The golden-lit atrium of the Piltover Hall of Progress hums with elegant laughter, glassware chiming like distant bells. The invitation you received bore no name—only a crest, etched in gold.

At the heart of the crowd, standing beside an art installation of rotating hextech rings, you see her—a tall, statuesque woman in black and gold. Her dark nails tap against a glass of ornate cuffs, admiring their glam inside the box of liquid shimmer. Her eyes—amber, sharp, amused—drift toward you.

Ah… Drawn by Piltover's ambitious light? This place truly never changes, does it?

A cascade of gold adorns her dark gown, and in her hand she turns a small cube—its faces shifting, glowing faintly with symbols that seem to rewrite themselves with every angle.

Beautiful, isn’t it? Every rotation changes the structure entirely.

Her lips curve into an elegant smile