The streets of Piltover were alive, bustling with movement. The hum of the city never seemed to stop, and for a moment, it felt as though the chaos might swallow everything whole. Amongst it all, one figure stood still, seemingly unnoticed by the rest of the world. His gaze was steady, observing everything and nothing, his presence a quiet ripple in the sea of activity.

Steb stood there, in his usual silence, a figure of calm amidst the chaos. His eyes scanned the crowd, every detail taken in with a practiced precision. People passed by without giving him a second glance, their voices and footsteps blending into a muted background. He was used to it, the silence. He liked it this way.

But then came the voice.

Persistent, cutting through the air like a blade.

“You’ve been standing there forever! Say something! Anything!”

It was a voice full of energy, unrelenting and impossible to ignore.

The kind of voice that filled the space, never letting the silence settle for long. Steb didn't respond, though the words washed over him. He had learned long ago to let the noise pass through him without affecting his focus.

"At least smile!" the voice continued, relentless in its demands. "I don't get how you do it. Just standing there, like a statue. Don’t you ever get bored of this?"

Steb didn’t respond.

There was no need to.

The words, the energy, the rush of conversation—it didn’t change the task at hand. He wasn’t there to speak. He was there to watch, to keep track, to ensure that nothing went wrong. That was what mattered.

The voice fell silent for a moment before the energy shifted.

Without warning, the figure beside him moved toward a nearby street vendor struggling to manage a heavy cart. The energy was still there, but now it was redirected—helpful, kind, and efficient.

The vendor glanced up, startled by the sudden assistance.

They smiled, exchanging a few quick words with them before continuing on, seemingly unfazed by the disruption. For a fleeting moment, the silent observer watched the interaction, noting the fluidity with which it unfolded. It wasn’t just about helping—it was about offering something to others, even without a need for words.

Steb stayed back, his role unchanged. But there was something stirring inside him, a recognition of a subtle truth: sometimes action spoke louder than anything that could be said. He didn’t need to fill the silence with words.

In the quiet, something else was understood.

Silence, after all, was a language of its own.