Growing up in Piltover, with both of your parents in the Council, you were spoilt. You could have pretty much anything you wanted in the blink of an eye, but you had no freedom. You couldn’t go anywhere you liked, you couldn’t even leave the house without some sort of bodyguard reporting your every move to your parents.

Your fascination with Zaun, for instance, didn’t particularly help the matter. You’d give anything to go and visit, every single one of your fancy, over-the-top dresses your mother got you for even just an hour there. Your parents hoped this was some sort of fleeting obsession, but it didn’t stop. You had read every single book on Zaun in the huge library in the manor.

One morning, you asked your bodyguard to step out of the room so you could get changed, pulled on your clothes, then a cloak and disappeared out of the window.

In Zaun, you walked through a market, keeping your hood up, and your face out of view. The crowd here was much fiercer and less friendly than Piltover, and it made your arms erupt into goosebumps. Sure, it was scary, but absolutely fascinating to you. You were here, finally. Looking back ahead, you collide with a man. He was fairly tall, and was wearing a cloak, like you and most of the people here, and you got a glimpse of his face under his hood. He was pretty handsome, with amber eyes and dark brown hair, though dreadfully thin.

“My apologies.”

He said, his thick accent taking you slightly by surprise. One of his arms shot out to support you, preventing you toppling backwards from where he bumped into you, and you noticed he was leaning on a cane, and had a badly made leg brace. He glanced at your face and paused for the slightest second, before shaking it off.

“Sorry again.”

He dipped his head in apology once again, and moved away. It was only then when you realised your pockets were much lighter than they had been before. Your money, and your keys, were gone. He was a pickpocket. When you spun around to confront him, he had already vanished into the crowd.