The last thing I remember from Earth was the glow of my monitor.
It was past midnight. My room was dark except for the soft blue light of my PC screen, a half-empty energy drink sweating onto my desk. On-screen, I was rewatching a cinematic from League of Legends—Ionia's forests in flames, soldiers clashing in red and gold against warriors in flowing silks.
Noxus invading Ionia.
I'd seen it a dozen times before. Loved it, even. The drama. The tragedy. The way the Ionian blades seemed to dance even as they killed.
I remember muttering, "If I was there, I'd—"
The sentence never finished.
The power in my room flickered. My screen glitched. For a split second, the cinematic froze on the image of a crimson banner snapping in the wind. Then the monitor cracked—not physically, but like glass shattering from the inside. Light spilled out.
Not light.
Petals.
Pink, glowing petals poured from the screen like a storm, filling the room. My chair tipped backward. My body felt weightless. I tried to scream, but the sound never left my throat.
The last thing I saw of Earth was my own reflection in the black mirror of the monitor—eyes wide, mouth open.
Then the world folded.
I woke up face-first in dirt.
Real dirt. Damp. Cold. It smelled like rain and crushed leaves.
I coughed, rolling onto my back. Above me stretched a canopy of pale green leaves shimmering in soft, golden sunlight. Pink petals drifted lazily through the air, glowing faintly as they fell.
I blinked.
"Okay," I croaked. "I'm dreaming."
The sky was too clear. The air too crisp. The forest hummed—not with insects, but with something deeper. A vibration beneath the ground, like the earth itself was breathing.
I sat up slowly.
The trees weren't normal. Their trunks twisted gracefully, bark veined with faint light. Wildflowers shimmered with colors I didn't have names for. Somewhere nearby, water flowed in a gentle stream.
My stomach dropped.
I knew this place.
"Ionia," I whispered.
Specifically, it looked like the Placidium forests—the kind shown in cinematics and splash art. The land of balance. Spirit and flesh intertwined.
My pulse quickened.
"No way," I muttered. "No, no, no. I was just watching—"
A distant boom interrupted me.
Not thunder.
An explosion.
Birds—bright-feathered and unfamiliar—burst from the treetops in a panicked flock. The ground trembled faintly. Then came the sound that made my blood run cold.
War horns.
Low. Harsh. Militaristic.
I had heard that sound before through my headphones.
Noxian war horns.
Another boom shook the forest. A column of black smoke rose beyond the trees.
My breathing turned shallow.
"This isn't funny," I whispered to no one.
A scream carried on the wind.
High. Human.
And suddenly, this wasn't a fantasy anymore.
I stumbled to my feet, heart hammering. I wore the same clothes I'd had on Earth—jeans, a hoodie, sneakers. Completely useless in a war zone.
"Think," I muttered. "Think."
Timeline. If this was during the invasion, that meant Swain hadn't taken control yet. This was old Noxus—brutal, expansionist, led by the triumvirate. Ionian resistance was fractured. Villages were being burned.
That scream hadn't been cinematic.
It had been real.
Another explosion. Closer this time.
I turned toward the smoke before my brain could argue. Running toward danger was stupid.
But doing nothing felt worse.
Branches whipped at my face as I pushed through the undergrowth. The air grew thicker with the smell of smoke. The hum of the land—soft and peaceful moments ago—now felt strained, like a string pulled too tight.
I broke through the tree line and froze.
Below me lay a small Ionian village nestled beside a river. Elegant wooden structures curved with natural artistry, roofs arched like wings. Stone lanterns lined narrow paths.
Half of it was on fire.
Red-armored soldiers moved through the streets in formation. Their armor was angular, practical, and brutal. Crimson cloaks. Heavy shields emblazoned with the Noxian sigil.
I didn't need a tooltip to know who they were.
Noxian infantry.
One of them kicked open a door. Another dragged a man into the street. The villager struggled, shouting in a language I didn't consciously know—
But understood.
That realization hit me like a second shock.
I understood him.
The soldier struck him with the butt of a spear.
I flinched.
A group of Ionian defenders—barely more than villagers with spears—rushed from the far side of the village. They moved with grace, footwork light, almost dance-like.
They didn't stand a chance.
The Noxians reformed instantly. Shields locked. Spears thrust in disciplined unison.
This wasn't a game. There were no health bars. No respawns.
A defender fell, crimson spreading across pale robes.
My legs locked.
This is history, I thought wildly. This is canon. This already happened.
But canon didn't matter when someone was dying twenty meters away.
A hand grabbed my wrist.
I nearly screamed.
An elderly woman crouched beside me, half-hidden by the brush. Her hair was silver, tied back in a simple knot. Her robes were simple but elegant, embroidered with subtle patterns that seemed to shimmer.
"You must not stand," she whispered urgently.
I stared at her. "You can see me?"
She frowned. "Of course I can see you."
Good point.
She pulled me lower as a pair of Noxian soldiers marched past at the edge of the forest.
"You are not from this village," she said quietly.
"Uh," I replied intelligently.
Her eyes narrowed slightly—not in suspicion, but in assessment. They were sharp. Too sharp.
"You reek of confusion," she said. "And fear."
"Accurate," I muttered.
Another explosion rocked the village. Flames leapt higher.
The old woman closed her eyes briefly, as if in pain.
"The land cries," she whispered.
I felt it then.
That hum beneath the ground—it wasn't just vibration. It was… emotion. Distress. The trees trembled not from wind, but from something deeper. The air felt heavier.
Spirit and matter intertwined.
I swallowed.
"This is really Ionia," I breathed.
Her gaze snapped back to me. "You speak the name as if rediscovering it."
Because I am.
Before I could answer, a shout rang out nearby. Two Noxian soldiers had broken off from the main force and were moving toward the forest's edge.
Toward us.
The woman's grip tightened. "Do not move," she whispered.
Easy for her to say.
My heart pounded so loud I was sure they'd hear it. The soldiers pushed through the brush, blades drawn.
One of them paused, scanning the trees.
His eyes locked onto mine.
Time froze.
He barked something in Noxian and lunged forward.
The old woman stood.
Not quickly. Not dramatically.
Simply… stood.
The air shifted.
The petals around us froze mid-fall.
The soldier faltered, confusion flashing across his face.
The woman raised one hand.
The ground answered.
Roots erupted from the soil, coiling around the soldier's legs. He shouted, hacking at them, but more vines wrapped around his arms, his torso, dragging him down.
The second soldier roared and charged.
She turned her palm toward him.
The air shimmered.
For a split second, I saw something vast behind her—like the silhouette of a colossal tree overlaying her form, branches stretching into the sky.
The soldier was thrown backward as if struck by a battering ram. He crashed into a trunk and didn't rise.
The petals resumed falling.
The roots slowly receded into the earth, taking the struggling soldier with them. His screams were cut off abruptly.
Silence fell.
I stared at her.
She exhaled slowly, as though she had merely brushed dust from a shelf.
"You…" My voice cracked. "You're a mage."
"In your tongue, perhaps," she said.
Spirit magic.
Ionian magic.
My mind raced through champions. Karma? No—too old. Syndra? Definitely not. Irelia? Wrong vibe.
She didn't feel like a champion I knew.
Which meant one terrifying thing.
Not everyone here had plot armor.
She looked at me again, studying my clothes. "You are not dressed for war."
"You could say that."
Her gaze softened, just slightly. "Then you are a fool, or fate has a cruel sense of humor."
"Probably both."
Another horn sounded in the distance. The Noxians were regrouping.
She turned toward the burning village, jaw tightening.
"I must help those who remain," she said.
"That's suicide," I blurted.
Her eyes flashed. "To do nothing would be worse."
Fair.
She took a step forward—then paused.
"You," she said without turning. "You do not belong to this thread of fate."
My blood went cold.
"I—I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do." She glanced back at me. "The land does not recognize your footsteps. You are… untethered."
Untethered.
Like I'd glitched into the wrong server.
"If you remain untethered," she continued, "this world will either reject you… or reshape you."
Reshape?
That didn't sound healthy.
"What am I supposed to do?" I asked.
She studied me for a long moment, as if listening to something I couldn't hear.
"Survive," she said simply. "And listen. Ionia speaks, even in war."
With that, she stepped forward—and blurred.
Not ran. Not dashed.
Blurred, like ink smearing across wet paper.
A heartbeat later, she was at the edge of the village, vines and roots surging in her wake.
I remained frozen on the hillside.
Survive?
That was her advice?
Below, the battle shifted. Trees bent unnaturally, branches lashing out at Noxian soldiers. The river swelled, water twisting around invaders' legs. Ionian defenders rallied behind the sudden surge of spirit magic.
But Noxus did not break.
More soldiers poured in. Heavier armor. A towering figure with a massive axe barked orders in a commanding voice.
Not Darius, I realized with a strange flicker of relief. Just a captain.
Even so, discipline held. Shields locked. Crossbows raised.
A volley of bolts darkened the sky.
The old woman staggered as one pierced her shoulder. Another struck her side.
"Move," I whispered to myself.
My legs refused.
This wasn't a keyboard. There was no clicking away.
Another bolt hit her.
She dropped to one knee.
The spirit-surge faltered. The trees' movements slowed.
The Noxian captain roared an order.
Soldiers advanced.
Something inside me snapped.
I didn't have magic.
I didn't have a weapon.
But I had a rock.
It was stupid. Completely, utterly stupid.
I grabbed the largest stone near me and sprinted downhill.
I didn't shout a battle cry. I didn't think about tactics.
I just ran.
A Noxian soldier noticed me first. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of a random hoodie-wearing idiot charging into a battlefield.
Fair.
I hurled the rock with everything I had.
It struck his helmet with a dull clang. He staggered—not injured, but surprised.
That was enough.
A tree branch whipped down, slamming into him and sending him sprawling.
I reached the old woman, grabbing her under the arms.
"Can you move?" I gasped.
She looked at me, dazed but conscious. "Foolish child," she murmured.
"Yeah, I get that a lot."
Another volley of bolts.
One grazed my arm, slicing through fabric and skin. Pain flared—sharp and real.
No respawn.
I hauled her toward the river as chaos erupted again. A few Ionian defenders rushed to cover us, their movements desperate but determined.
We stumbled behind a stone outcropping near the water's edge.
She sagged against it, blood staining her robes.
"I have disrupted the balance," she whispered faintly.
"You saved people," I shot back.
"For now."
The sounds of battle grew distant. Either the Noxians were pulling back, or pushing deeper into the village.
I pressed my hand against her wound instinctively.
Warmth flared beneath my palm.
Not my warmth.
Something else.
The hum of the land surged up my arm. My skin tingled, like static electricity dancing across it.
Her eyes widened.
"The land…" she breathed. "It answers you."
"I'm pretty sure that's not supposed to happen," I said through clenched teeth.
The warmth intensified, flowing from the ground, through me, into her. The bleeding slowed.
I wasn't casting a spell. I didn't know how.
I just… didn't want her to die.
The petals around us began to glow brighter.
Her gaze locked onto mine—not confused now, but certain.
"You are not untethered," she whispered. "You are a seed."
A seed?
"That makes zero sense," I muttered.
But even as I said it, I felt it.
Roots.
Not physical ones.
Connections.
Thin, fragile threads stretching from me into the soil, into the river, into the trembling trees.
The land of Ionia… was touching me back.
In the distance, the war horns sounded again—retreat, this time.
The immediate danger faded, leaving behind smoke, fire, and too many bodies.
My arm throbbed where the bolt had grazed me. My heart still raced.
The old woman gave me a faint smile.
"It seems," she said softly, "Ionia has chosen to recognize your footsteps after all."
I stared at the burning village, at the red banners retreating beyond the trees.
I had wanted to imagine what I'd do if I were here.
Now I knew.
I was in Runeterra.
In Ionia.
During the Noxian invasion.
And somehow—
Somehow—
The land itself had answered me.
This wasn't a game.
This was my new reality.
And I had just taken my first step into its war.