. . .
. . .
The morning light seeped through the tiny square window of my washroom, illuminating the mess of my repeated, futile attempts to rid myself of these newborn wings.
My knife lay dulled and useless, its edge ruined by my relentless efforts. Every slice, every desperate motion had led to the same result: failure. The severed fragments of my wings disintegrated into nothingness, only to regrow moments later, unyielding and undeterred.
"It's pointless," I muttered, letting the blade clatter against the marble sink. "They regenerate and the resistance is absurd—it ruined a perfectly good knife."
I turned to the mirror, studying the reflection of those jagged, embryonic wings. Their magical resonance mirrored my own, yet with an unfamiliar twist that set them apart.
"Celestial energy," I noted, my tone colder, analytical. "It's linked to it. And this sensation…"
Closing my eyes, I extended my telekinesis to its fullest. The room shifted under the weight of my invisible force, its walls groaning faintly as my awareness expanded through the whole building. The steady hum of machinery and the rhythm of footsteps on the streets.
"Control is sharper. My range has grown. My mana pool… larger."
I exhaled slowly, binding the wings with a white bandage. It pressed tightly against my back, concealing the unwelcome truth beneath layers of fabric.
'The effects are pleasant,' I thought, entering the master-bedroom. 'But this ruins my plans.'
My return to Demacia was now compromised. The symbiotic nature of our connection posed a significant threat. It was clear, my increasing strength would inevitably empower them, grow them.
"Damn it," I hissed, collapsing onto the sofa. The realization settled over me, heavy and immutable.
For a moment, the room fell silent. The distant chirping of birds and the mechanical rhythm of Piltover's machines drew my gaze to the window. An enormous copper sphere hung from the side of a neighboring building, clicking softly as it rotated on its axis.
"This is a lesson," I said, my voice quiet but firm. "A reminder of how much must be conquered—Not to depend on a single source of influence, but to spread around the globe."
Rising from the sofa, I fastened my brown waistcoat and slid on my dark overcoat. The fabric settled over my shoulders.
"When time comes, I'll find a way," I said, gripping the door handle.
I pulled the door shut behind me.
. . .
. . .
The elevator rattled as it descended the depths of Zaun, chains groaning with every jolt. The narrow platform was barely wide enough for four people, its rusted iron frame stained with oil and grime.
A faint green glow seeped through the cracks in the walls, casting everything in a sickly light. The air grew heavier, thicker with the acrid scent of chemicals as the hum of machinery below grew louder.
"Damn elevator," a man muttered behind me, "Thing's gonna kill someone one day." The remark stirred a memory to the surface.
'I recall that, after Hextech, these manually operated elevators would be replaced by something called Hexdraulic Conveyors.'
When the platform shuddered to a stop, the gate screeched open. I stepped off first, my boots, that reached just below the knee, struck the uneven, oil-slicked floor.
'I must admit, were it not for the constant stream of new experiences, I might have found this mode of transport… impressive.'
Pipes crisscrossed overhead, twisting like veins through the sprawling labyrinth of metal. Dim alchemical lights flickered, casting shifting shadows over the chaos.
Zaun's streets twisted and turned like veins beneath the earth, teeming with life and chaos. Each step I took echoed faintly, and though I appeared lost in thought, I was keenly aware of the figures trailing me.
'Powder,' I mused, her significance threading through my plans. How to reach her, connect with her… She was delicate, yet undeniably vital.
'Her brilliance could easily create suits of power armor—strong enough to rival myths. With the right funding, automating production on a massive scale would be inevitable… My dream: an army clad in invincible steel.' My hand clenched tightly, my eyes wide with unrestrained ambition.
"There's also, atomic bombs… seems useful."
The mismatched shuffle of footsteps caught my attention. Their movements were unpolished, clumsy—except for one. Among them, one individual stood out. Light steps, controlled breathing, precise rhythm. Not an everyday occurrence.
The narrow street widened, and they took their opportunity. They stepped out, blocking my path.
The one who fancied himself their leader stepped forward, his words as predictable as his intentions. "Empty your pockets, stranger."
I barely registered his demand, my gaze drifting to the one who intrigued me.
"Kneel."
The word rolled off my tongue, subtle yet commanding. Huum… The air itself seemed to vibrate as mana rippled through it. Fzzzzt… A faint, sharp hum hung in the air, almost like a blade unsheathing.
Their bodies buckled instantly. The four dropped to their knees, their expressions flickering with confusion as they struggled against my will.
"W-what's happening?!"
"I… I can't move!"
"What kind of power is this?!"
'As expected,' I thought, narrowing my gaze. The resonance carried more than just my voice—it carried control.
"Fight."
The command snapped like a whip, cutting through the momentary stillness. They turned on each other, fists swinging clumsily, blood splattered across the ground, shouts and curses filled the air.
"Stop it, you idiot!" Thud "I didn't mean to—!"
"It's not me—it's him!" Punch lands, followed by a grunt.
"Why am I—argh! Damn it!"
I stood unbothered, observing the chaos. The faint pull of mana tugged at my senses, steadily intensifying with each passing second.
'The cost increases with duration,' I noted. The power demanded careful management. 'So, small fries are ants now.'
The one who had intrigued me faltered—but not in submission. Blood dripped from his lips as his jaw tightened. He had bitten his tongue, likely hoping the pain would snap him free. Scrambling backward, his movements betrayed a mix of fear and calculation.
"Oh?" I murmured, my tone light, almost mocking.
"Senseless struggle," I said, my voice cold as frost.
"Bend."
The word struck him like a physical blow. His retreat halted as if shackles bound him in place.
"And kneel."
His body betrayed him yet again. He turned, kneeling before me, his trembling form bowing low.
'So the effect is stronger on a singular target. The others also stopped throwing punches.' I assessed, watching his resistance crumble entirely. 'And to think, this is only a fraction of what that girl, Sona, can do.'
"You're no common thug," I said, my voice calm yet cutting. "So tell me—why me?"
His face contorted with effort as he struggled to speak. "There's… a bounty," he managed to force out, his voice shaking.
"A bounty?" I repeated, arching a brow.
"Yes," he gasped. "Pirates, description, matches you."
'What? Them?' I thought, sighting, 'I should've just killed them all.'
I tilted my head, feigning curiosity. "And what made you so sure it was me?"
He hesitated, shame flickering in his eyes. "I… guessed," he admitted. "You're not from here. You were near the docks after the attack."
For a moment, silence hung between us. Then, I laughed—a deep, sharp laugh that echoed through the narrow street.
The bandits still kneeling, exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes widening at the sound. To them, it must have seemed like madness: a man laughing while portraying an mysterious power.
"So you have found me not by luck, but pure misfortune."
'They are all insects… but I could make them valuable. The girl, Powder, will need a nudge to bring her into my plans. These fools might just be the lever I need.'
. . .
—Pov Shift, Powder—
The alleys twisted sharply, shadows pooling where the neon lights couldn't reach. Vi led the way, Mylo close behind, while Claggor struggled with a busted valve he'd found. I trailed a little, scanning the trash heaps for anything we could use. My hands stung from the cold metal, but it was worth it if Vi said so.
I crouched by a pile of debris, brushing away scraps when I saw it—a small sack, the leather rough and frayed. Coins glinted faintly in the low light. My breath hitched. It wasn't ours. Someone could come back for it.
"Powder! Found anything?" Vi's voice cut through my hesitation.
"Uh... yeah," I muttered, grabbing the sack and shoving it into my pouch. My fingers trembled as I stood, but I didn't say a word.
We kept moving. Mylo cracked another joke, and Vi shot him a glare, but I couldn't focus. My skin prickled, the air feeling heavier. Someone was watching us—I was sure of it.
Then they appeared.
Five men stepped out from the shadows ahead, blocking the alley. Vi froze, her arm shooting out to push me back. Mylo stiffened, his smirk faltering. Claggor shifted the valve in his hands, gripping it like a weapon.
"Easy, kids," the leader said, his gaze locking onto me. "That's a lot of coin for someone so small."
My heart sank. The sack. He'd seen it.
"Keep walking," Vi snapped, her voice steady but sharp.
The man smirked, signaling his crew. They closed in. One grabbed Mylo, shoving him against the wall. Another lunged for Vi, but she dodged, landing a solid kick to his shin. Claggor swung the valve, knocking one back, but more kept coming.
"Powder, run!" Vi yelled, her voice tight with panic.
I couldn't move. My legs felt like lead as the gang boxed us in, their sneers filling the narrow alley. I clung to the wall, useless, watching Vi fight tooth and nail.
And then, out of nowhere, he appeared.
The stranger moved like a ghost—silent, fast, and precise. His fists shot out in quick, sharp bursts, taking down one man after another. The leader barely had time to react before the stranger grabbed him by the collar, muttering something low and cold. Then he threw him aside like he weighed nothing.
The alley went quiet. The man turned to us, his coat brushing the ground, his sharp eyes scanning each of us. He wasn't out of breath.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice calm.
Vi stepped in front of me, fists clenched. "Who are you?"
He didn't answer, just offered a faint smile. "You're brave," His gaze flicked to me, "Both of you."
And then he was gone, his silhouette vanishing into the shadows as quickly as he'd arrived.
I stared after him, my heart still racing. The sack of coins felt heavier now, like it burned against my side. My fingers wouldn't stop shaking, but all I could think about was the way he looked at us—like he saw something in us I wasn't sure we had.
—Pov End—
. . .
. . .
At night.
The full moon spilled into the room through tall windows, lighting the mess Jayce left behind.
'The first impression was strong, no doubt. But was it enough? Perhaps I should've commanded them to break an arm or two.'
I slid the window open with care, easing myself through without a sound. The wood creaked under my weight, but the room remained still.
'Well, it will work out somehow.'
A glance around told me everything I needed to know about him.
Bed unmade, a pile of books shoved onto a shelf, notes pinned crookedly on the walls. Chaotic, disorganized. For someone working on such dangerous tech, he sure didn't care much about keeping things locked up.
I scanned the shelf, running my fingers over dusty spines. Nothing worth grabbing. His desk was worse—a mess of blueprints and scribbles. I scratched my chin, trying to make sense of one. It showed some kind of machine, covered in tiny notes I didn't bother to read. "What's this for? Blowing something up?" I muttered, shaking my head.
The notes pinned to the wall caught my eye next. "Hextech," one of them read, alongside words like "purity" and "energy."
"No crystals here. Is it too early?"
There was a banjo in the corner, its strings catching the moonlight. I stared at it for a second, almost laughing at the thought of this guy strumming away between experiments. But I wasn't here for music. Time to move.
The Research Room
The air here smelled faintly of metal and oil. The light was dim, but enough to see by. Shelves lined the walls, filled with shiny tools and copper gadgets that looked both expensive and fragile.
I moved carefully, my boots making soft thuds against the polished floor. The first thing I noticed was the giant chalkboard, covered in scribbles and diagrams. Equations. Shapes. I stared at it for a moment, tilting my head.
"What's this supposed to do? Power something? Or just look smart?" I said to myself, lifting a note pinned over the chalk markings. It didn't matter.
The shelves nearby were full of little machines. I picked one up, turning it over in my hands. It gleamed in the light, all shiny metal and tiny moving parts. Looked expensive, but flimsy. Probably broke if you sneezed on it. "Fancy, but useless," I muttered, setting it back down.
I headed for the main workbench, my eyes scanning the papers spread out across it. They were filled with long-winded notes—half of them looked like rambling. My patience thinned as I flipped through page after page, searching for one thing: the crystals. Finally, my fingers stopped on a worn piece of paper.
There it was. A name. Ferros Clan.
I tightened my grip on the page. So, they had the unstable Hex crystals. That made things simple. Or more complicated, depending on how you looked at it. Either way, I had my answer.
I carefully slid the paper back into place, leaving the room just as I found it. No crystals here, but now I knew where to go.
. . .
. . .
. . .