Runeterra: Arcane - CH 1

Note: This is one of the many projects I took while on my journey to recover my mojo, my friends like this one in particular. So, share your thoughts.

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The elevator groaned louder than usual.

It always made noise, a squeal of tired metal crying for it well deserved retirement; but today, it was different. Louder. Angrier. Like it was finally done putting up with the landlord’s neglect.

"You better not give out now," I muttered, shifting my grocery bag. "Three more months and I’m gone, okay? Just hang in there."

I patted the wall for reassurance, but the elevator didn’t care. Not that it could.

Ding.

The floor number ticked upward. Too slow. I sighed, leaning against the wall. Come on. Just a few more floors. Next time, stairs—I promise. Fitness and all that.

Then it happened.

A crack. Sharp. Too loud. My stomach twisted as the elevator shook.

“Oh, hell no!” I stumbled, grabbing for the railing. "If you’re gonna kill someone, kill the landlord! He’s the one—"

The cables snapped, and before I knew it. Gravity had yanked me off my feet, slamming me into the ceiling. My grocery bag exploded, apples and cans flying as my head cracked against the metal. Pain shot through my skull, white-hot and blinding.

"Not like this—!"

My voice was swallowed by the roar of steel against steel. The elevator fell, faster than I could scream. My ears popped. The walls blurred. My stomach plummeted, dragging the rest of me with it.

Then—silence.

No crash. No sound at all. But a silence so complete it felt like the world had swallowed me whole. 

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With a desperate gasp for air, I opened my eyes to light. Blinding, searing light. And before I knew it, I was coughing uncontrollably, as my lungs filled and burned with thick air coated with smoke and ash. My head throbbed as I blinked, tears running down my face, as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing.

The elevator was gone. So was the building. Where the hell was I?

Was… this hell?

Pushing the notion aside for the time being, I began looking around. I was lying on something hard, cobblestone perhaps, slick with what I hoped was water or something similar. I rolled onto my side, my hand slipping in the wetness, and froze.

A face stared back at me. Vacant eyes, blood pooling under a broken skull. A corpse.

I scrambled back, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. My palms scraped against rough stone as I pushed myself upright, trying to steady the world spinning around me. And it was here that I realized something… I wasn’t alone. They were everywhere. Bodies, dozens of them littered the ground, tangled in unnatural shapes, some still clutching weapons. Blood soaked the stones beneath me, running toward the edges of the bridge. I didn’t want to look, but my eyes wouldn’t stop darting from one lifeless person to the next.

“What the hell…” My voice cracked.

Shouts echoed in the distance, angry, desperate cries cutting through the chaos. I turned toward the noise and saw figures moving through the haze and smoke. They clashed with one another with brutal efficiency, blades meeting flesh, bullets piercing bodies, explosions rocking the ground beneath them. I stumbled to my feet, my legs trembling. Everything felt off, even my skin felt too tight, too different. I staggered forward, barely able to keep my balance. My body felt wrong—too light, too fragile. My hands were trembling as I held them up to my face, and it was at this moment that I realized something.

My hands… were far too small, far too thin to be mine.

Perhaps it was the panic, or the situation, I didn’t really know… whatever the reason was, a single thought echoed inside my head: This wasn’t my body.

A shriek cut through the air, snapping me out of my trance, pulling my attention back to the battle. A man, wearing nothing but some rags and crude weaponry, charged toward a group of uniformed soldiers. He didn’t make it. A flash of light erupted from one of their weapons, a gunshot, and he crumpled to the ground, his weapon skittering away.

I needed to run.

Pushing my current apprehensions aside, I ran toward the edge of the bridge, trying to avoid the bodies sprawled across my path. The world around felt more and more alien in nature, towers of steel and glass loomed in the distance, their surfaces shimmering above the smoke. And the air, the… asphyxiating air… tasted metallic, tinged with the acrid bite of smoke and chemicals.

This had to be hell. I had died on that elevator, and this was hell.
 

Another explosion shook the ground, and I stumbled, catching myself on a wall. My eyes darted around, watching as the plumes of smoke rose into the sky.

“Hey!”

The shout came from behind me, sharp and urgent. I turned just in time to see a figure sprinting toward me—a young girl, her face smeared with dirt and blood. Her eyes locked onto mine, wide with fear. She couldn’t be older than eight or nine years old, what was a child doing here?

What… what was I doing here?

I may not have been a saint in my lifetime, but I certainly didn’t deserve this…

“Run!” she screamed.

Before I could fully process her words, another explosion ripped through the air. The force of it sent me flying, my body slamming into the ground. My ears rang, and the world blurred into a swirl of smoke and fire. When I tried to stand, pain shot through my side, forcing me back down. The girl was gone. So was the wall I’d been leaning against, reduced to rubble by the blast.

I lay there, staring up at the sky, gasping for air that tasted like poison as my vision swam, the edges darkening little by little, as my body gave to exhaustion. Somewhere in the distance, the fighting continued. The shouts, the screams, the explosions… they all blurred together now, fading into a low hum as the darkness crept in more and more.

Dying two times… in less than an hour… that had to be a record… right?

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I woke to a dull, throbbing ache in my side and the faint taste of blood on my tongue as I tried to sit up. I could feel my body protesting, a sharp sting shooting through my ribs. I hadn’t felt like this in ages.

“I’m… alive?” I hissed under my breath, lowering myself back down onto… what was this? A bed?

There were beds in hell?

I blinked a few times, forcing my vision to clear. The “bed” was rough fabric stretched over uneven wood, barely softer than the ground I’d been lying on before. Metal pipes ran along the ceiling and walls, dripping water onto the floor. The whole room smelled faintly of mold, oil, and something metallic, like rusted iron or something similar.

The furniture, or what passed for furniture, looked like it had been salvaged from a scrapyard and then glued together with spit and goodwill. A low table sat crooked on mismatched legs, its surface covered in scratches. A chair leaned precariously against the wall, one of its arms missing entirely.

The dirty bandages around my torso tugged uncomfortably as I shifted, and I glanced down. Someone had wrapped me up, though not exactly gently. The gauze was tight, holding together what felt like bruised ribs or worse. My arms were scuffed but otherwise intact, the scrapes and cuts from earlier covered in small, uneven patches of cloth.

Who had done this?

I tried to piece together what I could remember from the fragments of my memory. The elevator, the fall, the blinding light… and then that battlefield, the bodies, the screams, the explosions. My chest tightened as the images clawed their way back into focus. I died… and now I’m here… but why?

I sat up slowly, ignoring the way my ribs protested. Pain I could handle, pain was easy to deal with, pain was simple to understand. Confusion though… that was another story. I swung my legs over the side of the makeshift bed and planted my feet on the floor. The cold metal sent a shiver up my spine.

The room looked empty.

I stood, swaying for a moment before I caught my balance. My head still felt like someone had taken a crowbar to it… maybe two, but despite that standing was manageable. The walls loomed around me, the exposed pipes and patchy wood giving the place a claustrophobic/steampunk feeling.

I needed some answers, and the best way to get them was to explore. Though I had the strong feeling I would have more questions than answers by the end of the day.

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The door creaked as I pushed it open, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. Beyond it was a narrow hallway, dimly lit by a flickering bulb hanging from a wire. The air was damp and carried a faint buzz of electricity; the kind that makes your skin itch more than you can hear it.

The hallway led to a larger space, a stairwell, maybe? It didn’t look like any building I’d ever seen. Everything was patched together: pipes crisscrossing walls, rivets poking out at random angles, and sheets of metal that looked like they’d been welded in a hurry. It was like someone had smashed pieces of ten different buildings together and hoped for the best.

Voices echoed from below, faint but clear enough to draw me forward.

Each step felt heavier than the last, my ribs begging me to go back to bed, but I was determined. My hand trailed along the wall for balance, the rough surface scraping against my palm. Honestly, I was impressed the explosion hadn’t killed me. But hey, if the day wasn’t weird enough already, surviving a blast was just another checkmark on the list.

The voices grew louder, and the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke hit me like a wall. I turned the last corner and stepped into a room that could’ve been a bar; or at least someone’s best guess at one.

Tables and chairs were scattered across the space, some occupied by patrons who looked like they’d seen better days. A long bar stretched along one wall, its surface scarred and stained, with bottles of every shape and size lining the shelves behind it. Most didn’t have labels, and those that did, had writings in a language I couldn’t understand.

Behind the counter stood a man.

He was massive, broad shoulders, strong arms, and an expression that screamed "I’ve seen it all, twice. This morning alone," His arms rested on the counter as he watched me step into the room, his gaze sharp but not unfriendly.

“Evenin’, kid,” he said, his voice rough but calm. “Was starting to think you’d sleep forever.”

I blinked, trying to make sense of him. “You’re the one that patched me up, right?” I asked, my voice hoarse and childish.

He chuckled, the sound low and deep. “Guilty as charged. Found you on the ground, half-dead. But you were still breathing… Couldn’t just leave you there.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, glancing around the room again.

Perhaps… this wasn’t hell. I don’t imagine someone would offer me a helping hand if it was. But if this wasn’t hell, where was I?

The man stepped out from behind the counter, his boots thudding against the floor. Up close, he was even bigger, towering over me like a human tank. The guy had to be pushing seven feet. Then again, I was smaller now… so everything looked big, so who knows.

“You don’t look like you’re from around here,” he said, crouching slightly to meet my eyes. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Hawk,” I replied, watching him closely.

“Hawk.” He said it like he was testing it out, then nodded. “Good name. Mine’s Vander. Nice to meet you.”

The second he said it, something clicked. My stomach twisted as I stared at him, the weight of realization and denial sinking in like a lead brick.

Vander.

I didn’t say anything, but my mind was racing. I knew exactly where I was now, and I didn’t want to believe it. The patchwork pipes, the grimy air, the smell of smoke and chemicals, it all made sense.

I was in Arcane… in Zaun.

Vander held out a hand, breaking my train of thought. His palm was rough, his knuckles scarred. The kind of hand that had been through hell and back.

I hesitated for a second before shaking it. His grip was firm, swallowing my now smaller hand completely.

“Nice grip,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Not bad kid, you’re tougher than you look.”

I didn’t feel tough, not right now at least. My ribs ached, my head pounded, and I was a few sizes too small for my liking. But hey, if Vander wanted to hand out lies to make me feel better, I wasn’t going to argue.

“You hungry?” he asked, tilting his head toward the counter. “We’ve got bread, stew. Nothing fancy, but it’ll keep you going.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but my stomach felt like a knot. The thought of food made me queasy. I had far too much in my head right now.

“I’m fine,” I said, quieter than I meant to.

“Forget I asked. You need to eat,” Vander replied, his tone firm but not pushy. “Hang on, I’ll be back.”

He moved back behind the counter, ladling stew from a pot into a bowl. The greasy smell wafted through the room, mixing with the staleness of smoke and booze. Vander tore off a chunk of bread, placing it next to the bowl before setting the tray in front of me.

“Eat,” he said again, his gaze steady. “No arguments.”

I stared at the bowl. Chunks of meat and vegetables floated in a greasy broth, the smell stronger up close. I didn’t feel hungry. Hell, I still wasn’t convinced this wasn’t some weird hallucination my brain cooked up while I bled out in an elevator shaft. I mean… it would make sense, the last show I watched was Arcane, part of it anyways… so maybe all of this was my last gasp of life, before the firefighters vacuumed my remains from the ground.

Sighing, I picked up the bread, dipping it into the stew. The broth soaked through, making the bread heavy. I took a bite, chewing slowly. It didn’t taste good, either—just… strange.

Warmth spread through my chest with each bite, the hollow ache in my stomach fading bit by bit. Before I knew it, I’d finished half the bowl.

Vander watched me with a small grin, arms crossed over his chest. “So, not hungry, huh?”

I shrugged, smirking back weakly. “Guess I was wrong.”