Chapter 2: Sugar

Atreus, Aspect of War

I stared up at the stars, confused beyond comprehension. I found myself in some kind of forest clearing; the silhouettes of buildings loomed tall and dark in the distance. Never had I claimed to be a sage, but being an Aspect for so long, I knew more about the fabric of creation than most could ever claim. I jumped into the Void. Not that false shadow of Runeterra that housed Cho'Gath, but deeper still. Deeper past where the Watchers remained sealed, deeper into the nothingness that spawned all existence.

I had willingly embraced the oblivion that even the so-called gods feared. I had thought that in my final moments, I could reclaim my own name. I had thought to let the legacy of Atreus be the true end of a Darkin, an end from which there could be no revival. Even if no one else would remember, it was to be my final service to humanity. And, if I was truthful with myself, a way to immortalize my name, not as the Aspect of War, but a man who achieved something no one else had.

"So why… HAVE I NOT DONE ENOUGH?" I cried to the heavens. I was so mentally worn down that I could not even muster the strength to rise. Soul-deep exhaustion weighed on me like the weight of all of Targon and I lay there, heaving as though I'd dueled Aurelion.

Then I heard it, a whisper in the wind, the softest of chimes. It started as one but soon, an entire orchestra seemed to fill the air. Each ringing sound was rhythmic as though it came from the bells tied to a dancer. I was alone in the glade but the sound became louder and louder. The song, the chorus of chimes that announced his coming; I'd heard it before.

Sure enough, the golden form of his familiars soon emerged to dance around me. The ringing of chimes reached a crescendo and the Wandering Caretaker emerged from a golden portal that lit up the glade. He looked like a jester in baggy, inflated garb, but I knew him to be a powerful celestial who cared not for the affairs of mortals. He worked for the overarching good of the universe and seldom interfered in the lives of men. For that alone, he was the second most tolerable celestial by my count.

"Caretaker. Was it you who saved me?" I croaked out.

He did not reply in words. He never did, not in all the millennia of his wanderings was a single word attributed to him. Instead, the air sang. It was not the song of men; not even the sweet voice of that songstress in Piltover could compare. He was Bard and his was the song of the cosmos. By the jiggling of his chimes and the bellow of his horn, he shaped reality and molded the firmament upon which all creation rested.

He brought his horn to his not-wood mask and a deep, low note rang throughout the clearing. After almost a minute of holding the note, he lowered the horn and looked at me expectantly.

And, Aspect or no, I did not understand. Few could glean more than the barest hint of meaning from the Caretaker. Whether he truly could not communicate in any other way or simply delighted in being the most confusing son of a bitch around was anyone's guess.

He tilted his head and I had the distinct feeling he was mocking me. I glared impotently up at him. "Valoran Common. Do you speak it?"

I had no trouble understanding the meeps however. The little shits were giggling in the background, their strange faces twisted in mocking smirks. Anger staved off the weariness and gave me the strength to sit up. I glared venomously but that only encouraged them. They'd build a pyramid lying atop one another until the one at the peak stood eye-level with me. It then laughed so hard in my face it rolled down its brethren.

I'd never considered murdering a meep before.

The Caretaker said something else in that incomprehensible language of his before pointing a hand towards the sky. His strangely human hand reached up towards the stars. I wondered if he was an Aspect as well. If he was, he was the oldest ever known, so old that no one remembered. Perhaps time had worn down his humanity until he did not know how to speak save in melodies?

Then something of more pressing concern captured my attention. My eyes trailed up with him just in time to see a star of brilliant blue emerge out of the void. It was paradoxically distinct yet blended perfectly among constellations I did not recognize. It captured my attention in a way no other star did but was no brighter than the next brightest star in the sky. I knew that no matter how many times I turned my gaze, I would be able to find it instinctively if only I cared to look.

I instinctively knew what it was. It had been pulled from its constellation of dead stars and now shone alone but there was a bond between it and I that I could not deny. Somehow, not only had he dragged me from out of the Void, he had placed my namesake star in the night sky. "Atreus. You brought it here."

The Caretaker looked back at me and played a different song.

"No? Then how?"

He pointed at my chest, then at the helm that lay at my side. It was Nova, the very first relic weapon I claimed from the Rakkor. Everything I wore was a relic, a legacy of previous Aspects of War: Skyfall of Areion, Aegis of Zeonia, Solstice of Astrea… and the Nova of Atreus, named in my honor. Once upon a time, I'd thought I would pass on this helmet to the next Pantheon. I took some small measure of pride knowing my strength would protect another even after my watch had ended.

"My helmet. No, my star. I am Atreus, mortal… and something more."

The meeps cheered as one, letting out a cascading chorus that I was sure would wake up half the forest. This time, the song was almost congratulatory. I scowled. I had wanted to die but the heavens denied me even that. Then Iula's last words rang in my mind: "You fought for so long. You bore the burden of humanity in a world of gods. You honored Pylas' memory as I have. As I rest now, you can too… be reborn, old friend. Your star shines yet."

I sighed. She'd always been good at browbeating us, Pylas and I both; neither of us could say a word when she built up a head of steam. "Damn it, woman, even dead and buried you haunt me."

I stood and studied the world around me more closely. It was… barren… There was little to no magic here, only the barest hints necessary to support life. The myriad constellations were alien to me. I searched but could find no trace of the Messenger, Traveler, or even that Immortal Fire that claimed eternity. There was the sun and moon, but those too were barren of mana, empty shells that merely shared the same name. I had never noticed just how vibrant mana made the world until I stepped into one that lacked it.

I truly was the only Aspect in this land. "I'm not on Runeterra anymore." There was a sense of finality in putting the thought to words. If the star of Atreus was here, then Pantheon had well and truly died. "What of Anaakca?"

The flat ringing of a gong was my answer and I knew in my heart that the last Darkin I faced had likewise met her end. Pride washed over me at a job well done. It was a feat worthy of gods, done by the hands of a man.

I was free. The realization washed over me like a tidal wave. There was no Pantheon, only Atreus. My watch had truly ended. There was no more burden to carry, no more friends to set ablaze over the funeral pyre, no Darkin to fight.

Or… was there?

"Why?" I asked him again. The Caretaker cared about only one thing. I was not fool enough to believe he wished me well. "Why bring me here? Where is the cosmic balance in this? What cosmic horror have you brought me here to slay?"

This time, I received no answer. He merely danced and skipped until he stood atop a large ball that had not been there a moment prior like some kind of circus animal. The ball floated into the air as a great, golden portal emerged. Then, before I could think to stop him, he and his chiming escort vanished, leaving me stranded in an alien world.

WIth nothing better to do, I began walking. What did it mean to be free? Now that I was no longer shackled by the oaths I made to Pylas, I couldn't help but ponder the question. In the end, I felt no different.

After all, no one made me swear my oaths. No one made me face Darkins and Aspects alike in an unending war for humanity. I chose those things. Now that I was free of my burdens, it was time to make a choice again. But… What did I want? Not as Pantheon the Aspect, but as Atreus the newly reborn man.

After a moment of silence, I spoke, "You know, I've always wanted to be a baker."

Iula's enraged face after I nearly burned down her house popped into my mind as soon as I put those thoughts to words. It was petty, childish even, a mere flight of fancy. But… But what else did I have? I'd spent so much of my life swinging my spear. Would it be so wrong to learn to create rather than destroy?

With that laughably mundane goal in mind, I began to walk towards the buildings in the distance.

X

I reached the city just as dawn broke over the horizon. "Welcome to Brockton Bay," read a sign in no language I'd seen before. After a moment's contemplation, I dismissed it as one of the Caretaker's meddlings. Whether I liked it or not, there was little I could do about it and a translation spell woven into this reality by his cosmic song seemed harmless enough.

Before I even set foot in this city, I noticed something: This "Brockton Bay" was wealthy, immensely so, to the point that I had to assume it was a national capital at the very least if not the greatest city in the world.

The first thing I noticed was that there were many more self-locomotors here than in Piltover. I saw them driving in and out of the city on large, paved roads that were sectioned off in distinct lanes. A seemingly unending variety of them drove by, from ones that carried many wagons' worth of goods to ones that fit only four people. They were interesting in their own way; self-locomotors that lacked mana. I wondered what fueled them if they did not run on techmaturgical principles.

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There were no city walls or gates either, implying that all of this area belonged to a single great nation rather than Piltover's status as a singular city state. Did they feel so secure in their wealth that defense was not a concern?

I frowned in distaste. Such thoughts made for weak men, men who relied on gold and worshiped wealth. I'd met men like that before. They thought they could buy security, buy me, as if shiny baubles could point my spear elsewhere. I briefly considered seeking a countryside village but chose to stay my course. If I wished to lay down my spear in favor of the baker's trade, then there would be no better place to find a master than a city full of plump nobles.

I stayed out of the lanes, if only so I would not flatten some pompous fool's self-locomotor on accident. It would not do to be wanted by the city watch for a conflict I could have easily avoided after all.

As I entered the city proper, I saw further evidence of this city's prosperity. The buildings were sturdy and tall, made of brick or some gray stone. Even what I assumed were peasants or servants walking the streets with me wore expensive clothes with dyes that petty kings would covet. Were I a materialistic man, I might have been jealous as well.

And yet, despite their apparent wealth, it was they who moved aside for me. Indeed, not a single man was armed and readily gaped at Skyfall's gleaming edge. Countless men stood in awe of my weapon before, but I could see in the eyes of this city's residents that they knew not the true value of my spear. They stared and made way for me because I held a spear, not because they recognized the magic within.

A city of hyper-pragmatic nobles? Or soft, cowardly milkmen?

"Cape," I heard them whisper. Solstice, my mantle, was decorated with countless constellations. It stood to reason that such vain men would be in awe of it. Enough celestial magic to reshape the stars, and it was the pretty colors they enjoyed. Fools.

I ignored the appreciative glances that roved over my torso, not all from passing women, and marched on. There had to be some sort of shopping district or bazaar, a marketplace where fresh produce would be sold. Even the wealthy had to eat and these marketplaces would be the ideal places to find a master in the art of baking.

It didn't take me long to find a master of the craft. A building stood apart from the rest, with individual slots painted into the road where self-locomotors could park. A winding lane swept around the building and I could see these lazy men making demands of the bakery master without even leaving their vehicles.

The bakery itself was extremely wealthy, for it had glass windows from which to display its wares. Pastries formed in the shape of rings, crescent moons, and twists of rope tempted passerby. Some were decorated with simple sugar and others with colorful specks that likely came from a yordle of some stripe. The smell of baked goods and some sort of tea I could not name overwhelmed my senses, leaving me with the urge to enter.

"Dunkin' Donuts… This Dunkin must be a master without equal," I muttered. Any master in Rakkor would be happy to have a stout, strong apprentice to carry on his craft. I opened the door, yet more clear glass, and entered with boldness. I stood in the middle of the store and stamped the butt of my spear into the tile. "I am Atreus! A son of Rakkor! Bring me the master!"

Silence. Then the whispers began.

"It's too early for this shit," one overweight patron groaned.

"Leonidas cosplay?" another muttered. "Shit's old."

"Dude, Leonidas wore red. That's a cape."

"Only Greek wannabe we have is Dauntless, man."

"Yeah, well, we got another one now. Don't you see the stars in his cape? They're moving."

"Fuck, lemme post this on PHO."

"You're fucking stupid. Call the PRT, you idiot."

Finally, a young woman who sat behind the counter said, "Sir, this is a Dunkin."

I looked her over. She was charming enough. She had pale skin with countless freckles and fiery-red hair that was kept in a ponytail. "Aye. I am looking for this Dunkin. I wish to become his student."

"Huh…?"

I waved Skyfall towards the display cases. A few of the men inside the store ducked, as if I'd strike them on accident. "I seek the master baker Dunkin who made these pastries. I have fought long and hard and believe it is time to lay down my spear. I would be his apprentice if he would have me."

"I… One moment…" She left the counter and walked into the back of the store. "Sheila! There's a cape out here who wants to talk to you!"

The woman who walked out had skin like a tribesman of the Kumungu Jungle. She wore her hair in many braids and had an impatient scowl on her face. "Kate, what part of I'm busy didn't y-"

"Told ya," the redhead said with a shrug.

"Alright, I'm still breathing so you ain't Empire… Which group are you part of?"

"I serve no one," I declared truthfully. "I raised my spear in defense of man."

"Uh-huh… indie hero?" At my blank look, she nodded. "Sure, we'll go with that. What can I get you, big guy?"

I cleared my throat and repeated myself. Others in Runeterra might consider it strange for the master of a trade to be a woman, but the Rakkor had no such reservations. Some of the greatest warriors in our history were battlemaidens. The lass called her Shelia but perhaps Dunkin was a family name, such was not unusual. "I am Atreus, a proud son of Rakkor. I have fought long and now wish to lay down my spear. I would be your apprentice, Dunkin."

"Who the hell is Dunkin?"

"You. Are you not Dunkin?"

"What? No!"

"Then are you Donuts? A strange name, but hardly the oddest I've heard."

"Sir, that's very offensive. I'm going to ask you to leave."

"My apologies. I'm sure Donuts is an honorable name around these parts. I merely wish to see the master who made such magnificent pastries," I said.

"Shit, why me?" she muttered quietly and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration at something I'd said. "Sir, my name is Sheila Adams. I'm just the manager here."

"So you did not make these pastries?"

"No, I did not. You are disrupting our customers. Please leave."

"Who made these pastries? Where can I find them?"

"They get shipped in each morning from a factory. I don't know who made them. We just heat them here."

I frowned. "These pastries were made in a factory? Like a self-locomotor?"

"You mean cars?"

"What are cars?"

She groaned and gestured to the vehicles outside. "Those are cars. What? You from Sparta or something?"

"I am a son of Rakkor, a Ra'Horak, as I said. Are you telling me that these pastries were made in factories like these… cars…?"

"Boy, you got a one-track mind, huh?" She spoke slowly, like she was talking to a child. "Yes. These pastries are mass-produced in factories."

I too was starting to lose my patience when I heard another vehicle stop in front of the building. I turned to find that it was a two-wheeled thing that seated only one person, a little like Piltover's disc-runners, built for agility instead of carrying capacity. The man who stepped off it was armored in gleaming blue and white and wore a helm that did not cover his lower jaw. He was a giant of a man who stood a full head and a half taller than me in some kind of hextech armor. On his back was a large halberd with an edge that caught the light.

I nodded approvingly. Finally, a warrior stood before me. I had wondered if these milkmen knew the meaning of danger. Were all members of the local city watch equipped as finely as this? Though he wore no relic weapons, his equipment was well-made. Any warrior would have been proud to wield their like. Perhaps with such mighty protectors, the people felt no need for walls or to bear weapons of their own. It was a foolishly patriotic sentiment, but at least a little understandable.

"Oh, thank god. It's Armsmaster," Sheila muttered. I filed the name away as important. The man was possibly the master-at-arms of the local monarch. I had no reason to fear him, but nor did I want to quarrel with the peacekeeper of this city. It spoke well of the monarch that he saw fit to send members of his own court out like this.

He stepped inside and took in the scene before settling on me. His posture stiffened as he eyed my spear and shield. A hand twitched towards his back but I stamped my spear onto the floor once again and shouted, "Greetings, master-at-arms! How fares the city this morn?"

"The city is fine. Who are you?" he said tersely.

"I am Atreus, a son of Rakkor. I am here to be a baker." I was tiring of repeating myself.

"Hero or villain?"

That was an interesting question. Was I a hero? I saved many lives, but took just as many. Or perhaps a villain? There were those who worshiped the Aspects who might call me such. The Solari were no friends of mine, allies of convenience on occasion. "Hero? Villain? I am a man."

"You are disturbing this business. Why are you here?"

"I want to become a baker," I said, too many times this morning. Was it so hard to believe?

"Improbable. Where are you from?"

"Rakkor."

"And where is Rakkor?"

"Mount Targon. It is the tallest mountain in a different world." I saw no point in trying to pretend I was a native here. Clearly, there were too many differences in culture for me to bother. Had I claimed I was from anywhere on this world, my lies would have broken down in short order thanks to my ignorance of this world's basic geography.

"You claim to be a Case-22?"

"I know not what that is."

"Case-22, named for Professor Haywire and those who were displaced across dimensions by his experiments. You claim to be one such individual?"

"The name is foreign to me but I am indeed from another world."

He looked to be in conversation with himself. "You will have to come with me. We can see about verifying your story at the PRT headquarters."

Seeing no reason to refuse, I nodded. "Very well, master-of-arms. Take me to your leader."

Author's Note

Atreus, no matter what he thinks, isn't really mortal anymore. He considers himself a man, but he is Pantheon, whether he likes it or not. And with that authority comes a guaranteed place among the stars. Literally.

I mean… Did I need a bakery reference? Yes, yes I did. For the uninitiated, Pantheon, before his rework, had a joke referencing the movie, 300. He also had a skin which replaced his spear with a baguette.

In the movie, there is a line where the Athenian commander accuses Leonidas: "You've only brought 300 warriors with you?"

Leonidas points to random Athenians and asks them, "What is your profession?" getting responses like baker, smith, etc. He then says, "SPARTANS! WHAT IS YOUR PROFESSION!" and gets the AWOO.

Pantheon's joke line in League of Legends used to be "MY PROFESSION? You know, I've always wanted to be a baker. Yes, a baker."

According to Rioters who worked on Pantheon's design, he's actually pretty average in height at 5' 9". Armsmaster, in his second Defiant armor, was 9' tall and Taylor describes him as being a foot and a half taller than when she first met him, though whether that means when she first saw Defiant or when she first saw Armsmaster is up for debate. I took it to mean when she first saw Defiant and am assuming Armsmaster's current armor is a bit more compact than 7' 6", making him about 7' 1" in height right now. From Pantheon's perspective, guy's a giant.

Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.