Kaen Vexis woke up with a cramp in his neck and the smell of rust invading his nostrils. He was curled up among a pile of junk and twisted pipes, hidden in a forgotten corner of Zaun where the neon lights barely reached. The cold metal had left marks on his skin, and a rat the size of a shoe stared at him from a broken pipe, as if scolding him for trespassing on its turf.
"…Good morning to you too," Kaen muttered, his monotone voice echoing through the empty alley. He stretched, joints cracking, and stood up with the grace of a cat pretending it had never fallen in its life. His silver-white hair was messier than ever, strands sticking to his face with sweat and grime. His violet eyes, glowing like headlights in the gloom, scanned the area.
Zaun wasn't exactly a cozy place to spend the night. The air was thick with smoke and a faint chemical sting that scratched at the throat. Pipes curled along the walls, dripping greenish liquid into puddles that reflected the flickering signs above. The ground was littered with trash—crushed cans, chunks of scrap metal, a lone shoe that had clearly seen better days. In the distance, there were shouts, laughter, and the constant hum of machinery, like the city had a pulse of its own.
Kaen rubbed his face, his fangs brushing against the inside of his mouth. "This isn't a dream, is it? Because if it is, the writer should be fired." His face stayed blank, but his gestures were theatrical—like he was performing for an invisible audience. He stood up, dusting off his ragged jacket, and stepped toward the main street, sidestepping a puddle that smelled suspiciously like gasoline.
The alley opened into one of Zaun's main arteries—an improvised market buzzing with life despite the early hour. The stalls were built from scrap and torn fabric, selling everything from questionable food to mechanical parts that looked salvaged from shipwrecks. The crowd was a chaotic mix: workers in makeshift gas masks, thugs with metallic implants glowing in their arms, barefoot kids weaving through the mass, picking pockets with a precision that would impress any thief. A man with a mechanical eye was selling vials of a glowing purple liquid that Kaen recognized instantly: Shimmer. The same stuff he'd seen in the lab.
He stopped in front of a noodle stand, where a woman with green-dyed hair stirred a steaming pot. The smell was so good his stomach growled like a poorly tuned engine. Kaen checked his pockets out of habit. Nothing. He sighed, voice flat as ever. "Being a science experiment doesn't come with a paycheck, huh?"
The woman looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "No gears, no food. Keep walking, kid."
Kaen placed a hand on his chest like he'd been mortally wounded. "Your words cut deeper than a blade, ma'am. But worry not—I'll find my fortune yet." He walked off with an exaggerated wave, like he was bidding farewell to an imaginary audience, while the woman shook her head, half amused, half exasperated.
As he walked, Kaen took in everything with a mix of curiosity and confusion. Zaun was a labyrinth of metal and madness, buildings stacked on top of each other like someone had tried to build a city without a blueprint. Rope-and-junk bridges connected the upper levels, where hooded figures moved like shadows. Giant pipes crossed the streets, some of them humming with a vibration that made the ground tremble. In one corner, a group of musicians played on instruments made from recycled parts—the melody was rough but strangely catchy.
Kaen leaned against a rusted railing, staring into the abyss below the city. In the distance, barely visible through the haze, the bright towers of Piltover rose like a dream Zaun could never touch. "So this is the deal," he murmured, his flat voice clashing against the chaos around him. "I transmigrate into a world of lunatics, get a model-tier body, and zero instructions. Great. Totally balanced."
He touched his face again, fingers brushing the sharp fangs. His body was… strange. Strong, fast, light. He'd noticed it last night when he dodged a drunk guy swinging a bottle at him—effortlessly. His reflexes were inhuman, like someone cranked the settings in a game to max. And then there was that tingling in his veins, the one that kicked in whenever he pushed himself too far—like the Shimmer in his blood was just waiting to be unleashed.
"I'm not human, am I?" he said, staring at his reflection in a puddle. His violet eyes glowed, the feline pupils contracting under the light. "Or at least, not completely. Thanks, Singed, for the extreme makeover."
He pulled out the papers he'd stolen from the lab, now crumpled and stained with grime. He looked through them again, but they were still gibberish: diagrams, formulas, words like biological adaptability and ideal prototype. One line made him frown—at least as much as his face would allow: "Subject K: Resistant to extreme modifications. Viable for final phase."
"'Final phase' sounds like something I don't want to know about," he muttered, stuffing the papers back in. "But if I'm a lab rat, then I'm a fabulous one. No one's using me for experiments without my consent."
He straightened up, his theatrical mannerisms kicking back in like someone had flipped a switch. "Alright, Kaen, time for a master plan. Step one: find Singed and squeeze answers out of him. Step two: get free food. Step three: maybe save the world, or at least don't mess it up more." He paused, tilting his head. "And buy a bass. Never forget the bass."
He walked toward the market, his mind doing backflips trying to make sense of everything. In his previous life—or what he remembered of it—he was a walking disaster: lived off expired ramen, wasted money on useless junk, and tripped over his own feet. But here, in this body, he felt absurdly confident. Like the universe had handed him a VIP pass to chaos.
"If I'm in Arcane," he thought (with fragmented memories and the little he knew of the series), dodging a vendor who tried to shove a Shimmer vial in his face, "then this is a world of betrayals, explosions, and family trauma."Which meant he needed allies. Or at least someone to buy him lunch.
He passed a group of thugs arguing in a corner, their mechanical implants glowing under the lights. One of them glanced at him, but Kaen met his gaze with an expressionless look, his violet eyes glowing like they were saying don't even try. The thug looked away, muttering something about "weird-eyed freaks."
Kaen smiled slightly, showing a flash of fangs. "That's right, pal. I'm a stylish gremlin."
As he kept exploring, he noticed something in the air—a tension that hadn't been there last night. People were whispering, glancing over their shoulders. At one stall, he overheard two vendors talking about the Firelights, a group sabotaging Shimmer shipments. At another, someone mentioned Silco, the name said with a mix of fear and respect.
"Silco, Firelights, Shimmer… This is like logging into a roleplay server without reading the rules," Kaen thought, stopping in front of a torn poster announcing Progress Day in Piltover. The date was near, and the image showed golden towers and airships—a brutal contrast to Zaun's chaos.
He leaned against a wall, letting his thoughts wander. What did he want in this world? Survive, obviously. But beyond that… no clue. He wasn't a hero, that was for sure. He didn't want to save the world or join a revolution. But he also didn't want to be Singed's puppet—or anyone's.
"Maybe I just wanna… exist," he murmured, voice flat but hands gesturing like he was giving a speech. "Be me, cause a little chaos, play an epic bass solo, and maybe—just maybe—make someone laugh in this dumpster fire of a city."
The thought made him smile—a small but genuine gesture that clashed with his deadpan face. Zaun was a hellhole, but it was also vibrant, alive, full of possibility. And he, Kaen Vexis, was a gremlin in a protagonist's body with zero common sense.
"Alright, world," he said, standing tall and striding back into the market with absurd confidence. "Brace yourself. I just got here and I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing."
The sun—or whatever passed for sun in Zaun—filtered through the mist, lighting up his white hair like a beacon. And as he vanished into the crowd, monotone voice humming a made-up tune, the future felt just as uncertain as it was exciting.