The days had grown stale these last few weeks. It was more of the same: the paperwork, the training, the meetings at High Command. Though stability was certainly nothing to scoff at, Darius was itching for something to break up the drolling duties he was responsible for…Even if only briefly. But he would never actively look for such a change in pace. The needs of Noxus came well before his own, and he would serve his country however needed in the meantime.
But that moment came sooner than he’d anticipated, and not in the form he’d expected. No announcement of war, or grand assemblies or demonstrations. No, it came in the form of a simple letter. Though many letters made their way to High Command, it was not often Darius received any directly. At first he thought nothing of it, as most letters of interest or suspect were not addressed to him. He didn’t even open it the first day he received it, as he had more urgent manners to attend to. But the next morning, he broke the seal in the privacy of his office, removing the parchment to find only a few sparse words.
It had been long since the General had been rendered speechless, regardless of his silent setting.
What to make of it, he did not know. It was cryptic, and yet, familiar.
The letter was anonymous, yet he knew it must be from someone who knew of his past…Or even knew him back then.
There had been plenty of rabble in the streets of Noxus’ slums, adults and children alike with no home or family, food or money. Darius had ignored most, his only concern himself and his brother at the time. But even at a young age, he’d understood the importance of having allies. But it had been so long ago…
But the “R” in place of a signature. Not an indication of the sender…But a hint, at least. The General had a suspicion, but one he had much difficulty believing.
He was dead. He’d been dead for years. He’d never considered the possibility that he’d survived that slaughter. After all, it was reported that no one had.
And if he had survived…Why didn’t he return to Noxus?
Darius came to the conclusion that whoever this was, it was a trap: Someone trying to lure him into a dark alley to assassinate him or otherwise. But it wouldn’t do for the General of Noxus to ignore such an attempt and err on the safe side. If this was an attempt on his life, he would not allow this assassin to roam free and think him a coward.
Nor would he enlist the accompaniment of any other soldiers on an endeavor that just might be exactly what it claimed to be…And Darius had no qualms with facing this mysterious person alone: Friend of foe.
He waited until that evening, responsibilities resolved for the day. But rather than stop at his home, he headed into the lower pockets of Noxus Prime. It would do him no good to wait until nightfall, as it would only appear suspicious and out of the ordinary for the General. And so in the blanket of the evening’s rust colored light, he strode through the slums in full regalia, acting no bit out of place. None dared question him, most in these parts cleverly avoided his path entirely. Should any back at High Command question him later, he’d have his answer ready by then.
The building was in even more disrepair now than in his memories. Walls and floorboards had fallen away, rotten and dilapidated over time through wear and neglect. The silence here was eerie, somehow echoing against unadorned walls and the cobblestone below. Though the specified location had not been directly stated…His instinct brought him here, to the second floor.
Humid air hung thick in the dim room as Darius stepped inside, coming to a halt as he found a figure on the other side…
He stood still, staring blankly with his stony gaze as he scrutinized the silhouette. Even in this dim light, he could make out their features. But did he recognize them? He wasn’t sure. So many years had passed…How long had it been? A Decade? Was it him? Or was his memory toying with him.
Did he now look into the eyes of an assassin…Or a ghost?
For the sake of simplicity, he hoped the former. After a few moments of heavy silence, he finally broke it with a voice of blood and iron, low and stern.
Riven had never been a coward -- though his actions in the months following the attack on Coeur might be interpreted otherwise. The years had been hard, and he was still a shadow of his former self, but there was nothing he could do but stand in the dim light of the window, hands behind his back and body rigid like a rookie soldier in front of his commander. It wouldn’t do to sink anxiously into the shadows as Riven listened to the stairs whine under Darius’ weight. He had come here to face a reckoning. Nothing more, nothing less.
Instincts told him he saw a flicker of recognition immediately in the eyes of the Hand of Noxus, but it had been ten years since they last saw one another. In that time, Riven felt like he had aged thirty. His skin was grubby, left cheek stained by a gnarled scar similar to the burns that covered his body. His hair, longer now, was tied back in a ponytail, and there was very little left of his officially issued Noxian armour. What hadn’t been abandoned in a fit of betrayal-fed rage had been tucked away and hidden so that Riven stood a chance of walking freely on the roads of Ionia. Most had been lost, save for a shoulder pauldron Riven had taken particular care of, for sentimentality’s sake.
Darius, it seemed, would rather err on the side of caution than to call out a name long since buried. He cleared his throat.
“Captain Riven of Fury Company,” he said, and the old words recited seemed so far away that he barely recognised his own voice. Doubt creeped from the darkest corners of his mind, seeking to erode his resolve and drag him back to the years that had been least kind. Only the strong survive the voices sneered intrusively at the back of his mind, and he faltered just long enough to swallow thickly, eyes fixed to Darius’.
You’re nothing but a ghost.
“What’s left of it.” He said, more quietly this time. Titles from dead battalions didn’t matter anymore, Fury Company was little more than a memory. Riven hadn’t moved an inch, though. He didn’t sag under Darius’ gaze, and he didn’t cower like a prisoner put to the headsman’s axe. If nothing else, he had control over this. Riven had planned this meeting, had chosen to do it this way. Riven had chosen to return, and face what Noxian justice would enact on him for his actions. He wouldn’t let that control slip away, and it was just sturdy enough a weapon to beat back the doubt.
He eyed Darius, unerring. The Hand was silent, and Riven knew that military formalities meant as little to him in an abandoned shack they had once fought over dead rats in as it did to Riven.
“I wasn’t sure you would come.”
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