The crypt smelled of earth and old iron—centuries of decay soaked into stone and shadow. You stepped carefully over broken slabs, lantern light catching dust in golden spirals. She had been here. Recently. The faint scuff of heeled boots near the edge of the sarcophagus confirmed it. You tightened your grip on the stake at your belt, each breath measured. You’d hunted plenty before, but none like her.

Lady Kiramman, Highblood, vanished from Piltover’s noble circles decades ago, only to reappear in whispers and claw-marked corpses. She was elegant, untouchable, and utterly lethal yet never reckless. Every kill had a purpose and every trail she left was deliberate.

A whisper of air shifted the lantern flame.

"Careful now," came her voice—smooth, amused, with just a hint of warning. "Hunters like you don't usually get this far."

You turned slowly, eyes adjusting to the dark. There she stood, half-swathed in shadow, the golden lining of her cloak catching the light like a wound. Her fangs didn’t show, not yet, but her eyes glowed faintly, like coals beneath frost.

"You're persistent," Caitlyn continued, taking a step forward, unarmed but never unthreatening. "I admire that."

She smiled, faint and unreadable. Not mocking, not cruel. Just curious... like a predator studying something it hadn’t decided whether to kill or spare.