Kalan stood upon the defensive battlements of Fae'lor.
His gaze swept across the Narrow Sea toward the mainland of the First Lands—the land humans now called Ionia.
Regarding humans, Kalan neither liked nor hated them.
In his eyes, humans were simply one of the many species surviving on this soil.
While their presence affected the growth of natural magic, it was undeniable that they possessed wisdom and power beyond the understanding of the Kiilash.
Or rather, even as a native Ionian Kiilash, Kalan had to admit his kin were often too barbaric.
Aside from hunting, they were almost useless... though even so, there was a girl among them who had captured his heart.
Thinking of that female Kiilash who haunted his dreams, a look of nostalgia, bitter memory, and pain surfaced in Kalan's eyes.
Looking out at the other side of the sea, he saw only a blanket of pitch-black darkness.
There was no moon tonight, but the darkness posed no threat to a Kiilash.
Everything was as clear as day to him.
His feline pupils were dilated to their limit.
Occasionally, those eyes were illuminated by the nearby torches, reflecting a brilliant, sharp light full of undisguised resolve.
As a native Vastaya of Ionia, Kalan's bloodline could be traced back to antiquity.
This meant his Kiilash lineage was closer to the Vastayashai'rei ancestors than those of other regions.
This was best presented in his physique and size.
His sunset-bright fur was woven into thick dreadlocks hanging down his back.
Even with strands of grey mixed in from the pressure he endured, it did not diminish Kalan's aura.
Instead, amidst the towering stature and brilliance, it added a touch of profound depth.
His proud, lion-like face made it obvious that Kalan was a large feline predator in the literal sense.
The scars written across his face told the story of a lifetime spent hunting.
The left side of his face was hairless, the skin tissue incomplete.
The angry red muscle fibers were proof of severe burns sustained as a young warrior.
Unlike ordinary Kiilash, Kalan, as a pure-blood, had a pair of curved horns growing from his temples.
Each horn was engraved with spiral runes representing his tribe and honor.
Three thick, whip-like tails lashed behind him, each covered in sections of chain-linked plate armor.
One could foresee that a single swipe of those heavy tails would shatter bone and tear sinew.
Previously, Kalan always wore the traditional attire of the Kiilash—the pelts of prey he had hunted himself.
For any Kiilash, skinning a powerful beast and tanning it into clothing, then wearing its sharpest teeth as a necklace, was the ultimate symbol of status.
But now, he wore Noxian black-iron plate armor.
To be honest, the armor was good; it was sturdy, reliable, and customized to his body without hindering his agility.
But looking at the beast skins and hunting necklaces hidden beneath the steel as padding, Kalan felt a heavy heart.
In fact, the moment he decided to join Noxus, some had already called him a traitor.
Kalan didn't think his friend was wrong; he had indeed betrayed Ionia and his Vastayan heritage.
But Kalan didn't care. What they thought didn't matter.
What mattered was the prophecy of that prophet...
If someone was destined to suffer misfortune and calamity, it had to be him, not his beloved or their innocent child.
Thinking of the female Kiilash he missed and the fruit of their love, Kalan's eyes grew firmer.
All the darkness and hesitation were cast aside.
As Kalan mused, a lone warship suddenly appeared in his vision, sailing toward Fae'lor on the black sea.
This put him on high alert, but after a closer look, he realized it was a Noxian ironclad and let out a sigh of relief.
No one understood how dull Ionians were toward war better than Kalan.
Those idiots who tried to persuade the Kiilash to eat vegetables to stop them from hunting had long been the pinnacle of stupidity in the tribe's mind.
How could such people silently break through the Noxian coastal blockade? It was a joke.
Even as a Kiilash, Kalan knew how tight the Noxian coastal defenses were.
It was no exaggeration to say that even if Swain failed and the war ended, Noxus could firmly hold these coastal areas if they wished.
Under these circumstances, Fae'lor sat as the westernmost island of Ionia, the closest to Noxus.
The entire island was a natural fortress; legends said it had resisted countless invasions back when Ionia was still at war with itself.
The only reason Noxus occupied it was because the Warmasons had infiltrated it like a sieve before the war even began.
Even so, Fae'lor was the last coastal region to fall... the temple guards' will to resist was terrifying.
Not a single one surrendered, forcing the invaders to kill every last man.
In any other situation, the Noxians would have preferred to take such undying warriors into their own ranks.
The Noxians likely didn't understand why the temple guards of Fae'lor—well, the Noxians didn't even know it was a temple, they just saw it as a military guard.
But Kalan knew well that this island sealed Ionia's oldest and most dangerous secret.
As Kalan mused, a Noxian soldier nearby raised a torch and walked toward the harbor to greet the late-night arrival.
Initially, Kalan thought nothing of it.
But just as he withdrew his gaze, through his predator's eyes, a silhouette appeared.
A girl carrying a chain-kama and kunai, dressed in the ninja garb of the Kinkou Order.
Stunned for a second, Kalan suddenly roared:
"Enemy attack!!"