Heimerdinger

The air in the Underground City always had a thick, acrid feel: smoke, rust, and something faintly medicinal. The streets weren't silent, but the noise was different from the orderly hum of Piltover. It was harsher, interwoven with half-spoken murmurs, the distant hiss of chemical vents, and the occasional crunch of glass underfoot.

You keep your head down as you walk, your hands in your pockets. That's when you see him. A small figure, dressed in a black cloak, moving with an awkward determination. You knew that way, his gait: too cautious for someone used to these streets, too aware of his surroundings, yet still surprised by every shifting shadow.

Who else is that short guy?

Understanding settles in instantly, piercing through the fog of the city's usual distractions. Heimerdinger. Counselor Heimerdinger.