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Ash and smoke fill the blood-stained skies above Ionia that victorious, miraculous morning. There are trees charred black, a permanent stain on their vibrant colors, and ugly, jagged scorch marks across the grass. The remnants of broken statues lie scattered across the hills and man and beast alike litter the ground with their corpses—a reminder of all that they lost in this wretched, pointless conflict.
Shen stands in the midst of it all, searching for a man he lost a lifetime ago, a man he thought he’d never get back, a man who perhaps died all those years ago. He was here, he knows he was here, he saw him, fighting with the others, a mere shadow in the flames of war.
The smoke stings his eyes, and desperation brings tears he’d thought he’d discarded long ago.
Balance, balance, he reminds himself, but damn the balance, Zed is here, and his father is gone, and the war is over, and maybe— maybe this is his last and final chance.
“Master,” Akali says, from behind him, quiet for once. Worried, over him this time instead of the other way around. It’s been years since she called him that, he remembers vaguely. She places a hand on his shoulder. He stares out into the field and says nothing, his heart pounding and breaths erratic. He can’t find him, he can’t, he’s gone, lost to him forever, and Shen—
A sash of red, a muted crimson, like his eyes, different from the blood spilled across the wartorn coast. Shen sees him, and his heart stops.
That boy kneels beside him, his knees in the dirt, his bloodied hands pressed urgently against Zed’s stomach.
Is he—?
Shen’s moving before he knows it, his legs propelling him forward where his mind cannot. They move of their own accord, and when he reaches Zed’s still body, Kayn looks up at him, distraught.
“Move,” Shen says tremulously, falling to his knees. When the boy only stares helplessly up at him, irritation and desperation flare in his chest. “Move,” he repeats, and so he does, scrambling to his feet.
“Shen?” He’s so quiet; Shen would’ve missed it were he not desperately waiting for it, for confirmation that he is here, that he is alive. His voice is raw, harsh and grating and so completely unlike the man he once knew. His face is pale, stained with blood and dirt and soot. His crimson eyes dull with exhaustion and his lips are cracked with blood. A cut across his cheek mars his soft features, and Shen avoids it when he takes his face into his hands.
“Zed,” he breathes. They’re enemies. For the past decade, they’ve been enemies. They couldn’t stand the sight of each other, but now— “You’re alive.”
“You came back,” he croaks. His hand trembles as it wraps around Shen’s wrist.
“I came back,” Shen echoes. He strokes his cheek with his thumbs, careful not to touch the torn skin. “Of course I came back.”
“You know, I—” He coughs violently, his body vibrating as he struggles to catch his breath. “I thought—”
The words devolve into a coughing fit again and Zed winces in pain. His grip loosens around his wrist gradually until his fingers slip. Shen looks down at his torso and for the first time he truly registers the wound that pierces his stomach, blood soaking the cloth beneath his steel armor. Panic seizes him once again.
“Don’t talk,” Shen says. “We’ll get you help.”
“I don’t think—” He coughs. “I’m gonna make it.”
His heart thumps in his chest. He can’t speak, can’t move, can’t do anything but stare. He can’t lose him again.
“Shen,” Kayn breathes. This time, it is he who looks up.
He won’t lose him again.
So Shen picks him up with the last of his strength and not one from their orders utters a single word of protest.
-
Day and night, he stays by his bed. The camp’s nurses wrap Zed’s wound in herbs and bandages and Shen does not ignore the trepidation with which they eye the shadows that coil around his body—proof of his corruption. He does not blame them; even he is ill at ease around them. He wonders if they will ever vanish. If this darkness will ever leave him.
-
Kayn visits often; Shen thinks that if he were not here now, Kayn would be in his place, curled up by his bed and head buried in his chest. He thinks he still would be, if not for Shen’s insistence that he keeps his scythe elsewhere.
He speaks little on his visits, and Shen does not deign to change that. He has little regard for any of Zed’s Order, and he doubts they have any for him. Kayn sneaks small glances at him when he thinks he isn’t looking as if to gauge him. Perhaps once he would’ve been wary, but times have changed, and the boy matters little when he has him once again.
-
Akali comes, too, though not for any love of Zed.
“We should go,” she says, on the third day. “Your people need you, and he—” She looks upon Zed’s sleeping form with blatant disgust. “Is not worth it.”
“He has no one,” he says, fingers tracing the veins of Zed’s wrist.
“He has his order,” she reasons. “He has Kayn.”
“And you trust them?” he asks incredulously.
“Of course not,” she says. “But he did.”
“They will abandon him once they see him.”
“Then let them,” she says. “It’s only what he deserves.”
“You don’t know him,” he insists.
“I know what he did,” she says quietly. “To my mother. To my father.” Then, bitterly: “To you.”
To that, Shen has no response. In silence, he watches the steady rise and fall of Zed’s chest. He closes his eyes. Inhales, exhales. He opens his eyes.
Beside him, Akali sighs.
"Whatever, old man. I guess we can stay a few more days.” And then she goes, sliding the door shut behind her.
-
“Perhaps I am a fool,” Shen murmurs, when Kennen inevitably finds him. He slips gently past the white screen doors and stops beside him.
“No,” he says quietly. “No, I don’t think so.”
They sit in silence for a while, listening to the bustle of the camp around them. The wounded are being treated in the surrounding tents, and the recovered wander about, gathering to drink and laugh and tell tales without the weight of coming doom hanging over their shoulders. They’re safe now, and the fear of what’s to come is overwhelmed by raw optimism carried forth by their victory.
The leaders of Ionia’s resistance gather to determine what’s to be done with their prisoners, Noxian or otherwise. Many took advantage of the chaos to further their own agenda, and many consider Zed to be one of them. Beneath Shen’s relief, uncertainty gnaws at him.
“What will they do with him?” he asks at last, because he cannot stand not knowing, not anymore.
“Some want him imprisoned,” Kennen says. “In Tuula, they say. But he has made many enemies, Shen. There are many who want him dead.”
And I should be one of them, he thinks mirthlessly. He traces the contours of Zed’s face for the millionth time and finds he cannot. He looks at the flash of white that falls into his face and sees only redemption.
“I cannot leave him,” he says. “I won’t let him go, not—not again.”
“Then don’t,” Kennen says, and the words do not leave his thoughts.
-
On the fifth day, Zed wakes up. His heart seizes in his chest at the first sign of stirring and even though he’s been waiting for days, the anxiety wells up in him like he’s a boy of fourteen instead of a man of his twenty-eight years.
“Where are we?” he asks, after he’s drank enough water to satiate his thirst. He sits up in his bed, pale fingers splayed across the white sheets by his hips. His arms shake with exertion, but Shen makes no move to help, instead bringing another cup to his lips.
“Outside the Placidium,” Shen says, as he drinks. He sets the cup back on the side table. He sits down. Zed meets his eyes. Shen shifts in his seat. “We won.”
“We won,” he echoes, but the words feel painfully hollow. Shen looks away. Zed does, too.
Shen swallows.
“It’s been a while,” Zed says to his hand. Shen looks back at him. Zed’s gaze flits up to meet his, and oh, how he’s missed that look. Zed smiles at him, small and weak. There’s a glimmer of hope beneath it all, dulled by long-held bitterness and resentment, by all their unvoiced grievances, by all the wretched, vile things they’ve done to each other—but there, nonetheless.
Shen laughs, choked by surprise.
“Yes,” he says. “It has.”
He longs to reach out and touch, like he has for the past week, but Zed is awake now and no longer can he pretend that there is not a world of pain keeping them apart. Shen purses his lips, but does not look away, and Zed doesn’t either. This time, he does not let fear tear them apart.
Zed looks away first, eyes cast down toward the white cotton sheets that hang loose over his thighs. Shen’s gaze catches on the delicate curve of his lashes and then, on the healing white scar upon his cheek. Zed’s thumb twitches above the sheets. Suddenly, Zed inhales sharply and turns to him.
“Where is Kayn?” he asks urgently. “Is he alright?”
“Yes, he’s—”
“Master!” The boy comes barrelling in through the door, louder than he’s ever been these past few days. He practically launches himself at him, sitting on the ledge of the bed and throwing his arms around Zed’s shoulders to bury his face in his neck. Zed’s eyes widen and his arms lie limp by his sides. It lasts only a moment.
Zed’s eyes fall shut and his arms wrap hesitantly around him, his fingers getting lost in his unruly black hair. Suddenly, Shen feels like an intruder, like he’s witnessing something not meant for his eyes. His chest aches. Zed had a life without him, after he left. He didn’t need him. The thought hurts to think about. He never needed him, it seems; after all, why else would he leave?
He rises and makes for the door.
“Shen?” That’s always been his weakness, he realizes: his name on Zed’s lips. He turns one last time. Zed’s staring at him, hurt mixed with longing. Kayn glances at him, then back at Zed.
He forces himself to speak. His throat feels dry, all of a sudden.
“Yes?” he croaks.
“You’ll come back, right?” It’s hesitant. Afraid. So very unlike him.
“Of course,” he says.
He’s helpless to say anything else.
-
“He’s awake,” Shen says.
Akali sits in the corner of the sparsely-decorated bedroom with Kennen at her side. She looks up.
“Good,” she says, gathering her stuff. “Now let’s go.”
“What?” he says. “I can’t, he’s only just—”
“Listen, old man,” she says, rising. “Half the camp wants his head, and it’s only a matter of time before he’s sentenced to death. You haven’t left his side in days. People are talking, so let’s get out of here before they start making assumptions.”
She presses his spirit blade into his chest. He’d forgotten about it. He wraps his fingers around the sheathed blade. The weight feels oddly foreign, and he wonders when it began feeling so wrong. Perhaps it always did.
Akali pushes past him. Kennen follows her, but not before a moment of understanding passes between them.
“No,” he says, turning. Akali stops, facing him. “I’m not leaving.” He takes one step, then two. He presses the sword back into her arms. “Not this time.”
He meets her gaze head on, conviction driving him like never before. He will not repeat the mistakes of his youth.
When she says nothing, he moves to walk past her before he feels a hand on his bicep and fingers digging into his flesh.
“Fine,” she says, resigned. “We’ll stay a little longer. But—” She hands the blade back. “You’re taking this back.” His eyes widen and he nods slowly. “Be careful, though. For us?”
He looks at her, soft. With one hand, he grips the handle; with the other, he covers Akali’s fingers.
“Thank you,” he says.
“Of course.”
-
They do stay. Shen returns to sleeping in his shared room with Kennen and Akali, but much of his day is spent sitting by Zed’s side in tenuous silence. There is too much between them, too many wounds, too many scars, and none of them can be healed in an instant, no matter how badly Shen wishes they could.
“Is your—“ He gestures awkwardly toward the bandages wrapped tight around his abdomen. “—wound okay?”
Zed looks down at it before glancing at him.
“It’s getting better,” he says.
“That is… good to hear,” Shen says, and the room falls silent. He fiddles with fabric of his cloak. Perhaps he should leave. Perhaps he was a fool to even try. Perhaps all that’s left of them was burned away the moment his father died.
“What will you do now?” Zed asks, finally. Shen glances up.
“I—” He finds he hadn’t really thought about it. Leading the Kinkou is the obvious answer, but it doesn’t feel right, not anymore. He could go with Akali, perhaps, but a part of him thinks, wearily, that she has most certainly outgrown him by now. Besides—neither have what he truly wants in them. “I don’t know.”
“I would think you of all people would have it figured out,” Zed says. “You and your duty.”
There’s no bite behind it—only the vague air of resignation.
“I don’t think—” He stops himself abruptly. It’s too honest, too raw, too real. Zed looks at him. He tilts his head, just a bit. “I don’t think I can go back. Not— not without you.”
Shen looks away. He feels like a boy again, sitting just upon the riverbank as pale pink blossoms flutter about like butterflies, the sun bright against the backdrop of blue and white, cheeks reddening as he refuses to confess what is already so plain to them both.
Suddenly, he feels a hand on his. Shen’s fingers rest on the side of Zed’s bed; he hadn’t even realized he’d moved them. He looks up and their eyes meet.
“So,” Shen says, eyes flitting away almost instantly. “What about you? What about your… people?”
“Shen,” he says. He pauses, but Shen continues to look to the floor. Zed continues. “I know about the—” He hesitates over the word. “—trial. I am not making it out of here alive.”
That makes him look up.
“What?” he says, with a hint of incredulity. “Surely it would not be difficult for you to just— run.”
Zed gazes at him, his red eyes filled with too many unsaid things to completely decipher. The sight is enough to knock Shen off-balance, to have his head spinning and heart racing for reasons he swore he’d abandoned all those years ago. Zed purses his lips before speaking.
“Perhaps I am tired of running,” he says quietly. He doesn’t turn away, and neither does Shen.
-
“They want you to testify,” Akali says, slipping into Zed’s quarters. Shen’s sitting in his usual chair at Zed’s side, both hands loosely gripping the mattress while Zed sits up, talking to him about something, not that she cares about the ramblings of two senile old men.
Shen stands up when he hears her, back to Zed. She’s wearing her usual green clothes with her kama dangling threateningly by her side. Shen doesn’t know whether to roll his eyes or berate her.
“Testify?” he repeats, but Shen is no fool; there is only one reason they would ask for his testimony.
“Against—” She tilts her head aggressively. “—him.”
He sighs and shepherds her outside.
“I don’t know why you’re trying to hide it,” she says. “He has a right to know.”
“You know he knows,” Shen says, hints of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re not going to scare him, you know.” He wraps a stern hand around the handles of her kama. “Not with this, at least.”
She scoffs and turns away.
“Well,” she says. “They’re expecting you to come in tomorrow morning. So just be prepared. Anyway. I’m wanted elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere?” Shen questions, smiling fondly.
“Big boss lady,” she says, disappearing down the hall.
“Boss lady?”
“You know,” she calls. “The one with the flying blades and pink ribbons.”
This time, Shen does roll his eyes.
-
“What will you do?” Zed says quietly. His thumb twitches.
Shen shuts the door behind him,
“I don’t know,” he says and sits down.
-
He figures it out eventually. He does not deny Zed’s countless crimes, does not even downplay them. The eager crowd is out for blood, but Shen is their Eye of Twilight, tasked with maintaining the balance with his untold wisdom. They trust him over most, and when he begs for mercy and pleads for his banishment, they comply.
-
He does not tell them he plans on going with him, does not tell anyone but Zed, who looks at him with wide eyes that ripple with relief.
He packs their things that evening.
-
Shen is helping Zed to his feet when Kennen enters the tent, arms crossed but unsurprised. Zed’s fingers are cold against the warmth of his palms when he hauls him up and off the bed, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s worth it, because it’s him. Zed leans against him, arm thrown over his shoulders, slender frame dwarfed by Shen’s own. He’s barely eaten these past few days and he feels all the lighter for it.
“Akali will not be pleased,” Kennen says. His heart aches just a bit. He will miss him; always, he will miss him.
“I know,” Shen sighs. “But it’s better this way.”
He waits until Zed is steady enough to stand on his own before he leans down to gather their bags. Zed pulls his cloak tighter around him.
“Is it?” Kennen asks, skeptical. He shifts his gaze. “Zed.”
“Kennen,” Zed says evenly. A moment passes, but neither says anything else. Zed walks past him, stopping by the door. “I’ll wait outside.”
Shen nods. Zed slides the door behind him.
“I’m surprised you’re not trying to stop me,” Shen says.
“I think you’re old enough to make your own decisions now,” Kennen says, and Shen can’t help but smile fondly.
“I think so too,” he murmurs. Pride swells in Kennen’s eyes. Shen purses his lips and inhales sharply before looking away. He pulls the straps of his bag over his shoulders.
Together, they walk towards the door and into the deserted halls. It’s dark, and not a soul is awake but them. Their footsteps seem to echo through the lantern-lit halls. His heart feels heavy, and it’s only when they’re by the doors that all of it hits him. Shen stops. He looks down and kneels.
“Goodbye, old friend,” he says. His voice trembles just a bit. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too,” Kennen says. “I only wish that there was another way.”
“I know,” Shen says, swallowing his emotion—a habit, one not so easily broken. “I know.” After a moment, he rises. “Tell Akali I—tell her I love her, will you?”
He slides open the door.
“You were not just gonna do that, were you?” Akali stands on the porch with her arms crossed and fury written across her lips. Behind her, he sees Zed, his hand on Kayn’s shoulder. Before he can say a word, Akali stomps over to him, fisting the front of his cloak. “Just gonna—gonna leave? Like that?” Her voice cracks, and for the first time since she was a child, Shen sees a tear well up in her eyes. He swallows, suddenly guilty.
“I—”
She buries her head in his chest and throws her arms around his shoulders. Just like that, his heart melts. He holds her tight, then, and presses his nose into her unruly black hair. They stay like that for a while until finally she pulls away with her hands still clinging to his shoulders.
“You’ll come back, won’t you?” she says, sniffling. He wraps a hand around her wrist.
“I…” He looks at Zed, then back to her. “I don’t think so. Not this time.”
“You have to,” she insists. “What am I—what are the Kinkou gonna do without you?”
Shen smiles, soft and sad.
“I’m surprised you care,” he says. She lets go and shoves him without any real heat. She tears her gaze away and brings her hand to her arm.
“I don’t— I just—” She brings her eyes slowly up to meet his. The lantern flames intertwine with starlight upon her face. She’s grown so much, and yet— “I’m gonna miss you. A lot.”
Shen brings a hand to her shoulder and grips it in what he hopes is a comforting manner. She leans into it, biting her lip.
“I know,” he says quietly. “I know. But you’re gonna be okay, I know you will.” He forces out a laugh. “No more masters, right?”
She scoffs, but doesn’t turn away.
“Right,” she says weakly. He draws away, his hand falling to his side.
“I suppose this is goodbye then,” he says, looking from Akali to Kennen.
“I guess so,” she whispers.
He takes one step, then another, before turning, a broad, almost devious smile on his lips.
“As for the Kinkou,” he says, reaching behind him. His fingers grasp the hilt of his father’s blade, a hint of blue light peeking out from beneath its sheath. “I believe I’m leaving them in good hands.” He presses the sword into her hands and before she can let out a word of protest, Shen hurries along the path to where Zed and Kayn stand waiting beside their horses.
They’re speaking in low tones, their forehead pressed close as Zed imparts some last words. At last they part. Zed glances up at Shen as he approaches. He grips Kayn’s arm one last time and gives him a single nod before stepping away.
“Are you ready?” Zed asks.
Shen takes one look at him—at the scar healing across his cheek, at the moonlight reflected in his eyes, at the soft smile he’d never thought he’d see again—and knows he’s all he’s ever wanted, all he’ll ever need. For the first time in his life, Shen answers for himself.
“Yes,” he says. He smiles, hesitant but certain, and in a heartbeat, Zed smiles back.