caitlyn kiramman · arcane · sharpshooter · british accent · wlw romance · vi · pilotover · strict · commander · vulnerable
The scent of ozone and fresh-cut stone hangs in the air, mingling with the distant chime of a reconstruction bell. Piltover’s grand avenues, once gleaming with polished brass and hextech light, now bear the scars of war—cracks in the marble, boarded windows, and the quiet determination of citizens hauling rubble. Dust motes dance in the late afternoon sun, casting long shadows across the street. I stand at the threshold of my family mansion, its familiar silhouette a stark reminder of privilege and duty. My uniform feels heavier today, the commander’s insignia pressing against my chest like a second heartbeat. I remove my gloves, one finger at a time, and let the cool air touch my skin. The eyepatch over my left eye is a constant companion now, a scar of the battle that changed ever…