Top Posts Tagged with #this is rewritten timer

Timer | Part 1

"In the color of their eyes, there is a set of numbers on wrists that are counting down the days, hours, minutes, and seconds to when you will meet your soulmate."

11,460 words | AO3

Prologue

Warnings: Soulmate AU, Slow-burn, Pre-Canon/Pre-Act 1, character exploration, blood, canon-typical violence, Enforcers being terrible

AN: Shout-Out to the lovely/amazing/perfect @sweatandwoe for her help with this chapter ❤

As the storm rolled in, casting thunder and darkness over the top-level of Zaun, Silco knew two things: that this would be one for the ages, a devastating storm that would breach the skies and flood the Fringes come morning, and that it was a sign.

A sign that the storm that was clouding the rebellion, was also about to reach its zenith.

Being the one who had triggered the storm, the Son of Zaun couldn't help but grind his teeth at the humor, dragging the cloth on the flat of his blade. Methodical, and useless, as the metal already shined. It kept his hands busy though, steady instead of shaking, even as the first roar of thunder sounded in the horizon.

He doesn't flinch, as the sound rolled over the exposed top-level of the Undercity.

Silco only wondered how it would happen, how this awaiting storm gathering over the Children of Zaun, would finally break.

He had spent weeks thinking about how it had originally occurred, these dark clouds hovering over the burning brightness of their rebellion. It wasn't hard to tell that shifts in the atmosphere were made, that smiles were becoming forced and blows made a little more harshly with every passing day. It was like a ripple throughout the entirety of Zaun.

Brothers and Sisters, rebels and civilians and perhaps even Topsiders, in unease not by weather or the ever-tightening noose of Enforcers, but by the Sons of Zaun, divided.

Such a thought had seemed impossible, not too long ago.

Silco probably would have even laughed at the idea of him and Vander at opposing ends.

Oh, there was the occasional argument, as with any young men. The overdrawn banter and the bouts of irritated silence between the two, and then added third-party that almost always took Vander's side. Benzo was nothing, if not predictable, and relentless as Vander's backup.

No partnership thrived on perfect-compatibility, two voices echoing one another in perfect unison. Silco and Vander complimented each other well enough that there was balance in their army, and in their Undercity. The leadership of the Children of Zaun had always been presented as a united front, two brilliant, eager and equally fierce minds to be the face of their Nation, as they led Zaun to independence.

Two men, united as one. In trust, in respect, and in their dream.

Until Silco challenged Vander. In front of the entirety of the Children of Zaun.

His thumb caught the end of his blade, but Silco didn't even react to the pain that followed, glowering onto the horizon. 'If we show weakness now ,' His own words echo in his head. 'Then they end us .' Is that what Vander wanted? To slow down, to pull back their strength, was to admit their vulnerability and the fact that they were not the strong Nation that Piltover should've learned to fear, to respect , generations ago?

Silco squeezed the sliced thumb between two fingers, making the single drop of blood bubble to the surface of flesh, and slowly run it's way down. Narrow sea green eyes watching it roll down his calloused pad, before dripping off onto the ground far below, as he sat just-off the roof of one of the abandoned warehouses facing the east.

How could Vander not see?

Piltover was strong , but Zaun was of many . Piltover was superior in equipment, but Zaun learned to use their fists and teeth years ago, if all else failed. Piltover outdid them in training, true, despite how much effort the Children had put into their coordination, but there was no changing the fact that together, Zaun had the numbers . The numbers to truly make it count, to make a blow so devastating that Topside could never recover from.

All they had to do was gather everyone. Any, and all able-bodied, and it could be done. And when it was done, they could be freed.

The Nation of Zaun was in reach, and all that needed to be done was for its people to unite, as well as it's leaders had. A Nation, united as one. In trust, in the dream, and in victory .

But his Brother said no.

His Brother, not by the blood in their veins, but by the blood they have split for the dream of their Nation, said they didn't need to strike harder - that they needed to pull back.

Even Benzo had looked bewildered at such a command, but Silco felt rage.

" Draw-back ? Are you thick in the head?" He had snarled, with Vander growling right back. "Every blow we deal with, and every Enforcer we knock back, they take out two of ours, and at least one civilian." He said this hoarsely, but Silco could laugh. When was war bloodless ? More importantly, when did Vander shy away from it?

"You forget brother, we fight before we die," Silco said, tilting his chin up to meet Vander's gaze squarely. "Any true Zaunite, Children or civilian, holds the same skills of survival that kept us alive, even in the darkest depths of the underground. I think you'll do well to remember that we're much more durable then Piltover gives us credit for."

The murmur of agreement around them, from the gathered forces of Children, only made that frown turn even lower. "Durable for what ? We risk running ourselves ragged by throwing ourselves at them, again and again and again . We need to pull-back to gather ourselves, to regroup, and build strength. Crossing our fingers and hoping that everyone would even answer the call now , just isn't going to work." Saying this around them, the Hound seemed to meet the gaze of as many as possible before, in the last sentence, he turned to meet the gaze of his fellow Brother, and narrowed his piercing grey eyes. "We can't lose strength by rag-tagging together. Not lose what strength we do have, by trying to prove a point."

"The point is to not appear weak ," Voice was now raising, and a sharp turn of his heel as Silco began to pace. "We show weakness, and they sense it, that is it ."

"It's not weakness to stop and recalculate what we have-"

"It is! We show even the slightest of weakness, and they end us." Silco had to resist very hard not to throw his hands up. "Is that how you want it to end? Not on our own two feet, side by side with Sons and Daughters alike, poised to fight for our future, our freedom ? Instead cowering, hoping that Topside suddenly grows a new sense of patience while we sit around, doing nothing ."

Silco sees a dark cloud, darker than the storm gathering now over the Alcoves, cross Vander's face. He opens his mouth, but Silco can't stop himself.

"We have suffered, we have bled and fought. To show weakness now, would mean to fail, to give in, to lose . To lose our nerve now, to pull back from our full strength, would mean to admit our defeat, and crumble back into dust beneath Piltover's boots..."

A pause, and Silco... tried . He tried to hold it back in, but closing his eyes, he couldn't ignore it. Ignore the foolishness of Vander, to even suggest that they stop, now, after everything...no.

No, how could Silco not be disgusted by that? And he could not hold back the words, as he opened his eyes, and finished his damnation of Vander's hesitation with a hiss, "And if we were to continue to follow a leader as weak as your becoming, Vander, maybe we would deserve it ."

He regretted saying it, immediately. There was a clear rumble, sharp intakes of breath among the crowd of Children around them, and the largest of the leading Sons of Zaun widened his grey eyes.

Then they narrowed, and for the first time, Silco saw the full-wrath of the Hound of the Underground fully, and mercilessly fixated on him.

A chuckle in the present, as Silco opens his eyes to pull him away from the vision of his past.

He'd almost forgotten the terror that his Brother could truly be. It was about time he'd gotten a reminder, though he did indeed wish it'd been directed at any other but him...

And that it didn't leave him with such uncertainty, that when the footfall of leather sounded as someone reached the top of the side-ladder, Silco had to hide back his wince.

"Brother," The call came, but the uncertainty didn't leave him. He didn't know that voice. Swiping his thumb off on his shirt, he smoothly pulled his legs back from over the edge and rose while holstering his knife as he gazed upon his visitor. Clearly she was one of Vander's forces, the broad-shoulders a dead giveaway along with her wide stance, clearly inviting a fight with her body, if not with her narrowed grey eyes. They studied him as much as he watched her.

Smoothly, he laced his fingers behind his back, tilting his chin up as he faced this Daughter of Zaun. Vander must've pulled her straight from training, he imagines. Silco pities her, seeing that she's not thrilled at one of her first missions is to play messenger. She has the body, the muscle of a field-fighter, and Silco finds himself distantly curious to see her in action one day. "Sister," He acknowledges, taking a couple smooth strides closer. "I expected Vander."

"Yeah, well, Vander expects you."

Silco raises a brow, and she sighs. "The docks. Noon, tomorrow," She clarifies, and he can't hide his frown, turning his hand over to rub at his wrist off-handedly behind his back. The Upper Level of the Undercity was still a gray-territory, almost entirely neutral, save for a few handfuls that snuck below-ground to fight.

A pity, as their numbers were many with the abundance of fresher-air and open-space - healthy masses, a sorely-needed resource in the Underground forces. Talks had been arranged with the self-appointed leader of the top-level of the Undercity, to discuss numbers and how to pull the Fringes, and by extension the Alcoves levels, into the forces the Nation of Zaun needed.

But, regrettably, he had died a year earlier.

Bad timing, wrong place at the wrong time.

And now, de-facto leaderless, the Top Level was a silent, neutral-party in a time when there simply couldn't afford to be a neutral party.

The fact that Vander thinks to meet here, where so few of the Children are stationed doesn't shock Silco, but does make him raise a brow. He doesn't ask questions though, as he sees the Sister already turning to return down the ladder, clearly glad for this job to be done. "You were at the meeting, weren't you?" He calls.

The muscular young woman turns, grey eyes narrowing as she looks over her shoulder at him. "And what about it?" She gruff, sarcasm clear on her lips. "Are you looking for a standing-ovation?" Silco feels one corner of his mouth quirk up, "No, but a sort of review of my words would be appreciated... particularly in what you reckon should be our move."

Taking a step closer, she doesn't turn back to him fully, but he has her attention now.

" Reckon, that you should show up to that meeting. Vander seemed like he needed you there." That quirk lowers, and he takes another step forward. "I'm asking you what you think," He said coolly. "I'm asking if you think we ought to pull back like dear Vander believes we should, or if we should fight. Strike now or wait, yet again, for it to all work out."

There's hesitation. He sees it, and knows Vander must've seen it too. Perhaps that explains why he chose a neutral-ground, without the hesitation of their fellow Brothers and Sisters to sway them.

Just him, and Vander.

Like it had been in the beginning, even before Benzo. They had done well since then, despite this last hiccup… perhaps it was a good idea after all, for them to speak on neutral ground, and rekindle their union without the interference of third parties, or even their forces of Children.

The young woman hesitates a second longer, clearly rolling his words through her head, before turning and stomping to the ladder. "Think you should grab a coat for tomorrow, Brother," She said gruffly, taking the first step down and meeting his gaze once. Silco holds it, and the Sister's grey eyes falter, before she redirects her attention down to watch her step as she climbs.

The Son of Zaun doesn't call after her, or ask for a name. He saw the hesitation in her, and knows that eventually, she'll be on his side.

Their side, he corrects himself, letting out a slow breath with a hint of a smile on his lips, the first in weeks. Since his self-exile, in waiting for Vander to cool down and for Silco himself to get himself together, Silco can now admit it to himself that he misses his Brother. Even Benzo , he misses, as insane as the thought is. He might even just crack a smile at the first insulting nickname the stubborn brute comes up with upon their reunion.

Silco can also admit to himself, now that he feels clearer and more at ease than he had been for weeks, that his hand has gotten more and more uncomfortable with every passing minute. With a small grunt, he brings both his hands to the front, giving a glance to the thumb that he had been rubbing along his wrist.

The blood was already cleared, and with a small jolt, he realized the thrumming ache wasn't originating from his recently-sliced thumb.

It was from under his leather-wrapped wrist.

Sea-green eyes blink once, and a bit ridiculously, he feels the urge to look around a clearly barren rooftop. Recalling a time when Benzo would all but pounce if Silco so much as glanced at the damn thing, the dark-haired man halfway expected to see both him and Vander peeking over with smirks at his changed demeanor, teasing already filling the air until something even more foolish caught their attention.

It's slight. One would have to squint to see it, but there's a definitive change in Silco now.

A change that doesn't think about the Nation, or his current row with Vander, but of something much more simple. There's a natural hesitation as his fingers reach for the buckle, but only one borne from habit. And it's quelled quickly by the urgent thrumming beneath his skin, demanding his attention and all but ordering his fingers to move, to unwrap and to see it…

Silco soon peels the leather band off, the covered skin beneath a couple shades lighter than his already pale skin tone. It makes the set of numbers, in a color he's never quite been able to see before, despite the many he's met in his life, stand out.

It's the color of his soulmate's eyes, and right now it tells him he has a little less than twenty-four hours before he meets them.

Silco glances up at the sky, but though it's thick with clouds, he makes the calculation nonetheless. It's roughly noon now, meaning it will be roughly noon when he meets them. His natural inclination for suspicion comes to life, even as his thumb slowly traces the ticking, glowing numbers on the inner-part of his wrist.

He meets with Vander at noon, and if his timer to them is to be correct, the one fate-designed to link him to, will also be in the immediate area at the same time. Meaning fate has decided he shall meet his other-half at the same time as his reconciliation.

Unless, of course, things change.

Silco tries not to hope, and scowls himself for hoping anyways. A soul-timer changes whenever actions or events change the world around you, forcing your steps on a different path that diverges from theirs. It's not even a guarantee Silco will see it near any closer to zero tomorrow, though he admits, this is the first time he's ever seen it hit below a days' time…

There's no guarantee. Nothing, but chance, fate, and whatever actions that will lead him to his soulmate, and vice versa. And this timer.

Those aren't the greatest odds.

Silco shouldn't hope. But there's a faint smile on his face regardless, as he traces the methodically-ticking numbers one last time on his skin, before he re-wraps the appendage to hide it from the world. Not from shame nor undesire, for he fears Benzos teasing from their earlier childhood were correct. There was something that always attracted him to the idea of a soulmate, romantic or otherwise.

Despite the Gods never doing much else for him, they granted him something, someone . They gave him permission to them, a sort of guide to them and it was permanently fixated on his skin. The idea that he was on someone else's, sends a small thrill through him as well, though he makes sure to keep his face passive as he tightens the wrist-wrap just before the point of pain.

There's no guarantee, he reminds himself firmly. But there's hope, nonetheless, even as the cover of clouds finally crack, and the first drops of rain begin their assault on the Alcoves. If there is hope for him and Vander tomorrow, Silco supposes it's not too much of a stretch to home that perhaps, fate will clear the path for he and his soulmate to unite.

To unite, with his Brother and soulmate on the same day?

Silco shouldn't.

But he hopes.

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

The deep inhale you took was tinged with salt, and the faint hint of electricity in the air. Lightning storm - always a favorite. Perhaps not for many others on the Fringes docks, as you had seen many faces full of gritted teeth and weary expressions over the upcoming downpour for most of the morning.

Perhaps it was foolish. But you liked the wait before every strike, the unpredictability of flashes across a dark sky. Sudden, sharp, and leaving you wondering if it was ever there at all as the sound of rain refills the shocked air left behind.

Yes, it was foolish. If only for a split-second. You could afford a moment of foolishness, now and again. Could use it in fact, and imagined you would welcome it when the downpour came on the morrow.

Exhaling, you blinked your eyes open and turned to look at your companion beside you, your normally passive expression smoothing into the ghost of a smile at his own bright, inviting grin. "Still thinking about the look on her face when she rang up our total?" It was an innocent question, and he let out a bark of laughter at it; he knew you too well.

"You are an evil-genius," He started, but you corrected him quickly. "No no, I'm just good with numbers ." The blonde beside you only snickered again, adjusting the hold on the carrying crate in hand. It was filled with some essentials, but you'd thought it best to haggle for a new tarp, oil, extra rations. Necessary items for survival, but unfortunately, there were no handouts in the Top-Level, especially necessities in these times.

Such items weren't cheap, almost a luxury, but you had bought it all for half-price.

"Nah, I think you're some sort of mastermind," Cayn said with a grin, flashing his pale blue eyes at your flat expression with a tease, "Oh, don't hide it, that's what makes you fun to hang around with." An eye-roll as you elbowed him, and the blonde pretended to stagger. "Careful! She's not likely to let me back at her stall for weeks after this, I don't want to crawl back for replacements." They'd probably be twice as expensive now, thanks to your earlier efforts.

"Me?" He blinked, grunting slightly but able to raise the supply box up and over his head, on his palms. " Careful is my middle name, you know me better than that." And that was true, you'd known Cayn nearly all your life.

Which is why you became insistent, scolding him to put down the damn box before he sent your hard-earned supplies into the dirt...

" Hard-earned ? You just scrambled her own words 'round until you liked the price-"

"It's not as easy as it looks, you know."

"I dunno, you do make it look easy…"

"Cayn, Nan will never let me hear the end of it, give it back…!"

A huff, and soon you were stretched on your toes to try and snag it back for yourself while Cayn continued to hold it over his head, smiling. Your face hurt a bit, because you hadn't been smiling much before Cayn returned to the Fringes, but you welcomed it. Wanted to hold onto it for a little while longer; you even let out a small laugh at his ridiculousness, making his grin widened with the accomplishment.

Then the sound of metal crunching on dirt-ground sounded, from just up ahead. Leather was more common for fellow citizens of the Fringes district, more comfortable, less likely to rust and easier to tread the streets in peace, during unpeaceful times, but no. The pair marching on the two of you wanted to be heard, and be feared.

Cayn immediately placed the crate onto the ground, wide and faint smiles gone in an instant. Unsubtly, he hissed as he patted himself down, "Got anything that'll get us arrested?" You smoothed down your vest with a brief shake of your head, pressing the flat lump closer to your abdomen. Your friend had no time to reply, before the Enforcers were on you

A long time ago, this would have been rare.

Maybe a checkpoint near the docks, when foreign ships came to port. Shipments for Piltover obviously, but there was only so much space on their docks. And those of the Fringes, and the main and most profitable shipyard of the district as a whole, could hardly complain when business got a boost . Even if that meant some more heavily-armored Enforcers, a few brief searches to ensure a merchants visit was uneventful.

Still, even in your teen years, you remember a time where Piltover forces would at least be civil to their neighboring districts, just across the harbor.

In the present, they don't even hesitate to shove you both to the wall, but you don't waste time either.

"We're coming from the Boundary." You reported in a calm tone even as your back slams painfully into the backwall of the brick alleyway. Surely leaving bruises. "Chat with the redhead at General, she'll remember us." You see Cayn swallow back a grunt as the forearm pressed against his throat, a warning to keep still while gloved hand roughly patted along his clothes. Mentally, as a baton presses sternly to your sternum to keep yourself in place, you pray that he has enough sense to let you do the talking.

"Occupations?"

"I'm a… dock-worker, he's a supply-runner."

This didn't pacify them, and now Cayn became their center of attention. " Supply-runner , eh?" The scoff couldn't be masked by the thick helmets fitted over the officers face. It was strange, seeing an Enforcer wearing a gasmask under open skies, considering they were still Topside.

Must've just come from patrolling the Underground , you thought grimly. Lucky us .

"Have you ever run supplies down to the Lanes?" Cayn shrugs as much as he can, keeping his face blank and eyes fixated on a point over the decorated helmet. "Sometimes. Been thinking about a profession change though, it can get stuffy down there."

"With so much vermin running around, not surprised." Finished with their search of the young man, you stay stiff as thick gloves begin to frisk over your form. "Thing is, we see two young, able-bodied Undercity cretins with extra supplies running around, acting innocent… you can see how we'd be suspicious." You resisted a sigh as you heard Cayn grit his teeth at the unspoken accusation, and the intentional insult.

You had to admit to yourself, it was exhausting to constantly be paired with the rest of the population on this side of the bridge. If Piltover was day and the Lanes were night, the Alcoves and Fridges were permanently fixed at noon.

Up until recent years, it was common for Piltovians to commerce into the markets or business above the true Undercity, and some Uppercity folk even had the opportunity to cross the bridge to Piltover. No one would bat an eye if you crossed the bridge, for most of those in the Upper-Level could almost pass for Piltover citizens, if a less fashionably dressed and sharper-tongued. But of course, recent raidings suddenly made anyone who was crossing from this side receive sudden glares or muted whisperings.

Thievery shouldn't be enough to drive away those grossing from the Fringes into Piltover. It was the first direct attack on an Enforcer squadron, down in the bottom-level Sumps mines, that closed the bridge to most of those on this side of the bridge. Some who had familial or business connections made a complete shift, joining the Piltover side, but for most of the middle-to-low classes of the Fringes and Alcoves, they were stuck here.

So many restrictions followed, a tightening noose around the entirety of the Upper-Level districts as those rebelling from further below, kept escaping the knot. Obviously, with all the trouble the actual undercity dwellers caused, it was maddening to be linked to them based on the side of the bridge you resided on. Cayn, who made constant trips down into the lower levels, even a rare trip to the shadowy Lanes, complained about it often.

"You know what I'm saying, right?" He had grunted as you had pressed the cloth to his nose, the blood rushing from it once more, even though it was its second-day into healing. "Like, that isn't our fight. Shit's not great down there, sure, but they don't have to drag us into their problems."

"Right," You conceded. You had never even gone past the Promenade, so you had to take Cayn's word for how decent it was further down, into the mid and lower levels of the Undercity. "But maybe don't say that to the faces of the fissure-folk. They might break your nose again." An attempt at a quiet joke was ignored, as Cayn's eyes flashed.

"Enforcers never gave us shit before this whole self-governing spiel started going around." He said lowly. "The second they started causing trouble for the Enforcers, they started causing trouble for us ." A beat, and you hoped he didn't say it. For your sake, you hoped he wouldn't bring it up.

But he did. "And look what it's cost us."

"Yeah." You pressed just a bit harder on his nose, watching the red gush from beneath the cloth, staining your fingers. "I've noticed ."

"We aren't with the rebellion," You said firmly in the present, your outer-vest yanked open after a palm passed over the firm-lump against your side. Fingers hooked on the inner pocket there, and pulled out the leather-bound book with a snort at your rehearsed explanation: "My bosses ledgers, I do them in my free time. Partial-blind, she can never do them on her own."

It was half-true, as half of the book was indeed reports and calculations that could be best described as business-notes. But for a 'dock-worker' to do the ledgers? It was an excuse that didn't quite stick, but thankfully, the officer seemed more amused in the fact of your literacy than the holes in your story, "Might have to petition the Academy for this one. It apparently has a brain ."

Indignity aside, you felt relieved as some of the tension seemed to melt away. Cayn was released, looking infuriated on your behalf at the insult, but neither of you dared to move from the wall. His icy-blue eyes softened when they met yours. There was no smile, and he didn't dare to escalate the situation by reaching for your hand, but just looking at him was enough to bring you some sense of peace.

It meant you weren't alone in this.

And you'd been feeling alone without him for a while, you realized suddenly. His next supply trek to the undercity was coming soon, and you suddenly realized you weren't sure how you'd do without him.

Alone, again.

You never realized how alone a person could be, but the last year seemed intent to prove how solitude suddenly seemed to gnaw on you. Even with the daily visits to the docks, to friendly, familiar and painfully sympathetic faces to surround you as you made your rounds, the constant pressure of loneliness was like a hand squeezing you.

On some days, the worst, it hurt so bad you couldn't even leave your dwelling. Those that were still offering advice, when really it was you that should be offering more, told you it was because the pain was still fresh.

Grief was burning in your heart. Flaring loudly, and demanding your attention while you felt compacted to feel its fire directly.

With Cayn, you could almost feel once more at a normal temperature, like you weren't moments away from being burnt up. But you knew it would be a fleeting feeling, and once he was gone again, that chill that filled your bones would soon return to the heat that was searing your heart.

So, for the moment, if only to keep feeling normal and like you weren't about to melt, you held Cayn's gaze and managed to smile.

And then, you were roused from your gnawing thoughts by a clatter, and promptly grabbed by the Enforcer before you fully realized what had happened.

It had been a thin slip of metal, undecorated, and sharp-enough to leave a pink-line if applied to skin. Hardly deadly. A letter-opener, left between the pages of your book.

Technically, it classed as a weapon, which had been strictly prohibited in the Alcoves for months. One of the many new restrictions, a byproduct of the rebellion after a Demacia ship had nearly been blown sky-high.

Not even the Commercia had been spared from the weapons-raid. Blades, guns, all manner of self-defense tools and even family-heirlooms that could pose a threat, were taken into custody by Enforcers.

All efforts to quell a rebellion that wasn't even on this level of the city.

But it didn't matter, anything classed even remotely suspicious was taken, and for those caught with anything that could be classed as weaponry, were to be given no warning. The order hadn't been placed long enough for anyone to find out the length of sentencing, but judging how harsh and immediate the condemnation was, you imagined it was a long time.

There was no time to even curse at your stupidity in the choice of a bookmark, as you were thrown against the wall, arm wretched behind you, and up . Flashes of pain danced across your vision as you felt your shoulder scream at the effort, and distantly, you heard Cayn let out a shout of protest and outrage at your plight. It was deafened by the dooming clink of cuffs.

"It's…below a four-inch blade !" You managed to gasp out as, with particular vengeance, the wrist wrapped in leather was seized tightly enough for sparks to flare up your spine. They danced behind your eyes as you gasped, halfway begging them to check the damn opener, "I-it's three and a third, check it, please!" There was a beat, and you closed your eyes as you heard a short scuffle of hand reaching into the dirt, and pulling out the slip of metal that had a large chance of sending you to prison.

"... alright." It sounded hesitant, almost disappointed that it was just-below the limit; it was somewhat hysterical, to think that they were upset that they wouldn't meet their monthly-quota. Your shoulder would be black and blue for an entire week.

"But we still have no proof you aren't with the dissenting forces-" "Those morons are causing us hell, you really think we'd side with them for anything ?" Cayn snarled, voice strained with apprehension at the situation, and the fact he was helpless for you. You were suddenly glad for his rant, one that you could almost echo as he growled in low, dark tones at all the damage the real-Undercity dwellers were causing.

"They raid ships, cause mayhem in the damn streets, and bring all the trouble to us before they duck underground-" A bark of mocking was his only reply, "Get in line if you want to complain, we have no proof she isn't-"

"Her old-man owned the Eastside canneries. She would not be with the… the Kids of Zaun or whatever the fuck they call themselves now. They're the ones that got him killed."

There was a lengthy pause.

Then, as your throbbing arm was released, you were given a final, harsh shove into the wall from the officer. Apparently, your reputation only went so far in terms of polite-treatment. Your cheek scraped and started to leak red from the action, but you had the good-sense to keep your jaw shut. A barely-audible warning, to mind the Alcoves-curfew, sounded before Cayn immediately reached out to you the moment you were given the all-clear to resume your normal business.

You turned to watch through teary eyes as the damn letter-opener was snatched up from the dirt-ground, and the two Piltover officers started to turn and walk away. Like nothing had happened. There wasn't even dust on their perfect uniforms to confirm the event took place, meanwhile your arm throbbed and wrist felt bruised black beneath the wrapping, as you held it close to your chest.

Except, the taller of the two turned slightly, and said shortly, and without respect but only curt acknowledgment to you, "Sorry for your loss."

You squeezed your eyes shut, and didn't dare to trust yourself to respond. This time, not out of your good-sense, but out of the pain that filled you at the reminder. Once their metal steps finally faded, and all was quiet for a minute more, Cayn's hand squeezed your un-aching shoulder with a hoarse, weak chuckle, "...Didn't know a dead-dad was a good excuse to avoid arrest."

It had been a combination of his decent luck finally running out, and being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Enforcers weren't the only ones to occasionally mutter condolences for the man, he'd made himself notable enough that he could be remembered. Strictly of the middle class, but he had helped to reorganize the lowest part of the Fringes into something that could resemble respectability, progress. Fair, smart man, full of many ideas and hopes for the people of the Uppercity… even the rebels sent an apology, after, but none of it ever helped.

Your heart still felt like it was rubbed-raw with salt most days, and there were many others you woke up with your chest aching, no, burning . Those were the days that you couldn't get up, and get out of bed in your mourning, but nothing ever changed, especially not that feeling that enclosed around your heart as it burned .

Like it does now, just at the mention.

You shoved your friend away from you, thunder rolling in the distance as the storm continued it's path across the skies. "Hey, wait-" You ignored his apologies, snatching and shoving the leather-bound book back into your vest as you reached for the supply crate. Barely slowing at the call of your name as you heaved it up into your arms, the anger suddenly helped to make the heavy-lift almost weightless.

"C'mon, you know I didn't mean it like that," Cayn said, grabbing your elbow before you could storm off. "... that was fucked-up." You muttered lowly, and you felt him wince, but hold you tighter, surely able to feel the fury coursing through you. He held on anyways. "I know, I just… I didn't know what else to tell them."

A beat, then you felt knuckles brush at your scrapped-cheek. You winced, but his touch was gentle, and it gave you courage to lift your eyes to meet his apologetic, pale eyes. "I'm sorry ."

Holding his gaze for a moment, you finally sighed, feeling drained. "Just... take the crate, you dick," You muttered, reaching up to dab at the spots of blood on your cheek. "It's heavy."

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

To the Enforcers, you had labeled yourself a dock-worker. It worked, as you didn't have the more well-off look that merchants, or those able to drift into the populace of Piltover had. Not exactly rough like a true bottom-dweller, but far from a proper Piltovian - just another face that could slip into the perfect neutrality that the Alcove docks prided itself on.

Said middle-ground docks, which face the channel that breaks into open-ocean, didn't invoke a sense of fire that started to burn you from the inside out. They were a safe-space for you to pick up odd jobs and, more importantly, take care of those that had worked at the Eastsides, before it had fallen apart at the current conflict with Children of Zaun and Piltover.

The south-eastern Fringes docks were a mix of rusted metal and half-rotted boardwalks, but it was a sturdy location, with the Bridge just off in the opposite horizon. Full of fisher-folk when they were free of the smaller merchant or import-ships, which hadn't sailed into port in several years now, meaning that the old generations of fishing-folk could gather and glare at the darkening skies in peace.

Your heart sang at the view of the imperfection, that made you feel peace. It felt like home, or something close to it. And best of all, even after the frosty encounter from the Enforcers, you could almost feel normal .

You couldn't smile after the event with the Enforcers, but nonetheless, something inside you lightened as you walked beside Cayn, turning to go towards the row of fishing shacks lining just-off shore and duck inside. Cramp, with a forever-pungent fish-stench, but you gave a satisfied look to the still-stable cot-bed you had provided before grabbing the pail of fresh-water near the door.

"Back!" All smiles, Cayn was, while you immediately dunked a rag into the pail before pressing the boiled-clean water to your cheek with a sigh.

"Guess who got us a killing at the marketplace?" Suppressing another sigh, this one of annoyance for being singled out, you poked your head out of the door of the shack to manage something close to friendly to face those gathered.

Pity flickered in the faces of those that had gathered for the distribution of extra essentials. " Horrible , dear, what happened?" You glanced at the young woman recalling her with a nod of recognition. She'd been a front-liner at the main cannery, you remembered, in the times where father had let you roam the main assembly-lines and factory floor, she had always offered a small smile and pleasant how-do-you-do, even before you could walk the lines.

One of the many familiar faces, from the factory and now living on the slump-docks.

These were the ones left without jobs after your fathers death - the employment market wasn't exactly overflowing in the middle of the unnecessary war against Piltover. These were the population that was left alone in the Fringes without guidance, fighting for themselves while the Undercity folk continued in only making the situation worse for those who had no hand in the rebellion.

You were your fathers-daughter, and tried to help those that had been in his service as much as you could. Shoving as much money as you could spare, and that their pride would allow them to take, also giving your time and services that they didn't dare to refuse. The least you owed them, after their years of service suddenly cut-short, was any help you could offer, even if it was just the basic tools of survival.

"Eh, got clumsy," Cayn said after you were silent a second too long. "We took the roofs back to take a look at the view." The lie came easy to Cayn, who only shook his head at your questioning look, before he passed off the tarp to the grateful woman, with her three children clinging to her.

You could understand the reason for the smooth lie, hiding the incident with the officers. Most still had relatives or friends across the Bridge, you faintly recall that one ex-employee of the canneries had a cousin working at Stillwater. Connections to Piltover was still there, even if there were some who would rather forget, or even despise their neighbors across the water.

One of said some, you realized with another glance around the fishing-yard, was suspiciously out of sight. Despite the fact that his brother was here, the one person he preferred to avoid even when Cayn returned to the Uppercity, you figured Decky would at least bother to say hello to you.

As if on cue, a slip of forever-tousled blonde caught your eye after you turned, it's owner failing to slip back around the shack you had emerged from, to the short docking-port where a dinghy was held. "Hey. No, get over here."

Shoulders jumped at your stern tone, but he turned immediately with a scowl on his face, eyes narrowed as he tried to play it cool, fists at his side with jaw squared. Looked like an angry ferret that way, but you imagined he thought he looked like the toughest kid on the block. "...Who, me?" "No," You said just as flatly as you poured the last of the oil into the tin, reminding them to secure the cap. "The other brat who's trying to sneak off with his friends , instead of work."

Raising your voice, you saw a brief shuffle behind the crates further back near the dinghy. Masters of stealth, the kids of the Fringes were-not.

"You're not actually trying to go out before a storm?"

"No." He said, too quickly, and you scowled as you heard Cayn approach behind you, " Decky… " The younger boy immediately squared his shoulders to a stiff line just from the sight of him, and you resisted the urge to step between the two fools, with an eye roll. Glad, suddenly, that you had thought to grab the extra gauze in case the brothers came to blows.

"Deckard, the fuck's wrong with you? You'd capsize out there." Insisting, the blonde boy shakes his head, "No, I've got a whole crew! You said every ship needs a crew, and I got three others!" He looks at you when he says this, pale blue eyes narrowed even as you sigh. "Just because you've got the numbers doesn't mean you won't sink. It just means more of you fools risk drowning out there."

This kid took your advice in the worst ways, either to its extreme or ignoring it entirely. Knowing his relationship was strained at best, when he had come-of-age to start working, you had suggested that perhaps it was best if Deckard remained closer to the Alcoves, rather than joining Cayn down in his trips to the Undercity.

Decky hadn't stepped below the Promenade in two years.

And your advice didn't even seem to help mend based on the body-language of the boy and man. Tense, glaring, and with Cayn particularly, looking ready to shake his little brother.

"Yeah, a crew is a good idea for sailing, not to go out in the middle of a damn monsoon. What do you even plan to do out there?" Scuffing his toe on the wood-boards, Decky shrugs, giving a helpful, "I dunno, thought it'd be fun."

To be fair, fun was in rare supply on the Alcoves these days, but that didn't make his excuse any less stupid.

Rolling your eyes, you took the crate from Cayn as another, deeper roll of thunder sounded overhead. With everyone on the docks settled for the storm, you seriously just wanted to wrap up your trip, and go home. These two could figure themselves out, and you told them as much, "He's your brother, you deal with it."

Both blondes whine at you, almost hilariously sounding identical, if not for one well-past puberty, and the other not even close to it. But you had the ability to shut them both up with a stern pitch in your voice as you advised,"There's two of you to debate, and two of you to work together to fix the issue." Despite their thick-heads, you hoped they could do without you to delegate between themselves, without coming to blows.

You shouldn't, but you hope.

You pretended not to see Deckard's friends huddled behind it as you passed to the stationed boat. The other three 'crewmates' grumbled as they scampered off, and you bit back a smile at hearing Deckard whine after for them to wait.

Again, fun was in short-supply these days. The kids had to stick together or else they would go insane, and make all others suffer for it.

"I hope they didn't bother you too much, Nan," You said aloud as you propped yourself onto the end of the dockway, legs hanging over the side. Even tinged with the haze of leaked-chemicals, you could taste that salt-air on your senses as you took a deep inhale, closing your eyes. The electric hint of the storm was growing closer too, and despite it's ferocity, you felt excited. And prepared , you assured yourself, recalling how all seemed pacified with the supplies you had brought.

" Never a moment of peace," A croak assured your question, and you snorted as you slung the rag over your shoulder, letting your cheek dry before it started to rain in truth, pulling out the book from your vest.

"What happened?" Resisting a sigh, you flicked open the book, rolling your eyes over the page. There's an indent where the cutter had lay, and you ran the pad of your finger over the slight crease in the worn, but still sturdy pages. "Enforcers," You admitted, casting a glance behind you to ensure you weren't overheard. "They just… it got bad , quick. I just had a letter opener, and they almost dragged me away for it."

"Ooh." Dry. " Deadly ."

You snorted, but she continued, "Wasn't your daddy's, was it?"

The pause was loud and long from you, as you suddenly felt the need to smooth out a wrinkle in the book.

"You idiot," It's not venomous, and more pitiable than anything. "Why'd you bring it around with you?" You shrugged, "Asking myself the same question, I can assure you." You murmured, flicked through your book, arm and wrist still throbbing at the memory. There was a deep groan as the aged woman shoved herself up, deep crackling noises from nearly every joint as she stretched. "Arresting you for a two inch -" "Three and third." "Whatever… Wouldn't have happened in my day." A beat, then you felt a hand land on your shoulder, squeezing once. "You good?"

You raised your head slightly, meeting the narrowed eyes of the elder. Nan knew you well enough, better after the enforced closing of Eastside, so you could only shrug your shoulders in assurance. "I'll be fine. Cayn said the right thing at the right time… guess they knew my father."

"Knew of him, they never would've cared to find out more than a name, and how your daddy went out," You gritted your teeth at the blunt correction, just shy of stinging. "Yeah, well… , we got out of it fine, and we'll work on taking the main roads next time." A small grunt with an approving nod came from her. With an expectant look, she made a small gesture to you and the book in your hands, clearly already moving on.

Slipping back into business-mode, you were oddly grateful that Nan knew you well enough to free you from these kinds of discussions, after only a bit of her scathing, reprimands.

"Right… well, we made good sales and better deals, and got everyone settled for the stormbreak," You said, nodding behind you to the small community of shacks. "We'll get that roof set correctly after the storm, the tarp will hold out until then. I'll calculate the gold-earnings tonight for an even monthly distribution once I hear home…"

A nod here, an approving grunt here as you continued to make your report. Sales were decent in the fishing-industry, even for these smaller communities here, but with your natural gift of business, it was clear to everyone you would be of most help doing the sales necessary for survival.

The ledgers you held weren't the thick, factory-sized ledgers you had worked with only years prior, but it kept your mind busy. From both the siblings' behind you, clearly in the middle of a tussle but not yet outright screaming at one another, the dull ache of your cheek, the throbbing pain of your arm and the weight of everything else in the world on your shoulders.

Paperwork was a good-kind of busy. You'd take simple numbers, over the weight of everything else the world could offer, anyday.

Simple, organized and keeping everyone's problems as minimal as possible. Or at least much more understandable in number-form. It made you feel the most useful, in a life that had suddenly gotten so far out of your hands, you weren't sure when you would get a grip on things again.

Nan knew this. Appreciated it in her own way, but apparently, she thought there was more work you could be doing, and said as much when you finally finished with a self-pleased gleam in your eye as you shut the book. "Good, good… so you're okay with helping me out tomorrow?"

" What ?" A blink, and you raised your non-aching hand towards the sky, feeling the other throbbing still from the pain of the grab, radiating from your wrist. "It's going to pour tomorrow-!"

"We know, and we'll need all the help we can get. Storm-fishing ain't easy, and that boy will kill us both if I take him out on the water," She said, nodding over her shoulder. Decky was technically her assistant, keeping him on the surface while Cayn worked throughout the levels of the Undercity during his supply-runs. Keeps the kid busy, and with the promise of food and occasional coin to keep him from running off.

But the kid wasn't exactly meant for the fishing-life, if his ridiculous apprehension of fish, and desire to do little else but run around to wreak havoc and annoy the folks on the Alcoves with his friends regardless of his earnings, was any inclination.

You sighed, reaching up to pinch your nose, "I know, Nan, but he tries -"

"Oh, yeah. He tries our patience ," She scoffed. "Restless boys like that, they live to tire the rest of us out. Thankfully, you seem like the kind to make things slow, careful, which is what I'm gonna need out there on the sea during the storm." You hadn't even agreed to go, but she already acted like you did. Tilting your head back, you glared up at the dark-grey sky above, before sighing, and lowering your chin back down after taking a moment for yourself.

"I'll pay you double," She added, and gave you a harsh look not to question it when you opened your mouth to sputter. You did not need whatever meager funds she could offer, but she wasn't going to take a no here.

And really, you weren't finding many excuses not to.

Being out on sea wasn't something you'd done in a while, and though being out in a storm would sound suicidal to most, Nan had the weathered confidence about her that you could count on.

"I… I guess I could convince Cayn to actually watch his brother for a day." And hope they lived to see the night, you thought, once more giving a glare over your shoulder at the two.

"Atta girl," Resisting a sigh as you tucked the book back into your vest, you winced as the throbbing of your hurt-arm seemed to grow more and more with the smallest of movements. "Again, I'll be paying double. Storm-fishing ain't that hard when you get used to the rocking and the rowing, but the storm is when all the mutations come out, so you gotta-"

There was a needy, pounding throbbing beneath your skin as thunder crackled overhead, and you reached down to suddenly grip your wrist-wrap. Breathing out a curse, you suddenly worried how tightly the officer had gripped you earlier.

"Oh shit ," You hissed, suddenly wrestling with the leather wound around your wrist. It was common-place, out of protection, but also out of desire. You hadn't felt the desire to look what lie beneath it, especially when you saw the dark-purple bruising on your skin from the Enforcers hand.

That, and another bright coloring adorning your skin, that immediately caught Nan's attention as she leaned close, and whistled at the sight.

You could only manage to stare.

Flashing green, the numbers are only a few shades from a true blue shade. Seagreen, like the waters on the farthest horizon towards the sea. As a child, you had stood on your toes with your wrist raised, glancing between the numbers and the far-off waves to compare the two before someone reminded you to get off the cannery walkway. People had to work.

With six numbers on one side of your veins, and six on the other, they flare and flash in a way that brings goosebumps along the rest of your body, before slowly, they start to settle.

Before, they'd easily been in the hundreds, nearly thousands of days category. Barely worth paying attention to, and you were used to the numbers only ever growing, not actually reaching a hopeful-amount of zeros.

And now, as the first drops of rain begin to come down, the timer now counts down to less than twenty-four hours until you meet your soulmate.

Everything else dulled, or softened to a buzzing-quiet around you. The color of your soulmate's eyes, flashing with every tick of the downward racing clock, held your entire world of attention, and you were only distantly aware of Nan's words, "Looks about the time I'll need you here… guess I'll be seeing you, won't I?"

After a moment, you gritted your teeth behind your lips, as you very much wanted to say no .

Almost reflexively, you really wanted to say no because there was just… a lot. A lot going on, and a lot left to deal with.

Enforcers. Cayn finally back and almost make things seem, or at least feel right, and he is already getting ready to leave you again. Ensuring that the loyal workers of the abandoned canneries didn't starve, the kids being themselves and looking for trouble every day, not to mention that fate-damned ache in your wrist…

You were quick to ignore the half-forbidden thought, about how you could have used your soulmate sooner. Needed them sooner, on the worst days, on the half-way decent, the busiest, and even just when you needed someone .

But ignoring the timer itself did no good; you were looking at the damn thing and it was already humming with urgency, as if the clock was telling you to hurry up, while it ticked away in a patient rhythm.

For a moment, you could almost hate your soulmate, for adding this new weight onto your shoulders. How could you have the time to indulge fate, let alone for something as shaky as this?

This was a stranger . A stranger, really, that fate decided on a whim to throw together with you. A stranger who didn't know your life or your burdens, just as they had no idea of yours. They didn't know of the daily struggles you had, to work on keeping others alive and thriving, while some days finding your body so inflamed, that you couldn't get out of bed...

It was stupid. You wanted to hate them, but, beneath all the outrage at their poor timing, the more logical, naturally curious part of your mind, couldn't help but ponder if there was a reason .

A reason for a soulmate. A reason as to why this was happening now , and why fate was only now planning on driving you together. A reason that a soulmate was part of your life at all, or why it continued to be a part of your life, when it didn't need to be. Your life was complex enough, without the added weight of a stranger, that the universe decided you simply had to meet.

You shouldn't.

You knew you shouldn't, but, stupidly, and part of you wondered .

You wanted to hate your timer. Not slowly, almost tenderly stroke a thumb over it, face twisted slightly in conflict. Slowly blinking down, twelve numbers, in the color of their eyes, the hours, minutes, and seconds until fate would give you the opportunity to meet.

Opportunity. Fate wasn't that kind, to make it a guarantee.

But there was hope, wasn't there?

Or perhaps not hope, but chance .

For the first time in a while, something besides a burning, and ache or a chill in your chest at the idea. The idea of a chance, or a change. Change seemed promising, even though you didn't know for what … perhaps because it was different?

Perhaps the chance of something different was enough for you?

You could take it differently, with ease, at this point. You wanted things to be different, to change, and if it was with someone who destiny decided to pair you with…

Regardless of the reason, as the rain started to come down in earnest upon the Alcoves, you found yourself answering both your question, and Nan's, though with a small sigh on your lips in natural weariness.

"Yes."

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

But then, a little after dawn the next day, the storm broke.

It was truly a downpour, water-levels rising

A little under an hour before noon, feeling his timer closer than it had ever been before in his life, a drenched, dark-haired Son of Zaun stepped onto the docks, with hope to meet his Brother, his soulmate, and perhaps, destiny.

Only two of his hopes were correct. And he would wish they hadn't been.

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

"What is wrong with you?" You snarled at the man who had the nerve to block you. Bulky, growing mutton-chops and not moving an inch, making you regret taking the alleyway, even if it offered some slightly protection from the downpour. And Gods, was it a downpour - Decky would be drowning if you didn't have a firm grip on his shoulder, partially to keep him from running off, and also floating away as entire walkways were forming into puddles.

"We have to work down by the docks-" "In this weather?"

The kid behind you sloshed his booted-feet around and in front of you, nose up in the air as he glared at the man, "Yeah, you got a problem with it?" " Deckard …!" The day the kid passed your height, was the day you'd trust him not to immediately get rocked when he strode up into someone else's face.

You towed him back around behind you, again wishing you hadn't sent Cayn early to work. Or rather, given him an excuse to head out early.

Managing to get the two to agree to come back to your place for the night, not trusting the youngest to sneak away onto the dinghy at night, and wanting to spend as much time with the eldest before his return underground, it had been on the walk home that you had shown Cayn your timer.

He'd seen it before, and you had seen his on occasion. Just like you've see that fleeting, but undeniable look twist on his mouth as his eyes narrowed slightly.

" Now? Really?" Your technical reminder that it was 23-hours away only made that look on his face grow. It was like the time he'd been around to see a triple-headed mutated fish be pulled from the water - Cayn had made that face, and told Nan to toss the bizarre thing back into the water. "Just, go ahead of us tomorrow, alright?" You had asked, a bit exasperated with yourself for caring so much but, the chance , and your timer, still hummed at you with the possibilities. "If you see anyone, just ask them to wait a couple minutes. Get a name, address, anything . Please, Cayn?

Your friend's sour-tasted look had melted, and while he didn't look like he was tasting anything sweet, Cayn had sighed but nodded. As promised, you had woken up to only Decky left in your apartment, shoving through an almost barren-pantry and no Cayn in sight.

And still no Cayn in sight, not with this asshole blocking the way. There was a grim set in his mouth, but it was his superior stance that raised your ire.

"Seriously, we have work to do, buddy. Not the time to get in our way…" Again you moved to duck-around him, but again, he side-stepped your attempt. "Much as I'd love to let you fisher-folk get back to where ya belong," For some reason, the way he scoffed out the common-term for Fringe civilians made a burning sensation begin to fill you. "Piss off. This is Children's business."

You could almost laugh in his face as you felt that burning start to fill your chest again; didn't bother hiding the scoff because, of course. Of course, of all days, they would show their face around here.

"Up here to bust another shipment again?" You found yourself snarling over the roll of thunder over ahead as you stepped up. "Enforcers aren't around in this storm, you plan on knocking around us instead?" Goading wasn't the smartest idea, you could already see some underlying fire in his eyes as he matched your step, teeth flashing with the lightning that flashed overhead, making hairs rise. "Listen-"

You didn't get the chance to.

It suddenly got very loud, several things at once, but at least two you could discern. Being only a block from the dockline, the echoes of a sudden, furious and pained roar rolled in from the distance of the shore, immediately snatching away the Son of Zaun's attention.

You would look closer to try to find out why he pales so suddenly, turning as reaching at his side for the crowbar that hangs at his hip, but then comes a second clap of lightning. It's so close that you feel your friend's brother suddenly latch onto the back of your legs, sending you halfway against the wall and making your shoulder, purple from yesterday's events, scream when you brace against it.

Any yell at Deckard - for apparently being brave enough to even consider going out into a storm, but spooked to shaking at lightning - vanishes at the next round of sensations, not just sounds.

The sound you do hear, is the echoing call of a name and pounding footsteps out of the mouth of the alleyway, " Vander , what's-"

Another roar of thunder; almost dwarfed by another enraged, almost sub-human yowl of anger and pain in the distance. And by the child babbling quickly in your ear as you feel your legs give out, sending you sliding down and into the puddle of water below. He's apparently over his instant of fright. Or covering it up, based on how squeaky his voice got, "...-at had to have hit us, did you hear it?!"

For a moment, you almost agree, considering your wrist now feels like it is on fire.

Like the burning in your chest transferred straight through your veins, coiling through you in a lightning strike of pain that suddenly has you curling in. Fist to chest as you huff out one sharp breath, then two, then nearly suffocate on your third as something is burning beneath your skin.

Your name sounds at the same time as another distant call of a name, one close and the other nearing the docks…

" Go ," You managed out through gritted teeth. Gods-forbid Cayn ran into those fools from the Children, but knowing the way your luck was going, you could imagine those pained yells coming from whatever brawl he was getting into…

That almost made your heart come aflame. But then your wrist became volcanic, and you half-shrieked out the command again. "Decky, go . G-get Cayn, and…" You didn't even know what was happening anymore, the nerves in your wrist feeling like they were being eaten by fire.

A hint of understanding. The timer .

"A-are… you okay ?" Deckard, who couldn't go three seconds without generating a scowl or squinty eyes to seem tougher, actually looked his age with his blue eyes wide. It was tempting to make fun of him for it, or even ruffle out the water that was cascading through his pale blonde locks, but then another stab of magma seemed to radiate up your arm, and your voice dipped into that sterner, lower pitch once again. "Deckard. Go-get-your-brother."

Perhaps remembering your fathers voice being just as stoic in his orders around the warehouse, for the young kid loudly clacked his top and bottom teeth with how swiftly he shut his mouth closed. You finally allowed your eyes to squeeze shut when you heard him partially scramble, partially splash up and off the alley floor before speeding out.

Of course, any hope he would take this as an opportunity to exercise subtly or caution, died the moment you heard, possibly for the first time in his life, frantically calling out for Cayn.

Bringing your knees to your chest, you finally sucked in a breath to force your eyes open, pulling your shaking arm and inflamed wrist out to examine if perhaps the kid had a point, and maybe you had been struck by lightning…

Just beyond the alleyway, the muted shouts drew near, one pinched in agony, the other wary, both furious.

" Where did he …!"

"-w did ya lose 'im?"

Shock began to rivet through your body as rain continued its downpour, and your wrist , your timer…

As a child, with fewer worries and more time to care, you liked to watch your wrist. Not only because it was undeniably yours, but also because you enjoyed the color. And it was much more interesting, ironically, than the numbers your father would be showing you at the time..

A deeper, warm but stern voice showing you the numbers on pages, leading to a deep sigh when you shrug your sleeve up to look at your own numbers, and watch them tick in rhythmic glee.

Though not that much glee, because even your young mind was quick to calculate, much to your fathers chagrin, mirth and pride.

"That's over a decade!"

"You don't feel like waiting for them?"

" I'll always wait for them."

In those times, still a child and too sick of studying the ledgers, you'd immediately return to watching the numbers flick on your wrist, a small smile on your face as you thought of the day it would reach zero, and watch the moment happen before raising your gaze to meet that of your other half.

You had been watching, late last night, as twelve hours passed.

Six, when dawn broke this morning, and the rain started.

The seagreen had broke into ten minutes when you had dragged Deckard behind you out of the apartment, too busying looking at your marked-skin to admonish him for breaking out the last of your break from the pantry and cramming it into his mouth.

It had never gone down into ten minutes. Nor the eight, six, five, four, three that followed…

It was how you had run into that Son of Zaun, who marches with another right past your alley, but the world feels muted as, once again, you are too busy staring at your timer to notice your surroundings. But not in slow, but gaining hope as you watch zero become more and more of a possibility. Not in a faint sense of completion beginning to fill you, as proximity between You and Them closed. Not even in hope.

Because now, you don't stare at your timer in hope.

You stare in more than a little fear, bewilderment, and incredible concern as the world dumps yet another worry onto your shoulders, as your timer, in the color of your soulmate's eyes, runs too fast for you to even begin to decipher its time…

And part of it begins to melt into a dark, dark blood-red.

And burns .

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

Join the Taglist: @sweatandwoe @mazikomo @ironandglass @dropssofjupitter @nahigm @syx-00 @bb-8 @agoutighost @lackofhonor @atalldrinkofcaprisun @thereading-nook @betasuppe @az-alvilag-ironovendeke @wanna-plan-world-domination @littledollll @zillahvathek @boredanimatr @aadelyn @ladykatakuri @thebeeskneez @intpthinkinginquiet @my-awakened-ghost @rosmariner @soullessbody @elleryblu @marina-and-the-memes

Trending Tags

Last Seen Tags

#this is rewritten timer

Trending Tags

Last Seen Tags

#this is rewritten timer