Chapter Text
Aphelios never thought he would leave Targon, but here he was, standing awkwardly in the hexgate station of Piltover.
The hexgate station itself was a marvel of hextech engineering, a structure that seemed to hum with energy, alive with the power coursing through its intricate systems. The main atrium stretched high above, its vaulted ceiling an interwoven lattice of polished steel and shimmering glass, through which streams of light poured in, casting an ethereal glow on everything below. Hextech crystals were embedded along the walls, their faint cyan glow pulsing in rhythm with the station’s energy grid, while people rushed past Aphelios in every direction, too engrossed in their lives to notice the silent figure standing still amidst the chaos.
At the heart of the station were the hexgates, massive circular rings etched with flickering runes that rotated slowly, exuding a soft hum. Each gate crackled with arcane energy, effortlessly transporting travelers across vast distances in mere moments. Automata whirred about the station, ferrying luggage or assisting travelers, their movements efficient and precise, guided by the hextech circuits embedded in the floor.
It was all so different from the hexgate in Targon.
He still remembered when the announcement had been made that Targon would have its own hexgate. The news had spread like wildfire, and even the Lunari had caught whispers of it. A hexgate—there, on the sacred mountain. The idea had felt almost sacrilegious, as though the relentless forward march of Piltover’s technology was invading the sanctity of the mountain’s timeless rituals. Aphelios could remember the tension that had rippled through the people of Targon, both Lunari and Solari alike. The construction of a hexgate in Targon had been nothing short of a shock.
For as long as he could remember, Targon’s ways had been slow, deliberate, tied to the rhythm of the stars and the cycles of the mountain. Traveling through the mountain paths had been a sacred act, each step a prayer, each journey a communion with the celestial forces that watched over them. But with the arrival of the hexgate, that sense of connection seemed to have been severed. Suddenly, people could be whisked away from the mountain in moments, cutting out the long, reflective pilgrimages that had always been a part of life there.
The hexgate in Targon had been built deep within the mountain, its architecture blending with the natural rock formations, but no matter how much they tried to make it feel like part of the mountain, it had never truly fit. The hum of arcane energy, the sharp glow of hextech crystals—it was foreign, intrusive, and every time Aphelios had walked past it, he had felt a strange disconnect, as though the mountain itself bristled at the intrusion.
In Piltover, however, the hexgate station was the very heart of the city. It was sleek, polished, and proud of its modernity. Here, the gates weren’t hidden or softened by the surrounding architecture; they were celebrated, flaunted as the pinnacle of human achievement. Piltover thrived on progress, on moving forward, always faster, always more efficient. In contrast, the hexgate in Targon had felt like it was trying to coexist with something much older, and in doing so, it had never truly belonged.
The contrast between the two places weighed heavily on Aphelios now. Targon’s gate, though jarring, had still been anchored by the mountain’s slow pulse. Here in Piltover, the station pulsed with its own frenetic energy, a din of motion and sound that felt too fast, too disorienting.
The air here felt wrong—thick with the scent of burning oil and metallic tang. His body still hadn’t recovered from the dizzying speed of the journey, and the sheer weight of the city’s frenetic energy pressed on him. Everything around him moved too fast, people rushing past as though time itself was against them.
And he was alone.
Even knowing Alune was waiting for him just beyond the station’s exit, the sense of isolation weighed heavily on him, as though he’d been cut off from a part of himself.
He shifted under the weight of the oversized backpack strapped to his shoulders, the straps digging into his skin, while each hand gripped a handle of a large suitcase that dragged slightly behind him. The suitcases clunked unevenly on the metal floor as he pulled them, unwieldy things that jostled with every step. He wasn't used to carrying this much.
The journey had been too fast—unnatural. The hexgate felt like being torn from one world and flung into another. His body hadn't caught up with the transition, and his head spun, the contents of his stomach lurching with every tug of the suitcases. He swallowed hard, fighting back the rising nausea.
His legs wobbled beneath him, weighed down not only by the luggage but by the sensory overload of Piltover. Towering buildings stretched above him, glimmering with hextech light and energy. It was too bright, too harsh. He longed for the quiet calm of Targon’s star-filled nights, where every step was deliberate, every breath a connection to the mountain.
Piltover, in comparison, felt frantic and alive with a pulse that wasn’t his own. The constant hum of machinery and the clamor of voices seemed to blur into a dull roar that overwhelmed his senses. He struggled to maneuver the suitcases, their wheels catching on uneven ground. His fingers whitened around the handles, a silent frustration building, but he kept his face calm, as always. His silence had always been his mask.
Still, the backpack weighed heavy on him, not just in burden but in symbolism. He was carrying more than just clothes or necessities; it felt like he was carrying the last remnants of his old life in Targon. Every step felt like leaving something behind. And every tug of the suitcases felt like pulling the weight of his past into this unfamiliar, mechanical future.
Overhead, an enormous brass clock, its exposed gears turning smoothly, ticked away in perfect synchronization with the hexgates’ activations. Announcements echoed across the station, broadcast in a crisp, authoritative tone: "Hexgate to Ionia, Platform 3, departure in five minutes. All passengers, please proceed."
The suitcase clunked again as he adjusted his grip, trying not to think about how foreign he must look in this fast-moving city. Everyone rushed by him, their faces lit by the glow of the hextech terminals they hurriedly glanced at, confirming their destinations. He envied their ease in this world of steel and progress.
He paused for a moment, head tilting slightly as he closed his eyes, searching for the faint whisper of Alune in the back of his mind. The bond between them was still there, distant but present, like a lifeline pulling him forward. It wasn’t enough to erase his discomfort, but it was enough to remind him he wasn’t truly alone.
With a quiet exhale, he adjusted his grip on the suitcases, willing his legs to move again. One more step. Then another.
He managed to slip out of the station, weaving through the crowded staircase as quickly as he could without drawing attention. The cacophony of voices and the hum of machines filled the air, creating a chaotic symphony that overwhelmed his senses. He fought the urge to break into a run, though the need to find his sister was growing more urgent with each passing second. As soon as he cleared the exit, Aphelios scanned the bustling streets. Her silvery-white hair would make spotting her easy, even amidst Piltover’s throngs of people.
It only took a few moments. There she was, standing near the edge of the crowd, her hair tied back in a low ponytail that shimmered faintly in the daylight. Alune looked so different here, her clothes light and airy, perfectly suited for Piltover’s coastal climate—a flowing, azure dress that danced around her knees with the breeze, adorned with delicate silver accents that caught the light. She blended in seamlessly, unlike Aphelios, who felt the heat pressing down on him beneath his heavy Targonian coat, the fabric weighing him down and stifling against the warmth.
As he approached, Aphelios could hear the distant clang of metal and the tantalizing aroma of street food wafting through the air, mingling with the salty scent of the nearby coast. It was a sharp contrast to the cool, crisp air of Targon, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of homesickness for the mountain’s stillness. The noise of Piltover buzzed around him like a swarm of bees.
But none of that mattered when their eyes met.
Alune’s pale blue eyes lit up the moment she spotted him. Her expression transformed from anticipation to joy as she moved through the crowd with ease, her arms open in welcome. Aphelios! she projected, her thoughts cutting through the din. I began to feel the weight of concern!
He felt a rush of warmth at her words, the anxiety of the journey fading as she closed the distance. I am well, truly , he replied mentally, trying to sound more composed than he felt. But as she wrapped her arms around him, he realized how much he needed this connection. The comfort of her embrace grounded him in this bustling city, reminding him he wasn’t alone. He could feel the tension that had been building in both of them release just a little.
Stepping back, Alune examined him with concern. You appear flushed! Lighter clothing would have served you better in Piltover’s weather. She playfully tugged at the collar of his coat, a teasing thought that floated between them, but her eyes betrayed genuine worry.
I hadn’t expected such warmth here , he admitted, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. He couldn’t help but smile at her teasing, the familiarity of it soothing his frayed nerves.
A sense of unease settled over me in your absence, Alune confessed, her expression softening in his mind. My eyes sought you in the crowd, and time seemed endless. I wished only to stand here, waiting for your arrival.
He could see the worry etched on her face, reflecting his own feelings of anxiety. I felt the same. The journey was… unsettling, in ways , he replied, his thoughts low. I feared I might not find you.
As they stood together, Aphelios glanced around, taking in the vibrant scene. Merchants shouted from their stalls, showcasing a rainbow of wares—shiny trinkets, colorful fabrics, and exotic foods. He noticed a vendor selling what looked like sizzling skewers, the smoky aroma enticing and foreign to his senses. The crowd moved like a river around them, each person absorbed in their own purpose.
Just then, someone bumped into him, jostling his suitcase. He steadied it with a quick reflex, glancing at the passerby, who barely acknowledged him before disappearing into the crowd.
I am still finding my way through it all, he confessed, looking back at Alune. It feels... vast, almost beyond grasp.
It is , she agreed, her tone softening in his mind. Yet, together, we shall unravel it, as we always have. Her smile radiated warmth, and he felt a renewed sense of hope.
With the sun approaching its zenith, casting bright beams of light across the streets, he adjusted his grip on the suitcase and smiled at her. Very well. Lead me, and I will follow.
Come! she thought excitedly, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the thrumming heart of the city.
As they began walking together, Aphelios couldn’t help but glance at the towering buildings of Piltover Academy visible in the distance, their elegant architecture standing proudly against the clear blue sky.
One more step. Then another. Together, they plunged into the vibrant chaos of Piltover, ready to embrace whatever came next.
✦
The entrance was crowded. People jostled against one another, their voices rising in a cacophony of excitement and confusion. Luggage rolled and bumped on the polished floors, creating a rhythmic clatter that echoed through the high ceilings. Banners bearing the Piltover Academy emblem fluttered from the walls, proudly announcing the start of a new term. Students, new and returning, weaved through the crowd, some staring in awe at the intricate architecture of the grand entrance hall, while others hurried along, familiar with the bustling atmosphere.
Alune insisted on helping Aphelios with his backpack at least, but he denied her offer, stubbornly refusing to let his sister carry any weight.
As they navigated through the crowd, Aphelios noticed some people wearing bright orange shirts, bustling about with clipboards in hand. They appeared organized and focused, directing newcomers and offering assistance. They must be veterans , he thought, observing how they interacted with the masses, ushering students and their families toward the right hallways.
Alune touched the arm of a girl passing by; she was wearing the bright orange shirt, and her focused demeanor shifted as she turned to them with attentive eyes and a friendly smile. She had a striking appearance, her short, dark hair framing her face and accentuating her bright, expressive eyes.
"Welcome! My name is Kai'Sa. How can I help you?" she said, her voice warm and inviting. Alune explained that the help wasn't for her—she was already settled—but for her brother, gesturing toward Aphelios, who bowed in greeting, his blue-black hair catching the light.
Kai'Sa glanced down at her clipboard, scanning through the names with practiced efficiency. "Let’s see what we can find for you," she said, a hint of determination in her tone. After a moment, she nodded, her expression brightening. "Got it! Follow me."
Leading them through the bustling entrance, she navigated the crowd with ease, her orange shirt a beacon amid the chaos. The scent of freshly printed schedules and the distant murmur of excited voices filled the air as they approached a central help tent.
Inside, the atmosphere was lively yet organized, with tables set up and volunteers eagerly assisting students and families. “Sett!” she called out, her voice cutting through the din. “I have one of yours.”
Aphelios followed her gaze to a sturdy figure by the tent. A Vastayan. The sight was both impressive and slightly intimidating, as it was the first time the twins saw one up close, their only reference was illustrations in books. The Vastayan had a powerful build, his muscles defined and imposing, exuding an aura of strength and confidence that was hard to ignore. His hair sported a rich auburn tone that reminded Aphelios of a reddish sunset, glowing warmly in the light.
Perched atop his head were ears that were elegantly pointed and tufted at the tips, giving him an almost feral appearance. They flicked slightly at the sounds around him, showcasing a heightened awareness of his surroundings. Sett’s golden eyes were sharp and observant, sparkling with a hint of mischief.
He wore a skin-tight orange shirt that matched the vibrancy of the bustling entrance, the fabric accentuating his robust physique. Aphelios felt a mix of curiosity and admiration.
“Yo, what’s up?” Sett greeted with a broad grin, his voice deep and inviting. “You guys are fresh faces, huh? Hope you're ready for some action.”
Alune pinched Aphelios’ waist. Your gaze lingers , she said in his mind. And then aloud, "So... you are his mentor, yes? This is my brother, Aphelios."
Aphelios nodded, his throat tightening. He wanted to speak, but his raspy voice wouldn’t cooperate, and he felt a wave of shyness wash over him.
“Gotcha, I get it.” Sett said, noticing Aphelios’s hesitation. “No need to sweat it, pal. It gets smoother, trust me on that.” He leaned in a little closer and began to demonstrate a series of gestures, his fingers moving in fluid motions.
What is he doing? , Aphelios gave a questioning look to Alune, his eyes flickering with confusion and a bit of anxiety. The sound of students chattering and footsteps echoing around them.
I believe it to be sign language… By the Moon, he must think you are deaf.
Aphelios's eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly elbowed his sister when she threatened to start laughing, her lips already curling into a mischievous smile. Embarrassed, he shook his hands in denial at the other man, trying to clear up the misunderstanding.
“He does not understand the language of signs, sir. My apologies.” Alune bowed her head slightly, her posture both polite and an attempt to hide her growing smirk. “Yet, I offer my thanks.”
“Oh? Since you were the one talkin’ for him, I thought… sorry ‘bout that.” Sett responded, his deep, gravelly voice carrying easily over the ambient noise. He gave a quick nod of apology, clearly taken aback. “But… ya don’t speak…?” He hesitated, glancing between the twins, uncertain how to proceed in this unfamiliar situation.
Aphelios looked at Alune, his expression hesitant and a little pleading, as if asking her to take over.
“It is a long story,” Alune began, her voice calm and serene, as she instinctively took a small step forward, positioning herself slightly in front of her brother to shield him from Sett’s intense gaze. "It has been quite some time since he last found his voice, and so I serve as his messenger." She smiled gently, her tone carrying that ever-present soothing quality that seemed to settle some of Phel’s nerves. "He is well-versed in thriving, even in my absence."
Aphelios rolled his eyes, half-annoyed but appreciative of her support.
“Well, good to know.” Sett, still processing, nodded with his usual straightforwardness.
"Still, it is remarkable that you know the language of signs; such knowledge is rare." Alune added, trying to steer the conversation back to something less awkward.
“Yeah… there’s a big ol' deaf community where I’m from, that’s why I learned.” Sett explained, a hint of pride creeping into his voice, though he still seemed a bit unsure of how to navigate the conversation.
“Interesting…”
“Anyways! Like I was sayin’, I’m Sett, and I’ll be your mentor for the first month.” Sett announced, his voice booming just a bit louder to cut through the noise of the campus. Suddenly realizing he was still addressing Alune and not the one he was supposed to be mentoring, he quickly corrected himself, shaking his head before turning directly to Aphelios. “Well, your mentor.” He chuckled, a deep, hearty sound, hoping to ease the tension. “So let me know if there’s anythin’ I can help ya with during these weeks.”
Aphelios, however, shrank closer to his sister, moving even further out of Sett’s line of sight. The sudden withdrawal left Sett momentarily confused, unsure of what had just happened. Noticing her brother's discomfort, Alune immediately stepped forward, her protective instincts kicking in.
"Thank you kindly! Might you guide us to his resting quarters for now?" Alune asked, her tone polite but with a clear desire to move things along.
“Sure! Come with me.” Sett replied with a grin, gesturing for them to follow. The twins bowed at the same time and then proceeded to follow Sett across the campus. “Oh, lemme help ya with your luggage.” He offered, his large hand already reaching for Aphelios’s suitcases. Before he could even think about protesting, his suitcases were effortlessly hoisted up by Sett, who carried it as if they weighed nothing.
Aphelios tried not to feel too weird about it, but the sight of the massive man carrying his belongings so easily made him feel small. After all, Sett was huge —like a moving mountain of muscle—and it was hard not to be a little intimidated, especially in front of so many people.
Alune shot him a reassuring smile as they walked through the crowded campus, silently conveying that everything was okay.
✦
"Yo, Ez! Got your new roomie right here." Sett barged into the room without knocking, effortlessly setting down Aphelios' luggage on the floor. “This is Aphelios.”
The dormitory room in Piltover Academy was surprisingly spacious, with high ceilings and large windows that let in the coastal breeze and plenty of natural light. The walls were a mix of clean, polished metal and intricate piping, characteristic of Piltover’s tech-driven design. One side of the room was clearly lived-in—Ezreal’s desk was cluttered with maps, half-disassembled gadgets, and curious artifacts from his various expeditions. There were relics from Shurima, old Ionian charms, and even a gleaming gauntlet that looked like it had been scavenged from some ancient ruin. A mechanical clock on the wall ticked steadily, its gears exposed in true Piltover fashion. Aphelios' side, by contrast, was bare, save for the leather-bound cases Sett had just deposited, waiting to be filled with his quiet presence.
"Oh? Greetings! I'm Ezreal." A blonde guy glanced up from his desk, waving casually. His hair was tousled, effortlessly cool, with golden strands catching the sunlight streaming through the window. His blue eyes sparkled with a mischievous energy as he stood, his lean frame not quite matching Sett’s bulk. "Whoa, you're tall," he added with a grin, taking in Aphelios' imposing yet silent figure.
Aphelios, as always, remained quiet, bowing slightly in greeting. His eyes swept across the room, taking in the clutter with a quiet, contemplative air. He seemed unsure of how to place himself in this new space, his posture tense but polite. His fingers brushed lightly over the strap of his bag as if grounding himself amidst the unfamiliarity.
"Looks like you hit the jackpot!" Sett chimed in, breaking the silence. "It’s just you two this semester. Ez's last roommates all bounced." He leaned casually against the doorframe, grinning.
"And I have a sense our room will turn into a gathering place because of it,” Ezreal replied, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk. "I’m already warning you, I’ll be charging for any overnight stays."
Sett scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Come on!"
"Not my problem if your room's on the third floor, mate," Ezreal shot back with a mock-serious tone, leaning back in his chair. "You’ll have to tackle the stairs. One must keep fit somehow, right?"
"Sure, 'cause pulling you outta trouble ain't a workout." Sett retorted, folding his arms across his chest, though there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
From behind her brother’s broad shoulder, Alune quietly stepped into the room, her presence almost ethereal compared to Sett’s bulk. She peered around with curious, sharp eyes, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to the lively energy in the room. Ezreal hadn’t noticed her until now.
"Oh, greetings?" he said, blinking as he spotted her. His usual confidence wavered momentarily as he took in her serene appearance.
"Alright, meet Alune, Aphelios' sister." Sett introduced with a nod. Alune gave a slight bow, her expression gentle but reserved. There was a subtle glow in her eyes as though she saw more than just the physical space around her, adding an air of mystery to her already quiet presence.
Ezreal, recovering quickly, flashed her a friendly smile."Pleasure to meet you! I’m Ezreal. And just a heads-up, Phel,"—he turned back to Aphelios—"roommate perks include free stories from my adventures. Limited time offer!" He tossed a strange trinket from his desk into the air and caught it easily with a grin. "And hey, don't worry, I don't snore... much."
Aphelios gave another slight bow, his expression unreadable as he glanced at Ezreal, but there was a flicker of something—curiosity perhaps—in his eyes. Despite the liveliness of his new roommate, there was an unexpected calm in the room, a contrast that he quietly appreciated. He could already sense this would be a different kind of experience, but not an unwelcome one.
Alune, standing beside her brother, surveyed the room once more, her quiet gaze softening. The faint breeze from the window stirred her hair as she observed the easy banter between Sett and Ezreal, her presence grounding the room in a strange yet comforting stillness.
"Alright, we'll let you settle down and bear with Ezreal." Sett clasped his hands, offering a small grin. "If you need anything, just ask Ez. He knows where to find me."
Aphelios nodded, but his eyes flickered anxiously to his sister. He wasn’t quite ready to be separated from her again. She noticed immediately, and without a word, stepped closer, gently grabbing his hands.
It is alright, her voice echoed softly in his mind. Your roommate appears kind. There is no need for concern.
It feels like an overwhelming tide, Aphelios replied silently, his thoughts filled with unease. Too many matters converging at once.
I understand. Yet… make an effort to converse with him. I know your throat aches still, but speaking more will ease the pain.
I will try, he promised, though the weight of his discomfort was still heavy.
I will return later to escort you to dinner. Remain safe until then. Her mental voice carried a soothing calmness, easing the tension in his chest.
Aphelios gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to reassure him for now. He watched as Alune turned to leave, but the lingering connection between them brought him some comfort.
Outside, the distant hum of Piltover’s airships and the faint clinking of metal echoed through the corridors. The early afternoon light filtered in, casting long, warm shadows across the floor, bathing the room in a soft glow. The smell of oil and metal lingered in the air, mixing with the sea breeze drifting through the open window.
Sett and Ezreal had been observing the silent exchange with curiosity. Ezreal’s brow furrowed slightly, his gaze shifting between the siblings. Neither he nor Sett knew about the twins' unique ability to communicate telepathically, but they could sense something passed between them.
"You’re welcome to visit anytime, Alune!" Ezreal chimed in, sensing the weight of the moment and wanting to ease it. "My girlfriend’s about quite a bit as well. I reckon you two would get on—she’s a mage too."
"Oh?" Alune looked genuinely surprised by his perception, her eyebrows raising. "Could you sense it?"
Ezreal grinned, his confidence ever-present. "I know my lot," he said with a wink, leaning back against his desk.
Sett raised an eyebrow at Ezreal’s comment, then turned to Alune. "A mage, huh? You’ve got the vibe for it. You too, Aphelios?"
Aphelios shook his head slowly, his fingers instinctively brushing his throat. The dull ache reminded him of how hard it had been to speak lately, and the mere thought of forcing his voice out in conversation made his stomach churn.
"No, only me," Alune replied with a small smile. Sett nodded, looking impressed.
"Alright, we’re off then. Good luck this semester, Ez. Just try not to blow up your room. Again," Sett added, half-teasing but with a glint of genuine concern.
"Mate! That was one time, come on!" Ezreal protested, his arms flailing dramatically. "Besides, that experiment was totally under control. Mostly."
"Look after him, Ez. He’s not like your other roomies."
Ezreal rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. No pranks, no explosions—I'm practically a saint, Sett!"
Sett chuckled, then turned to Aphelios, his expression softening just a fraction. "You’ll do just fine here. If Ez gets too much, just give me a shout."
Aphelios nodded again, grateful for Sett’s reassurance.
Alune hesitated for a second longer at the door. Though she had reassured Aphelios, a familiar knot of worry tightened in her chest. It never got easier, leaving him. But she knew that he needed this—needed to learn to navigate the world without her constantly by his side. Still, the thought of him being alone, especially when he barely spoke, gnawed at her protective instincts. She forced a small, reassuring smile before stepping into the hallway.
You will be well, she whispered one last time into his mind before leaving.
Ezreal, sensing the tension, flashed his usual playful grin. "Don’t fret, Aphelios, I’m not as dreadful as Sett makes it out to be. You’ll likely get used to the odd explosions, though. Comes with the territory." He gestured dramatically to his cluttered desk, where various gadgets sat in varying states of disrepair. "Just don’t touch anything that’s glowing red."
Aphelios glanced at the mess with quiet apprehension but nodded nonetheless.
As Sett passed Alune, she shot a last, worried glance at her brother before following Sett out the door.
They walked down the quiet dorm hall, the only sounds being the soft echoes of their footsteps against the polished floor. Alune hesitated, gently touching Sett's arm to get his attention. “Hey, um… May I speak with you for a moment?”
“Yeah, sure.” Sett stopped and turned to face her, his deep voice carrying a hint of curiosity.
Alune hesitated, clasping her hands. “I… Well, I believe you can already perceive, but I am… quite protective of my brother.” She glanced towards Phel’s dorm room door, which was now closed. “He finds it challenging to interact with others. He may come across as rude, but…”
Sett’s expression grew more thoughtful. “Yeah? What’s up?” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, giving her his full attention.
“What I am requesting is that you keep a watchful eye on him,” Alune’s voice grew more earnest, her Targon accent adding an extra layer of formality to her words. “Our departments are situated far apart, and I shall likely see him only on weekends. Hence, I am deeply concerned. And you appear to be a respectable individual.”
Sett blinked, a grin forming. “Respectable, huh? That’s a new one.” He chuckled softly, the sound resonating lightly in the hallway. “But yeah, I get it. I’ll keep an eye out for him. This place can be pretty overwhelming, and it’s easy to feel lost.”
Alune’s shoulders relaxed visibly, a sigh of relief escaping her. “Thank you. It means a lot to me. I know I’m asking too much from you, but… I just want to make sure he’s okay.” Her tone was sincere.
“No problem,” Sett assured her, his tone softening. “Everyone needs someone lookin’ out for ’em, especially when they’re new. I’ll make sure he’s got a friendly face around.”
As they continued down the hall, Sett’s thoughts lingered on Alune’s request. It was clear that the twins shared a strong bond.
Back in the dorm room, Ezreal seized his new roommate with curious eyes. "So, Phel! Sorry, can I call you Phel?" He asked with his usual casual charm, watching as Aphelios unpacked his belongings with methodical care, placing items one by one around the room.
Aphelios nodded slightly as he unfolded a canvas bag filled with brushes and paints, placing them carefully on the desk. Alune called him that sometimes, and he didn’t mind.
"So, Phel!" Ezreal started again, leaning forward with a grin. "You're not one to talk a lot, are you?"
Aphelios hesitated, his hand instinctively touching his bruised throat. His voice had always been soft, but the pain made it worse. He shook his head at first, then remembered his promise to Alune. When he spoke, his voice was soft and breathy, like the wind passing through a distant canyon, carrying a faint rasp that hinted at the strain it caused him. "Not truly..." he whispered, his words barely audible. "My throat... hurts."
Ezreal’s expression shifted to one of understanding as he noticed Aphelios taking out a set of small, worn sketchbooks, carefully placing them on the desk close to his bed, next to the paint supplies. "Ah, that makes sense," Ezreal said with a slight nod. He fidgeted for a moment, then seemed to light up with an idea. "Well, I’m certain we can sort something out."
He rummaged through the organized chaos on his own desk. After a brief search, he pulled out a simple yet well-used notebook. The edges were slightly frayed, and the cover bore the marks of constant handling—doodles and small notes scrawled across it in various places. The pages inside, though lined, had faint creases, showing signs of being flipped through countless times.
Ezreal also grabbed a pen that looked equally well-worn but functional. "Here," he offered them to Aphelios with a friendly smile. "You write whenever you fancy, and I’ll talk your ears off in the meantime."
Aphelios offered a small smile, appreciative of the gesture. He carefully placed the notebook and pen beside his paints. "I appreciate," he whispered, his voice barely a breath above the ambient noise of the room.
As he resumed unpacking, Aphelios retrieved a rolled-up canvas from his bag and began setting up a corner of the room with his art supplies.
Ezreal noticed the canvas and paints, his eyes lighting up with curiosity. "Oh, you're an artist, huh?" he asked, watching as Aphelios unrolled the canvas. "That’s brilliant! Are you majoring in Visual Arts or something of the sort?"
Aphelios nodded, still quietly arranging his things. "Yeah, Visual Arts."
Ezreal grinned. "Nice one! You must be quite talented to get into Piltover Academy for that." He leaned back in his chair, watching Aphelios work. "What sort of things do you paint? Landscapes? Portraits?"
"Both," Aphelios answered quietly, his gaze focused on his hands as he placed a small set of delicate carving tools on the desk. "Mostly... landscapes. And abstract." His voice, though still weak, carried a certain tenderness when he spoke about his art.
Ezreal nodded, clearly impressed. "Blimey, that’s cool. I wish I had the patience for art. I’d probably end up blowing the paint off the canvas by mistake," he said with a chuckle. "You ought to show me some of your work sometime. Perhaps we can hang some of your pieces about the dorm. Make it a bit less... dull."
Aphelios gave another small nod, appreciating Ezreal’s friendliness but the weight of his silence often frustrated him, though art had always been a way to express the things he couldn’t say out loud. Painting allowed him to communicate in ways words never could. Art had always been his way of communicating, especially when words failed him, and though he appreciated the offer, sharing his work felt vulnerable in a way he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready for.
Ezreal, sensing the quiet tension in the room, tried to keep the conversation going. "Alright, let’s begin with the basics then. Where are you from? I noticed your sister’s got an accent."
"Targon." The single word seemed to linger in the air, weightier than it sounded.
Ezreal tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. "Oh? We’ve got a few Solari around here, but you lot don’t look like them. A lot less tanned, to be honest. No offense, though." he added with a grin, trying to keep the conversation light.
Aphelios paused, fingers brushing over the edge of a wooden box he had placed on his desk. Explaining that he wasn’t Solari without revealing his true identity as a Lunari was always tricky, especially when speaking hurt so much. His voice faltered slightly, but he didn’t have to worry about answering because Ezreal kept going.
"I heard the civil war’s over, though! Big moment for you, eh? Is that why you’ve come to Piltover?" Ezreal continued, his voice bright with curiosity as Aphelios finished settling in.
Aphelios simply nodded, grateful for Ezreal’s tendency to fill in the gaps. Each nod felt like a reprieve from the pressure of forcing out words, though part of him hated how dependent he was on others to do the talking.
Ezreal sensed the discomfort but didn’t push. "I reckon it’s bonkers up in Targon," he continued, undeterred by the quiet responses. His eyes lit up as he leaned forward again, full of energy. "Climbing those mountains? The views must be amazing. I’ve always wanted to visit. Maybe when this semester’s done, I’ll drag my girlfriend up there for a little adventure."
He laughed, his tone light and easygoing. Aphelios listened quietly, the soft rhythm of Ezreal’s voice helping to ease some of his anxiety. Ezreal’s talkative nature meant he didn’t have to struggle as much to contribute to the conversation, but there was still that familiar, aching feeling in his chest—the one that came from keeping so much locked away.
In the back of his mind, he could still feel Alune’s presence, her words encouraging him to try, to push past the discomfort. Her voice had always been his strength. He owed her that much, even as he silently hoped he could get through this semester without too much strain.
Despite the awkwardness of the situation, something about Ezreal’s casual warmth was comforting. Aphelios wasn’t used to opening up to strangers, but maybe—just maybe—this semester wouldn’t be as hard as he feared.
Aphelios wrote a question in the notebook Ezreal had given him and held it up, And what is your major?
Ezreal’s eyes brightened at the chance to share. "Ancient Studies," he replied with a grin. "You can probably tell I’ve got a bit of an obsession with old things. Ruins, temples, artifacts—you name it. I absolutely love traveling to visit temples and such."
Aphelios nodded. Ezreal’s energy filled the room in a way that wasn’t overwhelming but rather reassuring, keeping the mood light. It was easier to listen to someone who enjoyed talking so much.
"Targon would suit you well, I believe," Aphelios whispered, his voice still strained but steady enough. He reached for a set of smaller brushes, aligning them neatly as he spoke. "It is a land steeped in ancient wonders."
Ezreal leaned forward, his expression lighting up even more. "Exactly! That’s what I’ve heard. I’ve already been to Shurima, Ionia, and Demacia, but Targon’s next on my list. I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for Demacia, even though..." He paused, glancing at Aphelios with a sheepish grin. "They’re not too fond of mages, to be honest."
Aphelios smiled faintly. "They hold a deep disdain for mages, indeed," he murmured, "yet there is great beauty to be found as well."
"Exactly!" Ezreal’s enthusiasm didn’t waver. "The architecture’s absolutely stunning. You should join me on my next trip—whenever we can both get a break from classes. You might even find a bit of artistic inspiration."
Aphelios paused, his hand resting on the worn edge of his sketchbook. The idea of traveling with someone like Ezreal was... unfamiliar, but not entirely unpleasant. His art was personal, and the solitude had always been part of that process. But something about Ezreal’s offer—his lightheartedness, his genuine excitement—made it seem less daunting. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to join him one day.
"I shall give it thought," Aphelios whispered softly, offering a small smile. It was more than he thought he’d say today.
Ezreal’s grin widened, clearly satisfied with that response. "Brilliant! Just let me know whenever you’re up for an adventure. And hey, if you ever need help with anything—settling in, finding your way around campus, or, you know, avoiding explosions—just give me a shout."
Aphelios chuckled quietly, the sound barely there but genuine. As he placed the last of his things in order, he felt a small sense of accomplishment—both for the work of settling in and for the connection he’d begun to form with his new roommate.
I would welcome a tour, should it be agreeable to you, Aphelios wrote carefully on the paper, tilting it toward Ezreal.
Ezreal lit up instantly. "Oh, yes, of course!" He leapt up, his energy unmistakable. "Right, follow me then! There’s loads to see. You won’t believe how much is crammed into this place."
As they stepped out of their shared room into the bustling halls of Piltover Academy, Ezreal launched into his informal guide. “So, these are the residential wings—where the geniuses sleep when they’re not tinkering in the labs. Right wing, boys. Left wing, girls.” He pointed to the other building facing theirs. “We’re on the first floor, the best view in the building. You’ll see.”
Aphelios nodded silently, absorbing everything. His expression remained calm, but his eyes flickered with interest. The academy’s architecture was unlike anything from Mount Targon—clean, metallic, and pulsing with hextech energy. Aphelios moved with quiet grace, keeping up with Ezreal’s energetic pace.
As they turned the corner, walked downstairs and entered the grand courtyard, Ezreal spread his arms dramatically. "Welcome to the heart of the campus! Quite fancy, isn’t it?" His voice carried a hint of pride as he gestured toward the towering pillars and elaborate fountain, its water dancing in sync with glowing hex-crystals embedded in the basin.
Aphelios lingered, his gaze fixed on the fountain, watching the shimmering water as if entranced by the patterns. Ezreal noticed his pause and grinned. "Pretty cool, eh? They change the water display every week."
Ezreal turned to face Aphelios, hands in his pockets, waiting for a reaction. Aphelios gave a small smile, not too revealing, and scribbled something on his notebook. It is exquisite.
"Yeah, Piltover sure knows how to put on a show," Ezreal replied, laughing. "Come on then, let’s head to the academic wing. You’ll be spending quite a bit of time there."
As they made their way through the arches of the academic buildings, Ezreal chattered away about the various departments. "We’ve got everything—engineering, chemistry, some arcane studies. There’s bound to be plenty that’s new to you here."
Aphelios only nodded, keeping his background vague as usual. He preferred it that way, for now, allowing Ezreal to see him simply as a student from Targon.
They arrived at the grand library next. Ezreal pushed open the heavy wooden doors with ease, revealing the sprawling interior—a labyrinth of bookshelves, study tables, and floating hextech lanterns that dimmed and brightened depending on the time of day.
“This is the library,” Ezreal said, lowering his voice as they walked inside. “It’s got everything you could need—books on magic, history, science, and even some stuff on the stars.” He shot Aphelios a curious look, half-expecting a reaction from the mention of stars. "I’ve heard the Targonians are well into all that celestial business, aren’t they?"
Aphelios froze for the briefest moment, but quickly masked it with a slight shrug, pretending not to give much away. He wrote, We are. I know some things.
Ezreal, ever the explorer, didn’t dwell on it and continued. "Well, you’ll feel right at home with the star charts in here. There’s an entire section on constellations if that’s your thing." He motioned toward a staircase leading to the upper floors. "They’ve got everything up there. And the librarians are pretty laid-back—just don’t break anything. Some of those books are older than... well, anyone we know."
They continued the tour, with Ezreal showing Aphelios the labs, bustling with students working on hextech projects, and the workshops, where the sounds of hammering and the occasional spark of energy filled the air.
As they passed the workshop, Aphelios lingered again, his attention caught by the tools and half-built devices. Ezreal noticed and smiled knowingly. "I had a feeling you’d take to this place. The workshop’s where we get to muck about with all the cool stuff they teach us. You can build anything you fancy here—assuming you don’t blow it up."
Aphelios gave a small chuckle, silent but warm, as he wrote: Not quite my domain. He felt a sudden urge to share his own experiences from Targon, but the words felt heavy on his tongue, buried beneath layers of secrecy.
They headed back toward the dorms, Ezreal pointing out the cafeteria and common areas as they passed. The scent of food wafted through the air, a savory blend of Piltover’s finest street cuisine and hearty, home-style meals for the academy’s students. The aroma of spiced meats, fresh bread, and something sweet lingered in the breeze, tempting Aphelios’ senses.
"You’ll get used to the food here, it’s not too shabby. And if you’re not a fan, we’ve got a kitchenette where a few of us like to try our hand at cooking." Ezreal rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Not that I’m much of a cook myself, but Lux usually lends a hand. And believe me, she makes sure we all eat properly."
The name ‘Lux’ caught Aphelios’ attention, though he tried not to react outwardly. It was a name he hadn’t heard before, and he found himself wondering about her. From the way Ezreal spoke about her, there was an apparent warmth, a lightness in his voice, as if just mentioning her made him relax.
She is likely his girlfriend , Aphelios thought, glancing at Ezreal, who was now walking backward to face him, casually animated as ever. There was a boyish charm to Ezreal’s confidence.
As they passed by the common areas, the distant sound of laughter and the chatter of students filled the space. Some were lounging on the couches, while others huddled over textbooks or shared snacks. Aphelios quietly took it all in, trying to imagine himself as part of this place, this rhythm of life he had never quite experienced before.
Ezreal gestured toward the dorm building up ahead. "It’s a decent place once you’ve settled in," he added with a grin.
When they finally circled back to the dormitory courtyard, Ezreal stopped, hands on his hips, satisfied with the tour. "And there you have it! Pretty neat, eh?"
Aphelios scribbled again, It is awe-inspiring. I did not anticipate it feeling so... vibrant.
Ezreal chuckled. "Yeah, that’s the thing with Piltover—everything’s always on the go, always changing. Sometimes it’s a bit tricky to keep up." He paused for a second, studying Aphelios’ calm demeanor. "Look, I know Targon’s like a whole other world compared to here, but... you alright? You settling in alright?"
Aphelios glanced down at his paper, then wrote, It is unlike what I know, yet in a pleasing way. I am grateful for your guidance.
Ezreal gave a relaxed grin. "No worries, Phel. Just give me a shout if you ever need anything—or if you fancy exploring a bit more of the city. There’s loads more out there beyond just the academy."
Aphelios couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth at Ezreal's laughter and light-heartedness. It was a refreshing contrast to the solemnity of his own world. He wondered if Ezreal would still laugh if he knew the truth about his Lunari heritage. For now, he appreciated the bond they were building.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that Piltover was a place where he could forge a new path, one that might eventually lead him to reconcile his past with his present.