#lostfury

[rakkoran]

“Have you ever held a paring knife before? You’re butchering it.” They sat elbow to elbow at the table, wrist deep in potatoes. Shava had put them on peeling duty and bustled off elsewhere; likely to shake down the hens for their eggs. “You have to do it like this.” Riven twists her wrist, expertly flicking the end of her knife towards him and witnessing as the strip of potato skin she’d peeled back sticks to his cheek with a wet slap. A slow, simpering grin finds a home on her face.

➤  There  was  a  light  slapping  sound  as  the  potato  peel  hit  his  cheek,  and  then  it  slid  down  a  few  centimeters  before  simply  hanging  there.  Lingering  moisture  between  the  peel  and  Atreus’s  skin  let  it  stick  to  his  cheek  and  it  was  supported  from  below  by  his  facial  hair.  He  made  no  move  to  take  the  peel  off.  Rather,  he  stared  down  at  the  potato  and  the  knife  in  his  hand  with  a  heavy  brow.  It  was  a  reminder.  When  he  had  finally  mastered  the  technique  behind  peeling  potatoes,  then  he  could  remove  the  peel  from  his  face.  

 Atreus  lowered  his  head  to  be  near  level  with  the  potato.  There  was  a  growing  pile  of  peeled  and  prepped  potatoes  on  Riven’s  side  of  the  table,  while  his  only  had  two  and  a  half  that  could  be  counted  as  mediocre  at  best.  There  were  still  strips  of  brown  skin  on  those  ones  that  Atreus  put  aside,  and  the  half-one  was  missing  a  chunk  of  the  actual  potato  flesh  which  was  a  result  of  Atreus  getting  frustrated  and  cutting  into  it  without  any  grace.  

 This  time–  this  would  be  the  good  one.    

 He  brought  the  knife  to  the  potato,  and  in  one  fell  swoop,  he  tried  replicating  the  slice  and  wrist  flick  that  Riven  had  just  demonstrated  in  the  hopes  of  sending  a  peel  right  back  at  her.  He  cut  too  hard,  though,  and  a  chunk  of  the  potato  was  cut  from  it,  and  the  knife  continued  forward  until  he  cut  across  the  base  of  his  other  hand’s  pointer  finger.  

 There  was  sharp  exhale  through  his  nostrils.  Atreus  snapped  up  and  out  of  his  seat  and  threw  the  potato  out  of  the  open  door  behind  them.  It  soared  through  the  air  for  quite  some  distance  before  thudding  into  the  dirt  path  outside  of  the  Ionian’s  home.  His  shoulders  rose  and  fell  with  each  frustrated  breath,  then  he  looked  to  Riven  and  cleared  his  throat.  

 “ I  will… ”  Atreus  looked  to  the  left,  then  to  the  right,  and  then  finally  towards  the  open  door  that  led  outside,  “ I  will  go  and  see  if  Shava  needs  any  help. ”  

And  he  left.  Potatoes  one,  Atreus  zero.

#i imagine that atreus probably did simple food prep as a child #like peeling potatoes and whatnot at like age 5 #but since then he's never done cooking #he knows how to cut and clean an animal #and prepare meat etc etc. #but potatoes are too hard. #lostfury #𝛀 into legend . ( ic ) #𝛀 rise / fight / take my hand . ( riven )

[stvrcrush]

      @lostfury

    rakan perches on the fence, long arms stretched out to rest against his thighs. one ear twitches. he watches the woman as she works the field, quiet as he studies her. the music around her is dissonant, so unlike the magic that surrounds most ionians. there is an edge of roughness he recognizes from past noxians.

    in a single movement, rakan rises and leaps, landing with a flourish and bow in front of the stranger, cape outstretched to resemble a golden wing. he looks up at her from under pale lashes and smirks.

    " what's a pretty lady like yourself doing all this hard work for? "

#lostfury #ic. ― rakan #i hope this is ok asdjh #i rewrote this too many times cuz i couldnt get the feel right

[bladesurgence]

So we got Sylas, Aatrox rework, Morde rework, Panth rework, Aphelios, and Sett all announced/released in 2019

edit: aatrox was not 2019 my bad

#a good year to like men #tbh we needed it cause i was thinking earlier this year #do we really have barely any conventionally attractive guys in league #half of the ones were masked #but now we get this #which is great! #also sett is literally buff graha tia from ffxiv #thanks chloe/lostfury

[lostfury]

                        ONCE    WAR    ENDS,    WHAT    DO    YOU    BECOME   ? 

                 LOSTFURY  :   riven   of   league   of   legends ,   written   by   chloe.                                                                          &                RAKKORAN  :   pantheon   of   league   of   legends ,   written   by   jan.

#dual promo courtesy of both of us not spamming your dash #and laziness on my part #league of legends rp #league of legends roleplay #rakkoran #also we are a package deal #hi everyone good to be back #:^3c

[rakkoran]

@lostfury 

➤  Truth  be  told,  the  image  that  Atreus’s  mother  painted  in  his  mind  of  Ionia  when  he  was  young  was  much  different  than  what  he  was  walking  through  now .  His  mother  described  Ionia  as  a  place  of  harmony,  where  man  and  nature  lived  in  accordance  with  one  another .  She  said  that  colorful  birds  sang  and  had  feathers  as  long  as  her  forearm,  painted  in  vibrant  colors  like  yellow,  red,  and  blue .  The  ground  itself  would  hum  with  nothing  short  of  magic,  almost  welcoming  those  that  walked  upon  its  dirt  and  grass  to  venture  further .  

Now,  Atreus  was  near  ankle-deep  in  mud,  doused  in  cold  rain,  with  only  the  heavy-grey  thunderclouds  above  him .  The  grass  hills  all  around  him  seemed  to  roll  and  rise,  but  there  were  odd  patches  and  craters  where  the  earth  would  dip  unnaturally,  or  grass  was  completely  void  and  gave  way  to  dirt .  The  few  trees  that  Atreus  saw  were  bare  of  any  leaves-  knotted  branches  and  dead-bark .  

He  readjusted  the  strap  across  his  shoulder  and  trudged  on .  Double-wrapped  in  water-resistant  material,  Atreus  carried  his  spear  and  shield  in  large,  non-descript  bags,  along  with  spare  clothing  and  a  pouch  of  gold .  He  originally  wished  to  leave  the  weapons  behind .  He  wasn’t  traveling  to  wage  war,  he  was  traveling  to  learn .  An  ode  to  his  mother  and  the  countless  hours  she  spent  teaching  him  to  open  his  eyes  and  mind  before  swinging  a  blade .  Seems  that  he  carried  his  father’s  stubbornness  as  well,  though,  and  he  brought  them  anyways .  

Atreus  passed  a  small  cottage,  the  wooden  fence  that  lined  it  was  broken  in  some  odd  places,  and  the  door  to  the  cottage  was  ajar .  Shattered  glass  shards  lined  the  windows,  and  there  was  only  darkness  within .  It  looked  to  be  long  abandoned .  

“These  Ionians . . .  Only  farmers,”  He  muttered  to  himself,  “What  sort  of  war  is  waged  against  farmers.”  

Atreus  continued  on  the  dirt  path .  The  mud  and  dirt  sloped  upward,  and  he  continued  to  trudge  through  the  mud  until  he  reached  the  top  of  the  hill .  There,  ahead  of  him  some  distance  away,  was  another  cottage .  

This  fence  was  in  much  better  shape .  The  area  behind  the  cottage  was  a  large  field,  it  reminded  Atreus  of  home,  of  Empyrean  wheat .  He  could  see  through  the  glass  windows  of  the  home  faint  orange  glows,  and  shadows  moving  within .  Atreus  dipped  his  head  and  strode  forward  again,  now  with  a  destination  in  his  mind,  a  hope  to  get  out  of  this  mud  and  water .  He  could  easily  break  into  a  sprint,  leap  to  the  heavens  and  out  run  the  storm  itself .  But,  that  wouldn’t  do,  his  mother  described  Ionia  as  a  human,  as  man .  And  he  would  experience  it  the  same  way .  

Atreus  walked  through  the  unlocked  gate  of  the  fence,  and  slowly  approached  the  front  of  the  cottage .  With  a  balled  fist,  he  delivered  two  firm  knocks  on  the  door .  

After  the  door  is  opened,  Atreus  will  place  a  hand  over  his  chest  and  say,  “Could  you  shelter  a  traveler?  The  rain  is  relentless .”

#𝛀 into legend . ( ic ) #lostfury #𝛀 rise / fight / take my hand . ( riven ) #ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh HEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #you can have riven or riven's adopted parents answer the door i left it pretty vague :D #but please let this mountain man inside he is gonna catch a cold u___u...

[rakkoran]

                                𝛀  dreams and duty

A  cold  wind  stirred  Atreus  from  his  slumber.  It  was  a  chill  that  he  hadn’t  felt  for  over  a  month  now.  A  chill  that  tempered  his  very  bones  and  hardened  his  skin.  Atreus  blinked  his  eyes  open,  and  he  was  back  home.  

Ahead  of  him  was  a  legion.  Men  and  women  were  lined  up  before  him,  their  bronze  armor  gleamed  beneath  the  sun.  Each  had  a  spear,  held  upward  to  the  sky  and  by  their  side.  A  red  ribbon  blew  in  the  wind  from  the  shaft  of  each  weapon,  it  matched  the  crimson  of  the  warrior’s  cloaks.  They  all  looked  to  him,  over  a  thousand,  gathered  and  watching.  He  was  on  a  platform  of  stone,  a  raised  piece  of  earth  that  faced  the  gathered  people.  He  stared  back  at  them,  unable  to  recognize  a  single  face.  Atreus  felt  himself  step  forward.  That  sensation,  to  be  guided  by  another’s  will,  it  sent  a  bolt  of  panic  through  his  body.  Atreus  tried  to  move  his  arms,  lift  his  legs,  he  tried  to  look  anywhere  else  but  the  mass  in  front  of  him,  but  he  couldn’t.  

He  was  a  spectator  again.  He  was  a  passenger  once  more,  an  observer  within  the  vessel  of  his  own  flesh.  

Atreus  opened  his  mouth  and  a  foreign  voice  came  out.  It  wasn’t  his  own,  and  the  words  that  they  spoke  were  jumbled  together.  Phrases  and  sentences  mushed  together  into  an  incoherent  tumble  of  white  noise  and  commanding  tones.  The  vessel  rose  their  arm  into  the  air,  and  a  blazing  gold  spear  materialized  in  their  grip.  It  was  the  very  same  one  that  Atreus  carried.  At  the  gesture,  the  mass  of  soldiers  all  shouted  out  in  unison,  adding  to  the  powerful  white  noise  that  barraged  Atreus’s  senses.

Among  the  chaos  and  the  noise,  Atreus  heard  a  single,  low,  clear  word.  

Distracted.

With  that  single  phrase,  all  noise  left  Atreus’s  senses.  Deafening  muteness--  Atreus  could  see  the  open  mouths  of  the  warriors  ahead  of  him,  he  could  see  them  stomp  and  smack  their  spears  against  their  shields,  but  he  could  hear  nothing.  The  vessel  blinked,  and  darkness  swallowed  Atreus.  

The  cold,  familiar  wind  woke  him  up  a  second  time.  This  time,  the  wind  was  rampant.  Targon’s  gales  were  life-threatening  no  matter  where  you  climbed  on  its  slopes,  but  the  speed  and  ferocity  that  Atreus  felt  against  his  skin  now  only  existed  in  one  place.  It  existed  in  a  place  that  Atreus  had  only  endured  once.  

The  summit.  

Atreus  opened  his  eyes.  Far  down  beneath  him  were  the  clouds.  Dark  and  thunderous,  Atreus  could  see  arcs  of  lightning  crackle  and  rip  through  them.  The  earth,  his  home,  the  Shuriman  desert  and  the  great  oceans  to  the  west  and  north,  all  of  it  was  laid  out  before  him  from  where  he  stood  at  the  very  precipice  of  Targon.  The  air  itself  this  high  should  be  thin,  it  should  be  suffocating,  the  freezing  and  constant  wind  should  send  muscle-freezing  chills  through  the  body.  He  should’ve  died.  He  should  be  dead  when  faced  with  the  raw  elements  of  Targon’s  most  sacred  area.  

But  there  he  stood.  Though  the  space  beneath  his  feet  only  extended  a  few  hand-lengths,  Atreus  stood  and  looked  out  over  the  world  without  fear.  

The  heavens  gave  him  this  power.  He  was  the  shield  of  man,  he  was  the  spear  of  mortal  will,  this  was  his  duty  now.  Though  he  hadn’t  asked  for  such  responsibility,  and  he  hadn’t  asked  to  be  entrusted  with  the  power  of  the  heavens,  it  wasn’t  in  a  Rakkor’s  blood  to  back  down  from  his  duty.  Above  the  roaring  winds,  Atreus  heard  soft  whispers  from  above  him.  The  hairs  on  the  back  of  his  neck  and  along  his  arms  all  rose  with  the  ethereal  notes  and  melodies  that  those  voices  took,  and  Atreus  craned  his  neck  back  to  look  upwards.  

Golden  streaks,  curves  and  straight  lines,  painted  with  the  carefree  stroke  of  the  celestial’s  brush  colored  the  expansive  abyss  of  space  itself.  Those  golden  arcs,  dazzling  and  dripping  with  starlight  itself,  pulsed  with  bright  light.  Those  pulses  were  in  tune  with  Atreus’s  own  heartbeat.  With  each  pulse,  the  expansive  golden  streaks,  that  spanned  from  horizon  to  horizon,  looked  to  trail  downwards.  The  golden  lights  spiraled,  forming  into  a  tight  twist.  Closer,  closer,  brighter,  and  brighter.  

Atreus  raised  his  left  hand  and  touched  the  light.  

Warmth  coursed  through  his  body.  Down  his  finger,  engulfing  his  hand,  and  then  flooding  the  rest  of  his  body.  It  was  a  shield  against  the  frost  that  surrounded  him.  With  the  contact  with  this  heavenly  glow,  Atreus  felt  true  power.  The  real  power  of  the  Pantheon,  that  power  that  was  so  fragmented  and  broken  within  his  soul…  It  was  reforged  in  this  moment,  he  was  Pantheon.  He  was  the  Celestial,  the  Aspect  of  War.  

“ They  come ,  Pantheon. ”  

The  whispers  hummed,  their  voices  slipped  directly  into  Pantheon’s  ears.  He  held  the  contact  with  the  golden  light  for  a  moment  longer,  then  he  nodded.  The  light  in  his  hand  formed  into  a  long,  line.  Then,  Pantheon  curled  his  fingers  into  a  fist  and  blazing  spear  materialized  within  his  hand.  Fire,  starlight,  the  weapon  of  the  cosmos.  

“ They  come ,  Pantheon. “

The  whispers  repeated.  Pantheon  looked  down,  and  even  through  the  rolling  clouds  that  hid  most  of  the  Shuriman  desert  from  his  view,  he  could  sense  the  presence  of  something  evil,  something  ancient,  roaming  the  sands.  

Pantheon  reared  his  left  arm  back.  Raw  power  pumped  through  him,  his  blood  was  melted  gold,  his  heart  was  that  of  a  roaring  star.  With  one,  powerful  motion,  Pantheon  flung  his  spear  downward  and  straight  towards  that  monstrous  entity  he  sensed,  hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  miles  away  from  him.  

His  spear  tore  through  the  storm  clouds  like  they  were  nothing.  The  path  his  spear  took,  seemed  to  have  sundered  the  very  air  itself,  leaving  behind  a  funnel  of  crackling,  bright,  golden  energy.  As  his  spear  careened  towards  the  heart  of  the  Shuriman  desert,  Pantheon  bent  his  knees  and  leapt.  With  the  wind  rushing  past  his  face,  Pantheon  blinked,  and  darkness  came  once  more.  

This  was  his  duty,  this  was  his  purpose,  this  is  what  he  would  be  doing  if  he  wasn’t--

Distracted.  

Atreus  woke  up  to  a  small  room.  The  bed  beneath  his  was  just  large  enough  to  keep  his  feet  from  dangling  over  the  edge.  The  blanket  across  his  body  was  thin.  His  heart  still  raced  from  his  dreams,  the  sheer  intensity,  the  vividness  of  each  moment,  it  sent  a  chill  through  Atreus’s  spine  and  he  slowly  sat  up  in  the  bed.  His  bare  chest,  rose  and  fell  with  each  deep  breath  he  took.  Calm  yourself,  he  thought,  steady  as  the  mountain.  

Along  the  wall  that  ran  down  the  right  side  of  his  room,  against  the  bed  he  rested  upon,  a  window  let  in  trails  of  moonlight  through  the  half-drawn  shades.  The  wooden  floorboards,  and  the  simple  frame  of  his  wooden  bed,  even  they  were  different  from  Targon.  

He  was  here,  in  the  room  that  once  belonged  to  Asa  and  Shava’s  eldest  son.  He  was  in  Ionia.  Though  the  cold  winds  of  Targon  were  but  part  of  a  dream,  Atreus  couldn’t  help  but  try  to  cling  to  that  familiar  chill  of  home.  Atreus  rose  a  hand  to  his  chest.  Though  his  heart  rate  had  calmed,  his  skin  itself  now  held  a  slick  layer  of  sweat  to  it.  He  pushed  the  blanket  off  of  him,  and  then  rose  his  head  once  he  heard  the  soft  creak  of  the  door  into  his  room  being  opened.  

Riven.  She  walked  towards  him  near  soundlessly.  Atreus  turned  towards  her,  planting  his  bare  feet  on  the  ground.  

“ What  are  you  doing ,  Riven ? “  He  asked.  

Her  walk  slowed  as  she  approached.  There  was  no  light  from  the  hallway,  the  only  light  was  that  from  the  window.  With  each  step  she  took,  Atreus  could  only  see  glimpses  of  her,  it  seemed  that  the  darkness  of  the  room  was  clung  to  a  majority  of  her  body.  But,  in  those  glimpses,  those  flashes  of  moonlight,  Atreus  saw  that  only  a  thin  white  robe  covered  portions  of  her  body.  Like  long,  cotton  strips,  wrapped  about  her  waist  and  trailing  down  from  her  shoulders  like  a  shawl.  Atreus  found  his  eyes  lingering  on  the  glimpses  of  her  legs  that  the  moonlight  allowed,  her  arms,  the  ridges  of  muscle  along  her  stomach.

“ Riven , “  Atreus  said,  his  voice  low.  

She  stopped  a  foot  in  front  of  him.  Unnaturally,  the  shadows  encompassed  her.  Atreus  could  only  see  the  outlines  of  her  body  in  the  dark,  she  was  a  silhouette.  

The  shadow  spoke.  

“ Are  you  alright ? “  She  asked.  Her  voice  was  soft,  barely  above  a  whisper,  a  tone  that  Atreus  had  never  heard  her  use.  Her  words  alone  sent  a  shiver  down  Atreus’s  spine,  one  that  no  chill  nor  howling  wind  from  Targon  could  cause.  

Atreus  nodded.  His  voice  had  packed  up  and  left  him  now.  

“ Good , ”  Riven  said,  then  she  walked  towards  him  again.  

Atreus  didn’t  lean  back  or  shift  with  her  taking  another  step  forward.  His  back  was  straight,  his  shoulders  faced  her,  his  head  tilted  to  the  side.  Riven  stepped  in  front  of  him,  and  she  pulled  her  legs  up  to  rest  against  the  outside  of  Atreus’s  thighs,  straddling  him  across  his  lap.  In  the  moonlight  now,  the  shadows  parted  in  glimpses.  Atreus  saw  the  curve  of  her  cheek,  a  flash  of  her  lips.  He  glanced  down  and  watched  as  his  hands  came  to  rest  on  her  thighs,  and  slowly  he  let  them  slide  upward  across  her  skin.  

Scars,  new  and  old,  were  stories  beneath  his  hands.  Atreus  looked  up  to  see  a  diagonal  line  of  moonlight  across  Riven’s  face,  and  she  held  his  gaze  with  intensity.  Atreus  felt  warmth  fill  his  chest,  he  felt  an  ache  in  his  heart  and  along  every  inch  of  his  skin  that  was  in  contact  with  hers,  an  ache  of  longing,  of  more  and  more.  Her  touch  had  always  felt  so  cold  before,  but  in  this  moment,  Atreus  felt  fire.  

She  leaned  her  face  towards  his,  Atreus  felt  her  lips  graze  over  his  cheek,  then  drift  down  the  side  of  his  neck.  

Then  he  felt  blood  splatter  across  the  front  of  his  torso.  

He  gasped.  Riven  froze  in  place.  Time  itself  halted  as  Atreus  pulled  his  head  back  and  looked  downward.  His  chest  was  painted  in  crimson,  dripping,  warm,  blood.  Sticking  out  of  Riven’s  stomach,  was  a  bloodied  spearhead.  The  blade  of  the  spear  was  all  too  familiar.  

The  skin  immediately  around  Riven’s  open  wound  gradually  turned  to  grey,  festering  away  into  a  solidified  stone  form,  then  drifting  away  in  an  unnatural  breeze  to  ash.  Slowly,  Riven’s  entire  body  withered  away  to  nothing,  swirling  ashe  that  scattered  and  rested  on  Atreus’s  bed.  Atreus  followed  the  path  of  the  spear,  until  he  came  face  to  face  with  its  bearer.  

Himself.  

“ You  are  DISTRACTED . “  He  said,  “ You  NEGLECT    your  duty  ,  you  NEGLECT  Targon.  Negligence  among  the  Rakkor,  equals  DEATH . ”  

The  spear  shot  forward  again.  Atreus  felt  a  millisecond  of  sharp  pains  being  ignited  all  over  his  body,  a  million  tiny  explosions.  He  opened  his  mouth  to  scream,  then  darkness  enveloped  him  in  a  final  embrace.  

Atreus  woke  up  in  a  heap  on  the  ground.  He  flailed  momentarily,  his  entire  body  slick  with  sweat  and  the  wooden  floorboards  beneath  him  creaked  with  each  motion.  Atreus  rocketed  upward,  and  he  turned  his  head  to  the  left  to  see  Asa,  Shava,  and  Riven.  All  three  of  them  were  standing  in  the  doorway  to  his  room,  Asa  illuminated  the  three  of  them  with  a  burning  candle.  

“ Atreus ,  are  you  alright ? ”  Asa  said,  her  voice  concerned.  

Atreus  met  each  of  their  gazes,  one  after  the  other,  and  he  held  Riven’s  for  a  second  longer  than  the  rest.  Her  gaze  was  colder  now.  Atreus  could  see  that  she  stood  with  some  concern,  but  her  muscles  were  tense.  Prepared  for  a  threat.  

Slowly,  Atreus  pushed  himself  off  the  ground  and  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  bed.  He  raised  his  hand  and  gave  the  trio  a  small  wave  before  laying  back  down.  

“ I’m  fine , ”  Atreus  rested  his  head  on  his  pillow,  and  turned  on  his  side  to  face  away  from  them,  and  towards  the  wall,  “ Just  a  dream . ”

obligatory tagging of @lostfury

#𝛀 echo for eons . ( drabble ) #𝛀 rise / fight / take my hand . ( riven ) #lostfury #oh god what is this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #i am actually incredibly proud of this drabble #if you read through it do let me know what you think #HEHEHEHEHEHAHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAAHAHAHAHA #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[rakkoran]

❛    the world is evil , atreus.    ❜  

 𝛀  prompt from here  (not accepting!)

               There  were  some  nights  were  she  didn’t  say  anything  at  all.  Atreus  would  sit  alongside  Asa  and  Shava,  he  would  ask  them  about  their  childhoods,  he  would  ask  about  growing  up  in  Ionia.  In  exchange,  they  asked  him  about  his  life  on  Targon.  Riven  sat  with  them,  most  evenings,  some  nights  she  wouldn’t  say  a  single  word.  Each  of  them  held  a  cup  of  tea  between  their  hands,  Asa  and  Shava  usually  on  their  second  cup,  Riven  slowly  sipping  on  her  own,  while  Atreus  just  held  it  for  warmth.  

              He  rarely  tried  to  bring  her  into  the  conversation.  There  was  a  look  in  her  eyes  as  she  stared  into  the  hearth  that  reminded  Atreus  of  older  warriors  back  home.  Those  that  bathed  in  the  blood  of  barbarian  horde  after  horde,  the  survivors,  the  ones  who  bore  scars  beneath  the  skin,  she  shared  the  same  gaze.  Rakkoran  children  were  told  to  leave  them  be,  as  they  were  fighting  a  battle  within  their  mind  every  day.  He  would  steal  glances  towards  her  when  he  could,  though.  The  deep  yellow-orange  of  the  fire  gave  her  skin  a  warm  glow.  

              Asa  and  Shava  rose  from  their  wicker  chairs  and  bid  both  Atreus  and  Riven  goodnight  before  leaving  the  room.  Atreus  sat  on  the  floor  in  the  center  of  the  rug,  just  a  handful  of  feet  from  the  fireplace.  Riven  sat  in  a  chair  some  ways  to  his  right.  The  fire  crackled,  the  silence  hung  in  the  air  between  them,  the  cup  of  tea  in  Atreus’s  hand  had  long  grown  cold.  He  needed  to  stop  taking  the  offered  tea,  he  rarely  drank  it,  but  it  seemed  that  Shava  always  found  a  way  to  make  you  take  it.  

              Riven’s  words  blew  a  cold  wind  into  the  room.  Atreus  remained  still.  His  arm  rested  atop  his  drawn-in  knee,  his  head  bowed  slightly  to  stare  into  his  cold  tea.  It  must  have  been  the  story  that  he  told  to  Asa  and  Shava  which  brought  those  words  to  Riven’s  lips,  his  retelling  of  the  mid-summer  festival  on  Targon.  

              “ When  I  was  eleven ,  Elder  Mistos  wrapped  a  cloth  around  my  eyes  and  lead  me  deep  into  a  forest  on  Targon’s  upper  slopes .  It  was  winter , ”  Atreus  kept  his  head  bowed  as  he  spoke.  With  each  word,  he  would’ve  sworn  that  he  could  still  feel  the  ice  seeping  into  his  feet.  

              “ He  led  me  for  hours .  When  we  stopped ,  he  told  me  to  find  my  way  back .  I  took  the  cloth  off  and  he  was  gone .  There  was  a  spear  on  the  ground  at  my  feet ,  and  that  was  it .  There  is  no  cold  like  that  of  Targon ,  and  in  winter ,  fully-grown  men  and  women  could  die  from  being  exposed  to  it  for  too  long .  It  took  me  four  days  to  find  my  way  home . ”  

              Atreus  looked  to  the  fire,  then  he  closed  his  eyes.  

              “ The  world  is  not  evil ,  Riven ,  it  is  harsh . ”

#𝛀 into legend . ( ic ) #𝛀 rise / fight / take my hand . ( riven ) #lostfury #O k. . .. .. ..... . #thanks for the vibe check riven..