#young grayson

He’d known these would be the inevitable ramifications of their Cause, their Dream, their Vision. 

He’d known. 

And yet - 

And yet it was different when put into practice. It was different seeing it. Hearing it. Feeling it. Facilitating it. 

The noose of responsibility squeezed tighter and Vander coughed. 

He tried to tell himself what Silco told him: that it was for the greater good. That it would all be worth it in the end. He wanted desperately for those notions to settle beneath his skin as easily as they seemed to do for Silco. But they slid off him like blood over a duck’s back.

Vander knew that if it had been Silco laying in that alley he would not have thought their efforts worth it. His stomach dipped. Would Silco feel the same? Would he feel the same if - 

“Vander?”

Vander startled slightly at Katya’s voice, soft and probing. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the mild glow of her silhouette hovering in the doorway. Face tightening, he turned back to the icebox and moved the ice pack to his other hand.

“Where’s Sil?”

“Speaking with Sevika.”

“Need somethin’?”

She was quiet long enough that Vander thought she might just turn around and head back into the basement. He heard the soft click of the door, and then cautious footsteps. 

“I need to make sure you are alright.”

“I told ya ‘M fine. Save yer worryin’ fer the rest.”

“I’ve checked in on everyone who needs it.”

“I don’ need it.”

“Those abrasions on your hands say otherwise.”

“It’s nothin’ I’ve’n’t dealt with before. Quit mother-hennin’ me. Silco’ll be missin’ ya - “

“What the fuck is your problem?” Katya demanded, appearing at his side.

Vander started at her sudden arrival and turn in tone. She propped one hand on the countertop, glaring up at him with an expression usually only Silco dared to send his way.

Vander blinked and stared down at her, before sucking his lips against his teeth, and focusing back on his hands.

“Nothin’. Sorry. Just out o’ sorts with all this - “

“That is not true,” Katya countered, leaning in. She cocked her hip to one side and set her other fist atop it. “You have been cold with me since Snowdown.”

Vander was grateful for the dim of the bar as he felt his ears flush. He knew it was telling when he didn’t respond, but his jaw locked up. His eyes began to dry as he fought to keep from blinking. Afraid that if he did that the memory of Silco atop Katya, both nude and rosy with lust, would appear behind his eyelids.

Katya sighed, the defensiveness in her shoulders melting.

“Look. I am sorry you walked in on that. We - we should not have been doing such things in your home. I am sorry.”

“’S fine. ‘M not upset about it.”

“Then what? What is it? You won’t even look at me anymore.”

Pointedly, Vander snapped his head in her direction, expression incredulous. “That’s not true.”

Katya snorted. “Maybe in the most technical sense. Okay, fine. When you do look at me it is with that face. Like it is something painful to do.”

Clucking his tongue, Vander rolled his eyes and focused back on icing his hands. He was acutely aware of the raw pain blossoming in his chest. Katya and her questions probing the stinging, tender wound.

“Vander,” Katya sighed. “It cannot be like this. We cannot be at odds . . . for whatever reason. Please, tell me what is wrong so that we might fix it.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong. You n’ me are square. Sil’s happy - “

“So this is about me and Silco,” insisted Katya. 

Vander could feel her annoyance swell. His own rose to meet it. 

She scoffed again. “Do not tell me you are one of those Lad-types who is suspicious of any woman who gets together with his friend.”

Vander’s molars squeaked. “‘M not suspicious of ya, Katya.”

“Then what? Do you think I am not good enough for your best mate?”

“It’s not that - “

“Are you jealous of him then?” She rambled hotly. “Jealous that you do not have someone - “

“It’s not him I’m jealous of!” Vander snapped, whirling on Katya.

She jerked back and shrunk beneath his sudden outburst. Vander felt like his heart was going to punch through his chest for how hard it beat. Initially out of anger. Then, as he realized the gravity of what he said, it took on the sickening, percussive rhythm of anxiety. The feeling only intensified as he watched Katya’s eyes widen in understanding. His skin went cold - colder than the ice on his knuckles. A nauseating pucker appeared behind the hinge of his jaw, and he fought down the bile wanting to creep up his throat. 

Katya’s skin paled, her rosy mouth hung open. 

“Van - Vander, I - I did not know - “

Ungluing his tongue from the roof of his mouth, Vander rasped, “No one does. Don’t say nothin’. ‘Sides, if ya had known, would that have stopped ya?”

Katya swallowed. She looked away, and shook her head.

“Yeah, well, there it is, isn’t it?” Vander dropped the ice back into the box, and slid the lid shut with a snap.

Black, sludgy shame weighed him down. It was an effort to remain on his feet. The silence between them felt just as heavy. 

“Is,” she whispered, “is there anything I can do to make this better?”

A dry snort blew from Vander’s nose. “You could stop sleeping with him.”

The look he gave her was harsh and knowing. To her credit, Katya held his stare for a beat before cutting her gaze down to her boots and crossing her arms over her chest. Another, smaller, derisive sound huffed from Vander’s chest. After a beat, Katya took a deep breath in through her mouth. She lifted her head back up, about to speak - 

WHAM!

They both jumped as the Drop’s front door was flung open. Cairn hung the frame, panting madly, eyes wild. His usually white coils had gone grey from the smoke in the air.

“There’s someone on the battlefield! There’s a kid on the battlefield!”

Katya sprinted to the barricade. Vander, despite his girth, close at her heel. He’d barked an order at Cairn to go to the basement to fetch Silco, and tore after the medic.

Children were already gathered and agitating against the inside of the barricade, jostling to get a clear line of sight. Their worried hissing was like a den of freshly unearthed soot adders. At the barricade’s top, a few of Tolder’s friends were holding him back.

“Lu!” He screamed. “Get up here, boy! Get up here ‘fore I tan yer hide!”

Katya clambered up to the platform. Tolder was manic with worry. The usual umber glow of his skin had drained to a sickly grey; his dark eyes were wide and flashing in fear. His broad chest pumped up and down for how hard and fast he was breathing. The threats he was shouting were undercut by the undeniable tremor of fear rattling his voice.

“Tolder!” Vander appeared next to Katya and gripped the man by the back of the neck. Tolder went stiff beneath his squeezing hold. “Quit yer shoutin’! It helps nothin’! It’ll alert the Enforcers if anything.”

Katya blocked out the men next to her, squinting into the dying light of the square beyond. She scanned the silhouettes of the dead Enforcers. A shape shifted to the left, and her eyes snapped to it.

A small, shifting shadow hunkered low over a dead Enforcer. Lu’s thin arms skittered all over the body before him, pinching every glint of metal he could shove into his pockets. Katya opened her mouth, but her heart plummeted to her feet, pulling her voice down with it. 

Lu scuttled to the next body, passing a weak patch of flames as he did. The dark silhouettes of Enforcers tucked behind their frontline shuddered to life. Goose pimples up one’s arms, the feeling of being watched, the primal part of the brain overtaking the conscious mind. The Enforcer mass shifted, sensed something was amiss, and moved as if they were one entity, one animal. One monster.

Lu finished pick-pocketing the second body and moved to a third.The Enforcer mass shifted again, all the eyes behind their masks honing in on the movement.

“We need to get him out of there,” Katya breathed. She looked to Vander, eyes wide with fear. 

A gunshot rang out, followed by the sound of a screeching ricochet as it hit metal instead of flesh. 

All heads swiveled back to the field, a cry pealing from Tolder’s throat as he tried to wrench free from Vander’s grip. Katya’s breath hitched when Lu lifted his head to peer over a large body. She was horrified when the child lifted his arm up and flipped a middle finger at the Enforcers.

“He’s a child! Don’t shoot!” Katya screamed before turning to Vander. “We need to get him out of there. I need you to cover me.”

“Let me get him! I can get him.” Tolder shouted, making to jerk out of Vander’s solid hold again.

“No. You are too emotional, and I am faster and Vander is bigger.”

Katya shot a pleading look up at Vander again. Any hardness in his face from their conversation in the Drop melted away, and he became her Brother again. He nodded, releasing Tolder. There was another gunshot, and the men that had previously restrained Tolder grabbed him again. Katya and Vander leapt down from the barricade. 

As Vander hurried to gather up a riot shield, Silco and Sevika came running up from the Drop.

“What happened?” He demanded.

“Lu is on the field. Vander and I are going to get him.”

Another gunshot. 

Horror stretched Sevika’s eyes wide open. She reached forward and Katya took her hand, giving a reassuring squeeze.

“Go help with yer Da, Sev,” Vander said with a jerk of his head. “Ready?”

Another gunshot.

The pair barely heard Silco’s ‘be careful’ as a trashbin was rolled aside, and they squeezed through the barricade.

The shadows were heavy where Katya and Vander exited, remaining unseen while they gauged their path to Lu. The distance between them and the boy was not much, but never had fifty feet felt so far. 

Lu appeared unperturbed by the occasional bullet fired in his direction. With the glee of a child searching for treasures on a sandy beach, he pilfered the corpse in front of him. Another shot rang out, and he ducked lower as the bullet zinged over his head.

“You suck, pigs!” He cackled, leaping up and sprinting for another body.

Katya screamed his name as more gunshots pierced the air. Lu was fast and agile. But the bullets had the benefit of firepower and number. Katya began moving as one tore through his middle. Katya screamed and sprinted forward. Vander leapt to her side, holding the shield to the side to cover them. He braced his arm as the Enforcers turned the muzzles of their guns on them. Bullets sprayed against the shield, and Vander’s muscles burned keeping his arm steady. Over the gunfire, he could hear screaming from their barricade. Some unintelligible, most pleas to stop shooting.

Katya threw herself the last few feet, Vander tossing himself after her. Bullets still flew overhead and beat the shield like a drum. Lu lay sprawled over the cobbles on his side, chest rising and falling rapidly in disbelief, in panic. 

“Lu! Lu,” breathed Katya carefully hovering over the child, “look at me.”

His dark eyes flicked to hers, wide and glossy with tears he was too shocked to let fall. His usually deep brown skin was going gray. She inspected the wound: a neat, circular puncture below his ribcage spurting blood that was quickly saturating his shirt and pooling on the ground. 

Katya didn’t think, she just acted: peeling off her blouse and carefully wrapping it around Lu’s middle. As she did, her fingers searched his other side. Her stomach dropped when they brushed against the unmistakable ground meat feel of ripped flesh. Lu jerked and gasped.

“I am going to pick you up now, Lu. And we are going to run back to the Drop. I know it will be hard, but do your best to be as still as possible. Understand?”

“Shield’s startin’ to crack, Katya,” Vander grunted as bullets continued to beat against their cover. 

Carefully as she could, Katya scooped Lu into the shelter of her chest. He wailed, and she tried not to think about how she remembered carrying Viktor like this. She stood and sprinted away from the Enforcers and their bullets, away from thoughts of her brother. Vander moved swiftly with her, managing to switch what hand was holding the shield without getting hit.

“Open the barricade!” Katya screamed.

She refused to slow down, refused to catastrophize even as her front became warm and slick and the child in her arms grew cold.

The bin was rolled to open again, and she and Vander thurst themselves into the safety, Enforcer bullets on their heels. Katya did not stop running, ignored any questions that were directed at her. Ignored Tolder who nearly tackled her if not for Vander blocking him with the riot shield. Even ignored Silco, who tore after them.

Cairn opened the Drop’s front door and the three of them ran inside.

“I brought up some supplies! I wasn’t sure what may be needed - “

“Keep everyone out!” Katya ordered, laying Lu down on the large table where Cairn had set out the medical supplies. “Especially Tolder and Sevika.”

Silco ordered Cairn to keep whoever was in the basement down there. Vander locked the Drop’s front door and flipped on the lights.

Now, off the battelfield and out of her arms, Katya gave Lu a more thorough look-over. His chest puffed up and down rapidly; little beads of sweat pocked his ashen skin. She peeled back the shirt she’d used as a bandage. The bullet had ripped clean through his torso. 

Silco suddenly appeared at her side. “What do you need us to do?”

“I need a scalpel, forceps, tourniquet bands, needle and thread. I need to find where the bleeding is coming from and stop it. Lu,” Katya called, bringing her face near his. Lu’s dark eyes were dim and sluggish as they slid to hers. “Lu, I need you to breathe as slowly as you can. Can you do that for me?”

She didn’t wait for a confirmation before she uncovered the entry wound. It gushed, but not as badly as the exit wound. Katya’s gut coiled in on itself. Injuries only bled like this when a major artery had been hit.

There was a clatter. She looked over to see Silco messily placing the tools she’d asked for on the table next to her. A giant ball of nerves gathered in her throat. 

She swallowed it down and grabbed the scalpel. “Watch him. Keep him distracted,” she said to Vander. Then to Silco, “I will need more light.”

“There’s a torch behind the bar,” Vander said, and Silco leapt over the countertop. 

He returned to Katya’s side, flicking the torch on and directing its beam of light at the wound. There wasn’t time to sedate the boy. They didn’t have the means anyway. Katya’s hands were sure and swift as she cut the entry wound wider. Lu flinched beneath the blade, and she was glad for it. It meant he wasn’t giving up. With a wad of gauze, she soaked up the fresh wave of blood.

Katya had dug bullets and shrapnel out of muscle, had sewn skin back together, and had removed limbs; probably not entirely correctly because she lacked the formal education. Luckily Piltover didn’t care if Trenchers were maimed and called it medicine. But she tried, learned, studied the few medical and anatomy texts her papa had. Despite it all, she was a good medic and a quick thinker.

But internal bleeding . . . Maneuvering through organs . . . Sewing up the membrane-thin walls of an artery . . . It was different. 

Katya pushed the overwhelm to the side, and just worked. Just kept sopping up blood, and carefully moved past Lu’s organs until the primary source of the bleeding became apparent: a puncture to his pancreas and a major rupture of the abdominal aorta. 

Her mind spun. One could live without a pancreas. Technically. But in the Undercity? With its limited resources? 

The aortic wound was most worrying. Could she sew it shut? Remove the damaged section and connect the cut ends? Lu would need a transfusion afterward. He’d lost so much blood. His poor little body was in shock. She’d have Vander do it. He was the biggest out of the three of them. He would be the least effected - 

From somewhere outside of her focused bubble, Katya heard a muffled voice. A call. Her name. Then fingertips gently touched her shoulder.

“Kat.”

She jerked back into the bar, head swiveling to look at Silco. At his grave face. Then across the table at the somberness in Vander’s eyes.

“I - I think he’s gone,” the barkeep croaked. 

Katya’s heart dropped and looked down at Lu. His still, gray face, and dull, empty eyes. She pressed her fingers against his carotid artery.

Nothing.

“Shit.” She wrapped her shirt around both wounds again. “Press firmly on the openings.”

Without waiting for a response from Silco or Vander, Katya swept a chair over and knelt on it. The heels of her hands pumped firmly against Lu’s cold chest; she puffed breaths into his clammy mouth. Silco and Vander heeded her instructions, but after a minute their eyes found each other across the table. Resigned and doubtful. A silent conversation volleyed between them. 

Finally, Silco touched Katya’s shoulder again. “Kat.”

When she didn’t react, he grabbed her arm and began to pull her off the child. She fought him for a short moment before wrenching out of his hold, stumbling off of the seat. Unwilling to accept defeat gracefully, Katya yelled, grabbing the back of the chair and throwing it to the side. It bounced on the floor and crashed into another table. Grief, rage, and shock seized her legs, and she dropped; hunching over her thighs, hands clasped tightly behind her neck. Silco and Vander shared another look. They were each a side of the coin of grief. Silco, the smoldering rage; Vander, the unshakable, suffocating sense of regret. 

It was an effort, but Vander finally peeled his eyes away from Silco, and looked down at Lu. This child who had done nothing wrong. Who had been unarmed and posed no danger, gunned down by law enforcement that was sworn to protect. A child of Zaun he’d failed to keep safe. A child who was put in the line of fire by the Cause he was leading.

Lu’s dead eyes were somehow vacant and full of judgement at the same time. Gently, Vander dragged his hand over Lu’s face, drawing them shut; sparing Vander from further appraisal. He looked back over the table and saw that Katya was back on her feet, arms stiff at her sides. Lu’s drying blood was a bib across her chest, dripping down her quivering stomach, and soaking her trousers. 

“I need to tell Tolder and Sevika.”

It was obvious she was reeling herself in. Going to a detached place that was necessary for this part of her job. Becoming flat and sturdy so she might hold space for the people she needed to deliver the worst sort of news to. 

“We will do that,” Silco said, his voice kind but stern. Katya glared up at him, the little bit she’d gathered up unspooling. He held firm. “You cannot tell them shirtless while covered in Lu’s blood, Kat.”

Regret, sour and deep, flickered over her face. Her eyes went to Lu’s body on the table, the blouse wrapped around his middle.

Vander rose up, and said, “Lemme show ya where the shower is, Katya. I’ll grab ya some spare clothes, too.”

Like the molotov fires outside, the blaze in Katya’s eyes winked out. Defeated, she began to step over to Vander, but not before Silco hooked an arm around her waist and bussed her sweaty temple. He murmured something too low for Vander to hear. Katya swallowed, the shadows beneath her cheeks darkening as she gritted her teeth. Her lashes began to sparkle with silver. As if her boots were filled with heavy rocks, Katya shuffled past Vander, and headed for the Drop’s backrooms.

“I'll be just-a sec, Sil.” 

Vander turned on his heel, and followed Katya.

“Shower’s here,” Vander muttered as he opened the bathroom door.

He flicked the light on. Cracked tiles, a shower stall in the corner, a latrine and utility sink on opposite walls. The fixture above cast a yellow-green light, and buzzed like it was full of bees. 

“Thank you.”

“I’ll gather some clothes for ya and leave ‘em outside the door, yeah?”

Katya nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. A moment passed, but neither of them moved.

Eventually, a sad sigh blew through Vander’s nose. “It wasn’ yer fault, Kat.”

“I know that,” she replied hoarsely. She looked up at him. “But he still did not have to die. He was eight. Eight, Vander.”

Vander swallowed the lump that had shot to his throat, and nodded sadly. Guilt churned in his stomach. He couldn’t make his feet move, so he and Katya continued to just stand in the bathroom’s doorway, shellshocked. 

“Thank you,” Katya whispered suddenly, “for coming with me to get him. To try and save him.”

“’Course,” he replied, voice like sandpaper. “My responsibility, right? Being one-a the leaders n’ all.”

Their eyes locked meaningfully. Katya’s heart swelled in her chest, the way an infection swells: cumbersome and tender. 

“Vander - “

He cut her off. “Listen, Katya. About what happened earlier in the bar. Before - “ he broke off, the breath punched out of him. Shaking his head, he said, “Don’ worry ‘bout what I said. ‘M sorry I’ve been actin’ a cunt towards ya lately. You’re right: we can’t be at odds. Especially now. N’ Sil - ya make Silco happy. N’ as his best mate that’s all I can ask for, innit? No matter what I’ve got going on. So - just don’ worry about it. We move on, yeah?”

Katya’s eyes were big, stunned. She blinked at him once before setting her jaw and nodding.

“We move on,” she agreed.

Vander made to head back to the bar. He took only three steps before he turned back to Katya. 

“Just don’ tell ‘im. Please.”

Katya’s brows curled up and in. Her lips parted briefly, as if on the verge of words. None came, so she pursed them together, and simply nodded.

”Thanks.”

The sound Tolder made was unlike anything Vander had ever heard. A high, primal wail of anguish that pierced his ears and drilled into his mind. He was certain he’d never forget it as long as he lived.

Tolder rushed the table Lu laid on, gathered his son up, and crumpled to the floor. Sevika stood, in disbelief, color rapidly leaving her face as she watched her father openly grieve on the Drop’s floor. She didn’t dare insert herself, even if it was her loss too. Nasha wrapped an arm around her, ushering Sevika into the warmth of her sympathy. Sevika turned into the other girl, but her body remained rigid. A loathsome anger sparked in the depths of her grief-glossy eyes.

Cairn and Annie appeared from the basement to see what had happened. An explanation was not needed. Annie clasped her hands over her mouth, eyes immediately welling up. Her waifish body tremored with the horror that rocked through it. Cairn looked over to Vander and Silco as if to say ‘What do we do now?’ Neither man could provide an answer. Vander was too wrung out and raw to speak; he was certain Silco’s jaw was locked in fury. Vander could feel the rage radiating off of him, hot and dangerous like a forge in Augmentation Alley. 

The Drop’s front door cracked open, and Benzo stuck his head in. He jerked his chin at Vander and Silco, and the pair slowly made their way over.

“The Sheriff n’ Captain,” he whispered. “They’re back.”

The heat of Silco’s anger flared, and he shoved his way passed Benzo. Vander was close behind.

“Sil,” he hissed. “Sil.” Reaching out a massive hand, he grabbed Silco’s arm. “Wait.”

“Wait for what? We are done waiting. How many more of us need to die before it will be the right time?”

Around them, fellow Children awkwardly shuffled about; trying not to stare, but trying to listen.

Vander frowned and angled their bodies closer together to avoid eavesdroppers.

“Don’ be usin’ Lu’s death as a reason to blindly start a battle we can’ finish.”

Silco’s eyes bulged. “Can’t finish?”

Vander gripped Silco’s shoulder as the smaller man threateningly postured himself closer.

“Ya heard, Katya. We don’t have the supplies right now fer another round of fighting. We aren’t surrenderin’. Walk away t’night with whatever demands Council agrees to meet - “

“You are assuming they agree to anything.”

“ - n’ live to fight another day. This is a war. Always has been. We won’ win it in just one battle.”

Silco glared up at him, eyes sparking. But Vander could see the wheels turning behind them. The silence between them grew tight, volatile. 

“They give us everything we demanded,” Silco finally said. “We make no concessions. That is the price for breaking the ceasefire.”

Vander agreed, though he felt uncertain. They tugged their handkerchiefs over their noses and mouths, and slipped through the barricade. Their hands lifted as they approached the Sheriff and Captain. A vein was ticking in LeDaird’s temple. A grave expression etched into Grayson’s sculpted face made her look years older. 

“What happened?” LeDaird demanded. “There was a report of someone on the field desecrating bodies.”

Vander felt Silco bristle next to him, and spoke before his Brother could snap.

“A kid. A kid who didn’ know that he shouldn’t be out was on the field. Gatherin’ supplies; not desecrating corpses.”

“I was told he was antagonizing our officers.”

“He was eight! He didn’ know any better. N’ he only started doin’ that after yer people started shootin’ at him.”

“A warning shot - “

“On a child?” Silco broke in. “Why is shooting us your peoples’ first instinct, and not parley? An officer could’ve called out to him. Or gone out and physically removed him.”

LeDaird frowned. “Why did your people not do that?”

“We did not have time before fire was reopened - !”

“Where is the boy now?” Grayson butted in. Her voice gentle in an attempt to diffuse the building tension. 

Silco fixed her with a piercing stare. “He’s dead.”

It was difficult to tell in the dark, but Vander was sure what little color was left in Grayson’s face drained. LeDaird’s cheek twitched, and his inhale was sharper than he meant it to be. 

“Yer officers used excessive force n’ broke the ceasefire fer a non-threat,” Vander said. “In light of that, we insist all our demands be met. All of you get yer hides back across the River n’ stay there. Council lifts the trade blockades. Give us a chance to mourn, n’ recoup our losses. N’ we give you yer officers back. That’s more than fair.”

LeDaird blanched. “That is absolutely untenable. There must be accountability for your crimes.”

“And where is the accountability for yours?” Silco countered, shoulders drawing back tightly.

“This will need a more formal resolution,” Grayson said, a placating hand rising between them. “But for now both factions need reprieve. To heal and regroup.” She licked her lips, the only sign of her nerves. “You will give us our officers back, and the Enforcers will leave the Undercity. A barrier will be erected where the Bridge meets the Promenade. We will allow greater amounts of food and aid to be sent through, but all Undercity citizens will be sequestered here until a long-term solution is developed.”

“What about those who have permits to work across the River?” Silco demanded.

Vander’s hand twitched at his side, stopping himself from grabbing Silco’s elbow. 

LeDaird’s voice was saturated with warning as he spoke. “This is the temporary agreement. In a week’s time, we shall parley again, and discuss what the future holds.”

There was an air of finality to the Sheriff’s statement. Silco’s irritation was palpable, and Vander wasn’t going to let it spoil what was being offered.

“Fine,” he gruffed. “That’s what we’ll do. We’ll send yer officers out, then you clear the city within the hour.”

“Agreed.”

Vander’s eyes caught Grayson’s. She gave him a grateful look. Each pair turned and started back toward their respective frontlines.

“What about Sevika’s sisters that work as cleaners across the River, Vander?” Silco hissed. “What about Kat’s brother? What of them?”

“Ya heard the Sheriff. This is temporary.”

“You are taking them at their word? This is not what we agreed on - “

“It is!” Vander growled, spinning on Silco. “We gettin’ ‘em outta the Undercity. They’re not takin’ anymore prisoners. They’re gonna open the blockades to get more food n’ supplies in. We’re gettin’ what we asked for - “

“That was before they killed Lu in cold-blood. Now they are getting off scot free. We did not even give the rest a chance to consider these new terms!”

Vander glowered, “That’s part of bein’ a leader, ain’t it? Makin’ hard decisions fer the whole? It’s temporary, Sil. We regroup n’ decide what to do next.”

Silco’s eyes crackled over the top of his kerchief, but did not argue again. They passed back through the barricade, and, after explaining the situation, instructed Benzo and a couple of the others to go and gather the Enforcers being held near Clapper. Vander wasn’t sure if he saw disappointment in the faces around him, or if his mind was playing cruel tricks on him.

Back at the Drop, Tolder had gone quiet. Still on the floor, he’d propped his back against a table, clutching Lu to his chest. His dark eyes had gone terribly vacant. While Vander and Silco had been gone, Katya had emerged from the shower. She stood out like a sore thumb; dressed in Vander’s too-big clothes, skin and hair pristine in a room full of soot, bruises, and blood.

She was handing Sevika - now slumped in a booth, Nasha still at her side - a cup of tea, when they entered. Her eyes locked onto them immediately, wild and tired looking. She cupped Sevika’s shoulder lovingly before sweeping over. Silco broke from Vander’s side, and met her half way, gathering her up in an exhausted embrace. He drew back, and Vander could tell by the look on Katya’s face he was explaining what had happened. He clocked the moment when Silco told her about the non-negotiable block on the Bridge. Her eyes went wide, amber irises a sickly yellow in the evening’s light. Silco gripped her shoulders, giving one, grounding shake as he promised it was temporary. Too tired, the worry in Katya’s eyes dimmed. She swallowed and weakly nodded before Silco pulled her in again. Over his shoulder, her eyes drifted to Vander. The pity and disappointment in them made his stomach turn.

The Enforcer hostages were returned. Stunned and confused, they hobbled across the battlefield, through their fallen comrades, to their Sheriff and Captain. Slain officers were gathered and carted off. An hour later, for the first time in decades, there were no Enforcers in the Undercity.

The Children’s own dead were carefully taken to the furnaces outside Augmentation Alley. It took over an hour to pry Tolder off of the Drop’s floor, utterly unwilling to give up his son’s body. In the end, it was Benzo and Vander’s strong arms that finally lifted him to his feet. Along with Kat’s kind, but firm, explanations why it was important to free Lu’s body to the fire; elucidating how his body would decompose if not released. Slowly, Sevika and Nasha shuffled behind the three men. 

“We need to get back to mum,” Silco said lowly as he and Kat watched the small procession. 

Kat checked on the injured in the basement one last time, making Annie promise she’d come fetch her if anyone took a turn. After gathering up her wet clothes from Vander’s sink, she and Silco began the journey home. He paused only once to gaze up at Zaun’s smoke-filled flag, limply fluttering in the air.

“Do you want to take it?”

“No,” he answered. “We need to leave it up. This is not a surrender. It’s not over.”

Silco looked at her, eyes a desperate blue blaze. Her own fire was being smothered by the body of an eight-year-old boy, so she dared to invite his spark inside in an attempt to remind and rekindle. Kat grabbed his hand and held tight as she turned her gaze back up to the flag. Her heart thumped in her tightening throat, and told herself the stinging in her eyes was from the gunpowder in the air. 

Zaun was the quietest Kat had ever remembered it being; its beating heart stilled into shock by the last several hours. What time was it anyway? Was it the same day? Bone’s memorial felt like a lifetime ago.

Silco and Kat trudged up the stairs to his apartment. He called out to Enyd as they pushed themselves inside. She stumbled into view, skin ghastly pale, tear-streaked and beaded with clammy sweat. Her hair was a tangle from her hands repeatedly pulling through it in worry. She gawked at them, the tendons in her neck and skin around her collarbones tightening in shock as she fought for a lungful of air. They both cried out as her eyes fluttered and knees buckled. Silco dove and caught her before her head smacked the floor. Kat fell to her knees beside him. 

“Mum!”

“Lay her on the floor, Silco.”

Kat fought to keep her voice and limbs steady, fought to keep herself from catastrophizing. What color left in Silco’s face paled, and his skin horribly tight over his bones. He carefully lowered Enyd to the floor. No sooner had the back of Enyd’s head touched the ground did she jerk back into wakefulness with a gasp. She whipped onto her side and wretched, blood and mucous flying from her mouth. Kat lurched forward and hauled Enyd into a sitting position, wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders. An uncontrollable fit of coughing seized her, more blood and spit spraying from her mouth. Kat cupped a hand beneath Enyd’s chin, and caught the byproduct before it could stain her clothes. Silco scrambled to his feet and ran to the kitchen for water.

“Try to take a breath, Enyd,” Kat hushed as the older woman’s coughing began to ratchet down.

Silco returned, rag and glass in hand. He gently wiped away the blood, spit, sweat, and tears on his mother’s face before lifting the glass to her lips.

Kat murmured, “Just a little to start.”

It took several minutes, but after Enyd drank half of the glass she unsuccessfully attempted to stand. Silco handed Kat the water, and picked his mother up in his arms. He carried her to her bed, and laid her down as if she were a child. Kat followed and propped up the pillows as high as possible, angling Enyd into a sitting position. Regardless, her breath came in sharp, stinging wheezes. Blood from before settled into the cracks of her dry lips.

“Hurts . . .”

“What hurts, Enyd?”

“All . . . Breathing. . .”

She shook as Silco drew up the covers to her chest. He left the room, returned with the blankets from his own bed, and laid those over her as well. 

He sat on the edge of her bed and said, “Just . . . Try to calm down, Mum. We’re okay.” He attempted a trembling grin, “We’re still fighting. We haven’t surrendered.”

Enyd’s murky eyes tried to focus on his face. Her lips twitched horribly, and she withdrew an arm from beneath the covers. Silco snatched up her hand when it reached for him. He held it to his lips as she closed her eyes, and tried to take a deep breath. She winced and whimpered. Silco looked up at Kat.

“Is there anything we have? Would a larger dose of her medicine help?”

Kat hated the quixotical hope in his eyes. Hated that it was directed at her. She looked back at Enyd’s skeletal face, framed by limp hair and the pretty pillow casings she’d sewn. Kat didn’t know what was worse: having a loved one die suddenly, bleeding out in your hands in an alleyway. Or, to powerlessly watch them waste away as they were slowly eaten from the inside out.

“I have something,” Kat murmured, reaching into one of her coat’s inner pockets. A small brown vial and capped syringe came out with her hand. She stepped closer to the bed. “This is morphine. A strong pain killer,” she explained when Enyd’s eyes opened and looked up at her. “It will help to make you more comfortable. Take away some of the pain. Make breathing easier.”

Uncapping the needle, she pierced the vial’s membrane, and dosed out a small amount. She didn’t look at Silco as she did so, ashamed that she did not have anything better to offer.

It was no effort to find a vein. Enyd’s skin was thin, near translucent, and sat too-close to the bone. The morphine’s effects were near immediate. A grateful, hissing sigh left Enyd as her body sank into the pillows and mattress. Her eyelids fluttered, and the muscles of her face and neck relaxed. 

Kat gripped the medicine tightly as she watched Enyd succumb to its warm hold. She glanced down at the bottle, heart and stomach churning. For the first time in weeks, she wondered how her clients were doing. What they - with their illnesses and frail bodies - thought of all this. Kat chewed on the inside of her lip and thought of Pfeffer, frozen in his body, stuck on his couch.

The bottle made a soft plonk as Kat set it on the end table. She turned to Silco and wrapped her arms around his head. He did not let go of Enyd’s hand, letting his free arm loop around Kat’s waist, and resting his head against her chest.

The room was as quiet as the city outside, save for the more easeful puffs of Enyd’s breath. Kat wished she could have filled the space with her voice, to tell Silco that it would be okay.

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Once his office door snicked shut, he rose and strode for the wet bar by the fireplace. He poured himself a stiff drink and downed it before pouring another tipple. 

The news soothed him. Rynweaver had barely slept the night before, his mind reeling from his visit to the Councilor’s office. Not that he feared any serious retaliation from Bone, but he did wonder if there would be any repercussions for his actions.

But even more so than that, what the old man had said as Rynweaver had been leaving the office had shaken him.

There is at least one. And he is angry, Thade. There is enough contempt in that boy to topple your whole bloody empire. It is not my policies that will be your undoing. It will be the consequences of your own actions.

Rynweaver sipped at his tumbler and walked over to the massive, ornate windows that overlooked the Mainspring Crescent, the Pilt just beyond that. And beyond that the Undercity’s Promenade. It was difficult to read from where he was, but Rynweaver could make out harsh strokes of graffiti that affronted Piltover with expletives and demands of sovereignty. 

The liquor slid down his insides, its instant warmth loosening the squeezing grip of anxiety.

It had to be a lie. One last, desperate barb from a dying man. A horrendous blind guess that inexplicably hit a mark. 

He hadn’t thought about that day in so long. He’d been young and stupid. Overwhelmed with the responsibility that had been mounted on his shoulders with his father’s untimely passing. And she - she had given him a demure smile as she had walked passed one day. And she had been very beautiful - 

Rynweaver knocked back the rest of his drink, and set the tumbler down on his desk with a firm thunk. 

No. It was a lie. If - if such a child existed, that woman would’ve come forward. Looking for handouts, trying to raise a fuss. That’s what those people did. He’d seen it a few times in his life. Destitute women coming after some of his peers, claiming their dirty little children were theirs. Such situations caused a kerfuffle in Piltover’s high society, but never reached the mass public-sphere. Houses’ lawyers were quick to shut the situation down. Most women were content with the paltry sum thrown at them to keep away; the others who continued to bellyache were threatened with institutionalization, or having their children removed from their care.

Thade looked out his window again, craning his neck in the direction of the Council building. He couldn’t see it from his office. But he could see the beginnings of dark smoke coming from its direction. 

It was a lie. And Bone was dead.

Grayson sullenly looked down at Bone on the gurney. The mortician had done a nice job applying the make-up. He didn’t look as sickly as he had in life. She had powdered his pallor to a subtle peachy glow, and had expertly added a slight flush to the high points of his cheekbones. He really did look like he was merely asleep.

Her heart stuttered and she swallowed the lump in her throat. She reached out and grabbed his hand. It was cold. 

She whispered, “I’m so sorry, Councilor.” A sigh rattled her chest. “I am so sorry we weren’t able to see your vision through. I –“

Grayson’s voice caught on a sudden hook of sadness. Tucking her chin to her throat, she breathed deeply, calling upon the lessons her enforcer training had taught her about staying sturdy in times of crises. 

Eyes closed, she breathed in fully, completely; and released that breath in a steady, even exhale. She repeated the exercise until the tightness in her throat melted. Opening her eyes, she looked back down at Bone.

“I will do my best to see it through. I won’t let the people of the Undercity be destroyed.”

She squeezed his hand, ignoring how the dead muscle didn’t respond to her grip. She released it and looked at him once more. It would be the last time. Tomorrow he’d be lain into a casket, and it would be sealed and prepared for the memorial procession that followed any councilor’s death.

After a minute, Grayson turned on her heel and walked toward the mortuary door, boots tapping on the cold tiles. She thanked the mortician for the privacy she’d allowed her, and began the journey back to Enforcer Headquarters.

When Grayson returned, LeDaird called her into his office. Her brow scrunched at the large map on his desk, little metal pawns dotted across it.

Before she could ask, LeDaird said, “We will have extra security at Bone’s funeral procession.” 

Leaning over the desk, Grayson saw that the map was that of Piltover. The route of the procession laid out in a thick red line. It was standard procedure to have security for such an event, but the number of extra enforcers and their placements were atypical. Grayson frowned.

“Sir?”

“We’re taking no chances,” LeDaird said. “All hands are on deck. Bone’s funeral would be a prime opportunity for the Children to try something.”

Grayson didn’t disagree. But she was concerned about how such a move would impact the increasingly tenuous relationship between the Undercity and Piltover. Guilt coiled in her gut. She wished that things had happened differently. She wished she’d been able to check in with Bone one more time.

“I understand your reasoning, sir. Are we at all concerned about the optics of that choice? Increased enforcer presence at an Undercity Councilor’s funeral? What if that incites the Children?”

“If it does, then we’ll already have officers at the ready.” A heavy sigh blew out through LeDaird’s nose, and his broad shoulders slumped a bit. “I am not making these choices lightly, Dora. It is our job to keep Piltover safe. You may need to make similar choices in the future.”

Grayson swallowed and nodded.

Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

That was the motto the Children took on in the days leading up to Councilor Bone’s memorial.

Escape routes through the sewers were mapped out and safehouses were solidified. Homes and businesses readied themselves to board up windows and doors if necessary. Alleys with dumpsters and other large items were scouted out and taken note of in case barricades needed to be erected. Weapons were taken stock of and distributed to those who wanted them. Along with a firm warning from Vander that they were not to be used unless absolutely necessary. An order Silco begrudgingly agreed with.

Kat and Sevika took to preparing and organizing all the medical supplies they’d been squirreling away in The Last Drop. It had been months since Kat had brought the first small cache with her, and the hoard of bandages and medicines had grown exponentially. Sevika smiled widely as she took in the bounty.

Kat felt less at peace with it.

It didn’t take long for resources to dwindle.

She just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Growing up, Papa had read Kat and Viktor fairy tales about people wishing on stars. They would wish for success, for change, for well-being, for loved ones. The stories always ended with their wishes coming true.  

Kat couldn’t see any stars outside of Silco’s bedroom window. Just the buildings and bridges that surrounded his and Enyd’s apartment. She doubted the lights twinkling in nearby windows counted. 

She sat on the edge of the bed, toes curling and straightening over the worn wood floor. Her hands sat in her lap, right index finger repeatedly running over her thumbnail. A small movement to give her anxiety an outlet. A featherlight touch appeared on the small of her back, and Kat started. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Silco peering up at her, eyelids heavy but gaze clear.

“Can’t sleep?”

Kat shook her head and murmured ‘No’ before turning her attention back to the window. The mattress shifted as Silco sat up. He curled himself around her, his legs bracketing hers as they draped over his bed. His arms wrapped around her upper body, his front melding against her back. A heavy sigh drifted through Katya’s nose at the warmth and weight of him. Silco kissed her neck before resting his chin on her shoulder.

They were silent, watching Zaun bustle before them despite the late hour.

Zaun is alive Silco had said. Kat was certain of that fact, too. As certain as she was of the duplicitous nature of life.

If Zaun was alive, it could be killed.

“I am scared. Scared of what might happen tomorrow.”

There was a nervous tightness in her jaw, afraid to voice such a thing out loud. Afraid that her concern would be misconstrued for uncertainty, regret, or wavering loyalty. She waited anxiously for Silco to respond.

Worry slid from her body when Silco kissed her neck again, and pulled her in closer. “I know. Many are scared. There is much to lose,” he murmured. Viktor’s face flashed in Kat’s mind. “But there is so much more to gain.” Again, Kat thought of her brother. Thought of freedom for the both of them.

“Are you scared?” 

Silco was quiet for a long while. Kat could tell he was thinking by the way his fingers softly drummed against her skin. 

“‘Scared’ doesn’t feel entirely accurate,” he finally answered. “Nor does anxious. It’s not excitement, either. There is a deep calmness in my bones. Not a calm that suggests all is well. Rather a carefully cultivated serenity. A sort of acceptance that there is no turning back now.”

Kat snorted lightly. “Calm before the storm, is that it?”

“I suppose.”

Silence fell between the pair, both watching the cityscape outside the window. Kat took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She smelled the soil and citrus scent of Silco’s room, felt his loose and heavy body envelope her. She imagined what it would be like to feel the way he did. Calm and ready.

Kat opened her eyes. The lights outside shimmered.

“Just so you know,” she quietly said, “my fear does not outweigh my belief and commitment to our people.”

There was a pregnant pause as Silco sat up straighter. His left hand reached up and gently turned Kat’s head to look at him. His blue eyes shone brightly.

“I know.” His thumb extended up to brush the beauty mark beneath her right eye. “Your courage is bigger than your fear. I’ll be at your side tomorrow. We all will. And you’ll be by ours.”

Kat’s chin dipped, heart tapping behind her sternum. Silco leaned forward and kissed her, hands sliding back down to wrap snugly around her. Kat melted into him, body settling even more comfortably into the security of his arms.

The kiss was slow. Their lips rolled over each other’s with unhurried smoothness, their tongues barely grazing in the space between. A kiss to seal promises spoken and unspoken. A kiss that tempered the fear in Kat’s chest.

Silco pulled her back fully onto the bed, laying her down gently, his mouth never leaving hers. The sheets were drawn up around them. Soft but determined hands slid their underwear down. Kat drew her legs up, Silco’s teeth dragged over the sensitive skin of her neck. They joined together, and Kat’s eyes fluttered shut.

There were stars behind her eyelids. 

She wished on them.

The security huts on Piltover’s side of the Bridge were closed the day of Bone’s funeral, their gates left up. It was less a show of good faith, and more to accommodate the number of people pouring in from the Undercity. 

Throngs of Undercity citizens lined the streets, dressed in dark garb, faces stony and eyes bright. They threaded between the insultingly low number of Piltovans in attendance, making their spines stiffen and palm their pockets and purses protectively. Though the people of the Undercity paid them no mind beyond an occasional connecting of eyes. Piltovans looked at them distrustfully; they looked back with restrained contempt.

But they did nothing else. They waited for the procession to begin. They waited for their signal.

Much of Bone’s memorial proceedings were traditional, and thus public knowledge. 

In the morning, he would be interred in the Council Building’s Great Hall where the remaining Council and nobility would pay their respects privately. That is to say: sit performatively in front of Bone’s coffin until it was time to load it onto the caisson. Then he would be marched along Piltover’s streets to the Grand Cemetery, and be laid to rest in a public mausoleum.  

Council, Guilds, and Houses had erected stands from which they would watch the funeral procession. Great, gilded boxes hung with heavy, black velvet drapes that kept those in power separate from the masses, and looking down on the recently deceased. 

An increase in security was not announced, but it was unsurprising.

Silco, Vander, and Kat made their way across the Bridge mid-morning. Annie and Beckett would be crossing over shortly after them. Benzo, Sevika, and Nasha had already wheedled their way into Piltover. Other members of the Children traveled in throughout the morning, interspersing themselves through the crush of other Zaunites coming to pay their respects.

Enyd was unable to make the journey. News of Bone’s death walloped her already fragile immune system, and left her with a fever and a sore throat that exacerbated her preexisting condition. 

She’d watched apprehensively that morning as Silco, Vander, and Kat prepared to leave for the memorial, a bony hand gripping her shawl tightly at her heart. 

Vander and Silco folded Zaun’s flag up into a compact triangle, making sure that the grommeted edge was easily accessible. Silco carefully slid it into the secret compartment Kat had sewn into his jacket the previous day, along with the telescopic pole Mek had forged earlier in the week.

Silco slid his arms through the jacket, and Enyd shook - pride and fear warring inside her small frame. 

“Remember,” she had said, voice a grating rasp, “hide your faces when it’s time.” She reached over and thumbed the black handkerchief strung around her son’s neck. Vander and Kat had matching ones. All the Children did at this point. “They can see us when they hand over our sovereignty.”

Silco pointedly ignored the enforcers dotted about the entrance into Piltover. Officers in reinforced suits and brass masks milling through the waves of incoming Zaunites under the pretense of security. Silco’s nostrils flared. It was subliminal intimidation. Meant to deter anyone from stepping out of line. Especially now that the line-holder was to be paraded through the streets of Piltover.

He rolled his shoulders, the movement adjusting the stiff frame of the flag and pole in his jacket. Kat slipped her fingers between his and squeezed. He squeezed back. 

He was ready for this. 

Zaun was ready.

They cut through the crowds lining the streets, occasionally spying other Children as they went. They would lock eyes for a moment, a resolute acknowledgement, a bolster of morale. 

They passed box seats of Houses and nobility. When they spied Rynweaver’s crest, Vander jockeyed in front of Silco, accidentally butting against Katya as he went. He used his massive frame to shield his Brother from view. It was unlikely that Rynweaver would see them, but Vander would take no chances where Silco was concerned.

The number of Children was thickest near the massive square that interlocked the paths leading to the Council building, the Academy, Blue Winds Court, and the main drag to the Bridge. Where the caisson would be pulled past the enclosure the remaining Councilors would be seated.

Vander, a good head or two above most in the crowd, scanned around once they stopped. His heart was a non-stop rapid beat in his chest, his stomach churned, threatening to evict his meager breakfast. He eyed the enforcers lining segments of the road, armored and masked like those by the Bridge. His gaze lifted. More of them perched behind the parapets of buildings, offering a bird’s eye view.

Vander nudged Silco’s back.

“Lots o’ enforcers,” he whispered. “Some up top.”

Silco’s eyes flicked up. “We anticipated a heavy enforcer presence. It changes nothing.” Katya glanced over her shoulder at Vander. Their eyes locked, and while Vander was less than pleased with the woman, the flicker of concern in her face made him feel less alone. 

Kat turned back to face the square, her eyes lifting to the massive clockface on the large, white marble tower to their left. The procession was due to begin within the hour. It would take the trussed up, black draft horses about ten minutes to pull Bone from the Council building to the square. Then . . . 

Her eyes drifted toward the wide path that led up to the Academy. Classes had been cancelled for the day. She thoroughly searched the faces across from her, and relief bled through her insides when she didn’t spy Viktor. 

She was glad he’d had enough sense to not attend Bone’s funeral despite their friendly report. Maybe Heimerdinger allowed Viktor into the Great Hall to say his respects in private. She hoped he’d been able to say good-bye.

A light hush rippled over the crowd as the Councilors appeared, walking in a line up the steps into their covered enclosure. Heimerdinger at least had the wherewithal to look somber. The rest of the Council - like the Houses and Guilds they’d passed on the way in - appeared disinterested.

“Who do you think they’re going to nominate to take Bone’s place?” a man nearby whispered. 

All three of them glanced over. The speaker looked to be some Topside merchant. He was dressed in simple, but fine, fabrics tailored close to his portly frame. A ridiculous flat-topped hat made to resemble an Ionian benkan was perched upon his head.

“I am not sure,” his companion - a lanky man of about the same age, in a similar outfit - replied. “Surely not another Trencher. Not with all this mess going on.”

The other shook his head, hat drifting to one side. “Utterly ridiculous. Our imports of Ionian silk have already been delayed twice. I’m not sure how much more patience I have for this. They better appoint someone who’s willing to lay down the hammer on those Sump-Rats.”

The pair was hopelessly ignorant to the scathing looks being directed their way. Not only by Silco, Kat, and Vander, but by the other Children within earshot. Vander caught the eyes of a few of them and sent a warning glare their way. 

Say nothing.

Do nothing.

“I thought they taught you lot better manners than to try and replace a man before he’s in the ground,” snapped Silco.

Vander winced. “Sil.”

His thick fingers stretched out to gently press against Silco’s back.

The pair of merchants turned to look at them. Their faces began to splotch with embarrassment, but managed to keep their expressions unimpressed and aloof. They eyed the three up and down before snorting and shifting down the street. Other Children held their ground as the pair went, making them have to awkwardly step around their uncompromising bodies.

Vander let a sigh blow out through his nose as he watched them go. His eyes scanned the buildings across from them, counting the enforcers on the roofs. He hadn’t seen Grayson since they’d crossed over. Not that he would know what to do if he had.

They were here to demand freedom. Not chat with the Enforcer Captain.

The clock tolled the hour. An uneasy ripple agitated the crowd. Bone would be leaving the Great Hall, held inside a coffin of thick, lacquered oak. A far cry from the thin, pine boxes Zaunites were put into - if they were put in anything at all. 

The burial method was yet another insult Piltover would have the Undercity suffer. 

It was customary Below Ground to cremate the dead. It made no sense to bury bodies when that cost living citizens real estate and resources. Keeping Bone’s body whole and interring him in a mausoleum felt like another denial from Piltover.

We lay claim to this as well.

Kat loosed a long, steady breath through pursed lips. Her heart thundered and stomach felt leaden. Next to her, Silco straightened and gripped her hand reassuringly. Behind her, Vander shuffled in closer.

A few minutes later the lonely, hollow tone of a singular trumpet playing a dirge bled into the air. As it grew closer, it was accompanied by the clop of hooves and gentle surrusus of steady wheels.

Vander saw the procession first. The musician was in front, a lean, dark-skinned woman with locs pulled into a tumble atop her head. Her brass trumpet shone in the daylight as it crisply crooned its song.

Behind her two black draft horses with black plumes pulled the ornate caisson. Bone’s coffin, covered in a blanket of lilies, was displayed behind the glass panes of the carriage. He watched as the determined faces of the Children slowly turned to follow its journey. 

Waiting.

Waiting for - 

“It’s time,” Silco whispered.

Careful to not draw too much attention to themselves, Vander whipped out his knife and quickly sliced through the seam of the back panel of Silco’s jacket. Kat’s hands slid inside and withdrew the folded flag and pole. With practiced movements, she and Vander threaded the pole’s rings through the flag’s grommets. Silco tugged the black kerchief up over his nose, took hold of the flagpole, fully extended it, and held it aloft.

Later, superstitious and religiously-minded people alike would whisper about how a breeze picked up at that moment, and stretched the flag out in all its glory. The day had been relatively still up until Silco lifted the symbol of the Children’s dream up. As if Janna herself endorsed the movement. 

The initial reaction to the flag rising was stilted. At first, it seemed like no one noticed or cared. Between the bodies of oblivious Piltovans, Children tied similar black handkerchiefs around their faces. 

Just as the caisson rolled into the square, Silco strode forward, the flag a wide ribbon behind him. The Children began marching to the front of the crowds and into the street chanting ‘WE ARE THE STORM’S FURY!’

The Council sat up straight, leaning forward in their seats. Topsiders whispered concernedly, their heads swiveling around madly as if looking for someone to explain what was going on. Enforcers on the ground and above jostled, assessing if the situation was dangerous, waiting for any kind of order from the Sheriff or Captain.

The trumpeter stopped playing, and the caisson’s driver pulled the horses’ reins back as the Children poured into the street, converging on the carriage. The animals snorted and whinnied at the sudden direction, gagging on their bits and stamping their hooves. Both the driver and musician panicked at the sudden onslaught of bodies, and bolted. Before the horses could do the same, Annie and Nasha leapt forward and grabbed their bridles. Strong grips and solid energy helped to calm the unsettled beasts. 

Silco climbed onto the caisson, followed by Kat. The Children surrounded the caisson, the outermost ring held together by their biggest and strongest: Vander, Beckett, Benzo, Sevika, and other broadly-built members meant to intimidate and protect.

Vander kept one eye on the churning crowd of Topsiders before him, and one on Silco behind him as his Brother stepped on top of the carriage’s roof. Kat stood off to the side on the coachbox, her eyes, gold and glimmering above her black handkerchief, stayed on the flag gently waving in the wind.

Silco held the flag and his free arm up high, as much a gesture to quiet the chanting as it was to show he held no weapon. He turned toward the Council’s enclosure. All six Councilors were on their feet. Enforcers had entered their box, prepared to pull the politicians down at a moment’s notice. 

Behind his mask, Silco sneered.

“We are the Children of Zaun, the Storm’s Fury,” he called out. His voice was a blade through the air. “We are here to demand the emancipation of the Undercity - the Nation of Zaun. The city-state of Piltover has shown time and time again that it is unfit to govern our people. The man in this casket is but one small example that proves that. You brought an Undercity citizen onto Council - someone who had the expertise and experience to guide you into creating equitable change - and you did nothing.”

The black-clad crowd bellowed their agreement. The Councilors stared at them with wide eyes. Kat took great pleasure in seeing Heimerdinger’s fur stand on end. 

As the crowd’s frustration ebbed, Silco cried out, thrusting the flag into the air, “Free Zaun!”

“FREE ZAUN! FREE ZAUN! FREE ZAUN!” The Children chanted, stamped their feet, and tossed their hands in the air.

Kat yelled through the cloth covering her face. Her insides vibrated. She’d never felt so certain, so alive.

Pride that threatened to tear Vander’s chest open swelled inside him as he cheered, as he watched Silco atop the caisson.

The stomping grew impossibly louder. The ground shook with it. The glass holding Bone’s coffin rattled. The horses, which had been reluctantly content during Silco’s speech, jerked their heads and stepped back. The carriage swerved slightly, knocking Kat to her knees, and causing Silco to widen his stance and nearly drop the flag.

Once sturdy, Silco reached out to help Kat up. She placed her quivering hand in his steady one. It sent a surge of courage through her, and she held tighter. As her gaze lifted to his face, she expected to see those blue eyes looking back at her, ablaze with righteousness. 

Instead, his focus was out on the street. Over the tops of the Children’s heads. Instead of the zeal she anticipated, his eyes were sharp and reticent. Calculated. 

Kat looked over her shoulder, and her insides dropped.

Marching toward them were a squadron of enforcers armed to the teeth, riot shields held out in front of them. They came up the street that led toward the Bridge, parting scared and confused people as they went, effectively blocking the Children in.

Topsiders lining the streets began to cry out and scatter, looking for any means of escape. The Councilors were whisked away without so much as a response to the demands made of them.

Above, enforcers on the roofs got into defensive positions, setting their rifles on tripods and hunkering low.

Vander’s head swiveled wildly, looking to Silco for some kind of instruction. They couldn’t stay like this. It’d be like shooting fish in a barrel.

By the time the enforcers on the ground were fifty feet from the Children, they had gone silent. But they did not shy back. They faced the line of brass and blue with equal assuredness.

The enforcers stopped, and after a moment the shields opened to let Sheriff LeDaird step out.

“Listen to me. We are going to give you one chance - one - to drop to your knees and surrender.”

The seconds that ticked by were agonizing. Vander willed Silco to look over at him. He didn’t. His Brother’s eyes, near rabid in their hate, stayed glued on the Sheriff.

LeDaird’s face deadened, and he sighed. He turned on his heel and disappeared back behind those brass shields. Before an order could be given, there was a tinny clank! as a canister was tossed out of a building’s window and hit the street. It rolled between the Children and Enforcers - and exploded.

Sorry not sorry about the cliffhanger 😘

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, reblogs, and recommendations keep me and other author's motiviational fires burning! I'd love hearing your thoughts <3

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