Arcane: In This New World

The cold winter afternoon settled over the woods just outside Northern Piltover, casting a quiet, solemn hush upon the land. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the overcast sky, dusting the bare branches and the frozen earth below. Though the snow was not thick enough to completely smother the ground, patches of frost-covered grass peeked through, offering a meager source of sustenance for any wildlife daring to venture out in the frigid air.

A lone deer, lean and watchful, lowered its head to the ground, using its nose to nudge aside the powdery snow in search of the hardy, frozen weeds that lay beneath. It crunched down on the brittle stalks, the sharp sound of breaking frost momentarily echoing through the stillness. Hunger gnawed at its belly, compelling it to continue foraging.

Then, a sound—a whisper of movement, almost imperceptible. The deer's ears twitched. Its muscles tensed, instinct urging caution. It lifted its head, scanning the dense trees with wide, wary eyes, its breath curling in the cold air. But nothing moved. Nothing stirred. And so, after a lingering moment, it returned to its search.

It never noticed the shot.

The deer collapsed onto the snow, its legs giving out beneath it as it crumpled soundlessly. A single wound marked its chest, a clean and precise kill. No gunpowder residue. No ringing gunshot. Only the soft rustling of the disturbed snow as life faded from the creature's body, a crimson stain spreading across the pristine white.

Far away from where the deer breathed its last breath, Caitlyn crouched in the snow, the rifle still pressed firmly against her shoulder, her breathing measured. She adjusted her stance slightly, keeping her eyes on the now-still deer. Beside her, standing tall with his hands in his coat pockets, Tarren peered through a sleek, metallic scope held up to one eye.

"Nice shot," he remarked casually as he lowered the scope and tucked it away.

Caitlyn remained quiet for a moment, lowering the rifle and inspecting it with a thoughtful expression. Her fingers traced along the polished, intricate design of the firearm. "Wow, this…" she noted. "It's…"

"You like it?" Tarren asked, watching her reaction closely. "Something I made this past few months. A Hextech-powered rifle. No bullets needed, just pure energy. Silent as the wind. I haven't even tested the full range, but from the looks of it, it outclasses a traditional rifle by miles—as long as the shooter is good, at least."

Caitlyn lifted the weapon slightly, feeling its weight, the craftsmanship evident in every part of its design. "And what exactly are you planning to do with it?" she asked. "Hand it over to the enforcers? Mass-produce it?"

Tarren scoffed. "No. Why would they need something like this for their so-called peacekeeping? It's not meant for them."

She turned to him, brows slightly furrowed. "Then what's it for?"

"It's a gift," Tarren said simply. "For you."

Caitlyn blinked, caught off guard. "For me?"

"Yeah," Tarren shrugged, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets. "I figured you'd be the only one who could handle it properly. You're a damn good shot, Cait. Consider it a coming-of-age gift."

For a moment, Caitlyn didn't know what to say. Her fingers curled around the rifle's grip, her breath forming small clouds in the cold air. "I… I never even got you anything for your coming of age."

Tarren chuckled. "What were you going to give me? Flowers?"

Caitlyn scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Now you're just mocking me."

"Maybe a little." He smirked. "Come on, let's get the deer back to camp."

Caitlyn glanced back at the fallen animal before exhaling through her nose. With a small nod, she slung the rifle over her shoulder and followed Tarren through the snow-dusted woods, the quiet hush of winter settling around them once more.

—

The encampment was lively despite the cold, the warmth of the fires crackling in the center drawing people together. Academy students huddled in groups, talking and laughing over steaming cups of tea and bowls of stew. The scent of roasted meat wafted through the air, mingling with the crisp, clean scent of snow and pine.

Caitlyn walked beside Tarren, her fingers brushing the sleek case that held her new rifle. She still wasn't sure what to make of the gift. It was undoubtedly a masterpiece. A weapon like that could change everything in terms of military prowess of a nation, she's not naive enough to not know that. And yet, it was hers now. She glanced at Tarren, who walked ahead, seemingly lost in thought. She tried to forget it, and tried to speak of something else.

"If only Jayce were here," Caitlyn murmured, breaking the quiet between them. "He never attends these events."

Tarren snorted. "What, only two, three more years left in his exile? Are you already bored of me?"

Caitlyn rolled her eyes and elbowed him lightly, earning a chuckle from him. But then his attention drifted, his expression sombering as his eyes landed on Cassandra Kiramman's tent. The matriarch was just stepping inside, deep in conversation with her steward, who looked more than a little exhausted.

Tarren exhaled. "I'll see you later. I need to talk to your mother."

Caitlyn rolled her eyes. "Ah, right. About your 'secret.'"

Tarren just shook his head and walked away, heading toward the tent while Caitlyn made her way to where the deer was being prepared.

At the entrance of the tent, Tarren paused, waiting as the steward trudged past him, clearly too drained to pay him any mind. He took that as his cue and called out, "Excuse me, ma'am? May I come in?"

A brief silence, then Cassandra's voice from within. "Who is it?"

"It's Tarren."

Another pause, then, "You may enter."

Stepping inside, Tarren found Cassandra seated at a desk cluttered with paperwork. Her fingers rubbed at her temple, her lips pressed into a thin line as she scribbled something onto a document. Her expression was one of fatigue and mild irritation, but she set her pen down and regarded him with a raised brow.

"Ma'am, I wanted to ask you for a favor." He wasted no time.

Cassandra sat back in her chair. "What favor?"

Tarren reached into his coat and retrieved a sealed letter, handing it to her. Cassandra took it, broke the seal, and began reading. As her eyes scanned the contents, her brows furrowed, her frown deepening with each passing second. When she finally sighed and set the letter aside, she looked at him knowingly.

"So it was you," she murmured.

Tarren blinked. "Pardon?"

Cassandra leaned forward, folding her hands together. "Head Councillor Heimerdinger has called for a hearing in two days' time. Concerning the matter of the Undercity—specifically, its autonomy in relation to Piltover. I had been wondering what prompted such a swift summons. It appears I have my answer. You want me to support whatever he is proposing?"

Tarren straightened his back. "I only ask that you support allowing the council to hear the plea from the people of the Undercity."

Cassandra exhaled, rubbing her temple again. "The Kirammans hold many assets in the Undercity. Most of them remain unused due to the anarchy of the past few years and… other circumstances. Land plots, ventilation systems, infrastructure we invested in. If this is realized, we stand to lose a significant amount of gold."

Tarren's gaze remained firm. "How so? Their freedom doesn't correlate with your property, ma'am."

Cassandra scoffed. "And you don't think that once they gain their independence, they won't seize what they believe is rightfully theirs?"

"That's why I'm asking you to allow the hearing," Tarren countered. "You don't even know their side of the story, and yet you've made a lot of assumptions already on how they are going to use their freedom." 

"Well, it can't be helped, is it? Considering what happened these past few years." Cassandra said sarcastically. 

Tarren paused for a moment. "Then what are your assumptions about me when you offer me your sponsorship? I am from the undercity too, if you remember. Why do you think I have that letter in the first place? Did you just ignore that identity back then?" 

Cassandra scanned Tarren's expression. "You came to my steward offering brilliance, and I accepted it. Your identity doesn't matter." 

"Then why does that matter here?" Tarren asked back. "You are not even giving them the chance to speak for themselves yet. If you were using the same logic back then, I wouldn't be here, Mrs. Kiramman."

A silence stretched between them. Cassandra's gaze searched his face, weighing his words. Before she could answer, the tent flap rustled, and Tobias Kiramman entered, his sleeves rolled up, hands still stained with the blood of the deer Caitlyn had hunted.

"Honey, the food is—" Tobias stopped mid-sentence, noticing Tarren. "Oh? Am I interrupting something?"

"Not at all, darling." Cassandra offered a thin smile before turning back to Tarren. "I think we're done here. As for your favor, I will support allowing the hearing. But nothing more. If I find their demands unreasonable, if I deem their terms a risk to my family's assets and stability, I will not stand behind this… movement."

Tarren gave a curt nod. "Thank you."

With that, Cassandra rose from her seat. "Then let's eat. I am famished."