Night One

A girl, he saw, in a glimpse of what seemed like an hour that had gone by. She was a mystery, with long sky blue hair, in a dark place in the depth of his unconcious that revealed no facial features. He ran, chasing the girl who echoed a chuckle with a slight smile upon her face that he could barely recognize. He fell to his knees on the invisible floor, picking himself up as quick as he could to catch up to her. The girl advanced farther and farther away, with each step he took, she took double. They moved towards a blinding light, a white light with no end. Tossing and turning under the sheets, he was unable to catch her as the morning approached.

Yasuo awoke to cold sweats, soaking his tank top and across his face. Alongside a heavy breath, he sat up in the blue and grey fleece covered bed. "Why…" he whispered, setting his forehead on his palms, looking down into his lap. The same dream frequently woke him in a panic every morning without fail. He lifted his head, looking to the clock beside him. 7:00 am, again. He was forced to open his eyes at the same exact time every morning… by this girl, whom he knew nothing about. Pushing the thought out of his head, The Unforgiven stood from his bed, stumbling slightly and took hold of his nightstand for balance. Before making his way to the restroom, he centered himself, breathing out the panic.

Yasuo moved towards the mirror that was surrounded by a tan wallpaper above the counter. He rest his hands on the white marble surface to get a closer look at his unkept hair, the scar arching over his nose, and sweat droplets on his face. He took action, turning the knobs on the sink to splash cold water onto his hot skin.
After grasping the knobs to turn the water off, he heard movements from the room next door in the small apartment. Yasuo peered around the peach accented door frame, seeing nothing, but he remembered the noise from the days before. The anticipation released itself from him. "Nothing.." He said to himself, chuckling a bit at his foolishness. Slumping back to the mirror, he fixed his hair, and walked out to change his clothing.

Modern Runeterra was fast approaching Ionia in the weirdest ways. The statues and ancient buildings were covered in festive lights most of the year for the night dwellers and seasonal events. Skyscrapers were built in the most inner cities, where the markets flourished with goods no one had never seen until just a few years ago. Yasuo made his way through the city streets, unable to keep his coal colored hood off of his head in the expected rainy weather. The climate had vastly changed in Ionia since the glass buildings shot up and other modern pollution devices neglected the land, that was once a sacred, comforting place to be. The people of Ionia were showered onto almost every day, painting the sky with dark clouds and barely any light if any. Yasuo believe that even if Ionia had lost some of it's grace, it is still Ionia.

The Unforgiven scanned the abundance of produce from under his hood, which was in nothing but crates on the ground in an excuse for a market bench. He passed each with swift steps, until he saw a small trinket store. Stepping inside the small red hut, he slipped his hood off and looked the area up, then down. The hut's roof was accented with gold swirls and runes from ancient Ionian tales, glowing against the candles below with elegance and passion, it must have been authentically made by the ancestors. As far as the merchandise went, they were no different than in any other trinket shop. The hut overshadowed lines and lines of glass, clay, paper, even the most original models of ancient relics native to all of the nations in Runeterra.

A small, cerulean music box caught his eye as he passed by a few other trinkets. He picked it up with a delicate hand, not realizing that he was in a trance as he examined the Demacian crest on the top. Nor did he realize the elderly shopkeeper next to him on the other side of the wooden shelving. "May I help you?" The elder said, making Yasuo jump to attention. He gave a slight smile as he looked up from the box, "Boris? From the Fields of Justice?" The Unforgiven raised an eyebrow, staring at the old yordle who sat on a stool to seem taller. "Yes my boy." Boris, the shopkeeper, nodded his small head, ears flopping with an emerged smile from under his sandy toned mustache. Yasuo was very interested in why he was outside of the rift, he had a life? He snapped out of his thoughts and gave a smirk to Boris, who asked him, "What do you see in that music box?" Oh, yeah, the music box. Yasuo thought, averting his eyes to the tiny box in his slender hands. He responded with a hesitant tone, like he didn't even know he was thinking, "It's a nice color." He turned the opal nob carefully on the side of the music box. "It reminds me of someone… but I'm not sure who."

Yasuo listened. The music chopped and skipped here and there, but all seemed to flow together into a soothing lullaby.

He felt like he had heard this before.