A plain box held two types of potions, two vials each handed to Ivankov and Ginny.
"What's this?" Ginny held a glass vial aloft, sunlight making the pale purple specks within glow brighter.
"Shimmer. Zaun's alchemical tech," Oran said.
Zaun and Piltover, once one, split apart. Piltover advanced Hextech; Zaun birthed unique alchemy. Oran, a Piltover resident, valued both, blending their strengths.
"Shimmer. Pretty name, looks pretty too. Tastes good?" Ginny licked her lips, her hunger-driven logic simple: pretty things should taste good.
"Not food. For emergencies," Oran said. The island's dangers were unknown, and Ivankov and Ginny, despite their defiance, were just kids. Trained soldiers could overpower them, let alone famed figures from this timeline. Stronger weapons risked falling into enemy hands, a potential liability.
"The small vial heals wounds. Severe injuries? It'll save your life." Shimmer's original purpose, crafted by alchemist Singed from mutant lizard extracts, offered potent healing. Oran's dream-world formula reduced addictiveness and potency at higher cost, but easier sourcing offset that.
"Great stuff! What's the big one?" Ivankov and Ginny pocketed the healing vials, eyeing the larger syringes.
"Hope you never need it. For desperate fights. Inject it into your heart in a dead-end situation—it might get you out." Humanity often turned new creations to war. Shimmer was no exception, evolving into something dangerous. Overdosed, it caused unstable mutations, even in Oran's refined version. A large dose to the heart could rebirth the body, granting immense strength and unpredictable powers.
Zaun, outclassed by Piltover, used Shimmer as a weapon against the upper city. "We lack an army or strong fighters—only our bodies. This burns your life to make them weapons, giving you a fighting chance."
"Burning life" revealed its cost. Oran disliked such unstable tools, but the situation demanded it.
"Still great! Better than dying helpless," Ivankov said. Fear of death paled against powerlessness. Ginny shared his resolve.
They stowed the potions and, guided by locals, headed toward the shipyard. Oran rallied the rest to a nearby granary.
Later, they reached a valley warehouse, a trek from Oran's ship. Locals had turned a cave into a natural fridge, sealed by a chained iron gate.
Crunch. A shark Fishman, Shark, bit through the chain like a cracker.
"Nice work, Shark. That's shark Fishman bite strength? Impressive," Oran said.
"Thanks! First time someone's praised me!" Shark, usually met with human prejudice, beamed at Oran's genuine admiration.
"Don't get too excited. More to do. I'd love to visit Fishman Island someday—always dreamed of that deep-sea place."
"Definitely!" Shark nodded.
They pushed open the gate. Light revealed neatly stacked crates of well-preserved food—no pilfering by managers. Oran had feared an empty store, but instead found a bonus: heaps of white sugar.
"Everyone, grab extra sugar. Prioritize dried meat. Take as much as you can carry—we don't know when we'll return."
"Oran, sweet tooth?" Kuma asked, hauling a pack twice his height. Shark, similarly laden, hung sugar bags from his waist. Bakania giant strength and Fishman power shone on this survival path.
"Sugar's not just sweet, Kuma. It's versatile, especially now—a key strategic resource."
(Chapter End)