Azra'il's POV
The sensation of returning from a conversation in the dream realms is like waking up from a dreadfully long and boring party where you were the only sober person. The air of the physical world suddenly feels coarse, the sound of my own heart a vulgar, insistent drumbeat. I sat up in bed, feeling the echoes of Lissandra's mental pressure like a cosmic migraine.
[Eos analysis: Psychic energy expenditure: 18%. Vital signs stable. Recommend hydration.]
I pushed the blankets aside. The confrontation had made me hungry. Threaten the legacy of a geological entity and see if it doesn't work up an appetite. I opened my bedroom door, expecting to follow the scent of herbal tea, and found Morgana.
She was standing there in the corridor, a statue of shadow and worry. Of course she was. To her, my mental projection probably looked like I was taking a deathly serious nap. She had an untouched cup of tea beside her, already cold. A sweet, futile vigil.
"It's done," I announced, my voice a little hoarse. "The meeting with the glacial board of directors is concluded. The minutes will be sent out shortly."
The tension in her shoulders eased a fraction. "You confronted her."
"I delivered my final report and my letter of resignation," I replied, walking towards the study. "Her reaction was the predictable mixture of divine indignation and cheap blackmail."
We reached the room, and I lit a lamp. The smell of old books soothed me. "Apparently, she was hoping we would volunteer to be her anti-undead-god task force in Noxus. I had to politely decline, pointing out that her benefits package did not include dental insurance, which was a deal-breaker for me."
A ghost of a smile touched Morgana's lips. "And she… just accepted it?"
"Let's just say I reminded her that secrets are like knives: it's always good to know the other person also has one pointed at their own back," I explained. "She won't bother us. We're free of her."
I watched as genuine relief washed over her face. It was a tactically satisfying outcome. And, irritatingly, a little moving, in a way that made me want to change the subject immediately.
"One cosmic tyrant dealt with," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Now, for the mortal bureaucracy. The fun part: what to do with the three vegetables rotting in our cellar."
My focus shifted. Lissandra was yesterday's problem. Our three captive Black Rose members were today's. Morgana nodded. "The Du Couteaus."
"Precisely. We're going to give them a parting gift. A bouquet of traitors, so to speak."
I took a scroll, but not just any. One imported from Ionia, thin as skin, an extravagance I knew a noblewoman like Katarina would appreciate. The message needed to be perfect. I used a Shuriman cipher, a cryptographic exercise only the snobbiest tutors would teach.
The message was short: 'Subject: Assets. Value: Incalculable. Location: The west docks warehouse, the one with the broken crane that's obviously in violation of about three safety regulations. Dawn. Come alone, or with your shadow. No one else. We have a business proposal.'
For the delivery, I ignored official couriers. Instead, I found Kye, a slum orphan who ran as if the very ground offended him. I gave him two silver pieces. "I want you to leave this," I said, showing him the scroll, "in the mouth of that ugly gargoyle on the roof of the building opposite the Du Couteau training grounds. Yes, the one that looks constipated. And I want you to do it without being seen by anyone but the gargoyle. Can you manage that?"
His eyes lit up with the challenge. The message would get there.
While we waited, the rest of the night was spent preparing for our grand escape. Morgana, in a rare fit of domestic efficiency, was packing a small travel bag. I watched her take out three heavy books.
"Seriously? 'A Treatise on the Germination of the Peace Lily'?" I read one of the titles. "We're running for our lives, not opening a flower shop."
"Preparation is the key to peace of mind," she retorted, unfazed.
I, on the other hand, was organising my report for the Du Couteaus, a masterpiece of calculated revelations, ensuring I gave them enough information to start a shadow war but not enough to understand the full picture. Knowing about Mordekaiser was a bonus. Knowing that Morgana was a celestial power source was information that would remain exclusively mine.
At dawn, the harbour mist clung to the ground. We took our three slumbering mages to the warehouse. The place was a skeleton of wood and shadow. We arranged them in a row.
"They look so… peaceful," Morgana observed.
"Yes, the absence of complex thought has that effect. Does wonders for the skin," I replied. And then, we waited.
They arrived exactly at dawn, with the punctuality of executioners. Katarina entered through the door, the picture of predatory calm. Talon materialised from a shadow, because using doors, apparently, is beneath his dignity.
"You have our attention, apothecary," Katarina said. "This is bold, even for you."
"Boredom is the mother of audacity," I replied. "I have an offer that will benefit your house and, coincidentally, rid me of a logistical headache."
She arched an eyebrow. "I'm listening."
"I have here three high-value agents of the Black Rose," I gestured. "An archivist, an illusionist, and a runemaster. I've already had a chat with them. My extraction was complete. The information I possess would give your house a decade's advantage. And these three," I continued, my voice calm, echoing in the warehouse's silence, "once they wake from their… 'fatigue'... can still be interrogated by your own specialists. If there's anything left to extract." I paused, the silence stretching. "They're yours. The bodies and the information."
Katarina walked slowly around the prisoners, her steps making no sound in the dust. She nudged Corbin with the toe of her boot. Talon approached him, checked his pulse and the makeshift magical seals I had placed on their mouths to stop them from biting their own tongues off. He looked at Katarina and gave a subtle nod. They were real, alive, and contained.
"Everything has a price, apothecary," Katarina said at last, turning back to me, her arms crossed. Her initial curiosity had been replaced by a cold, businesslike appraisal. "What is yours?"
"Simple," I said. "First: safe, discreet passage on a cargo ship for myself and my guardian. Destination: Piltover, via the Sun Gates. Tomorrow night. A ship large enough to be lost in the port crowd, captained by someone who values a good bribe more than the Merchant Clans' official manifests."
Katarina arched an eyebrow. "A sea vessel? I'd have thought someone with your… talents… would prefer the speed of an airship."
I smiled. "Airships are for packages and for people who want to be seen, Du Couteau. Their flight logs are as strict as the palace guards. Ships, on the other hand… ships are slow, dirty, and wonderfully anonymous. The best way to hide is in the middle of a noisy crowd." I shrugged. "Besides, I hear the view of the Piltover cliffs from the sea is spectacular."
My logic satisfied her. "A ship, then. It can be arranged. And the second demand?"
"The second," I said, "is the most important, and the most difficult. When we leave, I want you to use your house's vast and terrifying influence to erase our tracks. Azra'il Kilam and the Shadow Lady never existed in Noxus. Our entry records, the apothecary's deed, any mention of us in guard reports or, more importantly, in Lady Vorth's private archives… all of it turns to smoke. We become ghosts. Rumours."
Katarina stared at me, and for the first time, I saw genuine admiration in her eyes, not for my skills, but for my audacity. "You don't just want to run," she said. "You want to wipe your very existence off the board. That is far harder than a simple assassination."
"Your house is known for doing what is hard," I retorted.
She smiled, a predatory smile. "That's true. But tell me, why the sudden disappearance? You hand us the biggest intelligence victory in years and all you want is to flee? It looks like you're afraid."
"Don't mistake caution for fear, Miss Du Couteau," I said, my tone sharp. "Unlike you, I do not like Noxus. The cuisine is mediocre, the weather is depressing, and I have discovered that a fire is about to start in this empire's cellar. And I," I leaned forward, "have no interest in being here when the building collapses. Consider my departure an act of good taste."
She didn't press further. The mention of a 'fire in the cellar' was bait enough. But there was another question burning in her eyes, one of a professional nature.
She gestured to the data-cylinder I was holding. "The information… you say it's complete. We have captured Black Rose agents before. They are fanatically loyal. Most kill themselves with poison or runes before they'll even say their own names. How did you get three of them, including an archivist, to empty their minds for you? What method did you use?"
I smiled, a thin, humourless smile. "Let's just say I have a… holistic… approach to information extraction. It leaves no marks." I tapped my temple lightly. "But it does break the furniture inside."
She frowned, clearly unsatisfied. "That is not an answer, apothecary."
"And you're not getting one," I replied, my voice hardening. "I have learned many things in my 'travels'. Some tonic recipes, a few combat tricks… and some very effective methods of persuasion. They are my trade secrets. And they are not included in this transaction."
We stared at each other for a long moment, a stalemate. I wouldn't budge, and she knew it. The information I possessed was too valuable for her to risk the deal over a question of methodology. Finally, with visible frustration, she relented.
"You are an irritatingly mysterious creature, Azra'il Kilam," she said, and I understood. She, a woman whose life was built on knowing secrets, hated being on the outside of one. "Fine," she said at last, sighing. "Keep your techniques. As long as the information is good…"
"Oh, it's excellent," I interrupted. "In it," I held up the data-cylinder, "you will find not only the structure of several of their cells in the capital and the identity of Vorth's superior, Lady Cassian, but their true objective. They are not after Darkwill's throne. They are preparing for a war against the undead master they betrayed."
I tossed the cylinder to her. She caught it in the air with a swift, graceful motion.
"And," I added, giving her the last crumb, "the information you'll get from him," I pointed to Corbin, "is far, far more frightening than a simple shadow war. Consider it a bonus."
The negotiation was done. She had what she wanted. And I, what I needed.
"You'll have your ship," she said at last. "East Pier, dock nine, tomorrow night. A merchant vessel called 'The Serpent's Fortune'. The captain will know what to do. And you… you will become ghosts. House Du Couteau honours its agreements." She turned to Talon. "Take our 'guests'."
Talon nodded, a single, almost imperceptible dip of his head. He then raised a hand and made a subtle, almost casual gesture to the empty shadows. And the shadows answered.
From the dark rafters above, like spiders descending on invisible threads, they came. From the stacks of crates, slipping through the gaps. From the deepest corners where the light refused to go. Dark figures, clad in dark leather and silence. It wasn't a surprise, not really. Logic dictated they wouldn't come alone.
But there was a difference between knowing rats are in the walls and seeing them all scurry out at once. Their presence, once passive, was now an active pressure in the room. I felt the air grow heavier, the collective intent of a dozen trained blades filling the space. Beside me, I felt Morgana go perfectly still, her battle-calm settling over her. She wasn't afraid; she was ready. Her silence was that of a storm waiting for a lightning strike.
The team worked with the silent efficiency of a swarm of predatory insects. Not a single word was spoken. Only hand gestures, fluid movements, and a singular purpose. In seconds, the three 'sacks' were being lifted and carried out, disappearing along escape routes I didn't even bother to map. They were good. So good it was almost… boring. In less than a minute, the prisoners and the extraction team had evaporated, leaving the warehouse as empty and silent as we had found it, as if they had never been there. Only the dust in the air, dancing in the dawn light, bore witness to their passing.
"Efficient," I commented, mostly to myself. It was the highest praise one could give in Noxus.
"It's what we do," Katarina replied simply. She looked at the empty space. "The information in your cylinder. It had better be as good as you promised."
"Oh, it's better," I said, already turning to leave. "Have a good war, Du Couteau. Try not to die in the first week."
She didn't reply. Just watched me go with those calculating green eyes, the rival I was leaving behind to deal with the fire I had started. Morgana and I walked out of the warehouse, leaving Katarina and Talon alone in the middle of the empty space. The bizarre partnership had reached its functional climax. And now, it was over. At least, for now.
We were alone on the pier, the grey dawn light breaking over the dark, oily water. The salt air was clean, a promise of other places, far from the iron, blood, and suffocating intrigue. The cold breeze whipped Morgana's hair, and I saw her close her eyes for a moment, just breathing, like a prisoner feeling the sun for the first time after years in the dark. The deal was done. The escape was secured.
I looked back at the black silhouette of the Immortal Bastion, rising against the lightening sky. I had fed the wolves enough meat to keep them busy fighting among themselves for quite some time. I had started a fire among the great houses of Noxus to cover our escape. And now, it was time to disappear into the smoke. And on to progress.