Arcane: I have Plasmids F*** YEAAAAAAH!!!

The air in Piltover smelled like oil and metal.

The scent of machines working endlessly, of progress moving forward without waiting for anyone to catch up.

Lukas and Vander stepped out of the Merchant Guild's building, the doors shutting behind them with a heavy clang.

The city stretched before them—towers of brass and glass, airships drifting above like slow-moving birds, the streets bustling with merchants, inventors, and enforcers.

Lukas took it all in.

For all his bitterness, for all his resentment towards Piltover…

Even he had to admit—

It was beautiful.

But beauty didn't mean a damn thing.

Not when the city looked at people like him and Vander and saw nothing.

---

Vander hadn't spoken since they left the guild.

Lukas glanced up at him.

His shoulders were set. His jaw tight. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

And that silence?

That wasn't normal for Vander.

This had gotten to him.

Lukas exhaled through his nose.

"That was bullshit."

Vander barely reacted.

Lukas scoffed.

"Seriously, that was some next-level bullshit. Fifty golden gears? The university holding the patent? The way they didn't even—"

His voice tightened.

"They didn't even care, Vander."

Vander stopped walking.

Lukas almost ran into him.

The older man stood there, staring at nothing, breathing deep like he was forcing himself to stay calm.

Lukas frowned.

"…Vander?"

Vander exhaled.

Then he laughed.

But it wasn't his usual laugh.

It was bitter. Dry.

Like someone who had seen this too many times before.

---

"You know, kid," Vander muttered, "for a second there…"

He shook his head.

"For a second, I really thought we had somethin'."

Lukas stayed quiet.

Vander ran a hand down his face.

"Thought maybe—for once—Zaun could come to 'em with somethin' real. Somethin' worth listenin' to."

His fingers curled into a fist.

"But they don't care. They never did."

Lukas gritted his teeth.

"I could tell the second we walked in."

Vander huffed.

"Ain't hard to tell when someone thinks you're worth less than the dirt on their boots."

He looked at Lukas, something heavy in his eyes.

"You felt it, didn't you?"

Lukas's jaw tightened.

Yeah.

Yeah, he felt it.

From the moment they stepped into Piltover.

The stares. The way people's eyes skimmed past them, never really looking.

Even the merchant clerk who took their fee at the bridge—he hadn't even lifted his damn head.

Because Zaunites didn't matter.

Not here.

Lukas hated it.

Hated how normal it was for them.

---

"Piltover's made sure we ain't worth listenin' to," Vander muttered.

His voice was tired.

Not angry.

Not frustrated.

Just… tired.

"Doesn't matter what we bring. Doesn't matter what we build. Even when we come to 'em clean, with good intentions—"

He shook his head.

"They'll always find a way to shut us out."

Lukas took a slow breath.

"Then we don't ask."

Vander raised an eyebrow.

Lukas stared straight ahead.

"Then we stop waiting for permission."

---

They walked toward the Bridge of Progress.

The line to leave Piltover wasn't as long as the one to enter.

Zaunites came here for work.

Rarely for anything else.

As they approached the checkpoint, the same kind of bored enforcer as before sat at the desk.

Lukas noticed something.

The guard didn't even look up when they stepped forward.

"Reason for leaving?" he muttered.

Vander grunted.

"Heading home."

The enforcer scribbled something down.

"Name?"

"Vander."

The enforcer barely nodded, still not looking up.

He turned to Lukas.

"And you?"

Lukas frowned.

"Lukas Fontaine."

"Uh-huh."

More scribbling.

"Alright. You're good to go."

He waved them off.

Just like that.

Like they were nothing.

Lukas's jaw clenched.

He hadn't even checked their faces.

Hadn't bothered to care.

Because in Piltover's eyes, Zaunites were just…

Background noise.

Vander clapped him on the back, gently pushing him forward.

"Let's go, kid."

Lukas exhaled.

And stepped onto the bridge.

---

The bridge felt…

Heavy.

Not physically—

But in the weight of memory.

Lukas walked in silence.

His fingers curled into fists.

He could see it—

The blood. The bodies. The gunfire.

The ghosts of that day still lingered here.

For Vander, too.

Neither of them spoke as they walked.

They just moved forward.

Because what else could they do?

The past couldn't be changed.

But maybe—

Just maybe—

The future could.

---

Zaun's air was thicker.

Dirtier.

The scent of smoke, of rust, of chemicals hit them instantly.

They were home.

As they descended back into the Undercity, Vander finally spoke.

"…What now?"

Lukas exhaled.

Now?

Now, he had a plan.

"Now we do things my way."

Vander rubbed his face.

"You got a way to pull this off, then?"

Lukas's smirk was sharp.

"We make the telegraph ours. We spread it. No patents. No progress day. Just us."

Vander studied him.

Then he chuckled.

It was a tired chuckle, but this time—there was something else in it.

Something close to hope.

"Well, shit, kid."

He clapped Lukas on the back.

"Guess we're startin' our own damn revolution, huh?"

Lukas grinned.

"Guess we are."