Archive of Our Own

The first time Silco had moored his ship back to Zaun's docks, his hands had shaken over the rope. He'd ignored the sidelong glances of his crew as they sailed past the shallows in which Vander had once drowned him. He'd pretended to be fine. He'd had to.

Now his hands are steady and his crew too busy discussing their plans for their time ashore to pay him any mind. Still, Silco doesn't protest when Mek snatches the ledger away from him with a grunt.

'Go stretch your legs,' the burly man orders, as he does every single time they dock in Zaun. 'I'll supervise.'

'All right, quartermaster, sir,' Silco says in mock deference.

'Don't even try doing business!' Mek calls after him as he walks away. 'You're taking the rest of the day off!'

Silco smiles, more touched by the man's concern than annoyed at his imperious tone and presumptuous orders. He aches to get out of the docks and back into his city.

His Zaun.

Silco and his crew have been gone for two long years on this trip. They're all excited to be back, each in their own way. During the past decade everyone's perception of the city has evolved. It doesn't feel like home to all of them any more. Dustin can't get over Bilgewater. The south coast of Noxus has all but bewitched Ran. Antep and Alna seem to make a home wherever they set foot. Oba only grunts if you ask her. Mek says sappy things like 'My home's where you are, boss.'

But when Silco takes in a lungful of corrosive air—relishing the sting of it, the copper taste spreading down his throat, the sour hints of sulphur and burnt chemicals—he feels anchored. Zaun was his cradle and is the harbour in which his heart is moored. He aches at the sight of it, the impossible architecture rising above him, all iron and glass, chemlights and fog and lively crowds.

He considers what to do with his free time. Where to go though is not a difficult choice. The slums aren't great to hang out in, and Silco doesn't feel like trawling for intel yet. He doesn't want to hear about Vander's progress with the Lanes. Which also means most of the Entresol is out. No point risking running into the man himself or his cronies, if it can be helped.

Silco tosses a Demacian silver coin to the boy manning a private elevator, earning himself a bright smile and enthusiastic service. They rise up, slowly but steadily, without stopping. Silco doesn't close his good eye. He wears no eyepatch, he has no means of looking away from the spectacle of the city, even when the vista outside the window grows painfully familiar, and then less so as they reach the upper levels.

He steps onto the organised chaos of Bridgewaltz market. It sprawls out all around him, pulsing like a living being, extending over iron arches and spilling into promenades, different sections connected by a network of gangways and bridges, colourful stalls flowing around the reinforced glass of massive cultivairs, like islands on a sea of bustling commerce.

Silco smiles ruefully as he starts walking, eyes darting about, already thinking about their next shipment despite Mek's orders to have the day off. He's here, he may as well check out what's trending.

He's half listening to a vendor's ramblings about his wares when something bumps into his legs. He whirls around, his heart slamming into his throat in sudden fright, thinking he's been recognised while he wasn't paying attention, and is confused to see... no one. A small 'Sorry,' makes him look down.

The girl is very young, pretty, in a gap-toothed kind of way. She has dark blue hair straight as curtains and matching blue eyes. She gasps when she meets his own mismatched eyes, and takes a hasty step back.

'Er, I'm... I—'

Silco darts forward and yanks her by the front of her shirt, just in time to keep her from getting trampled by a massive lizard-like Vastaya in too great a hurry.

'Careful, kid!' he snaps.

The girl's eyes gleam and fat tears swell and roll down her cheeks. Silco lets her go, startled, but she doesn't pull away, doesn't even sob or scream. She just stands there, looking up at him and leaking water out of her eyes like a burst pipe.

'What is it?' he asks, tone gentler. He squats down to her level, unconcerned. She wouldn't be running a scam, she's far too well dressed. 'You're hurt?'

She shakes her head. 'N-no,' she manages to get out. 'I'm... I'm lost.'

Silco immediately hears it, in that lost. It's the pitch of the o, the crispness of the t. Same as when you click your tongue to say Piltie.

There's a part of him that wants to get up and to walk away. That won't touch a Piltovan if it isn't to harm them. A part that wants this kid to suffer, to know what it's like, to be alone in a dangerous world. To be lost and receive no help. A pale shadow of the life of countless Zaunite children.

Yet that part of him is irrational. He feels the impulse, but lets it wash over him. He doesn't let it make decisions for him.

When he'd been lost himself, he'd craved a helping hand. As a child he would have accepted about anyone's, without discrimination. So he opens his arms, and the girl rushes in, too naive to even question his intentions.

A rush of disgust floods him as he picks her up. Fucking Pilties, he thinks, not even bothering to teach their kids to be afraid of strangers.

He hoists the girl on his hip. She doesn't weigh much.

'How old are you?' he asks.

'I'm six!' she declares proudly.

She's smiling at him, brushing her cheeks dry with her small fists, her worry dissipating now that someone is helping her.

'What's your name?'

'Cait!' the girl chimes. 'What's yours?'

'Silco,' he replies, not bothering with an alias. She isn't working for Benzo either, she can have his name. 'Who are you here with, Cait?'

The girl twists in his arms, her hands grabbing his jacket as she tries to survey the market around them. 'My dad...' she says, craning her neck.

'You won't spot him from here,' Silco tells her. 'Let's go find him. Where did you last see him?'

'Mmmh... I don't know. He was looking at a thing.'

Right. Children. Silco hasn't interacted with too many of them the past few years. Just the little wretches hanging out around dockyards like seagulls, waiting for odd jobs and advertising themselves in hope a ship will be hiring.

'What thing? What's your dad's name?'

'Tobias!'

Silco barely suppresses a scowl. What sort of name is Tobias? Could this girl get any more Piltovan? She'd have to be related to a Councillor for that to happen at this stage.

'He was looking at a jewel,' Cait goes on, 'pretty, yellow, with a bug inside of it.'

'Ah, amber.'

'What's amber?'

'It's the sap of a tree, fossi— from a long time ago. It trapped insects when it was sticky, then it hardened with time.'

'Wow! So the bug was very old?'

'Millions of years old, most likely.'

'How long is a million years?'

Silco sighs. Yes, the endless questions. Children. He'd really forgotten. Cait is proving to be a pretty relentless one too, and they're discussing frogs by the time they arrive in the jewellers corner. Apparently Cait has caught a blue one recently, but her mother wouldn't let her keep it.

They look around the busy stalls. There's plenty of amber on display, but no bearded man called Tobias.

'Where is he?' Cait asks, voice suddenly shaky. 'Did he...'

Silco pats her back. 'He's probably looking for you.' She sniffs, biting on her lower lip. Her eyes start to glimmer again, and Silco pinches her cheek. 'I mean it. No crying now. You've been gone a while, I think he must be running around asking for you and we just missed him. He didn't leave you. Do you know what to do when you're lost?'

Cait shakes her head. Silco sighs and closes his good eye. He'll have to have a serious chat with that Tobias. Six is way too old not to—

He snaps his eye open again as the girl's fingers loom close in the distorted vision of his dark eye. Her fingertips brush the scarred skin of his cheek, careful and soft.

'Does it hurt?' she asks. 'Are you okay?'

Something constricts in Silco's chest at the question, something cold and visceral he has no control over. The market becomes a haze of colours and sounds around him, muddled and confused—irrelevant.

Well, is he okay? Has he ever been, since that day? It's been over a decade and yet here he is, a storm raging inside his heart as a lost little girl cares enough to ask. He lets out a careful breath, accepting the pain. Moving on. He's an old hand at this. The kid just took him by surprise. 

'It's an old wound,' he tells Cait quietly, taking her hand in his and bringing it away from his face. 'It's older than you, even. It doesn't hurt any more, but thank you for asking.'

She gives him a small smile. 'You made a face,' she explains. 'I thought it hurt.'

'You're kind, child, but I was making a face because your father didn't teach you what to do when you're lost. I guess I'll have to do it myself.'

Cait listens carefully as he impresses on her the importance of not following strangers. He explains how she'd need to find a place where she's easy to spot, and not move from it.

'We're going to go to the centre of the market, so we can see the most people, and we're going to stay there. If we keep walking around, we could just miss each other forever. Do you understand?'

Cait nods, her arms tight around his neck. Even if she really understands the bit about strangers, she's clearly elected not to include him under that designation. Next he explains the layout of the market, and gives her pointers on how to get around Zaun in general. How to spot the street signs, even if she can't read them yet, but also who to ask for directions and who to stay away from. Cait nods along, but she's distracted, constantly on the lookout for her father.

Silco buys two hot meat buns from a food vendor and seats down on the pedestal of the statue at the centre of the market. Cait settles next to him and thanks him politely for the food.

'Who is it?' she asks, eyeing the statue of a woman towering above them.

She stands proud and imposing despite the mismatched pieces of junk she's made out of. Her angular face and outstretched arms are discoloured by Zaun's acid rain. Her staff has long gone missing and never been replaced.

'It's Janna,' Silco explains. 'She looks after Zaun.'

'What does she do?'

Silco takes a bite of his own bun, taking his time to consider his answer, bracing himself for the onslaught of questions he knows must be coming. 'She's the goddess of winds and storms. She tries to purify the air. Without her help we would have all choked long ago, down in the fissures. At least it's what the stories say.'

'Wow! You have a goddess?'

Silco chews pensively. He's not sure why he's having a religious chat with a six years old, but he may as well go all in. 'Technically, she's your goddess too.'

'Really?' Cait asks, eyes going wide. 'But I never...'

'Never heard about her? Yes. Probably because you don't really need her, I think. But here, we have to believe Janna is still helping us. She helps me too, when I'm at sea.'

'How?'

'We ask her to keep the storms away, or to blow a good wind into our sails. We can't always be using the engine.'

Cait's eyes widen even further, her jaw going slack. 'You have a boat?' she asks, like he's just confessed to riding a dragon's back.

'I'm the captain of a beautiful ship, yes!' Silco says, basking in the girl's undiluted admiration.

'So you can go anywhere?'

'Almost anywhere.'

Cait looks suddenly wistful, eyes falling down to her half finished food, feet kicking. 'Must be nice,' she mumbles.

'Yes,' Silco says, surprised to find such a relatable desire for escapism in a Piltie child. He wonders that she'd dream of foreign shores, when she has it all. 'It is nice. You can do the same one day. Even if you just buy a pleasure craft. I bet Tobias could get you one, and sailing lessons.'

Cait looks dubious. 'I'm already taking lessons.'

Silco bites into his bun. 'Leshon o' wha?' he asks around a mouthful.

'Shooting.'

Silco chokes. Cait taps him lightly on the back until he's done coughing and clawing his soul back from the brink of a shameful death.

'S-shooting?' he asks between coughs. 'Guns?'

The girl nods. 'Daddy got me a Merlington T-Bolt long range! A small one to fit me. He says I can pick my own when I'm bigger, for the competitions.'

So she could get more Piltovan in the end. Shooting as a hobby, with custom made rifles... Silco begins to wonder if he shouldn't ask Cait's father for a reward. It might be a good way to make a quick grand or two.

'You okay?'

'I'm all right,' Silco growls, upset to be asked that question again so soon.

'You don't like guns?' Cait asks, sounding circumspect, like he wouldn't be the first one to react poorly to this revelation.

'Guns are fine.' He's a privateer. He even has to shoot them on occasion. 'I'm just not used to little girls liking guns so much. Down in Zaun you can't really shoot anywhere without hitting someone. And guns are expensive. Most people down here can't afford them, let alone for their children.'

'Ooh...' Caits looks around, adjusting her perception of life in the Undercity.

Of course the promenades and open sky concourses around Bridgewaltz are nothing like the crowded, claustrophobic levels down below, but Silco has a growing suspicion that Cait is being raised on a country estate. She's balancing too steadily between bright and clueless.

Cait finishes her food and Silco pulls on the chain of his timepiece. The small watch reveals it's been about an hour since the girl bumped into his knees. Silco surveys the crowd around them. There are no panicked fathers in sight, and no enforcers hunting for a lost Piltovan child. He considers how long he should wait, before carrying her over to the bridge and whatever officer is on guard duty there today. But he also wonders if he should.

What if Tobias isn't coming for her? What if Cait was led down to Zaun and left, like the children of Noxian tales, walked into dark forests and given a task to busy themselves while their parents run?

He looks down to the girl sitting patiently at his side. Absently he brushes crumbs from her cheeks and pulls her hair back behind her ear. She smiles as she presents him with her bun's crumpled wrapper.

'It was delicious,' she says. 'Thank you.'

Silco can't quite fathom who'd abandon a girl like that. Adorable, polite, curious, and potentially a good shot? No way. If no one comes for her, he'll not see her sent to a foundling house, not even a Piltie one. 

Yet time creeps on, the neon lights of the market growing brighter around them as the sky darkens above. Cait starts to fidget despite Silco's best efforts at keeping her distracted. He's almost decided to buy her a hammock and introduce her to the crew when it comes: a scream, a name half formed.

Cait jumps to her feet, startled. She spots her fathers and sprints for him, arms outstretched and tears flowing freely once more. Silco follows her, walking slowly to give them time to reunite.

Tobias is an Ionian man about the same age as him, with a meticulously trimmed blue beard. His clothes are well cut, distinctly fancier than his daughter, and Silco is left to wonder if Cait was dressed strategically, to make her attract less attention. Beyond their clothes the resemblance between father and daughter is striking.

'I understand I have you to thank for keeping my daughter safe—' Tobias starts when he finally turns to Silco.

'About that,' Silco cuts him off, 'you shouldn't bring your kid down here if she isn't prepared to fend for herself.'

'Well—'

'She didn't even know what to do when she was lost,' Silco overrides him again, voice louder as he warms up to the topic. He steps in closer to Tobias and jams a finger into his chest. 'She followed me without hesitation. You're lucky to get your kid back today!'

The man flinches but stands his ground. He looks genuinely sheepish as he says, 'You're absolutely right. I hadn't taken into account that—'

'Then maybe you shouldn't be coming down into the Undercity either.' Silco growls. 'There's a lot to take into account, when the likes of you come down here.'

'But Silco, you helped!' Cait protests, reaching out to pat his shoulder.

'You're just lucky I can be sweet when I want,' he mutters. 

'We're both very lucky,' Tobias says, eagerly edging a whole sentence in the conversation. 'And we're both infinitely grateful! Really, you have no idea.'

'I have a bit of an idea. I was this close to adopting your daughter myself and taking her out to sea as a gunner's mate,' he says, showing off his index and thumb, almost touching.

Tobias and Cait both gasp, one in horror and the other in delight.

'Silco's a captain!' Cait exclaims, grabbing her father's collar and giving him a shake. 'He has a boat! What is it called?'

Silco squints at Tobias, unsure now if revealing more of his identity is such a smart move, but Cait's eyes shine like a quiet sea at night, reflecting the moon.

'The Iron Shark,' he says begrudgingly.

'So cool!'

'Indeed,' Tobias agrees, although he still sounds a little unnerved at the prospect of his daughter being spirited away to become a sailor.

Silco sighs and rolls his shoulders, trying to shake the feeling of warmth spreading through his chest. He doesn't want to have fun talking to a couple of Pilties. It goes against the grain. 'I'm glad I could help you reunite,' he says honestly. 'Time for me to get going.'

'Ah, before you go, we weren't properly introduced—'

'You're Tobias, I'm Silco, that's enough, isn't it?'

The man seems thrown off balance by Silco's gruff manners. He must be getting bled dry by every merchant in the Undercity, with that sort of posh attitude.

'Is there something I can do for you?' he insists. 'For helping my daughter?'

Silco can smell the money wafting off him, but he's cut enough purses to know Tobias is too rich to carry change on himself. Silco isn't about to accept his cufflinks as payment like he's a little sump-snipe making himself useful. He shakes his head.

'It's fine.'

'Just a small compen—'

'I said it's fine. Just teach your kid to be more careful around strangers. Buy her a whistle too.'

'I will, I assure you,' Tobias says, nodding deep enough to give the gesture the impression of a formal bow.

Silco pats Cait's head gently. 'Good luck, child,' he says, 'with your shooting.'

And maybe her sailing too, one day. He hopes she can get away from Piltover, maybe gain some insights in her travels around the world, the sort rarely attained by Upsiders.

'Bye, mister Silco!'

Janna smiles down on them blindly as they part ways.

Silco is almost out of the plaza and back in the busy lanes between stalls when someone tugs on the back of his jacket. He looks down directly this time and sure enough, Cait is there, flushed and a little breathless, hand extended.

'Dad said it's okay to give you— I really want you to have it! For helping me!'

Silco opens his hand and she drops a small golden pin in it. Again, with that unwanted warmth! He sighs, resigned. It's not his fault he's always liked children. Or Cait's for being so damned adorable.

'Thanks. I'll treasure it,' he tells her, making a show of putting it away in his breast pocket.

'You'll take it with you on your travels?'

'That's right. Your pin will go around Runeterra.'

Cait beams, delighted. She waves at him as she runs back to her father, and Silco finds himself waving back.

He turns around then, and disappears into the crowds, determined now not to be ambushed by any more Piltovans this evening. He's sitting on a stool outside a food cart called the Noxious Noxian when he pulls Cait's pin out for closer inspection.

He has to bring it close to see it clearly. The details are finely etched, without coloured highlights. He could just sense them under his thumb. He squints his good eye and the shape finally comes into sharp focus.

Two keys, crossing over a stylised letter.

Cold fingers run up his spine, raising the hair at the nape of his neck.

It's a K. It's the Kiramman crest. Etched on a solid gold pin.

Silco grips the cheap wooden counter, trying not to fall off his stool as his head spins, struggling to process the thought, to internalise—Kiramman. The Kiramman girl. And her father, asking what he wanted for his help.

Janna help him, what has he done?

'You all right there, pal? No fainting at my booth!' the burly Noxian chef says with a booming laugh as she slams a bowl in front of him. 'Here's your sticky dumpling soup. Enjoy!'