Arcane: Mage from Noxus

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"Is this Piltover? The city renowned for its progress and innovation. It is indeed very different from Noxus," Ryan muttered as he stepped off the airship bearing the crest of Noxus.

The bustling city-state unfolded before him, strikingly compact yet teeming with life. From his vantage point at the Hexgate, he could see the intricate layout of low-rise buildings, each adorned with meticulous craftsmanship.

Wide streets stretched out below, their surfaces gleaming as though polished, with the unmistakable touch of technological marvels present in every corner.

In the skies above, airships glided gracefully, joined by the occasional smaller flying contraptions—gadgets rumored to be creations of Piltover Academy's brightest minds.

The streets of Piltover were paved with smooth white stone bricks, radiating an air of opulence. Even from a distance, the city's grandeur spoke of immense wealth, as if it were built with gold rather than mortar and stone.

"Good afternoon, Lord Meredith. I am Mel Medarda. Welcome to Piltover," came a refined voice.

An elegant, dark-skinned woman stood at the edge of the airship dock. Her sharp eyes held both curiosity and caution as she offered a slight bow, a formal display of respect.

Ryan glanced at her impassively, his expression unreadable. He returned her courtesy with a shallow nod.

"Ms. Medarda, good afternoon. I have met your mother on a few occasions. A remarkable woman—heroic and powerful."

"In Piltover, I prefer to be addressed as Councilor Medarda," Mel replied, her tone carrying the faintest trace of irritation.

Ryan's gaze hardened, and his voice lowered, carrying a cutting edge.

"Councilor Medarda? Titles mean little to me. In my eyes, you're merely the child of Clan Medarda. Even if you are an outcast, that status still far outweighs whatever trivial role you claim here."

Ignoring the flicker of anger that crossed Mel's face, Ryan stepped forward, heading away from the airship dock without sparing her another glance.

Katarina trailed behind him, her crimson hair catching the light. A wry smirk played on her lips, though her green eyes held a flicker of sympathy.

It wasn't lost on her that Ryan's words struck a nerve—not just in Mel, but in herself as well. After all, she had heard similar dismissals countless times from her own father.

Her fists clenched at the thought, nails biting into her palms. The brief sting of pain helped steady her thoughts.

Mel watched the two walk ahead, her posture rigid despite her best efforts to conceal her frustration. Though her eyes still burned with anger, she forced a diplomatic smile and began to lead them toward the heart of Piltover.

No one in Piltover understood Noxus better than she did. To her, Noxians were arrogant opportunists who only offered respect to those they deemed powerful.

And Piltover? For all its claims of neutrality, it lacked the strength to command that respect. Not only did Piltover supply Noxus with war materials, but it also assisted in transporting soldiers to wage battles across foreign lands.

At best, Piltover was little more than a vassal state under Noxian influence.

"Lord Meredith," Mel began tentatively, falling into step behind him, "what brings you to Piltover this time?"

Ryan, known as a powerful mage within Noxian ranks, had a reputation that preceded him. Tales of his survival in the Ionia campaigns had spread far and wide—a ruthless combatant who returned from the frontlines unscathed. Yet his presence here, in a city that prided itself on intellect over brute strength, was perplexing.

Ryan's stride faltered for a moment before he glanced over his shoulder.

"I heard today is Progress Day."

Mel's expression shifted slightly, her pride surfacing. "That's correct. Progress Day is Piltover's most significant annual celebration. The entire city participates in the festivities, culminating in an evening showcase of the year's most groundbreaking inventions."

Progress Day was more than just a celebration. It was a statement to the world—a declaration that Piltover remained at the forefront of innovation, ever-evolving and pushing the boundaries of progress.

Ryan's lips curled into the faintest of smiles. "Last year, I heard Heimerdinger gave a fascinating speech on his Theory of Magical Hazards. I'd like to hear his thoughts this year."

Mel tilted her head, unsure of his intent. Heimerdinger's ideas were divisive, particularly among mages. Still, her tone carried an undercurrent of pride as she responded, "Professor Heimerdinger's theories have shaped much of Piltover's philosophy. His warnings about the dangers of unregulated magic are essential to our city's vision."

Ryan's expression remained inscrutable as he looked away, though a faint glint of amusement danced in his eyes.

A part of him was curious, he admitted. Not because he agreed with Heimerdinger's assertion that magic posed a danger to the world—far from it.

But as a mage himself, he couldn't help but wonder: what gave Heimerdinger such unshakable confidence to claim that the Arcane, the lifeblood of Runeterra, should be suppressed?

Just because of Heimerdinger's speech on the Dangers of Magic, many mages had grown hostile toward Piltover. Some even severed business ties with the city entirely.

Of course, the Noxian military mages remained unaffected. For most other mages, however, the animosity was little more than idle resentment. They preferred to stay in their homes, minding only the snow on their own doorsteps.

Ryan couldn't help but sneer inwardly. If mages ever truly united to form a guild or organization, neither Piltover nor even mighty Demacia would dare to advocate for banning magic or so-called demons.

If pushed too far, even those powerful factions could be obliterated by the sheer destructive force of mages working together.

Mel interrupted his musings, her tone measured but carrying an undertone of amusement.

"That may disappoint you, Lord Meredith. This year's Progress Day speaker is not Heimerdinger."

Ryan raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

"Oh? That's unexpected. Heimerdinger's position as the keynote speaker has been a tradition for years. But perhaps his perspective is growing stale. Let me guess—this year's speaker is Jayce Talis?"

Ryan's voice held a faint trace of mockery, but the guess was well-informed. Piltover, a harbor city with centuries of history, owed much of its success to Heimerdinger's leadership and inventions.

Yet, in recent years, the explosive rise of Hextech technology—spearheaded by Jayce—had transformed Piltover into a booming center of trade and innovation.

Jayce, the creator of Hextech and a rising figure in Piltover's politics was well-positioned to be the face of this year's celebration.

Suddenly, Ryan came to an abrupt halt, a strange look crossing his face.

"Councilor Medarda," he said, his voice low but sharp, "while Progress Day is certainly exciting, the security of your Piltover seems… lacking."

His piercing gaze shifted to a decrepit airship parked nearby. Moments ago, his heightened senses had picked up the unmistakable sound of a scuffle inside.

Isn't Piltover supposed to be a city of peace and order? he thought. If there's chaos, it should be in Zaun—not here. Yet this looks more unruly than even Noxus.

Before Mel could respond, the airship emitted a muffled explosion. Thick gray smoke poured from its underside, and the acrid scent of gunpowder quickly filled the air.

"Damn it…" Mel's expression twisted in frustration.

Ryan, however, remained unbothered, glancing at her with a faint smile.

"Relax. The blast radius isn't very large. At most, a few unlucky fools will get blown to pieces."

His tone was unnervingly calm as if the potential carnage were no more than a mild inconvenience. And yet, his assessment wasn't inaccurate. If his magic senses weren't mistaken, at least two poor souls inside the ship had already met a grisly fate.

No sooner had he spoken than the sound of rapid gunfire erupted from the airship. Bullets tore through the ship's outer hull with deafening intensity.

Ryan tilted his head, listening intently to the chaos. A strange, almost pleased expression spread across his face. Turning to Mel, he remarked with a chuckle,

"The one firing that gun is either a complete novice or a lunatic. A waste of bullets. With that much ammunition, they could have wiped out an entire Noxian squad. Instead, they've barely hit anything—maybe four or five targets at most. Even Noxian children are better marksmen than this."

Mel clenched her fists but quickly forced herself to maintain composure. With a curt nod to Ryan, she turned to the law enforcement officers who had been accompanying them.

"My apologies, Lord Meredith. It seems I'll have to excuse myself for a moment."

Without waiting for his response, she signaled the enforcers, who immediately mobilized, rushing toward the airship.

Ryan, meanwhile, remained where he stood, his attention drawn to a group of figures emerging from the smoke. Riding on skateboards fueled by green fire, they sped away from the airship in a chaotic retreat.

He turned to Katarina, his expression calm but his tone commanding.

"I need one alive."

Katarina gave a sharp nod. Without a word, she drew the daggers strapped to her back. Her figure blurred into an afterimage as she dashed forward, her agility defying the eye's ability to follow.

In the blink of an eye, she appeared on the edge of the airport, perched on the guardrail like a crimson shadow.

With a calculated leap, Katarina landed squarely on one of the green-fire skateboards, knocking its rider—a burly man with a mohawk—off balance. Before he could react, her boot struck his chest with brutal force, sending him tumbling back into the airport.

Ignoring the others as they attempted to retaliate, Katarina darted from one skateboard to the next, using them as stepping stones.

Her movements were fluid and precise, and within seconds, she was back on solid ground. The mohawked man now lay at her feet, her dagger pressed firmly against his throat.

The remaining riders, realizing they were outmatched, abandoned their comrade and fled into the city, pursued by Piltover's law enforcement.

Katarina turned back to Ryan, her expression cool but respectful. "I've secured one alive," she reported.

"Their leader escaped, but I judged it unnecessary to pursue."

Ryan waved off her concern with a dismissive gesture.

"That's fine. Their leader is of no interest to us. It's Councilor Medarda who should be worrying about this little fiasco."

He gestured toward Mel, who was now conferring with a group of enforcers. Despite her composed exterior, there was no mistaking the irritation flickering across her face.

"Mr. Meredith," Mel said as she approached, her voice carefully neutral.

"It seems you've discovered the nature of this disturbance. If you don't mind, I'd like you to share."