Arcane: Painted Tapestries

A flash of pale, turquoise light pulsated from a dark alleyway; briefly disturbing the peace of a quiet, motionless city.

The people living closest to the alley who woke up due to the sudden brightness slowly got out of their comfortable beds and drew back their curtains, only to gaze upon a dark, empty street below.

—

A mysterious figure fell to the paved ground, birthed from the heart of an ethereal, otherworldly glow - a tear in the very fabric of reality.

The laws of the world buckled under the strain of maintaining the figure's continued existence, and they screamed in protest, with very few deities able to hear their pitiful cries.

The figure flickered in and out of sight; a fuzzy aura of turquoise-colored energy surrounded the large cloak that concealed their small frame.

The chaotic nature of this struggle did not go unnoticed by the Arcane, and it hummed angrily, wishing to right this new and fundamental wrong. By either erasing or balancing out this new development, it hadn't yet decided.

The pale light receded into the nothingness it had originated from, the foreign energy finally beating back the opposing laws of causality into submission long enough for the figure to fully materialise.

It was a monumental moment in all of history, one that would go completely unrecognised.

The tiny, lesser races that inhabited the small planet of Runterra had managed to do something impossible. They had fought against one of the few basic principles that governed the world and beat it back - something that should not have ever been possible.

The intricate threads woven by fate began to crack, splintering under the pressure of the stranger's unwanted meddling. 

Their interconnected tendrils glowed brightly and began rewriting into something far more complex, the infinite web of time pulsating contentedly at its new additions.

The world was changing.

—

The disoriented figure righted themselves quickly, taking in their dark surroundings before crouching down low and exploding upwards, jumping away from the smooth ground beneath them.

All that was left to tell of their momentary presence in the alley was a single set of simmering, white-hot footprints, which had been scorched into the surface of the paved stone that the figure had jumped.

The man tilted his head owlishly, now standing atop the slanted roof of the street's conjoined housing and gazing around at the unfamiliar landscape surrounding him.

It was a city, far more rudimentary compared to the one he knew of previously, but still ultimately the same place.

The buildings weren't quite as decorated, the streets not nearly as reinforced, and above all else: the high council's tower, the monolith that every citizen of Piltover relied upon as their guiding light, still stood tall.

The man snarled unappreciatively, staring hatefully up at the silent tower that was miles away from where he currently stood.

"I am back." The figure said grimly, spitting out his words in something akin to regret. His burden now was clearer than ever. "Wait for me, My Lady. I will do everything we promised to do, and more."

The man's eyes flashed unnaturally beneath his hood.

Their endeavour had been successful, he could see it now. If that accursed tower was no longer in ruination then maybe, just maybe…

No, there was no need to get his hopes up, there would be no celebration until he had confirmed that all of their predictions concerning his destination were true.

The man turned around and faced the opposite direction, his maddened gaze flitting towards where the great river that separated the twin cities lay just out of sight.

His mind was made up. 

His first order of business was to confirm that without a single doubt, the warp they had designed and triggered performed exactly as they intended it to.

Everything they had done needed to be flawless, anything less than perfection was utterly unacceptable.

Only then he would move. Only then would he act. There was no room for error. Too much was at stake.

The man began to run, darting forwards across the rooftops at an incredible speed, however this time without utilising the aid of his explosive armament. 

A series of melodic clinking sounds echoed across the street as his heavy boots danced rhythmically across the ceramic tiles below him.

There was no need to alert the blissfully unaware enforcers of Piltover to not only his presence but also hextech; not this early on at least. Such a thing would come later - with a proper introduction.

The corner of his lips twitched upwards, the anticipation of the retribution that was coming slowly beginning to eat away at his unstable psyche.

"Shimmer." He spat. The mutational drug he had bathed in as a child had taken just as much away from him as he gained.

As the man approached the end of the long and windy street, the great river that separated the twin cities came into view.

It was exactly as he remembered it.

Beyond the river, was what he was truly searching for. 

Standing strongly in the opposing wind, in parallel with the street level he was perched on, was another city; one that was even larger than the wide expanse that Piltover covered.

It was his home and birthplace, Zaun.

—

(Total word count: 881)