Runeterra: Alexander The Eternal

—Dorian Pov—

The morning sun cast long shadows over the dirt road as I marched at the head of our formation. The steady rhythm of boots striking the ground was familiar, almost comforting. But not everyone shared my sense of purpose.

Some of the men in the ranks had their doubts, and they weren't subtle about it. Their grumbles drifted forward, faint but distinct.

"So, we're supposed to follow this 'Dragon' boy?" one whispered.

"You didn't see him on that mission," Someone reported sharply.

Their silence told me they weren't entirely convinced, but they trusted me enough to keep moving.

The landscape of Lord Alexander's territory unfolded around us—a land in desperate need of care. Fields lay fallow or poorly tended. Streams, shimmering in the sunlight, ran unused for irrigation. Villagers in tattered clothing paused their work to watch us pass, their eyes a mix of curiosity and quiet despair.

The state of the land was grim, no denying it. Even I felt the weight of unease creeping in.

"This is his land?" another soldier muttered, loud enough for others to hear.

"Keep your thoughts to yourself," I snapped, though inwardly, I couldn't help but wonder how the lord planned to turn this chaos into order. "Judge for yourself when we arrived."

As we approached the mansion, the mood shifted. The gates loomed before us, bearing a dragon crest—a carved dragon's face with eyes that seemed to follow our every move. The banners hanging above displayed a dark blue background, with a 16-rayed golden star glinting in the light.

The men grew quiet, their earlier doubts replaced by something else. Reverence, perhaps. The gate itself seemed to emanate an aura, a pressure that silenced even the most skeptical.

"Damn," one soldier finally murmured under his breath.

At the Mansion

The gates opened, and a man stepped forward to greet us. Sebas, the butler, was an imposing figure despite his composed demeanor. His tailored suit and thick, carefully groomed mustache spoke of precision and authority.

"Welcome, gentlemen," he said, his voice smooth and measured. "Lord Alexander is expecting you. Please, follow me."

"He knew we were coming?" I asked, unable to hide my surprise.

The men exchanged glances, their unease giving way to a mix of respect and curiosity. As we followed Sebas through the grounds, the mansion came into view. The building itself was impressive, but it was the training ground beside it that truly caught our attention.

There, Alexander stood.

Armored guards around him. He moved with calculated grace, his feet gliding across the dirt with an unshakable rhythm. His stance was tight, elbows close to his ribs, fists guarding his face, and his head subtly bobbing. The guards surrounded him, their heavy weapons poised, but my lord showed no hesitation.

The first guard lunged with a spear, the sharp point aiming for his midsection. Alexander slipped to the side with a swift pivot, the spear slicing past harmlessly. Without wasting a moment, he closed the distance, driving a straight punch into the guard's helmet. CRACK. The force sent the man staggering back, his grip on the spear faltering, his helmet came off as he fell, stunned.

A second guard charged from the right, sword raised high for a downward slash. Alexander ducked low, slipping sideways beneath the strike as if anticipating the move. Rising sharply, his fist collided with the guard's chest plate. The *boom* of the impact echoed as the guard stumbled, the wind knocked from his lungs, his weapon clattering to the ground.

Two came at once—a shield-bearer on his left and another wielding a mace on the right. Alexander darted between them, his movement quick and fluid…same fate as the others.

The final guard hesitated, sword trembling in his hands.

"That'll be enough. At ease."

Alexander straightened, his breathing steady, his gaze sharp as he scanned the fallen guards. Not a single strike had touched him. Around the field, whispers spread among the onlookers—admiration, disbelief, and a growing sense of awe.

"That's him?" one of them finally asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

"Isn't he supposed to be a kid," another muttered, though his tone was now tinged with awe. "How is this possible?"

Alexander approached us with a calm, measured stride. His inky black hair framed his face, and his piercing crimson eyes locked onto ours as he greeted,

"Dorian," he said, his tone calm yet commanding. "I see you've brought company."

I stepped forward, offering a salute. "Lord Commander, please accept us into your forces." We bowed deeply.

His eyes softened slightly.

. . .

. . .

—Pov Shift, Barrett Buvelle—

(Late 984 AN)

The cool evening breeze flowed into the room as I entered, the soft rustle of my long coat accompanying each step toward the balcony's open entrance. Beyond the threshold, Alexander sat cross-legged on the stone floor, his back to me.

His white shirt billowed faintly in the wind, partially concealed by a fitted, dark leather vest of deep blue—almost black. The clean, sharp lines of his attire mirrored the composed intensity of his posture. He gazed out at the horizon, his head slightly tilted forward, his expression unreadable yet weighted with a silent seriousness.

Beside him, the silverwing rested, its low, rhythmic clicks filling the silence as Alex's hand moved steadily over its feathers.

Cough, cough.

"Earl Alexander?" I called.

He turned slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder. "Drop the title. It's unnecessary," he said, his tone flat as he returned his focus to the silverwing.

"It may be, but it's cultural," I replied.

A small chuckle escaped him. "If you insist."

The silverwing shifted slightly, letting out a soft caw, followed by a faint whir of its massive wings folding tighter against its body. My gaze lingered on the creature, notorious for its ferocity, now docile under his hand.

"You've tamed it well," I said. "Impressive, as always."

Alex didn't answer, his hand still gliding in smooth, calculated motions.

"You seem... off today," I ventured, tilting my head. "I thought the unprecedented progress over the past year would please you. What's wrong?"

He stopped briefly, then resumed, his tone quieter. "Not off. Just thoughtful."

Finally, he turned fully, his crimson eyes locking onto mine. "Lord Barrett, I need to leave. Soon."

I frowned. "Why the rush?"

"I'm young, ignorant, arrogant. All of which can be fixed with experience," he said plainly.

I smirked at his honesty. "True. You are arrogant—naming your domain Alexandria…Don't you think it's a bit much?—Don't rush, time will teach you, whether you want it or not."

He shook his head slightly. "I can't wait for time. I must not let it stop my growth."

I sighed, his resolve leaving little room for argument. "Fine. I'll manage things here."

Rising, Alexander mounted the silverwing. "I'll keep in touch," he said as the creature spread its massive wings.

"Wait, are you leaving right now?"

"Of course not." He said with a teasing grin as they took off.

I watched until I couldn't, my hands clasping behind my back.

"..I fear for Runeterra," I murmured.

Turning to leave, a stack of papers on the nearby table caught my attention. Picking one up, I scanned it quickly, my stomach sinking as I read the words:

"The invasion of Ionia…" My face tightened. "Noxus is moving."

"..Is the boy thinking of going there?"

—Pov End—

. . .

. . .

(985 AN)

I was soaring over the Demacian harbor, gripping the reins tightly as I guided my silverwing. Its face was shielded by a polished mask, the faint moonlight reflecting off its armor. I had grown taller, closer to someone nearing eighteen—save for my youthful face. I wore a dark overcoat that billowed in the wind, and beneath it, a full suit of heavy armor. My head was bare, the cold night air brushing against my skin.

"Soon I'll be thirteen. By the time I return, years will probably have passed, but everything will be in its place," I murmured.

My thoughts where focused. I need more powers—and strengthen the ones I already have.

My gaze shifted below, scanning the ships scattered across the harbor. Dozens of vessels floated silently on the water, their masts swaying like shadows in the night.

"Not those. It's already gone." I tugged at the reins, narrowing my eyes at the horizon. "Let's go."

The silverwing let out a low growl, a sound of shared frustration, before propelling itself forward. Its powerful wings beat against the air, carrying us swiftly over the sea's dark expanse.

. .

After some time, I spotted the ship I had been searching for.

"There it is," I muttered, narrowing my eyes. At a glance, the vessel seemed overly crowded—far too much. "To think I'd need a ship just to get to Ionia."

Flying on a silverwing was an experience unlike any other, but even such a majestic creature had its limits. It was fast, yes, but it tired like any animal. Crossing Noxus by air was out of the question; they'd shoot us down without hesitation. And traverse the sea? Suicidal.

"If I can get to Piltover, everything becomes easier. The distance shortens just enough. Besides, I've been meaning to investigate the 'timeline problem' sooner or later."

Runeterra's timeline… Piltover's timeline… Which one am I even in? I thought, the question lingering in my mind. All I need to do is find the sisters and discover their ages. The memories I possess says they both were born at the same year—clearly wrong if I recall the show. But, supposedly, they were eleven and fifteen when the events of Arcane began—after the prologue with their parents, of course.

"Time diverges." Best-case scenario? I pull a few strings while I'm there and set up a way to monitor what's happening at all times.

My thoughts shifted back to the task at hand as the ship came into clearer view. Or rather, ships.

"Two of them?" My curiosity quickly turned to grim realization as I flew closer. The truth became evident—Pirates.

Bodies littered the decks. People screamed, some desperately trying to fight back while others were dragged away in chains. The stench of death and burning wood wafted through the air.

'They're very far from home. Bold.'

My silverwing let out a low growl of unease beneath me. I stroked its feathers, murmuring softly,

"Stay here, Silver. I'll call you after I'm done."

With a single motion, I released the reins and dismounted at high altitude mid-air, letting myself fall toward the chaotic scene below.

. . .

—Pov Shift—

I don't remember the sound of the waves that night or the creaking of the ship beneath my feet. All I could hear was the beating of my own heart, thundering in my chest as I stared at him.

He fell from the sky—no, he didn't fall, it was smooth, graceful, his cape billowing like it was alive. The way it moved, conscious flowing, made me wonder if it was the wind carrying him or something else—something beyond what I could understand. He landed on the deck without a sound, not a scratch on him. For a moment, I thought he might not even be real.

Then he moved.

The pirates, big men who barked orders and made everyone afraid, charged at him. He didn't flinch. They came at him with swords and axes. But, approaching him meant death. He didn't waste a step. Each swing of his dark sword was final. One by one they fell, before even touch him, and those who survived tripped over themselves to escape.

Their courage was shattered.

I should've been terrified, but I couldn't look away.

He stood there in the middle of the deck, waiting, like he had all the time in the world. The last few pirates—those who hadn't run or fallen—backed away toward their ship. Their faces twisted in fear, and I could see the same question in their eyes that was in mine. Who is he?

When they were gone, he didn't chase them. He just stood there, watching. Then, slowly, he raised a hand.

I felt the air change.

It started as a hum, soft and low, like the deck beneath me was holding its breath. The wind shifted, pulling toward him, swirling around his outstretched hand. Then I saw it—a sphere of light forming in his palm. At first, it was small, no bigger than a coin, but it grew. White and blinding, with a faint golden outline, it pulsed like it was alive. The sound it made—gods, I'll never forget that sound—it was like a thousand birds screaming all at once.

The air around us crackled. The wooden planks near him groaned and splintered. The winds grew stronger, pulling at my hair, my clothes, everything. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst. Everyone was looking at it. At him.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I could feel was the sheer power radiating from that sphere. It wasn't just magic. It was… something brutal. Something that demanded everything around it submit.

He whispered something then—something I couldn't hear over the wind and the sound of that sphere—but whatever it was, it sent chills down my spine.

And then he released it.

The sphere flew through the air, cutting through the night like a falling star. It hit the pirates' ship, and for a moment, everything stopped. Silence. Stillness.

Then the explosion came.

The shockwaves felt even from here. The ship's side erupted into fire and splinters. The flames roared to life, devouring the wood. Smoke zigzagging into the sky, and I heard the pirates screaming, scrambling to save what little they could.

I didn't move. I couldn't.

I stared at the hooded figure, standing there like he'd just swatted a fly, his cape whipping in the wind. He didn't look back at us, at me. He just turned his gaze to the horizon, as if what he'd just done meant nothing.

I should've been scared. I should've run and hid.

But I didn't.

I watched him, and for the first time in my life, I felt something else. Something stronger than fear.

I wanted to be like him.

—End Pov—

. . .

. . .

. . .

I sat in a shadowed corner of the ship, my arms crossed, my hood pulled low over my face. The faint sway of the waves rocked the deck beneath me, but the tension hanging in the air was heavier than the sea itself.

They were watching me—every one of them. The crew and passengers stole nervous glances in my direction, their faces tight with unease. I could feel their apprehension like a palpable weight pressing against my skin. The power I had displayed earlier wasn't something easily forgotten, and to them, I was as much a danger as I had been their salvation.

I ignored their stares. Let them think what they wanted. I was used to it by now.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by light footsteps. A boy, no older than nine, broke free from the protective huddle of his parents and approached me. His eyes sparkled with excitement, his expression a stark contrast to the fear lingering around us.

"You were amazing!" he blurted out, his voice carrying more energy than the subdued murmurs of the crew combined. "The way you fought those guys—it was like something out of a story!"

His parents froze, their faces pale with horror. The other passengers tensed even further, as if the boy's words might provoke me.

I glanced up at him from beneath my hood, crimson eyes meeting his. For a moment, the tension deepened. But then I let my lips curve into a small, gentle smile.

"You think so?" I said softly, my voice calm and steady.

The boy nodded enthusiastically, his excitement undeterred by the nervous whispers of those behind him.

I reached out and ruffled his hair gently, the touch deliberate but light enough to put him at ease. "Then be sure to stay strong. The world needs people like you."

The boy grinned ear to ear, his parents visibly relaxing as the tension in the air finally began to dissolve.

Around us, the crew exchanged glances, their wariness giving way to cautious relief. Quiet murmurs turned to hushed conversations, and soon the oppressive silence that had loomed over the ship gave way to a more natural hum of voices.

I leaned back against the wooden planks, pulling my hood down further.

'Now I can think in peace.'

. .

The quiet stillness of dawn wrapped around the ship like a heavy cloak. Most of the crew and passengers had succumbed to exhaustion, their faint snores blending with the gentle lapping of waves against the hull.

I stood at the bow, leaning against Silver, who descended to rested beside me. His metallic feathers rose and fell with each slow breath, the armor on his face catching the pale glow of the early light. My own thoughts were far from calm.

The night had been long, and with it came reflection. The faces of the crew as they watched me lingered in my mind. Their fear, their awe—they were reactions I had grown accustomed to. Power has always demanded a price, and the weight of perception was one I carried silently.

My hand rested lightly on Silver's side as I thought back to the Energy Sphere I had unleashed. The memory of its brutal sound, its raw force—it was the culmination of my training, yet it felt… incomplete.

I closed my eyes, inhaling the salt-laden air. The power was immense, yes, but it wasn't enough. My battle with the dragon had made that abundantly clear. For all my perceived strength, my perspective remains narrow.

The faint hum of wind caught my attention, my eyes exhaling crimson as they snapped open, drawn to a distant glow. A thin beam of light pierced the heavens from Mount Targon, so far away yet unmistakable against the morning sky.

"Targon," I murmured. The sight of that light stirred something deep within me—a mixture of determination and longing.

The path ahead was clear, but it wasn't an easy one. There was so much more I needed to learn, to develop. Techniques like the Energy Sphere were just the beginning. If I wanted to stand against the threats looming on the horizon, my current power wouldn't cut it.

A faint shift beneath pulled me from my thoughts. The ship was slowing, the faint outline of Bel'Zhun's harbor coming into view. The city rose from the horizon, its spires sharp and imposing even in the soft morning light.

I turned to Silver, ruffling his feathers gently. His eyes blinked open, and a low, rumbling sound escaped him as he stretched his wings.

"Time to move, Silver," I said quietly. "Fly ahead and stay out of sight. I'll join you soon."

Silver let out a low trill of acknowledgment before leaping into the air, his massive wings slicing through the dawn as he soared toward the clouds.

I remained on the deck for a moment longer, my eyes lingering on the harbor. This was just another step, but each step was essential.

And I didn't intend to waste any of them.

. .

At morning

The ship docked with a heavy thud, the gangplank lowering with a groan that signaled our arrival in Bel'Zhun. The city was alive with activity, its port bustling with merchants shouting over one another, dockhands hauling crates, and travelers negotiating prices. The air was thick with salt, spices, and a hint of something metallic.

Above it all, the crimson banners of Noxus fluttered in the breeze, their unmistakable insignias dominating the skyline. Soldiers in dark armor patrolled the area, their presence a stark reminder of the empire's control over this vital trade hub.

I stepped off the ship, my boots striking the wooden planks with a measured rhythm. My dark cloak shifted slightly in the wind, revealing the gleaming silver beneath. Around me, the port's chaos blurred into insignificance as I moved, each step deliberate, my gaze scanning the crowd with precision.

'If my predictions are right,'

I closed my eyes briefly, letting my senses expand. The world shifted, colors of magic flaring to life in my mind's eye. The traces of energy were weak—mundane, scattered—most merchants carried faint remnants of enchantments or protective charms. But then, a pulse.

My eyes snapped open, narrowing as I focused on the line of energy ahead. Unlike the rest, it shimmered with changing hues, shifting unpredictably from one color to the next, a living spectrum of raw magic. It wasn't just strong—it was unique, unlike anything I'd ever seen.

My gaze followed the trail, locking onto its source.

A girl stood near a stack of crates, her frame small and unassuming amidst the chaos. Her hair, a striking shade of blue, flowed down her back in soft waves. She was young—no more than nine—but there was something in the way she stood, calm and detached, that set her apart.

I stepped closer, the noise of the port fading to a dull hum. The magic emanating from her wasn't just strong; it sang, a melody that resonated in the air like a haunting symphony.

One corner of my mouth lifted slightly.

"I've found you—Sona."

. . .