Shadows from Below: Tales of Runeterra's Darkness

The Tyrant's Shadow

THE TYRANT'S SHADOW

"You found his tomb?" Jericho Swain said, raising an eyebrow at the warmason.

"You found his tomb?" He repeated when the mason failed to reply.

"Affirmative, Grand General. We have reason to believe the crypt beneath The Immortal Bastion is not only for his lieutenants, but also the final resting place of The Iron Revenant himself." The mason answered.

Swain's eyes narrowed. "Do not presume his rest to be final. I want the entrance guarded at all times by our finest troops. No one gets in… and we need something to slow down whatever may come out. Dismissed." He said sharply.

"Affirmative, Grand General. As you command." The mason said.

Swain turned to his companion as he sharpened his axe. "Do you really think it's him?" Darius asked, examining the blade of his weapon.

Many times Darius had used it to cut down Demacian Elites and Ionian resistance fighters, but hearing the mason's speculation, he found some doubts in his own abilities. He was getting old. No one would say it to his face, but with each year, he wasn't getting any stronger. He was past his prime.

"Let us see for ourselves." Swain said, nodding towards The Bastion, a looming monolith in the distance.

Long before Jericho's time, many had lived in the shadow of The Immortal Bastion, helpless against the might of Mordekaiser. The spiteful revenant's malice knew no end, and no soul was safe from his grasp. When he was defeated, the Noxii celebrated within The Bastion's halls. They had finally earned their freedom, but something more was coming.

The Rune Wars forced the tribes deep into the bowels of the revenant's fortress. Outside, pure magical energy ravaged the wasteland for decades. They thought it was the end of the world, and they were almost right.

But the storm ended. The War had ceased, and the Noxii emerged from The Bastion, changed by the time they spent in the dark. They were no longer Noxii: they were one. They were Noxus.

Every Noxian knew the story. Year zero on the calendar. Thousands of years had passed since they left The Bastion, and still, the structure stood, a reminder of their unity…

… And a monument to an undying evil.

Swain and Darius arrived at The Bastion, accompanied by the finest troops The Trifarian Legion had to offer. The warmasons immediately stopped their work to salute their Grand General and the hand of their nation. "As you were." Swain commanded, and the masons resumed. "Bring us to his crypt." He said to the leader of the excavation.

The chief warmason went pale. "... His crypt?" He repeated, anxiously clutching a document.

"You heard the Grand General, warmason. Bring us to his crypt." Darius said sternly.

The warmason gulped nervously. "... As you command, Grand General." He said, saluting Swain.

Swain nodded, and followed the mason. Deep within the fortress, he found there was no light. No braziers to illuminate the halls. No torch fixtures to guide the weary troops. Only darkness. The dead had no need for light.