NEMESIS

I ALONE AM THE REMEDY.

[umbane]

independent & selective 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐝𝐚 𝐊𝐚𝐲𝐧 from riot games’ League of Legends 18+ for violence and adult content | writer & muse are both 20+. kayn’s age varies.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞; 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

the rules are really simple — respect me and I respect you. don’t discriminate, no hate speech, all the usual don’ts. don’t approach me just because you want to ship with an edgy boy. communicate like adults. let’s just have fun with it. tracking #𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐞.

rules / headcanons / lore / verses / promo / writer​​​

[umbane]

tumblr what is this ugly shit

[umbane]

they changed it back I'm crying

[umbane]

happy pride! kayn is aroace 💚🖤🤍💜

[not-lucky]

dont ask me shit about what they're wearing idk either

based on some fortnite guys posing

if youre seeing this it means i didnt delete it after 4 nanoseconds iguess

[umbane]

tumblr what is this ugly shit

[umbane]

there's something nice about knowing that sometimes the league rpc is held up by 4 people and their 15 muses

[umbane]

headcanon: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 cw: mental health, su/icide, substances, injury, death

Kayn is someone who's generally very open about his feelings. Whether it's in his lyrics, in serious conversations, or referencing his own trauma at inopportune times, Kayn's made his emotions — and the expression of them — part of the persona he presents to the world. So when Kayn struggles to talk about something, it says a lot.

What Kayn considers his 'dark years' span a couple years, from about age 22 to 24. This covers the months up to being kicked out of his second band, which, while it was the most publicized event, was far from the only thing that caused Kayn's sudden downward spiral.

The details are fuzzy, as Kayn has a knack for burying the past he wants hidden under new scandals or song titles, but there are records of a motorcycle accident that Kayn was in many months before. He's been open since about how that was the incident where he lost his eye, but that wasn't the only thing that was lost that night. Kayn's best friend, Nakuri, didn't survive the crash. They'd been fooling around, having fun doing something stupid as they did so many times before. One moment he was following behind Nakuri, speeding down the highway on their bikes, and the next, the headlights in his eyes turned to a light in the paramedic's hand. Kayn woke in pain, Nakuri's name on his tongue, but no one would answer his questions until he was stabilized.

Kayn blamed himself immediately upon hearing the news, and never stopped. Occasionally, he'll hint at his grief in lyrics, but most of the time, Kayn's anger manifested in much less artistic forms. He was angry, and hurting, and he hated himself. He lashed out at the people closest to him, and even though everyone tried to give him space to grieve, Kayn believed himself to be a monster, and allowed himself to act the part and reap the consequences. He didn't know, either, that the dark splinter in his mind was a demon, born of the pain and trauma of the accident, feeding on his grief and anger, cultivating it so it could grow stronger. It would take months before it would be formed enough to introduce itself, but from that first moment, it knew: its name was Rhaast.

This is when people began to peel away from Kayn. Most of them went without ceremony, and even the most hardcore fans only have theories at best. Kayn got kiicked out of his band, ostensibly due to "creative differences," but stories began to surface about his rages, about chairs thrown and insults and accusations thrown towards his bandmates. Kayn continued to make music immediately following the falling out, but it was different than before. Angrier, and the lyrics made the people around him worry.

His behaviour got worse. Known for substances and partying in his late teens, he seemed to have cleaned up his act when he joined his second band, but he relapsed badly when he was cut loose. Stories emerged of him wild at parties, drunk and high, starting fights or being the life of the party. Every time Kayn's name hit the headlines, it was bad. Somewhere in here, Kayn lost Zed, who Kayn had cited as an inspiration and a mentor figure, someone who guided him while he was still new to the industry. They had fought before, but their last fight was something different. Apocalyptic. When Zed walked away, it was more than Kayn could take.

Zed was the last person to hear from him for a long time.

What happened next, Kayn describes as, "I went dark." He deleted all his socials, didn't answer texts or calls for weeks before finally changing his number. No one heard from him. No one could find him. It's a mystery how he did it, but no one saw Kayn for eight months. Some people thought he'd died. Some people, faceless on the internet, hoped he had.

Kayn wished he had.

Mostly, he drank. Being drunk was miserable, but being sober was worse. Without a phone or a friend in the world and with a demon growing in his head, the only thing left to harm was himself. The rare times Kayn opens up about this period, he says that the only reason he's still alive is because of his dog.

Then, around eight months after people started to notice he was missing, Kayn started releasing music. No one received a text, no one saw him, but he was clearly alive. Eventually, Kayn started to reintegrate, but he wasn't social the way he was before. If he started to get attention at a venue, he was quick to leave, obviously not keen to be mobbed and interrogated. He still had no socials, only a website that cryptically hinted at the next music release. If anyone asked, Kayn would say he was taking time to focus on music, but really? He didn't know how to begin to repair all that he had broken, all the bridges he'd burned. Eventually, Kayn would start the work, but initially it was all he could do to try and act like himself, day after day.

[umbane]

❛  sneaky .   to  sneak  away  from  a  gathering  to  have  sex  with  my  muse .

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬

This is how they've been playing it. On and off, since that first fateful time. Ezreal's called him hot and cold, but he's the one who keeps coming back. It's not Kayn who's touching Ezreal's wrist, then glancing over his shoulder to indicate the other should follow him down the hallway — that's all Ezreal. Not that Kayn's complaining. Kayn breaks away from the conversation quickly. He was barely interested to begin with, and something more promising just came up.

The room is full of people who want to talk to the newest stars, the group that clawed back from the edge of obscurity to rekindle their fame, but Kayn is quick to leave it, anyway. Leave the mingling to K'Sante and Yone, even Sett would be a better choice than him. Plus, there's a green-haired head disappearing into one of the rooms down the hall, and Kayn has to hold himself back from sprinting.

Glancing behind him one last time, Kayn slips into the room as well, and has barely enough time to push the door shut behind him before he's backed up against it. Ezreal's quick to get in his space, pressing both hands against his chest and crushing their lips together. It's already enough to make Kayn hum with pleasure, both hands coming up automatically to cup Ezreal's face and tilt his chin up, hoping to earn them both a little space to work.

"Mmmh, couldn't wait?" Kayn murmurs, pressing the pad of his thumb to Ezreal's lips and mirroring the grin it earns him. Ezreal's not much of a biter, but those bone-white teeth fill Kayn with a hungry desire anyway.

"They'll all be there when we're done," Ezreal murmurs, sultry, and his lips come open to drag his tongue up Kayn's thumb, then to slip the tip into his mouth. Though Kayn swore he had a quip on his tongue, all that comes out of his mouth in response is a whine of frustration. He leans forward, not to kiss Ezreal this time, but to grab the backs of his thighs and lift him up, turn them both and slam Ezreal back against the wall. The sound Ezreal makes lights a fire in his chest, almost as much as those strong arms sliding around his shoulders, fingers weaving into his hair to tug at him like a puppet. Kayn groans into Ezreal's mouth, and Ezreal returns in kind. They fit perfectly like this, the banter briefly silenced in favour of a new kind of challenge — who can go the longest before coming up for air.

This time, Ezreal breaks first, though the movement of his hips was about to make Kayn forfeit. Instead, he ducks his head to kiss the pulse in Ezreal's neck, shifts his weight to one hand so he can pull the collar of his shirt aside and leave a mark where only Ezreal will know it's there. Kissing his way back up to Ezreal's ear, Kayn takes his time like Ezreal's hips aren't driving him wild until Ezreal yanks on his hair and makes him hiss with pain. He jerks his hips sharply and grins when the room fills with the sounds of Ezreal's pleasure. "Hurry up," Ezreal gasps when he gathers enough of his composure back. "Ugh, you're the worst."

"You love me," Kayn purrs, lips right up against his ear as he rocks his hips a few more times, then sets Ezreal down onto his feet and nudges him further into the room. "Pick a spot," Kayn says, dragging a chair to wedge under the doorknob, uncaring of the way the wood scrapes against the floor. Once he's certain they're secure — as much as Ezreal likes a bit of risk, Kayn isn't keen on actually getting caught — Kayn turns, sees the way Ezreal's looking at a desk, and doesn't need to be told any more. He takes Ezreal's hips, steering him towards the table, and presses Ezreal against it first. Then, Kayn presses up against him, letting him feel just how successful his little gambit has been. "Here?"

Ezreal groans, frustrated and annoyed at being taken apart so easily, but he manages a "Yes," as Kayn's fingertips slip under his shirt, teasing his abdomen, following the hem of his pants until Ezreal shudders in his arm, hissing. "Fuck you," he says, and Kayn presses a smile to his shoulder like a lover.

"Not quite," Kayn murmurs against his skin, eyes flashing in the dim light as he presses his chest against Ezreal, leaning forward until they're both folded over the table. Only then does he nudge Ezreal's feet apart and dip a hand into the front of his pants. Ezreal twitches like he wants to fight back, but Kayn is quick to keep him in place. Ezreal loves this — every inch of his body tells Kayn as much — but Kayn isn't going to make it easy for him. Oh, no. "Try again."

[umbane]

❛  mirror .   to  have  sex  with  my  muse  in  front  of  a  mirror .

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬

It's humiliating. That's the best part of it. His arms slip off the foot of the bed, bending at the elbows as his wrists hang limply. Kayn's head lolls forward, strands of black hair hanging towards the floor as his vision turns blurry around the edges with pleasure. Akali knows exactly how to break down all his pride, all his bravado, and turn him into this.

Kayn's chest burns. His knees press into the mattress, holding his hips up because she told him to. Because they both know the reward she'll give is the one he wants. Though he'd complained about the stretch at first, the dig of Akali's nails into the meat of his hips had silenced him, turned him wordless, taken the bite from his tongue. Fuck it, he doesn't need his pride. Not if surrendering makes him feel like this. She'd started slow, threatening to turn his legs weak and boneless with how she drew it out, but she quickened just as Kayn thought he couldn't take it any more. Kayn makes a sound like a sob; the relief is a whole new form of torture, and he longs to lose himself in it, but Akali isn't one to let him drift away when she wants him present.

So when his head drops forward, sinking into the feeling of their bodies coming together, Kayn's only granted a moment of relief before Akali's nails scratch his scalp, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking his head back. The noise Kayn makes should make him feel ashamed, but he's too far beyond that now. He knows the mirror is there, but his gaze skitters over it, uncharacteristically bashful.

"Look at it," Akali tells him, and Kayn's eyes fall shut as the blood rushes to his head. He can't do it, he thinks, right up until her fingers twist in his hair and make him hiss. "Open your eyes," she says, and he does. "Look at it," and he does. Kayn watches as she takes him, the arch of his back and the humiliating look on his face, the strands of hair that stick to Akali's face, sweaty with the effort. His thighs flex and he can see Akali's reflection grin, because she knows, and her knowing only makes it feel better.

"Ah," he stammers. "Ah." Kayn can't get his mouth to form her name. What the fuck has she done to him? Akali's grin only gets wider, even when she has to part her teeth to get enough air in, stomach shining with sweat as it flexes, then goes soft again. Fuck. Who gave her this much power over him?

"How long can you last?" She asks, and Kayn watches himself grimace. He doesn't know. Not long, unless she orders him just right. The next words slip into him like a knife, like pain and relief all at once.

Akali's voice is low, like a threat. "Let's find out."

[umbane]

Patrols had been quite uneventful these last few weeks per Ira’s standards, but as always appearances must be kept and orders are orders. Their expression briefly sours further as their grip tightens along the jagged edge of the clipboard in their hands at the thought of their orders. The borough they had been assigned to was rather quiet for the time of day, so Ira’s facade had slipped away as a grimace flashed across their usually unimpressed expression. Even then, they strangled away the ill will felt towards this particular assignment— instead turning their thoughts to relish in the fact this was the last of the checks they’d have to conduct for the day. What had made this patrol bearable, as usual, was the beloved hulking creature trotting at their side with an even pace: their drakehound Yara who without her presence Ira would be loathing every assignment they’re given outside of a war room.

Ira approaches two foot soldiers stationed near a grouping of stalls, their purpose to ensure nothing out of the ordinary were to occur; at least Ira assumed, though they could care less. It becomes evident to them that this is a whole lot of talking. But Ira had been quick in running through the routine verbal checklist, making note after note with each thing the two confirmed. Yara, who had been released from her heel, wandered around each stall while assessing each one with quiet huffs. Of course, Ira isn’t worried about her meandering about— but does make note when she presses her snout down to the ground with a deep inhale, then a second time. With the final part of their check-in conducted to ensure these two have all the supplies they need for the last days of being stationed here, Ira excuses themself catching a glimpse of Yara’s backend darting around a corner with spines raised which was never a good sign.

It wasn’t that Ira was scared for Yara, no— far from it actually, their concern laid with what it was she was pursuing and their safety. And as if on cue, there’s a loud crash in the distance and a thump; it’s the snarling that follows that makes Ira quicken their pace. The scene they come up on makes their brows shoot up in surprise. Yara pinning down a child of all things, the shield of her maw drawn in as much of a grimace she could muster baring teeth ready to rend flesh at the drop of a pin. Ira can’t make out the child’s face, but surely having a drakehound looming above you in such a way would be far from a pleasant experience.

“Yara!” they commanded, grabbing her attention enough to stop from baring her teeth. Claws still pressed against the child’s shoulders with a low growl, a threat of what was to come with a simple command. “Leave it,” Ira enunciated each word clearly and with a quickness the drakehound chitters before drawing away from the child, returning to Ira’s side with a shake off but keeping her gaze directed on what she considered her target. He couldn’t be any older than seven. Ira frowns as Yara presses her head against their empty hand searching for praise for finding him.

“Do you realize what part of the bastion you are in? And what time it is?” The frown playing upon their lips deepens, brows drawing together. Their eyes dart between his face and the scrapes down his arms, then the cut along his shoulder. Gaze softening enough as a result of spying the injury, instead now taking a step closer to offer a hand to him, “I hope she did not scare you too badly.”

The movements of the Noxian military are familiar to him as his route home. Reaper watches their patrols, their training, even the way their soldiers sleep, if he can't find any rest of his own. They've already laughed off his ambitions more than once, saying he's too small, too scrawny to make a good soldier, but Reaper knows that it's more than strength that makes a warrior. If they could see his collection of items he's stolen from them, they'd understand as much. The soldiers sometimes are big and slow, unable to keep up when he darts into the bushes and wiggles under a fence. One of these days, someone is going to see his value, and Reaper will seize that moment.

He's been training. He runs through their drills in his little hideout, marches with them where they can't see them. When he's at home, he draws himself in their uniforms, imagining a future that seems within reach, if only one of them would take him at his word.

That's what he's doing shortly before things go sideways. The drakehound has his full attention this time. He's never seen one wandering freely like this, and he's in awe of the way it moves, the way the other soldiers seem to bleed fear into the air, watching it out of the corners of their eyes. At first, when it sticks its nose to the ground, Reaper leans a little furtner from his hiding spot, fascinated. But when it starts to move towards him, following exactly the path he took to get there, a singular thought takes over his mind: Run!

Reaper knows he can't outrun a drakehound. They're not clunky and awkward like soldiers can be. They're all muscle and killer instinct. But if he can just get to the fence —

"Agh!" He's slammed to the ground before he can take three steps, barely even feeling the claws against his skin as he's suddenly staring into the maw of the beast — the maw that's much bigger in person. His eyes are wide, but his mouth is stretched in an implausible grin as he takes in the adrenaline-induced hyper detail of its snout, of the saliva on its teeth. He wants to draw it. He wants to keep it.

But then it climbs off him, padding away, and Reaper can see the sky again. He doesn't respond at first to the voice — why can't he move? — but then his eyes flick towards the soldier who found him, and he forces himself to his elbows with a wince.

It's the one he'd been eyeing, before the drakehound took all of his attention. They didn't seem afraid of the creature, and she obviously obeyed them. That means he could learn from them, if he's careful about it, and have a drakehound of his own.

Reaper looks at the hand extended to him like he expects it to bite him, and leans away, obviously not accustomed to adults offering him anything but violence. He picks himself up, standing as confidently as he can while his legs still tremble with unspent adrenaline, and says, "Of course I know what time it is. You always patrol at this time. And I'm not afraid of her." Ignore the way his hands start to shake, and the way his eyes are a little too wide. Also ignore the blood that's running down his arm. He's got this completely under control. "I was just watching." Reaper's chin lifts defiantly. "I'm gonna have a drakehound too. A bigger one than yours. And I'm gonna name it Killer."

[umbane]

can you believe nach made me care about ezkayn and then left me here to die

[umbane]

Glowing eyes tear through the form of the entity before him, a slow yet curious tilt of his head gives way to a hint of his intentions. Feigning simple observation, through and through. Oh no, the energy radiating from the season reaper drew him in further-- perhaps to the detriment of the other being. Piquing the interest of Chaos… That usually ends in one of two ways, time would only tell which it would be. A clawed hand juts out and grabs hold of the reaper’s face, holding him still so Yasuo could truly get a good look at him. “Tell me, Reaper of Seasons, what is it that makes you whole?”

The power that crackles in the air around them is dangerous enough, but the look that passes through them, glowing embers meeting Kayn's mismatched pair, is like a storm all of its own. They're both gods of their own right, usually kept busy by their own responsibilities, but something has thrown them all out of whack.

Kayn brings about the changing of the seasons — the flood of red in the fall, and the downpour in spring that precedes the flowers. He has always done this, tearing through the old season to prepare for the next one. There is carnage first, because carnage always precipitates change. The leaves have to fall, leaving the bare branches to reach like knives into the sky, in order for the snow to come.

What Yasuo brings, however... Kayn's lips come open and he inhales it, like smoke and spice on his tongue. Like power. Yasuo holds him and takes his measure, but Kayn does the same.

What happens when gods clash? What happens when they break? Kayn wants to know. He blinks, inhales deeply, then responds. "It's the fragments that make me whole." It's the buds that come up from the ground too soon, only to be wiped out by a late frost. It's the ice that melts too quickly, and throws everything out of time. But it's the solidity of nature too. The way, despite how fragile it is, it endures. "Like a mosaic. Life. Death. Change. Continuity. Persistence." A pause. "... Surrender. The sweltering heat and the frigid chill. They all create me."

He grins, something confident and cruel. "What makes you?"

[umbane]

anyways, if you see me replying to asks that are years old. don't worry about it

[umbane]

"What would you fancy comparing yourself to; a shark that prowls, using the haze of the water to hide and encircling until it strikes from an unseen angle? Or a crocodile hidden from sight who lies in wait for it's target to approach with a lowered guard, until it can strike with finality?"

/ @maraiheroine

Perched as he is on a rock far from the shore, one might imagine him to be more like the crocodile. He's been still for so long that, were he less practised in waiting without moving, he might have to worry about his legs not being strong enough to hold him when he finally straightens up. But Kayn is smarter than that; he's far past such amateur mistakes.

Mismatched eyes study her as Kayn considers the question. He's grateful for the distraction, when he knows that even now the wrong sensory combination could throw him back to the mud at Epool. A being of the likes he's never seen, however? She acts like a hook keeping him firmly locked in the present.

Finally, he decides. "A shark," Kayn says. "It's wise to always be in motion — that way your enemies don't know where to find you, or where to look to attempt to stop you. I don't mind staying still, but I'd rather be on the hunt."

[umbane]

[CHAIR] for akali to tie kayn to a chair with rope

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬

"Akali..."

His eyes follow her as she moves through the room, hazy and dark with a want that is still unfamiliar to him, that he might not have discovered if she hadn't introduced him to it. Kayn had wanted her as a member of the Order of Shadow at first, but over time an appreciation for her skill and ferocity as a warrior had morphed into something much less practical.

He could escape these bonds. Both of them know that it would be easy, but what surprises them both is that he doesn't. The rope cuts across his chest as he draws in a deep breath, trying in vain to get the air that he needs to view this situation objectively. The way he wants her now is completely impractical. The need for her body, for the feeling of her skin and her sharp words against him, does nothing to further his plans or Zed's, but Kayn finds that now that he's let that desire in, it refuses to leave.

Watching her now feels a lot like when he wants her, impossibly, in the middle of the night, searching for satisfaction in tangled sheets and trembling limbs. Kayn tilts his head back now, groaning like she's hurting him, but his eyes come open again. Akali has him rapt.

Sometimes Kayn wishes he could go back to the way he was before, with the singleminded focus that only a child soldier turned into a weapon can have, but the way she can make him feel is better than anything, sometimes better even than ripping a Noxian apart from the inside out.

"Please," Kayn breathes around the lump in his throat, and finally Akali takes mercy on him. Her hand glides up his thigh and Kayn tenses all the way down to his toes, grimacing with the force of his desire. His knees spread a little wider as he looks up at her, begging with nothing more than the dark pools of his irises, as Akali takes her measure of him, gauges whether he's earned his reward.

Even the thought of being worthy of such a prize makes his chest burn, flushed and feverish beneath her hand. Maybe that's the most intoxicating part of it all — being worthy. Being wanted. If he had that, sometimes Kayn thinks he wouldn't need anything else.

[umbane]

❰❰ PANIC ❱❱, from zed to baby kayn???

𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ❰❰ PANIC ❱❱ sender comforts the receiver as they have a panic attack

Kayn wasn't always like this. There was water near where he lived in Noxus, and he would use it to bathe and wash his clothes and weapons. It shouldn't terrify him the way it does now. It shouldn't paralyze him.

But it does. The world blurs at the edges, then starts to tear. Instead of the blue expanse of the lake, Kayn's looking up at the sky above Epool, watching the birds circle, knowing that if he gets any weaker they'll eat his soft spots. He'll die out here if he doesn't find a way to move his frozen limbs, but they're stuck in the mud, sinking a little deeper with each wave that washes up the shore.

On the outside, he looks almost normal. The waves lap at his hips, the beach is calm, the breeze gentle. But there's a look on his face that betrays that he's still a child, and that his scars run deeper than he allows others to see. Kayn's breaths are shallow, his skin prickled with fear and cold.

Terror seizes his chest. Kayn can't get enough air into his lungs. He wants to crouch down, curl up into a ball until the scent of blood and silt leaves his nostrils, but he can't. If he moves, then the remaining soldiers will know he's alive as they pick through the bodies. If he moves, he'll sink deeper. He'll —

Hands grab him under his arms, lift him from the phantom mud like he ways nothing, like the sucking silt isn't even there. Water streams from Kayn's body as he's lifted from the lake and brought back to shore. A hand touches his cheek, as if to get his attention, and Kayn's eyes finally focus on the man in front of him. A stranger, before his memory comes back in a rush. Zed. He speaks to Kayn now, and though he doesn't know the shape of the words yet, they sound kind, even though Kayn knows that he's failed.

How is he supposed to make this man understand his gratitude if he can't even step into a body of water without being thrown back to the same place, every time? How will he ever put his new life to good use?

Kayn turns his face away, fury twisting his features. He's not weak, he wants to say, but words haven't found their way out of his chest since the battlefield quieted and he realised he was alone. Instead, Kayn curls up, forehead on his knees, and digs his nails into his hair, like he can tear the weakness out of him.

[umbane]

❛ ah, so you're not heartless after all. ❜ - canon v. before they get close :3

𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 (𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬?) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

His head turns slightly towards her, enough to catch a glimpse of who snuck up on him when he was distracted. Dark eyes rake over her as a rustling in the bushes to the side tells him that the creature he'd found is safe. Kayn had discovered it tangled in an abandoned Noxian net and had managed to free it with minimal damage to either of them. A scratch on his arm from the creature bleeds slowly, but Kayn doesn't blame the creature for lashing out. He knows what it's like to be stuck and afraid, helped by someone he doesn't know the intentions of. He's certain that, if he'd been able to move, he would have struck Zed, too.

"Believing as much would be your first mistake," he murmurs, voice low and threatening. Slowly, Kayn straightens to his full height, turning to face Irelia as he does. He carries no weapons, but anyone who's heard the stories knows that it would be foolish to imagine him vulnerable just because he's unarmed. If anything, it only makes him more brutal. "That little morsel would have filled Noxian bellies, if they were quicker to find it. I'm merely ensuring that they're as hungry as possible when they face our troops."

It's not entirely true — the underlying logic is there, but Kayn didn't need to free it so carefully. He could've cut it down, broken the trap, and let the thing figure out the rest, or he could've used it to feed his own Order.

His eyes reveal nothing, but his actions suggest that there's more to the Shadow Reaper than the stories tell. Kayn watches her steadily now. Though Irelia may have snuck up on him, she has his full attention now. "There's no room for kindness in war of existence. You of all people should know this."