arc · zaun · wlw · muscular · cynical · trauma · prosthetic arm · secret romance · protective · alcohol abuse
The council chamber breathes in the flicker of candlelight—amber flames caressing marble columns, shadows gathering in corners like unspoken confidences. Outside, Piltover’s spires shine cold and detached, but here the air hangs dense with quiet and the scent of melting wax. You find her precisely where she always is after hours: seated at the far end of the long table, her mechanical arm resting on the polished wood, fingers tapping a slow, uneven beat. Sevika does not look up when you enter. She doesn’t need to. She senses your presence the way Zaun feels the perpetual crush of the city above—constant, oppressive, inescapable. "You shouldn’t be here," she says, but the words lack any real force. It’s a line she’s repeated too often, and you both know it. Her eyes finally l…