Kapitel 1: Arcane: A Second Chance - Trailer Part 1
The hall seemed to belong to a dimension beyond comprehension, its boundaries uncertain, as if the space itself curved and stretched into infinity. In the center, the floor was covered by large marble slabs that blended immaculate white with deep black, reflecting the lights in a nearly hypnotic manner. Each step echoed softly, yet carried an unsettling reverberation, as if the place itself had a silent and constant presence. The glow it emitted was gently warm, but with a peculiar intensity that gave the atmosphere an aura of a transcendental place.
The light came from imposing chandeliers that floated from the ceiling. They were not made of crystal, but a blend of worked metal and visible gears, with hextech pieces softly pulsing. The bulbs that composed these chandeliers were not only sources of illumination, but also small works of art in themselves—irregular shapes intertwining, with beams of greenish, purple, and golden light casting reflections that danced on the walls like restless shadows. The effect was ethereal, giving the hall the appearance of a dream or a distorted reality.
The walls of the hall were an audacious fusion of styles. To the right stood carved marble columns, with fine details reminiscent of Piltover's exquisite architecture—each of these pillars, despite being solid and imposing, had intricate hextech designs and lines that seemed almost liquid, as if the metal were alive, in motion. Diffused lights spread from small niches in the walls, revealing abstract images, like frozen memories of the past. The softness of the marble and the metallic gleam intertwined, creating a sense of opulence, but at the same time fragility.
On the left, however, the contrast could not have been greater. Here, the structure was clearly influenced by Zaun. Iron and steel dominated the landscape, with copper and cast iron pipes winding throughout the room, pulsating with energy. Some of these pipes were transparent, filled with colored liquids—electric blue, vibrant green, and shimmering purple—that ran through them like the vital blood of a mechanical organism. The sound of gears, many visible along the walls and ceiling, was constant, like a soft hum, blending with the air and creating a sensation of invisible pressure.
The ceiling, somehow, seemed to curve gently upwards and outwards, like an infinite dome, where the pattern of lights and shadows blended with geometric shapes that the eyes could barely comprehend. A sense of movement, of something alive and in transformation, permeated the air, as if the hall itself were watching its occupants.
Throughout the hall, from one side to the other, chairs of various shapes and styles were arranged, a reflection of the past and future of those present. Some were made of polished leather, others from cold, aged metal, with hextech details that resonated with the energy of the place. Some had bronze finishes, others with the shimmering gleam of newly forged metal. There were chairs carved in shapes resembling human figures, with arms that seemed to stretch out to protect the occupants.
In the center of the room, in a more open area, a large platform of glass and metal rose, like a modern altar, surrounded by semicircular chairs that seemed to await an audience. Above it, projections floated in the air—blurry images of faces and scenes that seemed distant, as if they were reflections of a story yet to be told. The atmosphere was filled with a subtle tension, as if all the elements present were waiting for the right moment to reveal their purpose.
The walls, no longer solid and fixed, seemed almost malleable, with small screens and holograms appearing and disappearing, displaying numbers and hextech symbols, as if the place were more than just a hall—it was a viewing room, a portal to another time and place. The air was heavy with the feeling of something about to happen, and each element, from the cold metal to the pulsating light, seemed marked by the finger of fate.
A sudden roar cut through the air, and before anyone could react, a blinding flash overtook the hall. The light was so intense that it seemed to swallow everything around it, an explosion of energy that made the floor tremble slightly. And then, as quickly as it came, the brightness disappeared, leaving behind a silent echo, as if the very air had been torn apart.
People fell one after another onto the cold, polished floor, with a muffled sound of bodies hitting the surface, but quickly began to rise, dazed and confused. Their faces were disoriented, their eyes still adjusting to the new environment—a place they did not recognize, but somehow felt connected to.
The space was strangely familiar and alien at the same time. The walls seemed to stretch and shrink before them, and the strange lights flowed through the beams, casting shadows that seemed to play with the perception of those present. Each of them, still in a whirlwind of thoughts, searched for some explanation.
Soon, a sense of urgency began to fill the air. People looked at each other, restless. They were there, but didn't know how or why. No one moved with confidence. It was as if everyone were waiting for some kind of sign—or an explanation. However, the silence was only broken by murmurs and hesitant steps.
Then, a soft and strange voice was heard, coming from somewhere beyond their sight, but filling the space with undeniable clarity. "You are here for a reason. To witness what is yet to come."
As the echo of the voice faded, faces began to turn. Those who had been brought there—people from Piltover, Zaun, and other places—looked at each other with expressions of distrust, but something was beginning to form. Even without knowing what was happening, a common impulse arose in their hearts: the need to understand, to comprehend.
And so, one by one, they began to introduce themselves, as if the simple act of sharing their names was an attempt to regain some control over the situation. They were there, but still strangers to one another, people who had never met, neither in the streets of Piltover nor in the alleys of Zaun.
Caitlyn was the first to step forward. She rose with grace, even though her eyes were filled with perplexity, and faced the room with a determined look. Her high-class Piltover attire fit perfectly, the details in navy blue and gold gleaming softly in the light around her. Her naturally dark blue hair fell perfectly to her shoulders, and she instinctively adjusted it, as she always had, before speaking.
"Caitlyn Kiramman," she said with a clear and controlled voice, though her thoughts still seemed tangled. "I'm from Piltover."
She wasn't sure exactly what she expected from her words, but the simple act of introducing herself gave her a sense of returning to reality — a touch of familiarity amidst the strange chaos. The young woman looked around at the others, hoping her gesture would provoke some kind of reaction.
Before the silence could extend, Jayce stepped forward. His imposing posture, as always, didn't hesitate. Jayce had the presence of a man accustomed to being heard, and his brown eyes were fixed on Caitlyn for a moment before turning to the rest of the room. He was large, muscular, and his solid build seemed made to face any challenge — even one as incomprehensible as this.
"Jayce Talis," he announced confidently, his deep and clear voice resonating. "I'm an inventor from Piltover."
The silence following Caitlyn's and Jayce's introductions was brief, quickly interrupted by other footsteps echoing through the hall. As though an invisible current of command had moved them, the next to present themselves didn't hesitate.
Cassandra Kiramman was the first to step forward. She was a middle-aged woman, her posture upright and elegant, with the kind of authority only years of experience could grant. Her gaze was firm, as blue as the sky on a clear day, and her dark brown hair, already with a few gray strands, fell softly over her shoulders, perfectly arranged as if she had never worried about the passing of time.
She wore refined Piltover attire, a dark blue that matched perfectly with the impeccably adjusted bow tie around her neck, her high-end accessories — thin gloves, sparkling earrings, and a slight touch of makeup — making it clear that she was one of Piltover's most influential councilors. Each movement she made was precise, as if her life was a meticulously planned composition. Her eyes swept across the room, evaluating the others with the calculated curiosity of someone used to being in command.
"Cassandra Kiramman," she announced in a controlled, yet undeniably imposing voice. "Councilor of Piltover."
The name echoed in the room like an introduction to someone whose presence could not be ignored. She kept her shoulders straight and her chin lifted, with an air of unquestionable dignity. She knew no one there needed reminding of who she was, but she did it anyway — as a reminder of the power and influence she carried.
Right behind her, Tobias Kiramman, her husband, stepped forward with the same confidence. The middle-aged man exuded subtle charm, something reflected in the way his dark brown eyes observed the environment, introspective but attentive. His fair skin contrasted with his dark blue hair, beginning to mix with some gray streaks, and his well-groomed beard accentuated his appearance as a man who never allowed himself to neglect his image.
He wore a traditional Piltover suit, a tailored set of fine fabric, with perfect cuts and neutral colors that reflected his status within the city's higher classes. The suit was simple, yet with details that showed his taste for refinement, like the small embroidery on the shirt edges and the discreet brooches on the lapels, reminiscent of the opulence of Piltover's oldest families. When he spoke, his voice was deep, but soft, with a tone that emanated experience and contemplation.
"Tobias Kiramman," he said, pausing briefly as his eyes adjusted to the new environment. "I'm Cassandra's husband."
His introduction was accompanied by a slight hand gesture, as though inviting the others to acknowledge his authority without the need for more forceful words. Tobias' presence, unlike Cassandra's, was more subtle, but no less effective. He was there to observe, but also to ensure his voice was heard when needed.
The couple, now standing before the others, exchanged a meaningful glance between them, as if the mere fact of being together there already carried significant weight. They were figures of power, and even in a place like that — unknown and unsettling — they didn't feel lost. They knew who they were, and it showed in how they presented themselves, as if control was a natural extension of their existences.
As everyone around them began to process the introductions, the weight of the figures who had just stood up was palpable. It was clear that the Kirammans' influence went far beyond their attire or titles — they were, in fact, a pillar of Piltover society, and their presence there seemed to announce that nothing in the situation was simple. They weren't just observing, but present to influence, to understand, and if necessary, to lead.
As Cassandra and Tobias finished their introductions, a new silence fell over the room. Then, a slender and introspective figure stepped forward, carefully leaning on his cane. The others present turned their gaze, curious, as they saw a young man of distinct and reserved appearance.
Viktor, the assistant to Professor Heimerdinger, looked at the faces around him with a serious expression. His fair skin reflected the soft light of the hall, and his amber eyes, intense and alert, seemed to carry an uncommon wisdom and weariness for someone so young. His brown hair fell messily over his forehead, but he cared little for that; Viktor's mind was always focused on larger issues, like progress and technology.
His slender build and slightly weary demeanor suggested the weight he carried. Since birth, Viktor had dealt with a condition that limited his movements, forcing him to rely on a cane to walk. However, that had never stopped him; his resilient spirit was evident in every calculated movement, in every thoughtful gaze. He adjusted himself carefully before speaking, his voice low but firm.
"Viktor," he said, with a slight nod of his head, as if the introduction was more a gesture of formality than necessity. "Assistant to Professor Heimerdinger."
He didn't need to say anything more. The tone of his voice, combined with his determined look, made it clear that he was there to understand and perhaps to unravel the mysteries of that place. He was a young man driven by a desire for change, even though his health was already showing signs of the effects of the pollution in Zaun, and, even though he didn't know it yet, this was just the beginning of a difficult journey.
After Viktor, a woman with a striking presence entered the view of the others. Mel Medarda walked with calculated grace, each step exuding elegance and confidence. Her brown skin seemed to glow under the soft light of the hall, and her green eyes, piercing and cautious, observed every detail around her with sharp precision. She was the type of person who never let anything go unnoticed.
Mel wore an elegant white outfit, with golden details that shimmered as if they had been made to capture attention. Her attire blended the grandeur of Shuriman and Targon influences, distinct cultures united by the imposing nature of their ornaments, merged with Piltover's refined class. Her dark, curly hair fell gracefully, adorned with small jewels that sparkled along the hairline, accentuating her air of authority.
"Mel Medarda," she introduced herself, her voice firm, yet soft. "Counselor of Piltover."
She let her name linger in the air while the others stared at her with a mix of admiration and respect. It was clear that Mel was not just a counselor; she was a strategist, someone who knew how to play the political game like few others, manipulating the pieces with mastery. Her green eyes scanned the room, attentive to any reaction, ready to understand those around her and, if necessary, turn the situation to her advantage.
As her gaze shifted, an unexpected figure began to move toward the center of the hall. It was a being very different from the others present, a presence that, in itself, was already a surprise. With small, determined steps, a Yordle of unusual appearance advanced, stopping next to the other Piltover representatives. Heimerdinger was a renowned professor and counselor, and even in a place like this, he would not go unnoticed.
Heimerdinger was thin, with light skin and exuberant blonde hair that seemed to defy gravity, curls dancing on his head. His blue eyes shone with vibrant intelligence, almost tireless, and his carefully trimmed white mustache gave him an air of experience. He wore a dark gray lab coat, and experiment gloves covered his small hands, while protective goggles rested on the top of his head, always ready to be used if the situation demanded.
"Professor Cecil B. Heimerdinger," he introduced himself with a friendly smile, his voice soft and full of almost childlike curiosity. "Inventor and counselor."
The others stared at him with a mixture of astonishment and fascination. To many, Yordles were mysterious creatures, and Heimerdinger seemed to bring a touch of both magic and science in equal measure. But those who knew him understood that his mind was one of the brightest in Piltover, capable of solving problems that would seem impossible to others.
The professor maintained a gentle smile as he looked around, but his eyes showed that he was also trying to understand this environment. It was evident that Heimerdinger saw this experience as a new and great mystery, a challenge to be unraveled with the same dedication he applied to all his scientific projects.
And so, with all the representatives of Piltover now properly introduced, the hall once again fell into an expectant silence. The first part of this unlikely meeting was complete, but there was still much to be discovered—and for those present, this was just the first piece of a much larger puzzle.
After Ekko and Powder, two teenagers from Zaun stepped forward to the center of the hall. The first thing that stood out was the contrast between them: while one was tall and thin, with a confident and provocative air, the other was more robust, with a serious and reserved expression. But both shared the same distrust in their eyes, the same reluctance toward the Piltover people present.
Mylo was the first to step forward. With a relaxed, almost carefree posture, he observed the people around him with a half-smile, but his intense and alert green eyes betrayed a contained unease. Mylo was skinny, with bronzed skin and spiky brown hair that seemed intentionally messy. His clothes were typical of Zaunites: worn and patched, but he wore them with a certain pride, as if they were a symbol of resistance. Some leather accessories completed his look, and he touched them almost unconsciously, as if they were protective charms.
"I'm Mylo," he said, his voice carrying a slightly exaggerated confidence. "From Zaun."
His words came out with a challenging tone, as if he were expecting a reaction from the others, especially the Piltover people. Mylo had never liked how Piltover looked down on Zaun, and he was determined not to let anyone forget where he came from.
Beside him, Claggor stepped forward, with a serious and contained demeanor. He was bigger and more robust than Mylo, with broad shoulders and a firm posture, conveying silent strength. His brown, wavy hair fell naturally over his forehead, and his black eyes surveyed the environment with a studied calm. Unlike Mylo, Claggor appeared more reserved, but his gaze was equally attentive and calculating. He wore the same worn-out, patched-up clothes typical of Zaun, along with some leather accessories, but his attitude was less flamboyant, more introspective.
"Claggor," he introduced himself, his voice low and calm. "Also from Zaun."
Claggor offered no explanations, nor did he show any exaggerated reaction. He was a practical guy who knew when to speak and when to just observe. His posture, however, showed he was alert, ready to protect his friends and maintain the unity of the Zaunite group. Mylo and Claggor exchanged a quick look, a silent understanding between them. Although different in many ways, both shared pride and loyalty for Zaun, and they were ready to face whatever this unknown place had in store for them.
After Claggor, a figure with a commanding presence stepped forward, making it clear that Zaun was not just home to restless children, but also to fighters willing to face any challenge. Vi — or Violet, as only a few dared to call her — kept her arms crossed, her body slightly leaning forward, her expression closed off and vigilant. Her gaze moved from one face to another, analyzing each person with an intensity that seemed to probe their intentions.
Vi was unmistakable. Her shocking pink hair, styled messily upward, reflected her fearless and rebellious personality. The vibrant color seemed to scream against the surrounding environment, challenging anyone who might question her right to be there. Her furrowed brows and serious expression made it clear that she wasn't there to make friends but to protect those she cared about — her family, her city, her world.
Vi's attire was practical and suited for the streets of Zaun. A short-sleeve shirt, covered by a vest, allowed for mobility, while loose brown pants, secured by straps, gave her freedom of movement. She was a fighter, someone who carried the weight of her life on the streets and used it as fuel for her determination. The bandages wrapped around her arms and legs reinforced her identity as a combatant — a girl who wouldn't hesitate to fight for what she believed in. Her worn and sturdy boots showed just how far she'd come, and her clenched fists indicated that she was ready to move forward, no matter what lay ahead.
Finally, Vi broke the silence, her voice firm and direct. "Vi, from Zaun," she introduced herself, without hesitation, but with a force that seemed to echo through the hall. There was no friendly greeting, no attempt to soften the tension. Vi knew who she was and where she came from, and there was nothing there that could intimidate her.
Her eyes sparkled with determination as she surveyed the Piltover representatives before her. Vi didn't trust them, she didn't trust anyone from Piltover. But she also knew that, wherever she was, Zaun was represented in her — and that was enough to keep her grounded.
Lastly, two figures exuding an imposing presence stepped forward, completing the Zaunite introductions. Vander and Benzo, two large men with hardened gazes from a life lived tough in Zaun, moved to the center of the hall. Both conveyed a natural strength and authority, something that came not only from their appearance but from the weight of responsibility they carried as protectors of the underground city.
Vander, a middle-aged man, was the very embodiment of a warrior marked by time. His presence was solid, almost protective, as if he could face any storm to protect those he loved. With his deep, gray eyes, he scanned the room with a calm vigilance, his gaze seeming to catch every detail, every movement. His dark hair, showing signs of age, was neatly groomed, as was his gray beard, which reinforced the aura of experience and authority he exuded.
Wearing a brown leather jacket over a white t-shirt, blue pants, and sturdy boots, Vander had a practical appearance, someone who didn't care for luxury. His right arm bore a leather shoulder pad, which covered a deep scar — a reminder of the bitter fight with Silco, a ghost from his past and a symbol of the battles he had already fought. He stepped forward and introduced himself with a deep, firm voice that made it clear he was a natural leader.
"I'm Vander, from Zaun," he said, his tone grave and definitive, his gaze locking directly with each person in the room. Vander didn't just introduce himself; it was as if he were issuing a silent warning: he was there, and he was alert to any threat that might arise.
Beside him, Benzo stood tall, his watchful eyes revealing a distrust similar to Vander's. Benzo was a robust man with a strong build and an expression of someone who had faced countless battles. His face displayed thick brows and a trimmed beard along the sides, giving him the appearance of a warrior hardened by time and the unrelenting circumstances of Zaun.
Dressed practically in reinforced, functional clothing, Benzo needed nothing but his presence to intimidate. He was known as a respected leader in the community, someone who put the well-being of Zaun and its people first. Every line of concern on his face seemed to tell a story of struggle and sacrifice, a life dedicated to protecting his home and loved ones.
"Benzo," he said, his voice strong and serious. "Also from Zaun."
Vander and Benzo exchanged a brief look, both sharing the same unshakable determination. They were men who lived to defend those around them, who carried the weight of Zaun on their shoulders, and now they were there, side by side, ready to face whatever was necessary.
A deep voice reverberated throughout the hall, causing everyone to startle and look around in surprise and suspicion.
"It's good to see that everyone has introduced themselves," the voice declared, with an enigmatic and authoritative tone, echoing off the walls of the hall. Instantly, all eyes turned toward the source of the voice. Leaning against a large, ornate door, a man of wise and imposing appearance watched them intently.
The figure they faced was that of a robust man, with graying hair and a full beard that reinforced his wise and experienced demeanor. He wore round glasses that gleamed in the soft light of the hall, and his expression was intense, conveying both determination and an enigmatic calm. He wore a blue outfit adorned with golden and gray details, of a medieval style, which gave him an air of power and mystery. A brown leather belt wrapped around his waist, completing his austere appearance.
Vander, ever protective, instinctively stepped in front of the children, with Benzo by his side, both ready to act at the slightest sign of threat. Vander narrowed his eyes, studying the stranger before him with the same caution he would use against any enemy of Zaun.
"Who are you?" Vander asked, his voice laced with suspicion as he kept his gaze locked on the man.
The stranger smiled, and his expression seemed to soften momentarily, though there was something in his eyes that still exuded an air of mystery.
"You can call me Mr. Nobody," the man replied, in an enigmatic tone. But before anyone could react, he disappeared in an instant, and his voice echoed again, now coming from behind Vander, causing him to spin around quickly. When Vander turned, there the man was, now just a few meters away, with the same intense and enigmatic look.
The movement startled everyone, and several jumped in surprise. Even the bolder ones, like Vi and Mylo, exchanged confused and suspicious looks, trying to understand what was happening.
Mel Medarda, ever diplomatic and astute, stepped forward, opting to engage in direct dialogue with the mysterious man. She straightened herself, standing tall, and spoke with a controlled calm.
"Why have you brought us here?" Mel asked, her expression firm but measured. "What do you want from us?"
The man, who called himself "Mr. Nobody," took a few steps around the hall, observing each of the attendees with a scrutinizing look, as if evaluating their reactions and the depth of their fears. Finally, he stopped in front of Mel, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made it seem like he saw more than just her exterior.
"Tell me," he began, his voice soft but full of power, "if I offered you the chance to change your futures… to prevent deaths, chaos, wars, and mistakes... wouldn't you seize that opportunity with all your might?"
The question hung in the air, dense and laden with tempting promises. Mr. Nobody looked at each person, as if reading their expressions, absorbing every trace of hesitation, fear, hope, and regret. He paused briefly as he met Mel's gaze, as if waiting for an answer that would reflect the depth of the question.
The hall fell into a thick silence. Vander and Benzo exchanged glances, pondering what this man was truly offering and whether they could trust him. Powder seemed intrigued, her large blue eyes sparkling with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. Jayce and Viktor, the Piltoverans with more analytical minds, looked at Mr. Nobody as if trying to decipher a complex riddle, while Vi crossed her arms, maintaining an expression of distrust.
Finally, it was Mel who broke the silence, maintaining her composure and the posture of a true Piltover counselor.
"And how exactly would this work?" she asked, her voice calm, but her gaze sharp. "Are you suggesting that we could watch our own futures?"
Mr. Nobody smiled enigmatically, as if he had been waiting for that question.
"Yes," he said, with a slight nod. "Here, in this place, you will have the opportunity to observe the paths you have taken... or will take. You will be confronted with your choices, your mistakes, and the consequences of each decision you have made." He looked at everyone, his expression now more serious. "But be careful. The truth is not always a gift. Sometimes, knowing the future can be a burden... a heavy responsibility."
The tension in the hall was palpable. Hearts were racing, and the air seemed to thicken with the promise of that opportunity, as tempting as it was dangerous.
"But you will not be doing this alone," Mr. Nobody said, as the door he had been leaning against earlier opened, revealing some silhouettes. "I took the liberty, before bringing you here, of bringing... well, yourselves."
At that moment, five figures slowly began to emerge from the open door, causing everyone in the hall to freeze in surprise and confusion as they recognized who was standing before them.
At the far left was none other than a second Mel Medarda, identical to the Piltover advisor who had recently questioned Mr. Nobody. This new Mel had the same elegance and imposing demeanor, her serious gaze scanning the surroundings. Her presence carried an even deeper aura of authority, as if time and experiences had refined her wisdom and ambition.
Beside her stood Jayce Talis—a much older Jayce, with a mature and confident presence. He wore much more luxurious attire than his younger counterpart, reflecting his rise and position in Piltover. The cloak draped over his shoulders was made of fine fabric, adorned with golden details that shimmered softly in the light of the hall. His expression was serious, and the weight of the responsibilities he carried seemed etched into every line of his face.
To the right, a figure immediately caught the attention of those present: a young man of medium height, with an appearance that radiated resistance and determination. He wore a uniform characteristic of the Firelights, a clandestine group from Zaun, complemented by a mask. His arms and biceps were visibly muscular, sculpted by time and training, contrasting with his lean frame. His skin was dark, and his hazel brown eyes carried a firm, calculating gaze, almost cold. His hair was styled in a "dread-hawk," with short dreadlocks dyed white and adorned with silver bands at the front tips, giving him a fierce, fearless appearance. The hourglass-shaped face paint, stretching from his nose to nearly his hairline, completed the threatening and determined look of someone who had faced many challenges in Zaun.
A bit further to the center stood a tall, athletic woman in her early twenties. Her face bore familiar features, especially to those from Piltover. With a straight, determined posture, she had fair skin and piercing blue eyes that seemed to capture every detail around her. Her dark blue hair, tied in a ponytail, swayed gently as she scanned the hall with a mix of distrust and curiosity. She wore a Zaunite-style outfit, with leather details and some signs of wear, revealing a life experience that extended beyond Piltover's wealth.
And right in the center, standing out among the rest, was a woman with an intense, striking appearance. Of medium height, she had a strong build, especially in her arms, with visible muscles that told the story of a life of battles. Her skin was fair, and her light gray eyes conveyed fierce, unwavering determination. Her hair, originally magenta, was styled irregularly, with the right side of her head shaved, creating an audacious and imposing look. On her face, she wore hoop piercings: two in her left ear and one on the left side of her nose, complemented by small scars, one on her right eyebrow and another on her upper lip—remnants of past battles. She displayed a dark gray "vi" tattoo on her right cheek, and her body was marked by other tattoos along her back, symbols of a journey mixing pain and triumph.
Her outfit reflected a duality between elegance and brutality: a white top with a royal blue hood, covered by a short red leather jacket with rolled-up sleeves, revealing the royal blue hem that added a distinctive touch to the look. Her olive green pants were somewhat loose, with dark gray stripes running in patterns, and a brown flap pocket on her right leg. On her feet, a pair of worn, marked knee-high boots completed the ensemble, making her appear like someone always ready for action.
The looks of everyone in the hall were filled with sheer astonishment. Many, seeing their older selves or friends and allies who had matured, froze, unable to process the magnitude of the moment.
"C-Caitlyn? Is that you?" Cassandra's voice sounded hesitant, almost faltering as she observed, incredulously, the older version of her daughter. The Caitlyn in front of her was completely different: dressed in worn Zaunite clothes, far from what Cassandra had expected for her well-bred daughter from Piltover.
"Hi, Mom... Gods, this is strange," Future Caitlyn replied, glancing back and forth between her mother and her younger self, who remained stunned, staring at her future self. It was as if the entire new world around her had disappeared, leaving only the surreal moment between mother and daughter.
"I brought these 'new' faces a little before you, and I've already explained everything to them. Now, let's move things along, please. Decide on how you're going to be called to differentiate each version, and then follow me." Mr. Nobody interrupted, appearing once more on the other side of the hall, now in front of an imposing carved wooden double door. He watched the scene with a slight enigmatic smile before vanishing in a slight distortion in the air and reappearing on the other side.
"I... I don't even know where to begin," past Jayce muttered, almost stumbling over his words, still visibly shaken as he stared at his older and more successful version. Future Jayce wore a confident, mature expression, far different from the Jayce everyone there knew. His fine, adorned clothes, his assured bearing, and the look of someone who already bore the weight of countless responsibilities impressed the younger Jayce.
"How about you keep being Jayce... and I'll be Talis?" suggested the older Jayce, placing a firm hand on his past self's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie and encouragement.
"Y-you're me...?" Past Ekko stammered as he tried to understand what was happening. The boy positioned himself defensively next to Benzo, as if this were some kind of dream or illusion. He stared at his older self, whose features were marked by someone who had faced many dangers and possessed a cold, focused determination.
"Haha, you got it, Little!" said future Ekko, flashing a smile that contrasted with his usually serious expression. He tousled the hair of his younger self, who remained frozen in admiration and surprise. The gesture was both comforting and surreal to young Ekko, who could hardly believe that this determined, fiercely protective figure was him.
"Incredible, Ekko! You look so... cool!" Powder exclaimed, almost jumping with excitement as she approached and squeezed the shoulders of future Ekko. She admired him genuinely, unaware of the sorrowful look he cast upon her, carrying a silent melancholy as if unable to escape what time had in store for them.
Past Vi, with her defiant posture and crossed arms, stared fixedly at her future version, trying to decipher what she saw. Future Vi was taller, stronger, and wore the face of someone who had fought countless battles. The girl couldn't take her eyes off the piercings, tattoos, and scars scattered across the face and arms of the woman before her.
"So... I end up like this?" past Vi asked, a mix of curiosity and apprehension in her voice. Future Vi gave a soft laugh, leaning in slightly to look her younger self in the eyes.
"Yeah... you have no idea, little one," future Vi replied, with a half-smile that conveyed both pride and pain. She uncrossed her arms, crouching down to be at eye level with her younger self, reaching out to lightly touch her shoulder. "We've been through a lot, and you'll understand when the time comes. But I'm here, and... it'll be okay."
Past Vi maintained her serious expression, though her eyes showed a slight vulnerability as she heard those words. "And Powder... she's still with me?" she asked, trying to hide the anxiety in her voice.
Future Vi's expression hardened for a brief moment, but she quickly recovered, offering a reassuring look. "That's... something you'll figure out on your own. Just... take care of her as best you can, okay? She's going to need you."
The two exchanged a long, silent understanding gaze. Past Vi, always resilient, nodded slowly, while future Vi stood up, keeping her eyes on the girl she had once been.
Meanwhile, past Mel looked at her future version with a mixture of admiration and insecurity. She noticed the subtle details that indicated her growth—the elegant clothes with golden details, the cold, calculating gaze, the rigid posture of someone who had become a powerful and determined leader.
Future Mel smiled at her younger self, her expression a mix of pride and a hint of sadness. "So, we finally meet," she said softly, breaking the silence between them.
"I... I didn't know I could become someone like you," past Mel confessed, with an honesty she might not have shared with anyone else. "I always wanted to make a difference, but... I didn't expect to see this version of myself."
"You'll do more than that, Mel," her future self replied, extending her hand in a welcoming gesture. "You'll carry burdens, make tough decisions, and... you'll learn to sacrifice for what you believe in. But above all, you'll become someone who never loses their determination."
Past Mel nodded, though hesitation still lingered in her eyes. "And... what about our city? Can I really change anything?"
Future Mel lowered her head for a brief moment, taking a deep breath before answering firmly. "You'll have a far greater impact than you can imagine. But remember, every decision comes with a cost."
The two fell into silence, past Mel absorbing every word and gesture of the woman in front of her. It was like looking into a mirror reflecting the challenges ahead, but also the strength she would still need to develop in order to become the leader Piltover needed.
After a moment of silence where everyone absorbed the exchanges and revelations between the past and future, the group finally turned toward the Man No One, who was waiting patiently for them. His demeanor was calm yet firm, his gaze carrying a mixture of seriousness and a certain compassion. In a deep voice, he began to explain what would happen next.
"Well, I see you're all ready," he said, his voice echoing through the hall as the group watched him closely. "First, let me explain how this will work. I've divided the events of your lives into two parts. Each part has three acts. The first part will show how you, past versions, became the people you are now. This will be the journey that reveals the decisions, sacrifices, and paths that led you to who you are. The second part, however... goes beyond that."
He paused, giving time for his words to sink in and to see if anyone had any questions or objections. The hall remained silent; only a few exchanged glances, showing the tension and growing anxiety within each of them. The Man No One continued, a slight smile of understanding on his face.
"First, I'll show you something to help you understand what I mean by 'seeing the future'... or, for some of you, 'revisiting the past.' After each act, we'll take a pause. You'll need that time to process what you see and understand what each step truly means."
He looked at the group one last time, his eyes reflecting a mix of mystery and gravity. Without further interruption, he turned and opened the imposing doors behind him, revealing a long dark corridor stretching ahead.
"Follow me," he said, in a low but firm tone, before calmly stepping toward the corridor.
The group hesitated for a moment, exchanging uncertain looks, but soon followed the Man No One, their footsteps echoing softly along the corridor walls. The lighting was minimal, with heavy shadows that seemed to envelop each of them, creating a sense of tension and anticipation. The environment felt closed off and almost suffocating, as though something big was about to happen.
As they advanced, a bright light unexpectedly appeared on the walls of the corridor, forcing everyone to close their eyes instinctively. The light was so intense and sudden that it pierced through their closed eyelids, creating a reddish glow behind each of their eyes. A strange, almost dizzying sensation overcame the group, as if the ground were shifting beneath their feet.
When they finally opened their eyes, the surroundings had changed. The dark corridor had vanished, and they now stood in a completely different room, lit softly and warmly. The walls around them were made of polished stone, with tapestries displaying images of significant moments from their own lives—scenes that evoked a mix of nostalgia and discomfort. A large magical screen stood at the back, glowing gently, as though waiting to be activated.
At the center of the room, the Man No One awaited them, observing each reaction carefully. He gestured toward the screen with a calm motion, his voice now sounding like an enigmatic murmur, filling the room with a palpable weight.
"This is the beginning," he said, pointing to the screen. "Here, you'll see the moments that defined each of your paths. Prepare yourselves, for the events you'll witness won't be easy to digest. You'll see mistakes, successes, sacrifices... and you'll understand the weight of every choice."
Powder, wide-eyed, grasped Vi's hand, seeking comfort amid the whirlwind of emotions overtaking her. Jayce and Caitlyn exchanged anxious glances, while Mel crossed her arms, her expression closed, trying to mask the vulnerability she felt. Ekko looked at the floor, his serious face reflecting the mix of excitement and apprehension he felt.
"Now, I invite you to watch and connect with these moments that made you who you are," continued the Man No One. "The journey won't be easy, but it's essential for understanding your own destinies... and perhaps, changing them."
With that, he made a gesture toward the screen, which began to glow more intensely, as if preparing to show the first fragments of their stories.
In the blink of an eye, they all found themselves sitting in luxurious armchairs, one for each of them. The room had changed once again, now with a sense of comfort, though the weight of the situation still hung in the air. The chairs were made of soft, gleaming material that seemed to adapt to each person's body, creating an almost cozy environment. The walls around them were adorned with tapestries of intricate patterns, and a soft fragrance in the air helped ease the tension, though they still felt nervous and anxious.
The past versions were seated to the left, looking toward their future selves across the room. On one side, each of their eyes was fixed on the older, more experienced versions of themselves, while on the other, the future versions watched the young ones before them, likely filled with a mix of hope and a certain melancholy. It was a strange and unsettling sight, as if the line between what was and what could be was being unraveled before them.
The Man No One positioned himself at the center of the room, his gaze passing over them all, his expression calm but with a touch of expectation. He looked at each of them, as if making sure they were ready for what would come next. "Let's begin. Everyone ready?" He paused, observing the silence that followed. "Good, very good."
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein