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it’s a race against time, of sorts. the wind whips against jinx’s face, and it cuts into the lean shapes of her arms, and in this moment, zaun is its own prodigal killer.
pray to the god who never speaks, they’d told her, begged her, wrinkled hands grasping at her shoulders, clawed nails digging into her shoulderblades, dirty arms clinging onto the small of her back. walk up the hill and pray to the god who should’ve saved us.
she’d almost drowned under their desperation, choking on their hatred and their suffering and the history of generations back and back - unfurling from its beginnings of the land sunk into the earth to its ends of the people who try to kill each other every moment of their lives - and finally, as she held back a terrified sob staring into the widened whites in their eyes, she said yes.
her feet leave imprints on the mix of muddy ground and concrete, poor infrastructure giving out all its own in this storm. the rain makes it hard to see and it makes it hard to hear, and together with the voices in her head they create a chorus of laughter, sinister laughter that mocks her and holds her down, tells her where are you now? where are you now? you are gone, jinx of zaun, powder of the undercity. she won’t answer you. no one ever has.
as she collapses onto the metal platform, arms sprawled over the copper impressions of a set of feet, she sputters, “janna,” thinks, “i’m tired.” take me away.
the bridge. the last drop. the undercity. zaun. piltover. runeterra - she could just let it swallow her whole. in the grand scheme of things, who is one small girl with a broken soul?
you are our voice, the elderly woman had cried to her, pulling her down by the lapels of her father’s jacket, you must do something.
“janna, take me away,” she whispered again, nose crushed against the metal tang of an unscrubbed platform. she mouths the words, lips barely grazing the surface, like trying to let her wish sink into the god’s body. i’ve struggled for years. i’d like to see you take on some of the burden.
the curvature of lux’s body is crooked, the morning sun glow bouncing off her back like it’s repulsive. jinx doesn’t miss the clench of her jaw as she turns away, into the darkness, settling into the crooks of her mind, for another voice to replace her.
“i’m sorry i let you down,” her voice crackles through the silence. she catches a whiff of cigar smoke underneath her nose.
vi’s hand feels like wrath’s intention, cupping jinx’s face in a way that is all-too-pained a threat. her fingers dig in but her nails do no damage, and her atlas gauntlets are discarded by the side. after all, there are no pretenses when it all comes down to family. why? she asks, voice torn by grief and eyes shimmering with tears. why are you doing this?
“why?” he asks. his voice always sounded like a phonograph, scratched and far, far away. jinx regrets to register in her heart the literal sense of it now.
vander stares at her, from behind the bar countertop. his lips are pursed in a strained greeting, somewhat concerned yet somewhat unknowing. like he didn’t know what to make of her then, and never will know what to make of her now. in the tiny heartbeats inside her ten-year-old chest, she already knew this.
she closes her eyes. “‘cause i’m not a good person,” her voice sounds tinny now, few octaves higher. she’d only let it be like that when he was around, or when she couldn’t help it. he hums.
“that’s not true,” he says, and it flows naturally, like it was an unbidden truth. to him.
her eyes burn with rageful tears. “let me go,” she pleads to the goddess. “let me go.”
is there anything so undoing as a father?
-
“yeah, but you don’t really know me anymore,” she protests, weakly.
“yes, i do,” he reassures, strongly. “i’m always with you.”
her breaths become shallow and shallower, and courage drums itself in her chest and up her throat and out her mouth - “I miss you so much,” she cried. then the full weight of it comes crashing down on her, and it comes down to her tears staining his bony shoulder, and she sobs the admission out into the air, admits it to herself, finally - “I just miss you so much, Dad.”
-
“i’ve always been with you,” lux murmurs into her hair, repeats it like a mantra. bowed over her from behind, forever above her in the kitchen chair, hand gripping the comb stuck in jinx’s free-flowing hair. she feels wetness across the blue strands.
“from before you were born,” her mother echoes, voice abound the red smoke of a new nation arising. in her eyes, smog settles around the silhouette of a tall, broad figure. her hand wraps around her sister’s, squeezing tight.
“‘til after you’re gone,” vi says sadly, slumped against the wall of the last drop. all that can be said is said, jinx almost lets out another sob at the scar across her sister’s face.
daughter of zaun, who will ever forget your crimes?
the silk fabric of his shirt crumples in the fist of her hand. it feels papery and worn-out, and she’d like to ask, how did you get so old, Dad?
she looks up. silco's face, immortalized in scrap metal, gazes back down at her.
From before we ever existed.
bewildered and astonished, she whips her head around, only to realize she’s in no temple. the walls are dirty. puddles form under her feet from uneven foundations. the air is choked with the smog and chemicals of zaun. behind her is the statue of a man long forgotten.
she turns back, and the sharp planes of his face greet her once again. like they had never left.
Pray to your god who never speaks, they’d told her.
One day you will see me, he imparts onto her as his advice. believe me,
Believe me…