1. Gap Between Us Is A Bridge

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Chapter 1 – Of Petty Fees and Rising Flags

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Third Person POV — The Bridge of Progress, One Week Later

The Bridge of Progress gleamed under the midmorning sun, its arching structure a familiar spine of steel and light stretching across the chasm. Piltover's proud insignias still lined the railings—gilded symbols of tradition and control—but today, they shimmered under a different weight.

A convoy approached from the Promenade. Five polished carriages, all bearing the colors of the Council. Emissaries. Dignitaries. Diplomats. Or, in simpler terms—guests.

The procession halted at the midway checkpoint, where Zaun became Virelle.

There, standing tall in chrome-blue uniforms and gleaming vambraces, the Virelle Enforcers formed a loose cordon. Their weapons were slung with casual confidence, posture relaxed—but no one mistook it for a lack of discipline. These were not the twitchy brutes of chem-baron days. They stood like people who belonged here.

Councilor Cassandra Kiramman stepped down first, every inch the noble Piltover matriarch—chin high, gloves pristine. Mel Medarda followed in violet silk, radiating quiet, calculating elegance. Jayce Talis clambered down after them, adjusting his collar and scanning the area with a mixture of worry and awe. A fourth figure, silent and unreadable, emerged last—an emissary from Clan Ferros, lenses glinting behind mirrored spectacles.

"State your business," said the Virelle checkpoint officer. "And your entry fee."

Cassandra paused. "Entry fee? We're representatives of the Piltover Council."

"Exactly," the officer replied, completely unbothered. "Two golden hexes. Each."

Jayce blinked. "Wait, you're charging us to enter Za—uh, Virelle?"

The Enforcer's eyes narrowed just slightly. "'Zaun' doesn't exist anymore, Councilor Talis."

Mel's lips curved faintly. "And I suppose we don't get a diplomat's exemption?"

The officer smirked. "Nope. Direct orders from the Sovereign. And if you're curious..." He cleared his throat and, with mock drama, declared: "'Because I'm a petty person.' Lady Ashryn's words. Verbatim."

Behind Cassandra, her young assistant leaned in and whispered, "Piltover used to charge Zaunites three golden hexes to cross the Promenade. Just… history repeating."

Mel gave a slow nod, her smile tightening.

Grudgingly, the delegation paid. No one wanted to cause a diplomatic scene over tolls. But the mood had shifted.

They continued on foot, heels clicking and boots thudding on the steel bridge—one world giving way to another.

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POV Shift – Clocktower Plaza, Virelle

Ashryn twirled in front of a smudged mirror, the long tails of her admiral's coat fanning out like stormclouds. "Be honest—do I look terrifying, or just powerful enough to start a scandal?"

Vi, adjusting her exo-bracers nearby, snorted. "You look like you're throwing a prom in the Undercity."

Ashryn beamed. "Perfect."

Behind them, Lynne reviewed a checklist on her slate, murmuring updates to Cael. "The lightshow's calibrated. Engineering has all the prototype displays set up. Speech podium's tested—twice."

"And the actual speech?" Cael asked, glancing up.

Lynne's expression soured slightly. "I wrote one. Whether she follows it is another matter."

"No promises," Ashryn chimed, spinning a pen between her fingers with a grin. "Besides, what's a speech without a little chaos?"

"Efficient," Lynne muttered.

Sevika arrived through the side doors, rolling her shoulders. "Perimeter's locked. Snipers on rooftops. Nobody sneezes without us knowing."

Ashryn gave her a lazy salute. "Always so dramatic."

"Old habits," Sevika replied with a shrug.

A nearby monitor flickered on, revealing Jarvis' face—a digital projection rendered in sharp white-blue light.

"Status report?" Ashryn asked.

"Population: 207,418," Jarvis replied. "No incidents reported. Civil order stable. Windrail repairs progressing on schedule. Trade in the Cauldron's market district is up seven percent."

Ashryn whistled. "Guess people like having roofs and running water."

Cael gave a small nod. "Foreign guests?"

"Finalized," Lynne responded. "Piltover's delegation is quartered in the Glass Crescent. Ionia's delegation is housed in the Cloudwing Tier. Bilgewater requested proximity to the docks."

"Figures." Ashryn tilted her head. "Anyone fun from Bilgewater?"

Lynne adjusted her glasses. "A merchant operating under Miss Fortune's flag—calls himself Thorne. No criminal record, but a little too clean. Watching him."

Cael added, "Ionia sent representatives from one of Sett's trade companies."

Ashryn arched a brow. "Sett? Huh. I expected fists, not suits."

Vi leaned in. "And the Piltover crew?"

"Caitlyn, Marcus, and Greyson are still in the upper cells," Ashryn replied. "Spacious. Monitored. Controlled. Walks twice a day, meals delivered, no mistreatment."

Vi and Sevika exchanged skeptical glances.

Vi tilted her head. "Is that really necessary? You know if the roles were flipped, they wouldn't be this generous. Stillwater Hold wasn't exactly a bed and breakfast."

Ashryn gave an exaggerated shrug, rocking playfully on the edge of the table. "Oh, absolutely. If this were Piltover holding us, they'd have us in chains with a side of smug moral superiority."

She grinned, spinning her pen between her fingers. "But here's the thing—we're not them. We've got the upper hand, and the moral high ground. Why not flaunt both?"

She glanced out the tower window toward the Bridge of Progress. "The distance between our cities? Practically nothing. One big walkway and boom—'two nations' pretending they aren't fused at the hip. We were one city once. Maybe still are, in all the messy ways that count."

Ashryn's tone softened just a touch—not somber, just curious. "I been there before and I am sure someone in upper echelon has some hand in their hate for us."

Sevika raised an eyebrow. "Got a name?"

"Oh, I've got guesses," Ashryn said brightly, "but no proof. Yet. And until then? Our options are pretty clear—either play nice... or start a bloodbath."

She twirled the pen again, expression still light, but voice firm. "Personally? I'm not in the mood to commit a citywide massacre. Way too much cleanup. Besides, some of those Pilties are actually decent negotiators—if you catch them before they start condescending."

She hopped off the table, coat swaying behind her as she walked. "So yeah—our captives matter. They're not just hostages, they're pieces on the board. You don't flip the table mid-game unless you're out of moves."

"But!" she added, spinning on her heel with a smirk. "I'm not asking our people to hold hands with them, either. This isn't a friendship treaty. If anyone in Virelle has a personal score to settle? Not some vague anti-Piltie rage, but real, bone-deep you-hurt-my-family kind of thing?" She made a sweeping gesture. "I won't stop them."

"Just keep it classy," she added with a wink. "No torture dungeons. We have style now."

Then, with a flourish of her wrist, she tossed the pen over her shoulder. "I don't see the point in petty cruelty. What's the fun in kicking someone already in a cage?"

She cracked her knuckles, grin wide as the sky. "But if it ever does serve a purpose…"

She let the sentence hang with a glimmer in her eye. Then spun around, her coat catching the air like a banner.

"Alright, people. Showtime."

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POV Shift – Council Reception Hall, Virelle

The chamber was a far cry from Piltover's crystalline opulence—but it carried its own quiet power.

Walls made of recycled whisperglass muted footsteps and conversations. Adaptive lighting responded to mood and tone, casting soft hues across the room. Tables rearranged themselves subtly to encourage conversation. Even the air tasted balanced.

Mel's eyes scanned everything. They built this in months? Her mind was already calculating: trade implications, political fallout, the threat of ambition.

Jayce leaned toward a wall, watching it shimmer. "Did this just get colder when I stood here?"

Cassandra stepped forward and sat, posture straight and unbending. She looked every inch a judge preparing to deliver a verdict.

The doors swung open.

Ashryn entered like a breeze with teeth—smiling, playful, and just a little too dangerous to ignore. Lynne and Cael flanked her, silent but sharp.

"Councilors!" she called out cheerfully. "What an honor. Last time I was in Piltover, I wasn't even allowed into the university archives. Now look at us!"

The Ferros emissary gave a cold chuckle. "And now you charge tolls at the gates."

Ashryn's smile sharpened. "Can't build a city on ideals alone. Besides—Piltover taught me the value of a well-placed fee."

She turned toward Cael.

He stepped forward, voice clipped but polite. "The toll is a matter of policy. All entrants go through the same procedure. Dignitaries are not exempt. It ensures transparency."

Lynne added, "And it prevents... interference. I'm sure you agree that peace thrives best under equal rules."

Mel offered a slow nod, her expression unreadable. "Naturally."

Ashryn clapped her hands. "Then let's move on! I trust the accommodations are comfortable? We did try to blend local style with... well, whatever Piltover likes."

Mel allowed herself a small smile. "They're inventive."

Cassandra, unfazed, said, "We'd like to see the detainees. Caitlyn, especially."

Ashryn's expression softened for a moment. "Of course. Cael?"

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POV Shift – Holding Cells, Upper Ring

The upper cells weren't bleak. Polished stone, ventilation, plenty of light. But they were still cells.

Caitlyn sat near the window, staring out at the skyline of a city she no longer recognized. When the door opened, she turned—and froze.

"Mother?"

Cassandra stepped in and, without a word, enveloped her daughter in a tight embrace. For a brief moment, the councilor's armor cracked.

Jayce stood awkwardly to the side. "You alright?"

Caitlyn nodded. "I'm… not hurt."

Mel approached Marcus, who leaned against the far wall. His expression unreadable.

"Still playing both sides, Councilor?" he asked, not unkindly.

She arched an eyebrow. "Still breathing, aren't you?"

Greyson turned toward her. "Didn't expect them to send anyone."

"They didn't," Mel replied. "We insisted."

Ashryn stood at the doorway, arms folded. "We'll speak terms after tomorrow's summit. For now—enjoy the lights. Virelle doesn't do boring."

As the delegation turned to leave, Lynne leaned in close. "That went... surprisingly well."

Ashryn grinned. "We're just getting started."

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