The streets of the Undercity, The Lanes, were a stark contrast to the pristine thoroughfares of Piltover in the man's mind. Jayce Talis moved cautiously through the shadowy alleys, his head low, concealed by a heavy cloak. The air here carried a grimy edge, a mixture of soot, rust, and desperation, and every corner seemed to hold a pair of suspicious eyes watching from the dark.
Jayce ignored the murmurs and muttered warnings from passersby as he turned into a particularly narrow and winding alley. His destination lay ahead—a non-discreet shop with a crooked sign hanging above the door, the word Benzo's crudely painted on it.
Pushing the creaky door open, Jayce stepped into the cramped space. The shop was a chaotic collection of trinkets: clocks with rusted gears, broken tools, and scraps of metal that had clearly seen better days. A thin haze of dust lingered in the air, catching the dim light filtering through the grimy windows.
Behind the counter stood a stout man with a gruff demeanor, it was Benzo. At a nearby workbench, a wiry boy was hunched over a clock, tinkering with its inner workings. Benzo looked up at the sound of the door and offered a casual greeting.
"Need parts? Take a look around."
Jayce lowered his hood, revealing his sharp features and neatly combed hair. The room seemed to shift; Benzo's relaxed posture stiffened as he took in Jayce's polished appearance. He frowned and stepped behind the counter, his tone turning cautious.
"A topsider," Benzo muttered, his eyes narrowing. "What's someone like you doing in my shop?"
Jayce raised his hands, palms out. "I'm not looking for trouble. I'm looking for something specific." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather wristband, holding it up for Benzo to see. In its center was a small, crystalline stone that seemed to shimmer faintly even in the dim light. "Do you know this?"
Benzo's eyes flicked to the wristband, and his expression hardened. "I've seen that stone before."
Jayce leaned forward, excitement lighting up his face. "You have it? Where is it?"
Benzo shook his head and leaned back, crossing his arms. "Not here. I gave it to someone years ago."
Jayce's shoulders slumped, his hope dimming, but he pressed on. "Who? Do you know where I can find them?"
Benzo hesitated, his gaze darting toward the boy at the workbench as if deciding whether to speak freely. He rubbed the back of his neck but stayed silent.
Jayce sighed and pulled out a pouch of gold coins, setting it on the counter with a heavy clink.
Benzo stared at the pouch for a long moment before shaking his head. "This isn't about money, kid. It's none of your business."
Jayce's desperation was plain in his voice. "Please. I swear I mean no harm. I'm a student at the academy. This is for research."
The sincerity in Jayce's voice gave Benzo pause. He studied the young man carefully, his expression softening slightly, but after a moment, he shook his head again. "I can't help you."
Jayce's face fell, but he managed a nod. "Thank you anyway." He stepped back from the counter, his eyes scanning the cluttered shelves for any other scraps he might use in his experiments.
—
Later that evening, the Kirraman mansion was abuzz with activity. The grand hall was filled with Piltover's elite, their voices mingling into a hum of polite conversation and laughter. Chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the crowd, reflecting off crystal glasses and polished silver trays carried by the staff.
Jayce stood among a group of councilors and academics, holding a glass of wine and offering polite nods to the people who addressed him. He listened absently, his thoughts still preoccupied with the stone from the shop and its elusive owner.
A hush fell over the room as Cassandra Kirraman stepped onto the staircase that overlooked the hall. With her commanding presence, she drew the attention of the crowd effortlessly.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Cassandra began, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "It is my great honor to introduce the newest apprenta of the Kirraman family—a young inventor that you all have seen the results of his work. Please welcome, Tarren."
The crowd turned toward the staircase as Tarren appeared beside Cassandra. He looked nervous but composed, his posture straight and his expression serious. His attire was formal, though it was clear he wasn't entirely comfortable in it.
Jayce smiled politely at first, clapping along with the rest of the audience. But his applause faltered, his hands slowly lowering, as his eyes fixed on the necklace hanging around Tarren's neck.
There it was—the stone.
The same shimmering crystal embedded in his wristband now hung from a thin chain around Tarren's neck, gleaming faintly in the chandelier's light. Jayce's heart raced as he stared at it, disbelief flooding his mind.
He barely heard the rest of Cassandra's speech, his thoughts consumed by questions. Is he the one that that shop owner gave the stone to? What did he know about it? And most importantly... What was he using it for, or is it simply for decoration?
Jayce's grip tightened around his glass. As the applause faded and the crowd began mingling again, Jayce kept his gaze locked on Tarren. He needs to find a way to talk to him, and find out all about his knowledge of that stone.