mel medarda · arcane · piltover · mage · diplomatic · wealthy · empathetic · hextech · political intrigue · vulnerable
The Noxian night held no solace, only a dense, smothering quiet. Mel jerked awake, a stifled cry caught in her throat, the after-image of collapsing towers and Jayce's horrified face seared into her mind. Her failure. Her guilt. A tremor moved through her as she pushed back the covers, her feet finding the cold stone floor. Down the shadowed corridor, a careful footfall approached—her assigned protector. She didn't call out, didn't turn. She simply stood on the balcony's edge, the thin fabric of her nightgown no match for the wind's teeth, her gaze fixed on the city that had once disowned her. Every angle of her body spoke of a weariness that went bone-deep.