Do not look back at the past—it's not worth it.
—Riven
Destruction is the eternal theme of war, whether it's to objects, to the human body, or to the human soul. In Rosha's memories, Riven was a straightforward, sunny, ever-forward-charging warrior. But now, she had become a soulless walking corpse. Rosha even felt that if not for treating him as the only surviving member of her squad and bearing the duty of caring for him, she would have already taken her own life.
For more than ten days, Riven had dragged him across the war-torn lands. They hadn't met a single living person. Every village they passed was empty, with no trace of animals. Even the strange trees were nothing but charred black stumps. Perhaps it was just an illusion, but Rosha often felt he could hear the land itself groaning in pain.
He didn't know why, but Rosha felt his body was recovering quickly. The charred shell covering his mouth had already been peeled away by Riven—at his request, since that crust was nothing but a nuisance when eating or drinking.
"Captain, where are we going?" Rosha couldn't help but ask as he looked at the gloomy sky that promised rain.
The figure ahead was silent for a long time before speaking slowly, "To find someone who can heal you."
"I'm fine. Once all this burnt shell falls off, I'll be fully recovered," Rosha replied, sensing that she wasn't telling the truth.
Silence… more silence… Rosha was already used to it. In these ten days, she had spoken fewer than twenty sentences, most of them gritted-teeth repetitions of the name "Amistian."
Night fell, and the rain arrived right on schedule. Today, luck was not with them—they found no thatched hut, no cave, nowhere to shelter. Riven dragged Rosha beneath a large tree, while she herself stood in the open rain, head tilted back, letting the drops strike her face. It was impossible to tell whether the moisture at the corners of her eyes was rain or tears.
Thunder and lightning raged wildly. Rosha thought they were both in danger, standing out in the open. Before he could recall the basic safety rules for lightning storms, he saw a silver serpent of lightning strike Riven, a branching arc splitting off straight toward him.
Before he lost consciousness, Rosha never heard the thunder. "Oh right… light travels faster than sound…" That was his last thought.
When awareness returned, Rosha wanted to cry. His face had only just grown new skin, the burned flesh peeled away—and now it had been seared all over again by a lightning strike.
He tried to open his eyes, but the charred crust on his eyelids was still fused to the flesh beneath, causing a tearing pain. Tears streamed uncontrollably. Still, he managed to open them, though his vision remained a blur.
He heard a man and a woman talking nearby, their accent strange. Rosha couldn't fully understand them, but he could tell they were happy.
The woman ran out, and the man spoke beside his ear. Unfortunately, Rosha couldn't understand a single word. His mouth was still covered by burned flesh, and his voice could not emerge. All he could do was lie there, blinking, trying to restore his sight.
Soon, a blurred figure appeared before his eyes. He couldn't see her clearly, but he recognized her voice—it was Riven.
"How do you feel?" Riven's voice had changed slightly, no longer so parched.
Rosha could only make a muffled "mm" sound in response. His mouth wouldn't open, and even his vocal cords seemed burned by the lightning.
Riven understood his reply and said softly, "The priest Valri is preaching here. Every other day he'll come use Words of Truth to treat you and keep your strength up. You'll be fine."
"Father Asa, Mother Shava, he doesn't understand Ionian. You can use the Common Tongue to speak with him," Riven told the elderly couple.
"All right, Daeda!" the two elders replied—this time in the Common Tongue.
Riven said nothing more to Rosha and left the room.
"What does 'Daeda' mean?" Rosha wondered. He wasn't worrying about where he was right now, but the word sounded like a name. Could it be Riven had brought him back to her home? But clearly, these two elders didn't speak Noxian.
"Rosha, I'm Asa Conde, and this is my home…" The old man sat at Rosha's side, rambling about everything that had happened while he was unconscious.
This was a small village called Stad in the southwest of Navori Province in Ionia, home to fifty-six families, fewer than two hundred people. Being far from any major city and of no strategic importance, it had been spared from the war.
It was the Conde family who had taken in Riven and Rosha. The elderly couple had two sons, but after Noxus invaded, both sons went to war and died there. When Riven had dragged Rosha to the edge of the village fields and was struck by lightning into unconsciousness, it was Asa who had carried them both home. They recognized Riven as Noxian, yet bore no thought of revenge, no hatred toward her or Rosha—instead, they took the two in and even adopted Riven as their daughter.
Rosha wanted badly to ask how long he'd been unconscious, and how so much had happened in that time. Most of all, he was curious how a woman dead inside had been moved by two strangers' kindness. But he couldn't speak.
As if knowing his unspoken question, Asa told him he had been in a coma for a month. Only his faint heartbeat had kept this newly formed family from burying him. But without food or water, he would have died. So Shava had traveled to Weri and brought back a traveling priest from the continent. This priest, named Valri, used Words of Truth to sustain Rosha's fragile life until the day he awoke.
From this, Rosha began to understand why Riven would call two strangers her parents—these were truly warm, kind-hearted people with noble souls, who had given her warmth and a home when she was at her lowest.
The days that followed were peaceful. Every other day, Priest Valri would visit. When Rosha's vision returned, he finally saw what the priest looked like—an old man with eyes both devout and gentle.
Priests were clergy of the Holy Bertolo Church, a faith that arose in the Shuriman port city of Antahil after the fall of the Shuriman Empire. In just a few decades, it had grown a vast congregation and developed a complete ecclesiastical structure—monastic orders and knightly orders.
Priests served in the monastic order, though the Pope (Cardinal Archbishop) himself had risen step by step from the rank of priest. The knightly order was their military arm. As with all faiths, they stood apart from the atheist mages. From the magic of Light, they had truly found a unique path of cultivation—Holy Light magic. Priests were practitioners of supportive Holy Light magic, while knights specialized in combat-oriented Holy Light magic.
The current Pope of the Holy Bertolo Church, by mage rankings, was on par with an Archmage—a true superlative powerhouse. It was said his Holy Word could even revive dead believers. Their armed forces were also formidable, boasting five Paladins—rare dragonriders, each one.
With such power, the Church had, in only a few decades, established its own sphere of influence in southern Shurima. Though not yet a nation, to the countries of Runeterra, it was only a matter of time.
Priests were devout missionaries whose aim was to let the radiance of Bertolo shine upon every inch of Runeterra. Thus, in every land, you could see them—unyielding and faithful—healing the sick and saving lives as a way to spread their faith. Shava had seen a priest save someone before, so she had sought one out to save Rosha—and the results had been unexpectedly effective.
Rosha lay useless in bed every day, carried outside by Riven to bask in the sun, then carried back in at night. His only other occupation was learning Ionian from Asa. Though he couldn't speak, Asa insisted on teaching him daily. It was a strange sight—an old man teaching Ionian to a mute who could only hum. Rosha, with nothing else to do, simply focused on listening, repeating the words over and over in his mind.
The two elders were satisfied with their current life. Their newly adopted daughter handled all the chores and even dealt with bandits who came to trouble the village. As for the Noxian soldier burned to charcoal, he seemed to treat them as family too.
At night, the elders grew a little melancholy. Though they hid it well, Rosha could see the longing in their eyes.
"Daeda, go to sleep early," Asa called from the window, seeing Riven standing under the tree outside.
"I'm not tired, you two go ahead," Riven replied, turning back to give the old man a forced smile.
Shava went outside, draped a long robe over Riven's shoulders, and gently patted her back.
From his bed, Rosha looked at Riven standing under the moonlight like a javelin. His lips twitched slightly, and a piece of blackened dead skin flaked away.
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