A/N:
Hello, welcome to this arcane fanfiction that I wrote on and off ever since I finished arcane. it's a slow writing process as it's basically just a bunch of jumbled ideas put together to a barely cohesive story, a story that at this point, you can find some parts of it in the arcane fanfics in this website. hope you enjoy it anyway! pls look at the description for a bit more info of the story.
Disclaimer: I use AI for grammar and sentence structure.
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Tarren's workspace was a mess of gears, wires, and half-finished devices. The clinking sound of metal against metal filled the shop as his nimble fingers adjusted a small cog inside a clockwork bird. His ginger hair, slightly damp with sweat, fell into his eyes, which gleamed a sharp, calculating green as he worked. The boy—though only fifteen—had an air of mature calmness about him, born not just from the harsh life in the lanes but also from memories of another life entirely.
This was Tarren's second chance. In his previous life, he had been an engineer, obsessed with strange inventions and the dream of pushing humanity's limits. But the old world had its walls, its rules, and its gravity—both figurative and literal—that kept him grounded. Here, in Valoran, the game had changed. Magic was real, and it wasn't a fanciful theory but an undeniable force. It was the key to achieving the dreams he'd once thought impossible. And yet, Tarren knew he couldn't afford to get lost in the wonder of it all. He had a mission.
Benzo's shop had become both his sanctuary and his prison. Shared with his mentor-like figure, Benzo, and the ever-lively Ekko, Tarren had carved out a corner for himself in the cluttered backroom. The space was small but bursting with potential, filled with projects in various stages of completion. He had to be careful, though. Even his closest confidants didn't know the full extent of his abilities. Hidden within his tinkering, buried under layers of secrecy, was the truth: Tarren wasn't just a skilled mechanic; he was a ferromancer.
Discovered when he was just a child, his ability to manipulate metal had felt like a revelation. A gift from god if he ever exists. He could shape steel as easily as a sculptor molds clay, and he did it instinctively, without the incantations or sigils that others relied on. But Tarren didn't think of his ferromancy as the core of his identity. To him, it was a tool, one that could give him the edge he needed as an inventor.
"Tarren! You're gonna blow us all up if you keep fiddling with that thing!" Ekko's voice broke through his concentration. The younger boy leaned against the doorway, arms crossed and an impish grin lighting up his face. "The others want to see you."
Tarren chuckled, setting the clockwork bird aside, which at the touch of a surface, flapped its wings on its own, though it didn't fly. "Relax, Spark. This one's not explosive… yet."
Ekko rolled his eyes, but his smile didn't falter. "You said the same thing about that glove, and it nearly took Mylo's head off."
"That was a calculated accident," Tarren replied, ruffling Ekko's hair as he passed by. Despite the teasing, there was a deep bond between the two. Ekko was like a little brother to Tarren, one of the few people who could pull him away from his relentless work.
The shop was bustling today, as it often was when the usual group gathered. Vi leaned against the counter, exchanging jabs with Mylo while Powder sketched something incomprehensible in her notebook. Claggor was tinkering with a trinket under Benzo's watchful eye. To an outsider, it might look chaotic, but to Tarren, it was a strange sort of harmony.
He stood at the edge of the room, watching them all. A soft smile tugged at his lips. They were his family, the closest thing he had to one in this new life. But the warmth in his chest was quickly replaced by a cold, gnawing dread.
He knew their future.
Tarren clenched his fists, his thoughts racing. He had seen Arcane. He knew the paths these people would walk, the pain that awaited them. Vi and Powder would be torn apart. Ekko would bear the weight of rebellion. The undercity would rise to become Zaun, but it wouldn't bring the freedom they dreamed of. The cycle of suffering would continue, even if the names of the rulers changed.
But he wouldn't let that happen. Not again. Not if he could stop it.
His gaze drifted to the array of gadgets on his workbench. He didn't have the power to overthrow the undercity's corrupt system from within, it's simply not possible alone and from the inside. But Piltover was another matter. The gleaming city above was a land of opportunity for the ambitious and the clever. If Tarren could climb its golden towers, make a name for himself as an inventor, he could leverage that power to change the undercity's fate.
The clock was ticking. While he didn't know the exact date and time, he knew he had one year—one year before the events he dreaded would begin to unfold, as he could tell from everyone's ages. Tarren somewhat knew the timeline, the key moments that would set the future in stone. He had to act quickly, decisively.
As the chatter of his friends filled the room, Tarren silently made a promise. He would change their destiny. For that, he needed to leave the safety of the shop and dive into the politics and dangers of Piltover. His dreams, his ferromancy, and his determination would be his weapons.
The undercity's fate wasn't sealed. Not yet. And Tarren would do whatever it took to rewrite the story.
Suddenly, a soft thud interrupted Tarren's thoughts, followed by a sharp sting on his forehead. He winced, turning to find the culprit. There, leaning casually against the counter with a smirk plastered across her face, was Vi, tossing another small, worn-out ball from one hand to the other.
"What's up with you?" she asked as she raised an eyebrow.
Tarren rubbed his head, chuckling despite the interruption. "Just thinking," he replied, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the homemade necklace around his neck. It was crafted from a depleted rune, a trinket Benzo got randomly one day on which he took it. To most, it was junk. To Tarren, it was a quiet reminder of his dreams.
Vi narrowed her eyes, her smirk softening into a curious grin. "Thinking, huh? Anyway, Vander's looking for you."
Tarren blinked, his train of thought screeching to a halt. "Vander? What does he want?"
Vi shrugged, pushing off the counter. "Beats me. Big guy just told me to grab you."
He turned to Benzo, silently asking for guidance. The older man chuckled knowingly from the corner of the shop, his hands busy cleaning a dusty shelf. "It's probably about that, lad," Benzo said.
"Oh." Tarren's lips quirked into a small smile, a mix of realization and anticipation flashing across his face. "Then—"
"Go on," Benzo said with a wave, already turning back to his work. "Don't keep the man waiting."
Tarren didn't need to be told twice. He stood up in a flash, his earlier gloom swept away as he dashed toward the door. "Thanks, old man!"
"Hey!" Mylo called after him, nearly tripping over himself as he tried to catch up. "Wait for us!"