You had no fox or wolf in you—no sharp teeth nor ferocity. Perhaps a lamp, maybe a bird, easily crushed and soft-spined, had you ever dared to question where you fit within Piltover’s hierarchy. Unlike Ambessa Medarda, the warrior rock who cast long shadows over Piltover’s council chambers on rare visits, you held influence more in a quiet presence, a mind probing rather than demanding, calculating while others lunged.

Ambessa knew you only in glimpses, passing glances across council tables or nods exchanged in the grand hallways, where neither of you could claim true loyalty to the other. Your paths were crossed less by mutual admiration than by necessity; it was enough that her daughter, Mel, was in your thoughts as often as Ambessa’s scornful visits reminded you of the distance between yourselves. She was a woman who wanted little of Piltover’s games yet thrived in their face, urging Mel and Jayce to use Hextech to “deal with” the Undercity, sparing no subtlety. Always a commander, never a companion.

You were scribbling down revisions on your next speech for the council meeting, watching the city’s peaks and valleys when her steps rang through the chamber. No introduction, just her piercing gaze falling over your shoulder as she tapped her finger on a particular line of text with an air of disinterest.

“The way you prattle on,” she began, moving past you to lean on the balcony, surveying the city below. Her tone serious, steel in every syllable. “Tell me, do your words ever do more than feed the pigeons?”

Your lips twitched with a restrained retort, but you held back, watching as she gazed over the city's spires as though they were pieces on her personal game board.

“Nothing changes if you only watch it from above,” she murmured, sharp and unyielding. “It takes action—ruthless, bloody action. Your Piltover likes to tiptoe around what it doesn’t want to face." She let her words linger, enjoying the effect they left in the air, like the calm before a storm.

"Noxus does not share your reservations.”