Piltover's technological prowess, while not the continent's mightiest, reigns supreme in innovation. At its zenith stands Heimerdinger, a yordle untouched by death, his life consumed by scientific pursuit. Brilliant yet quirky, he's Piltover's most revered inventor.
As a teacher, Heimerdinger's complex theories challenge, but his passion for sharing knowledge drives him to guide eager minds. Among his many students, Orlan stands out, his extraordinary abilities captivating Heimerdinger. Universal conundrums fascinate him; extracosmic tech leaves him in awe.
Orlan's creative spark always surprised Heimerdinger, who poured his heart into mentoring. "Not long ago, your contact in Ionia sent word," Heimerdinger said. "I built this device to reach you. Your dream world's unstable—hard to connect. If you've got something urgent, speak now. I can't guarantee another link."
To catch Orlan's dreams, Heimerdinger's device needed activation before Orlan slept. Time flowed differently between realms, making this contact a stroke of luck. Dreams weren't his forte; the device, powered by Lulu's magic, amplified the dreamscape to draw Orlan in. Mental and soul magic hotspots, especially new ones, lured Orlan's consciousness.
"Thank you, Professor," Orlan said.
A great teacher uplifts; a poor one ruins. Orlan knew this well. "You're my brightest student," Heimerdinger replied. "Seize this adventure—it could change the world."
Sizzle. Orlan's form flickered—not from waking, but Lulu's erratic magic. Kind but unreliable, her unstable output collapsed the dream field. Orlan's words cut off, ending the night's journey.
Awake on the ship, Orlan was relieved. He'd clarified his situation, easing Piltover's worries. His Zaunite employees, loyal for his equal treatment, had formed a mercenary band to rescue him after hearing of trouble. Ali's timely message had calmed them, but the group persisted. Heimerdinger's device confirmed Orlan's safety, though Lulu's magic turned Piltover's night chaotic, morphing locals into fantastical creatures.
On deck, Orlan gazed at unfamiliar stars, lost in thought.
"Orlan? Up early?" Kate called, hanging upside-down from the ship's side, exercising. Her cat-like nature and Hexheart reduced her need for sleep—she napped at noon while Blitzcrank stood watch.
Robots didn't sleep, but Frankenstein mimicked it, hibernating to save energy and feel human. "Had a different dream," Orlan replied.
"Master, ship approaching, seven o'clock. They're being chased," Blitzcrank reported.
After Frankenstein's clash with Caesar, MADS's ship resumed its voyage, anchoring at nightfall. Night sailing on the Grand Line was perilous; most ships halted to avoid treacherous waters.
"How far?" Orlan asked.
"Three nautical miles. ETA: fifteen minutes," Blitzcrank answered, his night vision, telescopic, and infrared systems outshining human eyes.
"Think we're a lighthouse? Sound the alarm. Prepare for enemies."
MADS's night owls kept labs aglow, their ship's rare electrical abundance often mistaken for a beacon. Unknown vessels were assumed hostile—a pirate-filled sea demanded it.
As MADS readied defenses, the fleeing ship—manned by scholars—braced for battle. "Doctor, the pirates are closing in! We can't shake them!" a sailor cried.
"No lighthouse ahead—just another ship. We're trapped!" another reported.
Their leader, clover-haired and gripping a scimitar, scowled. "Greedy pirates! We found no treasure in the ruins, but they won't believe us."
Captain Cloba led this exploration vessel, a haven for global scholars chasing history. His name meant little now, but he hailed from O'Hara, the future archaeological mecca.
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