[~]

High above the earth, farther than any bird might fly and where clouds claimed dominion, a galling testament of humanity stood. It drifted silently amongst the skies, bordering the very Heavens themselves, its immense grounds stretching wide and deep. Ornate, yet functional, buildings topped this floating island, solid stonework defined by masterfully crafted wood. A temple in all appearances, belied by the peaceful serenity of its gardens and the calming breeze.

In this outlandish bastion there were no monks, no gods or spirits who had tribute. Instead there were servants and mages, one tending to the grounds while the other entertained arcane arts. They came far and wide from their homelands in Ionia, each an outcast, persecuted for the sole crime of existing. To them, this was their home, the last stronghold against a world which relentlessly hunted them.

They owed their survival to the one who created it all, the sovereign ruler of this celestial fortress. A mage with few, if any, peers, embodied by a potential unimaginable to most mortal souls. She moved their home with a mere thought, and kept it afloat much the same, an act that might have shattered droves of lesser beings in the attempt. Such capability bespoke fear in the civilized world aboard, but to the mages and servants, she was their protector. Aloof and inscrutable, few could claim a familiarity, let alone knowledge, on what truly drove sovereign Syndra and her ambitions.

[~]

"... And the Yue-Hon from the Reitasi province are petitioning again for reduced tariffs," a servant quietly addressed, looking at a long scroll in her hands.

"Have they issued an apology yet?" a woman asked, her voice reverberating through the meeting hall. It was not merely the effect of an echo, but a thrumming dissonance, an ineffable power that drowned the room with its presence.

The servant checked once more. "No, my lady, they have not."

Her long arm reached out to the cherry wood table, her lithe fingers adorned with jeweled claws. The onyx metal took on a slight purplish hue as the sunlight struck it, its amethyst-embedded tips plucking a small cup. With practiced grace, and the tea inside perfectly still, Syndra sipped, enjoying the lukewarm drink.

"It speaks for itself, then." Chortling into her teacup, the white-haired lady's piercing eyes gazed over the rim. Dark magic radiated within them, glowing with a terrifying purple light. "The taxes will continue."

"It has been quite some time ..." the servant trailed off at their lady's sharpening glare. They bowed, almost falling to their knees in doing so.

"Write a missive rejecting this petition. And, should they insult me further, I would be inclined to worsen their punishment." The sovereign took another sip, paying no attention to the fumble.

"As you will, my sovereign."

"That concludes everything, Min?" She waited, and the servant nodded hesitantly. "Good." The sovereign waved with her free hand in an unspoken command. Min gathered her things and scuttled from the room, nearly tripping over doing so. In the quiet that followed, Syndra sighed.

What a bother, she thought to herself, having one last sip of tea before setting the cup down. Gathering herself up, she rose to her full height and reached overhead, stretching her back until it popped. Shaking her hands and flexing her fingers, a jolt of crackling energy erupted from their tips, racing up to her shoulders and vanishing.

One of the hall's wide open windows became her perch, the sovereign leaning on the wood frame as she gazed out. The central courtyard stretched beneath her, a footnote to the vast mountainous forest that laid beyond. More than those idyllic sights, however, she welcomed the fall breeze.

Ridiculous children. They denounce my rule and expect there will not be any repercussions? She delicately pinched the bridge of her nose, mindful of her claws. If I remember, they are due for a change in Elders next year. Maybe such hardship will make them reconsider.

Flexing her fingers, a flicker of concentration made the air warp in her palm. A tiny sphere of magic formed, little more than a black hole whose event horizon glowed purple. She rolled it between her fingers, a balancing game long practiced for her. Still, having the Reitasi would secure that region quite comfortably. If I do not punish their outspoken rudeness, however, that would invite unwanted thoughts to the rest.

The tedious speculation of politics drew a sigh out of her. There was never a right answer, only ones that made different problems-as far as she could tell, at least. Syndra filed those concerns away, letting her gaze aimlessly drift as the sphere rolled over in her fingers.

A sound soon came, however, that of sandals slapping against wood. Certainly, a servant had come to see her, she was willing to guess.

Not more than a few minutes later did a sound reach her ears. It wasn't the heavy step of a guard, nor the definitive wooden clomp of a grounds keeper. Quieter, as befitting of one who worked inside. Sure enough, a familiar four knocks for permission came, and the large Shoji door slid open.

"My sovereign," greeted a man covered head-to-toe in concealing robes, kneeling at the entrance.

There is always something, Syndra thought wearily as she turned to scrutinize the servant. He entered upon her beckoning, shuffling to the center of the hall before kneeling again. "Speak, Yun-ji."

"I've word from the shadow ninja ," he rasped, his voice as if every breath was laborious. "Duchess Karma moves."

Pulling away from the comfortable window, her magic lifted her a few inches from the floor. Syndra glided over to him, her arms neatly folded behind her back. Yun-ji's head bowed again in respect as she inquired, "In what way?"

"With the invaders stalled, she has reached to their enemies in Demacia. I know not how, but the very Crown Prince has taken an interest."

Squinting her eyes, the sovereign tried to recall what strange order the foreigners used, staring at the ceiling briefly. A 'king' rules over all, then his son, then his daughters, is it not? It proved harder recalling how they worked than she would've liked.

"What of it, then?"

"The Demacians will send a small fleet of trade ships to the eastern provinces. They've mages who will build a portal for the Crown Prince to arrive through."

That was altogether more concerning to her. The sovereign turned away, aimlessly hovering through the hall as she mulled the idea over. "How long until they arrive?"

"A week or less, my lady."

Syndra frowned darkly. "Then this arrangement of theirs has been well in motion. Where will this portal be made?"

"By all accounts, within the Placidium."

"Fitting."

Were that all it could be, a portal at one of Ionia's central points of government would open much with Demacia. They will not help us merely to spite Noxus and their invasion. They will want more, just like every other Valoran city-state. But, what?

A sourness sat on her tongue. What do they want from us?

"Yun-ji." Syndra said, her voice resolute. "Inform the others we will be visiting the Placidium."

"My lady?"

His curious question came as the sovereign reached into her magic for more than a simple sphere. The totality of her floating fortress entered her mind, its size dwarfing any single town Ionia might possess. She grabbed hold of it with the force of her will alone and pulled.

The air and ground around them rattled as tremors rocked the fortress. In its own primal groan, its idle drifting slowed to a stop, a new destination compelling it. The transition was all but a few seconds, enough that everyone across Syndra's domain knew their sovereign planned for something.

"Let us treat with these Demacians." Her glowing eyes settled on the servant. "And give them a proper Ionian welcome."

"As you will." He bowed and left the hall.

Syndra returned to her place by the open window, staring aimlessly out. She could already imagine not only the cold weather, but the unsavory people the Placidium attracted. Conservatives, unjustifiably holy monks, and preachers of Balance; all manner of people who never achieved anything. All the people who let half of Ionia burn before she stepped in.

The sovereign rubbed at her temples for a moment to stave off the headache she knew was coming.