Runeterra: Alexander The Eternal

. . .

. . .

. . .

Pain was all that remained.

Not the kind of pain soldiers feel after a battle, but something deeper, as if the weight of my empire had collapsed onto me.

'Who would have thought this would be the end of the great Alexander,' I thought, lying on the cold ground, my gaze fixed on the ceiling where candlelight danced slowly, almost mocking my plight. The air around me was heavy, stifling, as if time itself was pressing down on me, ready to crush me.

'I failed. I failed myself, the gods, and my people.'

I had always felt the world was mine—I deserved as much. That one day my name would become eternal, that the gods would recognize my worth. But now, on my deathbed, the world no longer felt like a place I could conquer. It was distant, unattainable.

My empire... on the brink of falling into the hands of lesser men.

. .

"Ridiculous," I muttered, my voice rough. "This cannot be my end."

. .

"There is no one above me." Each word came with blood, sweat, and pain.

"I am the king," I whispered with my last breath. "The emperor.."

A dense, merciless darkness consumed everything like a rising tide, erasing all traces of light and sound.

Silence reigned.

. . .

. . .

. . .

Or so I thought.

I was awake, feeling weightless, unburdened.

*What is happening?*

I was in an unfamiliar plane. Silent, cold, mysterious. I felt what seemed to be a thick mist surrounding me, and the idea that I was between worlds, at the border of the underworld, simply formed in my mind.

*Could this be my punishment?*

My mind struggled to adapt to this new reality.

*I am Alexandre.*

*I am Alexander. I cannot be held here.* My senses reached into the void, searching for anything—a chance. Then, a distant whisper pierced the quiet. A faint but distinct voice:

"... Everything is ready. My preparation is complete."

"Finally, reincarnation! It's my turn to shine! Runeterra, get ready for your new hero! Hahaha!"

I didn't fully understand, but one word resonated in my mind:

"Reincarnation."

An opportunity.

I moved, driven by the same ambition that guided me in life. I ran—or rather, floated—toward the sound. Ahead, a vortex swirled, the only visible thing in this infinite void.

An invisible force emanating from the portal pushed me back for some reason.

I saw the silhouette of the mysterious voice now, illuminated by the vortex's glow.

*I cannot let him pass. I will not remain trapped here.*

Without hesitation, I hurled myself forward in an attack. I felt an impact as we collided.

An intense conflict began—not with swords, but with wills.

"AHHH!" The strange soul screamed in despair, resisting my usurpation.

Its essence fought against mine. Memories intertwined. It wanted to escape, but I would never lose!

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"

"There is no need for your understanding," I murmured, my voice sharp and unwavering amidst the clash of our souls.

"This opportunity is not yours to seize—it was destined for me. A legacy demands more than ambition; it demands a conqueror's will."

I crushed his domain with sheer force of will. His resistance was desperate but futile. And when I finally subdued him, I felt his being merge with mine. His memories, his hopes, his dreams... I absorbed it all.

The cycle accepted me. And with it, everything that was his became mine.

A new world. A new beginning.

No longer Alexander, the dying man, but a new being with the same spirit of conquest. Wherever I am, I will not fail.

As the new reality formed around me, I knew there was much I still needed to understand, but one thing was certain:

I had returned. And this time, the world would not escape me.

. . .

. . .

The golden sunlight filtered through cracks in the wooden walls, casting fractured patterns on the aged furniture. The air smelled faintly of pine and dust, grounding me in this modest, unfamiliar world.

"Ábuu." Attempting to form words, the babbling of a baby echoed in the room.

Confused, I raised my arms, trying to grasp the strange situation. Small, fragile infant hands were revealed. 'A simple room, a child's body... and yet, knowledge pouring into my mind like a torrent. This was no mere accident—it was offered to me.'

Lying beneath a coarse blanket on something soft, I reflected, almost overwhelmed by the influx of new knowledge about this unfamiliar world.

'...Runeterra.'

. . .

(Minutes later)

'So that other guy... he had extensive knowledge about this world. Oh, so he was something called a chemist, from the future. Interesting, the future, huh?'

CREEAK

Suddenly, the soft creak of a door opening caught my attention. A young woman entered, her long, silky black hair and bright eyes shined like the moon.

"ALEEX!~" she exclaimed, approaching and scooping me into her arms. "Did I scare you, little sprout?"

"Ábuh~" I replied with a smile, to which she responded with a hug and affectionate words.

'So I should assume she's my mother—so young. But... Alex? My name remains the same?'

Much happened; I needed time to organize my thoughts.

. . .

(3 months old)

Using the kitchen wall for support, I stood up once again.

"Ab-now."

Releasing the last of my fingers from the wall, I took a step…

… and another…

… and another, using my arms for balance.

A small step, yet another proof that this body—fragile as it is—will not limit me.

"Baby!" She shouted.

. . .

(3 years old)

It was the coldest time of the year. The wind outside was icy, but the house's interior offered comfort. I carefully crept down the hallway, trying to be as stealthy as possible, until I reached my mother's room.

Peering inside through the slightly open door, I approached the bookshelf. It held a collection of books on various topics—history, artifacts, wars, and combat. But what caught my interest most were the books on magic.

"The tool of gods"

My mother wasn't just literate; she dared to keep books that could easily bring trouble in Demacia, the region I am in. Apparently the possession of such texts were risky here, yet she didn't seem to care.

The books were some what complex yet didn't explain how magic worked. Still, after multiple readings, I managed to piece together some key information.

Some people are naturally born talented in magic, with a limited amount of mana. Over time the amount grows and stabilizes in adulthood. Magic, in turn, consumes mana, which regenerates naturally. Different types of magic require different amounts, and when mana is depleted, a person feels physical and mental fatigue, though there are no fatal consequences.

"Try passing-out in the middle of battle, it is very dangerous."

"It seems I was born with a rare sensitivity," I commented, flipping through the book. "It's not common to feel the mana of nature like this."

The air hummed with a silent resonance, as if every book and beam of wood held a fragment of the world's breath. I could feel the mana flowing through the walls, a quiet pulse of life connecting me to something far greater.

A strange feeling, but I do enjoy.

The book noted that this ability wasn't particularly useful, but the degree of sensitivity I had was remarkable. Even Sylas, a idealist who could visually perceive energy emanating from people, couldn't sense ambient mana this deeply.

I paused, processing the idea.

"Could I, like him, use the powers of others?"

Closing the book, I looked at my hands. I felt a faint chaotic energy within me—something I believed was my own magical power. It was weak, but it was there.

. . .

(6 years old)

The years passed, and now I sat under the shade of a tree near our home, in Edessa. The sun rose on the horizon, the cool breeze accompanying a stunning, verdant landscape.

'Six years without war... I almost miss it.'

Since then, I had prepared the best I could, training and writing down everything of importance. Not that I would forget—I do have a mind that matches my greatness.

"The year is 978 AN."

I was born in the same year as several notable figures from a game called 'League of Legends'. Prince Jarvan, a dragon Shyvana, Garen the ignorant, Taric the waste of talent, Quinn the insignificant, Vayne the blinded by vengeance, Fiora the pinnacle duelist, and perhaps more. Other notable figures outside Demacia are Vi and Jinx, who were born both three years ago—supposedly.

"My memories certainly suggest that, but Arcane timeline works differently, the sisters where not born on the same year."

What do I expect? A fatty, reclusive scholar prepared this 'grand plan'.

I needed to improve my circumstances. This world is filled with dangers.

A star-forging dragon that would likely break free and seek revenge. A legendary warrior who, even after death, conquered the realm of the dead and would return. Celestial mutants sealed in weapons.

And above all, The Watchers…the void, a force that desires to consume reality. They are my true adversary—not just beasts, but the ultimate test of my will. The clock is ticking, the enemy's already engaging, thirty years is the limit. Shape this world—or perish, again.

"Will I have the same fate again at thirty? No."

"Face that which you fear, and transcend."

. . .

. . .