章節 33: Chapter 33: Two Years Later
The soft hum of a nearby hextech generator filled the air in Tarren's private study, a room worlds apart from the modest student dormitory he once called home. The space was a testament to his growing knowledge—a haven of intellect lined with towering bookshelves. Each book is obtained lawfully and unlawfully one way or another, an eclectic collection amassed through curiosity and, occasionally, subterfuge.
At the center of the room, Tarren sat hunched over his desk, who looked much older now, at nineteen years old, his ginger hair kept long and tidy, he doesn't look much like a boy from the undercity anymore, more like a young noble of the city of Piltover. Right now, he is scribbling furiously onto a crisp piece of parchment.
"Jayce,
I'm writing at Caitlyn's request to inform you that she's upset you haven't sent her any messages through me. Other than that, things have been… tense here. Ever since the construction of the hexgate began, the council has grown insufferable. They've poured immense wealth into the project, yet they're already looking to cut costs.
Specifically, they want to slash the safety measures I painstakingly designed. They claim it's unnecessary, that I've 'over-engineered' the protections. It's absurd. If anything, I should've added more safeguards. Professor Heimerdinger has warned them repeatedly about the dangers of the arcane, but even his authority only goes so far when merchants and politicians are involved. Sometimes I wonder if he's more of a mascot than Head Council.
They tell me the city needs this hexgate to revolutionize trade and transform lives. I don't entirely disagree, but risking calamity to save a few coins? The more I deal with these political games, the more disillusioned I become.
I wish you were in my stead here, Jayce. Perhaps then I wouldn't have to shoulder this nonsense alone, if at all.
Tarren"
He rolled the parchment tightly, securing it with a small ribbon, but before he could stand up, the study door swung open without warning.
Tarren turned, irritation flickering across his face, only to soften at the sight of Caitlyn. She strode in, her movements weary as she slumped onto the plush sofa in the corner.
"Do you have any tea here?" she asked, pressing a hand to her temple.
"What's with you?" Tarren asked, setting the scroll down.
"Another dancing lesson," Caitlyn groaned. "Another pointless preparation for a debutante ball I'd rather skip. Honestly, why do I have to keep going to these things?"
"You know why, you just reached eighteen years old, you should be happy that your family is introducing you to their circle, as an adult." Tarren replied, smirking. "At least act like one."
"Haha, very funny." Caitlyn rolled her eyes. "I'm not a peacock that is to be displayed to everyone. I don't even know these people on the list."
"Then get to know them." Tarren shrugged. "All my time with you has been spent on hearing you lamenting that you don't have any friends, and that you're being sheltered too hard."
"But the ball isn't for looking for friends, is it?" Caitlyn argued. "Speaking of which, you are not joining in, right?"
Tarren just looked at her with a smile and didn't say anything. He then crossed the room to a mechanical bird perched by the window. Its polished metal wings glinted in the dim light, and a faint hum of energy emanated from the crystal core embedded in its chest.
Caitlyn's gaze followed him. "Wait. Is that a letter to Jayce?"
"Yeah. Why?" Tarren paused.
"Let me add something." She rose, striding to the desk and holding out her hand.
Tarren hesitated but handed her the scroll. She unfurled it, scanned the contents, and with a hum of approval, scrawled a few additional lines before returning it.
"There," Caitlyn said, satisfied.
Tarren reattached the scroll to the bird's leg. With a gentle nudge, the bird sprang to life, its wings whirring as it soared out the window. Within moments, it vanished, the faint hum of hextech acceleration lingering in its wake.
"That bird of yours," Caitlyn mused, watching it disappear. "Convenient. And cute, too. Ever thought of selling it to the public?"
Tarren chuckled. "The crystal core is expensive. I can't sell something so dangerous."
"Then sell it without the crystal. I'd still buy one," she teased, collapsing back onto the sofa.
"Then it wouldn't move," he replied, smirking.
As his gaze drifted to the distant skyline, his demeanor shifted. The towering structures of Piltover gleamed under the moonlight, but his focus was on the shadowy outline of the undercity beyond the bridge.
"I think you should head home now, Cait," he said, his voice quieter now.
"Why?" Caitlyn asked, sitting up. "The house is a madhouse right now—everyone's frantic about the ball."
"I need to lock up the lab," Tarren said. "I'm heading out for a few days."
"Where?"
"The undercity," he replied.
Caitlyn's brow furrowed. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I've heard things have calmed down, but still…"
"It's my home," Tarren said. "I haven't been back in years. Besides, I think things will be… different this time."
"In that case…" Caitlyn trailed off before leaning forward, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Can I come?"
Tarren laughed. "Very funny."
"I'm serious," Caitlyn insisted.
Tarren raised an eyebrow. "Your mother would kill me if I brought you there."
"She doesn't have to know."
"That's even worse," he said, shaking his head.
"Come on, what happened to your narrative that I am an adult now, shouldn't I have the freedom on where I go without needing to ask my parents?" she pressed. "You've seen where I grew up. Isn't it fair I get to see where you're from?"
Tarren sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Ask your mother first."
"Ah, screw you," Caitlyn scoffed, standing. "Fine, whatever."
With a dramatic wave, she exited, leaving Tarren alone once more. He stood by the window, his eyes fixed on the undercity.
—
Tarren moved silently through his lab, his body obscured by the cloak draped over him and the hood pulled low over his face. The air buzzed faintly with energy, the sound of machines humming in tandem, creating a soft symphony that felt familiar in his ears.
The space around him was an engineer's paradise—or perhaps a nightmare. Testing machines sprawled across the room, each in various states of completion. Tools, gadgets, and schematics covered nearly every available surface. It was a more refined, larger version of the chaotic room he had once worked in back at the academy.
He strode to the far corner of the lab, where a metal panel was mounted to the wall. His fingers deftly flipped open the casing, revealing a maze of switches, buttons, and dials. He moved to it, pressing and flipping in a sequence only he could understand. With a satisfying hum, several machines sparked to life.
Cutting-edge wasn't enough to describe the technology Tarren had in here. The hextech innovations lining these walls were years, maybe decades, ahead of any tech available in this so-called city of progress. As the lab stirred awake, Tarren paused to take one last look at his sanctuary.
He shut the panel, adjusted his cloak, and headed for the exit.
Outside, the brisk air greeted him. Piltover's sprawling skyline stretched before him, its bustling streets alive with the rhythm of commerce and daily activities. In the distance, he could see the outline of a tower under construction on the city's outskirts near the water.
The hexgate project loomed large—both physically and metaphorically. Though only the foundation has been laid, it's still in its early stages. Yet, it wasn't the tower itself that weighed on Tarren's mind. Beneath it, hidden from public view, was the network of failsafes he had designed.
The council had fought him at every turn, their greed clashing with his insistence on safety. To disperse the failsafes across four locations around the city's perimeter had quadrupled the cost of construction, a fact they never let him forget. But to Tarren, the price was worth it.
He couldn't shake the stories of what had happened with the original hexgate that the minds of Viktor and Jayce had created—the anomalies, the cataclysms brought on by unchecked arcane energy. Though he lacked the complete picture of that event, the lessons were clear: the power of the arcane demanded respect, caution, and redundancy.
Still, he wanted one thing in this design that he could not get at all. Petricite. The failsafe chambers would welcome the rare, magic-resistant material to serve as a buffer in case of catastrophe. But obtaining petricite had proven impossible. Demacia, its sole producer, kept a stranglehold on its supply, unwilling to part with even a sliver for a project in Piltover.
He sighed and adjusted his hood as he descended into the city streets, blending into the crowd. For a while, he walked aimlessly, observing Piltover's daily rhythm. Merchants bartered in the markets, carriages rumbled over cobblestone streets, and pedestrians hurried to their destinations.
Eventually, his path led him to the Bridge of Progress. The once-quiet thoroughfare connecting Piltover to the undercity was now heavily guarded. Lines of enforcers patrolled the length of the bridge, their presence a reminder of the chaos that had erupted here and what's across it years ago.
Tarren stopped at the bridge's midpoint, leaning against the railing to gaze at the undercity. He heard how merchants had pulled out their factories as new rules and boundaries had risen, disrupting the oppression that once existed between the two halves of the city. Many Piltover businesses had turned away from the undercity entirely, leaving their operations abandoned. Those that remained did so begrudgingly, their protests drowned out by the steady voice of Heimerdinger, who seemed oddly supportive of the changes.
And then there was the name.
Zaun.
The word had crept into conversations in Piltover like an echo from the depths of the undercity. Tarren had only caught fragments of the stories—a new identity for the undercity's residents.
The people now called themselves "Zaunites," and the shift was unmistakable. It wasn't just a name. It was an idea, a declaration of a people.
Tarren's mind wandered to Vander. Though he hadn't returned to the undercity in years, he had heard enough to understand that Vander's bold actions had been transformative.
With a final glance at the bridge, Tarren straightened his posture and tightened his cloak.
For better or worse, the undercity, his home, had changed. But then again, so had he.
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