Kapitel 6: Chapter 6: New Life
Years before the present day, the undercity was no stranger to chaos. With a rebellion happening, explosions shattered the stillness of the night above the Bridge of Progress, and gunfire echoed over the structure that connected Piltover and the undercity. Shrapnel flew, the air thick with smoke and desperation as enforcers clashed with the defiant undercity dwellers in a deadly battle.
Among the chaos, young Tarren knelt on the bridge, his small form trembling. Before him lay his parents, lifeless. His breath hitched, tears streaming down his face. The chaos around him faded into a dull roar, replaced by the sharp, clear focus of his heartbreak.
A shadow loomed over him. Two enforcers stood with weapons raised, their faces unreadable behind steel masks. They said nothing—there was no need for words. The guns aimed at him were answered enough.
Shock turned to fear, then hatred. Something stirred deep within him, something raw and primal. His vision blurred, not with tears, but with rage. His hand trembled as it reached out toward the enforcers, almost instinctively.
And then he felt it—the metal. He knew the steel of their armor, the iron in their weapons, the rivets in their boots. It wasn't something he saw or touched; it was something he felt.
With a surge of fury, he clenched his hand into a fist, then made a twisting, crushing gesture. The enforcers froze, their bodies jerking unnaturally as their armor screamed and groaned. The steel plates twisted inward, folding and collapsing with horrifying force. The crushing pressure contorted their bodies, and the sound of snapping bones was drowned out by the screech of metal.
They fell lifeless to the ground.
Tarren's vision swam as the power coursing through him ebbed away, leaving him exhausted. He slumped forward, his small frame hitting the bloodstained ground. The world went dark.
When Tarren woke, the battle was already over. The once-chaotic bridge was now a graveyard. Smoke still curled in the air, the acrid scent of gunpowder mingling with the metallic tang of blood.
He pushed himself up, his arms weak and trembling. His parents lay beside him, unmoving. His chest ached as he remembered their stubbornness—their refusal to leave the bridge despite his pleading. He had warned them, begged them, but they wouldn't listen. After all, what's a child's words to two stubborn fools?
He reached out with shaking hands, gently closing their eyes for the last time. "I told you…" His words choked into silence as he clenched his fists.
With his family gone, he turned away, walking aimlessly through the devastation. The only sound was the crunch of his small boots on shattered glass and debris.
That's when he saw him.
Vander.
The broad-shouldered man carried two young girls—Vi and Powder—each cradled protectively in his arms. His face was grim, but his eyes softened when they fell on Tarren.
The boy stopped in his tracks, unsure of what to do. His exhaustion and grief weighed him down like chains, and his legs threatened to give out beneath him.
Vander approached slowly. He didn't say a word, but as he passed, he reached out and placed his calloused hand on Tarren's head. The gesture was brief but gentle, a moment of quiet reassurance amidst the carnage.
Without hesitation, Vander motioned for Tarren to follow.
And so, the boy did. He walked away from the ruins of the bridge, the weight of loss heavy on his small shoulders. That night, as the fires of rebellion dimmed and the undercity mourned its dead, Tarren's new life continued nonetheless.
—
In the present day, Tarren stood in a dimly lit gym. The once-bustling hangout of Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor was now eerily silent, with only the faint hum of the city's undercurrent breaking the stillness. The boxing ring sat in the middle of the room like a dormant reminder of their scrappy camaraderie, and a punching machine stood unused in the corner, its surface coated in dust.
"Vi? Powder? Mylo? Claggor?" Tarren called out.
The silence lingered, and for a moment, he thought they weren't there. He was about to turn away when something small and metallic dropped to the floor beside him with a soft clink.
Before he could react, the gadget exploded, releasing a burst of blue powder that engulfed him. His vision was completely obscured, and his lungs burned as he coughed against the cloud.
"What the—" Tarren muttered, barely getting the words out before he felt a sharp punch to his gut. He doubled over, gasping, as another attack came. This time, he managed to sidestep it, his instincts kicking in. With a swift motion, he lashed out with his leg, sending his assailant sprawling back into the shadows.
As the powder began to dissipate, Tarren caught sight of Mylo groaning on the floor, clutching his ribs. Before he could address him, Claggor barreled into him from behind, tackling him to the ground with the force of a freight train.
"Really? A sneak attack like this?" Tarren growled through gritted teeth.
With a well-aimed kick, he sent Claggor stumbling back, clutching his groin. Tarren quickly got to his feet, his eyes scanning the room. The remaining figures emerged from the shadows: Vi, her fists raised and ready for a fight, and Powder, standing hesitantly behind her.
"What the hell is this?" Tarren demanded, his gaze shifting to Vi's steely glares.
Vi didn't answer. Instead, she lunged at him, throwing a punch. Tarren sidestepped and caught her wrist mid-swing, twisting just enough to immobilize her without causing serious harm.
"Enough, Vi," he said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. "What are you doing?"
The others surrounded him, their stances defensive. Powder, clearly distressed, blurted out, "We… we wanted to stop you from leaving! If you're late to the academy, they'll reject you, and you'll have to stay!"
Tarren's anger gave way to a short laugh. "Seriously? You're acting like kids throwing a tantrum." He released Vi's arm and stepped back, giving her space. "I came here to say goodbye."
Vi glared at him but didn't move. She rubbed her arm, her frustration evident in her clenched jaw. "We know," she muttered.
Tarren sighed and crouched down to meet her at eye level. "Let's talk. No tantrums, no punches, just… talk."
Vi scoffed but didn't say anything. She stood up abruptly and walked toward the stairs leading to the roof. "Whatever," she said over her shoulder.
Tarren turned to Mylo and Claggor, his expression softening. "Are you two going to sulk like Vi, or are we talking this out?"
Mylo frowned, kicking at the ground. "Why do you even want to go topside? They're not like us. They don't care about us."
Tarren smiled faintly. "I know. But this isn't about them. It's about me. I can't build what I want to down here, not with the scraps and unfriendly conditions. I need the funds and the freedom. You know that as well as I do."
"But going to Piltover?" Mylo spat. "You could've chosen to leave this place, this city, or anything else, yet you chose that?"
Tarren chuckled. "And leave you guys here to rot? At least in Piltover I can still see you again. I can… do something. Once I make money, I can send it to you all."
Mylo was silent, and looked away from Tarren.
Claggor let out a sigh, stepping forward to pull Tarren into a tight hug. "Don't do anything stupid."
Tarren scoffed. "It should be me who's saying that to you."
Mylo hesitated but joined in, muttering something about not making this a big deal.
When they pulled back, Tarren turned to Powder. She stood quietly, her hands fidgeting with another gadget. Tarren took it gently from her hands, examining the hand-drawn patterns etched onto its surface.
"This is good work," he said with genuine admiration. "Keep making things like this. One day, you'll create something incredible. Don't give up on improving it."
Powder looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mix of hope and sadness. She nodded and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.
—
On the rooftop, Vi sat on the edge of the building, her legs dangling over the side. The morning light bathed the city, casting long shadows over the towering spires of Piltover. Tarren joined her, sitting silently for a moment as they both took in the view.
"You need to work on your recklessness," he said finally, breaking the silence. "What if I'd really gotten mad down there and beaten all of you into the ground?"
Vi scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Not possible."
Tarren chuckled, shaking his head. "You punch like a girl. Oh wait, you are a girl."
Vi jabbed him in the shoulder, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself.
But the smile didn't last. Her expression turned somber, and she looked down at her hands. "You're really doing this, aren't you?"
"Yeah," Tarren replied softly.
Vi sighed, then turned to hug him tightly, her arms strong but trembling slightly. "Be careful, then."
Tarren smiled, patting her back gently. "You too. And don't be so impulsive, okay?"
They sat there in silence for a moment longer, watching as Piltover's skyline gleamed in the morning sun.
—
The scene shifted to the gleaming hallways of Piltover Academy, where Tarren followed closely behind Viktor. The polished floors reflected the warm glow of intricate brass fixtures.
As they walked, Viktor glanced over his shoulder, offering a faint smile. "You're quiet," he remarked.
Tarren scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Just taking it all in. It's… a lot."
Viktor nodded in understanding. "It can be overwhelming at first. But you'll find your rhythm soon enough."
Tarren hesitated before speaking again. "I, uh, heard from Professor Heimerdinger that you're the one who recommended me. Thanks for that."
Viktor's smile widened slightly. "There is no need for thanks. I merely recognized potential where it was clear."
"Still…" Tarren said, his voice lowering.
Viktor stopped, turning to face him fully. His eyes were steady, yet kind. "For someone of your age, you have already grasped concepts many here struggle to understand. Your creations—" he gestured to the box Tarren carried, filled with his inventions—"are not just… flashy. They are practical, thoughtful, and grounded in purpose."
He started walking again, and Tarren followed, listening intently.
"Besides," Viktor added, "I, too, am from the undercity." His tone was quieter now, almost wistful. "When I saw you, I saw someone like myself. Perhaps I am biased, but I am not ashamed of it. People like us must look out for one another, yes?"
Tarren nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Guess that makes sense."
Viktor chuckled lightly. "You've already made an impression, Tarren. People are talking about you here. Some are curious, others… less so."
Tarren raised an eyebrow. "Less so?"
"Do not concern yourself with them," Viktor said dismissively. "Your work will speak for itself. And soon, they will see what the professor sees."
After a few more turns down the labyrinthine corridors, Viktor stopped in front of a large wooden door adorned with intricate brass inlays. With a twist of the handle, he pushed it open, revealing Tarren's new living quarters.
The room was far more spacious than Tarren had anticipated. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating a desk equipped with tools and devices, a sturdy bed tucked against one wall, and shelves already lined with books and materials. The clean lines and orderly arrangement stood in stark contrast to the chaotic workshop back home.
Tarren's lips parted in a small grin as he stepped inside, taking in the sight.
"Welcome to the academy," Viktor said, his voice tinged with warmth. "This will be your space to work, study, and grow. Use it well, Tarren."
Tarren turned to Viktor, his smile widening. "Thanks, Viktor. For everything."
Viktor nodded. "You are here because you deserve to be. No need to thank me."
With that, Viktor turned and left, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
Tarren stood in the center of the room for a moment, exhaling deeply. He set his box of inventions down on the desk and ran his fingers over the polished wood surface. A new chapter had begun, both from himself and those who had placed their faith in him. But for now, he allowed himself a moment to take it all in.
[ARC I: END]
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
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Rangliste 
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Stein