The Invasion of Void

Three months. A mere ninety days had passed since the Arcane disaster tore through the sky above the City of Progress, bleeding volatile magic into the smog-choked air.

For the citizens of Piltover, the days stretched into an agonizing silence, a stark contrast to the relentless ticking of innovation that had once defined their golden era. The technology of Hextech, the glowing blue miracle that Piltovans had paraded with overwhelming pride and utilized as casually as breathing, had been violently unmasked. It was no longer a benevolent force; it had become a double-edged sword that severed the very foundation of their society.

More accurately, it was a tragedy of unprecedented scale for everyone involved. The pristine gemstone technology had magnified the glaring discrimination against the people of Zaun festering beneath the city’s polished streets. It had drawn the hungry, imperialistic gaze of Noxus, bringing the drums of a foreign army to their fragile doorstep in an attempt to seize this pinnacle of scientific achievement. And ultimately, there was Viktor.

The brilliant, driven scientist had manipulated the Hexcore, unleashing an anomaly that nearly plunged all of Runeterra into absolute chaos. As Jayce Talis had grimly stated, it was an event that rivaled the apocalyptic horrors of the Rune Wars. Yet, the world was hauled back from the brink. Thanks to the desperate, battered courage of individuals like Ekko, Jayce, and Jinx, the storm was quelled, and a fragile peace returned to the citizens of the valley.

Now, a strange new dawn was attempting to break through the residual smoke. For the first time, genuine hands were reaching across the toxic divide. Piltover and Zaun were attempting to build a new empire together, promising a wider, brighter future for the denizens of both worlds. Nothing symbolized this radical shift quite like the imposing figure who now sat in the grand chambers of the Piltover Council: Sevika.

She was a woman who had spent her entire existence breathing the filtered toxins of the deep sumps, a citizen who had dedicated her life, blood, and loyalty to the Undercity. Now, her presence as a sitting Councilor planted a seed of profound optimism. With a Zaunite holding the reins of power alongside the topside elites, the prevailing thought was that the two cities would seamlessly meld back into one. They would overcome the nightmares of their shared past and step into tomorrow as a united front.

At least, that was the idealistic future they desperately wanted to believe.

Reality was far less forgiving. The intellectual soul of Piltover had been effectively hollowed out. The loss of brilliant minds like Jayce, Viktor, and Professor Heimerdinger was an incalculable, gaping wound that no amount of optimism could stitch closed. The public naturally looked to Ekko, the young man who had brought hope during the final battle. He possessed a staggering intellect, a brilliant mind that easily rivaled the greatest inventors Piltover had ever produced. But Ekko was simply not them.

He did not belong solely to Piltover; he belonged to Zaun. He belonged to the Firelights. The pristine, sterile life of topside did not suit him. His true contributions lay down below, where the air was thick and the people were resilient. He knew his duty was to rebuild and improve the broken lives of the Undercity’s residents, rather than attempting to restore the opulent prosperity of the elites above.

Without its guiding lights, Piltover was a city adrift. The military and Enforcer ranks were reduced to a terrifyingly thin skeleton crew. The bravest, most fiercely loyal officers had sacrificed themselves in the meat grinder of the final battle, leaving behind a massive vacuum in law enforcement and national defense. The once-secure, gilded streets now felt vast and deeply vulnerable.

High above, the towering Hexgates—the beating heart of Piltover’s economy—stood silent. Their immense cores had been entirely drained by Viktor during his apocalyptic ascent. The very concept of the Arcane had left a psychological scar so profound in the minds of the people that the gates were closed indefinitely. With the city having grown dangerously dependent on instantaneous global travel since the gates’ invention, the local economy and diplomatic ties immediately crashed into a wall of absolute stagnation.

Down below, the narrative was entirely different. For the people of Zaun, fighting side-by-side against a common, world-ending threat had temporarily bridged the gap with Piltover. It had momentarily healed the trauma of decades of violent oppression and toxic chem-gas crackdowns. But now that the threat had vanished, the vast majority of Zaunites simply went back to their daily, grueling lives. They did not need or want the excessive charity of the arrogant nobility above.

To the average Zaunite, the demands were achingly simple. They just wanted to live. They wanted the basic dignity of being recognized and treated as normal human beings. They possessed absolutely no desire to ride the elevators to the surface, only to be subjected to condescending whispers or to feel entirely alienated among the topsiders.

They were the children of Zaun. They belonged to a scheming underworld, at home in the labyrinthine sewers and the treacherous, deep-crust mines that hid invaluable resources. The Undercity was a completely different ecosystem. If Piltover truly wanted the underworld to view them with genuine sympathy and goodwill, it would require far more time and strenuous effort than a few post-war policies.

Despite the hardship, undeniable rays of hope broke through the smog. The surviving members of the Council had been permanently humbled. The days of looking down upon Zaun with a one-sided, elitist perspective were over; they had become far more open-minded. And with the first Zaunite firmly planted in a Council seat, future legislation was guaranteed to be drafted with true equality in mind.

Following such immense loss, and with the newfound, albeit fragile, peace between the citizens of both cities, the endless cycle of uprisings and continuous civil wars was finally at an end. Such violence would not ignite again unless the Council attempted something incredibly foolish—a scenario that was highly unlikely in the current, cautious political climate.

More importantly, a highly positive and groundbreaking initiative had emerged from the Piltover Council. It was a move designed to heal the deep societal rifts while simultaneously addressing the desperate security crisis plaguing both regions: the active recruitment of Zaunite citizens into the ranks of the Enforcers, just as Vi had once done.

Now, the streets of Piltover had somewhat returned to their former state. The towering skyscrapers were gradually being repaired, and the roads newly paved. People were slowly adapting to a new rhythm of life; though the pain remained, they were learning to adjust. The City of Progress did not allow them to stand still.

One evening, deep within a mine in Zaun, alongside the deafening strikes of pickaxes and the flashes of sparks as metal strike hard rock, loud are the curses of the foreman:

“Hurry up, you lazy bastards! We need to mine enough raw materials to refine hextech for the Chem-Barons. Do you prefer working and getting fed, or slacking off and tasting my whip?”

Despite the ongoing reforms aiming for a stable and positive cooperation between Piltover and Zaun topside, Zaun itself remained a lawless society, a place where whips, guns and absolute submission were inescapable realities.

Thud. The sound of a pickaxe breaking through rubble into an empty void echoes in the cramped tunnel.

“I think I hit something,” a miner called out to the foreman.

“What did you find?”

“Looks like an empty space ahead, maybe a chamber. Could it be a treasure hoard?”

When the word “treasure” is mentioned, it acts as a spark igniting the explosive thoughts in the minds of these men who had lived the lives of slaves. One stolen gold coin, and they can escape this hellhole to start anew. No more beatings. They stopped their digging, murmuring excitedly among themselves.

“Silence! All of you, shut up!” the foreman roars. “You either shut the fuck up, or none of you gets a single penny!”

“You can’t take it from us, that’s our hard work! Our fortune belongs to us. It's us mining it” a slave protest, inciting a boiling wave of near-mutiny within the tunnel.

“Are you all stupid? If you just grab it and run topside, do you think the Chem-Barons will let you escape and live? No. They will have all the treasure with your dead bodies. The only way now is for all of you to dig through to the source. We’ll split the cut and escape together.”

Of course there will be no sharing. However, Being blinded by the prospect of a fortune, they quickly swarm the wall, digging frantically. Before long, an opening is breached. The entrance to their new life, new promising future has been opened. The cheering sound echoes in the mining cave.

But what they have just unleashed was no treasure at all. It's their death and the calamity to the whole world, even worse than the Arcane!