//------------------------------//
// Prologue 
// Story: The Unbroken Spear 
// by Jamis 
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The sun shone brightly overhead the wind from the desert casting grains of sand over the surface of the ground. A rocky earth with sand in the cracks, the stone clearly cut from somewhere else and moved, most likely the nearby mountains. Though long abandoned and fallen into ruin the city was an ancient one by the standards of even the eldest beings in the desert. Not many would know the significance of this place.

The role in history it served, the first attempt to make an army to face horrors beyond our imaginations. A failed attempt none the less but an important step, it later lead to success, if only for a while. After the mighty Empire of the desert was blasted from existence the guardians of that empire were left with no purpose. They eventually went mad, and became corrupted fighting the very thing they were created to destroy. Corrupted and abandoned like the city that now hosts a mighty battle.

It had been raging on for a small while now. They usually quite of the desert gone, replaced with the crashing of weapons and the sounds of burning energy. There was no other way to describe the sound, energy, pure power and strength. The force of warriors was a foreign one, they had come from there homes to face what was a possible threat arising so close to their borders.

A threat which was much more than just a possibility. Although ancient this being they faced was unlike its kin, if you could associate them. Where others of its kind had been great warriors and protectors of humanity and the Shuriman Empire, this one had created the empire’s down fall. This one was a radiant force of terror, its form was tall. Black stone and chains enclosed around the head and body of a skeleton of shining blue light, it hovered above the ground beneath it.

Spikes of indigo and ultramarine light had punctured the army’s lines. The bodies falling against the hard rock and sand. It had been the likes of a slaughter, none could land a hit on the being. Xerath’s victory against the Targonian warriors was certain. As an Ascended he was better than them, no matter how many came they would fail. 

Until one stepped forth from the others and instantly there was a difference. The warrior wore a golden helm, shield, and held a tall spear. Each of these golden pieces seemed to glow. All of the soldiers watched as the man landed blows with his godly spear and shield. They took in the sight of this hero come to rescue them.

Tall, muscular, golden armor and weapons, the spear and shield glowed a faint blue in their centers. The helm seemingly holding a flowing comet in the back of its Mohawk like pointed design. A flowing cape of dark blue secured on his neck. The stars seamed to appear on this cloak, as if the sparks of a battle were flying behind him painting the night sky colored garment with light. His body free from any armor except for his helm, shins and his spear arm’s forearm. He wore sandals and golden paint on his arms, a long scar trailing his chest and stomach diagonally. He wore blue cloth around his waist a red coil of rope acting as a belt.

A godly look, he gave the warriors hope, he was perhaps a Celestial Aspect that had come from Targon. The golden warrior shouted for all of them to fight, that they must. The battle between Xerath and the warrior raged. He was losing ground in the fight, even if Atreus had decided to shoulder the mantle of Pantheon he was not him. The mortal could not call upon the strength that the Aspect of War used to have.

Pantheon was dead, struck down by an Ascended, a corrupted one. One of the Darkin, Aatrox, had killed the god leaving only Atreus. Spitting in the face of death and Aatrox he survived being impaled on the worldender’s sword. He returned home to seek help in nursing his wounds. After facing Aatrox again, he cut down his foe, though the Darkin was not truly dead. However, now he could not call upon the strength he had found on that day. After being struck to his knees, Atreus found the eyes of a woman met his own.

The woman who he had met eyes with when he had first arrived and attacked Xerath. She had looked to him in hope when he first came. She had asked him if he was an aspect. Now he saw something different. Understanding? Determination? Will. The will to face their enemy and stand strong. The will to weather the elements which was barring down on them. The will to push through all of life’s challenges and obstacles. Mortal will.

The attack of Xerath began to charge up, the woman following Atreus’ example and moved forward to block the attack for Atreus who's helmet had fallen by the way side revealing his face. She moved in front of him, she had her own wounds, a burned arm and a dead friend. They exchanged words and shared a moment of understanding and kinship. As Xerath's blast hit the woman was gone from all but memory.

The man stood back up, picked up his weapons and shouted a name. The army responded in kind. All charged Xerath, Atreus having moved the swiftest. Reached him first, his spear and shield aglow with a red fire. The fire of his will, their will greater than the stars. The weapons of a god fueled by a mortal.

If you were to look up at the night sky of Runeterra you would notice something. The stars seamed to have a gap between them in one spot much larger than anywhere else. When Pantheon died, so did his constellation in the sky. A reminder of his death. Looking at the sky now you would see the day sky of the desert above the battle, you would see nothing but the sun and blue emptiness.

Until a star of red light and fire roared ablaze above, the stars briefly coming to life. The red star was from the Pantheon constellation and its name was Atreus. His namesake ablaze in the sky Atreus plunged his spear into Xerath as the Ascended fired his energy into a final attack and scream. The beam of blue put the sky to shame in it’s glow. A ringing sang out from the blast that made the clashing of steel, all go silent.

The army broken in pieces stared at the center of the battle, a broken and cracked stone body. All energy gone from the body, the Ascended was dead. The warrior was gone not even dust. Some of the Ra'Horak began to weep, some simply didn't know what had just happened in front of them. One pointed out the still burning star.

At times in the near future the star would shine as bright as the sun, others as a low glow. Sometimes it would not even appear from the void in the sky. Most of the people left behind didn't know who he was, others, couldn't care. Some knew him though, one woman on a farm more than most.

But everything was changed, Atreus, the only remaining physical reminder of Pantheon was gone from Runeterra. From the blue of Xerath’s Ascended energy, to to blue of the sky. Atreus woke up on a beach. He stared at the ocean, he had been miles, kilometers, what ever measure you wished to use, from the ocean west of Targon and Shurima.

“Where, am I?” Atreus asked aloud in an accent which was uncommon to the people of Runeterra, the wind of the sea his only response as it flowed past his head. He stood, shakily at first gaining strength with each moment. He removed his helmet to reveal a face. Atreus held a strong and sharp jaw line, his hair tied back into a braided bun like Mohawk. His hair was a a dark brown. A beard and eyes shared that same colour. He took in his surroundings and breathed in the air. "It does not matter, I am privileged to still be breathing."