Arcane: A Spark Among the Gears

The grand foyer of the Kiramman estate was nothing short of breathtaking, with marble floors polished to a mirror's gleam and high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings. Despite the surrounding luxury, Orion's palms were clammy. He stood at a mahogany table in a spacious drawing room, methodically setting out the prototypes he'd carried in his crate.

Lady Kiramman, poised and elegant, observed him without interruption, her posture regal in a high-backed chair. Grant, Orion's father, lingered near the door in quiet support. Servants hovered a respectful distance away, ready to attend to any request. A hint of tension thrummed in the air; everyone seemed to recognize that this moment might shape Orion's future.

"Begin whenever you're ready," Lady Kiramman said, her voice calm and cool.

Orion cleared his throat, glancing at the small mechanical arm laid out on a velvet cloth. It was a refined replica of the prosthetic he himself wore, though not yet rigged with the specialized harness. "My lady," he said, voice cracking slightly, "thank you for granting me this audience. I… I've been working on new technologies that I believe could be beneficial not just to Piltover, but perhaps beyond."

Her gaze flicked briefly to Orion's own mechanical arm. "Then please show me," she responded, gesturing for him to continue.

Drawing a steadying breath, he began, "This prosthetic arm is a refined version of what I use myself. It's a synergy of mechanical engineering and a small electrical component. I've found ways to reduce the reliance on steam pressure, making it lighter, but it needs certain specialized parts—fine copper wiring, precision gears. These are difficult to acquire without substantial funding or connections."

Lady Kiramman leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing in curiosity. "It moves well, for something so compact."

Encouraged, Orion slid his fingers into the harness of the demonstration limb. With a series of soft clinks, the mechanical hand curled open and shut, albeit stiffly. "It's not perfect," he admitted, "but with higher-grade materials, I could calibrate the joints to move even more naturally. Eventually, I believe we could mass-produce versions of these prosthetics for those who've lost limbs—enforcers, Zaunite workers, or anyone else in need."

A hint of interest sparked in Lady Kiramman's eyes. "That's quite noble," she murmured. "But for a philanthropic venture, you'd need widespread support—and a distribution network."

Orion nodded vigorously. "Yes, exactly. Piltover's trade routes could be used to transport these devices across the continent. But the cost…" He hesitated, not wanting to sound desperate. "Well, I can't pay for it alone."

She tilted her head, expression thoughtful. "What else have you brought?"

He lifted a small model of his wind generator, a miniature version with delicate metal blades. "This is a scaled-down proof of concept for harvesting wind energy. I've managed to produce electricity using wind power. It's modest in this iteration, but if built on a larger scale, it could provide clean, renewable energy for entire districts."

"Renewable energy?" She repeated the phrase as though tasting it. "I've read of such ideas in academic papers, but no one has implemented them effectively so far."

Orion's cheeks warmed. "Well, I'm trying," he said. "Between the prosthetic and this generator, I've proven the concept. With better resources, I believe it could light homes, power smaller machinery, and reduce the city's dependence on steam—and by extension, reduce pollution in the undercity."

Lady Kiramman steepled her fingers, regarding Orion quietly. Grant cleared his throat from near the door, and she glanced at him. "Your son's talents are remarkable," she remarked. "Where did he learn all this?"

"In the workshop behind our home," Grant answered, pride evident in his tone. "He's self-taught and… unstoppable once he sets his mind on a task."

Lady Kiramman raised an eyebrow. "So it seems."

The final object Orion produced was a rough diagram of his partially deciphered Energon concept—abstract formulas scrawled across a parchment. He gestured to it last, voice trembling slightly with excitement. "This is something I'm still researching. I call it 'Energon.' It's an attempt to create a condensed power source—lighter than typical fuel sources and capable of driving advanced machinery or potentially aiding in medical treatments."

"Fascinating," Lady Kiramman said, her posture betraying greater interest. "You're quite ambitious for someone so young. How old are you?"

"Twelve," Orion answered, trying to sound confident despite nerves. "My mother and father think I should apply to the Academy for formal training. I—I agree, but I need connections and a sponsor… someone to recommend me or help me get noticed."

A heavy silence fell. Lady Kiramman tapped her chin, lost in thought. "The Academy is an esteemed institution," she said. "Gaining admission is no simple feat, but your inventions are promising. If you had the right introductions, they might welcome you with open arms."

Hope fluttered in Orion's chest. "Truly?"

"It's possible," she said, at last rising from her chair. Her measured footsteps approached the table, and she ran a gloved hand across the prosthetic's smooth metal plating. "However, I must be certain of your dedication. Creating prototypes in a small workshop is impressive, but more structured research requires discipline and accountability."

"I'm ready," Orion said, standing straighter. "I'll do whatever it takes."

She turned to face him fully, meeting his gaze. "Very well. I'll arrange a meeting with a colleague who sits on the Academy admissions board. We'll see if your work can stand up to their scrutiny. If so, I'll consider offering financial backing—provided you adhere to a timeline for producing results. It won't be unconditional patronage, mind you. I expect progress reports, and if things go well, we'll formalize an agreement."

Relief and excitement mingled in Orion's chest. "I understand," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, my lady."

Grant stepped forward, giving the noblewoman a polite half-bow. "This is more than we could have hoped for," he said. "You have our gratitude."

Lady Kiramman's eyes flicked to Grant, then back to Orion. "I do this for Piltover as much as for you," she said, a faint smile curling her lips. "Brilliance shouldn't remain hidden behind locked doors or limited resources."

Back at home, Orion, Grant, and Clara gathered in the living room. After weeks of tension, the air finally felt lighter—hopeful, even. Clara held Orion's hands in hers, a broad smile lighting her features.

"My boy, this is wonderful news!" she exclaimed. "I knew someone would see the value in your inventions, but Lady Kiramman is quite influential. If she believes in you, that's a strong endorsement."

Grant's usual stoicism had softened. He ruffled Orion's hair, a wide grin creasing his face. "Proud of you, son," he said simply.

Orion's heart pounded with a mix of excitement and anxiety. "It's… all happening so fast. She said she'd set up a meeting with someone from the Academy admissions board. I need to prepare a presentation, gather all my notes, refine the prototypes. I can't mess this up."

Clara squeezed his shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll help however we can. You're not alone in this."

"Just be ready for the Academy's scrutiny," Grant added, settling onto a chair. "They'll want to test you—your knowledge, your adaptability, maybe even how you work with others. Show them your passion and your drive."

Orion sank onto the couch, mind whirling with possibilities and concerns. Since childhood, he'd navigated his own path, guided by curiosity and a drive to create. Now he was on the verge of plunging into a world of academic structure, rigorous standards, and the watchful eyes of Piltover's elite. Would they accept him? Would they see him as an innovator… or just another Zaunite kid with big dreams?

"I guess I'd better start polishing up my prototypes," Orion said at last, forcing a small laugh. "And maybe I can tidy up my notes on Energon—make them readable, at least."

Grant chuckled. "Readability is key, trust me. The Academy folks like their diagrams neat."

A mischievous glint sparked in Clara's eye. "Meanwhile, I'll try to pull some strings behind the scenes. Maybe I can nudge a few acquaintances to speak well of you."

Orion looked at her with admiration. "You'd do that?"

She smiled warmly. "Of course, dear. Anything for my son."

The sheer affection in that final word tugged at Orion's heart. Once upon a time, he'd been a loner, struggling to accept the generosity of these two enforcers who took him in. Now, the closeness they shared was as real as blood ties. He swallowed, emotion thick in his throat.

"Thanks, Mom," he murmured. "Dad."

They exchanged a tender look, and Grant draped an arm across Clara's shoulders. "We'll get through this together," he said. "And you're going to excel, Orion."

Late that night, Orion secluded himself in his workshop. By the glow of a single lamp, he organized the diagrams for his mechanical arm, wind generator, and multi-gear bicycle. The prosthetic had become more than just a means of functioning day to day; it symbolized the potential to extend a hand to those who'd lost limbs in battles or accidents. The wind generator represented a dream of cleaner energy, while the multi-gear bicycle hinted at an era of easier, more advanced transportation.

But overshadowing them all was Energon—a concept so grand and unproven that he often doubted its feasibility. Yet, the dream persisted. If refined, it could revolutionize entire industries. It might even become the key to powering not just machines but advanced prosthetics, or even the mechanical eye he still hoped to create.

"Alright," he whispered, smoothing out a tattered page of notes. "This has to be perfect."

He revised sketches, clarified formulas, and made sure everything had a coherent structure. By the time he finally blew out the lamp, a faint glow on the horizon signaled dawn was near.

Word spread swiftly that Lady Kiramman had taken an interest in a young inventor. Tobin, Orion's old craftsman friend, dropped by the next morning to offer a handshake and a wide grin. "Seems your big break's come at last!" he said, voice trembling with pride. "Don't forget us little folk when you're famous, eh?"

Orion laughed, waving off the flattery. "I'd be lost without you, Tobin. You know I learned half my gear-smithing tricks from your workshop."

Soon enough, neighbors too—those who'd once glanced skeptically at the Zaunite boy living among them—hurried to offer words of encouragement. They might not have shared Orion's knowledge, but many recognized the Kiramman name and understood what it meant for a child of unknown pedigree to catch her eye.

Throughout this small flurry of attention, Orion felt a mixture of exhilaration and terror. The stakes were higher now than he'd ever imagined. If he succeeded, doors he'd only dreamed of might open to him: advanced technology, academic mentorship, broad-reaching influence. If he failed… well, that possibility loomed too, a constant shadow.

Still, as the final week of preparation slipped by, Orion steeled himself. He refined the prototypes meticulously, tested each gear ratio in the bicycle, recalibrated the prosthetic's finger dexterity, and even managed to build a more robust wind generator model. All the while, he cross-referenced formulas for Energon, though he knew that remained purely theoretical, too fragile a concept to demonstrate live.

On the eve of the Academy review, Orion settled into bed early, exhaustion weighing on him. Before he closed his eyes, Grant came in, quietly taking a seat at the edge of the bed.

"You ready?" his father asked, voice low.

"Not really," Orion confessed. "But I think I've done everything I can."

Grant patted his shoulder. "Sometimes, that's all you can do. Let yourself rest. We'll tackle tomorrow, tomorrow."

Orion nodded, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. "Good night, Dad."

"Good night, son," Grant replied, switching off the small lamp.

In the darkness, Orion let his thoughts drift. Tomorrow, he'd stand before the Academy's representatives, Lady Kiramman by his side. He would present inventions that embodied all his hard work, hopes, and the unwavering belief his parents had in him. And maybe—just maybe—this was the start of a grander journey than even he could imagine.