War will always come to an end, no matter the reason it began.
—Rosha
Father Asa spoke with excitement as he told Riven and Rosha about the end of the war. The two simple-hearted elders believed that a peaceful life was finally arriving, but Rosha didn't share their optimism. In his memories, Noxus wasn't the type to give in so easily.
"They're just lying dormant," Rosha said to Riven after Asa left the room.
"It has nothing to do with us," Riven replied, giving Rosha a sip of water before walking out as well.
She went back to working in the fields. She had grown to love the labor, and the old ox worked with her in perfect harmony. Even plowing had brought her a sense of inner peace.
Seeds sown in spring would only be harvested in autumn—Father Asa's simple wisdom was embraced by many in this small village, and Riven was no exception.
"Father Asa, tell me how the war ended," Rosha asked one day. During his mute period, he had quickly learned Ionian, and now that the dead skin on his mouth had fallen off, speaking was no problem at all.
With delight, Asa wheeled Rosha outside and settled himself into a nearby lounge chair. The two basked in the sun together, lazy and content.
"Iza, you've learned quickly—mastering Ionian so soon," Asa said, waving a large leaf to chase away the insects bothering the still-immobile Rosha.
"I'm smart," Rosha grinned. He didn't know why, but ever since coming to this world, his mind seemed sharper, his memories from Earth clearer—he could even recall, word for word, the passages he had memorized as a child.
Asa tapped Rosha's charred forehead with amusement before joyfully recounting the story of the war's end. For him, it was cause for celebration—after all, Ionia had triumphed.
The tale, he said, could be told as the story of two women who saved Ionia: Karma and Irelia.
Karma's case felt mystical to Rosha—like the reincarnated living Buddha from Tibetan lore. Karma was the embodiment of an ancient Ionian soul, a beacon in the spiritual realm who guided generation after generation. In this era, her incarnation was a girl named Darha.
When Noxus invaded, Karma abandoned her original path of passive resistance and chose to protect peace through war. Alone, she boarded a Noxian warship. With a simple motion of her hand, she killed every enemy on board, her overwhelming power terrifying the invaders into submission.
The other woman, Irelia, was even more legendary. At just fourteen years old, she led a squad of rebels into Presidian, a holy site occupied by the enemy. She danced through the enemy ranks like a spirit, every graceful movement reaping another life. After great sacrifice, she severed one of the arms of the invading general, Jericho Swain, and drove the invaders out of Presidian.
It was in that battle that the young genius warrior cried the words that still made Asa's eyes shine with tears every time he repeated them: "Ionia—steadfast and unyielding!"
This history was in Rosha's memories, too. Three years ago, when Noxus invaded Ionia, he hadn't yet seen battle and was still languishing in the barracks. He had heard that Swain, the Empire's undefeated general, lost an arm in Ionia, and that an entire fleet had been wiped out in an instant by some terrifying Ionian power—but he had never known it was the work of two women.
"The turning point began three years ago…" Asa took a deep breath and went on.
In those three years, Irelia became the leader of the resistance. Inspired by her and Karma's deeds, more Ionian heroes rose to fight the invaders: Lee Sin, Yasuo, Master Yi, Yone, Udyr, and others. Eventually, Irelia led the heroes of the land to drive the enemy from Ionia's heartlands back to the coast. Three months ago, the resistance trapped Noxian Admiral Duqal and his remaining forces in Dalu Bay. After nearly a month of brutal fighting, they annihilated the last of them. This final battle forced Noxus to withdraw from Ionia entirely.
"Three months ago?" Rosha's mind began to turn. Three months ago was when Riven's squad, stationed in the Empire's north, had been ordered to escort the Amistian Legion to Presidian. So, because Duqal's forces were in crisis, Noxus had planned to use chemical bombs on the resistance's base there to turn the tide of the unfavorable war.
"Something on your mind?" Asa could clearly sense the change in Rosha's tone.
"Father Asa, that was when we were deployed here," Rosha said with a wry smile.
Asa froze for a moment, then gave a bitter smile, patted Rosha's head, and walked away.
In both this world and his previous one, where there are people, there will be conflict; and conflict will eventually lead to war. The suffering war brings to the heart is far more severe than the wounds to the body. Having been a career soldier in two lifetimes, Rosha was numb to it. All he could do now was keep studying the language, digest the memories of the "Rosha" from this world, and blend in as quickly as possible. He refused to sit idle—because the moment homesickness came crashing in, it would shatter his resolve like a wave smashing a rock.
Once Asa was gone, Rosha began working at the charred shell of flesh covering his body. After much effort, the outer crust on his entire right arm cracked apart, and at last he could move it. Over a month without use had dulled his reflexes—lifting the arm was difficult. Slowly, he tried to control it, and when he brought it before his eyes, he was startled. Was this red, raw limb really his? It didn't look like it belonged to a man in his twenties at all.
"Could it be that my body's younger after crossing over?" Rosha thought with a bitter smile.
By the afternoon's end, he had used his newly freed arm to peel away all the dead skin around his nose—it had been itching terribly.
At dinner, he no longer needed Asa to feed him. With one arm liberated, he could no longer justify lying around like a useless invalid.
"Iza, do you still need the priest's treatment?" Mother Shava asked happily, holding his arm as if it were a prized cut of pork.
"No need," Rosha shook his head. "I'll be fine soon."
"That's wonderful," Shava beamed, placing a slab of fatty meat on his plate—today's special addition to celebrate the rebirth of his right arm.
"Oh, by the way, Father Asa, could you find me some books? I'm so bored," Rosha asked.
"No problem. I'll borrow some for you tomorrow," Asa nodded.
"You like reading?" Riven, silent until now, seemed surprised. In her impression, this subordinate of hers wasn't the type to read—he couldn't even write his own name.
Rosha nodded, then said something that stunned all three of them: "Knowledge is power."
That night, after the two elders had fallen asleep, Riven came to see Rosha. She stared at him for a long time without saying a word.
"Something wrong?" Rosha asked, seeing the doubt in her eyes.
"Are you really Rosha?" Riven's gaze was sharp. "Rosha hated anything to do with books…"
Rosha was a bit taken aback—had he slipped up? He didn't know how to explain, but Riven continued, "Atakal was the one who liked to read. You haven't lost your memory, have you?"
So, she thought the chemical bomb had fried his brain. Just as Rosha was starting to relax, her next words made him tense again: "Once the skin on your face heals, we'll see if your mind is still sound."
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