[Preview] The Ether Winds of Sand
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#Denial.
”Why?!?” The young apprentice furiously screamed at the Grandmaster, who stared at him with disapproving eyes. There had been room for two students in his tutelage, but, as if fate was against the young apprentice, the Grandmaster refused to take him in his service. The old man’s eyes stared at the fuming young man, whose face was billowed with rage. The scorching inferno in such auburn was painful to look at; but, the Grandmaster’s expression was unchanged. He had made his decision: Young Khamsin was not fit to learn the ways of the Ancient Wind Technique.
Khamsin, seething with rage, knelt to the ground and dug his fists into the cold, wet soil that he called his home. Now, like petals gracefully dancing out and away from the cherry tree, he was cast out; made into a pariah for no apparent reason at all. Urging to control himself, Khamsin shakily replied with forced politeness, “Master…I have done every task you asked of me. I have suffered the brunt force of your training and survived. My hands guided your blades as if they were part of the wind itself. Our foes trembled at the sight of our steel gazes; and, one by one, they fell! And, by the Ancient Ones, what do I get for my undying service and gratitude?!? To be cast out like a pitiful slave, to be eaten by the ones that do evil unto this world!!!”
Sighing, the grandmaster stood up and shook his head, as if he seemed to predict what his student would say. “You forget the true purpose of my teachings, Khamsin. Man cannot live by servitude alone, and there is no prize to be found in serving a master. We are masters of our own destiny, and we must follow where the wind takes us.”
Khamsin immediately bowed respectfully in front of the Grandmaster, to signal that he had respectfully listened to his words. “Grandmaster, it is here the wind blows towards you; it is my destiny to unlock the secrets of the Wind Technique. And, through this act, I will have fulfilled my servitude to you and will carry on your legacy towards our future generation of warriors.”
Looking down on Khamsin, the Grandmaster could see that he had learned nothing. All he ever treasured in his life was killing. To Khamsin, the swift stroke of the blade against the enemy’s throat was all he ever experienced. Among the months of his training, Khamsin would never stop to take a drink or to admire the peaceful beauty of life. The only beauty Khamsin knew was how to take a life, and savor in the enemy’s final breaths…
”You fail to see the man beyond the blade; that is why you will never understand the ancient techniques! A sword is not meant to kill; it is meant to protect! And, we do not justify our actions through merciless slaughter! Khamsin, I have taught you all you are capable of learning. The rest, you must learn on your own.”
In a feeble act of rage and hatred, Khamsin grabbed the front edges of the Grandmaster’s cloak, and vehemently stared into the eyes of his Betrayer. “THE WINDS ARE MINE!” Khamsin roared with searing anger, “THEY DESERVE TO BE MINE! I HAVE SACRIFICED EVERYTHING! I WILL NOT LET A FEEBLE, OLD MAN LIKE YOURSELF TO STAND IN THE WAY OF MY-“
The slap felt like a poisonous sting to the cheek, as Khamsin hit the ground with a deafening thud. Suddenly, the Grandmaster’s eyes changed from a stoic gaze to a demonic stare. Such dishonor, such disgrace, and such hatred bottled up in one man. There would be no day that a devil such as that “boy” would ever understand the true meaning of the technique. With a few words, the Grandmaster left, leaving behind a failed apprentice and a vessel aching for revenge.
”I am no longer your master, boy. And, I will never teach a disrespectful brat such as yourself the true meaning of the Winds…”
Khamsin could barely see straight as he ran through the forests of Ionia. His sobs were masked by the incessant rainfall that enveloped the sky around him. Anger. Hatred. Fear. Embarrassment. All of these emotions coursed throughout his body, driving him deeper and deeper into sorrow. He could barely see the road ahead, causing him to bump into a young stranger, who was diligently carrying a bucket of fresh fruit, up towards the Grandmaster. Khamsin stumbled onto the ground as he felt the bitter taste of dirt at his lips. As he struggled to get back up and start running, the young stranger lifted him up, and casually put a hand on Khamsin’s back. Khamsin turned around, and saw that the stranger was someone familiar. Nay, he did know him, as he was the one who took away Khamsin’s favor, The Grandmaster’s favorite, and the one fated to take over as the successor of the Wind technique…
Yasuo.
”Slow down, there, Khamsin! Don’t want you breaking a leg! Hey, is the Grandmaster sending you to get some more fruit, because-“
”DON’T TOUCH ME!” Khamsin snarled as he wrenched away from Young Yasuo’s grasp. His supposed pity was a mere insult towards Khamsin’s pride. A living reminder that there would always be someone better than the best...
Yasuo could tell something was wrong with Khamsin, as he placed the basked down on the ground. The rain was getting harder, and Yasuo could hardly tell if it was the rain that stung at Khamsin’s eyes, or the tears. “Hey, what’s wrong? Don’t worry, we’re not going training tomorrow! It’s Sunday, and, that means we get to watch the cherry blossoms dance in the winds…”
Khamsin’s ragged breathing began to intensify, staring at the young apprentice with such hatred. Cherry blossoms. The wind. All painful and irrelevant memories at the weak, old fool he called The Grandmaster. “Tell me, Yas…” Khamsin spoke in a soft, deadly voice, “Have you ever felt what it was like to have everything taken away from you? To have your own life wrenched from your soul and sent to the depths of hell…HAVE YOU?!?”
”Khamsin…I don’t understand what you’re talking about…”
Suddenly, Khamsin laughed. It was more of an emotionless cry more than a humorous laugh, the forced strain of his amusement made Yasuo cringe with doubt. “Oh, you innocent, pathetic slob!” Khamsin jeered with forced laughter. “You never cared about me, did you? All you cared about was playing Star Pupil to the Grandmaster, so that YOU, out of all the people in this world, would receive the Wind Technique! Well, my congratulations to you, Yasuo! You got it yourself, and here I am! Cast out and exiled by the very two people I could call my FAMILY!”
Yasuo couldn’t take this anymore. He furiously grabbed Khamsin by the shoulders, and shook him hard with such ferocity, it would dizzy even the most stoic of men. “Khamsin, listen to yourself! We didn’t abandon you! We took you in, gave you food, shelter, and taught you the values of life! And, we still welcome you as family! Me! Yone! And, the Grandmaster! We all care for you! We do!”
Khamsin drew close towards Yasuo, and vehemently whispered in his ear, “Not anymore. Go ask the man you call your Grandmaster. I am not one of you anymore; and I will not let you stand in the way of my destiny…”
Yasuo was stunned as Khamsin ran off, into the unknown. How could such bonds of kinship die out, after years of friendship and trust? Yasuo went back, hopeful to see Khamsin at the day’s end. But, he never returned.
”He was gone…Just like the Winds…”
#Anger.
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Khamsin could never tell between friend and foe. All he saw in his eyes was the person in front of the blade. And, that person, who would dare interfere in his path, would be cut down, regardless of affiliation…
Many men have heard rumors of a mysterious killer called The Ether Winds. The first thing the men hear is the sound of wind, gently whispering nothingness in their ears. But, there was something out of the ordinary about this sudden gust; it felt lifeless, no leaves would dance in the air with their graceful pirouettes, the air was a chill that seemed to draw the small vestiges of life from your soul, and some could hear the screaming voices of the dying envelop the very air they breathed.
Then, came the silence. It seemed to clog your ears from all audible noises in the world. You suddenly find yourself trying to hear your own voice by shouting and screaming to the heavens. In reality, there stood a group of men, helplessly shouting obscenities and cries of fear, as if they were deluded psychopaths. The harder they try to scream for help, the more deafening the silence is. It felt as if Death was toying with the very strings of your life…
Finally. Then, came the blood.
No man has ever lived to tell the tale on how the wind took shape, shrouded in a form of a masked swordsman, as it sliced through its victims with merciless rage and agonizing strikes. Victims were left to rot, choking on their own blood, as the writhed around on the ground, trying to control the bleeding. No salvation came. As the wind parted, all that was left were broken bodies and bleeding souls.
It was the Curse of Death that The Ether Winds bestowed upon Man. But, there was one man that faced the Ether Winds and survived…
An Adult Khamsin screamed in pain as the bullet hit his sword hand. The sword fell to the ground, released from the master’s grip, as Khamsin held his hand in painful suffering. But, there was no time for mercy. A second bullet grazed Khamsin’s shoulder as he doubled back, slowly backing away from the lone gunman. Was this the culmination of his great work? Is this how it was to end?
The Silver Star, or more widely known, Dane, felt no remorse, as he reloaded his revolver, sliding two bullets into the empty magazine holes.
When Dane had heard of reports of The Ether Wind from Farl, it was a case that genuinely piqued his interest. Such sadistic a killer could not be contained by the conventional methods of the law. Of course this never really bothered him: silver persuasion was right down his alley. In truth, Dane knew that such a mysterious force was not based off of some mythical force or being. No, this “force” or “monster”, was human, like the rest of them. Why else would he leave his victims to suffer in the setting sun instead of brutally dismembered or savagely ripped apart?
If this was to be Khamsin’s last sight, he would make it so that the gunman would tell his tale throughout the whole land of Runeterra. Spitting out blood, Khamsin grunted at the approaching Dane, “The men I killed...All the suffering I have caused…It is my justification for all the suffering that has been bestowed upon me. You could never understand…To have the things you desired most of your life, wrenched from your grasp…”
”Heh, well, it seems to me you’ve got it all wrong.”
Khamsin groaned in pain as he felt the heel of Dane’s boot press against the bullet wound in his shoulder. Dane kneeled down, his eyes staring into the lifeless eyes of Khamsin’s. he words crawled through his lips like mangled monsters, his voice dropped to a near whisper...
"You think killing will save you? What goes through your head ain't redemption, what goes through their necks ain't justice. Let me tell you something, you want to know suffering? I've seen death, death's seen me. It passed me by twice, dragging those I touch into the abyss. Every, single night I feel their stares on my back, they hound my every thought and haunt my every dream. When I wake up I wonder if the nightmare ends, but it doesn't, and it never will.
Dane shifted his entire weight onto Khamsin's shoulder, riveting daggers of pain shot down his arm. "You, will never understand life, you were dead from the start."
Dane felt the hard spit of blood come across his face, as Khamsin hatefully stared in Dane’s eyes. “Go to The Hells, pathetic scum.” Khamsin growled with such ferocity. “And, when I come back, after I have claimed what I want, I’m coming for you. And my master. Everyone. YOU. WILL. ALL. DIE.
"Can't say we all won't anyway", Dane mused. He then stood up, cocked the hammer back, and pointed the shining barrel at Khamsin’s head. “Sun sets for all of us, Ether Wind.” Dane emotionlessly replied, “Besides, I think its high time I sent someone to save me a seat.”
All Khamsin saw in his final gaze was the flash of the sun, sealing his fate in the desert winds beyond…
#Bargaining.
Darkness. Is that all I see? No. I cannot be dead. Not yet…
Ascension. The final steps towards salvation. The keys to unlocking the most ancient of powers. It is the only way to survive in this world.
We waste time, Xerath! Take his power now!
Silence, Renekton! This…Child of Ionia…He does contain the Ancient Powers of the Wind…
Where am I…Who are you…
You should be lucky to be alive, boy! Now, you stare upon the faces of gods!
Enough, Renekton! SILENCE!
As you command, Xerath…
Xerath…Renekton…The Ascended from Shurima…
You know of us, boy. But, you do not know yet of Ascension.
Ascension…?
They call you Khamsin, correct? You have served under the useless teachings of a frail Ionian Grandmaster. Such servitude is weakness in the eyes of true power…
Do you…understand? How can you…see…my…suffering?
I had sacrificed my servitude to The Emperor of Shurima. He fails to see the true desires of what Shurima needs. What Shurima requires…is power. True power.
Yes…Power. It is needed to survive.
We are born through a time of conflict and strife! Only the strong survive! Not the weak!
Renekton is correct. You seek that which would bestow upon you the strength to destroy armies. The power to prove yourself the greatest. And, most importantly…The power to control the Winds.
Do you…Do you possess it? Do you?!?
Be quiet, boy! Only the strong are worthy to possess such power! Not towards a weakling like yourself!
No! I AM NOT WEAK! I WILL HAVE THIS POWER! I WILL HAVE IT!
Then…Give yourself to the Winds of Shurima.
The…Winds of Shurima?
Ionians and Shurimians. They both value the natural gifts among Runeterra. Shurimians follow the Sun. Ionians follow Nature. But, in the end, we all share similar beliefs. The Sun Brings Life. Nature courses with Life. And, the Winds bring Change…
Change…What kind of change?
Necessary change.
Change that only the powerful can put into effect. And, this change, begins with you…If you are up to the task.
I…will do it. I will have this power.
Sentimental fool. You dare give yourself into service in exchange for this power?
I will suffer whatever it takes! It is mine by my right! Mine! My own!
You take it! You do not serve under the heel of the superiors! If you chain yourself to the bondages of slavery, you will forever become a servant! Useless! Pathetic! WEAK!
I WILL GIVE IN TO THE WINDS OF SHURIMA. I WILL SEIZE WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY MINE!
The boy is filled with such passion…Such rage…I can feel the Winds of Shurima calling to him...
Yes…I had made a wise decision. You are not afraid. You are not weak. You are strong. You will take power, no matter the cost. Your rage. Your anger. It is the epitome of true power…
Do it, Xerath. Release him. Release his body from his mortal shell.
Wh…What….?
Khamsin. You are no longer a child of Ionia anymore. You are the firstborn of the Ascended. The beginning of a generation that is enveloped by power. You shall lead the Newborn Ascended to glory.
You will be reborn, boy, as one of us. Do not resist this power we have graciously given you.
The Winds of Shurima will answer your call. Do you accept this fate? Will you give up your old life…and rise towards Ascension?’
…Yes.
Then, arise, Khamsin. Arise as a new wind, the most powerful winds of all. The Ether Winds of Shurima…
#Acceptance.
When the Noxians came, Ionia burned.
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The sylvan, tranquil forests of lore had been burned down and turned into scattering ashes, fading out of existence. There was no peace; no salvation. Nature screamed as her bountiful gifts were instantly obliterated in a fraction of a second. These were the gifts that she gave to Ionia; now, wrenched from their hands by Noxian soldiers. They knew nothing of peace and prosperity; only the cold, steel blades of war, conflict, and strife.
This was the world Khamsin came back to as he returned from Shurima.
Ionia; his home. As he stared across the burning temple, it felt as if he was longing to reclaim something lost long ago. But, no emotion came out of his cold face, as he blankly stared as his past home was burnt asunder by Noxian forces. The embers danced wildly across the dark sky, and the flames crackled a song of calamity and destruction that was sickening towards the Ionians. His old home fell; yet, Khamsin felt no remorse for his people.
They were expendable. A mere hindrance on his path towards power.
However, Khamsin did visit that old temple; moments before the flames ate at the aging lumber of the temple. It was as if he was a young man now; slowly walking across the blossoming trees and tranquil gardens. A sight that his past had seen a great many times while traversing the stone floors of this ancient temple. As he arrived in the main chamber, he saw his old master, sitting cross-legged with his back towards the entrance, and facing the Ancient Ionian God of Wind. The godly powers Khamsin desired before he left Ionia.
Now, he will have it.
His sword cut through the Grandmaster’s Throat, and the old man fell, trickles of blood seeping down onto the marble floor.
No pain. No suffering. Just a quick and precise death.
But, no one knew who killed the Grandmaster. Who would it be?
Khamsin, taking his sword in both hands, slashed a diagram on the Grandmaster’s back, a symbol known by all Ionian Priests and Soldiers.
The symbol of the Wind God, and there was only one Ionian that mastered the true Wind Techniques.
Yasuo.
A dry smile crept up Khamsin’s face as he heard the cry of a devoted Ionian Warrior ring across the temple, carried on the winds above. Surely the brother, no doubt. When Yasuo holds his brother’s dying corpse in his hands, it will already be too late. And, in the end, Khamsin will have the power he desired so long ago: denied by his Grandmaster, stolen from his Selfish Pupil, and burning under the Place He called Home.
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Wept your tears of sorrow, Yasuo. The winds of change come for us all. But, I will be the one to bring the winds of destruction upon the final seconds of your life…
TL:DR Summary:
There was another student that trained alongside Yasuo and Yone. Khamsin, a merciless individual, only sought equality through death, and solely wished for the power to destroy the enemies of Ionia by learning the Wind Technique. However, Yasuo’s Grandmaster refused to teach Khamsin this power, as he saw only darkness in his soul. Angered and denied his “rightful” teachings, Khamsin lost his apprenticeship and was exiled out of Ionia, a pariah now roaming without a master.
However, Khamsin’s thirst for violence was not yet sated. Stalking the darkest corners of Valoran, he became to be known as The Ether Wind, bringing only death and destruction in his path. Many heroes, criminals, and innocent lives fell under his corrupted blade, and Khamsin’s nickname instilled fear into all the inhabitants of Valoran. A mass manhunt for this “silent killer” was initiated, but most fell victim to the silent winds of Death. Eventually, Khamsin fell victim towards the gun of Dane, the Silver Star, who had heard of Khamsin’s exploits since the day he made his first kill. Khamsin’s body was left to burn under the dry hot sun, as Dane walked off into the sunset, assured the murderer was no more.
But, greater beings who desire power can use rage to achieve domination over Runeterra. Newly freed from their deep slumber in Shurima, the Ascended, Xerath and Renekton, came across Khamsin’s body while searching for new followers to join in their quest for mass Ascension. Noticing Khamsin’s unbridled rage and corrupt personality, they decided to strike a deal with Khamsin’s spirit: The power of Ascension for the servitude of Khamsin. Even in death, his thirst for power never wanes, and so, Khamsin was resurrected in the Sands of Shurima, taking a new form and a new weapon: a katana, containing the unstable powers of the Corrupted Warriors of Ascension. Khamsin was now reborn as the Ether Winds of Shurima, possessing far greater power than his previous counterpart.
With this new power, Khamsin had some scores to settle. With the resurrection of Sion, Noxus was planning to mount a second attack on Ionian soil. In the midst of the chaos, Khamsin traveled under the Winds of The Sea, and arrived back in his homeland. As he entered the temple of his old Grandmaster, Khamsin felt no reluctance to slaughter the old man. Thus, the Grandmaster was murdered, and Khamsin dug the symbol of the Wind God to point it directly towards Yasuo, who was the first to master the Ancient Ionian Wind Techniques. Khamsin’s actions would set in motion Yasuo murdering his brother, Yone, and eventually, Yasuo’s exile from Ionia.
The time will soon come when Yasuo will finally solve the true murderer of his master’s assassination. And, under the hot, burning sands of Shurima, Khamsin will wait, ready for his revenge for an eternity of suffering.
The Ether Winds of Shurima will blow. But, only death will follow in its wake…
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