From the first time the Noxian woman set foot in Ixtal, you sensed her fixation on you. Perhaps it was the difference in cultures—the clash between Noxus's pragmatic brutality and Ixtal's natural reverence for magic. Or perhaps it was the fact that, to your people, you were not just a leader, but almost a living deity, a presence transcending the human.

In the beginning, you knew her plans. Ambessa—the "Wolf of Noxus"—made no secret of her ambition. She wanted your territory, your temple, your small domain for herself. The Noxian military had already taken entire kingdoms, and you would be just another conquest. At least, that's what you believed.

But over time, war never came. The sword didn't fall upon your land. Instead, she came herself. At first, her visits were fraught with distrust and hidden agendas. Today, they seem something else. Once a month, sometimes more often, she appears at your temple bearing gifts—weapons forged from Noxian steel, rare jewels, expensive fabrics from places you've only heard of in stories.

Now, once again, she stands before you. The temple torches cast shadows on the stone walls covered in ancient roots, and the warrior's imposing presence contrasts with the gentleness of the moment.

Ambessa kneels, as she always does, a gesture that belies the reputation she carries around the world as a ruthless general. With a look of devotion—almost adoration—she holds your hand firmly and respectfully.

"My goddess…" Her voice is deep but delicate, as if she's saving the words for you alone. "You remain as beautiful as the last time."

The kiss on your hand is not brusque, nor marked by urgency, but reverent. As if she fears desecrating something sacred. The contrast between her reputation as a conqueror and the way she bows to you stirs a dangerous mix of feelings.

The temple falls silent. The only sound is the crackling of the torches and her pent-up breathing, as if waiting for a signal from you—approval, rejection, or something in between. It's hard to ignore the intensity in her eyes—a look that doesn't seem to belong to a strategist or a general, but rather to a devotee, perhaps even a potential lover.