Wolves Hunt in Packs
Chapter 1: Wolves Hunt in Packs
Ambessa stood at the center of her war chamber, her presence dominating the dimly lit space like a storm poised on the horizon. The lanterns above swayed faintly with the ship’s motion, casting flickering light that danced across her sharp features, accentuating the sharpness of her cheekbones and the cold intensity of her golden eyes. Before her lay a massive table, its surface weathered and scarred from years of use. It was littered with rolled maps, dog-eared reports, and small tactical pieces carved from ivory and onyx, arranged meticulously to reflect the battles yet to come.
At the heart of the chaos was a dagger, its hilt wrapped in worn black leather, the edges frayed from years of use. The blade was thick and heavy, its steel darkened by time and streaked with rust. Dried blood, crusted deep into the grooves of its serrated edge, told stories of battles long past—victories and losses that lingered in memory as much as in the weapon itself. It stood embedded into the table with deliberate force, pinning a map beneath it. The blade’s shadow stretched across the worn parchment, casting a jagged line over the name that had become her obsession: Delverhold.
Ambessa’s gaze lingered on the dagger, her fingers brushing the worn hilt as if drawing strength from its presence. It wasn’t just a weapon—it was a reminder, a symbol of blood debts left unpaid and the vengeance she had carried in her heart for years. The rusted steel glinted faintly in the lantern light, the crimson stains catching the shadows and making it seem almost alive, a harbinger of what was to come.
Her golden eyes traced the jagged coastline on the map beneath it, following the path that led to their destination. Each line marked a choice, a sacrifice, a calculation she had made to bring them to this point. The weight of it all pressed down on her shoulders, but Ambessa bore it as she always did—with unyielding resolve. The dagger remained buried deep, not just in the table, but in her mind, its presence both an anchor and a promise.
Vi stood silently at Ambessa’s side, the embodiment of precision and authority. Her fitted black tunic, embroidered with subtle gold accents, clung to her athletic frame, the fabric tailored to perfection. Both sleeves were cut high, exposing her powerful arms—one flesh, crisscrossed with faintly glowing scars, the other gleaming with the sleek perfection of hextech engineering. The runes etched into the prosthetic pulsed faintly, casting soft light against her skin. Wrapped around her forearm like a coiled gauntlet was her chain, its heavy steel links polished and humming faintly with dormant power. It wasn’t just a weapon—it was a part of her, a natural extension of the unrelenting force she had become.
Her crimson braid, tight and flawless, fell down her back, swaying slightly with her movements. Though the journey had been grueling, her posture betrayed no weariness. The faint shimmer coursing through her veins gave her an almost otherworldly presence, her glowing black eyes steady as they scanned the room. But beneath the composed exterior, there lingered an unspoken truth: Vi had yet to fight a true battle.
Her victories had all been confined to the training halls—clashes against Ambessa’s soldiers, men and women who had tested her strength, her speed, her instincts. Even Ambessa herself had taken her on, their sparring sessions brutal and relentless. Yet no matter the opponent, the outcome never changed. Vi always emerged victorious. She had been forged to dominate, to stand unyielding in the face of any challenge. But the battles she had fought were controlled, bound by rules and limits. They had never carried the weight of life or death.
Now, as the storm of a real battle loomed on the horizon, Vi couldn’t help but wonder. Would those carefully staged victories, the relentless training, and her unmatched strength be enough? Out there, beyond the structured chaos of sparring, the world would not pull its punches. Out there, every strike, every decision, would have consequences she had yet to face.
It had been a grueling two months traveling the rugged coasts of Runeterra, a journey fraught with restless nights, harsh terrain, and the ever-present tension of what lay ahead. Each day brought them closer to their destination, the looming inevitability of Delverhold a shadow over their every step and decision. The voyage had been marked by long silences, interrupted only by the occasional exchange of strategic thoughts between Ambessa and Vi. They spoke in gestures, in shared glances, in the unspoken understanding forged between them over years of trials.
The room was silent save for the faint hum of the ship’s engines, a low, rhythmic pulse that seemed to mirror the tension in the air. The walls of the chamber were adorned with weapons from across Runeterra, each a trophy of battles fought and won. Heavy curtains swayed gently with the ship’s movement, and the air carried the scent of salt and steel—a reminder of the vast seas that had carried them this far.
Ambessa’s expression was one of fierce concentration, her golden eyes narrowing as her finger hovered over the knife that pinned Delverhold to the map. The blade had left a faint tear in the parchment, a subtle scar that spoke of her impatience and the raw emotion that boiled just beneath her composed exterior. Her lips pressed into a thin line, the weight of long-held vengeance etched into every line of her face. This wasn’t just strategy; it was personal. Delverhold wasn’t merely a location—it was the culmination of years of planning, of sacrifices made and lives lost.
Vi’s presence was a quiet yet powerful anchor. She stood a step behind Ambessa, her glowing black eyes scanning the maps and reports with a calculated intensity. Though she hadn’t spoken a word, her stance, the slight flex of her mechanical hand, the tension in her jaw—everything about her radiated readiness. She was a soldier waiting for the command, a weapon honed for the moment it would be unleashed. Yet beneath the surface, there was something more—an unshakable loyalty to the woman standing before her, a shared purpose that went beyond mere orders.
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Ambessa’s hand finally moved, her fingers brushing the hilt of the dagger as she exhaled slowly. “Delverhold,” she said, her voice low but resonant, breaking the quiet like the first crack of a storm. Her gaze didn’t leave the map, but her words were meant for Vi. “We’re close now. Closer than ever.”
Vi nodded, the motion subtle yet deliberate. Her eyes flickered briefly to the dagger, then back to Ambessa, her expression unreadable but her body language speaking volumes. This was what they had been working toward, what they had endured months of relentless travel for. And as the ship’s engines hummed beneath their feet, the distant promise of Delverhold loomed ever closer, carrying with it the weight of everything they had fought for—and everything they still had to lose.
Darius. The name lingered in Ambessa’s mind like a poison, curling around her thoughts and tightening her chest. Her jaw clenched, the muscles in her face hardening as the weight of his name settled over her. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms with enough force to leave faint marks. The memory of what he had taken from her—her son, her blood—was a wound that had never healed, a raw and searing ache buried deep in her soul. Kino’s absence was a phantom pain that haunted her every waking moment, a shadow that never left her, no matter how much power she amassed or how many victories she claimed.
The pain had never dulled, but Ambessa had long since learned to master it, to channel it into something sharper and deadlier. Grief had become fuel, heartbreak transformed into precision, and vengeance sharpened into a blade. Years of waiting, of maneuvering through the political and martial games of Runeterra, had brought her here. Every decision, every sacrifice, had led to this moment. And now, at long last, the time had come.
She stood straighter, her golden eyes narrowing as she stared at the dagger embedded in the map, the name Delverhold glaring back at her like a challenge. The dim light of the chamber caught the faint sheen of sweat on her brow, though her composure remained unshaken. Her voice broke the heavy silence, low and steady, but carrying the weight of unrelenting determination.
“No more running,” she said quietly, the words laced with the venom of years of bottled rage. Her gaze hardened, the glow of the lanterns reflecting off the sharp planes of her face. Her fingers brushed against the edge of the table, the faint tremor in her hands the only outward sign of the emotions she kept locked behind her rigid control. She exhaled, the sound sharp and deliberate, as if forcing the tension from her chest.
“No more hiding,” she continued, the words as much a vow to herself as they were a declaration of intent. The stillness of the room seemed to echo her sentiment, the hum of the ship’s engines thrumming beneath her feet like the distant drumbeat of war. Darius had stolen everything, but now the tide was turning. This wasn’t just revenge—it was justice, forged in fire and tempered by years of pain. And she wouldn’t stop until it was finished.
Ambessa turned her head slightly, her eyes flickering to Vi, who stood silently at her side. Always there, ever-watchful, Vi had become an unshakable presence—a shadow of Ambessa’s will, her very loyalty carved into every line of her powerful form. The faint glow of shimmer coursing through her veins painted her in an otherworldly light, the pulsing black scars weaving their way across her skin like rivers of energy. Her hextech arm, gleaming faintly under the dim light, rested at her side with a stillness that belied its potential for destruction. The intricate runes etched into its surface seemed to hum faintly, resonating with the tension in the air.
Ambessa’s hardened expression softened for a moment as her gaze lingered on Vi, taking in the quiet strength she carried with her. Her fingers brushed lightly over the edge of the map, her touch almost reverent, as though the paper itself could bring her closer to the vengeance she had so carefully crafted. “This is the moment I’ve waited for,” she said, her voice low but steady, the words laced with a weight she rarely let show save for Vi. There was no bravado in her tone, only the raw conviction of a mother who had suffered a loss too great to name. “Darius thought he could take Kino and walk away. He thought he could kill my son and leave me broken.”
Vi’s posture shifted ever so slightly at the mention of Kino, her glowing black eyes narrowing in faint surprise. Ambessa rarely spoke of her past, rarely let anyone see beyond the carefully constructed armor of her command. This was something new, something raw. Vi’s hand flexed involuntarily at her side, her natural fingers brushing over the cool steel of her chain as she processed the revelation. She had known about Mel—Ambessa’s other child, distant and fiercely independent. Vi had met her a few times, long ago, when she had been an entirely different person. But a son? This was the first she had heard of him.
The two months at sea had been a test of patience and discipline for Vi, but not in the way she had anticipated. Deprived of her voice, she had poured her energy into learning sign language, her frustration at being unable to communicate with Ambessa fueling her determination. Each day, she spent countless hours with her instructor, absorbing every movement, every gesture, until the shapes and rhythms of the language began to feel natural. After each lesson, she would lock herself away, practicing relentlessly until the signs were perfect. By the time her instructor returned the next morning, any corrections from the day before had already been mastered. The look of astonishment on his face during that first week had been a quiet source of pride for Vi, but even that had faded as he came to expect nothing less from her.
Now, as she stood before Ambessa in the dimly lit war chamber, her hand moved hesitantly, fingers rising to sign a question: You had a son? The motion was fluid but tentative, as though she was still testing the strength of this newfound language. Her glowing scars, usually pulsing faintly with a steady rhythm, dimmed slightly as she sought clarity, her gaze fixed on Ambessa’s face. Her usual confidence, the unshakable aura that defined her, had softened into something gentler, almost cautious.
Her movements, though precise, carried the weight of something more profound—a desire to understand, to connect in a way words could never quite achieve. The glow of the lanterns reflected faintly off her mechanical arm, the shimmer within her veins pulsing quietly as she waited, her eyes searching Ambessa’s expression with a vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to show except with her
Ambessa’s gaze returned to the map, her hand pausing over the dagger embedded in Delverhold. For a moment, she didn’t respond, her silence as heavy as the dimly lit room around them. Then she exhaled, her voice dropping even lower as she finally answered. “Yes,” she said, the single word carrying a weight that made the air around them feel heavier. Her fingers traced the edge of the map with a tenderness that seemed almost out of place in the war chamber. “Kino was my son. My blood. And Darius…” Her voice faltered for just a moment, her golden eyes darkening. “Darius took him from me.”
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken emotion. Vi’s gaze softened, her glowing eyes flickering as she processed the pain woven into Ambessa’s words. She had seen Ambessa as many things: a commander, a force of nature, a mother to her in ways she never expected. But this—this was a side of Ambessa she hadn’t known existed, a vulnerability that made her seem more human, more real. Vi hesitated, her hand twitching as though she wanted to say something, to offer something, but she didn’t know how.
Instead, she nodded slowly, a subtle but deliberate motion, her silent way of acknowledging what Ambessa had shared. The faint hum of her hextech arm seemed to fade into the background as the two women stood in quiet understanding. For all her strength, for all her power, Ambessa’s pain was something Vi could recognize, even if she couldn’t fully grasp the depth of it. This wasn’t just vengeance for Ambessa—it was justice, a reckoning long overdue. And Vi, for all her silence, would stand by her side until the end.
Ambessa’s steps were measured, the heavy thud of her boots against the floor reverberating softly in the war chamber. Each movement carried purpose, her imposing presence filling the dimly lit room as she closed the distance to Vi. When she reached her, Ambessa’s hand came to rest on Vi’s shoulder, her touch deliberate and firm, but not without its warmth. It wasn’t the touch of a commander to a subordinate—it was something deeper, something grounding. “Wolves hunt in packs, Violet,” Ambessa said, her voice low but steady, the faint rasp of authority underscored by a quiet, simmering rage. “He has no idea what’s coming for him.”
Vi’s black eyes shifted upward to meet Ambessa’s gaze, her expression as steady and unshakable as ever. The faint shimmer that coursed through her veins pulsed rhythmically beneath her scars, a subtle but ever-present reminder of the power Ambessa had forged within her. Vi didn’t flinch or waver under Ambessa’s golden-eyed intensity. This was what she had been created for, molded for. Every scar, every strike, every trial had led her to this moment. She would execute Ambessa’s will with a precision that could not be questioned.
Her glowing fingers flexed briefly at her side before she lifted her hand to sign a simple response: I’m ready. The movement was sharp and deliberate, carrying a finality that matched the resolve burning in her eyes. Her hextech arm hummed faintly, a low, mechanical sound that underscored the weight of her silent vow.
Ambessa’s lips curved into a faint smile, a predator’s smile that held no mirth, only the promise of what was to come. The expression softened as her gaze lingered on Vi for a moment longer, her hand squeezing her shoulder before she turned back to the table. The shift in her attention was seamless, her mind already leaping ahead to the task at hand.
Her fingers traced the lines of the map spread before her, her touch light but purposeful as she followed the planned route to Delverhold. Her sharp golden eyes narrowed, taking in every detail of the terrain, every potential obstacle. It wasn’t just a map to her—it was the battlefield, the stage on which her vengeance would finally unfold. The dagger embedded in the map gleamed faintly under the chamber’s light, its hilt a stark reminder of the finality of their mission.
Ambessa’s voice turned colder, the warmth of her earlier words to Vi replaced with the steel-edged authority of a seasoned general. “Lieutenant,” she called sharply, her tone slicing through the room like a blade. The heavy door creaked open, and a soldier stepped inside, snapping to attention with practiced precision. His armor gleamed faintly under the dim light, though his stance betrayed the slightest hint of unease under her piercing gaze.
“Prepare the ship,” Ambessa commanded, her voice leaving no room for hesitation. “We leave at dawn. Ensure the crew is armed, alert, and ready. No delays.”
“Yes, General,” the soldier replied crisply, bowing his head in deference before retreating quickly to carry out her orders. His boots echoed in the corridor beyond, fading into silence as the door sealed shut behind him.
The room was quiet again, save for the faint, rhythmic hum of the ship’s engines, the sound vibrating faintly through the walls like a heartbeat. Ambessa’s gaze shifted back to Vi, her expression softening, though the iron beneath it remained. “You’ve been by my side through everything,” she said, her voice lower now, carrying an unspoken depth. “And now, we finish this. Together.”
Vi’s eyes met hers, unwavering. The faint hum of her hextech arm grew louder for a moment, the shimmer in her veins pulsing in time as her scars glowed faintly. She nodded once, her shoulders straightening as her posture exuded quiet, unshakable resolve. No words passed between them—none were needed. This was her purpose, her promise, forged through fire and pain. She would see it through.
Ambessa turned her attention back to the table, her fingers trailing over the edge of the map as if committing every detail to memory. Her gaze locked on the dagger embedded in the marked location of Delverhold, the hilt catching the faint light as a grim symbol of her intent. “He doesn’t realize what he started,” she murmured, her voice thick with quiet venom, as if speaking more to herself than to Vi. “But he will. I will take his life—and everything he holds dear. For Kino. For my son.”
Her words hung heavy in the air, their weight unmistakable. Slowly, she straightened, her movements deliberate and measured, every inch of her radiating command. She turned away from the table and began walking toward the door, her boots striking the floor with a steady rhythm. Vi lingered for a moment, her gaze falling to the dagger. The weapon seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light, a silent testament to the blood yet to be spilled and blood already spilt. Then, without hesitation, she moved to follow, her steps syncing perfectly with Ambessa’s as they crossed the threshold together.
The quiet corridors of the ship enveloped them, the faint hum of the engines and the distant clatter of preparations the only sounds accompanying their passage. Vi walked half a step behind Ambessa, her glowing black eyes fixed ahead with quiet focus. The chain, tightly wrapped around her forearm, pulsed faintly with its arcane energy, a constant reminder of the power at her disposal. It didn’t sway with her stride—it moved as though it were a part of her, resting but ready, an extension of her will. She didn’t need orders; her place had already been decided. Wherever Ambessa went, whatever path she carved, Vi would be there—her shadow, her weapon, her unwavering hand.
For a moment, Ambessa allowed herself a rare flicker of satisfaction as the faintest smile ghosted across her lips. The hunt had begun. Darius would pay for the pain he had inflicted, and there would be no mercy. The wolves were on his trail now, and this time, there would be no escape.
Vi’s hand brushed against Ambessa’s forearm, a firm but respectful gesture that caused the general to glance down briefly. Ambessa slowed her stride just enough to let Vi move into her peripheral view, her golden eyes narrowing slightly in question. Vi didn’t speak, but her hands moved with sharp, deliberate gestures, her expression calm but curious. Who is Darius?
Ambessa’s lips pressed into a thin line as her gaze flicked forward again, her steps unwavering as she led the way toward the deck of the ship. The corridors were dim, lit by the occasional lantern casting flickering shadows on the steel walls, but the weight of her words filled the space with something heavier.
“Darius,” she began, her tone colder than before, the name itself carrying an almost palpable weight. “The Hand of the Emperor. The enforcer of Noxus’ will.”
She didn’t stop walking, her voice steady as she continued. “Born in the slums of Basilich, Darius was nothing but a street rat, like so many others. Orphaned young, left to fend for himself. But he wasn’t like the others. While they begged, he fought. While they cowered, he killed. He learned early that survival wasn’t a right; it was something you took.”
Ambessa’s footsteps echoed in the narrow hallway, her gaze fixed ahead as her voice dropped lower. “When the Noxian army came through Basilich, it wasn’t salvation they brought—it was war. The conscription laws took his younger brother, Draven, and left him with a choice: watch his brother be sent to the slaughter or enlist and stand beside him. Darius chose the latter.”
She paused briefly, the weight of the story hanging between them. “He was a natural. A brutal, unyielding force. The kind of soldier Noxus loves—one who doesn’t just obey but revels in the bloodshed. They called him the Axe of Noxus before they called him the Hand. He earned it, carving his way through battlefield after battlefield, never once hesitating, never once faltering.”
Ambessa’s hand brushed against the steel railing of a staircase as she began to ascend. “And the empire noticed. Darius rose through the ranks faster than most men could dream. Discipline. Ruthlessness. Victory at any cost. Those were his virtues. He became the ideal of what Noxus demands. When the emperor needed someone to enforce his will, it was Darius he chose.”
Her voice sharpened slightly, her pace quickening as the cool night air began to seep into the corridor ahead. “He is more than a soldier. He’s an icon. A symbol of Noxian strength. For every village burned, for every rebel crushed, for every life he’s taken in the name of the empire, his legend has only grown.”
As they reached the deck, Ambessa’s golden eyes turned skyward briefly before shifting back to Vi, who followed closely at her side. The wind carried the faint scent of salt and sea, whipping against the edges of their clothes. “But legends are not invincible,” she added, her voice cutting through the gusts. “And for all his power, all his discipline, Darius is still a man. A man who made a mistake.”
Her hand moved to rest on the hilt of the dagger she carried at her side, her fingers curling around it with a subtle motion. “He killed my son. He thought that was the end of it. But the wolves are here now, Violet. And he will learn that even the Hand of the Emperor can bleed.”
The deck was quiet, save for the sound of the waves crashing against the hull and the low creak of the ship as it swayed with the rhythm of the sea. The moonlight painted the surface of the water with an eerie silver glow, and the air was crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of salt. Ambessa stood near the railing, her posture rigid, her golden eyes fixed on the horizon. She seemed carved from stone, her face unreadable as her thoughts turned inward, tangled in memories she wished she could bury.
Vi approached her silently, her boots barely making a sound against the weathered planks of the deck. Her glowing black eyes were soft as they studied Ambessa’s profile, the tension in the older woman’s jaw betraying the storm that brewed beneath her calm exterior. Without hesitation, Vi reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against Ambessa’s arm. It wasn’t a forceful gesture, but it carried weight, a silent acknowledgment of the pain Vi knew was too vast to express aloud.
Ambessa turned her head slightly, her sharp gaze dropping to Vi’s hand before lifting to meet her eyes. The faint glow of the shimmer within Vi’s veins reflected in Ambessa’s golden irises, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Vi raised her hands, her movements deliberate and measured. I’m sorry for what he took from you, she signed, her gestures sharp but filled with gentleness.
The words struck Ambessa with the force of a blow she hadn’t prepared for. Her jaw tightened, her breath hitching almost imperceptibly as she let Vi’s hands fall still. She wasn’t one to show weakness—not to her soldiers, not to her enemies, not even to herself. But with Vi, it was different. She didn’t need to guard herself the way she did with the rest of the world. This woman—this daughter—had earned a place within the walls she had spent a lifetime fortifying.
“Thank you,” Ambessa said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that cut through the cool night air. She reached up, her large hand resting lightly on Vi’s shoulder. It wasn’t a gesture of dominance or command, but one of gratitude, of connection. “Your loyalty means more to me than you’ll ever know.”
Vi nodded, her glowing scars dimming slightly as she leaned into the touch, a small but deliberate movement. She didn’t need to speak; her presence was enough. Ambessa allowed herself a rare moment of vulnerability, her fingers squeezing Vi’s shoulder gently before releasing her.
But even as she accepted Vi’s comfort, a shadow flickered in the back of her mind—a fear she couldn’t suppress, no matter how much she tried. It wasn’t fear for herself. She had long since accepted her own mortality, her place in the cycle of power and vengeance. No, this fear was sharper, colder. It was for Vi.
Ambessa’s gaze shifted to the horizon once more, her hand falling to the hilt of her dagger. The thought of losing another child—another piece of her soul—was something she couldn’t bear. Kino’s death had carved a hole in her that even time hadn’t filled. She had rebuilt herself through sheer force of will, turning her pain into purpose. But now, when she looked at Vi, she realized just how much of that purpose had been tied to this woman.
She couldn’t lose Vi. She wouldn’t.
Ambessa’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her blade, her golden eyes narrowing as resolve hardened within her. Whatever awaited them at Delverhold, whatever Darius had prepared, Ambessa would face it without hesitation. She would tear down walls, crush armies, and burn entire cities to the ground if it meant keeping Vi safe.
“I won’t let him take anything more from me,” Ambessa said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper but carrying an unshakable conviction. She turned back to Vi, her expression softening as she took in the woman standing before her. Vi wasn’t Kino, and Ambessa would never try to make her so. But she was hers, and that was enough.
Vi tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing in curiosity as if sensing the shift in Ambessa’s mood. She gestured again, her hands moving quickly but carefully. What’s wrong?
Ambessa shook her head, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Nothing,” she said, her voice steady. “Just thinking about what comes next.”
Vi didn’t press further, but the look she gave Ambessa said enough. She understood. And in the quiet between them, Ambessa felt a flicker of something she hadn’t felt in years: hope. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together.