Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If someone were to ask Lux to put all the words she'd use to describe the City of Progress into one, she supposes beautiful would fit the best. In a way, the tall spires clawing at the sky remind her of home, the difference being High Silvermere was built atop mountain peaks, rather than built to imitate them in size. It's daunting. It's magnificent. It's a little bit scary, too.

It is good, then, that nobody seems much interested in little Luxanna's opinion as she trails behind her parents, silently soaking in all the wonders on display at the Progress Day fair. She'd have to lie and say she finds the city abominable, else Mother and Father would be cross with her. After all, no place which allows for using magic is worthy of speaking in a positive light.

How sad, she thinks, that such a wonderful city has allowed itself to fall to the lure of the arcane. When her tutor had first taught her about Piltover, she spoke of it with nothing but respect for a people much like their own - descendants of refugees who sought a sanctuary from the destruction mages wrought. A brilliant people, sometimes to the point of madness, but of good character nonetheless.

Based on the things Lux has heard this last year though, especially when nobody thought her to be in the vicinity, no such respect would be given in her lessons now.

For what must be the hundredth time, the young girl raises her eyes up towards the gargantuan construction work towering above the city - the very first sight of Piltover she's seen when still out at the sea, some hour before the rest of it crested the horizon. She's never seen anything so big before, not even in the capital. It's amazing, and it's not even finished yet!

Not that she wants it to be finished, of course. No sane person would, no matter how the Piltovans tout their invention will usher in a new, better tomorrow for the whole of Runeterra.

"Luxanna!" Mother's call brings the girl out of her reverie. She must have slowed down and fallen behind while... contemplating the structure.

"Sorry," she curtly apologises once caught up.

"Pay attention dear, I know Piltover has many sights to behold, but you can still see them after the address."

"I know, Mother. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Just don't dawdle, alright?" Mother's severe features soften as she gives her a smile, one Lux eagerly returns. She's right, of course. There'll be plenty of time for sightseeing once her parents have performed their duties as the king's emissaries. The whole world has gathered at the Piltovan invitation. It would be beyond embarrassing for her family not to attend because they were looking for their lost daughter.

With that in mind, the girl makes sure to keep to her parents' side and not get too distracted by all the wonders surrounding them from every direction. How Mother and Father can retain such focus as to not even glance at the endless inventions they pass on their way, Lux can't comprehend. It’s not like it’s all magic here. She knows what science is. At least some, anyway. Enough to tell the machines all around them aren't moved by the abominable forces of the arcane.

Now, why would someone build a two-wheeled contraption which moves its passenger about like a horse would, when a horse already does the job, Lux can't say, but it's fascinating to see all the same.

She resolves to ask her parents to let her ride it later. It looks fun.

Before long, her family's attendant shows them to their destination - a building Lux at first believes to be a greenhouse, with how the walls are mostly glass and steel - but turns out to be a lecture hall, one repurposed for the day's address. Much like everything else she's so far seen in Piltover, it's big enough to easily fit thousands.

And thousands there are. Everywhere she looks people of all shapes and sizes tower above her; Lux doesn't think she's ever seen this many in one place before. Her mouth goes dry as she for the first time realises just how populous the city must be. If the same rules apply here as they do back home, then only a select few among the whole populace are even allowed inside. To have this many gathered, and almost all Piltovans - it's easy to tell the guests like herself apart by attire - the city-state must be home to hundreds of thousands! Many times that of High Silvermere. Maybe more than the capital itself!

Feeling somewhat overwhelmed, Lux reaches out for Mother's hand. A wordless request to which Mother acquiesces, if with a reproachful look. She's not wrong to chastise her, Lux is eleven already and by far the less impressive sibling than Garen was at that age.

She holds onto the familiar hand like a lifeline, which it might as well be in the sea of people amongst which Lux feels herself drowning. The waves of them part before her parents like they always do, split apart by the impressive bulk of Father’s stature, and only rarely is a glance spared downwards, as those always are. She can't even see where they're going, what with the crowd.

There's a little bit more breathing room once they reach their destination by virtue of seats taking up the space people could have, but most remain unclaimed while the attendees still mingle.

"I think that's councillor Hoskel over there." Lux hears Father point out to Mother. "Has it really only been two years? It seems age has taken an interest in him."

"And he in fine dining." Mother mouths, barely audible over the swarm of other conversations.

The young Crownguard stands on her tiptoes, looking where her parents are, and there the councillor is, indeed much aged and much… grown, in comparison with the faint memory she retains of the man's visit in High Silvermere. He seemed nice enough, certainly nicer to her than many other statesmen Lux has had to attend dinners with.

"Luxanna, find your seat, won't you?" Mother tugs her hand out of Lux's grip, only waiting for her daughter's nod before making her way to the councillor with Father in tow.

Well. It's not like Lux wants to listen in on the peculiarities of the trading lanes between Piltover and her fair home, anyway.

Unfortunately, finding her family's spots quickly proves to be more challenging than Lux would've assumed. In addition to the matter of having to squeeze herself through the crowd, she can see no paper stands marking the seats for her family, nor any other tags to speak of. Is she supposed to just pick a spot at random? Surely not. Seating arrangements are a matter of great importance at events like this. What if she accidentally sat next to a Noxian? There are no names assigned to the first row (which, at least, is understandable in that the first row would already know their places), nor in the second (where the staff could point the attendees to), but neither are there in the third, or fourth, or fifth - by which point the girl gives up the search, as there's no way her family would be told to sit so far in the back.

Somewhat at loss, Lux decides to look for an attendant to show her at least the right area. A choice she regrets the moment she steps away from the seats and into the much denser crowd behind them. She's mostly successful in avoiding collision with everyone else milling about, having years of practice to her name. Only, back home she knows exactly where she's supposed to be and where she's going. Here, the crush of people blots out the horizon, and the ceiling - uniform glass and steel - lacks any familiar frescos adorning it that she could orient herself by.

All around she can see only the shifting masses of colours and unfamiliar faces. The noise is so loud it drowns out her thoughts. The air is hot and the farthest thing from fresh. Why is the address happening indoors? What if the giant steel beams fall and the glass they support falls with them? Why not just use the expanse of the outdoors, where space and air are endlessly abundant?

A people prone to madness indeed. She wants to go home.

The buzzing in her ears sinks deeper, all the way through her skull where it grows into an all-consuming roar of voices and clutter and heartbeat - none distinguishable from another - all of them coming from everywhere, inside and outside. She has to get out. Back under the sky where it's cool, and quiet, and where people won't knock her over by accident.

Something- someone, grabs her, and the world snaps back into focus.

Lux looks down at the small hand grasping her own. Then up the skinny arm and into a pair of wide blue eyes framing a freckled nose.

"Wanna get outta here?"

It takes Lux a moment to parse out the words of the strange girl's grotesquely mangled Noxi, but once she does, it's all she can do to nod and allow herself to be led through the crowd. Eventually, they pierce through the mass of bodies and outside, where she can finally breathe again.

She takes a few moments to catch her breath before properly regarding her rescuer for the first time.

Scrawny is the first thought which comes to Lux's mind. Really scrawny, actually. And pale in a way she's never seen before, which is saying something given Lux has seen many a lady who's not let the sun kiss her skin for at least as long as she's been alive. She's dressed strangely; like a boy, and fine in quality but strangely uncared for. Her hair, blue like her eyes, is gathered into a plait, and kept together by pins where it would otherwise stick out.

"You okay? " the girl asks, or so Lux thinks - the words only just familiar enough to intuit.

"Y-yes. Thank you."  She stumbles over the half-familiar words. "I get lost there."

"I figured." The girl flashes her a sly smile, showing off a missing upper tooth. "You looked like you were about to cry."

"Was not!" Lux's cheeks heat up in an instant. She crosses her arms, then lets them drop again at the girl's smirk. "I need go back."

"What? Why?” Her companion’s smirk drops. “There's nothing there."

"For add- for speech?" It's Lux's turn to frown in confusion. "What else?"

"But that's boring. All the fun stuff's here."

That, Lux must admit, is a point she can't contest. She's never much liked standing around and listening to the adults talk about something or other she's no frame of reference or care for. Still:

"My parents there." she shrugs helplessly.

"Lucky you for getting lost then! I can go wherever until the speech's done. Wanna join me?"

Well, she'd rather, yes, but it's not really a matter of want, is it?

"I not know… my parents look for me."

The girl rolls her eyes. "You wanna waste your time listening to some old Piltie patting himself on the back for an hour, be my guest. But I'm not going back in there."

With that, she turns to walk away.

All of a sudden, the idea of slipping back inside on her lonesome, back to where all the noise and heat and people are, makes her parents' inevitable punishment for wandering off seem a lot less scary. They're going to be upset no matter what she tells them, anyway. She might as well enjoy her freedom while it lasts. The crowd might thin some by then, too.

"Wait!" Lux grabs the other girl's hand again, just to find her head empty of words when her rescuer looks back to their joined hands, then her.

"Yeah?"

"Um-" She lets go, and drops into a rehearsed curtsy. "My name is Luxanna Crownguard . What is your name?"

"It’s Pow-” she cuts off with an abrupt scowl. “Jinx."

"What?" Lux tilts her head, unsure of what she’s been told.

"My name's Jinx." The girl makes a show of mimicking Lux's earlier curtsy, failing completely in getting even one of the subtleties of it right.

Jinx. Lux turns the name over and around her tongue, needing to be corrected a couple of times by its bearer. It sounds so exotic. Like one of those far-away places in Shurima her tutor had taught her about. Well - perhaps not so far away now that she need only cross a river to reach it, rather than a sea.

"Sooo are you coming or what?" her new friend asks with an extended hand.

Lux looks into the girl's expectant, wide blue eyes, and makes her decision.

Exploring the fair with Jinx is a much different experience to attending it with her parents. For one, the girl shares in Lux's own enthusiasm for the devices on display, both those for sale and not. Prototypes, Jinx painstakingly explains they're called, there to gather attention of an investor - a patron. For another, she seems well-versed in the underlying principles behind much of the gadgetry, and is only too happy to impart her knowledge on Lux, even though she understands only about a quarter of what’s being said, and that’s with a copious amount of gesticulation and both their best attempts at bridging the language gap. The girl can furthermore tell at a glance which displays have anything of interest, as well as how to get around the fair without being bogged down by the crowd.

She also, unlike Lux's parents, has no compunctions against buying the many exotic treats offered by the salesmen, and better yet, sharing in them.

"Can I ask question?" Lux speaks up as they sit on one of the benches, her gaze transfixed on Jinx licking the remains of something called cotton candy - sugar made softer than snow - off her fingers. The sight makes her acutely aware of what she must've gotten on her own hands in the time she held Jinx 's. "You not look like Piltover. Where you from?”

"I better not!” the girl proudly exclaims. “I’m from Zaun." Zaun? Lux has never heard of Zaun. With that being the case, it must be really far away, or maybe just called something else in Demacia - her geographical knowledge is spotless. "And right back at you. I mean, you kinda look like a topsider but you talk even funnier than they do." She exclaims with a laugh, which, once Lux works through the meaning of her words, she supposes she can’t fault her for.

"Ah." She says with a furious flush overtaking her face nonetheless. "I guess I live high? In High Silvermere . It in mountains? Demacia ?" She keeps elaborating upon seeing the lack of comprehension in the other girl's features.

"Huh? What's a Demacian doing in Piltover?"

"What about Zaun?"

Jinx stares at her for a second, almost making Lux draw into herself for having apparently said the wrong thing. Then the girl erupts in a fit of giggles.

"Yeah, okay. That's a good point. Keep your secrets."

"It not secret," Lux answers at length. "Me and my family here to see- that.” Try as she might, the foreign word won’t roll off her tongue, forcing her to simply point at the towering structure looming over the city.

"The slingshot? But it's not even finished, what's there to look at?"

Given Lux doesn't rightfully know, she can only shrug at the question.

"Slingshot?" she asks, instead. That’s not the word she heard everyone use.

"Basically," Her friend says with a shrug. "It's supposed to accelerate anything you put inside, but ignore physics on the way so you don't pop out as paste on the other end. Just, whoosh!" She makes a gesture with her hand. "You're a thousand miles away."

Lux can't help but stare, slack-jawed, at the flippant disregard of the biggest magical undertaking since the Rune Wars her companion is showing.

"But... it magic."

"...Yeah, and?" Jinx gives her a look like it's Lux who's deficient for bringing it up and not herself for failing to mention it.

"I- magic dangerous?"

An alarmingly sudden pained grimace twists the girl's features into an ugly scowl. Her hands fly up to clutch at her head, hiding her face behind her arms.

"No shit it's dangerous." She groans out into her arms. "They don't mention it in the brochures but if you can launch ships with it, you can launch bombs, too. I mean- the whole tower is one giant bomb!"

Lux's mind screeches to a halt. The brochures, indeed, do not mention this potential use for the tower. Distantly, she realises this is the more pressing issue of the two currently on her mind. Addressing it, however, seems far too daunting a task

"Uuh, you okay?" Jinx questions her stunned silence once she stops massaging her temples.

Lux is not, as a matter of fact, okay. What sense of wonder she felt previously when gazing at the construction scraping the clouds above Piltover is gone without a trace, replaced with a tension grasping at her lungs. It is obvious, in hindsight, that the Slingshot can be used for more than just commerce, as Piltovans ostensibly tout. With the project finished, no nation in the world would dare to attack the city-state.

Yes, Demacia could likely take the city, but it would happen at the expense of all the cities of their own nation as the Piltovans launched a strike after strike after strike with absolute impunity. There would be no home to return to.

Madness.

"You say ugly word." Is what comes out of her mouth.

"Ugly?" The girl pins her with a bewildered stare. "What, you mean like- shit?"

A terrible sense of foreboding descends over Lux at the sight of Jinx 's grimace transforming into a wicked grin.

What follows is, without a shred of doubt, the single most foul thing Lux has ever heard in her life - and she's never even heard any of the words before! To the point she can only guess their meaning on the fly. To the point she doesn't think Garen could do the same even if given a pen, paper, and a minute to write his attempt down. Certainly not on the go like that. It's impressive in all the wrong ways, and sends Lux's heart stampeding. If Mother or Father heard this...

"I need go," she abruptly announces, making to stand at the same time. She would've, if not for the hand immediately grasping at her elbow.

"No, wait. Wait. Sorry. Sorry," she laughs, she has a pretty laugh - Lux decides. "Couldn't help it. You might not be a Piltie but you're still a topsie alright."

Lux doesn't quite know what to make of the words. On the one hand, they feel like an insult, on the other, they don't feel like they're meant to be.

Hesitantly, she sits back down by Jinx 's side.

"Where you learn that?" She whispers in spite of herself. It's a wretched sort of fascination, much like watching a lashing be carried out.

"I dunno, everywhere? Don't even remember."

Lux thinks back to what bad words she knows herself. She's learned about as many from the servants working in the estate as she has from overhearing her parents when she wasn't supposed to. If even a half of what had left Jinx 's mouth she learned from her parents… well. It doesn't endear Lux to them any.

"Bad words. Not say them."

"Why? Everyone else does it."

"Because-" Lux cuts off the reply to the very same question Mother once gave her after administering punishment for cussing. Because we're Crownguards. If we are to set an example, we must hold ourselves to a higher standard. The matter of Jinx not being a Crownguard aside, she has a hunch the girl wouldn't much care for such an answer.

"You want be like everyone else?" She asks instead.

The words must strike a chord with the other girl, going by the way her eyes widen and mouth falls slightly open.

"You know, that's a pretty good point. Everyone's idiots."

A snort slips past Lux's mouth before she can school her emotions.

"Mean. Lots stupid. Not everyone.” She chastises in penance, drawing another laugh from Jinx in turn.

"You're such a goody two-shoes, you wouldn't last a day in Zaun."

Right. Zaun . She really needs to ask her parents where that is. Or better yet, read it up somewhere so they don't learn she must not have been paying attention to her lessons. It doesn't sound like a very nice place, though. It sounds like Noxus.

A thread of worry attaches itself to Lux's heart. What if Zaun is somewhere in Noxus? Is her new friend among the many conquered peoples of the empire? She understands their tongue readily enough, and her own is sufficiently similar Lux can grasp it in turn. But the same could be said of the lands her people have liberated. Why, Lux herself speaks Noxi, and so does her whole family!

She disregards the nagging feeling. Jinx is nice. Surely, a Noxian wouldn’t be nice.

"Maybe I am." She throws her nose up in the air and crosses her arms dramatically, having not a clue of what she might be confessing to, but more importantly, drawing another giggle from Jinx , missing tooth and all. "You think this time we go back?"

"Lemme see." The girl pulls a rather large, round pendant out of a pocket in her trousers - one that might've once been golden or brass, but has since been scribbled over with a variety of blues and pinks and violets arranged into what Lux thinks are meant to be animals. Jinx flips it open, revealing it to be a clock. "We still got some time."

Fascinated, Lux reaches out on instinct, but stops herself.

"Can I touch?"

"Sure. Just be careful, I’m borrowing it."

That goes without saying, Lux thinks, but nods nonetheless. She's seen such small clocks before, but never held one in hand. It'd have been rude to ask of the guests that had them, and the next smallest clock she's ever seen stands proud in the Protector's temple, taking up only a little less space than a sundial.

The device in her hand has more to do with jewellery, Lux thinks, than a clock. Not for the materials used, but the sheer delicate intricacy of its innards, visible through the glass face of it. The gears, the springs, the… she doesn't even know what to call them - are all so tiny , with tinier still notches carved into them to all overlap with each other and make up the rapid tick-tock against her ear. No wonder Jinx wants her to be careful, the thing looks ready to break on a gust of wind, let alone touch! And so useful, too.

"Pretty." She pays due compliments as she hands the piece back.

"It's a watch, bumpkin. You can buy these at any store if you’ve got the cash."

"Really?" Lux leans in excitedly. She might just have found herself a souvenir to ask for.

"I mean, maybe not any store, but they're not that rare? Becha we could find one here at the stands. Wanna go see?"

Lux hesitates. Because yes, she does want to go see. But she also wants to see the outside of her room sometime during her stay in Piltover, and if she doesn't return to her parents before the address is over, that wish is unlikely to come to fruition. On the other hand, she knew she was making a mistake when she chose to follow Jinx , yet she's made it anyway.

She looks into new friend's eyes, wide and hopeful - and knows she can't bring herself to dash the light in them. She's already in trouble, so might as well. It's not like she'd have a tenth of the fun she's having with Jinx back with her parents.

Still. She does need to return to the address hall, and sooner rather than later, as that is where her parents will surely be waiting. Maybe she can say she couldn't find them before the speeches started and didn't want to disturb everyone by pushing her way through to the front? Oh, but what if they catch her lying? That would be ten times worse than what she's actually done. No, she'll just say she got turned around and went out for some fresh air. And then she didn't want to disturb anyone. Yes. It's not even a lie. Not a big one. She really wouldn't have wanted to disturb anyone.

"Okay. But go back after, yes?"

"Works for me!" Jinx replies before grabbing Lux's hand in her sticky own again, and jumping off the bench with her companion in tow.

True to her word, and much to the young Crownguard's elation, they soon find a stand offering various mechanical odds and ends, clocks of varying sizes among them.

"So, which toy would the young lady want?" The merchant, a rather portly, older man, turns to regard them after finishing up with his last client.

"Um- sorry. We just look?"

The man gives Lux a once-over, his brow rising as something clicks in his mind, prompting a smile to overtake his face.

"Ah. Not from Piltover, are you?" he addresses her in strongly accented, but clear Demacian. "That's alright, it's Progress Day! Browse to your heart's content. Just be careful! Once broken, considered sold." His warm smile wanes as his eyes find Jinx , his voice noticeably less cordial when he addresses the girl. "And you?"

"Here with her," the smaller girl replies with such bite to her tone Lux can't help but stare. It's like a cold gust of wind on a pleasant summer afternoon; the way the atmosphere has suddenly changed so much.

"Are you now?" The man's eyes drop to their still-joined hands, before turning back to Lux again. "Well, go along you two. We don't need any trouble here. "

What?

"But-"

"C'mon, bumpkin." Jinx interrupts her with a tug on her hand. "You gotta get back to your parents, right?"

"But-"

Her friend tugs again with a look , one she's seen enough times throughout the years to know better than to argue. They leave without another word, with Lux observing as a smile returns to the merchant's lips when another customer approaches him.

"What happen?" She eventually steps in front of Jinx to stop her, the stand having long left their sight.

"Some Piltie being a prick."

"That- yes, but why? He nice before!"

Lux doesn't know what to make of the half dozen expressions flashing across Jinx 's face in the next second; from blank to incredulous, through confusion, and hurt, then back to blank again, to finally settle on a teasing smile.

"You're alright. For a topsie." She raises their hands, prodding Lux's own open with her thumb. "Here, I got you something."

The girl presses a small, metallic object into her palm. This time, it takes Lux no time at all to recognize the miniature clock for what it is.

"When you buy this?"

"I didn't." The girl grins proudly. "I was going to, but I guess he didn't want the money."

"You steal it ?" Lux doesn't have to try keeping her voice down. The words barely get past the tightness in her throat as is.

"I had to get it somehow, right? If he wasn't gonna sell it."

Oh no. No, no, nononono. What does she do? Does she return it? They should return it. Wait, no. If the merchant tells on them, as is his right, her parents won't let her out of the estate for a year, and she can forget about asking them for a clock if she doesn't want to make that two years. It'll be no use explaining she didn't take it - she's guilty by association. For that matter, what's going to happen to the actual thief between the two of them?

"Oh, shoot," Jinx's murmur pulls Lux off of her galloping thoughts.

Shoot?

"Excuse me."

She jumps at the voice directly behind her, then whips around with a fist pressed against her chest to come face-to-face with a belt buckle. With a mounting sense of dread, her gaze trails upwards to finally rest on the frowning face of a Piltovan guardswoman.

"Y-yes?" she stutters out, mortified, the ticking clock in her fist setting the pace for her heart.

"Are you-" The woman cuts off with a quaint expression, before starting anew, haltingly, in a simile of Lux's own tongue. "Is you Luxanna Crownguard?"

Oh. She's done for. Her parents are going to disown her and send her off to climb Mount Targon to restore their family's honour. And she's going to die because she's not worthy.

"Yes," she somehow manages to respond. She's done enough. What is there but to accept her fate?

"Your parents is worried. Is you alright?"

Lux stares at the hand extended to her in stunned silence. She's- not been caught stealing?

She almost collapses with relief. She's not been caught. Of course she's not been caught, the guard came from the other direction, and she didn't give her name to the merchant. She just- she needs to somehow give it back to…

...Jinx . Whose only evidence of there ever being around is the device hidden in Lux's hand.

"Miss Crownguard." Her gaze snaps back to the woman in front of her, now crouched and gingerly holding her by the arms, an undercurrent of worry clear in her voice. "Is you hurt? Did downsider do something? Did anyone?"

"I'm fine," she replies weakly. "I just got lost. Nobody's done anything."

"Good." And indeed, the woman's rigid posture slackens noticeably. Lux supposes she would hardly wish to be the one to return her to her parents in a state of hurt, either. "What did downsider want? She harass you?"

Downsider? Oh.

"No, she was… helping me back to the address."

"Really? Well, what do you know? " The woman pats Lux on the shoulders, as adults for some reason do, before standing up. "Come get back to you family, yes? This close to attack Noxians for kidnaper you, they was." The woman pinches the air between her fingers.

Blood drains from the young girl's face. It's not as bad as being caught stealing, but almost being the cause of a diplomatic incident… her parents are going to be furious with her. She can most certainly say goodbye to any sightseeing, or being let out of her room (both here and back home), or doing anything fun at all for the foreseeable future.

Suddenly, the prospect of returning to Mother and Father seems a lot less like the good idea it was just a few minutes ago.

All the same, she obediently gives the guardswoman her left hand, the other she buries in her pocket to hide the spoils of her crime someplace better, and follows the woman back into the raptors' den.

Every now and then, Lux spares a glance over her shoulder in search of a shock of blue hair. But it's not until she's being ushered inside the building she fled from earlier, that she finally sees a familiar face waving her goodbye from the crowd.

Chapter Text

The moment Lux's letter of recommendation passes from her hand into those of the wizened councillor feels more in line with handing away a cannonball, rather than paper. The acute burden of its importance has weighed heavily on her heart, above which she's kept it for the entire journey from the capital to the City of Progress.

"You understand, I hope, that no slack will be allowed due to your special circumstances? The Academy holds a strict, meritocratic policy. One's birth has no bearing on their station here," councillor Heimerdinger offers the courtesy of his rather archaic Demacian as his eyes fly over the text of the letter.

"I would be disappointed if that weren't the case after hearing the stories." Lux easily replies with the same courtesy the man, intentionally or not, insulted her with. She's not spent the last year all but locked away studying every waking hour of her days to be treated as a backwards provincial incapable of speaking her chosen country's tongue.

To his credit, the yordle does appear suitably sheepish, in so far as Lux can tell from his alien features, at being so called out for his patronising tone.

"Forgive me. I must admit, it was something of a surprise to receive correspondence from my esteemed colleagues of the Grand Demacian College, and in request to admit one of their own into our fair Academy, no less!"

"It was a surprise to me that my request was granted!" The lie passes her lips easily as air, like they always do nowadays. "It seems I have made a good case."

"And what case would that be, Miss Crownguard?" Heimerdinger, the quick reader he must evidently be, puts the letter away on the desk before folding his hands in his lap.

"That if we don't allow change in on our own terms, the change will come to us without asking. In essence, of course," she amends with a smile. "There was quite a bit more politics involved."

In all likelihood, more than Lux is even aware of. Influential as the Illuminators are, there's simply no way an operation of this sort could be carried out without the Crown's approval. She has nowhere near the level of clearance necessary for actually knowing the plans which don't personally involve her, but she's heard enough, seen enough while preparing for her own mission to know she'd hardly been the only one soon to travel abroad. It wouldn't surprise her at all to learn she's not even the only agent currently in Piltover, nor that the primary purpose of her mission is in truth to simply act the part of the bait.

That's what she would've done, anyway.

There'll be eyes upon her, surely. For all their posturing about progress and prosperity, like any other peoples, the Piltovans take great care not to share the source of their power - their knowledge - with the outside world. Ostensibly for the reasons of security.

Security of their interests, that is.

Said interests are precisely why they could hardly refuse her request. It would cost them much to deny a scion of house Crownguard. An insult like that could not go unanswered by her family, and in the grand scheme of things, what is allowing one woman into their precious Academy compared to cultivating a grudge with one of the great Demacian houses? No powerful mercantile bonds might tie their nations, but what's there could, and would, easily be severed. Not that it would actually hurt Piltover to any significant degree, but such are the dangers of allowing merchants, of all people, to rule. They are loath to see their profits suffer.

Whether it's a weakness of character, Lux struggles to say. After all, here she is.

"Well said, Miss Crownguard. But you must forgive your elders their caution. It’s only prudent to make sure no harm will come from the new."

Lux's smile grows genuine at the irony of his words. Prudent. Yes. The Radiant certainly agree with that assessment.

"The safety of our people comes first, we Demacians understand this perfectly. Still, I believe we shouldn't let our fears rule us."

"Indeed," the Academy Dean muses, his eyes fixed somewhere far, far away. "Satisfy my curiosity if you will, Miss Crownguard. Are there many like you in Demacia?"

Her face betrays nothing even as a chasm opens in Lux's stomach. Is this it? He can't know. There's no way.

"Like me?"

"Capable, young people, or perhaps not necessarily young, but willing to learn what the world has to offer, rather than continue only with what they know just because it's tried and true. It's been a long time since one of your people was a student here, and never on such a formal arrangement."

Lux's insides uncoil painfully. Right. Right, of course he didn't mean anything more than that. He couldn't have. He shouldn't have.

He's been the head of the Piltover Council for centuries.

The young Crownguard studies the yordle's inquisitive face. None of her training has prepared her for cold-reading inhumans - there just weren't any in ready supply back home. With most of the facial cues obscured with fur, the only feature the young woman can reliably find purchase in is the Dean's wide, yet steely gaze.

"...I hope it's more than I know of," Lux answers at length.

Something gives in Heimerdinger's expression. Something, which were he human, Lux would be certain is sympathy.

"Then I shall hope for that, too. Allow me to welcome you to the Academy, Luxanna Crownguard."

(-)

To say Piltover has changed in the years since Lux's last visit is to say nothing of substance at all. She's read the reports and heard the tales, but none have done the City of Progress justice. If she were to find the right word to describe the sight out of her dormitory room's window, it would have to be more.

More of everything.

More of the city itself, as far as the eye goes. More buildings scratching at the clouds. More airships in the sky. More opulence filling the streets below. More people filling those same streets. More. More. More.

And above it all stands the catalyst for this change, pulsing brightly every two odd minutes - sending one ship after another all across Runeterra.

Demacia has not changed in the least in those six years, even as the world has moved on. Before long they'll be left in the dust of both those with the foresight to use change to their advantage, as well as those reckless enough not to care for the consequences; or even those stupid enough to not know of them. Anyone with the will to crawl will outpace those who keep stubbornly holding ground. What will become of her home in another six years?

A frustrated sigh blows past Lux's lips as she steps away from the window.

There should be a hundred of her countrymen here at the least, and with no ulterior motives but to bring Piltish knowledge back home. An impossible proposition. Supposing the Crown could be convinced to change the centuries-old course and not only allow so many people outside the borders, but also to bring foreign inventions and sentiments back into theirs, there is simply no way the Piltovans would agree.

Knowledge is no less a weapon than petricite - and more dangerous by far as far as the vast majority of people are concerned.

A single curious noblewoman is easy enough to justify letting into their midst. It's no different from sending noble children away to the royal court for rearing; beneficial for both sides in that it naturally allows for connections between noble houses and their children to form, aside from the obvious benefits of the best choice of tutors in the country. That any Demacian would seek such an arrangement with outsiders is a novelty, but on the whole, nothing unusual. It's enough to keep military secrets outside of foreign hands.

Outside of Lux's hands.

She shakes her head. It's no use thinking about matters outside her control. As for those that aren't - she'll find a way. Her people depend on her. Time, for once, is not of the essence. Caution is. She'll be staying here for as long as need be, or as long as it's safe to. If all goes well, she'll likely become the king's go-to in all matters Piltover, and Piltover's in all matters Demacia. That is, of course, if all goes well.

Patience. Let them get used to you, first.

Lux checks the lock on her doors again, before moving to the likewise locked trunk with her belongings to unpack. It's a good thing she had hired the porters by the hour, rather than just paid them to deliver her baggage to the living quarters. Moving said trunk up the stairs on her lonesome would be quite impossible, and with the first trimester still a week out, there's barely a soul around to help. Lux had hoped to be housed in a building with one of those elevator machines, but alas, the dormitories are only six floors tall, with her room being on the fourth, and evidently not deemed in need of one.

Despite its weight and size, the trunk doesn't contain many possessions at all. It's just that when Crownguards travel it's either light and ready for battle, or with an entire entourage of servants to carry their belongings along. With no middle ground, Lux has had to settle to bring with her the cumbersome trunk.

She could've packed more. She is, after all, in for a long stay. But besides essentials, what would she have brought? Her clothes, Lux remembered from her visit all those years back, would only make her stick out from the crowd, and her purpose is to blend in. Most of her books, quite frankly, are of inferior quality to Piltovan prints - she's had a few imported while preparing for her mission, and what point is there in bringing those along when they stand in abundant supply at her destination. Her various trinkets and mementos Lux has sent to the manor, where they shall remain safe in her absence. Her jewellery box is just that, a little box. Her toiletries she's largely gone through on her voyage to Piltover, and needs to buy locally besides. She'd actually been tempted to bring her family portrait, to have them close-by, but seeing her lodgings now, it's a good thing she hasn't. What fits on the walls of palaces and manors would very much seem out of place in the room afforded to her.

It's a bit small, just spacious enough to fit in an unmade bed a third of the size of the one she'd had in High Silvermere. A simple dark-wooden desk with a chair for a set. A bookshelf and cupboard of the same make. It's basic, and empty for the moment, but the furnishing complements the soft bronze and yellow of the painted walls nicely. Adding anything more would only serve to introduce clutter. She can improvise a vanity at the desk with a hand mirror. It shouldn't seem quite so cramped once she finds a place more secure than her trunk to store her stipend.

Few short minutes later, Lux gives her new home a once-over and nods in satisfaction. It's still somewhat bare, but compared to what she's grown accustomed to, her few possessions on display make the place positively lively. A small block of petricite fashioned into a raptor as to pose for an art piece now stands proudly atop the cupboard. Something to remind her of home, if one should ever ask. Likewise, a small number of Demacian texts now decorate the bookshelf; mostly treaties on natural philosophy she's taken on her own initiative to compare with Piltovan texts on the same topics, but more importantly, her prayer book. She may remember its contents by heart, but having it laid out on paper before her will make it endlessly easier to use as a cipher.

Once again Lux checks the lock on the door, just to be sure. Then, finally, she removes her gloves.

The glow is faint today; her skin no brighter than it would be if she stood out in the sun to reflect its shine. The problem, as ever, are the veins. She could feel the bubbling in her blood the entire day, and has honestly been expecting worse. There's a certain regularity to the manner in which her deficiency likes to manifest that she’s come to rely on to hide it, and it's about time for one of the bad days.

Thankfully, a whole week has yet to pass before the first trimester begins, over the course of which her glow is certain to grow bad enough to spill across her face at some point. It'd better. She'd loathe the Academy, students and staff both, to have the first impression of her be coloured by her feeble constitution. Sooner or later, the time will come that she'll have to lock herself away from any prying eyes for a time, but by then she intends to make it clear to her teachers that she's no slouch using her monthly sickness as an excuse to avoid work.

Oh, her parents will just love it when next they arrive in Piltover to learn the name Crownguard has become synonymous with weakness. The rumours back in the capital were easy enough to address via familial duties. Who would question a Crownguard having to leave the College for a day or two? No such luxury here. What a novelty.

Lux rolls up her sleeves to inspect the faintly glowing lines running up her arms, starting at the back of her palms where they shine the most stark, and fading inch by inch as they crawl up her wrists, then forearms, to disappear around her elbows. Curious thing, how her magic instinctively flows downstream to her fingertips where it's begging for use.

It's a struggle, but she doesn't check the lock for the fourth time, much as it would reassure her. Instead, Lux closes her eyes, picturing the light leaving her skin in her mind's eye, like vapour, and the wisps of it gathering into a sphere above her palms.

And there, once she opens her eyes, the light is. It swirls in the air, gentler than any fire ever could be, enough so that Lux could, and at times did, ponder its depths for hours as she spent the days hidden away from the decent, unsuspecting folk of Demacia.

There must surely exist a better way to control it than this measly exercise. It worked admirably in the beginning, when the order initially took her in, but over time grew less and less reliable. Though worrying, at first it seemed nothing serious when the glow began to show in the evenings rather than in her sleep - nothing a few minutes more of morning meditation couldn’t fix. Until it couldn't, and she had to find time in her day for a second round. Then third. And fourth. And more. Until Lux understood with a hideous clarity she could no longer rely on it at all.

And yet, where else to seek salvation? All of them at the temple knew well what happens to those who lapse in control. Some return, but most don’t, and never the same. The lucky few never talked about it. They didn't need to. Every initiate must serve a day of their week in the carehouse, among many a familiar face there.

But what use is a mage who can’t contain their magic? Not all of it is so benign as her own, and it wasn’t just the mages she took care of. No measures can be spared to ensure the safety of their home. Even knowing this, her own efforts so far have only yielded results for so long as she can consciously maintain them. It’s saved her more than a few times already, but it was only ever a matter of time before shoving the light deep into her gut would fail her. Mages of the past had wrought destruction on an unfathomable scale with their mastery over the arcane. How difficult can it possibly be to reign in something as harmless as this?

Lux's hands close into fists, dashing the sphere. Within seconds, a soft glow starts returning to her veins, with her skin soon following suit.

Difficult enough she won't be visiting a tailor today.

Well, she could. The thought of using some of the petricite she's been given for emergencies brings a smile to her lips, but that's as far as the idea goes. She has no abundance of it to spare for an elixir for so small a thing.

Another minute passes as the Demacian makes her bedding. The mattress is a little bit harder than what she's been hoping for, but after over a month of sleeping in a hammock, and her bunk before that, her muscles still melt at the dubious softness she sits down on.

Lux frees her aching feet of her boots before letting herself fall back on the bed in earnest, happy to let the accumulated aches of her travel bleed out into the mattress. She's been expecting something to go wrong since before ever leaving the capital. What that something was to be, she couldn't actually say. Something. Anything. It would be terrible to be sure, and Lux is certainly glad nothing did disturb the boredom of her voyage, but with every day a tension kept growing in the pit of her stomach which insisted it couldn't be so easy. That something ought to obstruct her mission, such is its gravity.

But nothing did. her handlers arranged all formalities. She exchanged letters with her family, received farewells and good fortunes. The sailing was smooth, the arrival uneventful. The immigration officer ushered her on without trouble. All this only kept adding to her mounting trepidation. By the time she found herself at the Academy reception desk, it would've almost been calming if the porters misplaced her baggage or something of the sort. It took her a good minute to calm down enough to enter the Dean's office, half-convinced as she was she'd find enforcers waiting to arrest her inside - little sense as that would’ve made, having already gotten past the harbour checkpoints.

Only now, having been given a room, schedule, and instructions for the next week, does her mind finally seem to have accepted this is as things should be. There've been no problems because everyone's done their jobs. Now it's time she does hers.

For now, that means drafting all the letters she’d promised to her family; one for Garen, one for her parents, and one for her uncle back in the temple. Nothing a censor wouldn't expect from a young Demacian émigré reaching a destination so far away from her country

Whether she's suspected of ill intentions or not, there's no way of telling. Lux could spot no tails trailing her, but that could equally be the result of the crowds being so much denser and more colourful than those of Demacia. She could easily lose herself in those streets, let alone the sight of another person. In all probability, she's just being paranoid.

Besides, whether she's under watch or not ultimately matters little. She must be careful regardless, and her mission stays the same:

Learn everything there is to know about hextech.

Yeah. No biggie. She's only after the most well-guarded secret in the City of Progress.

Even though a lifetime has passed in the six years since, Lux remembers seeing them, those magic gems called hextech, as though it were yesterday. She remembers the most stark blue her eyes have ever seen. Blue as if they were the idea of the colour itself, not a tangible thing. She remembers Mother's painful hold of her hand as the presentation commenced and the caged bunny suddenly appeared across the room. She remembers a blue-haired girl's words about how one could just as easily transport a bomb using the same method.

Lux shoots up from the bed, an old resolve bringing a smile to her lips. Six years she's waited to see the City of Progress again. The letters can wait a day more.

She sits at the desk, reaching for the jewellery box she placed there, and from therein picks up her perhaps most valued possession.

The old pocket watch has long since broken down, but the loss of functionality hardly makes a lick of difference to Lux. Neither does it being made of simple brass and glass make it any less beautiful in her eyes. A painting is not made impressive by the paints used for its creation, and neither is a copy of one any less a pleasure to behold for being a copy. There are thousands of watches just like this, Lux knows. Should that make them any less for what they are? Each is an intricate enough machine no horologist between High Silvermere and the capital could fix hers once it broke down. None had the tools.

Lux puts on the simple leather strap she had fashioned to the watch over her head, letting the piece rest on her chest.

No master in Demacia could fix her favourite necklace. But she's no longer in Demacia, is she?

Chapter Text

Jinx likes working for Silco.

Really. She does.

It’s not that exciting most of the time, that’s the point of it all. When things are running smoothly, nothing happens, and keeping things smooth is the name of the game. Most days, the most titillating event to take care of is fixing some gizmo or other down in the factories. Usually a challenge enough to keep her mind from wandering a few hours. Usually they know better than calling her for less.

Collecting racket’s fine too. Sure, she’s gotta make her own fun there; even the thickest nut’s gonna crack eventually, and she got into the business long after that point. Still. It’s got its moments. Makes all the extra effort worth it when people wake up and piss the bed first thing in the morning to find her already there.

Teaching suckers a lesson’s where it gets good.

Some will fall on their knees and beg, and tell all those stories about why and when and oh! The woe! She’ll let the particularly good ones off. The more outrageous the better. Like the other month, from a late shopkeep who spun her the tale of a cursed artifact turning all his cogs into washers. Got pretty into it too, by the end. Missed his calling. Too bad he missed his next payment as well.

Most of them beg. Most of them know there’s no point running. But some still try, bless them. Some are even pretty good at it.

Finally, some will fight. Jinx likes it when they fight the best. Hard to describe. The rush. The flash. Seeing her bombs go off- seeing them work. Makes something in her gut twist funny. Same song, new dance. A rhythm to things she can do anything with.

It’s like that with everything.

Some upstanding folks just need a good scare. Some a broken leg (some two). Some a hole in the head - theirs or someone else's. Up to her to decide, then explain her reasons to Silco.

She likes that part less, it’s always some lesson with him nowadays. But she knows she should be grateful for that. For him setting her up for success. For teaching her to be useful. Be her best - be what she was always meant to be . Didn’t have much of that… before. Much of anything really. The respect. The trust. The attention. That was Vi. Not her screw-up jinx of a sister.

At least it’s more time they get to spend together. Silco’s always at it running the Lanes and she’s not a kid anymore, can’t hang onto his coattails all day. Gotta stand on her own feet. Run her own operation without daddy dear to supervise.

It’s not perfect, but she wouldn’t change it for anything.

Solid nine outta ten if not for one teeny tiny detail.

"I'll handle this. Don't say a word." Sevika gives her a pointed look when the enforcers at the northside end of the bridge wave their chemcart over.

Yeah. One tiny lady, that Sevika.

Tiny brain. All the food went to her muscles.

The thing about her lessons is that it isn’t always Silco teaching them. Some jobs the man can’t do, or can’t be bothered to, anyhow. Supply run for their new venture topside? That’s them grunts work.

Observe how to deal with enforcers, is her task for the day. Like she didn’t figure that one out a decade before she was born. Bullet to the brain, make the brain rain. No such luck, though. Pilties don't bother them downside. They don't cause ruckus topside. Plus some mutual help here and there - that always smarts. Leaves her fingers itching for the trigger whenever she thinks about it. About cutting a deal with enforcers of all people.

Even if it's a good deal. And it's a damn good deal, Jinx knows. They get way, way, way more out of it than other way round. And they're still left sniffing their fumes. Still scrambling to catch up while the chasm grows ever wider. They need more. Need an edge. Need to dull Pilties' own.

Killing enforcers would be counterproductive to that. Or so Silco says. He's probably right. He's usually right. Which is why when their erstwhile protectors wave them over, Jinx doesn’t shoot their brains out.

Pity, that.

"Cargo?" the lady enforcer asks once Sevika rolls down the window.

A groan dies in Jinx's throat as the tired, familiar notes of the same old song and dance begin to play out in front of her. They really oughta just set rates and be done with it. What’s that in the cart? Dangerous contraband or a bag o’ cash? Bridge duty’s the best place to snip off a lil extra, and everyone knows it.

She glares back at the other copper when he leans down to look at her. If nothing else, Sevika can take care of a single Piltie if her hustle falls through. Leaving her to deal with the spare. She gives the man a little wave with one hand, the second grasping the gun under her jacket. He scowls and ignores her after. Stupid. Thinks he's safe just because they're topside. She could shoot his stupid hat off before he'd ever reach for his rifle.

But she won’t. And he knows that. And that’s what really ruffles her feathers.

Yeah she could shoot him. Shoot them all dead, paint the town red. Ruin everything. Again. Silco’s been working on this for too long. Invested too much. Prepping this new shimmer variant, setting up fronts topside, doing hiring, bribing. She saw the books. Went over them together. They can’t afford to muck this up. She’s not gonna.

Pilties can sneer all they want, what matters is they get the merch across the river. Really fan the flames of that thirst which their meager deliveries have so far only whet. Expand their clientele’s horizons. Give them a taste of what it's like to crave something it hurts not to have - not an easy thing to find topside. Exactly why shimmer's gotta be as nasty as it is. Try a drop, crave a vial. Get a vial, need a bottle. It never ends.

The addicts down in Zaun will do anything to get their fix. Sell anything. Anyone. Acquaintances, friends, family, children, parents - doesn't matter. The money it rakes in is important, sure, but money can't buy someone's loyalty like shimmer does. No amount of money will get anyone inside a chemtank for the rest of their lives. But tell an addict they'll have all the shimmer they could ever want in there, and they dive in head first. Now there are people happy with their lot in life.

Or unable to be unhappy, anyway. Same difference.

All they need to do is get Pilties hooked on the stuff and they'll come underground all on their own once they run out. No need to actually supply them.

See? She can do business just fine. No babysitter needed.

There's enough irony to fill a workshop in topside paying Silco to poison them, but that's just a bonus. Making them grovel and beg for something only they can give is where it gets good. Cutting them such a raw deal is where it gets hysterical.

The Doctor really knows his stuff. Making this new batch almost as addictive as the original but with barely any benefits or side effects? She tried mixing a variant once. Had his notes and everything, and still landed in bed for a week after one sniff.

Jinx collapses into her seat, watching silently as money exchanges hands and the two enforcers bugger off to fleece someone else.

"See? Nice and easy." Sevika turns to her with a look, making Jinx roll her eyes.

"Yeah. Congrats for chipping in to berry retirement fund.”

"You got better ideas, you can bring them up with Silco.”

A disgusted groan flies past Jinx’s lips. Because she’ll actually have to. Go over this whole thing and come up with scenarios, and solutions, and whatever. Joy.

The chemcart roars and lurches in response to the sack of brawn pulling the ignition leaver. They soon leave the bridge behind, pulling into the too-wide Piltovan streets at an infuriatingly slow pace.

"Gimme the stick," she asks after a minute of watching the too-clean streets pass them by.

"No."

"I'm bored, I wanna drive."

"Tough luck."

Jinx's head, failing to reach the headrest, hits the back of her seat. A pressure is building at the front of her skull which she knows won't be going away any time soon. The air is funny here. It tickles her lungs. Like a sneeze that went nowhere.

"I know how to drive."

"Not the point. Pilties don't let kids drive."

What? What kind of stupid-

"I'm not a kid."

"Tell that to every single enforcer who stops us on the way. I thought you didn't want to deal with them?" She adds with a shit-eating grin. The bitch.

She sticks her tongue out at the woman. Whether Sevika sees it or not, Jinx can't be sure as she doesn't take her eyes off the cobblestone.

"Since when?" she continues at length, her eyes back to out and about. It’s so clean. It looks wrong. Not real. Must have people sweeping the streets every day. Hundreds of people. And someone's paying them. To pick trash. To throw it away.

Idly, she flexes her hands, tracing her thumbs along the myriad of faded nicks and cuts acquired digging through streatside heaps.

"Sometime last year?" A year? "Some kids drove their parents off into the canal."

Jinx huffs a laugh, then waits a beat for her least favorite person to continue, until it becomes clear she won't.

They fall into silence after. The woman focused on the road ahead, her charge on anything but.

It's always the same. Coming topside. Seeing all its neatness. Seeing the Pilties walking around straight-backed and without a care for danger. Because there is no danger here. Not really. Not to them. The enforcers walk without masks. Without rifles. If she drew her gun, like she’s itching to do, it'd be like a shooting range. Or easier. She rigs her target practice to actually be a challenge. Pilties? She'd catch them all in a jiffy. Put the muzzle to their heads and listen to how they bawl their eyes out for mercy, then give none. Take their everything and burn what she can't take.

Why don't you? You killed your whole family but won't kill some Piltie trash?

Jinx rests her elbow against the window, lightly rapping her knuckles against her temple in a warning, listening for more comments to come for a minute until she’s sure they won’t. Yeah, that's what she thought. Always been more bark than bite.

The issue of her sometimes less, sometimes more wanted companions resolved, she rests her head against the window glass.

Just in time for a flash of something blonde and distantly familiar to pass their drive by.

Her body tenses up like a spring. Her mind locks onto the sight fresh in her memory, parsing and recollecting old pieces of her less than stellar recall. She turns in her seat to look behind, but even with Sevika's slug-like pace they've long left the strangely familiar girl behind.

Weird. She could swear she saw that face somewhere before. She does come topside every now and then for supplies Zaun just doesn't have, but makes it a point to not speak to the Pilties any more than she has to. Then again, the girl didn't exactly look like a Pilt-

Her eyes fly wide open. She throws the door open and jumps.

"Jinx what the fuck!"

She sticks the landing easily, throws a quick glance in the direction she saw the girl, then takes off full speed, uncaring for the rattle of a chemcart struggling to pull to a stop as she tears through the length of the too-even cobblestones in search of a blond head of hair.

She skids to a halt after rounding a corner of an intersection, looking around wildly. There! She trots up behind the girl, heart in her throat and hammering to get out, then grabs the blonde's hand with her shaking own.

A pair of brown eyes look her over, immediately growing guarded as they recognize a trencher.

"Can I help you?" The girl- no. The woman asks tersly, and only now does Jinx take in the rest of her. Piltie through and through, from her ridiculous shoes to preposterous hairdo. How could she ever have thought this was-

She lets go, her eyes once again searching, but finds nothing. Noone. Where did she go? Where-

"Jinx!" A large hand forcefully grabs her by the shoulder, to the point of bruising, and yanks her back. "What the hell was that?"

She leans to the side of Sevika's overgrown frame, just to be sure. Nothing.

"I'm talking to you!"

Unfortunately. The sentiment rings out in triple, echoing around her skull.

"Is your… friend, alright, miss?"

Like she cares.

Like anyone cares.

"Fine. Jinx. Jinx!"

She tugs her shoulder out of the bruising hold. Or tries to, anyway. It's too strong. But she needs to go. Needs to find-

A slap, strong enough to burn, too weak to bruise, brings all her focus back onto the giant of a woman in front of her. She returns her sneer right back.

"Let go."

"So you can ditch the job?"

"I wasn't ditching, I was-" She tries wrenching out Sevika's vice-like grip, but it only gets stronger in response. Painfully so. Until she has no choice but to stop. "Let go!"

"Stop making a scene and I will."

Jinx looks around again. Really looks around. Not for one specific thing this time, but for everything all at once, and for the first time she sees the crowd which has gathered around them. She sees their creased eyebrows. Sees their heads tilted towards each other. Their murmuring lips. Their disdainful eyes. No weapons. No enforcers. Not yet. No familiar face framed by blonde locks, either.

Any fight left in her leaks through the cracks as she considers the possibility she's not actually seen what she thinks she saw. Wouldn't be the first time. Wouldn't be the last, for sure. It'd just be the first with her . She should know better by now. She'd spent so much time chasing ghosts she was so sure were real.

The pressure on her shoulder eases, then lifts. With a last, hopeless look, she heads back for the chemcart.

"Downsiders." She hears the blonde Piltie breathe out, and flips her a bird in goodbye.

Sevika is hot on her heels the whole way. Almost scraping them with her boots, actually. Making sure she doesn't run off again. Like she could stop her. Like she’s got a reason to be running off now. Still, she can't help but check again once they round the intersection.

Nothing.

The ogre pulls her door open, then slams it close. A sound of a key turning in its lock lets Jinx know to jump through the window next time.

A minute passes after Sevika starts the engine before she calms down enough to speak.

"What was that?" Her voice is tight. Angry. Barely controlled. If Jinx cared to look, she'd probably find veins popped out on the woman's brow.

She doesn't, her eyes busily closed as she tries to commit the face in her mind to memory.

"Thought I saw something."

"Saw what?"

"Doesn't matter. Wasn't there."

An agitated rapping of metal against the stick finally has Jinx take a glance. It's like she imagined. Angry. Angry. Angry. And Frustrated. She thinks. Hard to tell the difference. Sevika's always angry.

"Like hell it doesn't. One of these days you'll see something and shoot one of us!"

Yeah. Real pity.

She giggles. Mylo can be an ass but he has his moments.

Sevika finally, finally looks away from the street, and for a brief, brief moment her expression grabs Jinx by the throat. There's no anger there. No vitriol. Just bone deep weariness of a miner returning home from her shift to learn her daughter's only pair of shoes worn through to the nub. It passes quickly, and when the woman turns back to the front, her mouth is set in its usual scowl. Like it was never there.

Maybe it wasn't.

She's already seen something that wasn't there today. That couldn't have been there. Shouldn't have been there. Why would she have been there? Here. In Piltover?

But she's never seen her before now! And! And she was older, too. Right? She only saw a glimpse, and wasn't paying attention but-

But what? Say it really was her. So what? Like she'd want to know you. Like anyone would want to know you. Real you.

Silco wants her.

Silco's ten times what you'll ever be.

Silco says she's perfect exactly as is.

All you ever do is cause him trouble.

He loves her.

Sucks for him, huh?

"Shut. Up." She digs her nails into the meat of her palms.

What? Don't like hearing the truth? There's more where that came fro-

"I said shut up!" she cries out, her fists flying to her head, then again, and again. Until no more voices can be heard over the ringing in her ears.

Worn out, Jinx wipes her brow of the cold sheen of sweat, then sucks in a ragged breath to hold. She counts to ten. Out. In. Ten. And out. A tender touch to her skull confirms what she already knew. It's gonna bruise, and badly. To her left, Sevika's ugly face is still set in a scowl, now chewing on her teeth, too.

She'll be telling all this to Silco.

A hollow opens in her gut. Jinx leans her head against the cool glass, just to jump away with a hiss when the rattling chemcart hammers a blinding spike of pain into her brain. She brings her knees up to her chin, soles on the seat, and links her hands together by her ankles to stop them from shaking off the hinges.

Nothing is said as minutes roll by. There's nothing to say. What? Look, I'd appreciate it if you don't mention this to Silco? Yeah, that’d go down real well. Like a body with cement shoes. Better this way. She's in no mood to hear the usual spiel. Doesn't matter what the lady says, she's staying. Silco wants her. Needs her. Loves her. That's all that matters. She'll- she'll finish this job and do something nice for him.

Later.

No more distractions. It's a simple job. Stupid easy. Just follow Sevika. Help unload the cargo. Get back under. Don't run off anywhere again. Not even if she sees something. There's nothing there. There wasn't anyone there. There wasn't.

No matter how much she wishes there was.

Chapter Text

When Lux was invited to an outing, she did not expect to find any difficulty at fitting-in. Having been made to attend social gatherings since as long ago as her memory is capable of taking her, she has long believed to have experienced all the world has to offer in that regard. When not obliged to play host themselves, the Crownguards are never in short supply of invitations That being the case, Lux has had ample opportunity to become acquainted with all sorts of events, and as such plenty of practice with presenting herself well for any occasion; formal, semi-formal, familial, sombre, severe, and joyous. Parades, balls, banquets, funerals, functions, weddings, festivals, feasts, fasts - with all sorts of entertainment, musicians, poets, balladeers, acting troupes, acrobats, dancers, jugglers, pretend-magicians even.

Suffice it to say Lux has it on good authority she's reasonably well-versed in the world of entertainment.

It's to be expected that things would be a little different in Piltover on the account of everything being different in Piltover, but never before has she experienced anything quite like the party she's presently a part of.

When one Edra Pertrara - the third daughter of a minor house holding oversea plantations, and Lux's second-year neighbour in agricultural engineering a door across - had invited Lux out to celebrate the last day of the Academy summer break, the young Crownguard did not think to question what such would entail. All she thought was that in addition to making acquaintance with other students, accepting would make for a nice change of pace after two days of keeping herself locked in her room with curtains drawn.

It was good fortune she'd not yet made any new acquaintances at that point. She'll gladly postpone having to explain her supposed condition for another month.

She'd met Edra, who moved-in on the first day of Lux's seclusion, right upon finally emerging from her room. The young woman of twenty seemed rather put off by the fact she's had a neighbour of whose existence she wasn't aware of, and set out to rectify the situation post-haste by offering to take her along to an establishment called the Undercity the following day.

What said establishment is supposed to be, she has difficulty telling. Fittingly enough, it's located in a cellar. A bar, Edra called it, and to the best of Lux's understanding it functions as a tavern of some stripe, but lacking in food and lodgings of one, as well as in any semblance of fresh air. What it does offer as opposed to a tavern, is a whimsical array of drinks, loud music, and a designated dance floor - currently misappropriated by her fellow students to perform a wide variety of movements - none of which approach anything remotely connected to actually dancing.

Lux withdraws her attention away from the others and back to her soda. Boring as it is, at least watching the bubbles form in the glass doesn't give her a case of second-hand embarrassment. She understands now the purpose of fielding drinks without food. It allows the patrons to find their courage for attempted dance hours earlier than they would've otherwise.

Whether it's fortunate or not she can't partake herself is difficult to decide. On the one hand, were anyone back home to see her imitating her peers in their… enthusiastic flailing, there's a good chance she would never live it down. On the other, they do seem to be having fun and she would hardly be standing out in the small crowd of people doing exactly the same thing. Then again, alcohol does wonders to make the most mundane out to be terribly entertaining; even falling over one's own legs seems like good fun from what she's observed.

Ultimately, it's a moot point to ponder. She can't bring herself to join the others cold sober, and she hasn't drank a drop for years now. Not since her defect showed, nor will she ever again. Her glow is difficult enough to contain with full control of her faculties. Potentially outing herself seems a high price to pay for tasting the difference between sungate cheer and sumpsoup. She'd never had much taste for the stuff, anyway. Now cider on the other hand…

A sip of soda from her glass dashes the longing tug in her stomach. It's supposedly meant to taste like oranges, but Lux won't be fooled. She's had oranges before, and the greatest connection the drink in her hand can aspire to with the fruit is that they might have once shared the same cargo hold. It's certainly sweet like oranges, but even this sweetness tastes fake. Every sip only makes her feel more thirsty, to boot. If the purpose of it is to make one want more, there's no denying the genius behind it. She's all but certain to order another for a lack of anything better to do.

Lux casts one last glance around to confirm the other students' presence on the dance floor, then drains the remaining half of her drink before getting up. If nobody sees fit to keep her company, she might as well spend her time alone away from the stifling-hot, underground air.

Around the throng of patrons and up the stairs Lux goes, her chest growing lighter with every step. She wonders whether naming the cellar Undercity and making a drinking establishment out of it was a stroke of brilliance on the owner's part, or an act of desperation to make something of an otherwise undesirable locale. The circumstances may differ, but the simple pleasure of tasting fresh evening air in the wide streets of Piltover remains just the same as that of having the wet rag finally removed from her face. Why anyone would willingly deprive themselves of that, Lux can only speculate.

She doesn't wander off far, just a few feet, in fact, to prop her back against the wall of the building the Undercity is located beneath. On whether she's been ditched by the others or not Lux remains undecided, but it would be poor form regardless to simply disappear without a word. In the case of the former, she would be like a dog fleeing with its tail tucked between the legs. In the case of the latter, she would be the one causing offence.

Lux tugs her pocket watch out by its strap from under her new uniform's vest. It was a pleasant surprise to find clothes readily available for purchase at the recommended tailor's rather than having to put in an order, given how little time her seclusion has left her with. It would be embarrassing to not have her uniform ready tomorrow. The rest of her new wardrobe she can wait on while it's being sewn, in the meantime, she quite likes the set for the anonymity it grants her as opposed to her old clothing.

It's silly, perhaps, that seeing her watch tick the seconds away once more feels so very gratifying, but it does. As the horologist she brought it to pointed out, it'd be cheaper to buy a new one, a better one, rather than insist on repairs. But insist she did. It is, after all, her only physical memento of the visit which has shaped much of her life going forward, and a gift besides. Where would she be now without having set foot in Piltover six years ago? Without having seen how much more the world has to offer than what Demacia knows of? Certainly not in Piltover again. Maybe in the Grand College. Probably still in conditioning with other mages. Her unique usefulness has granted her an early way out.

With a soft click, Lux shuts the watch close, leaving it out on her breast this time. Five minutes. No. Ten minutes. She'll take ten minutes before going back.

Despite the dark sky, the streets of Piltover are still almost as busy as they were hours ago. The sun will soon turn red over her homeland, but already the peasants of High Silvermere must be heading home from the pastures and fisheries to avoid the mountainous chill of the setting sun. The merchants are doubtless considering whether the cold is worth waiting for one or two more customers before packing up their stalls. The craftsmen surely remain hard at work, using the last of the daylight before closing the doors to their workshops and manufactories. Only the taverns will remain open, taking at night the coin others earned throughout the day.

"Everything alright? I saw you heading out." Lux's eyes slam open as a newly familiar voice pipes up to her side, startling her into a small jump.

"Yes, yes of course." Her features quickly school themselves into a pleasant smile to greet Edra with. "I just needed a little fresh air."

The older woman hums, then fiddles with her pockets before taking Lux's example and leaning against the wall.

"Yeah it can get a little bit stuffy in there." At last, Edra finds what she's looking for - a small paper box filled with cigarettes. Lux's nose scrunches up. She can't help it. Her company must notice because she slides the stick back inside the box. "Sorry. Not used to the smoke, I take it?"

"No, we don't have those in Demacia." Thankfully. She's feeling faintly ill without even having put one in her mouth. "Well, there was a fad when I was little for- uh… pipes, those wooden things you load up with tobacco?" Lux mimics the movement she'd seen her father make so long ago.

"Pipes."

"Pipes, right. Well, it didn't catch on. The king put the leaves on the banned goods list and that was that."

"...Huh. Lucky you. Can't go a day without them myself."

"Do they taste that good?" Lux frowns. The smoke is awful. She can't imagine it being any different straight from the things.

"What? No. No, they're- I guess it's an acquired taste? What I mean is I literally can't stop, I have to or it'll be driving me crazy the whole day."

Ah. Addictive, then. Lucky Demacians are indeed for having a king who cares for their people to shield them from such vices. Easy enough to do when no tobacco plants survive the winter outside of greenhouses and all of it has to be imported by the sea. Prohibiting the brewing and dealing in alcohol was, as the history books describe in excessive detail, endlessly more futile.

"So, how are you finding the party?" Edra picks up in the following quiet.

Lux hums, turning her eyes to the night sky in search of an answer, yet finding none. The skies above Piltover are absent of but the brightest stars with street lights both brighter and more plentiful than either in High Silvermere or the capital. One would need to travel a solid distance away from the city to ask the stars for guidance. She supposes the Piltovans are just fine with that - they solve their questions through more reliable means.

"To be honest, I'm unsure whether or not to include it when I write home." Lux settles for a non-answer with a mischievous grin, achieving her goal of drawing a laugh from her company.

"Yeah, I bet. It's got to be quite the departure from listening to skalds and stuff, right?"

It's hardly an effort to keep her smile from slipping away anymore, but the urge is there. Skalds. Dawnspeaker Hammon had told her not to expect Piltovans to hold much regard for the outside world, but to hear troubadours be mistaken for northern savages sits ill with Lux.

"Not by that much. We do drink and dance too, you know?"

"I mean, obviously, but you don't have places like this, right?"

Just like this? No. But does it truly make such a difference whether music is played in a tavern by a person or in a cellar by a machine? Maybe it does. A musician would know to keep the volume down such that the patrons needn't shout to be heard over the tables.

"Not quite like this, no. Though I feel I could say the same for most such comparisons between our nations."

"Fair enough," her senior allows. "How are you finding the city, then?"

Neat. To a fault. It's very clear from just taking a stroll, let alone looking at a map, that the city was built to a plan from the start. No winding streets. No dead ends. No labyrinthine living levels. No natural elevation to speak of. Easy to manoeuvre. An army would have no problem finding its way through it, and though she's not yet seen the fissures, those could easily be flooded. The streets are cleaner than any she's seen before. They must be dumping all their trash into the Pilt, going by its murky quality. Sediments don't darken the water nearly as much back home, nor do they force the fishing vessels beyond the horizon.

"I'm afraid I've explored entirely too little of it to know yet."

"First impressions, then? I've never had the opportunity to ask that of a Demacian before."

"Oh," Lux's smile eases into something made less strenuous with practice. "In that case I could tell you all about the poisoned fruit of your frivolous use of the arcane. Or about how the Hexgates are accessory to the Noxian expansion in the east, and how I think you should therefore cut your trading ties with them. For that matter, how is it possible you have Noxian nobility in a seat of power? But if you'd prefer a lighter topic, I could also speak of how if we were meant to fly, you'd not have had to invent airships."

Judging by the crooked smile gracing Edra's lips, she must've made a good impression of what passes for a Demacian in Piltovan jokes.

"Alright, I had that coming. How about yours, then?" Edra continues.

What answer Lux means to give is interrupted when the Undercity's doors are thrown open, followed by a panicked stream of people spilling out onto the street.

The pair exchange alarmed looks, before quickly approaching the commotion.

"Let's get enforcers! I'm going this way, come on!" someone in the crowd shouts as he takes off, quickly followed by a few others running in every direction.

"What's happening?" Lux grabs one of the young women they came with - Oleana - by the shoulder, just to have her wrench away as if struck and stumble back a few paces. She can see the moment recognition flashes in her wild eyes, it's the moment her own instincts tell her she's no longer in danger of being attacked.

"Someone-" the Piltovan cuts off to lick her lips and swallow. "Someone started a fight but then just- just went crazy. Laid into the other guy like he was trying to kill him so the guys tried to get him off but- but-"

Lux gives the crowd a once-over, noting the absence of two among the other youths they came with in it. No-one so obviously wounded that she can tell. Not any worse than what one could get by being part of a panicked rush of people. They must still be fighting down there, then.

"It's okay," Edra steps forward, taking her friend by the hands. "It's okay, come on, let's- Luxanna? Luxanna, where are you going!"

Lux ignores Edra's calls, same as she does the barkeeper's when they pass each other in the entrance, then runs down the stairs to the bar proper.

What meets her eyes is chaos.

Once upon a time, she and Garen had the bright idea to sneak a raptor chick they found in the wild into the estate. She can't even remember her reasoning, and given her ripe age of five at the time, there likely was none involved on her part. They locked the animal in one of the guest rooms in the scarcely used wing of the estate, confident in knowing no servant would set foot there before they prepared a more permanent solution for housing their newly acquired pet. They were entirely correct on that account, at least, for when they came back the following morning to feed the thing, the siblings found the room in ruin, and the feral chick bleeding from numerous cuts under the bed - likely from having broken the mirror.

The raptor was taken away for taming, the room left for the children to clean up, the funds for repairs taken out of their allowances, their leisure time done away with for months. Two days they spent just on moving the scratched and broken furniture out

The scene before her brings the memory to the fore. Overturned tables. Smashed chairs. Broken glass. Left-behind items scattered everywhere. Splinters littering the floor. Only the chick's screeching is absent, replaced instead with overly loud music.

Two bodies lie on the floor some distance apart from each other, whether alive or dead being of little consequence at the moment. Two more are certainly yet alive, one held-up against the bar counter directly facing the entrance by, Lux assumes, the assailant, and suffering one brutal strike after another. Neither makes note of her entry, one too busy being beaten, the other with administering said beating.

Lux promptly considers her options, deciding on taking a broken chair leg for her weapon instead of the dagger hidden in her boot. She'd rather avoid killing if possible. To that end, a solid strike to the head will suffice. She moves swiftly, the blaring music concealing her approach up to the very moment Lux smashes the chair leg over the top of her target's head.

Only, the man doesn't crumple to the ground as any man ought to upon having a piece of treated wood broken against their skull. Instead, he lets his victim - a blonde man around Lux's own age - fall to the ground as he stumbles away a step, then turns his eyes upon her.

And what eyes those are. Lux has learned to pay close attention to peoples' features early in her life. It was a lesson well taught to her by the sheer mortification of realising she'd failed to recognise the prince - and so also to follow any protocol required while meeting him - some half hour into following him and Garen around. Jarvan didn't mind, and her brother thought her reaction upon learning was awfully funny, but if their parents knew… well. Suffice it to say a memory for faces was among the talents the Illuminators had no need of training her in. As for her adversary, she's seen his face on her way out, and remembers with certainty the fetching shade of green his eyes presented.

The eyes now glaring murder at her do not fit that memory.

Lux immediately discards the splinter in her hand in favour of her dagger, as might've been the more prudent choice from the start.

She throws herself back with the man's lunge forward, creating more distance between them with the blade in her hand. All the thoughts of finding a non-lethal solution flee her mind. If a hit to the head like the one she delivered has failed to bring this one at least to his knees, she can afford no mercy of pulling her strikes in the fight now before her. The man is bigger, stronger, and self-evidently more durable than her. While her intent isn't to kill him, holding back is not an option.

It doesn't take long, however, for Lux to understand that in spite of the three bodies littering the floor, she's not fighting any great brawler. His swings are wild but wide, rapid but predictable. He's untrained, same as the men he's bested must be. That, or he's an animal in human shape. Or both. There is no calculation behind these strange, glowing eyes, only violence and frustration of being denied a kill. It serves to her advantage as she manoeuvres through and around his complete lack of guard, pushing him back against the wall with faints and thrusts and threat of both. Had she a sword, she'd feel very near at ease.

Alas, her sole weapon is about a fifth of the length a sword would have. Going in for a kill, which she doesn't want to do in the first place, would put her at more risk than she needs to expose herself to. It's no way to win a fight, but she doesn't need to win. Tying up the enemy until help arrives guarantees her victory at no risk of loss.

The problem with that, Lux will later ruminate, is that she's made her plan with a human opponent in mind, and the man with a shine to his eyes acts anything but.

Lux is prepared for the lunge, expecting the man to disengage again once he finds no way around her defence. But then he doesn't. He throws the full weight of his body without a way to stop, skewering his arm, wrist to elbow, on Lux's blade to deflect it from his gut.

In the brief moment between then and air being knocked out of her lungs upon her back meeting with the floor, Lux ruefully allows it might not have been because the other three men were civilians that the monster on top of her has bested them. She should've opened with a dagger plunged into the neck.

Darkness overtakes her vision on the impact. For a blissful moment, nothingness takes her senses, only for everything to come back full force with the hands closing around her throat. She feels around for her weapon, neither feeling it in her hand nor knowing when she dropped it, but it's nowhere to be found. Next, her hands make for the man's eyes - a futile effort; he's larger, his hands longer. He leans away, tightening his hold on her neck and uncaring for the gloved fingers uselessly clawing at his throat.

Shadows licks at the edges of her vision, and no air fills her lungs despite her rattling gasps. Out of options, Lux places her palm against the man's chest-

A mighty crash sounds above her, and with it the monster's hold on her throat slackens, allowing for a ragged breath to finally pass through as the man slumps onto her. The next hit she can feel revibrating even through her own body. The third, finally, ends the struggle.

Lux pushes the body off her - whether dead or alive, she neither knows nor cares to check - and falls to the ground again upon trying to stand, hacking her burning lungs out in an effort to fill them. She accepts this state of affairs for now. No sense in getting up just to fall over again.

A strange noise, like water pressing upon one's ears when diving too deep, has Lux give a pained wince. Then, finally, silence descends upon the Undercity.

Lux gives herself a few more moments of respite before giving her rescuer a once-over.

"You okay?" The blonde she saw being mauled upon entry stands above her, looking every bit the way she feels.

"I think so," a stranger's voice comes out of her throat, causing Lux to wince and massage it. "And you?"

"Believe it or not, I think my pride got the worst of it." Lux huffs out a pained laugh, very much doubting his sincerity with the bruises blooming on his face, but appreciative of the effort at levity in the face of their circumstances. "Thanks for the save back there."

Save? Ah, rescue.

"Likewise. Let's check on the others, shall we?"

Lux makes to stand, but any checking she means to perform is cut short by the sound of boots running down the stairs, so heralding the arrival of two Piltovan enforcers bursting through the door, guns in hand and trained on them.

"Hands in the air and stay where you are!"

A tired sigh blows past Lux's lips. She supposes the chance for a good night's sleep passed her by the moment she accepted Edra's invitation.

Chapter Text

Despite not having changed his place of residence for almost a hundred years at this point, Heimerdinger never did get used to the noise of his door rattle. Ingenious use of acoustics, really, that the sound can carry all the way from the main door to any room of the mansion (as can any conversation that is had in the vestibule) but not the other way around. Doorbells have since largely disposed of a need for such considerations, but the door rattle, operational as it is through any lack of electricity caused by a strained fuse, remains.

And though a hundred years have passed since the Council insisted on gifting him a home befitting of a councillor, the villa remains sparsely used, its location simply too inconveniently far from the Academy. A degree of separation from one's work is necessary for a productive mind, but an apartment just three minutes' walk from the Academy gates is satisfactory to that end.

That is not to say the more impressive of his houses remains perpetually empty. Not at all! Whenever hosting a guest, the mansion is clearly the superior choice. Entertaining visitors in a place halfway between a laboratory and a storage unit would hardly be courteous of him. However, seeing as he will usually come home with his guests in tow, this has largely left his magnificent door rattle in a state of disuse. On the rare occasion Heimerdinger actually gets to hear it, he's usually roused from sleep by its sound.

Tonight is no exception.

The sound brings the yordle out of his dreaming in an instant, such is the effect of hearing the rattle near exclusively when called to deal with a crisis. There's an array of sounds working to this effect deep in the crevices of his mind. Most he hasn't heard in over two hundred years. Most others not since the Rupture and its aftershocks finally settled, allowing the city over the Pilt to be built anew.

Two more times does the sound carry throughout the hallways before Heimerdinger makes it to the door. Either a matter of greater urgency must be at hand or it's a new messenger whom nobody yet told just once is enough.

The door itself, ornate and entirely too large for his own frame, is easy to open all the same. This time, it's not thanks to any wonders of engineering - just imported, lightweight wood. Susceptible to damage, admittedly, but wonderfully crafted all the same.

It is safe to say the person he finds on the other side of it is not one he expected.

"Miss Kiramman!" he exclaims in surprise. "Is something the matter?"

"Councillor Heimerdinger, sir. There's been an incident involving Academy students."

The words dash what remains of sleep from the Dean's mind, and bring into focus the fact the girl is wearing an enforcer's uniform. Caitlyn Kiramman's choice to enrol in the enforcers' academy caused something of a stir two years back, much to Cassandra's great chagrin.

"What incident?"

"An assault. Some of the students involved were hospitalised. I'm sorry for disturbing you at this hour, but given the day it was deemed it's better you know sooner than later."

"No, no. I understand." Heimderdinger waves the apology away. The decision was the correct one. "The ceremony is five hours away. This needs to be dealt with. Come in. Sit." He points to a couch in the foyer. "I will change and come along momentarily."

"Thank you, councillor. I have an automobile carriage ready outside the gate."

Astute. No time is to be wasted at a time of crisis. And a crisis it is! Under normal circumstances, a few students getting hurt on their own time, while deeply troubling, would be no business of Heimerdinger's to deal with. Today, however, is not just any day. Today marks the beginning of the academic year in Piltover - a date only exceeded in importance by Progress Day! Whatever happened must be addressed come the ceremony to put concerned minds at ease, lest the incident casts its shadow over what is meant to be a joyous day. Else give condolences should the news be dire.

The yordle dons the set of clothes he set aside in the evening to attend the ceremony today - one not so dissimilar from his usual, but in white and bronze instead of the usual blue and gold, and with embroidery to match the weight of the event. There will likely be no time to change between now and the address. He gives his face and moustache a few comb strokes for the same reason before making his way to the back to the entrance, where the young enforcer is waiting in front of the seat she'd been pointed to take a few minutes prior.

"Lead the way my girl. No time to waste!"

The night is chilly, and its clear firmament carries the promise of a crisp morning - all the better to wake one up at the start of the day. Or night, as it may be.

An enforcer automobile carriage is, as promised, waiting for them at the front gate. A wondrous contraption. All the utility of a beast of burden with none of the mess to contaminate the streets. More dangerous to steer, yet much safer to handle while also providing the comfort of a traditional carriage. As ever, the ultimate factor in their creeping takeover of traditional modes of transportation remains the price. It is notably cheaper to maintain in good condition than a horse, who on top of need for feeding, grooming, and housing, can also fall sick, or be moody in unpleasant weather.

"Now then," Heimerdinger says once his minder sits in the driver's seat to his right. "The details, if you please."

The details, as it turns out, are hardly that. The Dean would in fact go so far as to say that the things he's told would best fit on a contents page of a paper.

"You mean to say you don't know the extent of injuries suffered by my students?" He confirms with the wincing girl.

"I know four people have been taken to the Academic Hospital, and that there were no fatalities at the time I heard this, but that's all I know for sure, sir."

"Then why are we driving to the Hall? What business does the Sheriff have with me that it can't wait until I attend to my students?"

"I wasn't told, sir. I was filling out my daily patrol report when the news hit something happened, so the day shift was put on overtime to deal with the fallout. In my case it just meant- waiting, until now, to be given something to do. I heard some things through the grape-vine, but I wouldn't want to mislead you in case all that turns out to be just gossip. All I was told was to bring you to the Hall."

Heimerdinger takes pity on the young enforcer, who looks entirely as frustrated by her lack of usefulness on the matter as he feels about it. She is correct not to give him information she's uncertain of herself. It's best he gets the full story from the Sheriff himself. Even with full awareness of this fact, his is still a mortal mind, and prone to drawing conclusions from fragmentary evidence in spite of knowing better. The only thing that comes of it is bias once the full picture comes into view.

Better they pass the time on lighter topics.

"In that case, do you mind sharing how the service is treating you? It was your dream to join, if I recall?"

"It was," the girl sighs. "I mean, it is- I…" She pauses, working her jaw while searching for the right words. "My mother is running interference with the Sheriff so I receive only the safest of assignments. The closest I've gotten to making a difference in the past few months was escorting drunkards off the streets."

"For which I'm sure they were grateful. Granted, it's not very glamorous, but no less necessary. No overabundance of crime to solve is surely a good thing." He points out, deliberately skipping over the accusation of interference on Cassandra's part. It sounds entirely like too personal a matter for him to dip a toe in.

"I- yes, of course. It's just that I imagined things differently when I was younger."

The yordle allows himself a smile. It never ceases to amuse him when humans speak of their youth. It's completely understandable on their part. Even a ten-year-old child is correct to call their five-year-old self young. Still.

"Don't we all, my dear. Revealing every exciting invention is preceded by years of research and development. Decades, even! For the most part it's not all that interesting. Frustrating, in fact. You're friends with Jayce, correct?"

"We are, yes."

"Well then, I'm sure you've heard more than I about the trials of his work on hextech." Much more, in all likelihood. The Council has let many of the boy's extralegal transgressions go for the sake of progress. Some secrets are best left buried. "That a single person managed to do all that in a lifetime is absolutely astounding! Now look at him - the shining beacon of all it means to be Piltovan. Have patience, Miss Kiramman. Perseverance is a prerequisite for success."

A small smile graces the girl's lips at his words.

"Councillor, should I bring you in for telling an officer to imitate Jayce in his methods?"

"Aren't I already in your custody?" He shares a chuckle with the young enforcer.

Their arrival at the Enforcer Hall a few minutes of light conversation later is unceremonious. Miss Kiramman stops the vehicle before the stairs leading up to the building's entrance, bids him good night, and drives off to station the automobile carriage with the rest of the Hall fleet. There's no need for a guide beyond getting confirmation from the reception that Marcus is currently in his office.

To say the Enforcer Hall lobby is a hive of activity would not precisely be truthful, but given the hour it's also not an outright lie. It used to be that the City of Progress slept like the rest of the world still does at night, up until not even eighty years ago, actually, when the bill for expanding the city's electrical infrastructure was passed on Heimerdinger's insistence. Such was the expense that the Council at the time decided to upend the whole city in one fell swoop, and finally introduce sewage systems to every corner of Piltover. A decade this effort took, but the sheer efficiency of electricity over flame has for the first time in history allowed the people to choose en masse when to retire for the day, rather than be forced into sleep by the setting sun. In summer that may be no great deal, but come winter having just six hours in a day is problematic. How much more can be done now that everyone can choose when they must sleep, rather than have this choice be made for them.

"Professor Heimerdinger!" He pauses at the call of a young voice somewhere to his right, where he spots a young, passingly familiar face rapidly closing-in on him. "Edra Pertrara, second-year agri-engineering course. Are you here about the fight?" Ah, that would explain it. He's seen the girl around the academy, just never had what is sure to be a pleasure of conversation. His own department, and indeed interest, has precious little to do with agricultural developments - no matter how vital to the well-being of the city.

"So I am. Were you there? Are you alright?"

"Yes. Yes, I- They took us here for questioning, and I'm still waiting for a friend. Nobody will tell me anything." The girl's tone is fit for a riot. Her dark eyes as well. Her whole demeanour, really. "Would you ask about her?"

"Yes, of course. Is she a student as well? What's her name?"

"Luxanna Crownguard, and she's a student, yes."

Hearing the name of the most unorthodox transfer in the Academy history gives Heimerdinger a pause.

"Freshman mechanical engineering?" He makes sure. The chances of there being another Luxanna Crownguard in the Academy, or even Piltover and quite possibly Valoran are close to nil, but it never hurts to make sure.

"Yeah, the Demacian."

Right. That. And also a scion of one of the most noble Demacian houses. Held here, in the Hall.

Perhaps it is good fortune after all that the Sheriff wanted him here post-haste.

"Very well, I'll inquire after her with the Sheriff. You should go and get some rest before the morning ceremony, my girl. I'll handle things here."

"Thank you, professor." The student visibly deflates, as if a great burden has been taken off her shoulders. The yordle supposes it might've been with himself promising to look into the issue. "But I don't think I could sleep if I tried. I'll just- keep waiting here I guess."

Heimerdinger doesn't argue the point, that in spite of the girl looking frazzled enough to certainly need it. If she's already spent the night up until now waiting, she will likely refuse any suggestion of leaving on sunk-cost principle alone, not to mention the more emotional factors.

"I'll be sure to give you the news once I have it," he assures her instead.

No more distractions are had other than polite nods given to the enforcers on the way to the Sheriff's office.

"Enter!" the voice sounds from behind the mahogany door following his knocking.

It's a curious place in the wizened councillor's eyes. The room itself, like the building, had been built sometime in the last century in the effort to give Piltover's finest a base of operations worthy of their institution's importance. The Hall's decor has changed a few times in much the same way fashions come and go. The Sheriff's office is an outlier of this with every new man and woman taking the position. Sometimes it changes almost beyond recognition, sometimes barely at all.

Marcus, for example, has rearranged the room as far as it could've been done without knocking down the walls. All the furniture has not just been exchanged with the man behind the desk, it has also all been shuffled around so that when Heimerdinger first entered it three years ago he would've assumed to have gotten the wrong door if not for the Sheriff personally leading him there.

"Good evening Sheriff."

"Councillor." The young man's eyes shoot up at the sight of him, quickly followed by his entire body. "Come in, please."

"Now," Heimerdinger speaks up once he takes the seat across from the man. "Just what happened to my students tonight?"

The Sheriff straightens in his seat, squaring his shoulders for the explanation.

"To keep with relevant details, a fight broke out at a bar called the Undercity tonight, where a number of Academy students were having a party. According to the testimonies we've gathered, it began when a heavily intoxicated individual suddenly became aggressive and started lashing out against the people there. One of the students tried to calm him down, but was attacked, at which point two more joined in to restrain the perpetrator, but all three were quickly overpowered. At which point the patrons started fleeing the building, and alarmed the fourth student involved who was at the time outside. She went back in and distracted the attacker, which allowed one of the others to take him down by surprise."

"What is the extent of their injuries?"

"Light to moderately heavy. Three are in hospital with broken bones and possibly concussions. I haven't spoken with the doctors, but from what I've been told by my men, they should make full recovery."

The yordle's shoulders slump in the sudden absence of tension he's unknowingly been holding in them.

"That's good to hear. May I have their names? I would like to visit them as soon as I'm able."

The Sheriff briefly shuffles the papers in front of him to withdraw a sheet marked with red pen from among it.

"Powloel Crowe, Ezreal Lymere, Tommas Gabaratti. Then there is the matter of the fourth one."

"Oh? What seems to be the issue?"

"She's actually the reason I wanted you here, councillor. I wouldn't normally do this, but I figured you'd want to deal with the matter as soon as possible." A grimace spills across the Sheriff's face, as if saying the words costs him no small amount of pain. "We need your testimony to release her from custody."

Heimerdinger's brows furrow.

"Surely, a councillor's signature is not necessary for a simple matter of course?"

"It's not the councillor's signature we need, actually. It's the Academy Dean's." The man's pained expression transforms into one of such discomfort the yordle must look away, lest his own stomach start twisting in sympathy. "She says she's a student, and from what we've gathered from the others she is, only we don't have any records of her existence. None. She says she's a Demacian transfer?"

Ah. That would explain why Miss Crownguard still remains in custody.

"Would the person you're speaking of happen to be Luxanna Crownguard?"

The relief on the good Sheriff's face is palpable as he confirms the Dean's guess, and the missing piece finally slots neatly into the puzzle. Asking for a councillor's assistance in releasing a young lady all but certain to be innocent would be extreme indeed. Asking the Dean to vouch for a transfer student's proclaimed noble identity, an identity the slow-turning wheels of the city bureaucracy have apparently not yet finished assigning to their guest from afar, is another matter altogether.

(-)

Lux wasn't sure what to expect following her arrest. The simple matter of fact is the Illuminators, and Demacia at large, have precious little information regarding the outside world. This presents her with the dubious honour of being the first Demacian ever to be in position to provide her country with insight on the work of the Piltovan policing system as seen from inside the cell.

To be completely honest, Lux is not very impressed.

Her cell has windows. Two windows. And big ones at that. Barred, yes, but windows nonetheless. Furthermore, there's a table with a chair, as well as a cot to sleep on with a pillow and blanket. The door has a glass pane installed in it which, yes, gives the guards a look inside the cell, but also allows her to look outside. Not that this would be particularly important in staving off the creeping madness of solitude with the two large windows she can very easily look at the outside world through at any time. All that and she still has room to pace and exercise if she so wishes.

It makes no sense.

A window invalidates all but the basic functions of a cell. In order of importance; it allows easy communication with the outside world, gives the prisoner something to occupy their mind with by looking outside, lets in light, and is a structural weakness to boot. Together with all the other amenities, they could as well have put her in a guest room.

Maybe that is what this is. A sort of guest room for prisoners of interest. Only from what Lux had glimpsed through the glass panels on the way here, all the other cells are also like this. Twenty or so in just this hallway. Besides, valuable prisoners would not be given a cell with windows.

By her measure, she could almost certainly blow the bars out. It would hardly help her situation at the present, but it puts her mind at ease to know of a readily available escape route in the case she's ever caught. After all, it's been made abundantly clear there will be no help coming from home in the case her real purpose here is discovered. Protecting her is not worth burning the few bridges that exist between Demacia and Piltover. The Crown will denounce her, her family will disown her. That, along with the leave to do with her as they please, should appease Piltovans plenty.

There would be no going back home, and without the Crownguard name shielding her, Lux can't count on being shown any leniency. It would be her alone.

She taps her knuckles against the wall behind her back, then draws her knees closer to her chest on the cot. For all the comforts afforded to her in this cell, the wait is just the same as she remembers. Boring. A trivial observation only to someone who's not had to deal with boredom, real boredom, for days on end.

Which is why when the lock turns in the door of her cell, Lux jumps to her feet with the honest enthusiasm of a fiance greeting her lover upon his return from campaigning.

But it's no dashing enforcer here to relieve her boredom by taking her back for interrogation that Lux finds waiting in the door.

"Councillor Heimerdinger!" Her eyes blow wide at the sight of the yordle.

"Just professor, please. I don't believe we'll be interacting in the capacity of representatives between our nations anytime soon."

"I- suppose not. No." Her eyes flit between him and the warden waiting outside. "Are you here about the fight?"

"Tangentially." He takes a look about the walls as surveys the walls. "Here in the Hall about the incident, here in this cell for you. It appears the Academy has not yet shared the news of your attendance with the Ministry of Civil Affairs. The matter will be cleaned up shortly, but for now I've vouched for your identity. You're once again a free woman, Miss Crownguard."

The news has Lux draw a blank. A week has passed, and the Piltovan internal affairs still don't even know she exists? She can't tell if the yordle is playing a game with her or not. It seems highly improbable that any government should be so lax in their control of the people under its jurisdiction. Any visitor to Demacia, once past the rigorous screening, is subject to constant supervision until they cross the border again. Any immigrant is made to check-in daily with the local parish to confirm their whereabouts and activities to later verify with their neighbours for a period dependent on their conduct. Years, usually. It is known Piltover is… decidedly more relaxed on the matters of security, but surely not to this point?

And yet, there's nothing but earnest embarrassment that she can spot in the Dean's eyes. What little information she's glimpsed from the texts available to her in the Academy library, yordles possess a similar enough facial structure to that of humans underneath all the fur. Close enough to convey emotions in a like manner, at least.

"Thank you for your consideration, professor." She belatedly remembers to say. "I would hate to miss my first academic year inauguration in Piltover."

"And we can't have that now, can we? Come, I'll show you the way out."

Lux returns the Dean's smile, likewise gracing the warden with one on the way out. She needs no guide, having memorised the way to the cell on her way there. But what the Piltovans don't know won't hurt her, and a councillor's presence ought to dissuade any questions the odd enforcer to stumble across her might have.

"I'm terribly sorry about this whole situation." Heimerdinger speaks up a moment past the last of the cells.

"Don't worry professor, I won't begrudge your enforcers' caution," Lux replies with a reassuring smile. And she can't. She would've done the very same in their boots. Better to imprison an innocent than let the guilty go. It would be the height of foolishness to take her words for truth without gathering confessions from other witnesses, first. Any crime committed by the leave of negligence is the negligent party's fault just the same as the criminal's.

"I meant the incident itself, actually, but that's good to know."

Ah.

"There's no need to apologise for that, either. You didn't sic that man on anyone." She pauses for effect. "Unless… there's something you wish to tell me about, professor?"

The yordle chuckles, though there's little cheer to be found in it.

"If only all the evils of this world could have a puppeteer pulling the strings to cut. Alas, I'm afraid the misfortune of tonight is to be blamed on ill-handled drinks."

"Alcohol?" It was no alcohol that she saw in those glowing eyes.

"Just so. To tell you the truth, I've always been conflicted on the matter of punishment for crimes committed under substance influence. On the one hand, many of them would never have been committed sober. On the other, we'd tried to add inebriation to extenuating circumstances not too long after founding Piltover. Nearly one hundred percent of crime was committed in a state of some degree of inebriation until we withdrew from that idea."

And yet the Kindred take both those killed in drunken rage and those murdered in cold blood just the same. But it's neither the place nor the time to argue the point.

Alcohol, he says. And yet it couldn't have been. Lux had never been witness to a drunken brawl before, but she has seen her fair share of drunks in their best attempts at returning home following an evening of drinking. None of them could boast the sure footing, speed, and endurance of the man she fought earlier tonight.

None of them had a glow to their eyes, either.

Everything else she could let go, but she's seen such light only in one person's eyes before. Her own. It is possible, she supposes, that the man she fought is a mage. She can construct a plausible scenario in her head easily enough; a drink too many caused his control to slip in a crowd, causing him to panic and lash out.

Plausible, but improbable.

Why would he fight rather than flee? Why wouldn't he use any magic at all if he felt so endangered as to assault a whole crowd. She almost used her own without thinking the moment she realised he'd kill her otherwise. Why would nobody even ask about his magic? Had nobody else seen his eyes?

All questions she won't find the answers with the Dean. If he speaks the truth, she'll learn nothing. If he's lying, she'll learn nothing and draw attention to the fact she knows better. It's best she speaks with the people who were actually there. Better yet, with those who also fought that man.

Speaking of:

"What's going to happen to him?"

"The man who attacked you?" The yordle looks to her for confirmation. "At the present he's in the hospital. I hear you youngsters did a number on him."

"He wouldn't go down when I hit him in the head with a chair." Lux pairs the words with a sheepish wince.

"Not to worry. It might well be that you saved the lives of three other students with your intervention. For which I just realised I haven't thanked you yet."

"Again, no thanks are necessary, professor. It's-" Lux mind draws a blank, realising she would only butcher the meaning were she to translate the words. It's a good thing the Dean knows Demacian. "It is every person's duty to help their fellow men in what ways they can. I was there. I had to help."

"Were it that everyone believed the same. But I disagree about the necessity. Thank you, Miss Crownguard. It was brave of you to do what you did."

It would be cowardly not to - Lux doesn't say. It isn't brave to save another's life. It isn't anything. What the yordle calls bravery is in point of fact simple decency. It would be brave of her to act were she a farmer never instructed how to hold a sword in hand. Were she sick, or feeble. Or knew she couldn't do a thing, and still tried all the same. But she's none of these things. She's a Crownguard.

Despite everything, she's still a Crownguard.

They stay silent after that point, Lux busying herself with reinforcing the way between the holding cells and lobby in her mind. There is a point after which humility isn't welcome, and she feels said point has been reached. If the councillor insists on feeling grateful, it can only be beneficial to accommodate him.

"Ah!" Heimerdinger pipes up by her side once they descend the stairs in the main lobby. "I believe that's your friend coming to check on you."

Her friend? She doesn't have frie-

"Edra?" she manages to mouth before the full weight of a second-year crashes into her.

Chapter Text

Something's up.

Jinx can tell the moment the Last Drop comes into view. First off, only one of the brothers stands at the entrance. Second, he's not stopping anyone from barging in unwanted. There's nobody to stop.

Zaun never sleeps. Not really. Not like Piltover where the sun sets after rising and one can tell the time by looking up. Still, people gotta sleep sometime and Jinx set her internal clock in sync with Silco's. She's been in the Sump two days, no way her timing's that busted already. They should be open. There should be all kinds of bozos lining up to loosen up. Them and the business crowd waiting their turn with Silco. There's neither.

She grabs the strap of her gun, shifting the thing from her back to underhand. It shouldn't be necessary. Fisk's still here in all his bald glory. But who's to know? People don't live too long assuming things like that down under.

"Hey Fisk!" she calls out on approach, drawing the man's attention.

"Jinx." His voice is low. His eyes measured. Like always. Good.

Her hand doesn't stray from her gun.

"What's with the crowd?"

"Mr. Big-shot Undertaker dropped by to bury us all," he drawls. "We cleared out for the night."

Night? Wait, the Sheriff's here?

All the tension in Jinx's body disperses at once. Marcus wouldn't dare look at a toddler wrong without a squad of goons at his back. And even then he'd get his ass handed to him. Jinx would know.

"What's he here for?"

"Something went down topside. Don't know the details, but the guy came frothing at the mouth. So." He shrugs.

So, no different from the usual.

Because obviously all the trouble sprouting topside's got a root underground. If it weren't for Silco she'd have crammed a bomb down the guy's throat and invited all of the Lanes for the show. It would teach Pilties a thing or two about coming where they're unwelcome.

Why don't you? He'd let you get away with it.

Not yet.

One day.

Just not yet.

"Thanks buddy!" She has to stand on her tiptoes to give the bouncer a pat on the shoulder, but such are the pains of dealing with the brothers. Whatever their mom fed them, Jinx wants it. Mylo doesn't know what he's talking about, she might still grow a few centimeters.

Much of the crew is there when she clamors through the door, doubtless waiting for the result of whatever it is Marcus came down for. His visits usually mean more work. Usually of the tracking down sort. Usually of some hotshot kid who thought to strike it big topside.

The more things change, huh?

Yeah, the irony's not lost on her, either. Tough luck. Silco made it clear Piltover is off limits unless he specifically says otherwise and that's that. If somebody's feeling lucky, they're welcome to try, of course. She's not about to cry about someone sticking it to the Pilties. Thing is, they better make it count and leg it after. If they don't got enough smarts to figure that out, or just don't make the cut - that's no problem of hers.

Her entry is acknowledged by disinterested and nervous glances from the old guard and everyone else respectively. It's a shame, but Jinx supposes she can't expect the people who saw her grow up to fear her like the rest of the Undercity does.

"Look at you guys, lining up for a job from a Piltie." She adjusts the gun back to its place by her chaps, where it won't bite into her bones quite so hard.

"Like you're not chomping at the bit." Ran calls back without looking her way, fanning herself with the cards in her prosthetic hand.

"After this gig? Yeah I'll take anything. I feel like my teeth want to jump out." She needs to wash. Needs something to wash down the metallic taste in her mouth, too.

Jinx whirrs away from the crowd and towards Chuck, the old man having already poured her favorite into her mug. Good ol' Chuck.

Much as she'd like to savor the drink, Jinx downs the mug in one go. No time to idle if she's to catch any of what's going on in the office.

"Boss said to not interrupt him!" Dustin calls after her when she starts skipping up the stairs.

Yeah, yeah. Like she doesn't know. Silco doesn't like anyone disturbing his talks and Pilties don't like getting dirt on their shoes. Whoop-de-doo.

Jinx briefly stops by the office door. There's a muffled voice coming from the other side, and though the proofing makes it impossible to say whose, Jinx bets on Marcus. Silco very rarely shouts. People shut up and listen when he speaks.

She moves over to the end of the hallway where a window is. It's not technically supposed to open. But nobody ever got to fixing the loose frame, so if she presses on one side, she can make it rotate some - enough to slip through.

She deposits her bigger gun on the ground before doing just that, then pulls herself up on the roof above, minding to close the window back with her foot. It doesn't slot back in near as well from the inside.

The hatch to Silco's office has no lock. Half the people in Zaun know how to pick them, the other half how to break them. Reputation and muscle makes for a better lock and key than anything short of plugging up the door with a rock. People tend not to risk being fed molten lead and having their families sent down to the factories when there are easier targets all around. Been five years since they had to teach someone that lesson.

She makes no sound as she slips inside, closes the hatch behind her, and perches on her favorite rafter - marked out among others by an abundance of color.

She hears Marcus before she sees him. Him and his boots kicking up the dust as he paces the length of the office, turning just before crashing into Bolt's gigantic chest in front of Silco's desk, then to the door, and back again.

"-said; no shimmer. Not that you won't sell it. No shimmer."

What's that about shimmer? No way he already caught the draft of last week's shipment. They just put that thing out there.

"You're the sheriff, Marcus. You know as well as I that sometimes there's no accounting for the human factor." Silco replies calmly as ever, letting out a puff of cigar smoke from his lungs. Jinx wrinkles her nose. He says it's strangely comforting to feel the air that fills his lungs. It's a bunch of baloney; she tried, it's no different from any other tunnel poison clogging the air.

"Every time you say this. And you know what? I can let that go so long as it's not your poison that we're talking about. Get your people under control or I will!"

Cute.

No kidding. Like one of those Piltie things, uh…

Dogs?

Yeah! Those! The dolled-up rat-looking ones that won't shut up until you kick them.

"I suppose you expect me to personally keep every upstart peddler in check at all times?"

"I don't care how you do it. We keep out of your way, you make sure we have no reason not to. That was the deal."

Hah! A deal. Someone really oughta clue the guy in one day that deals are made between equals. What's he gonna do if Silco wants to change the terms? Tattle on himself to the Council? Maybe string his kid up from a chandelier before they do it for him?

Jinx wiggles in place, looking to ease the weight off her pelvic bone biting into the steel beam beneath her.

"And still very much is." Silco replies with something like sympathy. How he manages not to laugh in the Sheriff's face saying this is a mystery. Bolt, like his brother, also has a talent for keeping a straight face. Or maybe just some sort of facial dysfunction running in the family. "But I cannot account for every indiscriminate account of stupidity in the Undercity. Rest assured, if there really was any shimmer involved, it was because of an independent actor. We can't let that get in the way of our partnership, can we?"

I mean, one can hope.

Jinx bites on her finger to contain the giggle threatening to scratch its way out of her throat. Some things everyone in Zaun can agree on. Alive and dead.

"Just deal with this on your end. I'll deal with it on mine. Here." The Piltie stops his pacing to reach inside his coat, causing both Jinx and Bolt to tense up in anticipation. Marcus freezes in turn, sparing the bouncer below a long look, before pulling out a slip of paper and throwing it on the desk. "Names of the vendors we got so far."

A silence hangs over the office while Silco reads through the slip.

"I trust you have kept this matter discreet?"

The enforcer stills, visibly at war with himself, but inevitably, as always, he breaks.

"All but one case."

"There's a case?" Silco intones, unimpressed.

"There were two dozen witnesses and a councillor involved. Best I could do was scrub any mention of shimmer from the file."

For once, the news gives Silco a pause.

"A councilor? Color me interested." Color Jinx interested, too. What's someone drunk on shimmer to do with a councilor? They don't seem the type to spare a thought to the trash littering the ground.

"Not much to be said. One of the attacks happened to a crowd with Academy students and a foreign noble in it. It was a mess. Councillor Heimerdinger had to be involved."

Attacks? That's not right. Shimmer and violence go like oil and fire, true - you drink a vial there's a good chance someone's gonna die. But that's the Undercity. The stuff they took up top isn't supposed to work that way. Give a guy a rush, make 'em feel invincible, but that's about it.

That and make them want more. And more.

And more, yeah, that goes without saying.

Silco hums. "As I said, not everything can be accounted for. Is there anything more?"

Four whole seconds tick by before the Piltie shakes his head.

"Then I believe we both have work to do."

It's always a pleasure to see Marcus storm out of the office. He makes such a fuss and then can't even find it in him to slam the door on the way out. This is what Vander would've had them endure? This?

This time, she doesn't hold her snort in, drawing the eyes of both the men left below.

"Jinx," Silco exclaims. She wiggles her fingers at him. "How long have you been here?"

"A minute or two?" She slides off the beam, catching it to break the fall, then drops to the floor. "What's all this about?"

Silco's eyes shift to the side, where Bolt stands. "Open up again. Business only."

The giant nods, and then it's just her and Silco in the room. Jinx throws herself on the couch, stomach down and chin on the armrest to look at her father as he turns his cigar over and over between his fingers.

"According to Marcus-" He says at length. "-there have been cases of shimmer rampage breaking out topside this week."

"Rampage? So it really wasn't ours?" She tilts her head, cheek flush against the couch.

Did someone really think they could move some merch without Silco's say-so? Poor idiot. Good stuff doesn't go up for a reason. Shimmer isn't just any drug, it's a weapon first and foremost. What Marcus doesn't get is that their goals align in keeping the stuff out of Piltover. Give a vial to a cripple and there, got yourself a killer to throw at a problem. When the time comes they'll drown Piltover in shimmer and blood. Until then?

"That's the problem. If it were anybody else's I would already know." He puts out his cigar and grabs the syringe from the drawer before standing up.

Jinx rolls over onto her back and pulls her legs up to make space, then unceremoniously puts them over Silco's lap once the man sits down.

"I don't get it. Wasn't the stuff we moved there piss weak?"

"It was. That is unless something was mixed with it."

That would be… dumb. It's not as simple to dilute shimmer as to mix it with nine parts water. It's why it took months to develop it and not five minutes. Add something else to the mixture and the results can be anywhere between explosive and corrosive. To say nothing of the effects on whoever drinks the stuff. Some rats just kept growing until they burst open.

Ugh. Did she make that delivery just for someone to muck it up? This is why she hates the business side of things. Doesn't matter how good a job she does, not a week goes by without someone, somewhere screwing things up. Fixing someone else's mess is the worst. Just thinking about doing it day in, day out makes her want to shoot something. Preferably herself. Splat! And she'd never have to deal with anything ever again. Sounds nice. Some days more than others.

Why wait?

Never dealing with Mylo again sounds nice.

"I'll take care of it."

Silco turns to look at her.

"You just returned from the Sump."

Yeah, well. Living isn't about nice things. She could leave it all for others to deal with, sure. Be a weak, useless, little leech. Do nothing while every day more and more problems fall on Silco's lap and rack up and up and up until she can't see him over the pile stacked on his desk. No way. She can help, so she will.

"Just need to wash off before I get a rash and I'm good to go."

"Sevika could deal with this."

Jinx huffs, sitting up to face the man cross-legged.

"And what's she gonna do I won't? Blow her money on Piltie whores? C'mon. I got this."

A smile graces her father's lips. A victory in her books!

"We can't all be perfect," he says as he presents the syringe to her in a wordless request.

She takes extra care to be gentle. Who knows when she'll be home to help him again.

Chapter Text

For all that the whole of Piltover is doubtless a stunning feat of architectural engineering, Lux can't but wonder at the strange barrenness of the rooftops as she traverses the sloped copper tiles.

It is so very clear from up high that the minds behind the city failed to account for armed conflict in their designs. Where utility and neatness are concerned, none can deny the City of Progress all the praise it is due. That said, the same openness of the streets which facilitates easy movement for the citizens would also make it easier for foreign troops to sweep through them. Easier, but upon reflection not easy. For Piltovans, the straight lines of their wide-open streets are a force multiplier, not a hindrance. A line or two of rifles would stop any advancing force in its tracks. High Silvermere may be a natural fortress; absolutely impregnable by any conventional, and most unconventional means. Here, however, the winding streets and chokepoints of her home would serve but to obscure the firing lines against helpless opponents with no such advanced weaponry as that which Piltover holds in its possession.

Lux will allow the city-state the benefit of the doubt in that this was intentional. She will even allow that a wall to encompass the urban areas is a redundant proposition by the dint of the local geography. From the north, mountains pose an impregnable barrier to any advancing army. From the south, the fissures pose a more significant challenge to traverse than any wall could. The only viable point of approach is therefore the north bank amphibious landing a few miles west of the city, which, as any fleet operation, would be a nightmarish task made ten times worse by Piltovan technological superiority. A campaign of raids and harassment would be the better choice than waiting behind walls. Failing that, barricades on every street would do the trick.

That is without even taking into account the converted merchant airfleet. Although, were she to make a bet, Lux would trust her homeland's raptor riders to make short work of it - provided they could transport the beasts so far south and away from High Silvermere. The Noxians, for their part, would have no choice but to employ their mages, the capabilities of whom she knows too little of to predict the outcome.

All of it would be futile so long as the Hexgates stand.

Discarding, however, the fact any conquering army would return home to find naught but desolation, the Piltover rooftops would serve a wonderful function in providing very nearly unassailable positions to rain fire onto the streets below. A simple platform to stand on and connect to one placed on another roof, rooftop to rooftop, would make any attempt of moving through the streets an impossibility. The windows offer much the same, naturally, but as opposed to open rooftops, the building interiors would shelter the invading soldiers from the rifle fire.

It would've been easy to arrange as well, once upon a time, before Piltover was built as it is now.

Then again, the potential for enforcers patrolling the rooftops would also have made it decidedly more difficult for Lux to arrive unseen at her destination. Back home, only the temple and her family estate stand exempt from the guards' watchful eye atop their respective mountain peaks. It is no easy task to remain unnoticed in High Silvermere, and so naturally, the favourite game to try and do so among its youth. Noble and otherwise.

In contrast, there is only the moon to look down on her as Lux ties the rope she's brought around one of the hospital chimneys. Having done that, she allows herself a moment of respite just to take in the city below. It could be no more different than her home, yet it's a familiar comfort to just pause a moment and look down, same as she would to observe the going-ons of the lower levels of her home.

Eventually, inevitably, the young Demacian's eyes are drawn to the ever-shining beacon standing tall above all others, its pulses of arcane light bathing the city every few minutes even in the middle of the night, and illuminating the clouds parting around it. Truly a shame about the rooftops. Despite everything, the Hexgates remain a magnificent sight. More people should see them as she does now rather than from behind their towers' glass panes.

How unfortunate that she has a job to do. She could stay here all night otherwise.

Well, a few hours, more like. Were it not for the very job she's here to do, she would be cramming the supplementary materials her new teachers have kindly supplied her with in response to the… many questions she's found herself in need of asking following their lectures. It's a good thing she's gotten used to spending near to all of her time studying over the last year, because from the looks of it her life isn't about to change in that respect. And she's been so looking forward to having a little bit of free time again…

An amused huff finds its way past her lips. If she keeps procrastinating she won't even have the time to sleep tonight, let alone to use on her extracurricular pursuits.

Lux dons her freshly purchased mask - a colourful thing of deep purples accented with glittering golden lines on a bone-white surface, now absent of feathers and bells she's torn out for the purpose of fitting under her hood. It's an item altogether too distinct for Lux's taste, and very clearly standing out among the uniform greys of her outfit. It is, however, just one among thousands upon thousands of likewise garish designs the Piltovan craftsmen make every year for their carnivale, where among a flock of pheasants, it's the humble sparrow who stands out. To the merchant's telling, each is just a touch different from the next so that no two masquerading ladies ever have to suffer the indignity of spotting one just like their own.

Ready as she will ever be, Lux at last begins her descent, and before long arrives at her destination - a lone window at the thirteenth hospital floor.

With nary a sound, Lux carefully pries her entry open with a knife she's replaced her lost dagger with, and slides in without trouble. Child's play. Literally. If anything, she's out of practice after over two years away from home, hence the rope. She could've easily done without, once.

She spares the room a quick glance before silently crossing her way to the bedside where a lamp resides atop a nightstand - same as in every other room in the wing, the moonlight just enough for her not to stumble into any of the barely-visible shapes.

One pull of the string, and the room comes to some semblance of life.

It's dim. More like a torch than the blinding-bright electric lights of the City of Progress. It's more than enough to illuminate the face of the man she's come here for.

Aevin Klauser.

She learned the name when Edra knocked on her door to shove a sheet of flimsy paper into her hands which Lux has since learned is called the gazette. What a wonderful turnabout for information to come to her of its own volition for once. She simply has to write to Mother about the possibility of setting up something similar in High Silvermere, if perhaps with more oversight than the aptly named Monitor has, for obvious reasons.

The notice within, short and dry as it was, managed to include the name of the aggressor of the Undercity fight, sparing her the need for so much as asking after his fate or location. Why would the local magistrates allow it, she has no clue, but also not a word of complaint to give. The other students, both bystanders and those she stopped the rampage together with, have had much to tell, very little of it useful.

Curiously, not one of them suspected involvement of magic. Those who saw the glow in their attacker's eyes chalked it up to some drug and gave it little more thought. As if any regular substance could make one's eyes burn.

Conversely, this is Piltover. Either way, she can't leave it be until either she proves her suspicions or proves them wrong.

Looking at her former adversary now, Lux can barely recognise his calm visage. The last she saw it, the face now before her was snarling and full of teeth as she struggled to break free of the grip on her neck she couldn't hope to dislodge. It is also now decidedly more swollen with violet. There he is now, hands tied beneath the blanket and helpless to stop whatever ill she so chooses to visit upon him. What that may be, remains yet to be seen.

Ideally, the matter can be resolved without much violence. There's been enough of that to land three people in these very walls. Ultimately, however, the choice is for neither of them to make. Under more favourable circumstances, with time, a cell, and proper tools at her disposal, Lux could extract the long-forgotten name of her mark's thrice removed aunt without any harm to speak of. But she has none of those. The only tool at her disposal is the sharp instrument in her hand and so it will have to do.

She turns from her witness and towards the door, pulling out the keychain she procured the day prior from the serving staff room. No matter the country, no matter the people, the universal truth remains - no door is closed to the servants.

Slowly, carefully, as to not make any noise at all, Lux inserts the key she's found to turn all the locks on this floor of the wing. Predictably, the door is already locked For all the trappings of a recovery lodging, the room is as much of a cell as the one Lux had spent the night in a week prior was.

She leaves the key in to stop anyone from barging in uninvited, and grabs the chair to sit at the foot of the bed, before thinking better of it and relocating to the side opposite the lamp, where she splays herself out across it, before again thinking better of it and taking her leg down to the ground. No need to overplay it in the event she needs to jump into action. The knife she brandishes for display as much in warning as to give her hands something to do. Lastly, she clears her throat, determined to eliminate all traces of her mother tongue from it.

Her mask adjusted, and finally out of any more details she can think to take care of, Lux reaches out to poke one Aevin Klauser in the shoulder. Then again. And finally to shake him by the awake when her previous attempts fail at rousing him.

A deeply unappreciative groan resounds from the man's throat, followed by his eyes cracking open with a similar distaste towards the disturbance held within. The first said eyes rest upon her, they move on without a coherent thought behind them. She can pinpoint the exact moment something jolts his mind in the way he freezes - like a pup caught biting a shoe - a split second before his gaze, now wide awake, snaps back to her. A gaze without a hint of glow.

"Good dreams, master Klauser?" She speaks up, firm but quiet to set the tone for both the conversation and its volume.

Round and round the knife turns in her grip, its tip pressed against her begloved finger. Here, too, she can see the moment its glint catches the man's eyes as they flint down and his body grows taut.

"W-who are you?" His voice trembles and cracks, but isn't much louder than how she greeted him. Good.

"You don't want to know that." And neither does she. There's no point in leaving a corpse behind when she doesn't have to. "The better question is what I'm here for."

Lux scrapes the blade against the length of her finger, drawing a sound out of it that could well be the loudest thing in the world for the dead silence reigning in the air. The man, still stiff as a board and not having moved an inch, takes stock of their surroundings, his eyes, still just the ordinary green, pausing at the door.

"If you're perhaps thinking about calling for help, it won't get here before I get to you."

"Yeah?" He twists his whole body to the side, shoulders awkwardly drawn together by the cuffs on his wrists. "And you're gonna do what? You're just a kid."

…Well then.

Lux shoots up and grabs the pillow from under the man's head, forcing him back down with an oomph, and digging the point of her knife under his chin.

For a moment, all is still. Then Lux draws back a step.

"I have a few questions for you if you don't mind?" Again she adjusts her mask. Was it her voice that gave her youth away? It must've been. Not an inch of her skin is exposed to the world.

"Don't s-seem to me l-like I have a choice." He stutters, chokes out, really. Good. He was beginning to feel too confident after the initial shock wore out - never a good thing to allow a witness to be.

"Of course you have a choice. You can make it easy on yourself, or not." She points out.

"Some choice," he huffs.

Lux refrains from a comment. There's always a choice. Sometimes, oftentimes, the choice is as simple as that between life and death, but to say one has no choice even in such a situation is patently untrue. The Halls of Valour house many great men and women who stood before exactly that decision. Heroes all.

"I'm glad we have an understanding," she smiles, belatedly realising the pointlessness of it. "Now then, why don't you start from the beginning?"

"Beginning of what? No- wait-wait-wait-wait!" He scrambles backwards to put at least some more distance between them as Lux once again starts in his direction. "I'll talk. I'll talk, just- you still didn't say what you want."

Hasn't she? No she has not. This is somewhat more stressful than questioning prisoners at the temple was. She'd lost the sight of her mental checklist somewhere between the tip of her knife and his skin.

"My apologies. I got carried away." Absent the ability to reassure him with a smile, Lux presses her fist against her heart. "I wish to know about the fight which landed you here near to a week ago. Everything that led to it. Everything that happened during it."

"I don't remember."

Right. Of course not. Was it too optimistic of her to hope for her first independent investigation to proceed smoothly? Probably, yes. But then, what else is there but hope for people like her?

It is unfortunate then, that she can't simply hope she's being told the truth. Not even when she fails to spot a lie in his eyes. After all, the fault could well be her own.

No. No, that's obfuscating the reality of things. The fault already is her own. Not for failing to detect a lie, but for failing to establish the price of it when she had the chance. In the heat of the moment she threatened the man with death, when obviously she wants him alive, instead of showing what disobedience will cost him. She is fortunate no overseer is watching to evaluate her performance, lest she'd spend the next month in remedials.

Still. Seeing as she's already made the mistake, and that it's not her witness' fault, she might as well give him another chance.

"Say again?"

"I-I don't remember what happened, it's all a blu- wait, no- don't- stop!"

Were the man not so evidently worn out, and were his hands not cuffed together, his spirited effort to throw Lux back would likely have worked. There is no shame in admitting the discrepancy of strength, only in failing to account for it. As matters stand, Lux has little trouble grabbing hold of her subject's little finger and snapping it with a crunch.

The wail which pierces the night has no chance at all not to be heard by the enforcer outside the door. An assumption proven right when a moment after her witness falls off the bed in his struggle to crawl away from her, the doorknob starts clicking and clacking as the guard attempts to force his way through.

Lux puts the ruckus of it out of her mind. She will be long gone by the time she'd need to worry about it.

"Now then!" She walks around the bed to join the man in the corner of the room. "What happened on the night you attacked those people?"

"Fuck you!"

She lowers herself so that her arms can encircle her knees to look Aevin in his dark green eyes. Not a natural danger response, then. Or a well-suppressed one. How much until the man before her would no longer be able to keep himself in check?

A brief struggle sees Lux grab another finger, if only after digging the tip of her knife into the subject's side to calm him down. And still there is nothing but fear in those eyes.

"I don't remember, I'm telling you!" What? Oh, right. Her questions.

"I hope you understand-" She pauses to clear her throat before speaking up louder again to be heard over the shouting and banging on the door. "-How very difficult it is for me to believe that you remember nothing from the night you attacked a whole crowd of people for no apparent reason."

"I don't! I-I mean- not anything after glimmer!"

"So you do remember something." She makes sure to put the smile in her voice even as she changes the grip to the already broken finger. There's no need to ruin more than one. The pain will be just the same.

"Yeah! Yeah!" He grinds his teeth at the pain her deliberately gentle grip is still most assuredly causing him. "I-I-I told the enforcers about it, and was told to shut up, okay?"

She twists. He screams. And still his eyes won't glow.

"I'm telling the truth! I'm fucking telling the truth, okay!?"

And she believes him. To a point. He didn't lie before, he just didn't tell her the whole truth. Not that she can tell him that, unfortunately. Much as she'd like to reassure him, it is much more productive to keep witnesses scared and uncertain. They're not having a conversation here.

"What do you remember?"

"I was- it was just a normal day. I went to work uh- I work at the power plant, got off at seven, went home,ate, changed and then hit the bar to have a few beers, dance, maybe pick someone up, you know? Normal. And then I drank that piece of shit glimmer and- and it was like a dream. Just bits and pieces. I really don't remember."

And yet every time he says that, he reveals to remember more and more.

"Glimmer. What is it?"

"Some new pick-me-up my guy hooked me up with. Supposed to give you a boost. Make you feel like- like a better you. Stronger you. Unstoppable. If I knew it'd make me lose my shit like that I'd never have drank it. I mean why would I take it in the middle of a crowd if I knew?"

Memories flood Lux's mind unbidden. Of thoughts without an origin goading her on. Show them. They would insist. They would all hate you if they knew anyway. What does it matter? They would argue. You're not a Demacian. They're not your people. They would lie and deceive, and make it all seem so right in the moment. Senseless thoughts. Mad thoughts. Thoughts without regard for the after that would inevitably come.

She shakes her head. She's the one in control of her magic, not the other way around.

The man before her, on the other hand…

Unstoppable.

No. No, it's not yet enough, nowhere near enough to prove her suspicions even to herself let alone her superiors. She's been witness to enough foolishness enabled by an overabundance of drink to know well enough one needs no magic whispering in their ear to become convinced of their own prowess, and not just in battle.

"Was that all you drank? Was there nothing else?"

"I - think a few beers? But otherwise, yeah, that's it."

Lux considers her witness, at once trembling and frozen in fear, and still not a glint of light to his eyes.

Glimmer.

It seems a mad proposition to accuse Piltover of having created not one, but two types of magic in just her lifetime. And yet what else? It's not impossible, she supposes, that the man before her really is a mage and has enough control not to give himself away. That he considers a few broken fingers a fair price to pay for keeping his secret hidden, as Lux herself would. If that were the case, the only way to prove it available to her would be to try and kill him, at which point giving himself away would be the preferable outcome.

But then, this is Piltover. And its people have created one magic already. Why not two? And what if he is not a mage? She would have killed him for nothing more than a confirmation she does indeed still need to investigate this glimmer. An outcome no different from leaving him alone.

The alternative, of course, is that he is a mage, which would frankly speaking make him not her business. Be that the case, Lux can rest easy knowing there isn't another magic in Piltover, and leave the matter well-enough alone to be dealt with by the local authorities.

It appears she'll need to find herself some of this glimmer.

She tightens her grip on the cold finger in her grasp.

"I'm going to need names."