Year 994 AN
The chamber of the Piltover Council, once a place of order and diplomacy, now felt like a tomb. Shadows stretched long across the grand circular hall, the golden filigree of its towering columns dulled by the dim light of flickering sconces. The great stained-glass window, depicting the city’s crest, cast fractured patterns of blue and gold onto the polished floor, but the beauty of it was lost in the suffocating tension that hung in the air.
The councilors sat in their high-backed chairs, their faces carved from stone—some unreadable, others twisted with worry.The usual hum of civilized debate had been replaced with silence, thick and heavy, broken only by the distant echo of a clock ticking against the far wall. Every passing second felt like a countdown.
At the center of the chamber, a long table stood between them like a battlefield line. Scattered across its surface were reports, maps, and a single, unsealed letter—its wax seal broken, its message unmistakable. The last warning from Noxus. Seated at this very table, yet set apart from the Council itself, were Caitlyn Kiramman, newly appointed Commander of Piltover’s forces, and at her side, her second-in-command—Vi.
Caitlyn sat upright, hands folded tightly before her, her expression carefully composed, though the tension in her jaw betrayed her. She had spent her entire life learning to mask her emotions, a skill sharpened under her mother’s watchful eye and the demands of her family’s political standing. In this chamber, among Piltover’s most powerful, she wore that same practiced mask—calm, controlled, unreadable. But Vi saw through it, she always did.
Beside her, Vi leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, her fingers tapping idly against the polished wood. Unlike Caitlyn, she made no effort to hide her disdain, her narrowed eyes scanning the faces of the Council with something between impatience and barely restrained anger. But even as she glared at the figures before her, her attention flickered to Caitlyn. To anyone else, she was the image of composure, but Vi could see it—the faint stiffness in her posture, the way her fingers pressed just a little too tightly together. She was uncomfortable and Vi could see the worry in the way her right eye twitches every few seconds. A tick Caitly had every time she was stressed or worried, which to Vi’s disdain was more often than not.
No one dared speak first. Outside, the city still bustled, oblivious to the decision being weighed within these walls. But inside, the air was cold with the understanding that whatever was decided tonight would shape the future of Piltover forever.
“Why don’t we just give them what they ask for? The boy can make more of it after.”
The stretched silence shattered as Councilor Hoskel spoke, his finger lazily pointing toward Jayce. The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, thick with cowardice.
Caitlyn rose abruptly from her chair, the legs scraping against the polished floor. Her grip tightened around the crumpled letter in her hands. “With all due respect, Councilor, I refuse to believe you are so blind as to not see the truth—Noxus will not stop until Piltover is crushed beneath their empire. Hextech is nothing but a convenient excuse for their real ambition.”
Murmurs rippled through the chamber, some uneasy, others skeptical. But before doubt could take hold, Vi’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.
“War is inevitable.” She leaned forward, her sharp gaze sweeping across the horrified faces of the councilors. “That self-serving war pig won’t stop until she gets what she wants. If we give her Hextech, it won’t just be Piltover that falls—it’ll be all of Runeterra. This isn’t just about us.”
A cold silence followed, thick with the weight of realization.
“We are not giving them access to Hextech.” Jayce’s voice rang through the chamber, his frustration boiling over. “It was never meant to be a weapon—it was meant to be a tool for progress.”
Councilor Hoskel scoffed. “And yet, you crafted those gauntlets. That hammer you carry around like a badge of honor. I fail to see the difference between that and forging a truce.”
Jayce’s hands curled into fists, but before he could respond, another voice cut through the room.
“Those were made to protect this city.” Cassandra Kirraman’s voice was measured, poised, yet there was a sharpness beneath it that silenced the murmurs around the table. “Handing weapons to an empire built on violence, cruelty, and bloodshed is out of the question.” Her gaze lifted, settling directly on Vi. A pause—calculated, deliberate. “We have already done enough damage.”
The council chamber was drowning in the stifling weight of argument, but Salo’s voice cut through the noise with eerie finality.
“We must be pragmatic.” His fingers drummed against the table, his expression one of cold calculation. “Piltover’s military is not built for war. We do not have the numbers to hold against Noxus, nor the willingness to throw our citizens onto the battlefield.”
Hoskel nodded in agreement, leaning forward with an almost casual air. “Which is why we must turn to a... less conventional solution.” His lips curled into something too satisfied for the gravity of his words. “Convicts. Ex-convicts. Those who have taken from this city should now fight to defend it.”
The words sent a ripple of discomfort through the chamber. Vi went rigid beside Caitlyn, and from the corner of her eye, Caitlyn saw her jaw tighten, the fingers of her left hand curling into a fist against her knee.
“Absolutely not.” Caitlyn’s voice was firm, but the moment she spoke, she knew it would not be enough. She rose to her feet, gloved hands bracing against the table. “You are condemning them to death, not offering them redemption. Piltover does not send its people to the slaughter like Noxus does.”
Salo scoffed. “Do not be naïve, Commander. These people have no place in our society as it stands. Let them prove their worth.”
“They are not weapons for you to throw at the enemy!” Caitlyn’s voice sharpened, but she could already see the way the councilors shifted—some averting their gaze, others stiff with indifference. She searched the room desperately, but the only ones who met her eyes were Jayce and her mother.
She swallowed, her stomach twisting. They had already decided.
A sharp exhale beside her made Caitlyn glance at Vi, who had not spoken a word. Her eyes were fixed forward, but her shoulders were taut, every muscle wound tight as steel. Her jaw clenched so hard Caitlyn feared she might shatter her teeth. Without thinking, Caitlyn reached beneath the table, seeking Vi’s hand.
Warm fingers met hers.
Vi flinched, startled out of her own rage, but she didn’t pull away. Slowly, hesitantly, her calloused fingers curled around Caitlyn’s, her grip firm—steady. Just enough to keep her grounded.
“Let us vote.” Councilor Bolbok rumbled.
The chamber fell silent. One by one, hands were raised—Hoskel, Salo, Bolbok, Shoola, the rest falling in line without hesitation.
Caitlyn didn’t move. Jayce hesitated, lips pressing into a grim line, but in the end, his hand remained at his side.
And then, across from her, Cassandra Kiramman slowly lifted her chin and, with the same unshakable grace she had carried all her life, folded her hands in her lap, refusing to cast her vote in favor.
One vote against. One.
It was done.
The council's decision was final. The convicts would be sent to war.
Vi let go of Caitlyn’s hand.
The rain had started again. A fine, misty drizzle that clung to Caitlyn’s coat as she stepped onto the narrow walkway outside Vi’s apartment. The building was old, tucked away in the lower levels of Piltover. It was nothing like the Kiramman estate—nothing like the place Caitlyn had once imagined Vi living in after everything.
Her gloved fingers hovered over the door for a moment before she finally knocked.
No answer.
She sighed, adjusting her stance, her weight shifting between her feet. “Vi, it’s me. Open up please.”
The door cracked open just enough for Caitlyn to see Vi’s silhouette in the dim light. Red-rimmed eyes. Tension coiled in her shoulders. The anger from earlier still burned beneath her skin, but now, something else layered over it—something exhausted, resigned.
Vi said nothing. She just stepped back, leaving enough space for Caitlyn to enter.
She did.
“A meeting will be held tomorrow,” Caitlyn said, her voice steady but urgent. “I will not let them take you. It’s senseless, insensitive to treat you like this after everything you’ve done for this city these past years. I will not let them take you away from me.”
Vi’s gaze softened, but there was a flicker of something darker behind her eyes. She shook her head slowly, her hands moving to cup Caitlyn’s face with a tenderness that only Vi could give.
“Stop it, Cupcake. Really.” Her voice was low, almost too quiet to hear, but the words cut through the air like a silent plea. “You always knew who I was. The things I’ve done. What I am.”
Caitlyn stared into her eyes, a fierce tenderness gripping her heart. She wanted to argue, to tell Vi that she was more than just her past, more than the person she had been before. But she knew, deep down, that Vi didn’t want to hear that. Not now.
“Promise that you will come back to me, please.” Caitlyn’s voice cracked, just barely. The desperation in her eyes was clear, but there was a quiet plea in the air, something
vulnerable, something raw.
Vi’s gaze softened for the briefest moment, her fingers brushing against Caitlyn’s skin like she was memorizing the feeling. She hesitated, then gave a small, sad smile. “I’m the dirt under your nails, Cupcake.” Her voice was low, a quiet resignation that seemed to linger in the air. “Nothing’s gonna clean me up.”