The moment Ryan saw the Void's trail, the massive ethereal spirit in front of him exploded with a thunderous bang.
Purple ichor splattered through the air, vanishing before it could even hit the ground.
"Interesting..."
Ryan narrowed his eyes and gazed toward the depths of Icathia, the corners of his mouth curling slightly.
He had been deliberately stalling—using the soul's echoes to search for the so-called "Prophet."
And the Void entity's long-winded rambling?
That was simply a distraction to lure him into discovering the location of the Void rift.
The ruins of ancient Icathia.
He couldn't help but wonder what truly lay in wait for him there.
A Void so vast it could devour him? A power he could command?
Or a force so pure it unraveled the magic he so carefully constructed?
The unknown had always tempted the curious.
If not for more pressing matters elsewhere, he might've gone already.
A flicker of regret crossed Ryan's eyes.
He turned his gaze away and gestured toward Kai'Sa.
In an instant, countless dark blue blades of water descended from the sky like divine punishment.
Within seconds, the remaining Void creature in the crater was annihilated.
Ryan floated gently into the village, unfazed by the ruins around him.
His eyes landed on Kai'Sa, now returned to her adult form.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
Kai'Sa bore no visible wounds—her body intact, her spirit unshaken.
In fact, after absorbing the Void's residual energy, she felt stronger than before.
But she knew full well that Ryan wasn't asking about her physical state.
She let out a quiet breath, glancing around at the shattered remains of nearby homes.
Then, shaking her head, she murmured:
"I didn't fight for them... I fought for those who died facing the Void."
"In Noxus, you'll find many who share your ideals," Ryan said.
"Will you come with me, Kai'Sa?"
The rune-lit glow faded from his eyes, revealing their natural black and white.
He extended a hand to her.
They had learned what they needed from this place. I don't think there was any reason to linger.
Kai'Sa blinked in surprise, then smiled. Without hesitation, she placed her hand in his.
"Lord Ryan," she said, "as long as you're fighting the Void—I'll stand by your side."
During their journey, she had come to understand how much she still lacked—both in strength and in knowledge.
Noxus was the most powerful empire on Runeterra.
And Ryan—Lord of the Immortal Bastion—stood at its peak.
Knowing the threat she must one day face, she was determined to grow stronger.
"The Void," Ryan said softly, "will one day be sealed away."
A rune magic circle flared beneath their feet, and in the next instant, they vanished without a trace.
From the wreckage, the village chief and the terrified survivors watched in stunned silence as the pair disappeared.
This time, Ryan did not return to the Immortal Bastion with Kai'Sa.
After entrusting her to Katarina's care, he once again vanished—this time, deep into the sands of Shurima.
When next he appeared, it was on the western slope of a towering mountain.
Light burst skyward from its summit, and countless tribes lived like pilgrims at its base.
This mountain—so tall it seemed to pierce the heavens—was known by a single name:
Targon's Peak.
Ryan stood before a high cliff. A full day had passed since the Sacrifice of the Void.
A stone table rested near the edge—one of the best places to view the mountain and the stars above.
From here, the peaks looked close enough to touch.
The stars shimmered brilliantly, like souls dancing in the sky.
Ryan raised his eyes.
In the starlight, it was as if he could see countless warriors—carrying spears, shields, and scimitars—each following a path laid out by fate, unchanging and eternal.
"A perfect night for tea," came a soft, melodic voice from behind him.
Ryan didn't turn around. He smiled faintly and replied:
"With your invitation, every night becomes perfect for tea."
If Seraphine had been there, she would've been left speechless.
The look in Ryan's eyes—the calm, respectful tone—was something she'd never imagined coming from him.
It was the reverence one shows an old and wise teacher.
And Ryan had never shown reverence to anyone.
He turned and bowed deeply to the woman who approached.
"The stars don't deserve your flattery," she said with a smile, placing a steaming teapot and a pair of cups on the stone table.
"But you represent them," Ryan replied, mirroring her smile.
The woman before him was one of the oldest living beings in all of Runeterra.
Her existence predated even the earliest chapters of human history.
At her invitation, Ryan took a seat at the stone table and accepted the cup she offered.
Steam curled into the starlight above.
After taking a sip, a soft blue rune-light shimmered in Ryan's eyes.
A thin veil of magical energy automatically wrapped around his body.
But within moments, the light faded.
The magical phenomena quickly receded, absorbed back into Ryan's core.
Even the lingering influence of the World Runes within him seemed to settle.
His power—usually intense and radiant—now appeared more restrained, more... at peace.
When his internal energy stirred, only the single horn on Soraka's head glowed faintly.
Her expression remained calm, a gentle smile resting on her face.
"Blessings from the stars," she said softly.
"If you like it, you're welcome to have more."
"Thank you," Ryan replied sincerely.
This tea wasn't ordinary—it was imbued with Runeterra's life force.
Only someone like her could seal such power into a single pot of tea.
Sitting back in the stone chair, Ryan lifted his eyes toward the stars and spoke in a calm voice:
"I doubt you invited me just for tea tonight... Ms. Soraka."
The name "Soraka" was the most common by which she was known, and the name she had shared with him when they first met.
But behind that simple title lay legends whispered across every corner of Runeterra.
In the Freljord, tribes still sing of a wandering healer with a single horn who cured frostbite in the harshest winters.
Beneath the smog of Zaun, there are stories of a lilac-skinned stranger who purified the sick from chemical blight.
In ancient Ionia, the Vastaya speak of a star-born prophet who called down starlight to mend the wounded—and to burn those who harmed the sacred lands.
Even in rigid Demacia, old records tell of a horned woman who gave refuge to those injured by magic during the kingdom's founding days.
And in the archives of Noxus, scribes speak of a mysterious lady with a crescent staff who roamed Valoran during the Rune Wars, offering aid to the suffering.
All these tales point to a single figure.
Soraka—the Starchild. A saint in mortal form.
A healer, a protector, a being who had saved more lives than anyone could count.
Ryan had seen her act with his own eyes once.
Back when he was still wandering, he had watched as she shielded an entire tribe from destruction by another.
It was then that she first invited him to this very place—to this quiet sanctuary under the stars.
Only after rising within Noxus did Ryan come to fully understand the extent of her legacy.
This was their second meeting, but now that he knew more, he treated her with the deep respect she deserved.
Soraka, the one who had watched over humanity for centuries.
"The stars have been moving strangely," she said, sipping her tea as she gazed at the sky.
"The light of the Justice Constellation flickers... there's disagreement among them."
"And which side do you stand on, lady?" Ryan asked with a faint smile.
The Protostars—celestial beings whose true forms shine in the heavens—rarely interfere in mortal matters.
According to ancient lore, they exist in a higher realm, one far removed from Runeterra.
Only when severe imbalances occur in the world do they descend.
And now, it seemed, they were near.
A great conflict was unfolding in the stars.
One figure held a long scroll, riddled with contradictions—shifting fate with every breath.
Another wielded a massive sword, radiating a terrifying pressure, as though the entire world bent beneath its edge.
"The stars have no allegiance," Soraka said softly.
"Kindness will be repaid in kind. All living things are one community... and all strive for a better world."
Her words were vague—almost evasive. But to Ryan, the meaning was clear.
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. With solemn conviction, he replied:
"I—and the Empire—will always stand at the forefront of humanity's fate. We will do better than Shurima ever did."
Soraka shook her head gently.
"The fall of Shurima proves that even the stars' guidance does not always bring salvation."
Ryan's eyes sharpened. He understood the message beneath her words.
The Celestials were not unified.
Just like Kayle and Morgana—both born of the Aspect of Justice, yet standing on opposite ends of ideology.
The ancient glory of Shurima, the power of the Ascended, had been deeply tied to Celestial intervention.
Yet, even with their backing, the empire crumbled.
And perhaps… that collapse wasn't merely in spite of the Celestials, but partly because of them.
That era was too distant, buried under millennia.
Not even Ryan, with all his knowledge and insight, could say for certain what truly happened.
But one thing was clear—the Celestial before him, Soraka, was someone worth trusting.
He was about to speak again when his eyes flicked toward the distant battlefield—the one he had sensed earlier. A knowing smile appeared at the edge of his lips.
"Madam," Ryan asked, "what of that star-born being… what does his presence signify?"
Soraka followed his gaze and answered with a faint smile.
"War. The one he battles is among the mightiest of Ascended."
"The mightiest…" Ryan echoed, his gaze piercing the veil over Targon.
There, across the crags of the mountaintop, stood a towering figure with obsidian skin, wielding a blade that seemed to have been forged from shadows themselves.
Ryan looked not with admiration, but with pity.
The so-called greatest of the Ascended… now reduced to a darkin, a corrupted god, sealed inside his weapon.
How ironic.
Once, this warrior had fought against the Void, joining the legendary battle in Icathia.
They had all stood strong, divine, fearless—yet even they could not escape corruption.
One by one, they fell.
And when the darkness took them, the Celestials sealed them away… in chains of light, or in cursed relics.
Ryan, however, had his doubts.
The Battle of Icathia had happened thousands of years before Shurima's fall.
And the branding of the darkin as void-corrupted? That judgment came long after.
Could the Void's corruption truly endure for millennia?
Ryan's gaze drifted toward the far side of Mount Targon.
Thoughts and questions danced behind his eyes.
Mysteries still wrapped around the stars. Around Shurima. Around the war that had never truly ended.