They had been tricked. Every last one of them.

She didn't think she could finish reading – no – she had seen enough.

Lux turned over the thick document, glancing away with weary eyes. So many questions trailed through her mind at that moment, who's and how's and what's, but, more than anything, why's. Why, why, why?

She couldn't understand it – couldn't wrap her head quite around the reasoning beyond mentally beating herself senseless for her naivete. Of course the Institute hadn't been forthright about their cause, how could she have expected them to be? A non-profit, supranational organization dedicated to preventing further collateral damage due to war was... far too good to be true. She had felt it from the very beginning, but – after all these years, she wanted to believe that there was an institution that was, at its heart, good.

But the system was an unquestionable violation of ethics, no matter what sets of ethics were being used.

Chaining their souls to a machine without their knowledge? Placing arbitrary restraints on their power without consent? Having the ability to terminate them at will with the press of a single button? She hadn't even been able to get through the technical details in full, but the very notion of it sent shudders down her spine. The realization that – right at this very moment – that ability to terminate was being used did nothing to ease her.

Lux grimaced, peeling back a corner of the report before deciding that she definitely wasn't going to finish it and shoving the document away. Across the table, her brother watched with knowing eyes.

"It's not right," she sighed, after a moment sitting in silence.

"Indeed." Garen tilted his head towards her, leaning on the table with folded arms. "What the Institute commissioned of the Machine Herald was a grave crime."

"I'm not talking about that," muttered the mage, looking away. "I'm talking about the fact that... we took it up ourselves."

"The accursed machine will be destroyed in due time," he said simply. In his tone, there was something almost like nonchalance – and it bothered her.

"That doesn't mean we should use its power for the time we still have it," she shot back, crossing her arms.

"Demacia is merely cleaning up the Institute's mess," her brother replied, and his voice had a sharp, warning edge that she knew well. "If the other nations had not washed their hands of it completely, the duty would not fall to us."

'Duty.' Now there was a questionable word. There were so many things she wanted to counter with, so many ways she knew she could respond, but she also knew her brother, by this point at least marginally well, and so Lux bit down on her tongue – silent.

"I realize that you have some reservations about our activities on Valoran," sighed Garen at length, and when she looked back at him, his gaze was downcast. Almost... downtrodden. "But now is not the time for dissent. Now, more than ever, we as Demacians must stand together."

"I know that," she started to say, before stopping short. Lux pressed her lips into a thin line, meeting her brother's level gaze. "...I know that."

"Then you know what we must do," he told her firmly, a hand coming to rest on the overturned report. "I didn't let you read this so you could sow the seeds of discord among us."

"Even so!" cried Lux, snapping forward in her seat, hands gripping the edge of the table tight. "The Institute of War, and us – how are we any better? What are we doing that's any better?"

Her eyes sought his, and she willed her face to look beseeching because he needed to see – he needed to see reason. They couldn't condone this, couldn't carry out these acts and still pretend like they had been all these years – could they?

Garen met her pleading glance with one that was steely and solid and closed off, so very closed off, and Lux realized that it had been a long, long time since they had truly been brother and sister rather than fellow officers of Demacia. He seemed to take a deep breath, shoulders raising and lowering with the air moving through his lungs as, finally, he averted his gaze.

"What we do is right," he said, and it was soft. It made her wonder.

"But..."

"Luxanna," he murmured, looking back at her again. There was a warning in his tone, but it sounded strained, and tight. "The Institute committed a wrong."

We're just taking their place, she thought to herself, we're just making their authority ours. They didn't have to be the ones to incarcerate Malzahar, it wasn't their place to be using the system to terminate the remaining Voidborn – what were they doing but replacing the Institute of War?

"Demacia must make it right."

Why, Lux thought desperately, why couldn't he see?

"Garen," she called out – and it surprised her as much as it did him. There was a waver in her voice, but she swallowed it. "Do you honestly believe that?"

Her brother glanced at her, and there was something in his eyes that seemed to her incredibly resigned.

"I must."

.

.

.

She had been counting them - the sunrises.

Twenty-five since the battle on the bay had left little of the Voidborn but dark stains upon the sand. Twenty-two since she had been carted back to Demacia for treatment. Seventeen since the fall of the Institute of War.

One more until she returned to her people.

And fifteen sunrises she had repeated this.

Fifteen mornings, with the bleary sun brushing the sky - "Tomorrow, I'll go." Fifteen evenings, as the waxing moon reached for the night - "Maybe the day after."

How many sunrises to bring her into the water?

Nami wondered.

"I thought you might be here." The Tidecaller looked over her shoulder.

She was so bright.

"Leona," she greeted softly, returning her gaze to the ocean. "Long time no see."

The sound of her armor, metal on metal clinking together, was loud, even against the roar of tides beating against the cliff face. How she hadn't heard her coming, Nami had no clue. She turned to look and realized - it was because Leona was right next to her now, sitting down.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, not meeting her eyes. "You're a bit far, from Rakkor…"

"Pantheon and I were giving the sheriff our last regards before we returned home," came the easy reply. "I… it may not be my place to assume, but I would have thought you would have returned to your home already."

There was a brief second of silence between them - Nami held her breath, and was painfully aware of Leona's eyes passing over her.

"You know," she managed to say, "I did mean to go back, a lot sooner, but…"

Another pause, and then Leona told her gently, "I understand."

And the Tidecaller gulped down something thick in her throat, and tore her gaze away from the sea.

"No," she whispered, eyes meeting Leona's, then looking away, "I don't think you do."

There was a hand on her shoulder then, a battered gold gauntlet with a tender touch, but she tore away, arms crossing over herself tightly. Nami took a deep breath, shuddering.

"I don't think you do at all," she managed, forcing the words out around something that felt like a sob. Her chest - her chest felt so tight - she couldn't breathe…!

"Nami - "

"I'm scared!" she cried out, snapping her head around to face Leona with eyes that were wide and watery. The Marai sucked in another uneven breath, hand clamping over her mouth before she turned away again. "I'm scared…"

Perched on the cliff's edge as she was, she could see the fierce waves beneath her, crashing against jagged rock. White sea foam splashed upwards towards them - like the nip of a shark just missed - and there was a sea breeze across the ocean. It carried the taste of home on its wings and it filled her nose and mouth with salt and something else, until she wanted to gag on it.

The something else tasted like death.

The Radiant Dawn made no reply to her, and she was afraid to look for the fear of seeing something in her eyes that would be... judging. Yet even so, the words spilled out, some kind of force pushing them through as if her first outburst had opened a floodgate barely held.

"I think my people - t-the Marai have been…" She choked on the rest of the sentence, floundering for words that wouldn't destroy her. "If they're all - all gone, then, I… I…!"

Nami buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. Stop it, stop it, stop it! she screamed inwardly, What will crying do?

She clenched her jaw tight, teeth grinding together as she tried to stuff down the surging emotions within. It seemed to her that there was something painful gripping her chest - something painful and tight that squeezed her until she couldn't breathe - and it felt as if her heart was bathed in bile and being forced up her throat. She could almost taste it bubbling up against the back of her tongue - the bile or her heart, she didn't know.

It tasted bitter.

"I don't want to go home," she whispered at last, peering at the sea through webbed fingers. "If I don't go home, then I… I can keep hoping."

Her inflection pitched high on the last word, voice breaking, and Nami braced her frame tight in an attempt to hold herself together.

"I'm running away, I know. I don't want to face reality. I just..." The Tidecaller took another shuddering breath, and swallowed it. "Leona, does that make me… childish?"

There was a long moment of silence. Leona's voice was gentle - but her words were cutting.

"Yes."

Guilt seized her, and she burned with an indescribable cocktail of shame and grief. Barely, above the pangs of her heart, did she hear a sigh.

"But you are still a child."

Nami turned to look at her again - and was nearly blinded. Upon her face, the Radiant Dawn wore something so warm and compassionate that it rattled her, nearly to her core, and she sucked in a sharp breath, trembling. A hand was on her shoulder again, but this time she did not tear away.

"You are young, Nami," came Leona's voice, soothing and serene, "and you have suffered a great calamity. To demand an unwavering heart in the face of such adversity is folly."

There was an arm around her shoulders then, pulling her close in a partial-embrace, and the Marai leaned into it, resting her cheek against the cool metal of Leona's pauldron. It was calming, somehow, and for the first time, she tasted the clean air of the beach instead of the sharp tang of the sea.

"I won't tell you never to return, but you must first come to terms with your grief. When you are sure of yourself again - sure as the tides, you said - then… consider going home."

Far in the distance, over the sea-bound horizon, the sun had nearly finished its ascent. The sky was a gradient of rose-water hues, reflecting across the ocean like an enormous, shifting painting.

"What about you?" asked Nami, after a while. Leona had suffered as well.

The Radiant Dawn was quiet for a bit, as if thinking. Then came her voice, soft.

"I will overcome."

.

.

.

"So this is where you were."

"Oh," he muttered, glancing downwards, "it's you."

The Nine-Tailed Fox peered up at him, smiling brightly. Just barely did he catch the motion of her waving hand between the branches.

"That looks fun," she chirped, moving closer to the tree. "Let me join you."

Before he could even think to refuse, she had scrambled up the trunk, plopping herself down next to him. The bough, thick as it was, sagged beneath her weight, but it did not protest.

Yasuo had no such reservations.

"Didn't they teach you not to bother a man while he's drinking?" he complained, taking a swig out of his flask for emphasis.

Ahri hummed in reply, swinging her legs back and forth. "Only that you're not supposed to drink in the middle of the day." He almost rolled his eyes at that one - bloody monks." Say, does it taste good?"

"What, you want some?" he asked, shooting her a sideways look.

The fox met his gaze with wide eyes, tilting her head at him. "They told me not to have liquor. Said it would be a bad idea."

"Hah!" Yasuo threw his head back and gulped down another mouthful, cradling the liquid on the edge of his throat, savoring its harsh flavor. "That's a good one."

She didn't offer any reply, carrying on with her leg-swinging as she stared out into the distance. From their perch on the huge tree, they could see the monastery's whole courtyard. Wayward children were playing not too far away, whether wards of Shojin or simply children of those visiting, he didn't know. It didn't matter to him one way or the other.

For a day in autumn, there was no breeze. That set him ill at ease, if nothing else, and Yasuo took another sip from his flask, as if the burning of the alcohol down his throat could take his mind off the pool of lead that seemed to have settled in his stomach. The monastery was enclosed by large, sturdy stone walls, and even as he glanced over them from the treetop, they seemed impassable.

He had the strangest feeling he was being trapped.

"Why are you here, fox?" he asked at last, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. Foreboding thoughts would do him no good - may as well take the distraction when it was offered to him.

"I came to thank you," she answered easily. "For when you rushed me to Soraka, that one time."

Ah. He remembered the dead-weight of her limp form, cold in his arms - or maybe that was a different event. The alcohol must have been settling in. He wasn't sure.

"I could handle that much," he returned simply, shrugging. "You don't owe me that much."

"Funny," said Ahri, without looking at him. "Shen said that too. Or something along those lines."

"The ninja?" asked Yasuo, raising an eyebrow at her.

"I thanked him too," she told him, smiling. Then she leaned in close. "Like this."

It must have been his fuzzied senses, dulled by the liquor, but the Unforgiven was only vaguely aware of the sensation of her lips brushing over his cheek. When it finally registered, he turned and shot her a deadpan look.

"You thanked him like that?"

"Well, not exactly," she admitted, grinning. She tapped her lips with a finger. "I kissed him here instead."

The awkward mental image that summoned in his head was all too amusing. He had to bite down on his tongue to keep himself from laughing. "How'd he take it? Poor bastard froze up?"

"Kind of," admitted Ahri, crossing her arms as if befuddled. "Now that I think of it, Akali got jealous… But I kissed her too, so I think we're even now."

Yasuo couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him then, and he raised his flask to his lips in an attempt to drink it down. He only succeeded in sending the liquid down the wrong pipe.

"You - you have no idea - how this stuff works - do you?" he asked around coughs, thumping at his chest.

"Isn't getting kisses a good thing?" Her brows drew together, and it was amazing just how confused she looked. "I mean, so many people liked it when I was just blowing it at them, so…"

"That and this are two different things," he managed to say as his sputtering started to die down. "Are you really a seductress?"

"People liked me enough to let me take things," was her shoulder-shrugging reply. "Things that maybe I shouldn't have been taking… But giving is a lot harder than I thought."

"Is it?" he asked nonchalantly, sparing her a glance. She wasn't swinging her legs anymore - her head was tilted downwards. Pensive.

"Wukong was right," she said at length. Her eyes met his, and in that brief second, he had the impression that they were much more fox-like than before. "Fitting in with humans is hard."

"Then why do you want to do it?"

"Because we want to be human too," replied Ahri, smiling at him. It looked strange - different from her other smiles. Almost as if it were… older.

"Heh," he scoffed, averting his gaze, "you don't want to be human. Trust me on that."

"Sure we do." From the corner of his eye, he could see her fingering the edges of her sleeve with a thoughtful expression. Then her gaze seemed drawn to his sword. "You make beautiful things…"

"And we use them to do ugly things," Yasuo pointed out bitterly, taking another swig out of his flask. "It's not something you should aspire to."

"But you feel such interesting things too," she persisted. Her voice lilted, dreamlike as if she was describing a reality not quite hers - or else one she knew all too well. "Love, hatred… Remorse."

"I could do without those things," he muttered under his breath. Ahri laughed quietly - at what, he didn't know.

"You'd be nothing without those things." She looked at him strangely, and it unsettled him, golden eyes all too wide and incisive for his tastes. "You carry them like a weight forever, and they define you."

"Who taught you that one?" he asked, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he faced her.

"Karma did." Ahri turned away, kicking her legs at the air once again. "She's right, isn't she?"

"I don't know about that," he murmured, taking a sip. The sword on his belt seemed to press into his side all too heavily then. His cape fluttered lightly. Ah, finally - a wind. "But… Is that the kind of burden you and the monkey really want to carry?"

"It's already here," she replied simply, gesturing at her shoulders as if there were really some kind of weight resting on them. She flashed him a quiet smile. "But we're learning to deal with it - together."

For lack of anything better to say, he merely grunted in reply, downing the rest of the liquor in his flask. "Together." A pretty word for a pretty idea, but it was too late for him now.

The walls were closing in.

"Will you be all right?" asked the fox tentatively, breaking the silence.

"What do you mean by that?" The Unforgiven shot her a sideways look, gaze heavy under the alcohol.

"The upcoming judgment…" she began to say, trailing off. Ahri paused, frowning, before picking up again, "If it doesn't go well, they won't punish you too badly, will they?"

"Heh." Lazily, he tipped the flask over, watching as the last drops of liquor dribbled from its lip. "Not too badly… There's worse things than death."

"Execution? But they're treating you so well here…"

"If you don't treat a man nicely before his impending death, you look like a monster," explained Yasuo easily, tucking his chin into the collar of his cape. "Ever heard of last requests? It's a little like 'don't speak ill of the dead' - I'm sure you'll learn it sooner or later."

"That's confusing," she mumbled to herself with the slightest tilt of her head. "But I have faith. With Shen providing input, if you're really innocent, there's no way you could get convicted."

He hummed something low in his throat, eyes turning upwards. The autumn sky was gray between the shedding branches.

"The Eye of Twilight..." he muttered to himself. "I don't know about that…"

He didn't trust a ninja's judgment, no matter how 'superior' it was purported to be. Cowards who could only fight in the shadows had no honor, and without honor, he didn't think any judgment the Kinkou could turn on him would be worth anything. Ionia was a land obsessed with it, after all. He, too, had…

Yasuo shook himself from his thoughts. No - he needed to focus on other things - the slight nip in the faint breeze that had started up, the distant sounds of those playing children in the courtyard. The past was in the past, and it ought to stay there.

At least until it brought him to the end of another blade.

.

.

.

"Miss Du Couteau," he greeted, tilting his head in acknowledgement.

Katarina shifted her weight from one foot to the other, eyeing him warily. When she'd been called to the war room, she hadn't been expecting this. Wasn't he considered missing in Zaun right now?

"Singed," she returned reluctantly. "Why are you here?"

The Mad Chemist shot her a glance with his cheeks curved up in such a way that she had the feeling he was smiling. She didn't like it.

"Various reasons," was his casual reply. He resumed his easygoing sorting, spreading out various pieces of empty glassware on a table in the corner. The Sinister Blade got the impression that they wouldn't stay empty for long.

"For now, why he's here is not your concern." Swain tapped his cane on the wooden floor, and she snapped her gaze back to him, holding in a grimace. "Miss Du Couteau, Noxus has need of your services."

"A hit?" she asked, incredulously. "So soon after the fallout with the Institute?"

Swain's eyes creased at the corners, and she knew he was smirking from the way his brows drew together - there were far too many masked men in this room. "The early bird guts the worm."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," said Katarina, adding as an irked afterthought, "sir."

The dark bird - monstrosity, more like - perched on his shoulder turned its head this way and that before fixing her with a look that seemed more like a glare. The Noxian assassin turned her eyes away uncomfortably. Whether it was because of the Grand General's low chuckle or the faint sound of clinking glass in the background, her stomach coiled tightly in dread.

Something was wrong here.

"Tell me," began Swain at last, hobbling closer, "when was the last time you've been to Demacia?"

.

.

.

One of the things he liked best about how swampy the Isles were was that it created a huge blanket of fog everywhere. Swirling just above the ground in a thick mist, at times it was difficult for travelers to tell whether the wispy form in the distance was simply the fog shifting around or something less… innocuous.

A single tap on the shoulder was usually enough for him to reap his daily symphony from unwitting passersby.

Thresh hummed to himself, deep and echoing tones muffled by the mist. His lantern was heavy today. He had had a good harvest on Valoran - even better than he expected - and idly, he swung it back and forth on its chain, watching its green light bounce off the water particles in the air. Ah, there was the other thing to like about fog - the way it tore light apart, scattering it amongst the clouds as a dim, imperceptible glow.

"Welcome home," he murmured, stepping off the boat and onto the riverbank. His boots sunk into the mud ever so slightly, but he paid it no mind, nodding his head at the ghostly ferrier as it shoved off once more. His lantern seemed to glow brighter in response, and the Chain Warden chuckled quietly to himself. "Do not lament now. The worst is yet to come."

Trudging through the sparse woods, filled with gnarled, overhanging trees and a scraggly, brambled undergrowth, Thresh counted his steps. Two hundred to reach the archway, but no matter. As long as he could see the castle looming in the distance, nowhere was too far.

Ghost lights floated overhead, flickering pitifully as the last vestiges of their wills began to die out - weary souls fading into the dark mist. Such a pleasant sight to welcome his return.

"Take a look," he whispered, holding up his lantern to the waning lights. "See? It comes to an end… eventually."

There seemed to pass over its musty glass panes a crackle of magic, and Thresh hummed to himself, returning it to his side. The lantern crackled again - a faint glow of blue escaping - and this time, the specter smirked, patting it once.

"Ah, afraid? Fear not." He laughed quietly again, ghastly, over-layering tones echoing raspily into the fog. "For you, there is much work to be done."

Thresh continued forward, brushing past the trunk of a dying tree. His heavy boots sloshed through murky water as land gave way to swamp, but even so, he could feel the mist dispersing around him, as if a heavy cloak were lifting off his shoulders. Beyond the thinning thicket emerged the outline of the castle, its spires inky by the shadow of its gloom. Pleased, the Chain Warden pressed on.

And unbeknownst to him, the pane on his lantern had cracked.

.

.

.

This was not what she deserved, but -

It was all she could offer her.

The grave was marked by a simple, stone tablet. No name, only a date. She had wanted to engrave a symbol on it, but the request had been too blasphemous for the stone-makers. Diana could not even be interred as a member of the Lunari, only a heretic to fade away into the annals of their history.

They had buried her in an empty field on the outskirts of the village so that she would not desecrate the sanctity of the main graveyard.

"I'm sorry," said Leona, standing before her, and she meant it for so much more than the grave. "I'm sorry."

Closing her eyes, the Radiant Dawn sunk to the ground. She felt so tired - so very tired.

"You saved us," she murmured, a hand brushing over stone.

Nami's words echoed in her head.

"Didn't you see it? That solar flare… came from the moon."

Taking a deep breath, she leaned her forehead against the tablet, arms reaching around to embrace it. There was something thick in her throat, but Leona forced it down.

"Thank you," she whispered, pulling away.

Her death had not been the catalyst, but a casualty of the disastrous spiral of events that had occurred - and yet, she had been instrumental in ending it. The irony was almost too much for her, and Leona clenched her jaw tight, listening to the sound of her teeth scraping together.

It seemed to her that her voice was rising, up through her chest and throat, into her mouth as if it were about to surge outwards, and she wanted to scream - scream into the sky.

How? she asked herself, eyes turning heavenward. Red streaked across the sky, haphazard brush-strokes of languid fire as the sun dipped towards the horizon. If there is a greater force watching over us… How could it be so cruel?

There came an image to her then, summoned unbidden from the furthest crevices of her memory. A bright smile, wide eyes - the cheerful face of a curious girl.

And here she lay, downtrodden by fate. Sleeping in the earth without due reverence.

If things had gone differently - if they hadn't been chosen, then...

Leona took another breath, chest tight. With a trembling hand, she reached into her pocket, and fished out the item Nami had given her last they met. It sat in pieces in the palm of her hand, shards glinting in the sunlight.

The force of the solar flare had fractured the moonstone.

This sole relic, the last remaining memento of Diana's existence and all that she stood for after the confiscation of her effects by the elders… This was something she deserved to be buried with, if nothing else.

Holding it in her palm, she found herself lost for a moment in its glimmering fragments. A hundred years of light swirled beneath its pearlescent surface, a sight almost hypnotic to behold. It seemed to her that the moonstone that had saved Runeterra was almost analogous to Runeterra itself now. Ties breaking back and forth, ominous tidings for the future, political tensions running high, everything was -

Everything was fractured.

What would it take to bring the pieces back together?

She wondered.

With light fingers, the Radiant Dawn dug out a small divot in the dirt. The shards clinked as they fell in, and she brushed the dry, dusty earth on top until no more slivers of light peeked through. There - it was done.

Slowly rising, Leona brushed off her knees, facing the grave once more.

"She loved you."

"Farewell," she murmured. "Where ever you are, I pray that you will be happy, and I…"

The chosen of the sun trailed off, the words dying in her throat. She swallowed thickly, hands clenched at her sides before finally averting her gaze. Night had fallen.

Leona turned around - and walked away.

.

.

.

I loved you too.

A/N: Huge apologies for the lateness of this update - I was torn between rushing something out ASAP or taking my time to make sure it was up to usual quality. I compromised and decided to post it as soon as I had it ready to go live. Almost waited for Monday to come around...

Anyway, surprise! This is the final chapter - hence all the sequel baiting. I hope you enjoyed reading Fracture, and even if you didn't, thanks for making it to this point regardless. To my frequent reviewers RuntyGrunty, GrezzWizard, Kaiser Spartan, and VanguardShores, a gigantic thank you for providing feedback almost the whole way through! I really appreciated it.

This is the end of Fracture, but this is probably not the end of all these (ironically) un-resolved plotlines. Will probably be a year at least, but hopefully I'll see you all around for my next fic. Thank you again!

InspectorPanderp