The sky was ablaze with spectral light, a vast sea of spirits swirling overhead. Their howls echoed like wolves in the dark, while the taut twangs of bowstrings hummed faintly in the void.
"My dear wolf, hurry now, the night is far too long!"
A gentle, melodic voice drifted from the lamb spirit who held a longbow in her hand. Her companion, the wolf spirit, was tirelessly hunting down the souls reluctant to face their end. Through clenched teeth, he growled:
"Don't worry, little lamb. The Night of the Hunt is my favorite."
Whoosh!
A brilliant white arrow sliced through several undead, each one flashing a look of peace before fading away, liberated at last.
"So many dead... I fear you'll grow weary."
"Death may be delayed, but it never stops!"
The wolf spirit flickered across the void, swiftly guiding more souls toward their final rest.
Miss Fortune stood dazed, watching the sea of spirits dwindle. One by one, they followed Kindred, Lamb and Wolf, to the end of their journey.
"Kindred..."
"I never imagined I'd see the two of them while still alive." Camille stepped up beside Miss Fortune, giving her a meaningful glance. "Duke, we'll be leaving in a few days. Don't waste your last chance."
As the last of the spirits faded, the wolf spirit's dissatisfied snarl echoed across all of Bilgewater.
"I'm not done yet, I want more!"
"This was just the interest. There's still plenty left on the Shadow Isles."
"But every story ends eventually."
"All must die," Lamb said, drawing her bow and firing a radiant arrow. "Until only Kindred remains."
"…And when that happens, will you run from me?" Wolf asked as he brushed past her.
"I will never run from you, my dear wolf," she replied gently.
The two crossed paths, then vanished into the mist.
Lamb blinked across the air and landed in the Thieves' Square. Even the living bowed their heads before this ancient specter of Runeterra.
For those who still breathe, seeing Kindred is rare. One only glimpses them at death's door.
To be precise, only one of their faces.
Kindred's legend had been passed down for generations. Many had tried to escape death, and many had seen the pair appear before them. Kindred had long ceased hiding their presence, and their appearance now was no anomaly.
Otherwise, Runeterra wouldn't be overflowing with tales of them.
If you face death with peace, Lamb's silver bow brings painless release.
If you resist or struggle, Wolf gleefully begins the hunt, each one ending in gruesome tragedy.
At this moment, Duke and Pride disengaged their third form. Duke stepped out of his armor, visibly drained.
Original Sin: Pride was strong enough to beat Hecarim and Thresh into the ground. But the cost was steep, for both of them.
Pride collapsed into slumber from the sheer exhaustion.
Just as Duke looked up, he saw the Lamb spirit staring at him through her black wolf mask, her gaze unreadable.
"Hello, young one," she said softly.
"Hello, honorable Lamb," Duke replied, rising with effort and nodding respectfully.
"You carry a heavy scent of death. I believe we'll meet again very soon."
Her voice, unlike the clipped tone she used with Wolf, was more suited to modern speech. Duke's face stiffened slightly. "You mean... I'm going to die?"
"Death awaits everyone. No one escapes it. But in the end, it may not be you who meets it first."
"…It could be someone else."
With a knowing glance, Lamb nodded toward him. In the sky, the sea of souls was now gone.
Wolf dove down, circling Duke with an aggressive snarl.
"He smells... delicious," Wolf growled.
Despite the mask shaped like Lamb's face, Wolf radiated nothing but ferocity and savagery.
"No one escapes you, my dear wolf," Lamb whispered as she turned to leave, her silver bow in hand. Wolf followed at her side.
"But... the time isn't right."
"Then sing me a song, little lamb."
"Of course, my hungry wolf. I could never deny you."
And with that, they vanished into the ether, their presence fading like mist, leaving behind only Lamb's ethereal, gentle song.
As she sang, the clouds above split apart, revealing a massive rift in the sky. A storm surged from the gap, crashing down on Bilgewater.
Janna's gathered storm descended like a great waterfall, sweeping through the alleys and streets of the city.
Black Mist clashed with the storm, and there was only one outcome: retreat.
When the storm reached Thieves' Square, the mist receded rapidly, leaving only a gentle breeze that swept away the exhaustion from Duke and his allies.
Boom… boom…
The sky throbbed with the sound of a heartbeat. The storm grew stronger, banishing every unnatural presence.
At its center stood a long-haired goddess draped in gauze, her staff raised high as fierce gales howled around her. Her voice rang like a chime in every ear:
"Avatar of the Wind, at your command!"
The storm cleansed Bilgewater completely. The Black Mist was torn apart, the undead within it reduced to ash with anguished screams.
In a ruined home, a family on the brink of being taken by spirits heard Janna's lullaby. The phantoms howled and burned away before their eyes.
A sailor, entranced by ghostly whispers and ready to slit his own throat, felt the breeze brush past him. The voices disappeared, replaced by a surge of renewed strength. Dropping the blade, he fell to his knees, trembling.
Looking up at the flowing wind, he whispered a prayer of thanks:
"Thank you… for your mercy."
Elsewhere, a wave of undead had just begun to assault a tavern. The storm arrived in time, the mist vanishing and the bodies falling still. The survivors inside peered out, hearts still pounding, and saw only the clear night sky.
"Harrowing's Night... has been driven away early!"
"We made it, another year survived!"
Back in Thieves' Square, Duke sank to the ground, leaning against the slumbering Pride.
"It's finally over," he sighed. "I'm exhausted."
Time passed, and the darkest hour before dawn arrived.
Bilgewater's outskirts, atop a volcanic cliff,
Inside a temple, Illaoi stood surrounded by hundreds of worshippers, all deep in ritual before the towering statue of Nagakabouros.
The faithful included sailors, butchers, tavern keepers, merchants, and nobles, all who came to the temple on Harrowing's Night seeking shelter.
As Nagakabouros's Truth-Bearer, Illaoi led them in prayer. Through this sacred ritual, she could borrow divine power and briefly wield the light of Nagakabouros to push back the Harrowing.
But such ceremonies took time.
Fortunately, the Harrowing had been slow to reach them. No screams, no wails, not even whispers of the undead.
The temple, sealed off from the outside world, kept them in total silence. Even if the city were in chaos, they would hear nothing.
But that silence came at a cost.
When the ceremony concluded, Illaoi hefted a heavy, anchor-shaped idol called Godsyss, carved from lapis and marked with a ferocious beast's face.
As a Truth-Bearer, she was never to part with it. Only someone of her strength and stature could carry such a burden.
It was her duty, and her chain.
Ordering the doors flung open, Illaoi emerged and immediately sensed something was wrong. The Harrowing had been... too quiet.
From the cliffs, she saw Bilgewater illuminated with lights. No howls. No screams on the wind.
Even the spiral atop the temple, which normally shone with protective light during Harrowing's Night, remained dim.
As she crossed the bridge toward the edge of the cliff, she frowned.
"Could it be... the Harrowing never arrived?"
From this vantage point, she could see the devastated Wharf, the battered Thieves' Square, and a massive crater slowly being reclaimed by the sea.
The Harrowing had come, but had been stopped.
By whom? Who could drive it back besides Nagakabouros?
"Strange..."
A high priest approached but dared not speak.
"Arrange a meeting," Illaoi said quietly.
"I want to speak with that woman named Sarah."
"Yes, Truth-Bearer!"
End of chapter...
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