Magnum Opus

Blueprints. Tools. Machineries. And more machineries. That's what a regular Piltovian scientist's workshop would look like: messy, unorganized and a tad bit of craziness. More so if you're a scientist specialized in mechanics and techmaturgy.

I wouldn't call myself a techmaturgy expert, but I dabble. A little. My field of expertise is in clockwork and automaton. I create mechanical objects and beings, make them functional and operate them to help people. Techmaturgy experiments and researches focuses more on… live subjects.

And so I was always cooped up in my tiny, claustrophobic work space, tinkering away on my new clockwork creations and sketching blueprints, coming up with new ideas to prove my part in this innovative society. Being a Piltovian scientist isn't easy, there's competition everywhere.

More so when there was this new young lad who claimed himself to be the Defender of the city. What was his name again? Jayce? Rumour has it that he was trying to build this ultimate weapon that could be switched from melee to ranged. Such weapon would involve years of research and plenty of expensive materials. Yet, he claimed that he could create such weapon within a year.

But what are scientists, if not ambitious?

I was fixing and oiling the gears of my latest automaton when the door to my workroom creaked open slightly, a small beam of light illuminating the dark, cold room I was in. Cold is good, perfect for the intellect.

I did not look up from my work, but my lips stretched into a wide smile. I knew who it was, since she was the only one (besides Piltovian officials or senior scientists) whom I would allow access into my messy work space.

There is no one else in this world I love more than her. Not even my best clockwork creation could match up with her perfection.

However, I pretended not to notice her presence. I continued checking my creation for any faults, and couldn't help but smile when she let off a little giggle, the sound gleeful and innocent.

"Yes, Orianna?" I finally said. And my sweet, joyful daughter rushed towards me, her steps skipping as she made her way across the room. Her soft blonde hair bounced as she did, and on her face was a permanent smile that I'll never grow bored of looking at.

I put away the spanner as she jumped into my arms. She did not care if her ballerina outfit was stained with oil and grease from my overalls, and pressed her cheek against my chest. I rubbed her back lightly, and watched her squirm as I tickled her playfully. Finally I put her down, as she looked at the automaton I had just finished oiling.

"What is this, daddy?" her voice was childlike, full of curiosity.

"A clockwork machine that needs no wounding," I showed her the insides of the automaton. "It wounds itself from the inside, and do you want to know what it does?"

Orianna nodded vehemently.

"It dances, just like you," I grinned. "And so, you'll have a friend, a dance partner," I closed and screwed the parts back into place, and played with the gears. "I have installed special parts in it that each time it wounds, it would perform ballet moves, do you wanna try?"

"I wanna do a pirouette!" Orianna jumped up and down excitedly. I laughed, and fixed the automaton.

Orianna immediately went to the centre of the room and stood on her toes. Every step she made emitted an aura of pure elegance and grace. And when she spun, balanced only on her left toes, it truly took my breath away. At the age of six, Orianna had mastered the arts of ballerina, and even her tutors were amazed, often taking her to theatres in other nations for performances. I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride within my chest.

My beautiful daughter, so gifted and perfect.

When Orianna had finished, she performed a graceful curtsy. Then she stepped back and allowed the automaton to perform. I rotated a gear, and watched as my creation slid forward on its wheels.

When the clockwork ballerina did a pirouette identical to Orianna's, Orianna clapped and giggled, immensely impressed. She watched me with a keen expression, and within her gaze I could see amazement and wonder.

"Do you like it?"

She rushed forward and embraced me again. "I love it, Daddy! Thank you so much! You're the best daddy in the world!"

"Well, since he's now your friend," I emphasized on the 'he', indicating that it was a male. "What would you like to name him?"

Orianna furrowed her brows and tapped her finger against her chin. Then her face brightened with a smile as she said, "Garen!"

I only frowned. The name did not ring a bell. "Who's Garen?"

"You know, that champion in the League of Legends? The one from Demacia? He loves to spin!" she mimicked a clumsy spin, laughing gleefully as she did.

I sighed. "You've been watching the League of Legends again?"

"They're interesting, father! And amazing!" Orianna pouted. "Maybe I can be a champion when I grow up! Together with Garen here, I want the whole of Valoran to know what a great scientist my father is!" she said proudly as she patted the automaton's head.

She then crossed her fingers in front of me and looked at me with those large eyes. "Do you think I can be a champion, father? Please?"

I don't know much about the Institute of War, or the League of Legends, and never cared because politics aren't really my interest. But how could I say no to her?

I ran a hand over her fine hair, a warm smile spreading from ear to ear. "Anything for you, Orianna,"

Orianna squealed in excitement and joy. I was happy, to see her so happy.

I stood at the edge of the courtyard, dressed in a black, worn suit and pants. I did not expect guests that day, but some of my colleagues, even rivals, came to pay their respects. But I couldn't care less.

I nodded each time someone came up to me, patting my shoulder or saying they were sorry. I couldn't look them in the eyes each time they did. My gaze was somewhere else, fixed on a wooden casket where a bouquet of flowers laid on the lid, with a pair of dancing shoes.

I couldn't bear to look at my colleagues. I couldn't tolerate how insincere they were.

It was obvious that they never felt sorry for me. They never cared. All they knew about me was my work and my talent in mechanical science, they never knew about my daughter. But they felt guilty. They were guilty because if they do not show up and express their condolences, they wouldn't dare to look me in the eye at work. They were afraid that their indifference would deem them inhuman.

They weren't here for me. They weren't here for Orianna. They were here so they would feel better about themselves.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I felt. I was tempted to shout at all the guests to leave my house at once, that none of them had the right to be here. Orianna needed only her father, not some ignorant, self-conscious bastards who thought so highly of themselves.

Before my rage took the better of me, the priest came, together with a choir of boys. And I knew that it was time.

I stood beside the casket as the funeral began. The priest had insisted that I should have Orianna buried at the cemetery next to the chapel, so that she would be close to God, forever and always. But I refused, and persisted with having her buried in my courtyard.

Orianna does not need God, or whoever that is. Orianna needs only her father. The only person who loves her more than anything in this world. No one ever understands my love for my daughter. No one ever will.

I watched as men shovelled a square of dirt that was six-feet deep. I watched as they lifted the casket, together with the flowers and the shoes, and lowered into the space. In front of it was a gravestone, engraved with my daughter's name. The priest began preaching his blessings and such, and the choir of boys began to sing a requiem, but my mind was somewhere else. Someplace far from this tragedy.

How could this be happening?

Someone as innocent as her, how could God, or fate, or whatever it is, take her away from me before I could watch her grow?

But it was partly my fault, too. I built the turrets for her training to become a champion, toning down their damage to the minimum. I thought everything was flawless, and Orianna's training would be safe and well.

Yet it went haywire, struck her with three full-blasts. And she laid on the floor, lifeless.

It was my fault, how was it not? I shouldn't have agreed on her request to join the League of Legends. I should have convinced her, that there are other ways to be revered and admired. She could have become a dancer, well-known throughout Valoran and loved by millions. Not as a champion of the League.

But that was her dream, and I was too weak to refuse.

That night it rained heavily. And I sat by my window staring out into the dark courtyard, the occasional flashes of lightning granting me glimpses of Orianna's resting place. In my hand was a photograph of Orianna performing, and I clutched it tightly to my chest as my eyes burnt with hot tears.

A whirr of machinery drew my attention, and I looked into the opposite end of the room where an automaton laid in the dark, slumped in a corner, with his head tilted to the side. His eyes were dull and dead, and every few seconds, its limbs would twitch, like a dying, bedridden man.

Even Garen seemed to have died with Orianna that day.

"Orianna, you don't have to forgive me," my voice was a choked sob, with tears blurring my vision. "But Father loves you very, very much,"

Deciding that I had had enough of sitting in that stuffy armchair, I stood up uneasily, suddenly feeling like an old man. There was nothing else to live for. Why work when you are now alone, depressed and heartbroken?

My throat felt parched and dry for the entire day, and I reached out to my desk for a glass of water.

My hand swept against something – a stack of yellowed papers piled together with a ring, and I cursed as it fell to the floor. I bent down to retrieve it, wincing as my back popped, and as my hand wrapped around it, I read the title scribbled on the stack of research papers.

The Infinity Gear, it read.

And the gears in my head started working, ticking as I reminisced on the days of my youth, when I spent years studying and poring over research works and tomes on the Infinity Gear, also known as the Life Piece. The scientist who had created the Gear had been able to grant automatons with human conscience. But that was long ago, and his recipe of enchantment was never found.

I had managed to work out on the recipe, though. My curiosity served as my greatest motivation, and my desire to discover this buried knowledge pushed me forward. In the end I wrote the theory on papers, yet when I presented my research to my professor, he rejected it.

The materials were costly and difficult to come by, that was his reason.

But now I have enough funds and donations earned from the Piltovian philanthropists to construct the Infinity Gear. Immediately I flipped through the pages of the papers, poring through diagrams and figures and lists of materials and procedures.

Knowing that there was still hope, my lips curled into a smile.

I looked at where Garen laid, now nothing but a broken heap of gears and steel. It was probably a figment of my imagination, but I swore I saw his eyes flicker.

Day and night, I locked myself in my workshop, only having three hours of sleep a day. I worked and worked and worked, not even bothering to look into the mirror to clean or shave. My mind was so full of studies of science and techmaturgy that one would say that I was insanely obsessed. But what are scientists – if not obsessed?

Ever since Orianna's funeral, I had written to the research centre to resign. I thought at least the executives would tell me to reconsider my options, that I can take a long break or something from the stress I was feeling instead of quitting. But no, two days later I received a paycheck of the rest of the month's pay, and a letter that was written in a rather perfunctory manner, if not ungrateful and apathetical.

We understand your predicament, and already have a few applicants to replace your job vacancy. We thank you for your contribution to the centre, Mr Reveck.

Putting my grief and anger aside, I started on my work.

The corner of the room was strewn with boxes of half-eaten takeouts, where rodents and cockroaches had made themselves a nest. There were scratches and scars gouged on the walls, with broken heap of machinery when I had crashed and dismantled furiously out of pure frustration, for each time I couldn't figure out the methods and equations to my work.

I was afraid to look into the mirror. I had no doubt I would look dishevelled, with bloodshot eyes, like a depressed man close to madness.

On the walls where there were blueprints and sketched diagrams of my previous inventions, were now taken down and replaced by new blueprints of a new clockwork automaton and diagrams of the Infinity Gear. Chalkboards were scribbled with graphs, formulae and equations, and on the floor were crates of rare materials and parts that I had ordered from all around Valoran, hiring treasure hunters to search for some rare items.

The enchantment of the Infinity Gear was a long and tedious process. It had taken me a few months to forge the Infinity Gear, and even a longer time to synthesize the chemical formula of the catalyst fluid. It was all purely theoretical, and there were multiple failures on mixing the wrong compounds, but finally and hopefully, I had found the right chemical formula.

With a pair of tweezers, I retrieved a piece of gear that was probably the size of a child's palm. It glowed red-hot as I picked it up from the bowl of molten metal, hissing when I dipped it into a bucket of cold water.

When I placed the Gear on a rack, my blinded eye itched. I scratched it unconsciously, and put on an eyepiece, magnifying the small Gear. I marvelled at the intricate carvings and edges of the Gear, nodding approvingly as I coated it with oil, before immersing it into the beaker of catalyst fluid.

Then I reached for a vial filled with a thick emulsion. It wasn't much, but it would be enough.

It wasn't easy digging up Orianna's grave by myself, but I was determined. When I opened the lid of the casket, I was struck by the rotting stench, and so I quickly took out a syringe and ejected my daughter's brain fluid. Fortunately the liquid in her body hadn't dried up yet, but I got only a small vial, nothing more.

But within this vial held Orianna's dreams, memories and personality. It was the ingredient that defines who she is, the only item that can resurrect my daughter.

I poured the content of the vial into the catalyst fluid, watching as the fluid hissed and sizzled in reaction.

Then I headed to the middle of the room, where my magnum opus stood proudly and brilliantly behind a large piece of white cloth, waiting to be revealed for the world to see. I pulled the cloth away.

In front of me stood a clockwork automaton built with the curvaceous figure of a young girl. Her body was made of hard alloy, unreactive to water and oxygen, hence it wouldn't rust. Her head was topped with a golden capped skull that resembled blonde hair, tied up in a bun. Her skirt was a huge gear, one that rotates as the giant key in her back was wound. The clockwork girl's eyes were dull and dim, devoid of life and purpose.

Next to the clockwork girl was a large ball, built partly on clockwork techmaturgy and electricity, and mostly from the dismantled parts of the broken automaton, Garen. The Ball would be the clockwork girl's pet; her protector and her friend. And if necessary, her deadly weapon.

I reached into the pocket of my dirty trousers and fished out a worn photograph of Orianna, staring at it longingly. Then I looked at my creation.

"My daughter," I whispered in wonder, as though my creation could hear me. "Others will look at you with distaste and deem you nothing but a machine, but remember. In my eyes, you will always be perfect,"

I reached for the tweezer and removed the Infinity Gear from the substance. Below the neck of the clockwork girl, was a small slot for a missing piece. A small space that would hold the most important piece, just like the heart.

"Follow your dreams, Orianna. Finish what you have started,"

I inserted the Gear into the small slot. The reaction was immediate. The Gear sizzled with bright energy and the limbs of the clockwork sparked and spasmed. Her eyes instantly flooded with life, and she twitched a little, before straightening up.

Beside her, the Ball reacted as well. It floated with the help of the electromagnetic field strength, and the Ball parted, revealing ticking gears and pieces that sparked with electricity. A stalk extended from the core of the Ball, revealing a bright blue scope that resembled its eye, scanning its surrounding with interest.

The large key behind the clockwork girl jerked, then began to turn. I could hear the creaks of turning gears, like the sounds of a machine's heartbeat. And for the first time since Orianna's death, I smiled.

I held the picture of her near my heart, crying and laughing softly as my greatest creation came to life.

"This is it, Orianna,"

The Lady of Clockwork stopped next to me, patting her companion lightly as it floated alongside with her. It had been a two-day journey to the Institute of War from Piltover, but I was very delighted. That day was the day when Orianna would become a champion of the League of Legends, just as she had always wanted.

Orianna's head turned towards me, her eyes unblinking. To others, she seemed horrifying, scary even. But to me, she's a wonder. Her voice was robotic, with a close approximation to that of a human. "This is very exciting,"

"Very," I agree. "Remember what I said?"

I remembered that I had brought Orianna to show my colleagues my achievement on creating the Infinity Gear. I remembered how excited I felt, that I was the only person after the scientist to create the Gear. I knew there were side effects, that there were reasons why the scientist was horrified when he found out the aftermath of placing his invention in a lifeless automaton, and promptly scrapped it and destroyed his research papers even though he succeeded.

Orianna's head tilted to the side, her skirt rotating like a giant gear. "When you fall, you get right back up," she said. My grin spread wider at the sound of her childlike voice.

I remembered taking her into the room, grinning like a madman and telling them how I resurrected my daughter. But instead of praise, their faces twisted with disgust, saying that Orianna's voice sounded creepy and sadistic, and that her eyes never seemed alive. They were appalled by the sight of her - twitchy, robotic and hollow inside. I got angry when they said so, but surprisingly the Ball had reacted even more violently, obviously growing protective of her.

"And we will kill your enemies," Orianna said in that playful voice of hers. Why those bastards found her cold and mechanical, I do not understand. She is perfect, just like she is alive. Her Ball chimed in agreement. "That will be fun,"

My mind remained on that piece of memory where they criticised Orianna, telling me to scrap her and discard the research papers. This isn't life, they said, she seemed more like a dead person pretending to be alive. Let her go, Corin, your daughter's gone.

I don't believe them. They were saying that because they were jealous. Because I did what they had failed to do.

I remembered how Orianna hummed with sadness, how the Ball shook with unbridled rage, how I yelled at them that I do not need their pity. I remembered how the Ball then simply split, revealing razor sharp blades. I remembered how my colleagues' eyes widened with terror just as the Ball released a shockwave, stunning them all and running through them with its blades, killing them all.

I grinned at the memory. They would be spending a lot of time rotting with the dead girl in the casket beneath my courtyard, but it didn't matter. Orianna is now alive, and about to join the League of Legends.

"And do you know what makes them tick?" I asked Orianna, smiling. I could almost hear the sweet screams of my colleagues once again, and the gurgled noises they made as they choked on their own blood.

Orianna seemed to be thinking of the same thing. Her head twitched slightly. "I know what makes them tick. I know how to make the ticking stop,"

I grinned sadistically. The Ball chimed.

After all, what are scientists – if not mad?