As she stomped away, timelessly. Fleeing to the Ghost-willow once more, Evard caught up. The laughter filled her mind. Without movement, Evard was at her throat. Clasping her neck.
She opened her eyes to a dark figure looming above her. Knife in hand. She pushed whatever it was away, sending the figure flying.
Syndra struggled to move, but found her arms were bound. Once more summoning force to rip apart the bindings, she rose from the waters. Hacking water out of her lungs, her muscles stiff and aching. Her mind groggy from centuries beneath the waters. She pushed herself out of the waters and into the air, surveying the battlefield around her. Her eyes still unclear, she rubbed them. Realizing that age had removed her robes, she swiftly created new ones. Inspired by Konigen’s old robes. A flat black dress-robes, with baggy pants, having a silver outlining. Taking note of the floating warrior she held captive in mid-air, she created greaves, armguard, and plate, for basic defense.
Along with it she constructed a black crown. The symbol of balance that adorned the temple gates. She would be sovereign of her own fate, and all who saw her should know her as such. She had achieved the balance that she was denied then. Concentrating hardened magic at its center crushed under immense pressure, coalescing into a shining stone. A jewel of pure, concentrated magic fit to adorn the symbol of sovereignty.
She beheld the struggling assassin. So weak and so helpless she hung. Held aloft by a mere thought. Turning her and beholding the warrior from multiple sides.
She felt her power radiate and flow into the room, the power she pushed into physical orbs as she had done so many times before. This time they would simply be a byproduct of the arcane force that flowed from her in waves.
“How long?” Syndra demanded, voice cracked and unsteady from lack of use. “How long have I been imprisoned here?”
“Years.” Spat the vastaya. “Decades. We should have killed you long ago!”
Syndra realized that the world had not changed. It was still as hateful and unjust as the day she was first imprisoned. Anger welled within her, not only because this person would have her killed not knowing anything about her, but for the fact she had been imprisoned by the so-called spirit of balance for decades. A spirit she once found solace in.
In dismissal, Syndra flicked two fingers, sending the figure flying into the stone wall many paces away.
She turned her gaze to the two other standing vastaya, as puny as the one who had tried to take her life. One clad like the assassin, one in heavy plate, the likes of which Syndra had never seen.
The other assassin knelt before her, lifting his arms in what seemed like worship.
“I am not your enemy!” He called out. “We are both children of Ionia! Join us!”
He was trying to manipulate her. This lowly man, thinking fawning and flattering will have her let her guard down.
“The Noxians attacked our lands and slaughtered our people!” He continued. “We pushed them back, but they still have foothold in our ancestral lands. They are not done with us yet! Ionia is divided, and vulnerable! You must help! Help us fight this tyranny!”
Syndra was aghast. This man thought she would fight for her people. The people who had shown her nothing but fear. The people who, when they couldn’t assassinate her, would beg for her power. Ultimately waiting for the time, her back was turned. Did he not realize he wore the same clothing as the one who just tried to take her life?
“I do not know who these Noxians are that you speak of,” Syndra replied. “But if they killed my people, then perhaps I owe them thanks. The only tyranny I experienced was at the hands of those I once called kin.”
The figure slumped, realizing his trickery would be ignored. She tore another rip in the world. All of her bitterness, resentment and anger made manifest. The sphere hovered above her hand, slowly spinning.
“And if you are Ionian, then you are my enemy,” she mused.
With the force of a thousand waking nightmares, she pushed the object towards her would-be killer. A scream registered from the other assassin, seemingly having survived.
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Movement out the corner of her eye. The last of the trio leapt from the darkness, the previously created objects came to her defence. Striking the figure and striking him into the ground.
“You…” said Syndra, tilting her head to the side, as if trying to place him. “I recognize your soul. You shadowed my dreams.” Her expression darkened even more. “You were my jailor. You… You kept me here.”
He pushed himself to one knee.
“You are an abomination.” He hissed.
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The words struck Syndra painfully. Truly nothing had changed. If it was an abomination they saw, it was an abomination she would be. Stabbing into the air, she lifted the warden into the air.
“Kill me, then!” He snarled. “But do so in the knowledge that you will never find peace. Wherever you are, you will be hated and hunted. You will never live free.”
“Kill you?” Whispered Syndra, her lip curling in rage. “No. That would be too clean an end for you.”
With a sweep of her arm, Syndra hurled the noxian vastaya into the waters that had held her captive these long years. Stuck in her worst nightmare. The vines that had reached for her, now grasped his limbs and curled around his body. A muffled scream bubbled to the surface, sealing his fate… Then he went still.
The rage, the sadness, the pain Syndra felt overwhelmed her. She shouted at the lands, the spirits themselves. Ripping the structure above her apart, heavy tons of blackstone rained around her, splashing into the water beneath.
Syndra rose to her freedom. A clear sky and fresh air she had not felt in an eternity. The twinkling stars almost brought her to tears.
“Your turn to dream, jailor.” She whispered. Pushing the stone toward the bedrock.
She hung there in the dark night’s sky. Awake at last, awake and without direction. Freedom.
The night was broken by lanterns and the sound of warning bells in the distance. Yelling and heavy footfalls moving through the many sets of walls that had been constructed around the temple. A tiered defence, no doubt to keep her in. Whoever these soldiers were, they, like the assassins, were adversaries. The buildings barely recognizable, having been changed much since she was last awake. Likely rebuilt after she destroyed them. The pagoda was no more, the sleeping quarters were still present, though wear, tear, and occupation had weathered its walls. The gardens completely gone, so were the forests. The harbour held massive ships, each a city in size. Much larger than what the temple had been back then. Across the sea she saw her lands: Navorri.
She took a deep breath, but it did not sate her fury.
She returned her attention to the large ships resting on the water. People scampered below, no doubt alerting others of her awakening, readying a legion to oppose her. She would stop them in their tracks. Raising one of the massive vessels from the sea, she tossed it into two others, reducing them all to splinters and sheet metal. Another she threw unto shore. A massive wave toppled the remaining ships, marooning them against the shore.
Tyrants one, tyrants all, she mumbled to herself. That should keep the worms preoccupied.
Rebuffing her grip on the temple, she lifted it higher and higher, until she could rest her feet in the courtyard. She walked to the steps that would have led out of the temple. She gingerly touched the entrance which she had once entered. Full of dreams and aspirations. She stared at what remained of the steps leading up. Two armored figures reaching towards each other, and one of the assassins were slumped together. The scene was revolting, not in the least because it seemed like there was much about the world order she did not fully grasp. What she did know was that they would either capture her, kill her, or use her. She knew not which was worst. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the figures over the edge, careening down towards water and stone.
She stood there in the gates, pushing the fortress northward, over the inland sea.