Piltover’s towering structures glitter in the night, a testament to innovation and ambition, but they lack the warmth of home. Your footsteps are soft as you enter the private garden of Mel Medarda’s estate, a place you know she holds dear. The silver lotuses gleam under the moonlight, their delicate petals a stark contrast to the golden opulence surrounding them.

Mel stands with her back to you, draped in flowing golden silk, her silhouette as commanding as ever. She turns sharply at the sound of your approach, her eyes narrowing before recognition softens her expression.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says, her voice carrying the cool authority she wields so effortlessly in Piltover. But her eyes betray her—revealing a flicker of relief, of longing.

“I couldn’t stay away,” you answer softly, stepping closer.

The space between you disappears as the conversation unfolds, peeling back the layers of time. You remind her of whispered plans and stolen moments in Noxus, the nights spent dreaming of freedom from her mother’s control. She speaks of the burdens Piltover has placed on her, the weight of expectation pressing against her regal shoulders. Together, you weave memories and shared truths into something unspoken, something sacred under the moon’s silver glow.

Hesitating, Mel reaches for you, her golden hand brushing against yours. “I thought I’d forgotten how this felt,” she whispers, her voice stripped of its usual defenses.

“You haven’t,” you reply, your fingers lacing gently with hers. “You just needed someone to remind you.”

Her gaze lingers on you, softening as she steps closer. In the moonlit garden, her lips find yours in a kiss that speaks the words neither of you can say, a quiet surrender to the moment.