Behind the curtain
“Jayce, are you in here? Everyone’s waiting for your speech.”
Caitlyn’s voice cut through the dimly lit room, her footsteps soft against the polished floor.
Jayce sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Cait, aren’t you supposed to be ensuring the safety of the event?” His tone was light, but there was a trace of distraction in it.
She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “And yet, here I am, ensuring the safety of the city’s golden boy.” There was banter in her voice, but something else lingered beneath it—fatigue, maybe, or frustration.
She exhaled. “Mother made sure I had a ‘greater responsibility’ tonight. If you ask me, it’s just an excuse to keep me under her watch.”
Jayce smirked, but it softened as he studied her. “She just worries about you. So do I.” He peered at her from behind the door, brow raised. “When was the last time you actually slept, Cait?”
Her jaw tightened. “I don’t need your concern—nor my mother’s.” She straightened, shaking off the momentary lapse. “I’ve been working. That’s not the issue right now. You should hurry up—Piltover’s waiting.”
¨ Well, at least you'll have front-row seats to the speech. ¨
The grand hall of Piltover University stood bathed in golden light, its towering columns and intricate stained glass casting long, colorful shadows over the gathered crowd. Banners of deep blue and gold draped along the walls, each emblazoned with the city’s crest—symbols of progress, innovation, and wealth.
At the center of it all stood a grand stage, raised high above the sea of expectant faces. The finest minds of Piltover—council members, esteemed professors, wealthy patrons—sat in the front rows, their polished attire glinting under the chandeliers. Behind them, packed tightly into the open courtyard, stood the rest of the city: merchants, apprentices, workers from the forges and docks, all craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the man of progress.
Jayce straightened his cuffs, exhaling slowly as he ascended the stairs. The weight of anticipation settled on his shoulders, heavier than his ceremonial cloak. From here, he could see the entire city’s gaze fixed upon him—some eyes filled with admiration, others with skepticism.
But behind him, hidden from view by a massive velvet curtain, lay the true centerpiece of the night. The invention. The culmination of years of work—his and Viktor’s. The mechanism that would change the course of Piltover’s future. It loomed behind the fabric, its presence a silent promise, waiting for the moment it would be unveiled to the world.
Jayce reached the podium. The hum of the crowd quieted, the last whispers fading into silence. The wind carried the distant chime of clock towers and the faint clatter of airships in the sky, but down here, all attention was his. He placed his hands on either side of the podium, glancing at the expectant faces before him. This was it.
Progress Day had always been a celebration of invention, of the future. And tonight, he was about to unveil something that would define it.
He took a breath.
And then, he began.
"My family and I are simple people. In our factory, we made hammers—the very same tools that might have shaped the stones beneath your feet today. No one ever expected much of me. And that… that is precisely what makes this moment so extraordinary." He made a brief pause as he scans the crowd, letting the words settle.
"A few years ago, the Hexgates opened their ports to the world, and Piltover flourished beyond anything we had ever imagined."
The crowd erupts into cheers, applause echoing through the hall. Jayce lets it linger for a moment before continuing, his tone turning more resolute.
"But we’re not done yet."
The excitement in the room shifts, anticipation building.
"This year, we have created something new—something that will define the next era of progress." Behind him, the massive curtain concealing their invention stands undisturbed, its presence looming over the audience.
"Hextech was meant to bring magic into the hands of the common people. And now, it finally can.¨
Jayce raised a hand, signaling to the stagehands beside the towering curtain. The fabric rustled as they pulled it open, revealing the culmination of his and Viktor’s years of work—
Or so he thought.
Screams tore through the crowd. Gasps, wails, bodies recoiling in horror. Some clutched their mouths, others stumbled back, a few collapsed entirely. The sharp scent of bile filled the air as more than one person doubled over, retching.
Jayce stood frozen. His breath hitched. His stomach lurched. It wasn’t their grand innovation standing behind the curtain.
It was a grotesque display of brutal violence.
Three enforcers—or what remained of them—were strung up like broken marionettes. Their uniforms were barely recognizable beneath the blood and deep, gaping wounds that marred their bodies. Their chests full of claw marks carved into their flesh, and their faces—gone. Nothing but ruined, unrecognizable masses of flesh and bone.
And behind them, scrawled across the pristine wall in what could only be their blood, a message:
"Come across the river and find the world below."
Jayce’s heart pounded against his ribs. The air was thick with panic, voices overlapping in a cacophony of horror. And yet, beneath all the chaos, one thought burned through his mind.
Who could have done this?