A brisk breeze whispered through Piltover's winding streets as Orion hurried toward Tobin's workshop. The young inventor clutched a small satchel containing books, sketches, and a hodgepodge of gears—his mind already racing with half-formed ideas. After meeting with Professor Heimerdinger, Orion had wasted no time prepping for the upcoming Academy entrance exam. Yet, he quickly realized he'd need all the help he could get.
The workshop's door stood ajar, allowing the faint aroma of oil and metal to drift outside. Orion stepped in, pushing back a wayward lock of dark-blue hair. He found Tobin hunched over a desk, adjusting the mainspring of a delicate clockwork bird.
"You're early," Tobin observed, glancing up with a smile. "Eager to get started, I see."
Orion returned the smile, though his eyes were rimmed with a hint of fatigue. "I'm having trouble with some theory. The exam's not just about building gadgets. There's advanced math, arcane, and the fundamentals of mechanical physics. I—I don't want to leave anything to chance."
Tobin removed his goggles, setting them aside. "Well, you've come to the right place. I may be a retiree, but I can still handle a formula or two." He gestured at a rickety stool near the workbench. "Sit, and tell me where you're stuck."
Over the next hour, Orion and Tobin pored over pages of notes. Complex equations for torque optimization lined the margins of Orion's sketches. References to arcane resonance—an early academic subject in the Academy—made Tobin frown thoughtfully.
"The torque calculations are close," Tobin said, "but you've overlooked friction in the gear assembly. If you factor that in, your final number changes."
"Right," Orion murmured, scratching out a correction. "I keep forgetting the real-world wear and tear."
"And as for the arcane references," Tobin continued, "I admit that's beyond my direct expertise. But I know enough to tell you it's theoretical. The Academy likely wants to see if you can incorporate intangible principles into mechanical design."
Orion sighed, rubbing his single functional eye. "I'm trying. I just worry that without hands-on exposure to arcane substances, I'm at a disadvantage."
Tobin's gaze softened. "Don't underestimate your ingenuity. Remember the wind generator you built? You were referencing nothing more than steam-engine blueprints and your own common sense."
A flicker of confidence lit Orion's face. "You're right. I'll keep at it."
When Orion returned home, Clara was waiting with a plate of biscuits and a determined gleam in her eyes. "There you are. I was about to send Grant out to find you."
He offered her a sheepish grin. "Just studied longer than expected. Sorry."
She ushered him inside, pressing the biscuits into his hands. "None of that. You need to keep up your strength." Then her voice softened. "We're so proud of you, Orion—chasing down all this knowledge. But don't forget to rest, okay? Burning out helps no one."
An affectionate warmth spread through him at her concern. "Thanks, Mom. I'll be careful."
Grant—still in his enforcer uniform, minus the helmet—gave Orion an approving nod from across the room. "Tomorrow, I'll be off-duty early. If you need anything from the city archives, I can escort you. I heard they have some advanced treatises that might help with your exam prep."
"City archives?" Orion asked, curiosity blooming. "I've never been there, except to drop off reams of old enforcer reports for you."
Grant shrugged. "It's not widely publicized, but they keep a separate reading room for technical manuals. Some of it's public record, some restricted. We can see if they'll grant you a pass for certain documents."
Orion's eyes lit up. "That could be invaluable. There's so much I still don't know."
Lady Kiramman's carriage arrived at midday two days later, just as Orion finished adjusting a small wind-up device in his workshop. The driver, dressed in the Kiramman livery, approached politely, extending a folded note.
The note contained a brief message in Lady Kiramman's neat script:
Orion, I trust your studies go well. Professor Heimerdinger has requested a preliminary demonstration at the Academy labs next week—think of it as a practice run before the official exam. Please have a few of your prototypes ready.
Orion's stomach twisted with excitement and nerves. "A preliminary demonstration," he repeated, pacing. "I guess I'd better get my prototypes in top shape."
Clara, who had been sorting laundry nearby, caught his eye. "You can do this, Orion. You've tested them many times already."
He nodded, slipping the note into his pocket. "Yes, but it's Heimerdinger. I know he liked my initial show-and-tell, but a full demonstration in a lab setting is different."
Grant peered into the room, having overheard. "Son, you're more than capable. Lady Kiramman wouldn't arrange this if she didn't have faith in you."
Orion exhaled, glancing at the half-finished coil in his hand. "Alright, I'll do my best."
The following week, Orion found himself in one of the Academy's smaller labs, a space typically reserved for upper-year students to conduct mechanical or chemical experiments. Long tables gleamed under bright lamps, while shelves hosted rows of glass beakers and vials. A few curious onlookers—professors, student aides, and even Lady Kiramman—stood by, watching as Orion set out his devices.
He began with the wind generator, hooking it up to a small gauge that measured electrical output. A faint hum resonated through the air as the blades spun under a gentle hand-crank. The gauge's needle rose steadily, prompting a few murmurs of approval from the observers.
Next came the mechanical arm. Orion demonstrated the flexible fingers, explaining how the integrated coil reduced strain on the gear joints. He avoided technical jargon unless specifically asked, keen on showcasing the device's real-world utility.
At last, he placed forward his current notes on Energon. This time, he'd included a small glass container of shimmering fluid—an experimental batch he'd refined just days prior. "I'm still in the early stages," Orion explained, cheeks flushing slightly, "but I believe it can serve as a more efficient power source if stabilized. Right now, it's volatile, so I won't test it openly."
The room fell into a hush. Professor Heimerdinger, perched atop a high stool, leaned in with clear intrigue. "Indeed, caution is paramount. But your approach is methodical, I see."
Lady Kiramman added, "If it works, the potential is immense."
Heimerdinger gave a tiny nod. "Yes, quite. But you'll need thorough oversight for something like this. Regardless, your knowledge of mechanical engineering at just twelve years old is… extraordinary."
The small crowd dispersed after a spate of questions, with a few staff members lingering to scribble notes in their journals. Orion carefully packed away the fluid container, relieved that nothing had gone awry.
Heimerdinger approached, tapping his chin. "I foresee a bright future for you, Orion," he said kindly. "The entrance exam is still a formal step, but I can say with confidence that your admission is likely, should you perform as well on theoretical tests as you do in practical demonstrations."
A flood of relief and excitement coursed through Orion. "Thank you, Professor. I won't disappoint you."
Back home, Orion collapsed into a chair in the living room, exhaustion dripping from every pore. Clara handed him a cool cup of lemonade. "You must be exhausted," she said, voice gentle.
Orion nodded, taking a grateful sip. "The demonstration went well. Heimerdinger seemed pleased."
Grant, having just returned from patrol, peeled off his enforcer gloves and set them aside. "Pleased enough to accept you?"
Orion shrugged, a trace of a smile playing on his lips. "It sounds that way, but there's still the official exam. I need to make sure I do well on the written portion, the collaborative test, and possibly an oral defense. They've got multiple ways to assess new candidates."
Clara draped a shawl across her shoulders. "And when exactly is this exam?"
"In about two weeks," Orion replied. "I'll get the final schedule soon."
Grant folded his arms. "That's plenty of time for you to polish your notes." He hesitated, a faint frown forming. "Son, I know you'll want to hole up in the workshop, but remember to eat, sleep, and—if you can—spend a little time relaxing. Understand?"
A surge of gratitude filled Orion's chest. "I promise. I won't push myself to the point of collapse."
The next days slipped by in a whirlwind of equations, trial runs, and more borrowed texts than Orion had ever read in his life. He penned design theories in neat columns, comparing them to the standard references Tobin lent him. He also deciphered advanced mechanical treatises from the city archives, courtesy of Grant's special pass.
Occasionally, Clara would knock on the workshop door, bringing him a sandwich or a steaming cup of tea. Each time, she'd gently remind him to keep perspective. "Just do your best," she'd say, smoothing back his hair. "That's all anyone can ask."
Late one evening, Orion paused amid a sea of crumpled notes. He rubbed his temple, letting his gaze drift to the battered blueprint pinned on the wall—the blueprint of a mechanical eye. The thought hovered at the back of his mind: if he could succeed at the Academy, he might access the expertise and materials needed to bring that dream to life. For a moment, the idea filled him with renewed vigor.
"Alright," he whispered, turning back to his papers. "No turning back now."
At last, the day of the Academy entrance exam dawned bright and clear. Orion arrived at the great brass doors, heart pounding. Dozens of other prospective students milled about, some accompanied by parents or mentors, others standing nervously alone.
A tall, bespectacled clerk ushered them into a grand hall, where desks were arranged in neat rows. Orion took a seat near the front, swallowing against the knot in his throat.
"The theoretical portion will last two hours," announced the clerk, handing out quills and blank papers. "No outside notes permitted. You must answer all questions to the best of your ability."
When the exam began, Orion's hand flew across the parchment. The queries ranged from advanced mechanical principles to basic arcane theory, from structural engineering to moral questions about the application of technology. He tackled them methodically, recalling each late-night study session, each correction Tobin had given him, each supportive word from his parents.
Time blurred. Eventually, the clerk declared, "Pencils down." Orion exhaled shakily, quickly scanning his answers. He had done all he could.
The next segment was a group exercise in an adjacent workshop. Orion teamed up with three other applicants, none older than fifteen. Their task: build a small device that converted rotational motion into vertical lift. The four worked awkwardly at first, but Orion recognized how each had a unique strength—one was brilliant at reading schematics, another had a steady hand with the lathe, and the third had a knack for improvising gears from raw metal.
By the end of the exercise, they had a crude but functional pulley-lift that rose smoothly under minimal power. One of the proctors, a stern-faced professor, nodded in approval. "Cooperative skill is just as vital as individual brilliance," he stated, making a note on his clipboard.
Finally, Orion faced an oral review in a small chamber lined with portraits of famous Piltover scientists. Three Academy members sat behind a curved table. Heimerdinger was among them, eyes twinkling with calm encouragement.
One professor, a woman with silver-streaked hair, glanced at Orion's notes. "Young man, your approach to generating electricity from wind is commendable. But how do you propose to handle sudden storms? The stress on the generator could cause catastrophic failure."
Orion squared his shoulders, explaining the concept of a power regulator that distributed incoming energy and a failsafe that clamped the blades if they spun too rapidly. The second professor, a balding man with spectacles, inquired about the ethical ramifications of advanced prosthetics—could they cause an arms race for superior bodies?
Orion responded that any technology could be misused, but he aimed to keep his designs accessible and beneficial, not militarized. He tried to speak with conviction, half expecting them to find holes in every answer.
Then it was over. The panel excused him, and Orion walked out, dazed. The next day or two would be agonizing, waiting for the results. But as he stepped into the corridor, Lady Kiramman was there, a knowing smile on her face, and behind her stood Grant and Clara.
"How do you feel?" Clara asked softly, searching his face.
Orion let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I did my best," he said, voice trembling. "I guess we'll see if that's enough."
Grant clasped Orion's shoulder reassuringly. "Whatever happens, we're proud of you, son."
Lady Kiramman gave a polite nod. "Indeed. Your performance was admirable. And if it's any consolation, I overheard a few professors expressing genuine excitement about your designs."
Relief and exhaustion washed over Orion in equal measure. He offered a shaky grin, leaning slightly into Clara's hug. "Thank you… all of you."
As they made their way out of the Academy's grand halls, Orion felt the first flicker of peace in days. He had poured everything he had into these exams—his knowledge, creativity, and the unwavering support of his family. Now, only time would tell if Piltover's greatest institution would open its doors to him.
Stepping back onto the sunlit streets, Orion let the tension ease from his shoulders. No matter the outcome, he had come this far. The promise of tomorrow felt bright, and the city around him thrummed with possibilities he was closer than ever to exploring.