Chapter 6: Beneath the Smoke
983 AN
Aug 25
Piltover – Council Hall, Outer Chamber
Sunlight poured in through tall, arched windows, casting a halo over the round table where the Piltover Council convened. Scrolls and memos littered the polished surface, reflecting an air of controlled chaos.
Councilor Mel Medarda examined a crisp new intelligence report, her gold-tipped pen drumming thoughtfully. "Zaun's eastern quarter is reorganizing. Not under a chembaron — under someone else."
"Another upstart," Councilor Bolbok muttered. "Let them claw at each other."
Councilor Shoola poured herself tea. "And when their clawing disrupts our trade lanes?"
Mel flipped through the prior day's reports. "There was a dock seizure. One of the chembarons surrendered without a fight. Trade in Zaun's east quarter is moving with military precision."
"Unusual," Shoola admitted, but her tone was indifferent. "That rat's nest always burns itself down."
"Still, someone's pulling strings," Mel replied. "And they're good at it. I recognize strategy when I see it."
Bolbok scoffed. "Typical Zaunite chaos. They rise, they fall. We clean up what's left."
Shoola gestured toward the growing stack of concerns. "We've got rising tensions in the Fifth Ward, two intercepted distillate shipments, and now this. One fire at a time."
Mel set the report aside with a thoughtful hum but said nothing more.
Her gaze flicked toward the newest stack of proposals across the table — bright blueprints stamped with the name Jayce Talis.
The young inventor's schematic for crystal containment gleamed with promise, chaotic and brilliant all at once.
Mel allowed herself the faintest smile.
"Now that," she murmured to herself, "might be worth watching."
---
Piltover – Council Archives
In the dim recesses of Piltover's archives, a pair of archivists worked under flickering hexlamps, surrounded by tall stacks of documents.
One of them peered over a thin dossier. "Multiple shipment disruptions from Zaun's eastern quarter. One dock's changed hands, apparently bloodlessly."
The other snorted. "Let me guess — another 'revolutionary?' Zaun breeds them by the dozen."
"Still... it's being logged more than usual. A new player named Ashryn."
"Unregistered? Titled?"
"No titles. No Council recognition. Just whispers and rerouted ledgers."
"Then not our concern," the senior archivist said, stamping the file with a red tag. "Council won't look twice until a factory burns or a trade deal fails."
"Should we flag it at least?"
"Not unless the name comes stamped with a Piltover seal."
The first archivist frowned. "What if by then it's too late?"
"Then someone else will have to explain why we didn't notice. Not our job to watch the gutter."
---
Zaun – The Last Drop, Vander's Office
"Benzo," Vander called, kicking back in his chair as the older man carried in two mugs of something vaguely coffee-like. "Tell me again why I let you talk me into this brown sludge."
Benzo chuckled, setting one mug down. "Because it's cheaper than the good stuff, and you're too stubborn to buy better."
Vander snorted, taking a cautious sip. "Still tastes like wet socks."
"You get used to it."
The two sat in comfortable silence a moment, the low murmur of the bar below drifting in through the floorboards.
"Strath folded," Vander finally said.
Benzo raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think he would."
"He wouldn't," Vander said. "Unless he had no choice."
"She that dangerous?"
Vander set his mug down. "Not just dangerous. Smart. She's not grabbing power like Silco did. She's building something."
Benzo frowned. "So what's the problem?"
"She's too young. Too fast. And she doesn't play by the barons' rules. That makes her unpredictable."
Benzo leaned back. "We were young once."
Vander sighed. "Yeah. And look how that turned out."
He turned toward the window, watching a group of kids playing in the alley below. "Zaun's already broken. Last thing we need is someone cracking it more, even with good intentions."
Benzo stood. "Maybe she's not here to crack it. Maybe she's here to melt it down and reshape it."
Vander didn't reply.
—
Zaun – Silco's Commune, Below the Lab
Steam hissed as Singed adjusted a copper dial near a sealed cradle. Within, pale limbs wrapped in metal tubing shifted beneath layers of medical gauze and enchantments.
Orianna's shell remained silent.
Silco stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes never leaving the girl in the cradle.
"She doesn't move much," he murmured.
"She will," Singed said. "If the soul is still intact."
Silco turned toward the humming generator overhead. "And if it isn't?"
Singed didn't answer.
"Progress waits for no one," Silco said quietly. "Neither do revolutions."
He stepped into the upper level of the lab, where glowing tubes of distillate pulsed along the walls.
Production of the compound was in early testing — unstable, dangerous, not ready for wide use.
Silco paced toward the central chamber, where Orianna's image flickered briefly in a static-laced projection. "Zaun will rise. With or without the old gods. And this Ashryn… she may be the spark."
A quiet hiss answered him as Singed recalibrated the dosage line.
"She has Viktor, doesn't she?" Singed asked absently.
Silco nodded. "He's not made for frontlines. But he's hers now. Just like he was yours."
"He was mine for knowledge. She holds him with belief."
Silco turned back toward the cradle. "Then she may do what we could not."
—
Zaun – The Clock Tower Base
Ashryn sat cross-legged on the blueprint table, spinning a wrench in one hand and juggling half a meat bun in the other.
"Okay, let's be real," she announced. "Pipes B through F are definitely too close to the heat manifold, but I'm pretending that's Lynne's fault."
Lynne raised an eyebrow from across the room where she flipped through Viktor's latest adjustments. "Hey! I just suggested the framework. You're the one that approved the chaos."
Ashryn laughed. "True. But leadership means passing the blame gracefully."
Cael entered the room mid-sentence, arms filled with sealed ledgers. "Business projections from the East Dock. Revenues are up twenty-two percent. Renni's thugs haven't dared touch the convoys since Strath folded."
"Now that's the kind of update I like." Ashryn tossed her wrench aside and reached for the report. "See, Lynne, he brings spreadsheets. You bring scoldings."
"I bring survival plans. You're welcome."
Ashryn beamed. "A balanced team."
She hopped off the table, brushing crumbs from her tank top. "Alright, gang project time. We need scouts on Meat Row. Renni's gonna make a move sooner or later."
Cael raised a brow. "Want me to arrange a meeting with our transport network? Get their input on fallback routes?"
"Perfect. You're the guy who makes my crazy ideas profitable."
Lynne scribbled names. "Want me to prep a cover op?"
Ashryn waved her hand. "Nah, just let the streets talk. We're not ghosts. We're fire."
Her fingers trailed across a wall map riddled with pins. "Finn's definitely gonna try something stupid soon. Let him."
Lynne frowned. "You sure?"
"Yup. Then I'll hit back harder."
Cael glanced toward the map. "And Silco?"
Ashryn leaned in. "I don't move until he does. But when he does, I move twice."
She smiled then, just a little too wide.
"Game on."