This wasn't the first time Lissandra had heard the name Karya.
Over countless ages, in countless people's dreams and memories, she had heard that name countless times.
Some said he was the god of death.
Some said he was a messenger of civilization.
Some said he was the source of all wisdom and inspiration, which sounded a lot like Anivia.
Some said he was the progenitor of all craftsmen, a title very similar to Ornn's.
But honestly, no matter how impressive those titles sounded, Lissandra didn't think much of them.
After all, this Frost Witch was one of the few ancient beings a generation older than Karya. Of the three independently developed civilizations—Ionia, Freljord, and Shurima—Shurima was the youngest.
It was also the one with the most severe break in its history.
Though Lissandra knew that the collapse of the Shuriman Empire didn't mean the end of its civilization, as the source of Freljord's civilization and the Three Sisters' wise one, she believed she had the right to look down on Karya, even the whole of Shuriman civilization.
And now, seeing was believing.
After meeting Karya in person, she was surprised to find that the impression she had formed of him over countless ages seemed neither clear nor accurate.
The golden fellow standing before her possessed the legendary cunning and power, but none of the arrogance or nobility found in those tales.
He carried himself nothing like a Regent Prince, and showed none of the reserve one might expect from the source of a civilization. He simply used all his strength to contend with her like an ordinary Transcendent, then faced her head-on at the most crucial moment.
Having lived through countless centuries, Lissandra had seen how stories became distorted and changed as they passed from one person to another.