#viktorxreader

A/N: hi all I’m backkkkk it’s about damn time!!! I’m currently going through a very transient period in my life and all that, and I haven’t watched act 2 yet due to that but I do know Jinx and Vik meet, and ik he calls her Powder. I figure that he would call her Jinx here if she wanted it though. I may have made reader a cello player because my sweet golden retriever of a boyfriend plays the cello lmao

I’ll have 15 months clean + sober at the end of November, gd willing 🙏💜

—-

The ward smelt of antiseptic. Wait—no. This isn’t a ward. You’re bleary eyed and tired from the meds they’ve given you to detox; being shuffled from a more intensive unit to this co-Ed rehab just feels like a blurry stop on a long road.

Your belongings are in a plastic “patient belongings” bag and a single wheelie bag; you hadn’t planned on this. On any of this.

On the Disaster. On having to take a leave from the elite Piltover Academy, the university where you had gotten a scholarship as a music student. The Dean said your scholarship wasn’t in danger; that the department just wanted you well again.

You didn’t know what you wanted anymore.

The intake isn’t much of a change as before. Name. Vitals. A new hospital bracelet to replace the other. Answering the same questions over and over, as though they aren’t in your file. You want to crawl into bed and stay there forever.

The charge nurse, a no-nonsense woman whose name tag reads “Sevika” seems done with you before you even open your mouth.

As you sit there, in the hard plastic chair, drawing your knees up to your chin, a short, blue haired girl approaches the nurses’ station.

She’s thin. Too thin, her collar bones sticking out and her cheeks hollow. You know that look, the look of malnourishment, and envy burns worse than the stomach acid.

“Sevika—“ the girl starts, and Sevika holds up her hand in a “stop” motion.

“I’m busy. Intake.”

“You can’t just—“

“Jinx. Unless your arm is about to fall off or something, it can wait twenty minutes. Go talk to Lest.”

“Fuck you too.”

Sevika rolls her eyes, and turns her attention back to you. “Well, now I can say you’ve met your roommate.”

“My roommate?”

“You’ll be in Room 2 with Jinx. We’re gonna keep your luggage locked up here until after dinner when the night staff can search your belongings for contraband with you.”

You want to say that if you possibly had contraband it would have been taken at the detox; that Sevika surely would know that given your paperwork. But she doesn’t seem like the type you want to get into a pissing contest with, especially on your first day.

Finally, she lets you go with a gruff, “you can go into the community room now,” flagging down a lackey to lead you, still shell-shocked, down a hallway and through a pair of double doors.

The community room is a little rough around the edges, but you can forgive that, given you’re more than a little rough around the edges yourself.

There’s a few couches scattered here and there, a plain wooden table in the back with some chairs drilled into the floor. A series of cubbies along one wall, with personalized name tags clearly designed by one of the patients’ in blue and pink paints.

A bookshelf with a small lending library of books; if your mind wasn’t so fuzzy you would gravitate towards here immediately. If you weren’t busy with your cello, your head is always buried in some book or another. It didn’t exactly make you the most popular growing up.

Maybe that was why—

No. That was stupid.

You stand on the precipice, the stupid binder they’ve given you on entry held close to your chest, taking in the scene around you, of the other fuck ups in the cage, so to speak. There’s the blue-haired girl, the skinny one, that’s supposed to be your roommate. She’s sitting all wrong on one of the tall-backed armchairs, the kind that you used to see in the Academy library. In the matching armchair next to her is possibly the most attractive boy you’ve ever seen.

All lanky limbs and sharp angles, with bright golden eyes and thick brown hair you immediately want to run your hands through. His crutch is next to the chair, and he has an Academy pin on the lapel of his vest—his shirt underneath is rolled to the elbows and you keep thinking about his forearms for some reason.

Oh god, this is bad.

Your mouth goes dry, and it gets worse when you notice he has the most perfect mole by his mouth, begging to be caught by an errant kiss. Your heart is hammering in your chest and your realize that not only is this quite possibly the worst “first day of school” vibe ever, but you haven’t said anything for the past thirty seconds like some sort of startled creature afraid of her own shadow.

The blue-haired girl throws a wad of paper at the Beautiful Boy’s head. “Hey, Vitya!”

“I told you to stop throwing things at my head.”

Oh, his accent is enough to bring you to your knees, too.

“Fine. But look! We got a new one! And Sevika said she’s rooming with me!”

Vitya—if that’s his name—turns his attention to you, and you don’t know what to say or do.

Thankfully, you don’t have to. An effortlessly cool young woman takes control, sticking her hand out for you to shake, blocking your view of the boy.

“I’m so sorry they just left you like this. Lest. One of the floor counselors.”

“The only cool one,” Blue Hair drawls from the corner.

“Jinx—“ Lest doesn’t even pretend to be mad.

“Would you like to introduce yourself?”

You shrug your shoulders, mutter your name. That’s enough, apparently, and you are about to go hide in a corner, but no such luck.

“Hey! New roomie!” Jinx waves you over.

“Hm?”

Jinx hangs off the chair. “I scared off the last roommate.”

“Jinx, you snuck contraband up your—“ Vitya points out in a matter of fact tone.

Jinx cuts him off with the wave of a hand. “Details, Viktor. Does it really matter?”

“Well, yes.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. Viktor has a wry sense of humor; you can see the twinkle in his eyes when he speaks, and it’s precisely the same type you enjoy. The sound seems to catch him off guard, and he looks at you up and down for a long moment; you find yourself wondering if you’re being studied, and it takes a lot of effort to keep your gaze level.

A click of a doorknob and heavy footsteps.

“Jinx, meds.” Sevika.

“Do I have to?”

“What do you think?”

“Ugh, fine.” Jinx gets up, blue braids trailing behind her, leaving just you and Vitya-Viktor. You’re still standing awkwardly, not sure if you’re bold enough to take her spot.

“She has a thing about the chair,” he says, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“I mean, I get it. If I had been here a while I would probably have a favorite too.”

You settle for the floor, drawing one knee up to your chest and circling it with your arm.

“It has been a while.”

Shit. If this is what Jinx looked like after a while in treatment, you probably didn’t want to see what the “before” was. You decide to change the subject.

“Vitya or Viktor?”

“An abrupt topic change.”

“I noticed you were called both. I was wondering what your name is.”

At this, you are gifted a rare smile from him, something you know you’ll be playing over and over again in your mind.

“It’s Viktor.”

Her mind plagued her with images of Viktor in his final days, slowly decaying. Suffering not only from his ailments, but from the pain of betrayal from the only person he sought comfort from, as his condition started preventing him from the work he often escaped to. Those tired golden eyes piercing her in accusation as they slowly closed a final time.

She could only tell Jayce's approaching her once his hand reached her shoulder. Her eyes quickly went from his hand to his face, where he wore an apologetic expression.

"It's not your fault." He said as softly as he could. 

She couldn't respond. Her hanging mouth felt as dry as when she was in Shurima. Her gaze followed Viktor's statue body up to his face, the sharp corners adorning his jaw looked as pristine as they did the first time they met. He was beautiful.

Her beautiful fiancee whose thick accented voice she would never hear again.

That's when the grieving surpassed the guilt. She fell to her knees in a painful sob, her hand finding purchase on the statue before her. The tears rolling down her cheeks blurred her vision, but it didn't stop the flashing images of Viktor behind her eyes. She sobbed quietly, holding back her voice as much as she could - she shouldn't be allowed to grieve for the loss she bestowed upon herself.

Jayce kneeled beside her in silence for a moment, a hand gently placed on her back for comfort. But it wasn't long before he decided to leave her alone - he felt like she needed a moment by herself with Viktor.

As the tears started to subdued, she groggily sat beside the statue of Viktor hugging her knees together and resting her head on his feet. She spent the night in Jayce's office in a broken slumber, whispering apologies to the cold night air during the brief moments of consciousness.

She woke up the next day with Jayce's warm hand on her shoulder.

"Let's get you to your dorm," he spoke softly "You need some proper rest."

She didn't have the presence of mind to deny him, so she simply nodded before Jayce took her hand, gently bringing her to her feet and led her through the halls of the Academy.

Once they reached her door, he cooed her inside.

"I'll leave you to it, the Council needs me," he said. "I'll come by later so we can get you some food, okay? Rest well."

As soon as the door closed behind her, she was hit by a stale yet familiar scent - the scent of her life together with Viktor. The room was untouched, as if they had left it just this morning to work and she was coming back at the end of the day, the thin layer of dust covering every surface the only indication that time had passed. The bed was unmade, piles of books filled the shelves by the windows, there were some clothes discarded on the floor probably from the last time one of them jumped in bed after a long day and couldn't bother throwing them into the hamper. 

A renewed wave of misery crashed onto her at the sight, she forced herself to stand her ground and not collapse onto the floor again. She walked around slowly, taking in every little detail, not daring to touch anything, as if preserving the scene could somehow bring her back to that old life from two years ago.

She stopped at Viktor's desk upon noticing his journal opened up on his last entry. She felt conflicted, there was a part of her that desperately wanted to read his journal in a feeble attempt to feel close to him again and she almost gave in to the urge, but the guilt held her in place - was she even allowed to pry into his personal notes after everything she did?

She took a deep breath. This journal was Viktor's last words, his final message to the world - there could be his will or dying wishes written in there, he was a very meticulous man after all. He deserved at least to be heard a final time. The girl sat down on his chair, pulling the journal closer to her.

"I am afraid I might be living the twilight of my life and I'll soon be headed to that good night.

Despite working tirelessly to find a way to prolong my days, to cure this wretched ailment that fell upon me, I still can't see even a glimpse of a solution in the horizon.

And this growing decay inside me doesn't seem to want to stop anytime soon, expanding the distance between us in this morbid race I've been forced into.

The only thing keeping me sane is the light and warmth of my hearthfire that is [Y/n]. The possibility of a future where we get to grow old together side by side keeps the darkness at bay. I'm sure I'll find a way to get there.”

She hastily closed the journal back to save the pages from getting stained as the tears began falling copiously down her face again. Her knees gave out and she fell down, holding her torso up by the edge of the desk.

The tears turned to sobbing and then to wailing. In the uncanny familiarity of their bedroom, she finally allowed herself to grieve.

As the tears started to subside, she felt the weight of exhaustion pull her down. It hit her that she hadn't had a proper night of sleep on a bed ever since she left on her expedition. For a moment, the lethargy she felt paired up with the self-loathing festering inside of her had her considering curling down on the floor where she knelt and sleeping right there, but something tugged at her.

She felt a warm gentle humming radiating from her left arm, traversing its extent in waves. She quickly pulled back the sleeve of her coat and saw the golden veins on her marbled new arm faintly glowing. The sensation was gone as quickly as it came, the luminescent golden quality of the appendage dying down. and she realized she didn't feel as tired as before.

Her new magic came to her aid.

She chuckled dryly. “You would  have loved this, Vik. A way to prolong your working hours without any chemical additives.”

She pulled the sleeve back down, standing up. Shedding the garments from the trip unceremoniously, she opted for a pair of sweats and a shirt whose sleeves fully covered the new arm. There was too much weighting at her mind at the moment, unpacking the stuff she went through with anyone just wasn't on the docket.

As the second wind her arm provided her died down, she grabbed Viktor’s journal from his desk and hopped onto bed. She fell asleep holding the journal tight against her body, lulled by the faint scent of him that still lingered onto the unmade bed.

The next five days happened in a daze. She laid in bed for hours, unable to leave, with energy to only to switch between silently crying, sobbing or sleeping. Jayce would come when he could, bringing her food and consoling her for as much time as he was able to spare. She was grateful for him, but would often leave a lot of what he brought untouched - she felt chronically nauseated. 

On the sixth day, Jayce found her sitting up on the bed. 

She was unkept, drained, yet there was a glint of something else behind her eyes. Something different from the ruined state she had been in. The sides of her mouth even curled up in a forced half-smile when she noticed the man.

“Good morning,” he muttered gently, placing the tray of food on the desk. “How are you feeling?”

“Not good,” she answered, looking down. “But a bit better than before.”

“Good to hear,” Jayce responded, sitting on the edge of the bed with her.

“I need to leave this room and do something,” she muttered, turning to the window. “Occupy myself a bit.”

“I think that’s a wonderful ideal,” Jayce said, reaching for one of her hands. She flinched for a second, avoiding his contact at first. But then quickly relaxed right after, offering her right hand out to him. He took it in earnest.

 “They say that's good for the grieving process.”

“Yeah, it wouldn't be fair to Viktor’s memory either,” she chuckled. “I wonder what he'd say if he saw me like that.”

It was Jayce’s turn to chuckle. “I think he'd understand.”

“I might head back to the UDS, the Undercity model definitely needs to be updated after two years.”

Jayce didn't respond. How odd.

She searched his face and saw apprehension, his eyes fixated on a corner of the room.

Finally, with a deep breath, he met her gaze.

“The UDS has been dismantled.”

A couple of seconds passed before his words fully sank in.

“What?”

“With the growing conflict with the Undercity, priorities shifted,” he explained. “It didn't make sense to allocate funds to it any longer.”

Yet another pillar of her life tumbling down in front of her. All the work she's done over the past decade was discarded on a whim.

How Piltovan of them.

“That's my life's work, Jayce,” she barked, yanking her hand away from his grasp. “What about all my documents? My blueprints? My model? Was it all just discarded?”

He paused again. 

“No,” he responded apprehensively. “Look, I tried arguing against it…”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Jayce…”

“You have to understand the circumstances, everything changed after the Council was bombed…,” he trailed off.

“Spit it out, Jayce!”

He swallowed dryly before speaking. “Everything that was in the UDS room is being used in the effort against the Undercity, including your model.” 

“WHAT?” She almost jumped out of the bed. “With whose authorization? This is absolutely preposterous, I can't –”

She fought to find the words. Pressure started to build beneath her skin as an onslaught of thoughts plagued her mind, one more preposterous than the other. She could feel her jaw clenching,  her breathing getting labored.

Her marbled arm getting warmer.

“Everything I mapped and cataloged about the Undercity was to help them, to better their lives,” she said between her teeth. “Not to brutalize them.”

“I know, but the intel the UDS could provide was detrimental to the conflict effort. The Council voted for it almost unanimously,” Jayce tried justifying. “There was nothing I could do.”

Likely story.

She scoffed. “And what would the Council have me do then? Escapading through the Lanes to gather more intel for their war effort? Because you know I won't do it.”

“No… 

Jayce paused, taking a deep breath.

“With me out of the Lab and Viktor gone, you are the only one left with decent knowledge to continue developing projects on HexTech…”

She glared at him.

“What are you suggesting?”

Jayce swallowed dryly once more, unenthusiastically meeting her gaze. And with the same lack of intention, as if he couldn't believe his next words himself, he blurted out.

“They want you to develop HexTech weapons.”

Jayce's words brought their exchange to a standstill. With knitted brows, he waited for her response, trying to gauge her reaction from her countenance. All the while, she waited for his next words. Because there needed to be next words.

Because the nature of this proposition was so absurd, Jayce couldn't be serious.

“No.”

“(Y/N)-,” Jayce tried arguing, but she abruptly cut him off.

“I won't do it, that's final,” then pressure bubbled back up, each word pronounced like a punch. “Honestly, I feel offended you even considered bringing this to me.”

Jayce huffed. “You think I don't understand how this sounds? I don't like the idea either, but the conflict with the Undercity has been escalating to a degree that's getting out of hand.”

“Oh, so the solution is to bomb them with HexTech explosives? To litter their underground with HexTech mines?”

“We need the upper hand to put an end to the conflict!” It was Jayce’s turn to get worked up. “It would issue their rendition and we would be sparing lives!”

“We would be taking lives!” The swell of ire poisoned her words, building them into a vile crescendo. “To paint it as a panacea to the conflict is wishful thinking at best.”

“It is not ideal, but we’re far past the peaceful negotiations phase,” he retorted. “You would know that if you were here in the past two years.”

Jayce had a terrible habit to resort to petty comebacks whenever a discussion wasn't going his way. She saw it happen more times than she wished to whenever he and Viktor got stuck working on particular complex projects for far too long and exhaustion made everyone cranky. 

Right now, dealing with the socio-political calamity at hand was clearly turning him into the worst version of said Jayce. And, like she did in the past, there was a world in which she'd brush it off and simply reel the conversation back to the topic at hand. To douse the flames so as not to get them both burned.

This was not such a world.

In the next second, she violently got up, lifting a finger at Jayce. “I will NEVER willingly participate in the genocide of my husband's people!”

Jayce did the same, barreling towards her, shoving a finger to her face. “He WASN’T your husband. You LEFT HIM at the altar to DIE!”

That was the last straw.

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

Jayce had realized he went too far the moment he noticed the tight knot in her brows and the lack of glimmer in her eyes, a blend of hurt and rage. He’d apologize, said he didn't mean it and the words that came out of him were mere fruits of the spur of the moment.

But it was the last pillar holding up the home she built in Piltover. And it came crashing down before her eyes, the falling rubble sending debris all around her. And as the dust settled down, she saw the only possible way forward.

Or downward.

She started packing as soon as Jayce left her room, sliding a large over-the-shoulder bag from under the bed. She made quick work of stuffing some clothes, her journal, and some other light equipment. She finished up by carefully placing Viktor's journal atop her belongings, slotted between some fabrics for safekeeping.

She put her coat on, pulled the hood over her head, slinged the bag over her shoulders and sneaked out of Academy.

And she was suddenly back to when she was a kid.

The divide between Topside and the Undercity seems abrupt at first glance. A clean cut, where one could easily pinpoint where one ended and the other started.

However, someone from The Fringes knows that there are a lot more shades of gray in this black-and-white picture Topsiders like to paint.

Much like the intricacies of the socioeconomic relations of the sister cities, exist capillary breaches connecting them. Crevices invisible to the eyes of Piltovans, that in their hubris, never made an effort to look into. Alleyways a little wider than a foot that always remained unpatrolled by enforcers before the conflict and that she was sure wouldn't be patrolled now.

From checkpoint to checkpoint, she slipped between those cracks until there were no more blue uniforms in sight. 

Truth be told, the Enforcers were much more worried about preventing trenchers from moving up than making sure no topsider was sneaking into the Undercity.

She stopped sneaking once the familiar smell of stale urbanity air hit her nostrils. The streets were eerily quiet, much different from the neon-bathed everlasting nightlife she was used to - if it wasn't for the humming of machinery or the eventual person walking hastily by her, she'd assume it was a ghost town.

Apprehension took hold. She wasn’t sure exactly where to go, just hoped she'd stumble upon a friendly face at some point. Maybe people who’d recognize the Architect from all the on-site data gathering she used to do as part of the UDS. Maybe even someone who'd remember her walking around with Viktor.

Pain rose from her chest at the memory. 

In the new relative calmness devoid of the fear of being perceived, her mind raced. There was a cacophony of emotions roaring inside her, sadness that her place in the academy was no more, grief from the very recent loss of her fianceé, guilt from breaking her promise and leaving Viktor to die alone.

But on top of it all was rage. Pure molten ire for Piltover taking over her life's work, which she toiled over for years on an underfunded (due to pure disinterest of topside on the matter) section of the academy, and twisting it, completely stripping it of its original purpose, perverting it at its core. 

And Jayce, of all people, not vetoing it? 

She fumed, clenching her jaw as she made her way forward. Her marbled arm tingled erratically every time a new painful memory resurfaced, but she was far too engulfed in her righteous wrath to take notice of that.

Or of the quickly approaching footsteps from behind.

In an instant, she felt the loss of the weight of her bag as someone swiftly took it off of her shoulder. The figure then held her bag tight against them, never faltering in their stride. It took her a second to snap back from the astonishment before dashing behind the thief.

She ran as fast as she could, not worried with her clothes, her equipment or any of her belongings inside her bag - only Viktor’s journal. But as the chase continued, her lungs burned, not used to the thick, polluted air of the Lanes anymore. Soon, every fiber of her body started screaming for her to stop, her legs started faltering and she watched as the distance between her and the thief grew.

She was going to lose the very last piece of him she had. Have it mercilessly snatched away from her grasp. And again, she was gonna be unable to prevent it.

The very thought made her sick, like a humming uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. And it quickly expanded, hot and incandescent, every cell inside her igniting in a chain-reaction until it engulfed her in a golden inferno.

Her marbled arm flew forward on instinct, the veins glowing an intense golden hue. With a scream, as if all the pressure that had been building up exploded, a burst of energy went flying from her outstretched palm, hitting the thief squarely in the back.They fell on the floor, rolling around from momentum, before stopping. 

She stopped at their prone body, falling to her knees as she tried to catch her breath. Gazing down down at her marbled arm, she notoced the vein’s glow was already dimming. As soon as her breathing normalized and the nausea from exertion subsided, she grabbed her bag back and slung it across her torso.

She got up and was about to leave the scene, but something told her not to. She glanced back at the thief's form, still prone on the floor. Worry nagged at her, she had no idea what had just transpired and how whatever that was could've affected the thief outside of stopping them in their tracks. 

She took a deep breath before kneeling back down beside the thief and turning them on their back. She was met with his eyes, wide and scared, frantically looking at her. The rest of his body was completely still. Whatever she's done, seemed to have paralyzed him. Locked him in his own body.

She panicked. The thief, a man probably in his early 20's, didn't deserve this fate. Glancing over her marbled arm, she wondered if she could somehow reverse it. She was supposed to be a healer mage now, right? She did it before, sort of. 

Taking another deep breath, she placed her marbled palm on his chest. With her eyes closed, she tried to envision him running earlier, tried to perceive her own guilt for his fate, tried to beg the Cosmos, the Immortal Flame that made her its Aspect, to heal the man and grant him back his movement.

And then she started feeling a warmth blossoming in her gut, slowly travelling through her body up until her marbled palm. She opened her eyes and watched as the golden veins on her arm glowed, bathing her and the man in a cozy warm light. As soon as the light subsided, the thief gasped, quickly sitting up and scooting backwards.

“It's ok-,” she faltered, being suddenly overtaken by vertigo. Whatever healing she did paired with the chase seemed to have taken its toll, rendering her unable to continue. Her body stumbled forward, heavy with exhaustion. She barely had the presence of mind to catch herself with both palms to the floor.

From her peripheral vision, other figures started approaching the scene.

She heard their conversations.

“Be careful, she's a mage.”

“Go check if Nadir is OK, I'll deal with her.”

“Look at her clothes, she's a Piltie.”

“Quick, grab her stuff before she's back up again.”

Don't . But the words wouldn't come out. The figures kept closing in. She held her bag with as much force as she could muster, but her arms felt amorphous. There was no defending the bag anymore.

“Wait! Don't harm her! That's (Y/N)!”

A familiar voice rang from a figure further back. She looked up from her curled state on the floor, spots dancing in her vision with the motion.

“Ralph-,” was all she could muster before passing out.

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

The next time she opened her eyes, she was on a bed. The ceiling above was wooden, planks held together by bolted steel. 

“Ah, you're awake.”

She quickly sat up trying to find the source of the voice. On a chair on the far end of the room sat a tall, lean man with light brown hair. 

“Ralph?”

He beamed at her, dimples forming at the sides of his mouth. The same smile that would grace her all those years ago, when she was still just a kid of The Fringes. The first in command of the little band of misfits that she called her friends.

The man that used to have her heart.

“I really wasn’t expecting to see you down here,’ he said. “I'm sorry about the debacle the boys put you through, they didn't know.”

Memories of the chase came back at his words.

“My bag!” She frantically looked around. “Where's my bag!?”

“Woah, woah. Easy there!” Ralph cooed, motioning with his hands in an attempt to calm her down. “It's right there, on the floor next to the bed.”

She sighed in relief upon looking down and spotting the leather bag with gold and white accents she brought from Piltover.

Ralph chuckled. “So, how are you feeling?”

She lightly shook her head with a sneer. Such a mundane question felt almost comical at this point. She exhaled before responding. “A bit tired, but nothing to write home about…”

“Glad to hear it,” there was a shift in his eyes, as if a mask fell off. “Now, can you tell me exactly what you are doing back here in the Lanes?”

She frowned. “Why's that important? It's me Ralph, the Undercity is basically my home.”

Ralph leaned over, a more serious expression adorning his features. “You have to understand, (Y/N), the Undercity and the Topside are basically at war. It is very suspicious to have a Piltie wandering around the neighborhood.”

“I'm not a Piltie!” She scoffed, clearly offended. “You fancy me a spy or something?”

“Not me, I know who you are,” he continued. “But the others don't. And I need a good explanation to give them about someone from up there just happening to be here, especially with the little trick you pulled on poor Nadir.”

She grimaced as worry tugged at her. 

“The one who took my bag,” she whispered. “Is he ok?”

“He's fine, just a little shaken. He'll live.”

She sighed in relief. Ralph kept eyeing her, suspicion still heavy on the pinch of his brow.

“Let's start with that,” he continued. “Was that some new fancy weapon Piltover developed for us?”

She blinked in bewilderment. “Of course not! Why would you think I'd be the one to contraband Piltovan weapons to use on Zaunites?”

Ralph didn't answer. Instead he studied her face, seemingly checking if it betrayed her words.

“Then what was it? Nadir said that he couldn't move after you shot him. And that somehow you undid it with your hands.”

She exhaled, looking down at her hands. At this angle, one could assume her marbled appendage was but a glove or some form of accessory, and not her actual limb. 

Would it be wise to lay everything out to Ralph? That she was essentially a mage now, something unusual enough to be anyone's guess what kind of reaction the Zaunites would have?

On the other hand, what would omitting her newfound abilities really do? Was this sort of preservation even necessary at this point? She didn't have anywhere to go, no reputation to uphold, no legacy to keep. 

Maybe this new identity might put a bigger target on her back. But could also be the key to open new doors on her path.

She was willing to take the risk.

“There's a lot I need to tell. Bear with me.”

She told Ralph about Viktor. How she indeed became romantically involved with him. How his health drastically declined during the last years of their relationship. About her research on mages and the subsequent quest that it led her to.

Ralph listened patiently without a word, his expression unreadable.

“I ended up in Targon and, although I couldn't bring a mage back with me,” she pulled her sleeve up, fully revealing the marbled arm. “I brought back a neat souvenir.”

With a knitted brow, Ralph got up from his seat, carefully getting closer to her. His eyes locked on her arm.

“What is that?”

“An arm,” she said matter-of-factly. “That's also a conduit for magic.”

She offered her arm up towards him. He studied it, carefully touching her marbled forearm with sheer curiosity, her words gradually sinking in.

“You became a mage?”

“Yes. Well, technically a host for an Aspect,” she replied. “Supposedly, I can heal people now.”

“Were you able to heal Viktor?”

The tightness in her chest returned. Guilt tore her insides, like a knife between her ribs. She swallowed back a lump forming in her throat before speaking.

“When I got back, he was already gone.”

His eyes shot up from her arm, acknowledging her words. 

“I'm so sorry to hear that.”

Ralph let go of her arm, sitting beside her on the bed. He shed whatever guarded facade he was putting up until now, instead wearing a familiar soft expression. She found comfort in that.

Enough to break her own facade down as tears began rolling down her face.

Ralph wrapped his arms around her at the sight, pulling her into his chest. The gentleness of the act paired with nostalgic familiarity that was him made her feel unusually safe. And she let go, the tears crashing down like a downpour, staining his shirt in its wake. She sobbed as he soothed her, gently running his fingers through her hair.

She felt so weak, as thin as paper. Coming undone on a moment’s notice. A house that wasn't a home, with no beans, pillars or columns - standing on its walls alone. The whole of it coming down on the slightest of breezes.

She pulled herself away from him after calming down, sitting up straight again. 

“I'm sorry about this…”

“Don't be,” he cooed. “You went through a lot, I'm not sure what I would do with myself if Lyanna d-.” He paused, rethinking his next words. “If I lost Lyanna.”

They sat in silence for a bit, not knowing what to say next. But somehow it was comfortable, as if time hadn't passed and they were still two kids again, without a care in the world. She was glad, she desperately needed some semblance of normalcy.

Ralph was the first to break the silence.

“Tell me more about this arm of yours,” he turned to her. “How does it work?”

She held her marbled arm, studying the golden veins on its surface. “Honestly, I'm not sure. The most I did with it was what happened with that Nadir guy.”

Ralph hummed, a wishful glint behind his eyes as he once again analyzed her limb. He then looked down as his own right arm. 

“May I ask you to try something?”

With his left arm, he pulled the jacket he wore off, just enough to unveil his right arm.

Or what was left of it.

Her eyes grew wide in stupor at the sight. His arm was missing from the middle of his biceps down, the limb crudely bandaged up at the bottom. The tissue was tinted red with dried blood. 

“Oh gods, what happened!?”

He chuckled dryly. “Enforcer bomb went out right next to me, I was lucky it only took my arm.”

“Ok,” she exhaled in resolution. “You want me to try to heal that wound?”

“Actually… Can you try bringing my arm back?”

Her eyes shot up to his face in exasperation.

“That's one tall order!”

“Could you at least try?,” he pleaded. “You said you weren't sure how those powers worked, but you did heal a man from being paralyzed.”

She scoffed. “Paralyzing that I inflicted in the first place!”

“All the more reasons to try then, that arm seems to be packing quite a punch.”

“I'm not sure about that…”

“Please, (Y/N),” the vulnerability in his voice caught her off-guard. “I need both my arms to work. We've been fighting for scraps ever since the conflict with Topside broke out, the loss of my arm only made providing for my family that much harder.”

With a deep breath, she reached Ralph's damaged arm with her marbled hand. Carefully as not to hurt him, she pressed her palm on top of the bandages.

“Here goes nothing.”

Closing her eyes, she tried to perform the same method she did when healing Nadir. She pictured Ralph with his right arm outstretched, the bottom part of his stump free of bandages, all the innards exposed. His humerus slowly regenerated, growing out of the upper arm region until it was complete, the radius, ulna and the hand following right after. Once the bones were settled, all muscles, tendons and ligaments acted the same way, until his whole arm was good as new. She then prayed, begged to the Celestials and the Aspect of the Immortal Flame to regenerate Ralph's arm. To bring back his full range of motions.

Her marbled arm hummed with energy, like an electric current traveling from her core to her palm in waves. Her breath hitched, weariness setting in as if she was on a jog, her energy getting steadily drained. But she persisted as much as she could, until the lightheadness she felt verged into a fainting spell. 

Letting go of his arm, she panted as she caught her breath. She blinked a few times after opening her eyes in an attempt to get rid of the spots dancing around her vision. She glanced at Ralph's arm once she composed herself.

Where once was a badly bruised stump, with bloodied scars still inflamed, was a stump smooth and completely healed. The skin all around it even seemed fuller and healthier. 

But there was no new arm in sight. Whatever healing she could muster couldn't create new flesh.

Her eyes met Ralph's, whose crestfallen expression told her he had arrived at the same conclusion.

But he quickly shook his head, smiling at her.

“At least you sped the healing process. It's a relief to get rid of the soreness.”

He then proceeded to take a big stretch with a loud yawn, before making a thespian show for getting up.

“If you don't have somewhere to stay, you should come to my place. I think Ekko would be interested in having you and those powers join his ranks.”

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

Ekko was indeed interested to have her and her powers join his ranks. Ralph led her to what she'd learn was the Firelight’s hideout - an oasis hidden at the upper level of the Undercity. A resistance group that once fought against the exploitation of Undercitizens in the hands of chembarons, and now fought back against Topsider’s occupation and forced pacification. 

The people of the Hideout had mixed feelings towards her at first. There were those suspicious of someone who came from the Topside, hosting magic inside a bizarre arm. However, there were also those who knew her from when she was known as the Architect from the Academy, responsible for leading urban projects for the betterment of the Undercity. Soon, the suspicion thinned out, thanks to the vouching of Ralph and Lyanna, and she started to use her newfound powers for the sake of the community the Firelights had created.

Having a purpose again helped her navigate her grief better. With each smile her healing helped provide, each burden she helped lift, her consciousness felt a little less heavy. Viktor would be pleased, having his legacy survived in her, despite the suffering she'd previously caused him.

She learned of a mural on which the Firelights would paint the faces of notorious Undercitizens lost. After a while, she convinced them to add Viktor's face to the roster - a fellow Undercitizen Scholar who fought tooth and nail to make the Lanes s better place. She'd find herself looking up at him often; somehow, it brought her comfort to see his face among his people again. It kept her resolve firm in assisting Ralph and the Firelights.

Although the community was very self-sustainable, she learned that the conflict between Topside and the Undercity had created scarcity. One method they found of somewhat countering it was stealing as much as they could from the people outside the Hideout - especially from Pilties. That was what happened to her on her first day back - Ralph’s team spotted her gilded bag from a mile away, and so she’d become a target.

One day, after one of these expeditions, Ralph came up to her as she was doing some healing on an elderly Lady. 

“Hey.”

He called from behind her.

“Give me a second, Ralph.” 

She had her eyes closed, as she gently pressed her marbled palm on the lady's upper back. After a while, the glow of the veins on her arm faded out as she exhaled.

“There, Mrs. Siva. You should be able to breathe better now.” She beamed at the lady. On cue, Mrs. Siva took a long and unobstructed breath and smiled.

“Good heavens, the rasping is gone,” the Old Lady exclaimed. She turned around, taking both of the girl's hands. “Thank you kindly, my dear.”

The girl smiled back. “Don't mention it. Come back to me whenever you need.”

As Mrs. Siva left, the girl turned to face Ralph. Her eyes widened as she saw him.

“Your arm!”

Ralph smiled, waving at her with his hand. His new right hand. Connected to his new right arm. From the middle of his upper arm, where once was nothing, a mechanical prosthetic arm sprung, in steel and copper. 

Prosthetics and augmentations were common in the Undercity, but with conflict causing both scarcity and destruction, rendering more and more people in need of mechanized limbs, they had become difficult to come by. That in itself would be enough cause to be surprised at Ralph's new acquisition, but this one also had a… refinement that was not commonly seen. She watched him wave at her, his movements natural and smooth, as if it was a real arm. If she didn't know, it could've easily been mistaken for a weird over-the-elbow metallic glove and not a prosthetic.

“That's amazing! Where did you get that?”

“It is, isn't it?” He twirled his wrist around, opening and closing his fingers. “I heard people talking about this guy’s workshop at the Entresol level and I decided to check it out. Turns out he was the real deal!”

“It must have cost a fortune,” she commented, getting up from her stool, and reaching for his new arm in awe. 

“Would you believe me if I said it didn't cost me a single penny? The dude's doing this from the goodness of his heart or something.”

“Oh, wow,” she muttered. Instinctively, she glanced back at the painted mural, spotting Viktor. “I'm glad there's still people out there just making people's lives better.”

“Tell me about it, although… “ he scratched his chin, his eyes looking away from her. “He was mighty impressed with how the arm had healed before he did the procedure, and I ended up telling him about… Well, about you.”

Her eyes shot back at him with a scowl.

“Are you insane?”

“Wait wait, hear me out. Do you see this?” He brought both of his hands close to each other, touching each finger from his flesh hand to his prosthetic one rhythmically, with an impossible precision. “This kind of finesse is not a thing when it comes to prosthetics, and he theorized that life-like movements are a direct result of the interface between his tech and your healing magic.”

She hummed in response, eyes trailing his prosthetic arm again. Failing to bring Ralph’s arm back had pained her. It made her reminisce of her own time being an amputee, how even the most simple of tasks suddenly became a hassle in the face of her disability. She also watched him being often cast aside in the hideout, even when done not maliciously - the lack of his limb made him a liability. But now he had his arm back - and a damn good one at that. 

Imagine if all of the people in the hideout in need of a limb had a fine prosthetic like Ralph now possessed. 

“He said he was interested in meeting you.”

She blinked a few times out of her thoughts. With a long exhale, she turned to look at Ralph.

“I’m interested in meeting him too.”

---------

“And one day,” Mylo's snide tone had your smile quickly dropping. “I'm gonna shoot one of ‘em down.” He quipped, aiming a finger gun to the ship and mimicking pulling the trigger.

Your eyes rolled in exasperation. “Now that - that's not a bet that I would waste my coin on.” Powder snickered a laugh when Mylo shoved your shoulder, which you quickly returned with extra force.

“Are you sure about this, Vi?” Claggor. Poor, sweet, naive Claggor. As if this was something that Vi could be talked out of. “Look, if we get caught, we're…” Like clockwork, Vi cut off his sentence.

“We're not gonna get caught.” She said with all the confidence that you're sure Vander carried at her age. Claggor looked over to you, as if expecting you to intervene - you instead offered him a shrug of indifference. “We'll be in and out before anyone even notices.”

It was exhilarating. The feeling of sunshine on your face, and wisps of wind running through your dark, shaggy hair, as you leapt from rooftop to rooftop. If it were up to you - you'd spend every day of your life flying from roof to roof. It was the only time that you felt untouchable… truly free.

Following Vi and the boys, you landed, light-footed, on the roof - having launched over from a small balcony homing a plate of pink-frosted cupcakes.

The sight of the sweet treats sitting abandoned had your mouth forming into a sneer. The Pilties were afforded so much privilege that they had no qualms about leaving food out to rot or be eaten by birds - while Zaunites in the Fissures had to fight tooth and nail for what the Topsiders would consider scraps. It wasn't fair.

“Couldn't we have at least just walked there?” Claggor asked Vi.

“Gotta stay outta sight for this one.” Vi told him in a serious tone. You considered telling the pink-haired girl to lighten up a little, and take a moment to enjoy the journey there. But you knew that she wouldn't want to hear it, so instead, you kept the thought to yourself and stayed quiet.

You clapped a hand on his back with a laugh. “Where's the fun in that, Clag?” He huffed a small laugh in reluctant agreement.

Vi suddenly looked away from Claggor. You followed her line of sight with your own eyes to see Powder still on the roof across the divide. Fear was evident in her big, blue eyes.

“Called it.” Mylo announced smugly, causing you to look over in his direction with narrowed eyes. “This is on you, Vi.”

“Does your trap ever shut, Mylo?” You called to him, receiving a glare of daggers from him in response.

“I'll get her.” Claggor said, beginning to stand from his crouched position.

“No!” Vi stopped him - looking to Powder with determination. “Powder, look at me.” You looked back to Powder to see the nerves still evident on her face. “What did I tell you?”

“That…” She took a deep breath, and when her eyes opened, the fear had been replaced with a bravery that had you smiling proudly. “That I'm ready.” She declared.

“That's right. So?” 

You whooped loudly, calling out in encouragement, “Go Pow-Pow. You've got this!”

Powder managed the complex manoeuvre just barely. The jump ended with her hanging off the edge of the roof, with Vi holding onto her hand securely - a proud smile adorning her face. Your heart would have been warmed if it weren't currently in your throat, having jumped up in fear while watching the little girl nearly fall to her demise.

“Phew.” Powder breathed. “Thanks.” And you had to fight the urge to thank Vi for catching her too - though you knew that there was no way in the world that she would have let her little sister fall.

The panic in you slowly dissipated, and pride took its place. You laughed as you high-fived powder - congratulating her on a job well done, while she smiled in delight.

Your eyes followed another airship flying overhead as your small group scooted alongside a narrow edge of the penthouse's roof.

“What if Vander finds out we're all the way up here?” Oh Gods, don't even say that, you thought with a grimace. You couldn't bear putting up with another one of Vander's infamous ‘I'm disappointed in you’ lectures. Sure, you were older than the others, but that didn't mean you could control them. If they were going to be out pulling off dangerous jobs, you'd rather be out with them watching their backs than trying fruitlessly to talk them out of it.

“Look around you.” Violet gestured to the lavish city below you. “You think anyone Topside's going hungry?” The answer was obvious. “And besides, this is exactly the type of job that Vander would have pulled when he was our age.”

She wasn't wrong. The stories that Felicia shared with you about their ‘wild escapades’ while growing up always had you giggling - that was before Vander had caught wind of it.

‘And that's about enough of those stories.’ Vander had said one evening, as you and Felicia sat gossiping at the bar. ‘The last thing that we need is another me running around causing trouble.’ The words had been said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, but under his amused tone, you'd been able to sense the seriousness to his words.

Felicia had tried to spiritedly argue back that you would find out one way or another, but Vander had pointed a finger at her and playfully accused her of trying to corrupt you.

After that, though, the stories of their ‘Wild Child’ days became fewer and far between - much to your disappointment.

“I'm going. Are you with me or not?” Vi already knew that you had her back, and obviously Powder would follow her to the ends of the Runeterra - this question was clearly for the boys.

Clagger's loud sigh gave his answer before his words. “Vander's gonna kill us.”

Before you could agree with him, Vi retorted, “Yeah, only if we screw up. So don't screw up.”

Expertly, Vi swung down from the roof, and once she called the all clear, you were all quickly following down onto a rather spacious balcony. Oh yeah, this belonged to a rich Piltie - that's for sure. You just hoped that the loot from this job would be enough to satiate the girl for a while.

“Remember, guys.” You did your best to put your ‘Big Sister Pants’ on and set the ground rules. “Twenty minutes - in and out. Any - and I mean any signs of someone coming, and we're out. I don't care if it's been two minutes. No loot is worth getting arrested. No man left behind.” You knew that the only person truly taking your words on board was little Powder. Smiling as you pinched her cheek - you were grateful that she hadn't reached her rebellious teenage years yet.

The door was quickly opened - thanks to Vi’s boot, and not Mylo's lock-picking skills. Much to his annoyance - which he voiced by calling the rest of you ‘animals’ - earning him an amused snort from you as you brushed past him.

Your jaw dropped as you entered the large room - you span on your heels to grasp the full extent of it. The room was jam-packed with books, gadgets, and trinkets - oh yeah, you had definitely hit the jackpot here. 

As the others began ransacking the room and filling the rucksack with loot, your eyes were drawn to a small connecting walkway. “Hey, I think there's another room. I'll go check it out.” You announced.

At the end of the small corridor was a closed door. Approaching it quietly, you pushed your ear to the surface, listening intently to be sure that no one was on the other side. Once you were satisfied by the silence, you quietly pushed it open and stepped inside.

“Whoa.” You muttered, stepping further into the small room and admiring the trinkets lining the shelves. A couple of shining, gilded objects caught your eye, and you quickly scooped them up, admiring the weight before stashing them safely in your pockets.

“Find anything good?” A small voice chirped, and you nearly jumped out of your skin, whirling around quickly to see Powder in the doorway.

“I don't know. Could be trash, could be treasure.” You grinned as she entered the room. A quiet whoop left her mouth when she discovered two sandwiches sitting on top of a large blueprint. Quickly, she rushed over, picking one up and taking a large bite out of it, sighing deeply at the taste.

“What sort of heathen abandons a perfectly good sandwich?” You muttered, picking up the second sandwich and biting into it. You had to admit - it was one damn good sandwich. While you chewed the food, you lifted up the blueprint off the table; eyes squinting, trying to decipher it. If engineering was your strong suit as opposed to physics, maybe you'd be able to decode what this person was trying to build.

“Huh?” At the sound of Powder's voice, you dropped the parchment and followed her gaze to a large chest sitting on the table. You almost laughed when she tried to drag the chest from the table - letting out a punched out sound of strain at the effort.

“Pow-Pow.” You giggled. “What have I told you? Work smarter, not harder.” Your deft fingers scanned the chest for a latch before feeling a small ‘click’ on the side. Both your and Powder's eyes widened as you watched the chest open. Contained inside, glowing ominously, were six electric-blue crystals.

“Whoa.” You both breathed simultaneously in awe. Inquisitive as always, Powder reached in and plucked one of the crystals from its cradle, lifting it up to her eye to inspect it closely.

Curiously, you reached into the chest to pluck one of the remaining gemstones from their cradle, only to let out a yelp at the shock of an electric zap to your finger when it made contact with the blue stone.

“Ouch.” You mumbled, sticking the affected finger in your mouth, causing Powder to giggle.

Suddenly, your heart stopped as you heard a rattling at the door to the entryway, and Vi's desperate instructions of, “Guys, we gotta go!”

“Hello?” You could hear the concerned voice of a man through the door - the handle rattling as he tried to open the barricaded entryway. “Is someone in there?” The rattling grew more forceful as the voice morphed into a panicked yell. “Hey, open up!”

Powder's nimble fingers quickly collected the six stones, jamming them into her pouch as you pulled her towards Vi at the doorway.

“Wait!” She gasped, and your eyes followed hers, watching as one of the gemstones fell to the floor and began to roll away.

“Go. I've got it.” You told her as you passed her to Vi's arms. There was no telling how much these stones were worth - you'd bet they were worth more than any of the trinkets lining the shelves. “I'll be right there.” You assured Vi, seeing the worried look in her eyes. She nodded and turned, dragging Powder with her - the younger girl looking back with unbridled anxiety in her watery eyes.

You quickly turned on your heel, running back into the room to retrieve the crystal that was rapidly rolling away. Hastily, you dropped to your knees and scrambled towards the stone as it rolled under the bed, before…

-

-

You don't know what it was that your brain comprehended first. The blinding flash of light filling your vision. The weightlessness of being thrown like a ragdoll through the air. The unnatural feeling of a foreign, unfamiliar electrical current pulsing through your veins. Or, possibly, the agonising pain coursing through the back of your skull, emanating from where it had made impact with the wall.

The room was silent - save for the static buzzing in your ears - and you had to blink a few times to clear the spots from your vision.

You felt light and fuzzy all over, boneless, almost as if you were in a dream. Your pounding head unwillingly lolled to the side, and you winced in pain as you felt the hot, sticky, uncomfortable sensation of blood running down the back of your neck. 

A large hole was now in the door - drawing your eyes through to meet a pair of hazel hues. The dark brows above said eyes furrowed, as the man slumped against the wall looked at you in shock and confusion. It was only a moment or two of staring - but it felt like much longer - before his eyes began to roll back, and he collapsed to the side, unconscious.

You barely registered yourself being tugged to your feet by two sets of hands, and the cottony static in your ears dissolved away until you could hear the sound of your siblings shouting your name. The look of fear in Vi's eyes was palpable as she held your cheeks in her hands, lightly slapping the skin in an attempt to break through your shock. A few more blinks of your eyes, and suddenly - as if being plunged into cold water - you came back to yourself.

“Come on. You're okay.” Vi was muttering, looking over your body, checking for any injuries that would prove otherwise. The words were directed at you, but you could tell that she was subconsciously trying to reassure herself that you indeed were okay. You nodded to her - quelling her fears. “We gotta go.” She told you with a sharp intensity.

You nodded but didn't answer - allowing yourself to be pulled out by Vi and Claggor to the balcony.

“Shit!” You heard Vi hiss as she looked down at the Enforcers below, peering up at you all and shouting. Turning to you, she grasped your shoulders tightly. “Are you going to be able to run?” She asked you frantically.

You nodded, then grimaced at the responding pain from your neck. “Y-yeah. I'm good.” Vi swallowed and nodded back at you.

You honestly don't know how you had all managed to escape Piltover - relatively unscathed. Never would you have thought that you'd be so happy to be laying in a heap of garbage in a landfill, covered in filthy sludge - but evidently, there was a first for everything. 

You honestly don't know how some of the Enforcers’ Bolas hadn't captured at least one of you. The precision they'd been thrown was immaculate. You'd had to thank your lucky stars each time the contraptions had veered off course at the last moments.

“Your nose is bleeding.” Powder muttered, crawling over the filthy rubbish to reach you. You reached up to touch the blood leaking from your right nostril. “Oh, I didn't even notice.” You replied with a small laugh, grateful that it had seemingly stopped of its own accord.

Powder gently reached out to wipe away the blood with her fabric arm bracers; nodding to herself when she was satisfied that she'd sufficiently cleaned you up. You smiled softly and ruffled her hair fondly.

“Thought last time was the last time we were gonna do this.” Mylo grumbled from his place in the litter, and you had to roll your eyes. Of course he would find something to complain about after pulling off the heist of the century.

“Well, this time's the last time.” Vi affirmed. You had your doubts.

“Guys, what was that? What the hell happened back there?” Claggor stammered, obviously still shaken by the whole ordeal. You really couldn't blame him - your whole body still trembled from the adrenaline. Both boys turned, looking accusingly at Powder, causing your brows to furrow deeply.

“I don't know. I didn't do anything.” She retorted, looking as offended as you felt for her.

“You could fill a damn library with all the things you didn't do.” Mylo shot back with a tone of annoyance.

“Hey, Mylo. Shut the fuck up, okay? You're making my headache worse.” You groaned, flopping back to lie against the trash. The skin on the back of your neck stretched uncomfortably, the dried blood beginning to flake off.

“Oh, I'll really make your headache worse if you’re not careful.” He snarked back, causing you to snort and hold up a middle finger towards him. That boy was all bark and no bite.

“Guys,” Vi leapt in to diffuse the tension. “We just emptied a Piltover penthouse right under the enforcers' noses.” Heist of the century. “So, if you're done beating yourselves up, let's get this home.” She announced proudly.

As you made your way back to the Undercity, you silently mourned at the fact that you would soon be apart from the sun once more. You loved your home - you really did - but a part of your soul always longed to be above the world, basking in the soft, warm rays of light. 

Trailing behind your four siblings, you couldn't help but smile as Claggor slung an arm playfully across Mylo's shoulders. Your family was your entire world. You'd sooner snuff out the sun than ever leave them behind.

“Nice haul?” A smug voice drawled as your group walked past. You turned to see that the source of the voice was a young, blonde thug lazing on a wooden box. His eyes locked onto the bag on Vi's back with a slimy grin. As your eyes narrowed, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand on end.

“You could say that.” Your stare snapped to Mylo, and you had to suppress your immediate urge to punch him. Idiot.

“C’mon, let's go.” You muttered, ushering the rest of the group to keep moving forward.

“I heard there was some action across the river.” You all froze at the boy’s words. News had travelled quickly. This wasn't good. Your eyes shifted to him again, narrowing sharply as he nonchalantly flipped a coin over each of his knuckles. “Someone really kicked the nest, huh?” He mused with a dangerous smirk in your direction.

“Is that so?” Vi responded coolly - her poker-face was something to be admired. Turning to brush him off, she hesitated, and you looked up to see that two more youths had moved to block the path. A dark chuckle had you clenching your fists.

“But now, you're tracking this mess of yours through my streets.” You scoffed, cracking your knuckles.

“Your streets? What makes you think-” Vi started incredulously, before Claggor quickly cut her off, trying to defuse the situation.

“Listen, we don't want any trouble, okay?” He stated, but a laugh from behind you had you gritting your teeth.

“Hear that, Deckard? They don't want any trouble.” As a new voice spoke, your eyes flicked over the approaching miscreants, silently counting their number. Your mind raced, calculating the odds - would your group walk away unscathed if this turned violent?

“You know,” Deckard drawled. “In my experience, trouble finds you. There's no reason this has to get ugly.” He lilted. Your nose crinkled into a sneer when he sent a smirk your way before turning to address Vi. “How about you share a little taste of your treasure there, and we'll call it even?”

“No, no, no,” Mylo spoke up. “We worked too hard to-” He was cut short by Violet grabbing his shoulder as she stepped past him.

“Just a taste?” She asked Deckard softly with feigned innocence.

Oh, this was happening. You cracked your sore, stiff neck, readying yourself for the inevitable brawl. Some warning so you could limber up would have been nice, you thought with an amused huff.

“Just a ta-” Deckard didn't even get to finish the words before Vi had swung the heavy bag of loot to crash against the side of his face, effectively knocking him to the ground. Said bag was quickly launched into Powder's arms as the rest of you raised your fists, ready for the incoming onslaught.

Hearing heavy footfall behind you, you spun around just in time to dodge a fist aimed at your head. Ducking, you moved quickly and fluidly - the punch sailing over your head. With a sharp pivot, you spun on your heel, using the momentum to bring your knee up into your attacker's stomach. He doubled over, coughing, but recovered faster than you expected. Before you could move out of the way, the heavy fist of your attacker was ploughing into your cheekbone painfully.

You stumbled back, hand over your cheek, and steeled yourself to attack again, when a flash of blue caught your attention. Powder was running away through the street - bag of loot secured on her back - being quickly pursued by one of Deckard's gang members.

“Pow!” You yelled, side stepping your assailant to run after them. You didn't get more than five steps away when arms wrapped around you from behind, pinning your arms to your side and tackling you to the ground. A loud groan of pain sounded from you as your chin smacked the rough surface of the pavement.

“We're not done here.” A gravelly voice growled from behind you. An enraged scream tore through your lips as you kicked and squirmed, trying fruitlessly to knock the weight off your back, pinning you down. A breath tickled the back of your ear as the boy holding you down spoke, “Not so tough now, hmm?”

Taking a deep breath in through your nose, you quickly snapped your head back, effectively ramming the back of your already-abused skull into his nose. You both simultaneously let out a roar of pain, and you felt the wound on your scalp open back up, allowing fresh blood to run freely to the ground.

With a loud grunt, you pulled yourself to your feet - hands holding the back of your head in pain.

“Fuck you, you motherfucker.” You screeched ferally. The thug kneeled on the ground, bent down almost as if in prayer - howling in pain and cupping his obviously broken nose. Raising your leg as high as your tendons would allow, you screamed in effort as you snapped it down with force, bringing the heel of your heavy boot down onto the back of his head. The pained howling stopped as his head cracked into the pavement below.

Not wasting any more precious moments, you took off running in the direction that you had seen Powder heading only minutes ago.

Following the path, you continued to run while yelling out to Powder - your anxiety increasing with each step. As you ran, a large plank of loose wood perched against the wall of the alley - as if sent by the Gods - caught your eye. Your hand closed around it without breaking your stride, and it was quickly slung over your shoulder as you broke through to the docks - just in time to see Powder tossing the heavy bag of treasures into the lake. You let out a loud battle-cry as you launched yourself towards the teen boy who was leaning over the railing, desperately trying to spot the heavy bag sinking into the murky waters below. Swinging the plank with all your might, you couldn't help but grin maliciously as it collided with his head, and he collapsed to the ground.

“You okay?” You asked Powder after a moment of silence, panting heavily with exhaustion.

“Yeah.” She replied sadly, her big eyes beginning to well with tears. “But, I threw the bag. I-I didn't know what to do.” You dropped the wood next to the unconscious boy and wrapped your arms around the sniffling girl.

“It's okay, Baby Blue.” You soothed, rubbing her back - trying to ignore the feeling of your stomach sinking faster than the bag in the water. “There's always plenty more where that came from. We only have one Powder.” She nuzzled her face into your chest. “You made the right decision. You're worth more than any treasure.”

Her arms tightened around you. “The others will be so mad with me. Mylo-”

You cut her off. “Just leave Mylo to me. It'll be okay.” She looked up at you, and you smiled. “Come on, we'd better get back to the others.” Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, you began to walk back to your siblings together - stepping over some scrap metal that you recognised as a detonated Mouser. 

By the time you reached the others, the sun had begun to set. Vi had run to you both, thoroughly checking over Powder for any injuries.

“I'm fine.” Powder assured her, wrapping her arms around her big sister's waist as Vi hugged her tightly.

“Where's the loot?” Mylo immediately jumped into interrogation, noticing the bag was missing.

“I-” Powder started, but you quickly cut her off.

“I lost it.” Mylo's jaw dropped, and he looked at you incredulously. “Tried to wrestle it off one of those thugs, but it fell into the harbour.” You explained it matter-of-factly. There was no changing the situation, so no use arguing over it.

“You think I believe that?” He yelled, and you felt Powder grab your hand. “You don't make mistakes like that.” He pointed aggressively at Powder. “That jinx does.” He spat venomously.

“Give it a rest, Mylo.” You sneered tiredly. “Unless you feel like going for a swim in the harbour too.”

“I tried to fight him off with Mouser, but... she didn't work.” Powder muttered, half-heartedly trying to defend herself.

“Yeah, who saw that coming?” Mylo sneered, raising his hand in answer to his own question. You rolled your eyes.

“Ugh, We never should have gone over there.” Glaggor groaned, and you couldn't help but silently agree.

Vi spoke up from beside Powder. “Doesn't matter. The stuff's gone.” She pats her little sister on the shoulder. “It's all right, Powder. At least you're okay.

Vi opened the door to the housed elevator - the entrance to the Undercity - and you all piled in.

“Okay? What about us?” That grating voice again. “I get my face bashed in, and she just gets a pass?”

You dug in your pockets for the two small, yet heavy trinkets that you had stashed from the penthouse. “Here.” You pegged them hard at him. “For your troubles.” Mylo yelped, ducking at the last second to dodge them as they flew directly at his forehead - but quickly bent down to collect them as they clattered to the floor.

The five of you piled into the elevator, shuffling awkwardly to get comfortable, before it began to descend, and the dank smell of the Lanes filled your nose.

The door to The Last Drop had an infuriating knack for squeaking at the worst times, always betraying your attempts to sneak out - or back in - much to your frustration. Tonight was no exception. Your eyes scanned the pub briefly before locking onto Vander - who was seated with Huck at a table, opposite two shady seeming characters. Though in Zaun, shady characters were the opposite of far and few between. Vander’s eyes suddenly locking onto yours had your face morphing into a grimace as you averted your gaze to the back of Vi’s head, following her to the basement.

Once you'd safely arrived at the basement, you all immediately flopped onto the couches - all absolutely exhausted from your escapades.

You closed your eyes and tried to ignore the thumping in your head, made only worse by the sound of your siblings bickering.

“Guys.” You moaned. “Can we just relax? It's been an intense day and-” Your voice trailed off as the basement door opened. Vander stood at the top of the stairs, calmer than you'd expected. Maybe he hadn't heard about the explosion in Piltover.

“Everyone alright?” He asked softly, looking over you all - assessing your injuries.

“Never better.” Mylo answered for you all with a sigh.

“Good.” Oh, you'd know that tone anywhere. “I don't suppose you can explain why it is that I'm hearing about an explosion and a foot chase Topside? Five children fleeing the scene.” And there it was. You could never be so lucky. He stopped to look at Vi. “What the hell were you thinking?” You didn't know if you should be relieved that he wasn't addressing you, or be jumping in to defend your sister. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could let loose any words, Vander stopped you with hand. “Uht, don't you even think about speaking right now.” At the words, your mouth immediately closed, and you held up your hands in surrender. Vi was on her own with this one.

“I was thinking that we can handle a real job.” She responded stubbornly.

“A real job?”

“We got our own tip. Planned a route. Nobody even saw.” Digging your grave, Vi. Stop while you're ahead. You'd played this game enough to know that it never ends in your favour.

“You blew up a building.”

“It wasn't the whole building.” You interjected, receiving a glare from Vander. “Okay, yep, shutting up.”

Vander turned back to Vi. “Did you even stop to think about what could have happened to you?” He gestured to the rest of you. “Eh? To them?” Oh, she was getting the whole ‘Vander Guilt Trip Special’ today. He sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes with malaise. “Where did you even get this tip?”

“We just heard it at Benzo's shop.” Powder answered with a squeak - obviously trying to take some of the weight off Vi.

“From?” He looked at you, and you looked away.

“Little man.” Powder answered. Vander sighed again, and you had to wonder how he had any breath left in his body at this point.

Vi stood abruptly. “I took us there. If you wanna be mad, be mad at me. But you're the one who always says we have to earn our place in this world.” Oh, you really didn't have the energy for the conversation right now. Your skull throbbed violently as if agreeing with you.

“I also told you time and time again, the Northside's off-limits.” He's not wrong. Piltover being off-limits was a near daily discussion in the household - a rule that was quite often broken without Vander's knowledge. “We stay out of Piltover's business.”

This had your head snapping over. “When have they ever stayed out of ours?” You snarked. The tone in which Vander growled your name had you sinking back into the couch with an irritated pout, your arms crossed over your body displaying your annoyance.

“Why? They've got plenty, while we're down here scraping together coins.” Vi asked with vitriol. The thought made your blood boil. “When did you get so comfortable living in someone else's shadow?”

Vi's words caused a hiss of air to rush through your teeth as you grimaced. That was a step too far. A low blow. You could tell everyone else in the room had the same thoughts, judging from the shocked expressions on their faces.

“Everyone out.” Vander muttered coolly, though he may as well have screamed it with the speed that everyone got up to evacuate the room.

“Gladly.” You scoffed, sliding off the couch. You spared Vi a sympathetic look before you left the room with the rest of your siblings.

Powder had quickly made herself scarce, announcing to you that she was going to scavenge for more scrap metal. You'd told her to be careful before sitting next to Claggor on the steps outside the basement, to wait for your sister.

“Got a good shiner there.” You grinned at him, leaning over to playfully poke at his swelling eye. He hissed in pain and slapped your hand away before letting out an amused laugh.

“Yours isn't too bad either.” He mused, quickly bringing up his other hand to poke your darkening cheekbone before you could react. You'd yelped at the sudden pain, but it quickly turned to a laugh.

“Shh, I'm trying to listen.” Mylo hissed, and you looked over to see him holding a listening device to the door. You rolled your eyes.

“You guys did good today.” You told them earnestly. Mylo looked at you with surprise at the unexpected praise. “You looked out for each other. Today could have gone a very different way if you hadn't.” Claggor wrapped a big arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side.

“How are you holding up?” He asked with a smile, but his tone was one of concern. “You had a pretty nasty collision with that wall.”

You snorted. “I'm fine. Had a worse headache from a hangover.” You lied through your teeth. Your skull was screaming in pain, and the uncomfortable electrical pulse lingered behind your eyes and in your teeth. You felt like you were going to vibrate out of your skin. Claggor nodded, but didn't look convinced.

Suddenly hearing Vander's heavy footsteps coming up the stairs in the basement, Mylo nearly jumped out of his skin, quickly moving to act (unconvincingly) like he'd been leaning against the wall the whole time.

The door opened, and Vander emerged carrying a large sack over his shoulder. “Get up, Claggor. We're going out.” He announced

“What, now?” He asked in dismay, clearly exhausted. You patted him on the back in sympathy. Vander ripped the metal contraption out of Mylo's hand and stuffed it in the sack.

“Hey, hey. That's mine.” He protested. You couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. In the Undercity, it was rare to have your own possessions - especially if you were a kid. Losing an item, even one as trivial as that, stung.

“You wanna be treated like adults, right?” He threw the heavy bag into Claggor's arms - the boy staggering at the unexpected weight. You threw a frown at Vander. “Then you should know better than to come back from a job empty-handed.” You stepped out of the way, glaring as Vander walked past you - he saw the glare but ignored it. “I'm gonna have a little word with your informant.” He told you all in a ‘don't try me’ tone.

You moved to sit back down, but Vander stopped you. “You're coming with us.” You could have screamed with frustration but knew better to argue. All you wanted to do was sleep, but of course, you weren't that lucky.

The trip to Benzo's was mostly silent after Claggor had explained what had happened Topside. Vander had looked at you from the corner of his eye when Clag got to the part about the explosion, but remained quiet.

When you arrived at Benzo's, Vander had instructed you both to stand guard outside the front door.

“No one comes in.” He'd told you both, giving you one last pointed look before entering the shop and closing the door behind him.

“Ugh. I can feel a lecture approaching.” You groaned, and Claggor huffed a laugh. A large hand patted your shoulder comfortingly.

“I'd offer to take your place, but I don't want to.” He told you with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood. You rolled your eyes and knocked his hand off your shoulder.

“Can't say I blame you.” You said with a toothy grin, moving the lean against the building.

The door to Benzo’s swung open, and Ekko stumbled out, his arms full of boxes.

“Hey, Claggor.” He exclaimed excitedly.

“Hey, Little Man!” Clag replied with enthusiasm. You pushed yourself off the wall, and Ekko noticed your presence - exclaiming your name happily.

“Hey Bug!” You greeted, walking over to the little boy, ruffling his short cropped hair, and lifting the top box from his arms.

“I was hoping you'd be working today.” Claggor mused, but Ekko quickly changed the subject.

“Did you guys go?” He asked, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Sure did.” Clag replied. “Hey, listen, how did you find that place?” You listened intently, interested in this piece of information yourself. The answer was quickly lost, though, when Claggor slipped his goggles off, allowing Ekko to spot his rapidly blackening eye.

“Whoa! Did you fight the enforcers?” He asked excitedly, earning a snort from you.

“I wish.” You laughed. “Though I think we'd be a little worse for wear if we did.”

“No, just some bums.”

“That's what they smelled like, at least.” You grinned at Ekko, causing him to cackle.

“Did Vi kick their asses?” He asked, grinning widely. You should have known that would be the next question. Ekko absolutely idolised Vi, and you couldn't blame him - your little sister was a badass.

“Yeah, we wouldn't be here otherwise-”

“Oh, she showed me a couple of moves to practice. Look!” Ekko practically threw the remaining box in his arms into Claggor's hands. With his own hands now free, he bounced on his feet, energetically throwing uncoordinated kicks and punches, finishing with a karate chop and a ‘yah!’ that had your dimples deepening with a giggle.

“Yeah. It's- it's coming along.” Claggor offered, and you punched him lightly in the shoulder.

“You're doing great, Bug. Keep at it, and I'm sure you'll be kicking asses with Vi in no time.” Ekko smiled wildly, no doubt imagining himself knocking down enforcers and thugs one by one.

“Hey, so how'd you find that place anyway?” Claggor tried again.

“Oh, this weirdo came into the shop.” This caught your attention. “Bought a whole bunch of stuff that Benzo only keeps there for display.” You looked at Claggor and quirked an eyebrow. “He paid in gold and didn't even haggle.” Suspicious. “I charged him double the price. Sucker.” You openly laughed at this. At least someone got something good out of the deal - you only ended up with a busted cheek and chin, and a headache.

“But, how did you know where he lived?” Clag asked.

“Uh, followed him. How else?” You helped Ekko carry the box to his bike.

“You shouldn't be going Topside alone, Ekko. What if something happened to you?” You admonished him, and he snorted.

“You're starting to sound like Vander.” Ekko snarked, and you lightly clipped him upside the head with an open palm. He laughed before his eyes widened, looking into the smog down the road, as two silhouettes approached.

“Shit.” You hissed as your eyes made out the unmistakable blue of the Enforcer's uniform. Your eyes darted wildly from the Enforcers to Claggor, to the door inside which Vander was.

“They'll be fine. Go” Ekko whispered frantically as he pushed you and Claggor in the opposite direction.

“Go back to the others.” You told Claggor quietly, but urgently. “I'll be back soon, I promise. I've gotta make sure they're okay.” He looked like he wanted to argue, but the look in your eyes stopped him in his tracks.

“Okay.” He whispered. “Be careful.”

“You know I will.” With the words, he was sprinting back to the pub as you slipped into the alleyway beside Benzo’s shop. 

You leapt onto the discarded crates, using the extra height to grip onto the thin piece of wood lining the window, and climb onto the awning of the building - stifling a snort after hearing Ekko's ‘suave’ greeting to the officers.

A few minutes after the Enforcers entered the store, you heard the tell-tale sound of the door opening once again. Shimmying yourself forward to check if it was Vander leaving, you inhaled sharply and quickly ducked down, seeing that it was one of the Enforcers, grumpily reapplying his gas mask. You sneered. You wanted to rip that mask right off his stupid face and force him to breathe in the same putrid air that you and your people had to breathe every day of your life. Pig.

“Psst.” You almost missed the soft sound, but looked up to see Ekko standing on the roof above you, eagerly gesturing you to follow.

Nimble as a mouse, you climbed the wall, using every tiny nook and crack to your advantage, till you reached the boy. “This way.” He whispered, signalling you to follow him. After a moment of scurrying along the side of the building, he pushed a loose plank aside and motioned for you to enter.

You whistled lowly as you entered the room above the shop. “What is this? You little Peeping Tom.” You poked him in the ribs as you looked at the large panes of glass hovering over the lower floor's ceiling.

Ekko shushed you, rushing over to a large, mismatched device that seemed to be an ‘Ekko-original’. A large looking-glass rested on the top of the metal, as he tinkered, it slowly adjusted correctly, so you could both see Vander and Benzo, sitting next to one of the Enforcers. A warbling, distorted sound emanated from a metal funnel near Ekko's head, and he gave it a smack, causing the sound to morph into words.

“Don't mind the kid.” A rough, yet feminine voice said calmly. “Doesn't know when to pipe down.”

“Some things are the same Topside and Bottom.” Vander replied casually. It shocked you that he was speaking so informally with the officer and not just sending her away. Your brows furrowed as you continued to listen.

“You know this crossed a line upstairs.” You felt your stomach sink. This was supposed to be an easy job - in and out - but the consequences were quickly mounting up, each one more dire than the last.

“Was anyone hurt?”

“A building was blown to bits. What do you think?” Sure, but if it had been a building blown to bits in the Undercity caused by Topsiders, no Piltie would so much as blink an eye. 

Vander sighed. “Those who did this will be dealt with.” You didn't question that for a moment. After this effort, you were pretty sure that you'd never be allowed Topside again, not that it would stop you.

“That workshop belonged to the Kirrammans.” You didn't know the name, but by the look on Vander's face, this was very bad news. “You know the kind of stuff they had in there? Makes this place look like a candy shop.” That explained the ‘sucker’ that had come into Benzo's and been swindled by Ekko. Rich Pilties with more gold than they know what to do with. “The council needs someone to make an example of.” 

This had your stomach plummeting - nausea swelling in your panic. This was serious. If the Council had ordered this. It wasn't going to be able to be swept under the rug.

“People need to feel safe.” You ground your teeth at the statement. Most of your people hadn't felt safe a day in their lives - yet that was just considered the status quo in their eyes. It was disgusting.

“Yeah, Topside people.” Vander scoffed, and you felt a surge of pride in him.

“We had a deal, Vander. You keep your people off my streets, and I stay out of your business.” You felt your blood run cold with betrayal. How could he be making dealings with the Enforcers? Knowing full well what they've done to the people of the Undercity. The thought of it made you sick, and you had to blink back tears of anger. 

“Give me a name, and we'll do things quiet.” She said, and you felt the urge to scream in rage. “No one will know you're involved.” A lump was quickly forming in your throat, and it took a lot of strain to swallow it down. You knew that he would never give any of you up, but the knowledge that you'd been kept in the dark hurt - almost physically.

“I can't do that.” Vander replied with a tone of resignation. Another pain in your chest. You had caused this. You had hurt him too.

“You don't seem to grasp how serious this is.” The woman said - you could tell she was growing frustrated. “If I don't put someone behind bars tonight, the next time I come down here, I'll have an army of enforcers with me. We both know how that will go.” Ekko looked up with fearful eyes that matched your own, and you wrapped an arm around his shoulders comfortingly. Your own heart was pounding as you tried to think of ways to fix the situation, but coming up blank.

“I'm sorry, Grayson, but I can't offer up my own people.” Vander told her resolutely.

The woman - Grayson - sighed. She remained silent for a moment, before producing a gilded pneumatic tube. “If you change your mind, this will reach me.” She handed it to him. “And only me.” And with that, she was walking away - leaving Vander to sigh in worry, and you to bite your nails with anxiety.

After waiting a few minutes to be sure that the Enforcers were indeed gone, you'd scaled back down the building and trekked home. The door to The Last Drop squeaked loudly as you entered, a dejected look adorning your face.

You only got a few steps in before a booming voice behind you had your heart leaping into your throat. “Pub’s closed for the night. Everyone out!” Vander. Wow, that man could be silent as a ghost when he wanted to be, which was incredibly surprising for a man of his stature.

A chorus of groans and protests rang out at the announcement, but, surprisingly respectfully, the patrons began to file out. Hiding amongst the incoming crowd, you began to sneak back to the basement, but were quickly stopped in your tracks by a large hand grabbing you by the bloodied scruff of the back of your shirt.

“Not you.” Your eyes screwed shut, and shoulders raised defensively. “Bar. Now.” Vander’s voice was calm but firm, and you knew not to argue. You let out a deep sigh and moved to the bar, sitting down heavily in the wooden stool. It was a few minutes before the pub was cleared, but soon, there was the comforting sound of silence - interrupted only by your own pounding heart.

Vander was silent as he locked the door and walked slowly behind the bar. You waited with baited breath for him to speak, and when it didn't come, you quickly broke the silence.

“Come on then, out with it.” You urged with a false air of confidence. “I know you want to yell at me.”

Vander paused, sighing, before fetching two glasses from under the bar. He remained quiet as he poured a generous helping of whiskey into each glass and slid one towards you. You caught the glass with ease and returned the sigh, tapping the bartop three times with two of your fingers.

Vander huffed with amusement. “How could I forget?” He asked with a small grin, reaching back under the bar to retrieve a small jar of honey and a spoon, before sliding it over to you. You unscrewed the lid to the jar and used the spoon to scoop out a small amount of the rare golden treat, drizzling it into your liquor.

“How much did you hear?” Vander asked, leaning against the bar, taking a sip of his drink. Oh, this isn't how you had expected this conversation to go.

“Enough.” You muttered in response, refusing to look him in the eye.

“Then you know how serious this situation is.” You nodded. You didn't think that your stomach could sink any lower, but apparently, it could. “I thought you were smarter than this.” Offence at his words hit you harder than you thought it would.

You scoffed into your glass as you took a sip, appreciating the burn on your tongue - the smoothness of the honey quickly bringing the burn to a smoulder as it ran down your throat. “Yeah, and I thought you were smarter than making deals with Enforcers. Guess we're even.”

The words made him flinch - his hands balling into fists. You could tell that he was fighting to keep himself composed.

“That deal is what keeps you and your siblings safe.” He countered roughly. “Every damn thing I do is to keep you lot safe, and it feels like you're all fighting me every step of the way.” Worrying your bottom lip with your teeth, you took another sip from the glass. You wanted to be angry with him, you really did, but it hurt you seeing him in pain. “Sometimes I need someone on my side. I thought you'd be the one to keep them grounded.” His voice raised, and you knew that his anger stemmed from his disappointment in you.

“Why, because I'm older? That's bullshit.” You were caught between immense guilt, and feeling the need to defend yourself. “Have you met Vi? You know once she's decided to do something that it's impossible to talk her out of it.”

“Did you even try?” He asked pointedly, sounding exhausted - a man beyond his years.

“Well, no-”

“And why’s that?” Vander cutting you off sent a flash of rage through you, tipping you over your boiling point.

“Because I can't lose them, okay?” You yelled at him, jumping at your own volume, and it was then that you realised that it wasn't Vander that you felt anger towards. It was yourself. “If I let them go out there without me and something happens, I'd- I'd never be able to forgive myself.” The words came out harsh, angry, and with a frown, but your dark eyes told a different story, welling with tears. “I can't lose any more people.” Your voice cracked, and fat tears began to run down your cheeks. “I just can't.”

“Oh.” Vander muttered quietly, his tone now rang with sympathy. Quickly, he moved around the long wooden surface to spin your stool around and stand in front of you. You refused to make eye contact with him; hands balled into fists as you angrily wiped away the tears with your forearm - embarrassed and frustrated with yourself.

Vander said your name quietly, tenderly, before gently cupping the back of your neck and guiding you in for a hug.

Your silent tears turned to sobs as your arms tightened around him - the weight of the day finally taking its toll on you.

“I know.” Vander whispered, his hands rubbing soothing circles into your back. “You've had to deal with so much death already, and it's not fair.” He didn't let go, instead he squeezed you tighter - and though you couldn't remember it well - the caring hug, and grounding scent of Vander brought you back to the day you'd first met him, fifteen years ago. “But I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. They're not going anywhere.” You could hear his voice wobble. “I'm sorry that I wasn't there for your mum - that I couldn't save her. But I promise you, we'll figure this out. I'll protect you all. You're not going to lose anyone else.”

By this point, your sobs had subsided, and you reluctantly removed your face from Vander's shirt, instead tilting up your head to look him in the eyes. His large palm came to rest on your cheek, thumb brushing against the dark purple bruise marring your cheekbone.

“You know, you look more and more like her every day.” His eyes were misty, but he gave you a soft smile that you returned. “She'd be proud of you, you know that?” His words caused another tear to slip down your cheek.

When he was sure that your tears had fully subsided, he spoke up again. “Let me take a look at that,” Vander said, nodding toward the back of your head as he stepped back behind the bar. He returned with a rag, a small bottle of alcohol. You'd almost asked him how he knew of the wound on the back of your scalp, before remembering that the upper back of your shirt was stained with dried blood.

“I'm fine.” You tried to convince him, before he spun your stool again and dropped himself in the stool behind you. You couldn't help but flinch when he parted the black hair at the back of your head - the matted hair caked in dried blood pulling at the wound.

Vander tsked at the sight, using his teeth to uncork the bottle of alcohol, before pouring a generous helping on the cloth. “Hold still.” Was the only warning he gave before gently pressing the rag to the wound. You hissed through your teeth at the sting, but let him continue without complaint.

“You're lucky. This won't need sutures.” He muttered after a while, the white rag now stained red and pink. 

“I told you, I'm fine.” You repeated yourself.

“You know, you don't have to be so tough all the time.” Vander mused.

“What can I say? I learn from the best.” You replied cheekily, earning a snort.

“Alright, tough guy, time for you to get some rest.” Oh, sleep sounded heavenly right now. You downed the last of your drink before standing up.

“Good night, Vander.” You paused, putting a hand on his shoulder. “And- thanks.”

Vander smiled, covering your hand with his own. “Any time. Have a good sleep.” You dropped your hand and began to head downstairs to the basement, pausing only when your name was called once more.

“This doesn't mean I'm not angry with you. You'll be punished, same as your brothers and sisters.” The words seemed harsh, but you could tell they'd been said with a grin. You kept walking, pretending you hadn't heard it.

After washing up, you'd crept into the room of sleeping kids and climbed into your own cot. Exhaustion burned your eyes and sank you into your hard mattress - though as much as you longed for it - sleep evaded you. Instead, you stared at the ceiling, biting your nails - anxiety bubbling over at the thought of what tomorrow would bring. The electric pulse hovering below your skin seemed to grow more incessant, feeling although it wanted to burst through. 

Today would have consequences, but whatever tomorrow brought, you'd face it head-on. You had to. You didn't have a choice - the curse of being born in the Undercity. As the faint hum of Zaun's undercity buzzed outside, a thought continued to play on your mind, keeping you awake. How much more could you lose before it broke you? Could Vander really keep his promise?

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Jesus Titty Fucking Christ! 9k words for chapter one?! Who the hell saw that one coming? Certainly not me! Sorry it took so long - it takes me FOREVER to write. 😭

Some things I want to say before the story goes on. I'm trying to stay away from using '(y/n)' because I feel like it can drag you out of the story sometimes. Also, this is a reader story, but as you've probably read, I do use some appearance descriptors. These are part of the story, but if it bothers you, please feel free to disregard them. 💛

Also, going on in the story, more specifically, post episode 3. Things are gonna get D A R K. There will be a lot of triggering topics covered - so please be aware. There will be trigger warnings at the beginning of the chapters, but I don't want anyone to get their hopes up in the first 3 chapters, and have to abandon it after that. This poor gurl is going to be SUFFERING.

Also, I will try to cross post this to AO3, and properly format these Tumblr posts asap. Please hold tight, and I'll update them when I get the chance. 🥰

Thank you so much for the love. I've never stuck with writing a fanfic like this before - and all your love has helped immensely. Nothing has ever stuck with me like Arcane either, so that also definitely helps, haha.

Again, sorry for my shit grammar. Ehehehe.

You titter breathily, "your undoing is my pleasure, Viktor. Not to mention, you make it very entertaining." Kneeled between his pale legs, your hands smooth along his slender thighs, feeling residual tremors, aftershocks of the pleasure you'd rattled him with.

The bitter taste of him lingers on your tongue, thick in your throat, and your lips are flush and tumescent, tingling pleasantly. Teasingly, you let your fingers glide further up his legs to the apex of his thighs, ghosting your touch against his sensitive cock; he inhales a sharp breath of air, twitching at the contact.

Viktor reaches down and ensnares your wrist in his grasp, gently squeezing, coaxing you to slant your attention upwards through your lashes. In the depths of his aureate gaze there flickers a glimmer of something mischievous; intense and pointed and, dare you say, hungry.

"I am not a selfish lover...most of the time." He says softly, weaving in that distinct wry humor of his, "I would like to be your undoing, as well."

"Hmm," you hum coquettishly. Twisting from his hold, you push your fingers into his palm, splaying his hand and smoothing your digits into the spaces between his, "if I told you that you already are, would it go to your head?"

Viktor huffs a laugh that catches gravel in his throat, "I believe it already has. To have a beautiful woman—you, say such things to me....I would have to be mindless, otherwise."

His words are spoken with such ease, confident and laden with sincerity. Your stomach swoops pleasantly, making you feel light and weightless as you move to settle with your knees astride his narrow waist. His skin is sweat-dampened and flushed, hot to the touch.

You take Viktor's hand, and you press it against the hardness of your sternum; palm laid flat, long fingers resting on the line of your collarbone. You wonder if he feels the way your heart sings for him.

Rocking your hips forward, you steal pleasure in the heat of his cock against your clit, gently grinding against him as you guide his hand down the middle of your chest. Viktor's brows pinch, his eyes fluttering shut with a lust-drunk type of delirium.

"Just thinking of you inside me is more than enough." You purr, pressing a little harder with your movements, but you remain mindful of your weight atop him; pain isn't a vice you want to put upon him.

To your surprise, Viktor presses his parted lips into a dissenting line and shakes his head. His hand, lingering on your stomach, slips from yours and instead latches onto the blade of your hip.

"No...no. As marvelous as I know you to feel, I want you to come undone from my mouth." His lashes flutter, opening his eyes to peer up at you with sharp intent. "I want to taste your rapture on my tongue."

Your hips stop moving, a jolt of electric pleasure rolling down your spine to settle between your thighs, and there it pulses, making your muscles clench around nothing where you suddenly, desperately, wish there was something.

Bashfulness floods you, but just thinking of that sharp tongue of his between your legs is enough to spur you to movement.

"O-Okay." Your face warms, and just as you go to dismount from atop him, Viktor tightens his fingers around your hip and stills you.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asks, an unmistakable mixture of lust and deviance in his tone. "I said I want you on my mouth, not on your back."

You're suddenly struck with the implications of what he's saying. A shiver lances through you—thrilled and apprehensive in equal measure. As rousing as the idea is (and it is rousing, because you're throbbing at the image your brain conjures), you can't help but...worry.

"Viktor..." You start, already hating the meek way you sound, "I don't want to...hurt you," you finish with a lilt of reluctance.

You're unwilling to look at him; you can imagine the unimpressed arch of his thick brow just fine without having to. You don't want to offend him, but it's not just the mortifying idea that you'd hurt him if you tried.

It's rooted within yourself; embarrassment, timidity, something that tells you you don't have the confidence to sit on your boyfriends face, even at his eager behest.

But Viktor insists, and if there's a hardness in his voice like that of refutation, as though the faintest hint of doubt is a challenge against his very character, you hardly have the time to dwell on it.

"You think you can hurt me so easily, miláček?" He brings both hands to your waist, guiding you with a gentle but unrelenting tug, and you're helpless to follow the motion, shifting higher and higher up his chest until you're forced to straddle his head. "You can try, but I assure you, I am more than capable."

His face is framed between your thighs now, coupled with the fiery determination in his eyes, you can't help but whine softly, "Viktor..."

"Yes, that is all I want to hear from you—my name." He breathes, and with your cunt hovering over his mouth the way it is, you can feel the heat of his words. "'Please' is also acceptable, but I make no promises to yield."

"Oh, fuck."

It slips, because you're not ready for him.

Not with how he digs the blunt tips of his fingers into your waist, yanking you down onto his expectant mouth; not with the way he licks a broad, heavy swipe from your hole all the way to your clit; and certainly not with the way he groans against you—throaty, like you're a delicacy, the sound vibrating right through you.

As though trying to prove a point, Viktor pushes his face upwards, nuzzling himself deeper into your slit, his nose pressing against your clit as he circles his tongue, deft and wet and charged with his heavy breathing, along the tight clutch of your heat.

You tighten on instinct, your hands fumbling around before finding purchase in his hair, gripping the knotted mess hard as you screw your eyes shut. Your heart feels as though it's beating hard enough for him to taste it.

"Oh gods—Vik...Viktor," you fall into the pleasure, so much so that you begin grinding on his mouth, rendered blissfully ignorant to your prior worries. With your lower lip scored between your teeth, something baser takes the reins. "Keep going, d-don't stop, oh please—please don't stop—"

He responds with a hum, as though to say, 'you think I would?', and it jolts you, pushes through you in currents of euphoria, raising a flourish of goosebumps in it's wake. He doesn't falter, he works you to the edge quick and practiced; well versed in the language of your body.

Before you realize it, it's right there—you chase it down with vigor, rubbing and shifting yourself in just the right way against his unrelenting tongue.

"I'm going to cum," you gasp, tossing your head back, letting a salacious curve take your spine as you fuck yourself on his mouth.

Viktor's fingers flex against you, push and pull you by the waist, imploring you with muffled groans; his own sounds of pleasure, as though finding ecstasy in the arousal he drinks from you.

Your orgasm strikes with lethal intent, flaring with white-hot pleasure in your belly and blooming through you from there. Your voice pitches high and whiny, breaking apart in sharp staccatos that ring more and more overwhelmed with each note. You cum on his mouth, and the slick ease with which you roll against him makes you burn hotter for it.

Your grip loosens in his hair, whining as he laps noisily against your cunt, and as you shift to roll off him, his hands drop from your waist, to your thighs. He brackets the plush flesh in his iron-grip, anchoring you in place.

"Vik—" his name catches in your throat, and is pushed out with a subsequent gasp, because he isn't stopping.

You grip his hair tighter against your will, and dare to peer down the plane of your heaving chest to find that he's already looking at you; his pupils flood the slits of his lust-heavy gaze, but there is an intensity that burns there, searing into you.

Viktor proceeds to push his tongue inside you, craning his head in a way that urges you to lift yourself, relieve some of your weight from him, but when you try, he holds you down tighter.

He isn't giving you that option—you hardly have the capacity to think on it, not when he's devouring you like this; not when you're riding the cusp of a second orgasm so close to the first it borders on too much.

His breath is hard, audible among the lewd cacophony of his tongue working your slit, sounding tenacious and eager and shaken all at once.

You don't know how much longer you can balance on the edge, your release impending and promising of ruin, and you start squirming against him, whining, pleading—more or less, you can't discern the difference anymore.

Viktor keeps you in place, he flows with the unrestrained movement of your hips, braces against the way you wriggle above him, and pushes on well past the point of your voice breaking with what could be desperation for more, or begging for mercy—one and the same right now, as you grip his hair so tight you distantly fear or ripping it right from the root.

With a shift of movement, he focuses on pushing that slick muscle as far as he possibly can inside you; his right hand loosens on your thigh, and before you even realize what he's doing, he's stretching his fingers across your mound, searing pleasure into you by way of rubbing perfect spirals into your clit.

Everything shatters; you let out a scream through your teeth, grit hard enough your molars ache, and you curl into yourself, bowing over Viktor's head with your eyes screwed tight enough to mottle color in the dark. Your hips stutter, legs spasming and clenching around his head in a reactive instinct to shut him out.

Viktor finally, finally relents.

He drops his head back, a clear indication he is finished. Then, he loosens his hold on your thighs, gently guiding you off him. You follow blindly, not quite ready to open your eyes yet, moving like a puppet on strings; weightless and disordered.

As you lay in a stupor, movement on the bed jostles you gently; you chalk it up to him getting something to clean the mess you'd undoubtedly made of his face. You want to look, but you're worried you may die of embarrassment if you saw the obscene amount of slick you definitely felt.

As it turns out, you don't need to look to know it's there.

You feel his warmth before the tangible touch of skin; the slick press of his lips against yours. Your stomach flutters, and that frayed coil of desire tightens once more when Viktor breathes hotly, "open your mouth."

You do, and he licks past your teeth languidly. You taste yourself on him, bitter and distinct, and the heat that simmers beneath your cheeks is enough to fog your vision. A soft whine echoes from you, to him.

Viktor pulls back slow, taking your chin in his fingers to sweep his thumb across your lower lip. When you finally open your eyes, you see satisfaction on the curve of his red, wet lips.