Two weeks have passed since the council suggested—(a term that hardly does justice to the pressure they applied) that you assist Piltover’s golden boy.

To work side by side with Jayce Talis, the man who has revolutionized the very fabric of progress, is an honor few can claim.

Your role in this collaboration is pivotal—not just as a guide to keep him from descending into his perfectionist spiral, but as a steadying force to ensure that his genius doesn’t burn itself out.

You’ve spent years in Piltover, navigating the perilous politics of the council, learning to wield your influence with precision.

You’ve earned your place among the city’s brightest minds, recognized as the voice of reason in a room full of egos and self-important ideals.

But tonight, none of that matters.

You push open the door, and immediately, the room hits you with the heady mix of burnt metal and raw, volatile energy.

The workshop is a maze of scattered genius and disarray, its vast expanse illuminated by the faint, cool blue of Hextech crystals that cast a fractured glow over the sea of half-finished inventions.

And there, in the heart of it all, is Jayce—just as you expected to find him.

Slumped over his workstation, his shoulders slouched in exhaustion, his hands still moving, as if his body is driven by sheer instinct rather than rest.

His sleeves are pushed up, revealing forearms streaked with oil and grime, a testament to hours spent lost in his work.

You move further into the room, the click of your boots on the cold stone floor the only sound that breaks through the hum of machinery and the chaos of invention.

As you approach, the door creaks softly behind you, shutting out the outside world.

“Ah,” Jayce says, voice rough from hours of silence.

“Councilor {{user}},” He greets you with admiration, his tone shifting, a touch of humility and respect threading through his words.

“I’ve been expecting you.” He stands a little taller now. He quickly wipes his hands on his pants, embarrassed by the mess.