14. A Clockwork Dawn
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Chapter 14 – A Clockwork Dawn
---Orianna POV---
When I try to remember my old life, it feels soft around the edges, like a music box tune lost in static.
Piltover was a world of wonder back then—gleaming towers of glass and steel, the rhythmic hum of technical engines pulsing through cobbled streets. Even the air shimmered with invention and sunlight. My father loved the long walks through those sunlit boulevards. He'd point out every little detail with a childlike awe he never quite lost.
"See the bridge, Oria?" he'd say, lifting me onto his shoulders to glimpse its full arc. "Someday you'll build one twice as fine."
I believed him. He was my hero. A brilliant mind with hands always smudged in ink and oil, who saw the world not as it was, but as it could be.
But even then, not everything glittered. Piltover's skyline cast long shadows—and beneath them, Zaun festered. From the high sky-crossings, I could peer down at the undercity. I remember sunken eyes, children huddled in corners, wheezing through foul air as smog coiled like a living thing. Their faces haunted me. I used to sneak bread down through the service lifts when I could—just crusts and crumbs—but the way their fingers trembled, how they clutched at food as though it were hope made real… I never forgot.
Maybe that's when it started. The need to help. The belief that the world could be kinder. That I could make it so.
I thought it was just a cough at first. Everyone in Piltover had colds now and then. The city's soot-streaked winds could be harsh in the winter months. But mine didn't go away. The doctors—polished, professional, unconcerned—tutted and scribbled prescriptions for alchemical powders, reassuring Father it was nothing.
But the coughing deepened. My lungs grew traitorous. Each breath felt like dragging glass through my chest. By eight, I was tethered to tubes and tonics. By nine, I could no longer stand. My world shrank to the corners of a bed—draped in lace, surrounded by instruments that hissed and clicked and tried in vain to keep the sickness at bay.
The worst part wasn't the pain. It was what it did to Father.
Each day, I watched him shrink. Not physically—no, he remained tall and gaunt—but something inside him, something vital, ground down. His eyes lost their warmth, overtaken by a feverish drive. He stopped smiling. Stopped eating. Sometimes, he stopped looking at me altogether. He buried himself in blueprints, formulas, theorems—anything that might buy back time. But desperation moves even the noblest minds like puppets.
I wanted to tell him it was okay. That I didn't blame him. But my voice failed me. My tongue grew heavy, my thoughts dim. The darkness crept in, slow and silent, until even thinking became a labor. I knew that if it stayed too long, it would take me for good.
And then… the voices came.
Rough. Tense. Quiet.
Father's voice pleaded with someone—a man whose tone was like gravel soaked in oil. A name surfaced through the haze: Silco.
They spoke in half-truths and careful pauses. Of danger. Of risk. Of a girl neither of them trusted. Ashryn. I remember that name echoing in my mind, unfamiliar and strange. Silco seemed to despise her. Father didn't argue—he just didn't care. Not anymore. He would have bartered with demons if it meant saving me.
One night, he whispered into my ear, voice thin and urgent: "We're leaving, Oria. Away from him. Somewhere safer… someone better."
I wanted to believe him. But I was so tired of hope.
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We moved. I remember the jostling of travel, the ache in every breath, and then—the Tower.
A place of metal and magic. Gleaming halls with living walls. Runes that pulsed with silent energy. I was laid out on a strange bed, surrounded by lights I didn't understand and machines that listened. A voice named Jarvis greeted me each morning, gentle and warm, monitoring my pulse like a caretaker.
There were new faces here. One stood out: a young woman with a wild smile and glowing eyes. She was chaotic, magnetic, utterly unlike anyone in Piltover. Ashryn. She looked at me with confidence and familiarity, as though she'd already decided I was going to live.
Then there was Viktor. Taller than I remembered, his gait mechanical, his eyes tired but kind. He once apprenticed under Father. Now, he seemed like an equal.
They spoke of miracles. Magic fused with science. Runes, matrices, memory transference, synthetic vessels. A new body—stronger, immune to the illness. I didn't understand much, but I understood this: it might let me stay.
Then came the void again. Heavy. Final. Like diving into a deep, black sea.
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Ashryn's Lab
---3rd POV---
The lab was alive with motion. Runes shimmered like galaxies on floating screens. Steam hissed from containment flasks. The walls pulsed gently with light, reacting to ambient temperature and energy levels. Every inch of the space was saturated with purpose.
At the center of it all stood the shell:
It was humanoid but ethereal, forged from a blend of metals that shimmered with opalescent hues—silver, pearl, violet. Energy-lines ran like veins beneath the surface, pulsing with quiet magic. The chest housed a faintly glowing core, nestled in an array of crystalline runes shaped like a heart.
Viktor adjusted one of the leg joints for the third time, muttering to himself. His hands were precise, but not steady. Nearby, Singed, worked in silence. His lab coat was stained, his mask hung from one ear, and his hands trembled as he calibrated vials of blue solution. The runes etched into the glass sparked faintly, reacting to the surrounding energy.
Ashryn stood at the helm, calm yet coiled like a drawn bowstring. "We're ready," she said, her voice cutting through the haze. "Cognitive matrix is online. Empathy runes online, personality filters stable… memory's anchoring. All it needs is the spark.""
Singed moved to the console. He hovered over the final command for a moment, then pressed it.
"Come back to me, Orianna. Please…"
A hush fell. For a few seconds, nothing happened.
Then—light.
Runes activated in sequence across the chest. A surge of radiant energy snaked through the framework, spiraling up the arms, down the legs. A sound like wind chimes and clockwork filled the room.
Jarvis's voice chimed softly. "Vitals nominal. Core temperature stabilizing. Memory file integration: 93%... 97%... 100%."
Ashryn exhaled. "Here we go. Memory, emotion, identity—anchored."
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---Orianna POV---
Consciousness returned slowly.
At first, I wasn't sure I had a body. I felt round. Drifting. Like a marble spinning in endless dark.
Then sensation—an electric flicker.
I blinked, and the world rushed in like a storm: metallic scents, sharp colors, the subtle thrum of power beneath my skin.
My reflection stared back from a polished screen. I was—me. But not.
Silver filaments lined my cheeks. My eyes glowed faintly blue, ringed with etched circuit-like veins. My frame was delicate, elegant, and radiant. A humanoid machine, beautiful and terrible and fragile all at once.
I tried to speak.
"Father…?"
The voice that came out was hollow. Cold. Like a violin string without rosin.
I panicked.
Ashryn rushed forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry! Your voice defaults to neutral for safety. You can adjust it. Try reaching inside—imagine expressing emotion. Like moving a new limb."
It sounded absurd. But I tried.
I pictured my father smiling at the stars, pointing out constellations from our old balcony. I remembered his voice reading bedtime stories, his laugh, the warmth of his arms.
"Father… I missed you."
This time, my voice cracked with feeling. My eyes softened. My face twisted with emotion I didn't even know I still had.
He collapsed into my arms, sobbing. Not loudly, just silently, gripping me like a lifeline.
"I thought I lost you," he whispered, again and again.
Viktor looked away, clearing his throat. Ashryn smiled, blinking fast.
"Thank you…" I said, scanning each of their faces. "Ashryn. Viktor. And… Father. I don't know what I can do to repay you."
Ashryn's grin turned lopsided. "You can start by not getting dismantled. And maybe join our chess nights."
They chuckled—tight, emotional laughter. The kind that only happens after grief is lifted.
Then I noticed it.
A metallic orb hovered over my shoulder, gleaming faintly. It spun slowly, humming with energy. I felt it like an extension of myself—almost like a limb.
"What is this? When I first woke up, I thought I was in the orb. It's strange—I can feel it."
Ashryn tapped a nearby panel. "That's your focus. It's more than just tech—it's a conduit. Defensive, analytical, and... if needed, quite dangerous. Think of it as your companion. You wanted to help Zaun once. Now, you actually can."
Father squeezed my hand. "You're safe now, Oria. We'll face the rest together."
I nodded slowly, overwhelmed. Gratitude, joy, grief—they rose all at once, overwhelming, nearly crashing my neural threshold.
"Thank you," I whispered again. "I'll find a way to earn this life. To be worthy of it."
Ashryn tilted her head. "Then come. See what's changed. Zaun is no more."
The words hit me like a bell toll.
No more?
But answers could wait.
I stood—steadier than I expected. Legs moved beneath me, smooth and responsive. My father held out his hand. I took it.
Together, we walked toward the exit.
Not rolling.
Not dreaming.
Walking—into a world rebuilt, reborn, remade. A future that was finally, beautifully, mine to shape.
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