“Is this… teleportation?!”

  Ivankov’s massive face lit up with excitement. He realized that he and Jinny had just struck gold. With this thing, their odds of escaping had just skyrocketed.

  “That’s right—teleportation. This is just the prototype, but whether it’s good luck or bad luck, turns out my ship is loaded with the exact parts needed to build this device.

  The ship’s too slow to outrun pursuit, but teleportation? They’ll never be able to stop that.”

  In Oran’s hands was a model of the Hextech Gate. In his dreams, he had traveled through countless worlds and timelines, but in his waking life, he lived in Piltover—a pce where Hextech was everything.

  Piltover’s original Hextech Gates worked by channeling energy from a Hextech core to accelerate airships, dramatically cutting down travel time.

  Oran, however, had taken it further. He’d reengineered the concept from the ground up.

  Hextech was a unique form of technology, its energy limited only by the user’s imagination—an endless well of possibilities. It could power machines, generate beams that sliced through steel, and do a thousand other things across countless disciplines.

  And because of the complexity of the craft, no two Hextech engineers built things the same way. Each creation was one of a kind.

  Compared to the standard version, Oran’s Gate aimed to achieve direct teleportation—like a hero blinking across the map in a game.

  He had originally traveled to Bilgewater to pitch this very idea. Confident in his invention, he had brought along a complete set of parts.

  After all, teleporting cargo straight into a warehouse was a lot more efficient than hauling it off a ship.

  “This is amazing! In that case…”

  Ivankov’s eyes sparkled, as if he could already see a brighter future unfolding—until Oran spshed a bucket of cold water on his hopes.

  “Don’t get too excited just yet. I’m not finished. While I’ve successfully tested human teleportation, it requires two connected portals for stable transmission.

  Right now, we don’t have a way to get the second portal to its destination. That means we’re stuck with random teleportation. I can guarantee you’ll nd somewhere in the general area, but as for which isnd exactly... well, that’s up to fate.”

  He spread his hands, a bit helpless. After all, the system had never been designed for emergency evacuations. Without proper setup, there were bound to be limitations.

  “That’s not really a problem,” Jinny said calmly. “Right now, there’s probably no isnd in the world worse than this one.”

  Staying here meant certain death. As long as they could escape, anywhere else would be better. As long as they didn’t nd on the Red Line or inside Marine HQ, their odds of survival would skyrocket.

  “There’s another problem—I need time.”

  This was what really worried Oran. Unlike the unstable teleportation, which he had at least solved spatially—no more accidentally appearing mid-air or inside walls—the real issue was getting the device ready.

  But Ivankov and Jinny didn’t seem to understand why that would be such a big deal.

  “Don’t you already have the parts on board? We can help put them together,” Ivankov offered, flexing his arm like a show of strength would make up for the complexity of the task.

  “You think this is some kind of toy you can snap together like building blocks?” Oran raised an eyebrow. “This version was originally meant for transporting cargo. To handle people, it needs some serious modifications.

  Especially the Hextech core that powers it—it’s the energy source. Its output has to be adjusted precisely for safe human teleportation. That part only I can do.”

  He picked up the model from the table and expertly disassembled it, revealing a glowing blue crystal about the size of a bottle cap floating inside.

  “This is the core. Just this little piece can power something that feels like magic. The real thing is a lot bigger than this, of course.”

  He slipped the miniature core into a pouch and gestured for the other two to follow. Soon, he led them into the ship’s cargo hold, where the parts for the full-sized Hextech Gate were waiting.

  Dozens of massive crates were neatly lined up inside, and even the smallest one towered over Ivankov.

  "The external components can be made by regur folks, sure—but just the two of you? You won't be much help."

  Oran yanked off a dust cover and opened one of the crates, revealing the enormous metal parts inside.

  These were the components for a rge-scale device meant to link two separate city-states—far more extravagant than the models Oran had shown before. The parts for the teleport gate took up nearly all the space on the ship.

  Staring at a gear rger than himself, Ivankov fell into silence. It was Jinny who stayed upbeat.

  "So besides time, you’re saying you need manpower too?"

  "Exactly. Ideally, skilled technicians—shipwrights, bcksmiths, carpenters, whatever. There should still be plenty on this isnd."

  "I'm not picky. As long as they can read a blueprint, that'll do."

  If they had the basics down, teaching them assembly wouldn’t be hard. In fact, Oran was starting to miss his old crew. If they were here, things would be a lot simpler.

  But st night, he'd sent everyone to stay at the dockside inn. Only Oran had stayed behind on the ship, running experiments—leaving him all alone for now.

  "Keep working on your pn too. If we approach it from both sides, the chances go up. But no matter what we do, we’ll need people."

  "No one wants to die here. There should still be a few willing to take the risk."

  Pulling out a few potentially useful tools from the side, Oran began outfitting himself further. He had a mild case of firepower anxiety—probably a cultural trait.

  "In theory, yes," Ivankov muttered. "But those bastards are Celestial Dragons. The number of people who’d dare stand against them... not many, I’d bet."

  Ever since the formation of the World Government, the Celestial Dragons’ rule had been absolute, their position carved deep into history.

  According to the intel Ivankov had, the Celestial Dragons would feed their prey a false promise of freedom—if they could survive for three weeks, they’d be set free. That lie made the hunt more exciting for them.

  "That kind of false hope... it makes people give up fighting. They'd rather run, clinging to illusions."

  "And that’s none of our concern. What, you pnning to save every st person?"

  Oran never saw himself as some selfless savior. He wasn’t about to risk his life for a bunch of strangers.

  That said, if he was strong enough, he didn’t mind lending a hand—if the other party shared his goals and will to fight.

  Like Ivankov and Jinny. They were pnning an escape too. Their goal aligned with his: getting off this isnd. Plus, Jinny had local intel. A temporary alliance made sense.

  But people who gave up, who handed their fate over to the enemy and prayed for mercy...

  To Oran, that was giving up on life. And he’d respect that choice—as long as they didn’t get in his way, he didn’t care what happened to them.

  Ivankov understood. Among the sves, there were people like him and Jinny, defying fate and waiting for a chance to strike back. And there were others—long resigned, living like walking corpses.

  The situation was already bleak. Time was practically a countdown to death. They couldn't afford to waste it on those who’d already given up.

  "If I could, I would save them all," Ivankov admitted. "But that’s not realistic. Honestly... if even one of us makes it out, I’d call that a major win."

  There was a trace of mencholy in his voice, but he chose to face reality.

  "Then we’re good. People who won't fight for themselves aren't worth saving. But your goal’s too small—I don’t pn on sneaking out with my tail between my legs."

  "...What are you pnning?"

  "This world welcomed me with such a special little gift. Of course I’ve got to return the favor—something just as weighty."

  His blue eyes darkened, their depths unreadable. No one could guess what Oran was thinking.

  "...Return the favor?" Ivankov echoed. "What do you mean by that?"

  In a situation like this, the word gift felt absurd.

  And that phrase—“this world”—sounded like a weird personal quirk. Plenty of people on the sea talked like that; Ivankov himself wasn’t exactly normal. But returning a gift? That wording was too strange.

  Ivankov didn’t realize it then, but not long after, he’d come to understand what Oran meant.

  Gifts, after all, don’t always bring joy.

  Sometimes, they kill.