Riven couldn't say she was familiar with Ionia, but she wasn't a stranger to it either. Before arriving in Zaun, Ambessa's Rune Blade Legion had designated Ionia as their next target. Following the principle of "knowing one's enemy," Riven had studied Ionia in advance.
Though Riven hadn't participated in the initial incursions, the Noxian Warmasons were not to be trifled with. While ordinary soldiers lacked the clearance for strategic intelligence, Riven—as the one personally gifted the runic blackstone greatsword by Emperor Boram Darkwill—enjoyed special privileges within the Empire. As a swordmaster, she understood Ionia's peculiar philosophy on war and combat.
In the past, Riven viewed Ionians as a pack of cowards lacking the self-strengthening spirit of Noxus. Now, however, the "Noxian Spirit" seemed like nothing to brag about. Noxus itself was held in the iron grip of an invisible hand, unable to break free.
Now, she had left Noxus, yet here she was...
Riven's eyes flickered with thought. She couldn't help but look at Faen and ask, "Is Ionia your home?"
"Yes," Faen nodded.
"And you know Noxus is about to launch an invasion?" Riven pressed.
"Yes," Faen nodded again.
"You don't plan to stop it?"
"Yes." Faen's expression remained flat—casual and calm.
This only confused Riven further. "Do you hate Ionia?"
"Of course not. I love Ionia very much," Faen replied, shaking his head.
"Then why won't you stop it?" Riven stared at him, finding him utterly baffling. If he loved the land and knew Noxus was plotting against it, why sit idly by? With his power—and his connection to LeBlanc—he could surely strike a deal to halt the conflict or buy Ionia time to prepare.
Sensing her thoughts, Faen sighed helplessly. "If Ionia were as easy to change as you think, that would be wonderful. You might not understand, but a new era is coming. Ionia has been stagnant for thousands of years in its pursuit of 'harmony.' The peace they maintain now is a mirage. Malice doesn't vanish just because people pretend it isn't there; it just hides in silence."
"...I don't understand," Riven said, her face a mask of confusion.
Faen shrugged. "I can tell. But don't overthink it. My main goal in bringing you here isn't for you to protect me."
"I never thought I needed to protect you!" Riven rolled her eyes and leaned against the deck railing, staring at the distant coastline. "And frankly, I don't think there's anything on this land that can help me let go of my past. I admit my mind is a mess, but this is my first time in Ionia. Finding a 'cure for the soul' here? I can't even imagine it."
Riven looked at him with resignation. She knew her mindset was flawed, and that pained her. Her suffering stemmed from the massive gap between her past Noxian indoctrination and her current reality.
In Noxus, she didn't have to think. She just had to fight. Hard work led to progress in the Noxian system—that was why so many foreigners flocked to the Empire. Strength led to success.
Now, having left Noxus, even looking at the runic sword that once represented her honor brought her nothing but visceral pain.
"You'll know when we get there," Faen said, offering no further explanation. Riven's connection to Ionia was deeper than a mere war. In the original timeline, Ionia was where Riven found her rebirth. Even setting that aside, her spiritual resonance with the land—the so-called Spirit Blossom—made her presence here essential to Faen's plans.
After all, in many "skin" universes, the Spirit Blossom was a spiritual entity that existed in the main timeline. Faen needed to leave a foundation for balance in Ionia, just as he had with Zeri in Zaun, Caitlyn in Piltover, and Sarah in Bilgewater.
Faen's gaze grew solemn.
Across Runeterra, Zaun was the easiest to change: kill a few people, crush Piltover's delusions, and it was done. Bilgewater was larger, but with the right development, those lawless elements could turn it into a thriving city of adventurers.
Ionia was different. Centuries of peace had created a powerful inertia of thought.
Having grown up here, Faen knew better than anyone how massive the force of "Tradition" was. Ordinary preaching did nothing. Even when presented with hard facts, the pedants entrenched in the Placidium and the Temple of the Long-Standing would refuse to change.
As the ship drew closer to the shore, two familiar silhouettes appeared in Faen's line of sight.