Runeterra: Alexander The Eternal

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— POV JARVAN III —

The river glimmered at dusk, reflecting shades of gold and pink that painted the sky above. Our royal vessel, adorned with Demacia's crest, sliced through the waters smoothly as crowds gathered along the banks of the Serpentine River. This grand event, uniting the entire Ironfork region, was a symbol of strength and unity. Flags fluttered proudly in the wind, and the hum of voices filled the air.

As the boat docked in Edessa, I stepped onto solid ground. My golden armor gleamed in the fading light, the hilt of my sword resting at my hip, my right hand instinctively hovering over it—a familiar gesture of readiness.

I moved forward, the crowd's reverent gazes fixed on me and my retinue. My son, walking beside me, held a steady posture, though he was still learning the weight of his future responsibilities as king.

Xin Zhao, my loyal companion, followed closely, his steps silent and deliberate, ever vigilant.

The streets of Edessa buzzed with life. Children darted between adults, laughing, as blue and gold banners adorned the buildings, waving gently in the breeze. The voices of peasants and merchants filled the air, murmuring blessings and thanks as they waved. I nodded back, maintaining a composed expression.

"Edessa is more vibrant than ever," I remarked, observing the people around me.

"Greetings, my people!" I called out, raising a hand as we advanced through the crowd.

The warmth of their welcome filled me with a sense of nostalgia. I had always known my kingdom was resilient, but moments like these, amidst festivities, allowed us to forget the looming challenges, if only briefly.

As the sun set, the festival took over Edessa. Traditional dances filled the plazas, their movements fluid and energetic. Drums and flutes echoed through the narrow streets.

Youngsters competed in skill games—tossing rings at distant targets, balancing wooden swords in feats of agility and focus. The aroma of local food—roasted meats, spices, and sweets—wafted through the air, comforting and inviting.

I wandered through the merchants' tents, exchanging words with local nobles. The conversation shifted when a short, red-bearded man spoke enthusiastically:

"Your Majesty, the children's sword competition is about to begin." His face lit up with excitement.

"It's my first time here. They say the prize is a sword chosen by you! What an honor!"

I smiled, adjusting the grip on my sword.

"Yes, it's an old tradition. The sword awarded represent the promise of the young champion." I stroked my chin thoughtfully. "The most memorable kid became a vanguard."

Another man, with a stern expression, nodded in agreement.

"I've heard about some promising youths this year. There's a boy named Marcos—impeccable technique. Born to wield a sword. And young Helena, swift as the wind, with remarkable precision despite her age."

Interesting. Few things pleased me more than seeing Demacia's youth thrive.

"Oh," I murmured as they continued listing names.

When the name "Alexander" was mentioned, however, the lively tone shifted. A stocky man, arms crossed and face flushed with irritation, scoffed loudly.

"Huh! Alexander? He's just a reckless boy, always getting into trouble! No discipline!" With a dismissive gesture, he added, "My son, Marcos, embodies the virtues of a true Demacian."

'Of course,' I mused, 'a father frustrated by inevitable comparisons.' The envy in his eyes was unmistakable, his disdain a thin veil over ambition.

Before anyone could respond, a commotion rippled through the plaza.

Conversations halted, and all eyes turned toward the city's entrance. A heavy silence blanketed the crowd.

Even I felt it—the air thickened, charged with an unseen tension.

And then, I saw him.

A boy, no older than my son—too young to carry a bucket of water—was dragging something behind him.

A massive wild boar.

A massive boar trailed in his wake, its tusks gleaming ominously. Its sheer size dwarfed the boy, making the feat almost impossible to comprehend. Blood still stained the beast's fur, a testament to a battle fought and won.

'A single, precise cut to the leg. Killed by blood loss perhaps. Alone?'

The boy's face was smeared with dirt, his hair a wild mess. His clothes, torn and dusty, spoke of a struggle. Yet, he moved with calm confidence, unbothered by the weight of the beast or the gazes of the crowd.

A murmur spread like wildfire.

"Is that… a wild boar?"

"How did he…?"

"Impossible."

I remained silent, observing.

The boy approached, eyes steady, betraying no sign of fear or exhaustion.

Xin Zhao leaned in slightly. "Remarkable," he whispered, his voice laced with genuine awe.

"Indeed," I murmured, unable to take my eyes off him.

The boy stopped in the center of the plaza, letting the boar's corpse fall with a heavy thud. Dust rose around him, framing his figure like a scene from legend.

The silence stretched, thick with disbelief and awe.

"Who is this boy?" I finally asked, my voice low but resonant.

No one answered immediately. The question seemed to hang in the air, as if the entire city held its breath, waiting for the boy's next move.

He met my gaze, unwavering.

And in that moment, I saw it. Not just strength, but potential—a fire that burned quietly, patiently,

Waiting for its moment to consume everything.

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