Chapter Text
News about murdered innocent citizens of Ionia have spread quickly, it is only natural to feel tension rising throughout the regions where the attacks have taken place. The island of Zhyun remains on high alert, much to Sett's dismay, as his business has been affected gravely from the growing fear.
Warriors who were expected to fight fail to arrive, while the number of spectators and bettors have reduced in number with each passing day since the attacks began. Navori appears untouched for now, yet there's an uncertainty lingering. No one knows where the assassin will strike next.
As concern spreads through the land, a gathering of influential figures is convoked. Representatives from several cities of the nation answer the call, including Sett.
His journey to Zhyunia is as uneventful as one would expect, Kolo accompanies him out of concern, and after enough complaints, Sett finally accepts her help navigating through the southern islands.
Shortly after their arrival, they part ways. Sett joins the ongoing discussions, hoping to gather information about the murderer, learn what measures are being taken to protect the people, and, more importantly, how he might recover from the losses his business has suffered.
The effort proves fruitless.
The only information he manages to obtain consists of vague descriptions and rumors. Khada Jhin, a sharpshooter armed with a rifle infused with spiritual magic, some sort of strange "foreigner's weapon". Concealed and silent, leaving clues and riddles in form of what he would describe as "art".
Sett refuses to let the matter rest.
His business can wait a few more days without him. If he can find a way to get rid of this bastard. The benefits would be impossible to ignore, hell, if he could personally take down the killer, it would excite the masses, bring pouring wealth to his pockets.
Sett embarks on a journey towards the southern coast, following the trail of the murderer who seems to be moving towards that direction. The small port of Jyom Pass greets him upon arrival, a humble fisherman's village notable for it's annual Spirit Blossom festival.
The locals seem to be already on edge.
As he questions the villagers, he is met with fearful glances, many speak of an unleashed beast, a man who was once captured in this very place by a former Master of the Kinkou. Fear has already taken root.
As the sun begins to set nothing suspicious has occurred. One final ship arrives before nightfall.
It is not Ionian. Steam billows from three large pipes protruding from its metal hull, adding to it, the sound of rhythmic hiss of machinery deafening the liveliness of the village. A piltovian trade ship.
It should not be here. Ships from Piltover are expected to dock at Nanthee, not a small fishing port like Jyom Pass. Something's definitely wrong.
Sett moves closer to the docks, he sees crew members rush to disembark their passengers, urging them onto the pier with unusual haste. A conversation reaches his pointy ears.
"The settlement is ruined for!" A young man cries.
"That's why we had to come here darling. But we must find shelter quickly."
"I told you it was a bad idea to spend our honeymoon in Ionia."
Sett suppresses a sigh. An attack on Nanthee.
If Jhin is responsible, he has likely already fled. The issue being figuring out where he went, and on which ship.
The scent of lavish Piltovian perfumes drifts through the crowd, overwhelming his senses. Sett's nose wrinkles in disgust. Such potent artificial scents makes him recoil instinctively, raising an arm to shield his face as though it may somehow block them, yet a loud sneeze escapes him.
When he lifts his head again, someone passes beside him. A cloaked figure. A faint floral scent lingers in their wake, different from the perfumes surrounding them. Natural. Some seconds pass before his instincts kick in. Sett turns sharply and begins following the silhouette.
The attire is unfamiliar. It isn't Noxian, nor Ionian, he is certain of that, yet it doesn't resemble typical Piltovian fashion either. Golden and silver intricate patterns embroidered across the cloak's dark fabric. The figure is smaller than him, not as if that was a difficult feat to achieve, still, Sett keeps his distance to them, studying subtle shifts beneath the cloak, searching for any sign of concealed weapons. If this is his lead, he has no intention of letting it slip away.
A full moon is brightly visible now, magical lanterns flicker to life one by one, casting a soft glow across the village's streets as villagers retreat to their uncertain safety of their homes. Ahead of him, the cloaked figure slows, they know they're being followed.
The stranger turns into the next alley without hesitation, and in a quick reaction Sett follows. The narrow path opens into a flight of stone stairs covered in moss and lichen, leading toward a temple. The figure is gone. A trap. Sett stills, holding his breath. In an instant he spins around, a rifle aimed directly at his head.
The weapon is unlike any he has seen before, long and elegant, forged from silvery metal that reflects the moonlight, emitting blue spiritual energy from what it seemed to be it's core. It's wielder remains concealed beneath the cloak's shadow. Neither of them moves. For a moment it feels like time itself has frozen. Something feels off.
Sett can sense the Spirit Realm's forces shifting around the temple grounds. The Spirit Blossom Festival is approaching and it is certain that both Realms will collide once again. A faint spectral silhouette drifts around the cloaked figure. Had he not noticed it before? Pale hair tickled the cloth of the sharpshooter's hood.
Sett's fists clench. "If this was your plan of murdering another innocent person," he growls "you've picked the wrong man"
Without waiting for a response he launches forward.
"Phel, no!" A woman's voice begs for mercy.
Sett's approach happens in a blink, the shuffling of his shoes on the floor barely a whisper. One larger hand caresses the smooth silver surface of his rifle's mouth before it coils with a strength that Aphelios quickly realizes he can't match.
Pushing the muzzle away from his face and body, better to be burned or electrified by the sudden bolt of energy rather than pierced cleanly through, Sett guessed, he pushes the shorter man against the nearest tree and tears the weapon from his grasp.
The concussion knocks the air from Aphelios' lungs, with his weapon out of reach he drops to his knees.
"Stop!" The woman's voice echoes through the air, yet no body accompanies the cry, it comes from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.
Sett's eyes narrow, finally able to notice the features of the unfamiliar face right before him.
Dark silky hair frames pale skin, deep blue markings of what it seemed a crescent moon painted around their forehead, their underlip stained with the same shade. Their half-lidded eyes seem unfocused, and when Sett catches the sight of their irises, they resemble the same shade as a night sky.
Aphelios sways and collapses onto his side. Pain flares sharply through his ribs, another gasp begging for much needed air. He curls around the injury. Another fight, another opponent he has no personal quarrel with. His body feels like it's already reaching his limit, he can't keep this up much longer.
Sett's ears twitch, rotating as he scans the area, a decoy? The woman's voice is unmistakable but, no matter where he looks there are no traces of her. A spirit? No one had mentioned a spirit. His fists clench.
Sett crouches beside the fallen sharpshooter and grabs a fistful of their collar. A large ornate golden necklace, contrasts the dark navy fabric of their clothes.
"Who are you?"
Aphelios' eyes flutter at the question but in an instant he collapses.
His body goes limp, crumpling beneath Sett's grip. Sett's eyes widen. Shit, the realization hits him all at once.
He loosens his hold on Aphelios' collar and lets the man slump into his arms. Sett knows for sure he hadn't used anywhere near his full strength, all he'd done was disarm him. Sett's gaze snaps toward where the weapon should've fallen. It's gone.
The spirit's presence still lingers barely, he only catches faint disturbances in the air.
"Fuck" Sett curses under his breath, two fingers press against his neck, a pulse, weak but steady. This whole situation is a mess, guilt settles heavily in his chest, and pride won't let him abandon someone who can barely stand, let alone fight.
Besides if this is really the killer everyone's hunting, then leaving him here accomplishes nothing. With a frustrated growl, he slides an arm beneath Aphelios and lifts him effortlessly.
He walks towards the temple grounds, it is quiet. By the time he reaches the outer gates, a guard spots them and rushes over.
"Sir?" the guard asks, visibly alarmed. "Is this person injured? Was there an attack?"
Sett keeps his expression neutral
"No" He states calmly. "Looks like he's carrying some old injuries. We just need shelter for tonight."
The guard hesitates, looking at Aphelios' robes, but eventually nods. Sett follows him inside.