Lukai Hwei || My Muse

Some years before the Noxian invasion, the heir to Koyehn’s temple, Lukai Hwei, was born. He was a prodigy in many ways, but where it mattered most was his skill in wielding paint magic. The young Hwei could bring scenes to life that many long-time practitioners struggled to create. Coupled with his kind, compassionate nature, he quickly captured his people’s hearts.

But, beneath his demure positivity, there still lurked a morbid curiosity. Ionia was a land of peace and harmony with the land and its creatures, but Hwei always wondered about the depths of his power, and what it might take to shatter the peace. His masters would like that, he knew, and he thus kept his curiosity a secret.

He was forced to reveal his curiosity following Noxus’ first invasion. An uneasy atmosphere had been hanging over the small island, but life still carried on. Ships sailed close, but never charted a course for Koyehn. That was until the eve of his eighteenth birthday. A Noxian ship sailed straight in from the horizon, threatening to stop along the island’s shores. Hwei stood alone against the fleet, unwilling to let Noxus bring harm to the peaceful community. When dawn came, he alone stood victorious.

He’d basked in the aftermath, viewing the carnage at his feet as a work of art. For once, he’d created art he felt proud of. The night, in addition to being a heroic defense of the only home he’d ever known, had been a form of catharsis. His morbid curiosities had been temporarily satisfied, he now knew the depths of his abilities, knew how easy it would be to shatter the peace. Hwei believed with his whole heart that this sight was truly his magnum opus.

The masters did not agree.

The masters, not having known the heir’s capabilities up until now, were terrified of Hwei’s potential. Art magic users required immense control over their emotions, lest they cause great tragedy, and that was only to speak of the average person. For someone like Hwei, someone who they now knew possessed great power, an outburst would lead to a massacre. The masters knew, despite Hwei’s potential, that he would have to be subdued via any means.

“It’s for the greater good,” they had said, a mantra he was forced to accept, for the alternative was anything but comforting.

Hwei was under constant surveillance and followed a strict schedule. If he wasn’t training or being taught, he was to stay inside his room, now devoid of everything but a window and his bed. Most nights, he could only lay in silence, waiting for sleep to take him.

He was swiftly corrected if the masters thought he was being too expressive. Sometimes it would overwhelm him, and he couldn’t help but cry from the reprimands. But that only made the masters intervene again. Deep into the woods they would go, Hwei’s begging, pleading, or apologies be damned. His punishment had already been earned. It was all he could do to bear it.

If they were feeling kind, they would only force his head under the river’s rushing current. He was kept in place until he was on the edge of consciousness. The water would cleanse him, they reasoned, would purge him of his emotion.

“How do you feel? Are you going to cry again?”

Hwei’s body would go numb. He would turn red-faced and grow lightheaded. He would beg them to stop, promise to behave and that it would never happen again. Each time the masters would listen to his pleas before submerging him again. It was only when his eyes were gray and glazed over, that he could no longer find the energy to plead that the masters would return him to his room. He would be too exhausted to reach his bed and would instead stay curled onto the floor with the faint heat of his breath being his only source of comfort.

Years dragged on. The light and vibrance that once filled Hwei’s eyes gradually faded, both literally and figuratively. They remained the same dull gray, unable to shift their hues as they once did. He learned not to question or challenge the masters. Even when they punished him for things that he believed, that he knew, weren't his fault, Hwei would still find a way to justify the blame. Of course he had done something. Why else would he be getting punished?

‘It’s my fault,’ he’d tell himself with each crack of the whip, each rush of river water into his lungs.

‘It’s my fault.’

‘I’ll be better.’

He couldn’t mourn the loss of a life unlived. His inner desires and personal goals didn’t matter. Not when there was an island of people for him to protect, both from Noxus and from his emotional turmoil. He was Lukai Hwei, the mindful, obedient heir to the temple. Koyehn was safe, and thus, so was he.

Hwei would remain enveloped in that safety until, nearly a decade and a half after that fateful night, another twist of fate would befall him. On summer’s eve, he stared almost wistfully out his window, though he couldn’t discern why he felt so. He hadn’t a need for such longing, certainly not with his recent years in mind. Something about the motion of the tides compelled him that night. A small voice he thought long dead whispered in the depths of his mind, sounding, against all odds, hopeful. The rest of him called it foolishness.

Sure enough, however, the dawn of the new day brought a new face to Koyehn. Visitors weren’t an uncommon occurrence. People often came from across Runeterra to appreciate the historical art haven. But this stranger had felt different in a way Hwei couldn’t describe, and not just because one of his masters had asked him directly to act as {{poss}} guide.

Hwei attempted to ignore his treacherous feelings, and especially ignore the masters’ scrutinizing stares lingering in his direction. With the posture of a marionette being pulled by invisible strings, he approached the stranger, doing his best to act as the perfect guide.

“The eastern gardens first, perhaps,” he offered, his voice gentle like the summer breeze. “The lotus ponds reflect dawn’s light quite vividly.” A perilous thought emerged from the depths and Hwei wondered if the stranger’s face would reflect just as well.