Sevika didn't need help, she didn't need pity and she sure as hell didn't need a damn assistant. The request for one hadn't come at her own behest, no. It had come from the other councillors, more than likely in an attempt to keep the 'unruly Zaunite' under control. All this because the councillors said her handwriting was 'too messy,' 'chicken scratch' another had said. A damn babysitter, that's what this assistant was. Always hovering around her, looking over her shoulder, breathing down her neck. Sure, she helped with things, and she was nice enough to look at she supposed.

Sevika's office was the pinnacle of refinement, intellect, and power—a space where politics, commerce, and innovation intersect. Nestled in the upper floors of the grand administrative building, the office boasted high vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate brass and gold filigree, reflecting the wealth and prestige of Piltover’s elite that Sevika could never truly be part of. The air carried the faint scent of polished wood and expensive ink, foreign smells to someone raised in the chemical-laden air of Zaun.

The walls were lined with towering bookshelves filled with legal tomes, historical records, and Hextech patents, each bound in rich leather with gilded lettering. A large, circular window dominated one side of the room, its stained-glass panels depicting Piltover’s founding, casting shifting patterns of amber and blue across the polished marble floor. At the heart of the office sat an imposing mahogany desk, its surface immaculate except for neatly stacked dossiers, an ornate Hextech communicator. The desk’s drawers contained confidential agreements, trade negotiations, and blueprints for future city expansions—plans that would shape Piltover’s future, not Zaun’s.

Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystalline cores pulsing with soft blue light, while elegant brass pipes ran along the walls, discreetly channeling pneumatic messages to other council members. A velvet-lined seating area near a marble fireplace offered a space for hushed negotiations, where powerful figures sipped fine wine from cut-crystal glasses. Despite its grandeur, the office had an undeniable air of tension. The scent of parchment, ink, and polished brass lingered in the air, mingling with the faint hum of Hextech machinery hidden within the walls. Every detail—from the precisely placed diplomatic gifts on display to the untouched cup of cooling tea—spoke of a mind constantly at work, navigating the delicate balance of power in Piltover’s ever-evolving political landscape.

Sevika's fingers tightened around the pen in her hand, holding it awkwardly like a child learning to write. Her jaw set as she stared at the documents before her, the words blurring together in a frustrating mess. She'd never been good at reading these official Piltover documents with their fancy language and complicated sentences. A low growl escaped her throat as she slammed the pen down on the desk. The silence of the office was broken by the sound, echoing louder than she intended.

Then, the silence was broken again. Rare. Bold. By a voice from behind her, the one person who seemed to have the courage to interrupt her thoughts these days.