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11/06/2023

MISS FORTUNE
THE BOUNTY HUNTER
Like most who rise to notoriety in the twisting, salt-crusted labyrinth of Bilgewater, Sarah Fortune has no shortage of blood on her hands…

Beloved daughter of the renowned gun-dame Abigale Fortune, Sarah spent much of her happy childhood in the forge of their island settlement just off the coast—learning to file wheel locks, set trigger pulls, and even cast batches of custom pistol shot. Her mother’s skill in crafting fi****ms was legendary, and her bespoke handguns were to be found in the collections of many a wealthy merchant captain.

But oft-times, they were coveted by those with more meager means, and darker hearts.

One such individual was an up-and-coming Bilgewater reaver, known to his crew as Gangplank. Cocksure and certain of his power, he demanded a pair of Fortune pistols the like of which no other man could hope to possess. A reluctant deal was struck, and a year later to the day, Gangplank returned. With no intention of paying for the work, he had masked his face with a grimy scarf. He was there to take the guns by force.

Abigale had crafted two masterpieces, twin hand cannons of exquisite workmanship and pinpoint lethality—indeed, she declared, too fine for the likes of him. She could see the brutish thug that Gangplank had become. Enraged, he seized the pistols and gunned her down with her own creations before turning them on her husband, and young Sarah too. Then, out of nothing but spite, he set the workshop ablaze and smashed both pistols on the cobblestones, to wipe the Fortune legacy from the face of Runeterra completely.

Sarah awoke to agony. Her wounds were grave, but she managed to crawl from the burning ruins with the remains of the two pistols clutched to her chest. In time, her body healed, but waking nightmares and night terrors would torment her for many years to come.

Even so, she endured. She was determined to have vengeance. She rebuilt her mother’s pistols, and learned all she could of the masked murderer who had since declared himself the new reaver king of Bilgewater, and forced even the most influential ship captains to honor his claim.

No matter. When Sarah faced him again, she would be ready.

Taking a ship to Bilgewater Bay, she killed her first man within minutes of setting foot on the crooked timbers of the quayside—a drunken pirate with a gallon of Myron’s Dark in his belly, and a price on his head. Sarah dragged his co**se to the bounty board officials, before tearing off a dozen more warrants and heading off into the city.

Within a week, every one of them was settled, and those with the misfortune to be hunted by Sarah were either dead or in chains. She quickly earned a reputation in the taverns and gambling dens, becoming known only as “Miss Fortune”. Gangplank would never see her coming. What was one more bounty hunter on the streets of his city?

In the years that followed, tales of Miss Fortune’s exploits spread far and wide, each more fanciful than the last. She drowned the leader of the Silk-Knife Corsairs in a barrel of her own stolen rum. She took the Syren from a captain who learned the hard way what it meant to slip a hand where it wasn’t wanted. She tracked the insane Doxy-Ripper to his lair in the belly of a half-dismembered leviathan down on the slaughter docks, and shot him in the back as he fled.

In spite of all this, Gangplank was far too powerful to confront openly, with the fierce Jagged Hooks crew always at his side—but Miss Fortune knew just killing him would never be enough. Only his abject humiliation, and the burning to ash of all he had stolen, would satisfy the girl who had died on the floor of her mother’s workshop.

And so, little by little, she began to surround herself with a small but loyal cadre of allies that would eventually help her lay her demons to rest.

Miss Fortune risked everything to make her move against Gangplank. Plots within plots saw his ship, the Dead Pool, blown to flaming wreckage in the harbor, and the tyrannical reaver king overthrown. Best of all, everyone in Bilgewater saw him fall. It was everything Sarah could have hoped for, exactly as she’d planned.

And it was over in moments.

With Gangplank gone, the other rival captains quickly descended into fighting amongst themselves for control of the city. What little semblance of law there had been was gone in an instant, with countless innocent civilians caught between the warring crews. Reluctantly, Miss Fortune stepped up—as captain of the Syren, and backed by her own people, she brokered an uneasy truce that has somehow held to this day.

But little is ever really permanent in the port city, and Captain Fortune still finds herself having to impose her own brand of order on every reaver, ganglord, and distant threat that comes her way.

The real battle for Bilgewater has only just begun.

07/06/2023

MILIO
THE GENTLE FLAME
Milio's story began generations ago with his grandmother, Lupé, and her twin sister, Luné—two elemental masters who wove their respective earth and fire axioms together to overcome the Vidalion’s trials and join the Yun Tal. But after Luné was caught plotting against the Yun Tal, both sisters were convicted of her crime and punished as twins. Lupé was banished to the farthest reaches of Ixtal and Luné all but vanished, taking with her the last of Lupé's trust.

By the time Milio was born, his family had done all they could to make the best of their new lives. He knew only love and laughter, and to him, life in the village was paradise—what more could they ever need?

When Milio was old enough, Lupé tried to teach her grandson the axiomata. Where the rest of her family had failed her, Milio showed promise and took to the elements naturally, but struggled to grasp the rules and rigidity of the discipline. Disappointed, Lupé gave up hope, abandoning Milio's teachings.

Milio, however, continued to learn on his own. Away from the guidance of his grandmother, he abandoned the restrictions she had tried to impose on him. Studying nature itself, he intuited his own set of rules and eventually mastered fire—the one axiom his grandmother wouldn't teach him.

But something bothered Milio about fire. Did it have to be so destructive, especially when he saw the potential for it to do more?

The answer revealed itself one night while Milio was chasing the glow of summer fireflies. They led him to one of the village’s hunters who was injured and unable to move. Milio tried to keep her stable with his fire axiom, but it wasn't enough. Knowing the village healer was too far, he tried desperately to adapt the axiom into a force that could heal.

As he placed his hands on the hunter's stomach to support her wound, he felt a flicker of warmth.. It was so familiar and soothing, like he was touching her soul. Her inner flame. Then Milio began to feel that same flame within himself. He could feel it within the trees, within the leaves—as if each part of the jungle was coming to life like a cozy bonfire.

Focusing all of his energy into that feeling, he used what nature had taught him to manifest that fire. What emerged was a creature—small and timid with wide, friendly eyes. Milio placed it on the hunter's wound and felt the creature—his inner flame—heal her from the inside out.

That night, he’d discovered an entirely new axiom, which he affectionately named “soothing fire.”

Milio ran home to show his family what he'd done. Before their eyes, he manifested another soothing flame that danced happily in the palm of his hand—his "fuemigo"—and his family celebrated.

Grandmother Lupé, however, was unsettled by this achievement.

Seeing Milio’s mastery of the axiomata at such a young age, Lupé knew that her grandson had done what the rest of her family failed to do. With his abilities, he could finally end their exile and restore them to their rightful place among Ixtal's ruling caste. However, she was troubled by his fascination with fire and how his burgeoning skills went against the traditional teachings of the axiomata.

Despite this, Lupé threw everything into her last chance at redemption. Milio became her sole focus as she nurtured and shaped his abilities, preparing him to leave home, travel to Ixaocan, and finally free her from the burden of her sister's failures. Milio felt this weight upon his shoulders, and the thought of leaving home on his own terrified him. But because Milio loved his family more than anything, he would find the courage if it meant ensuring their happiness.

In preparation for the journey, he and his grandmother fashioned a special backpack that Milio called his "furnasita," inside of which he could keep his ever-burning fuemigo. Then, with a heavy heart and a wide smile, Milio—at only twelve years old—left his village behind, outfitted with only his trusty furnasita and some new clothes made by his family.

He traveled the entirety of Ixtal, forging his way through the jungle, camping underneath the stars, and making friends along the way, all while sending frequent letters home that detailed his exciting adventures. After a long journey, Milio finally made it to Ixaocan, where he's since begun his training to challenge the Vidalion.

"The boy with the soothing flames" has caught the eye of more than a few—including Luné, currently imprisoned beneath the city and biding her time. Even Milio notices the whispering that accompanies him around the city, but his focus is on joining the Yun Tal and making his family proud.

02/06/2023

MASTER YI
THE WUJU BLADESMAN
In Ionia’s central province of Bahrl, a mountain settlement once stood, hidden away in its serene beauty. Here, in the village of Wuju, the boy Yi grew up learning the ways of the sword, chasing a dream that later turned to tragedy.

Like most children, he admired those who wore silk robes and carried blades with poems to their name. His parents being swordsmiths, Yi made a strong impression on the local warriors who frequented their workshop. He spent his mornings in the garden, sparring with his mother, and his nights reciting poetry to his father by candlelight. When it came time for Yi to study under Wuju’s masters, his parents could not have been prouder.

Carrying his talent and discipline over to his training, he surpassed every expectation. Soon, the whole village knew of the “Young Master” Yi.

Still, the humble student wondered about the rest of Ionia. From atop the tallest pagodas, he spotted faraway towns no one else ever mentioned, but when he sought to journey down the mountain with blade in hand, his mentors forbade him. Wuju was founded by those believing their swordsmanship to be too precious to share, too sacred to draw blood—so for centuries, it flourished in isolation, with no outsiders knowing its true nature.

All this changed the day Yi saw vast plumes of smoke rising above the distant towns. Noxian warbands had invaded from the coast, conquering settlement after settlement in waves that washed the provinces red. Choosing the people of Ionia over Wuju’s hallowed tradition, Yi ventured down to help defend the First Lands. To astonished eyes, he swept across the front lines in a blur, routing the enemy with blinding swordplay never before seen by outsiders.

Word of the one-man army spread far and wide, like mist in the mountains. Inspired by his courage, even his fellow disciples joined the fight, and together they journeyed to Navori where the greater war was raging.

The Noxian commanders saw in Wuju a threat that could not be ignored. They scouted the origin of these peerless warriors, and elected to strike at their home without mercy. In a single night, the entire village was destroyed, its people and culture obliterated by chemical fire that no steel could hold back.

After the war finally ended, Yi returned as the only surviving disciple, to find nothing but ruins. The very magic of the land had been defiled, and everyone he had known and loved was no more. Slain in spirit, if not in body, Yi became the attack’s final casualty. With no other practitioners of Wuju left alive, he realized the title of master was his to bear alone.

Grief-stricken, he chose seclusion, training obsessively to bury the guilt of his survival, but the wisdom of bygone masters seemed to fade with the haze of time. He began to doubt if one man could preserve an entire heritage… until he encountered the least expected of individuals.

A curious, monkey-like vastaya challenged him to a duel. Reluctantly, Master Yi entertained the creature’s demands, defeating him with ease. But the vastaya refused to give up, returning day after day with increasingly clever tricks that forced Yi to react and improvise. For the first time in years, Yi felt the spirit of Wuju once more.

The two clashed for weeks, until the bruised stranger finally knelt on the ground and introduced himself as Kong, of the Shimon tribe. He begged to learn from Yi, who saw in this reckless but determined fighter the makings of a new disciple. Through teaching, Yi found his purpose restored. He would pass on the ways of Wuju, and gifted his pupil an enchanted staff and an honorific as a sign of this vow—from that day onward, Kong was known as Wukong.

Together, they now travel the First Lands, as Yi seeks to honor the legacy of his lost home, allowing him to fully embody the “master” in his name.

25/05/2023

MAOKAI
THE TWISTED TREANT
Maokai is a rageful, towering treant who fights the unnatural horrors of the Shadow Isles. He was twisted into a force of vengeance after a magical cataclysm destroyed his home, surviving undeath only through the waters of life infused within his heartwood. Once a peaceful nature spirit, Maokai now furiously battles to banish the scourge of unlife from the Shadow Isles and restore his home to its former beauty.

Long before living memory, a chain of islands erupted from deep beneath the ocean tides as blank slates of rock and clay. With its creation, the nature spirit Maokai was born. He took the form of a treant, with his tall body covered in bark and long limbs resembling branches. Maokai felt the profound loneliness of the land and its potential for teeming growth. He wandered from island to island in search of signs of life, growing ever more forlorn in his solitude.

On a hilly isle covered in soft, rich soil, Maokai sensed a boundless energy radiating from deep beneath the ground. He plunged his great roots downward until they reached a spring of magical, life-giving water and drank deeply. From this potent liquid, he grew hundreds of saplings and planted them across the islands.

Soon the land was shawled with verdant forests, groves of towering virenpine, and tangled woods, all steeped in wondrous magic. Magnificent skytrees with expansive canopies and thickly winding roots covered the isles with lush green foliage. Nature spirits were drawn to the lavish vegetation, and animals reveled in the fertile greenery.

When humans eventually came to the islands, they too thrived in the land’s abundance and formed an enlightened society of scholars devoted to studying the world’s mysteries. Though Maokai was wary of their presence, he saw how they respected the sanctity of the land. Sensing the deep magic within the woods, the humans built their homes in areas not heavily forested, to avoid disturbing any nature spirits. Maokai occasionally revealed himself directly to those he trusted and blessed them with knowledge of the verdant isles, even its greatest gift – the underground spring that could heal mortal wounds.

Centuries passed, and Maokai lived in idyllic contentment until a fleet of soldiers from across the sea beached upon the shores of the isles. Maokai sensed something was terribly wrong. Their grief-maddened king bore the co**se of his queen and in hopes of reviving her, bathed her decayed flesh in the healing waters. Reanimated as a rotting co**se, the queen begged to return to death. The king sought to reverse what he had done, unwittingly casting a terrible curse upon the land.

From leagues away, Maokai felt the first ripples of the disaster that would soon devastate the isles. He sensed a horrific force gathering beneath the soil, and a bitter chill washed over him.

As the ruination spread, Maokai desperately plunged his roots deep into the ground and drank of the healing waters, saturating every fiber of his being with their magic. Before the cursed water reached him, Maokai withdrew his roots, severing all connection to the pool. He howled in rage as the sacred reservoir he had entrusted to men was fully corrupted – the spiraling coils churning underwater until nothing pure remained.

Moments later, the mists surrounding the islands blackened and spread over the land, trapping all living things in an unnatural state between life and death. Maokai watched in helpless agony as all he knew – plants, nature spirits, animals, and humans alike – twisted into wretched shades. His fury grew; the great beauty he had cultivated from tiny saplings fell to ruin in an instant at the careless hand of man.

The enervating mist coiled around Maokai, and he wept as the bright flowers adorning his shoulders crumbled and fell to dust. His body shuddered and contorted into a mass of gnarled roots and tangled branches as the mist leached life from him. But Maokai’s heartwood was saturated with the precious waters of life, saving him from the terrible fate of undeath.

As grotesque wraiths and horrific abominations flooded the land, Maokai was overcome by a host of lifeless men. He struck the spirits with his branchlike limbs in manic violence, realizing the force of his blows could shatter them to dust. Maokai shuddered with revulsion: he had never killed before. He flew at the breathless shapes in a frenzy, but hundreds more overwhelmed him, and eventually he was forced to retreat.

With his home all but decimated and his companions turned to deathless horrors, Maokai was tempted to try and escape the nightmare of the isles. But from deep within his twisted form, he felt the sacred waters giving him life. He had survived the Ruination by carrying the very heart of the islands within him, and he would not abandon his home now. As the Blessed Isles’ first nature spirit, he would remain and fight for the soul of the land.

Though surrounded by endless hosts of malicious foes and darkening mist, Maokai fights with furious vengeance to conquer the evil that plagues the isles. His only pleasure comes from dealing savage violence to the soulless wraiths who roam his land.

Some days, Maokai subdues the mist and its deathless spirits, breaking their hold on a grove of trees or a small thicket. Though new life has not bloomed in such cursed soil for an age, Maokai strives to carve havens, however temporary, free from regret and decay.

So long as Maokai continues to fight, hope remains, for steeped within his heartwood are the uncorrupted waters of life, the last remaining chance of restoring the isles. If the land returns to its joyous state, Maokai, too, will shed his twisted form. The nature spirit brought life to these isles long ago, and he refuses to rest until the isles bloom once more.

24/05/2023

MALZAHAR
THE PROPHET OF THE VOID
Beneath the glare of the Shuriman sun, there have always been those blessed with the power of foresight. The only son of aging trinket peddlers, Malzahar did not realize his gift until his parents had already succumbed to a wasting sickness, leaving the young, traumatized boy to fend for himself on the city streets of Amakra. He read fortunes in the gutter, for a coin or scraps of bread.

As his auguries proved more and more accurate, his reputation grew. He used his second sight to predict who a curious cameleer might marry, or where throwing daggers would land in games of chance at the bazaar. Soon, he began to receive patrons dressed not in dirtied sandals, but jeweled slippers.

However, for all this, Malzahar could never see his own destiny. His future was hidden.

Increasingly disillusioned with his success, he noted the common disparities of wealth, and witnessed those unhappy with their lives acting out in spiteful violence against one another. It was apparent to him that people were bound up in a never-ending cycle of pain, often of their own making, and no hopeful prophecy seemed able to break it. Malzahar himself soon felt nothing but a sense of emptiness, finally relinquishing his mortal possessions and leaving Amakra for good.

For years, he roamed the land, from the trackless wastes of the lesser sai to the ruins of old Shurima. By distancing himself from others, he was alone with his thoughts at last. He divined not just how callous people could be, but also how corrupt the world might yet become. Feverish visions began to plague his waking hours, along with otherworldly whispers of war and strife, and endless suffering.

He wandered far, until the sands turned to salt. He could not know that he had arrived in Icathia, a lost city ravaged in the wars of a bygone age. There, gazing into the depths of a ragged abyss, Malzahar opened his unsteady mind, desperate for understanding.

And the Void answered.

That would have been the end of any other tale, and yet somehow Malzahar endured. What lay in the darkness below brushed against the soul of the broken seer, only for an instant, and yet its strange and unknowable energies saturated his mind completely.

The lone figure that eventually strode out of Icathia was no longer just a man, but something greater. Malzahar had seen in the abyss an end to all the suffering he had witnessed in his mortal lifetime. He realized the future he had believed hidden from him all this time was in fact a vision of his true calling: to accelerate the world toward inevitable oblivion. He had to return to the people, and spread word of the holy nothingness that would gladly embrace them, the willing and non-believers alike. He would become the herald of the world’s salvation.

Among the nomads of the deep desert, he found his first disciples. Before their astonished eyes, he used his new Void-given powers to rend the very earth itself, summoning chittering, nightmarish creatures to carry away any who dared to deny him. Within a matter of months, strange rumors began to travel with the merchant caravans; rumors of men and women gladly sacrificing themselves to unseen powers, and of powerful quakes opening up the bedrock of Shurima in new fault lines hundreds of miles long.

In the years since, Malzahar’s legend has spread even to the northern ports. As followers of “the Prophet” grow in number, nearby settlers are said to experience malefic visions grasping at their hearts, and fear gives rise to superstition—even the hardy villagers of the far wastes now make offerings of livestock to appease the voidling creatures below.

Little do they know, this only helps Malzahar in shepherding the coming of the end.

08/05/2023

MALPHITE
SHARD OF THE MONOLITH
For more than two millennia, Shurima dominated the known world—an empire that reigned over countless peoples without challenge, and without threat.

Until the day Icathia fell.

From the moment the Void tore its way into the material realm, the armies of Shurima faced an enemy that could not only lay their grand empire low, but one that seemed to grow stronger the more they fought it. The corruption spread rapidly from Icathia’s ruins, boiling over the land and beneath the oceans, before its hideous tendrils reached the southernmost jungles of Ixtal.

Ne’Zuk of the Ascended Host was an Ixtali elemental mage of colossal power, and almost unrivaled arrogance. He went before the emperor, pledging to create a weapon powerful enough to take the fight to the Void, and eradicate it at the source of its original eruption.

After months of inhuman labor, Ne’Zuk revealed the Monolith—a floating fortress of living stone, maintained by the greatest elemental mages, and its ramparts manned by his fellow Ixtali god-warriors. The size of a city itself, the Monolith glided titanically toward the wastelands of Icathia, the lightning crackling from its magical inhibitors fusing the sands to glass beneath it. Ne’Zuk and his superweapon arrived at their destination, to face once more the howling infinite darkness of the abyssal realm, and the hordes of Voidborn monstrosities it had created.

The battle dragged into weeks. It was violence of a scale and intensity never before witnessed in Runeterra. Sorcery enough to raze entire civilizations, or render whole continents into naught but a memory, was unleashed upon the Void.

The darkness retaliated in kind. Its hideous energies gouged deep wounds into the living stone of the Monolith, whose surfaces became pocked and seared with unnatural malphite—from the Ixtali for “bad stone”—and leaving mineral-like scars. The fortress was pushed to the very limits of its design, struggling to self-repair and reknit its weakened superstructure… but even the incredible magics that held it aloft had a breaking point.

As Ne’Zuk fought to rally his Ascended brethren for one last, desperate charge, the unthinkable happened. Sagging for an instant, the Monolith crashed down to earth, cleaving through the bedrock of Icathia and opening the Void beneath to the skies.

Much of the fortress was lost within that gaping maw, vanishing into the silent nothingness beyond. The rest rained down as great ruins, littering a landscape already blackened by the terrible conflict that had been cut so abruptly short. Only a single Ascended survived—Ne’Zuk hauled himself from the wreckage, choking on the ashes of what was meant to be his grandest triumph, now his greatest folly, and fled for his life.

In defiance of all worldly reason, some disparate fragments of the Monolith endured, still imbued with something like magical life. The far-flung shards struggled to heal, to reform the whole to which they had once belonged. But the Void’s endless hunger leached away at them, rendering them as little more than inert shapes clawing feebly in the dust.

However, against all that had been lost, a single shard remained.

Buried deep beneath the surface, forgotten even by those that dwelt in the abyss, it slowly gathered in strength. It lived, until at last it awakened after uncounted centuries, and realized it was alone.

In all the centuries since that dark day, Malphite, the last shard of the Monolith, has become something of a legend in Runeterra. It has reputedly been sighted everywhere, from Targon to Zaun; heard sometimes as a tectonic roar in the deepest caverns, and sometimes as a quiet voice, humming to itself, that it might still remember the sounds of the world it once knew.

Despite the enormous span of its existence, the overwhelming drive enkindled by Ne’Zuk’s creation of the Monolith has not wavered. Now, Malphite knows it must soon rise to meet the resurgent darkness it once battled, as the Void awakens to threaten all of Runeterra once more.

28/04/2023

LUX
THE LADY OF LUMINOSITY
Luxanna—or Lux, as she prefers to be called—grew up in the Demacian city of High Silvermere, along with her older brother Garen. They were born to the prestigious Crownguard family, which had served for generations as protectors of the kings of Demacia. Their grandfather saved the king’s life at the Battle of Storm’s Fang, and their aunt Tianna was named commander of the elite Dauntless Vanguard regiment before Lux was born.

Garen took to his family’s role with fervor, joining the military when he was still little more than a boy. Lux, in his absence, was expected to help run the family’s many estates—a task she resented, even as a young child. She wanted to explore the world, to see what lay beyond the walls and borders of Demacia. She idolized Garen, but railed against his insistence that she put her own ambitions aside.

To the endless frustration of Lux’s tutors, who sought to prepare her for a life of dutiful service to the Crownguard family, she would question their every teaching, examine differing perspectives, and seek out knowledge far beyond what they were prepared for. Even so, few could find it in themselves to stay angry at Lux, with her zest for life and intoxicating optimism.

Little did any of them know a time of change was approaching. Magic had once brought Runeterra to the brink of annihilation, and Demacia had been founded as a place where such powers were forbidden. Many of the kingdom’s folktales told of pure hearts turned dark by the lure of magic. Indeed, Lux and Garen’s uncle had been slain by a rogue mage some years earlier.

And there were fearful whispers, rumors from beyond the great mountains, that magic was rising once more in the world…

Riding home one fateful night, Lux and her horse were attacked by a ravenous sabrewulf pack. In a moment of fear and desperation, the young girl let loose a torrent of magical light from deep within her, routing the beasts but leaving her shivering in fear. Magic, the terror of Demacian myths, was as much a part of Lux as her Crownguard lineage.

Fear and doubt gnawed at her. Would she become evil? Was she an abomination, to be imprisoned or exiled? At the very least, if her powers were discovered, it would see the Crownguard name disgraced forever.

With Garen spending more time away from High Silvermere, Lux found herself alone in the halls of their family home. Still, over time, she became more familiar with her magic, and her sleepless nights—fists clenched, willing her inner light to fade—became fewer and fewer. She began experimenting in secret, playing with sunbeams in the courtyards, bending them into solid form, and even creating tiny, glowing figures in her palm. She resolved to keep it a secret, as much as she could.

When she was sixteen, Lux traveled with her parents Pieter and Augatha to their formal residence in the Great City of Demacia, to witness Garen’s investiture into the honored ranks of the Dauntless Vanguard.

The city dazzled Lux. It was a monument to the noble ideals of the kingdom, with every citizen protected and cared for; and it was there that Lux learned of the Illuminators, a charitable religious order working to help the sick and the poor. Between her family’s courtly engagements, she became close with a knight of the order named Kahina, who also taught Lux more martial skills, sparring and training with her in the gardens of the Crownguard manor.

Spending more time in the capital, Lux has finally begun to learn about the wider world—its diversity, and its history. She now understands that the Demacian way of life is not the only way, and with clear eyes she can see her love for her homeland standing alongside her desire to see it made more just… and perhaps a little more accepting of mages like her.

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