"Logan, where are you going?"
"This wind is really strange... and it’s such a rare sunny day. Aren’t you going to stay and look a little longer?"
Seeing Logan suddenly about to leave, Silco spoke up at once.
Even now, he still didn’t know what this gust was about, but after the shock, what Silco felt more was excitent and happiness.
This wind had blown away Zaun’s gloom, and it had blown away the long-standing oppression in the hearts of Zaunites. When you’ve gone without sunlight for too long, it’s inevitable that your mood sinks into sothing lost and bleak. Even if Zaunites are born in this place, calling it "getting used to it" is impossible.
Because Piltover above them made a constant comparison—prosperous, drenched in sunlight and brightness. Harmonious and beautiful Piltover was like a boulder hanging over the hearts of Zaunites, suspended there, tapping at their spirits from ti to ti.
And so, with the pipework project finished, air purifiers able to run, and the sun finally visible—even steady, composed Silco broke into a broad smile.
"I still have sothing to do." Logan turned back to look at Silco, then after a mont added, "And Silco—this wind isn’t strange at all. This is what we deserve."
"What?" Silco froze, but Logan had already turned and left.
Of course Logan had to go, because Janna’s appearance had completely exceeded his expectations. More than that—Logan could sense the wind guiding him.
Maybe Janna wanted to talk to him, too?
After Logan left, Silco lowered his gaze and thought about what Logan had said, completely baffled. What did he an—what we deserve?
First of all... what did "deserve" even an?
Silco considered it a positive word: after you give sothing, the result you reap matches the effort you paid. Only under that kind of exchange could sothing be called "deserved."
But that was a transaction. And if there was a transaction, then there had to be another party to it.
So... this wind is what we deserve...
Silco suddenly jolted, his hand unconsciously tightening on his trousers, eyes filled with shock.
"Janna?"
His lips moved, and a na that he had nearly forgotten slipped out.
She was Zaun’s guardian deity, the faith Zaunites once held—but at so point, the number of people who believed in Janna had grown smaller and smaller.
The birth of technology, the constant replacent of tools that changed people’s lives, the rise in economic standards—little by little, the people of the two cities forgot that na. Zaun could still rember only because there were always Zaunites telling Janna’s stories. Passed from mouth to mouth, they kept Janna from truly vanishing from Zaun.
Silco had read a book. It recorded many historical texts about Janna. Quite a few Zaunites claid they had seen Janna with their own eyes and had received her help. In that book, Janna, this divine spirit, had three major upheavals and appearances.
One was a thousand years ago, when the nation known as Shurima carried out a large-scale purge of Janna’s shrines—an enormous campaign to reject faith in "false gods."
One was five hundred years ago. Back then, there was no Piltover—only Zaun. Piltover people called it wild history and refused to acknowledge it, but the records were crystal clear—
Piltover and Zaun had once been one, only divided into two halves. The rise of science left Zaunites with no ti to believe in Janna. They began a massive mariti construction project. The Zaunites of that era tried to build a shipping route that would connect the continent of Valoran and the continent of Shurima, pouring enormous wealth, manpower, and ti into it.
People started focusing on what was right in front of them, placing their dreams in their own hands and the chanisms they designed.
Prayers to Janna dwindled, and so she gradually faded out of history.
And the third ti was the Great Canal incident—also the story Silco believed least.
Because of the canal excavation, one region of Zaun sank down to the western sea level, forming what Zaun is today. In that catastrophe, thousands of people were swept into a raging sea. Above them, buildings and rubble crashed down as they struggled on the edge of death.
And then soone called for Janna.
Then Janna appeared.
Most of the Zaunites were saved because of it. Afterward, they all claid they had seen a white divine spirit.
That was probably the biggest reason people in Zaun still believed in Janna even now.
But Silco didn’t believe it.
Because if Janna truly existed—if there truly was a benevolent deity who loved Zaunites and protected Zaun—then where was she when they were oppressed by Piltover, forced to scrape out a living in mines, living in endless darkness?
Silco’s eyes were complicated as he shook his head, unable to believe it.
"Janna? Wait—Silco, you still believe in that?" Jinx’s voice sounded beside him.
Silco turned his head and saw Jinx pressing both hands to her hair buns, staring at him with a face full of curiosity.
With a slim waist, long legs, and perfect proportions, Jinx bent at the waist and lifted her chin to look at Silco’s face, then continued:
"Janna—the wind spirit from the legends. But isn’t that just a story?"
"Yeah. It’s just a story." Silco nodded.
"Besides, you can’t even find Janna’s shrines anymore. Back in the day you could still see so wall paintings, but now you can’t even find those." Jinx thought for a mont, then added.
"But if you want to believe in Janna, Silco, I know a place that sells wooden plaques for Janna’s followers. A lot of people in Hope Community believe in Janna. I can go buy you a few."
Silco shook his head. Then he suddenly said, oddly, "Wait—Jinx. Did you just say buy?"
"Yeah? What else?" Jinx straightened up and blinked. The wind had completely scattered the big buns on her head, her blue hair blowing wildly—she didn’t bother dealing with it. If she got pushed too far, she’d just cut it!
"In the past, when you wanted sothing, you’d steal it or snatch it. I never thought the word buy would ever co out of your mouth."
"I’m a law-abiding citizen now." Jinx patted her chest—at least, where a chest would be.
"Oh, right—where’s Logan?"
"He had sothing co up." Silco said.
"Where’d he go?"
"Don’t know."
"Then how long has he been gone? If I chase him now, can I still catch up?"
"I said I don’t know." Silco suddenly sounded a little impatient.
At the sa ti, Logan arrived at a high point in the Lanes. On the roof of a building, he reached out and pushed open a dust-caked railing, staring at the scene before him—
He had followed the wind’s guidance to this place, and even he felt uneasy.
He was afraid he’d misunderstood what Janna ant, but he still ca.
Because who knew when the next ti he could "see" Janna would be—when he’d hear her voice again?
Before him was a small attic room, looking like no one had co here in a long ti. The mont Logan pushed the railing aside, dust surged into his face. In this tiny room of less than two square ters, there sat a strange wooden shrine and a portrait.
The woman in the portrait had a slender figure. She wore a long white dress and held a long staff of green wood. Her features had been deliberately blurred, but she had a pair of long, pointed ears.
The portrait was placed on a shrine. The shrine wasn’t big—about thirty centiters tall. In the center was a wooden plaque carved with strange symbols.
Logan sensed a faint energy in the air—similar to the soul energy in the Spirit Blossom, yet also different. He pressed his lips together.
"Janna?" he said.
"I’m here," she said.
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