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@elegant-equilibrium
elegant-equilibrium | independent shen, the eye of twilight from league of legends, not comic compliant | 18+ | PST | written by R (25+, they/he)
To humans, he was a ghost, vanishing in the space between breaths to reappear many miles away. To spirits, he was a human, flesh and bone who ought never to venture into ethereal realms.
low activity / blog needs an overhaul — find me at @essence-flux-primed for plotting
traversing through ionian lands, drinking in the sights of its cliffsides and mountains and endless rivers blue, eden understood why noxus was so insatiably desperate to have ionia. it is unfathomably beautiful, ancient in its power in ways mortals cannot possibly begin to comprehend, frightfully raw in its wild magic, an untameable thing of nature that made men of ego see it as a challenge. the land and its people are fearsome and unyielding, but still they are people of peace living within the balance of a world that knew only war. ionians did not yield to the soldiers clad in iron and steel, even when pinned beneath the mercy of their bow and arrows, trapped between point of their blades that spoke unto them promises stained in blood.
eden doesn't remember the raid upon her village in as vivid details as she's sure the other survivors might have — like her parents and brothers, if they were lucky enough to make it out — but she remembers enough. she remembers fear, dread. the terror, as she anguished over whether she'd ever see her family again. as it turns out, the answer was no, she wouldn't. each step up toward the temple strained in her calves and left an ache in her shins, her legs unused to having to make such arduous journeys. she senses a presence waiting at the top and pauses. too late to turn back now, she thinks, frowning. she's come this far, hasn't she?
she sees the man's head crest over the top of the steps as she approaches. for the entirety of her journey, eden rehearsed what to say, but she's left speechless upon her arrival, a cavernous void filling her mouth. everything she is, everything she has had to be, is a betrayal to who she was, to who she could have been. the temple's master, ionia and its lands and magic and spirits, could reject her here, and it'd be no less than what she deserved.
eden has never been an anxious woman. she has danced through life unapologetically with vicious confidence, because it's what she needed to survive. but this is different — this is a matter of family. after a lengthy pause, eden clears her throat, averting her gaze. " i don't know, " she admits, warily treading closer. " i wasn't sure where to go, exactly. " eden kicks at the stone with the toe of her shoe, looking down at her foot like it's the most interesting thing she's ever laid eyes on. " you don't happen to keep a historical record, do you? of villages that were conquered by noxus, refugees, missing people. "
As connected as he might be to the spirits and the way they whisper, Shen had no way of knowing what she would ask for when she found her voice, but he finds that he's not surprised all the same. The war has left unfathomable scars on this land, despite all that was done to defend it. She's not the first one to come to his door asking about those who survived and those who did not, and Shen is certain that she will not be the last. Beneath his mask, his lips tilt down, like she'd pinched an old wound, but his expression remains perfectly concealed.
"Many of our record were destroyed, or stolen." He speaks like it didn't happen to him like he didn't flee the only home he'd ever known, smoke in his nose and blood dripping down his chin, mask tattered at the hands of the man he trusted more than anyone else. Shen doesn't know the fate of the Kinkou's old records, whether Zed had them burned or keeps them still, doesn't know if he reveres the sheer amount of history in his possession the way he should, but Shen doesn't elaborate. There's no need to burden a traveller with his own problems, after all. Even the thought of Zed leaves a bitter taste on his tongue, though he's well trained enough to keep it out of his voice. "We've pieced together some records, though they're woefully incomplete." A slight tilt of his head, like he's trying to assess the stranger's intentions, and then Shen extends a hand to the side, indicating that she's welcome to enter the temple grounds.
Still, his eyes are watchful. Despite his calm demeanour, Shen gives off the impression that he would defend what he has to his dying breath. "You're welcome to look through our records, though I hope you can forgive me for not leaving you alone with them." There's almost a note of wry humour in his voice there, like he's joking with himself over something that happened years ago, though it's hard to tell for sure.
As Shen leads her further into the temple, a few disciples look up from their work with suspicion; though the temple is ostensibly open to visitors, not all of them have the Kinkou's best interests at heart, especially after being weakened by Zed's attack. "I am Shen," he says, "the master of this temple and of the Kinkou Order." His eyes slide towards hers, curious despite himself. "And yourself?"
closed starter, for @elegant-equilibrium.
no one prepares you on what to do, how it feels, to return home. no one prepares you for how foreign it feels, how it feels so strangely familiar and yet not at all. eden remembers the atmosphere, the life she can feel weighing heavy through every breeze rustling between the leaves of high-up branches and the petals that float into the wayward current. but it feels, all the same, terribly different, something she cannot recognize. ionia has changed, but who — and what — could possibly move on unscathed after decades, centuries, of war carving wounds into flesh and stone, staining the earth with blood and rust?
eden knows that it's years too late, that what answers she might have sought mean little, now. her family is gone. and if they aren't, well . . . they might be too old, minds too hollowed by time, to remember her. she's much older now, unrecognizable from the child she'd been when the war had reached her village. if she came across them, could they forgive her? for not coming for them?
her fingers curl into fists around the pack slung over her chest. if anyone had answers, it'd be the kinkou order. at least, it's what she's been told. what would she know? too little, or naught at all. can the spirits recognize her soul? that she is a child of their soil, that its earth is in her blood? eden doesn't have a clue what she's really looking for or what she's meant to do as she walks up to navori's temple of koeshin. she's hardly one for shame or sheepishness, and yet she finds herself silent beneath the magnitude of it all, the sheer weight that bears down upon her here. something humbling, she thinks, but eden shakes her head anyways, says to herself, " this is stupid. "
but she stops herself from leaving, reminds herself that monasteries and temples are often where people flee for refuge during war, that perhaps her family made it out safely and that perhaps the kinkou would know. so she tries again, takes a cursory step forward toward the temple.
The cliffs of Thanjuul are frigid at this time of year, and its inhabitants are busily preparing for another bitterly cold winter. When he was younger and the title Eye of Twilight sat loosely around his shoulders like an ill-fitting garment, Shen would spent his waking hours fretting about how he would keep everyone warm and fed when the snow blankets the land around the temple, cutting them off from friend and foe alike.
But it's been many years now. There are disciples who fled the old temple with him who have helped him through many winters. Shen knows now that it'll be difficult, but they will always pull through.
The Kinkou have survived much worse than the return of a season.
Shen has always had a preternatural sense for when someone needs his help, and it has only intensified along with his connection with the spirit world, and the settling of his information lines. He has eyes in the trees all throughout Navori, though the rings tighten as the temperature plummets. Today, though, it's not them that alerts him.
Something tugs at his chest, yanking when it's time for him to abandon his work in favour of something else. It's all his work, really, but he's glad to put the numbers on his inventory records aside for now.
The stairs to the temple are challenge enough. He waits for her at the top, spine straight and hands clasped behind his back, expression hidden behind his signature mask. When she's close enough, Shen inclines his head in greeting. "Welcome, traveller," he says, voice as steady as his gaze, "to the temple of Koeshin. Is it the Kinkou you seek, or something else?"
shen is so misunderstood. there are so many characters who question him or talk about how he's weaker than previous leaders (I haven't looked into yunara a lot because I. hate riot. but I've gotten a very brief summary of her comments to him), but I always believed that at his core he's trying to create a kinder kinkou, and for people who are used to its ruthlessness and years of war, that gets mistaken for weakness.
I've written shen for so many years now and until relatively recently there's always been a sort of... disregard towards balance, both in-game and outside of it, that always rubbed me the wrong way. it was often lumped in with superstition the way a lot of traditional knowledge has historically been disregarded in favour of something more ""modern"". I think that shen has a much deeper connection to ionia than most people can really grasp, because his connection with the spirit world runs so deep. we saw in "the answer" the way he can not only literally see damage to the land, but also knows instinctively how to heal it. even just a second of his vision helps akali realise how to fix the damage to the land, and shen has years, even decades of study and practice more than her.
for me, shen is trying to strike a balance between the indigenous knowledge and wisdom that was passed down to him, while pairing it with a kindness that's unusual for the kinkou and for a nation that's been at war for decades. there are instances where he kills to right the balance (in his colour story, when he kills the priest who killed the spirits), but he doesn't always resort to kindness. a child cut down a guardian tree, and while akali's immediate reaction was to kill him, shen opted to bestow both of them with a bit of knowledge of how to care for the land.
this to me tells of someone who loves the land he lives on so much, and that love extends to everything that lives on it. he's someone who hasn't let hatred or anger into his heart, despite having every opportunity to. he was raised ruthlessly and decided to break the cycle by treating others with kindness. and even though he might wonder sometimes if he's doing the right thing, the feedback he gets from both worlds is enough to keep his morals in place.
he's such an understated character. there's so much empathy and patience in every story he shows up in. he doesn't act rashly. he leads with kindness. he lets others walk their own path. he guides them to learn on their own. despite it all, shen sees the world he lives in as beautiful now, and knows that it will continue to be so if he keeps putting in the effort.
contact-less brown hues are cast downwards, twiddling with her fingers as she falls in a pensive mood. " sometimes... i get really scared. " upbeat voice is now mellow as she airs her burden in a quiet yet still clear tone. " aha hah- they must be silly in comparison to what you're dealing with. but you always hear me out. thank you, shen dà gé. " a sweet smile, a little shy in her melancholy. " anyway, like i was saying... i get worried that my passion won't lead anywhere, y'know? it's like, everyone keeps telling me, oh sera, the music is a cutthroat place, but i still want to keep giving it my all. even if i am scared. " - from @hexsongs!
Yes, he will always hear her out. That goes without saying. Though he tries to maintain a professional distance, always, it turns out that even Shen isn't immune to Sera's charm. His office is tidy, with only a few personal touches to mark it as occupied.
His eyes are attentive on hers, a gentle brown to show that he's listening, and a quiet smile touches Shen's lips at Sera's declaration. "Its true that it is a cutthroat industry," Shen murmurs, tilting his head slightly as he considers it. "But that doesn't mean there's not a place for you in it. If anything, it makes your presence more necessary." He means it, too — everything must be balanced in some way. "Think back to what drew you to music to begin with. Was it how powerful your favourite star was? How ruthless?" Laughter lights his eyes, but he holds back his smile for now. "I suspect not."
A moment of quiet turns Shen serious, and his eyes slide away for a moment before they return to her. "Your struggles are no lighter than mine, Sera. Though I think—" Here, his lips turn up, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. It's the expression of a man who knows intimately how ruthless this industry can be. He'll shield her form it, though, because it's her kindness that really makes her shine. "—You should leave the throat cutting to me."
Shen knows better than anyone the fire that rips through the person at the reminder of someone they lost. He knows the emptiness that follows, when everything behind it has turned to ash, and he knows that just when things start to grow again, another reminder will tear through them again.
He hates to be the spark that sets Yasuo alight now, but there are things at stake far greater than his own misgivings. There always are.
It takes a while for Yasuo to respond. His words are quiet, and the pause in the middle is lengthy, but Shen is nothing if not patient. He waits until Yasuo staggers over his words, then gently takes lead, guiding Yasuo with a gentle tone. "Your brother is caught between the two realms now. He has already passed on, yet his body remains here. Physical. Corporeal. There are times when a spirit may linger if they have loose threads in the physical realm, but there is something more at work here." His eyes are on the distance, as if he can see the secrets of the spirit realm written in the air before his eyes. "In times like these, familiarity can cause great comfort to a spirit. Familiar sights or scents work, but nothing is so familiar as a face that the spirit once knew."
A pause, where Shen seems to consider his words carefully. "I am not sure what has happened to keep him here, but I know it is unnatural, and that he deserves to be at peace."
hello... like for shen to say something cryptic in your askbox
"There is more to maintaining balance than pruning the tree. Some people would do well to remember that."
looks.
eyes nervously.
' how titsbiggums are you big giant honkers ? ' serious answers only
"Small. Leave me alone."
the riverbank zed finds himself upon was a place well-visited upon another lifetime. it had been a long time since he had indulged in small sentimentalities, things to distract the mind with that have little to do with the yanlei and its mission; he expects no company, no soul beside his own in this particular patch of land, hidden as it is from the common visitor. yet, the one person he finds lurking nearby is perhaps the one exception to the discontent he’d surely feel, had he been disturbed in his outing.
it is the other soul that shares any fondness for this patch of dirt where water meets land. he remembers too well, the summer afternoons indulged in a long past shared childhood, things said and forgotten, or at least, tucked away in the quieter corners of his mind, their minds. the sweeter pickings in an orchard of bitterness.
he is sure the other remembers as well as he does, the certainty he latches upon damning as it is.
“—i would not expect you of all people to bother with such sentimentalities,” though this time, i would say it is pleasant to be proven wrong dies on his tongue, copper-brown gaze clear, unmasked. “have the kinkou bored you enough to reminisce?”
Shen isn't here for sentimentalities. There is no time for him to linger on the past or to submerge himself in memory like in the hot spring at the end of a long day. The Kinkou need to be trained, clothed, fed, and kept warm where they sit on top of the mountain, and Shen must oversee it all, as well as the balance of the nation. To spend time lost in nostalgia would be to waste the most valuable resource that he has. And yet ... the riverbank called to him. The blood on his hands from his most recent execution of balance has been washed away leaving strong, well-worked fingers clean and exposed to the late-summer air.
He is out of position. To be so close to the places of their youth is to be too close to the old Kinkou temple, the place where the Order of Shadow now reside. Even so, he does not expect his moment of peace to be interrupted. Perhaps, by now, he should know better.
Though he doesn't turn, those who know him would see a slight movement of his head that implies that he is listening, that he is aware of his visitor.
He would know those steps anywhere, even before a voice is added to them.
Shen's posture is tall and strong as a tree, rooted so deeply in the soil beneath that no storm could uproot him, but Zed has never been any ordinary storm.
His head tilts to the side like he's thinking, and after a moment Shen finally speaks. "I expected one of yours," he says, remembering countless times when he has run into a Shadow Order patrol, the countless times he has sent those disciples home injured but alive. This isn't his territory any more, after all; he cannot defend it like he once did. "I have not seen these trees in years," His tone is calm as a still pool of water. "We would have climbed them if they were strong enough to bear our weight." Shen's head tips back, the metal on his mask glinting in the sun as he cranes his neck to see the canopy. "Somehow, I expected them to stay the same."
In the mail, Shen receives a gift wrapped in pale pink tissue paper; upon unwrapping, there is a delicate porcelain plate. Each blue and yellow stroke is lovingly painted upon the creamy white surface, looking like tadpoles swimming in the creek. Enclosed, a note: You may not remember, but we broke a dish that night. Here's to replacing what's been lost. Happy birthday.
Shen isn't one for big celebrations. Every year, his father will take him out to dinner, invite a couple close business partners who he's eager to impress, and buy Shen something nice. Something practical. A tie, a crisp new shirt, a watch. Something to make them both look friendly and business oriented.
It means nothing to Shen. It's just another tool for Kusho to leverage to get what he wants, offer the picture of the perfect businessman, the perfect father. Shen endures it year after year.
Some years, he'll get something in the mail that he knows to be from Usan, even when there's no name and no return address. Perhaps that's why he opens this box as soon as he finds it, pulling the wrapping back carefully as if to preserve what little clues Usan has left about his identity and the man he's become in their years apart. Inside it is a dish, and Shen is no stranger to getting those from Usan—he seemed to be the only one who took notice of Shen's fondness for them—but something about it is off. The handwriting is off, and the package is too lovingly packed.
He reads the note, and it doesn't make sense at first. Then, the memory sinks its teeth into him.
A scream. Blood and ceramics on the tiles. Jhin's eyes, watching and waiting. Shen, too short to reach the phone.
Something shatters, and it takes Shen a moment to realise it's the dish, slipped from his fingers, spread across the floor like a spray of blood.
It can't be. But it can be no one else. Terror rips him open as he stares at the shards, then at the tissue paper, then at his hand holding him steady against the counter. Jhin. No.
... It takes him a long time before he can sweep the shards up, and he finds himself looking over his shoulder when he takes them out to the garbage.
i just rlly wanted to sketch maskless shen & zed tbh
monthly reminder that shen is asian (chinese on his mom’s side, japanese on his dad’s) and that riot can fuck off with their ginger shen
so there was a shooting that happened at 3 spas in Atlanta that killed 8 people, six of which were asian women. the articles i was going to link had pictures of the shooter, which i am not going to spread, but this can be easily validated with a google search.
here are links to donate. i'm very tired.
Help support Social and Environmental Entrepreneurs by donating or sharing with your friends.
From funds to help struggling businesses to community-enrichment organizations.
other asian americans feel free to drop their donation links too. mine is in my blog description. thanks
More poetry in my book :)
