Swain could hear the voice, that malicious thing—she was talking to both of them, his secret agent of Guile, former lover, and maestra of Noxian upheavals, successes and all manner of shifting since its inception as a sovereign nation. He tossed his hand about to dispel her, holding June’s small fingers in his large, ruby, demonic one.
She liked that hand, he knew, so he held hers with it.
Nearby, the Hand himself stood, arms folded behind, watching with concern, brows furrowed. Outside the door, he knew his brother waited, watched, and guarded. Draven was insufferably full of himself, but even had had come to appreciate the waif mage who’d taken up residence in the Immortal Bastion. He figured he probably scared her and that was just fine; she wasn’t his type anyhow, but there was something about her that made a fellow want to be protective—like a sister, he figured, since he’d never actually had one.
“You will recover, little one,” Swain purred, “but first you must rest… let your mind be at ease.” His free hand reached down to push hair off her sweat-soaked, clammy forehead. “And when you awaken, we will create wonders… Noxus has never known power like yours and with it, she will rise to supremacy…”