League Of Legends/Arcane: Earthbound

Adam adjusted his backpack for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. The straps bit into his shoulders, the weight of his supplies settling heavily against his back. The crisp air carried hints of warmth now, a far cry from the frozen winds of Freljord. He turned back for one last look at the village, its small, sturdy homes disappearing behind a curtain of trees. It felt strange to leave Ashe and Tryndamere behind after everything they'd done for him, but this was something he had to do.

His eyes flicked to the map in his hand, creased and smudged from use. Six days to Demacia—six days of walking, camping, and surviving on his own. He swallowed hard, glancing at the well-worn trail ahead of him. "Here we go," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

The first few hours of walking were easier than he expected. The terrain was beginning to change; the snow was thinning, revealing patches of muddy earth and tufts of grass. Birds chirped from the trees, and a faint breeze rustled the leaves. It was peaceful, almost deceptively so. Adam let his mind wander as he walked. It wasn't long ago that he wouldn't have survived out here alone. Back on Earth, he'd never had to think about things like food, shelter, or wild animals. Supermarkets and soft beds had made life easy. Here, everything was different. It was kill or be killed, survive or perish.

He frowned at the thought. Killing—it was something he still couldn't get used to. Tryndamere had drilled the idea of survival into his head, and Ashe had shown him how to hunt, how to make a clean shot. But even now, he felt sick thinking about that deer he'd shot a few days ago. It had felt necessary, yes, but the weight of it lingered in his chest. What would he do if he had to kill another person again?

The sun had climbed higher by the time Adam decided to take a break. His legs were starting to ache, and the straps of his backpack left angry red marks on his shoulders. He found a large rock and dropped his bag with a heavy thud, sighing as he stretched his arms. "Surviving sucks," he grumbled. Reaching into his pack, he grabbed a bit of jerky Ashe had packed for him. It was tough and salty, but it kept the hunger at bay.

As he ate, his eyes wandered across the forest. It was beautiful here in its own rugged way. The green canopy above him filtered sunlight, casting dappled shadows onto the forest floor. For a moment, he let himself relax.

But then a sound broke the peace. A rustling from the trees, sharp and deliberate. Adam froze, his heart pounding in his chest. Slowly, he reached for his bow. Tryndamere's words echoed in his mind: "Always be aware of your surroundings. The quiet doesn't mean you're alone."

He nocked an arrow and turned toward the sound. His breath was shallow, hands sweating as his eyes darted between the trees. For a moment, there was nothing. Then—

"Now!"

Figures burst from the trees—three of them, dirty and ragged, with cruel grins and weapons drawn. Bandits. Adam's heart leapt into his throat. This is bad. This is really bad.

"Well, well," one of them sneered. He was tall and wiry, with greasy hair falling over his eyes. "What do we have here? A little lost pup?"

Adam instinctively stepped back, his arrow trained on the man. "I don't want any trouble," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"You hear that, boys? He doesn't want any trouble!" The others laughed, their weapons glinting in the sunlight. "Hand over your pack, kid, and we'll let you go."

Adam's mind raced. If he gave up his supplies, he wouldn't make it to Demacia. He'd starve or freeze to death. But if he fought—Can I even do this? His grip on the bow tightened.

"Last chance," the man said, stepping closer.

Adam acted without thinking. He let the arrow fly, striking the man's shoulder. The bandit cried out in pain, stumbling back as Adam scrambled for another arrow. But the other two were already moving. One lunged at him with a knife, and Adam barely had time to drop his bow and draw his sword. He parried the blow, the clang of metal ringing in his ears.

"Come on, come on!" he muttered, panic flaring in his chest as the second bandit circled behind him. Adam spun, his sword slicing through the air in a wide arc. It wasn't clean, but it forced them to step back. His breathing was ragged now, and his arms ached from the effort.

"Get him!"

The wiry bandit was up again, charging at Adam with a snarl. Adam ducked the swing, his heart hammering. He gripped the sword with both hands and swung as hard as he could, the blade biting into the bandit's side. The man collapsed with a strangled cry, unmoving.

The world slowed for a moment. Adam stared at the blood on his sword, his stomach churning. I killed him. I killed him.

He didn't have time to think. The remaining bandits attacked in a frenzy, desperate now that their leader was dead. Adam fought back clumsily, blocking and dodging where he could. His body moved on instinct, fueled by adrenaline and sheer terror. He managed to catch one bandit in the knee with a quick strike, sending him crashing to the ground. The last man hesitated, his eyes darting between Adam and his fallen comrades.

"You're not worth it," he spat, turning and disappearing into the trees.

Silence fell over the clearing, broken only by Adam's ragged breathing. He staggered, his sword falling from his grip. He stared at the bodies, his hands trembling.

"I didn't… I didn't want to…" His voice was a whisper, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. The reality of what he had done washed over him like a wave, leaving him dizzy. He dropped to his knees, bile rising in his throat, but he forced it down.

Survival. That's what Tryndamere had said. But no one had told him how it would feel afterward—the guilt, the sickness. He wiped his face with a shaky hand. "I had no choice," he murmured. It didn't make him feel any better.

After collecting his scattered supplies, Adam forced himself to move. He couldn't stay here; the bandit might come back with reinforcements. As he walked, his mind replayed the fight over and over again. He couldn't stop seeing the blood, the lifeless body crumpled on the ground. Is this who I am now?

That night, Adam camped in a small hollow beneath a thick tree. He started a fire, but its warmth did little to ease the cold in his chest. He barely touched his food, his appetite gone. The forest seemed darker, the shadows more oppressive. He sat with his knees pulled to his chest, staring into the flames.

"I didn't want to kill him," he whispered to no one. But the forest gave no reply.

The next two days blurred together in a haze of exhaustion and silence. Adam kept moving, sticking close to the path Ashe had marked on his map. He avoided people, avoided any sign of trouble. His body ached constantly, and the weight of his pack felt heavier with each step.

By the sixth day, Adam's surroundings had completely transformed. The snow was gone, replaced by rolling green fields and dense forests. The air was warmer, and the sun felt brighter than it had in weeks. It was beautiful, but Adam hardly noticed. He was too focused on reaching Demacia.

In the late afternoon, Adam decided to hunt. His food supplies were running low, and the forest here seemed full of game. He moved quietly through the trees, bow in hand, until he spotted a deer grazing near a stream. Adam drew his bow, holding his breath as he aimed. He let the arrow fly, and the deer dropped without a sound.

He approached it slowly, his chest tightening. "Thank you," he muttered softly, a habit Ashe had taught him. He set to work gutting the animal, his hands steady despite the knot in his stomach. It was messy, but he was getting better at it.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Adam cooked the meat over a small fire. The smell of it made his mouth water, and for the first time in days, he ate until he was full. He felt stronger, more focused. He was surviving.

The sound of yelling broke the peace. Adam's head snapped up, his hand going to his bow. He quickly extinguished the fire and crouched behind a tree. The shouting grew louder, accompanied by the clash of metal.

He peered through the trees and saw a caravan under attack. Knights in gleaming white armor—Demacians, no doubt—were fending off soldiers clad in crimson and black. Noxians.

Adam's heart raced. He knew what this was—Ashe had warned him about the war between Demacia and Noxus. The knights were outnumbered, their caravan surrounded. Adam hesitated, his bowstring taut in his hands. I can walk away. This isn't my fight.

But he couldn't look away. The knights were fighting valiantly, but they were losing ground. Adam gritted his teeth. "Damn it."

He loosed his first arrow, striking a Noxian soldier in the back. The man dropped, and the others turned in surprise. Adam moved quickly, firing again and again, his arrows finding their marks.

"Who the hell—?!"

Before they could regroup, Adam charged forward, drawing his sword. His body moved without thinking, every step a blur. He slashed at one soldier, ducked under another's swing, and shoved his blade into an opening in the man's armor. The battle was chaos—screams, clashing steel, and the pounding of his heart.

A Noxian soldier spotted Adam and charged him with a roar, swinging a heavy axe. Adam barely managed to dodge the first strike, feeling the wind of the swing graze his face. He stumbled back, his breath caught in his throat as the soldier came at him again. The man was stronger and bigger than he was—Adam knew he couldn't win in a head-on fight.

Think! Use your head, not your strength.

He remembered Ashe's words during their training. "A smart warrior doesn't fight their enemy's fight. Use what you have."

The soldier swung wide again, and Adam ducked low, rolling to the side. He spotted a gap in the man's armor near his side and lunged forward. His sword pierced through the opening, and the soldier let out a strangled cry as he fell to the ground.

Adam stumbled back, panting hard, his arms trembling. Blood splattered his clothes, and he forced himself not to look at it. It's them or me. He repeated it in his head like a mantra as he turned back to the fight.

The Demacian knights had rallied thanks to Adam's intervention. They pushed the remaining Noxians back, swords flashing in the fading sunlight. Finally, the Noxians realized they were beaten and retreated into the woods, their curses carried by the wind.

The clearing fell silent except for the labored breathing of the knights and the smell of blood lingering in the air. Adam lowered his sword, his chest heaving as he tried to calm himself. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his mind still reeling. He hadn't planned to fight, but once it started, he couldn't stop himself.

"Who are you?" A voice broke through his thoughts.

Adam looked up to see a knight in white armor, his face streaked with dirt and blood, staring at him in astonishment. The other knights were gathering around, murmuring among themselves as they took stock of the newcomer who had saved them.

Adam swallowed hard, wiping his sword on the grass before sheathing it. "Just… just an adventurer," he said, his voice shaky but steady enough. "I was passing through."

The knight studied him for a moment, then extended a gauntleted hand. "You fight well, adventurer. If not for you, we would have been overrun."

Adam hesitated but finally took the man's hand, feeling the hard metal press against his skin. "It wasn't anything special. You would've been fine."

The knight shook his head. "Humility is a rare trait. I am Ser Darius, and these are my men. We are Demacian knights, returning from patrol. And you—" He paused, his eyes narrowing as he looked Adam over. "You don't look like you're from here. Are you from Freljord?"

Adam nodded slowly, remembering Ashe's advice. "Yeah. I've been traveling for a while now."

Darius raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but he didn't press further. Instead, he gestured to the caravan, where soldiers were tending to the wounded and gathering supplies. "We're heading to Demacia. You saved our lives; the least we can do is offer you a ride."

Adam hesitated, unsure if he should accept. But the idea of spending another night alone, fighting off bandits or worse, made the decision for him. "Thanks. I'd appreciate that."

Darius nodded and led him to one of the wagons. Adam climbed up, settling into a spot among the supplies. The knights worked quickly to clean up the battlefield and tend to their fallen comrades before they set off again. The caravan rumbled down the road, the sound of hooves and wheels filling the quiet.

Adam leaned back against a crate, letting out a shaky breath. His body ached, his hands were still trembling, and the blood on his clothes hadn't fully dried. He didn't feel like a hero, even though the knights looked at him with gratitude. If anything, he felt… hollow.

I killed more people today. The thought was intrusive, lingering like a dark cloud. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to push it away. He couldn't afford to break down. Not now.

"You're quiet," one of the knights said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Adam glanced up to see a younger soldier sitting across from him. The man had dark hair and a kind face, though his armor was battered and scuffed. "Sorry," Adam muttered. "Just tired."

"I don't blame you," the soldier said with a grin. "You were impressive back there. I've never seen someone fight like that. You're not a ranger, are you?"

Adam shook his head. "No. I'm not anything. Just trying to survive."

The soldier nodded, clearly curious but too polite to pry. "You heading to Demacia for anything specific?"

Adam hesitated before answering. "I'm looking for someone who can help me. I've… got a problem that I don't know how to fix."

"Demacia's a good place for help," the soldier said proudly. "The city is full of knights, scholars, and healers. You'll find what you're looking for there, I'm sure of it."

Adam nodded, though he wasn't sure if he believed it. "Thanks."

The rest of the ride passed in relative silence. The knights seemed content to let Adam keep to himself, though a few offered him food and water, which he gratefully accepted. The wagon jolted along the uneven road, and Adam let the rhythmic clatter of the wheels calm his nerves.

As night fell, the caravan set up camp beside a river. Adam helped where he could, gathering firewood and assisting the soldiers with their tents. The knights offered him a place by the fire, and for the first time in days, Adam felt almost… normal. He sat with them, listening to their stories about Demacia, about battles fought and won.

"You'll like Demacia," one of the older knights said. "It's a city of honor and order, where good men are rewarded and evil is punished. A place where you can start over, if that's what you want."

Adam didn't know how to respond. He wasn't looking for a fresh start—he just wanted to go home. But still, the thought of a place where he might find answers gave him a sliver of hope.

As he lay down on his bedroll later that night, staring up at the stars, Adam let his mind wander. He thought about Ashe and Tryndamere, about the lessons they had taught him. He thought about the blood on his hands and the lives he had taken. And he thought about the future—Demacia, magic, and the slim chance that someone there might know how to send him home.

Six days of walking, and I survived. It wasn't much, but it was something. Adam closed his eyes, listening to the crackle of the fire and the soft murmur of the river. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to feel a little proud.

Tomorrow, they would reach Demacia and he could finally find some fucking answers.