Legends never die

Connection

It felt terribly weird to walk out of an extended match on the rift; forty to fifty minutes of intense fighting on the side of someone that either you liked a lot or you synced enough to make sparks around your fingers, and today was no different.

Even though the illusionary, magical speaker yelled a defeat capable of deafening someone's ears, the rush pumping through the veins of a certain summoner didn't let it deter him from his never ending adrenaline.

The fight had been a good one, both for him and his chosen champion, and even though they went separate ways after the harsh defeat, he knew they'd left on good terms, no matter how Noxian the red hair assassin was and how damned Demacian the summoner remained at heart.

"Good fight today, Cor." Fenrus, one of the few people that actually acknowledged him as a midlaner, spoke as he walked back with his blond-ish locks smoking hot...quite literally.

The guy was admittedly a slight pyromaniac, a very proud one at that. At any moments notice he'd have a cigarette-, or something of that sort, in his mouth. Always pick explosive champions, always try explosive plays; overall, a two sided blade, but his friend nonetheless.

"Thank you, it was rather intense." The raven haired summoner replied with a hasty mood in his voice.

Even though it had been intense, they had lost, and he'd later berate himself for the fact.

"You're again attacking yourself, huh?" As if reading his thoughts, the blond haired tower of a pyromaniac threw his entire arm over the shoulders of the shorter raven haired boy, immediately pulling him close to his own body and messing with him the way close friends did, "Don't be so harsh over your own self, Cor."

The shorter one fought half heartedly to free himself off his friend's grasp to no avail, and sighed into the blonde's head lock.

"I know...I just want us to get out of this damned division" And he was right.

Divisions, all over the entirety of runaterra, represented the level of economy, of heariarchy and ultimately the quality of life one had the right to.

It by no means meant that being as low as a bronze equalized dead poverty, but it did mean having to work normal jobs, living in gray-ish conditions, and overall having to stray yourself further away from the initial goal, which was ranking up.

"And you'll get us there, cap'tn" Fenrus, in his own cheerful persona, laughed as he shuffled the shorter's hair with affection, "We're almost out of the bronzos, a few more matches and things will start looking pretty for us" He finally let the raven haired boy breath as he parted ways with him, walking towards the contrary direction.

"Pantheon's?" Cor asked the blonde as he watched him walk away, and smiled fondly at the bubbly walk of his cheerful mate.

"Yup! Two for one on the majestic croissants, you should drop by!" The summoner chuckled and nodded even though he knew Fenrus wasn't looking his way anymore.

The blonde worked at Pantheon's 'The Untamable' bakery, famous around the Demacian quarters. Prices were low, people were warm and the quality was flawless, as expected of a champion of such a level, as pantheon.

Fenrus himself was a great baker, reaching a level in which the gladiator would gladly let him take over whenever he was summoned on the rift. In the mass of muscles of a man's words:

'Your friend is one with the flame, gracing every prepared mass with the perfect intensity. Beautiful art, if I do say so myself' but in all honesty, he couldn't explain himself how Pantheon nor Fenrus knew so much about art, food or overall delicacy.