Human laughter is the purest form of anarchy. It does not ask for permission, respects no hierarchies, and blossoms in the most unexpected of places. Crying can be rehearsed, anger can be manufactured, but a genuine laugh… a genuine laugh cuts through pride, fear, and social armour like a hot knife through ice. It is the most honest truth a body can tell. And on that late afternoon, my little tea house was drowning in honest truths.
The week's Chef's Brew was an infusion Azra'il had christened 'Serene Laughter', a name that sounded deceptively peaceful for something with such chaotic effects. It was a blend of Ionian Wind-blossom with a touch of Shuriman Laughing-bark, herbs that did not provoke hysterical cackling but rather gently untied the knots of solemnity, loosening the tongue and smoothing the wrinkles of worry.
The result was a salon vibrant with the sound of loud conversations and spontaneous laughter. The tables were a lovely mess, full of empty plates, crumbs from Eddie's pastries, and half-finished teacups. The air, thick with the scent of bergamot and caramelised sugar, seemed to vibrate with a light, infectious energy. For a few hours, the weight of being Piltovan or Zaunite seemed to have been left at the door. Today, our salon felt less like a tea house and more like an improvisational comedy theatre, where every customer was, unknowingly, the protagonist of their own play. Perhaps it was the tea. Or perhaps it was just life, insisting on proving to us that, every now and then, no one needs to take themselves so seriously.
Azra'il, of course, observed it all from her trench behind the counter with the expression of a biologist studying a particularly noisy colony of primates. "I have created a monster," she murmured to me as I passed her. "A happy, annoying monster that pays the bills. It's the worst kind of monster."
I just smiled. I saw the same scene and perceived a collective relief. Men and women who carried the burdens of their lives—the ambitions of Piltover and the scars of Zaun. They were simply… laughing. It was a form of healing, as potent as any of my magics.
It was in the midst of this symphony of joy that the bell on the door chimed, announcing new musicians for the orchestra. In walked Tobias Kiramman and, pulling him excitedly by the hand, his daughter Caitlyn.
To know a leader is not to assess their words on a pulpit, but to observe how they walk among people. Tobias Kiramman wore clothes of an excellent cut, but of a simplicity that spoke of a man who needed no adornments to assert his presence. There was a calmness to his countenance, a warmth in his eyes that contrasted with his wife's sharp authority. Cassandra was the calculated storm, the force that shaped the city. Tobias, I sensed, was the anchor, the safe harbour. It was not hard to understand from where Caitlyn had inherited not only her curiosity but the seed of her unshakeable sense of justice.
"Father, quickly, you must try the pastries! They're the best in the whole city, I swear on all my investigation books!" Caitlyn's voice was a whirlwind of childish enthusiasm, cutting through the salon's hum.
Tobias chuckled, a genuine, fond laugh, allowing himself to be dragged along by his daughter. "Well, well. I've hardly stepped inside and I'm already being kidnapped by my own offspring. So this is the famous tea house you won't stop talking about?" His gaze swept the room, taking in the mix of customers with an open, non-judgemental curiosity. "I must confess, your mother speaks of this place with a… significantly less enthusiastic tone."
Caitlyn led him directly to the Eastern wing, ignoring the conventional tables. The memory of her last visit with her mother was clearly strong. She practically threw herself onto one of the cushions on the tatami, excitement vibrating in every movement. Tobias followed, settling down with an ease that suggested a man comfortable in any environment.
"What does the young and impatient connoisseur recommend today?" he asked his daughter, playing along.
I decided to serve them myself. There was something in that dynamic, in that easy exchange of affection between father and daughter, that pierced the veil of centuries and struck me with the force of a long-forgotten echo. For an instant, the smell of tea and sugar was replaced by the scent of stardust and the thin air of Mount Targon. I did not see Tobias; I saw my own father, Kilam, his eyes filled with that same gleam of pride and patient love. And I did not see Caitlyn; I saw myself and Kayle, two little girls, pulling at our father's hands, begging for one more story about the Sun and the Moon before our mother returned from her 'judgements'. They were simple times. Whole times. Times before the heavens gifted us fire and cursed us with a purpose that would tear us apart forever.
The memory was so vivid, so painful, that I had to pause for a moment, the tray in my hands trembling imperceptibly. I pushed the image away with the practice of one who lives with ghosts. The past is an ocean; you can admire it from the shore, but you must never allow it to drag you under.
With my composure restored, I approached the low table, bowing slightly to give them their menus. There was a different tenderness in my gaze now, an understanding that Tobias, in his keen perception, seemed to notice.
Caitlyn's eyes lit up as she recognised me. "It's you! Father, this is one of the owners. She's very mysterious."
Tobias smiled at me, a smile that dissolved any barrier of status. "My daughter speaks of your establishment with the reverence of one describing a wonder of the world. I do apologise for her enthusiasm. She's inherited the family's inquisitive heart."
"There is nothing to apologise for. Curiosity is the engine of all wisdom," I replied, my gaze meeting Caitlyn's. "It is a trait to be nurtured, not contained."
Tobias nodded, appreciating the answer. He took the menu, but Caitlyn already had her orders ready.
"For Father, the 'Chef's Brew'. He needs to try new things," she declared with the authority of an expert. "And for me… I want the little fire-fruit tart I saw in the case! And, of course, a portion of my favourites." Her eyes twinkled at me, conspiratorially. "The Veiled Lady's Madeleines."
I felt the familiar, bittersweet pang, but hid it behind a small smile. "Excellent choices, Investigator Kiramman. I shall bring them at once."
As I turned away, I heard Tobias say to his daughter in a low voice, "She has a… remarkable presence. As calm as the surface of a deep lake." It was the sort of observation only a man accustomed to reading people would make.
I gave the order to Azra'il. She raised an eyebrow. "Ah, the Councillor Consort and his miniature interrogator. Come to see if our tea is safe for noble consumption or if we're secretly plotting a herb-based revolution."
"Be nice," I said, already knowing it was a futile request.
"I am always nice," she retorted. "My niceness is just… brutally honest."
When I served the tea to Tobias, he inhaled the aroma, smiled, and took a generous sip. The effect was almost immediate. His shoulders relaxed, and a loud, infectious laugh escaped his lips.
"Hahaha! Oh, my heavens! That reminds me of the time, on our anniversary, when your mother tried to cook a surprise dinner and nearly set fire to the west wing of the manor! She got stuck on the balcony for an hour because she mistook the door latch for a piece of an old Icathian artefact I was studying! I swear, she tried to 'deactivate' it with a tapping pattern!"
Caitlyn, who was about to bite into a madeleine, blushed to the roots of her dark blue hair. She shrank back, nearly hiding her face behind her teacup. "Father! Don't tell such embarrassing stories in public!"
The scene was so genuine that I moved closer to refill their teapot, wanting to remain in the orbit of that familiar light for another moment. "Embarrassing memories become the most precious jewels once time has polished them," I said, my voice soft. "You will laugh at this one day, Caitlyn. Probably much more than you're already laughing on the inside right now."
She gave me a grateful look. Tobias, still recovering from his own laughter, addressed me. "That is a wisdom that comes with experience, I presume. This place you've created… it is unlike any other in Piltover. It has… soul. And this tea," he said, raising his cup, "has a remarkable ability to unearth long-forgotten truths."
"Most herbs only remove the locks," I commented. "It is the people who decide to open the doors."
He considered my words for a moment, a silent respect passing between us. This was a man who understood nuance.
Meanwhile, Caitlyn had surrendered and devoured her madeleines. I watched father and daughter share that moment of lightness and joy, a small haven within our larger one. They laughed, they talked, and for a while, they weren't the spouse of Councillor Kiramman and the Kiramman heir. They were just a father and his daughter, sharing sweets on a lazy afternoon.
When they were finished, Tobias paid the bill at the counter, leaving a generous tip and a sincere thank you to Azra'il, who responded with a grunt that, coming from her, was the equivalent of a welcoming speech. Contented, father and daughter walked towards the door.
And it was there that destiny, with its ironic sense of humour, decided to intervene.
Caitlyn, still floating on a sugar-induced high, opened the door with a careless enthusiasm, turning to say something to her father. At the same time, a figure from outside strode in with the single-minded urgency of one who lives in a world that waits for no one. The collision was inevitable.
"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't see you…" Caitlyn said, stumbling off-balance and nearly falling backwards.
A strong, calloused hand grabbed her shoulder, steadying her, and released her just as quickly. It was Vi. Alone this time, her face smudged with soot and her eyes heavy with the perpetual distrust of Zaun.
"Watch where you're going, princess," Vi growled, more out of instinct than malice.
Caitlyn's indignation overcame her surprise. She drew herself up, her chin high. "I am not a princess! And you should pay more attention as well!"
Vi let out a short, mocking laugh, a sound that held none of the tea's lightness. "Wow. First time I've seen a topsider almost admit they're at fault. The world is improving."
Caitlyn's face flushed red, but she shot back with the stubbornness of a true Kiramman. "I admitted no fault whatsoever!"
The scene had drawn the attention of the entire salon. The laughter had ceased, replaced by a quiet curiosity. Two girls, two worlds, in a head-on collision on my doorstep.
Tobias, far from looking alarmed, was watching the clash with an amused glint in his eyes. He stepped forward and placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Actually, Cait," he said in the conspiratorial voice of an accomplice, "sometimes, you are just a little bit of a princess."
"Father!" Caitlyn's cry was a mewl of betrayal and horror, which only made Tobias's smile widen.
The two girls stared at each other, a silent standoff. They were sizing each other up, the huntress-in-training and the street-survivor. I could see the cogs turning in their minds, assessing, categorising. There was tension, but underneath it, I saw something else: a spark of recognition.
Caitlyn, ever the investigator, was the first to break the silence, trying to regain her composure. "Did you come for tea as well?" The question was formal, an attempt to normalise the situation.
Vi crossed her arms, her posture defensive. "Nah. Came for the pastries," she said, her voice blunt. "My sister likes 'em. And I keep my promises."
The simplicity and loyalty contained in that sentence seemed to disarm Caitlyn. Her expression softened. "That's… sweet," she said, the word slipping out before she could stop it.
Vi's face hardened, and a faint blush crept up her grimy cheeks. "Don't call me sweet."
Caitlyn, sensing her advantage, got a mischievous glint in her eyes, a flash of the shrewd woman she would become. "I said 'sweet'. The gesture. Not 'sweet', the person. There is a difference."
Even Azra'il, who was watching everything from the counter, let out a huff that was almost a laugh. Tobias shook his head, clearly enjoying the sharp wits of both girls.
He finally bid me farewell with a respectful nod and gently guided his daughter outside. Vi stood for a moment, watching them go, before marching decisively towards the counter, her mission still unfulfilled. But before the door closed, Caitlyn glanced back over her shoulder, and her eyes met Vi's one last time. It was a quick, fleeting look, but it was heavy with something unsaid. A challenge. A question. The beginning of a story.
As Vi placed her order with Azra'il, I turned to clear a table, the smile still on my lips. Some collisions in the universe create stars. Others create black holes. And some, the rarest and most interesting, leave not bruises, but invisible, permanent marks on the tapestry of fate. I saw it in the eyes of those two girls. The huntress born to the law and the survivor forged in its absence, that this would not be their last encounter.
Sometimes, destiny does not announce its arrival with celestial trumpets or prophecies of fire. Sometimes, it arrives in the most human way possible: with a bump of shoulders in the right doorway.