"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…"
Despite what certain individuals might say about her character, Powder didn't see herself as an agent of chaos—more like someone who appreciated it. A chaos connoisseur, so to speak. She was the critic who went to the museum of chaos to snobbily look at the displayed pieces and mumble about how they represented neoclassicism or neo-neoism or whatever. She was never one to enjoy being stuck in one place, which was pretty much normal for someone as young and restless as she was, and the chaos allowed her to also mentally remove all restraint and just enjoy a good old fashioned complete and utter disaster.
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…"
This did not mean, however, that she enjoyed being the centerpiece of that chaos. All she would get if she died here would be some critic staring at her remains a hundred years later while wondering if she is meant to represent the futility of humanity's escape from death, when in reality she just wanted to not die.
Was wanting things to go exactly as planned too much to ask for? Seriously, did people think she liked her inventions blowing up in her face, leaving her to clean up the aftermath with Angela crossing her arms and glaring at her like she was some moron? Hell no!
Which was why it SUCKED that everything had gone completely sideways like this.
"Oh, Janna, please preserve me!" Powder whispered in a panic, her blue eyes darting left and right as the madness unfolded around their hiding spot. "Angela is so gonna blame me for this!" One could say that her main source of concern being Angela's reaction was a bit of a skewered priority, but if the older bluenette ever found out what her protégée had done in her absence, then Powder was going to wish that the whole warehouse blew up with her inside…
Hidden behind a fallen and broken vat of strange chemicals, the four Librarians from the Library crouched low as the Shimmer factory erupted into complete chaos. Its defenders clashed with the flying green invaders above, the air thick with the sound of explosions and shouts.
'Why do they remind me of fireflies?' Powder thought absently as one of the invaders crashed their weapon into what seemed to be an armored machine.
"They remind me of fireflies for some reason," Tiphereth chirped almost too casually, popping up right next to Powder as she watched the fighting. Her expression was detached, as if she were observing something on television. Worse, as if she was watching something on a boring television channel that she couldn't wait to be over so she could watch something she actually liked. "You think that's their theme or something? I'd give it a six for effort, but it's not for me." Considering who just gave the rating, Powder thought that six was a terrific ranking, grandiose really, but there was a teensy tiny problem that made focusing on whatever the shorter Librarian said a little difficult.
"What are you guys so damn calm about?!" The blue-haired teen hissed, looking positively baffled at the collected demeanor of the other three in the middle of such a battlefield, ducking to avoid another blast in the background. "Were the Streets back in the City that much of a casual hellhole for you people?!"
"Honestly? This would be considered a Tuesday on the job for me," Roland stated, tilting his head to avoid a flying sapiential, casually lying; Tuesdays were for assassination missions. Infiltration missions that devolved into such clustertrucks were reserved for Mondays, naturally. "Really, don't know why you're acting like it's the end of the world, kiddo." He stretched, avoiding yet another shard of debris that would've turned his brain into sliced salami had he been a second too late
"Because this was supposed to be a simple get-in-and-get-out observation job! Like those Impossible Mission movies and shit like that!" Powder whined, looking as though she was about to rip her hair out, and not from the worry that the Head would tax her to oblivion for daring to utter a movie's name without explicit consent from its producer or mouthing the stupid—
[© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO M-CORP. AND A-CORP.]
—nonsense they had before every film. "Who the hell could have guessed that things would go wrong so fast?"
"You know, if you actually paid attention to those movies instead of just skipping to the action parts, you'd know shit goes wrong all the time in those films," Gebura said, pulling out her sword and cracking her neck. "All we can do now is adjust the plan and—"
"Oh no, you're not!" Powder practically shouted, leaping toward the former Color Fixer and using both hands to stop the taller woman from raising her blade, which was in all honesty useless. Gebura could sneeze and she'd throw Powder to the other end of the room, although the gesture made the taller woman wait for an explanation, her expression somewhat bored. "Any one of us getting involved in this stupid-ass fight isn't gonna do anything but escalate this bullshit!"
"You really think we're that bad? That is so hurtful, you know." The redhead was so clearly hurt, in fact, that the sarcasm dripping from her words could've been harvested, sold in bulk, and Powder would've lived as the queen of Zaun from the profits she'd make, eclipsing all of the money Silco gathered in the past few years.
"Doesn't make it any less true," Powder deadpanned. "So for now, we can only get out of here quietly, regroup, and come up with a new plan. That means—"
She marched over to the Librarian of Natural Sciences and poked her cheek with an accusing finger as she gave her a look.
"—No fighting, no swearing, no provoking, and no whatever the hell comes out of your mouth when you break every known and unknown human right."
"Pfah. I've had enough about 'human rights this' and 'human rights that'." The shorter Librarian mumbled. "When are we going to appreciate my human wrongs?" She protested, though she sufficed by crossing her arms and huffing. That was the most Powder could ask for, really.
Next, she turned to the Librarian of General Works and practically drilled her finger into his forehead.
"No. Fighting!"
Finally, she went back to the Librarian of Languages and jabbed her finger at her nose.
"No! Fucking! Fighting!"
"…Powder, get your finger off my nose before I bite it off."
Wisely, the Librarian of Psychology heeded the growled out warning of her peer and took a calculated step back, creating a good enough distance between them.
Coughing into her fist as if to stave off being intimidated, Powder waved her hand as if brushing off invisible dust. "Alright, stay close, stay quiet, and no funny business." She glanced at Gebura. "That especially means you."
"Yeah, yeah," Gebura muttered, rolling her eyes. "You're starting to sound like Angela, you know. 'Sides, I'm not the one who provoked the ire of the gang we moped the floor with last time, eh, Tiphy?" She turned to the blonde with a smirk, earning a 'hmph!' in reply.
Powder gasped as if she'd been slapped. "Take that back right now, or I swear I'll… I'll tell Angela you tried to stab me!"
"Real convincing kid."
"Both of you, pipe down," Roland interjected, keeping his voice low. "We're trying to sneak out, remember? At this point they'll hear us arguing about not making noise."
Powder huffed but nodded, gesturing for the group to follow her. She peeked around the corner of their makeshift hiding spot, her sharp eyes scanning the chaotic factory floor. The defenders and invaders were still locked in a fierce battle, the air filled with the clash of weapons and bursts of green and orange light.
"Okay, the coast looks clear," Powder whispered nervously. The coast was certainly clear, sure, but it was as clear as a minefield could be without proper demining equipment, which was to say: Not very. She motioned for the others to follow, crouching low as she darted between overturned vats and scattered debris.
The group moved in a single file, each step carefully placed to avoid drawing attention. That was, until Powder's foot caught on a loose pipe, sending her stumbling forward with a loud clang.
"Shit!" she hissed, freezing in place.
The others stopped dead in their tracks, eyes darting to the combatants above. For a heart-stopping moment, one of the flying green figures turned their masked face toward their position. Powder held her breath, her fingers curling around the edge of the vat she was hiding behind.
The figure's gaze lingered for a moment before a shout from one of the defenders drew their attention back to the fight. Powder exhaled slowly.
"Great job, Powder," Gebura muttered with a silent chuckle. "Real stealthy."
"Shut up," Powder snapped back, her cheeks flushing.
They continued onward, navigating the labyrinth of broken machinery and spilled chemicals. At one point, Tiphereth nearly slipped on a slick patch of Shimmer, flailing her arms wildly before Roland grabbed her by the back of her coat and hauled her upright.
"Careful," he whispered.
"Thanks," Tiphereth replied sheepishly, shuddering at the thought of potentially falling into that pool of corrosive gunk. She wasn't exactly aiming to become a mutant on her resolution for this year.
Eventually, the group reached a side exit, a rusted metal door hanging off its hinges. Powder pushed it open slowly, wincing at the creak it made. Beyond the door was a narrow alleyway, dimly lit by flickering neon signs.
"Alright, we're out," Powder said, straightening up. "Now we just have to figure out how the hell we're gonna explain this mess to Angela."
Roland snorted. "Oh, that's easy. We'll just tell her the truth."
Gebura raised an eyebrow. "The truth being that someone's plan fell apart the moment those flying maniacs showed up because it didn't account for potential raiders against the lucrative drug facility?"
Powder glared at her. "Hey, it's not my fault those—"
CRASH!
She was cut off by the sudden shattering of windows. The group turned as one, their eyes snapping to the source of the noise. A figure had smashed through one of the factory's high windows, landing in a heap of shattered glass and metal a short distance away.
"What the hell is that?" Gebura asked, drawing her sword.
"Looks like one of the fireflies," Roland said, his tone wary.
The figure groaned, struggling to push themselves upright before completely collapsing onto the ground, now unconscious. Their green armor was scuffed and dented, and their mask hung askew.
"Stay back," Roland warned, stepping in front of Powder.
But Powder ignored him, her curiosity piqued. "Wait, they're hurt."
"Powder, don't—" Tiphereth began, but the blue-haired girl was already moving.
She approached the fallen figure cautiously, her footsteps quiet against the cracked pavement. The others watched her tensely, ready to jump in at a moment's notice.
When Powder reached the figure, she knelt down, her fingers hesitating over the edge of their mask. "Let's see who you are," she murmured, before gently pulling the mask away.
Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the face beneath.
It was a boy, around her age, with dark skin and white hair that was unmistakable, even after all these years. His features were sharper, more mature, but there was no doubt in her mind who he was.
"Ekko?" She whispered, her voice barely audible.
The small shop was a hidden gem in the bustling streets of Piltover. Tucked between towering buildings of brass and glass, its unassuming exterior belied the warmth within. The chatter of patrons mixed with the soft clinking of porcelain, creating a tranquil atmosphere far removed from the city's frenetic energy.
Caitlyn sat across from Binah, her Enforcer uniform crisp despite the long day. Her hat rested on the table beside her, and her rifle leaned against the wall, within arm's reach. She occasionally glanced at it, a reflex she couldn't quite suppress, as though reassured by its presence.
Binah, meanwhile, seemed entirely at ease, her posture elegant and her movements slow and deliberate. She cradled a delicate teacup, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips as she sipped. Her black eyes—calm, yet uncomfortably piercing—seemed to take in everything without truly focusing on couldn't help but feel she was the one in control.
"This tea," Binah said, her voice measured, "might be the finest I've ever tasted."
Caitlyn straightened slightly, forcing a polite smile despite the unease that prickled at the back of her mind. She couldn't tell what it was about this woman that made a simple statement about tea, of all things, unnerving."I'm glad you think so. This place has been a favorite of mine since I was a child." She glanced at the small spread of pastries and teacups between them. "My parents used to bring me here all the time."
Binah tilted her head slightly, her expression inscrutable. "It is rare to find a place steeped in such sentimentality. A rarity worth cherishing."
Caitlyn's fingers drummed lightly on the table as she nodded. She still wasn't used to anyone speaking in such a…cryptic manner, she supposed. "Piltover has its share of grand cafes and high-end establishments, but this place always felt... different. More grounded."
Binah set her teacup down with deliberate precision, her black eyes shifting to Caitlyn. The faint curve of her lips didn't quite reach her eyes, giving her an air of quiet detachment. "Grounded. An interesting choice of words, given what one can assume about your upbringing."
Caitlyn stiffened slightly, her fingers pausing mid-drum. "I suppose it's a matter of perspective."
Binah's smile widened by the faintest degree, though the expression remained enigmatic. "Perspective is everything, after all."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable for Binah, but Caitlyn felt it settle heavily between them. She reached for her teacup, trying to focus on the warmth of the tea rather than the unnerving presence across from her. Maybe striking up a conversation would change the atmosphere?
"What about you? Do you visit places like this often?"
Binah tilted her head slightly, her gaze drifting toward the window as though watching the bustling street outside. "Rarely. My circumstances were different."
"Different how, exactly?" Caitlyn asked, leaning forward slightly, curiosity overtaking her caution.
Binah's smile didn't waver. "Let us say my previous... career offered little room for such indulgences."
Caitlyn frowned, her fingers lightly tapping the edge of her cup. "And what career was that?"
Those black eyes returned to Caitlyn, her expression as inscrutable as ever. "I was an Arbiter."
"An…Arbiter?" Caitlyn repeated, tilting her head. What was she arbitrating, exactly? The rank seemed important, but she wasn't sure what it represented. "Sounds like a weighty title. Was it an important job you had? You know, back in the City?"
"It was indeed a role of some importance," Binah said, her tone carefully neutral. "But it is one I have left behind."
Caitlyn resisted the urge to shift in her seat, unsure if Binah was being intentionally vague or simply enjoying her discomfort. "And now you're in the Library. Quite a career change."
"A career change," Binah repeated, as though tasting the phrase. Her voice was calm, yet there was something unsettling about the way she spoke, as though the words carried layers of meaning Caitlyn couldn't quite parse. "Let us say circumstances shifted."
Caitlyn set her teacup down, her nerves wearing thin under Binah's inscrutable demeanor. "Bloody hell." She sighed. "You're certainly good at avoiding questions."
Binah's faint smile didn't falter. "Some stories lose their luster when told in full. Would you not agree, Caitlyn Kiramman?"
Caitlyn flinched at the use of her full name, though Binah's tone was mild. "I suppose." She sighed, deciding to shift the focus. "What about now? Do you miss your old life?"
Binah's expression grew distant, her gaze unfocused as though looking at something Caitlyn couldn't see. "Miss it? No. The Library is... sufficient."
Caitlyn frowned, uncertain what to make of the cryptic response. She decided to turn the conversation toward herself, hoping to regain some semblance of control. "I joined the Enforcers to find purpose outside of my family name. To do something meaningful."
Binah's focus returned to Caitlyn, her eyes softening slightly, as if finding some sort of common ground. What…? Binah didn't seem like much of a family person, so then what could she have possibly found common in such a story? "And have you found it?"
Caitlyn hesitated, her fingers brushing against the edge of her hat. "I think so. Protecting people, keeping Piltover safe—it feels right. But sometimes I wonder if I'm chasing an ideal that doesn't exist."
Binah tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "Ideals are fragile things. They often crumble under the weight of reality. Yet they are worth pursuing. Without them, purpose becomes hollow." She paused, chuckling to herself. "And I have seen the most extraordinary people born from following an ideal, even ideals they didn't believe in at some point."
Caitlyn blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in Binah's tone. Before she could respond, the shop door burst open, the bell above it jingling loudly.
A woman with short orange hair in an Enforcer uniform strode in, her expression urgent. "Caitlyn!"
Caitlyn stood immediately, her professional instincts taking over. She grabbed her hat and rifle, ready for action. "Maddie. What's going on?"
"There's an emergency at Stillwater," Maddie said, slightly out of breath. "All available Enforcers are being called in."
Caitlyn glanced at Binah, who remained seated, entirely unbothered by the sudden interruption. "Will you be alright getting back to the Library on your own?"
Binah inclined her head, her expression as calm as ever. "I will manage."
Caitlyn left a few coins on the table before nodding. "Alright. Stay safe."
As Caitlyn and Maddie hurried out, Binah remained seated, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup. She watched them go, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly as a faint smile returned to her lips.
"We will meet again, Caitlyn," She murmured to herself. "Sooner than you expect."
Stillwater Prison was alive with an energy Vi hadn't felt in months. The usual oppressive silence, punctuated only by the occasional brawl or guard's barked orders, had been replaced with whispers and frantic speculation. The source of the buzz wasn't hard to pin down—everyone was talking about the Library.
Vi had heard bits and pieces from guards and other prisoners. Some claimed it was a building that had materialized out of nowhere, standing ominously on the bridge connecting Zaun and Piltover. Others said it was some kind of fortress or supernatural construct. Most of it sounded like crap to Vi, but even she couldn't deny how spooked the guards had seemed ever since it appeared.
She leaned back against the cold stone wall of her cell, arms crossed and scowling at nothing in particular. The murmurs around her were starting to grate on her nerves. What did it matter if some mysterious building had shown up? It wasn't like she was getting out of here to see it for herself.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of boots clanging against metal. Two guards approached her cell, their faces set in grim determination. The taller one rapped his baton against the bars.
"On your feet, prisoner. Cell block's moving."
Vi's brow furrowed as she stood, her hands instinctively flexing as though itching for a fight. "Moving? Where to?"
"None of your business," The shorter guard snapped, unlocking the cell door. "Just keep your mouth shut and get moving if you know what's good for you."
Vi hesitated, her instincts telling her to press for more information, but the look in the guards' eyes stopped her. Whatever this was about, they weren't in the mood to explain it. She stepped out into the corridor, joining the line of prisoners already forming.
"What the hell's going on?" She muttered to the prisoner in front of her.
"Beats me," The woman replied with a shrug. "They're clearing out all the blocks, though. Something's got 'em spooked."
Vi didn't get a chance to reply. A sudden tremor ran through the floor beneath her, making her stagger. It wasn't the usual creak or groan of the old prison structure—it felt like the whole building had been hit by an earthquake.
The tremor grew into a violent quake, shaking the walls and sending dust raining from the ceiling. Prisoners shouted in confusion and fear, some dropping to the floor as the ground swayed beneath them. Even the guards looked rattled, gripping their batons and barking out orders that were lost in the chaos.
"What the hell is this?!" Vi shouted, her voice barely carrying over the noise.
Before anyone could answer, a deafening crash reverberated through the block. Vi whipped around just in time to see the far wall crumble inward, bricks and steel beams scattering like paper in the wind. Smoke and dust filled the air, obscuring whatever had caused the destruction.
Through the haze, Vi could just barely make out a shape—a towering figure that defied comprehension. It wasn't human, that much was clear. Its outline shifted and shimmered as though it didn't belong in this world, and the sound it made...
Vi froze as the creature let out a screech unlike anything she'd ever heard. It was piercing, guttural, and utterly inhuman, a sound that clawed at her very bones.
For the first time in years, she felt a genuine fear in her heart.
And the first chapter of the year is here! Glad you guys are here and sticking around.
So things are steadily moving together as the cast of Library of Ruina makes their way through both Zaun and Piltover, their presence is making things shift in ways that I hope surprise you all!
PS: Did all you guys see Arcane season? Good enough quality, but the writing was so not as tight as the last season and part of me feels like the overlords at Riot had something to do with it.
Anywho, comment and discuss and see you all next time!
