Runeterra: Alexander The Eternal

A new day begins

The door creaked open, a jarring sound against the rhythmic click-clack of unseen machinery as the scene unfolded.

Towering buildings with copper details gleaming under the diffused light, loomed over the narrow street. Intricate gears, hanging to the sides of buildings, seemed to dance in the air.

My footfalls echoed on the geometrically patterned floor, each step a counterpoint to the hiss of escaping gas. The air thick with the scent of oil and something metallic, a strange, exhilarating cocktail.

As I approached my destination, I noticed the vibrant colors of the people's attire—rich red, blue and green silks, gleaming metals, and an overall air of confident extravagance.

'This city of Piltover,' I mused, opening the Tailor's door, 'seems overloaden with uselessness.'

"Ah, welcome back, esteemed patron. Your order is ready. Please, do come in."

'Besides 'Jinx', I still have many matter to attend. Today's objectives are clear: Get hold of the hex crystal and find Janna—a type of god, spirit or whatever. What's important is that her power will be mine.'

The tailor lady ajust my brown silk cravat, right after, the high-collared white shirt.

"You look quite dashing in that, sir." She said, as I pushed dawn my brown waistcoat.

The black trousers tucked into my almost knee high leather boots annoyed me, but the fit was necessary.

I raised my waistcoat pocket watch, the pointers said exactly twelve as the bronze chains glimed in the light. It's time.

"I appreciate the effort." I said, thanking her as I walked out.

"The pleasure is all mine. Do not hesitate to return for any future tailoring needs." She bowed slightly.

.

The air in Piltover's industrial district was always thick with the metallic tang of machinery. I stepped into the modest office of a small company tucked into a quieter corner of the sector.

The owner, a stout man with weary eyes, sat behind a desk cluttered with papers. His expression hardened when I laid out my offer.

"I appreciate your interest, but we're not selling," he said, his voice firm.

I smiled, hiding my irritation beneath a polite facade.

"You misunderstand," I said smoothly, tapping the edge of the contract I'd brought. "This isn't just a purchase—it's an investment. Your operation would benefit greatly."

He shook his head, pushing the papers back toward me. "I can't deal with this right now. My daughter… she's ill, and no medicine is helping. I don't have time to think about business."

The mention of his daughter stilled me. For a brief moment, I considered leaving. 'I need a facade before going to the Ferros Clan.' I didn't need to waste time here—there were other companies. But something about his desperation, the faint flicker of hope buried beneath his words, made me pause.

"Let me take a look," I offered.

The man frowned. "Are you a doctor?"

"I'm many things," I said confidently, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth either.

He hesitated before nodding, leading me to a small adjoining room. The girl lay on a worn cot, her breathing shallow, her skin pale. A thin silver chain around her neck caught my eye.

'A curse,' I realized instantly. The trinket was subtle, its energy weak, but prolonged exposure could deteriorate even the strongest constitution.

I approached and touched the chain, a simple curse could be easily removed using Morgana's powers. Next, I placed my hand gently over her chest, focusing my energy—Kayle healing. A soft glow emanated from my palm as I poured just enough to stabilize her condition.

Moments later, her eyes fluttered open. She stared at me, confused but alert.

The father rushed, his eyes wide. "What did you do?"

I stepped back, "Trade secret," I said casually. "Your worries are gone now."

His gratitude was immediate, and his resistance dissolved. He returned to the desk, signing the contract without hesitation.

'They'll thank me one day. Or curse me.'

. . .

The Negotiation

The room was immaculate. Everything—from the polished wooden floors to the intricate carvings on the shelves—oozed refinement. Sunlight poured through the large windows behind Rhodri Ferros, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. It contrasted starkly with the piercing gazes directed at me from all corners of the room.

Rhodri sat at the desk, his green eyes calm but assessing, strands of white streaking through his dark hair. His green eyes studied me with the kind of calm scrutiny that came from years of negotiation. Beside him stood his two children. Stevan, pale and frail, shifted his weight uneasily, his long white hair brushing his shoulders. In stark contrast, Camille stood tall and poised, her platinum hair and high cheekbones lending her an air of sharp elegance. Her piercing blue eyes didn't waver from me, their intensity a quiet challenge.

'So this is Camille. I have no memory of her from that show. She's in her twenties, no magical signature.'

"Mr. Dolus," Rhodri began, his voice calm but firm, "we've reviewed your proposal. A bold offer, I must admit. But I wonder—why such interest in a sector so many overlook?"

I inclined my head slightly, my expression unreadable. "Overlooked sectors often yield the greatest opportunities."

"An intriguing sentiment," he replied, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Still, 70% of our crystal deposits is a significant share. You understand my hesitation."

"Of course." My tone was steady, measured. "But I believe the terms speak for themselves. Our investment would not only strengthen the Ferros name but ensure that no risks—financial or reputational—fall on your shoulders. Few investors would offer the same."

'Right now, they hold a deposit of hex-crystals, usually selling to mages or randoms over the span of months—hardly a profitable business.'

Camille's sharp gaze flicked towards me, narrowing slightly. She said nothing, but I could feel her suspicion mounting.

Rhodri raised a brow, his calm demeanor unshaken as he glanced at the documents. "The Gem Research and Trading Company—an esteemed name with roots deep in Piltover's history. Still, the scale of this investment is significant—how does someone your age access such funds?"

I allowed a small, measured smile. "Let's just say, we are more than meets the eye."

Rhodri paused, glancing at his children. "Stevan, thoughts?"

Stevan shifted uncomfortably, his pale fingers tightening around the edge of the desk. "I think the offer is… reasonable," he said quickly. "We gain significant capital without taking on any risks ourselves. I don't see why we shouldn't accept."

'Is this the guy who's supposed to rule this future prestigious family?'

Camille's lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. "Father, if I may."

Rhodri gestured for her to continue.

"It's an interesting offer," she began, her tone sharp, "but perhaps we should consider why Mr. Dolus is so eager." She stepped closer to the desk, her gaze settling on me.

"These crystals may be undervalued now, but their potential seems well-known to Mr. Dolus. If we're to believe his vision, the value could skyrocket. Selling 70% now could mean surrendering a fortune later. It's clear he knows something we don't."

I remained silent, my expression neutral, though I could feel Stevan's glare dart toward his sister.

Camille continued, her tone unshaken. "If we accept, we must ensure the Ferros name retains control over future developments. Access to any advancements made with these crystals must be a non-negotiable condition."

'This bitch. I could force them with hypnosis or other methods, but there's no way a long-standing family like this would fall that easily—they're prepared.'

Rhodri's gaze lingered on her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "A sharp observation," he said, pride evident in his tone.

Camille added, "If Mr. Dolus is willing to adjust his terms to reflect that, then I believe this partnership could be mutually beneficial."

"Mutual benefit," I echoed, finally breaking my silence. "An ideal outcome. Very well. Let us adjust the terms."

"Fifty percent," She said, assertive. "An equal partnership, with full transparency on any advancements or discoveries made with the crystals."

'Fifty? And your ass?'

The room fell silent for a moment. Rhodri studied me carefully, then glanced at Camille, who gave a slight nod of approval.

"Fifty percent," I repeated, extending a hand. "You have a deal."

.

As we finalized the details, I glanced at Camille one last time. Her sharp intellect and poise would make her a force to be reckoned with.

'Clearly, she's useful in many ways. And she's not "hex-tech changed" yet. I recall that happened after her father's death, in her twenties. Soon.'

. . .

. . .

The bell above the door rang as I stepped into Benzo's shop.

The space was dimly lit, a mixture of greenish light filtering through the circular glass window and faint flickers from the alchemical lamps scattered across the room. Swords and trinkets hung from walls, shelves overflowed with mechanical odds and ends, and the faint smell of oil and metal lingered in the air.

Benzo stood behind the counter, his heavyset figure unmistakable. He glanced up, his gaze cautious yet neutral. "Morning," he greeted, his voice low and gruff.

I gave a slight nod. "Good morning."

Across the room, Ekko looked up from a collection of scrap parts, his white hair gleaming in the greenish light. A wide grin spread across his face.

"You're back!"

Next to him, Powder froze. Her silver eyes widened slightly as she stared at me, her small hands tightening around the crude contraption she was working on. "It's… you," she whispered, almost as if confirming her thoughts aloud.

'Fear? No. She's still deciding what I am to her—a savior, a stranger, or a threat.'

Benzo frowned, glancing between them with a raised brow.

"You two know him?"

Ekko leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet up onto the table.

"Yeah, he's the guy I told you about. You know, the one who gave me a fat tip last time?"

Powder hesitated, her gaze never leaving me.

"He… helped me."

Benzo's eyebrows lifted slightly as he turned to me.

"..Achilles," I introduced myself smoothly, using the alias I had prepared. "I've been in the area recently and thought I'd stop by to look at some… important items."

Benzo grunted, gesturing toward the shelves. "Look around. You might find something."

'Benzo's wary, but not suspicious. Good. Let him think I'm just another eccentric buyer.'

My attention shifted to Powder. She was hunched over a small device in her lap, a rough cylinder bristling with nails at one end, wires sticking out haphazardly. Her silver eyes flickered with curiosity and unease as I approached.

"What's that?" I asked, gesturing to the device.

Her hands instinctively shielded it, but her curiosity got the better of her. "It's just… nothing special," she murmured. "Just something I'm messing with."

"May I see it?" I crouched slightly, keeping my tone calm, unassuming. "It reminds me of something I once tried to make as a child."

She hesitated, her fingers gripping the device tightly before finally holding it out to me. "It's… not good. I mean, it's kinda sloppy, and it doesn't really work—"

"Stop," I said softly, cutting her off. Her eyes shot up to meet mine, startled.

I turned the device over in my hands, examining its design with deliberate care. 'Crude, unpolished, but the potential is undeniable. A weapon born from necessity, creativity forged in survival—chaotic brilliance.'

"This is good. The idea alone is remarkable—creative, effective. A nail grenade, isn't it?"

Powder blinked, her lips parting slightly. "Y-yeah."

"This isn't the work of someone 'messing around,'" I continued, my voice steady but firm. "It's the work of someone who sees solutions others can't. Powder right? This is impressive."

Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she looked down, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "But it's not finished," she muttered.

I nodded. "True. You're missing a stabilizer for the trigger and something to regulate the nail spread." I handed the device back to her. "But that's just mechanics. The brilliance is in the concept."

'Wait, would it be bad if she fixed it too soon? Some kid might die... Like I care.'

Powder's gaze softened, a flicker of something—hope?—crossing her face.

"I'll bring you the pieces you need," I said, rising to my feet. "Consider it a trade for letting me see your work."

"Why?" she asked suddenly, her voice sharper, more direct than I expected. "Why are you… doing this?"

I paused, meeting her eyes. "Because I see myself in you," I said simply. "And because the world isn't kind to those with vision. Someone should be."

'Why? A question only a child asks openly. You must see me as someone who recognizes what others overlook—your value.'

Her expression faltered, as though she didn't know whether to trust my words or retreat into her shell.

Benzo coughed lightly, breaking the moment. "Find anything else you like, Achilles?"

'Achilles… what a dreadful alias. It makes me feel like a pretentious child.'

"Not entirely," I said without looking away from Powder. "But I'll be back."

Before I turned to leave, I added one last thing, speaking directly to her. "What you build, Powder, isn't just metal or design. It's a bridge between who you are and what you could become. Never forget that."

I didn't wait for her response. As I stepped out of the shop, the tension eased from my shoulders.

'Powder is malleable, eager for approval. Ekko is sharp but unfocused. Benzo… irrelevant. Powder is the key to this. Patience will solidify her loyalty.'

'She already wonders about me. That's enough for now. Let her curiosity work in my favor.'

. . .

Before leaving Zaun, I finally found it.

The altar stood alone amidst the ruin, framed by walls crumbling into dust and rusting pipes that wept Zaun's lifeblood into the stagnant air. Unlike the chaos surrounding it, this place was eerily still, a haven carved out of decay. The fog thinned here, brushed aside by an unnatural breeze, cool against my skin.

'Janna's altar. When I can get hold of her power…'

I stepped closer, studying the carvings etched into the stone. Primitive depictions of a goddess who had no place in this city. Flowers, trinkets, and bits of food lay arranged in careful offerings.

'A god who lingers for worship—pathetic. If you need offerings to endure, you're nothing more than a parasite cloaked in divinity.'

Yet there was something about this place, something different. No overwhelming magical presence or obvious connection to power, but a subtle shift—just enough to stir my curiosity.

'The stories shows it clearly, you appear when there's faith. A god, a spirit—whatever you are, that reeks of pride.'

I ran my hand over the altar's surface, its cool stone smooth beneath my fingertips.

"Let's test your pride, spirit."

Heat surged from my palm, crawling over the stone like a living thing. Flames devoured the carvings, blackening them to ash as the offerings crumbled into embers. Smoke coiled into the air, twisting in patterns too deliberate to be natural. The faint crackle of burning stone filled the silence, echoing like a taunt in the stillness.

I waited, watching the flames consume everything. Listening. Arms crossed. Waiting for something—anything. But the silence mocked me.

'Maybe I was wrong.' I turned on my heel, letting out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

As I stepped away, the breeze returned, brushed against the back of my neck. Not a gust, but a whisper, like fingers trailing through the air.

I froze, half-turning to glance at the altar. Nothing. The flames still burned, and the wind was gone.

I kept walking.

. . .

. . .

. . .