Arcane: Painted Tapestries

Callian arrived at the entrance of the Kiramman estate, glaring at the property ahead of him like a hawk. The house's windows were lit, meaning the occupants inside were likely awake.

The cloaked figure bared his sharp teeth in anticipation. A slaughter was more his style anyway.

Even better.

The extensive garden surrounding the house was separated from the rest of Piltover by tall iron fencing. The metal bars occasionally connected to decorative stone pillars that dotted the perimeter. His way in.

Callian jumped onto and vaulted the closest pillar easily, the stone vines coating its surface serving as ample footholds for him to climb with.

He landed gracefully on the estate's grounds, leaving visible footprints in the perfectly cut grass due to his unnaturally heavy weight. It crunched icily underneath his boots.

The cloaked figure darted towards the side of the mansion, ears pricking up as he strained his mutated senses to hear how many heartbeats were emanating from inside.

Four of them.

One was asleep on the second floor, their heartbeat young and fast. Caitlyn.

He would kill her last, after making sure the girl saw her mother and father's dismembered corpses before he killed her too.

There was another person on the second floor, a much older one. Male too, if his assumptions were right. Her father Tobias.

What now confused him were the two people on the ground floor. There was Cassandra - the mother, and another one. A male heartbeat, a young adult at most.

He was absolutely sure there were only three members of the Kiramman family.

Who was he? A servant?

Callian circled the house, the frost-covered grass beneath him snapping apart under his purposeful steps.

He reached the dining room's window, standing just out of sight outside of it.

"I just wanted to thank you again Cassandra, for believing in me. I- I think I'm close to a breakthrough concerning the hex-crystals." A man's grateful voice thanked the woman who was sitting opposite him.

What.

"I should hope so Jayce, because despite my initial interests in this little project of yours, my patience is running thin at the moment. If your efforts don't manage to amount to something within the coming months, I'm going to have to ask you to abandon this endeavour; or at the very least, switch your focus back to the studies available at the academy."

Callian felt the man's heart skip a beat, clearly not expecting the woman's unfeeling assessment.

"But… Why?" He said, questioning Cassandra defeatedly. "Do you… not believe I'm good enough to discover the secrets of the crystals?"

The woman sighed, and Callian heard a knife and fork being placed gently onto the tabletop. "That isn't the reason why. If I didn't believe in your potential as an inventor I wouldn't have offered to become your patron."

"Then?"

"The 'hex-crystals' as you call them, are expensive. Extremely so. They are harvested from the shell of a particularly dangerous type of beast, as I'm sure you're well aware."

Jayce stayed silent, shuffling uncomfortably in his seat.

Cassandra sighed. "I can't keep funding these expeditions to the Shimurian mines when I am not gaining anything of monetary value from your research. The Ferros family does not sell their materials for cheap, even if the material in question hasn't been found a use yet."

"I understand." Jayce ground out, sounding slightly ashamed of himself. Perhaps at his lack of progress, or with his apparent freeloading. Knowing the man, it could have easily been either of the two - or more likely, a combination of both.

"If you didn't break so many trying to harness the energy contained inside them it wouldn't be a problem. But as we both know - that isn't the case here."

Callian didn't stick around to hear the rest of their conversation.

The shimmer in his blood was on fire, ignited by his quickly worsening state of mind.

He cleared the fence in a single jump, dislodging a chunk of the frozen earth beneath him, unable to control his mutating strength.

Callian's vision took on a steadily darkening hue, the purple liquid infesting his body being pumped aggressively into his hateful eyes.

Jayce was their fucking patron. He hadn't been told this.

He landed atop a house across the street, scattering a few of the building's blue roofing tiles onto the pavement below where they shattered loudly.

He couldn't touch the Kirammans. The development of Hextech itself depended on their continued support of Jayce.

Callian's sharp canines bit down onto his pink lips, piercing the pale flesh easily, darkened blood dripping down onto his chin.

His hands shook from suppressed rage.

He fumbled to remove his left sleeve, he needed to see when he could kill them. Now.

He had disregarded this tattoo at first because he had first planned on killing the family immediately after entering this time, not even bothering to read the date carved into his skin.

After he had arrived, the reality of his task had set in, making him rethink this reckless plan. However after magic itself started opposing him, his decision had changed again.

Callian ripped his sleeve back violently, accidentally putting an impossibly thin line through the tattoo covering the limb as his armoured forefinger finger sliced through his skin.

Fuck. Get a fucking grip Callian.

He could not damage any more of his skin, or he would the information stored there.

Every inch of his body other than his face, neck, hands, feet, and groin were covered the black ink.

His body was an encyclopaedia of the future, every major scientific breakthrough, every major event in time, every person he would need to bring onto his side. It was all there. Every last speck of useful information.

The man closed his eyes, breathing in deeply.

His heart rate slowed.

He opened his eyes.

The cut had healed perfectly. Good.

Callian brought his arm up to his face, scrutinising the web of names, sigils, and times layered on his skin.

A tiny Kiramman crest lay a centimetre above his elbow.

Six years, three months, twenty-one days.

That was exactly how long he had to wait. He didn't understand why the date was chosen, and he wasn't going to check by stripping on a Piltovian rooftop. But he could take a guess.

From what he could recall from back then, that was when his Lady had made her wider debut to the Twin cities. Beforehand, she had been just as a mysterious figure who was seemingly underneath Silco's command.

After Jinx had blown up the high council's tower and killed three of its members, that fact had changed forever.

Her fragile anonymity had disappeared with a soaring increase in fame.

That was also when he had finally recognised her to be something greater than just 'Silco's heir'. She had the potential to become a symbol; their symbol.

A symbol of freedom.

Of Zaun's liberation.

Callian sighed frustratedly, re-wrapping his sleeve tightly before setting off for Entresol once more.

He couldn't touch them. For now.

Hextech was a piece that was far too important later on in the game. He couldn't risk it over a personal vendetta. Everyone's lives depended on its creation, not only Zaun and Piltover.

The man snarled in anger, what a waste of his fucking time.

—

[Two weeks later]

It was dusk.

Callian strolled through the streets of Entresol, carrying a small paper bag underneath his cloak with one hand; careful to keep the tips of his two armoured fingers away from the fragile material.

The past few weeks had been dull, with nothing of value happening at all.

Ever since finding out about Jayce's involvement with the Kiramman family, he had decided to strictly adhere to the planned timeline.

Too much could go wrong if he didn't.

The Arcane attacking him was a risk he would have to take, not that he was happy with it in the slightest.

The fact he had almost died to the boy he had been over a decade ago was a humbling experience. The fact his younger self had been corrupted by the Arcane shouldn't have made a difference.

He would not get overconfident again.

In any case, there was no fixed point in the timeline for another five weeks, which was when the robbery of Jayce's workshop would take place.

For now, Callian just had to sit tight and not cause any major shifts in the timeline with his actions.

He turned the corner, with Vander's bar coming into view.

The cloaked figure followed behind a group of people already entering through the wide door, unnoticed by all of them.

He slipped inside, weaving between the many wooden tables scattered around the place, making his way to the counter and shifting around it, giving the large man behind it a small two-fingered salute.

Vander nodded back at him, holding up a singular finger of his own, indicating as to how many of the children were currently inside the basement.

It had taken a while for the barkeep to begin trusting him, but it had happened eventually.

He had slowly become ingratiated with Powder, Vi, and Mylo over the past few weeks; who were all very enamoured with his tales of the world outside of the twin cities.

He may have abridged some of his past experiences to keep them entertained, cutting out any relevant information.

Claggor was more reserved however, reluctant to trust the masked stranger who had wormed his way into their everyday lives. The boy didn't talk much, and thought a lot; only speaking up when necessary.

He was just like his father in that aspect.

However, upon seeing most, if not all of his adopted children content and unharmed by Callian's presence; Vander had eased up to him.

Even he was surprised at the speed Vander had begun to trust him, and Callian had a nagging suspicion there was something else at play behind the barkeep's illogical faith in him.

If it served in his favour however, he didn't need to dwell on the matter.

He strode into the back, pushing one of the few doors located there open and walking down a dark flight of stairs.

Callian continued onwards, reaching the bottom of the stairs and taking the first left, opening another door that led into one of the children's many bases that were hidden around Zaun.

It was a spacious area. A set of bunkbeds lay in the corner of the corner of the room, both beds left unmade and untidy.

A little blue-haired girl sat at a large workbench in the opposite corner, no doubt tinkering with one of her many gadgets.

She was so engrossed in the task ahead of her, that she hadn't heard Callian open the door, or start to sneak up behind her.

"Boo." The man said slyly, whispering directly into her ear.

She froze in shock, before turning around and taking a swipe at him. He sidestepped her oncoming hand easily, much to the girl's dismay.

"Cal! Stop doing that it's not funny." Whined Powder, grinning widely at her new visitor.

Said visitor parted his cloak and dropped the paper bag he had been carrying on the bench next to them. "Pastries from topside. Share them with the others - or don't. It's your decision."

Powder dropped the wrench she was carrying, hastily reaching for the bag of confectionery. She opened the bag, looking back up at him with starry eyes. "Thank you so much!"

The masked man smiled down at her. He had a soft spot for the girl, he had to admit.

Powder was so similar to his Lady, despite the few glaring differences. He couldn't not dote on the young girl.

However, a darker side of him was constantly questioning why they were so different. 

Where was the ruthless leader of the underground, the woman who had led Zaun in all but name?

Their mentalities were too different.

Powder was clever yes, acing through every technical problem and theory he had thrown her way.

But she was weak. Unwilling to hurt anyone, even the cutthroat thugs of the Undercity. A trait that held her back.

Something must have changed her further up the timeline. Something drastic.

He would have to trust in the hands of fate to deliver Zaun's future ruler to him.

As much as he hated the idea, details regarding this innocent girl's transformation was the one piece of information he utterly lacked.

Why had his companions not informed him of this? They had surely known.

Especially Ekko.

Perhaps… They knew he would have let whatever happened come to pass.

Callian resisted the urge to knead his forehead in annoyance. Those naive fools.

Zaun needed Champions, hardened warriors. Not inventors. Piltover already had plenty of those.

'Powder' was not fit to be a Champion.

He stared down at the girl who was happily munching on the artificially sweetened food he had given her.

This matter was completely out of his hands.

—

(Total word count: 2170)