Whispers of War
Ekko and Powder stood tensely, the smoke grenade’s haze beginning to dissipate around them. The Noxian assassin they had cornered glared at them, defiant despite the pipe and gun pointed his way.
Ekko leveled the pipe at the assassin, his voice calm but firm. “Start talking. Why were you aiming at us?”
The assassin smirked but said nothing. Before Ekko could press further, the faint rustle of leaves and snapping of twigs froze him in place.
Powder’s instincts kicked in. She quickly patted her belt, searching for another smoke grenade. Her fingers came up empty. “Damn it,” she hissed under her breath, her lips curling in frustration.
Shadows emerged from all sides, stepping into view with weapons drawn—daggers, guns, crossbows, and swords glinting in the dim light.
“Don’t move,” a cold, gravelly voice commanded. The leader of the group, a tall, scarred man with a milky white eye, stepped forward, his presence radiating authority. His gaze flicked between Ekko and Powder.
“You’ve got spirit,” the leader said, his voice dripping with mock admiration. “But I suggest you save your questions. Dead kids don’t get answers.”
Powder’s grip on her gun tightened, her finger hovering over the trigger. Ekko raised a hand subtly, a silent plea for restraint.
One of the assassins strode forward, yanking the gun out of Powder’s hands. She glared but didn’t resist, though her lip curled in defiance.
Another assassin approached the leader with Ekko’s hoverboard, now powerless. “Sir,” the assassin said, holding it out.
The leader snatched it, inspecting the device with mild interest. “Fancy toy,” he muttered before tossing it back to Ekko.
Ekko caught the hoverboard, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the missing power source.
The scarred leader’s stepped closer to Ekko and Powder. “Ekko and Jinx,” he said, his voice cutting through the tense silence. “I’ve heard a lot about you two. The Zaunite tinkerer and the girl who likes to watch things burn.”
Ekko’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Powder, on the other hand, tilted her head, her lips curling into a smirk.
“Aw, I didn’t know we had fans,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “You want an autograph, too? Or is this just some creepy stalker thing?”
The leader’s smirk didn’t waver. Instead, he stepped closer, towering over her. “Big mouth for someone who’s already disarmed.” He gestured sharply, and another assassin shoved Ekko forward, forcing him to stumble slightly.
“You two think you’re clever,” the leader continued, his voice dropping lower. “But out here, there’s no one to save you. No tricks, no toys—just the end of the line.”
A curt motion from the leader, and the group began to move. Ekko and Powder were forced forward, their captors prodding them with the tips of their weapons as they trudged deeper into the forest. The trees grew thicker, their gnarled branches blotting out what little light filtered through the canopy.
Ekko glanced at Powder, his expression grim but steady. She met his gaze with a flicker of defiance before looking away, her fists trembling at her sides. Blood dripped slowly from one of her clenched hands, leaving a faint trail behind them.
One of the assassins walking behind them noticed the crimson drops glistening on the forest floor. His eyes briefly flicked to Powder’s hand, noting the source, before turning his focus back to the group without a word.
The leader continued to guide them deeper into the forest, the tension hanging thick in the air. Powder walked with her head down, her blue hair falling into her face, but there was something almost deliberate about her steps.
“Keep moving,” the leader barked, his voice sharp.
Powder chuckled softly, her voice carrying a mocking edge. “For a guy who supposedly has everything under control, you sure talk a lot.”
The leader spun on his heel, his dagger flashing as he pointed it at her throat. “You’d do well to shut up,” he growled. “Unless you want to see how sharp this is up close.”
Powder didn’t flinch. Instead, her smirk widened. “You know, if you wanted to kill us, you could’ve done it back there. What’s with all the walking? You trying to hit your step count or something?”
The leader’s glare deepened, his grip tightening on the dagger, but he said nothing. With a curt motion, he signaled his group to keep moving.
In Kalstead City’s Townsquare
The midday sun beat down on Kalstead’s bustling town square, the sound of waves faintly audible in the distance. Jarvan IV, a prince striving to prove his worth, sat on the stone bench circling the central fountain, a whetstone in hand as he methodically cleaned his sword. Without the weight of armor, he looked less like royalty and more like a young man burdened by the need to prove himself. Dressed simply in a tunic and trousers, his golden hair caught the sunlight as he stared intently at the blade, his movements precise but tinged with tension.
“They think I’m wasting my time here,” Jarvan muttered, his voice quiet yet edged with frustration. He glanced at the rippling water of the fountain, his reflection distorted by the movement. “My father... the council... They sent me here because they think Kalstead is nothing but a distraction. An insignificant island, not worth defending.”
Standing nearby, Xin Zhao rested his hands on his spear, his calm, reassuring presence a steady anchor. “And what do you think, prince?” he asked, his tone respectful yet familiar, a mentor addressing a pupil.
Jarvan paused, lifting the sword to inspect its edge. “I think they’re blind. Kalstead isn’t just some forgotten island. It’s the gateway between Demacia and Noxus. If they take this place, they’ll have a foothold to strike deeper into our lands. I know this is important. I just need to make them see it.”
Xin Zhao stepped closer, his voice dropping to a softer register. “Proving yourself is a heavy burden, but it’s one worth bearing. Leadership isn’t about convincing your father, my prince. It’s about protecting those who look to you for guidance.”
Jarvan sighed, setting the whetstone aside. “I want to prove to him that I’m ready, Xin. That I can make decisions, take action, and lead. Not just because I’m his son, but because I am a leader.”
Before Xin Zhao could respond, a sharp cry from above broke the moment. Valor, Quinn’s falcon, soared through the square, its shadow cutting across the cobblestones. Quinn approached swiftly, her armor gleaming as she strode forward, Kara the hunter at her side. Kara’s braided hair swayed with each step, and the bow slung over her shoulder hinted at her readiness.
“Your Highness,” Quinn said, saluting sharply. “We’ve received urgent news from the west coastline patrol. They encountered a group of assassins. Three of our soldiers were killed, but they managed to capture one alive.”
Jarvan’s expression shifted immediately, his youthful uncertainty hardening into resolve. He stood, sheathing his freshly cleaned sword. “A captured assassin?”
Quinn nodded grimly. “Yes, but barely. These weren’t ordinary assasins, Your Highness. They were highly trained, and their tactics suggest this wasn’t an isolated incident.”
Kara stepped forward, her tone measured but serious. “It’s too coordinated to be random. This feels like the beginning of something bigger.”
Jarvan’s jaw tightened as he processed the information. “I knew it,” he muttered, more to himself than to the others. “My father thinks this island is a diversion—a trap to draw our forces away from the mainland. But he’s wrong. Kalstead is the target, and we’re standing on the line between Noxus and Demacia.”
He turned sharply to Quinn, his voice steady and commanding. “Quinn, I need you to stay here. Fortify the city’s defenses. Make sure every inch of Kalstead is under watch. If Noxus is making any move, I want to know about it before they take their next step.”
Quinn hesitated, clearly reluctant to stay behind, but she gave a sharp nod. “Understood, Your Highness. I’ll ensure the city is ready.”
Jarvan shifted his gaze to Xin Zhao, his determination shining through his youthful features. “Xin, we’re going to see this assassin. If there’s a larger plan in motion, I need to know what it is—and I need to know now.”
Kara adjusted the bow slung over her shoulder. “I’ll stay and assist Commander Quinn. We’ll keep Kalstead safe while you’re gone.”
Jarvan spared her a brief nod of gratitude before turning to his horse. With a swift, practiced motion, he mounted, his grip firm on the reins and the sword at his side. Xin Zhao followed suit, his steady presence a silent reassurance as he climbed atop his own steed.
The rhythmic clatter of hooves echoed through the square as they rode toward the edge of town. The fountain faded into the background, and the path to the prisoner loomed ahead. Jarvan’s mind raced. This wasn’t just about Kalstead anymore—it was about proving his vision, his instincts, and his worth as a leader.
Kalstead Jail
The oppressive quiet of the Kalstead jail was broken only by Vi’s low chuckle as she leaned casually against the wall of their cramped cell. She flashed Caitlyn a playful grin, her voice dripping with mischief.
“Do you remember, Cupcake,” Vi drawled, “last time we were locked up like this, we found a much more entertaining way to pass the time.” Her tone was teasing, but her eyes sparkled with the memory.
Caitlyn shot her a pointed look, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. “Vi,” she warned, though the corner of her lips betrayed the beginnings of a smile.
“What?” Vi replied innocently, stepping closer. “I’m just saying, this cell feels awfully familiar. Stone walls, a creaky old bed…” Her voice dropped to a suggestive murmur. “And you, looking absolutely irresistible.”
Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but the faint laugh she let out softened the gesture. “Focus, Vi. We’re not exactly on a romantic getaway here.”
Vi shrugged, her smirk widening. “Hey, just trying to make the best of a bad situation.” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “But if you change your mind…”
Before Caitlyn could respond, the oppressive quiet of the jail was shattered by the metallic groan of the door swinging open.
The four Demacian soldiers who had brought Mireya in earlier strode into the room, their boots thudding heavily against the stone floor. The jailer, a grizzled man with a bored expression, stood from his desk and offered a polite nod of acknowledgment.
"Back so soon?" the jailer greeted, scratching his chin.
The lead soldier, the one who had addressed Caitlyn with cryptic words earlier, stepped forward. His expression was oddly blank, but there was an unmistakable glint of malice in his eyes.
Before the jailer could process the intent behind the soldier’s brisk approach, the soldier’s blade was unsheathed in one swift, brutal motion. The sickening sound of steel meeting flesh echoed through the small space as the jailer’s head was severed cleanly from his shoulders. Blood splattered across the stone walls as the lifeless body crumpled to the floor, the head rolling to a stop near the desk.
Vi shot to her feet, gripping the cell bars tightly, her breath caught in her throat. “What the hell—”
Caitlyn, still seated, stared in stunned silence, her mind racing.
The soldier, his bloodied sword hanging loosely in his hand, turned slowly toward Caitlyn. His lips twisted into a chilling grin as his eyes locked onto hers.
“I told you…” he said, his voice low and taunting, “see you soon.”
Caitlyn’s breath caught in her throat, the weight of his words sinking in as the bloodied tip of his sword dripped onto the floor. Vi tightened her grip on the cell bars, her knuckles turning white, her jaw clenched in fury.
In the West Coastline
The west coastline was eerily quiet as Jarvan and Xin Zhao arrived on horseback. The usual crash of waves against the rocky shore felt muted, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
The stench of blood hit them first, carried on the salty sea breeze. Two bodies lay crumpled in the sand—Demacian soldiers, their white and gold armor now stained crimson. Jarvan dismounted, his boots sinking slightly into the damp ground as he approached the corpses.
“They didn’t go down easily,” Xin Zhao muttered, kneeling beside one of the bodies. Deep gashes and scorch marks marred the soldier’s armor, evidence of a violent struggle.
Jarvan scanned the area, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. “Where’s the third soldier?” he asked, his voice low and tense.
Xin Zhao rose to his feet, his spear at the ready. His sharp eyes scanned the carnage around them, unease etched into his features. “Something’s wrong, my prince. This wasn’t just an ambush. These bodies—they were left here for us to find.”
He paused, his grip tightening on the spear. “And now that I think about it… I don’t believe there was ever an assassin captured to begin with. It feels like a trap, designed to lure us here.”
Jarvan’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as the weight of Xin Zhao’s words settled over him. He turned his gaze to the bloodied scene once more, his instincts warning him of a larger scheme at play.
The air grew heavier, the silence pressing down on them like a physical weight. Jarvan’s grip tightened on his sword as he felt an unshakable sense of foreboding.
“Stay alert,” Jarvan ordered, his voice firm despite the unease creeping into his chest. The wind whispered through the trees lining the coastline, but no other sound followed. It was as though the entire area was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
Back in the forest where Ekko and Powder were captured
Deeper in the forest, the assassins finally came to a stop. The dense canopy above blocked almost all remaining sunlight, casting the area into murky twilight. Shadows stretched long and jagged across the forest floor, their edges wavering with the last hues of fading daylight.
“You’ve got two options,” the leader said, his voice calm but menacing. “Make this easy, or make it painful.”
Ekko and Powder were shoved forward, forced to their knees in the clearing. Powder knelt with an exaggerated air of nonchalance, flipping her electric-blue hair over her shoulder. “You know,” she said mockingly, “if this is where you plan to off us, you could’ve picked somewhere less cliché. This place screams ‘bad villain lair.’”
The leader smirked, stepping closer. “Off you? No, little one. If we wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have made it this far.” He crouched slightly, his scarred face illuminated by the faint moonlight. “Do you know what’s more valuable than a mage?”
Powder arched an eyebrow, pretending to think it over. “Someone who doesn’t waste my time?”
The assassins chuckled, a low, humorless sound. The leader didn’t join in, his gaze steady and piercing. “No,” he said coldly. “People who can make hextech. And tonight, we found two such treasures.”
Powder’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, her fingers twitching slightly. “So what? You’re gonna drag us back to Noxus and make us your little inventors?”
The leader straightened, his grin returning. “You’ll find out soon enough.” He gestured sharply to his men. “Chain them up. We have a long walk ahead.”
Ekko’s expression remained stoic as the assassins moved in, their restraints glinting in the dim light. Powder glanced at him, her eyes briefly meeting his. No words passed between them, but the understanding was clear.
Before anyone could act, a low, guttural growl rumbled through the forest, freezing everyone in place. It was deep and resonant, primal in its intensity. The leader’s smirk vanished as his men turned toward the sound, their weapons drawn.
The growl grew louder, closer, accompanied by the heavy thud of deliberate footsteps. Powder’s lips curled into a sly grin as she leaned toward Ekko and whispered, “Now this will get interesting.”
The assassins instinctively turned, eyes wide, their weapons shaking in their hands.
From the depths of the shadows, two glowing amber eyes pierced the darkness. A low, menacing growl reverberated through the air, sending a cold chill down the spines of every assassin present. Slowly, impossibly, a massive figure emerged.
Warwick. His claws gleamed under the moonlight as he stepped forward, his hulking form almost too large to fit between the trees. His jaws, jagged and sharp, were pulled back into a twisted snarl, revealing teeth long enough to rip through steel. The sound of his claws scraping the ground was like a death knell, each step measured and deliberate.
The leader of the group froze, his milky white eye widening in recognition. His lips parted, barely able to form words as his grip tightened on his blade.
No, his eyes screamed. Not this monster.
The panic spread like wildfire. The assassins knew what this meant. They had heard the stories, seen the aftermath of his rage. Warwick was a nightmare made flesh.
Warwick’s growl deepened, a sound that rumbled through the earth and into their bones. His eyes locked onto the leader for a moment before shifting to the trembling assassins.
Without warning, he lunged—a blur of fury and muscle as he charged into the group, a force of nature descending upon them.