Arcane: In This New World

The sun was beginning its descent, casting long shadows over the packed streets of Bluewind Court. Tarren sat inside an automobile, his fingers drumming idly against the window as he watched the endless line of vehicles crawl forward at a snail's pace. The prestigious northern district of Piltover was alive with activity, filled with nobles and merchants arriving for the highly anticipated debutante ball at the Kirraman estate.

After what felt like an eternity, his automobile finally reached the drop-off point. A waiting servant opened the door for him, and Tarren stepped out, inhaling the crisp winter air. Snowflakes danced lazily from the sky, catching the light of the ornate street lamps. He adjusted his formal attire—a tailored coat, polished boots, and an intricate cravat, the fashion of Piltover nobles. Over the years, he had grown accustomed to wearing such outfits, though he never quite felt at home in them. Even now, as he scanned the gathering crowd, he could easily discern the difference between the common-born attendees and those of noble descent simply by their clothing and demeanor, as every noble family has a distinct fashion.

The entrance to the Kirraman estate was adorned with elaborate decorations—glowing gemstones and cascading silk banners, all meticulously arranged to reflect the wealth and status of the hosts. Tarren took a deep breath and stepped forward, joining the procession making their way inside.

—

Inside the grand ballroom, the atmosphere was warm despite the chill outside. The soft hum of classical music filled the space as finely dressed men and women mingled around tables laden with refreshments. Tarren, as was his habit, positioned himself by one of the tall windows, gazing out at the snowfall blanketing the estate gardens. He sipped at his drink, half-listening to the idle conversations around him, feeling somewhat detached from the event.

His solitude was broken when he spotted a familiar figure standing alone near the far side of the room. Viktor. The sight of the man brought a small smile to Tarren's lips. Without hesitation, he made his way over.

"Viktor," he greeted, stopping before him. "Surprised to see you here."

The scientist turned, offering a small smile. "Well, the entire academy was invited, and since Professor Heimerdinger chose not to attend, he asked me to represent him." His gaze flickered to Tarren's attire. "It has been some time. How is work treating you?"

Tarren exhaled. "Exhausting. I signed up to build things, not to deal with the endless complaints of the wealthy."

Viktor chuckled. "You'll never get used to it. It's a different kind of burden, one that drains the spirit as much as the body."

Tarren's eyes flickered downward to Viktor's leg, his voice turning more serious. "How is the new brace holding up? Any side effects?"

"I hardly notice it anymore," Viktor admitted, tapping the brace lightly against the marble floor. "Hextech has infinite potential, I can practically walk normally now with the powered brace. But there are limits to what a simple brace can do."

Tarren nodded solemnly. "Have you considered searching for a cure for your ailment?"

"It is a rare condition," Viktor said, a hint of resignation in his voice. "There is little information to be found, and I have not uncovered a single clue as to the root of the problem."

Tarren sighed. "I may not be an expert in medicine, but you should stop by my lab sometime. Perhaps I can help."

Viktor looked at him with appreciation. "You have already done so much for me, Tarren. This is something I must face alone. Though, I wouldn't mind borrowing your lab for my studies."

Tarren smirked. "That much I can allow. Just don't touch anything too experimental unless I'm there."

"Of course."

Their conversation was interrupted by the clear sound of a glass being tapped, drawing the attention of the entire room. The music faded as an announcer's voice carried through the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our debutantes for tonight."

All eyes turned to the grand staircase at the center of the ballroom. Descending in elegant pairs, the young men and women were presented, each guided by a parent. Tarren's gaze was immediately drawn to Caitlyn Kirraman, who wore a stunning gown adorned in the signature blue and gold of her house. Though she maintained a composed smile, he could see the restraint behind it. She was enduring this rather than enjoying it.

As the debutantes reached the ballroom floor, their parents gracefully handed them off to their dance partners, and the orchestra began a sweeping waltz. Tarren watched as Caitlyn moved in perfect sync with the rhythm, though there was a certain stiffness in her posture. It was clear she had little interest in this charade.

Beside him, Viktor suddenly spoke. "I have heard of your recent exploits."

Tarren, still watching the dancers, responded absentmindedly. "You'll have to be more specific, Viktor. I've done quite a bit."

Viktor chuckled softly. "That is true. But I was referring to Zaun."

Tarren's expression didn't change, though his grip on his glass tightened slightly. "How did you hear about that?"

"Heimerdinger is not one to keep secrets," Viktor replied. "And considering my origins, he thought it relevant to me."

Tarren finally turned to him. "And? Do you find it relevant?"

Viktor hesitated, his gaze thoughtful. "Identity is a complex thing. I was born in the undercity, but my opportunities, my growth, came from Piltover. So where do I belong? Am I Piltovan? Am I a son of the undercity?"

Tarren chuckled. "Why not both?"

Viktor tilted his head, considering the answer. Before he could respond, the waltz concluded, and the debutantes bowed, prompting polite applause from the gathered onlookers. Tarren and Viktor joined in, their conversation momentarily put on hold.

—

The night carried a certain crispness to it, the winter air sharp yet refreshing as Caitlyn meandered through the outdoor garden, the sounds of distant chatter and orchestral music muffled by the walls of the Kirraman estate. The gentle crunch of her heels against the gravel pathway was the only sound accompanying her as she took in the peace of solitude, a stark contrast to the stifling social obligations within the ballroom.

She had spent the last hour forced into polite conversations with noble families and affluent merchants, each one scrutinizing her as if she were a prized commodity. She had smiled—oh, how she had smiled—until her cheeks ached, until every gesture and word became mechanical. The entire ordeal felt hollow, and she was glad to escape it, even if only for a little while.

The garden was dimly lit, the lanterns casting a warm golden glow against the freshly fallen snow. It should have been peaceful, but as she ventured deeper, muffled whispers and giggles from the hedges soured the serenity. Caitlyn wrinkled her nose in distaste, recognizing all too well the nature of the sounds.

"Of all places, here?" she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. She made a mental note to inform the staff—her parents would not be pleased if their carefully curated event was tarnished by scandalous behavior in the shrubbery.

She quickened her pace, moving further away from the debauchery, and that was when she saw him. Tarren.

He was seated on a stone bench, gazing up at the sky with a distant look in his eyes. For a brief moment, Caitlyn could have sworn she saw something floating above his open palm, something a metallic ball. But as soon as she blinked, it was gone, leaving only the cold evening air between them.

Tarren, noticing her presence, turned his head slightly. "What are you doing here?"

Caitlyn crossed her arms. "I could ask you the same thing. You aren't supposed to be out here. Or are you here for the same reason as those idiots over there?"

Tarren quirked a brow, following the direction of her gaze before chuckling. "Tempting as that may be, no, I don't have someone to do it with. Just needed some fresh air. And what about you? Won't your parents notice your absence?"

"They're too busy parading me around like a prized hound to actually notice that I'm gone," she muttered, before exhaling a sigh and sitting beside him. "Why didn't you come find me?"

Tarren shrugged, leaning back slightly. "It's your ball, Cait. I wasn't about to get in your way. Besides, I was looking for a chance to talk to your mother privately tonight, but it doesn't seem like I'll get the opportunity."

Caitlyn tilted her head, curiosity piqued. "What for?"

"Just some business," Tarren answered vaguely.

She narrowed her eyes. "You always say that when you have a secret."

He chuckled. "You know me too well, yet you still ask."

"I was hoping you'd actually tell me this time."

Tarren offered her a half-smile but remained silent.

Caitlyn sighed, deciding to let it go for now. "Well, you're not going to find a chance tonight, but you might have one next week."

Tarren blinked. "Why's that?"

"My parents are organizing a hunting trip to celebrate the success of the ball. They're planning to invite all those who are patroned by House Kirraman." She smirked. "That includes you."

Tarren let out an amused whistle. "Fancy. Never hunted before."

"I could show you," Caitlyn offered.

Tarren chuckled. "Sure."

Caitlyn nudged him playfully. "What was that? You don't believe me?"

"Hey, I believe you." He raised his hands in surrender. "Anyway, you should head back inside. Like I said, it's your ball. They'll start looking for you sooner or later."

She exhaled, reluctant but knowing he was right. "Fine."

She stood and turned to leave, but before she could take a step, Tarren's voice stopped her.

"Hey."

She turned back, meeting his gaze.

"You look beautiful in that dress, by the way. And… congratulations on your coming of age."

For a moment, Caitlyn simply stared, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. Then, a small, genuine smile—one that wasn't forced or practiced—graced her lips.

"Thank you," she said softly. "You look great as well."

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving behind the cold garden and returning to the warmth of the manor.