Chapter Text
Piltover was not long stretches of plains among dense forests. Nor was it populated by massive trees which threatened to dwarf the land.
The city consisted of tall buildings that reached up to the sky, so high that it almost touched Syndra’s tower. For what purpose? Syndra didn’t know. The very size of these buildings was gaudy and overcompensating.
Bronze, silver and steel. Metals bent and formed into what its inhabitants wanted.
The houses were cramped. Streets twisted and curved like veins leading to the heart of the city.
Humongous bodies of water surrounded Piltover, bridges lay over the lakes connecting the city to the islands beside.
Piltover was the complete opposite of Ionia.
Ionia was a land of free-flowing magic, where nature was dominant. While Piltover was purely modernization.
The streets were paved and clean. Not a single dirt road in site. Occasionally, Syndra saw a large curious wheel where its riders sped through the streets, weaving through crowds and alleyways at an alarming speed.
Far below there seemed to be a town under Piltover. Fog enshrouded it, barely revealing those beneath.
Her castle hung high amongst the clouds; drifting further and further away until she would land on the outskirts, where the buildings ceased and the land finally started.
Syndra had already heard rumours of hextech. There had been talk that the inhabitants of this land had only just found out how to use magic. They didn’t know of the magic that was infused beneath their feet. She looked at them almost primitively.
Something so ancient, that practically eclipsed the dawn of time. A concept that should have been known especially to a place focused on innovation. And only now were they starting to understand.
Fools. Magic surrounds them and they can barely see it. These people could scarcely even wield its might yet they longed to control it.
Further north from Piltover, her castle starts its descent. Arriving at a mountain that was wrought with greenery and dense forests. Her tower landed with a heavy thud, crushing rock and splintering the trees beneath.
The scent of pine filled Syndra’s nostrils as the tower rested against the mountainside. Her home was a league away from the city of progress. Just far enough where she wouldn’t be bothered.
Her castle was hardly in ruin. She had done her best to remove the bodies that once littered the place. She walked up to the shattered mirror within her room, gazing at the reflection. Pieces of herself splintered off in a multitude of directions. A representation of herself and the land from which she came.
She peeled off the white robes that clothed her; the sign of her imprisonment beneath the waters of Ionia. Out of thin air, a dark outfit manifested in its place. A familiar helm shielded her head. Violet eyes were covered yet they still held that glow, a sign of the power that dwelled within.
That same headpiece was a mask that separated her from the outside world. As it always should have been. Her very presence was almost a dare to those she encountered. Let them try to stop me.
Syndra was limitless. The control of dark matter was a beautiful thing and it was astounding that her masters longed to stifle that part of her. But all that stopped once she destroyed those that bound her.
Magic was a contradiction. The very thing that had confined and freed her. What better place to go than to a land that barely had any magic? Even with the presence of magic, the Piltovans still lacked the means to control it.
The thought disgusted Syndra. The First Lands were rife with magic and its people spent years trying to uncover its secrets. Only to discover that it was never theirs to tame.
The arcane chose who would wield it. There was no point in harnessing the uncontrollable. But that no longer concerned Syndra. She was not in Ionia. Instead, she was on the opposite side of the sea, trying to start a new life where the past couldn’t touch her.
Amongst the violence and destruction, she had left with a sense of freedom that was never had.
The Elders had left a large sum of gold just below her room, within the treasury. But that was still not a substitute for food. Already grain had started to go scarce. Imbeciles. They could have at least left me with more food.
Begrudgingly, Syndra grabbed a small pouch of gold and floated down from her castle and into Piltover. The city itself was grandiose, the streets were intricate. To Syndra, this city was almost a labyrinth. Unlike anything Syndra had seen, granted she hadn’t seen much outside of her small village.
Her attire turned heads. Or maybe it was the fact that Syndra floated across their streets. Those very gazes used to unnerve her. Now they made her oddly proud. The masses should see her in all her splendour, her power.
She wandered further and further into the city until the sweet scent of ripe fruit gave her pause. Just across from her was a market that lay inside a huge warehouse.
She drifted within and found various foods from all over Runeterra. Items that she had only heard about in tales within Fae’lor. Syndra had never hoped to see those sights. She had thought herself imprisoned in that small part of Ionia.
Violet eyes scanned every stall until she came across a produce stand. A pock-marked merchant looked at her, shock clear on his face. But he didn’t interest her, the dazzling colour within the stand was her priority.
A Shuriman Phoenix Fruit . It was bright orange in appearance and about the size of Syndra’s hand. Syndra held it in her palm, checking for any deformities. It was perfectly ripe and Syndra was hungry. Wordlessly she passed a golden coin to the merchant boy.
Only upon seeing the gold did the merchant speak. “Do you have any other coin? If not, then it would be better if I just gave you 6 of those. At least.”
Syndra didn’t want to talk much longer. Even if Piltover was beautiful, she didn’t want to interact with the people. Subconsciously, they repulsed her. “Then I’ll take 6.”
The merchant went to gather a bag, placing the goods carefully within—BOOM!
The stall exploded in a display of colourful fire and juice. One of the fruits had pelted Syndra right on the horn of her helm. Sweet juice dripped down her face and the sticky feeling was enough for Syndra to see red.
In the distance, there was an unmistakable figure among the wreckage of wood and fire. Bright blue braids ran down the woman’s back. Even if Syndra could not see that shock of hair, she sure as hell would recognize that laugh .
The very sound made Syndra’s blood boil. That mocking laugh was a reminder of the past which crept into the present. Syndra would never be accepted by Ionia, let alone Piltover.
Her memories taunted her for the person she had been. Syndra had been a young fool, eager for the slightest bit of affection. But that was then, she was no longer tied down by the idea of a love that would never come.
Syndra was an untapped well of magic and this was but child’s play. She raised her hand and it briefly glowed purple.
The laughter died as soon as the woman was practically tossed by some unknown force. A sadistic part of Syndra took satisfaction in the transition from happiness to shock.
The woman flew only to be caught by the throat in a vice-like grip. The impact knocked the breath out of the mysterious bomber.
Syndra took the woman’s appearance in. A pistol tightly gripped in one hand and a shark shaped canon lay on her back. at her hip was a pink machine gun while 3 bombs cinched at her waist. Without a doubt, this was the person responsible.
Normally, Syndra didn’t dabble in any lands’ affairs. It was pointless to care. Not unless the conflict would affect her.
But this was different. This woman ruined her outfit and blew up the remnants of her food. Then this woman had the audacity to laugh.
Syndra’s grip tightened only for the expression on the woman’s face to change. From discomfort to what seemed like a genuine plea for her life.
Syndra rolled her eyes. “That’s not going to work on me.”
In an instance, the bombers’ expression shifted to a pout. The blue haired woman sighed before her hand lifted and a pistol was aimed at Syndra’s head. “Then I guess we gotta do this the hard way.”
The statement barely fazed Syndra. She watched the woman squeeze the trigger… rather, attempt to squeeze it.
Shock and disbelief reflected in pink eyes. What was once cockiness was now replaced with a genuine fear. The sight made Syndra feel powerful. The very thing that would bring this woman a sense of safety, could be taken away with just a fraction of Syndra’s power.
The sound of stone crumbling broke the moment. Already pieces of the roof started to fall, a massive chunk tumbled just over Syndra’s head. It was going to crush her. My day just keeps getting better.
Still holding the woman by the throat, Syndra’s other arm lifted and suddenly the concrete mass split in half, landing into two pieces just beside Syndra and the arsonist.
The simple display had the woman gawking in what seemed to be wonder. In contrast to the fear the Piltovans showed, there was only fascination in the strange woman’s face.
But Syndra wouldn’t dwell on this. It was obvious that her powers would strike fear and wonder. Just as her grip could tighten even further, a dozen enforcers surrounded the pair. Rifles were raised against Syndra and the whole display left her utterly exasperated.
Really? Guns? Syndra shook her head. It was almost an insult to see.
With a sigh and another flick of her wrist, she tossed the nuisance in her hand against the wall.
The enforcers still didn’t move but it was clear, one more movement could mean the first of many shots.
Her magic was just another part of herself like an intangible limb, but Piltover was quickly growing tedious and she was done with the people. Purple energy suddenly surrounded a slab of concrete before she threw it towards the enforcers; not caring if it landed on them.
It would buy her a couple of undisturbed moments. She took the time to scoop up the remnants of fruit and ascended once more into the sky.
An image of how a disc runner looks (the one Syndra was talking about):
