.
.
Wuju Village, Bahrl.
I arrived at Wuju.
Its entrance rose from the forest like a memory—arched gates of lacquered wood and stone, carved in flowing patterns, ancient yet pristine. The kind of architecture you'd expect in a sacred painting—pillars entwined, sloped rooflines, paper lanterns gently swaying with the wind.
The guards stood beneath it, wielding curved blades, postures disciplined, their feet rooted.
Beyond them, the path unfolded—smooth stone winding through garden terraces and open courtyards. And at the heart of it all, catching the morning light like a shard of moonlight—
A silver tree.
Tall, still, gleaming.
'Now... where exactly is Mistfall?'
I remember it was at Bahrl, close to Wuju. But no precise location.
I waited in line. When my turn came, I walked forward, calm and unhurried.
"Halt."
A swordsman stepped forward, blade raised across my path.
"Show us your face."
I stayed silent. Unmoving.
"Are you sure?" I asked, letting just enough of my presence leak through. A ripple of dread. Something darker than fear.
Their bodies stiffened. Pupils dilated. Breath caught.
"W-we... I am sure," one of them stammered.
I reached up, fingers brushing my hood. Slowly pulling it back—just enough to reveal the side of my face. One eye.
Red light surged. My gaze locked with his.
They froze. Hands trembled near their hilts.
"W-what's your reason for coming?"
"Who are you?!"
I smiled. Just slightly. My lips parting enough to murmur:
"You don't need to know why I'm here... nor my name."
My voice was low. Controlled. It echoed through their minds like a curse written in silk.
A flicker of red glazed their eyes. Their posture slackened. Blades lowered. Souls bent.
"Yes."
"We don't need to."
.
After that, I walked through the village.
It was ordinary—too ordinary. A peaceful illusion clinging to life. Houses of wood and stone, balanced between discipline and humility. Children played with sticks, mimicking the graceful movements of swordsmen.
'No vines yet huh. I remember there was something like that here. Perhaps an after effect of war?'
I kept to the edges, avoiding crowds. Even so, I felt their gazes. Wariness followed me like smoke.
'To think this place will soon perish.'
Once Yi and the others leave for the war, Noxus will strike. Wuju will burn.
Jing
The sound of bells drew my eyes to a modest smithy. Two warriors were leaving, freshly equipped.
Right. Doran. He knows where Mistfall is.
I stepped forward.
.
Jing
The smithy was simple, yet its walls held an array of blades, each more elegant than the last.
I walked through the aisles, my gaze lingering on each weapon. I could feel the weight of each piece, each one a potential tool in my plans.
"Impressive blades," I commented, admiring a particularly finely-crafted sword.
The young shopkeeper's face brightened immediately.
"Only the best, my friend!" He leaned in, a touch too eager. "You look like a traveler. I can offer you a special discount. Just pick anything you like."
I stood still for a moment, feigning consideration.
"Well," I said, tapping my chin, "Is there anything... made by Doran?"
The shopkeeper's expression shifted instantly, a shadow crossing his face. Suspicion flared in his eyes.
"Doran, you said...?" He raised an eyebrow. "How do you know him?"
I paused. 'Is it a secret?' I thought to myself. 'I don't recall that being an issue.'
"...Well—"
"Where did you come from?" he interrupted, his voice sharp.
"Wait, let me—"
"I knew it. You can't be trusted."
The shopkeeper darted behind the counter, likely reaching for a weapon.
The door behind him creaked open.
"Stop with this nonsense."
The figure was unmistakable.
"Master Doran!" The young shopkeeper stammered, his voice wavering.
Doran entered, his presence almost tangible. His long, graying beard, bun hair, and worn but dignified appearance made it clear he wasn't just any blacksmith—he was someone who had seen more than most.
I regarded him with an expression that was all but indifferent, offering a single nod.
"You're interested in my work, boy?" he asked, his voice steady, measured.
I adjusted my posture slightly, letting the tension in the room settle.
"Actually..." I raised my arm from beneath my robe.
"Careful there!" the teen exclaimed, but Doran halted him with a simple gesture of his hand.
I lowered my arm, showing him the Slimecite blade.
"I just wanted to hear your thoughts on my blade," I said, my voice calm, controlled.
Doran caressed his long beard, his eyes narrowing slightly as he examined the sword. His brows raised.
"Hm..." He gave a thoughtful grunt. "Follow me."
.
In the Private Room
He led me to a back room filled with various tools and materials, a workshop at the heart of a master craftsman's domain. The space was cluttered, yet organized in a way only a skilled artisan would understand.
As I followed, I couldn't help but study his demeanor, his every movement. Doran wasn't easily intimidated—he was used to the weight of power.
Once we were inside, Doran gave me an appraising look.
"So," he began, as he gestured to the Slimecite blade in my hand. "What exactly are you after?"
I let the question hang in the air for a moment, choosing my words carefully.
"I'm interested in learning more about blades... and your thoughts on my tools."
Doran raised an eyebrow, his attention now drawn more to my gear. His eyes flicked over my red cap, my golden bracer, and the demacian chestplate beneath my robe.
"This cap," he said, examining it closely, "What does it do?"
I tilted my head slightly, considering. "Not too sure. It seems to increase protection—normal arrows can't penetrate it."
Doran nodded slowly, as if mulling over the information.
"Hmm... intriguing..." His attention shifted to my bracer. "And this? What does it do?"
I brought my arm closer, allowing him to inspect it more closely. "It channels and amplifies magical phenomena. There are runes on it—do you know anything about them?"
Doran's eyes gleamed with a quiet understanding. "Of course."
I looked at him expectantly. "Can you teach me?"
A short laugh escaped him. "Hah! Why would I?"
I considered for a moment, weighing my options. "I can give you all of them."
Doran's gaze flickered with surprise, but then his expression hardened. He closed his eyes for a moment, lost in thought.
"Hm... no," he said, finally.
I let out an inward sigh, but I didn't let it show. I figured. He wasn't the type to be swayed by such simple offers.
He sitted on a small chair.
I watched him sip his tea, and for a brief moment, I considered using my hypnosis—it would be easy to bend him to my will.
But something told me not to push. No. Even though I had shown him my weapons, that I am a mage, what I'm capable of, he wasn't afraid. He was confident. He understood the stakes, and he wasn't going to be intimidated.
I sighed quietly, trying to keep my patience.
It could be a bluff. But I don't want to burn this bridge—not yet. He could still be useful.
"Then," I said,
My voice cool and quiet,
"...what about a premonition?"
.