Above the dark, boundless sky, the moon had risen—surprisingly large tonight.
This was a common sight on Mount Targon.
Beneath the steep hillside, where the snow hadn't fully melted, a battle between celestial beings was unfolding.
One would expect a clash of gods to shake the very earth—blinding lights, thunderous roars, apocalyptic force.
But the fight on the eastern slope of Mount Targon was surprisingly... quiet.
The contrast between the two combatants was stark.
One towered like a mountain, two pairs of crimson wings unfurled behind his back, radiating oppressive power.
In his hand, he wielded a massive greatsword—its blade wide and sharp, glowing with flame-like embers, as if forged in the eternal fire of the abyss.
His opponent was considerably smaller.
Clad in gleaming silver armor, his bare arms and legs rippled with compact muscle.
One hand gripped a shield, the other a spear, both catching the cold light of the moon.
He looked like a warrior torn from an ancient epic.
Bang—Bang—
Steel clashed again and again.
There was no magic, no divine spectacle—only the raw, brutal honesty of melee combat.
This was war in its purest form.
"The Aspect of War… doesn't seem to live up to his name," Ryan said with a slight shake of his head, disappointment in his voice.
He took a calm sip from his clay teacup, seated at a stone table, and turned to the woman beside him to continue watching the fight below.
At that moment, the tide of battle shifted.
The warrior with the spear and shield was caught off guard.
The dark giant—a Darkin—pressed forward with savage intent.
His scarlet wings flared out violently, and his greatsword came crashing down with crushing force.
Each strike left visible cracks in the Protoss warrior's shield.
Bang—Bang—
The mountainside rang with the force of each blow, sparks flying, the ground trembling with every impact.
The Darkin roared to the sky, the sound echoing across the wilderness, before raising his sword high and bringing it down like a falling star.
It was a blow meant to shatter the mountain itself.
The Aspect had no choice but to raise his shield again and again, defending with skill, but beginning to falter under the unrelenting assault.
Strike. Block. Strike again. Forced back. No time to counter.
The spear waited, patient.
"The power of the Aspects comes from the stars," Soraka said softly, her gaze fixed on the battle.
"The Darkin draw strength from within themselves."
Ryan's lips curled slightly—not into a smile, but something colder.
He turned his deep blue eyes toward her briefly, then back to the clash on the slope.
She wasn't wrong.
But not all Aspects descend in their true celestial form. Some possess mortal hosts, inheriting fragile flesh and human limits.
And some fall to Runeterra in full shining with the true brilliance of the stars.
Judging by the power shown by this 'War' Aspect, he hadn't been in his mortal vessel for long.
It didn't suit him.
Not because the body was too weak, but because the star-spirit hadn't fully fused with it.
No harmony. No unity. Resistance.
Ryan narrowed his eyes at the struggling warrior.
That body still held its original will... and immense potential.
"You brought me here to see if I'd bring him into the Empire?" Ryan asked bluntly.
He admired the human resisting the celestial possession.
After his extensive study of the Aspect of Justice, he understood just how rare it was for a mortal soul to withstand assimilation by an Aspect's essence.
Especially when the celestial was whole and complete.
"The stars guide his path," Soraka replied gently.
"But even they are not unchanging."
"Is that so?" Ryan paused, voice tinged with regret.
"Then perhaps fate has already chosen."
He understood.
Tonight, a star might fall.
And in its place, an ordinary soul might rise.
Above them, Ryan could feel dozens of presences fixated on him, watching through the starry sky.
The weight of the cosmic gaze was palpable, like pressure pressing on his soul.
Warning? Or… curiosity?
Ryan tilted his chin up, letting runic light shimmer from his body into the heavens.
He was not afraid of the stars.
They were merely voyeurs, too cowardly to walk the earth.
Besides…
Runes are eternal.
Magic is eternal.
He is eternal.
"I won't interfere with the birth of a new Aspect," he said quietly.
"But I expect the stars to stay out of mortal affairs as well."
"This is exactly what the stars were hoping for. Thank you for your generosity," said Soraka with her usual gentle smile.
Ryan raised his teacup in a silent toast, then withdrew his gaze from the heavens.
Seven.
That was the number of stars currently watching him.
Of those, five radiated celestial power that exceeded even his own, despite Ryan having fused with runes that spanned half the world.
But this was Runeterra.
And here, should conflict erupt, even the stars must prepare for the possibility of falling.
The cold wind whispered across the mountain, but the tea before him remained hot, carrying the light scent of herbs and earth.
Ryan's expression softened as he turned his gaze toward the other side of the mountain.
The clash between gods was nearing its end.
Scarlet light danced across the sky as the Darkin raised his enormous blade once more.
Standing atop the crags, wings spread wide like a living eclipse, he resembled a demon ready to pass judgment on the world.
Judgment—or Destruction?
Did it matter? His name was "Darkbin."
He embodied both.
The name "Darkin" wasn't his own, but a curse placed upon him—and those like him—by mortals. In ancient Shuriman, it roughly translates to "The Fallen."
"Drink!"
With a shout, the Darkin swung his blade with overwhelming force.
Boom—
The ground quaked. The roar of impact thundered through the entire Jushenfeng range.
In the distance, the forest burst into chaos.
Birds took flight, animals fled, driven by ancient instinct and terror.
Ryan and Soraka looked up together, sensing that something had shifted.
Crack.
A sound like shattering glass echoed faintly, barely audible, but unmistakable.
In the night sky, among the shimmering constellations, the star-pattern shaped like a "long spear" bore a deep, jagged scar.
And with that, "War" had ended.
At the summit of Targon Peak, where the sacred light had burned for ages, the eternal skybeam flickered—just once.
Then meteors streaked silently across the heavens, as if mourning the fall of a star-spirit.
The Darkin—his wings folded, his greatsword slung over his back—stood silently on the snowy ridge.
Flakes fell from the sky, but none touched him.
They evaporated in midair, fleeing from the heat of his presence.
Lifting his chin, he watched the falling stars with cold, unfeeling eyes.
He ignored the dying warrior at his feet, half-buried in the snow, and declared to the void:
"I have touched the stars. I have seen the light of a thousand suns. Now, I return—not to worship, but to end. I will become the world's terminator, and extinguish every last star."
His arrogant voice echoed across the sky, and the crumbling War constellation above seemed to offer a dirge in his honor.
The Darkin glanced west, toward the heart of Mount Targon.
His lips moved in a silent word. Then, sword in hand, he turned east and vanished into the frostbitten wind.
"Aatrox..."
Ryan's dark blue eyes shimmered with a runic light.
Across the vast distance, it felt as though he'd locked eyes with the crimson gaze of the Darkborn.
Even without words, the message was clear.
Aatrox.
A name that had once shaken Shurima—and nearly ended the world.
Across from him, Soraka raised her hand.
The stars responded.
A beam of golden light descended from the heavens, bathing the fallen warrior in radiance.
The celestial soul within him had been shattered, but fragments of the mortal still clung to life, resisting, refusing to fade.
The starlight entered his body, weaving through torn flesh and broken spirit, shielding what little remained.
Ryan watched with interest.
"What's his name?"
Though he had lost decisively to Aatrox, the mortal had held on longer than expected.
Any of the Aspects could have intervened and saved the soul of "War" at any time.
But they hadn't.
They stood by, letting the light fade.
No… not fade.
Not quite.
At the moment Aatrox's final strike landed, cleaving through the Protoss's fading form, all the divine power and soul of the "War" Aspect poured into the mortal body beneath it.
It was a gamble by the stars—a fusion of celestial might with a human vessel.
And perhaps, with this stronger body and the unyielding spirit of mankind… something even greater would emerge.
"Atreus. That is his name," Soraka said gently, her tone calm as ever.
"One day, he will become one of the stars."
"Atreus..." Ryan repeated the name quietly, letting it echo in his thoughts.
The Star Spirit had revealed its hand today, not just to warn him and the empire of an impending threat.
That was only part of it. The real reason he had been invited was that he was lying unconscious on the snow-covered slope.
Atreus.
The Aspects would never leave something like this to chance.
No, they had already laid a path before him, carefully crafted—a trajectory leading toward ascension.
Ryan's eyes lifted toward the heavens, a glimmer of realization sparking in their blue depths.
The Aspects were powerful, far beyond even his mastery of runes.
But once they descended into Runeterra, their divine strength was diminished, watered down by the laws of this world.
Even so, he and the empire now held enough strength to challenge them.
They were children of Runeterra.
This land was their cradle, their strength, and their advantage.
No celestial force could change that.
But what if… what if a being could draw upon the full power of the stars and be born from this world?
Such power would surpass all expectations.
It would be unthinkable.
That possibility was real.
Ryan's gaze returned to the unconscious Atreus.
"Aren't you afraid that fate might guide him elsewhere?" he asked, voice low.
He remembered the long and flawed history of the Aspects.
Their plans were never flawless, and time after time, they had to adjust, to mend their errors.
Soraka gave a small, serene smile and shook her head.
"Fate will take its course."
"Fate…" Ryan murmured.
A trace of regret passed through his eyes.
A soul like Atreus would have been a worthy addition to the empire.
A missed opportunity.
Still, he remembered Nasus's words. The future was vast. Unwritten.
And Ryan believed, firmly, that the empire held more allure to mankind than any distant star ever could.
Finishing his tea, Ryan rose.
"Thank you for the tea. Watching under the stars… I hope we'll have the chance again someday."
"You will always be welcome," Soraka said softly, rising with him.
"Targon Peak is open to honored guests."
Ryan gave her a nod. The blue light of runes wrapped around him, and in a flash, he vanished, leaving the mountain silent once more.
The stone table, now empty, sat still in the falling snow.
The teapot no longer steamed. The moment had passed.
Soraka stood in place, her gaze drifting to the sky.
Her eyes shimmered faintly with starlight, her brows furrowing in quiet concentration, as though in silent communion.
At last, she sighed.
"We are children of the stars," she whispered to the wind.
"But endless conflict will only make us beasts. The light of giants and stars should not bring ruin, but hope."
She turned, teacup and pot in hand, and walked slowly toward her cabin.
The door closed behind her with a soft thud.
No one knew when it would open again.