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The Top Floor of Meredith's Mage Tower
A book, glowing faintly with an ominous black light, floated down from the shelves that hovered in the air and landed gracefully in Ryan's hands.
A sly smile crept onto his lips as he examined the tome titled 'The Mystery of the Soul'.
"The Noxian nobles may lack strength," he mused aloud, "but they certainly hoard their share of treasures."
"Fools," came a voice from behind him, cold and sharp.
"As ignorant as Konigen."
Syndra, with all the poise of an aristocrat, idly turned the pages of a book in her hand, though the faint disdain on her flawless face betrayed her real feelings.
Konigen—the name dredged up memories for her. He had been her first and only mentor, though he had never taught her to master her power.
Instead, he had tried to suppress it.
When her strength inevitably grew beyond his control, she had discovered his deceit. Her anger and sorrow had erupted like a storm, leaving the once-vibrant village of Fae'lor reduced to nothing but scorched earth.
And then it came.
The Spirit of Ionia had tried to restrain her, much like her mentor had. But they underestimated her.
It's efforts to contain her power only ended with her sealed away in the Dreaming Pool—an exile forgotten by the world.
It wasn't until Ryan, standing before her now, broke her seal that her imprisonment ended.
"Ionia calls your power the source of evil," Ryan had told her, his back turned as he poured over his books.
"But I don't see it that way. Your only flaw... is that you're not strong enough."
The words had caught her off guard. Syndra tilted her head slightly, her gaze lingering on the mage's figure.
She remembered how those words had made her laugh, a genuine one she hadn't felt in ages. He was the first person bold enough to call her weak.
What made it even stranger was that Ryan, for all his confidence, wasn't nearly as powerful as she was—or so she had thought.
Later, they clashed in a simple magic duel.
When their magical output was equal, Syndra was overwhelmed, unable to overcome Ryan's precision and technique.
Even when she doubled the strength of her attacks, she still lost.
Sure, she could destroy his magic in an instant, but something about his approach made her feel inadequate. She realized that brute strength wasn't enough.
Ryan's explanation after the duel was simple: A child wielding a sword may have power but no control.
From that moment on, he didn't preach to her or lecture her about what she lacked. Instead, he simply brought her to his castle.
The heart of Ryan's castle wasn't a grand hall or a lavish aristocratic chamber. It was this unassuming mage tower.
Its structure wasn't meant to inspire awe but to serve a purpose.
Complex rune magic lined every corner, channels of energy running throughout the walls like veins. It was a space crafted not for luxury but for study.
Syndra, at first, was unimpressed. She had dismissed it all as trivial—until she saw the library.
Thousands of books, each one dedicated to magic, lined the shelves.
"Knowledge," Ryan had said, "is the true source of a mage's power."
At the time, she hadn't fully understood his words. But as she delved deeper into the books, she discovered something astonishing.
Slowly but surely, her understanding of magic grew. Where once she had struggled to restrain her chaotic power, she now felt it bend to her will.
The more she read, the clearer the principles of magic became. With each passing day, her control over her own abilities grew sharper.
What once felt like an uncontrollable storm now seemed like an extension of herself.
Her studies weren't limited to passive reading. She engaged in constant exchanges with Ryan, testing her understanding and refining her techniques.
And as her mastery grew, so too did her power. She reveled in the feeling of becoming stronger, but she knew it wasn't enough—not yet.
The Spirits of Ionia was still out of her reach. One day, though, she vowed she would return. She would show them the strength they had tried to bury.
For now, however, her focus returned to the mage before her. Ryan stood with the book in his hands, flipping through its pages with quiet intensity.
The room was silent, save for the soft sound of turning paper.
Syndra allowed herself a small smile. The man who had broken her seal and reawakened her thirst for power was far from ordinary.
And in his quiet dedication, she found a strange sense of calm.
After a long silence, Ryan finally raised his head, a trace of regret on his face.
"Most of it is redundant—just repeated theories about the soul and basic black magic. When it comes to magical application, Noxus is embarrassingly primitive. There's so little of real value here."
He closed the book with a soft thud, his gaze distant as he continued.
"Beyond the Freljord, which has lost so much of its magical heritage to war, Ionia holds the longest history of arcane knowledge. But their people follow the way of nature, drawing power from it rather than documenting their cultivation practices. Aside from the teachings of the Kinkou Order and the Equilibrium sect, there are no other lasting traditions."
He leaned back slightly, his thoughts turning elsewhere.
"Ancient Shurima, on the other hand, boasts a history stretching back nearly four thousand years. Yet even there, the Ascended relied too heavily on divine power. True scholars of magic were rare.
Surprisingly, the peripheral regions, like Ixtal and the fallen city of Icathia, display true mastery in magical craft.
"Of course, both are beyond the reach of even Noxian influence, their secrets guarded."
Ryan's voice dropped slightly, tinged with a note of caution.
"And then there's the Shadow Isles, once a hub of magical brilliance. But now, that place is drenched in death and danger."
He sighed deeply, shaking his head. "It seems that when there are no records to guide us, we're left with only one choice—to forge our path."
At his words, Syndra paused, her violet eyes shimmering with an unreadable emotion.
Her fingers traced the edge of the book in her hands as she murmured, "That's what you said to me once."
The Arcane—an endless journey, a road with no definitive destination.
A fire lit within her chest. No longer would anyone stop her from pursuing her power.
No longer could anyone control her.
"I haven't lost my faith," Syndra finally said, breaking the quiet.
"Yesterday, you mentioned a discovery."
Ryan set his book aside and turned his sharp, discerning gaze toward the woman seated at the desk.
Her beauty, as always, was striking, but there was something in her eyes now—a depth that hadn't been there before.
Syndra's lips curled faintly. She raised a hand, her pale fingers trailing through the air with effortless grace.
A soft black light flickered at her fingertips, and five distinct patterns began to take shape, glowing faintly with different hues.
"You once said," she began, her voice calm yet deliberate, "that according to the records we've found regarding the World Runes of Runeterra, five have been discovered so far. Their colors are red, yellow, blue, cyan, and green."
As she spoke, the lights she conjured solidified into shimmering projections in the air, each pulsing with its unique color.
Syndra continued, her tone unwavering, "We theorized that these runes represented elemental forces—fire, earth, water, wind, and nature."
Ryan gave a thoughtful nod, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Yes, that was our initial hypothesis. But the discovery of Perfect Timing shattered that assumption. And Storm Gathering... It doesn't fit into a single elemental framework."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Perfect Timing manipulates time itself, enhancing control over its flow. Meanwhile, Storm Gathering draws in surrounding magical energies, continuously amplifying one's mana reserves. Neither can be solely attributed to any element."
This line of reasoning was something both Ryan and Syndra had debated extensively.
Their partnership was founded on the exchange of knowledge—and exploration of mysteries neither could uncover alone. It was rare to find someone with the same unrelenting curiosity.
Syndra nodded, her gaze steady.
"Exactly. This is why I believe the World Runes don't represent elements. Instead, they symbolize something greater—laws or universal concepts."
Ryan's expression brightened slightly, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
"That... might just be the case."
He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"World Runes are unique. They've existed since the birth of Runeterra. Unlike other magical runes, their essence cannot be replicated."
Syndra's face darkened at the thought of those who sought to hide such knowledge.
"The mage you mentioned—the one who guards these secrets so zealously—he's no better than Konigen. Just because the Runes once brought disaster to Runeterra doesn't mean they're inherently destructive. Ignorance is what's truly dangerous. How many lives could be saved and mysteries unraveled if the Runes' true potential was understood?"
Ryan watched her with quiet admiration. How far she had come since their first encounter.
Back then, Syndra's heart had been filled with rage, her only desire to destroy the world she felt had wronged her.
But now, after years of delving into the records of those who came before, she had grown into someone far more measured and dangerous.
"I understand your frustration," Ryan said after a moment.
"But if we can't rely on others to share their knowledge, we'll make our discoveries. For now, we have enough to theorize."
Syndra's expression softened, though her confidence remained palpable. "
Then let's start," she said, her tone resolute.
"Based on the evidence we've gathered, we can hypothesize what laws or concepts the Runes represent. And perhaps even where they might be found."
Ryan leaned back in his chair, the faintest flicker of excitement in his eyes.
"A fascinating challenge. Let's begin."