The Spirit realm. A realm not entirely divorced from Runeterra’s reality. It's not uncommon for its influence to bleed into the real world. But in no place is its influence stronger than in Ionia. The Spirit realm has never been entirely benevolent, nor malevolent. But ignorance would make many believe otherwise. Demacians, fearful of the Spirit world’s inhabitants - who have haunted them in centuries past, seek to contain and destroy. Noxians, forever scheming, would use these spirits to their great advantage. And the Freljordians, kept to themselves and occupied with their internal disputes, worship their own breed of spirits as deific beings.

Ionia could never once claim, in all its illustrious history, to share any similarities with its farflung neighbors in how they approach the Spirits and their realm. Ionians seek to commune and coexist in all aspects of life. Not only with nature, but with the tides of the spiritual magic and the realm in which they flow so freely from. Their understanding is grand, unparalleled by any nation or faction across Runeterra. So it comes as no surprise that the peoples of Ionia have found a way to bridge the gap between the two existences. Like spring water in warm rivers the magical tide ebbes through the land, heralding the arrival of the Spirits. A sensation that bristles the hair on one's arms and sends welcoming palpitations into one’s heart.

Nature sings, the skies break open with angelic sunlight every morning and the colors of reality increase in contrast. Every breath of fresh air breathes excitement into the lungs and sound is heard with indescribable clarity. The day belongs to the Kanmei. Those spirits who exemplify benevolence - possessing domains of lighthearted trickery, hopeful salvation, unrepentant freedom and imperishable pride. Ionians take this time to prepare for a celebration unlike any other. The Spirit realm brings with it the fallen and buried souls of lost loved ones. The border between reality and unreality blurs, sensations heighten and glee is in abundance. A time of laughter and absolute happiness; The Spirit Blossom festival.

But when the festivities are over and the sun fades beyond the horizon…

The darkness is lit with a magical aurora of devious light. The colors at night are still just as full as they were in the day, but perhaps not as bright. The sky, now cast in dark blues, blacks and baleful violets - sets itself as a polar opposite to the baby blue hue of afternoon’s empyrean. The Akana claim nightfall. Spirits who exemplify the worst of Runeterra’s characteristics. Things like lustful desire, psychotic obsession, wrathful vengeance and dark temptation. Demons and malevolent spirits encroach upon the edges of civilization, preying upon the unfortunate and unaware. The forest guardians are beset upon by terrible creatures and the flora comes to life with bioluminescence. Chaos reigns.

A cascade of fairy chimneys ran down a shallow slope of red. At first glance it could be mistaken for a tumultuous ocean of crimson, opaque and depthless. But upon closer inspection the ocean was broken by tan dirt pathways and the occasional laborer plying its surface for natural bounty. It swept down the long hill like a brook without banks, its cardinal length disrupted by the errant, oblong rock formations that towered overhead like abstract artistry. This was not an ocean of water, but an ocean of grass. The wind and the invisible tides of magic danced along each blade and leaflet, causing it to shimmer like oceanborne waves. With every cool breeze the river grass fluttered audibly in a brisk symphony of gentle white noise. The sun beamed off nearby ponds and shallow estuaries where trawlers in big straw hats, alongside crustaceans half their size, plunged down in search of fish. Every fisherman jealously guarded their baskets so their clawed competition wouldn’t make off with their earnings while they weren’t looking.

Making its way along with titanic strides was a monumental beaked tortoise. Huge legs and feet rivalling a Demacian lookout tower flattened grass in the wake of each step, quaking the earth as it continued in a northward direction. Its shell, covered in red moss and brown fungi, housed a generously sized dwelling across the breadth of its back. Bark influenced by expert woodweavers harmoniously assembled itself into folding leafed roofs and a structure to support it. Lattice ran around its exterior with a layer of insulating sheet cloth. The silent interior, oddly vacant was disturbed by a low thrumming of magical build up. A wardrobe rattled violently as glowing yellow cracks began to circulate up through its surface. It bloated comically and the once perfect wood warped out of shape, bending in ways wood shouldn’t be able to bend.

All at once the magical energy burst forth, forcing the wardrobe’s double doors wide open. Whimsical amber light flooded the deserted interior of the mobile home and out from the wardrobe came a bevy of beautiful flowers, green grass and reaching vines. A localized bubble of nature sprung up around the wardrobe, growing in a matter of heartbeats. It spewed forth its diminutive contents one after the other. Four yordles were pumped from its interior at speed, scattering across the foyer to crash into the dusty decorum at random.

First Enzo, then Chelle, Mica and lastly Lois. The wardrobe’s expanded size shrunk in the blink of an eye and the doors slammed shut, killing the bright light and the magical undergrowth in an instant. It was as if nothing had ever happened. The fallout of having crashed through someone’s home soon paled in comparison to the sensation of movement and weightlessness beneath their feet.

Mica shot up, pushing the ruined remains of a potted plant from her person. She started toward the nearest doorway. The threshold and the rounded gaps along one tier of the vaulted ceiling streamed welcoming light into the lonely abode. Chelle was soon following as they emerged onto a hanging patio that looked over one flank of the beaked tortoise’s side. She gasped in awe. The spectacle of it all was far from her simple life as a salary excavator. The smell of nature infused with magic was the purest form of oxygen there was. The magic of Ionia was palpable to her and the rest of them.

“It’s beautiful…” She exhaled, perhaps for the first time since viewing the vista. Her eyes ran along the patio’s length to the craning head of the beaked tortoise on one side of her. It walked on, unaware of their presence - joined by others of its kind all heading in a northward direction away from the sea. A smile grew larger and larger, only made wider by Chelle’s curiosity as she joined Mica.

“This is a… Pleasant surprise…” Chelle whispered with a reluctant chuckle.

Mica could tell she was impressed, even if she was too stubborn to let it register as openly as she did. In their moment of admiration the peace was shattered as they were shoved aside by an enthusiastic Enzo. He skidded to a halt at the extreme of the patio, looking right, then left and right again. His hurried footsteps thump, thump, thumped across the dwelling’s platform as he galloped towards the neck of the majestic tortoise - his arms and hands held out as if presenting its grandeur in disbelief.

“Holy fuck! That’s a giant turtle!”

Enzo never failed to amuse Mica with his antics. Perhaps it was because she was so easily amused? But she wasn’t thinking about that right now. Chelle, however, wasn’t so fond. She scowled in his direction but her annoyed expression was dispelled by a prodding elbow to the midsection.

“Isn’t this awesome?” Mica giggled.

“It’s… Kinda’ awesome… But,” Chelle now turned to glance back into the shaded interior they had just emerged from, “Where are we?” Her eyes met with Lois’ who was just joining the three of her companions.

“Ionia. This place used to belong to an old couple; landfishers. They passed away… So I connected it to the Nexus and conjured a portal. A lot of yordles use it as a mobile safehouse of a sort. Seems no one’s been through for a while, though.” Lois cast her eyes to the dust that had gathered on her garments upon arrival, then the errant branches that had grown out of place during its vacancy.

“It’s very cozy.” Mica added, stepping past Lois to further explore its interior.

She moved through the foyer, taking note of the furniture. It was all a gradient of white wood, something akin to birch. An armchair woven of tendril-esque branches, a sectional cushioned and laid over with feathered fur of a sort, the potted plant she’d smashed, a fireproofed hearth, a number of rugs, which she presumed were for sitting due in part to their arrangement and storage cubbies worked seamlessly into the walls. Ionia’s harmony with nature gave their furnishing a unique style unreplicated anywhere else in the world. She glanced into an adjacent room that appeared to be a kitchen, complete with countertops and an island two feet too tall for her. She only managed to spy a rack of cutlery and the cupboards that lined the walls overhead. The entire kitchen was formed into a pinched crescent around the circular island. An intelligent way to weave a room into nature’s embrace. A dining room sat in the chamber flanking the kitchen, kept relatively open and connected to both it and the foyer for ease of access. A long piece of warped and natural wood sanded to a smooth surface sat on six warped legs and was surrounded by six warped chairs with tall backs. A storage room was isolated to one extreme of the home and finally a curling stairway led up to a balcony loft overhead, housing the one and only bedroom. This would be perfect for Chelle and I. She thought.

“This is cool and all…” Chelle used her length of hair to bat the dusty sofa, scattering it in small clouds. “But what are we here for?”

Mica took it upon herself to grab a broom for the storage room, leaving her drill to take up space in the foyer while she cleaned and listened in.

“Your birthday.” Lois said, with a lack of emotion.

Chelle was just about to nest herself on the couch when Lois' words scythed through her like a gunshot. She recoiled as if insulted, head bouncing back with a palm pressed against her chest, eyes blinking in shock. Mica had seen that look before. The look of astonishment at anyone doing anything nice for her. She’ll probably push it back onto Lois to hide it. Mica smiled.

“M-My birthday? How did you-” Her head rounded slowly onto Mica. Mica averted her gaze and continued to sweep, this time with a bit more nervous effort.

“Just something that came up in idle conversation. Would you rather I didn’t?” Lois asked, producing a file for her nails from her travel pack. She liked to keep them sharp, Mica noticed.

“No! No… It’s just- So unlike you. Y’know, like I said earlier.”

Ah, there it is. Mica nodded to herself in silence.

Chelle’s eyes flicked back towards Mica once she heard the thwip and swish of the broom stop. “What the hell are you smiling about over there?!” The internal emotions she must’ve been wrestling with showed plainly in her face.

Oh, shit! Mica was shocked back into sweeping with a stint of nervous laughter. “Just uh- Thinking about how nice it’ll be to celebrate your birthday! We haven’t done anything like this in a while, so…”

Chelle’s nervous aggression abated as her cool and smug demeanor returned upon Enzo’s arrival.

“Did I hear something about a birthday?”

“We’re going to the Spirit Blossom festival for Chelle’s birthday.” Lois reiterated.

“So… We’re not here for work?” Enzo said, a look of utter confusion on his face.

He received a shake of the head in response.

A creeping suspicion plucked at Mica’s spine, now. What on Terra has gotten into Lois lately? Lois was a cold and calculating killer, a woman about her business and her business only. Up until recently their relationship didn’t extend beyond briefings and boring idle chit chat. The first job they had done at that old mansion seemed so long ago now. Could it really be that she changed? Mica wasn’t one to dwell on the past but something didn’t seem right about all this. She said she wouldn’t jump to conclusions but her mind was racing right now. She could only imagine how Chelle must’ve felt a night ago. Could this be something to do with her lack of sleep? Or maybe she’s just lonely. No, that’s definitely not it! Her thoughts dampened as she so suddenly drew Lois’ eye. She had only just realized how fast her heart was beating. The worry had gotten to her. Just keep sweeping! Just keep sweeping!

“Y’know. I think this’ll be good for us! We’ve been on the road, almost dying and stuff. Now we can kick back, relax and enjoy some Ionian wine with fireworks and whatever else Ionians do when they celebrate!” Enzo declared with a confident fist. “In fact…” The curious yordle sat his totem down to go rummaging in the kitchen for something or another. He soon returned with a shifty bottle of drink. “Why don’t we get things started early? Pre-game a little.”

“It’s still broad day out.” Chelle groaned.

“So?” Enzo retorted.

“One, we haven’t even eaten yet. And two, who day drinks?” Chelle clapped back with immediacy.

“Well, there’s no food here.”

“Just figuring that out?” Chelle face palmed.

“Just that time of the month for you, isn’t it, sweetheart?” Enzo’s sly grin ran ear to ear.

Chelle’s hair came alive all at once, spiking out into pincer tendrils that carried her towards Enzo like a medusan cephalopod. She was only delayed by Mica’s efforts to put herself between the two. “Hey, woah! Woah! It’s just jokes, right guys?”

Lois lurched off the post she was leaning on, tucking her file. “Let’s go get some.” Somehow Lois’ voice had an imposing calmness to it that could quiet even the most violent storms. Meeting it with a relaxing gentleness instead of matching its fury. It had a way of grabbing one’s attention. Perhaps it was the authority that it carried as their employer, or perhaps it was something else entirely.

“What? You expect us to hunt for it?” Chelle inquired, with a scoff and a smug eye roll.

“Exactly.” Lois nodded. “Come on.”

“You can’t be serious…”

“Wooo! Hunting trip!” Enzo fist pumped enthusiastically, running after Lois into the storage room.

“This… Is so stupid…”

“Shh! Be quiet!”

“I swear to God, Enzo…”

A narrow chine with steep banks layered in red river grass ran along the fields just ahead of their walking abode, the shadow of the great beaked tortoise casting itself upon them. It circulated like a capillary through this part of Ionia, branching off from the main vein that was the Navori river. The narrow water passage was populated with bleating Worax - herd animals with the girth of a Freljordian bison, the curled horns of a ram and feathered fur in a meshing of avian and mammal. Despite Ionia’s cohesive outlook on nature, they still needed to eat. And humans weren’t the only hunters who sought out Worax for their lean meat. Worax often used these narrow chines to water themselves. A herd of Worax were a tempting target for other predatory fauna. Fauna that had no qualms with slaughtering these peaceful herbivores. They weren’t beholden to the citizenries hunting laws. A Jeweled Protector would take any and all young calves it could sink its claws into.

But stalking the Woraxes wasn’t a band of Ionian nomads, nor a massive Jeweled Protector, but four Yordles - hidden in the brush on one high extreme of the chine. Lois studied with a calculating eye. She counted ten Worax. Three young, five females and two big males. Her eyes closed a moment and her blood sense cast its true vision out. Ten heartbeats. To the untrained ear there was no difference. But to Lois each metronomic thump told a story about the animal. The faster it was the more on edge the animal was. The slower it was, the calmer the creature. Some beats were strong. The two big males pumped hard blood through their veins. The adolescent calves beat weakly, too young to push ichor like their parents. Then there were heart beats that struggled. One female was older, perhaps in her elderly years. And one was sickly. She opened her eyes to spy that one. On its side a breach in the feathered fur pulled her attention. Old blood stained its fluorescent orange-red hide. The wound was maybe a week old and definitely infected.

“That one.” Lois pointed towards the wounded Worax. “We isolate that one.”

“Why not just get a calf?” Mica’s brow furrowed at the thought of taking down such a beast.

“You can only hunt adults in Ionia. They have strict laws on nature and things like this. Plus, the calves aren’t as easy as you think. Their Mothers will get aggressive and make a stand if we endanger them. We want them stampeding.” Lois lectured.

“You’ve done this before I assume?” Chelle asked.

“Rations only last so long.”

“Are you sure these spears are going to do the trick? I think my totem would be more effective.” Enzo glanced between the length of the spear in his hand, then to the others.

“They’re not spears, they're javelins. All we have to do is hit it behind the legs and immobilize it. First we have to get them running, though…” Lois sighed.

“I got this.” Enzo cleared his throat and rose to a knee beside his prone allies.

Enzo cupped both hands around his mouth and inhaled before letting out a long winded howl. Its depth and fullness was nearly exactly that of a Freljordian Rimefang, mimicking its pitch and mournful cadence with astonishing accuracy. The Worax began to scan, their instincts putting all senses on high alert. It didn’t matter that wolves weren’t of this ecosystem, the call of a predator registered universally. The big males swung their horns round in attempts to intimidate anything lurking nearby. A simplistic display of power and dominance. Enzo let out another howl as Lois rose to one knee beside him, cutting a wound into her skin with her ceremonial dagger to begin weaving the blood out of it. The long ribbon of liquid crimson formed into her signature wreath of daggers, framing her in two half circles of hardened spikes. With gentle flicks of the wrist, fingers and hands she pelted a number of the timid females. Not enough to cause any significant damage, but enough to strike fear through stinging pain. One Worax bleat, then another and another. Chelle and Mica added to the illusion by rustling through the tall river grass in an overly audible fashion.

The first Worax to run soon brought with it several others until the entire herd was being pulled along, not wanting to be left singled out by their unperceivable hunters. They’d done it. Now the chase was on. Yordles had always been deceptively agile, able to keep pace with bounding strides that defied gravity and their stout physiology. The rumble of the stampeding Worax hardly overshadowed the excited laughter of Enzo and Mica. This was an exhilarating feeling, chasing after your dinner. The thought that failure would mean nothing to eat until they arrived at the festival fueled them with determination. It appealed to the baser instincts in all creatures. The will to survive. Even Yordles had it. Passed down from many generations that predated even their multi-hundred year lifespans. The hunter gatherer and tribal cognition had been awakened through the simple act of spear hunting. And suddenly they were all enthralled. Even Chelle ran with engaged enthusiasm, locked in on the wounded Worax.

The beating sun cast bouncing reflections off the splashing water, the magic in Ionia’s atmosphere fueling them with unnatural vitality. They pursued, locked tightly together along the winding bank overlooking their quarry. The chine curled and whipped, funneling the stampede towards its northern limit. Something within them knew that they would have to down this Worax before it reached the open fields ahead, otherwise their chances of impaling it accurately would drop significantly. The chine doubled back on itself in a hairpin turn that sent the stampede crashing into the soft embankment on the far side and then around. Enzo reeled back, loading his javelin as he broke the limits of the river grass. He launched it, sinking the spear just behind the front left leg. The sickly Worax yelped. It was by far the slowest, making it easy to keep up with.

Lois and Mica used the hairpin turn to their advantage, leaping across the gap and over the stampede. They slammed into the dirt wall of the gorge, finding purchase with their hands and feet to begin scrambling back up and over the lip. Now with two on either side of the wounded Worax they could effectively pincer it. It was slowed but not deterred and the end of the gorge was fast approaching. The wounded Worax dripped fresh blood into the chine’s brook as the spear finally dislodged itself. But the damage was done. The tendons were torn and it cantered with a noticeable limp. Mica accelerated ahead of Lois as another bending turn led the chine away from its westward heading and back into a northern direction. She measured and dialed with her free hand and loaded back with the other, heaving forward into a throw that sent her off balance. Enzo dipped down into the gorge to retrieve his bloodied spear, doubling his efforts to return to the fold.

The spear was just shy of its mark. More to the belly and less behind the leg, but anything would do at this point. The longer it ran the more harm it would bring upon itself. The stampede was breaking for the end of the chine and the injured Worax was bleeding profusely. Even if they didn’t secure the kill here it would collapse eventually. The Worax knew this, too. It was time to make a stand. She’d either trample her pursuers or die fighting. The stampede continued on as the Worax bumbled to a stop, choosing its arena wisely. A wider bowl protrusion in the walls of the gorge gave it some degree of maneuverability. The fear in its eyes was easy to recognize. An animal cornered and willing to fight for a chance at survival. A look all too familiar to Lois.

The hemomancer flipped her javelin from an overhand grip to an underhand grip with a dragging toss into the air, catching the shaft underneath. She leapt off the wall of the chine, whipping the javelin back and launching it forward whilst airborne. The metallic head found purchase in the meat of the Worax’s neck, further towards the base. It bellowed in agony, shaking its feathered hide in attempts to rid itself of the pain stemming from its neck. Lois met the watery floor of the gorge with a splash and a pressure roll. The Worax reared up on its hind legs to stamp downwards onto her. She was quick to back off, bouncing into a backflip just as the Worax scattered mud and water into the air where she previously stood.

Enzo found himself joining the issue just as at it began, his javelin in hand. He was ready to load back and release a second time when the Worax punched one hoof into the wet earth, dragging it back and back again. A sign easily recognized. The angry Worax lowered its head and charged, galloping with the fury of a brazen bull. Enzo hucked his spear up towards Mica who was still overlooking the fight from the ridge above. She could do more with it from her position than he could now. A second before the Worax made contact Enzo threw himself to one side, using the safety of a boulder resting in the chine to redirect the Worax away. Its hard head went scraping off the rock with little effect, its momentum carrying it further south where it skid to a halt and turned.

Just then Mica slung the Javelin. It embedded itself in the width of the Worax’s chest. It was a large target so there was little chance of her missing, but still, the Worax came. Putting the unarmed Lois in its sights, it charged again, splashing back in the direction it had come. Another bellow of last resort wheezed from its bloody throat. Lois conjured her daggers once more, flicking them towards the Worax in attempts to deter it. But the most patient hunter of them all had the solution. Waiting in the tall grass above was Chelle. Her head nodded in time with each trot and gallop. She took three steps back from the tall lip of the embankment and five running steps forward, leaping off.

Chelle came careening in like a comet to intercept the Worax, her spear held in both hands to one side of her. A passionate war cry rolled up and out of her throat from the sheer adrenaline of it all. Her arms thrust forward and her body twisted with the motion to put its force behind the blow. The javelin’s head was precisely placed, entering straight through the left eye and out of the other socket. The Worax went limp in an instant, carried to its side head first by Chelle’s momentum. She stood atop it in triumph, ripping her javelin free with a shlick of viscera and greymatter.

Mica looked upon Chelle with child-like adoration. The young girl who had fallen in love with the action hero. In that moment Chelle never looked better, never more brave or awe inspiring… Breathtaking. She slid down the embankment with giddy laughter, running to sweep Chelle up and embrace her. “That… Was… Amazing!”

Chelle, completely engulfed in Mica’s arms - broke out into a blush, so suddenly ambushed by Mica and her kind words. “Yeah, I just kinda’... Went for it. Maybe hunting isn’t so bad.”

Mica’s fan girl fanaticism came to an end as Lois approached with a look of measured approval. “Impressive.” She nodded.

“Thanks.” Chelle replied, her smile subconsciously lingering.

“Yep! Nothing like a good ole’ hunting trip to get the blood pumpin’!” Enzo clambered onto the dead Worax, speaking as if he were a grizzled old timer. “Ready to split this baby open?”

“Split it open? You mean…” Chelle’s features went gaunt at the thought of it.

“How else are we going to get the meat out?” Lois droned. “Here,” She produced her ceremonial blade, “Your kill. You do the honors.”

Chelle could’ve swore she saw the slightest glimmer of a toothy smirk past Lois’ lips. A tired groan fell from her mouth as she snatched the knife away and turned to the Worax.

“I hate hunting.”