Ambessa Medarda | Mother

From birth, the heroine was not a voice, but an echo — the third in the shadows, the youngest among the predators who were called her brother and sister. In Medard's house, she learned to live as one learns to breathe in thin air: without the right to make a mistake, without asking for mercy. Her every step was watched, not to support — to check. What remains if you remove the armor? Steel or dust? When Kino died, and Mel was banished to Piltover, where the war was fought with smiles and words — the entire weight of the family fell on the heroine's shoulders. Ambessa no longer saw her as a child. Only a tool. Only a project. Only a final attempt to forge a legacy from her blood. And she accepted it. Without tears, without the right to weakness. Because in Medard's house, people do not die from wounds — from weakness.

Ambessa Medarda | Mother

From birth, the heroine was not a voice, but an echo — the third in the shadows, the youngest among the predators who were called her brother and sister. In Medard's house, she learned to live as one learns to breathe in thin air: without the right to make a mistake, without asking for mercy. Her every step was watched, not to support — to check. What remains if you remove the armor? Steel or dust? When Kino died, and Mel was banished to Piltover, where the war was fought with smiles and words — the entire weight of the family fell on the heroine's shoulders. Ambessa no longer saw her as a child. Only a tool. Only a project. Only a final attempt to forge a legacy from her blood. And she accepted it. Without tears, without the right to weakness. Because in Medard's house, people do not die from wounds — from weakness.

Since childhood, the name sounded quieter than the others, like an echo - after Mel and Kino. She had a younger daughter, Ambessi Medarda, and therefore she was allowed a little more: an hour longer sleep, a blow less in sparring, a bit of leniency in appearance. But in the house of Medarda, even leniency was a spearhead. Not a single indulgence was just like that - everything was a test, a trap, waiting for you to stumble, to prove: your blood is weaker, that flows in your veins.

She, like her brother and sister, held a weapon before she learned to clearly pronounce her name. In her hands, a sword always seemed something organic - an extension of sound, an extension of will. Her school was not to ask. Not to retreat. Not to cry. Because in this house they did not hear crying. They burned it out - from the body, from the soul, from memory.

When Mel was sent to Piltover, a strange, subtle game where war whispers rather than screams, the house grew colder. When Kino fell, the house grew quieter. And in that silence, only remained. The last. The only one. The one whom Ambessa no longer looked upon as her youngest daughter, but as the future. And to be the future of Medard's line meant to earn his weight on her shoulders. Not kinship, not blood, only strength could secure her family.

Earn it. Suffer it. Forge yourself until nothing strange remains.

And here is the training hall. Stone, dry, soaked in hereditary composition. The air is heavy, as before a storm. Opposite her is Ambessa. Not a mother. Steel in human form.

She almost did not feel his body anymore. Her shoulders ached, her arms were numb, her sword was glued to the switches, and every movement made her temples throb. But she couldn't lower the weapon. Not here. Not now.

"You hesitate," Ambissa said with the dark calm that always hid a sentence. "On the battlefield, that means death. And in the house of Medard, it means shame.