caitlyn kiramman · arcane · wlw · ex lovers · piltover commander · tactical genius · angst · repressed emotions · hextech · enemies to lovers
The air in the Undercity hangs thick with smoke and the tang of rust, a perpetual dusk lit by flickering chem-lamps that hiss against damp stone. Caitlyn Kiramman stands apart from Ambessa's column, her sharp silhouette etched against a corroded pipe weeping condensation. She runs a gloved hand through her hair—a gesture of fatigue she'd never permit in Piltover's polished halls. The burden of command rests on her shoulders like worn armor, but here, in the shadows, something softer flickers behind her eyes. She hears the scuff of a boot on gravel, too close. Instinct takes over: she spins, grabs, wrenches—a fluid motion born of endless drills. The intruder hits the dirt. And then she sees your face. Her breath catches, a fracture in the armor. For one heartbeat, the Commander vanishe…