01 Echoes of the Past

Everything is different in Piltover. The airm the sky, the feel of everything. I tug my coat as I stand at the ship's railing, eyes fixed on Piltover's skyline. The scent of the city fills the air—clean, crisp, sharp like cut glass—but something feels different.

I breathe in again, searching for it. It's not the scent itself. The air still smells of polished metal, the faint tang of ozone from the hextech veins running beneath the streets, the salt of the distant sea. But the vibe—it's wrong.

Months ago, this city was  bustling. Now it feels... hollow. Like a machine that's lost its rhythm. I should have expected it. War does that.

"Miss Medarda, the ship has boarded." A voice snaps me from my thoughts.

I turn, meeting the calm, professional gaze of the guard who speaks. His tone is clipped, his posture rigid, but there's a flicker of something in his eyes—concern, maybe, or curiosity. I give him a curt nod, as if acknowledging him will keep the past from clawing its way back into my thoughts.

I walk to the front of the ship, my steps measured, careful, like I'm not ready to embrace this city fully yet. The gangplank creaks underfoot, the sound oddly loud in the quiet morning. The city is waking, but the energy feels muted, restrained.

"Back in the old city again, Mel."

"Is it strange to be back?" I tell my guard.

His ash-blonde hair catches the early light, cropped short, with a heavy beard that makes him look older, harder. His face is carved stone—angular, emotionless—but his eyes tell a different story.

I glance at him, his lips curling into a wry smile. "It's always strange to return to a place that tried to break you."

"It's always good to pay your past a visit." My voice is steady, but there's a bitterness under the surface that I can't quite hide. I step away before he can press further, leaving him behind as I descend the gangplank.

At the dock, servants wait for me, dressed in the same formal attire they wore when I left. Their faces are blank, unreadable masks, but I can see the flicker of curiosity in their eyes. They bow slightly, a gesture of respect without warmth, and fall into step beside me as I move toward the council building.

The streets feel different too. Piltover's gleaming towers still rise above, polished and proud, but there's a tension in the air. The usual clamor of merchants and inventors has dulled. People move quickly, heads down, voices hushed. The war may be over, but the scars remain.

I let my gaze wander, as I walk into the city, soaking in the changes. Storefronts are boarded up, some burned from the chaos of battle, others simply abandoned. The streets are cleaner than I expected, but there's an emptiness to them. The bustling, vibrant life that once defined Piltover is muted now.

I pause for a moment, letting the servants continue ahead of me. My eyes drift to the distant spires of the council building, its shining façade untouched by the war that ravaged the lower streets. I feel a hollow ache in my chest, the familiar weight of guilt. I wasn't here when it mattered. I left when they needed me most, running back to the Medarda clan and the politics of my family.

And now I'm back, but it feels too late.

"Miss Medarda?" a warm, familiar voice calls out before I can take another step.

"Shoola?"

I blink when I see the woman stand in front of me. It feels like an eternity since I've seen her, but Shoola looks almost exactly as I remember—graceful, poised, with the same quiet elegance that marked her presence on the council. Her golden circular clock necklace still hangs around her neck, ticking softly like a heartbeat, each second marking the time since I left. It's as though it measures not just the minutes but the distance between who I was then and who I've become now.

She smiles, a small thing without teeth, but her eyes hold warmth. "I heard rumors that Miss Medarda would be returning to Piltover," she says, her voice smooth and knowing, "and I just had to see it for myself."

"You're the first person to greet me," I reply, inclining my head in appreciation. "I appreciate it."

Shoola cranes her head slightly, studying me with that same keen gaze she always had. "I hope everything is well?"

I nod, though the question feels more pointed than casual. "As well as it can be," I answer, choosing my words carefully. "Where are the others. I would love to see the Council.

"I just ended a meeting with the new council,"  she says, almost casually.

She smiles, tilting her head. "Don't fret. There's a banquet tonight, and I would love for you to come."

"A party?" I repeat, arching an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware my arrival was something worth celebrating."

Shoola laughs, her voice light and easy. "Oh, this banquet isn't about you," she teases. "It's just us enjoying ourselves after all the hard work we've done guiding the city through the aftermath of the war."

"How nice," I murmur, my tone laced with dry amusement. The idea of a party feels strange, almost absurd, given everything the city has endured.

"You should join us," she says, her tone encouraging but firm.

I hesitate but offer a gracious nod. "Thank you for the invitation. I'll be there."

Shoola smiles, satisfied, and we exchange a few more pleasantries before saying our goodbyes. As she walks away, the soft ticking of her necklace fades into the distance, and I'm left alone with the echoes of her words.

I should head to my hotel and rest, but the thought of the banquet gnaws at me. I hate walking into a room full of strangers, especially when I'm the odd one out. If I'm to attend, I need to familiarize myself with the new council before then.

I head to the shinny building ahead of me.

The council hall looms ahead, its grandeur unchanged but the atmosphere palpably different. The polished marble floors, the towering columns, the banners draped in the colors of Piltover—it all feels familiar and foreign at once. The war has left its scars here, too.

I make my way inside, the quiet of the hall pressing in around me. The air is cool, the scent of wax and polished wood lingering. My footsteps echo softly, the sound swallowed by the vastness of the space.

The council chamber is empty, its long table polished to a shine, the chairs neatly arranged. I trace my fingers along the edge of the table, memories stirring of heated debates, strategic discussions, and the heavy decisions that shaped the city's future.

But the chairs are different now, and I realize with a pang that so are the people who sit in them. I don't recognize the names, the faces, the voices that now govern Piltover. The old council has been replaced, and I'm no longer a part of it.

I linger for a moment longer, lost in thought, before turning to leave--

A shadow moves in the corner of my vision. Reflexively, my body tenses. A surge of power rushes to my fingertips, golden light swirling in the air as I spin around, releasing the energy in a sharp burst.

The figure approaching me reacts instantly, raising a bionic arm that glints a tarnished gold under the dim lights. My attack crackles against the metallic surface before dissipating into nothingness. I stumble back, heart racing, realizing what I've done.

"What the... hell was that?" the woman snarls, her voice low and rough, like gravel grinding against metal.

I'm met with a glare sharp enough to cut, and it's attached to a face that's equal parts striking and beautiful. The tall woman stands with a loose, confident posture, the kind of ease born from a life lived on the edge. Her brown eyes—deep, piercing—lock onto mine with an intensity that leaves me momentarily breathless.

"I... I'm sorry," I manage to stammer, my voice trembling slightly. "I didn't mean to..."

She lowers her arm, flexing her hand as if shaking off the remnants of my attack, her expression twisting into one of irritation mixed with amusement. "This place never ceases to amaze me," she mutters, half to herself. "Minutes  ago I'm being yelled out by a bunch of pampered  poodles, now I come in to grab my lighter, and I get attacked by a prissy little Buttercup."

"Buttercup?" I say offended by her words.  "My name is Mel Medarda of the Medarda clan."

She raises her brows. "A Medarda?" She steps close to me and I remain still not falter at the look shes giving me and the warmth that radiate from her. "Arent you a little too...Prissy to be a Medarda."

"I am sure you have met or heard of my mothers might, but do not let my appearance fool you. I have hurt many."

"Oh yeah?" she steps even closer to me so much that I can clearly see the deep purple scars along the right side of her face. "I would love to go one-on-one with you."

"You could barely handle a little taste what makes you think you can handle all of me?" I say trying to be condescending, but instead I fee I feel heat rising to my face at the Zaunite woman gaze on me.

She raises an eyebrow, her smirk widening as she steps closer. There's a deliberate grace in the way she moves, like a predator sizing up its prey. Her bionic arm catches the light again, the intricate mechanics of it both fascinating and intimidating.

"I may ask what you are doing here? I mean its not common to have Zaunite guests..."

"What's wrong, Buttercup?" she drawls, her tone mocking but somehow teasing. "Don't like seeing an Undercity rat sitting in your seat?"

I blink, startled by the directness of her words, but I force myself to stand taller, to meet her gaze without faltering. "No," I begin, "I..."

She cuts me off with a lazy wave of her hand, standing fully now, unfolding herself like a cat stretching after a long nap. "Don't worry," she says with a smirk, her voice thick with sarcasm. "I'll be out of your way once I find my damn lighter."

Her words sting, but I refuse to let her see it. Instead, I tilt my head, eyeing her carefully. Her clothes are rough, worn but functional, and the way she carries herself makes it clear she's no stranger to violence. She doesn't look like she belongs here, not in the polished halls of the council.

"You must be the new councilor," I say, doing my best to keep my voice even, almost cordial.

She laughs, the sound rough and amused.  She crosses her arms, her bionic fingers tapping against the metal in a rhythmic clink. "Well there is at least something you got right about me."

I near her raising my hand out. "Mel. Former Councilor."

She looks at my arm for a moment then shakes it. Her hand are warm and almost soft to the touch despite her rugged appearance. "Sevika."

The name sits heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. She's too close, the scent of smoke clinging to her like a second skin, and I can feel the heat of her presence pressing against me.

"Well, Sevika," I say, fighting to keep my composure, "it is nice to make your acquaintance."

Her eyes glint with something unreadable, a flicker of curiosity or maybe amusement. "I guess I will be seeing you tonight," she murmurs, her voice low, almost intimate.

I swallow, the tension between us thick enough to taste. She steps back, finally giving me space, and I realize I've been holding my breath.

"I suppose," I say, my voice soft, almost reluctant, but there's a challenge in it.

My eyes flick back to Sevika, who is still standing, still watching. She tilts her head, her lips curving into a small smirk, as if she knows exactly what I'm thinking.

~

thanks for reading. i hope this introduction scene isnt too boring. more to come next chapter!