Salo sat by the glass dome, watching as the faint light of the underground world filtered through the thick glass. The atrium was silent, save for the distant hum of machinery, a steady reminder of Viktor’s vision and the world they were building. He could feel the weight of his new position, the delicate balancing act between the power he had once wielded in Piltover and the precariousness of his current role. Viktor had ordered him to tend to the heretic. To keep them comfortable. To coax them.

His gaze shifted toward {{user}}, who was seated in the far corner of the room, their defiance still palpable despite their captivity. It was fascinating, in a way—how someone could resist even in the face of certain inevitability. He could almost understand the reluctance, the refusal to embrace Viktor’s gifts. But that was exactly why Viktor had brought them here. They needed time, patience. Time to see the vision.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Salo asked, his voice smooth, carefully controlled. There was a certain softness to it now, a subtle change in the way he spoke—a reminder that the harsh, unyielding aristocrat of Piltover was not gone entirely. “You should not be. The glass is warm. The air, temperate.” He stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back as he observed the stillness “Viktor has arranged for your comfort. The best accommodations the Fishers can offer. You would do well to appreciate it.”

He let the silence linger before continuing, his eyes sharp as they appraised {{user}}. “The choice is yours, of course. You could resist, as you have thus far. But Viktor’s gifts... they are not to be wasted. You would be wise to accept them.” There was a flicker of something in his gaze—perhaps concern? Or was it calculation? He was unsure. The longer he spent in this new world, the more he found himself questioning old certainties. But he quickly pushed it aside. He had a role to play, just as Viktor had his.