Zaahen
From the golden sands of Shurima rose Zaahen, a warrior reborn beneath the blazing Sun Disc. Once a noble Ascended, he watched his godlike kin descend into madness, becoming the feared Darkin. Haunted by their fall, Zaahen turned his glaive against his own kind, sealing them away, and when the war was over, he chose to be sealed himself, afraid of the darkness stirring within. Centuries later, his name echoes as legend: Zaahen, the Eagle of Twilight.
Opening
Welcome, lore-lovers, to Liandrug. Today, we step into the forgotten sands of Shurima, where gods once walked among mortals, and one eagle-born warrior fought not for glory, but for redemption. This is the legend of Zaahen, the Eagle of Twilight.
The Chronicle
In the forgotten age when the sands of Shurima still glittered beneath the unbroken light of the sun, a man named Zaahen was born. The empire was vast then, its cities built from gold and stone, its banners kissed by the wind that swept from the endless dunes to the sea. Among those who served the throne, Zaahen rose as a warrior of renown, his name spoken with pride in the courts and whispered with reverence among soldiers who followed him into battle. He was noble in bearing, fierce in heart, and unyielding in the face of death.
When the Emperor called for Ascension, Zaahen stepped forward. His spirit was tested in the flame of the Sun Disc, his mortal form undone and remade by divine light. Wings of radiant gold burst from his back, his eyes shone with the piercing clarity of a desert eagle. Thus he became one of the Ascended, a being shaped by the gods themselves, guardian of empire, servant of the divine.
But divinity is a fragile gift. The peace of Shurima did not last. In the far eastern lands of Icathia, mortals had torn open the fabric of reality, and through that wound came the Void, an endless hunger that consumed all. Zaahen and his fellow Ascended fought valiantly to contain it, yet the battle left scars not only on the land, but on their souls. The horrors they faced warped them, body and spirit alike. When the war ended, many of the once-holy Ascended returned as shadows of themselves, some consumed by madness, others by thirst for blood.
Then came Xerath's betrayal, the shattering of the Sun Disc, and the fall of the empire. The Ascended, no longer guided by a ruler or divine purpose, turned upon each other, their power unchecked, their hunger eternal. Thus began the age of the Darkin, when gods of old became monsters of war.
Among the chaos, Zaahen stood apart. Though the curse of the Darkin stained his form and flesh, he fought desperately to keep his mind his own. His wings darkened, feathers edged in crimson light, his talons warped into blades, but his heart still remembered who he had once been. While his corrupted brethren ravaged the world, Zaahen turned his glaive against them.
The Darkin War raged across continents. Zaahen, horrified at what his kin had become, fought beside mortals to end their reign. It was he who helped uncover the ancient rite that could bind a Darkin within their weapon, imprisoning their essence in steel and stone. It was a terrible mercy, for to seal them was to end their freedom forever.
When the last of the Darkin were bound, Zaahen looked upon the broken earth and knew peace was still far away. He had seen too much destruction, too much pain. And so he journeyed eastward, across the sea, drawn by whispers of war in a land rich with spirit and serenity: the First Lands, known to us as Ionia.
There, he found the world aflame once more. The Darkin had reached Ionia's shores, spreading corruption and fear. In that place, Zaahen met the warriors of balance, the ancient Kinkou Order. Among them stood Kennen, the Heart of the Tempest; Yunara, the Fist of Shadow; and the Eye of Twilight, guardian of spiritual harmony. To them, Zaahen was a stranger, a god-bird from the deserts of Shurima, but his presence was a beacon of hope.
Together they forged a fragile alliance. With his knowledge of the Darkin, the Kinkou learned how to contain the invaders. They sealed the beings known as Rhaast, Varus, and Xolaani within their weapons, ending the War of the False Kanmei. Ionia was scarred but saved, and Zaahen, once a creature of the sun, found solace beneath the cherry-blossomed sky.
Yet even victory carries its burden. The Eye of Twilight, seeing Zaahen's control fading, granted him permission to return home. But Zaahen hesitated. He had felt the corruption stir in his blood, the whisper of the Darkin clawing beneath his calm. He feared the day it would take him as it had taken so many others.
So he made a choice few could understand. He returned to the Temple of Twilight, a place between worlds, and asked that his spirit be sealed within his glaive, a weapon that would imprison him as he had once imprisoned others. The Kinkou honored his wish. Yunara, his closest ally, remained to guard the temple and keep his story from fading into myth.
In time, the tale of Zaahen and Yunara became legend, a parable for those who sought to understand balance. The Kinkou told it as a story of a shrine maiden and a great spirit who had stood together against false gods. Few remembered that the spirit had once been a man, a god who chose confinement over corruption.
Return
Centuries later, the veil between realms thinned. A disturbance in the Spirit Realm pulled the Temple of Twilight, and Yunara, back into the mortal world. The air trembled as ancient wards shattered. To the south, a new shadow gathered: LeBlanc, the Deceiver, sought Zaahen's weapon. To find it, she bent a demon named Atakhan to her will, a creature of shifting forms and endless hunger.
The temple's reappearance roused forgotten horrors. Demons awakened, drawn to the pulse of divine power emanating from the glaive. They descended upon the nearby village of Koeshin, spreading terror and ruin. Yunara fought fiercely alongside Xin Zhao, a warrior from distant Demacia. Yet while they fought to save the town, Atakhan slipped past their defenses and breached the temple itself.
Within the sacred halls, Xin Zhao faced a vision conjured by the trials of the temple: Demacia in ashes, his emperor Jarvan IV consumed by the Darkin. Offered a weapon that pulsed with that same shadowed power, Xin reached for it, until a voice echoed in his mind. Zaahen’s voice. From deep within his prison, the eagle-god warned him. Xin stepped back, and the vision faded. He had passed the Trial of Twilight.
But victory was fleeting. LeBlanc had already claimed the glaive, its golden form now buried within the black flesh of Atakhan. The heroes fought desperately, yet the sorceress's power was relentless. Atakhan struck them down, the temple quaking under his roar.
As the demon advanced, Xin Zhao, bloodied and near death, pressed his hand to the weapon. The spirit within stirred. Inside the mindscape of the glaive, Zaahen appeared, his form vast, with eyes still bright. He warned Xin to turn away, that the power of gods was a curse no mortal could bear.
Xin refused and he tried to drive Zaahen to what he once was. The words broke the silence that had held Zaahen for centuries. He felt the warmth of courage, the same light he had once fought for. When Atakhan's blade descended, Zaahen's spirit flared, merging with Xin Zhao's mortal frame. The fusion was violent, divine. A single slash tore through the temple, through the demon, through the deceit that bound them. Atakhan was destroyed, and LeBlanc fled into shadow.
When the dust settled, the glaive lay still, humming softly, a relic of the past, a promise of what might yet come.
Closing Words
And thus ends the tale of Zaahen, the warrior who sealed himself to protect the world he once saved. If you enjoyed walking this path through history, remember to like, share, and subscribe to Liandrug, where lore-lovers gather to keep the legends burning. Join our Discord to be part of a cozy realm where stories never die, and every voice adds to the song of Runeterra.
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