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Chapter 5 – Entrustments & Departures
Clocktower Command Hall, Virelle
Ashryn lounged at the head of the great steel table, coat tails spilling over the side, one boot idly hooked on a rung. The command hall gleamed with soft blue light, brass fixtures humming in the lofted ceiling. Virelle's top minds—Cael, Lynne, Callum, Sevika, Viktor, and their handpicked lieutenants—formed a semicircle. Not a frown among them that Ashryn's signature grin couldn't soften.
She clapped her hands—crisp, cheerful, certain.
"All right, crew! We're running the city, but I'm about to go underground: science lockdown with Viktor and Singed. It's the big leap—Orianna's restoration. Think lab retreat, but with more caffeine and a probability curve for explosions. Two years, minimum."
Lynne, slate poised and eyes keen, pushed her glasses up.
"So you disappear, and if supply chains collapse, it's on us?"
Ashryn's grin widened—teasing, but urgent.
"Exactly. Lynne, Cael—you're keeping the coin and the gears in sync. Our reputation doesn't matter if the lights go out. Callum, Sevika—make sure none of our less savory citizens get sparkly ideas. If the streets riot, make it quick and quiet. But no heads roll unless absolutely necessary. Viktor's lab? Run it like it owes you money."
Sevika's expression remained stone, arms folded across steel.
"You're trusting us with a lot."
Ashryn shot her a wink, voice light but eyes intense.
"Earned trust, not a gamble. I'll ping in through Jarvis if asteroids start falling. Unless the city's actually on fire, don't interrupt me. This is yours to run, not yours to burn."
Callum's jaw flexed in a rare show of nerves, but he straightened, determination hardening his voice.
"You'll get your city back in one piece."
A dash of laughter scattered through the hall. Ashryn leaned forward, gaze sweeping her deputies; pride—subtle, fiercely protective—shone in her eyes.
"Let's run this like any good regular council—short, sharp, and no shame in stating bad news first. Sevika, stage's yours."
Sevika rose, boots echoing, every gesture restrained steel.
"The lower districts still feel the worst of the shimmer fallout. The addicted—the ones left reeling after Silco—are our biggest headache. Outbursts, raids, threats on healers and vendors. Patrols hold the line, but we're close to burning out officers just keeping order."
She kept her voice level, but her hand flickered at her side—a tell for those who knew her. Ashryn caught it and nodded gravely.
"We inherit others' messes, but we clean them. Viktor, Singed—new marching orders. Let's finish this before we go under. Cure the addiction, make it scalable, and make it fast."
Viktor looked up from his notes, dark circles under his eyes but a flicker of resolve behind them.
"We're making progress isolating the remaining shimmer signatures. I'll accelerate testing protocols."
His tone trembled with exhaustion but held pride.
Singed, silent until now, nodded once—old guilt flashing across his features before vanishing behind cold focus.
Ashryn's lips twitched, her gaze lingering on them a moment longer—a silent encouragement, a tacit thank you.
"I'll keep my hands busy with other projects until you're done with this one."
She leaned back and motioned for Cael to proceed.
Cael rose, clearing his throat and straightening his coat lapels with practiced precision.
"The treasury is stable. Twelve percent revenue growth since the last cycle. Bilgewater and Ionia trade are propping up our reserves, and we're slowly squeezing out the last unscrupulous smugglers from the old baron networks."
Lynne glanced briefly toward Ashryn before continuing.
"Infrastructure projects are advancing well. The new skyrail sections complete their final testing phase soon. Energy grids and communication relays—coverage and uptime exceed projections, currently at about 98 percent. Still, we face labor shortages in skilled trades. Public morale needs tending to ensure retention."
She paused to let the point settle.
"Training programs for specialists show promise. But recruitment will require incentives. Festivals, public works, educational outreach—boosting engagement on all fronts to keep talent close."
Her usually calm voice carried that faint undercurrent of worry—the kind that seeps in when eyes linger too long on unfamiliar shadows behind the plans.
Ashryn caught it and smiled.
"Sounds like you two have our city's heartbeat mapped out. Keep that rhythm steady, alright?"
The banter softened the edge, but Sevika shifted the focus back.
"Security-wise, we've fortified critical sectors and improved troop rotations. But intelligence confirms unrest persists, especially in the Sumps. Silco's shadow may be gone, but his legacy scratches deep."
Callum stepped forward, jaw clenched.
"Sevika's right. We repel daily attempts to rekindle chaos. Our engineers are working nonstop to integrate the new tech—Jarvis, updated security systems—but manpower strain is rising."
Ashryn's grin returned—sharper this time.
"Well, I'd like to think you're all doing beautifully with a little chaos on the side."
Vi shifted nervously in the back. She was getting popular for punching first, asking later.
The meeting pressed on—officers delivered updates in efficient bursts: trade, construction, law enforcement. A mosaic of moving parts, each delicate and volatile.
Cael privately mulled over the line they walked—how to keep order without choking the vibrant chaos that made Virelle Virelle. Lynne's eyes flicked constantly to the streams of data, always hunting for threats hidden in the rhythm of the numbers.
After the reports, Ashryn leaned forward, warmth sneaking back into her tone.
"So, Viktor, Singed—you two and the mad scientists are officially in charge of 'Operation Cure the Glitter Fiends.' No excuses, no potion mishaps. This city deserves breathing room."
Viktor cracked a rare smile.
"Understood."
Singed simply nodded, shadowed eyes reflecting obsession... and maybe hope.
Ashryn stood, energized.
"All right. That's enough gloom for one day. I'm off to keep myself busy with other mysteries. Run this city like it's your own, because, well… it is."
Laughter softened the tension as Ashryn leaned forward, voice warming.
"This is Virelle's new chapter. Prove we're more than smoke and steel."
Assignments fell into place. The room thinned, leaders vanishing back into the city's living pulse. Ashryn lingered last, pride and fire bright behind her eyes.
In her silent quarters, mechanical locks spun tight, sealing out the world. She closed her eyes and summoned the system—the secret only she bore.
[SYSTEM PANEL: ACTIVE]
Sovereign: Ashryn Virelle
DP Balance: 45,000
Achievements:
• Unified Virelle – Urban Sovereignty (+2,000 DP)
• Diplomat's Web – Secured Trade in Ionia & Bilgewater (+1,500 DP)
• Defensive Architect – Sector Barriers Online (+1,000 DP)
Recent Loyalty: +6,300 DP
She flipped to the blueprint shop.
Celestial Halo Barrier (city-wide energy shield)
Cost: 17,500 DP
Confirm Purchase? Y/N
With a nod, the transaction completed. The intricate design—a protective dome blanketing Virelle—etched itself into her mind. Construction would hinge on Viktor and his engineers.
[SYSTEM UPDATE]
DP Balance: 27,500
New Blueprint: Celestial Halo Barrier (Requires phased research, build, calibration)
Defense Profile: Increasing
Ashryn exhaled, heart quickening. This hidden advantage was hers alone. The city's safety was evolving—and only she held the key.
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Virelle's shipments arrived under muted sun, crates marked in silver and ocean blue. They slid from vessels into Ionian docks, framed by blossoming cherry trees and mist-kissed hills that hid centuries of scars.
Traders and clan reps gathered—eyes sharp, lips tight. Among them towered Sett—young, grinning, all teeth and ambition, his knuckles dusted with old fights and newer schemes.
He eyed the crates—compact refrigeration units, signal relays gleaming in the dawn.
Sett leaned close to his right-hand man, voice low and gravel-thick.
"See this? Profit wrapped in metal. Any merchant worth their salt would slit a coin pouch to keep their lotus from wilting."
His mind worked fast—renting chillers to herb dealers, charging festival premiums when flowers spoiled fastest; leasing relays to clan heads, collecting coin for every whisper sped faster than wind; auctioning exclusives to desperate chieftains clawing for an edge.
He smiled, thumb trailing a relay's edge.
"This ain't for me to hoard. I'm selling fast. Highest bidder takes the crates. Don't unpack 'em too much—scarcity's half the price. And if monks moan about tech spoiling tradition, tell 'em starving's worse."
Function was secondary. Profit came first.
The crates disappeared into guarded warehouses—not Sett's turf yet, but soon. He planned to squeeze every coin, every favor, until Virelle's name echoed from shrine to coast.
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Bilgewater's docks thrashed with the usual smoke, salt, and swearing, but today, tension hummed just beneath the chaos.
Virelle's crates—blue as ocean spray—slid into storage under wary eyes. Refrigeration units that would preserve fish, fruit, flowers. Communication tech to wire the city's rumors, warnings, trades.
In her dockside office, Miss Fortune watched, smoke curling around her like a lazy noose.
"They're pretty, ain't they?" Thorne's gravel-rough voice broke the silence.
She smiled—sharp, cold.
"Pretty never paid debts. These crates aren't just tech—they're new rules. Cold means no more spoiled fish. Comms mean no more missed whispers. Every edge cuts both ways."
Her boots clicked as she paced.
"They go to my warehouses. Trusted crews only. Anyone wants a piece pays up. No freebies. No favors."
Thorne grinned like old rope.
"Competition's gonna howl."
"Let 'em," she snapped. "If they can't pay, they don't matter. Prices go up, loyalty tightens, and every coin flows my way. Control the wealth, control the city."
Her fingers tapped the table—slow, deliberate. She didn't just plan markets. She mapped power.
As the last crates vanished behind steel doors, Miss Fortune's smile lingered—quiet, cold, and utterly in control.
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A gust of chilly wind swept through Piltover's western docks. A sleek warship—black and gleaming—slid to a halt beneath castle-stone ramparts.
Dock officials shifted nervously as a commanding figure descended—Ambessa Medarda.
Tall, sharp, wrapped in silk and steel, her gaze sliced across Piltover's skyline. A storm cloaked in civility.
Whispers rippled like nervous waves. Council operatives exchanged tight glances.
Piltover's balance of power was about to change.
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