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: Just wanted to say that Vi and Jayce are in their Arcane skins, but Vi has pink hair instead of red. Snippets of Arcane that don't contradict canon lore could be used, such as Vander's involvement in raising Vi and Jinx, but until Riot either confirms or denies the canonicality of the show, I'm mostly sticking to the Universe page.

Also, brief mention of rape in this chapter, so beware.


Progress Day Festival, Piltover

Talon watched as Heron's shimmering red eyes widened almost comically as he instinctively snatched the scroll and stuffed it into his jacket, glancing both ways to see that they were still undiscovered. He loosened his grip on Talon's cloak and took a step back, still keeping a wary eye, now back to its usual golden shade, on the assassin. Most would bet on the Du Couteau to easily kill the other man if it came to a fight, but the two Noxians knew that Talon will likely have his head rolling on the cobblestone before he could pose a lethal threat to Heron. They have plenty of respect for each other, but the only Du Couteau that has ever managed to put a blade to Heron's throat and consistently kept it there was Marcus. Katarina came close a few times, and Talon has never managed to do it, being too disciplined, too predictable, to catch him off guard.

Heron watched Talon straighten out his attire before they seamlessly rejoin the throngs of people enjoying the festivities, the years of training and working together eliminating any need for spoken words now that he had reaffirmed that Talon wouldn't attack him right away. Not that he was too worried, he had his blades, and his mana reserves were full, but it would be honestly quite heartbreaking to have to kill his first love, unrequited as it was. They continued on, both playing their parts to perfection until the eighteenth bell when the evening sun had already turned the sky a shade of bronze. They ended the day with Heron escorting the undercover Du Couteau to a high-end hostelry in Goldview, joint owned by the Council and the designated accommodation for foreign representatives. The Progress Day speech was to be hosted on an airship, provided by Clan Arvino, in two hours, so he had ninety minutes to go home and change. The scroll tucked away in his pocket felt heavier by the minute.

After giving Talon brief instructions for tonight's event, he left the assassin to his own devices and caught the next Howl back down to the Promenade. He made sure to secure the door and his two windows before gently pulling the scroll from his jacket, now free to check for any enchantments or charms that might have been cast onto the parchment or the seal. Finding nothing out of place, he smoothed it flat onto the tabletop and proceeded to read the intricate, angular lines of Ur-Noxian.


Main Deck, Arvino Luxury Airship, Piltovan Airspace

Caitlyn's eyes were snapping around, cataloging every guest on the main deck. Technically, she was here tonight as the scion of Clan Kiramman, indicated by the backless purple cocktail dress replacing her usual outfit, but her instincts were ever-present. Vi was here as her plus-one, cladded in a red suit similar to her usual jacket, her arms bare of any hextech. Heron stood in the back corner near the engine room, dressed in his blue and gold uniform, a jarring contrast against his crimson hair. She practically felt his eyes on her skin as it swept through the crowd, his gaze burning particularly fierce. It made the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, remembering the conversation they had in her office mere hours earlier.

His charge was seated near the edge of the sixth row, and Caitlyn saw the man's face for the first time. A sharp, angular jawline framed by shoulder-length white hair, deep-set tapered eyes housed amber irises beneath thin eyebrows, hardened in a way only found on those who have seen the worst of humanity. The ambassador was dressed exactly how Caitlyn expected: Iron-gray jacket and trousers, lapel lined with steel, a crimson tie and black shirt underneath, the sigil of Noxus embroidered in blood-red stitching on the jacket's left shoulder.

People were milling around, waiting for the introductory address from Lady Sofia Arvino that would precede the big speech, given, once again, by the 'Hextech Wonder Boy' Jayce Talis. Caitlyn didn't have much of an opinion on the guy other than the fact that his ego could be bigger than the room he's in most of the time, and it showed every single time he made a speech. Vi couldn't stand him, and she completely understood. But still, they had to attend this event one way or another, so better to be esteemed guests than security. At least the drinks were good, which the bruiser was quick to capitalize on, earning her an eye-roll from the Kiramman heiress.

Ambassador Zerain suddenly went over to Heron, and Caitlyn watched as they converse for a moment before the enforcer gestured for the corridor leading to the rear balcony. Her brows furrowed in confusion as she made her way towards them. After Tamara, her trust in Noxians was… fragile, to put it delicately. She didn't subscribe to the thinly veiled stigma against them, but she also had reasons to be suspicious.

"Is something the matter?" she asked Heron just as he was about to lead the ambassador through the door. Both pairs of eyes turned to her, her friend's flicking to the other man for a brief moment.

"I need to get some fresh air, and enforcer Zinralei is about to escort me to the rear balcony", ambassador Zerain said, his voice rough and earthy. "Is there a problem, sheriff?"

Caitlyn took a deep breath and a second to think. Something was off about this man, as though he was more dangerous than he let on. But she couldn't make any accusations without evidence, especially not towards a foreign dignitary, so she settled for a simple headshake and a practiced smile before they left.


Engine Room, Arvino Luxury Airship, Piltovan Airspace

Heron would really have to properly express his gratitude to Lady Sofia after tonight. She had truly delivered. The engine room was unguarded, just as promised, and the bronze key she gave him twisted with a satisfying click as the first of three locks disengaged. Talon was two steps behind, looking for any guards or other guests wandering this area. Not that it was likely, the hallway was stifling hot and the Arvino clan master had given her word that there would be as little guard presence as possible without causing suspicion, but one could never be too careful. Heron fished the silver and gold keys out of his left boot and opened the other locks before the two Noxians soundlessly slipped into the room, locking the door from the inside.

In front of them was the singular piece of machinery keeping this vessel in the air. It would be so easy to simply extend his magic into the synthetic crystal, drain the arcane energy within, and let every single powerful entity in Piltover die an explosive death. But that wouldn't be quite as satisfying, so he held off, instead started on what he came here for in the first place and took detailed notes of the design, sketching blueprints as accurately as he could. Talon took note of the room, memorizing the dimensions, exits, and the placement of piping and air vents.

"Since I'm here, I should ask", Talon suddenly said.

Heron turned and cocked his head, clearly waiting for the actual question.

"How are things here? Is your plan still on schedule?".

"Everything's still on track. If anything, I'm ahead of schedule. Gold is the common language in this city, which made things easier", he replied sardonically, the Du Couteau nodding along in acknowledgment.

"Good. What about the Duke?"

Heron paused slightly at that, not enough for the assassin to notice, or so he hoped.

"The Duke has earned the love and loyalty of the majority of Zaunites, feared and respected by the rest, exactly as planned. The whole thing's a little over-budget, but that was expected. Building loyalty should never be cheap if you want it done right" Gaining only another silent nod of acknowledgment, he turned back to work, only for a nagging question to interrupt his focus.

"Who sent you, Talon?". That got him a look. "Because I know it wasn't the Trifarix. No way in hell you would ever pledge loyalty to a council with Darius on it, so who was it?"

The scroll should have been proof enough, but Heron had long since learned to take nothing at face value. Seals can be forged, so can signatures and handwriting.

"It was the Trifarix"

The reply came softly, barely above a whisper, but it was enough for Heron to stop dead. Talon wasn't lying, he was certain of that much, at least, but it took him a second to connect the dots.

That revelation made him whirl back to face his compatriot. "They told you?"

He didn't even bother to hide the surprise in his voice, which earned him a rare smirk from the assassin.

"They told me"

He carefully folded the blueprints into neat squares and stowed them in his pockets before dusting off his pants. Talon took the hint and finished his observations as Heron peeked out of the small circular window on the door. Confirming that the hallway was devoid of human or humanoid presence, they slipped out of the room as soundlessly as they had slipped in, leaving nothing behind.

They spent five minutes out on the rear balcony, corroborating their stories and drying out the sweat from their clothes and skin. It helped that the view was spectacular from this altitude. Their conversation was interrupted when Vi stepped out.

"Hey, Cait wanted to let you know that the speech is about to start, and you should probably head back inside", she told Heron, before turning to Talon, "I don't think we've met. I'm Vi, Caitlyn's partner", she said, reaching for a handshake. Talon grasped her hand and shook it, giving her a polished smile and a slight nod. Heron heard the implication of something more in the word 'partner' but didn't put much thought into it. What they do in their private time is not his business, as long as it doesn't interfere with his plan.

"We'll be inside in just a second, Vi. Thanks", he told the pinkette. As Vi left, no doubt reporting to Caitlyn that they were exactly where they said they would be, Heron handed the blueprints over to Talon, who separated the pieces and hid them in various places that no one would ever think to search, places that brought a slight tinge to the redhead's cheeks as he straightened out his uniform. By the Void, he hated this thing. Everything it stood for made him sick.

He led the assassin inside just as Lady Sofia took the stage, making the usual propagandized speech about progress and equality while completely ignoring Zaun's sufferings. She ended the address with the introduction of the main character of the night. "An inspiration to Piltover's future and that of all humanity. Please join me in welcoming to the stage: Jayce Talis"

The golden boy himself strolled onto the stage, waving at his admirers with every step, his face barely hiding the fact that this is the last place he wanted to be right now. The brown pauldrons atop his white suit bared the Talis hammer, and a gold pin in the shape of Clan Ferros' sigil on his lapel denoted them as the sponsors for his research, after Albus Ferros, the Clan's public representative, outbid both Clans Cadwalder and Giopara in a public and dramatic display. Caitlyn had once bitterly told him over a birthday drink that it could've been Clan Kiramman on that lapel instead if her parents had arrived two minutes earlier.

He tuned out Talis's voice in favor of scanning the crowd. He saw Caitlyn kissing up to the more powerful individuals in hopes that the Warden's funding would get a significant boost on top of her parents' generous contribution, Jago Medarda and Elizabeth Ferros the most prominent amongst them, being masters to the two biggest clans in Piltover. Vi, on the other hand, was casually chatting with some of the wardens on guard duty, the ones she worked with on a daily basis. He turned his attention to Talon, the usually silent and brooding man easily making small talk with other representatives, expertly steering the conversation to subjects of interest, where they are more likely to spill valuable information into his ears.

All in all, a pretty successful night so far.


The Last Drop, Black Lanes, Sump Level, Zaun

The Last Drop was a bar, now club, on the edge of the Lanes, most commonly known amongst older Zaunites as the cornerstone from which Vander built the underground. Even though the building had been expanded to thrice its former size and twice the height, it still maintained an aesthetic and atmosphere similar to when The Hound was in residence. There were also traces of Jinx on the walls and railing, hinting at a childhood in the backrooms.

A catwalk had been installed between the first and second floor, where security managers oversaw the club from above while burly bouncers with Glasc Industries' combat augmentations patrolled the floor for people with the intention of breaking the simple rules the Duke had established, their black vests and green ties distinguishing them from everyone else. Patrons of a certain caliber were guided through a set of soundproofed doors into a secluded section of the club, where Promenade courtiers have been contracted to provide more intimate entertainment in private booths. Security was even tighter in there, with fully augmented, armed, and armored guards standing by in case someone tried to force themself on a courtier without consent.

They may be rich and influential, but there were boundaries, limits set by the Duke that even they couldn't cross. Committing such an act, especially in one of his establishments, was the quickest and most effective way to score yourself a painful, humiliating death by the man himself.

One security manager noticed a pair of chem-punks, both obviously deep in their drinks, started to get rowdy with each other and signaled for a bouncer to keep an eye on them. It was not a moment too soon as the argument took a sharp turn for the worse and one of them ended up smashing against a barstool. As the other punk drew a knife from his belt and was about to go for the kill, he found his arm in an iron grip as white metallic fingers wrapped around his bicep and squeezed, causing him to drop the knife into the other waiting hand below. Another bouncer hauled the other man away from the bar and handed him off to a physician in the back corner, who proceeded to drag the unconscious punk into a small infirmary.

The first bouncer was still holding the assailant's arm in one hand while the other closed a fist around the blade, biomechanical muscle strands glowing a shade of green, then purple, through the small gaps between armor plates as the knife shattered in his palm. He poured the pieces onto the countertop and turned towards the offender.

"This is a Moratorium Zone. You want to hash out your problems, I suggest you do it outside. Otherwise, please have a seat", he told the chem-punk with just enough emotion to convey a threat underneath the polite veneer. The smaller man nodded fearfully, ordered a stiff drink from Thieram the bartender, and settled himself on a stool as he adjusted his clothes.

Upstairs, the entire floor had been modified beyond recognition. Half the space was walled off, a single set of double doors offering access. The front half was predominantly occupied by a long wooden table, crafted from Freljordian Ironwood and reinforced with steel plating at crucial joints. Eight cushioned seats occupied the table, each with its own unique symbol engraved on the back. A vial, a flower, a hand, and others could be seen amongst the symbols, with the Duke's engraved at the head of the table, just in front of the doors leading behind the wall.

That seat was the only one occupied at the moment, the Duke looking through balance sheets and notebooks scattered all over the tabletop. Even with a black metallic esophilter mask covering his face from the edge of one ear to the other and from the top of his nose down to his chin, one could tell that he was young. Or at least he had a youngish appearance, for magic made age a fickle thing. Chem-green eyes flitted through the lines of letters and numbers as he raked a gloved hand through his matching hair, then adjusted his black vest and unbuttoned the collar of the green shirt underneath, loosening a black tie in the process. A black hooded blazer with metallic lining was slung across the chair's back and a matching coat hung on the nearby wall.

All the while, he was thinking, moving pieces on a mental chessboard and adding layers of complexities to the position.

Eramis had just sent a message confirming that they now had Reginald, the financier for Clan Ferros, under control, which was extremely useful, especially in the long run. Lenare said that the flow of Quadranium power cells from Piltovan storage units will remain steady for as long as his mousy thief can do her job, those cells being the primary reason for the mostly consistent energy supply in Zaun for the past year or so.

Veraza dropped off a new folder of latest intel on the Wardens, leaving a note that reaffirmed their positions and trust within the force along with a promise that the investigations into him will go astray, while also stating that investigator Asako would be busy with a false shimmer lead in Baron Takeda's turf for the foreseeable future. Spindlaw had people patrolling the borders, especially near Takeda's territory, who still refused to bend the knee, while Karvyq was using Grime's chemtech stock exactly as instructed.

Lady Sofia sent him a personal letter stating that Clan Arvino had doubled down on investments into Glasc Industries per his request. She also thanked him for the night they shared, saying that it was the best she'd slept since Camille Ferros killed her fiancé, the late Chem-baron Marko Volkage.

She'll be eagerly waiting for an opportunity to pull Clan Ferros crumbling to the ground, exactly how he wanted her.

Meanwhile, Glasc was still on his side, for now at least. He had discreetly removed the secret chemtech cache from every augment she'd given his people, and she knew full well the price of rebellion after his demonstration, but the risk of her turning against him was still very real and ever-present. But, for now, she's still doing what they both wanted: manipulating the corporate magnates of Piltover into position and laying the groundwork for a hostile takeover. Theirs was an alliance of convenience, and to have someone like her on his side, it was good enough.

The Duke rubbed his eyes with two fingers and sighed in content as he leaned back in his seat, one hand drumming the rhythm of his heartbeat into the armrest. His plans were coming along perfectly. It took a lot of charm, a lot of seduction and emotional manipulation, but eventually, they've gotten Clan Arvino, and the corresponding Council vote, on their side. If Jago reacted as predicted, then by tomorrow evening they'll have Clan Medarda's vote as well.

And soon, he will have Piltover on its knees, begging him for scraps.


Clan Master Office, Medarda Mansion House, Bluewind Court, Piltover

Forty Minutes Ago

Jago Medarda was always tired after Progress Day. It was a chance to flaunt his clan's superior wealth, true, but he also had to deal with the finances and logistics that came with the sharp influx of coins in his coffers. He generally trusted his financier to handle the numbers, but not on the most important day of the year. There was also a Council meeting in the afternoon. Debating with the others always took a toll on his aging mind.

He noticed that the two guards normally stationed outside his office were missing but was tired enough to simply shrugged it off. He was home earlier than expected, maybe they took the time to patrol the rest of this wing. He went inside and dropped into the cushioned seat like a sack of Shuriman grain, the fatigue in his limbs finally getting the better of him as he closed his eyes and let out a tired sigh.

"Crimson and gold"

He snapped to attention instantly, one hand reaching for the pistol underneath his desk only to find an empty holster as his eyes locked on the man standing next to his bar cart, pouring fine Noxian spirits, technically an illegal import, into a crystal tumbler baring the Medarda sigil. His gun was there as well, dismantled and useless next to a black metal mask.

"The Medarda colors. Crimson and gold", the man continued as he swirled the dark liquid around.

"What about it?" Jago asked, finally finding his voice. This man wasn't an agent for another clan as far as he could tell, those types always tried to be as efficient and effective as possible. They feared failure and lackluster performances too much to be as languid and confident as the one in front of him. "Better yet, who the hell are you?".

The mysterious man let out a short, sharp laugh, clearly amused.

"Of course. Where are my manner?"

He put the mask on and turned around, bright green eyes steady on Jago's face as he gave a mocking bow. "The Duke, pleasure to finally meet you"

The wealthiest man in the city-state raised scrunched his brows together in confusion. There was no dukedom in Piltovan aristocracy. A name like that must be from Zaun. But then, why Duke? Why not a Chem-baron like all the others? Doesn't matter, he'll be disposed of shortly.

He screamed for his guards until his throat was hoarse, but none came. Even though he couldn't know for certain, Jago was sure that the Duke was smirking under the mask, and that made his blood boil just before the implication of their absence hit him. The nature of his gaze toward the intruder shifted. Gone was the arrogance and confidence that gleamed in his eyes, replaced by fear and even a little awe. The Duke approached his desk, drink in hand, and he sank further into the cushion, fear-induced adrenaline causing his heart to beat faster by the second.

The Duke placed the tumbler in front of Jago, then took the opposite seat. "You must be parched. How about a drink while we talk?"

Jago stared at the amber liquid in suspicion. Poison was a near certainty, and if he was going to die, he refused to die a gullible fool.

"It's not poisoned if that's what you're concerned about. But, oh well, suit yourself", the Duke said after he'd noticed that the drink remained untouched.

"You said 'while we talk'. Talk about what?" Jago tried the best he could to keep his voice from shaking, to keep himself from appearing weak. But he could only do so much.

"The Medarda colors, to start. Crimson and gold", the Duke replied. "Gold represents the wealth of Piltover, the fortune you wield. But do you remember what crimson means? Where the Medarda name came from?"

Jago's eyes widened as the realization came to him. If he was afraid of this man before, he was positively terrified now. "Noxus", he answered shakily. "The Medarda name came from Noxus"

"Exactly. Now, you're a smart man. After all, it takes a certain level of intelligence to secure and maintain a fortune like yours. You know as well as I do that despite having the highest bottom line in Piltover or vaults of gold and jewelry, your ledgers have always been dripping red", the Duke stated, his voice barely above a whisper. "The kind of red you can't wipe away with coins. The kind you pay with blood"

The silence was deafening, save for the soft breeze passing through an open window and the billowing of velvet curtains that followed. Jago had never been more terrified in his life, and he'd led a trading ship astray into the Shadow Isles as a youth. This man was Noxian, he was now certain of that. The blood debt his family had incurred to one of the first noble families of Noxus was finally due, and his blood would hopefully be sufficient payment for them to spare his family. The Medarda clan master closed his eyes, fearfully waiting for the inevitable blade that would end his life.

"But… there is another way for you to start paying off some of that debt. If you're interested, of course", he heard.

His breath hitched. Was the other man playing with him? Giving him a sliver of hope only to crush it for some twisted pleasure? He couldn't detect any insincerity in the voice, but that meant absolutely nothing where Noxian operatives were concerned. They disguised their intent better than that card swindler he encountered in Bilgewater. But if there was a chance, even a small one…

"What other way?". He asked, uncharacteristically hesitant and afraid, but no one could really blame him. The Duke looked him in the eyes, obviously satisfied as he pulled a folded piece of parchment from inside his jacket and placed it on the table.

Jago reached out, paused for a second as his mind thought of the possibility of curses, then decidedly ignored the thought as he unfolded the parchment to read the content within. His brows furrowed, then rose in surprise and alarm at the list of demands in his palm. Increase investments into certain places in the undercity, advocate for further education and apprenticeship for Zaunite youth, supply hextech crystals and machinery to Zaun, manipulate Council motions and votes, and unregulated trade through the Sun Gates and the Piltovan-Zaunite border. All explicitly required to be underhanded except for the advocation. His family wrestled control of the shipping and export industries in Piltover from Clan Tariost a while back, so they could easily create a small route for illegal exports to Zaun through some clever maneuvering, and there's an abundance of crystals in his workshops. But the rest… Worst of all, the paper bared the seal of his debtor, a raven stamped on the red wax.

He saw the Duke place another piece of paper onto the table, a string of numbers written in black ink. It was an Ecliptic Vaults account number.

"If you accept, deposit a single hex into this account. I'll give you… two days to think things through before I rescind the offer. Goodnight, Councilor Medarda", the green-haired man said as he went from the chair to the open window, stopping on the edge of the sill. "Feel free to discuss this with your family, but if you tell anyone else I'll have your son's head hanging on top of the Sun Gates before the day is up"

With those parting words, the Duke proceeded to leap into the darkness below. Jago ran to the open window, but the man was nowhere to be seen.


The Last Drop, Black Lanes, Sump Level, Zaun

Present Time

The Duke snapped out of his thoughts to a muffled explosion from the other side of the sealed doors separating the room. He gathered his things, placed them neatly into a secured cabinet, and took off his mask as he slipped through the heavy doors and closed them behind him.

The other side was a mess. Detailed, intricate blueprints on various weapons and machinery lined the walls. Gears, bolts, and power cells were littered on various work desks alongside discarded prototypes. A rhino rocking chair next to a sofa and small wooden table created a cozy corner, while a small but comfortable bed was propped nearby, a large collection of crayons and notebooks scattered on the sheets. Overhead lighting was installed at seemingly random places, illuminating crayon drawings and writing scrawled haphazardly on the floor and walls. The brightest light was currently shining down on the messiest desk, where a small, pale girl with blue braids the length of her body was tinkering with seemingly random pieces of metal, covered in a thin layer of soot.

He placed his mask on the table next to a tray of meat, orange juice, and a small vial of glowing blue liquid. The noise made the girl turn around, her blue eyes meeting his green ones.

"Heya, D. Long day at the office?", she teased, seeing the tiredness in his eyes.

He could only smile at that. He was only slightly tired, but he appreciated the concern, nonetheless. "Yeah, Jinx, I've been busy. Happy Progress Day, by the way"

"Happy Progress Day to ya too, big guy", she replied, hugging him tightly, a hug he gladly returned as her slender frame melted into him, both of them enjoying the embrace, seeking comfort in the knowledge that they could always depend on each other.

He'd found her at the bottom of the Sump one night, broken, bleeding, and barely alive after one of her stunts against topside law enforcement went horribly wrong. Still establishing his foothold in Zaun at the time, he couldn't afford to take her in. But he did anyway. He patched her up, fed and sheltered her, cared for her until she was fully healed. She was the first person that he'd ever shown unconditional love and compassion to, and he'd fully expected her to disappear the moment she could walk again.

But she stayed. She taught him mechanical and hextech engineering, he taught her how to fight and survive with nothing but her bare hands and the city around her. He painstakingly worked with Viktor and Ren to remove the shimmer from her blood, and in return she helped him bully the more stubborn Chem-barons into submission while he slowly pieced her fractured mind together. He was her caretaker, her confidant, her anchor to reality. She was his weapon, his friend, his trusted partner. There was nothing romantic about their relationship, they were simply two broken souls latching onto each other. One could even say that what they had was pure and beautiful, even though they were absolutely deadly together.

He pried her arms away to trace a finger across the small bags under her eyes. "You plan on eating or sleeping tonight?"

"Yeah, I was just gonna finish this project first. Ya know, peace of mind and all that, haha", she replied, averting her gaze.

"Jinx?" He gave her a look, making her sigh and stared down at her feet.

He watched as her walls broke down around her, one by one, as she tried to reel in her emotions. The Loose Cannon, the insane criminal, the defense mechanism born out of necessity was gone, revealing a moody, somewhat emotionally needy young woman that he knew was just above the vulnerable, traumatized girl at the core of her being. "I can't sleep. Every time I try, I see them. It's pissing me off", she said, a scowl starting to form before dissipating with a heavy sigh. "Can you... can you do that thing again? It's just... I really should sleep", she asked shyly, almost embarrassed, the barely audible whisper of her voice a stark contrast to the loud personality known throughout the twin cities.

His eyes softened, and he pulled her into another hug, softer this time, tender and soothing. He traced small circles over her back, gently rocking the bluette as she buried her head into his shirt and pressed an ear to his chest, listening to the vibrations of his ribcage as he hummed an old Frejlordian lullaby he'd picked up years ago.

They stayed that way for an hour as Jinx slowly slipped away from consciousness. He kept a soft but firm hold on her until he realized that she was breathing steadily. A glance downwards confirmed that she had fallen asleep in his arms. Cradling her against his chest, he carried her to bed and gently set her down, carefully sweeping the crayons aside before tucking her into the blanket. He glanced at the untouched dinner on the table, at the vial that she had to take daily until he can find a more permanent solution to the shimmer problem.

It could wait until morning.

He gave Jinx a light kiss on the forehead and headed out, taking one last glance at her peaceful sleeping form before shutting off the lights and closing the door behind him.


Unknown Location, Sump Level, Zaun

Moyna sat on the floor next to a basket of scrap metal, reading through the package that the Duke left for her at one of the usual dropoffs. It was an offer and details for a job. Parts for a Hexylene Caliver, scattered in multiple clan workshops. There were pictures of those parts included in the package, along with a note detailing the pay. Normally, the mousy half-vastayan wouldn't think twice before rejecting a job that required her to piss off multiple topside clans for a weapon with that level of destruction, and the Duke would respect her decision regardless, but the payment made her pause.

Five hundred thousand hexes and a blank favor, half upfront as usual. That amount of coins would be tempting to anyone, but the last part was the real selling point for her. A blank favor from the most powerful man in Zaun could prove invaluable, and she wasn't afraid of him reneging it. Everyone who's met the Duke knew that, regardless of everything else, he always kept his word without exception. That's why people trusted him, sought him out for favors, because they were always told the true price, and could always walk away before committing to anything.

If she takes this job, it will require the most dangerous and elaborate plan of her career, taking risks beyond what she was usually comfortable with. On the other hand, the payout will certainly be enough for her to comfortably retire, maybe go back to Ionia and be with her family again instead of exchanging letters through friends and associates. Moyna would readily admit that the prospect was quite attractive.

She grabbed a capsule bearing his sigil and, after a short climb to a newly built pneuma-tube conduit a few walkways above, sent it to The Last Drop, her reply rolled neatly inside.


Cliffside Residence, Boundary Markets, Promenade Level, Zaun

Heron was sitting at his desk, a thick leather-bound tome opened in front of him. The yellowed pages detailed a complicated spell used to erect a shield around the body like a second skin, completely impenetrable as long as the mage maintained it. He stifled a yawn. The workload that came with Progress Day was always high, but yesterday had been an exceptionally tiring day, and he barely got any sleep, the night plagued with nightmares, so he had sent Caitlyn a tube requesting the day off, knowing she would approve.

He concentrated on the spell description, the runic symbols, the mental image he was supposed to construct, then let his magic loose. Tendrils of crimson energy leaked out of his pores and wrapped around his body as a few runic symbols on his arms glowed red to match the runes required for the spell. His mental hand took hold of the energy and started to mold it, using the shining runes as a framework until the magic enveloped his skin like a thin layer of armor. A droplet of sweat formed on his forehead, and after two hours he felt his concentration give way to the sheer difficulty of the attempted spell. Heron scoffed in frustration and reached to close the book as his magic dissipated and the tattoos reverted to their normal shade of black. He caught a reflection of himself in one of the blades propped nearby, a thin web of black and red veins starting to form on his neck. His hands were slightly unsteady.

He reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out an injector along with a vial of bright blue liquid, almost glowing in its sheen. He poured half of its content into a smaller vial and injected the liquid into a vein in his arm, storing the rest back into the drawer. The veins retracted back under his skin and disappeared, and his hands were still again. He let out a sigh as that deceptively silky voice made its way into the forefront of his mind again.

"Remember, Heron. This kind of power always comes with a price"

His head snapped up and around as he scanned the room. That voice wasn't in his head. She was here, in his house, somewhere in the shadows. He sent a wave of raw energy out to sweep the place. Magic like hers can't be concealed when one knew what to look for, and he had spent enough time with and against her to be an expert. There, in the southeast corner. He flung a short dagger in that direction, only to see it deflected by an ornate staff of metal and gold as its wielder shimmered into view. A black cloak covered most of her body, but a few strands of indigo hair peeked through, along with a golden three-pronged diadem atop her head, a singular red gem set in the middle.

Emilia LeBlanc's golden eyes stared at him, humorous and mirthful.

"Now is that any way to greet your mother?"


Author's Note: How's that for a reveal, huh? I debated whether or not to do this for the longest time, and ultimately decided that this would open many different opportunities for this story going forward.

If you like this fic, do consider following and favoriting, and also feel free to leave a review down below, they keep me engaged and fuel my writing.

Along with that, once again, I would like to credit Gwoo Wowarr for the characters of Moyna and Ren in this chapter. They're characters from the story 'Project N: Unexpected Results', which I highly recommend. It's worth a read.

Also, I have a Twitter now. For more frequent updates on my progress and snippets of chapters, check out Krypto_Light.