Arcane: Red Sands

------------The present,Bel'Zhun-----------

Bel'zhun Harbor – Midday

The harbor pulsed with life.

Wooden docks groaned beneath the weight of cargo, crates, and the endless footsteps of laborers. Salt clung to the air, mingling with the pungent scents of tar, fish, and sunbaked stone. The waters of the bay shimmered under the noonday sun, fractured by the shadows of anchored ships.

Near Dock 7, a group of dockworkers gathered around a crate marked with the crest of House Ferros.

Inside the crate, crystals the color of frozen lightning pulsed faintly with pale-blue light. Each shard was small enough to fit in a man's palm but carried within it the potential to change everything.

"Hextech crystals," muttered a wiry man named Selik, running his hand across the crate's metal fittings. "Never thought I'd see them with my own eyes."

"Don't get too close," said his companion, a scar-faced woman named Yira, shifting uneasily. "They say it can explode if handled wrong."

Selik chuckled. "Everything's dangerous in the wrong hands." He tapped the crate. "Can you imagine it, though? Airships crossing all of Valoran in mere moments."

Yira shrugged, glancing toward the ship being loaded nearby, a sturdy Piltovan cargo vessel, sat at the dock, its crew working with swift precision to secure the precious cargo.

"Yeah, well, it's not for us," she said. "This goes back to Piltover. They got big plans for this stuff."

Selik's eyes darkened. "Yeah. Plans we'll never see."

Yira shifted uncomfortably. "Come on, let's get back to work."

As they turned away, a third man lingered in the shadows of a nearby storage shed. He wore a worker's tunic, the sleeves rolled up to expose sun-darkened skin. His face was forgettable—a featureless mask of mediocrity.

But his eyes—gray and cold—tracked every movement around the hextech cargo.

He rubbed his thumb across a brass coin in his palm.

The coin bore a sun emblem—the mark of the Suns of Bel'zhun.

---

Across the harbor, on the upper observation deck of the Customs Tower, Captain Su'Rhaal stood with his arms crossed, watching the activity below.

The desert wind stirred the edges of his crimson cloak. His face, as ever, remained impassive, but his eyes never stopped moving—cataloging every worker, every crate, every subtle irregularity.

Lieutenant Zanaiya stood beside him.

"They don't trust it," she said, nodding toward the dockworkers below.

"Hextech?" Su asked without looking at her.

"The change."

Su said nothing. He understood that fear. Hextech represented a world beyond their understanding—beyond tradition, beyond control.

"Noxus has always embraced change," he said at last. "Whether we like it or not, the future is coming."

Zanaiya's jaw tightened. "We should get to the meeting."

Su gave a faint nod, then turned away from the harbor.

Far below, the man with the brass coin watched them leave.

The coin flipped once in the air.

Heads.

He smiled.

---

The war room beneath the Bel'zhun Garrison was a stark, utilitarian space. The walls were black stone, the only decorations a few faded banners bearing the crimson crest of Noxus.

A large map of the city stretched across the central table, covered with carefully placed wooden markers: red for Noxian forces, blue for civilian sectors, and yellow for Ambessa's militia.

Su leaned over the map, his gloved hand resting near the marker representing the harbor district.

Around the table stood his most trusted officers and two officers from Ambessa Medarda's militia: Commander Vexir and Captain Kellan, their eyes attentive but guarded.

The room thrummed with tension.

Su tapped the harbor marker.

"The crystals are leaving tonight," he said. "We expect the shipment to draw attention."

"Rebels?" Titus asked.

Su nodded. "Most likely. Our spies reported increased movement in the outer districts."

Bortus frowned. "They've been quiet for a long time. Why now?"

Su's jaw tightened beneath his helmet. "Because quiet doesn't mean inactive. It means preparing."

The officers shifted uneasily.

"And Dorrik?" Commander Vexir asked, breaking the silence. "Has he taken notice?"

Su's eyes narrowed.

"He suspects something. But his gaze is still fixed outward—on Ambessa, not on us."

"He's not entirely wrong to worry," Captain Kellan said, smiling faintly. "We're not exactly subtle."

Su gave a curt nod.

"We cannot move until we have justification," he said. "Noxus punishes disobedience harshly. We need the Trifarix to see this as a necessary act."

Zanaiya cleared her throat. "The reports."

"Yes," Su said. He gestured to Bortus, who spread several parchments across the table.

The documents listed Dorrik's activities over the past year:

Mismanagement of city funds.

Arbitrary arrests and executions without Imperial sanction.

Allowing rebel cells to flourish by neglecting key districts.

"This," Su said, pointing to the parchment, "is our justification."

Vexir exhaled. "So we use his own incompetence against him."

Su's gaze sharpened. "Exactly."

--------------------

Night descended over Bel'zhun.

The harbor, once vibrant with daytime noise, was now a landscape of flickering lanterns and muted footsteps.

The Cargo ship stood ready at Dock 7, its deck swarming with sailors securing the last of the hextech crates.

Su and his officers arrived just after midnight, positioning their forces along the quay. The garrison patrols were doubled, and Ambessa's militia stood at attention behind them.

The air was thick with unease.

Zanaiya stood at Su's side, scanning the darkness.

"Something's wrong," she said. "They should've acted by now."

Su said nothing, but his fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword.

The minutes dragged.

Then—

A single flare shot into the sky.

It arced high above the harbor, burning with an unnatural, orange-red glow.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the ship exploded.

The detonation was blinding—a flash of blue and white light that shattered the night. The shockwave ripped through the dock, sending splinters of wood and shards of crystal into the air.

The explosion's force flattened dozens of soldiers and hurled Su backward into a stack of crates. His vision blurred. The scent of ozone and scorched flesh filled his nostrils.

From the shadows along the warehouses, figures emerged—faces wrapped in cloth, weapons glinting in the firelight.

The Suns of Bel'zhun had come.

Su forced himself upright.

His ears rang with the cries of wounded soldiers and the crackling of flames. Across the harbor, he saw enemy forces pouring toward the remaining hextech crates.

Zanaiya appeared beside him, face streaked with ash.

"Are you okay!?" she shouted.

Su drew his twin runeblades. The edges hissed to life with faint, red runes.

His voice, though hoarse, cut through the chaos.

"Form a line! Protect the crystals!"

The soldiers behind him scrambled to obey, forming a defensive perimeter around the remaining cargo.

A nearby building collapsed in flames, and from within the smoke stepped a figure clad in bronze-plated armor, their face hidden by a sun-emblazoned mask.

Su's breath slowed as he beheld the thing grafted to their wrist.

It writhed—a mass of dark, bark-like vines entwined into the shape of a hand. Thorned tendrils coiled and uncoiled along the surface like muscles contracting beneath skin.

They raised a curved sword and pointed toward Su.

"The Demon dies tonight!"

The rebels roared in response.

Su steadied his breathing and raised his blades.

"Victory or death."