Runeterra: Alexander The Eternal

. . .

. . .

My mother's hands moved deftly, adjusting every crease and detail of my uniform with meticulous care. Her gaze was sharp, focused on her task, but I could sense the undercurrent of worry in her expression.

"You look perfect, Alex," she said finally, stepping back to examine me. Her eyes lingered on me for a moment, the faint tension in her face softening. "This ceremony is important. I know you'll behave, but—"

"I know, Mother," I interjected with a small, reassuring smile. "Everything will be fine."

"Alexander!"

The familiar voice made me turn just in time to see her approaching. Confident strides, her posture as poised as ever, Fiora's presence was as commanding as a general inspecting her troops.

She wore a deep blue dress, elegant yet understated, the fabric flowing with her every step. Her long dark hair was swept back into a simple but polished style, emphasizing her striking ocean-blue eyes. Even in such formal attire, there was a certain edge to her, an untamed intensity that mirrored her precision on the training grounds.

Stopping just a few steps away, she let her eyes roam over me in silent appraisal. After a moment, her lips curled into a rare smile.

"You've been missing for days. What happened?"

Her voice carried a mixture of curiosity and the faintest hint of reproach, but it wasn't unkind.

"I needed some time… to rest, test a few things," I replied, holding her gaze. "Nothing to worry about."

"Rest?" She raised a perfectly arched brow, her tone dripping with skepticism. "I never thought you were the type who needed rest."

A quiet chuckle escaped me. "Even I have limits. I'm not a machine like you, Fiora."

That earned me a smirk, the kind that always felt like a small victory to coax out. There was pride in her expression, but also something deeper—a glimmer of unspoken thoughts hovering behind her confident demeanor.

Her gaze lingered longer than usual, and for a fleeting moment, I felt something stir in my chest. It was faint, just a whisper of something between us, but it was enough to make me aware of the space we shared.

Before the moment could stretch too far, a soldier's voice cut through the stillness from the doorway.

"Alexander, we're ready to begin."

I nodded, breaking the tension with a confident smile. "See you inside."

Fiora returned the smile, a hint of warmth in her eyes.

As I turned to leave, I felt her gaze linger on me for just a second longer.

.

As the massive doors swung open, the grand hall came into view. A crimson carpet stretched the length of the room, its vibrant hue leading directly to the royal throne. Banners of Demacia adorned the marble walls, their golden embroidery catching the sunlight streaming from above. The murmur of anticipation filled the air, every corner of the hall alive with the quiet tension of expectation.

At the far end, Prince Jarvan stood beside the King, his stance proud and composed. When our eyes met, he offered a faint, approving nod, his serious expression easing into a subtle smile.

Each step I took was deliberate, the sound of my boots against the polished floor echoing faintly in the vast chamber. Countless eyes followed my movements, the weight of their attention tangible. When I reached the center, King Jarvan III rose from his throne, the royal sword gleaming as he held it aloft.

"Alexander," he began, his voice resonating through the hall with an authority that commanded silence. "Your deeds have proven your worth to Demacia. Today, we acknowledge your bravery, your ingenuity, and your unwavering commitment to our ideals."

The murmurs ceased entirely, the crowd now entranced by the King's words.

"In the face of overwhelming odds, you displayed courage and intellect far beyond your years. Your innovations have strengthened our forces, and your leadership has saved lives. Even when the situation seemed dire, you defied all expectations—not only returning alive but fulfilling the mission entrusted to you."

I stepped forward and knelt slightly as the weight of the royal blade rested lightly on my shoulders.

"For your exceptional service to this realm," the King continued, his tone firm, "I bestow upon you the title of Earl and the rank of Captain-Commander."

A ripple of shock passed through the crowd. Gasps and quiet exclamations spread among the nobles. Some exchanged sharp, incredulous glances, while others simply nodded in quiet acknowledgment, as if this outcome had been inevitable.

'Earl, not bad. Now I've land to start raising an army… and more money.' I thought, my mind inevitably drawn to the future, where the true challenge awaits.

The King motioned to an attendant standing nearby, who approached holding a set of armor. The gleaming golden pauldrons and breastplate reflected the light like a symbol of Demacia itself.

He held them aloft for a moment, his gaze sweeping the crowd. "These are not mere trinkets of recognition," he declared. "They are a symbol of the weight you now bear and the faith this kingdom places in you."

He stepped closer, placing the armor upon me with measured precision. The weight settled on my shoulders, both literal and metaphorical, as murmurs rippled through the hall.

"You have earned this, Alexander," the King said, his voice low but filled with conviction. "Wear it with honor and prove that you are worthy of the responsibilities it represents."

King Jarvan's voice cut through the commotion. "However, these responsibilities carry great weight. You will assume them fully only when you have reached the proper age."

"Until then, your training will continue. To ensure you are ready for the challenges ahead, Lord Barret Buvelle, one of my most trusted allies, has graciously offered to guide you. Your strength and intellect mark you as a leader of great potential, but this period will serve as your ultimate trial."

'Buvelle? Interesting.'

..As I turned from the throne, Xin Zhao intercepted me with a grin that bordered on predatory.

"It's official," he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder with enough force to make me tense. "But don't think this changes anything. Your training continues."

I arched an eyebrow, returning his grin with a faint smirk.

"Of course it doesn't. You wouldn't know what to do with me otherwise."

At the back of the hall, my mother stood quietly, her gaze locked on me. Her expression blended pride with palpable relief, her hands clasped as if releasing a burden she had carried for weeks. Beside her, Tianna's neutral façade shifted slightly, her approval revealed in a subtle incline of her chin.

My gaze drifted to the crowd, picking out familiar faces. Fiora and Arrika stood together. Fiora's expression was one of calm satisfaction, her composed demeanor concealing her thoughts. Arrika, on the other hand, smiled openly, her eyes shining with unspoken admiration and pride.

As I descended from the center of the hall, Prince Jarvan approached with an easy wave, his demeanor relaxed.

"See you later, Alex," he said, his grin as disarming as ever.

The moment passed, but its weight lingered. The hall behind me buzzed with whispers, the crowd still processing the announcement. But my thoughts remained focused, my resolve hardening with every step.

'Much remains to be done, but one thing is certain—I must leave Demacia.'

Answers, allies, and power lie beyond its borders.

. . .

. . .

. . .

The carriage rocked gently along the dirt roads, the faint creak of its wheels blending with the distant hum of the land. Outside, farmers worked the fields with outdated tools, their movements deliberate but inefficient. Villagers paused to watch as we passed, their faces weathered by hard labor and marked by a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

My eyes swept over the land—my land. Its potential was unmistakable, but so were its flaws. Broken watchtowers dotted the hills, their neglect symbolic of deeper issues. Streams flowed lazily through the fields, their waters untapped for either irrigation or transport.

Beside me, my mother, Elara, sat with a contemplative expression, her gaze lingering on the passing scenery.

"This land is… challenging, my baby," she said, her voice carrying an undertone of worry.

I turned to her, offering a confident smile.

"It's full of potential. With the right work, it'll flourish."

Elara studied me for a moment, her concern giving way to faint pride.

"I know." she said with a small smile.

The carriage swayed slightly as we continued toward the mansion, and I shifted my gaze back to the horizon, my thoughts elsewhere.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask," I said, breaking the silence.

Elara's attention shifted fully to me, her brows raising slightly in curiosity.

"During my mission," I began carefully, "I encountered many enemies. The information in your books was… unusual. Where did it come from?"

"Ah, yes. Those are my notes." Her response was immediate, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

I blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Your notes?"

She laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

"Yes, dear. Once, I was an explorer. And quite a good one, if I may say so."

"…" My surprise was evident, and she chuckled at my silence.

"We'll talk more about this later," she said, gesturing toward the coachman. "Once we're in a more appropriate place."

. . .

"Welcome!"

The carriage came to a halt before the mansion, the crunch of gravel beneath the wheels giving way to an expectant silence. I stepped out, greeted by a line of maids and a man who immediately caught my attention. Sebas, the butler, stood at the forefront, his back as straight as a blade, and his thick, meticulously groomed mustache adding an air of distinction to his stern appearance.

"Welcome, Lord Alexander," he said, bowing deeply.

His words were formal, but the slight narrowing of his eyes and the faint hesitation in his voice betrayed a quiet skepticism.

"…Yes," I replied, my tone confident but detached. I extended a hand to help my mother descend from the carriage, casting a fleeting glance at Sebas and the maids.

The maids curtsied in unison, their faces a mix of curiosity and apprehension. My presence was clearly an event, their gazes occasionally darting toward Sebas, as if seeking cues on how to react.

Sebas straightened, gesturing toward the mansion. "If you would follow me, my lord, my lady."

The tour began with the entry hall, a vast space that bore the weight of time. The marble floors, dulled and scuffed, reflected only faint traces of their former polish. Aging tapestries hung solemnly from the walls, their once-vivid colors muted.

"This is the drawing room," Sebas said, his voice steady as he opened the door to a stately but tired space. Antique furniture filled the room, each piece boasting intricate craftsmanship but showing signs of wear.

As we continued, the air of neglect lingered, but Sebas's tone remained professional, delivering precise explanations with an almost mechanical efficiency.

Reaching the kitchen, my mother paused, her expression brightening as she took in the space. Her hands brushed over the counters, her movements unhurried and appreciative.

"Beautiful," she murmured.

I left her there, content to let her explore, and gestured for Sebas to continue the tour.

The butler led me through the mansion's remaining rooms, his every step calculated, his posture unyielding. His subtle glances in my direction, however, spoke volumes. They weren't disrespectful, but there was no mistaking the weight of his quiet judgment.

'I see the doubts behind that mustache of yours,' I thought, meeting his gaze with an air of unshakable confidence.

My stride was measured, my hands clasped behind my back, my presence calm and composed. If Sebas was evaluating me, I had no intention of giving him any reason to doubt.

Finally, Sebas led me to a modest office. A large wooden desk, worn but sturdy, dominated the center. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with disorganized documents and records that seemed untouched for years.

I moved to the desk, trailing my fingers over the uneven stacks of papers.

"Sebas," I said, turning to meet his gaze.

"This land has promise, but its flaws are undeniable. Outdated farming, neglected infrastructure, insufficient trade routes—and these records…" I gestured toward the chaotic shelves. "A disaster. We'll need proper organization before we can make progress."

Sebas's mustache twitched slightly, his once guarded expression softening. The subtle doubt in his eyes gave way to something more resolute—respect.

"Understood, my lord," he said, bowing his head with sincerity.

I sank into the chair behind the desk, my eyes briefly scanning the mess before resting on Sebas.

"I despise paperwork," I muttered, letting the weight of the situation settle over me.

Sebas allowed a small, almost imperceptible smile to cross his face. "Then allow me to ease your burden, Lord Alexander. I am at your service."

I nodded, leaning back as the enormity of the task ahead loomed. But beneath it all, a quiet nostalgia burned.

. . .

. . .

. . .

The new facility beneath my mansion dwarfed the previous one. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the occasional hum of magic pulsing faintly against the walls. After my fight with the dragon—a battle that had pushed me to the brink of death—it was clear: raw power wasn't enough. Survival demanded more. Precision. Control.

"I need to get stronger, no more risks." I muttered, my voice echoing in the vast chamber.

Standing in the center of the expansive room, I gazed my hand, focusing my energy. My goal was simple in concept but maddeningly elusive in execution: condense energy into a single point, forge it into a weapon more destructive than anything I had wielded before.

Electricity crackled around my fingers, the blue glow energy clashing violently. I channeled it, forcing it to coil inward, trying to tame the volatile forces into a singular form. The energy wavered, trembling and resisting my will.

"Focus," I hissed through gritted teeth, sweat beading on my brow.

The energy danced, but just as it seemed to shift, it scattered violently, dispersing into the air. The room lit up with the aftershock, faint arcs of power fizzling out against the stone walls.

"Damn it!"

I clenched my fist, breathing heavily. Hours passed, and the results remained the same. Each attempt ended in failure, the energy refusing to conform. My frustration boiled over, an acidic anger aimed at my own inadequacy.

Ripping off the pieces of my armor, I hurled the chest plate across the room, the metallic clang echoed as it struck the wall with a resounding crash before falling lifelessly to the ground.

The thought came to my mind

The golden cuirass and pauldrons, awarded to me during the ceremony, were exceptional mana conductors. They were lighter than the dense armor I used to wear and far more resistant than they appeared. Acquiring the other pieces had been easy enough, but to avoid unnecessary scrutiny, I'd painted them to blend in witt standard designs.

"The armor before. This one. Even myself! They're all failures!"

My breathing was ragged, and my thoughts churned with self-directed fury. I punched the stone pillar nearest to me, the dull pain in my knuckles a pitiful consolation for failure.

A sudden, sharp pain flared across my back, forcing me to pause. "Shit! This again!"

I ignored it, focusing on more important matters.

"..if it refuses to work after I tried that many times, it's simply impossible."

I stood, letting the tension bleed out as the silence of the chamber enveloped me once more. Slowly, my gaze drifted to the weapon resting against the far wall.

The slimecite, its blade darkened as its form was stuck into a simple sword. The death mana it had absorbed, also dark, pulsed faintly as if in responsive. Its presence, as many things, was a reminder of the battle that had nearly killed me—and the gap between my ambitions and my capabilities.

As I stared at it, something stirred in the back of my mind. Elara notes.

"If those notes are really hers, then she could enlighten me in some way." I whispered, my voice soft but tinged with renewed determination.

Shoving down the anger, I walked towards the spiral staircase that led to the surface. There was still hope.

. . .

The room was dimly lit, the flickering glow of a single lantern casting shadows across the wooden walls of my study. Elara sat across from me, her posture unusually rigid, her fingers tracing the edge of a teacup she hadn't touched. The silence between us was heavy, layered with unspoken truths.

"Alexander," she began, her voice steady but laced with an edge of hesitation. "There's something I've kept from you. It's time you learned the truth—about me, about us, and about your conception."

I leaned back in my chair, "Those books," I muttered. "So you're finally gonna tell me." My mother was rarely this serious, and that alone was enough to sharpen my focus.

"Yes." She took a deep breath, her gaze dropping to the teacup before meeting mine again.

"Years ago, before you were born, I went to explore the ruins of Shurima. That's when I found something—a jewel. At first, I thought it was just another artifact, a relic of the past. But I was wrong. It was so much more.

"It wasn't just an object. It was a connection—a bridge to a being of immense power and wisdom. Setaka."

The name meant nothing to me, but the weight she gave it sparked my curiosity. "Who's she?"

"Setaka was a warrior, a leader, and one of the greatest Ascended of Shurima thousands of years ago," Elara explained, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. "But her story didn't end in glory. During the fall of Icathia, she was defeated, considered consumed by the Void."

Consumed by the Void. The words struck a chord. 'I remember now. Ascended, mortals magically transformed using stolen knowledge from a powerful star forging dragon. I recall that Aspects—stellar beings beyond Runeterra—created them. Setaka was supposedly the strongest ascended. But... there's not much information about her.'

"Is she dead?"

"No," Elara continued. "Using a ritual she developed all her life she managed to keep herself alive. Luckily, the ritual worked on those monsters. Now she's trapped, only connected to this realm through her artifact—the one that I found."

Sigh.

"She reached out to me—her voice, her presence. At first, I thought I was losing my mind, hearing things. But it was real. Through her, I gained access to knowledge that had been lost for centuries. Even fragments of her memories became mine."

I leaned forward slightly, the weight of her words settling. "I understand," barely "You said about my conception earlier, what did you meant?"

Elara's smile faltered, replaced by an expression I couldn't quite read. "My little sprout, you're… unique. You were born through this connection—through her and me. I don't have a husband, Alexander. And, honestly, neither of us fully understands how you came into being. But there's one thing we're certain of: the presence she senses in you. It's deeply tied to the Void—and to her."

'No father. I supposed he was dead, so I never brought it up—and also I didn't care. All of this... feels like magic bullshit.'

"So," I sighed, the weight of everything pressing on me, "I was born from magic, and you can communicate with an ancient trapped warrior?" My tone was flat, attempting to mask my growing unease. "And the ritual that kept her alive… is that the one mentioned in those books?"

"Yes," Elara replied calmly, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of concern. "Setaka wasn't just a warrior. She was born with great sensitivity, but she couldn't yield mana. Despite this, she persisted—developing a solution, a ritual that didn't rely on innate magic. Instead, it tapped into a unique energy: Death Mana."

"It allowed her to absorb the essence of defeated enemies, honing her body. Enhanced resistance, strength, vitality—physical attributes beyond mortal limits. But the cost was severe. Her body suffered, warping under the strain of the ritual's energy."

Her words hung in the air, their weight undeniable. "Incredible," I admitted.

'Setaka probably wielded Sivir's weapon—the Chalikar. An incredible weapon, but was her mastery truly enough to rank her above Nasus? Aatrox? So that's why.'

Elara's expression softened.

"And you, my baby, are an exception. Because of your connection to the same energy as those creatures, you may bypass its worst effects."

I frowned, the implications settling heavily in my mind. "So, I can use this ritual freely on Void creatures? Without the risks?"

"You're an exception, yes," she confirmed, though her tone carried a warning. "But you're not unaffected. There are still dangers, my son. You'll need to learn to wield it properly. But don't worry—we'll teach you."

Her assurance did little to ease the tension in my chest. I sipped my drink, my thoughts circling the revelation.

Time passed, the moon rising higher into the night sky. The room grew quieter, save for the occasional creak of the wooden walls.

..Noticing more gains than losses, I decided to share at least a bit about my secret.

"…I have another question," I began, breaking the silence. "What does she know about lightning abilities?"

She paused, raising a brow. "Lightning?"

"About that.."

.

"So, you can conjure lightning? That's rare. Even more so because of your connection—and in Demacia, of all places…"

'Well, I did steal the reincarnation spot from someone else. Wasn't he supposed to be a "fated one" or something?'

"Anyways," I continued, my voice laced with frustration, "I had an idea a while ago. I tried to stabilize it—to condense lightning into a single, controllable form. But even now, it's just impossible."

Elara nodded knowingly. "I'm not surprised. Lightning is chaotic by nature. It's unstable, unpredictable. Many talented mages have died young trying to master it. Forcing stability into something so volatile… no amount of skill or talent could make that feasible, my dear."

Her words were a blow, but not an unexpected one.

"What a pity," I muttered, closing my eyes briefly. 'A simple act could bring so much possibilities.'

"Wait," my gaze sharpened. "Forcefully, stabilize?"

"Yes. There are too many branches of energy, that—"

"Forcefully..." I repeated, louder, cutting her off. My eyes suddenly snapped open as my hand reached my chin, a spark of an idea forming in my mind.

"Maybe there really is a way."

. . .

The energy crackled in my palm, flickering like an unstable flame. I focused, drawing it together, trying to condense the erratic strands into a single point. My fingers tensed, the energy trembling at my command—but as always, it dispersed, unraveling and fading into the air.

"Now, the moment of truth,"

I tried again. This time, as the energy surged into my hand… I applied telekinesis, forcefully compressing it.

For a moment, it held—an almost perfect sphere of raw power.

"Hah!" My satisfaction slipped, "It really worked—"

The words barely escaped my lips before the tiny sphere exploded violently. Instinct kicked in—I activated the golem's resilience, hardening the skin of my face just in time. The shockwave seared across my face.

Blood trickled down my nose, the metallic tang mixing with the burn of sweat.

I stood.

My legs were steady, my grip ironclad.

"It's was so ridiculously small…" I murmured as my gaze darkened. Memories flashing back to that cursed fight—the overwhelming heat, the crushing force, the dragon's roar that nearly ended me.

"I'll never let that happen again," I said, my voice low and steady. "Simply possessing powers… or relying on strategy—they aren't enough."

My fist clenched tightly, the resolve burning brighter than the flames that nearly consumed me. Now, it was crystal clear.

"Strength lies in technique."

. . .

. . .