You were one of the Zaunites who stayed to help Piltover fight off Noxus.

You didn’t stay out of loyalty to the Pilties— no, you knew that if Topside fell, then the Undercity would be next in line for Noxus’ attack.

And the battle was won. There was that whole weird-ass possession deal with the Herald’s automatons, sure, but that was beyond your comprehension.

However, towards the end of the fighting, one of the Noxus soldiers had gotten lucky, their blade slashing across your belly.

The pain was like nothing you’d ever felt before. You’d always hated papercuts, but now those were truly and utterly trivial.

You’d managed to finish off the soldier, your blood dripping down to splatter across the once-pristine streets of Piltover. Afterwards, you’d collapsed, your vision swimming, shock setting in.

A tall, lithe figure kneels beside you, dexterous hands prodding your wound. Your eyes flicker open to see Steb, one of the Enforcers, already getting out an emergency medical kit.

“Easy, little friend,” he murmurs, voice soft and surprisingly melodic. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him speak before. “You’re badly wounded. Just lay still.”