The Burden of Secrets
“My grandfather always said… the things we seek are often hidden in places no one dares to look... or perhaps, they're closer than we ever imagined.”
Ava froze, her breath catching in her throat. She turned sharply, her heart pounding. Standing in the doorway, his figure framed by the faint light of the hall, was Swain.
Ava steadied her breath, forcing a sense of calm over her racing heart. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice measured.
Swain stepped further into the room, his every movement deliberate, almost predatory. “Perhaps we should sit and talk,” he suggested, gesturing to the dining table.
Without waiting for her response, he crossed the room, pulling out a chair. His composure demanded attention, and Ava, masking her unease, sat across from him.
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words. Then Swain began.
“Four decades ago, a group of hunters arrived at Kalstead,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, drawing her in. “They came seeking a beast—cunning, elusive, and shrouded in myth.”
Ava’s brow furrowed slightly, her hand tightening into a fist beneath the table.
“They traveled to this insignificant island nation,” Swain continued, his piercing gaze never leaving her, “hunting the last Vastaya of the Vesani tribe.”
The mention of the name caused a subtle twitch in Ava’s expression, a reaction Swain did not miss.
“The entirety of the Vesani tribe was thought to have been wiped out a thousand years ago, during the Ruin Wars,” he said. “But every so often, a report would surface. A fleeting sighting. A whisper of something ancient still walking among us.”
“She taught herself magic,” he continued, his words deliberate. “Not in the way most do, with books, tutors, or traditions. She learned instinctively, navigating the remnants of a broken world after the Ruin Wars had left everything in ruins. Hers was a magic shaped by survival, by necessity.”
Ava’s expression remained composed, neutral, as she maintained her focus on Swain.
Swain, seemingly oblivious to the storm of thoughts swirling inside her, went on. “While there are many who have lived a millennium, she stands apart. There’s something... different about her. Something the world hasn’t fully understood.”
Ava’s pulse quickened, but she managed to keep her voice even. “And what makes her so special?”
Swain smiled slightly, his eyes glinting with a knowing edge. “It’s not just her age, not just the fact that she’s the last of her kind. It’s that she knew of a weapon—a weapon created after the Ruin Wars. A weapon capable of changing everything. Over time, the knowledge of it faded, the whispers turning into myths... and eventually, fairy tales.”
Swain’s gaze sharpened, his words carrying an air of grim reflection. “My grandfather believed in the story of the weapon, in its power to shape the world, for better or worse. It was more than obsession—it was conviction. He sought the best to track her down. That’s when he turned to Rengar.”
The name hung in the air like a whispered legend.
“The famed hunter, a Vastaya himself, skilled beyond imagination. My grandfather knew Rengar wouldn’t fail, yet for some reason, he wasn’t alone. Three boys—eager, brash, and untested—tagged along on the hunt. They weren’t needed. Rengar could’ve done it alone, yet he allowed it.”
Swain’s tone darkened, and a flicker of irritation crossed his face. “For reasons unknown, the hunt failed. She evaded them, leaving only traces of her presence, whispers of her passage. And so, the story of her—and the weapon—fell into shadow once again.”
He leaned back slightly, his crimson eyes fixed on the floor, his thoughts drifting. “It was decades later when she reemerged, no longer a shadow but a beacon. She became one of Ionia’s trusted advisors, a prominent mage. To them, she was a symbol of wisdom and power. To me, she was the key.” His voice curled with disdain, bitterness lacing his words.
Swain’s demonic hand shifted in the dim light, the sharp talons glinting menacingly. He raised it slightly, his lips curling into a faint, humorless smile. “My grandfather used to say, ‘Wielding the weapon of gods requires sacrifice.’” His crimson gaze dropped to his corrupted arm, and he let out a sigh, the weight of his words settling in the air.
“Perhaps he was right. Sacrifice is inevitable. It’s what defines power and separates those who act from those who merely dream. I made my own sacrifices—more than most would dare.”
Swain’s voice dropped, colder now, almost resigned. “I tried searching for that relic, that artifact… or whatever it is. It was my obsession, just as it had been my grandfather’s. My search brought me to Kalstead, where I found the gateway to the artifact.” He paused, his gaze narrowing with a flicker of frustration. “But the key to unlock it was still missing. And the only one who knew of it—who could guide me—was her.”
He let the silence stretch for a beat, then continued, his tone bitter. “When I finally caught her, I thought the answers were within my grasp. But she had already forgotten everything. The Garden of Forget had done its work. Her memory was wiped clean, and with it, the last fragment of hope I had for uncovering the truth.”
Swain leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low growl. “I was plunged into darkness once more. And I learned… the void left by failure is far more punishing than the pain of sacrifice.”
Swain’s voice dropped lower, almost as if he were speaking to himself. “I searched for answers from those who had been part of the hunt. But by the time I started looking, all three boys were long dead. Their lives snuffed out by the passage of time or their own recklessness. As for Rengar…” Swain’s lips twisted into a faint sneer. “All he carried was the memory of his failure. A proud hunter haunted by the one prey he couldn’t catch.”
He shifted in his chair, his sharp eyes flickering with something darker. “I thought that was the end of the trail—until, one day, a boy appeared in Kalstead. He carried with him a photograph. A relic of that hunt. It showed the three boys and a girl standing together.”
Ava felt her breath hitch, her chest tightening as Swain slowly turned his gaze toward her. “Curious, isn’t it?” he mused. “A boy with a photograph of a moment tied to a hunt long forgotten. So I did what anyone in my position would do—I followed the trail.”
Swain extended his corrupted hand, the talons curling slightly as an unseen force began to stir. From the shadows of the room, a small object floated forward. Ava’s heart sank as she recognized it. The photograph Ekko had left behind, resting beside her other keepsakes, now hovered ominously in Swain’s grasp.
He placed it on the table between them, his clawed fingers tracing its edges. “This photograph,” he said softly, though his tone was heavy with implication. “Do you know what makes it so special?”
Ava’s fingers gripped the edge of the chair, her expression carefully neutral.
Swain’s gaze pierced her, unrelenting. He tapped a single claw against the image, drawing her attention to the girl in the photograph. “It’s not just the girl, nor her presence in the hunt. It’s what she’s wearing.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, almost predatory tone. “That necklace around her neck. Do you know to whom it once belonged?”
Ava’s heart thudded in her chest, though she kept her expression calm, her eyes steady.
“I’ve seen it before—years ago, in an old book my grandfather gave me,” he said, his tone laced with quiet intensity. “In one of the pages, there was a drawing of her—the woman with nine tails. And there, around her neck, was this very necklace. A relic of her past. An artifact tied to her identity.”
Swain leaned back slightly, his crimson eyes narrowing as he studied Ava’s every movement. Then, with a faint, knowing smile, he said, “But I’m not looking for the necklace. I never was.”
Ava froze, her mind racing, though she maintained her outward composure. His gaze was unrelenting, piercing. “The key was never an object,” he continued. “It was something far more unique. Something far harder to track down.”
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a predatory whisper. “It’s a Soulmark. A trace left behind when a ruinstone merges with a soul, embedding its essence into the core of one’s being. Far more unique than even a fingerprint—an identity no one can hide.”
Ava’s chest tightened, but she said nothing, her fingers gripping the edge of her chair.
Swain’s smile widened, cold and calculating. “The problem, of course, is finding it. Soulmarks are nearly impossible to detect without the right tool.” Slowly, he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a smooth, glowing rune stone. Its surface shimmered faintly with hextech energy, etched with intricate symbols that seemed to hum with latent power.
“This,” he said, holding it up for her to see, “is no ordinary rune stone. I acquired it from the remains of a hextech weapon left behind after the battle of Piltover—a relic of incredible precision. And here’s what makes it special: if I bring it close to someone with a Soulmark, it reacts.” He tapped the table lightly with the stone. “It vibrates. The stronger the resonance, the more certain I can be.”
Swain held the glowing stone in his hand, its faint hum barely perceptible in the quiet room. His gaze lingered on Ava, cold and calculating, as if savoring the moment. “You don’t need to be afraid… unless, of course, you have something to hide,” he said, his voice soft but laced with menace.
Ava’s pulse quickened, her mind racing. Her fingers gripped the edge of her chair, but she kept her composure, her face calm and unreadable.
Swain’s hand moved closer to the table, the stone hovering inches above its surface. Its glow seemed to intensify, casting sharp shadows across his sharp features. “Let’s see if you bear a Soulmark,” he murmured, his voice dripping with anticipation.
But just as he began to lower the stone, Ava’s lips curved into a faint smile, stopping him in his tracks.
“Not required,” she said smoothly, her voice calm but tinged with finality. Her eyes met Swain’s, gleaming with a mix of resignation and clarity.
Swain froze mid-motion, his hand hovering above the table. His eyes narrowed, studying her with renewed intensity.
Ava leaned forward slightly, the faint smile still lingering on her lips. “Congratulations,” she said, her tone sharp yet composed. “Your hunt is finally over.”
Swain's hand hovered in the air for a moment longer, his sharp gaze fixed on Ava as if dissecting her very soul. Slowly, he withdrew his hand. The rune stone’s faint glow pulsed rhythmically, as though alive, mirroring the tension in the room.
The faint smile on Ava's lips faded as she let out a quiet sigh, the weight of inevitability settling on her shoulders. “You know, don’t you?” she said, her voice softer now, tinged with a bittersweet resignation.
Swain’s expression didn’t change, but his silence spoke volumes.
Ava’s fingers curled against her lap as she straightened her posture. “You must already know… A Soulmark can only be retrieved if the bearer is dead,” she said evenly, though her voice wavered slightly. “Or, of course, it can be extracted by a skillful mage. A mage like you.”
Swain tilted his head, the faintest smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “You’re correct,” he said simply, his tone almost conversational.
Ava exhaled deeply, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her realization. “But, you’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” she said quietly, though her voice carried a steady resolve.
Swain’s crimson eyes glinted, sharp and unyielding. He didn’t bother to refute her words. Instead, he offered a slow, deliberate nod. “Unfortunately,” he began, his voice low, almost regretful, “you are the only one who holds the knowledge I seek. That makes you... inconvenient.”
Swain leaned forward, his imposing presence casting a shadow over the table. “You understand the nature of war, Ava. Loose ends unravel plans, and I have no intention of letting this slip from my grasp now.”
Ava chuckled softly, though the sound lacked humor. “Do you have any last words?” Swain asked, his tone devoid of malice but filled with a chilling certainty.
She lifted her gaze to meet his. “Just one thing,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her. “It was me, and the three boys. We were the one who ruined Rengar’s hunt. Can you let him know that?”
Swain’s brow arched slightly, an amused glint in his eye. “I’ll be sure to deliver the message,” he replied with a curt nod. “Consider it my final courtesy.”
He rose slowly, the rune stone pulsing with a vivid glow in his hand. “Rest assured,” he said, his tone deceptively soft, almost tender. “Your end will be swift and without pain.”
Swain began to chant, his words laced with a dark, ancient magic that filled the room with an oppressive energy. Ava closed her eyes as the spell built around her, the air growing thick with power. When it struck, there was no physical pain—only an overwhelming sensation of stillness, as if her soul were being gently pulled from her body.
But in that moment, as her life slipped away, a vivid memory surfaced—a fragment of her past, long buried yet impossibly clear.
She saw herself, much younger, standing beside Benzo, Raek, and Loran. They were near a windmill, the golden light of dusk casting warm hues over the scene. The photograph was about to be taken, and her neck was bare—no necklace to speak of. They were all young adults then, just on the cusp of forging their futures, their faces alight with hope and camaraderie.
Benzo stood closest to Ava, his posture relaxed but his attention subtly fixed on her. His smile was steady, but his gaze carried something deeper—an affection he never voiced, hidden in the small, quiet ways he looked at her.
Then, the woman appeared.
The nine-tailed woman. But in this memory, her tails were hidden, her aura muted. She looked like an ordinary person, her presence warm but commanding. “Wait,” the woman said gently, stepping toward Ava. She removed the necklace from her own neck, the teardrop-shaped charm catching the sunlight, shimmering faintly.
The woman smiled, placing the necklace around Ava’s neck with careful hands. “Perfect,” she said, stepping back and gesturing for the group to pose. Benzo shifted slightly, his expression softening further as though the necklace had drawn an invisible circle around Ava, making her even more radiant in his eyes.
The memory froze on the image of their smiles, bright and full of life, as the photo was taken.
The memory dissolved, leaving behind a bittersweet ache that seemed to echo through her very soul. Ava’s strength was slipping away, her breaths growing shallow, yet a faint, trembling smile graced her lips. A single tear slid down her cheek, glistening like a tiny shard of a broken past. Her voice, soft as a feather and laced with profound sorrow, broke the silence.
“I’m sorry, Ahri,” she whispered, her smile lingering even as her final breath escaped her. The tear traced a delicate path down her face, and with it, she let go, her expression one of quiet peace amidst the storm of regrets.
Her body went still. The room grew silent as faint purple magical particles began to rise from her, swirling in the air before coalescing into a glowing purple gem that hovered above the table.
Swain’s crimson eyes gleamed with quiet triumph. He reached out, his hand closing around the gem as his lips curled into a satisfied smile.
Finally, the key was his.