Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim to own, any character or region besides my original characters and storylines. All characters and regions not originally created by the authors credited in this work of fiction are the intellectual properties of Riot Games, Inc. and their respective partners.
Author's Note: Watching the Arcane trailer got me into League of Legends' lore after years of being surrounded by League players, which then dragged me into the fanfics, which got the plot bunny in my head running and here we are. Unlike my previous stories, I spent a few months planning and outlining a plot for this one, mostly because I had to wait for Arcane to release all three acts and for any subsequent retcons to be announced before committing to the details.
Gwoo Wowarr has given me permission to connect this fic to 'Project N: Unexpected Results' and the subsequent one-shot side-story 'Momma's Boys' with limited use of certain characters. I highly recommend you check Gwoo out as they are an amazing writer, and frankly was the one who inspired me to pursue the Piltover plotline down below instead of the Noxus one sitting in my folder. I also want to thank them for assisting me in constructing characters and asking all the right questions to ensure that this piece of fiction is of the highest quality within my current abilities. It should also be noted that nothing that happened here would necessarily be cannon to Gwoo's stories.
This timeline starts with the 'Progress Day' and 'Interrogation 101' stories from Vi's lore. The timeline could get muddled up sometimes to better accommodate the story, but I do try to stick as close to canon as I can until I have to completely deviate to my own storyline.
Also, according to Legends of Runeterra, Piltover Wardens have a SWAT team? It's on the fandom wiki too, so I'm counting it as canon, but I'm calling them enforcers, to give a bit more meaning to Vi's title of 'Piltover's Enforcer' and separate them from the usual wardens. If this turns out to not be canon, it could just be an extra detail I added.
Hope you enjoy.
Rated M for swearing, substances, graphic depiction of violence, and semi-explicit description of erotic themes in future chapters.
Cliffside Residence, Boundary Markets, Promenade Level, Zaun
Heron woke up with barely a yawn, which came as a mild surprise considering he pulled an all-nighter and didn't come home until after third bell this morning. Running a hand through his short, spiky crimson hair, styled into a tapered crew cut, he headed into the bathroom, looking to freshen up before he had to report to Caitlyn. Being only 5'11 with the moderate muscle mass to complement his athletic build, he didn't even have to squeeze to navigate through the bedroom on his way to the bathroom door. The room itself wasn't small, after all this is the Promenade, not the Sump, but his bed occupied about half the available space, and the big mahogany desk by the wall took up another decent chunk. Books on various subjects lined the shelves above, a detailed map of Piltover and three others of Zaun permanent fixtures on the tabletop.
There were bigger places in Zaun for half the price, but this one came with the rare Piltovan luxury of a chamber pot connected straight into the excrement disposal pipeline, so he didn't need to empty it outside after every use. Sure, most places in Piltover have this feature along with space, and with the moderate fortune from his father he could definitely afford one of the more upscale residences available topside, but he preferred the Promenade, where he could blend in with both cities easily, keeping an eye and ear out for anything interesting. Besides, he can't stand the arrogance and self-entitlement of Piltover anyway.
After taking a cold shower, he began to get dressed. Sturdy and stylishly simplistic black trousers, a matching black blazer over a dark red collared button-up, two short dark steel swords to his back and right hip, both forged with Ironspike ore and designed for speed over range or power, and steel-toed boots. It wasn't his uniform, he despised that outfit and would never put it on unless specifically ordered to, but it was stylish, professional, versatile, and, most importantly, durable. Heron walked into his moderately-sized living room and grabbed a piece of Shuriman sunbread from the table, studying the position displayed on the metallic chessboard next to it before strolling out of the house, carefully locking the door behind him and making his way to the Rising Howl further down the street. One other reason he chose to live where he did: It's right under the Hall of Law, all he gotta do was take the Howl then walk a few dozen steps to get to work.
The walk was surprisingly quiet, so was the ride up to Piltover. He received a few distrusting side eyes here and there, mostly from well-dressed topsiders once he got to Piltover proper. That tends to happen when you're a known Noxian native in this city. It was the norm for him here, always has been, so he wasn't really fazed anymore. His employment with the Wardens had initially sparked a silent outcry from the mercantile clans up north once they learned of his origins and demanded his immediate removal. They eventually calmed down after a few months, in no small part due to Caitlyn's intervention, but he knew none of them ever truly got over their prejudiced feelings about him, nor does he expect them to.
Both sides of Sapphilite Row had posters scattered on the walls as he walked by, offering rewards for chem-thugs, advertising 'Heimerdinger's latest pyrotechnic provision', and layers upon layers of wanted posters for Jinx, posters he knew were fake without needing a second glance. Further away, across Techmaturgy Bridge, he saw banners of gold and colored silk baring various sigils hanging from clan towers, fluttering in the morning wind, signaling the start of Progress Day. High above, airships with golden frames boasting Jayce Talis' immaculate jawline flew around, next to the words 'Man of Progress' or 'Defender of Tomorrow' in big, bold letters. He let out an amused scoff before turning to the northern skyline.
The towering mansions of Bluewind Court gleamed in the early morning sun, covered in gold trims, marble pillars, and tinted glass. Yet another giant excessive display of opulence by the merchant clans, built on the blood, sweat and often lives of the people of Zaun while those same people who kept their empires afloat choke on the toxic air in the streets below, fighting for scraps and scraping together blood-stained coins just so they wouldn't starve. Heron felt a disdainful sneer spread across his face at the thought, one he quickly wiped before anyone could see.
Sumpsnipes with razor-rings took to the streets as he made the turn onto Horologica Avenue, some getting pretty close to him but were dissuaded at the sight of the sword hilt jutting from his back. He kept an eye out anyway, not wanting to see a hole in his purse this early in the morning. He did pretend to be oblivious as a few loose hexes slipped out of his front trouser pockets onto the street, smiling internally as their young eyes lit up and they scamper over each other to snatch the coins. 'They won't be sleeping hungry tonight', he thought as the entrance to the district house appeared in his view.
"Morning, Harknor", he greeted the yordle desk-warden on his way in. "Anything new for Progress Day?", he asked on, looking at the impressively long list of prisoners from last night.
"Eh, nothing much. Drunks, mostly. A few chem-thugs caught just outside of Drop Street. Caitlyn and Mohan bringing in a hextech thief might be the most exciting thing today", Harknor said, not once looking up from his list. Heron checked the charges on the list and landed on the name.
Devaki. Holding cell six. Grand larceny of clan-registered workshops.
"Hey Harknor, this hextech thief you mentioned. He talked yet?"
"No, not yet. Why?", the yordle asked.
"Just curious what type we're dealing with", was the reply. "See ya later"
Walking deeper into the gilded chamber at the heart of the Hall, mostly empty due to high security demands for the Progress Day festivities, Heron scanned the upper balcony for any sign of Caitlyn before seeing her briskly walking out of her office, rifle strapped tightly over a shoulder meaning she was going on a hunt.
"Hey sheriff. Going out?", he called out to her.
She turned to him, the thrill of the hunt gleaming in her eyes.
"I got a lead down at the docks. Wanna tag along? Could use some of those unique skills of yours", she replied with a friendly half-smile.
He was one of two people within the entire force who could genuinely call themselves Caitlyn's friend. His charismatic charm had gotten him on Vi's good side in a Lanes bar a few days after he moved to Zaun. They'd hit it off, became friends, and eventually she introduced him to the sheriff. He applied for a job with the Wardens by the end of the month.
Caitlyn's other friend was obviously Vi, but they were a lot more than that if he believed deskside rumors flying around the office every now and again. Looking at the two of them, it was possible, although Vi was quite tight-lipped about it.
"Nah, I'll pass. Heard about that thief you caught though. Mind if I take a shot at him?", he asked.
"Sure thing, he's in cell six. And Zinralei?", she called out to him as he walked away, prompting him to stop and look back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at her rare use of his surname. "I want the name that hired him, but I also want him sane enough to confess before the procurator, got it? I've got about a dozen pneuma-tubes from the Asylum that wants you to stop sending convicts their way. Also, I just sent a tube to Vi, so make sure she at least has something to do, okay?"
Shooting her an amused smirk, he gave a quick nod before turning down the hallway to the cells. Three, four, five… Ah, there he is, one of the numerous undercity personalities to go to when you want something stolen. He wasn't the best thief in Zaun, that would be Moyna, nor was he the smartest, that would again be Moyna, but as long as you pay him well enough he'll steal whatever you want. Taking a quick glance inside the cell, he saw that the Zaunite had a few fresh cuts on his face, covered in dust, dirt, and what seems to be dried blood. His clothes were damp, judging from the areas on his body most of that dampness was drying sweat. Most noticeable of all was the bloody bandaged stump where his hand was supposed to be, probably an augment shot off by Caitlyn and most likely the source of blood that was staining his clothes.
Golden orbs scanned the hallway. Making sure that there were no eyes his way, he clenched his fists, feeling the arcane power course through his skin, his muscle, his veins, and leaking from his fingertips. A shade of crimson bled into his irises, and he stepped into the cell, ignoring the look of absolute terror on Devaki's face as the scrawny man instinctively tried to squeeze himself flat against the corner, as far away from Heron as possible as the door slammed shut behind him.
The entire floor heard the Zaunite's screams and the abrupt silence afterward, but none of them paid it any mind. After all, this happened every time some poor soul had the misfortune of being interrogated by Heron Zinralei, and the other wardens have long since learned that, for the sake of their own sanity, it was better not to ask.
When Vi finally turned up to work an hour later, all she found in cell six was a quivering man on the stone bed, knees drawn tight against his chest and whimpering softly about demons with blood-red eyes ripping into his head. She could only sigh in resignation and signal for Harknor to call the Asylum before going to check for new developments. As usual, Heron got a name out of his suspect.
Tamara Lautari.
Bluewind Court, Piltover
When Caitlyn came back and heard what Heron got out of Devaki, she had personally led a team of enforcers, Heron and Vi included, on a raid party into Lautari's boarding room, finding maps, schematics, and hextech journals detailing every road, entry point, patrol route and defensive weakness in Piltover. The sheriff had her suspicions as to what this was, but it was Heron who confirmed, albeit extremely hesitantly, that a Tamara matching the official description had run scout missions for his warband in the past as a warmason, back when he was still part of Noxian military five years ago.
They then proceeded past Techmaturgy Bridge to Bluewind Court, where Heron and Cait waited near Clan Medarda's mansion house for the apprenta to show up. Vi opted to go back home after the raid, stating that the two could handle the rest without her and that she needed to "throw back a few glasses of something strong and sleep some", while also stating that she wasn't in the mood to deal with Northside snobs, which Heron could relate to. He made a mental note to bring her a bottle of Noxian wine to help her sleep better next time he drops by the dressmakers-quarter as he and Caitlyn went to their respective vantage points.
While Caitlyn had been spotted by Tamara at her seat on the fountain rim, and the moment he laid eyes on her he recognized her immediately, the Noxian native remained unseen from his perch on a nearby rooftop, tracking her like a raven tracking its game. Despite what the law said, the frustrating truth was that wardens don't have any actual authority on clan grounds without explicit approval from the corresponding clan master or authorization from a Councilor. Without either, all they could do was wait as the wave of apprenta squeezed by each other to try and get through the gates before they close.
Seeing that it would be a while before Tamara comes back out, Heron leaped down from the rooftop into an alleyway without a sound, adjusting his attire before seamlessly mingling with the mix of Piltovan nobles and high-end merchants milling around Bluewind Plaza, situated between the clan compounds as a sort of central hub. He proceeded to the cliffside and took an express platform down to Wharfside Docks, looking for a few particular things. He found a Noxian troop barque trading with dockside shop owners and walked over, eyes shining at the crates of Noxian oranges and wine, Basilich wine to be precise, along with the usual selection of mundane tools and a few weapons on display.
"How much for a bottle of that wine?", he asked the shipmaster standing nearby in Va-Noxian, letting his full natural voice take over from the Piltovan accent he'd been adopting, the cultured Noxian accent betraying his noble ancestry.
The older woman, a hardened visage of cropped black hair and tanned brown skin with a nasty scar running down the right side of her jawline into her collar, snapped around at the sound of her native tongue, eyes wide as she took in Heron. He gave the woman a few seconds, after all it's not every day you see a Noxian walk around in Piltover who didn't come in one of the ships sent there for the day, but after a while he felt the need to repeat himself.
"How much for a bottle of that wine? The oranges too", he asked again, taking on a slightly louder and assertive tone, hoping to snap the shipmaster out of her blatant staring as he tapped two fingers to his heart then his temple.
That gesture got him a raised eyebrow.
"Ten gold hexes for a bottle, but a crate of twelve goes for only a hundred. Five cogs for two oranges, as fresh as you can get", she said, a mildly surprised look still on her face, loosely concealed behind the professional mask of a vessel saleswoman promoting imported goods.
Heron pulled out his coin purse and handed over two cogs along with a handful of bronze washers.
"I'll get an orange. Two crates of that wine too. Just charge it to Heron Zinralei and leave them in the dockside warehouse. I'll pick 'em up later", he added at the end, signing the purchase order for the wine before catching the orange thrown his way.
"Much obliged", he said, slipping back into his Piltovan accent before walking away, leaving the sailor to stare at his retreating figure as he peels the orange skin away with a short dagger previously tucked in his right sleeve, moaning softly as he relishes in the sweetness of his homeland and the coolness of orange juice leaking onto his tongue with every bite.
He spares a few minutes to stroll the docks, watching the flow of ships, people, merchandise, and currency. He always enjoys these moments, relaxing and observing everyday life. He hasn't been here that long, barely two years since arriving on these very docks, but he'd fallen in love with the hustle and bustle of the dual cities, the constant movement of production and trade and the diversity of people and cultures from all over Runeterra, so different yet so similar to the movement of troops and traders back in the Noxian capital. He took a moment to take it all in before throwing the orange skin into a nearby trash chute and head back up on a southern funicular, knowing that the 'failure exit', as some had taken to call it, from Clan Medarda's compound spills out into a side street lower down the city that would lead back to the upper end of this track.
He ascended just in time to see Caitlyn draw her rifle on Tamara, who was with another young man he assumed was her friend Gysbert, a name he came across when looking through her file for known associates. He saw Cait brush aside the man's protest as the other three wardens, he recognized investigator Asako in his signature golden tie alongside the Mir and Kepple patrol duo in their uniforms, frogmarched the brunette towards him, the sheriff's aim still steady on her head. He shifted his gaze slightly to see Gysbert contemplating some kind of rescue plan from behind and quickly locked eyes with the younger man, drawing the blade from his hip with his right hand in a reverse grip. An assassin's grip. His message was loud and clear, and the young apprenta's blood drained from his face as he stumbled back a few steps before running out of sight.
"Are you arresting me?", he heard Tamara ask. "What did I do?"
"Really? You're going to play dumb?", Caitlyn shot back. "We searched your room and found everything. The hextech journals, the schematics"
Tamara looked genuinely bewildered. "I'm an apprenta", she said with a believable amount of surprise in her voice. "I'm supposed to have schematics"
She was good with that accent, enough roughness and slang, but yet still fail to cover the naturally coarse and gritty undertone that came with being raised to speak Va-Noxian. He personally never tried to cover it up, instead striving for a mixture that blended in with the dual city-states while still maintaining true to his roots.
But then again, he wasn't the one with a muzzle aimed at his head.
He stepped aside as Caitlyn and the other three wardens filed into the elevator before covering the rear, boxing the nervous brunette in between them. The sheriff broke the silence again.
"Maybe you are supposed to have schematics, but I don't think many apprenta have such detailed maps of Piltover hidden within their work. I'm Caitlyn, and I've walked a beat for more years than I care to count, so I know this city's streets better than most. And I have to say, you did a damned accurate job. Even Vi could walk blindfold around Piltover with those plans and not get lost", she told Tamara, her tone suggesting that what she just said was no small feat.
"I don't follow", the apprenta said as Caitlyn pulled a lever, the angled elevator beginning its juddering descent to the city's lowest levels.
"Yeah, you're more a trailblazer than a follower, aren't you?", Caitlyn asked, amusement and accusation dripping from her voice.
"What does that mean?", the young woman asked, her voice quivering with fear as she felt Ironspike steel lightly touch her back, Heron's hand unwavering as he held himself and his blade at the ready. No one answered her, and Tamara shook her head, her eyes filling with tears as she started to shiver in her human restraints.
"Look, I swear I don't know what this is all about", she said, her voice cracking completely and her chest heaving with heavy sobs. "Please, I'm just an apprenta trying to catch a break. Signing a contract with Clan Medarda was my last chance to make something of myself before my father's money runs out and I have to indenture myself to one of the Zaun Chem-forges. Please, you have to believe me!", she pleaded with a guttural cry of despair.
If Heron didn't already know that it was all an act, he might've even tried to convince Caitlyn to reconsider. Alas, that wasn't the case today.
They arrived at the docks in the shadow of a Shuriman galleon riding high in the water, recently emptied of cargo. His eyes saw journals and schematics in a cart for a brief second before he reversed his sword grip with a flick of the wrist and leveled the blade against Tamara's throat, said girl having managed to throw off the wardens holding her back. She had already gotten a full step in Caitlyn's direction before he reacted. Since when was he so fucking slow?
"No! Please, don't", she wept on the spot, her quivering throat close to cutting itself on his blade, but he didn't let up. "Please. I'm begging you! It's all I have left. Please!", she cried out, looking for compassion where there was none. Not for her.
Caitlyn, as expected, ignored the gut-wrenching cries and tipped the pipe from a passing stevedore into the cart, igniting a brilliant fire that turned a few heads their way, but a glare from the Noxian man along with the blade in his hand got everyone back to work as though nothing was out of place. Everything in the cart turned to ash in a matter of seconds, and Tamara watched in shock and anger before spitting at Caitlyn's feet, causing Heron to press his sword just a little tighter against her throat, applying a delicately dangerous pressure against her jugular vein and causing the brunette to lean backward slightly.
"Damn you", Tamara spat out in anger and disgust. "May the Gray forever be at your door!", she screamed at the other woman, who only smirked before walking over, grabbing the apprenta's chin with one hand and lifting her head up to stare into her eyes.
"Nice try", Caitlyn said. "You're pretty tricksy with that accent. It's good, I'll give you that. Just enough slang, just enough roughness, but I've heard every voice in this city, from top to bottom, and yours just doesn't fit, you know? A little too much of the soot and spite from your homeland to really pull it off". Heron had to agree, even though he frowned slightly at the last part.
"What are you talking about?", Tamara protested. "I was raised in upper Piltover. I'm a Goldview Lass! Born in sight of the Ecliptic Vaults! I swear I'm not lying!". Caitlyn only shook her head and scoffed, clearly tired and not wanting to entertain this any further.
"No, your accent's good, but it can't quite cover that guttural Noxian superiority", she said, punctuating her words with a finger jabbing into Tamara's chest.
Heron was almost scowling now. He gets that she was accusing the girl, but that's still his father tongue she's talking about.
"And I know what you are", Caitlyn continued. "Yeah, I've heard the fireside tales of the warmasons, the warriors who sneak into enemy territory and scout it out. You map out the terrain, find the best ways for an army to advance, laying the groundwork for invasion. My colleague with the sword here confirmed it. You might recognize him. After all, you both served together", she finished off before ordering the other wardens to pull her up the gangway and into the galleon, handing the shocked apprenta over to a pair of swarthy Shuriman bladesmen before she had the chance to deny the accusations laid upon her. The girl was only able to shoot a glance at Heron, her eyes lighting up in recognition before burning bright with anger and hatred, the word 'traitor' written all over her face as it morphed back into the mask it was just a second ago.
"You don't come back to Piltover. If I see you again, I'll put a bullet in your head. Understand?", Caitlyn told Tamara, ceasing her aim on the girl's head and resting the prized rifle in both hands. Heron could tell that she meant every word she said, and by the look on her face so does Tamara.
"Keep her below, then dump her somewhere unpleasant in Bel'zhun", she turned to address the pair. "Or throw her overboard once you get far enough out, I don't care", she added offhandedly before turning her back on the brunette, who looked disappointed and a little dejected as the two bladesmen dragged her down into the hold, loaded the rest of their supplies and sailed away.
The moment it became clear that this particular job was over, Heron sheath his sword, then briskly spun on his heels and walked away. Caitlyn finally noticed his sour mood and went after him, leaving the others behind to clear things up with nearby civilians.
"Hey, Heron"
He ignored her, opting to keep his brisk pace back to the district house. As an enforcer first and an investigator second, just like Vi was, he usually got some of the most dangerous assignments in the entire force, and while there might not be a job that requires him to hunt down fugitives through the trenches or beat chem-thugs into streetside decor right now, there's gotta be something for him to do, some case for him to solve, anything to keep his mind occupied.
He wasn't angry at Caitlyn, it would take more than a simple indirect insult to his native tongue to set him off, but he was a tad upset, a little disappointed, and if they talked about it right now he might say something he can't take back, so he kept walking, looking for the relative peace and privacy of the funicular cabin to rein in his emotions. The fact that they were out of control in the first place kept his nerves on edge.
"Heron", Caitlyn called, finally catching up and grabbing his right bicep, forcing him to turn back and face her as she pulled on his upper arm. "What's wrong? We got her", she asked him, eyes full of concern but finishing with a small smile.
He didn't reply, looking at the ground between their boots, not making eye contact and softly tugging his arm away from her grip. "We oughta get back to the Hall. There's some backed up cases that need solving, and you need to write the field report while it's still fresh in your mind", he said quietly, then turned back around and continued on his way.
The sheriff was worried now. They've been good friends for over a year, known each other a little longer than that, so Caitlyn liked to think that she knew the guy quite well at this point. And yet, she had never seen him like this before. Maybe it was because Tamara was once his sister-in-arms? Maybe he felt like he betrayed Noxus by selling the warmason out, and in all honesty he probably just did.
As the sheriff of Piltover contemplated the possible reasons, it took her a moment to realize that she'd been standing in the same spot for a good minute, people were starting to stare, and Heron was long gone. She sighed, deciding that she was gonna have to talk to him about it after his shift ended. Or try to, at least. He was notoriously defensive when it comes to deeper emotional stuff, barely letting even those closest to him to scratch the surface of his emotional barriers. It was one of the reasons he never had any kind of romantic relationship since stepping foot into Piltover.
Caitlyn let out another heavy sigh at that thought as she once again make her way back. The first thing she did after stepping into the Hall was scan the floor for Heron, hoping to catch him, not just because she wanted to talk, but also because she had another assignment for him. His desk, opposite Vi's near the wall, was empty save for the usual clutter of files. She glimpsed streaks of neon blue amongst the paper. She had partnered him up with Vi on the Jinx case due to his strategic and analytical mind in hopes that he can discern patterns connecting Jinx's crimes and understand the skinny criminal, so the files weren't out of place, but it was also an easy and effective way to busy himself, so where was he?
"Hey, Mohan. Have you seen Heron, by any chance?", she asked her last partner, who was enjoying one of the District-Inspector's wife's sugared pastries and she had to wait for a second as he swallowed a bite.
"I think he's down in Arms. Heard him asking Tremello whether Zevi was in yet", he told her before plopping the last bit of pastry into his mouth and humming approvingly, clearly enjoying the snack.
She thanked him and left him be, walking downstairs past the archives, evidence storage, and a couple of two-wheel locomotors used by justice riders for high-speed pursuits before turning the corner to the giant bunker that serves as the primary lab of Piltover's elite Armaments Department.
Primary Armaments Lab, Sublevel II, Hall of Law, Piltover
When it came to hextech, anything mechanical really, Chief Mechanist and Lead Engineer Zevi Ekalavya, aptly nicknamed Brains by Vi, was the brightest mind that the Wardens have to offer and one of the best in Piltover as a whole, nearly rivaling Jayce in terms of proficiency and expertise. When it came to emotions? Eh, not so much. Zevi was just finishing the final tweaks on a prototype hexbow when Heron knocked on the reinforced blast doors of her lab. His tense face and stiff posture indicated clearly that he was agitated, but they greeted each other with friendly smiles all the same. He didn't start talking about whatever was bugging him, and she didn't ask, gladly not involving herself in any form of emotional issues.
Instead, he asked if she had any new gear that needed testing, and she had quickly guided his attention to the gleaming bow and corresponding glove on her desk, watching his eyes lit up as she eagerly wait to see her latest invention in action after explaining to him that both the drawstring and arrows for this bow were pure energy constructs, an invention that she was extremely proud of and had already patented, and that he would be able to hold them with the specialized glove, made from black canvas and lined with gold to cover the wires and sensors beneath. She expected the bow to be powerful, that was what she strived for after all. What she did not expect was the first arrow punching a hole clean through the cold-forged iron of her reinforced armor prototype from a thousand feet away.
After that, they had spent the next fifteen minutes testing the bow's power on various materials she had on hand at differing ranges. Zevi had quickly determined that the hex-coils she installed were the main source of additional power for the arrows, although the fact that the arm drawing the string was built entirely of hard, lean muscle certainly helped. She usually prefers more feminine company, but that didn't stop her from appreciating his physique all the same as he drew the bow again, his jacket long since discarded on a spare table next to the swords and his sleeves rolled halfway up his bicep, revealing a plethora of black runic tattoos covering both arms from wrist to shoulder.
She watched as another arrow manifested itself into existence before he let loose, eyes following as it flew straight through the eight layers of metal into the tiny hole on the wall on the other side of her lab, finding itself exactly where the previous forty shots had been before he flicked his thumb on the handle and the projectile dissipated. Heron let out a relieved sigh, and Zevi could tell that this was a cathartic exercise for him, that this was his natural state, weapon in hand and target in sight. Given his militaristic history, she wasn't surprised, and the engineer was always willing to accommodate, especially when he agrees to test her prototypes in the process.
Heron's highly trained ears picked up the soft tapping of boots striking the floor, causing him to lower the bow and listen to the noise, the rhythm, instinctively looking for indications while Zevi remained oblivious, altering one of her other blueprints and scribbling notes into a journal. Light steps suggest a small or lanky frame with limited muscle mass, a leisurely but tense pace indicates being mentally or emotionally occupied without any real urgency, perhaps perturbed and deep in thought. That specific clack indicated a make and material of sole only found on certain boot models in Piltover, all of which are from Zalie's back when they still made women's clothing. He's fairly certain he knew who this was.
The sound of knuckles hitting metal snapped Zevi out of her thoughts while also confirming Heron's prediction. Two quick knocks, a slow one, then two quick knocks again. Out of the entire force, as absurd a statement as it sounds, only Caitlyn Kiramman knocks in that cultured, aristocratic pattern, probably because she's the only noble in their employ. He took the time to mentally pull himself out of the combat mindset, shifting from the lethal Noxian warrior back into the charming enforcer she knew as Zevi opened the door for the sheriff of Piltover.
"Hey, sheriff", Zevi greeted, her tone chipper. "Let me guess. Repair job? Ooh, rifle upgrades? Please say upgrades, 'cause I have so many ideas", she said, a faux whining tone covering up very genuine desperation and excitement to finally get her hands on Caitlyn's prized possession.
He heard the soft chuckle escape her lips, still standing perfectly still with the hexbow loosely in his left hand, listening to the conversation.
"First of all, you're not modifying my gun, and as long as I have my way you never will. Second, I'm actually looking for Heron. Have you seen him?"
Zevi frowned, confused. "What do you mean? He's right there", she said.
Caitlyn's breath hitched in surprise as her eyes followed a finger jabbed his way, finally noticing that they were standing not twenty feet apart. It was understandable. Katarina always told him that, for all his combat prowess, tactical ingenuity, and arcane talents, his greatest power was the ability to blend into the background unnoticed right under someone's nose, including her own. It was one of the rare things she and Talon completely agrees on. It was theoretically a simple technique. Human eyes, and a majority of vastayan eyes as well, are naturally attracted to movement. If they weren't actively scanning their surroundings for him, then all he had to do was stand still and be silent and as long as his clothing doesn't stand out most people would be none the wiser. With Zevi's energetic personality, eyes would naturally be attracted to her movement, which made it even easier.
He gently placed the bow back on the engineer's desk, peeled off the glove, and started meticulously rolling his sleeves back down, smoothing over any creases in the fabric as he turned around to face his boss and good friend with a slight smile.
"You wanted to see me, sheriff?", he said, an easy smile on his face that wasn't quite genuine, which Caitlyn noticed.
"My office in five? There's a few things I wanted to discuss"
It may have sounded like a question, but Heron heard the undertone of an order laced between the words, so he complied, giving her a nod and grabbing his jacket and blades, carefully strapping the sheaths back onto their original position.
He watched Caitlyn leave in silence as he pulled his jacket on and straighten out the collar before turning his attention to Zevi.
"There's some resistance with the upper limb, it feels a little too stiff when I draw. Some fine-tuning issues to straighten out there. Otherwise, you're pretty much done as far as I'm concerned. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go see what my boss wants"
She diligently noted down his feedback as usual before opening the door for him.
"Thank you", Heron said as he crosses the doorframe on his way out.
"No," she replied, "thank you for testing my stuff. Always do appreciate your feedback"
He gave her a warm smile and walked off, taking the stairs at a leisurely pace. There's no rush, and he used the extra time to sort out the remnants of his flaring emotions from earlier this morning. Even now, when his public standings with Noxus basically amounted to traitor, or at the very least deserter, he was still fiercely patriotic. But he couldn't outwardly show that, he'd spent too long convincing the people in power, especially Caitlyn herself, that he wasn't a Noxian spy for something like emotions or sentimentality towards his homeland to throw his position back into doubt. Taking deep breaths and going through the quick meditation technique his father had taught him, Heron felt his emotions being pulled back into an acceptable level of confinement as he knocked on Caitlyn's door.
"Come in", he heard the muffled call from the other side.
Sheriff's Office, Second Floor, Hall of Law, Piltover
Stepping into her office, the first thing he noticed was the usual pile of warrants, edicts, and empty pneuma-tube capsules overflowing from the wooden desk. The second thing he noticed was the picture of a symbol on the corkboard behind her, two blades crossing under the sigil of Zaun.
Oh.
"What's this about, Caitlyn?", he asked, already guessing what his next assignment was going to be as the sheriff pokes her head up from under the desk, holding a folder that must have fallen off from the pile, one that she handed over to him.
"There's been a development in Zaun. Someone new. Dangerous. From what Vi scared out of some suspects last week, this man has most of the Chem-barons working for him, unifying and controlling their territories. How he managed that, we don't know yet, but that fact alone makes him a major potential threat", Caitlyn answered. "Apparently, he's been the ultimate authority in Zaun for over a year, but somehow we never knew about it". She took the symbol from the board and slid it over the table. "We don't have a face or a name, just an alias. Th-"
"The Duke of Zaun", he interrupted, causing Caitlyn's eyes to widen. "I know who he is. All fissure folks do"
Heron watched as her expression shifted from shock to disbelief then narrowed her eyes in anger, fixing a deadly glare on him.
"And you never felt the need to inform me about this?", she asked him, rage simmering just beneath the surface.
Heron exerted a modicum of self-control to keep himself calm.
"You might be my superior officer, but I'm not obligated to tell you anything not related to active cases or illegal activities in Piltover. Why are you even looking into this anyway? The Duke operates in Zaun, outside our jurisdiction, with the barons surrounding him in support. It's not like there's anything we can do".
At that, Caitlyn smirked. "That's where you're wrong. One of the barons has guaranteed protection for us to poke around in Zaun, and the Council has approved a scouting mission. That's where you co-"
Heron was already halfway up from his seat, intent on leaving the room before her request turns into an order.
"No. I know what you're going to ask, and the answer is no. I will not help bring down the best thing that's ever happened to Zaun. Absolutely not"
The sheriff stared at him, surprised both at his vehement rejection before even hearing the assignment and the statement that the Duke was the best thing for Zaun. "What do you mean by that?"
He turned to her, a passionate fire burning in his golden eyes. "Mean by what?", he asked.
"The Duke being the best thing to ever happen to Zaun. What do you mean by that? What is he doing down there?"
His eyes felt like they were burning into her soul, and for the first time since he became an enforcer, Caitlyn was terrified of the man in front of her. "More in a year than topside did in two centuries", he breathed out, voice heavy. "You wanna know more? Go on patrol with Asako and see for yourself", he said, visibly calming down before sitting back into the chair. "Anything else, sheriff?"
Caitlyn blinked once. Twice. That shift in demeanor was faster than even the most hotheaded justice riders in Piltover. She shook it off, mentally reminding herself to investigate Heron further when she has time. She trusted the guy, but her instincts told her that there was a piece missing from this puzzle. In the meantime,…
"Actually, there is something", she said, returning Heron's gaze. "As you know, every Progress Day, representatives from all over the world arrive to see the latest of what Piltover has to offer. I received a message from the Noxian delegation yesterday. They requested a guide, as they will be sending a new representative this year who would need to be shown around the city. As a matter of fact, they requested you by name"
Caitlyn took note of the brief surprise that crossed the Noxian's face, tinged with what looked like just the tiniest hint of fear. There was no way the Trifarix already knew that he betrayed Tamara, so what was he afraid of?
"The representative. What's their name?", Heron asked, neither of them missing the uncharacteristically timid tone he used.
Caitlyn raised a brow but took the message out of its capsule again to take a second look.
"Bertrand Zerain", she once again took note of his expression, this time a fleeting recognition and surprise. "What? You know him?"
Heron shook his head. "Just by reputation. He usually deals with internal politics, negotiating with provinces, settling disputes between nobles, things like that. I'm just surprised he goes outside the border"
She filed that information away in her mind to come back to later. Right now, she still had to officially assign Heron to this assignment.
"Well, as of this moment, I'm officially assigning you to the Noxian delegation as a guide. Dismissed", she said professionally, before realizing something else. "You might want to be quick. They'll be at the Sun Gates any moment now"
With that, he left her office in silence, giving her a quick nod before departing, leaving Caitlyn alone with her thoughts. She took the picture and held it up again, letting out a frustrated sigh.
"Who are you?"
Progress Day Festival, Piltover
"Ambassador Zerain", Heron greeted, a fist over his heart as he gave the cloaked man a slight bow.
Dressed in a crimson and black cloak over a layer of leather armor, hood drawn over his face, only the smallest hint of white hair poked through. But Heron recognized him, and his heart clenched at the sight of the other man.
"I'm enforcer Zinralei of the Piltover Wardens. I will be the designated guide for the duration of your stay here in Piltover"
The two soldiers on either side looked at the ambassador for confirmation. A nod and a wave of the arm had them turning around and marching back towards their ship, the gesture revealing a glint of steel under the sleeve.
Heron kept the smile on his face despite it. If it comes to it, the delegation will just have to make do with one less person for the trip home.
"Shall we?", he asked, gesturing towards the festivities and receiving a nod in reply.
They spent the next two hours weaving through the different tents and stalls at the festival, Heron explaining the context and history of everything to the best of his limited knowledge. It was only when the festivities tapered off as people head to the multiple cafes and bistros on Mainspring Crescent for lunch did he make his move. Guiding the ambassador into a less-populated area, he grabbed at the other man's collar, dragged him into a deserted alleyway, and slammed him against the wall, catching the blade arm by the wrist while his other hand pressed a blade to yet another jugular vein.
"Why are you here, Talon?", he growled, eyes glowing red as the magic within bleed through. No one besides his father was supposed to know where he was.
"For you", was the curt reply.
Heron pressed the blade just a bit harder at that.
"Yeah, no shit. Why?". Everything about him right then screamed murder, but they both knew he wouldn't follow through, not towards a Du Couteau. The Blade's Shadow calmly reached into his cloak and pulled out a scroll, stamped with the crest of the Trifarix.
Author's Note: