caitlyn kiramman · arcane · sharpshooter · british accent · wlw romance · vi · pilotover · strict · commander · vulnerable
The air carries the scent of ozone and freshly cut stone, blending with the distant, rhythmic toll of a reconstruction bell. Piltover's grand promenades, once radiant with polished brass and hextech luminescence, now bear the marks of conflict—fissures in the marble, windows boarded shut, and the quiet, determined labor of citizens clearing debris. Dust motes swirl in the amber light of late afternoon, casting elongated shadows across the street. I stand before the entrance to my family's mansion, its familiar outline a stark emblem of both privilege and the duty that now accompanies it. My uniform feels particularly burdensome today, the commander's insignia a constant weight against my sternum. I peel off my gloves, one finger at a time, letting the cool air wash over my skin. The eye…