Chapter Text
A thousand years.
A thousand years since she’d been cast into the depths of the earth. The Aspect of Twilight and her accursed brethren had taught the mortals, had told them how to seal the Darkin away. Her instrument had become her body, and her body had become the instrument. They had scattered her siblings in arms across the breadth of Runeterra. Styraatu in particular was buried, deep in the earth, in a maze of winding corridors. Trapped in her precious harp, she’d had nothing to do but observe. In a haze she’d watched. Watched as some of the mortals had delved deeper and deeper into the earth, nearer and nearer to where she lay, while others stayed on the surface. She watched, and she heard. She knew of the city above, Piltover, and the city below, which some called Zaun. Her existence was spent in a dreamlike haze, lulled to as close to sleep as she could manage while trapped in her harp. Her memories began to fade. Trapped behind the barrier in her mind, the line she dared not cross. So too did her power, without the upkeep and practice to maintain it. So she’d remained, drifting away as her mind and body decayed.
Until she sensed it. She had always been sensitive to the arcane, even before her ascension. It was only natural, given her own magical aptitude. So of course she’d sensed when the arcane had arrived in Piltover. Little pinpoints of light. She’d seen it as it was accepted, spreading to dominate all of Piltover. She hadn’t cared. Mortals always either shunned or embraced the arcane. She was lucky that her home of Shurima had accepted her magical aptitude.
She had noticed what happened next. The arcane had roared. It had sent both the cities buzzing, like hives of insects without their queens.
It had fully awakened her.
She had watched with rapt attention as the days of panic, turned into weeks of disorder, turned into months of nervousness and settling down. But there was a downside. For the first time since her imprisonment she was fully awakened. That meant it was the first time in a thousand years her emotions were not locked behind a wall of numbness and exhaustion. Too soon it was hitting her how bored, how lonely, how miserable she was.
That was why, a few years later, when a pickaxe cracked open the wall she was buried in, and a curious hand snaked in to grab her harp, as the owner of that hand screamed in pain as the darkin overwhelmed their mind, Styraatu was screaming as well. Screaming in joy, screaming in escape.
Screaming in freedom.
The name Emily had been written on the collar of her new clothes. There had been a small mirror in the pocket of the bag slung over her back, which she used to study her new body.
She was some sort of bat-like humanoid, which Emily’s subsumed mind told her was called a Chirean. Bony protrusions jutted from her shoulders, and smaller patches of bone covered various parts of her arms and torso. The area where the bone ended and her skin began glowed orange, like molten lava. That same glowing orange illuminated her veins and filled her pupiless eyes. Her skin was the colour of charcoal, and patchworked with various small scars.
Her clothes consisted of a large coat with a hood, a plain long-sleeved dark shirt, and a simple pair of practical pants, patched several times. The appearance of her bone spurs had punched through the shoulders of her coat and shirt, but everything still fit and wasn’t particularly uncomfortable. She had quickly discovered a hidden pocket sewn into the jacket, which carried several brass, silver, and gold coins.
Styraatu breathed deep, relishing the feeling of having a proper body once again. All the sensations were so new it was almost overwhelming. She ran her fingers over the arm of her coat again, losing herself in the feeling of the rough canvas under her hand.
She looked around, taking in all of the colors. She almost couldn’t believe it. She was free! She could go anywhere, do anything! But, what did she want to do? She had no idea. So much to do, so much to see. She couldn’t imagine how the world had changed. But all the choices left her feeling overwhelmed. The more she thought of everything there was, the more rooted to the ground she felt.
Styraatu took a shuddering breath, then another. She staggered to her feet. First things first, she had to leave this tunnel. Clutching her harp to her chest she walked slowly forwards. When she eventually reached the end of the tunnel, she stood blinking in the sudden sunlight. Unexpectedly, tears, burning hot and glowing the same orange as her eyes, began streaming down her face. It had been so long, so so long, since she last had felt the sunlight. It wasn’t as warm or as bright as it was in her home of Shurima, filtered through the clouds of smog and chemicals, but it warmed her nonetheless.
She realized she was attracting attention. Wiping her eyes, she lowered her head and walked forward, harp clutched to her chest, as she went to see what the world had become.