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Most Noxians were not born within the borders of Noxus.
They hailed from all corners of Runeterra, only to become Noxians later, driven by countless reasons—ambition, survival, the allure of strength.
Yet no matter where they originated, the marks of their birthplace could often be found woven into their clothing, like the insignia on Ryan's robes, which told stories of distant lands.
Ryan stood tall, his sharp gaze sweeping over the crowd below.
As silence blanketed the room, he began to speak, his voice soft but commanding:
"Not long ago, Noxus turned a new page in its history. But as we sought to record this moment for posterity, I made a startling discovery—we lack a unified calendar to define the day."
The crowd exchanged glances, murmurs stirring before quickly subsiding.
"In Noxus, every emperor begins their reign from the first year," Ryan continued.
"In Ionia, they have no need for a universal calendar or content to live in harmony with nature. Demacia clings to its own insular reckoning of time, while Shurima's legacy has long since crumbled into sand."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"History is not lacking in those who record it, but it has always lacked a unifying force to preserve and inherit it.
"If such a force does not exist, then we shall create it. All great things begin as nothing."
The crowd watched him with rapt attention.
"Noxus is the greatest empire on Runeterra today," Ryan declared, his voice swelling with pride.
"It is only fitting that we should take the lead in defining not just time, but the legacy of all humanity."
The Noxians nodded, their agreement palpable.
They had always believed themselves to be at the forefront of progress, and Ryan's words only reinforced that belief.
It was clear now: this gathering was more than a simple announcement.
It was a proclamation.
Noxus—and Ryan—intended to redefine the history of Runeterra itself.
In a world fractured by war and division, only Noxus was strong enough to unify the narrative.
Its vast borders embraced every culture, its records captured the histories of all nations, and its indomitable spirit gave it the audacity to challenge every force on the continent.
Ryan's bright blue eyes gleamed with power, and from the floating citadel above, a beam of black energy shot skyward, merging with the heavens.
"It is time," he said, his voice resonating across the Immortal Bastion.
"Time to look beyond this moment and reflect upon the story of our shared past."
The pale blue clouds swirled and shifted, forming a vivid image in the sky.
A magnificent city appeared—majestic and proud, resembling the Immortal Bastion itself, though smaller and without the sprawling structures that now surrounded it.
Ryan raised his hand, and a projection of the ancient fortress materialized before the audience.
"More than 900 years ago," Ryan began, "the Rune Wars ravaged the world. Amid the chaos, the Noxians—alongside survivors from other regions—seized the Immortal Citadel and overthrew one of the most tyrannical rulers in history. From that moment, the Noxian Empire was born."
His voice carried far beyond the gathering, amplified by unseen magic.
Across the entirety of Noxus, from the Immortal Bastion to its outermost cities, his words and the celestial display reached every citizen.
The image in the sky shifted again, showing a towering black gate rising from the ground, forged seemingly from nothing.
A group of Noxians planted a crimson banner atop it—the first flag of the empire.
That same flag still flew above the Immortal Bastion today, a symbol of Noxus' enduring strength.
"That day marked the first year of Noxus," Ryan proclaimed, his voice heavy with solemnity.
"And it shall be remembered as the first year of Runeterra's unified history, defined by us."
The crowd erupted in fervent agreement, their hearts swelling with pride.
To define history itself—what greater honor could there be?
The sky's projection shifted once more, now showing a lush land teeming with life—a stark contrast to the imposing imagery of the fortress.
Ryan continued, his voice unwavering:
"Human history is a vast tapestry, and it is our duty to unearth the greatness buried within every culture and record it. We may not represent all of humanity, but as one part of it, we claim the right and the responsibility to preserve and pass on its legacy.
"This is why we are here today."
The Noxians stared at the images above, awestruck.
This was their empire, their legacy—a beacon of power and vision.
And if any nation dared to oppose it, Noxus would break through its gates and plant its flag upon its throne, ensuring the new calendar would reign supreme.
On the horizon, the celestial scroll unfurled like parchment, displaying an intricate timeline. At its center, in bold Noxian script, the words read:
"The first year of the Rune Continent calendar—The Noxian Empire was founded."
Ryan gestured toward the screen, drawing every eye to the vivid images displayed.
"Ionia," he began, "the cradle of humanity—the land of our first awakening."
The scene depicted primitive humans and humanoid allies locked in a fierce battle against colossal, monstrous creatures.
Through courage and unity, humanity and their companions overcame the giants, birthing the first civilization.
"Vastayashai'rei," Ryan continued, his voice firm yet reverent.
"Once comrades in our fight against the Titans. Though over 9,000 years have passed, they remain a part of us—a part of humanity. We shall never forget their aid."
On the scroll, glowing Noxian characters appeared one by one:
"Runeterra 9000 BN: The land of birth—Ionia. The dawn of human history witnessed and shaped by the Vastayashai'rei ."
In the Noxian-occupied regions of Ionia, those with the traits of Vastaya—monkey-faced, lion-faced, or other humanoid forms with beast-like features—knelt or bowed toward the direction of the empire.
For the first time in centuries, they felt seen and their contributions acknowledged by the world.
Once known as the Vastayashai'rei, they were now simply the Vastaya, long forgotten even by Ionia there home.
Yet, the Noxian Empire had restored its place in the annals of history.
Ryan's voice echoed once more.
"A thousand years later, in 8000 BN, human life in the Freljord was grim, marked by frigid survival. Yet from this frozen desolation arose three extraordinary sisters—Avarosa, Serylda, and Lissandra."
He gestured to the shifting image, now showing a harsh, icy landscape.
"These sisters united the Yetis, the Iceborn, and even the power of the demigods. Together, they defeated the gods of the north, forging the first great civilization of the Freljord."
The scroll projected images of the Freljord's ancient tribes.
Battle flags waved high in the wind, carried by towering warriors who stood proud and defiant, each embodying the bravery of their ancestors.
Ryan pronounced the names of each ancient tribe with precision, using tones only the Freljordians themselves would recognize.
From the far north, warriors erupted in cheers, their battle cries echoing through the Immortal Bastion and beyond:
"May Avarosa always guide us!"
"Serylda, Mistress of Winter!"
"Freljord!"
The Noxian barbarians from the Freljord roared with fervor, their ancestral pride ignited.
It was as if the ancient Iceborn blood within them stirred anew, fueling their desire for battle and glory.
Weapons were raised high as they resolved to reclaim the honor of their forebears.
The tribes who had fallen into infighting, forgetting the greatness of their ancestors, would be reminded—forcefully, if necessary.
Finally, the glowing words materialized on the scroll:
"Runeterra 8000 BN: Freljord. The unyielding heart of the north, forged by the Three Sisters."
Every Noxian of Freljordian descent grew solemn.
With fists clenched against their chests, they shouted in unison, their voices booming like the thunder of an avalanche:
"We will serve the empire until death, spreading the names of Noxus and our ancestors across all Runeterra!"
Their cries reverberated across Noxus, a vow sealed in the name of their forebears.
In their hearts, the ancient oath burned:
In the name of the ancestors, we swear to fight for Noxus.
Never shall we falter, never shall we return without victory.