02 smokes and shadow

Music swells in the banquet halls, low and rich, a haunting melody that fills the grand hall with an air of wealth. Golden light from the chandeliers spills over the polished floor, illuminating swirling gowns and glittering jewels. Conversations hum, blending with the music—a delicate balance between laughter and the underlying feeling of unresolved conflict.

I glide through the crowd, the silk of my dress a second skin, clinging to my curves with every deliberate step. The black fabric shimmers in the light, hugging my waist, the slit teasing along my thigh with each movement. My skin feels hot beneath the layers, the golden markings along my arms catching the light, a reminder of my heritage, my burden.

Tonight, Piltover's elite mingle with the unexpected—faces from the Undercity. Zaunites move among the upper class, their rough edges visible even under fine clothes. The tension is palpable, an unspoken acknowledgment of the recent war and the fragile peace it left behind. This is what my mother built and destroyed—a city divided. I've come back to mend it, or at least try.

But the air feels wrong, heavier than I remember. Familiar faces greet me, smiling tightly, but the unfamiliar ones linger longer, their eyes cold, calculating.

Shoola's laugh cuts through the noise, a welcome sound. She approaches, wrapping me in a hug as if it's been years instead of months. Her bright gown glimmers in the soft light, and she pulls back, eyes scanning me with approval.

"Mel, you never disappoint," she says, her voice warm. "You look like you own the room."

I offer a small smile, though it feels brittle. "I feel like it's owning me instead."

Her laugh is light, but her eyes search mine. "Sounds like you are just tired from you long trip from Noxus?"

"Too long." I take a sip of my wine, the rich taste doing little to soothe the ache in my chest. "But necessary."

Shoola gestures to a group of councilors nearby, the newer ones standing a little too straight, eager to impress. "Let me introduce you to the councils," she says, but I already feel the weight of expectation.

The introductions blur together. Names I don't care to remember, polite smiles that hide judgment or curiosity. Aristocrats mingle with some of the Zaunites in an uneasy dance, the scars of war barely hidden beneath polished exteriors. I nod where I must, speak when I should, but it's all a performance.

The wine does nothing to ease my nerves. The voices, the laughter, the heat of the room press down on me, and I find myself needing space.

"I'm going to get more refreshments," I murmur to Shoola, excusing myself with a practiced smile.

I grab a fresh glass of wine, the cool rim pressing against my palm. I don't savor it—I gulp it down as if it's water, the burn of the alcohol barely registering through the simmering frustration in my chest. The swirl of laughter and music from the banquet hall fades into a dull hum, distant and unimportant.

"Slow down, Buttercup, or I might find you swinging from the chandelier in the next second."

The voice, low and rich with amusement, cuts through the air like a blade. My head jerks up, scanning the room, but I see no one at first. Then, in the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of her—Sevika—lounging by the buffet table, the picture of careless ease.

She leans back in her chair, one arm draped over the backrest, the other resting on the table near a half-empty bottle of wine. She's dressed in something pink—an unusual choice—but most of it is hidden beneath a heavy, dark cloak that falls over her shoulders. Not exactly dressed for the occasion, but somehow, she pulls it off.

"My apologies," I say, forcing my voice to remain steady. "I didn't see you."

Sevika chuckles softly, the sound deep and warm. "I get that a lot."

"I didn't realize anyone was out here," I add quickly, feeling the need to escape. "I'll let you be."

"Why?" She tilts her head, her smirk widening. "You just got here, and you seem to be enjoying all that wine."

I hesitate, the pull of her voice both irritating and intriguing. "I was thirsty."

"Thirsty," she repeats, drawing the word out, "or you're just an alcoholic?"

I grip the stem of my glass tighter, refusing to rise to her bait. "It was nice chatting with you. I'll let you be now."

"Make sure to grab another drink on the way," she says lazily, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. "You seem like you'll need it."

I stop, the heat of irritation bubbling to the surface. The bite in her words, the way she looks at me like she's already won—it's too much. I whirl around to face her, the words spilling out before I can stop them.

"Alright," I snap, my voice sharp. "It seems like there's a tension here. You obviously don't like me for whatever reason, even though I've been nothing but polite. So, I think it's best if I stay out of your hair, and you stay out of mine."

The room seems to quiet in the wake of my outburst, the air thick with the weight of my words. I'm breathing heavily, my pulse thudding in my ears, and for a moment, all I can hear is the soft clink of Sevika's glass as she sets it down on the table.

She studies me, her gaze sweeping over me with a deliberateness that sends a shiver down my spine. It's not just a look—it's an assessment, a slow, lingering exploration that feels as intimate as it is unsettling. Her eyes darken, pupils dilating, and I realize with a start that there's something akin to excitement flickering there.

"Finished?" she asks, her voice low, almost purring.

I swallow hard, the heat in my chest shifting into something else—something I can't quite name. "Yes," I say, though it sounds less certain than I'd like.

Sevika stands slowly, unfolding her long frame with an almost predatory grace. She steps closer, her shoes against the polished floor, and I can't help but hold my ground, refusing to flinch even as my breath catches.

"You think I don't like you?" she murmurs, her voice soft but edged with something dangerous. "Buttercup, if I didn't like you, you'd know by now."

The way she says it—low, deliberate—sends a thrill through me that I don't want to acknowledge. My heart pounds in my chest, and I hate how she's managing to get under my skin.

"Well, you certainly have a funny way of showing it," I reply, my voice tight, defensive. "I will acknowledge you on that."

Sevika chuckles, low and rough, the sound curling in my stomach like smoke. "You Uppercity birds always think you're doing us a favor."

I step closer, the chill of the marble beneath my feet grounding me. "And what type of characteristics do you think we have?" I say smoothly.

She taps her hand on the glass she holds, her eyes glinting with amusement. "You all have the same tight-ass, prissy complex. I don't need to have met you to know the type."

I smile, a challenge glinting in my eyes. "And you think you have me figured out already?"

 "Don't need to. You're written all over."

The air between us crackles, an unspoken tension weaving through the space. She's baiting me, testing how far I'll go.

"You seem awfully preoccupied with me," I say, my gaze steady. "Should I be flattered?"

Sevika tilts her head, her eyes darkening as they trace the curve of my neck, the exposed skin of my shoulders. "It depends on how you see it."

I laugh softly, the sound more genuine than I expect. We fall into silence, the sounds of the party muted behind us. 

"How is life in the Uppercity for you?"

Sevika glances at me, her expression unreadable. "It's different."

"Same here."

Sevika glances at me. "You have been living here during your prime. How can it be so different?"

"Its after the war," I say the last word in a whispers since its still a sensitive  subject around here. "Everything has changed and I was not here to experience it."

"I think you are lucky not to experience the aftermath of war. So many lost loved once because of the actions of the very few. Its unfair."

I look at her. Is this why you become a councillor?"

"Very much." She steps closer, her presence consuming, the scent of smoke and something darker clinging to her. "Im here to tear down what's left rotten in Piltover," she says softly. "And building something better."

"I guess you think I'm part of what's rotten," I say, not a question but a statement.

Her gaze softens, just for a moment. "I think you're trying not to be."

The breath catches in my throat, but I hold her gaze, refusing to look away. The tension between us is a thin thread, ready to snap—or bind.

"I should go back," I say, though my feet don't move.

Sevika smirks, leaning closer, her voice a whisper against my ear. "Then why aren't you?"

I don't have an answer.

The world around us fades, the music, the laughter, the chatter—it all disappears, swallowed by the space between us. I feel it in the way Sevika holds my gaze, unflinching, her eyes dark and unreadable. It's strange, how earlier today we were biting at each other's throats, exchanging barbs with the sharpness of daggers. But now, something unspoken stretches between us—an understanding, maybe even a shared purpose. We both want to see the system change, though we come from different worlds.

My fingers twitch at my side, an instinctive, dangerous desire to touch the cool metal of her bionic arm. I don't know why I feel like this, but the urge is undeniable. The last time I felt this pull was with someone else—with a certain inventor whose soft brown eyes haunted me long after I left. I catch my breath and pull my hand away, curling it into a fist to stop the impulse.

"I'm sorry, Sevika," I murmur, my voice trembling with something I can't name. "I need to go now—"

Before I can finish, a gunshot rings out, slicing through the air like a scream.

Chaos erupts.

People scatter, the once-lively room descending into panic. My heart seizes, and I freeze, eyes locked on the man at the center of it all. He stands tall in a Piltover guard uniform, his face twisted with fury, his hand gripping the gun still smoking from the shot. He doesn't move immediately, savoring the attention as he begins to speak, his voice ringing out over the panicked murmurs.

"The Uppercity," he snarls, "is deranged. Letting these sewer rats infest our society, sit at our tables, breathe our air." His eyes sweep the room, filled with righteous fury. "They're uncivilized, just like they were during the war on Hextech. They tried to destroy our city, and now we let them govern it?" He laughs, cold and bitter. "Well, not anymore. I will avenge Piltover."

The man swings his aim toward me, and for a terrifying second, I think he's going to pull the trigger. But then, his aim shifts slightly higher—toward Sevika.

Time seems to slow.

The crack of the gunshot rings out, and chaos erupts. People scream, diving for cover, some rushing toward the exits in blind panic. My body locks in place, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I watch, helpless, as the bullet hurtles toward her.

But Sevika doesn't flinch. Her bionic arm moves with lightning speed, raising just in time to deflect the bullet. It ricochets off the metal with a sharp ping, embedding itself harmlessly in a nearby wall.

Relief washes over me, but it's short-lived. The man raises his weapon again, his expression one of shock and fury. Before he can fire another shot, golden light flares around me. My aura activates instinctively, its warmth coursing through my veins as I extend a hand toward him.

The man freezes, trapped in mid-motion as golden tendrils of energy wrap around him, pulling the gun from his grip and holding him in place. He struggles, but it's futile against the power coursing through me.

I turn to Sevika, who stands in the middle of it all, her expression unreadable. Her sharp eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I expect her to get up and beat the man into a pulp. But she doesn't.

Instead, she gives him one long, cold look, her jaw clenched tight, and then she turns on her heel. Without a word, she strides toward the exit, her dark cloak billowing behind her.

"Sevika, wait!" I call after her, but she doesn't stop. She doesn't even look back.

She disappears through the door, leaving a heavy silence in her wake. The weight of the moment settles on my shoulders, and I release the man from my hold. Guards rush in to apprehend him, dragging him away as he shouts incoherent accusations.

Shoola appears at my side, her face pale and drawn. "Are you alright?" she asks, her voice trembling slightly.

I nod, though my heart is still racing. "I'm fine," I manage, my eyes flicking toward Sevika's back.