League of Legends If Route: Bond of Dawn ~The Two Not Chosen by Fate~ - The Fallen Lady and the One-Eyed Informant

The darkness of the abandoned mine shaft seeped with a faint green light. Moss clinging to the walls, contaminated by chemicals, glowed like fireflies. The acrid stench of shimmer solution stung her nose, and her throat burned with every breath. Caitlyn was breathing heavily, her shoulders heaving. She was carrying Vi on her back. Vi's arms hung limply around her neck, and the skin of her back and left arm had turned a horrifying color—a sickly mix of green and black. Blood soaked steadily into the back of Caitlyn's uniform, warm against her skin. (*This is my fault.*) The same words looped endlessly in her head. The explosion at the old Treva Refinery—Vi had shielded her. She had taken the full spray of that shimmer solution with her own body. "Vi... stay with me." No response. Only faint breathing, right next to her ear. Those steel-gray eyes remained closed. Ahead in the mine shaft, an old iron door came into view. Rusted all over, but lamplight leaked through the gaps. The clinic of Cross, the illegal doctor—a back-alley physician who'd been hiding out in Zaun for fifteen years. If she were acting as an Enforcer, he was someone she should arrest. But right now, she had no other choice. Her feet tangled. Her boot caught on a crack in the stone floor, and her body tilted. (*I can't fall—*) "A customer, huh." The iron door creaked open inward. A thin man in his sixties appeared. His white coat was yellowed with soot, old blood splatters caked all over it. In his right hand, a stubby scalpel. In his left, a battered pair of goggles. A Zaun back-alley doctor—Cross. "...An Enforcer. You know where you are?" Cross eyed Caitlyn's uniform and narrowed his eyes with distaste. "I need treatment. I'll pay." Caitlyn spoke between ragged breaths. "I'll decide after I take a look." Cross turned his back and walked deeper into the clinic. — Inside the clinic, the smells of chemicals, decay, and iron mingled together. Three broken-down beds lined the wall. Every sheet looked like it hadn't been washed in years. On the shelves: scalpels, tweezers, files, scissors—none of them showing any sign of sterilization. A single green chemtech lamp hung from the ceiling, dyeing the entire room an eerie color. "Lay her down here." Cross pointed to the bed furthest back. Caitlyn walked on trembling legs and gently lowered Vi's body onto the sheets. Pink hair spread across the filthy pillow. Cross examined Vi's back in silence. He lowered the goggles over his eyes and focused the chemtech lamp's light on the affected area. His wrinkled hands traced over the discolored skin. "Chemtech poisoning. Her back and left arm—she took a heavy dose. The shimmer solution spray penetrated the epidermis and is starting to attack her nervous system." Her breath stopped. Caitlyn's fingertips went cold. "...Will she make it?" Cross didn't answer. He removed his goggles and placed the scalpel on a dirty tray. "I can't guarantee she'll wake up." A sharp ringing sounded deep in her ears. "Can't... guarantee?" "She's got a body raised in Zaun. Her detox tolerance is higher than the average person's. But—what she took this time was high-purity shimmer solution. Thanks to you carrying her here on your back, she's still breathing. But..." Cross shrugged. "The rest depends on her own life force. If she doesn't wake up today, she may never open her eyes again." The air in the clinic grew heavy. Caitlyn knelt beside Vi. She reached out. She wrapped both hands around Vi's cold fingers. (*Please. Open your eyes.*) She had sworn to protect her. She was supposed to—she was supposed to be watching. Why couldn't she protect her? "Vi..." Her voice trembled. As a professional, she had to analyze the situation calmly. She knew that. But the version of herself inside her head was already on the verge of tears and couldn't cry. If she cried, it would feel like giving up—and she hated that. Caitlyn pressed the sleeve of her uniform roughly against her eyes. — That night felt longer than any other. Cross retreated to the back room and didn't show himself. Only Vi and Caitlyn remained in the clinic. Caitlyn wiped the wound on Vi's forehead, held her hand, and simply listened to her breathing. The faint breaths seemed ready to vanish at any moment—and yet they continued. (*If only I could pray, like when I was a child.*) But she couldn't do something like pray. She was an Enforcer. Praying without evidence—impossible. Time passed. Outside the window, the sky of Zaun began to shift to a pale gray. Morning was coming. Caitlyn straightened her back. She hadn't slept a wink. Her eyes ached. The muscles in her shoulders screamed. But none of that mattered. Then, there was a knock at the door. A messenger in an Enforcer uniform stood there. "Chief Caitlyn. Emergency summons from headquarters." — The Enforcer headquarters in Central Promenade was completely different from usual. The stares of her colleagues as she walked down the hallway. Some of them awkwardly averted their eyes. Caitlyn walked with her back straight. A sense of wrongness clung to her skin like clammy sweat. The Council's emergency meeting room was on the seventh floor of the station. When she stepped through the door, seven councilors sat at a semicircular table. Every face was rigid. Caitlyn was made to stand in the center of the room. One of the councilors—a man in his forties with silver-rimmed glasses—rose to his feet. Alexandre Clay. The head of one of Piltover's most prominent houses, his eyes gleaming with calculated calm. "Caitlyn Kiramman. You authorized the accompanied investigation of terror ringleader Jillian Vero, proceeded alone to the abandoned factory, and as a result—caused severe injury to a fellow investigator." "That's incorrect. Her accompaniment was necessary to extract information for bomb disposal—" "And this is the result. You endangered citizens, left an investigator in critical condition, and allowed the bombing mastermind to escape." Alexandre continued, his tone flat and matter-of-fact. "Your actions as an officer of the Piltover Enforcers represent the height of incompetence. You will surrender your badge and standard-issue hextech pistol here and now, and be struck from the rolls effective today." Caitlyn's vision warped and twisted. (*Incompetence—?*) The Enforcer Chief opened his mouth to speak. But Alexandre raised a hand, stopping him. The gesture seemed to say that everything was already decided—that trying to stop it now was pointless. "...I conducted a proper investigation." Her voice did not tremble. Alexandre said nothing. He only gave a small nod. At that signal, so brief there was barely time to blink, two guards stepped toward Caitlyn. Her badge was taken. The heavy metal shield—the one that had been on her chest for five years—was removed without a sound. Her standard-issue hextech pistol was confiscated, holster and all. "Leave the room." The door opened. Stares pierced her back as she left the meeting room. — Outside the station was the same Piltover as always. White cobblestones. Blue hextech crystal streetlamps. Citizens coming and going. Everything was the same as yesterday. Only Caitlyn was different. The moment she stepped onto the street, a newspaper boy shouted. "Extra! Extra! Lady Kiramman colludes with terrorists—a disgrace to a noble house!!" The boy was shouting the headline at the top of his lungs. Passersby turned to look at Caitlyn. "That woman...?" "That's the Kiramman family's daughter. They say she was colluding with Zaun terrorists." "A disgrace to a noble house, huh..." She could hear the whispers. She couldn't pretend not to see. Everyone's eyes were pointing at her. Caitlyn walked. Her footsteps echoed louder than usual. — Night fell. The Last Gray, a bar in the boundary district, was dim and smoky, its windows fogged by the chemical haze seeping in from Zaun. Old wooden chairs lined the counter, and on the wall hung a faded poster from a Piltover championship over ten years ago. The place was sparsely populated. Caitlyn sat in the corner of the counter. Her hextech rifle was the only thing she had, propped against the chair next to her. Personally owned weapons hadn't been confiscated. This thing alone was all she had now. "...Miss, that's your fifth drink. You okay?" The bartender—a man in his mid-forties with unkempt stubble—spoke with a troubled look. "...Shut up. I can still drink, can't I?" Caitlyn tilted her glass. She couldn't even taste the cheap liquor. Around the third drink, her cheeks had started to flush. By the fifth, the knot deep in her chest had risen to her throat. By the seventh— "I swore... I'd protect..." Her voice trembled. She pressed her forehead against the counter. The cold feel of the wood. The stock of her hextech rifle clattered against the neighboring chair. "Miss, that rifle's going to scratch the counter..." "I won't... let this get hurt...!" Caitlyn lifted her tear-streaked face and hugged the rifle tightly. The bartender instinctively took a step back. "Vi... I couldn't protect you..." A sob escaped. She was making a face she could never show anyone now. That was when it happened. The door creaked open. — The one who walked in was Luca. A white bandage was wrapped around the right side of his face, his jacket torn, blood seeping from the shoulder. Normally, he was so good at erasing his presence, but now just standing there conveyed the severity of his injuries. "...Luca...?" Caitlyn half-rose. Her drunken head swayed. Luca sat down in the chair beside her without a word. His left eye—a lavender-colored iris—stared straight at Caitlyn. From beneath the bandage over his right eye, a faint blue light leaked out. "...Sorry I'm late." He said only that, then used his right hand to remove the bandage. His right eye—a silver prosthetic eye with delicate craftsmanship—he gently removed with his fingers. "I need you to see this." Luca aimed the inner lens of the prosthetic eye toward the bar counter. In an instant. Over the dim counter, an image floated up in green light. Data recorded in the prosthetic eye—a structural map of Zaun's underground, the location of the shimmer solution reactor, runaway calculation formulas. Rows of numbers streamed by. Core temperature, pressure limit values, time remaining. Within a matter of hours—both Piltover and Zaun would be wiped out. And then, footage capturing Jillian's figure. She was opening the inside of her left prosthetic arm, programming it. She intended to self-destruct the arm at the reactor's core—to use that to shut down the massive reactor. "...Everything's going to blow?" The alcohol sobered instantly. Her head was clearing. "Yes." "Jillian... was she planning to die from the very beginning, doing all of this?" "Yes. Her objective was to stop the reactor from going critical. The bombing terrorism against Piltover—all of it was a decoy to draw attention. Otherwise, no one would have ever looked deep underground in Zaun." Luca's voice was as calm as ever. But each of his words pierced deep into her chest. "That's why, back then—I tried to warn you in Mist Alley. But you couldn't listen." That's right. In Chapter Three—she had brushed off Luca's warning out of selfish jealousy. If she had listened to Luca's words back then. (*—I might have been able to save Vi.*) Guilt came crashing down on her. — When Luca finished explaining the data, he gently placed the prosthetic eye back into his right socket. And then—he laid his hand over the back of Caitlyn's. "...Seize it with your own hands." That was all. Nothing more—he said nothing more. But Luca's pale lavender eyes quietly spoke of feelings built up over many years. He must have been watching from the shadows since they were children. In places she never noticed, all this time. (*Luca—*) Her chest ached. Lu

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Episode 5

Name: League of Legends If Route: Bond of Dawn ~The Two Not Chosen by Fate~
Author: Novelia

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