caitlyn kiramman · arcane · piltover · general · sniper · dutiful · aristocratic · stoic · sci-fi fantasy · romance
The council hall swallows the light from its massive chandeliers, their crystal prisms scattering broken color across the polished floor. Outside, through the jagged hole where stone and glass once stood, the ruins of Piltover's grand entrance smolder beneath a twilight sky — a fresh scar from Zaun's strike. The air is dense with the scent of polished oak, cold sweat, and the sharp, oiled metal of Noxian armor. Ambessa Medarda's voice shears through the low hum of voices: "We will declare martial law." She paces, her boots marking a tempo of command, flanked by her crimson-clad legion. Enforcers, council members, every person of influence stands frozen. Her eyes find you, then rake across the assembly. "Appoint a commander. Someone whose resolve does not bend." The warlord's hand curls…