Morgana's POV
For a full week, a strange, fragile peace settled over our home. It was the quiet that follows a fever, when the body is too exhausted to fight, but the sickness still lurks in the shadows of the blood. After my night of fury in the slums, the district had fallen silent. The Pit Rats had vanished, swallowed by my dark justice, and a guilty calm had taken their place. I spent my days in our small courtyard, an unthinkable luxury outside the walls of this fortress, tending to the few stubborn plants that dared to grow under the grey Noxian sky.
I tried to find my centre again, feeling the damp earth beneath my fingers, a reminder that life, even here, persisted. But peace would not settle in my soul. It was like trying to meditate in the middle of a barracks: the form was there, but the silence was an illusion, constantly broken by the echo of my own actions.
Azra'il, on the other hand, seemed to have found a new and feverish religion. The boredom that once tormented her had been replaced by an almost manic urgency. Her 'friendship' with the young Du Couteau, however bizarre, seemed to have awakened her. She barely left the study, which now resembled the den of a mad scholar. Old maps covered the table, pinned down by heavy grimoires. Stacks of scrolls and wax tablets I had never seen before piled up in the corners. And on every surface, I saw the same symbol scrawled over and over: a stylised rose with sharp thorns. The same rose from Vorth's tapestry.
One night, my concern finally won out over my reluctance to invade her space. I found her hunched over a map of the Bastion's foundations, the light of a single candle casting dancing shadows on her concentrated face. The room smelt of ancient dust, fresh ink, and the crackling energy of a mind working at maximum capacity.
"Where did you get all of this, Azra'il?" I asked, my voice soft so as not to startle her. "These texts… they don't seem the sort to be sold in open markets."
She didn't even look up, a finger tracing a faint line on the parchment. "Black market. Traded for some remedies. A tonic to relieve swamp fever in one night, an ointment that closes deep wounds in minutes… Simple things." She shrugged, a gesture of indifference that didn't reach the intensity in her eyes. "It's impressive what people are willing to give, family secrets, guild records, stolen diaries, for a chance to save a loved one. Desperation, Morgana, is a far more reliable currency than gold."
The answer sent a shiver down my spine. I understood the logic, but I hated the coldness of using suffering as leverage. I saw the name she had scrawled next to the rose symbol: 'Black Rose'. But her explanation led me to believe it was just a rumour-based investigation, an academic puzzle. I stepped back, torn between pride in her intellect and horror at her methods. The child I had taken in was becoming Noxian to her very bones.
Still, her obsession did not wane. In fact, it only intensified. Azra'il, who had always approached her projects with the bored calm of one who has all the time in the world, was now working against an invisible clock.
"Why the sudden hurry?" I confronted her a few days later. "You barely sleep."
"Because our pace is too slow, Morgana," she replied, her eyes never leaving her work. "And now, we have unwanted attention. Those… brats. They are from House Du Couteau. The eyes of half the empire are on them. Now, by association, those eyes will start looking at us. We no longer have the luxury of anonymity."
The break in our routine arrived that afternoon, in the form of a messenger. He was not from Vorth. His clothes were discreet, and he moved with a silent efficiency that made all my instincts bristle. He handed us a single scroll, sealed not with wax, but with a thin metal ring pressed into black lacquer. The seal: a rose with three blades in place of petals. The crest of House Du Couteau.
Azra'il took the scroll, breaking the seal with a calmness I did not feel. "They're polite," she murmured. "It's an invitation. For afternoon tea at their estate. Tomorrow. 'Azra'il Kilam and her guardian'."
"You are not going," I said, my voice firmer than I felt. "It could be a trap."
"It isn't a trap, Morgana. It's the next move in the game," she replied, the cold logic in her voice silencing my protests. "To refuse would be seen as fear. And in Noxus, fear is an invitation to death."
I knew she was right. Reluctantly, I nodded. We would be walking into the lion's den willingly.
The Du Couteau estate was a fortress of black granite and iron spartan, functional, and utterly silent. Every window was an arrow slit, every shadow seemed to hide a watchman. The air smelt of polished steel, oiled leather, and the cold static of contained killing intent. We were led to an inner training courtyard, where a low table had been set for tea.
Katarina and Talon were already there. On their home territory, the confidence they exuded was tenfold more intense.
"Mistress Apothecary," Katarina said with a nod to me. Then her eyes moved to Azra'il. "Apprentice Apothecary. Thank you for accepting our invitation."
"Curiosity got the better of me," Azra'il replied dryly. "And your tea can hardly be worse than my master's biscuits."
My eyes narrowed at her for a fraction of a second. Under the table, I gave her a swift, discreet pinch on the thigh. It wasn't hard enough to cause pain, but it was a clear and unmistakable message passed from guardian to troublesome ward: *Behave*.
Azra'il flinched at the contact, not from pain but from indignation at being reprimanded in the midst of a tense negotiation, and shot me an irritated look that said, 'I know what I'm doing!'
The small, silent interaction was entirely lost on our hosts. I sat beside Azra'il, my posture stiff, feeling every muscle in my body tense, ready to release my chains at the slightest sign of treachery. The ancient part of me saw the danger, the lineage of assassins, the cold intent in their young eyes. But another part, the one that had chosen to embrace human fallibility, saw only two children lost in the shadow of a terrible legacy, playing at power games that were too big for them. And that part, as much as I hated to admit it, refused to harm them unless it was absolutely necessary. The 'tea' was served. The silence was heavy, broken only by the sound of liquid being poured into cups.
Katarina began, her green eyes fixed on me. "My family was intrigued by the emergence of your apothecary, Master Morgana," she said, her voice smooth. "From where, if I may ask, do your travels hail?"
"From many places," I replied. "Where there is suffering, there is need for a healer."
"The Freljord, perhaps?" Talon spoke for the first time, his voice as low as razors scraping on stone. His attention was not on me, but on my ward. "That amulet. It's Avarosan. An old carving style, given to trusted scouts. Rare to see it off the tundra. And rarer still on someone so… young."
His sharp perception caught me by surprise. Azra'il didn't even blink. "I have friends in many cold places," was all she said, her hand moving instinctively to touch the amulet for a brief second, a protective gesture.
Katarina smiled, seizing the opening her brother had created. Their focus was clearly on Azra'il. "Your master travels, but your skills, apothecary… they are not Freljordian. Where did you train?"
"In many places," Azra'il said, mirroring my answer with an irritating smile. "My greatest training arena has always been observing the stupidity of others and learning not to repeat it."
The exchange of barbs ended when Katarina decided to get to the point. "What do two foreign, and rather mysterious, apothecaries truly seek in the heart of Noxus?"
Azra'il took a sip of her tea. "I seek knowledge, Miss Du Couteau. My interest is purely academic. I study what people fear and what they covet. Ancient and unstable powers. For example," she continued, "I have been tracking the use of a certain alchemical symbol in various texts on corruption. A pale, black rose. It's said to be linked to an old society of mages who sought power through… unconventional means."
At the mention of the 'Black Rose', the atmosphere in the courtyard shifted instantly. The curiosity in Katarina's eyes was replaced by a grim tension. I saw her gaze flicker to Talon.
Katarina leaned forward, the tea forgotten. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "The 'floral society' you study… my family calls them something else. Enemies. Traitors. They rot the heart of the empire. Our… father… has spent his life hunting them."
I was stunned. I looked at Azra'il, who maintained a mask of academic interest, but I saw a glint of triumph in her eyes.
"You are an anomaly, apothecary," Katarina continued, her gaze assessing me like a weapon. "They are drawn to anomalies of power. It is inevitable that they will cross your path, if they haven't already." The subtext was clear, a veiled reference to our association with Vorth. "And when they do, House Du Couteau would like to know." She made her offer. "We offer you protection and information on the Black Rose. In return, you become our eyes and ears. Any whisper, any move of theirs you notice, you report to us."
The proposal hung in the air, an unlikely treaty being offered in the middle of a tense tea meeting. Azra'il, however, did not seem surprised. She seemed to have been waiting for it.
"Protection?" Azra'il scoffed softly, the sound sharp in the courtyard's quiet. "You couldn't stop me from slipping into that alley or predict my next move. Your definition of 'protection' seems… optimistic. And information?" She leaned forward, mirroring Katarina's posture, turning the tea into a battlefield. "Information is only valuable if it is accurate and timely. How am I to know the secrets you offer me aren't just the crumbs your father lets fall from his table to test my loyalty?"
Katarina smiled, a predatory smile of one who has finally found an opponent who speaks her language. "You're clever. And suspicious. Good. Perhaps you'll survive Noxus after all." She gestured to Talon. "Prove it to her."
Talon moved, his motions so fluid he seemed not to disturb the air. He placed a small metal cylinder on the table. With a click, he opened it. Inside, nestled in velvet, was a small crystal vial containing a grey, metallic powder that seemed to writhe in the light.
My stomach clenched. It was the Ash Seeds. The plague.
"We tracked the origin of your 'patient', Kaelen," Katarina explained. "The tomb in Shurima. We know about the failed expedition. And we know that Vorth sanctioned it. She and her Black Rose associates were trying to create a weapon. And they failed." Her eyes bored into Azra'il. "You, on the other hand… you succeeded. We don't know how, and that is what my father wishes to understand. But for now, we have a mutual interest in watching Vorth's next move."
They weren't just offering information; they were proving they already knew almost as much as we did, if not more. They were establishing their value.
"An impressive demonstration of your spy network," Azra'il conceded, unfazed. "That establishes you can provide me with information. But a partnership requires a two-way flow." She sat up straighter, now dictating her terms. "I am not your spy. If we have a deal, it will be as independent consultants. Knowledge flows in both directions. If I need to know something your house already knows, and it is relevant to our… mutual hunt for the Black Rose, I expect the truth. No omissions. No tests."
"And what do we gain from this, aside from your 'reports'?" Katarina challenged.
"You gain something your spies cannot give you," Azra'il said, and there was a millennial confidence in her voice. "Analysis. Your spies bring you facts. I bring you understanding. I will not just tell you what the Black Rose is doing; I will tell you *why* they are doing it, what the flaw in their logic is, and how to use that flaw to dismantle them. You are blades. I am the mind that points where the blade should cut to do the most damage."
The courtyard was silent as Katarina and Talon exchanged another unreadable look. Azra'il wasn't offering to be a tool. She was offering to be the strategist.
"Your terms are audacious," Katarina said at last. "My father will be… intrigued." She held her hand out over the table, not for a handshake, but a gesture of agreement, palm up. "We have a deal, apothecary. One that will remain in the shadows. To the rest of Noxus, our rivalry continues."
Azra'il did not touch her hand. Instead, she picked up her teacup. "The rivalry was never negotiable, Miss Du Couteau." She took a sip. "Consider the deal sealed."
We left the Du Couteau estate in silence. My mind was reeling. In a single afternoon, Azra'il's solitary investigation had morphed into a complex and dangerous alliance with Noxus's deadliest house of assassins. We had found the enemy, the Black Rose. And our new 'allies' were just as terrifying. The rivalry hadn't ended. It had just gained a common target. And we were right in the middle.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE
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Sorry for the delay in releasing the chapter. My editor, who helps me with the English translation, fell ill and couldn't translate. I managed to finish translating the Runeterra fanfic, but the Fairy Tail one will be delayed 😢