Chapter 12 – Secrets and Power Plays
Ashryn yawned as she made her way up the tower's winding stairs to Lynne's office. The air felt heavier since the incident. She found Lynne and Cael hunched together over a screen, both looking as if they hadn't slept in days.
As soon as they saw her, Lynne straightened—a flicker of hope in her tired eyes. "Are the kids alright?"
Ashryn offered a reassuring nod. "They'll be fine. Bit battered inside, but whole." She slid into a chair. "Now, time to work out who our magician was. I already have a suspicion, but it's a stretch. Better to check first."
She turned to Jarvis. "Jarvis, compile all the intelligence our agents in Piltover have sent in the last month. Full rundown—trade, council chatter, anything odd."
Cael's brows shot up. "You think Piltover is behind this? That doesn't make sense—they hate magic. The only reason they even tolerate Hextech is probably because of you and Jayce. I'm surprised they allowed it at all."
Ashryn gave a rueful grin. "They'd have allowed Hextech even without us. There's too much profit in it for that lot to ever pass up. Jayce might've had more trouble—sure—but money talks louder than dogma in Piltover. As for them using a mage… I have my doubts too. But let's see."
Jarvis projected a flood of surveillance and broker reports: weird fluctuations in Piltover trade logs, visitors with Noxian credentials, council debates.
Ashryn whistled. "Would you look at that. I'm right."
Lynne leaned in, brow crinkled. "You going to fill us in?"
Ashryn tapped the table. "If I'm not mistaken, the magician who hit us works for the Black Rose—a mage syndicate out of Noxus. My guess is they tailed someone probably that Noxian General to Piltover and got curious about us when they didn't find their main target."
Cael's skepticism showed. "Black Rose? That secret society from Noxus? Whole thing sounds like a fairy tale."
Ashryn shrugged, that loose confidence shining through. "They're too real. The worst kind of mage: subtle, patient, dangerous in ways you don't see until it's too late. But here's the important bit—even if I'm wrong, preparing for the Black Rose will make us ready for most magical threats. If we can beat them, we can beat nearly anybody."
Lynne's fingers drummed the tabletop. "So what's our next move? What if they stole anything from Vi or Powder, or from Ekko? Vi knows border logistics. Powder and Ekko—half our top tech lives in their heads. We could be crawling with spies sooner than we think."
Ashryn's smile took on its easy brilliance—the one that always made Lynne feel like maybe, just maybe, it would all turn out okay. "I didn't call this city the City of Change for nothing. Before they have time to use whatever they took, we'll transform everything that matters. That change starts right now."
She fished a pale blue gem from her pocket—a compact virellite battery, its runes faintly glowing. "This isn't your average battery. It's set with a conversion rune: lets us pull energy from virellite and refocus it as raw mana. We made this early, prepping for, well, a little project to give Orianna a new body. But with a tweak, we can rewire all our surveillance—swap traditional sensors for mana-based scanning."
She could see they barely followed, but pressed on. "Most of our drones track intruders via heat or sound. If we use this tech, they'll pick up magical signatures as well. Jarvis will finish the recalibration in no time. Suddenly, every border, every corridor, gets its own mage alarm."
Cael sat up straight, grinning for the first time in ages. "So if another mage tries using magic to hide—like that operative did—they'll trip the sensors instead of sneaking by?"
Ashryn nodded, her mood contagious. "Exactly! They won't even know they're being watched. This should take the edge off for Sevika and Callum, too—they've been killing themselves running surveillance."
Lynne's relief visibly loosened her shoulders. "This really is change. Maybe I'll finally get some sleep."
Ashryn stood, stretching. "Then I'll leave this to you. Keep the city running—I'll focus on research. Pass my thanks to Sevika and Callum for their overtime. I'll drop by the barracks later when there's less on fire."
---
While Virelle braced itself, Piltover was already shuddering beneath new pressures—most of them embodied by the intimidating presence of Ambessa Medarda.
Two full weeks had passed since Ambessa Medarda swaggered back into Piltover, and the city hadn't slept soundly since. Her arrival was an event marked by layers of hushed gossip—enforcers whispering about the new Noxian presence on the Council steps, merchants weighing profit against danger, aristocrats debating whether to seek favor or keep their distance. For all Piltover's order and elegance, a brush of predatory tension had crept into every marble corridor and glass walkway.
It wasn't her first time here. Years ago, Ambessa's ambitions had crashed against Piltover's proud walls and its steely champion, Camille Ferros. Their first encounters resembled ritual duels—respectful, cautious, but nothing short of ruthless. Camille, with her surgical discipline and Hextech prowess, proved herself an equal in every negotiation and threat, setting boundaries that Ambessa, surprisingly, honored. What began as a standoff matured into a wary, transactional partnership.
Now, Piltover felt different—savvier in policy, yet beneath new wards and reinforced gates, somehow softer. The city had upgraded every checkpoint: runic locks guarded council chambers, anti-scrying arrays blinked on rooftops, engineering records were double-encrypted and closely watched. But for all this vigilance, the councilors wore their nerves plain on their faces. Meetings dragged late, most ending without resolution. The enforcers—once the gold standard of urban security—strode the streets in pairs, hands hovering close to their weapons, eyes watchful for trouble from within and without.
Ambessa surveyed this new Piltover the way a seasoned predator watches overfattened livestock. She'd always admired the city's near-magical efficiency—but more, she respected its greed. Profit was Piltover's true faith, a city that would trade even its reputation for a good deal. Piltover had always been the most lucrative city Ambessa had ever touched. She had no intention of sharing her gains with other Noxian generals, who would only plunder and destroy. If she could keep Piltover exclusive, her cut would be largest. But Noxus worked on a "strongest-wins" code. In a duel, she could hold her own for a fair share, but to edge out her rivals—she'd need to play Piltover's politics just as skillfully as she'd played Noxus's war councils.
Camille Ferros was the only barrier. They'd forged a pragmatic accord years ago: Ambessa would keep Noxus away, and in return, Piltover would allow her quiet influence—a cut of profits, protection from outright invasion. It was a devil's bargain, but it kept Piltover free—on paper. Ambessa, a master of power-brokering, had no intention of sharing her future spoils. The wealth she siphoned came not from theft, but from exploiting all the cracks in their pristine order—alliances, promises, debts, and the simple fact that other Noxians, if allowed in, would simply gut the city.
She played the long game, cultivating an image as the city's "necessary evil"—keeping other Noxian generals and corporate raiders at bay, so she alone could enjoy Piltover's tribute. She kept Piltover just anxious enough—a shadow looming on the horizon—that they never forgot whose good will kept worse threats out. The Medarda crest might not wave over the council, but every major shipment, every rising merchant, owed something to the silent handshake between Ambessa and the city's true powers.
Yet, time had shifted every balance. Piltover's insatiable hunger for profit had bred not just innovation, but corruption. New Hextech patents shot through the ranks of the elite with dizzying speed. The aftermath of Zaun's loss left whole districts without labor, markets unstable, and an undercurrent of unrest leaking through the seams. The Council, so famously dogged in its unity, was riven with suspicion and rivalry. Merchant clans whispered about shifting alliances; votes were bought, not won. The old authority was waning, and cracks began to show—cracks Ambessa intended to wedge wide open.
But Ambessa wasn't blind to Piltover's transformation. If her first instinct once sang "march in and demand," she kept them in check. The city's advances in arms and surveillance were breathtaking—and terrifying. She watched an enforcer demonstration where a single Hextech turret locked onto ten dummies and neutralized them in less time than it took a Noxian commando to cross the square. Her own men—veterans of border campaigns—eyed these machines with doubt. She couldn't understand, though, why so many weapons were strictly non-lethal. Still, Ambessa realized an ugly truth: a head-on assault might succeed for a heartbeat, but Piltover's technology would dissect even the victor. The days of brute conquest were waning.
Instead, she took the city not in a rush, but drip by drip. Everywhere she went—high salons, smoky card rooms, crowded promenades—she played the part of both threat and peacemaker: speaking in double meanings, angling herself as Piltover's protector against the chaos she embodied. She made sure every ambitious councilor knew which problems she could make disappear, and which she could conjure if necessary. She measured each rival—Camille with her robotic composure, the Giopara matriarchs scrabbling for relevance, the Syndicate operatives sniffing for leverage.
Piltover, for all its pride, now lived half in fear and half in hope—hope that Ambessa's presence kept them safe, fear that her shadow meant the axe hovered ever closer to their throats. As she sharpened her influence, it became clear to all: the city could no longer rely solely on its inventions for survival. The game had changed, and Ambessa Medarda was ready to win it with patience, alliances, and, if all else failed, the promise of unstoppable force.
At that moment, two cities—one rising from wounds, one bracing for new ones—set themselves irreversibly on a path toward open conflict. But in the shadows, as always, someone—be it Black Rose or Medarda—still held cards left unseen.
End of Chapter 12