In the dead of night, inside Piltover's Disc Tower, Enforcers patrolled the halls. In times like this they were fully armed—faces tired, but forcing themselves to stay alert.
Piltover had suffered a crushing defeat today!
When the Enforcers were carried back into the city missing fingers and limbs, the sight left every Piltovan shaken.
And on the very top floor, the Councilors were holding an emergency session over what had happened.
Jayce had just come out of the lab and changed into formal wear. As he listened to Sheriff Marcus's report, it felt like countless voices were tearing each other apart inside his head.
"Zaun's violent resistance caused us to lose forty-two Enforcers…"
[Jayce, give up Hextech. The Professor was right—this isn't something we can control.]
"Based on our investigation, the boss behind the Spirit Blossom Gang is very likely the criminal who bombed the docked airship and blew up Councilor Talis's lab building—Jinx."
[Jayce… my student… why would you say something like that?]
"From the evidence gathered in our searches, we've found that Jinx is very likely connected to one person—the biggest industrialist in Zaun right now: Silco."
[What are you waiting for? Viktor is going to die!]
"So we—"
"Enough!" Jayce suddenly shouted, slamming his palm on the table. The outburst made every Councilor turn toward him.
Mel looked at him with concern. "Jayce?"
"Sorry… I—I'm a little all over the place," Jayce said, snapping back to himself and apologizing to the room.
The Councilors nodded. Jayce drew a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let it out slowly. When he opened them again, his voice was low and hard.
"Marcus. I want to know—was your failure all because of Jinx?"
"That terrorist who stole the Hextech gemstone, killed Enforcers, and carried out attacks?"
Standing opposite the Councilors, Marcus looked less like an officer reporting in and more like a criminal being interrogated. Struggle flickered in his eyes—then he made up his mind.
"Yes. It was Jinx. But the bigger reason… is Silco."
He couldn't keep making the same mistake.
He'd already been wrong once—let his hunger for power give Silco leverage over him, let Silco rise, and that had hurt far too many people.
And what happened today… more than half the Enforcers who went down into the Undercity were dead. Marcus had to answer for that.
He wasn't a good man—but Marcus still had a line he wouldn't cross. Maybe that was why he'd saved Vi back then.
"Councilors," Marcus said, gathering all his courage, "I have something I need to say."
He was going to confess everything.
He couldn't just stand by and watch Silco actually succeed. Before, Marcus had believed that no matter how far Silco went, it would all be futile in the end.
The gap in production was too massive. The tech level was too far behind. And most importantly—Silco didn't have public support. The people of the Undercity feared him, hated him. In the end, Marcus believed Silco would be driven out by both cities.
But what happened today terrified Marcus.
The Undercity had united.
Just as Marcus was about to speak, the doors to the chamber were suddenly thrown open with brute force.
"Who is it?!" someone barked.
The Councilors looked over—then, in the next second, their eyes went wide.
Two lines of soldiers in red uniforms rushed in with weapons raised. At the front was a bearded brute of a man, built like a wall, eyes cold as he looked over the Council. Then he lowered his head respectfully and stepped aside.
Behind him walked in a tall woman with gray-white hair.
"Mother?" Mel shot to her feet.
"I apologize for entering without your permission," Ambessa said. Her gaze was wolfish as she surveyed every Councilor's face—lingering especially on the Kiramman and Talis seats.
That old fossil met Ambessa's eyes—then visibly shrank, mouth half-open, looking away as if he'd been slapped by her presence.
Ambessa's eyes flashed with something unreadable. She continued, "But I couldn't stop myself. Even if it offends you, I believe I have to act."
"Piltover doesn't belong only to you. I may be an outsider, but my daughter has given herself to this city. The Medardas have become one of Piltover's honored houses because of it."
"So I consider myself half Piltovan."
"Does anyone object to that?" Ambessa swept her gaze across them, one hand settling on her hip.
Salo spoke first. "Of course not, Head of House Medarda."
"We welcome your presence," Bolbok said.
Ambessa looked toward Kiramman.
"I… I think it's acceptable," Kiramman said, taking a breath.
"No!" Mel stood, both hands braced on the table, staring at Ambessa. "Mother, what are you trying to do now?"
"I've already told you—Piltover is not a tool for your political ambitions. You're not bringing your schemes into my city-state!" Mel refused to back down, her voice rising.
Ambessa's face darkened, but there was a flicker of approval in her eyes. She said coldly, "Hah. How long do you plan to keep playing house?"
"Mel, open your eyes. Because of your incompetence, nearly fifty Enforcers are dead. If you'd handled Zaun properly from the start, how would it ever have come to this?"
"How long are you going to let Zaun grow unchecked? Until they're standing right in front of you—then what?"
Mel froze.
She had a thousand reasons to argue, but when Ambessa pointed at today's returning Enforcers—and the bodies brought back—Mel couldn't force out a single word.
Mel knew her mother's kindness was never clean. Every "goodwill" Ambessa showed Piltover had a blade hidden inside it.
But… the reality was exactly what Ambessa said.
It was because they'd mishandled Zaun that things had reached this point.
Ambessa glanced at Mel, then spread her arms and spoke loudly.
"Councilors—listen to my proposal."
————
Zaun, the Sump.
A small figure—short as a child—moved carefully through the streets of Zaun.
The road was filthy. The air was thick. Chem-tanks rumbled and churned. Along both sides of the street were women and children so thin they looked like bones wrapped in skin.
In that moment, Heimerdinger finally understood what Jayce had meant.
"Professor, we're not like you. You have endless life, but we don't. Humans get a century—there are things we can't afford to wait for!"
This was Heimerdinger's second day in Zaun. And what happened today, he'd heard about it too.
He didn't only stand with Piltover—he cared about Zaun as well. To Heimerdinger, Zaun and Piltover were one body. They had been, centuries ago. They still should be.
But reality made it plain: that had been his arrogance.
He'd stood above it all, talking beautifully about ideas, without truly understanding the people of Zaun—or the people of Piltover.
Kind-hearted as he was, regret set in. He began to repent—of the pride and recklessness he'd once carried.
Stopping beside a pile of trash, Heimerdinger spotted a masked child tinkering with a hoverboard.
When the child saw him, he flinched and scooted back.
"Hey, don't be afraid. I'm not a bad person," Heimerdinger said quickly. He stepped closer—he was even shorter than the kid. Looking at the hoverboard, surprise spread across his face. "Did you build this?"
"You're incredible. How did you even think to use materials like these… well—less-than-ideal materials—and make something like this?"
The kid shook his head, staying silent.
Heimerdinger looked a little deflated, but then he remembered what he'd seen on his way here, and he understood why the child was wary.
So he pulled off his hood, revealing a fluffy, adorable face, and said gently, "Can you show me?"
"Y-You—" The child stared at Heimerdinger's face, startled, then immediately handed the hoverboard over.
He'd seen that face on Progress Day last year—printed on the free cups they handed out.
"Mm. Let me take a look," Heimerdinger murmured. "Let's see if I can help you fix it."
He sat down on the ground and got to work.
A few minutes later, Heimerdinger frowned.
The craftsmanship was rough, but the idea was clever—so clever it couldn't be "solved" instantly. For Heimerdinger it wasn't difficult, not really… but he didn't have tools on him. He couldn't take the board apart properly, and that made it a hassle.
And then a voice spoke from behind them.
"That's not how you do it. Your approach is wrong. You should split it from the middle."
"Things made in Zaun don't need tools to take apart—because a lot of the time, we don't have tools at all."
The masked child in front of Heimerdinger bolted, ran behind him, and hugged the newcomer's leg.
Heimerdinger turned.
White hair. Dark skin.
A teenage boy.
The boy looked at him and said, flatly, "Piltie."
Then he added:
"That hoverboard is mine."