TALES OF RUNETERRA: IONIAN
THE IRELIA STAINS ON A NAME
“I believe you, Blade Dancer!” the man choked, with his lips red. “You showed us the way ..”
Irelia took the horses. He looked at him, with his service to the Brotherhood, kneeling on the mud. He had been stabbed many times by his knife.
“We can be strong... United in one brotherhood.”.
“This is not a true spirit path,” reply. “If that's what you think, then you're wrong.”
He came to this village, while waiting for the right moment to make a move. But he's careless and clumsy. He danced around her easily.
He was determined to kill her. The worst part is that he's not the first to want to do it. Irelia's blades now floated around her shoulders, following her graceful hand-spinning movements. With the stu movement alone, everything will be over.
He spat blood on the floor, his eyes burning with hatred. “If you don't want to lead Navori, the Brotherhood will.”
He tried to raise his knife towards Irelia. This man doesn't want to be captured alive.
“We believe in you,” he said once again. “We all believe.”
He sighed. “I never asked you. Sorry.”
His body moved with agility, Irelia turned to the side, while sending the knives in a deadly motion. The knife pierced through his flesh, that was an act of forgiveness as self-defense.
A little round, an elegant step, returned the knives to him, the sharp parts covered in blood. The lifeless body of the man lay forward.
“May the spirit give you tranquility,” said Irelia.
The burden was heavy as he returned to the camp. When he finally had some privacy inside his tent, he let out a heavy long sigh, and lay down on a blanket of reeds.
He closed his eyes.
“Dad,” whispered. “I've tarnished our family's honor again. I'm sorry.”
Irelia spread the knives in front of her— like Ionia, she was part of something that was once very great, now experiencing a cruel situation. He poured water into a small bowl, then he dipped the cloth. Cleaning up the shards had become a kind of ritual, which he thought should be done after every fight.
The water slowly turned red. But behind that fresh blood, the iron seemed to have a much darker and longer stain that he would not be able to clean completely.
This is the blood of his people. Blood of the Navory.
Pondering, he began to move his knives, slowly forming his family symbol. The three symbols were seen cracking before him, representing the name of Xan, his village province, and other parts of the First Lands, all in harmony. His ancestors always lived by the teachings of Karma. They didn't hurt anyone, no matter the circumstances.
And now, their seals and symbols were turned into weapons, and had taken away many souls.
He could feel the eyes of his brothers. Even from their final resting, with the Spirit of Ionia, he was afraid of having let them down, and then hated. He also thinks of his beloved O-ma, he feels broken and weeping, and saddened by every murder he commits...
Often, those thoughts caused Irelia to cry more than the others.
The knife will not be clean. He knows it—but he still does the right thing for those he has hurt.
He passed through many of his followers on his way to the cemetery. Although they were looking at Irelia for the figure of the leader, now, she only recognized a little among them. With each winter each face becomes increasingly unfamiliar, as the old rebel members have been replaced by new ones. They came from faraway provinces, and cities he had never heard of.
He finds an empty plot of land under a branching tree, Irelia lowers it down slowly, and joins the mourning widows, sons and daughters.
“I know this is never easy,” he said, while putting his hand on the shoulder of a man, who is kneeling in front of two new graves, “but every life, and death, is part of—”
He threw out his hand, then looked at her as he left.
“it is necessary,” he muttered to himself as he began to dig, although he himself was not sure of his own words. “it is all necessary. The Brotherhood will rule this territory with an iron fist. No better than Noxus..”.
His eyes looked at the old woman, who was sitting on a wooden chair under the tree, singing softly. Streams of tears seemed to have dried up on his face. He was dressed in simple clothes, with one hand placed on the grave marker next to him. The tomb was decorated with food offerings.
Irelia was shocked as the woman stopped her singing.
“You brought the park for us again, princess Xan?” said. “Not much space left here. But your friend is our friend too.”
“I don't know this guy, but thank you. He deserves better than his lifetime.” Irelia hesitated. “So you sang one of the old songs.”
“That helped my mind stay away from bad thoughts,” said the old woman, while throwing the ground over the tomb. “This is my nephew.”
“I... I'm sorry.”
“I'm sure you've tried everything you can. After all, this is part of the path of the Spirit, ‘kan?”
Her friendly attitude calmed Irelia down. “Sometimes I'm not sure,” reply.
The old woman fell silent, while waiting for another sentence. Irelia spoke again, finally giving an answer to the voice of doubt that had bothered her all this time.
“Sometimes... Sometimes I wonder if I have killed our peace.”
“Killing our peace?”
“When Noxus invaded. Maybe we lost something when replying to it, something we will never be able to return.”
The woman stood up, while trying to open the large bean. “Son, I remember peace well,” he said, pointing towards Irelia. “It was an incredible moment! No one misses peace more than me.”
He took the knife from his belt, and began to open the bean.
“But now the world is a different place. What could have been done cannot be done in the present. No need to discuss it anymore.”
Eventually, his skin could crack, and he placed the crushed skin into a bowl on top of the tomb.
“See, there? I used to be able to open it by hand, now I need a knife. The young me will probably fret over this, ruining this bean to such an extent. But that doesn't matter, because he doesn't need to live in the present.” The old woman nodded, then went back.
For the first time in a long time, Irelia smiled. Inside his bag, wrapped in cloth, was a cracked knife from his family symbol. He knew the symbol would never be clean, and whole again.
But they'll always be ready, and that's enough.
***