Chapter IX – Welcome to Bilgewater
It had been a long journey to Bilgewater. She had always dreamed of flying one of those airships. Time and time again, she had asked Silco to let her escort a shipment, but he had never agreed. The one time he did allow her inside—to guard the precious cargo—it hadn't gone well. She'd ended up blowing the whole thing up.
She thought riding an airship would be fun, but she hadn't expected it to feel so endless. Before Isha, being alone had never bothered her. It had been fine. But now, all she felt was an aching emptiness. She tried to think about what she would do once she arrived, but no answer came. It was strange—she had always been creative, in her own way—but now, she felt hollow.
The airship arrived a little before dawn. Because Bilgewater clung to the cliffs, the sun emerged later, its light slow to creep past the towering rock formations. The airship dock was far more worn-down than Piltover's, perched on the cliffside—on the far side, away from the bustling bay. Unlike the countless boats and harbors filling the city's shallows, there was only one dock here, barely able to moor two airships at a time. The place was quiet. Secluded. Jinx frowned. Jules and Vernes had always told her Bilgewater was alive at all hours, that every inch of the town was bursting with movement. But here, on the isolated side of the cliffs, far from the city's chaos, it felt almost… deserted.
She took advantage of the half-light to slip out of the bilge, hidden beneath her cape. As she heard voices approaching, she crouched behind a stack of crates.
"I thought this shipment would never come," one of the men grumbled, shifting impatiently as he watched the workers unload the cargo.
"I heard there was trouble in Piltover," another replied, his voice low, wary.
"I hope so," the first man sneered. "Silco better have a damn good excuse—I've been waiting for my Shimmer, and that old fool is playing dead." He exhaled sharply, his fingers curling into fists at his sides, shoulders tense with irritation.
"Hurry up!" one of the men barked at the workers unloading the ship. "This airship needs to be gone by morning. With all the tension in the city, if someone spots it, we'll have a fight on our hands—and say goodbye to our cargo."
The two men strode over to the barrels that had already been unloaded, searching for the ones marked. But they were nowhere to be found. Cursing, they rushed inside the airship.
"F*ing Silco—I'm gonna kill him!" one of them shouted.
Still hidden behind the crates, Jinx stifled a laugh. "Good luck with that," she muttered to herself. Seizing the moment of their distraction, she slipped away. There seemed to be only one path carved into the rock, its surface worn by time and frequent use, uneven in places. On one side, the rock arched overhead, enclosing the path in a rugged tunnel; on the other, a sheer drop stretched into the void, with only a crumbling stone railing—carved directly from the rock—offering a semblance of protection. Massive stone pillars, remnants of an ancient excavation, supported the structure at irregular intervals.
Jinx eyed the path warily as she advanced, her boots slipping slightly on the damp stone. The air was thick with moisture, clinging to her skin, carrying the briny scent of the ocean. She glanced over the edge but saw nothing. Only the distant echoes of waves crashing against rocks reached her ears, a hollow, rhythmic sound that sent a shiver down her spine. The path sloped downward, winding around the cliffside, disappearing from sight as it curved beyond the rock.
Jinx moved carefully, keeping close to the inner wall. She hated this—hated how open it felt. There was nowhere to hide, no shadows deep enough to melt into if someone came looking.
As she rounded the curve, the open road tightened into a tunnel, the last traces of sky swallowed by stone. The walls closed in around her, the air thick with dampness. The darkness felt heavier here, pressing against her skin. She exhaled sharply, her breath bouncing back at her. No more crashing waves, no distant shouts—just the muffled sound of her own footsteps echoing off the stone.
At last, a faint glow appeared ahead, spilling into the tunnel. With it came the distant sounds of the city—shouts, the clang of metal, the occasional burst of raucous laughter. Signs of life, of chaos.
Stepping out, she emerged into a broader space where the suffocating darkness gave way to the flickering light of lamps fixed to weathered buildings. The warehouses stretched before her—imposing and silent, their rough stone walls reinforced with tarnished metal plates, their doors secured with thick chains and heavy locks. No markings, no banners, nothing to hint at their purpose. Only those who belonged here knew what lay hidden inside. There was no doubt—this was one of the key routes for Silco's Shimmer trade.
Beyond the warehouses, fortified residences loomed over the cliffs. These weren't the opulent estates of Piltover. Metal-barred windows, studded doors, balconies jutting over the edge like silent sentinels. Whoever lived here wasn't just wealthy—they were powerful. And they clearly preferred to keep their distance from the chaos of the bay.
She reached the first buildings, slipping away from the path and taking to the rooftops instead. The steep, jagged architecture reminded her of Zaun. The deeper she went, the louder the city's clamor became, until it finally matched everything she'd heard—loud, restless, alive. But as she descended, a foul stench hit her—an overwhelming mix of coppery blood, gunpowder, tainted fish, and the sharp tang of adulterated alcohol.