Runeterra: Alexander The Eternal

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— Sylas POV —

The streets of the Demacian capital buzzed with the energy of celebration. Lanterns strung between buildings bathed the cobblestones in soft, golden light, their warm glow contrasting with the bite of winter's chill. Music and laughter filled the air, a chorus of joy that spread through the city's heart like fire.

But we weren't here to celebrate.

Four Mageseekers and I moved quietly, slipping between the revelers with purpose. My steps were cautious, my eyes scanning for the faint glimmers of magic that only I could see. Among the vibrant blues and silvers of ordinary energy, I sought the fiery reds, sickly greens, or shadowy tendrils that betrayed the presence of forbidden magic.

The Mageseekers whispered harsh orders to one another, their voices gruff, masks hiding any trace of humanity. I couldn't see their faces, but I knew their type—brutal and unrelenting. To them, every flicker of magic was a crime that needed stamping out.

"Over there," I murmured, nodding toward a narrow alley where faint green strands of energy curled into the air like smoke. The Mageseekers exchanged glances before moving in, their steps deliberate.

The alley was cramped, damp, and reeked of decay. A family huddled against the wall—a woman clutching her child, her eyes wide with terror, and a man standing in front of them, arms spread protectively.

"Please," the man begged. "We've done nothing wrong!"

The Mageseekers didn't hesitate.

The first blow landed with a sickening crunch. I froze, watching as the man crumpled to the ground. The Mageseekers advanced on the woman next, their boots splashing in the filthy water pooling at her feet.

"Stop it," I whispered, though my voice didn't carry.

"Keep watch, boy," one of them growled over his shoulder, his tone laced with contempt.

The child's cries echoed in my ears, but I forced myself to turn away, my gaze fixed on the distant glow of the festival lights. The world blurred as anger bubbled beneath my skin, threatening to boil over.

Then it happened.

The first Mageseeker's head snapped forward with a grotesque crunch as his mask caved in, blood spraying onto the cobblestones. The others froze, their eyes darting around in confusion.

"What—"

The second followed, his body convulsing as the unseen force crushed his skull. The third barely had time to scream before he too collapsed, lifeless.

The last Mageseeker turned toward me, his hand trembling as he reached for his weapon. "What is this?" he stammered, his voice shaking with terror.

The air felt heavier, colder, my breath hitching.

In the dim light, I saw it—a presence that hadn't been there before. A boy, younger than me, stood among the terrified family. He was crying, his small shoulders shaking with sobs beneath the cloak.

"Don't worry," the boy whispered, his voice soft and trembling. "I'll help you. We need to get to safety."

His words should have been comforting, but they weren't.

I saw it.

Around him, an aura of magic pulsed—a dark, oppressive energy that made the air taste like iron. Tendrils of shadow and sparks of golden light coiled around him, clinging to his frame like a second skin. The childlike sobs and trembling hands were a façade; beneath them was something ancient, something monstrous.

"No," I whispered, stumbling back.

The boy—no, the thing—turned to look at me, his eyes glistening with tears that felt far too calculated.

"Run!" I screamed, turning on my heel and bolting down the nearest street.

The festival lights blurred past as I ran, my heart pounding against my ribs. Behind me, I heard nothing—no footsteps, no pursuit—but I could feel it, the oppressive weight of his presence pressing against my back.

I turned a corner, only to skid to a halt as a wall of golden fire erupted before me, blocking my path. The heat was overwhelming, forcing me to stumble back.

Out of the flames, a figure emerged.

The boy's tears were gone, replaced by a cold, calculating gaze. His eyes burned with a terrifying intensity, and his aura seemed to swell, the shadows and light around him twisting and writhing like living things.

"Don't make this difficult," he said, his voice calm, almost amused.

I screamed again, sprinting in the opposite direction. My legs burned with effort, but I didn't dare stop.

Then, a flash of light—searing and yellow—struck my leg. Pain exploded through me as I collapsed to the ground, clutching the wound. My breath came in ragged gasps as I tried to crawl forward, desperate to escape.

When I looked back, the boy was gone.

I whispered to myself "Keep moving," forcing my body to obey.

I turned my head forward—and froze.

He was there, standing before me as if he'd materialized from the shadows.

My blood ran cold as he reached down, grabbing me by the neck and lifting me off the ground with ease. His grip was iron, unyielding, and his eyes bored into mine with a chilling detachment.

"Your eyes are a blessing," he said, his tone almost pitying. "But even the greatest blessings turn to curses in the hands of lesser men."

I struggled, clawing at his arm, but his grip didn't falter.

"The legion Demacia holds as prisoners…" he continued, his voice softening into something almost reverent. "Don't worry. The future you've showed me will not be wasted."

Darkness crept into the edges of my vision as my body grew limp.

— POV END —

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The secluded chamber smelled of alchemical compounds and metal.

My laboratory had grown far beyond its original purpose of physical training. Now, it was a crucible where magic and science intertwined. Rudimentary equipment cluttered the walls, tables lined with half-finished potions, and glowing runes etched into the floor hummed faintly with energy.

Above me, a network of mirrors and crystals suspended from the ceiling redirected ambient light, creating an almost otherworldly atmosphere.

I worked methodically, the familiar clink of glass vials and the soft hiss of simmering potions grounding me.

"I might've gone a little overboard," I muttered, pouring a viscous liquid into a flask. My tone was light, but my mind was sharp, dissecting every detail. "My mana was nearly depleted in that little… experiment."

I reached for the surgical knife and began cutting into a lifeless body strapped to the operating table. The blade moved with precision, slicing through flesh like paper. "But hey, even I need to unwind sometimes."

Two globes—eyes—were placed carefully into a preservation jar, floating in a viscous liquid. They seemed to stare back at me, a grotesque reminder of the price I was about to pay.

I turned my attention back to the table. This wasn't just a laboratory anymore. It was a forge, and I was the blacksmith, reforging my own destiny.

"Control over magic... What's more important—feeling it or seeing it?" I mused aloud, preparing the anesthetic. "Naturally, I'd have said feeling. But I'd have been wrong."

To visualize magic was to understand it. Seeing mana's currents, how it curved, flowed, and intertwined, laid bare the secrets of its structure. For Sylas, this ability came naturally. He could absorb magic almost by accident, though it wasn't truly an accident, was it?

"He doesn't understand his own gift," I said, picking up a scalpel. "He observes unconsciously, and when he touches the energy, he completes the process. It's crude. But effective."

But for some reason he didn't absorb mine when I grabbed his neck.. Maybe he was scared of something?

I paused, glancing at the lifeless body of Sylas tied securely to the table. The once-defiant boy now lay silent, a puzzle solved.

"But me? I'm blind. A blind man trying to draw a picture against someone with perfect sight."

A bitter chuckle escaped me.

"His genius has limits," I continued, as though explaining to an audience only I could hear. "He cannot control what he doesn't consciously understand. His borrowed powers dissipate, unstable and fleeting. And me?" I stared at the tools laid out before me. "I'll take that flaw and correct it."

I reached for the rejuvenation pearl—a priceless artifact procured through sheer cunning and wealth. It pulsed faintly in my hand, promising a rapid recovery. Potions and pre-cast healing spells were set neatly at my side.

This would hurt.

Sitting on the operating table, I injected the anesthetic. The prick of the needle was nothing compared to what would follow. The concoction coursed through my veins, numbing every nerve it touched.

Above, the mirrors reflected my image back at me. My youthful face, unmarred by scars, stared down with quiet resolve. Soon, that face would change.

"Let's begin."

With a thought, the instruments around me rose into the air, each one hovering in perfect balance. Telekinesis was my scalpel, my suture, and my steady hand.

The first incision was slow, deliberate. Pain was an afterthought, a distant echo in the back of my mind. The blade cut deeper, guided by my will. The mirror above reflected the progress—a surreal, macabre play performed by an audience of one.

For a brief moment, one of the instruments faltered. A scalpel hesitated mid-air, wavering under the strain of my focus. My chest tightened, but a deep breath steadied me. There was no room for error.

"Steady," I whispered, demanding myself.

Each movement was a symphony of precision, the instruments weaving through flesh and bone. Blood welled, but I was ready. Healing potions and magic worked in tandem to stave off the worst of it, keeping me balanced on the edge of survival.

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Finally, the old eyes were gone.

My body rebelled at first, rejecting the alien organs, but the rejuvenation pearl did its work. I felt the warmth spread through me, knitting tissue, forcing compatibility.

I collapsed back onto the table, chest heaving. My magic was almost entirely spent, my body trembling from the strain. But it was done.

I turned my head slightly, catching sight of the mirror above. The image staring back was... unrecognizable.

Two eyes, glowing red, burned in the dim light of the laboratory. The power they held was suffocating, almost alive. Mana currents swirled within them like storm clouds, vast and untamed.

For a moment, I couldn't look away.

"This… is the cost," I murmured, my voice barely audible.

A slow, tired smile spread across my face.

"Blind no longer."

The exhaustion finally overtook me, and darkness claimed my vision once again—but not before the image of those burning eyes seared itself into my mind.

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Three years later