Arcane: Red Sands

----Past, 12 years ago---

The wind carried the scent of dry grass and sun-warmed stone, a subtle reminder of the vastness of the Plains of Noxus. It whispered through the jagged hills, brushing against the woven tents and stone huts of the Sang'Kalla Tribe. Smoke from cooking fires coiled lazily into the pale blue sky, mingling with the rhythmic beat of drums from the training grounds.

To the Sang'Kalla, the plains were more than a home—they were a test. Every hill, every stone, every drought, and every storm reminded them of the fragile balance between survival and extinction.

In the heart of the village, a group of children sat in a circle around an elder, their wide eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. The elder, a woman with silver hair braided into thick cords, traced patterns in the dirt as she spoke.

"Our people have survived because of our strength," she said, her voice a low, melodic hum. "When the Darkin came, others fled. Others perished. But the Sang'Kalla endured."

A boy raised his hand, his voice eager. "Did we fight them?"

The elder looked at him softly. "We did not win against the Darkin. No one won against them. But we held the line long enough for others to escape. And when the Darkin fell, we were the ones who carried their secrets—so the world would never forget, so that we, would never forget."

Nearby, a pair of figures sparred under the watchful eye of several warriors. Zanaiya, now a young woman of sixteen, wielded her spear with sharp precision, her movements fluid and deliberate. Opposite her, a smaller figure darted and spun, a short wooden sword clutched tightly in his hands.

"Keep your feet under you, Su!" Zanaiya called, her voice carrying a teasing lilt.

Su growled under his breath, shifting his stance as he lunged forward. His gray hair, still short and uneven from his last cut, stuck to his forehead as he pressed the attack. But Zanaiya was faster. She sidestepped, twisting her trident to knock the sword from his hands.

"Again," she said firmly, pointing to the fallen weapon.

"Don't you ever get tired of winning?" Su grumbled, bending to retrieve the sword.

Zanaiya smirked, spinning the trident lazily in her hands. "Not when it's this easy."

Around them, warriors practiced drills with spears and shields, their grunts and the clash of weapons filling the air. A large warrior with a scar bisecting his face barked orders, his booming voice carrying over the din.

"Discipline, precision, strength!" he bellowed. "The Sang'Kalla way is the way! Do not forget it!"

After training, Su and Zanaiya walked through the tribe, the hum of activity surrounding them. The village was a mix of ancient stone structures and newer tents woven from thick grasses and hides. Women carried baskets of roots and herbs, while men sharpened weapons or repaired tools near their homes.

"Doesn't it feel small sometimes?" Su asked, kicking a loose stone as they walked.

Zanaiya raised an eyebrow. "Small?"

"Like there's nothing beyond this," Su said, gesturing around them. "We train, we fight, we survive. But what's it for?"

Zanaiya stopped, crossing her arms. "It's for the tribe. For the people who raised you, fed you, trained you. Isn't that enough?"

Su hesitated, his eyes drifting to the horizon. "Maybe."

A soft drumbeat echoed from the far side of the village, drawing their attention. Near the central firepit, a group of warriors gathered to perform a ritual dance. Their movements were sharp and deliberate, mimicking the strikes of a spear. The elder from earlier stood nearby, chanting in the old tongue.

"That's enough for me," Zanaiya said quietly.

The Sang'Kalla held fast to their traditions, many of which had been passed down since the Darkin Wars. Every week, warriors gathered at dusk to perform the Dance of Blades, a ritual meant to honor those who had fallen in battle and to remind the living of their duty to protect the tribe.

Warriors move in a circle, their weapons cutting through the air in practiced patterns.Each strike represents a moment in the tribe's history—a stand against an enemy, a victory, or a loss that taught them resilience.

Young warriors prove themselves by hunting a dangerous beast and bringing back its fang or claw as a trophy. Su and Zanaiya had both passed this trial years ago, though Su still remembered the scars left by his encounter with a sand lion.The Shrine's Shadow

Toward the evening, Su was called to his father's tent. Kael'Rhaal, the Kah'Varra, sat cross-legged near a small fire, sharpening a blade that had seen years of battle. His face was lined with age, his once-black hair streaked with gray, but his presence was as imposing as ever.

"You called for me?" Su asked, stepping inside.

The crackle of the fire was the only sound in Kael'Rhaal's tent. The flames cast long shadows across the rugged walls, dancing over the hanging talismans and weapons that marked his long reign as Kah'Varra. Sitting across from him, Su'Rhaal kept his back straight, his scarlet eyes meeting his father's steady gaze.

"You've grown strong," Kael said, his voice deep and calm, like the rumble of distant thunder. "Stronger than anyone your age has a right to be."

Su's lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, but Kael held up a hand. "Don't mistake that for praise. Strength without understanding is a blade without a hilt—useless and dangerous."

The younger man's smile faded, his brow furrowing. "I've trained harder than anyone. I've fought, I've endured. What more do you want from me?"

Kael leaned forward, the firelight catching the lines etched into his face. "You don't understand the weight of your bloodline, Su. Our strength isn't just for battle. It's a shield against what lies beneath the Vara'Thor—a force that would corrupt even the mightiest warrior if they faltered for a moment."

Su stiffened. He had heard stories about the Shrine, whispered among the children late at night, but those tales always felt distant, like a shadow lurking beyond the edge of the firelight. Now, the weight in his father's words made it real.

"You think I'm not ready," Su said finally, his tone edged with defiance.

"I know you're not ready," Kael replied. "But you must be. Tomorrow, you'll come with me and the elders to the Shrine. You'll see what it means to carry the burden of our people. And perhaps then, you'll understand."