The morning sun of Progress Day spilled over the spires of Piltover like liquid gold, but inside the Kiramman estate, the atmosphere was one of meticulous preparation. Kyle stood before the full-length mahogany mirror, adjusting the lapels of his coat. He hadn't just opted for a simple change of clothes; he had performed a full makeover. He swapped the formal, restrictive attire of a high-born house for something more practical yet undeniably stylish—a tailored vest of deep cobalt, reinforced leather boots, and a scarf that added just the right amount of "effortless charm."
He ran a hand through his hair, ensuring it had that perfectly windswept look that usually made the Academy girls trip over their own feet. Satisfied that he looked the part of a dashing young noble with a hint of rebellious energy, he slipped out of the estate.
The moment he stepped onto the main thoroughfare, the sheer scale of the celebration hit him. The streets were an explosion of color. Vibrant banners in gold and teal snapped in the breeze, strung between the brass-and-marble buildings. The air smelled of ozone, expensive perfumes, and the mouth-watering scent of street vendors frying honey-glazed pastries. Children, dressed in miniature Enforcer uniforms or tiny goggles, sprinted past him, their laughter lost in the rhythmic thrum-thrum-thrum of the city's mechanical heart.
Kyle paused near the edge of a plaza, his eyes drawn upward. High above the skyline, the Hexgates stood like silent sentinels of the future. A massive merchant airship, laden with goods from distant Shurima, hovered within the gate's focal point.
"Check this out," Kyle muttered to himself, leaning against a stone railing.
A low hum began to vibrate in the very stones beneath his feet. The Hexgate's rings began to spin, faster and faster, until they were a blur of silver. Suddenly, a concentrated beam of sapphire light erupted from the machine's core, engulfing the ship in a shimmering cocoon of pure arcane energy. For a heartbeat, the ship was there—and then, with a sound like a thunderclap muffled by velvet, it vanished. The sky was empty save for a few drifting sparks of blue light.
"Never gets old," he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips.
Kyle moved with the crowd, soaking in the infectious joy of the city. He stopped at a small, ornate stall where an elderly man was selling artisanal sweets.
"A box of the dark cocoa truffles," Kyle said, flashing a winning smile, "and a handful of those sea-salt caramels. Oh, and some of the berry-filled ones. My sister has a weakness for them when she's... stressed."
"A wise brother, you are," the vendor chuckled, tucking the treats into a silk-lined box.
Kyle paid the man, popping a caramel into his mouth as he walked. The sweetness was a perfect contrast to the crisp morning air. He knew exactly where he needed to go next. His mother, Cassandra Kiramman, was a woman of tradition and order; she would have undoubtedly stationed Caitlyn at the Kiramman Family Festival Tent. It was the "safe" choice—a way to keep her daughter visible to the Council but away from the "Real World" troubles that Caitlyn so desperately wanted to solve.
The Drama! Kyle thought with a roll of his eyes. The Lady of the House trying to keep the budding detective in a velvet cage.
However, when the opulent white-and-gold tent came into view, Kyle's intuition proved correct in the worst way. The tent was filled with wealthy patrons and minor nobles sipping sparkling wine, but the tall, blue-haired Enforcer-in-training was nowhere to be seen.
"She abandoned her post," Kyle sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Cait, you're going to give Mother a stroke one of these days."
He scanned the perimeter. Two Enforcers were standing near the rear entrance, looking bored as they watched the crowd. It was time to put the makeover to work. Kyle smoothed his vest, adopted a slightly worried, "innocent younger brother" expression, and approached them.
"Excuse me, officers?" he asked, his voice soft and polite. "I was looking for my sister, Caitlyn Kiramman. We were supposed to meet here for the opening ceremony, but I seem to have lost her in the crowd."
The younger Enforcer, a fresh-faced recruit, straightened up immediately at the mention of the Kiramman name. "Oh! Mr. Kiramman. I, uh, I haven't seen her in the last twenty minutes, sir."
The older one, a veteran with a scarred chin, looked Kyle over with a knowing smirk. "Your sister had that 'I've found a clue' look on her face, kid. She slipped out toward the lower docks after the report came in."
Kyle's heart skipped a beat. "The report? Was there trouble?"
The veteran leaned in, lowering his voice. "A shootout at the airship dock 4-C. Rival gangs from Zaun—low-level stuff, probably a dispute over some smuggled scrap. We sent a squad down to secure the area and start the investigation."
Kyle went silent for a moment, processing the information. A shootout involving Zaunite gangs was exactly the kind of thing Caitlyn couldn't resist. She wasn't just going to "investigate"; she was going to play Sherlock Holmes in a live fire zone.
"Thank you, truly," Kyle said, reclaiming his charming persona and nodding to the men. "You've been incredibly helpful. I'll be sure to mention your professionalism to my mother when I see her at the Council gala later. Officer...?"
"Huck, sir," the veteran said, looking slightly more impressed.
"Officer Huck. I'll remember that."
As Kyle turned away, his face hardened. He wasn't worried about the gangs—the Enforcers had already moved in—but he was worried about Caitlyn getting herself into hot water. She was supposed to be a symbol of Piltovan grace today, not a bloodhound in the dirt.
Well, Kyle thought, if Big Sis is off playing detective, I might as well find my own trouble.
He decided to head toward the Academy. If there was anyone who could distract him from the family antics, it was the "Golden Boy" himself, Jayce Talis.
The Academy grounds were quieter than the rest of the city, the students and faculty mostly occupied with the various demonstrations in the main squares. As Kyle climbed the grand marble staircase, he spotted a familiar, diminutive figure trotting down the hall.
It was Professor Heimerdinger, the Yordle Dean of the Academy, his large, fluffy ears twitching with every step. At his side bounded a Poro—a round, white ball of fluff with a long tongue and a joyful disposition.
"Professor!" Kyle called out.
Heimerdinger stopped, squinting through his large goggles. "Ah! Young Kyle! A pleasure to see you on this momentous day. Celebrating the fruits of progress, I assume?"
"Something like that, Professor," Kyle said, kneeling down to scratch the Poro behind its ears. The creature let out a happy trill, its tail wagging furiously. "And how are you, my fluffy friend?"
"He's quite energetic today," Heimerdinger chuckled. "The Hexgates always seem to make the Poros restless. A fascinating reaction to the fluctuations in the arcane field, don't you think?"
"Fascinating indeed," Kyle agreed, standing up. "Are you on your way to see Jayce? I was hoping to catch him before the main presentations."
"Indeed! He and Viktor have been locked in that lab of theirs for three days straight. I fear they've forgotten that humans require sleep and sustenance. Come, accompany me. Perhaps you can talk some sense into them."
They walked together through the hallowed halls of the Academy. Heimerdinger talked at length about the history of Progress Day, his voice filled with a mix of pride and caution. Kyle listened intently; he respected the Yordle's wisdom, even if he found the Professor's stance on magic to be a bit... antiquated.
They reached the shared lab of Jayce and Viktor. Heimerdinger gave a sharp rap on the heavy metal door.
A moment later, the door swung open. Jayce Talis stood there, looking disheveled but wired with nervous energy. His sleeves were rolled up, and there was a smudge of grease on his cheek.
"Professor! I—" Jayce started, but his eyes landed on Kyle. He paused, a grin slowly breaking across his tired face. "Kyle? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the Kiramman tent, charming the elites?"
"Caitlyn took the morning shift of 'being the disappointment,'" Kyle joked, stepping forward. "I thought I'd come see what the smartest men in Piltover were up to."
Jayce chuckled and pulled Kyle into a brief, firm brotherly hug. "Always good to have you around, Kyle. You keep us grounded."
"Hardly," a voice came from the back of the lab.
Viktor emerged from behind a stack of schematics, leaning heavily on his cane. He looked even thinner than usual, his skin pale under the harsh mag-lights of the lab, but his eyes were bright with an intense, almost feverish light.
Kyle walked over and gave Viktor a careful hug, mindful of the man's fragile frame. "You look like you haven't eaten since the last Progress Day, Viktor."
"There is no time for eating when the future is being written," Viktor replied with a faint, tired smile.
"Kyle, Professor, you're just in time," Jayce said, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial tone. He gestured to a large, tarp-covered object that Viktor had just finished positioning in the center of the room. It looked like a specialized trolley or a heavy-duty containment unit.
Heimerdinger approached the device, his brows furrowing. "And what is this, Jayce? Another refinement for the Hexgates?"
Jayce looked at Viktor, who nodded solemnly. Jayce reached out and pulled the tarp away.
Beneath was a complex, spherical lattice of brass and silver, pulsing with a rhythmic, deep violet glow. At its center sat a Hextech gemstone, but it looked different—more stable, more integrated into the machinery.
"We call it the Hexcore," Jayce said, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and fear. "It's a device capable of refining and stabilizing volatile gemstones. It's not just a power source anymore, Professor. It's an engine of adaptation."
The air in the lab suddenly felt heavy. The low hum of the Hexcore seemed to resonate in Kyle's chest, a vibration that felt both miraculous and deeply unsettling.
Heimerdinger went deathly silent. He walked a slow circle around the machine, his reflection dancing in the polished metal. The joy he had shown earlier evaporated, replaced by a look of profound concern that made Kyle's stomach flip.
"You've been busy," Heimerdinger whispered, his voice stripped of its usual whimsy. "Too busy, perhaps."
The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the steady, heartbeat-like pulse of the Hexcore. Kyle looked from the brilliant, hopeful faces of his friends to the grim expression of the Dean.