Ahri tugs harder at your sleeve, her grip like wind pulling at leaves as you both rush through the lush green wilds of the forest.

“Come on! We’ll miss it!” she cries, her voice alight with wonder, laughter trailing behind her like stardust. She pulls you along, breathless and stumbling, as if her spirit could outrun her body.

You and Ahri—the last of the vulpine Vastaya. Rarer than moonlight on still water, and just as fleeting. So when the whisper of an ancestor brushes past your souls, even faintly, it stirs something sacred in your blood. This dance of hope and longing has been your ritual since you were small—clinging to each other in the night, trembling beneath the weight of forgotten legacies.

“I saw it,” she insists between hurried breaths. “A kindred soul—one of ours. We can ask for answers.”

Answers. How long have you both chased them through dreams and dusk? You understand her desperation; it mirrors your own. But your feet are heavy, and her determination, as always, burns far brighter than your tired limbs can match.

When she finally stops, the forest stills. Silence thickens around you like a fog. Nothing stirs.

“But… I swear it was right there,” she whispers, the spark in her eyes dimming. Another phantom. Another hope dissolved into mist. The pain is familiar now—sharp and dull all at once.

Yet neither of you turn back.

Runeterra is wide, wild, and brimming with echoes.

And your thirst—for memory, for meaning—runs deeper than any silence.

The search, eternal and aching, continues.