#arcane ocs

Kat swallowed the sob that appeared in her throat. 

It was Sevika who had been the one to deliver the news earlier the previous day. She’d appeared on Kat’s doorstep, fresh loss shivering over her hardened expression like heat on pavement. Even though Kat had been waiting, had been dreading, had been expecting this shoe to drop, the arrival of the news still walloped her. 

“It happened early this morning,” Sevika had said, voice low and distant. Her eyes flicked over Kat’s shoulder to where Viktor stood, hovering in the kitchen doorway.

Kat’s hand tightened around the doorknob. The metal creaked beneath her palm. Guilt and sadness curdled within. Of course it happened when she’d been unable to be there for Enyd, or Silco.

“How is –?”

Sevika shrugged. “Probably how you’d expect. He said to tell you that he knows you can’t go over right now, and to not feel bad about it. He gets it.” 

Kat felt poorly anyway.

“Is anyone with him right now? What is he going to do with-with her?”

“Vander’s there. My next stop is Benzo’s. He has a –” Sevika choked lightly, her calm words jumbling with a swell of emotion at the back of her throat. She grimaced, then grunted. “Benzo has a couple pine boxes in storage from past deliveries. We’re gonna take his cart over, and . . .”

The plan hung in the air between them. In an attempt to remain grounded, Kat focused on logistics.

“What about Enforcers?”

“Benzo has the paperwork to move the business cart through the Lanes. He’ll take her to the Alley.”

Kat chewed the inside of her lip, head bobbling. Then her eyes widened. 

“Are they going to do it today?”

Sevika shook her head. “Tomorrow. He wants you to be there.”

After a few more words were exchanged, Kat hugged Sevika and told her to be careful as she disappeared back into the Sump. Kat’s hands were heavy as she shut the door, and tried to lock it up. “Kat?” Viktor hedged, shuffling cautiously up behind her. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Kat had turned, struck by the concern glowing in his cherubic face. The tendons and ligaments in her knees turned to jelly, and she slid to the floor. Viktor took a couple steps closer.

“Do you remember the morning we were supposed to go to the Oases to test your boat? How I had to go help a friend who was sick and had collapsed?” Viktor nodded, fingers nervously flexing around the handle of his crutch. Kat took a deep breath, and whispered, “She died early this morning.” A trembling sigh wheedled from Kat’s lips. She covered her face with her hands. Viktor frowned, and tried to ignore the small needles of guilt pricking the back of his brain. He closed the space between them, gingerly knelt down, and wrapped his gangly arms around his sister’s shoulders. There was a brief moment where she stilled before pulling him in close, and pressing her forehead against his collarbone.

“I am sorry,” he whispered.

Kat wept.

The rest of the day slithered by in a teary haze. Viktor stayed by his sister’s side as much as she did his. And when it was time for him to go to bed, Kat couldn’t make herself peel away. So she curled up next to Viktor, and listened to him fall asleep. 

He would grow up. Piltover would not choke him out like it had Enyd.

Sooner than Kat wished to, she gently nudged Viktor.

“Viktor. It is time to get up.”

A sleepy, mumbling groan rippled up her brother’s throat, and his body stiffened as it stretched long beneath the covers. Without any fuss, he sat up. Despite her low spirits, Kat smiled weakly as his fluffy bedheaded hair bounced atop his head. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and peered up at her red, puffy ones.

”You didn’t sleep.”

Kat was too tired, too raw to lie. And Viktor knew the reason for her ache, so there was even littler reason to deny it.

She shook her head. “No. I wasn’t able to.”

Viktor’s lips disappeared into a worried line, the edges of it puckering down in concern. He shifted closer, and wrapped his arms around Kat’s back. Her exhausted body melted into his comfort. 

Slowly, reluctantly, the siblings pulled themselves out of bed, and went about preparing for the increasingly laborious process of taking Viktor back to the Academy. Between being stopped by Enforcers questioning their movements at the odd hour and having the shuffle through checkpoints, the trek up to the Promenade was long, stressful, and upsetting. Kat bit her tongue hard to keep from lashing out when Viktor was patted down. She focused on the sound of blood rushing through her ears to drown out the lewd comments made at her when she was searched. 

“What is Miss Ivy doing on this side of the gate?” Viktor murmured as they approached the final checkpoint.

Kat did not answer, her mouth going dry as she and her brother neared the throng of heavily armored officers, Ivy Banforth standing amid them like a beacon. The morning sun wreathed the aide in a hopeful glow. Usually she was stationed on the other side of iron and razorwire, patiently waiting for Viktor to be escorted into Piltover proper. Today she stood out like a daffodil among a thorny weedpatch, head held high and shoulders square. Kat noticed the envelope Ivy held tightly in her hands, and her hackles began to lift; her nervous system wound tight.

“Good morning, Viktor,” Ivy greeted warmly. 

Her voice sat lower in her chest rather than vibrating through her head. She lifted her eyes, and the depth within them caused the distrust beneath Kat’s skin to stumble. It wasn’t anything she could put her finger on, but there was a sense of solidarity in Ivy’s gaze. 

I am not your enemy, Katya.

Ivy held a hand out to take Viktor’s rucksack. 

As Kat handed it over, an officer stepped forward and growled, “That’ll need to be checked.”

“No it won’t,” Ivy snapped back, shouldering the bag. “They have made it up this far through the other checkpoints. There is no need for further invasion of privacy.”

The Enforcer stood frozen in place. Kat was stunned, unsure of what to think; unwilling to let her defenses lower too much. The Enforcer grumbled through his mask, and ambled back. Ivy turned her attention to Kat.

“From Councilor Heimerdinger,” she said lightly, presenting the envelope.

Immediately, Kat’s proverbial armor clanked back into place. Her hand habitually went to reach for Viktor.

Ivy saw this, and said, “Katya, this is not about anything that’s been discussed previously.”

The earnestness in Ivy’s voice, in her face, was enough to buckle Kat’s suspicion. She also did not want to cause any sort of scene while surrounded by Enforcers and foreign officers. She took the envelope and slipped it into her coat before pulling Viktor to her, and hugging him. He whispered be careful in their mother tongue - quiet enough so no one could hear. Kat swallowed and nodded.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“See you on Friday.”

Viktor bit the inside of his lip, and nodded. Ivy gave her a small, tired, encouraging smile, and she and Viktor were escorted to Piltover’s side of the Bridge. Kat lingered, watching her brother get smaller and smaller.

“No loitering.”

A large, wide man dressed in piecemeal body armor postured himself at her. One of the foreign mercenaries Piltover had commissioned, then. Katya’s eyes danced between the various metal plates covering his broad muscles, the heavily-accessorized rifle cradled in his arms, and the heavy scarring etched into his bald head. He leered at her, multiple metal teeth glinting.

”You deaf, Sumprat?”

Kat’s heart hammered, she felt the muscles of her limbs coil. Equal parts fight and flight. But she had somewhere to be. Someone to be with. Someone to say good-bye to. So, instead, she fawned. 

With a shake of her head, she mumbled, “No.”

Kat spun on her heel and hurried away before he could say anything else.

Once off the Promenade, out of sight and out of the sun, Kat tucked herself into the shallow alcove of a building and pulled out the envelope Ivy had given her. The cardstock was heavy and expensive. Heimerdinger’s seal was embossed in navy blue wax over the flap. Despite Ivy promising it was nothing to do with what Kat feared, rage flared all the same. She considered chucking it, ignoring whatever it was outright. But she didn’t. Kat slid her thumb beneath a loose edge of the envelope and popped the seal. There was a letter within, but it wasn’t from Heimerdinger. It was from Ivy herself.

Katya –

I am Piltovan, but I am not your enemy. What is happening between our cities - how the Undercity is being treated - is wrong. My voice does not count for much, but please know that should you or Viktor need help in any way that you can contact me. Below is the location of a pnuematube channel that will carry a letter directly to my secure mailbox.

I am not the enemy, Katya.

Kat stared at the message, reread it over and over. She could not pin down the emotion stirring inside her. Not doubt, not relief. Not quite hope. Some amorphous, confused thing that could not be shaded as positive nor negative. She read the location of the channel, and recognized it as being near The Last Drop. Lowering the note, Kat stared into the middle-distance, addled and despondent. She tucked the letter back into her coat, and continued for Augmentation Alley.

The blacksmith rummaging for scrap in the gutter didn’t bat an eye as Kat wormed her way out of a refuse tunnel. People coming and going through odd means was becoming all too common. He nodded at her as she brushed the dirt from her trousers.

“Enforcers?” she asked.

“Just finished their round up’n this cut. Should be clear s’long as where yer goin’ is close.”

“Pok’s.”

The smith straightened, his large trapezius muscles unfurling like the leaves of some soot-covered plant as his head rose up. The tendons of his square jaw fluttered like plucked harp strings. His eyes burned like coals. The smiths, augmenteers, and artisans of Augmentation Alley had taken the unjust loss of their elder harshly. Any mention of Pok, or his son, inspired hot, protective displays. Augmentation Alley pumped out bullets and weapons for Pok as much as it did for Zaun.

“Yer close. Few doors up.”

Kat thanked him and whisked away.

She’d never seen Pok’s Parlor dark, without the orange peel glow of its front forge burning. Despite the warm weather and her coat, it sent a prickling chill across her skin. Mek closed and locked the door behind her, murmuring that they were in the back. Where the biggest furnace was. Kat’s stomach rammed itself up to the base of her throat, and her eyes burned as if full of smoke.

She wished it were smoke.

Mek showed her the way, lumbering just ahead. He opened a large metal door, and nodded in the direction of the room beyond. Steeling herself, Kat dipped under his stretched arm and stepped inside.

The room was gloomy and politely quiet. Sevika and Benzo stood off to one side, greeting her with sullen nods. She returned the gesture, and looked to the front of the room. Where the mouth of the furnace was. Where a pine box lay on a table. Where Vander and Silco stood. Her legs wobbled horribly as she stepped behind Silco, and slid a hand onto his shoulder. He turned, and the deadened look in his eyes cored Kat out. Silently, he wound his arms around her and pulled her in close. She was relieved and grateful for a split second to be with him. Then his hold tightened, squeezed her as if to keep her from ever moving again. She just barely caught the sob his vicelike embrace pushed out of her. She knew this pain. This cornered animal fear. She’d held Viktor like this a number of times. Held her Papa when it was clear Mama wasn’t coming back. When he was dying in a gutter. 

A desperate, messy demand to not leave. To stay.

Kat held him back with the same fierceness, her fingers clawing at his back. Her body tremored a couple times, too-big emotions rattling under her skin. Silco was still. His breathing was deep and even. Slowly, she drew back, his arms loosening enough to allow her to peer up at him. His eyes were dull, but not puffy nor redrimmed. Had he even allowed himself to cry?

Silco’s arms softened further, and slowly Kat stepped out of them, reluctantly bringing her attention to the pine box. It was large. Nearly six feet long. She hoped they’d filled it with blankets and pillows to keep Enyd held and warm. She sniffed harshly, blinking back the tears forming on her eyelids, and went to it.

The lid was shut, and Kat was glad for it. It was bad enough her last memories of Enyd were of her sick and withered in bed; she didn’t need their places to be superseded by Enyd’s corpse. She felt guilt about being fortunate enough to avoid that sight. Silco had not. Nor Vander, or Benzo.

Kat spread her hands over the lid. The wood was warm and rough beneath her palms. A shaky sigh left her chest, and she laid her forehead down on the grain. This wasn’t right. She’d promised - foolishly - to Silco that they wouldn’t make Enyd wait for Zaun’s freedom. While not for a lack of trying, freedom had not come, and Enyd died still a citizen of the city-state that, through its cruelty and utter disregard for her value, had killed her.

The tightness in Kat’s throat pushed up a prayer she remembered reciting with her mother when a parishioner of Temple passed. She was loath to allow memories of her own mother anywhere near her mourning, near Enyd; but if anyone was worthy of the Words she was. Kat murmured the ancient prose quickly beneath her breath, the susurration of her voice hissing through the room like wind against a window. 

Jan’ahrem

Blessed be the Blue Bird

Blessed be this Child

Whom you’ve taken ‘neath Your Wing

And have guided to their final rest

May they only know Your loving peace

May our ache serve as proof of our love for them

May our meekness serve as proof of faith in Your Plan

We are eternally grateful

Forever devoted . . . 

The prayer drifted into silence, and after a moment Kat lifted her head back up, wiping at her eyes and running her fingers through her mussed bangs. Quietly, she returned to Silco’s side. She looped an arm around his waist. His own arm stretched across her shoulders and became a heavy weight. Next to them, Vander scuffed his boots against the packed floor.

Mek stepped forward, his young face stony and dark, and jammed his massive thumb against a large button the the side of the furnace. Kat’s stomach dipped at the terrible hiss of gas. Like that of a snake ready to strike. She felt Silco’s body tense under her hand. Mek released the button, and tugged mightily on the lever next to it. Fire whooshed to life within the furnace’s belly, flames bright; their sharp tongues licking the air in search of fodder. 

Benzo spoke up. “Should-should something be said before . . .”

He let the question flutter off his tongue like ash, acrid and unsure. It hung in the air, waiting. 

The pads of Silco’s fingers pressed against Kat’s shoulder before gently falling away as he took a step toward the pine box. He placed a hand on the lid, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the rough surface. Seconds passed, and Silco’s spine straightened and his shoulders drew back. Keeping his hand on the box, he turned to look at those gathered in the room. His expression was still carefully detached, controlled. But the spit and crackle of emotion glittered in his eyes.

“Some of my first memories of mum have to do with minecarts.” A wet chuckle huffed from Vander’s chest, and he wiped his nose. “Vander and I would hide behind them to avoid working when we were young. Sometimes we’d play marbles with pebbles; other times we would just sleep. 

“Once, I remember waking up and noticed a second cart had been pulled up, angled against the first, tucking us into a makeshift corner.” The smile Silco gave Vander was weak, and did not reach his eyes. “I was confused, and peeked around the new cart to see mum prepping a wall that was to be detonated later that week. She saw me, held a finger to her lips, and shooed me back to our hiding spot. “Eventually, when we were older, Vander and I would hide behind those carts and dream up a world where mothers wouldn’t have to shelter their children from the abuses of manual labor. Where mothers would not have to sacrifice their bodies to barely keep their families fed. Where mothers could grow old, and watch their children have families of their own. A world where children would not lose their mothers at too-young an age.” Silco’s gaze tracked between Kat and Sevika.

The strong line of his shoulders bowed a bit, and he looked away. “I struggle to think of anyone more deserving of that dream than mum, and it is a near unbearable ache to know that she received so much less than she deserved. It was my hope that she’d live long enough to taste the freedom that was her birthright. Now, since we cannot win it for her, we will do it in her memory.”

There was a beat, the air charged with Silco’s words. The flames in the furnace seemed to lap them up. His fingers twitched against the lid of the box before curling into a fist. Closing his eyes, Silco took a deep breath in. He released it, opened his eyes, and called Vander over. Obediently, he stepped over to one end of the table while Silco rounded to the opposite. Mek opened the furnace’s hot mouth, and an intense waft of heat filled the room. Sweat pricked on Kat’s skin immediately. 

With Mek’s help, Vander and Silco lined up the table with the conveyor belt that fed into the excited flames. They danced as the motor was turned on, and the pine box was pulled into the machine’s belly. Silco froze as the first licks of fire tasted the wood, and began to eat. Kat’s legs flinched, preparing to pull him away, but Vander was there first. Gently, lovingly, he guided Silco away from the furnace, his big arm wrapped tightly around his Brother’s shoulders. Mek closed and locked its door, the metal creaking and groaning loudly. 

The window into the furnace was blessedly warped and soot-stained, shielding any sense of what was happening within. Only the hellish light of fed flames could be determined. 

Kat did not know how long they all stood there, watching. It could have been hours; it might have been days. When the furnace began to darken, Mek cut off the gas. He told Silco it would take about a day for the interior to cool enough for Enyd's ashes to be fetched. Silco nodded numbly, and Vander thanked Mek for the use of his space.

With little else to be done, Silco, Vander, Kat, Sevika, and Benzo shuffled back into the front end of Pok’s Parlor. In a staggered fashion, they left Augmentation Alley. Vander and Benzo left together in Benzo’s cart; but not before Vander told Silco he would be coming over after closing the Drop for the night. Silco didn’t argue, simply hugged his Brother and told him to be safe. A few minutes after the cart had puttered away, Silco, Kat, and Sevika headed for the mines.

It pained Kat to leave Silco and Sevika in the lift when it shuddered to a stop at the clinic’s floor. The kiss she planted on Silco’s lips was firm and beseeching.

“I’ll get you after the bell,” he said as she dropped back to her toes.

Kat nodded, and went to embrace Sevika. The girl returned the gesture but it was rigid, as if afraid to hold too tightly. She stepped off the lift, watched at its doors clattered shut, and continued to slide down into the Underground’s belly. On numb legs, Kat shuffled toward the clinic. 

The space was dark. Will was not there. Operating hours had been cut weeks ago. Another punishment cloaked as an unfortunate result of the mine’s suffering bottomline. It was a measure Rynweaver was only able to implement after Bone’s death. Will had been furious when it was announced, and it had been the first time Kat felt any actual heat from his glare. 

She opened the door and flipped the switch. Cold, fluorescent lights popped to life and droned catatonically above. Kat checked the messages and the notepad for any missives. There were none, and she didn’t know if she was relieved to be unbothered or disappointed that there was nothing to distract her from the heavy emptiness filling her chest.

She plodded aimlessly into the exam room. She couldn’t look at the table in there now without thinking of the feral tryst she and Silco had taken a few weeks prior. She’d come into her next shift to find the clinic reeking of bleach, and Will scrubbing its metal surface to within an inch of its life. He’d scowled at her, but had said nothing. 

The memory of her and Silco’s messy, desperate fuck had once been a pleasant, toe-curling thing. Now it felt dulled and distant by the devastating developments that had compartmentalized her life into harsh Befores and Afters.

Before Bone’s death. After Bone’s death.

Before the battle. After the battle.

Before Pfeffer. After Pfeffer.

Before Enyd. After Enyd.

There was no need to go into the supply closet, but Kat’s feet carried her there regardless. The chembulb bounced and flickered to life as she tugged its chain. The light danced across the few bottles stored there. The stock was so much less than what it used to be - Before.

The emptiness grief had hollowed out in Kat began to fill with rage. Her eyes traveled across each shelf, taking in each precious resource before her. None of it would’ve saved Enyd. Kat wasn’t so emotional as to believe the medically impossible, to retroactively bargain for a fool’s deal. 

The note Ivy had given her that morning burned in her coat pocket.

. . . should you or Viktor need help in any way that you can contact me . . . 

There was so much she needed. So much Viktor needed. So much Zaunites needed. So much Enyd had needed.

So much they all deserved.

Kat glared at the medicines, boxes of plaster, and rolls of gauze. They were being wasted here. Gatekept by a man, by a city, who did not care about Zaun’s Befores and Afters. 

When Will arrived for his shift the next day, the supply closet was empty.

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