gleamed off their silver armor—the unmistakable insignia of Demacia etched onto their breastplates.
The soldiers stepped from the shadows, their silver armor glinting in the moonlight as they encircled Mireya. She backed up instinctively, her hand twitching toward her belt, but the exits were already sealed off by their presence.
“Don’t,” the leader said, his voice sharp and unyielding. “It won’t end well for you.”
Her jaw tightened, her chest heaving with every breath. The dagger lay useless at her feet, but she refused to lower her gaze.
As the circle closed around her, Swain’s voice echoed one last time in her mind, smooth and cutting.
“Remember this, Mireya—wars are won by pawns who know when to move.”
In Ravenhurst
Powder sat cross-legged on her bed in the old garage she now called home. The room was a chaotic mess of tools, scrap metal, and half-finished gadgets, every surface covered in her signature blend of brilliance and disorder.
In her hands was the jewel they’d found earlier—a small metallic piece now cleaned of the mud that had once obscured it. The green gem embedded in its center caught the light, gleaming faintly as Powder turned it over in her hands. She stared at it intently, her brows furrowed.
It looked familiar—too familiar—but the connection remained just out of reach.
She tilted her head, holding it closer to her face, her sharp pink eyes narrowing in concentration. The design was simple but distinct, and as her fingers traced the edges, she noticed two small holes on either side of the piece. Her frown deepened.
“This was… a necklace,” she muttered, realization dawning.
The thought struck her like a lightning bolt, and she shot up from the bed, her heart racing. Grabbing a magnifying glass from her cluttered workbench, she leaned over the object, angling it carefully under the light. Her breath caught in her throat as she spotted something engraved faintly on the back: the letter F.
Her eyes widened, and her grip on the object tightened. “Mom’s necklace…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
She sank back onto the bed, her mind racing. The necklace was unmistakably her mother’s, but another question loomed large in her mind.
“Vi had it,” she murmured. “What was it doing in that dead tree’s trunk?”