Runeterra: Alexander The Eternal

. . .

. . .

The road to the military district was familiar, its stone streets alive with the hum of morning activity. Yet today, the air carried an unease that rippled through the gathered crowd.

Ahead, a Silverwing—magnificent and wild—thrashed violently in its containment. Soldiers scrambled to control it, their shouts mingling with the heavy thud of hooves and the beast's furious cries.

Its body was sleek and streamlined, designed by nature for speed and precision. Massive silver wings shimmered in the sunlight, each feather glinting like polished steel. The creature's piercing blue eyes burned with intelligence and defiance.

The structure holding it groaned under the strain of its struggles, a low metallic creeeak echoing ominously before…

Crack.

The sound split the air as the restraints gave way.

With a screech like tearing metal—Kreeee!—the Silverwing burst free. Its wings sliced through the air, knocking soldiers aside like leaves. The beast twisted its powerful body, scattering debris across the street. Its talons gouged deep into the stone as it reared back, a feral cry shaking the ground beneath my horse.

And then it locked eyes with me.

A hush fell over the street, save for the low rumble of the Silverwing's growl.

In one fluid motion, it lunged.

I didn't flinch.

Raising my arm, I summoned.. Slimecite. The black substance flowed across its length like liquid shadow, forming the towering structure of a colossal blade. Its weight pulled at the air, resonating with the tension of a drawn bowstring.

Channeling mana into my voice, I let out a roar, the sound amplified to a near-unnatural pitch.

The earth seemed to hold its breath as the roar tore through the street like thunder—RRAAAHH!—reverberating off the surrounding buildings.

The Silverwing froze mid-lunge, talons inches from my chest. Its wings faltered, trembling with a faint whump-whump as the creature recoiled. Its feathers ruffled under the weight of the sound, intelligence flickering in its eyes as wild aggression gave way to wary submission.

Slowly, I dismounted, the blade dissolving back into my arm as the black ichor disappeared.

I extended both hands, palms open—a deliberate gesture of peace. The Silverwing's growl softened, though its piercing eyes remained locked on mine. Step by careful step, I approached, pulling a strip of dried meat from my pouch.

The creature sniffed, hesitant, before cautiously leaning forward. Its sharp beak closed around the offering.

Its wings lowered slightly, its tense form relaxing.

I let my hand glide along its feathers, their metallic texture cool and smooth under my touch.

"Restrain it," I commanded sharply, turning to the stunned soldiers who had been standing frozen.

They snapped into action, their movements careful as they secured reinforced bindings with the clink of metal and the taut snap of leather straps around the now-calm Silverwing.

.

A soldier approached cautiously, his gaze flicking between me and the subdued creature.

"Soldier Erik, reporting, sir!" He saluted with rigid formality. "That was… incredible, sir. Few can stop a Silverwing's charge, let alone control it."

"Be more careful next time," I said curtly, brushing past the praise.

"Yes, sir." Erik hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at my arm. "If I may, sir… that weapon. What was it? I've never seen anything like it."

"An artifact," I replied evenly, my tone dismissive.

Erik's eyes widened slightly, his surprise betraying his lack of familiarity with such rare items. "Something so rare—an artifact of that kind—must be priceless."

"Does it look gaudy?" I shot back, fixing him with a questioning look.

"N-No, sir. It's just… I've only heard stories of artifacts, never seen one up close."

"Well, consider yourself lucky," I said, mounting my horse with practiced ease. Sparing the Silverwing a final glance, I added, "Take proper care of it."

"Yes, sir!" Erik's tone was resolute as he saluted again, though his curiosity still lingered in his expression.

As I rode away, the Silverwing let out a quieter cry, its earlier defiance subdued. My thoughts lingered on Erik's reaction and the crowd's watchful eyes.

'At first, I thought using it publicly might be risky. But artifacts are a status symbol, synonymous with wealth and prestige. Nobles won't question it—most own at least one.'

I flexed my fingers subtly, recalling the unique properties of the weapon.

'Still, caution is vital. This isn't just any artifact—it obeys only me. Telekinesis is the only force that can shape it before it solidifies from magic absorption. In the wrong hands, it's an inert block of material. But even that can draw attention I don't need.'

The Silverwing watched as I disappeared down the path, its head tilting slightly. Behind me, the crowd's eyes remained fixed—some filled with admiration, others laced with suspicion.

I allowed myself a small, fleeting smirk.

'Let them wonder.'

. . .

The military district pulsed with disciplined energy. Soldiers drilled in unison, the clash of steel and barked orders forming a rhythmic cacophony that underscored Demacia's strength. Buildings of stone and iron stood unyielding, their very presence a testament to the unshakable might of the kingdom.

Dismounting from my horse, I tethered it to a post and surveyed the area. Despite the familiarity, the scene never failed to stir reflection. It was here that Demacia forged the will of its people into an indomitable force.

My gaze fell upon two figures standing apart from the crowd. Garen and Prince Jarvan, both my age, stood shoulder to shoulder. They were at the threshold of their military paths, yet their bearing already hinted at the future greatness expected of them.

Garen was under the watchful eye of Tianna Crownguard. Her stern expression softened slightly as she leaned in, likely giving him final instructions. There was an unmistakable sharpness to her—a warrior's discipline melded with a commander's authority.

'So, today marks the day Garen joins the ranks,' I mused, studying the boy who seemed unaware of my observation. Broad-shouldered and robust, he bore the promise of strength. His gear was plain but fit him well, a practical start to what would inevitably be a celebrated career.

Jarvan, in contrast, carried himself with natural poise. His movements were deliberate, each step a reflection of the expectations placed upon a prince. Though his training attire bore subtle ornamentation, his demeanor was devoid of arrogance, marked instead by a quiet resolve.

'And yet,' my gaze lingered briefly on Garen, 'I can't sense anything exceptional in him. Shouldn't there be magic?'

I focused harder, narrowing my vision to detect the faintest signatures of mana. The result was disappointing—an almost negligible presence.

'So much for the theory of his divine connection to Kayle,' I thought, a tinge of frustration creeping in. 'Still, it might simply be latent. If it's really there… I wonder what would happen when copied?'

My thoughts were interrupted by a shadow looming over me. I turned to face a towering minotaur clad in armor. His gaze was steady, his posture radiating authority.

"Alexander, correct?" he asked, his deep voice carrying a weight that demanded attention.

I studied him briefly. A non-human in Demacia's service was uncommon. His armor, tailored to his massive frame, was both functional and commanding. A low hum of mana coursed through its intricate etchings, subtle yet potent.

"A Minotaur," I remarked internally, recalling tales from ancient texts. 'He's nothing like the monstrous brutes from Greek myth. Polished, professional, and very much a soldier.'

"Yes," I replied, my tone measured.

"Follow me," he ordered, turning with deliberate purpose.

Casting one last glance toward Garen and Jarvan, I fell into step behind him. The ground trembled faintly under his hooves as we walked, the sound fading into the symphony of drills that defined the district.

. .

We walked through the bustling corridors, the rhythmic echo of hooves and boots blending with the distant shouts of orders and the clash of steel. The minotaur led with unwavering purpose, his heavy steps grinding against the stone floor. His voice was curt and measured.

"The council has chosen your mission to evaluate your command. You're being deployed to the depths of the Magical Forest," he began, his words heavy with intent. "Your task: secure a wild egg sighted there, likely belonging to a dangerous creature. The territory is treacherous."

'A pratical test. Predictable,' I mused silently, keeping my expression neutral.

I broke the silence with a question. "If this is about leadership, I assume I'll have a platoon?"

The minotaur's lips twitched in a fleeting smirk. "Thirty men. There are also two other platoons being tested for their own ranks." His tone shifted, carrying a subtle edge of amusement. "As for your unit, well…"

The minotaur gestured toward the disorder. "See for yourself."

We came to a halt in front of a training field. The scene was chaos incarnate. Men lounged carelessly on crates, laughing and bickering. A handful sparred with no purpose, their movements sloppy and undisciplined.

The disarray was almost laughable.

I observed quietly, arms crossed behind me. None of them had noticed my arrival—a glaring failure in itself. Their lack of discipline, the absence of structure, was evident in every move they made.

'This isn't a unit. It's a rabble.'

I stepped forward, my movements deliberate, each step heavy with purpose.

I wasted no time and railed my arm, the slimecite hissed and slithered from my wrist, its shadowy form solidifying with a low hum into a massive blade. With a single motion, I hurled it into their midst.

WHIZZ-BOOM.

The weapon struck the ground with a resounding THUD, fissures cracking across the earth as dust rose in a swirling whoosh, swallowing their startled shouts beneath the coughing of disturbed earth.

I advanced through the haze, my tone calm yet unyielding.

"Now that I have your attention," I began, my voice slicing through the chaos, "let me make one thing clear."

The dust began to settle, revealing the stunned faces of the soldiers.

"I'm Alexander," I continued, my words sharp and deliberate. "Your commander for this mission. And I have no patience for insubordination or mediocrity."

Their gazes darted between me and the still-vibrating blade, their earlier bravado now replaced with uncertainty.

"This isn't a lecture," I said, striding toward the embedded weapon. "It's a demonstration."

I grasped the hilt and lunged.

The slimecite reshaped the edge blunt with a low whirr as I swung, calculated to disable without lasting harm. A single blow sent one soldier sprawling, while another wide arc scattered three to the ground.

"Pathetic," I muttered, sidestepping a feeble counterattack.

Another soldier charged with a guttural "RAAHH!", his boots pounding the ground rapid before I swept his legs from under him.

"Is this Demacia's finest?" I asked coldly, my voice heavy with disdain.

.

.

Almost an hour later. The last man standing once again fell, holding his bruises.

I drove the blade into the ground with a thunderous CRUNCH, its weight sending a low rumble through the earth, silencing the field.

I paced slowly, adjusting my wrist as their groans subside before speaking again.

"When I give an order, you obey. If I tell you to bark, you bark. If I tell you to crawl, you crawl." My gaze swept over them, warning. "Obedience isn't optional. It's survival."

One by one, they stumbled to their feet with grunts and scrapes of shifting armor, the earlier chaos replaced by rigid lines. Their movements were unsteady, their faces strained, but something fundamental had shifted—a resolve born of fear and respect.

"YES, COMMANDER!" they roared, their voices raw and unified, echoing through the field like a thunderclap.

As I watched them fall into proper formation, I found myself in a moment of contemplation.

'Order isn't achieved by brute force alone. It must be honed into precision, tempered with fear, and wielded with faith. That is the essence of true command.'