#sylas x reader

[bladeoflove-garden]

Y/N: “- I’m really sad. I’ll never be able to do like other girls who wear their boyfriend’s shirt out there.”

Character: “- How come? You never asked to wear mine.”

Y/N: “- YOU DON’T EVEN WEAR A SHIRT!”

Kayn / Yasuo / Yone / Sett / Viego / Akshan / Pantheon / Sylas

》》 • Masterlist: League of Legends • 《《

》》 • All Masterlist • 《《

[velidewrites]

Hmmm favorite sex positions for the boys? I’d also love to hear your thoughts for Eris and Lucien if you’re up for it, they’ve been neglected while we’ve all been thirsting over their brothers 😔

Amazing question; I started answering your ask with Lucien and I can't explain what happened to me after that. I blacked out and now we're here

NSFW under the cut. Please be mindful of uhhhhh biting, spitting, a hint (?) of voyeurism, hurt/comfort, and god knows what else

Lucien

As long as his face is between your legs, all is right in the world. Bonus points if he's caught you in a place so scandalous that the very idea of letting him take you there makes you a little lightheaded. The Day Court libraries, perhaps? The books fall off the desk with a thud so loud you're sure some scholar is going to turn the corner any minute now, only to find the heir himself with his nose buried in your cunt. For some reason, the sound of footsteps approaching makes it all the more exciting. Lucien chuckles, and the low, honeyed sound reverberates deep into your core, his soft, murmured praise lapping at the wetness there. The sound is so obscene it nearly drowns out the increasingly loud echo of footsteps; before you know it, Lucien casts a hard wall of wind separating you from the prying eyes. No one else will ever see you like this. The rumble carries a possessiveness that threatens to send you over the edge. You're mine. Only mine.

Eris

The moment is stolen, shoved into a hidden corridor at the Forest House. He can't be seen with anyone, certainly not like this, anyway. It would threaten everything he's worked so hard on; the image of someone so cold and cruel that the very idea of him having a weakness is laughable to the outside eye. No one can find out about you, Beron can't find out about you, or else, it will all have been for nothing, and you... you, his only weakness, will find yourself in a danger so grave it nearly makes the fire in Eris's blood boil over.

Instead, he channels the fervour into a hot, searing kiss, nearly shoving you against the stone wall, your legs wrapped tightly around his hips, urging him closer. He lets your fingernails claw at his back, practically begging you to replace the scars there with marks of your own as he tears your clothes off quickly, desperately. He'd burn them off you if he had the chance, let the flames lick at the soft, plush skin of your curves. Perhaps one day, he will get that chance. He will give you everything, place you on that godsdamned throne himself and make the whole court kneel in the pool of his father's blood. For now, though... for now, he can only take. He can only steal those moments from you, and pray you have enough faith in him to stay.

Sylas

His war tent becomes a battleground for the clash of your bodies coming together at last, two enemies finally letting go of that last shred of restraint. You're tired of denying your attraction to him, tired of acting as though you haven't been drowning in the blood-red pool of his eyes from the moment you'd first snuck in here all those weeks ago, ready to kill him in his sleep. You had taken out his guards then, and had gotten close enough to let your dagger graze his throat, to spot a horrifying burn mark peering from the tight material of his shirt. You wondered how he'd earned a scar so terrifying, and it was that moment of curiosity that made you fail.

It was only due to your own magic that you'd managed to escape Sylas's rage, but, ever since then, his obsession with you had only grown stronger. That red-hot fire blazing in his eyes had been chasing you day by day, battle after battle, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't gotten addicted to the chase. You let him get close, only to deny him that one, final swing at your throat at the last second. Instead of frustration, of anger in his eyes, though, you find something else. You find excitement, and it's exactly what makes him pull you into his arms now, in the silent dead of the night, and throw you onto a pile of furs at his cot. He needs you, craves you as much as you've been craving him, his canine teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your flesh, the same neck he's been aiming for over the past few weeks. You let him mark you, claim you as his own, because haven't you always belonged to him? It feels that way right now, anyway. The blinding pain from the bite is quickly forgotten when Sylas's hot tongue swipes over the wound, making you shiver. You dig your nails into his muscled arms, leaving small, crescent moon marks there, and you swear you can feel the great Autumn Court General shudder under your touch. The thought only excites you more.

Vermilion

Your friends had dragged you into the tavern bordering the Summer Court, and you reluctantly agreed, even though you knew they'd leave you to fend for yourself the moment you arrived, swayed by the clinking glass at the bar. You were entirely prepared for a dull, lonesome night when you saw him. The most beautiful male you've ever seen, right in the middle of the dancefloor, his red hair glimmering crimson under the tavern's candlelight.

Had it not been for his height -- and, perhaps, the sheer radiance of his person, his laugh melting into the sway of the live music -- you might not have noticed him at all, for so many faeries had gathered around him. You were certain you've never seen him before, and yet, he looked like he'd been born in that very crowd. You couldn't help but feel drawn to him, your eyes trailing his every movement, every flicker of light reflecting off of his red eyes. He was mesmerizing, like a magnet you might have let pull you in had it not been for your two friends appearing at your table without warning. Or so you thought -- not your friends, you quickly realise, your mind too dazed from the wine, the music, from the male you just watched melt into the music as if it came from his very bones. Your two new companions relentlessly urge you upstairs; they have a room booked, you would love it; have some more wine, yes, they have more upstairs, if you just stopped being so stubborn and-- and they don't get a chance to finish, a casual yet imposing presence appearing at your side.

Long, crimson waves brush against your bare shoulder, and you watch, transfixed, as that same male from the dance floor cocks his head to the side, watching the two others in something akin to mockery. "Surely you must realize she can do better than that," he tells them waving a hand at their suddenly squeamish disposition. His voice is exactly as you imagined; deep and lulling, like the song you'd watched him sway to. One of the faeries is foolish enough to swing at him, snarling something about having "spotted you first." You innocently let him stumble over your foot, spilling the glass of wine over his now-sticky hair. When the two scurry away, cursing under their breaths, the male laughs. "You're not just a pretty face, are you?" he asks. You look up to meet his gaze, only to find him already watching you from beneath dark lashes. "He was lying, you know," he tells you. "He certainly did not spot you first."

You end up going upstairs in the end, your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him close. He kisses your face, your neck, you hardly manage to make it to the bed before his mouth descends lower, lower, lower. You're certain the walls aren't soundproof here, and you find that you don't care. You want him, want to taste him the way he's just tasted you, and before you voice your desire, his thumb and index finger already trap your chin, forcing your mouth open. A trail of spit lands on your hungry tongue before he seals it with another kiss, and, feeling bold, you flip him onto his back, straddling his hips. The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile, and he lifts his hands above his head, wrists crossed as he yields his control entirely to you. A thrill of excitement shoots up your spine like lightning, and, as you unbuckle his pants, you use the leather strap to tie his hands together. He groans, the sound like music to your ears, even more beautiful than what you'd heard downstairs. It was worth coming here, after all.

[theyanderespecialist]

Base Yandere Sylus Headcanons: Hoarding As A Last Resort (Love and Deepspace)

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! I am back with a new chapter! This chapter is with Base Yandere Sylus Headcanons For Gender Neutral Listener from love and deepspace! So please enjoy this chapter here, all my sexy muffins!]

(Disclaimer: Sylus is not yandere in canon! This is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine! Just do not be illegal or gross about it! You know who you are! You Dirty, Flaky, Biscuits! Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life! Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon! Thank you!)

-Base Yandere Headcanons With Yandere Sylus X Gender Neutral Reader From Love and Deepspace-

.Syrus is a confident man who is the type to get what he wants when he wants it, and what, no, who he wants most is you.

.He found you to be such a stunning person, and he wanted you like you were his treasure.

.Like I said, he is a confident man and an even more confident yandere.

.He is certain that he will be able to make you his, and that you would love him just as much as he loves you!

.He knows that most of the time, he is the most powerful man in the room, so he did not have any trouble knowing that he is the best option for you.

.He is a calm, collected, and self-assured yandere, knowing that he will be the man that ends up with you, even before you know who he is.

.He is a yandere who hates being bored and stalking you, with the risk of you catching him excites him.

.He loves the thrill of the risk of you finding out what he is doing and how much he is in obsessive love with you!

.He is the type of yandere that also would do risky things with yanderes, testing their love for you and seeing if they are a worthy yandere.

.Of course, 90 Percent of the time, they are never worthy for you, and even if they were worthy, he would still not let them have you; you are his and his alone. 

.He is the type of yandere that is unforgiving to anyone who dares lay a hand on you, as well as rivals. 

.But he is the type of yandere that will not torture the ones clearly weaker than him. 

.They are not worth his time to torture or brutalize anyone that was so beneath him, but they are not going to live if they cross a line. 

.If they are so much weaker than him, he will try and make them like someone else, or more likely scare them off, and or threaten them to leave you alone. 

.He is a yandere who is always thinking several steps ahead and knows what he is going to do to make you his. 

.He can be very soft and caring, and when you are injured, he takes care of you with such tender love. 

.He sees you as his treasure and loves you more than anyone or anything, and wants to keep you locked away. 

.Keeping you where you are, his and his alone, he is also very protective and would do what he can to keep you safe! 

.He would be the yandere that would become more teasingly playful with you, loving to get a reaction out of you, and or making you flustered. 

.Of course, his teasing and smugness make it hard for you to tell if he is serious with his teasing and being mocking, or if it is just playful teasing. 

.He never wants you to feel like he is mocking you, though; he is just unaware if it comes off like that! 

.He adores you and can go from skydiving with you to staying home and cuddling with you on the couch. 

.He is a yandere who would live his life to the fullest and do everything he can to enjoy life with you. 

.Every moment with you is precious! 

.He is the type of yandere that would want to keep you to himself and not let anyone else near you. 

.He knows you need friends, but he wishes you would just need him and him alone! 

.You are one of the only few people who would see how vulnerable he actually is, and you will learn how desperate he is to be with you and keep you safe! 

.He also likes it when you boss him around and take control; he is happy with you being able to be confident. 

.He would be a yandere who would build you up, building up your confidence and making you feel like the badass you are! 

.He would have been dating you for some time before he officially confesses his feelings for you. 

.He was vulnerable and did not want you to reject him, as he did not know how he would handle it. 

.If you accept his love, it is like a weight is lifted off his shoulder, and he is more confident with you. 

.But if you instead rejected his love and did not accept it at all, he feels something in him break. 

.He would act like it was okay in the moment, but he is planning what to do next. 

.Since he is the type of yandere who is thinking multiple steps ahead, he is now able to think of a plan to make you his. 

.Which would involve kidnapping. He needs to bring you somewhere where you will not be taken away from him and where he will have the time and space to make you love him. 

.He is also hoarding you like a dragon would, and it helps him be reassured that you are his and his alone. 

.He will never let you be stolen from him, and he will keep you locked away like a treasure if he has to. 

.No one but him deserves you, and he is not going to let anyone else even lay their eyes on you. 

.He will still try and work on making you love him, as he knows that you need to be back in the world. 

.So once he does make you love him, which trust me, he WILL make you love him, one way or another, he is going to bring you back to the world and make you his spouse. 

.He knows that making you his spouse would make him feel more confident, and he will never let you go! 

.He lost you once and still has the feeling that he is going to lose you again, so he will do everything to keep you as his and keep you safe. 

.Even if he has to lock you up and hoard you for the rest of both of your days, of course, that is a last resort, though!

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS, another chapter is done! I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter here, and stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins!] 

[ma-shaw]

Sylas of Dregbourne/Sylas X reader

It's my first time writing, something like this so I hope it will be readable. English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes.

Tw. NSFW, minors do not interact!!

You weren’t born with magic. In Demacia, that should have made you safe - another loyal citizen, head down, serving the kingdom like any other person. But years of watching the Mageseekers drag people away, of seeing fear in the eyes of children who accidentally lit a candle with more than a match, changed you. You were a tactician by trade: sharp-minded, trained in strategy, logistics, and turning ragtag groups into something dangerous. When Sylas escaped and the rebellion began to stir, you made your choice.

You joined them.

At first, they were suspicious. A Demacian non-mage with a high-ranking position offering help? But you proved your worth quickly. You mapped secret supply routes that avoided patrols, recruited disillusioned soldiers and common folk who had no magic but plenty of rage against the unjust system. You turned whispers into coordinated strikes. Your strategies helped them ambush convoys, steal weapons, and spread the message that the revolution wasn’t just for mages - it was for anyone tired of living under tyranny.

And through it all, Sylas watched you.

The rebel leader was a force of nature, his presence alone could silence a room. Yet he started seeking you out after every successful operation. Late-night strategy meetings turned into long conversations about justice, freedom, the demacia's better future. He respected your mind. You admired his fire.

Respect slowly became something hotter. Lingering touches when passing maps. Intense eye contact across the fire. The way his voice softened just a fraction when he said your name.

Tonight, after a particularly bold raid that went off without a hitch thanks to your planning, the rebels celebrated in one of their hidden forest camps. Cheap, strong Demacian beer flowed freely. You’d had more than a few mugs yourself, cheeks flushed, laughing with the others at camp. Sylas sat beside you on a fallen log, his massive frame taking up most of the space. He’d been drinking too, though it took a lot more to affect him. His usual intense stare had softened into something softer.

“You’ve done a lot to our cause, more than some mages.” he said lowly. His hand rested on your knee, thumb tracing slow circles. “Why? You could’ve stayed safe in the city living a more comfortable life.”

You looked up at him. “Because it’s right. I hate watching people disappear, families being destroyed, children being punished for something they don't control."

The air between you crackled. The celebration continued around you, but the world narrowed to just the two of you. Sylas’s grip tightened. Without another word, he stood and pulled you up with him, leading you away from the firelight into the shadows of the trees to his own tent.

Inside, the tent was dimly lit by a single lantern. Simple furs covered the ground, maps and weapons lay scattered on a low table, and a sturdy cot stood against one side. Sylas poured two more mugs of alcohol from a jug on the table and handed you one.

He took a long drink, then leaned against the table watching you with those piercing eyes.

“Tonight we hit one of their supply lines,” he said, voice low and thoughtful. “But it’s never enough. The nobles sit in their golden halls, feasting while the rest of us scrape by. The Mageseekers, the elite families, the king’s lapdogs, they hoard power and fear everything that may take it away. We need to do more for Demacia to turn into the better place” His lips curled into a dark smile. “We need to strip Demacia of its rotten aristocracy until nothing’s left but ashes and a chance to build something new.”

You took a sip of the beer stepping closer. The words sent a thrill through you: dangerous, righteous, intoxicating. “The ones like me who’ve watched people disappear. We’re all tired of being told our place is to serve and stay silent. Your revolution… it’s giving people like me a blade too.”

Sylas’s eyes darkened with approval. He set his mug down and closed the distance, towering over you. One large hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch surprisingly gentle.

“You’re not just useful,” he murmured, voice dropping. “You understand. Most people fight for themselves or their families. You fight for everyone. That mind of yours… the way you turn their own system against them… it’s more dangerous than you think” His thumb traced your lower lip. “You make me believe we can actually win.”

The tension that had been building for months thickened in the small space. You reached up, resting your palm against his broad chest. You could feel the steady thrum of his heart and the faint glow of magic pulsing beneath your fingers.

“I truly believe we will win because regimes as unjust as Demacia always fall” you whispered. “I want to be part of this. With you.”

Sylas exhaled sharply, he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you - slow at first, as if savoring the moment. But hunger quickly took over. The kiss deepened, turning heated and possessive. His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting of alcohol and smoke, while his hands slid down your sides, pulling your body flush against his.

He walked you backward until your legs hit the edge of the cot, then lowered you onto the furs without breaking the kiss. His massive frame settled over you, careful not to crush you, but heavy enough that you felt deliciously pinned. His mouth moved to your jaw, then your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin leaving marks, until you were gasping and arching beneath him.

“Every night I’ve thought about this,” he growled against your throat, his voice rough with need. “Watching you lean over those maps"

His hands were everywhere, pushing up your shirt, calloused palms sliding over your bare skin. He pulled the fabric over your head and tossed it aside, then did the same with the rest of your clothes until you laid completely bare beneath him. Sylas sat back on his knees for a moment, drinking in the sight of you with dark, hungry eyes.

“Beautiful,” he muttered. “So fucking precious"

He leaned down again, mouth latching onto one of your breasts. His tongue swirled around your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to make you moan. His other hand kneaded your other breast, pinching and rolling the nipple between his fingers. You tangled your fingers in his dark hair, holding him close as heat pooled between your thighs.

Sylas didn’t rush. He worshipped your body with his mouth - kissing down your stomach, nipping at your hips, spreading your thighs wide with his strong hands. He settled between your legs, his hot breath teasing your core.

“Look at you,” he rasped, eyes locked on your wet folds. He dragged his tongue slowly up your slit, savoring the taste. You cried out, hips bucking. Sylas chuckled darkly and held you down with one arm across your hips. Then he devoured you - licking, sucking, and fucking you with his tongue like a man starved. Two thick fingers joined soon after, curling deep inside you and stroking that perfect spot while his mouth focused on your clit.

The pleasure built relentlessly. Your thighs trembled around his head, moans spilling freely as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled back, lips shiny with your arousal, and kissed his way back up your body.

“Not yet,” he murmured against your lips. “I want to feel you come around me.”

You reached down, palming the massive bulge in his pants. He groaned at your touch. With impatient hands, you helped free him—his thick, heavy cock springing out, flushed and leaking. You stroked him slowly, marveling at his size and the way he throbbed in your hand.

Sylas chuckled through his teeth, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Careful… or this will end faster than I want.”

He gently moved your hand away and positioned himself between your thighs. The blunt head of his cock rubbed against your slick entrance, teasing, coating himself in your wetness. Then, with a slow, powerful thrust, he pushed inside.

You gasped at the stretch, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you inch by inch until he was buried to the brim. Sylas groaned deeply, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

“Fuck… so tight. So perfect.”

He stayed still for a long moment, letting you adjust, kissing you deeply. Only when you started rocking your hips did he begin to move - long, deep strokes that made the cot creak beneath you. The chains on his wrists clinked rhythmically with every thrust. He kept the pace steady at first, grinding against your clit with each roll of his hips, then gradually fucked you harder, deeper, losing himself in the feeling.

One hand gripped your thigh, spreading you wider. The other braced beside your head as he drove into you. Sweat glistened on his skin. Your moans mixed with his growls, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the tent.

“Sylas-please-harder-”

He obliged, pounding into you with powerful strokes. His mouth found your neck again, sucking fresh marks as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you.

“Come for me,” he commanded. The orgasm hit you like a storm - walls pulsing hard around his cock as you cried out his name, body shaking. Sylas followed moments later with a deep groan, burying himself as deep as possible while he spilled inside you, hot and thick.

He collapsed over you, careful to keep most of his weight on his elbows. For a long while, only heavy breathing filled the tent. He finally rolled to the side and pulled you against his broad chest, strong arms wrapping around you protectively, one hand stroking your back.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “The revolution… and you. I protect what’s mine.”

You smiled, still flushed and satisfied, nuzzling into his warmth, thinking and dreaming about the fall of the cruel Demacian regime.

[noxturnalmoth]

Reliable

Pairing: League of Legends Sylas x reader

Summary: You are reliable, it is your biggest asset within the Mageseeker forces. Steadfast in your beliefs, you are the perfect warden for Sylas. Yet when you meet him, you learn that not everything is at it seems and your foundations crumble from below your feet.

Are you truly all that reliable after all?

Warnings: Slight Violence

Word count: 12, 313

Navigation: here

Demacia, the nation of pure white stone and clear blue lakes. The place where one can find safety within the shade of the immense petricite trees. A small slice of paradise where chaos rarely strikes due to the powerful military force protecting the very lands you inhabit, so strong they can rival Noxus with only one fifth of the manpower.

Demacia, your home.

One you serve as one of the white and navy uniform clad guardians, keeping imprisoned mages away within the ivory prisons made of stone and ash, sometimes chasing and hunting those who still roamed the lands.

You have never doubted your king, your laws, your rules. Demacia was founded as a refuge during the rune wars after all, the battles wounding Runeterra and forcing tribes to hide within the sanctum delimited by the ancient forest that has come to become your source of protection and power. You have never doubted the destruction caused by magic, the scars it left, some even still unhealed after hundreds upon hundreds of years. And thus you would never doubt your code.

Magic is the enemy, hunt and smother all that harnesses it.

The words ingrained in your mind as you wake up, put on your white and royal blue uniform and get to work, a mere sweet roll grazing your stomach before you're off.

Another beautiful day is smiling down on you, a blue sky as clear as the lakes filling the green fields of your home, not a cloud in sight, and the sun shining its warmth upon those who reside here.

"Hello madam!" "Thank you for your service!" "Look mother! A Mageseeker, I want to be like her when I grow up!" Words of kindness and wonder make a smile grow on your face, the praise like winds blowing against a sail and leading fishermen to where there would be plenty of food to catch and bring back to feed the people of Demacia.

"There you go, take this with you." Joanne, a kind grandmother working her food stall, hands you a bag filled with warm dishes as you pass by the market district, her eyes warm and kind.

"Good morning Mamie Jo, how are you?"

"As always my child, living life and enjoying all that comes my way." A commendable mentality brought forth only through the safety your brethren and yourself assure upon Demacia under the king's orders.

"I'm glad to see you as lively as always, I must go but I hope your day remains as beautiful as the weather." You softly kiss her cheek before marching on, your brisk pace soon bringing you to the prison.

You greet your brethren and the Crownguard house staff, the food within your hands placed within a cupboard holding your name, eyes skimming over the array of sweet and salty treats awaiting for your presence at lunch.

Your name is suddenly called out, your head whipping fast enough you nearly felt the effects of whiplash bursting through your nape.

"Hippolyte has been decommissioned." Ah… "Would you be a dear and take his place? We'll have someone filling in your place, but you're the most qualified for this."

When a Mageseeker was decommissioned it meant they had met their untimely end, petricite, Demacian steel armors and special uniforms only so much to protect one's self from the destructive power of the arcane.

And if Hippolyte was gone and that you took his place, that meant you would have to take care of a very special prisoner.

You have been a warden since your graduation from the academy, your training completed you decided you'd rather watch over criminals then run after them. Although you would do so if ordered to or if needed. You've grown to be respected among your peers, unwavering faith, kind heart and clear mind always offering you kind whispers as you helped all those you could within your ranks.

You are reliable.

So much so that you are now handed your ex-lieutenant's prisoner.

Sylas.

A man who used to serve alongside you as a Mageseeker mage, sniffing out his brethren due to his abilities to sense and comprehend, even use, others' links to the arcane.

A strong man whose life in prison didn't break his resolve.

A man who killed the two most important people in my life along with his target, going on to murder many more as he ran away from Mageseekers before getting caught.

You sigh, a hand taking your golden mask off before the other one rubs up your face, raking through your hair before you compose yourself again.

"Of course Captain Garnier." Your voice is tight, exhaustion already overtaking you at the thought of watching over the man you have been handed as responsibility.

"As always, thank you for your hard work Sargent. I shall put in a good word to see you promoted as soon as possible. You are one of our strongest assets and you need to be treated as such."

Your heart thrums at the praise although you hear it every time you shoulder a new burden that needn't be yours in the first place. Those words along with the civilians' are uttered so very often, yet they never lose their power.

You salute your commanding officer and walk towards the more desolate wing of the keep. Although a few here once held the same place Sylas did, bloodhounds for the Demacian forces, he was alone in his wing. Separated from those similar to him and from simple mages that had been found and contained. Kept away, like a dark secret that shan't be revealed. Only seen when taken to the laboratory within the corridor leading to the royal palace's basement, the young lady of the Crownguard family visiting him as his only true company.

The white walls grow colder as you walk forwards, the smooth light from the sun barely reaching from behind small sharp windows that are mainly here to let air in. Your heart beats like a Noxian drum yet your resolve is steadfast.

You will take on this responsibility. Just like you always do, with your head held up high and chest puffed. Your reliability being your strongest asset and your driving force.

To serve. To help. Those are your purposes within Demacia. And you will accomplish them and exceed expectations no matter what.

For my people, for the law, for the king, for the world.

Your glove clad hand knocks at the petricite door, only a grunt signaling the presence within along with a small peek through the wicket, showing a darkened figure. You place a key in the lock, twisting it alongside the doorknob as you push forward, entering the cell.

There you see him, the sight of him enough to freeze and boil your blood a thousand times over.

Long dark and greasy hair covering his face like a curtain as he kneels with his body leaning towards you. Hands trapped within petricite gloves, statue like in their shape and size, similar to those you've seen in memorials. Shackles trap his legs and even the stone clad hands currently held at his sides. His neck harboring a metal collar, held by a chain that tethered him to the wall behind him.

You take a couple of deep breaths, flashes of your deceased teachers flashing through your mind as they smiled and laughed, all your moments together replaying within the depths of your soul.

You can't show anger nor frustration, you have to be impassible like Galio, the protector of your land. A guardian of stone with only his mission animating his very being.

"Greetings, Sylas. I will be your new warden due to an unexpected turn of events." His head lifts, blue eyes piercing you like spears as his face is revealed to you, his hair parting like the clouds after a storm.

His eyebrows furrow, bushy and grave, while his mouth pulls down, scruffy jaw setting as he takes your appearance in what you believe to be curiosity and distrust.

That makes two of us, buddy.

"So he died." His voice gravelly and low from unuse, a mocking tone still heard beneath the grit.

Your eyes narrow sharply, professionalism overtaking your gentle nature as you get into your role against your enemy, your prisoner.

"That is none of your business, bloodhound." His eyes narrow back at you, analyzing you in his head just like you have a few moments prior.

He scoffs.

He actually has the gall to scoff in your face.

"Right, right, sorry m'lady. I forgot that human decency isn't something you folks do."

Your jaw sets as you fight any retort you deem unprofessional or violent.

"What I don't do is give information to those undeserving of it. And it's Sargent to you. You will get human decency, just do not expect me to be kind."

He scoffs again.

"Yeah, that's something you don't seem to know much about from what I know."

Dirty bastard is gauging you, your reactions, reeling you up so he can chip away at your patience and either find or get what he wants, or get beaten.

Is this what Lieutenant Hippolyte had to deal with?

If so…

Damn it.

It's okay. It's okay, I'm good at what I do, nothing will happen.

"You won't get what you're looking for, Sylas. Whatever it is."

"Maybe so."

And then silence rings loudly between the two of you, your eyes trained on the man who gazed at the floor instead of you.

No matter how powerful and vicious the story depicted him at this very moment he looks tame. Pathetic. Nearly human in the weakness he displays.

"They are not like us." The king had said, like the many before him and the many that shall come after him. "They sow the seeds of chaos, feed on strife and fear, attack our people in their own homes, in their own land. Their behavior will be reciprocated, Demacia will not let mages rise again!"

Mages were lesser, creatures influenced by the poison of the arcane. Their morals askew and their vision blinded by power, they believe they are more while being nothing more than wild animals next to your civilization.

You have never doubted and never will doubt your code, Demacia's code. Yet it never fails to nick your heart like a paper cut to see mages look so…human. So unlike anything you are taught although "they look like us to spread discord".

It always did it more the younger the prisoners got, your heart squeezing when the verdict struck. Most children were killed.

Adults were a bit more complicated. Depending on the gravity of their crimes, age and life prior to being captured they could be either imprisoned for life, executed or sent to Mount Targon, the worse option of the three unless the mage could escape. Everyone knew rare were those who could make it there alive, even less were those capable of climbing the holy mountain, more corpses added to their frozen predecessors decorating the stone. The one in a million chance of reaching the top being a less than comfortable thought in case the mage would be chosen as an aspect by one of the many deities of Runeterra, the new found power capable of being a thorn in Demacia's side or even its downfall.

You nearly scoff at yourself at the pang of guilt you feel at the very thought of all the deaths haunting you and at the fear of being the prey rather than the hunter if anyone were to be angered enough to pursue you.

Stop being foolish, you know it's for the greater good. Magic has no place in the world. Such is the Demacian code.

You shake your head and take a seat next to the door, back to the wall, a stool propping you up in a much more comfortable position than the man before you as you cross your legs.

Time ticks away slowly, like a faulty faucet, but your trained patience never falters, even with the sudden change of schedule. Your eyes never trail away from Sylas, his deep breathing nearly making him look asleep, the illusion broken by the glint of is icy glare. Your own trained back on him, bubbling anger rising in pressure from within you at the thought of what this man has done to your mentors nearly fifteen years ago.

Not nearly soon enough the food arrives and Berenice, the the young maid charged with meals, hands you your warmed dishes from Mamie Jo and a plate of gruel for Sylas. You smile at the young woman, a girl as old as you were when you graduated from the academy before climbing the ranks and cementing yourself as an irreplaceable part of the wardens within the Mageseekers.

The door closes behind you as you approach Sylas, plate in hand, glaring at the gruel. Your brows furrow in confusion.

Why was he fed only watered down oats while the others had bread and fish alongside grits. While his crimes for murder were understandably keeping him isolated from every other inhabited cells, they didn't warrant such an inhuman treatment. Even for a man as despicable and monstrous as he.

No. There is a reason. The king and the Mageseekers know what is right, I'm just adapting to the new situation is all.

Your empathy would be the death of you if these are the intrusive thoughts penetrating the fortress of your mind, built brick by brick with petricite and ancient moral codes.

Days then weeks pass in a similar silence, ringing so loudly you fear you may go deaf, the heaviness of it somehow much stronger than with any other prisoner you have kept and brought to justice. As if you are locked in with him as much as he is with you, the man clearly playing a game with you as he stares at you in the noiseless cell day after day, anger bubbling within you at the display of petulance. The streets offer a comfortable noise as you walk back home and collapse in your bed from exhaustion at keeping watch over the mage you've been assigned to, albeit the days stretch on in a boring, quiet loop.

Every single one of his meals is the same gods awful gruel, not nearly enough to nourish him in the small portion it is given, hydration only provided through the watery soup.

"Sargent, you will bring the inmate to his visit at the physicists'." There it was, the one way for the man kneeling before you to stretch his legs as the door opens.

"Yes, Captain Garnier."

"You will assure that he remains calm and well behaved, won't you?" Like a dog, his gaze expresses.

"Of course sir." You salute your commanding officer, voice unwavering and eyes set straight to his in respect.

He nods, his eyes raking over Sylas as his face sours in disgust and rage and when his back turns to you your face screws in confusion. You know that mages are horrible beings, yet the blatant show of anger goes entirely against your personal and professional code. Mages although very much your mortal enemy, are still beings, and as such even they deserve a minimum of respect. No matter how much one loathes them.

No matter if I am reminded of Professor Dorian and Miss Amandine each time I look at his face.

No matter if it makes me boil with hatred deep down.

Sylas stands up on weak legs as you take on the chains shackling him, dragging him along as softly as you can on an improvised "walk". Slow from the man's pace on his unused legs, soreness keeping his muscles tight and painful with each step. But you tug on the chains, advancing at a brisk pace that you set to not be late to whatever appointment he was forced into.

Lesser than an animal.

That is how you're supposed to treat him, treat them all. Even with your own morals, the code had to remain untainted, unchanged.

You knock and enter the laboratory, gigantic vats of green bubbling liquids, tables filled to the brim with scrolls, papers and chemical components and bookshelves greet your eyes along with a pungent, acrid smell. Sylas shifts uncomfortably behind you, eyes darting around warily. Two scientists are sitting at their respective desks, armed guard protecting the door on the corridor's side and from inside the room.

"That'll be all Sargent Mageseeker. We shall call upon you when we are ready to dispose of him."

Dispose.

That is a..very specific term used just to tell me that I'll be able to take him back to his cell.

You nod closing the door behind you but not before your gaze meets Sylas', frigid instead of simply ice cold, the limpid waters of his irises colder than the Freljord.

Is that..fear?

No, he must simply be making a show of force, of rebellion, anger directed towards you at bringing him for whatever tests the royal physicists want to put him through and at your insistent tugging during the walk there.

And when the door locks you sit down on a small bench nearby, letting out a breath you don't even know you held.

Time passes, as slowly as it does each day, armor clad guards unmoving as the statues decorating the upper palace levels above you. Your fingers draw foreign patterns on the wood beneath you as your gaze sets on the white, sterile wall before you.

"Come on" Your name is called. "You're sure you don't want to join the hunters, it'd be fun, make you explore the world once you graduate!" Miss Amandine wraps an arm around your shoulder like a proud mother, eyes wide and bright with what seemed like millions of stars.

"She's right, plus, you'd be able to put your skills to the test, grow as the Mageseeker we know you will become." You smile softly at Professor Dorian's words.

"I know but, I just think I'm more fit to be a warden. I can feel my call here."

"Looking at cells all day?"

"Containing and protecting, Professor. It may seem boring to you but for some unknown reason my blood, my soul, wants me to keep watch here. Enforce the code in my own way, stay around my people instead of traveling all of the time."

The teachers that have spent their years helping you grow into the woman you are nod, grins grazing their faces.

"It is commendable work, one that not many are willing to do instead seeking out the freedom given by hunting. You'll make a fine warden, dear, so never forget to reach out when you graduate. We'll be telling you about our endeavors whenever we are called on the field as well."

" Let's make a promise, that we shall remain steadfast in our mission to execute the code, no matter the way. That we'll remain in contact no matter the distance."

Miss Amandine reaches for her lips with two fingers and Professor Dorian and you follow her in the action, the Demacian promise. Index and middle fingers touching your lips to show you will uphold your end of a bargain, the motion signifying that one that does not respect a deal they have made will have their mouth sewn shut.

"You know I'll always be."

"Ever the reliable person future Miss Warden."

And reliable you remained, for yourself, for your people, your king, your land, yet most of all for them. The ones who taught you everything they know. Even after the news of their deaths reached you via a speech by the Dean, even after you saw Sylas dragged in the prison with the rest of the academy. Your eyes narrowing at his hunched form as bile rose up your throat.

Grunts from within the room startle you out of your reverie, eyes darting to the double door at the noise.

They sound pained.

But this is simply a health check up, right? It has to be, Sylas is kept under ruder conditions than other inmates and his body is probably beyond hurting at the position he is forced into day and night.

Yet despite your professionalism, despite your code, despite your orders, despite whatever you may feel about Sylas, you feel bad at the noises you hear. Because although mages are forces of chaos, they look like you, talk like you and feel like you. And the muffled cries of pain you hear from the corridors remind you of just that, he feels, and you begin to wonder if you should step in.

Shit, no time for that preposterous train of thought.

You try to reason.

He's just an inmate, and one day will come his judgment.

Just like it has with many that you've looked after, ten years of activity molding you into the warden you are today.

Your eyes widen as the door opens.

"Warden, you may remove him from the premises." Comes the voice of one of the scientists, clipped and nasally.

"Yes, sir."

"Has your commanding officer explained anything about your promotion?" He says as you reach for the chains in his hands, Sylas dragging himself to you with baited breath, body shivering and decorated in cuts and bruises that weren't present before.

"No, sir."

The scientist clicks his tongue, adjusting his monocle before looking down upon you.

"Your reliability and willingness to step up to this task have prompted him to ask for you to become Lieutenant. You have been accepted as such, and thus are now promoted. Good job, warden." He hands you a badge, the Demacian crest decorated with the Mageseeker emblem, a winged sword piercing a maelstrom. Similar to the one pinned on your chest yet the metal of your land's symbol changes from copper to silver.

The Lieutenant badge.

"Your duties shall remain the same, although you may be called to help the hunters more often, fill out paperwork and delegate tasks as needed."

You nod, the physicist taking it with both hands before replacing the pin adorning your uniform with the new one. You salute him, back straight and eyes glowing with pride for but a moment before he purses his lips and closes the door to your face. Your body deflating a bit at the action yet your gait brisk as you walk back to Sylas' cell.

He dropped back down to his knees, legs giving up from under him probably being the reason he remained in the uncomfortable position. The chains rattle in your hands as you hook them back to the wall fixtures, for his ankles, then his hands, then finally his neck.

As you do that you take the time to let your eyes rake over Sylas' exhausted form, panting and pained, painted with blacks and blues, blood red crusting over fresh cuts. At this very moment he looks so unbelievably broken yet when his gaze trail back to yours you see unwavering determination.

And anger.

Most likely directed towards your fast pace worsening his pain and as you open your mouth, words about to flow from your lips without your consent, a knock echoes through the room. Berenice looking as nervous as always while she hands you your dinner, leaving as quickly as she came.

Yet again, sad watery gruel was delivered for Sylas. And even if every fiber of your being commanded you not to, you throw the offensive meal in the toilets as you look at it in disgust. You hear a sharp breath and what nearly sounds like a growl and you turn, sitting on the cold, hard petricite floor with your own meal, carefully placed in containers within a drawstring bag.

The food is soon spread out within the two of you and you take in a shaky breath.

I shouldn't be doing this, inmates are to be treated with cold detachment. The code must be followed no matter what, what a fool I make.

Yet even as guilt and anxiety nips at the back of your throat, acrid like bile, you open the boxes before you. Meat, vegetables, a stew and corn bread releasing they fragrant vapors in the cell.

I shouldn't be doing this but…

But when you heard the groans of pain from the corridor, when you saw Sylas' battered and bruised form, you couldn't help but let your morals bleed within your usually pristine warden behavior.

"Do you plan on teasing me with your meal while I mourn the lack of one?" His rough voice questions, strained as if he had screamed for hours, rage simmering below the surface.

You shake your head.

"No, Sylas. I wish to share it." You sigh out, eyes trained to your lap.

"And why would you do that, Sargent. My apologies, Lieutenant." He spits out your title.

"Because what they feed you is nothing short of offensive…" You trail off, shoulders tensing under his observant gaze. Looking at you as if he can guess your intentions before you even utter another word.

"And..?"

"You need it. Right now more than other times." Is all you utter, eyes meeting his, your heart feeling like it's going to burst out of your chest before he barks a laugh that makes you widen your eyes.

"That's a good one, barely appointed Lieutenant and you're already playing god, aren't you?" Humor passes through his features yet distrust is found coating every word and glimpse into his eyes.

You roll your own, placing Sylas' cutlery before him while you take your own, beginning your meal.

"Join me or don't, I don't care." Wrong, you do, too much in fact. "Just don't complain tomorrow when you're starving."

Then, silence.

The only sound being your soft chewing and your silverware hitting against the walls of each packed box as you ate dinner. But after a few moments he sighs, metal picked up in his calloused hands as he picks up some of the meat hesitantly, bringing it to his mouth before taking a bite. You look at the man, seeing his body relaxing at the warm meal, his eyes closing in contentment as he lets out a hum, looking like a cat stretching in the sun's warmth.

Unknowingly a smile grows on your face, the calm rolling from Sylas overriding any doubts you may have about doing this. Even if it can cost you your life for helping a mage.

"You won't be having anymore of that grey slop. I may be your warden but I refuse to be a monster. You're already on death row, I'm not letting the one pleasure you can have slip away from you."

His eyes snap to you and widen, nearly choking on the big bite of bread doused in stew that he is chewing on.

"Would you look at that, you do know kindness after all." You roll your eyes at his words.

"Yeah sure, I can get killed for that so if you say a word I'm coming for you myself before I get caught."

A beat passes.

Then two.

Then a laugh rattles the white walls of the room.

"Oh really now?"

"Yes, Sylas, really." Your body tenses at the thought of being publicly executed for your empathy.

"Then my mouth shall remain shut. Don't bite the hand that feeds, is it?" He grins and your eyes roll.

What an annoying prick.

Yet as your smile comes back to your face you can't stop a huffed laugh from escaping your lungs.

At least he's eating well now.

The rest of the meal is spent in silence, your walk home feeling much lighter than it had for the past three weeks. Such a simple thing as a shared meal and letting go of your ever present warden persona liberating you from some of the piled up stress rendering your shoulders heavy.

The next day, you do the same. His lunch thrown away before you open up yours, sitting before him as you eat while your Demacian nature nags at you.

You shouldn't treat him this kindly. You shouldn't share a meal with him. With the man who killed the two most important people in your life. It's wrong, you are the jailer and he is your responsibility, if you continue this way you'll get in trouble. Now whether it is with your commanding officers or with him finding a crack in your relaxed composure, you don't know. But it couldn't be good;

Yet as you see him nearly inhaling his part of the meal you snort, your heart warming at the sight of a strong, nearly beastly man eating like a child who is promised to be allowed to play outside after finishing his meal.

"What's funny? Can't a man enjoy his meal in peace, Lieutenant?"

"He can, peace doesn't equal total silence though, inmate." Your lips pull up in a smirk. "Just glad you enjoy the meal is all."

"You're glad I enjoy my meal?" He says incredulously.

"Why wouldn't I?" You question, the idea seeming stupid.

"Because you're supposed to treat me badly." Your lips purse and you nod at his frustrated tone, growing nearly angry at his next words. "Then why don't you? You've never been as rough as the others have been and now you even offer me meals, is it a ploy?"

Your face screws in disgust. "A ploy for what? To befriend you, catch you in a moment of weakness and then get you executed? Whatever I do, it will reveal that I helped you no matter if it's for my own gain, and I'll get killed too. So get that idea out of your head." The man nods, jaw setting while his eyes set themselves on the dishes.

He scoffs once more, breaking the silence as his head shakes.

"That's why everyone calls you reliable." You tilt your head in confusion.

"What do you mean."

"You help without asking for anything in return, that's what. Which is rich coming from a Mageseeker of all people." He explains, bitterness tainting his voice like dye on silk.

You nod and then softly shrug, taking bites of your own cooling meal.

"Well it's not kindness if you're looking to gain something from your actions, is it? No matter what you've done, my aspiration is to help Demacia and its people, and you were born here. So even if I must keep you docile and in a cage, I will not treat you like a beast more than I should. Plus, what can I ask of a man who has nothing anymore? That would be preposterous of me."

Your gazes cross and you see a flash of something in the icy depths of his blue eyes, eyes trailing all over you as you continue chewing away.

And although surprise continues to manifest itself on Sylas' face every time you share your meal, you two settle in a comfortable rhythm over next couple of months. Joanne adapting to the new need for more food as she teases you.

"Finally have someone in your life, dearie?"

You comply with her made up scenario, smiling at her. "Something like that yes."

Sylas and you would begin laughing as you dump the unsightly soup down the drain, each new dishes bringing the two of you closer to a comfortable acquaintanceship. Neither friend nor foe, yet still maintaining a share of professionalism on your side to avoid certain death.

Yeah, certain because if anyone learns of this there is no doubt that Sylas and I will be made into a bloody display of discipline.

Your vision of the man slowly changes from those discussions. His voice no longer rough from unuse but smooth, nearly suave as he talks about knowledge he gained over the years he worked as a Mageseeker and cracks dry jokes so absurd you can't help but laugh.

It makes you wonder if the humanity you are discovering in him is within every mage you've caught, imprisoned and brought to execution. The thought of it haunting you the more you get comfortable around Sylas, reaching an all time high when you reach your home and go vomit from the sheer amount of anxiety bubbling within you alongside the warmth.

Yet it never stops you, the prospect of sharing a meal and a conversation with him more enticing than returning to the coldness you displayed in your earlier days, refusing to go back to the heavy silence that ate away at your heart. While it is the way you've always behaved, it somehow feels wrong around him, and the more time passes the more you are comforted in that thought.

Each time you bring him to the royal scientists you hear the same pained groans, his body covered in black, blue and red when he comes out, eyes tired and voice raw. And it feels miserable every time. Your pace slowing so he can follow without too much strain yet your posture straight and practiced, not letting the care you slowly come to feel for the man show.

One such day you take material from your pockets, small bottles of ointment and a piece of fabric used to help him with pain. His form tenses as the wet rag passes over his wounds to clean them before you cover them with ointment, the bruises getting the same treatment as you knead his muscles like a baker would knead dough.

"I thought you only wanted to share meals. Getting a bit overzealous here, aren't you missy?"

"Shut it Sylas." Your stomach drops and flashes of your mentors take over your vision before you shake them away. "You look horrible every time you get out of there, I just want to help."

"Right. Forgot you were little miss reliable here." He scoffs bitterly, yet his muscles relax under the warmth of your hands.

Your words, although common for you in nature, feel bitter on your tongue. You know you're going too far, that sharing your meals was already too much but that Sylas' skin in your hands as you treat his wounds is much, much worse.

Your code, the one that has been engraved in your mind clashes with your need to help all of those who are in need, your morals. You feel dirty, unsightly, like the monsters you've been told mages are your whole life.

But the man before you, no matter if he holds the blood of people you once cared about on his hands, is so much more than what the king and his code have told you about.

He is not monstrous. No, he is very much human, that much he's reassured you of.

So you wonder just how many more people like him Demacia have stripped of their humanity and killed, never learning of who they are only of what they are, what they do despite themselves.

Stop. I shouldn't think like this about what has raised me. There must be a reason other than Demacia's origins. We aren't monsters. We can't be.

Yet the seeds of doubt already permeated your mind, chipping away at the formatting imposed to you since birth, made of codes and laws against all that is magic or of arcane origin. Slowly replacing images of rampaging monsters to that of simple humans manipulating energy, children, mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers born with an ability they have never asked for. Hunted for simply existing.

While some did use the arcane to evil ends, you wonder just how many were just like you. Do-gooders who try their best to help whoever they can with what they have, people living their whole lives in a world that despises them.

Once, Luxanna Crownguard visited him. Their friendship very apparent through the warmth in which they greet one another.

"Lady Crownguard." You salute the young girl, her blonde hair flowing as she enters the room.

"Hello Lieutenant! Congratulations on your promotion!" She gifts you a small box from within her bag, which holds a couple of slices of a particularly decadent looking cake.

"Thank you for your generosity, my lady."

"Nonsense! You deserve it for your hard work! Hello Mister Sylas, I brought you new books!" You tilt your head at the display of affection the girl graces the inmate with, a soft hug which is reciprocated. "I'll take it from here, you can get some rest Lieutenant!"

You salute your goodbye until she seeks you out in the front room while you complete mandatory paperwork, softly shaking your hand with a smile before taking her leave. Your own form retreating to Sylas' cell where he talks to you about the new books he acquired from the young lady, reading them to you at times while you relax to the tone of his voice.

Having no friends and only acquaintances, you appreciate what blossoms between the two of you. Albeit your beliefs begin to crumble, it doesn't feel nearly as grueling as it should with Sylas around. Your acquaintanceship slowly growing into a comfortable friendship that made you feel lighter despite the guilt eating away at you from the deep recesses of your mind at the way you're going against everything you've been taught, everything you've been trained for.

"Gods, and to think I have been fed this…thing, for nearly fifteen years." He chuckles lowly one day as you throw the grey sludge away like you've done twice a day for the past two months.

"Fifteen already…" You trail off, eyes glossing over at the thought of your mentors, their faces brimming with joy as they saw you off after classes.

"There's something you're not telling me, missy." You roll your eyes at the lax nickname as you always do while a smile stretches across your lips, finding comfort in it despite it all.

"It's alright Sylas. I promise."

"No. It isn't." His tone of voice lowers, nearly a whisper. "Sometimes you gaze at me with that look in your eyes, and I may not be a mind reader but I can assure that something is plaguing you. Talk to me."

You huff as you sit down, the look in his eyes disarming. The cold Freljord blue growing into warm cerulean, the same one you could observe in lakes all around Demacia.

"How did you get taken in?"

"Didn't you read my file? I thought you were more focused than this on your work Miss Reliable."

"Didn't have to." You purse your lips. "But please, indulge me, you'll see my point when we come to it." He nods slowly.

"I was taken by force by the Mageseekers at a very young age due to my ability to detect magic. I worked with them for a while before my final mission. She was only a child and the two officers with me wanted her dead. Then I don't know, somehow when I touched her to protect her from them her magic coursed through me and within the blink of an eye I was surrounded by three corpses. I had killed for the first time and one of my victims was a toddler."

He tenses, his voice growing quieter to hide what you've heard was a crack in his voice, gaze haunted as he recalls the events.

"I ran away, I hid. But they had already declared me a murderer, a deranged maniac who used his magic for nefarious means. And when they finally caught me, I was only sixteen, sentenced to a life in prison until they are tired of me and decide they want me dead."

His file had only mentioned that he lashed out and murdered everyone in cold blood.

Yet as you hear his version after getting to know him, you know that it was far from the truth. You had been fooled by your own people. And if the king, government officials and Mageseekers lied about such a thing, who knows how much they've lied in the past? Who knows how much they'll lie again in the future, innocent people haunted and slaughtered for nothing but an antiquated code in a world that kept on moving forward.

"Did you know the names of the two working with you?" His eyes snap to yours, eyebrows furrowing before they soften and recognition shines in his gaze.

"Family?" You shake your head softly.

"Teachers at the academy, the only people who ever believed in me. My driving force, even now, comes partly from them." You hum sadly.

Your fists clench.

Your hatred toward Sylas had waned long ago, but today it fully disappeared. The rose colored glasses you had with the memories of Professor Dorian and Miss Amandine suddenly ripped from your face as you recall the disgust and rage filled words they spewed about mages in class. Every word of the code and conduct that led you to where you are now suddenly not a solid foundation anymore but a pit of vipers, biting and filling you with their venom.

The happiness your role models showcased every time they went on a hunt and when they came back now taking a whole new meaning. They believed they were doing the good thing, but in the end, they were just murderers.

Indoctrinated, just like I was.

Disgust overtakes you as you remember how you used to think, to act, what you've done to mages when you have been sent on hunts, how you brought so many people to be executed or sent to Mount Targon. Most of them quite possibly innocent.

The monster wasn't mages, all along it was you, Demacia.

A murderer. The warden to poor souls that had the misery of being born with a link to the arcane.

Your chest expands and deflates quickly, tears burning at your eyes as you choke. Your steadfast belief in everything you are, everything you believe in, has been pulled taut in the time you've spent with Sylas. But today is the final straw, guilt rushing through you like lightning, burning your body from the inside out as you struggle and shake on the ground.

"I'm sorry Sylas. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I'm sorry."

You repeat the words like a broken disk, air growing heavier, oxygen barely reaching your lungs as you hyperventilate and tears carve your face like a river eroding stone.

You feel worse than miserable, and it's all your fault for blindly following the crowd.

But do I even deserve to feel this way when I am a perpetrator and not a victim?

"Calm down, missy. None of it has ever been your fault." He shushes you, one warm and heavy hand holding both of yours.

"I could have-" You choke. "I would have-"

"I know. But when you have been fed the same lies your whole life, who can blame you for believing them to be the truth. I don't." The callouses on his palms feel overwhelming, his voice, the cold floor, the echoing sound of your cries…Every thing is too much.

"I'm so sorry."

"So am I, for your mentors and for the rough wake up call. Although I have nothing to forgive you for as you have been nothing but good to me, know that I do. I do forgive you. And I think the others would too if they knew."

Cold petricite encased arms shift to slide around you and bring you close, your shivering form placed between warm arms and his head on your shoulder. Effectively trapping you like a human blanket on a freezing morning, your body unable to leave the comfort of the duvet.

And for once, you relied on him.

After this, it seems like the friendship you two share evolves. Physical touches more present for comfort as you navigate your newly shaken ideals, trying to find your footing when your foundations are wrecked to nothing but ashes. The both of you now relying on one another in equal measures.

Jokes and banter also leaving place for moments where the two of you whisper, metaphorically baring yourselves to one another as you clung to him for warmth you lacked. And he let you.

"What should I do, Sylas? Now that I know most of what I've been told my whole life is a lie, I can't just…remain here. I just can't allow myself to be whatever I am anymore."

He hums softly.

"You could leave. Just disappear. Get as far away from Demacia as possible."

"But then you'd be alone."

His breath catches at your words, one of his hands slipping from your spine to the back of your neck, softly massaging your scalp as he tilts your head upwards to meet his gaze. And unknown feeling had taken over the limpid pools, his eyebrows meeting in a gentle furrow. Neither angry nor worried. No, it's something much softer that makes your own heart knock against your rib cage with a foreign emotion.

"But you'd be torturing yourself." His voice dips.

"As much as I want to leave this place, free myself of all that it has made me do and say, all that it has wrongfully forced upon me and others. I can't simply leave my only friend alone. That would feel much worse than staying."

His face twitches, long hair slipping from behind his ears before you tuck the strands back, Sylas' body softly shivering at the feeling.

"I just wish I could help you escape. Help everyone." Your voice is barely a whisper yet you know he hears you loud and clear when a small smile grows across his face.

"I won't let you risk your life for me, missy. But we'll find a way to get out, together." You nod, your head softly falling to the crook of his neck as his voice rumbles through his chest like thunder.

"Do you promise?" The index and middle fingers on both your hands raising as you place the right ones on your mouth, your left hand's digits touching Sylas' cracked lips, your head lifting before you gaze into his eyes.

"I promise, dear." The nickname has you sighing, a soft warmth thrumming from within you to the racing beat of your heart while arms wrap once more around you. The heart laying under the ribs beneath your hear beating as fast as yours.

Since then, Sylas' behavior changed once more. Always reaching for you, instances where your body wasn't against his growing less frequent while his usage of his new nickname for you replaced the friendly "missy" he once to called you.

"Dear."

Somehow the word, so simple and unassuming sent your mind and soul in a frenzy. The friendship you feel for him wavering to leave place for something else, much deeper and scarier than a simple companionship.

Your heart won't stop pushing against your rib cage, home not feeling like home since your world came crumbling down and even more so now. The only place you felt comfortable being wherever Sylas was, mainly his cell and within his embrace.

You beat yourself up about it, the feeling although new to your life, is something you've read about. Something you've never looked for and that never came searching for you, leaving you in the belief that it would never come.

Yet here it is, within the arms of the man you were supposed to keep in check you have finally found it. If it ever came to be discovered, you would suffer much worse consequences than simple decommission.

But all dreary thoughts leave you the more the name is uttered from Sylas' lips, the more his gaze seems to soften at the very sight of you, the tension in his body leaving him at the sound of your voice.

Nothing is said between the both of you as it becomes your new norm, "it" being this new unsaid dynamic. So very close to one of lovers you've seen pass you by in the streets yet nothing vocalized about the situation other than the usual, now softened by this very new emotion blooming between the two of you.

"Dear, what did you bring today?"

"Fried fish and some spicy sausage omelets with potatoes."

"Sounds amazing as always. Thank Joanne for me, yeah?"

Said woman beaming at every new meal she gives, asking for news about you and your "beau". The word sounding almost comical while mentioning Sylas, but very true due to his behavior with you.

Other times, when you help him lick his wounds after his appointments at the royal scientists' laboratory, he would slide you in his lap.

"What are you doing?" You had nearly squealed at the motion the first time, your thighs entrapping his.

"You bend yourself backwards and put yourself at risk for me, I just wish to make you more comfortable, dear." He had responded. His eyes gazing at you with something you could perhaps describe as devotion. Silently praising you as if he were praying to a god that had handed him all he ever wanted while his hands held your waist, thumbs caressing you through your clothes and spreading warmth through your body.

The next times less surprising yet still so very soft, your own eyes gazing into his with as much affection as you could muster, hands cradling his face after you finish patching him up. Each time, it seems your faces close a little more distance, getting closer.

You get used to this new rhythm, this new feeling, and appreciate every second of it to never take it for granted.

Before him your life was your work and your work your life, loneliness striking you after the loss of your mother to illness and never leaving even throughout the academy. Your sole respite taken away from you all too soon by a freak accident he has been made the villain of, only seeking to protect a child from her untimely demise. Driving you to overworking yourself and making yourself reliable and indispensable to drown away the emptiness within yourself.

And you don't doubt that he feels the same way, used to hunt his own kind then made into a monster at such a young age before being thrown into prison for half of his life. Loneliness eating away at him along with his anger for the falsehoods and hatred above which your kingdom is built on, wishing only for his brethren and himself to be free once and for all.

What at first seemed like an unlikely bond, felt much more understandable when you realized that.

The cadence is altered when Sargent LeBeau brings in a familiar visitor.

"Lady Crownguard." You salute her with a friendly smile that she returns, shaking one of your hands between both of hers.

"I'll take it from here, you can get some rest Lieutenant!" You nod at the young girl, but just as you are about to take your leave something cuts the silence.

"It's okay Little Light, she can stay." Sylas voices softly, his eyes trailing to you from behind the noble girl.

"Are you..sure?"

"More than anything in the world."

So the youngest Crownguard turns to you with a smile on her face as bright as the sun and eyes full of mischief.

"Oh is that so?" She giggles and you look down, your face suddenly too warm. "I'll have to know what happened someday, you two!"

"Maybe." Sylas teases back.

"Just, try not to get too surprised okay?" She suddenly turns a bit more serious, perhaps unsure as she gazes into your eyes.

You nod slowly, setting yourself on the ground next to Sylas, him wrapping an arm around you before light bursts from Illuminator's hands, a circle forming around her hand that she spins with the motions of her wrist. The magic soon disappearing from the effects of petricite.

"Holy-"

You hold your tongue as your eyes widen. The youngest Crownguard is a mage. The sister of Commander Garen is what her brother, along with the rest of the kingdom's armed forces and government, strives to destroy.

"Fascinating right, dear?" Sylas' voice calls from your left and you nod slowly, still struggling to believe the sight before your eyes. The young girl softly smiling at the two of you with a knowing smile that make you wish to burrow your face in your companion's neck from embarrassment.

A mage is not anything you haven't seen before, but a noble one is more than taboo. Especially someone related to the man nicknamed The King's Sword. You feel saddened for the poor girl who had to be under the most grueling expectations and hide her innate abilities at the same time.

But what shocked you the most was the sudden realization that crossed your mind in an instant.

Sylas is mentoring Luxanna.

You turn your head towards the man, eyes searching his. "You teach her?"

"Yes." He nods with a soft smile. "And in exchange she brings me books and describes the outside world to me. Sometimes she has to not come for longer periods due to missions or to not make her family suspicious but she has been my sole benefactor until you, dear."

You digest the information, leaning on Sylas as you turn to the young girl.

"How long have you been doing this Miss Luxanna?"

"Approximately two years. In a near death situation I discovered these powers within myself. One day after chasing a mage I discovered a tome that has helped me practice. When I realized that so many more must have been confiscated I began searching for them, only discovering them hidden inside my own home. Then got told that Sylas lived right beneath my feet in the door right in front of this cell. So I sneaked in and he started teaching me all that I cannot imagine learning about outside of these walls." Her eyes trail around the walls of the ivory cell.

You gently smile at her as she explains her progress to the two of you, her mana consumption reducing, her control over it augmenting as she follows Sylas' advices.

"My Lady, may I ask how you hide your abilities?" You question again, cutting her politely, mind racing at the current situation.

"I discovered in one of the confiscated books that is kept in my family's library that mages used to drink a concoction made of petricite wood to nullify their powers, so I do the same. Horrible taste, but it keeps me alive and hidden, so it's all that matters."

It hurts, to see and hear what mages go through just to exist in Demacia, your heart squeezing painfully at the new informations as the girl continues to talk, exchanging with Sylas. You try to listen and find the comfort the three of you share at this very moment much needed when your mind tries to pull you into an abyss of self-hatred at your past indoctrinated self's actions.

"I'm glad you could realize what truly goes on, Lieutenant." You smile sadly at Luxanna.

"Me too Lady Crownguard. Although I regret not waking up earlier."

"I did not wake until my own powers were revealed to me, sometimes it takes time to break free. Especially when living in the echo chamber that is Demacia."

Her wisdom soothes your heart like a balm and you are saddened to see her go, the girl embracing Sylas one last time before holding you too, the feeling of your arms around you nearly bringing you to tears.

"I'm sorry, my Lady." She smiles warmly.

"There is nothing to apologize for. You're a good woman, Lieutenant, so I am simply glad to know someone like you is on our side."

"Thank you, Miss Crownguard."

"Oh please, we're friends now! Call me Luxanna! Or Lux, whichever one you pick."

"Very well Luxanna." She smiles brightly at you before pulling away, waving her goodbyes.

When she leaves you see Sylas rummaging through the fabric bag, pulling out a heavy tome that makes your gaze snap to the man.

The petricite: its intricacies and usages. By Durand.

The original text detailing the creation and ways to use petricite by the material's creator himself, quite probably also holding the key to defeating the anti-magical properties of the ivory stone.

You turn to Sylas, eyes widened. This is definitely a forbidden tome.

"Sylas. What are you planning? Did you use the poor girl to bring you a confiscated book?" Your voice is hurriedly whispered as he opens the cover, eyes trailing over the words on the table of contents before turning to you.

"I know, it's underhanded and unfair on her." You nod, eyebrows furrowed in discomfort. "But this may be our only way out."

"What if she gets caught, you idiot!"

"If she does she'll be safe, she is a noble daughter, her slate is clean and her magic is still under wraps. She will only get a slap on the wrist, trust me that I wouldn't have done this if I thought or knew that she'd be put in danger. I do care for her very much and wish for no harm to come to her."

Your body melts against the wall behind you when you sigh, the overwhelming amount of information from the day swirling within you as you close your eyes. He is right, you know he is, and you know him. He wouldn't have manipulated Luxanna if anything were to come to her.

Yet you can't help but feel like this happened too quickly, too spontaneously. Something is amiss.

"Do you know something I don't? Why didn't you tell me about this before hand?"

He slides his hand on the paper, finding the chapter he is looking for before using his thumb at the corners of the pages to find the part that interests him.

Weaknesses of the petricite.

"Sometime after you left, Garen Crownguard passed by with some of his men, he was talking about my execution. Apparently the king and nobles have had enough of keeping me as a pet and want me gone soon, a month at best, a couple of weeks or even days if our luck runs out."

Your heart stops, lungs taking a breath so sharp it tears them apart and leaves you gasping. Tears pool in your eyes as you look at him, the page dog eared as he closes the book and turns to you, eyes concerned. They would have told you already, no they should have, you are Sylas' warden after all.

That's when it strikes you.

"Sylas, what else did they say?" His face twists.

"That you would be decommissioned for betrayal against the kingdom. Apparently we haven't been careful enough, someone must have seen or heard us and told Sir Crownguard that you have been 'radicalized' and now you're in this mess as well." His arms wrap around you as you shake, his voice strained in anger and frustration yet remaining soft towards you.

It's unfair. So unfair.

So that's what happens when someone knows the truth? Did civilians and other Mageseekers have to be killed for thinking differently too? But then why didn't they catch you immediately and get it done and over with?

"They want to make a show of us, kill two birds with one stone. I'm sorry, dear." He guesses your thoughts as if he were with you in your own mind..

You shove your face in his chest, heaving and crying as you shake.

Once upon a time you would have accepted death for your country with open arms, once upon a time you wouldn't have broken down like you are now. But when you learn that your whole life is a lie and that the very system that made you into a murderer now wants you gone because you know too much? It's bitter, painful and ironic, yet so very predictable.

"I don't want to die."

"I know."

"I want to be free, Sylas. I'm tired of being Demacia's puppet, strung along with only the illusion of choices when I was never granted any."

"I want the same as you, dear. And we will be free, but for that we have to fight. They will not take anymore from us, I promise." His two hands form the familiar gesture, right index and middle fingers over your lips and his left on his.

You search his gaze with your eyes, finding the clear waters now troubled, the look similar to the one he always gives you before entering the physicists' laboratory.

Pure terror coupled with rage, yet you find something else in there, worry.

For you, for himself, for Luxanna and whatever could happen to any of you. His hands drop the promise gesture before one arm wraps around you, the other opening the tome back at the dog eared page as he softly whispers the words written on browned paper.

Your sniffles cut through the air as you advance further in the chapter, a gasp leaving you at the next paragraph.

"While petricite is a component described to nullify magic, the wording is wrong. The petricite trees surrounding Demacia did not grow this tall from the nutrients stored in the earth and the water from our rain alone. They fed on magic. Indeed the wonders of petricite to not permit to block and suppress magic but to absorb and store it, safekeeping it for energy."

By the gods, so even this was a lie? Demacia, the land of justice, is born on falsehoods and censored information to prosper while it destroys all that goes against its principles.

We are no better than Noxus.

"The petricite's stored arcane energy can be released once in contact with a magical conduit, an external source like a mage or enchanted object would permit whatever was absorbed to be expelled from the material."

The only person you knew of that had magic was none other than Luxanna. And by the way Sylas turned to you, you know he had come to the same realization.

Damn it all.

We really are no better than Noxus.

"What do we do now?"

"We pray that she comes back before we're brought out to be executed." Sylas arm squeezes around your waist and you rest your head on his shoulder.

"I hate this."

"I do too, dear. But it's our only way out."

"Will she forgive us?"

"We can only hope so."

And days pass, ticking so slowly you feel like death will come sooner here than by the hands of the military, Luxanna's presence never making itself known. Your body now entangled with Sylas' as soon as you reach his cell, the closer your demise grows the less you care about whatever anyone have to say. If you're going to die, why hold back?

Your lips never find his, but the way you hold one another becomes desperate. More painful finger shapes bruises left behind as you cling to each other for dear life.

"I care for you."

"I know. So do I, dear."

Each time you walk back home you pass by workers building a scaffold, bile rising up your throat at the thought of Sylas and you being butchered at this very spot. While you fear for your own life, what angers you and saddens you the most is the thought that the man you appreciate, no, adore, so deeply might never get to live a life he calls his. Made into a bloodhound then into a prisoner all too soon for his life to be anything but that. His dreams of freedom disappearing with each passing days though your one plan remains, faith in it wavering as the youngest Crownguard never seems to get back to the cell.

So the day the door bursts open, your two bodies dragged to the execution site, you know that this will be it. No amount of fighting back gets you freed from within armored arms, Sylas hissing at the soldiers to let you down with such rage that your heart clenches painfully. Your bodies soon getting tied to posts as many Mageseekers and soldiers you know observe you, disgust in their eyes instead of friendliness. Hatred replacing the warmth they once held towards you.

You turn your head, tears spilling from your eyes when your gaze meets Sylas'.

"I love you. I'm sorry I couldn't do more." Your voice trembles and wavers, wishing you could have found the words earlier before being so close to losing everything.

Sylas shakes, eyes melting into yours as his rage wanes for a moment, lips pursing as he tries to find his voice.

"I know, dear. So do I. I love you more than I could have ever been able to express in this life." He is slapped before more can come from him, a punch coming down to your face by none other than Captain Garnier.

"So much for being promoted, Lieutenant." He sneers, words spat out with enough venom that you could feel them poisoning you. "In the end you are nothing more than a harlot, confraternizing with the enemy. With a monster that knows nothing more than to cause pain and to kill."

You spit at his feet, anger rising within you at his description of the man you hold dear.

"Well maybe it wouldn't have happened if our nation wasn't built upon lies and censored information, Germaine." His name is hissed out with disdain. "But you know that already, you're just so stuck in your own power trip to see anything besides yourself. If you gain more power from using and killing, then so be it, right sir?"

You are struck again and Sylas snarls from besides you.

"Touch her again, I dare you, Captain."

"Or what? You'll kill me? Let's not joke around too much Sylas, although I do know you are quite the entertainer." The slimy man grips your skin, his hold strong enough to feel like your jaw will break under it, his eyes trained on Sylas."You were always too much of a liability, we should have gotten rid of you much earlier. It would have spared us losing such a reliable asset."

Reliable.

I hate that word.

The only reason you became as such being used against you, your heart turned against you by those around to use you as a tool. And you had been too much of an indoctrinated fool to notice.

All of the missions you took for others, all the times you doubled or tripled your amounts of shifts to stand in for someone else, to guide or to help. All of it only ever earning you half assed praises and a pat on the back, your value never a truth but always an illusion. Just like everything else had been in your life.

"Brothers and sisters of the army and Mageseekers of Demacia, today we shall assist to the execution of two criminals. Sylas the Prisoner and our dear Lieutenant who let herself be seduced by his siren call, planning a revolution against her very own people. Or perhaps she was simply so desperate for praise that she resorted to selling herself to him."

Whispers erupt from the crowd, your jaw setting at the constant insinuations of you sleeping with Sylas due to your pathetic nature, the white hot anger within you so close to the color of the monotonous petricite surrounding you. Yet it cools at the feeling of a frigid blade placed on your nape, your eyes snapping to Sylas trying to free himself as soldiers hold him down with their own blades to his neck.

I wish I could have embraced him one last time and felt his lips upon mine.

Rage replaced by regret, you go lax against your own restraints.

If only I had been better, stronger, maybe this wouldn't have happened.

Yet the thought of not loving Sylas never came, the blame turned towards you alone as you refuse desperation to taint the one good thing you have. You will never regret helping him, nor befriending him, nor will you regret ever loving him.

The blade lifts from your neck and you prepare for it to strike, your eyes meeting Sylas' with one last tearful smile before your demise.

"Stop! Please don't do this, they don't deserve this!" Yells a familiar voice.

"Lady Crownguard, stop this madness!"

"No! Let me go!" Your head turns to see Luxanna strike a soldier down, rushing to the scaffolding.

"Miss Lux-"

"Do not kill them." Her voice is wavering yet strong as she stares down Captain Garnier.

"It is under orders of the king, my Lady. They are a mage and a traitor, they go against every Demacian codes and thus must be punished."

"To hell with that, they're people! You have to stop killing because of an antiquated way of thinking, a skewed code built upon fear and hatred. Let them go, Captain, I won't ask again." Soldiers and Mageseekers in the crowd hesitate to attack the young girl, her status bringing fear and respect into most of them despite the situation.

She circles around your commanding officer, her body slowly inching towards Sylas.

"You know very well i cannot do that. But perhaps I will speak to your brother and family about disciplining you young Lady, such a preposterous way of thinking and behaving are unbecoming of a noble of Demacia." Captain Garnier sounds angrier and angrier, keeping himself at bay to not lash out at the blonde girl.

Your eyes snap to Sylas' as Luxanna gets close enough to him, his gaze telling you what you need to know as she cradles his face.

"I'm sorry Sylas."

"So am I..Little light."

It's now or never.

"Do it Sylas!"

I'm sorry Luxanna.

He lunges forward, shackle straining as his hand pulls at the chain, the post holding him breaking under the force and pressure, propelling him to Luxanna until his skin touches hers.

Then everything goes white, a loud whistle overtaking your ears, screams sounding so low and faraway compared to it. But you then you feel it, the warmth of a familiar body upon yours, holding you close as hands rip at the chains tethering you to the scaffolding.

"-ear."

"-dear.

"Dear!" Sound suddenly returns to you, mind overwhelmed with the cacophony. "Please. Please tell me you're still here." Is mumbled, the voice sounding desperate and terrified beyond belief.

Sylas.

You struggle to open your eyes, sight blurry but still able to make out the shape of your lover's face.

"Yes."

"Oh thank the gods. We need to go, I will carry you to safety. We'll make it, dear."

"Promise?" He nods, a sad smile stretching his lips as he looks in front of him, your eyes trailing to where his stare.

Luxanna.

She looks horrified, betrayed, right about to break as she stares back, her eyes momentarily darting to the bodies surrounding you. None of the Mageseekers or soldiers surrounding you left alive.

"Come with us Lux."

Her face hardens in the regal way she has been taught. Her voice barely escaping her throat before she spits the next words.

"You should leave, my brother won't be long. And he won't be kind."

You understand her anger, respecting the girl's kindness even at such a time while Sylas carries you away, legs running much faster than you could expect from a man who seldom uses them while armored bodies make their way onto the plaza.

Steps from soldiers of the Dauntless Vanguard follow you, metallic and loud from the sheer amount, your head turning to observe Garen Crownguard gaining on you before your eyes close out of fear.

"Sylas." You whimper.

"I know, dear. It'll all be over soon."

He makes you slip from alleyway to alleyway, losing the most of the large group and circling around the white city to lose the last of them, the chaos protecting you from the King's Sword's wrath for the moment as Sylas opens a manhole. The both of you lowering yourselves into the sewers and listening to the hasty steps and angry yells of the army men above you, too rushed to look anywhere else but what they could immediately see.

Arms wrap around you as you slide down a petricite wall, tears pouring from your eyes like rain during a storm while arms enclose around you, pulling you onto a familiar lap.

"You're safe, we both are."

You nod, wordlessly clinging to him, nails gripping his shoulders before he tilts your face up, face flushed in exhaustion and panic still on his features while his eyes remain as warm and soft as they always are when trained on you. They look down to your lips, his pursing as his eyebrows furrow when they get back up to gaze at you.

A silent question, yet desperate all the same.

"Please." Your broken voice manages to utter a single word before his lips are on yours, your hands reaching up to cradle his face. Soft at first, slow as if testing the waters, then resolute when they find you a second time. Breaths mingling, mouths tangling in a display of passion you wish you could have shown before your lives were on the line. Now public enemy number one in the entirety of Demacia.

Yet you will not complain.

Even less so when he places loving pecks on your entire face, a huffed and exhausted laugh escaping you at his ministrations before his lips find yours again in a slow dance, savoring the feeling now that adrenaline is leaving the both of you.

When he breaks away for the last time, his eyes are determined, hands softly wrapped around your waist as he leans his forehead against yours.

"I promise dear, on my life, that we will be free. Never to be shackled again."

League of Legends Masterlist: here

Navigation: here

[clovermarigold]

Thinking of some League & Arcane oneshot ideas

Which League Oneshot do you like most?

Jhin x Crazy apprentice reader

Sylas x Healer mage reader

Swain x Vastyan spy reader

Thresh x Waitress Reader

Voting ended onDec 4, 2024

Link to the Arcane Oneshot Poll

[ghostkinnie]

♡ LOL character favorite kissing spot ♡

They love kissing your face everywhere

Akshan, EZREAL, Rakan, Brand, AHRI, Miss Fortune, NEEKO

They love kissing your cheeks

Garen, JAYCE, Talon, AKALII, Ash, Taliyah, Xayah

They love kissing your forehead

Aatrox, Lee Sin, MORDEKAISER, Xin Zhao, SAMIRA, Rell, Vladmir, Vayne, Thresh

They love kissing your temples

Darius, Pyke, SHEN, Morgana, Senna, CAITLYN

They love to kiss your hands

JHIN, Lucian, Swain, ZED, Sejuani, DIANA

They love kissing your neck

Graves, SYLAS, Elise, EVELYNN, Leona, Sivir

They love kissing the tip of your nose

Aphelios, VIKTOR, Varus, Gwen, JINX, Seraphine

They love kissing your shoulders

Kassadin, Pantheon, YONE, Katarina, Syndra, IRELIA

They love kissing your lips

Draven, KAYN, Viego, EKKO, Lux, Zyra

You are entirely their favorite kissing spot

SETT, Twisted Fate, Tryndamere, YASUO, Kai'sa, VI

They don't have lips to kiss you sorry-

Thresh haha

[ao3komorii]

Spellbound Shackles (Sylas/Reader)

Sorry for the many delays on this one, but I powered through to get this edited and up today! As per my usual with these, there is smut in this one, so people are warned!

----

“You’re a demon!” the frightened woman screamed, scrambling to grasp at the stone wall behind her to pull herself up from the ground.

“Submit to custody or I will be forced to restrain you,” you ordered, voice cold as ice.

“You’re a monster!” she screeched, eyes darting around, but no escape was to be found in the dead end alley. “Are you even human?”

You didn’t reply, only stared at her, watching for any signs of the fight you knew would be coming. You saw it in her eyes first, then in her fingers, twitching as she readied a blast of magic to try and hurtle your way to allow her a chance to escape your pursuit.

But she didn’t have the experience that you had. The second her fingers twitched, you sent a blast of ice her way, quickly pinning her hands to the wall behind her, those twitching fingers now encased in thick ice. Struggle as she may, her flight had now been ended.

There was shock and hatred in her eyes as she looked from her icy hands to where you stood. “But you’re… how could you? You’re one of us!”

“Good work,” came the slick voice of a tall man with a white mask covering the left side of his face as he entered the alley. “We will take possession of the mage. The head adept will be waiting for your report.”

“Of course,” you replied with a slight bow of your head, retreating to allow the man as well as several other half-masked individuals to get by you.

“You’re a traitor to your own kind!” the woman screamed at your back as you turned to leave the alleyway. “You’re killing us! How do you sleep at night when our blood is staining your–”

“That’s enough!” a woman barked, and the mage’s words turned into a cry of pain.

The woman said something else to the mage, but you were too far away now to hear it. The mage’s words were nothing special; you had heard them before, and would continue to hear them until the day you died, if Head Adept Crownguard had anything to say about the matter.

Exiting the alleyway, you quickened your pace, knowing that the head adept was not fond of being kept waiting. People stared as you passed, likely having just watched you pursue the fleeing mage, but nobody called out to you. Not many people were eager to make conversation with a mageseeker.

You didn’t mind the stares and the whispers, knowing that the mask covering the top half of your face spared you even more scrutiny. It was already bad enough that you were a dangerous mage, but the head adept had no intentions of allowing the public to discover your age as well.

Most mageseekers were in their late thirties or older, after spending their younger years training for the role. Powers like yours could not be wasted when they could serve your kingdom, or at least that was what the head adept had said when he had promoted you to the service at the age of nineteen. You supposed he was right, as by the time seven years had passed, you had one of the highest rates of mage capture of anyone in the order.

Your record had never mattered to you, however, nor did serving your kingdom. You had only one thing that mattered to you, and you were hoping that your success today would allow you to see her.

You entered the mageseeker compound, passing by the training grounds and heading straight to the office at the end of the long hallway. Coming to a stop before the large gold-accented door, you knocked two times, entering as soon as you heard the call to enter.

Eldred Crownguard sat at his desk, the papers in front of him stacked in a neat pile, his cold gray eyes on you as you closed the door behind you. Knowing he did not care for delays, you approached his desk, standing still and straight before him.

“Lord Crownguard, I–”

“Remove your mask when you speak to me,” he interrupted coldly, and you quickly did as he asked, hoping that his current demeanor was not a bad sign for how this conversation would go. Even with how long you had been a mageseeker for, you still had a hard time assessing his moods, as they could often change in a split second.

He didn’t say anything else, but his stern eyes on you told you that you were expected to begin your report now.

“The mage fled through the ironworks district and was captured in an alley,” you spoke. “There were no casualties or damage to civilian property.”

“And her powers?” he inquired, eyes narrowing.

“Suspected kinetic energy manipulation,” you answered. “She was captured before I could confirm the suspected nature of her powers.”

Eldred let out a huff in response, and you held your breath, unsure if this signalled his displeasure with you or not. After a long moment of silence, he spoke up, with all the emotion of someone commenting on the weather.

“It’s no matter. I’ll send someone to beat it out of her later.”

You did not reply, nor move. It wasn’t like you were unaware of what happened to captured mages; you had visited the dungeons on occasion, sometimes tasked to observe these interrogations.

Eldred made allusions to the brutal practices of the mageseekers on occasion, which always led you to wonder why. Did he believe that you fully supported the cause and saw no issues with its practices, or was it simply a tactic to remind you what would happen to you if you ever disobeyed orders? You would think that seven years of service to the order would have earned you some measure of trust, but not with Head Adept Crownguard. Mages were dangerous and should never be trusted, as went the first line in the speech he gave to the new recruits to the order every year. As it was, he was clearly only confident in using you because he had her.

Eldred looked down at his papers for a moment before looking back at you, like he had forgotten that you were there. He let out an annoyed exhale, his eyes looking like he was looking through you instead of at you. “I suppose you would like to see her then.”

“If it would not be an imposition, Lord Crownguard,” you replied quietly.

“Fine,” he acquiesced. “But do not forget that this privilege is only extended to you contingent on your continued performance of duties for this kingdom.”

“I have not forgotten,” you replied, head bowed.

“See to it that you do not,” he sniffed, sounding annoyed. “I will have her brought to the common room. Dismissed.”

“Of course, Lord Crownguard,” you said, bowing again before taking your leave, not willing to risk sticking around long enough for him to change his mind.

You walked quietly towards the common room, knowing by now that it was unwise to let your excitement show, or really any emotions. Any little happinesses in your life were hard-earned, and they had been taken away before when you were too careless in letting your eagerness show.

Entering the common room, you found it empty, which wasn’t unusual for this time of day. Mageseekers weren’t the type to lay about in the first place, leaving the room fairly redundant to begin with.

You looked to the walls, where the portraits of famous Demacian heroes hung. The largest portraits hung side by side in the center of the wall, depicting the former king, Jarvan III, as well as his newly-crowned son. You had never met either of them; kings would have no need to talk to a lowly mageseeker, especially a shameful mage like yourself, but you had been shocked when you had learned of the former king’s assassination. It was hard to believe that the man with the fierce eyes and gleaming gold armor in the portrait could ever be felled by an assassin, but his newly-crowned son was all the proof needed.

Next to the current king’s portrait was the one your eyes sought to avoid whenever you came in this room. Head Adept Crownguard was somehow just as intimidating in portrait form as he was in the flesh, his steely eyes piercing through you. Even turning your back to the paintings couldn’t cure you of the unsettling feeling of being watched, but at least you were spared from looking at the contempt in his eyes.

“Sister!”

You quickly wiped the no doubt troubled look off your face, smiling warmly as the young girl rushed into the room. Leaning down, you opened your arms to meet her for a hug, her familiar scent bringing you the first taste of peace you’d had all week.

“How were the farmlands?” Halia asked excitedly.

“They were lively,” you lied, pulling back from the hug. “There were so many sheep there. You’d have loved it, Hali.”

Halia smiled brightly, as she always did when you mentioned animals. It always stung to be reminded that you were the reason she couldn’t see the world for herself.

“Can I come with you next time?” she asked, eyes shining with hope. “I promise not to get in the way.”

You couldn’t see them, but you knew there were guards just outside the door, waiting in the hallway. There always were. As always, you had to choose your words very carefully.

“It’s too dangerous, Hali. I don’t want you to get hurt,” you replied, chest burning with shame as disappointment took over her face.

You hated lying to her. You hated that you could never tell her what you did, that you could never see her outside of these sparse moments the head adept granted you. And most of all, you hated that she was just as trapped as you were, despite having no powers of her own.

You chose to turn the conversation towards her schooling, asking about what she had been learning recently. Halia was an eager student; wherever they kept her, it was clear that her only companions were books and her overly-strict teacher, so she often had her head buried in a book, wholly unlike other ten-year-olds you had seen playing with their friends in the streets. You could never really see children playing anymore without thinking of Halia and all she was missing out on because of you.

The visit ended too quickly, as they always did. A Demacian guard with close-cropped hair and a dour expression appeared at the door as you were telling Halia more stories of the animals you had supposedly seen, his appearance the only signal you needed that your time with Halia had come to an end.

Halia heard the footsteps at the doorway and her face dropped, clinging onto you in response. “I don’t want to go yet!”

“Hali…” you murmured softly in response. “It’ll be okay. I’ll see you again soon.”

“It’s not okay!” she protested. “I miss you! Why can’t you get a job here?”

Pushing down the pain from her words, you smiled at her the best you could. “I need to do this job to keep everyone safe, especially you. How about next time I bring you back a treat?”

Halia huffed, not looking fully convinced, but also clearly not wanting to trouble you. It really killed you that you had to mislead her, but what would she say if she knew the truth? Halia was the only ray of light in your life; you didn’t know what you would do if she refused to see you ever again if she learned that you were the reason why she had to live like a caged animal.

“I’ll miss you,” she murmured, her arms wrapping around you in one last hug. “Please come back soon. I don’t care if you bring me anything as long as you come see me again soon.”

“I’ll miss you too,” you replied, voice shaking more than you would like it to in the presence of the guards. “I’ll see you soon and I’ll bring you something great. You just focus on your studies until then.”

“I will,” Halia promised. “Miss Craws says I’m a year ahead of kids my age in–”

“Halia,” the guard interrupted sternly, voice belying his impatience, his tone implying that he would not be asking a second time.

“I love you, sis!” Halia cried before making her way to the door where the guard waited. “Bye!”

“Bye Hali,” you replied in turn. “I love you too. I’ll see you soon, I promise.”

You were treated to a last happy grin from your sister, and then she was gone, disappearing around the corner with the guard. The second she was out of your sight, you felt like your spirit left with her. As it was, the only time you really felt like a person was when she was with you; the rest of your time you spent doing the head adept’s bidding, feeling more like an attack dog than a human being.

Sitting down on one of the couches, you tried to not allow your despair to swallow you whole. This wasn’t the life you had envisioned for you and Halia, not by a long shot, but it wasn’t like you could hide away from the knowledge that it was all your fault.

Halia had no memories of your parents, and you were barely any better in that regard. They had died from a sickness that had been plaguing your small town when she was barely a year old. Thirteen years old at the time, you and Halia found yourselves alone in the world and quickly shipped off to an orphanage in a larger city far from home.

You had been allowed to remain together, taking on the care of your younger sister when she otherwise may have gone neglected. The orphanage fed you, but it was never too often and never more than the bare minimum to keep you alive.

You had been existing in poverty, but at least you were together, up until the day you turned eighteen. When you had woken up that morning, you were given notice to leave, now that you had aged out of care. They would not let you stay, and would not let Halia leave with you, given that she was only six.

You had never been without each other, and the stress of being torn apart awakened the magic inside you that you never knew you had. You had frozen over half of the city before the mageseekers arrived on the scene to find you cradling Halia to yourself as your ice raged on.

In hindsight, you were probably lucky you hadn’t been killed on sight that day; a mage with powers like yours were a great danger to the kingdom, one that must be controlled or killed, and that day they had chosen control.

You were brought to Demacia City, the shining capital of the kingdom, which was to become your gilded cage. You would no longer worry about Halia getting enough to eat, but in exchange, you were to see her only at the whim of the head adept, a privilege that he never let you forget was tied to your performance of duties for the mageseekers. Sometimes you wondered if it would have been better if you had just taken Halia and ran that day; maybe then the both of you could have been happy.

But it was far too late for thoughts like that now. You had lived like this for too long to see a way out; you had come to reason that this life in a cage was better than one where you were dead and Halia was alone. At least this way you could make sure she was clothed and fed, even if you had to settle for watching her grow up from afar.

With a sigh, you stood up, knowing that you probably shouldn’t stay brooding on this couch long enough for someone to come by and see you. Not that they would have much to say to you; it wasn’t unexpected for a mage to be unpopular amongst a group of people whose sworn duty was to hunt down your kind. You reasoned that it was better to be ignored than bullied, though it wasn’t like you hadn’t heard some of the things they would say behind your back. It was an odd position to be in, reviled by both mages and mageseekers alike.

Placing your mask back on your face, you began the short walk back to the mageseeker barracks. You could only hope that wherever they kept Halia, it was less dreary than the cold stone walls that made up your room.

You had few personal effects, not finding yourself with much need for idle trinkets. Besides the books on the dangers of magic provided to you by the order, you didn’t require much for your work. The only exception to your barren room were the colorful drawings above your bed, given to your over the years by Halia. Most days, the reminder of why you were doing this felt like the only reason you hadn’t completely lost your soul.

Your bed was cold, or at least you assumed it was; you had stopped feeling the cold back when your powers had first manifested. What you wouldn’t give to be back there, susceptible to the cold, but able to be with your sister. But that would never happen again, not when she was the perfect tool to ensure your compliance. All you could do was make sure you stayed on the head adept’s good side, your last thought before sleep pondering what to buy for Halia to keep your promise to her.

 Donning your uniform and mask, you made your way back to the compound early the next morning to receive your patrol orders. Like all in the order, your own uniform was a mix of black, white and royal blue with gold accents. You wore blue pants tucked into long white boots, as well as a long white cape over a tight black shirt. You were unsure if others were able to choose their own outfits, but you just wore what you were given without complaint. After all, clothing mattered little to you as long as it did not inhibit your ability to take down mages.

You were greeted with a nod from one of the upper-ranking mageseekers, who seemed to be the one delegating the orders today. You waited in silence as orders were given to the others around you, some being sent on missions, while others were given a section of the city to patrol for any suspicious activity.

You waited for your assignment to come, but your name went unspoken. It wasn’t until everyone else had left for their assignments that you were then beckoned forward by the senior adept.

“You are to report to the head adept for your assignment,” he told you simply before taking his leave, leaving you alone in the room with a pit of unease in your stomach.

You had never been told to report to Lord Crownguard for an assignment before. What could be so big of an issue that the head adept would be intervening personally? Your thoughts drifted in a more dangerous direction as you walked back to the head adept’s office. Could the assignment be a cover to get you before him so he could dismiss you from the service and imprison you instead?

Very quickly, you found yourself once again before Eldred, whose face remained passive, refusing to give you any clues as to why you were here. You were mentally praying for Halia to forgive you when he finally spoke up.

“Your work has been satisfactory as of late,” he said. “So much so that I have seen to it that you have been re-assigned. I presume you have heard of Sylas of Dregbourne?”

Sylas of Dregbourne. The kingslayer. The traitor. The mass murderer. The most dangerous mage in the history of Demacia, as well as the kingdom’s single greatest enemy. There was not a person in Demacia who had not heard his name.

Most had heard the stories of the heartless murderer who had turned his back on Demacia and slaughtered indiscriminately before being caught and imprisoned for fifteen years. Then again of his surprise revolt at his execution, stealing the powers of a nearby mage before killing everyone in the crowd, as well as destroying a large section of the mageseeker compound. You had been away on a mission at the time of the attempted execution, and had felt for the entire year it had been since then that Sylas’ escape and following rampage had caused you to need to go above and beyond in your duties to prove to your order that you were not like him.

“I have,” you answered simply. As if you could forget, with all the whispers wondering if you would be the next mage to turn traitor.

“He has been making a great effort to bolster his forces as of late,” Eldred said, voice dripping with disdain. “We have spared no effort to locate and contain these mages before he can recruit them to his… group. But we must also take a more direct approach with Sylas if we are to end this little resistance before it begins, and that is why I have called you here.”

You were relieved that this was not a punishment meeting, but the prospect of being assigned to help combat Demacia’s most wanted fugitive was equally daunting.

“Sylas must not be allowed to bring his schemes to fruition,” Eldred declared gravely. “You are to focus solely on capturing Sylas so that an example can be made of him. His death will show other terrorist scum that they cannot hope to bring harm to our great kingdom.”

His contempt for the fugitive mage was plain in his voice. You had not known the head adept to be particularly emotional about anything, making it all the more clear just how much Sylas had gotten under his skin.

“I expect results from you, do I make myself perfectly clear?” he hissed, and you nodded in response. “Good. Sylas must be captured, and I will not tolerate failure. I would prefer he be alive for an execution, but kill him if you must.”

The atmosphere of the room felt heavy and oppressive. You felt like he was trying to draw out a reaction from you, but what he was expecting, you didn’t know. You had never caused a fatality on-job, but you had heard of it happening occasionally. Some mages were too dangerous to keep alive, and your main focus was continuing to prove that you were not one of them. If it came down to you or Sylas, you would not hesitate, not when your time with Halia was on the line. You had learned over the years that the only way to survive was to become heartless, and it had worked for you so far.

“High Adept Darnon will brief you on the information we have so far,” Eldred added. “Dismissed.”

“Of course, sir,” you replied, turning to leave.

A call of your name had you freezing in place, facing the door. “One last thing. Do not make the mistake of letting Sylas get his ideas in your head. I would hate for little Halia to get mixed up in this matter.”

“I will take care, sir,” you said, nails biting into your palms to supress a shudder at his not-so-veiled threat against Halia.

“See that you do,” he replied simply, and you took that as your cue to leave.

The air felt lighter the moment you entered back out into the hallway. Now that you weren’t in front of the head adept, you could take a moment to just breathe. Normally you could easily handle his abrasive manner, but you were always on edge every time Halia was brought up.

This was likely to be the most difficult job you had ever undertaken, if Eldred’s threats were any indication. He hardly ever made threats like that anymore, so confident in his control over you that he seemed to have deemed them unnecessary. So what was it about Sylas that put Eldred so on edge? What could Sylas possibly say to you that the head adept was so concerned about? You had heard all manner of insults and pleas from the mages you captured, and you were confident that nothing Sylas could say would affect you.

High Adept Darnon had clearly been expecting you, as he had set up a chair in front of his desk, a map of the city rolled out across his desk. Sitting down, you noticed that the map had been marked with several red X’s that were largely concentrated around the heart of the city.

“Those X’s mark the most recent sightings of the kingslayer,” he explained. “We know he’s planning something, and we need to put a stop to it before it begins. Your only responsibility going forward will be to capture Sylas. All reports on future sightings will be forwarded your way, starting with this.”

You were handed a stack of papers, the map on Darnon’s desk quickly rolled up and added to your pile. While the stack wasn’t heavy, it was significantly more information than you were used to. Even the most complicated and dangerous cases you had been tasked with had not required quite so much preparation. Holding the papers to your chest, you began to wonder if you were really capable of capturing the most dangerous mage Demacia had ever seen. But you had no choice, so you took the documents and headed to the compound’s library.

Laying claim to a large table, you spread the papers out in front of you, immediately diving in. According to the reports, Sylas had been laying low for the past few months, but had suddenly reappeared, at least according to the various reported sightings spread out over the last week and a half.

There wasn’t much to go off of in the potential motives section, at least nothing you couldn’t have guessed yourself. Things like likely intends to attempt a prison break or likely to target locations of significant value to Demacia. Was there no better information to go off of? You were usually given a list of your target’s most frequented locations, but what you had here was shaky at best.

The dungeons at the mageseeker compound were too well-guarded for Sylas to attempt to infiltrate with anything less than an army at his side, so you didn’t think he would be eager to appear in an area that was guaranteed to be crawling with mageseekers. As for the locations of significant value to Demacia, there was no shortage of buildings in Demacia City that fit that description. How were you supposed to know what Sylas was planning with his recent appearances in the city with this little information?

With not much to work off of, you were forced to improvise, deciding to begin with patrolling the alleys near several prominent Demacian buildings, hoping to catch sight of the wanted mage skulking around.

You had not been at his attempted execution, nor seen him in the mage prison for the fifteen years he had been down there, so you would have to rely on the wanted posters to aid you in recognizing him. As you walked towards one of the city’s largest temples, you stopped to look at one of the posters that had been pasted to a nearby wall.

Even though it was just a drawing, you could feel the contempt in his eyes, the drawing’s gaze making you feel like he was daring you to challenge him. He wasn’t particularly well-kempt, with scruffy-looking facial hair and wild, slicked-back dark hair that was more reminiscent of a common vagrant. You were confident that you could recognize him if you saw him; no matter what he wore, he couldn’t hide the anger in his eyes.

Taking up a position on a nearby rooftop, you kept your eyes on the darker alleyways that led up to the temple, watching for anyone who looked out of place. Sylas must have allies in and out of the city, so it would not be out of the question for him to send someone to do his scouting for him, which meant that there would be someone to interrogate for their boss’ location.

By hour four of your stakeout, you were forced to confront the increasingly likely possibility that Sylas was not in the city, or had chosen another target location for tonight. Although the probability of you encountering Sylas on your first night was low, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed as you began to climb down from the roof; this was your best chance to prove that you were trustworthy enough to get regular visits with Halia, so you could not afford to fail.

Reluctant to leave, you decided to take one more look around before you would admit defeat for the night, heading into a nearby alleyway.

The temple was only really busy during the day, so by now the whole area was silent as you quietly walked down the alley, eyes and ears out for anything suspicious. Most of the Sylas sightings had been at night, so you had that in your favor, but that would all mean little if you produced no results.

So far you had heard nothing but your own light footsteps and the distant cry of an owl, certainly nothing that would indicate the presence of the leader of a terrorist assemblage. Finally, you decided to change course and head back to the mageseeker barracks, resigned to the fact that you would not see him tonight. You would have to switch your focus to a different area tomorrow.

“…won’t even notice it missing,” came a male voice from somewhere to your left.

Turning your head, you crept closer to the sudden voice, which seemed to be coming from outside a closed shopfront.

“They’ll be put to good use,” another male responded, his voice deep and accented slightly.

“I trust they will,” the first man responded as you flattened yourself against the wall to peer out of the alley.

The man closest to you had his back facing you and was wearing a dark hooded cloak, so there wasn’t much to recognize. He was also fairly tall and seemed well-built under his cloak, which frustratingly blocked your sight of the man he was talking to. You could be eavesdropping on an innocent goods exchange for all you knew, but something in you didn’t want to leave this alone just yet.

You took a step forward, intent on getting a better look over the hooded man’s shoulder, but the minute movement seemed to set something off in the hooded man, who suddenly snapped his head back to face you.

Even under the shadow of his hood and the cover of darkness, you recognized those angry blue eyes clear as day. This man was unmistakably Sylas of Dregbourne.

“Go!” Sylas barked at the other man who quickly scattered before you could get a good look at him, which left you alone with your current target.

Sylas’ eyes were dark with disgust as he took you in, surprising you by taking a step towards you. “Chosen the side of our oppressors, have you?”

So it was true what they said, that he had the power to sense magic in others. That, and his ability to steal the magic of others through touch, which you were not willing to test with yourself. You would have to take him down without letting him touch you.

“Surrender to arrest, Sylas of Dregbourne,” you spoke coldly as you worked to assess the easiest way to capture him.

“I am of Dregbourne no longer, mageseeker,” he sneered. “This kingdom is home to no mage as long as your kind is in power.”

You stepped forward, but he was faster. Flinging back his cloak, Sylas unleashed the chains attached to his thick gauntlets, a chain catching you around the ankle before you could react and sending you crashing into the wall face-first.

You heard a loud crack as you hit the wall, your head exploding with dizziness at the impact. Initially, you thought that you had broken your nose, but when you pulled away from the wall, you found that the crack had instead come from your mask that was now in several pieces on the floor.

You quickly turned back to face Sylas, but your current dizziness as well as the blood dripping across your vision from a cut on your forehead was making it hard for you to focus. As you turned to face him, you noticed his eyes widen slightly, his sneer becoming more of a frown.

“Still recruiting young, are they?” he spoke, the sudden pity in his voice making you feel uncomfortable.

Realizing your face was now exposed, you went to pick up your mask, but Sylas beat you to it, one of his chains coming down on the pieces and reducing the mask nearly to dust.

“Leave it,” he snarled, advancing on you. “Do not let them replace your identity with theirs.”

Your identity? You briefly considered his words, but pushed the troublesome thoughts away. You would not allow him to get in your head, just as High Adept Darnon had warned you.

“Submit to…” you started, words trailing off as another wave of dizziness hit you. Just how hard had you hit your head?

It was no matter, you could still capture him. Raising a hand, you sent a burst of ice at Sylas, blinking in disbelief when it hit the wall two feet to his left. At first, you presumed he had done something to deflect it, but then your focus cleared for a moment as you realized that your aim couldn’t have been further off. What was wrong with you? One head injury and all your training went out the window?

Glancing at your ice with interest, Sylas turned his eyes back to you as you gripped at the wall beside you, struggling to remain upright. You didn’t like the way he was just standing there, silently appraising you, but your head was pounding too hard to conjure up another blast of ice.

“Better run home, snowflake,” he said at last. “I’d hate for that concussion to get worse. I need you clearheaded for the next time we meet.”

“Wait!” you cried out, staggering forward, but he was already gone. Too dizzy to give chase, you slumped to the ground, ice spreading across the stone as your hand met the ground.

Pulling your icy hand to your chest, you sat back against the wall, closing your eyes as you were overwhelmed with frustration and pain.

You had no idea how long it took for your head to stop spinning, but it was at least still dark out. Looking to your side, you gathered the broken pieces of your mask, unsure of how you were going to explain your need for a new mask to your superiors. You had never failed before, not like this, being defeated so soundly before you had a chance to counterattack.

Dragging yourself back to your room, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at the drawings of Halia’s above your bed that had always given you such strength, feeling like you didn’t deserve them right now. He was right there in front of you, and you let him get away. You knew that you would have to report the run-in to your superiors, but you would put it off until tomorrow, by when you hoped your head would have stopped ringing. Guilt and unease burning in your chest, you fell into a dreamless sleep.

 Waking up, you found that the dizzying pain had now dulled into a mild headache that refused to abate. You could only imagine how much worse your day would get when you went to report the previous night’s incident and request a new mask.

Leaving the compound after accomplishing your tasks, you supposed it could have all gone worse.

Your head injury wasn’t serious, as assessed by an annoyed mageseeker medic, who seemed displeased to have to treat a mage, even if you were one of the order. She had suggested you use your own powers to keep your head cold until the pain passed, not-so-kindly following it up with a suggestion to do so after you had removed yourself from her presence.

The sentiment was not unusual, but it was usually said behind your back. As much as the rejection stung, their acceptance was not needed as long as Halia’s safety did not depend on them. And for High Adept Crownguard’s many faults, he at least did not put any stock in idle complaints from members of the order who were less than happy to have a dirty mage among their ranks.

Adept Darnon hadn’t been particularly happy to hear of your failure, making you repeat every bit of the encounter in detail, but you hadn’t been punished for your failure like you had assumed. You got off with orders to not underestimate Sylas next time, and were dismissed to go get a replacement mask. Compared to how you were usually treated, the harsh scolding felt almost friendly, especially in comparison to what the head adept would do if he knew of your failure.

Returning to your room, you laid on your bed, placing a cold hand on your forehead to try and rid yourself of your persistent headache, but that was really the least of your problems right now.

You had been a mageseeker for seven years, in training for even longer, and yet Sylas was able to beat you in a fraction of a second. For a moment, you felt your confidence waver dangerously; could you really do this? But just as quickly, you dismissed the thought; you could not fail, if not for yourself, then for Halia. If you were sent to prison or worse, then what would happen to her?

The cold eventually took away your headache, but your head felt no less heavy. The next time you saw Sylas again, you would have to do whatever it took to capture him. The mageseekers did not tolerate failure for long.

 The next time you encountered Sylas was almost a week later, on a silent street near the harbor.

Unwilling to allow the fight to be so one-sided this time, you struck first, sending a chunk of ice hurtling at his back. Just in time, he turned, leaping to the side as the ice crashed against the pole behind him, bending it slightly inward.

“I was hoping I would see you tonight,” he smirked, looking completely unfazed as you advanced on him, ice at the ready.

“Sylas of Dregbourne, stand down and submit to arrest,” you commanded, summoning several sharp icicles.

“Come now,” he replied, looking bored. “You have your own mind, yet you repeat their lines like an obedient little parrot?”

As with before, it was clear that he would not be peacefully submitting to your commands, but that was not unusual; nine times out of ten, mages would resist arrest. But this time you were prepared to do whatever you had to in order to take him into custody. Irritatingly, however, Sylas seemed intent on engaging you in conversation instead of combat.

Dodging the icicles, he made an effort to close the gap between you, but you backed up in turn, sending a freezing blast forward to dissuade him from getting too close to you. If he was able to touch you and steal your powers, then things would become much more difficult for you.

“You must have seen the dungeons,” he taunted, refusing to back down. “Seen how they live down there. Decided that you would sell your soul to avoid the same fate?”

His tone was taunting and angry, and you were frustrated by how easily his words got under your skin. How dare he assumed you liked living like this. Your sudden frustration only drove you more to want to beat him, if only so you wouldn’t have to hear him talk.

“I’ve been where you are, snowflake,” he said, evading another wave of ice you sent at him. “If you think they care about you, you’re wrong. You’re a tool to them, one they won’t hesitate to throw away the moment you’re no longer useful. You’ll never be accepted in Demacia, not as it is now.”

Did he think you didn’t know that? You had never been unaware of your place in this kingdom, and the fragile nature of its acceptance of you. But what he was saying could not change your fate; there was no way out of this life for you.

“Submit to arrest!” you retorted, anger regretfully bleeding into your voice.

Sylas grinned, seemingly pleased to have touched a nerve within you. “They use you because they believe they can control you. No matter how many mages you capture, they will never free you from their grasp!”

“I know that!” you exclaimed, surprising both him and yourself with your sudden outburst.

“So you do have your own voice,” he replied, deflecting more ice from hitting him with his gauntlet.

Your heart was beating too loudly in your ears as you tried to refocus yourself. His words could not get to you; maybe if you repeated that lie a few more times, you would actually believe it.

Desperate to stop him from talking, you sent blast after blast of ice his way, forcing him to have to go on the defensive. As he dodged or deflected each blast, you found yourself growing more and more frustrated, your efforts only leading to you becoming a panting mess, your body feeling increasingly drained of energy.

Staring down the fugitive mage, you felt physically and emotionally drained, and were having a hard time processing what you were feeling right now. How had he so easily made you lose control? You couldn’t even remember the last time you had raised your voice, let alone been angry enough to do so. Something about the man before you unlocked all the emotions you tried so hard to bury deep, and it scared you.

You felt like a cornered animal, but were surprised to see that Sylas wasn’t looking at you like one. There was no judgment or pity in his eyes; staring back at him, you were struck by the thought that he was looking at you like you were a person, unlike all the people who looked at you like a tightly-controlled attack dog. You could almost see a different life in his eyes, a life where you could be as free as he was.

But then rational thought took over and you finally pieced your mental mask back together. Halia was counting on you, the mageseekers were counting on you, Demacia was coming on you. And here you were, being swayed by the words of a mass-murderer.

Feeling renewed of energy, your magic began to work itself into a flurry, the ground around you icing over. Sylas frowned as he took in the sudden change, but did not move to run or defend himself as you raised a hand to direct the icy storm his way.

“A pity, snowflake,” he spoke with measured disappointment. “It seems you require more time to think. I advise you to go back to your precious archives and see exactly what happened to me before you choose your side.”

Just as you went to unleash the blast of cold, you were knocked off balance by a hit to your shoulder, causing you to stumble to the side, spikes of ice jutting up from the ground towards the hill that led down to the harbor. Righting yourself, you looked down to see a blunt arrow on the ground, hard enough to bruise, but not sharp enough to pierce your skin.

Looking in the direction of the shot, you saw nothing, not that you had really expected to. With a jolt of horror, you turned back forward, only to confirm your sudden suspicion that Sylas had once again disappeared.

Sprinting forward, you looked around the area, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of the retreating fugitive, but the distraction had done its job well. There were numerous paths that led all over the city, and you had no way of knowing which way he had gone.

With a frustrated exhale, you turned your eyes back to the ground. You had let him get away not once but twice now. And worse yet, you had let him into your head again. You would need to make sure that your next encounter with him was your last, unless you wanted your world to crumble away around you along with your mind.

 It was easy to avoid the other mageseekers as you returned to your room. Unless they needed something from you, nobody talked to you, and from your own experience, most didn’t even like to be in the same room as you, let alone in a conversation.

But this way of life kept you safe. You had Halia after all; you didn’t need anyone or anything else as long as you had your sister. You had never questioned this life before, so why was it that your world now felt shakier than ever?

You wanted to forget last night had happened, but Sylas’ words haunted you like a ghost. Even a night’s sleep couldn’t shake his final words from your brain, and by the next evening, you had returned to the mageseeker archives under the guise of conducting additional research. At least the library was empty, and would likely remain that way so long as you were here; for once, you were grateful for your social paraiahdom, even if just because it let you research in peace.

You weren’t sure what Sylas wanted you to find in the order’s records. Did he think that you knowing the grisly details of his sudden murder spree would bring you to his side? You weren’t like him; you had never killed anyone before. What was he so sure that you would find here?

Mageseekers insisted upon keeping detailed records of operation, so it wasn’t very difficult for you to locate the investigation reports. Going back fifteen years, you found that there was quite a lot to look through; there must have been a lot of mages captured that year. Grabbing a few records from the start of that year, you set up at a nearby table, spreading the records out in front of you.

At first, the records looked ordinary, not unlike a report that would be filed today. You had begun to think that this may have been a useless endeavor, at least until you got to the last report in your current stack.

You didn’t recognize the name of the two mageseekers that led that particular mission, but you did recognize the name of the junior adept listed just below. Sylas.

The report went on to detail the mission, a fairly standard one involving a mage with a somewhat weak ability to communicate with animals. She had been living in a small village, and had been reported to the mageseekers for her strange behavior. With his powers of mage detection, Sylas had easily identified the mage, who did not resist capture and was taken in to custody immediately. The report ended with a line stating the mage would be transferred to the mage prison and treated with petricite for her condition.

While her magic seemed relatively harmless, you had been taught that all magic was a threat; if even the slightest spark of magic was left unchecked, it could mean the end of Demacia. Magic was too dangerous to go unchecked and uncontrolled; that control was the only reason you had a job and a life outside of the dark dungeons of the mage prison.

You stood up, making your way back over to the shelves, this time gathering some reports from the middle of that year. By that point in the year, Sylas had gone from a junior to a fully-fledged adept, despite the fact that he must have been somewhere in his mid-teens at the time. Belatedly, you mentally placed that year as one where your parents were still alive, and you and Halia had been happy, blissfully unaware of what was to come.

Sylas seemed to have been very active in the order by this point, if the sheer number of reports bearing his name as an investigator were any indication. His ability to see the magic in mages was so useful that they seemed to often have him walk around the city, the mageseekers capturing anyone whose magic lit up to Sylas’ eyes. Sylas’ record of mage capture was impressive, apprehending more mages in that year than you had in your entire tenure as a mageseeker. In today’s standards, the order would be lucky to arrest even a fourth of the number they had that year.

But the streak had to come to an end, which led you to a report near the end of that year, which looked innocuous until you pulled it out, noting the sheer amount of red ink on the report.

It was clear immediately how this report was different. Three mageseekers were listed on the report, two of which had a red line struck through their names, and the word deceased written next to them. Adept Sylas’ name stood alone as the only one unmarred by red pen, and by the fate that it signalled.

From evidence pieced together at the scene, it seemed that Sylas had somehow channeled the suspected mage’s powers, which had gone critical, killing both the mage and the two mageseekers, leaving their charred bodies and fleeing into the night. When captured a week later, Sylas had claimed the incident was the result of an accident, but the damage had clearly been done.

Setting the report down, you frowned. Sylas of Dregbourne, the bloody mass-murderer parents warned their children about… everyone had heard the stories of the victims he had stalked and killed all over the kingdom before he was caught, but the truth was dull in comparison. The bloodthirsty rampage was nothing more than an accident, but it seemed to have been enough for Sylas to be seen as a threat.

Your breathing felt shallow as you poured over the information. Sylas had suffered the fate you had always feared for yourself, being turned on by the order you served and locked in the mage prison for the rest of your life. It was no wonder he had become like he had; you were sure you would also feel bitter about your kingdom if one slip-up led to you losing Halia for good.

You could see why Sylas would want to direct you here, but the information changed nothing. If you acted against mageseeker interests, you would risk losing Halia. Of course, Sylas wasn’t aware of her existence, but even if he was, there was nothing he could do for you. He could hate you if he wanted, but you had to capture him to selfishly save you and Halia from his fate. Your freedom meant nothing if she wasn’t free too, so you would continue to be a good little mageseeker, even as the knowledge of your hypocrisy twisted your heart.

 There wasn’t a choice; you had no choices to make here, you repeated to yourself as you headed towards the grand plaza in central Demacia City. There had been reports the previous night that suspicious figures had been seen in the courtyard, so you had decided to patrol the area tonight in hopes of making your next run-in with Sylas your last.

You knew that you would likely not be alone out here tonight; the mageseekers were on high alert as of late, so it was likely that you would have backup nearby if necessary. You had reported your intended patrol route, but hadn’t disclosed much of your previous failure, other than to inform Senior Adept Darnon that Sylas had utilized a partner in your previous encounter. It had felt wrong to not tell him what Sylas had said to you, but something in you had frozen your tongue. You had never hidden anything from the order before, the guilt from that decision on your mind as you walked along the tall columns that lined the plaza.

In the daytime, the plaza was full of life, but it was dark and empty now in the midnight hours, all decent Demacians in bed by now. This was a place of celebration at good times, and a place to rally to in times of war, but right now it just looked abandoned, leaving you feeling like you were walking through an empty city.

This was such a wide open space, so public even at night that it didn’t seem to make much sense for Sylas to be operating around here if he was trying to remain unseen. Unease prickled against your skin as you were unable to make sense of his decisions, but not sure why you were so worried about it. If he was here tonight, you would capture him, and then all of this would be behind you.

It had been just over a week since you had last seen Halia, and you couldn’t help but worry about her. Was she eating enough? Was she crying herself to sleep like she used to back in the orphanage when she missed the parents she didn’t remember? It wasn’t like you were doing much better for her now, seeing her so infrequently that you were lucky she still remembered you. But Halia was the reason you were here, and you intended to keep her at the forefront of your mind to keep your confidence from wavering.

“We must stop meeting like this.”

Spinning around, you caught sight of Sylas as he sauntered out from behind a column, the moonlight illuminating his figure in stripes of silver. He stepped forward into the open area of the plaza, and you stepped backwards in turn. You tried to read his intentions by looking at his face, but you weren’t sure what you were seeing right now in his hard blue eyes.

With little time to plan, as things always seemed to go when you encountered this man, you were forced to think quickly, the temperature around you dropping as ice magic gathered in your palms.

“Well clearly you don’t intend to talk,” he said, looking frustratingly unbothered by your threat of magic.

“To talk…?” you echoed in a hushed whisper. What was his goal here? To confuse you and then get the upper hand in the fight? You wouldn’t allow it, not this time.

Sylas opened his mouth to say something else, but was forced to duck instead when you sent a sharp spike of ice at his chest.

He regarded you like you were a friend, not an enemy, and it enraged you. How could he treat this so lightly? And why did he insist on seeking you out seemingly just to provoke you?

Your anger carried your actions, but this time with a focus that was missing from your last encounter. Sylas was only dodging, not returning your ice with any blows of his own, and you were intent on enlightening him as to why not taking you seriously was a bad decision.

It started with one lucky blast of ice that caught him at the wrist, pinning his arm back against a column by his gauntlet. Taking advantage of your sudden luck, you sent the ice climbing higher still, until he was pinned from wrist to biceps by thick ice. Not wanting to give him a chance to return fire, you quickly iced his other arm to the pillar as well, leaving the fugitive securely bound to the stone behind him.

Panting with exertion, you kept a hand raised, slowly coming to the full realization that you had actually managed to subdue the mage you had been after for almost two weeks now. You kept a wary eye on Sylas, who stared silently back at you, that unreadable expression back on his face.

You were debating what to do next, not having expected to capture him so easily, when he finally spoke up.

“Did you find your answer in the archives?” he asked simply.

You froze, unable to find your voice to answer the question you had hoped he wouldn’t ask. Sylas seemed to find his answer in your silence and let out a sigh that seemed more pained than angry.

“Why is it that this kingdom has such a hold on you?” he asked. “You allow them to use you to no discernable gain for yourself.”

“I am proud to serve my kingdom,” you spoke, the words ringing out hollow in your own ears as you desperately tried to shut down the conversation. “Mages are a danger to Demacia.”

Sylas let out a dark chuckle. “That, at least, you are right about. You are however missing one key piece of information.”

What? Immediately suspecting you were not alone again, your eyes darted around you, looking for an accomplice in hiding, waiting to strike when you least expected it.

“Not out there, snowflake,” Sylas said, sounding amused. “Right here. And if you come a little closer, I might just be willing to share that information with you.”

You narrowed your eyes at the fugitive; you really should be calling for backup, but if this information was in regards to what he had been planning… if you were able to not only capture Sylas, but discover his plan, then the head adept would have no reason to question your loyalty ever again. If this even led to you being able to see Halia more…

You hastily stepped forward, and Sylas raised an eyebrow, amused, as you approached him. Coming to a stop a few feet away from him, you stared warily at the man before you, waiting for him to talk.

“Closer.”

You glared at him, unimpressed. You were already much closer than you wanted to be to him, only your desire to have more time with Halia keeping you reluctantly compliant with his demand. Even with your mask covering your eyes, your stony silence seemed to convey your frustration to him.

“It won’t be long until your friends get here, and then I fear I may not be as… forthcoming.”

With so little time to make your choice, you were forced to forgo further contemplation, instead stepping even closer at Sylas’ request, now so close that you could see the small flecks of gray in his blue eyes. Judging by the smirk on Sylas’ face, you had moved close enough to satisfy his request, but then why wasn’t he holding up his end of the bargain?

“What are you plan–”

At that moment, several things happened far too quickly for you to react properly to.

Before you could react, Sylas darted his head forward, connecting his mouth with yours. You felt the tickle of his stubble against your jaw, and then he backed off as quickly as he had come, leaving you stunned by the sudden kiss, your brain not connecting the mistake you had made until it was too late.

The ice binding his arms shattered with a loud crack, falling uselessly to the floor in chunks at the same time as he surged forward, stolen powers at the ready. In the blink of an eye, spires of ice rose from the ground, quickly encasing you from foot to hip in ice.

Inhaling sharply at the sudden cold, you raised your hands to retaliate, but found no magic rushing to your call. Staring at your hands in horror, you tried again to call the magic that was as easy to you as breathing, but again, no magic answered. For the first time since your time in the orphanage, you were powerless.

How could you have been stupid enough to trust the most wanted man in Demacia to keep to his word? You struggled fruitlessly against the ice once more in desperation before turning your focus back to Sylas, your positions now reversed as he stepped over the broken chunks of ice on the ground to approach you.

You angled yourself away from him as best you could with your lower half frozen to the ground, which seemed to amuse Sylas, who chuckled as he came to a stop before you.

“You have no comprehension of the true power you hold,” he said, raising a hand to your cheek, his cold touch against your skin again reminding you of the easy command he had over your powers.

You shook your head, no words coming to your lips. You had no power here, his words would change nothing. You could never be like him, and you couldn’t just stand here and listen to this. You would make him regret not freezing your hands as well.

Acting before he could stop you, you reached a hand up to grasp at the circular clasp of your cape, pressing down on the hidden button there, which immediately began to let out a high-pitched hum, letting you know that you had activated it correctly. Soon every mageseeker in this section of the city would be converging on your location, and by the look in Sylas’ eyes, both of you knew it.

Sylas let out a sigh, but he didn’t sound angry. He also didn’t bother scoping out the area for the approaching mageseekers, instead staring at you with an intensity in his eyes that made you shiver.

“Think about what you want, snowflake. Then think about if this kingdom will ever give you what you truly want.” It was now that he turned his focus to the approaching threat, turning to walk away from you before thinking better of it for a second, turning his head back to face you. “I’ll ask for your answer when we meet next.”

“No… I… stop!” you cried out, all to no avail as Sylas quickly disappeared into the night.

You were glad your mask covered your eyes as mageseekers began to filter into the plaza, if only to help cover the panic you were currently feeling. Why you? Why was he so interested in you? Why couldn’t he just let you live your structured, miserable life? Why couldn’t he see that there was no escape for you?

The mageseekers paid you no mind beyond a cursory glance, immediately fanning out to search the area for the fugitive mage. It wasn’t until forty minutes later when a senior adept arrived that your presence was acknowledged in any capacity.

It had taken until around the twenty minute mark for your powers to return in full, allowing you to break the ice caging you into chunks just like Sylas had done when he had stolen your powers. You wanted to help with the search for Sylas, but found yourself frozen to the spot, this time with anxiety and fear instead of ice.

High Adept Flisha did not ask for your account of the situation, not give you a task related to the search. Her cold eyes almost seemed to look through you, as if you weren’t even worth speaking to, which was likely not far from what she was thinking right now.

“You will report immediately to Head Adept Crownguard,” she spoke coldly, before leaving to approach a group of mageseekers as you tried not to collapse on the spot.

You had heard those words many times before, but they had never made you feel like this. You had pressed the distress button without thinking of the consequences, so desperate to silence Sylas any way you could, and now you would pay the price. You had failed again, this time in front of an audience, shamefully outsmarted and imprisoned by your own powers. You had never failed like this before, and you knew Lord Crownguard would not be pleased.

Each step towards the mageseeker compound felt heavy, like you were dragging steel balls from your ankles. You would not be seeing Halia any time soon, that was a certainty, but you didn’t think Lord Crownguard was likely to stop at just that.

The mageseeker compound was virtually empty; you could only assume that they had dispatched every available adept to try and right your mistake, though you could hazard a guess as to how that was going. Sylas had proven himself to be a rather slippery man when he wanted to be.

The head adept’s door had never looked so intimidating before, but you approached it all the same. Entering, you were once again met with the impassive face of Eldred Crownguard, though this time you did not have to guess as to what kind of a mood he was in. Taking off your mask before he could demand you to, you stood before the head mageseeker with fear in your heart, desperately hoping that it didn’t show on your face.

“Three times he has escaped you,” Eldred spoke accusingly. “Your flawless record is flawless no more.”

This was not a conversation, and you knew he was not looking for a response from you.

“Your actions have let down your kingdom, and I have called you here to answer for yourself,” he said. “Do you seek to betray this kingdom? Do you intend to see the citizens of Demacia perish in another rune war?”

“No, I would never–”

“Then why is Sylas of Dregbourne still at large!?” he roared, slamming a fist down on his desk.

You froze up at his sudden anger, watching as a heavy statuette fell from his desk to the floor with a crash. Eldred seemed to calm down somewhat after his outburst, but looked no less displeased with you as he looked at you with clear disdain in his eyes.

“I don’t think you understand the reality of your situation,” he said, voice low and threatening. “A mage in our ranks, failing to capture one of her own kind. One could even presume that you were doing this on purpose.”

You gasped, and he continued mercilessly. “I took a chance on you, gave you a life outside the dungeons, let you live as if you were one of us, and how do you think this makes me look? This city functions on my order, and if it were to get out that I cannot keep control of a mage in my ranks, my options would become rather limited.”

You were trying not to shake now, your breaths coming out shallow. You hadn’t meant for this to happen, and you had been trying your best to capture Sylas, but your best had clearly not been good enough for Lord Crownguard.

“I assume I have made myself clear, but I will take a moment now to be abundantly clear; this is your last chance. If you cannot capture Sylas, then I will have no choice but to declare you a traitor and sentence you to death. I will not allow my order to be tainted by your failure.”

You were openly panicking now, unable to hide behind your mask as it laid in your grip. Lord Crownguard had never allowed you to be masked before him, and now it was clear that it wasn’t just for control; you were naked emotionally without your mask, and that was just what he wanted. For you to have nowhere to run or hide from his calculating gaze.

“One more thing,” Eldred spoke coldly. “Make no mistake, fail to capture Sylas and I will have you executed. Try to run and then I will have no choice but to execute your sister in your place. I suggest you think clearly about what side you’re choosing here. Dismissed.”

He had to bark his command at you once more before you could force your feet to move, slipping your mask back on your face the second you stepped out of his office. Before you could close the door behind you, he spoke up one last time.

“Your sister is waiting in the common room. I suggest you take this time to re-find your motivation. It would no doubt be highly damaging for her to lose her dear older sister.”

You closed the door behind you, feeling numb. Even the knowledge that you had an unearned visit with Halia wasn’t enough to bring feeling into your body.

You somehow managed to get yourself to the common room, opening the door to find Halia already waiting there, staring idly at one of the paintings on the wall like you so often did. As soon as she turned and you saw her face, it was like something broke inside you and you rushed forward, pulling her into a tight hug.

Halia let out a whisper of your name, muffled against your shirt, but didn’t resist, eagerly hugging you back even if she didn’t understand your desperation, or the reasons behind it. You two stayed like that for a long moment, not saying anything as your hand stroked her hair.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, voice tinged with fear. “Are we okay? Is something–”

“Everything’s fine,” you lied, still holding her tightly. “I just… missed you. It’s been a long week.”

You were crying now, and you knew she could feel your tears wetting her hair, but Halia said nothing, simply holding onto you. Allowing yourself this brief moment of comfort, you allowed weakness to take over as you reflected on your situation. Halia was so much stronger than you; she endured a life that was even more restrictive than yours, all without complaint. To protect her, to protect this fragile existence the two of you led, you would have to discard all of your weakness. You would have to capture Sylas at any cost; at this point, it was him or Halia, and the choice was an easy one.

 As always, the visit with Halia ended way sooner than you would have liked, Halia’s brave face as you parted ways seared into your brain as you walked back to your room. You were well aware that depending on your next performance, that visit may be the last time you ever saw each other. You were desperate not to leave her alone in the world, but that didn’t mean your task would be easy. Sylas was a formidable opponent, and clearly had no intention of being captured. You refused to give in, for Halia’s sake, intending to do whatever you had to in order to bring Sylas in.

The next few days were spent in training, staying in the training area instead of sleeping to ensure you were as ready as possible for your final confrontation with Sylas. You didn’t bother reading the potential sightings briefings; Sylas had proven that he would find you, not the other way around, so all you had to do was wait for the timing to be right.

It wasn’t hard to guess that Eldred was setting you up to fail. Unlike your last encounter, this time there would be no nearby mageseekers to call on for help. You had brought negative attention to the head adept, and now he would only see you back in his good graces after you had taken on the world by yourself.

You could hear the other mageseekers gossip about you, even more than usual. Word had spread that the mageseekers own special exception was on her last chance, and they were all eager to see you fail, to be free from having to associate with a dirty mage within their ranks once and for all. Even if there weren’t orders against doing so, none of them would lift a finger to help you.

The night before your intended day of reckoning, you did your best to get a full night of sleep, but Halia’s face haunted your dreams. Even once you woke up, you were having a hard time shaking the dream image of Halia weeping over your corpse from your mind. You had somehow gotten a full night’s sleep, but felt no more well-rested than your sleepless nights at the training grounds.

Your mageseeker garb felt heavier than usual, like it was weighing you down as you left the barracks with no particular destination in mind. Sylas had seemed so determined to convert you, to find you every time you were looking for him, and so you had no doubt that he would again find you tonight. As you turned onto a well-lit street, intending to head to the more secluded back alleys, you wondered what he had done during the days you had spent holed up in the training grounds. Had he been out here looking for you, or had he given up entirely after days of nothing? No, you quickly dismissed the thought; something within you told you that you would see him tonight, for better or worse.

The late night crowds thinned out the farther into the alleys you went. There wasn’t much in this part of the city, the alleys largely used as shortcuts between the market and the eastern housing district. By this point in the night, this maze of alleyways would be deserted, becoming your own private meeting area with Demacia’s most wanted man. You kept your eyes out as you walked the back alleys, seeing nothing, but ready for a fight whenever it came. At this point, it was just a matter of time.

It was a great relief to you that your powers had returned in full after your last conflict with Sylas, not least of all because it seemed to be a fairly cold night. All the people you had passed on the streets were dressed in layers, your only clue as to if the temperature was getting frigid, as you hadn’t felt the cold in many years, at least not until Sylas had sapped your powers from you long enough to tell you that you did not want to feel that cold again.

The alleys were deathly quiet, which left you with nothing to distract you from your thoughts, which were all too loud right now. Capture Sylas and live or fail and die, those were the only two ways this night could go. The task ahead of you was daunting, but you had no choice. You would capture Sylas, restore Lord Crownguard’s faith in you, and then your life would go back to the way it had been for so long. Soon this moment would be a memory long gone, a lesson never to be repeated.

You were walking towards a forked path in the back alley, but stopped short when a figure emerged from the end of the alleyway, raising a hand in greeting as if you were allies.

Sylas began to casually move towards you, but was forced to leap backwards when you sent several spikes of ice jutting out from the ground directly in front of him.

“Some way to greet an old friend,” he remarked, looking from the spikes to your masked face.

A friend? Was that what he really saw you as? No, you dismissed the possibility as soon as you thought of it. People like you and Sylas had no need for friends; all he was trying to do was get in your head, and you wouldn’t allow it.

You backed up, wanting to put some distance between you and him, not wanting to repeat your previous mistake.

Raising an eyebrow, Sylas seemed to accept that this fight was unavoidable, moving into a fighting stance. You did the same, desperation thrumming under your skin, unable to shake off the stress from the knowledge of just how much was riding on the outcome of this fight.

Sylas struck first, darting forward, chained gauntlets at the ready. You blocked his first strike with a spike of ice that was quickly broken by a slam from his chains.

The next spike of ice was thicker, and when Sylas made to shatter this one as well, you sent ice along the chain and over his gauntlet, freezing his arm in a block of ice.

The weight of the ice offset his balance slightly, but not enough to take him out of the fight. Sylas sent both his chains at you, the frozen one stiffer, but no less dangerous, forcing you to drop to the ground to avoid being hit. You took advantage of the frozen chain, freezing it easily to the wall of the alleyway, which gave you time to move back as Sylas began to tug at the frozen chain in an attempt to free himself.

You raised a hand to send another blast of ice his way, but let out a pained cry as his other chain connected with your side, sending you falling to the ground. Side stinging, you threw a chunk of ice at his face, forcing him to block so you could scramble to your feet. Halia needed you. You couldn’t allow yourself to go down.

Strengthening the ice on the chain, you sent it creeping over his icy arm, the ice reaching his naked torso before he could stop it. Sylas attempted to bash at the ice with his unfrozen gauntlet, but the ice was steadfast, quickly covering him from the neck down while he attempted unsuccessfully to resist.

Soon you stood before a fugitive that was more ice than man, reeling with disbelief that you had actually managed to win. You could live. Halia would be okay. You could put all of this behind you and redeem yourself to the head adept.

“One more secret, snowflake,” Sylas said, sounding completely unfazed by his body being encased in ice.

“I won’t fall for that again,” you replied angrily. “Sylas of Dregbourne, you are under arres–”

“Fear not,” he interrupted. “This isn’t one I need to tell you. In fact, I’d prefer to show you instead.”

What was he…? You confusion turned to alarm as you began to feel… cold. Looking down at your hands, you watched as the silver-blue glow of your ice faded from your skin.

“That’s not possible!” you gasped. “But you’re not even…!”

In a moment, you found history repeating, as you were quickly pinned to the wall by your own ice, a now-free Sylas looming over you, his mouth at your ear to finish your interrupted sentence for you.

“…touching you? I suppose my file neglected to mention that I only need contact with the magic, not the mage themself,” he spoke, grin audible in his voice.

“No,” you breathed, pulling against the ice binding your hands and feet to the wall. “No… no!”

“Tough break, darling,” he said, pulling back to meet your masked eyes. “That kiss was just an added benefit for me.”

His words were barely registering to you over the pounding of your heart and the rush of horror that had taken over your body. You had failed, this time for the last time. It was over. Come tomorrow, you would be dead.

“I take the silence to mean you still aren’t too fond of my offer,” he said, stepping back with an exaggerated sigh. “Well, then I suppose I’ll be seeing you next time, snowflake.”

“No,” you choked out, shaking your head. There would be no next meeting with him. Your next meeting would be with the executioner.

Sylas hummed in question, turning back to face you. “So determined you’ll never join me?”

“You don’t understand,” you spoke shakily, slumping against the wall. “This was my last chance. I’ll be on the executioner’s block tomorrow.”

Your words seemed to enrage Sylas, who quickly stormed back your way, getting in your face with angry eyes. “You would willingly go back to die? Don’t throw your life away for a kingdom that never gave a damn about you! Come with me and you can be free!”

“I can never be free,” you sobbed. “They have my sister. If I don’t go back, they’ll kill her in my place. Maybe it’s better that I die, then Halia can finally be free…”

Sylas’ face softened at your admission, reaching up to remove your mask, revealing your tear-streaked face to his questioning gaze.

“I should have guessed,” he spoke softly, anger underlying his voice, but this time not directed at you. “Your sister, is she a mage as well?”

“No,” you answered, feeling too vulnerable without your mask to meet his gaze, your eyes cast down to the ground. “I was the freak. They tried to separate us in the orphanage and my powers manifested. This was the only way for me to protect her.”

You weren’t sure why you were so willing to open up to the most dangerous mage in the land, but the words came easily. Maybe it was just that you had never had someone to talk to openly about your problems, someone who didn’t just tolerate your presence while openly despising you.

“Your sister… she’s important enough for you to die for,” Sylas remarked. “But is she important enough to live for?”

“What?” You raised your face to meet his eyes at last and were startled by the determination you found there. “I have no choice, they’ll kill her if I leave this place.”

“Then we’ll make it so they can’t,” he retorted. “I have a plan, but it will require us to trust each other.”

“Why would you trust me?” you asked quietly. “I’ve done nothing to earn your trust.”

“Your magic is pure,” he replied. “Untainted by the evils of this place. Magic like yours deserves to be free, not shackled to a cause that is against everything you are.”

Reaching a hand out, he cupped your cheek, his rough-looking hands surprisingly gentle against your skin. “Do you want to be free?”

“Yes. More than anything,” you answered immediately. “But Halia–”

“…will be fine, if you do exactly what I say. I know how mageseekers think better than I’d like to.”

You laughed humorlessly, mostly to yourself. “I never thought I would be allies with a kingslayer.”

“Another unearned title,” Sylas huffed. “I have slain no kings. He was dead before I arrived.”

“But why–”

Sylas wearily raised an eyebrow. “You should know their lies better than anyone. I was a convenient target to pin the blame on. If you’re a mage in Demacia, they have no trouble spilling your blood.”

The new information stunned you for only a moment, because you realized that he was right. This kingdom used people like you and him, treated your lives like they were theirs to control. You would never have any true happiness, not while you stayed here, and not if you let them put you down like an animal.

“Your sister,” Sylas spoke up. “Is she brave?”

“Yes,” you answered. “Much more than me.”

“Good,” he smirked. “We’ll need her at my execution.”

“Your..!?” you gaped.

“Relax,” he chided gently. “I won’t die. That’s where my trust in you and your sister comes in. But first, you need to make a visit to Eldred Crownguard and tell him exactly what I’m going to tell you…”

 The next morning, you found yourself before Head Adept Crownguard, not to surrender yourself for execution, but with a plan.

“I have discovered evidence that Sylas intends to break into the royal library tonight to steal an ancient tome,” you spoke, forcing all nervousness out of your voice. You had to do this perfectly. “I intend to capture him during this attempt and present him to the order for execution.”

The head adept looked annoyed, as if you were wasting his time by being here. It wasn’t hard to guess that he had thought you had come here to turn yourself over for execution, the reality that you would take one more day to die and stop being his problem a mere annoyance to him. He didn’t know it, but if Sylas’ plan worked, then he would be free of you at last, just not the way he was assuming.

“Very well,” Eldred replied. “You have bought yourself one more day. But make no mistake, if it is not Sylas’ head on the executioner’s block tomorrow, then it will be yours.”

“Of course, Lord Crownguard,” you answered, taking a deep breath before addressing the last thing you had to accomplish in this meeting. “If I capture him, I have a request I would like to make.”

You had never made a request of the head adept before, and by the darkening of his eyes, not many had dared ask him for favors before. You had counted yourself among that fearful number until yesterday, but now you had an ally, and that gave you the strength you needed in this moment.

“The request?” Eldred inquired, his tone giving you no hint as to what he intended to do with your answer.

Steeling your nerves, you did your best to appear every bit the devoted mageseeker he thought you were.

“I would like my sister to attend his execution with me,” you said, forcing yourself to meet his imposing gaze. “I want her to lock his neck to the block before they cut off his head.”

If Eldred was surprised by your request, he didn’t show it. “And why should I give you special treatment?”

“I want Halia to see what I do for this kingdom,” you answered, filling your voice with measured strength. “And I want no one to doubt what side I stand on.”

Eldred stared at you, and for that long moment, you began to worry that he was seeing through you, but then he seemed to make his decision. “Very well. If you manage to capture Sylas, I will grant your requests. Do not make me remind you of the consequences of failure.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied with a bow, astounded that you had managed to pull this off.

“Do not disappoint your kingdom,” he added, clearly not wanting you to leave with any confidence. “Dismissed.”

You had no intention of arguing with him, not when this meeting had gone exactly like Sylas had predicted. With a bow, you left the room, unable to relax even a tiny bit until you reached your room.

Sylas’ words had given you confidence, but you were still struck by the absurdity of your current predicament. You had gone from one extreme to the other, but it wasn’t like there was much of a choice. Demacia had given you shelter, but it had never been a home, and never would be. They would treat you like a guard dog, and then put you to death to save face.

You had never questioned the system before, but the chance to escape your gilded cage made you realize how much anger was buried deep under the surface. Halia deserved a better life, deserved to be free, which was something neither of you would ever be afforded here. Thinking of your sister, you felt your nervousness fade, replaced with a quiet determination to do what you had to in order to execute Sylas’ plan perfectly.

That night, you walked toward the royal library, eager to see Sylas again and gain reassurance that this was all really happening. It scared you just how quickly you had decided to put your trust in the fugitive you had previously been chasing, armed only with your trust in his promise to you.

A large part of you wondered why he would risk so much for you and Halia. Mages were all over, and there must have been ones easier to reach than you, and then there was that kiss.

You were too afraid to ask him why he had kissed you, and it was hardly the time, with so much riding on your actions in the next twenty-four hours. Sylas was willing to put his life in your hands, which honestly felt like more trust than someone like you deserved, which made you all the more determined to prove to him that his trust was not misplaced.

The royal library stood tall and proud, Demacian flags hanging beside the large ornate doors, but the majestic architecture wasn’t what caught your attention. In the dark of night, you caught sight of a glint of metal around the side of the building, the end of a chain barely sticking out. Where you would have previously approached cautiously, now you strode forward, eager for some reassurance that you weren’t alone in this plan.

It was an odd feeling, realizing that you had a dangerous fugitive waiting for you, but you weren’t afraid, not of him.

“Ready to break free of your cage?” Sylas greeted you, pushing himself off the wall he had been leaning on.

“By putting you in one?” you replied somberly, feeling guilty for how much trouble he was going to for your sake.

“I spent fifteen years in their prison, one more night won’t break me,” he answered.

“I can never repay you for this,” you said, unable to stop yourself.

“Not everything in this world is transactional,” Sylas replied. “I’m doing this because it’s right. After you’re free, you can choose your own path.”

It was almost startling how quickly he had pivoted from his original recruitment plan. Freedom to choose almost seemed like a joke, or something out of a dream, but you were drawn to the promise immediately. So sure of your death, you hadn’t thought about what to do after your and Halia were free. It had always been so far out of your reach that there was no point in even thinking about it, and now that freedom was within your grasp, you had no idea what to do with it.

“Wouldn’t want to keep the order waiting,” he said, brushing a finger gently over the clasp of your cape, too light to activate the help beacon. “But first, I have something for you.”

At his prompting, you held out your hand, palm-up. Sylas reached into a pocket, pulling out a small stone rectangle and depositing it in your hand.

The stone was pure white and almost unassuming, if you didn’t know its true purpose.

“Petricite,” Sylas said. “Absorbs magic like a sponge. One touch of this to my skin and I’ll be able to tap into the stored magic.”

“I’ll make sure Halia follows the plan,” you promised. “I won’t let them kill you.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” he replied with a huff of laughter. “A good little Demacian like you breaking her word? Unthinkable.”

You got the feeling that he was teasing you, but were unsure how to respond. The only person that really treated you like a person was Halia, and you only got to see her every few weeks if you were lucky.

You just smiled awkwardly at him, and he frowned, reaching forward to remove your mask, exposing your full face to him again, but this time you didn’t feel as nervous, strangely captivated by the intense look in his eyes.

“After tomorrow, you’ll be free,” he said softly.

“I thought you wanted me to join your side,” you replied just as quietly.

“I still do,” he said. “But only by your own will. I won’t have you free yourself from this place only to become a servant for my cause.”

You were shocked speechless, feeling like your brain was short-circuiting. He had said so before, but it was still an odd experience for you after living so much of your life under the thumb of the mageseekers that anyone would want you to have any level of control over your own life. It almost felt too good to be true, but even if you didn’t trust Sylas, he was your only choice to save you and Halia.

“You don’t need to make any decisions now,” Sylas said, as if sensing your muddled thoughts. “But I’m afraid we’re running out of time to talk tonight.”

You nodded slowly, painfully aware of just why you were out here tonight. You had no right to be so afraid of imprisonment, not when the man before you was willing to be put back in a cage for your sake, not to mention the execution.

“Are you sure Lord Crownguard will follow through with his promise?” you asked.

Cruelty was a pastime for the head adept, so it wouldn’t surprise you if he decided to revoke his promise to you the second Sylas was back in his grasp.

“He’ll follow through,” Sylas growled. “He’d never throw away the chance to kill me and show you and all mages that you’ll never escape him. A young upstanding daughter of Demacia locking me into the executioner’s block is just an added benefit for him. He probably thinks your request was playing right into his hands.”

You could only hope he was right. Not many people got the better of Eldred Crownguard, and you were currently trying to do so on a level that was unprecedented.

“Now then,” Sylas said, leaning against the wall, arms spread to the sides in anticipation of the ice to come. “We might as well begin my homecoming.”

 It was uncomfortably easy for you to slip your mask back on as the mageseekers began to arrive in droves at your signal. Sylas did his part well, glaring at you and the other order members as they surrounded him, his body iced to the wall.

He was doused with liquid petricite before being removed from the wall, an added measure to ensure he did not retain any magic to use against the order. Sylas focussed his attention on resisting the adepts, at least until a large mageseeker delivered a blow to the back of his head and his eyes rolled back into his head, head dropping to his chest.

“Remove the ice now,” a senior adept ordered, and you complied, Sylas’ body falling into the grasp of several mageseekers as soon as the ice that supported his body had vanished.

You didn’t flinch as Sylas’ body was carried past you and off to the mage prison. You owed it to him to stay strong, to pretend to be impassive even as guilt and anger simmered in your chest. If Sylas was willing to put himself in such a bad situation for you, then you had to execute your part perfectly for him in return.

“Return to the barracks immediately,” the same senior adept ordered you and the other mageseekers that still remained in the area. “We expect retaliation from the rebel mages at the execution, so every mageseeker will be required to attend to protect against attacks on our system of justice.”

You wanted so desperately to go along with the adepts escorting Sylas’ body away, but held yourself to your spot, not even looking at him as he was taken away. You couldn’t risk anyone having any perception of you as a sympathizer, and Demacia’s eyes were always watching.

“Thought we’d finally be rid of her,” a nearby mageseeker sneered, and it wasn’t hard for you to guess who they were talking about.

“She’ll mess up again sooner or later,” another one replied. “Mages aren’t meant to be among us. The head adept will come to his senses and realize that soon.”

They didn’t know just how right they were, but you simply turned away from them to walk back to the barracks as you had been ordered to do, keeping your head down in feigned shame, their laughter echoing behind your back.

It was difficult for you to sit in your room that night, unable to act. You couldn’t rescue Sylas yet, and you couldn’t warn Halia of what was to come. She didn’t even know what you actually did for Demacia, how would she suddenly take the news that the most dangerous mage in the kingdom was going to be the one helping you escape?

There was no telling how much time you would even have to talk to Halia alone. If the head adept suspected anything, then he would keep you and Halia on a tight leash, restricting your ability to communicate Halia’s part of the plan to her.

Alone in your room, you wondered what she was doing right now, not to mention Sylas. Had he woken up from unconsciousness? Was he back in his old cell, being taunted and tortured by guards on the eve of his supposed execution?

You were at least confident that he would live to see tomorrow. Lord Crownguard had stressed to you his preference that Sylas be captured alive, not having to say it aloud for you to know that he wanted a live captive for the spectacle it would allow for. A grand gesture to show the citizens of Demacia that they were safe, and the mages of Demacia that they would never be. And as an added benefit, the leader of the rebel mages would be silenced forever.

You slept off and on through the night, waking up feeling restless, head filled with worries about worse-case scenarios. Everything today depended on you and Halia. Sylas would live or die today depending on you and Halia’s actions, the pressure of this moment weighing heavily on you as you tried unsuccessfully to sleep.

Finally giving up on sleep, you sat up in bed, pulling the petricite square out of your bag and staring at it. The petricite was smooth, like it was shaped by a careful hand. Flipping the stone over, you were surprised to find the shape of a snowflake gently etched into the stone.

The sight of the snowflake tugged at you, like you could hear Sylas calling you the nickname, as if he wasn’t currently deep within the mage prison. Was this a reminder to keep you to your word, or a measure taken to calm your nerves before your final task? It was a little hard to believe it was simply a kind gesture, not because you doubted Sylas’ character, but because nobody but Halia had ever done anything kind for you. You knew your role here, and your experience told you that Demacia did not see you as a person deserving of kindness.

Whatever his intentions, you found that the snowflake brought you comfort, like you weren’t alone in this room for this short moment. Checking the time, you found that it was only a few hours now until you were to make your way to the execution with Halia at your side. You still didn’t know how or when you would be brought to her, or if Lord Crownguard would even grant your requests, but you had to be prepared in either case.

Taking the stone in cupped hands, you closed your eyes before calling your powers forth. It was probably better that you did this now, so you would have time to recharge before the execution, as you assumed that Sylas would likely need your help in the escape.

You hadn’t had time to talk specifics with him, but assumed he must have a reliable path out of the city. You doubted that the escape would be a bloodless one, but you would do what you had to in order to save Halia from this life in captivity.

Thinking of your sister, you sent waves of ice magic out from your hands, the stone eagerly absorbing the magic without leaving any trace behind. This magic would protect Halia, would save Sylas, and allow you to leave this place behind.

The petricite accepted your magic without complaint, so you poured your icy magic into it until you started to feel drained. Unclasping your hands from around the petricite stone, you set it down on your bedside table, choosing to lay down for the next hour to recoup your strength.

You were feeling mostly better, at least physically, when you got out of bed. The closer it got to the proposed execution time however, the more anxious you got.

You could hear other mageseekers discussing the upcoming execution as you went to take a bath, their words sounding like they were talking about a party rather than a beheading.

You had just gotten dressed in your mageseeker robes when there was a loud knock on your door, startling you out of your troubled thoughts. Quickly snatching the petricite from your bedside table, you stowed it in your pocket before answering the door to a large mageseeker who took up most of the doorway.

“The high adept has requested you be brought to him,” the man spoke emotionlessly.

“Of course,” you replied in the same practiced tone.

This was earlier than you had been expecting, but you would only have spent the extra time worrying, so it would probably be better to confront the situation early.

Closing the door behind you, you were very aware that if your plans turned out the way you were hoping they would, then you would never see that room ever again. You had lived your whole adult life in that room, but you felt nothing as you left it behind for the last time. Even the thought of leaving Halia’s drawings behind stirred no feelings in your chest. This place had never truly been a home to you, and you would not miss it.

You followed the unfamiliar mageseeker to the hallway outside the head adept’s office, the mageseeker stopping before the door to knock. Upon getting approval to enter, the door was opened for you to enter, the mageseeker who escorted you remaining outside the door. Upon entering, you spotted several figures in the room.

In his usual chair was Eldred Crownguard, exuding his usual air of superiority. Flanking his desk were two mageseekers, ones you recognized as senior adepts who were particularly unpleasant in their methods of apprehending mages. Clearly Eldred still wasn’t willing to extend much trust your way, if he had chosen to have them along for today.

It was the last figure, however, that drew most of your attention. Halia’s head turned towards the door from her seat in front of the head adept’s desk, her eyes widening at your appearance.

You noticed immediately how tense she looked, which was understandable. To your best knowledge, she had never had the displeasure of Eldred’s company, and he was certainly an intimidating presence. As you quickly learned however, that was not the only reason for her current discomfort.

“Ah, you’ve arrived at last,” Eldred greeted you with a suspiciously friendly tone. “We were having such an informative discussion. For someone who is so proud of her work for this kingdom, I was rather surprised to learn that your sister was unaware of the full nature of your work for the order.”

You went stiff, eyes shifting from Halia’s nervous face to meet Eldred’s imperious stare. You had hoped to be the one to tell Halia the truth, but Lord Crownguard had instead taken matters into his own hands. How much he had told her, you had no idea, but you had no choice but to proceed with the plan, hoping that Halia would still be cooperative, even after your half-truths had been laid bare. You had been hoping for a moment alone with her, but it looked like Eldred intended to make that impossible.

“It is a great honor to lock a traitor to Demacia’s neck to the executioner’s block,” Eldred spoke, each word clearly making Halia more and more uncomfortable. “Much less our most wanted terrorist. The prison wardens quite enjoyed welcoming him back to his cell last night.”

He was looking at Halia, but you knew that his words were meant for you. He wanted to test your reactions, to see if you were bothered by the implication of what his men had done to Sylas.

You thought of Halia, free and happy, and used that strength to keep your face impassive. Lord Crownguard watched your face through the corner of his eye, and seemed to be smugly satisfied with what he saw there.

“I appreciate you allowing my sister the honor to serve her kingdom,” you said, which wasn’t technically a lie. “I had hoped this would encourage her to pursue the same path as I have.”

You could feel Halia look at you in shock, never having seen this side of you before. You hoped that she didn’t see you as a monster now, volunteering her to help with an execution when she hadn’t even been aware of your true job before, but you would worry about that when you were out of the city.

“The kingdom would certainly welcome her appointment to the order, should she display such a show of bravery. Not many would willingly approach such a violent mass-murderer,” Eldred added, clearly trying to unnerve Halia. “Such a brave girl would be the perfect choice to seal Sylas’ fate. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The question was directed at Halia, and you knew to stay quiet, afraid to risk the plan by speaking up on her behalf.

“Yes, sir,” came Halia’s response, her quiet voice surprisingly strong.

Eldred’s face didn’t change, but you could feel a sense of annoyance radiating from him. He was clearly frustrated at being unable to break Halia, which filled you with pride for your sister, who went along with your plan without knowing that there was a plan.

“The execution will begin soon,” Eldred announced, shifting subjects. “We mustn’t keep the kingdom waiting for their most-hated enemy to die.”

 You and Halia walked silently side by side, following the head adept. As you walked towards the city square, more and more mageseekers joined your ranks until you were surrounded on all sides. Eldred Crownguard was certainly paranoid, though it wasn’t as if that paranoia was unfounded; today, you would free yourself at last of him and this order.

Given Eldred had bigger priorities right now, you took advantage of the situation by taking Halia’s hand, walking as close to her as possible. You kept quiet, just gripping each other’s hands, at least until you were stopped beside the execution stage while the head adept began to give orders to the large group of mageseekers.

“We don’t have much time,” you whispered, too quiet for anyone but Halia to hear. “I’ll explain everything after, but I need you to trust me.”

“I trust you,” she whispered back, staring forward at the crowd of dispersing mageseekers.

“I’m going to give you a stone,” you said. “When you lock the collar, I need you to touch the stone to Sylas’ skin.”

It was a few seconds of silence before Halia whispered her reply. “We’re going to free him?”

“He’s going to free us,” you answered, reaching into your pocket to take hold of the stone, before offering her that same hand, the stone cupped between your entwined hands as Eldred turned his attention back to you at last.

“The crowds have been let in, sir,” a nearby mageseeker reported.

“Have our own and the military checking every person. We cannot allow any unexpected visitors to enter,” Eldred hissed, and the adept quickly left to carry out the order.

“Report any suspicious activity to me immediately,” Eldred ordered several remaining mageseekers, who then took up positions on the outskirts of the crowd, leaving only a few still by you.

Following Eldred’s lead, you made your way to the side of the stage as people began to flood into the square. You had heard about the mass-casualties at the last attempt at executing Sylas, so the amount of people entering the square stunned you. The people of Demacia were clearly more bloodthirsty then you had realized.

The crowd was in a frenzy as Sylas was brought out, his crimes against Demacia read out loud by a high adept as soldiers forced him to his knees in front of the executioner’s block.

Sylas looked considerably more roughed-up than he had last night, bruises and cuts littering his exposed skin, but the fire in his eyes was unmistakable. He made a show of resisting the soldiers, but was held down, neck pressed into the metal collar as the crowd cheered. Finally, the high adept finished reciting the list of crimes, and then looked in your direction, or more specifically Halia’s.

“We have selected an upstanding young Demacian citizen, one with hopes of joining our ranks herself, to lock the collar of Sylas of Dregbourne,” the high adept announced to cheers from the rapid onlookers. “May her courage against evil inspire us all.”

It was time. Now it would be up to Halia to put the last part of the plan into place.

You let go of her hand at last, the petricite stone transferring from your hand to hers.

Halia strode forward, head held high, hands balled into fists at her side to disguise what she carried with her. You watched, feeling frozen as your sister walked to the stage alone, cheered on by the crowds that were eager for blood.

She was stiff but resolute as she mounted the stage, coming to a stop before Sylas, who was being held down by four soldiers keeping him tightly in place. You watched as she leaned down, heart beating loudly in your ears, knowing you had to keep your cool, but terrified of what could happen in the next moment.

At the high adept’s nod, Halia reached down, clicking the metal collar shut in one quick movement before stepping back. The moment was over in the blink of an eye, too quick for you to see if Halia had followed through with the plan or not. Your only hope was that if you couldn’t tell that anything was amiss, then neither could the head adept and the other mageseekers.

Halia turned to return to you, and was halfway back to you when the masked executioner raised his sword. It was then that you were given your only warning of what was to come; the corner of Sylas’ mouth raising into a smirk.

“Halia!” you shouted, breaking away from Lord Crownguard’s side, which seemed to confuse the head adept, at least until the unthinkable happened.

At once, there was an explosion of metal as Sylas shattered the collar that bound him into pieces, the shards flying in all directions, forcing the men that held him down to let go in order to protect their eyes. Halia was a good distance away from the impact, but you still threw up a wall of ice behind her to catch any stray shrapnel before it hit her.

You heard Eldred’s angry shout behind you, but ignored him to run to Halia, who met you halfway, running into your arms.

“Stay close to me, Hali,” you spoke quickly, turning to send some spikes of ice at the head adept and his most vicious mageseekers, hoping to dissuade them from coming after you as you went to make your way to the stage.

The crowd was in a terrified uproar as Sylas freed himself from the iron balls at the end of his chains and was now using them to whip his captors away from him. Mageseekers were attempting to storm the stage in force, but the frenzied crowd was making their approach nearly impossible as they trampled over each other in an attempt to escape the square.

You watched as Sylas sent two soldiers flying off the stage with one swipe of his chain, following it up with thick ice encasing their heads, pinning them to the ground. His attacks were quick and brutal, but not quick enough to notice a mageseeker approaching him from behind, liquid petricite at the ready. With no time to warn him, you sent a spike of ice through both of the man’s legs, sending him falling backwards, the petricite vial rolling uselessly out of his grip as he writhed in pain on the ground. You expected to feel bad, causing an injury to one of your order, but you didn’t, and anyways, after this act, they were no longer your order.

Sylas grinned as you and Halia joined him on the stage. “Ready to leave this place behind?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Halia spoke first. “Yes!”

Sylas let out an appreciative huff of laughter before turning his sharp blue eyes to yours. “Then we fight our way out.”

Before you could react, Sylas grabbed your hand, tugging you to him so he could kiss you fast and hard, pulling away as you felt the familiar tug on your magic.

“What…” you breathed in shock, but he was already turning away, sending a large chunk of ice hurtling at a group of mageseekers who were attempting to storm the stage, easily knocking them back.

Turning your attention to the fight, you dismissed your sudden thoughts; he probably just needed to borrow more magic. And anyway, you had bigger problems right now than a kiss.

Sylas seemed to be favoring the left side of the stage, and you backed him up, keeping Halia close to you. Sylas rained shards of ice on the crowd, causing them to flee towards the exits and creating a path for you.

Jumping down from the stage, you and Halia followed after Sylas as he ran towards one of the side exits. The exit was blocked by several guards, but they were no match for Sylas’ might, one harsh swipe of his chains flinging them to the side. You raised a hand, covering the soldiers in a thick dome of ice to prevent them from following after you.

Sylas dashed towards the open exit, creating structures of ice to dissuade your pursuers. You were about to join him, Halia just ahead of you, when you felt a harsh tug on your cape from behind, the pull hard enough to send you falling onto your back.

Head stinging with pain from the impact with the ground, you looked up to see one of Eldred’s cruel mageseekers above you, his foot placed on your neck to hold you down. Struggling to breath, you stared up at his hateful, angry face as he sneered at you, looking down at you like you were a bug he was about to crush.

“It was a mistake to let you live,” he snarled, pressing his foot harder into your neck as you tried desperately to pry him off. “You’re going to die, and then I’ll kill that little bitch you call a sis–”

His words were cut off by a horrible gurgling sound, the pressure on your neck loosening at last. Shoving at his boot, you were surprised when the pressure lessened entirely as the mageseeker fell backwards to the ground, laying motionless.

Scrambling to your feet, you looked over at the man to see him laying in a pool of his own blood, a wide spike of ice impaled into his neck. The one eye of his you could see was unmoving, pointed blankly to the sky. He was dead at your feet, and all you felt was relief.

Turning to thank Sylas, you were stunned to see Halia ten feet behind you, raised hand in your direction glowing silver-blue.

“Halia, you’re…”

She smiled, and the glow faded from her hand. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

You returned her smile, rushing up to pull her into a short hug. “You should have told me, but I’m so proud of you, Hali. You saved me.”

“We can talk later,” she replied, clearly happy for the praise. “We need to get out of here.”

Still half-stunned from the revelation that your sister was just like you, you and Halia ran after Sylas, sending harsh blasts of ice at anyone foolish enough to pursue you. Running out of the side exit, you covered the floor behind you in ice, hoping to make the floor icy enough to complicate things for your pursuers.

Sylas waited for you and Halia to catch up before taking off towards an alleyway, you and Halia creating a tall wall of ice to block the way after you before following. The winding alleyways confused you, but Sylas seemed to know exactly where he was going, your path leading you through crowds and down to a sewer room, the bars over the passage at the back spaced just wide enough apart that you were able to slip through them and into the sewer tunnel.

After all of you were through, you set off into the dark, Sylas taking the lead. Soon you couldn’t hear the crowds or anyone after you, the only sounds that were audible now being the sloshing of the sewer water as you walked through it.

“Where does this sewer end?” Halia asked, her voice echoing across the sewer walls.

“Far away from the city,” Sylas answered. “To somewhere where our kind is accepted.”

His words reminded you. “Halia, I’m so sorry I never told you what I do. And that I never noticed that you were… like me.”

“Well, I never told you,” she countered cheekily. “And they would have separated us again if they knew.”

You couldn’t deny that. “How long have you known you had powers?”

“A few months,” she answered shyly. “I practiced in my room at night so they wouldn’t find out.”

“You’ll have all the time you want to practice soon,” Sylas promised. “You’re not under their control anymore.”

Your walk through the tunnel was long, your boots soggy as you made your way through the calf-deep water. Just when you were wondering if the darkness would ever end, a patch of light appeared in the distance, slowly growing larger until you reached a pile of rocks that led up to a rough triangle of light.

Climbing out of the tunnel, you found yourself in some shallow water, in the midst of a forest. You had been all over Demacia in your work as a mageseeker, but this quiet forest, colored with freedom, was somehow the most beautiful sight you had ever seen.

“The settlement is this way,” Sylas said, heading towards a thick brush.

You and Halia shared a surprised look, but quickly followed behind him as he cleared the way. You had done a pretty good job stopping the mageseekers from following you, but you weren’t willing to stay here and see if they had managed to follow the sewer route here.

Eventually, you came to reach a tall rock formation, one that was so perfectly-shaped that you began to have doubts that it was naturally-occurring. Your suspicions were quickly confirmed as Sylas made his way over to a spot off to the left, stopping in front of a section of rock that was unnaturally shiny.

“A precaution to ensure only mages can get in,” he explained. “The petricite opens the door when it absorbs magic.”

Halia seemed mystified by the design of the hidden door, Sylas stepping aside so she could approach the section of petricite grafted into the wall. Reaching a hand up, she ran it along the stone, sending magic from her touch into the stone, which reacted as soon as it absorbed the magic.

You watched with awe as the rock began to recede a few feet back before moving to the side, exposing an open doorway in the rock. You stood still, in awe of the mechanism, but Halia had no such reservations, eagerly rushing through the doorway and down the exposed stone path.

“Halia!” you cried out, nervous about letting her out of your sight.

“She’ll be fine,” Sylas reassured you as you both watched Halia head down the path and out of sight. “This is the safest place for a kid like her.”

His words clicked things into place for you for the first time; you were really free. This was all you had ever wanted for you and Halia, ever since that day in the orphanage when they tried to separate you.

You turned to look at Sylas, at the cuts and bruises he had sustained from his night in the mage prison, all for you and Halia.

“I’m sorry,” you spoke miserably, running your fingers gently along a large bruise on his upper arm.

“Don’t apologize,” he replied. “Not for anything. Don’t apologize for not wanting to live your life in their cage.”

“A week ago, I thought that place would be my whole life,” you spoke, following Sylas through the entrance before it could close. “I don’t know what my life is now.”

“You have time to figure that out,” Sylas answered. “While Demacia remains closed to us, we have this place where mages are not persecuted for being what they are.”

As he spoke, you followed the stone path around a corner, and then you laid eyes on the mage settlement.

It looked very similar to villages you had seen before, but you were stunned by the casual use of magic all around. A man used purple sigils to gently lift a laughing child in the air; a nearby woman used air magic to dry some clothing; an old woman sat before a teenager, healing a cut on his leg. This place was a shining beacon of all the good magic could do, and yet Demacia chose to hunt you down like animals instead. And before you left, you had been part of that system, which sickened you now.

You quickly spotted Halia talking with a group of children who were playing with a ball. The sight melted your heart; Halia had never had friends, never had anyone her age to talk to, but here, that would all be possible.

“Thank you,” you spoke reverently to Sylas. “You saved us. There’s nothing I could ever do–”

“That again?” Sylas grinned. “I was doing what was right. You don’t owe me anything.”

He could say that all he wanted, but it was hard to stop feeling indebted to the man that had broke you out of your cage, a feat you hadn’t thought was possible. You had come here with nothing more than the clothes on your back, but you felt that you possessed something way more precious. You were free to do what you wanted for the first time in your life, and you were starting to have an idea of what you wanted to do with your newfound freedom.

“Injured yourself again, Sylas?”

Lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed the old woman approach you, looking over Sylas’ injuries with a critical eye.

“I’ve come back from worse, Matilde,” he answered, not resisting as the old woman began to heal his wounds.

“Yes, I remember the stress you’ve caused me very well,” she replied. “But I see you’ve brought us some unusual guests this time.”

You froze up, realizing you were still in your mageseeker uniform, hoping you hadn’t spoiled your welcome entirely.

Noticing your sudden panic, Matilde waved off your concerns with a kind smile. “I meant nothing bad by it, dear. Given Sylas brought you here, I presume you’re one of our kind. It must have been hard, escaping that place.”

“I…” You weren’t sure what to say in the face of her kind demeanor. “I am a mage. Me and my sister were trapped there for years.”

“Ah, I thought there was a new one,” she replied, glancing back at the group of kids, Halia now joining in on their game. “She’s fitting in well already.”

Her words eased some of the burden you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Watching Halia interact with kids her own age gave you the hope that maybe this place was just what you both needed. That only left one thing… you needed to tell Sylas of your newly-made decision.

New residents of the village were a surprisingly big deal, and you were unable to find any time to talk to Sylas for most of the day. Matilde had insisted on taking you on a thoroughly overwhelming tour for someone who had lived for so long in the same unchanging world. You were also startled by the people here, and just how friendly they were to a perfect stranger, especially one like you that was dressed in the uniform of their enemy.

Unlike you, Halia seemed to take to the village like a fish to water, making fast friends with the other children. Your nerves flared when she was out of your sight, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to refuse her request to spend the night at the home of one of her new friends. Halia had lived her life being denied everything, and you refused to continue that trend now that she was free.

Matilde had excused herself to attend to a cut hand that had been reported to her, so without Halia, you found yourself standing alone by a small river, staring up at the same night sky that somehow seemed so much more beautiful now.

As you stood there, you became aware of footsteps in the grass from behind, turning your head to see Sylas, now minus gauntlets. He said nothing, stopping next to you to look at the same sky.

“I feel like I’m going to wake up tomorrow and be back there,” you murmured, keeping your eyes on the stars.

“If you go back, it won’t be as their slave or their prisoner,” he replied. “Everyone here knows how you feel, and they’ll fight to the death to keep this place safe for all mages.”

“I’ve been thinking,” you spoke, turning to face him. “About what you said before. I want to make up for what I’ve done to our own kind.”

“Nobody blames you for doing what you had to in order to survive,” he replied. “The ones to blame are the Demacian bastards that treat us like a disease. The stain on Demacia will never be lifted until we take the kingdom back by force.”

“I know,” you agreed. “And I want to help. I want Demacia to be a place where people like us are treated like people. I want to fight with you.”

Sylas’ mouth lifted into a smirk. “I was hoping you would say that. I didn’t want to let you go so easily.”

Sylas raised a hand, placing it on the side of your head and using it to pull your face towards his own. A tremor of fear ran down your back; was someone attacking the village?

Sylas noticed the panic on your face and pulled back before your lips could meet.

“Are they here?” you whispered hurriedly. You were expecting an affirmative answer, but Sylas just looked confused, which gave you pause. “The mageseekers… weren’t you about to borrow my magic, like back in the square?”

Sylas stared at you for a few seconds, his expression unreadable, before bursting into loud laughter. Frowning, you watched as Sylas slowly regained his composure, unsure of what you had done to make him laugh.

Sylas wrapped an arm around your back, pulling your body to his, your wide eyes reflected in his own, your faces inches apart.

“You thought the only reason I kissed you was to take your powers?” he asked, and you nodded, unsure if you would be able to find words if you tried.

But if that wasn’t the reason, then why–

Sylas didn’t seem interested in talking, if the way he was kissing you right now was any indication. You waited for the familiar tug on your magic, for some explanation that would make sense to you, but all you felt was a warmth in your chest, your breath coming out in pants when he finally pulled back.

“You hadn’t considered that maybe I kissed you because I wanted you?” he murmured.

You inhaled sharply, face burning, and might have stumbled over in shock if it hadn’t been for Sylas’ strong arm still around you.

“But you’re… but I’m a…” you stumbled over your words.

“You’re not a mageseeker anymore,” he countered. “And I used to be one as well. You’re more than the chains they bound you with. When I saw your eyes for the first time, I knew you were like me.”

Your eyes went to his chest, too shy to look him in the eyes. “I never thought there was a way out of there. I just thought you were trying to corrupt me, like the high adepts kept telling me. They said you were a danger.”

Sylas chuckled. “They’re right, but not to you. They would say whatever they could to scare you and maintain their fragile power. It seems they’ve learned very little since I was in the order.”

You couldn’t dent that. The mageseekers clearly suffered from overconfidence, if earlier today was any indication. They had let not one but two execution attempts go awry; you were sure that the leaders in the order were furious, the order publically embarrassed by their second failure on a grand scale.

“They made a mistake, not seeing your true value,” he added, tilting your chin up to make your eyes meet his at last. “And I intend to make them regret it.”

“If there are kids out there like Halia, living in fear…” The thought disgusted you. “I want to do something about it.”

“Tomorrow,” Sylas promised, leaning down again to kiss you again. “For tonight, I have a more pressing matter to attend to.”

 The matter he was concerned about, however, seemed to be of an entirely different nature.

Your hands scrambled for purchase against his bare chest as Sylas kissed you, thoroughly overwhelming you with his tongue. You had barely gotten inside his home when he had struck, cornering you against the wall so he could kiss you breathless.

Your clothes began to feel like too much against his hot skin, and Sylas was quick to help with your problem. Unclasping your cape, Sylas let it drop to the floor, every piece of your uniform discarded after feeling like a further part of you was being freed from the grip of the order.

When you were left in just your innermost layer, you were picked up, easily scooped up into Sylas’ arms before being carried to the bed.

“You are more enchanting than you know,” he breathed against your lips, your arms around his neck keeping him close. “The second I felt your magic, I knew you were too good for that place.”

His words were flustering you almost as much as his mouth, and he was far from done. Hooking a finger under your grey order-issued underwear, Sylas pulled them off your legs, tossing them out of sight before taking up a position between your legs, shifting your legs to either side of his head.

You stared at him in bewilderment, but fell back against the simple bed with a shuddered cry as he sent a jolt of pleasure up your spine with his mouth. Clearly liking your response, Sylas took hold of your thighs, pulling your pussy flush to his mouth, your eyes shutting tightly, nails digging into your palms in response.

“You can be as loud as you want now,” he spoke lowly, replacing his mouth with his thumb against your clit. You opened your eyes to see Sylas looking down at you with dark, wanting eyes, eagerly taking in all of your reactions.

You had never felt anything like this before, and you couldn’t get enough of it. There had been boys you had noticed before, back in the orphanage, but you had never approached them. You had lived a life without even a friend, and you were eager to take your life back, to take everything Sylas wanted to give you and feel like your like was truly yours again.

Reaching out to him, you sat up, meeting him halfway so you could kiss him again. Rolling onto your side on the bed, you began to wonder if this was when you could finally get the better of Sylas. He had saved you, but he had also gotten systematically under your skin, and you found yourself wanting to have him feel some of that frustration himself.

Taking one of his wrists, you raised it to the wall behind the bed, doing your best to distract him with your own tongue. When his fingers hit the stone wall, you quickly created a cuff of ice, binding that wrist to the wall.

Sylas pulled back from the kiss when he felt the cold ice on his wrist, narrowing his eyes at you with an amused smirk. Refusing to back down or shy away, you lifted his other arm, icing it to the wall as well by his wrist. Offering no resistance, Sylas’ back rested against the wall, his arms iced to the wall above his head. Sylas didn’t seem upset, if the lust in his eyes and the tent in his pants were any indication.

“This feels familiar,” Sylas remarked, locks of his dark hair hanging over one of his eyes. He didn’t bother attempting to fix his mussed hair, his attention entirely on you. “Even back then, I appreciated how pleasant it was to be your prisoner.”

Under his close gaze, you reached down to take hold of his belt, gently unclasping it, letting the two halves fall to the sides of his thighs. Sylas didn’t move, but his thighs seemed tense as you reached down to unzip his pants. Pulling his pants down over his thighs, you realized the reason for the tension in his muscles as his cock eagerly sprang out from his tight pants.

The lack of underwear surprised you, but not enough to take you out of the moment. Letting go of his pants, you reached out to take hold of his cock, running a thumb over the tip, a barely-audible groan your reward.

Sylas finished your abandoned job, kicking his pants off his legs and onto the floor, his body now exposed in its entirety to you. With his pants out of the way, you were free to sit in his lap, hand slowly moving along his shaft, which seemed to quickly evaporate his patience.

Leaning forward, he took the edge of your bra with his teeth, pulling it back slightly before releasing it, letting it snap back against your skin. “Don’t you think it’s about time this came off?”

With a small smile, you obliged him, removing your bra and leaving you both on completely even footing clothing-wise. “Better?”

You felt wanton pride swell in your chest as you watched Sylas’ eyes take in your bare breasts, his arms twitching with the desire to touch, the ice binding his wrists holding fast. As you looked down at the man who had bested the toughest mageseekers you knew, had outsmarted them not once but twice, you felt desire burn inside you, a need to see this invincible man come apart underneath you. You wanted so badly to see what he looked like, what he sounded like when you pushed him over the edge, and you were ready to do whatever you had to in order to make that happen.

Taking a firmer hold of his cock, you began to stroke him from base to tip, a groan from the man beneath you telling you that you were off to a good start. Meeting Sylas’ heedy eyes, you began to move your hand faster, feeling a jolt of satisfaction as you felt Sylas’ leg tense up under you, his breath increasingly shallow the longer you kept up the motion for.

“Stop,” he grunted at last, cock throbbing under your touch. “Not yet… not until I’m inside you.”

You were more than happy to oblige, feeling like you were running out of patience yourself. You wanted him, wanted this experience you had never dreamed of having, and you were more than ready to make it happen.

Sylas kept his legs together, allowing you to easily straddle his hips, lifting yourself up, hovering over his cock for a short moment before you couldn’t take the wait any longer and began to slowly lower yourself down. You slowly took him in, the intrusion of his cock strange but not unwelcome, allowing you to take him more and more until your hips were flush with his own, Sylas letting out a deep groan as he bottomed out inside you.

With Sylas’ hands bound, most of the work was left to you, which you happily undertook. Placing your hands on the bed beside either side of his hips, you slowly began to lift yourself up, relishing in Sylas’ sharp intake of breath as you moved back down, his cock hitting back inside you in a way that made you shudder with pleasure.

Sylas was not content to just lay beneath you, quickly moving his hips along with yours, the combination of both of your efforts only deepening the sparks of pleasure you were feeling. Adjusting his position suddenly, you found yourself falling forward, catching yourself with a hand on his chest, your faces close together. As if this was what he had intended, Sylas took the opportunity to lock lips with you again, his hips working into yours even as you found your own pace stuttering, his tongue continuing to distract you.

The new angle had his cock reaching deeper inside you, and you did your best to keep up with him, feeling Sylas’ groans against your mouth. As you got closer to your own peak, you felt your strength drain from you, finding it harder to keep going with your mind so hazy with pleasure.

Sylas stilled for a moment, and then a crack rang out in the room, the ice binding Sylas’ hands breaking apart and freeing him at his command.

You let out a surprised yelp as you were grabbed around the waist and flipped onto your back, all without his cock slipping out of you. Sylas seemed eager for the chance to take control, his mouth on your breasts before you could blink, restarting his pace, the combination of sensations making you cry out, especially when he began to work a finger against your clit.

“Right there,” he groaned against your breast as his cock hit so deep inside you that you jolted with the sudden spike of feeling. “Does that feel good for you?”

“Yes,” you gasped out as he pulled back, only to hit that spot again, your words turning into a moan of his name as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

Sylas moved his mouth to your neck, your climax hitting you hard as he kissed at your neck, unable to hold himself back, thrusting hard and fast until he followed you over the edge, holding himself above you as you gazed at him with hazy eyes, chest rapidly rising and falling.

Coming down from your respective highs, you gazed at each other, mouths meeting in the middle for another kiss.

It was almost unbelievable to be free at last. Waking up tomorrow, you would start the day in full charge of your own life for the first time ever, and with Sylas by your side, you would fight until Demacia was free for all mages. But for now, you intended to make the most of your first night with Sylas, which was to be far from over.