Tarren sat in his study room, the gentle glow of the lamp casting soft shadows across the walls. Snow drifted lazily outside, coating the streets of Piltover in a quiet, white embrace. The heater in the corner hummed steadily, keeping the room warm against the bitter cold. He leaned over his desk, fingers loosely holding a drafting pen as he traced over a schematic. His mind, however, was elsewhere.
It had been hours since he had escorted Vander and Silco to the council. Morning had bled into afternoon, afternoon into night, and now, the moon shows signs of near midnight. The discussions had not concluded yet, and the uncertainty gnawed at him. He sighed, setting the pen down before rolling up the schematic and sliding it into the desk drawer. The project would have to wait for another day.
Standing, he walked toward the window, placing a hand on the cold glass. From his vantage point, he could see the council building, still alight with activity. The academy never truly slept.
But something else caught his eyes.
A figure stood in the shadows of an alleyway across the street, draped in a dark cloak. The man thought himself subtle, lingering near the entrance of Tarren's lab as though he were just another passerby seeking shelter from the snow. But the streets were empty, and the night was harsh. There was no reason for anyone to stand there unless they had business—business with him.
Tarren narrowed his eyes.
Then he felt it.
A faint vibration, a nearly imperceptible shift in the ventilation system. A weight on the metal ducts above. Someone was inside of it.
His heartbeat quickened. Without hesitation, he reached toward a wooden chest at the corner of the room. It shook slightly before the lid snapped open, and from within, metallic pieces lifted into the air. They shot toward him, wrapping around his arm with a satisfying click. Arcane energy pulsed through the gauntlet as it formed, the runes on its surface glowing a steady blue. The hum of power filled the air as Tarren raised his palm toward the ventilation grate, waiting for the intruder to reveal themselves.
A clang echoed through the room as the vent cover swung open. A small figure dropped down, landing with a light thud. Tarren nearly fired on instinct—until he saw who it was.
"Professor?" His voice was sharp with surprise as he immediately deactivated his weapon, the glow from his palm flickering out. "What are you doing?"
Heimerdinger straightened his small coat, brushing dust from his fur. "Ah, Tarren! I—apologize for the intrusion. We needed a discreet way to leave the academy, and the ventilation system proved to be the best option."
"We?" Tarren repeated, frowning.
Another shape moved in the vent. Vander dropped down next, adjusting his coat as he landed. Then, finally, Silco emerged, his single eye gleaming in the dim light.
"We." Vander confirmed, brushing off his sleeves.
Tarren crossed his arms. "Alright, what happened?"
"The negotiations went well," Heimerdinger explained, his whiskers twitching. "However, certain individuals…leaked the results to less agreeable parties."
"We left through the front door at first," Vander added, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "But Silco noticed we were being followed. More than just a few stray glances—people watching, waiting. We doubled back. The professor got us out through the vents."
Tarren sighed. "So what now?"
Silco strode past him, heading to the window. He glanced through the curtains briefly before snapping them shut. "Now, we make sure we aren't seen. Whoever was watching us will be looking to do something. We need to lay low."
"We were hoping we could stay here," Vander admitted.
Tarren pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. He glanced at the three of them—one of Piltover's most respected scholars, the de facto leader of Zaun, and the man Tarren once called a rat.
"Alright." he finally said.
—
Tarren stood by the curtained window, peeking through the narrow gap between the fabric folds. Outside, a lone figure still loitered across the street, his posture casual but his gaze fixed on the building. He hadn't moved much in the past few minutes, and that, more than anything, confirmed Tarren's suspicions. Whoever this man was, he was waiting for something, or someone, to pass by.
Tarren let the curtain fall back into place with a quiet rustle and turned toward the others. Vander and Silco stood together, the tension between them more subdued than it once was, but not entirely gone. Meanwhile, Heimerdinger, unfazed by the events of the night, sipped at a cup of tea he had made himself, the steam rising in soft curls in the cold air of the lab.
"Do you have any idea who they work for?" Silco asked.
Tarren shook his head as he moved away from the window. "Can't say for sure. Plenty of people don't want Zaun's independence to happen. Merchants, nobles, even some of the council members. Too many names to consider."
He lowered himself onto the edge of his desk, fingers tapping lightly against the wooden surface. His mind churned with questions. This level of surveillance, this quick of a response—it meant someone with influence wasn't pleased with how the negotiations had gone.
"So?" he finally asked, eyes flicking toward Vander and Silco. "How did it go? And I'm not asking if it went well, that seems clear—I'm asking about the results."
Vander exhaled, crossing his arms. "The discussions were long," he admitted. "As expected, the council wasn't exactly enthusiastic about the idea of full independence."
"We had to offer something else," Silco added, pacing slowly. "Their hesitation wasn't surprising. There's too much at stake, too many assets entangled between Piltover and Zaun. Their resistance was inevitable. Unfortunate, but it is what it is."
Tarren frowned, his fingers still drumming against the desk. "I thought the professor said the talks went well. So, what? It failed?"
"It didn't fail," Heimerdinger interjected, his voice calm as he placed his tea down. "But diplomacy always leads to compromise. We achieved the next best thing: autonomy."
"The Autonomous Region of Zaun," Vander murmured, as if still getting used to the words himself.
Tarren raised a brow. "Isn't that basically the same situation you've been dealing with all this time?"
"Officially, this time," Vander corrected. "The council has agreed to provide financial support to help build an official government structure and establish an enforcement body. They offered to send Piltover enforcers to keep order at first, but even they realized how disastrous that would be."
"So Piltover still owns the Undercity—on paper," Tarren muttered.
"In name only," Silco said. "It's not ideal, but considering how stubborn the council is, this is a win. Zaun will govern itself, create its own laws, and ensure its people are protected without Piltover constantly interfering."
Tarren let out a quiet hum, leaning back slightly. It was better than he had expected—but was it enough? He glanced at the closed curtain, his mind drifting back to the man outside. The opposition to this arrangement wasn't just within the council; there were forces beyond those chambers who wouldn't accept this so easily.
Vander seemed to sense his hesitation. "It's the best we could hope for, given the circumstances."
Tarren exhaled sharply through his nose, crossing his arms.
—
The night had grown even darker, the silence of the city settling in like a thick fog. Heimerdinger paced slowly around the dimly lit lab, his bushy eyebrows furrowed as he took in the various unfinished contraptions and schematics scattered across the tables. The soft glow of arcane energy hummed faintly from a few of them, casting flickering shadows against the walls. He ran a small paw over a set of blueprints, his mind awash with thoughts.
From the alleyway entrance, Tarren stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. His boots barely made a sound against the metal floor as he walked toward the old yordle.
"They've rested," Tarren informed him.
Heimerdinger turned with a gentle smile. "That's good. I imagine those old men are tired after a full day of negotiations."
Tarren let out a small chuckle, leaning against the desk. "You're the older one here, professor. By, what… a few centuries?"
Heimerdinger chuckled in return, shaking his head. "I suppose you are right. But it seems that tonight, I feel just as weary as any human."
The silence between them stretched for a moment, neither uncomfortable nor unwelcome. It was the type of quiet that came after a long battle—not one fought with steel, but with words, with convictions, with compromises. It was only broken when Heimerdinger finally spoke again.
"I guess this is it."
Tarren raised a brow. "What?"
"My time as Head Councilor." Heimerdinger sighed, his small shoulders rising and falling. "Even after everything, the council and some individuals still aren't pleased about it. Not entirely. The middle ground we reached will have its detractors."
Tarren scoffed. "People don't like change. Especially changes that hurt their pockets. But still… what you did, Professor—it wasn't nothing. You didn't have to go this far."
"Oh, but I did." Heimerdinger's voice was quiet but firm. He turned, looking up at Tarren, his eyes filled with something deeper than mere duty—regret, perhaps. "It's the consequence of my past sins. When I first saw the letter you gave me, I was reminded of young Vi's pale face. Your sister. I governed a city that I did not truly understand. The Undercity suffered while I turned my eyes upward, toward progress and innovation, believing it would trickle down to them." He paused, his ears lowering slightly. "But progress built on the suffering of others is no true progress at all."
Tarren didn't respond immediately. He just watched the old professor, the weight of those words hanging in the air between them. Heimerdinger had ruled for centuries, yet only now did he seem to grasp the true depth of his failures.
"What are you going to do next?" Tarren finally asked.
Heimerdinger exhaled, placing a paw against one of the blueprints, tracing a line absentmindedly. "I have a great many things I wish to do. But I won't be doing them here. I'll be leaving Piltover."
Tarren blinked, straightening slightly. "You're leaving?"
Heimerdinger nodded. "I will live in the Undercity. I will learn what I have never learned, walk streets I have only seen from afar. And perhaps, if they ask, I will offer wisdom to those who seek it."
Tarren folded his arms, his gaze unreadable. "And waiting?"
Heimerdinger flinched slightly at the word but quickly composed himself. "I suppose that too. But there's still much left for me to do before I step down. The transition must be handled carefully, lest it will become chaotic."
Tarren simply hummed in response, casting his gaze toward the window. The world outside was changing. He wasn't sure if it was for the better or if they had merely postponed another inevitable conflict. But one thing was certain—it has been done.
---
A/N: Sorry didn't upload last week and only got one chapter, I'm currently in the process of moving. on another topic, this fanfic has one 'arc' left, which is the ambessa/noxus arc, probably going to be the longest one, there's one/two more chapter after this then a bit of timeskip.