Ego Check: The Game That Changes Everything Rewrite

The following days were... strange.

For Raxian and Fayne, it felt like they were just waiting for the inevitable, the unalterable. The knowledge of Sable's impending departure hung over them like a storm cloud, growing heavier with each passing moment.

But Sable? She seemed to have made her decision.

It was as if she had already begun to detach herself, slipping back into her old ways—keeping people at arm's length, guarding herself behind that impenetrable wall.

She became harder to find. In the hallways, at lunch, even online—it was like she was disappearing piece by piece, fading from their lives before she even left.

Raxian found himself staring at his friends list more often than he cared to admit, his eyes searching for her handle. AkarisLite. But the little green dot next to her name never appeared. She wasn't queuing up anymore. Not with him. Not with anyone.

Fayne had noticed it too. She didn't say much about it, but the way her gaze lingered on empty seats at lunch or drifted to the hallways when Sable was nowhere to be found... it was clear she felt it.

It was like Sable had decided to ghost them in slow motion, fading out of sight, out of reach.

It stung.

More than either of them wanted to admit.

Their separate groups noticed Sable's absence too.

No sudden appearances, no random initiations, and for that matter... nowhere to be found. It wasn't like her to just vanish completely—not without leaving some trace, some lingering sign of her presence.

Jake tried to joke about it at first, leaning against Raxian's locker one afternoon with his usual grin. "What, she's gone into stealth mode or something? Maybe she's a spy. Or, I don't know, planning some big dramatic exit."

But even Jake's lighthearted quips fell flat. Raxian didn't react, didn't so much as crack a smirk. His shoulders slumped as he shoved a textbook into his bag, his eyes fixed on some far-off point beyond Jake.

"C'mon, man," Jake tried again, his tone softer now. "She'll turn up. She always does, right?"

But even Jake couldn't believe his own words. The silence spoke louder than any reassurance he could offer. Sable's absence wasn't just physical—it was felt. And no amount of jokes could lift Raxian's chin or pull him out of the haze he was stuck in.

"Yeah," Raxian muttered eventually, though his voice was devoid of conviction. "Maybe."

Jake didn't press further. What could he say? He clapped Raxian on the shoulder before walking off, leaving him to his thoughts.

And for Raxian, those thoughts were as heavy as ever. Sable wasn't just gone. It felt like she was choosing to disappear. And that, more than anything, left him with a hollow ache he didn't know how to fill.

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Sable… couldn't face them anymore.

This way was easier, as it always had been. Disappearing quietly, slipping through the cracks before things got too messy. It was the only way she knew to deal with the heaviness that came with goodbyes.

IronVanguard and GrimPath had noticed her absence too. Seeing that she didn't log in anymore, they'd tried reaching out in the old group chat. The one that had once belonged to Ascendant Force, their former team.

The chat was practically a relic now, untouched for months—maybe even a year. It used to buzz with strategy discussions, memes, and post-game banter. But those days felt like a distant memory, a different lifetime.

Now, the messages were sparse, tentative.

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IronVanguard: Hey, Akaris. Been a while. Everything okay?

GrimPath: Sable, where you at? Miss seeing your name light up in the client.

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No response.

The notifications stacked up, but she didn't open them. She couldn't. The weight of their words, their care—it was too much.

She stared at her phone a few times, thumb hovering over the app, but each time, she locked the screen and set it down. What could she say to them? That she was leaving? That she might not come back? That she didn't even know how to explain herself?

It was easier to say nothing. To let the silence stretch on.

The truth was, the chat brought back too many memories. Late nights strategizing before tournaments, celebrating their victories, even venting about their losses. Ascendant Force had been her anchor for so long, her escape. And now, it was just another thing she had to let go of.

So she didn't respond. Didn't log in. Didn't acknowledge the part of her that ached to reconnect, even for a moment.

Because if she did... she wasn't sure she'd be able to pull herself away.

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One night, Sable was out roaming the streets, her thoughts swirling in a haze of restlessness. The city was her refuge, its towering buildings and narrow alleyways offering her a sense of freedom she couldn't find anywhere else. But tonight, even the familiar buzz of the urban landscape couldn't shake the emptiness clinging to her chest.

She stopped at a spot she'd scoped out before—a series of ledges and railings that formed a particularly tricky parkour route. She'd never attempted it before. It was risky, more than her usual stunts, but that's exactly why it called to her now.

Sable adjusted her beanie and stretched her arms, shaking out the tension in her muscles. She wasn't doing this to prove anything to anyone. She wasn't doing it for fun, either.

She was doing it because she needed to feel something. Anything.

The emptiness inside her—the hollowness that had been growing ever since her dad's announcement—felt unbearable. She didn't want it to consume her completely. Maybe a jolt of adrenaline, a brush with danger, could bring her back to herself.

She scaled the first ledge with ease, her movements smooth and practiced. Her breath came in steady bursts as she climbed higher, each leap and grip a temporary escape from the weight pressing down on her.

But then she reached the final jump.

The gap was wider than she'd anticipated, the ledge on the other side just barely within reach. She hesitated for a split second, but then she pushed off, her body propelling forward.

It happened in a flash.

Her hand brushed the edge of the ledge, fingers scrambling for purchase. She caught it, but it was too steep, her grip too precarious. Her muscles strained as she tried to pull herself up, but the effort was futile.

For a moment, panic surged through her chest. But then, just as quickly, it faded.

She realized she wasn't going to make it.

Her arms trembled, her grip slipping. And instead of fighting it, she let go.

As she fell, the air rushed past her, cold and unrelenting. It wasn't a long drop, but it was long enough for her to register what was happening. Long enough for her to brace herself for the impact that came seconds later.

Her body hit the ground with a dull, jarring thud, pain shooting through her side as she landed awkwardly on her arm. She groaned, curling into herself as the shock of the fall coursed through her.

For a few moments, all she could do was lie there, staring up at the night sky. Her breaths were shallow and ragged, her heart pounding in her chest.

And yet... she didn't feel alive.

She felt broken.

The emptiness was still there, gnawing at the edges of her consciousness, a constant reminder that no amount of danger or adrenaline could fill the void.

Sable blinked back the sting of tears as she pushed herself into a sitting position, her arm throbbing in protest. She didn't cry. She never cried. Not anymore. But tonight, she was dangerously close to breaking that rule.

She sat there for a while, the cold seeping into her skin, the pain grounding her in the present. And for the first time in a long time, she didn't know where to go from here.

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Sable ended up pulling herself up, every movement a reminder of the bruises and scrapes she'd earned tonight. Her arm protested with sharp, biting pain, but she ignored it, muttering under her breath, "Screw it... screw it all."

The thought clung to her, heavier with every step she took. If she could, she'd disappear—completely. No goodbyes, no explanations, just... gone. Maybe that would be easier, for everyone. She wouldn't have to feel this emptiness, this hollowness that no amount of adrenaline or risk could fill.

Her feet carried her without much thought, down the familiar streets, until she reached the bridge by the riverside. This place—it felt significant somehow. The faint rush of the water, the way the streetlights reflected on the surface, and most of all, the graffiti she'd painted here.

There it was, bold and unapologetic: her name, Akaris, flanked by the champions she played. Yasuo, Irelia, Riven—but most of all, Akali, her one true toplane main.

Sable's gaze lingered on Akali's name, painted in her signature sleek, angular strokes. It wasn't just a champion to her. Akali was something more—an anchor, a reflection of the person Sable had always wanted to be, or maybe the person she already was, deep down.

Akali was cool, quiet, and deadly—a shadow in the night, a fighter who struck with precision and purpose. She wasn't one to boast or grandstand; she didn't need to. She let her actions speak for her. Sable admired that. The restraint. The discipline. The quiet strength.

But it wasn't just Akali's lethal edge that drew her in. Beneath the deadly ninja's sharp exterior, there was a caring heart, a fierce loyalty that burned brighter than any blade. Akali didn't fight for glory or power—she fought for what she believed in, for the people she cared about, even when it meant walking away from everything she once knew.

Maybe that was why Sable resonated with her so much. Akali's story wasn't about belonging—it was about forging her own path, even when the world seemed determined to pull her back. Sable understood that. The loneliness of it. The freedom of it. The constant battle to hold on to what mattered while still keeping herself intact.

Akali didn't beg for connection; she didn't cling. She was a lone wolf, moving through the shadows on her own terms. And yet, there was an undeniable warmth to her, a quiet reminder that even the most independent spirits needed something—or someone—to fight for.

Sable had always been drawn to that balance. Strength and vulnerability. Independence and connection. She wanted to embody that, to find that same harmony within herself. But right now? It felt impossible.

Sable let out a soft, bitter laugh, tracing the name with her eyes one last time. Maybe that's why Akali had always been her main. Because, in some strange, inexplicable way, playing her felt like coming home to a version of herself she hadn't figured out how to be yet.

A version of herself that didn't feel so hollow.

Sable sank down next to the wall, her back against the cold concrete as her legs stretched out in front of her. She let out a shaky breath, staring at the mural as if it might offer her some kind of answer. But no answers came.

"Nothing matters," she whispered to herself, the words lost in the quiet hum of the night.

The thought echoed in her mind as she let her head fall back against the wall. The cool air brushed against her face, and for the first time that night, she let herself stop moving. She let herself just... sit.

The graffiti seemed distant now, like it belonged to a version of herself she could barely recognize. A version that cared enough to leave something behind. Now? She wasn't sure if she even wanted to be remembered.

Her body ached, her arm throbbed, and the weight in her chest felt unbearable. But the world didn't stop. The river kept flowing, the lights kept flickering, and the night stretched on.

At some point, she let her eyes close. She didn't know if she drifted off or simply sat there in a daze, lost in the stillness. Time didn't seem to matter. Nothing did.

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Raze wasn't entirely sure why he'd been drawn to the riverside that morning. It wasn't part of his usual routine; the mornings he wasn't rushing to class or grabbing something quick to eat, he usually just lounged around. But something about today felt different. The crisp air, the quiet hum of the city waking up—it all seemed to nudge him in this direction.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, the bouquet of memories from the past week lingering in his mind. His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to that night. The night he'd had too much to drink. At first, the details had been hazy, fragmented pieces of a puzzle he couldn't quite piece together. But as the days passed, the fog began to clear.

Sable.

She'd been the one to find him that night. She'd been the steadying hand when he was too far gone to stand on his own. She'd guided him back to the safety of his dorm without asking for anything in return. It was... unexpected. He wasn't sure why she'd done it. They weren't exactly close, after all. But the thought stuck with him, gnawing at the edges of his mind.

And now, here he was, his steps carrying him along the riverside. The soft sound of water lapping against the bank filled the air, accompanied by the occasional rustle of leaves.

Then he saw her.

At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. But no—it was definitely her. Sable. Sitting slumped under the bridge, her back resting against the graffiti-covered wall.

Raze's brows furrowed as he approached cautiously, his footsteps crunching softly against the gravel. The sight of her like this—disheveled, her arm cradled awkwardly against her side—sent a strange pang through his chest.

"Sable?" he called out, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Her head turned slowly, her eyes squinting against the light as they landed on him. For a moment, she just stared, as if trying to place him. Then recognition flickered across her face, but it was faint, distant.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice low and hoarse.

"I could ask you the same thing," he replied, stopping a few feet away. "You look like hell, by the way."

Sable let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Thanks. Real flattering."

Raze crouched down, his gaze sweeping over her. "Seriously, though. You okay?"

She shrugged, wincing slightly at the motion. "Define 'okay.'"

Raze's eyes narrowed, his usual smirk replaced by something softer. "You're hurt."

"It's nothing," she said quickly, brushing it off.

"Doesn't look like nothing," he countered.

Sable looked away, her gaze falling to the river. "What does it matter?" she muttered. "Nothing matters anymore."

That caught him off guard. Raze wasn't used to seeing her like this—vulnerable, defeated. Sable was always the confident one, the one who seemed untouchable. But now? Now she just looked... tired.

Raze sat down beside her, his back against the wall. "You know," he started, his tone casual but laced with sincerity, "I figured out it was you. That night, when I was drunk off my ass. You found me, didn't you?"

Sable didn't respond at first. Then, after a moment, she nodded.

"Why'd you do it?" he asked.

She shrugged again, her voice quiet. "I don't know. Felt like the right thing to do, I guess."

Raze glanced at her, studying her face. "Well, thanks. For not letting me make an even bigger idiot of myself."

A faint smirk tugged at her lips, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're welcome."

They sat in silence for a while, the sound of the river filling the space between them.

"You're not planning on disappearing on us completely, are you?" Raze asked suddenly, his tone light but with an edge of seriousness.

Sable hesitated, her gaze still fixed on the water. "I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe."

Raze frowned, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Sable, I get it. Life sucks sometimes. But disappearing doesn't make it stop sucking—it just makes it harder for the people who care about you."

Her eyes flicked to him, and for a moment, he thought she might argue. But instead, she sighed, the fight draining out of her.

"I'm not good at this," she said softly.

"At what?"

"People. Connections. Letting myself care."

Raze nodded slowly. "Yeah, well, nobody's perfect at it. But you've got people who care about you, whether you believe it or not. Don't push them away, Sable."

She didn't respond, her gaze drifting back to the river. But something in her expression shifted, just slightly.

Raze didn't push further. He figured she'd come around when she was ready. For now, he was content to just sit there with her, the quiet of the riverside wrapping around them like a fragile truce.

"As much as I hate to admit it," Sable muttered, her voice barely audible over the gentle rush of the river, "I'll miss Neonspire. It's... left its mark. And the people here... equally much."

Raze glanced at her, surprised by the admission. He opened his mouth to respond but then thought better of it, choosing to let her words linger in the air between them. There was something raw in the way she said it, something that didn't need commentary or a quick retort.

She wasn't one to admit sentiment easily—if ever. But in that moment, under the bridge, surrounded by her graffiti and the quiet hum of the city, it felt like a truth she couldn't ignore anymore.

Neonspire, for all its chaos and noise, had seeped into her bones. And the people—those messy, complicated connections she'd tried so hard to keep at a distance—they'd gotten under her skin too.

Raze leaned back, resting his head against the wall. "You don't have to say goodbye completely, you know," he said after a pause, his voice calm. "Even if you leave, the mark goes both ways. You've made an impression here too."

Sable's lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah," she said softly. "Maybe."

The silence stretched again, but this time it felt less heavy. Just the quiet understanding of two people sitting with the weight of what was and what would be.

"This graffiti, by the way," Raze said, leaning backward to get a better look at the wall beside them. His eyes scanned the bold lettering and the names scattered across it. Among them, one name stood out: Akaris.

"So," he continued, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, "that's your real summoner identity, huh? Didn't peg you for the graffiti type."

Sable tilted her head, glancing at the mural with a faint smile. "What can I say? Gotta leave my mark somewhere, right?"

Raze chuckled, leaning back against the wall again. "Akaris, huh? Makes sense now. You've got the whole mysterious, lone wolf vibe down."

She rolled her eyes, though there was a hint of amusement in her expression. "It's just a name."

"Sure it is," he teased, gesturing to the vibrant colors splashed across the wall. "And this? Just a doodle?"

Her gaze softened as she looked at the graffiti. "It's more than that. It's... I don't know. It's a piece of me, I guess."

Raze nodded, the teasing tone fading from his voice. "Yeah, I get that. Sometimes you've gotta leave something behind, even if you don't stick around."

Sable didn't respond immediately, her eyes tracing the shapes and colors she'd poured onto the wall. "It's funny," she murmured after a moment. "I've always been about moving on, not looking back. But this... it's like I had to leave a part of me here. Something that says I was here, even if I won't be for much longer."

Raze looked at her, his expression thoughtful. "Well, if nothing else, you left one hell of a mark. And not just here."

She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean," he said, his tone easy. "Neonspire, the people... Rax, Fayne, me. You're part of this place now, whether you like it or not."

Sable exhaled, a mix of frustration and resignation crossing her face. "Yeah, well... maybe that's the problem."

"Or maybe," Raze countered, "it's the best thing about it."

For once, she didn't have a snappy comeback. She just sat there, letting his words settle as the river flowed quietly beside them.

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"Raze, thanks for pulling me out of my..." Sable trailed off, unable to find the right words to finish the sentence. She stood up, brushing off her hoodie as if the motion could shake away the vulnerability she felt creeping in.

Raze tilted his head, watching her with a small, knowing smirk. "Out of your what? Brooding? Self-destructive spiral? Artistic existential crisis?"

Sable shot him a glare, though there was no real heat behind it. "Take your pick," she muttered, avoiding his eyes.

When she wobbled slightly, Raze was quick to step forward, his hand outstretched to offer support. "Hey, easy there," he said, his tone soft but steady. "That arm's not looking too great. Let me—"

"I'm fine," she interrupted sharply, waving him off. Her voice carried more confidence than she felt, but she wasn't about to let him see that.

Raze raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he stepped back. "Oh, you're fine, huh? That's what I said to you that night, and we both know how that turned out."

She snorted, shaking her head as she adjusted her bag on her good shoulder. "Touché. But I'm serious. I've got this."

Raze held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. You're as stubborn as me. Fine, I'll back off."

Sable gave him a faint, appreciative nod, glancing down at the graffiti one last time. The colors seemed to glow faintly in the morning light, and for a brief moment, she felt something close to peace.

"Thanks," she said again, softer this time, before turning toward the riverbank path.

Raze didn't try to stop her. He just watched her go, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, his expression thoughtful. "Don't be a stranger," he called after her, his voice carrying just enough warmth to make her pause.

She glanced back, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. "No promises," she said, before disappearing down the path.

Raze stood there for a while, staring at the graffiti she'd left behind. Akaris. The name was bold, unapologetic, and perfectly her.

"Yeah," he muttered to himself, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "No promises."

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Sable had skipped school today. That was... unlike her.

Sure, she had always been a bit of a mysterious enigma, but she wasn't the type to skip class. At least, not without reason.

Rumors began spreading almost instantly, whispers trailing through the hallways like wildfire.

"She's always here. Even if she keeps to herself, I've never seen her skip before."

"Think something happened?" someone asked, their tone laced with genuine curiosity.

"Nah," came the dismissive reply.

A group of girls lingered near the lockers, their voices hushed but their tones sharp. One of them smirked, leaning closer to her friend. "I bet she's just skipping to keep up her edgy loner act."

"Totally," another chimed in with a laugh. "Probably thinks it'll make her seem cooler or something."

"Or," the first girl added with a sly grin, "maybe she finally got caught up in whatever secret drama she's always pretending not to have."

Their laughter echoed through the hallway, dismissing the quieter concerns of those who genuinely wondered what could have kept Sable away. But for the moment, the rumors continued to swirl, feeding off the silence her absence had left behind.

Fayne noticed.

She sat with Leah and Mira in the cafeteria, nodding along to their conversation with one ear while the other was tuned to the whispers floating around the room. The rumors were everywhere, swirling through the hallways and spilling into the lunch tables.

"Oh," Fayne thought, her heart sinking slightly. Sable didn't even show up today?

Mira was in the middle of recounting something about their group project when Leah leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Do you think it's true? That she just skipped to avoid everyone?"

Fayne frowned, trying to keep her expression neutral as she sipped her drink. "Who are you talking about?"

"Sable," Leah said, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway. "People are saying she didn't come to school today. Apparently, she's never skipped before."

Mira shrugged, her tone more dismissive. "She probably just needed a break. Everyone gets tired, right?"

"But it's weird for her," Leah argued. "I mean, for someone who acts so unbothered all the time, don't you think it's kinda... suspicious?"

Fayne didn't say anything, her gaze drifting toward the cafeteria entrance as if expecting Sable to stroll in at any moment. But the doors stayed shut, and the seat she usually occupied at Raxian's table remained empty.

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. It wasn't like Sable to just vanish, was it? Even if she didn't always say much, she was always there. A steady presence, if nothing else. Fayne's mind raced with possibilities, but she kept her face calm, trying not to let her worry show.

Whatever was going on, Fayne knew one thing for sure: something didn't feel right.

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That same afternoon, after Raxian got home, the day felt like a blur. He cooked dinner for his mom, a quick stir-fry that she praised absentmindedly as she flipped through the TV channels. He took a quick shower afterward, letting the hot water wash away the lingering tension of the day.

But even as he went through the motions, his mind kept circling back to the same thought: Sable hadn't shown up today.

He booted up his computer, the familiar whir of the fans filling the quiet of his room. Logging into the League client was second nature by now—a ritual to distract himself. As the home screen loaded, he barely glanced at the notifications... until one stopped him in his tracks.

A friend request.

His cursor hovered over the notification, his heart skipping a beat as he read the summoner name.

Akaris.

His jaw dropped slightly, his mind scrambling to process it. Sable's main account?

Why now? Why would she send this?

He didn't hesitate. Without giving it a second thought, he clicked "accept," his pulse quickening. The moment the confirmation popped up, he noticed her status.

She was online.

Raxian sat frozen for a moment, staring at the glowing green circle beside her name. He hadn't seen AkarisLite online in what felt like forever—since she'd started pulling back, since everything had started to spiral.

What did this mean?

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, uncertainty knotting in his stomach. Should he message her? Say something? Ask why she was here, now, on this account?

Finally, with a deep breath, he typed a simple message.

TimeWrapped: Yo, Sable. What's up?

He hit enter, leaning back in his chair as he waited for a response. The seconds ticked by, the faint hum of the League client music filling the silence of his room.

And then...

The typing indicator appeared.

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Akaris: You, me, on the Rift. Now.

Raxian blinked at the message, rereading it to make sure he hadn't imagined it. Before he could type a response, the invite popped up on his screen—a custom game on Summoner's Rift.

The tension in his chest tightened. He stared at the notification for a moment, his mind racing. Sable—Akaris—wasn't one to make casual moves like this. If she wanted a match, it wasn't just for fun. This meant something.

Without hesitation, he accepted the invite.

The game lobby opened, the familiar setting oddly charged with a new kind of energy. Akaris was already there, sitting in the host slot of the lobby, her summoner icon stark and bold against the backdrop.

TimeWrapped: You serious about this?

Akaris: Dead serious.

Her response was immediate, no hesitation, no explanation.

Raxian narrowed his eyes, his fingers moving across the keyboard.

TimeWrapped: What's this about, Sable?

A brief pause followed, the typing indicator flickering on and off. Then, her reply appeared.

Akaris: Just pick your champion, Rax.

It was clear she wasn't going to answer. Whatever this was, she wanted to settle it on the Rift.

Raxian exhaled sharply, cracking his knuckles as he hovered over his champion pool. Fine. If this was how she wanted to communicate, he'd play along. He locked in Ekko, his go-to pick for moments when he needed to focus and prove something.

Moments later, Akali appeared on the enemy side.

Raxian's lips twitched into a small, determined smirk. Of course, she'd pick Akali.

The countdown began, and as the loading screen appeared, he steeled himself. Whatever this was about, Sable wasn't going to make it easy.

And neither would he.

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The game began, but from the very start, something felt… off.

Raxian stared at his screen, watching Akali move to midlane. Sable hadn't said a word in the lobby, and now, in the match, the silence continued. Normally, she'd throw in a cheeky comment or at least keep him on edge. But this time? Nothing. The only thing she had left him with was a message before the game: 1v1, no recall, let's fight till the end.

His Ekko made his way to midlane as well, his fingers moving instinctively over the keyboard. He wasn't entirely sure what Sable wanted out of this, but if it was a fight she wanted... well, Rax would serve.

The first wave met in the center of the lane, the minions clashing in a symphony of metallic clangs and bursts of energy. Raxian played cautiously, testing the waters as he focused on last-hitting minions.

Sable's Akali moved with her usual precision—at least at first. She darted in and out of the wave, weaving between minions and throwing out her Five Point Strike. But there was something hesitant about her movements, a split-second delay in her decision-making that wasn't like her at all.

Raxian frowned, his Ekko landing a well-timed Timewinder that clipped her health bar. Normally, she'd punish him for overstepping, but she didn't. Instead, she backed off, retreating slightly as if she was unsure of her next move.

"What are you doing, Sable?" he muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing at the screen.

They traded blows again at level three, her Akali diving in with Shuriken Flip, only to mistime the follow-up. Raxian capitalized, landing a combo that forced her under tower. But even as he gained the upper hand, it didn't feel like a victory.

This wasn't the Sable he knew.

The tension in the lane grew as they both hit level six. Her Akali had her ultimate now, the potential for an all-in hanging in the air like a storm cloud. But she didn't move. She didn't pressure him, didn't try to bait him out.

Raxian hovered near his tower, his hand tightening on the mouse. If she wanted to fight, she needed to commit.

Finally, she did.

Her Akali darted forward, a flurry of moves that were almost textbook—but not quite. There was a hesitation, a split-second where she hesitated before using her ultimate, and it cost her.

Raxian's Ekko dashed away with Phase Dive, his Parallel Convergence catching her mid-combo. He followed up with his ultimate, reversing time and landing the final blow.

The screen flashed: You have slain an enemy.

Raxian stared at the screen, his jaw tightening. The fight had ended too quickly, too cleanly. It wasn't the kind of clash he and Sable usually had—the ones where the outcome was uncertain, where every move felt like a test of skill and will.

This? This felt hollow.

He typed into the chat, his frustration evident.

TimeWrapped: What's going on with you?

No response.

The seconds ticked by, and then, finally, her reply appeared.

Akaris: It doesn't matter.

Raxian's fingers hovered over the keyboard, his mind racing.

TimeWrapped: What do you mean it doesn't matter? You've been off all game. This isn't you, Sable.

The typing indicator flickered on and off for a long moment before her next message appeared.

Akaris: I thought this would help. I thought… I don't know.

Raxian leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. What was she trying to prove with this? Why call him into a 1v1 just to play like she wasn't even there?

TimeWrapped: Sable. Talk to me. What's going on?

But this time, there was no reply. She left the lobby without a word, her summoner icon graying out as she went offline.

Raxian stared at the screen, frustration and worry bubbling inside him. Whatever this was, it wasn't just about the game. Something was going on with Sable, and she wasn't letting him—or anyone else—in.

And that scared him more than he was willing to admit.

She had pulled him out of it before—twice, in fact.

Raxian leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty lobby screen. His mind wandered back to those moments, the times when Sable had been the one to step in. Back when his climb in League felt like it was slipping through his fingers, when every loss chipped away at his confidence, she'd been the one to push him forward. A few sharp words, a lot of tough love, and somehow, she'd made him see that failure didn't define him. League was his world, his passion, and she'd understood that. She'd met him where he was, and for that, he owed her more than he could ever put into words.

And then there was that other time, after Fayne's confession. When everything between them got tangled, messy. He'd avoided Sable then, retreating into himself because he didn't know how to face her—or Fayne. He hadn't known what to do, so he'd done the worst thing possible: he'd shut her out. But Sable hadn't let that stop her. She'd pushed back, showing up when he least expected it, refusing to let him drown in his own guilt and confusion.

And now? Now it was Sable who seemed lost. Detached, pulling back, her walls higher than ever.

Raxian exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. He wanted to be there for her the way she'd been there for him, but he didn't know how. Sable wasn't the type to open up easily. She wasn't the type to ask for help, even when she needed it.

What was he supposed to do? Call her? Show up at her place? He didn't even know if she'd let him in, let alone talk to him. But the thought of doing nothing—that wasn't an option. Not this time.

"She pulled me out, both times," he muttered to himself. "I owe her this."

Even if he didn't have a plan, even if he wasn't sure what to say, Raxian knew one thing for certain: he wasn't going to let her face this alone. Not after everything she'd done for him.

He pulled out his phone, staring at the screen as his thumb hovered over her contact. For a moment, he hesitated. Then, with a deep breath, he typed out a message.

Raxian: Hey, Sable. I don't know what's going on, but if you need someone to talk to—or just to listen—I'm here.

He hit send, his heart pounding as he stared at the screen. He didn't know if she'd reply, but at least now, she'd know he was there.

Because no matter what, he wasn't giving up on her. Not now. Not ever.

He didn't imagine that the move would have made her this upset.

After all, hadn't she always brushed it off like it was nothing? She'd claimed she was used to it, practically lived her life in transit—never staying in one place long enough to grow roots. She'd said it herself, hadn't she? That she didn't let places or people mean too much to her because it was easier that way.

So why did this feel different?

Raxian leaned back in his chair, his thoughts spinning. Sable had always carried herself like she was untouchable, like nothing could shake her. But now… now it felt like she was crumbling, pulling away from everything and everyone.

He didn't understand. Why now? Why here? Sure, they'd grown closer over the past year, but Sable had never let anyone get too close. She'd always kept a part of herself locked away, as if she was afraid of letting people see too much.

Maybe that was it. Maybe, without realizing it, she'd let this place, these people, mean more to her than she ever intended. And now that she had to leave, it was tearing her apart in ways she didn't know how to deal with.

Raxian frowned, staring at the phone in his hand. He hadn't expected to see her like this, and he didn't know how to help. But one thing was clear: the move wasn't just another chapter for Sable. It was something more. Something heavier.

And as much as she claimed she was used to it, Raxian could tell—this time, it wasn't that simple.

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Raze leaned over the canvas, his brush moving in deliberate, practiced strokes. He wasn't one to obsess over perfection, but there was something soothing about losing himself in the details—the way the bristles spread color over the textured surface, how the lines slowly came together to form something recognizable.

Today's assignment was a bit abstract, as usual: "Capture a moment of transition." Their professor, a wiry man with a perpetual coffee stain on his shirt, had left the instructions intentionally vague. It was up to the students to interpret what "transition" meant.

Raze's classmates were scattered around the room, some chatting quietly as they worked, others completely engrossed in their pieces. The room smelled of paint and turpentine, the soft hum of classical music playing faintly in the background.

For Raze, the concept of transition brought his thoughts back to Sable. That encounter under the bridge... it lingered in his mind more than he cared to admit. She'd looked so... lost, so unlike the Sable he'd come to know. He'd kept the encounter to himself, deciding it wasn't his place to share what he'd seen. She probably wouldn't want anyone knowing she'd been in such a vulnerable state.

He dipped his brush into a mix of blues and grays, blending them into a stormy gradient that spread across the canvas. His painting was taking shape—a figure standing at the edge of a cliff, their back turned to the viewer, the sky behind them a chaotic swirl of colors. It wasn't subtle, but then again, neither was the memory of that morning.

Raze sighed, leaning back to study his work. The figure looked small against the vast, turbulent backdrop. It wasn't supposed to be Sable, not directly, but... it was hard not to see her in it. That defiance, that stubbornness, and yet, that unmistakable sense of being on the edge, caught between moving forward and letting go.

The professor wandered by, pausing to glance at Raze's work. "Interesting use of color," he remarked, stroking his chin. "There's a lot of tension in this piece. Almost like it's... struggling to decide where to go next."

Raze smirked faintly, his eyes still on the canvas. "Yeah. Something like that."

The professor nodded, moving on to the next student, leaving Raze alone with his thoughts.

He twirled the brush between his fingers, staring at the figure on the canvas. Transition. Change. It wasn't just Sable, was it? It was all of them—him, Raxian, Fayne. Hell, maybe even himself more than he wanted to admit.

For now, though, he kept painting. If nothing else, it gave him something to focus on—something that felt like control in the midst of everything that wasn't.

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Fayne found herself drifting off into her thoughts as she arranged a bouquet of lilies and baby's breath at the counter of her mom's flower shop. The familiar scent of roses and freshly watered plants filled the air, but her mind was elsewhere.

She couldn't stop wondering what it would've been like if Sable wasn't leaving. If she stayed—if she could be part of Fayne's life in a way that wasn't fleeting.

As her fingers carefully tied a ribbon around the bouquet, Fayne imagined what it might be like to introduce Sable to her mom. The thought made her heart flutter nervously. Her mom was always polite and warm, but she could be a little nosy when it came to Fayne's friends.

Would Sable charm her mom with her wit and cool demeanor? Or would her aloofness come off as intimidating? Fayne couldn't quite picture it. Then again, it wasn't like Sable was completely closed off—she'd been more open lately, even suggesting group outings. Maybe her mom would see the caring, thoughtful side of her that Fayne had come to admire.

She glanced around the shop, imagining Sable standing there, taking it all in. Would she think it was quaint? Boring? Would she tease Fayne about working somewhere so quiet compared to her usual adrenaline-filled activities? Fayne smiled faintly at the thought, shaking her head.

"Fayne, honey, you okay over there?" her mom's voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present.

"Yeah, sorry," Fayne replied quickly, adjusting the bouquet. "Just zoned out for a second."

Her mom gave her a knowing look but didn't press further.

As Fayne moved to the display fridge to place the bouquet, the thoughts crept back in. She wondered if Sable would ever see this part of her life—the small, quiet world of the flower shop, where Fayne felt at peace.

But with Sable leaving, that seemed less and less likely. The thought made her chest tighten, a mix of sadness and longing she couldn't quite shake.

She sighed, brushing her hands on her apron. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it was better to keep that part of her life separate. But still, she couldn't help but wonder... what if?

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Raxian had surprised her, to say the least. He'd reached out, asking for a chat—a rarity in itself—and then chosen the garden at the back of the school building as the meeting spot.

The garden.

The same place where Fayne had once laid her heart bare to Sable. The same place where, unbeknownst to her at the time, Raxian had witnessed everything. And now, there he was, sitting on the same bench, waiting for her.

Fayne approached cautiously, her heart thudding in her chest. She couldn't shake the unease curling in her stomach. Why here? Why now? What could Raxian possibly want to talk about, and why did it feel like this wasn't just a casual conversation?

Raxian sat with his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the ground, his posture unusually tense. This spot felt significant to him, even if he hadn't been the one sitting on that bench back then. He'd seen Fayne confess her feelings to Sable here, baring her soul in a way that had caught him completely off guard. It was a memory he hadn't been able to shake, no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

And maybe that was why he'd called her here. Because this place held the weight of unspoken truths. Because this was where it had all started—the tangled web of feelings between him, Fayne, and Sable.

He couldn't keep pretending it didn't exist.

As Fayne drew closer, she kept her steps slow and deliberate, her gaze darting to his face, searching for clues. Raxian looked up as she approached, his expression unreadable.

"Hey," Fayne said softly, stopping a few steps away. "What's... this about?"

Raxian gestured to the bench beside him. "Sit down."

She hesitated but eventually complied, lowering herself onto the bench and keeping a cautious distance. She still had no idea what was going on in his mind—or why he had called her to this particular place.

Raxian stared ahead for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but steady.

"This place," he said, nodding toward the garden around them, "it's significant, isn't it?"

Fayne's breath caught, and her eyes widened slightly. Her fingers fidgeted in her lap. "What do you mean?"

Raxian turned to look at her, his expression serious. "I mean, I know what happened here. That day. You and Sable."

Fayne froze, her mind racing. He knew? But how?

He continued, his tone calm but firm. "I saw you. I didn't mean to, but... I was here. I saw the whole thing."

Her face burned with embarrassment, and she clenched her fists, unsure of what to say. The vulnerability of that moment felt raw all over again, and now knowing that Raxian had witnessed it—it was almost too much.

"I didn't bring you here to embarrass you," he added quickly, sensing her discomfort. "I brought you here because... I think it's time we talked. About all of it."

"All of what?" Fayne managed to ask, her voice shaky.

Raxian exhaled, leaning back against the bench. "About this thing between us. This... rivalry. Whatever it is. I know you've felt it, Fayne. And I have too. But I don't think either of us has actually faced it head-on."

Fayne blinked, his words catching her off guard. She hadn't expected him to acknowledge the tension between them, let alone bring it up so directly.

"I can't keep pretending it's not there," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "And I don't think you can either."

Fayne stared at him, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. She'd spent so long keeping her feelings about Sable—and her unspoken rivalry with Raxian—locked away. But now, here he was, laying it all out in the open.

"What do you want from me?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't want anything from you," he said, his tone softening. "I just... I think we need to figure this out. Because this... thing? It's not fair to either of us. Or to Sable."

The mention of Sable's name sent a pang through Fayne's chest. She nodded slowly, unsure of what else to say.

"I don't know what the answer is," Raxian continued. "But I'm tired of feeling like we're working against each other when... maybe we don't have to."

For a long moment, the two of them sat in silence, the weight of his words settling over them. Fayne glanced at him, searching for sincerity in his face, and found it.

"Okay," she said finally, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. "Let's figure it out."

Raxian gave her a small, relieved smile. It wasn't a solution, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

------------------------

Fayne blinked, caught off guard by Raxian's sudden shift in tone. She glanced at him, trying to gauge his expression, but his face was calm, almost unreadable.

"I noticed, by the way," he said, leaning back on the bench and crossing his arms. "You and Sable... you've connected in more ways than one, haven't you?"

Fayne's heart skipped a beat. "What are you talking about?" she asked cautiously, though she already had an idea.

Raxian smirked faintly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I've heard things. Like the fact that you've picked up League now. Didn't expect that, Fayne. I guess Sable has that kind of effect on people."

Fayne stiffened, her fingers clenching slightly in her lap. Of course, he'd heard. Raxian was always more perceptive than he let on, even if he acted aloof most of the time.

"So what if I did?" she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's not like it's a big deal."

Raxian chuckled softly, shaking his head. "It's not the what that surprises me. It's the why."

Fayne frowned, her gaze narrowing. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

He turned to her, his expression softening slightly, though there was still a hint of tension in his voice. "It means you're not the type to dive into something like League on a whim. You're deliberate, Fayne. Thoughtful. You don't just do things for the hell of it. So, I'm guessing Sable had something to do with it."

She looked away, her cheeks warming. He wasn't wrong, but admitting it felt like giving him more leverage than she was comfortable with.

"Maybe," she said finally, her tone clipped. "What does it matter to you?"

Raxian exhaled, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "It doesn't, really. I guess... I'm just trying to figure out where we stand. Because right now? It feels like we've both been dancing around something neither of us wants to admit."

Fayne glanced at him, her brow furrowed. "And what's that?"

He met her gaze, his voice steady. "That we're both trying to hold onto Sable in our own ways. And it's messing with both of us more than we want to admit."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and uncomfortably true. Fayne swallowed hard, her chest tightening.

"Maybe," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Raxian nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe it's time we stop pretending otherwise."

Fayne didn't respond right away, her thoughts swirling. She hated how easily he could read her, how accurately he'd pinned down her feelings. But as much as she wanted to deny it, he was right.

And for the first time, she realized they might not be so different after all.

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Raxian's words hung in the air like a weight, pressing down on Fayne. She blinked, startled by his sudden honesty, and her throat tightened.

"She's leaving," he continued, his voice quieter now, more measured. "It could be any day now. And before she does, I need to clear this up. Fayne..." He hesitated, glancing away for a moment before meeting her gaze again. "I know we've never gotten along that well. But I've always cared about you."

Fayne's breath caught, her chest tightening at the unexpected admission.

"The fact that you left your feelings out in the open like that?" he said, nodding toward the bench they were sitting on, where she'd once confessed to Sable. "That was really brave. And me?" He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "I've done the opposite. I've kept it all to myself. I've been too scared or too stubborn to say anything."

She could see the conflict in his eyes, the vulnerability he rarely showed.

"But it's time I stop doing that," he said firmly, his voice steady now. "It's time I stop running from it and be upfront about how I feel."

Fayne stared at him, her heart pounding. She didn't know what to say, how to process the raw honesty he was showing her. For so long, they'd been circling each other, locked in an unspoken rivalry over Sable. And now? Now he was laying it all bare.

"What are you trying to say, Raxian?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. "I'm saying... that I have feelings for her too. And I don't know if they're the same as yours, or if they'll ever matter to her, but they matter to me. And I'm tired of pretending otherwise."

Fayne's chest ached at his words, a mix of emotions swirling inside her—hurt, understanding, and something that felt like relief.

"I don't want us to keep fighting over this," he said, his voice gentler now. "Over her. We're not doing ourselves—or her—any favors by letting this rivalry keep building."

She nodded slowly, her mind racing but her heart somehow feeling a little lighter. "So... what now?"

Raxian shrugged, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "I don't know. But I figure being honest is a good place to start."

Fayne looked down at her hands, her thoughts a tangled mess. But for the first time in a long time, she felt like they were finally on the same page.

"Okay," she said quietly, looking up to meet his gaze. "Honesty it is."

It wasn't a solution. It didn't fix the complicated web of emotions between them or with Sable. But it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

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So… Raxian had feelings for her too?

Fayne sat there, the weight of his words settling heavily in her chest. Just as she had suspected all along. The way he'd look at Sable when he thought no one was paying attention, the unspoken tension whenever the three of them were in the same room—it all made sense now.

She should've been glad he'd told her. Honesty was supposed to feel liberating, wasn't it? But instead, it felt like a burden, a truth she wished had stayed buried. Because now, she couldn't cling to her quiet, fragile fantasy—that maybe, someday, Sable would see her the way Fayne saw her. That maybe, someday, Sable would reciprocate her feelings.

But now? That fantasy felt more impossible than ever. Knowing that Raxian felt the same way about her—about their Sable—made it sting in a way Fayne hadn't been prepared for.

Having a "love rival" was bad enough. But knowing he'd confessed his attraction to her, admitted it out loud like a weight he was finally letting go of? That was almost unbearable. It hurt more than she wanted to admit.

Her chest tightened as she glanced at Raxian, who sat silently beside her, the tension between them palpable. She knew he hadn't meant to hurt her—his confession was meant to clear the air, to finally acknowledge the unspoken. But that didn't make it any easier to hear.

And yet... did it even matter?

Sable was leaving. That was the unalterable truth hanging over them, casting a shadow on everything. It didn't matter how Raxian felt, or how Fayne felt, or even how Sable might feel. She was leaving either way. There was nothing they could do to change that.

Fayne swallowed hard, her throat tight as she finally broke the silence.

"Well," she said quietly, her voice steadier than she felt, "I guess it doesn't really matter, does it? Sable's leaving. Whatever we feel… it's not going to change that."

Raxian glanced at her, his expression conflicted. "Yeah," he said after a pause, his voice heavy with resignation. "I guess not."

They sat in silence for a while, the weight of their shared realization pressing down on them. The rivalry, the tension, the feelings—it all seemed so small in the face of the inevitable.

And yet, even knowing it didn't change anything, the ache in Fayne's chest remained.