Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stinging, blurring, burning vision.

Steady finger guns. A disturbingly distant handshake with the one she loved most in the world, one final time.

Isha wished there was another way, but wishing had never saved her before.

She had never felt as cared for by another person as she did in those last moments, wide amber eyes locked onto Jinx before she raised the smuggled gun, its three hextech gemstones flashing uncontrollably, and aimed it at the sky. She closed her eyes, envisioning her mentor, her strength, and pulled the trigger.

"You feel it? That buzzing behind your eyes. Because you know, in a moment, it could all... poow. Best feeling in the world, kid."

Enveloped in inky blackness, it wasn't so much a buzzing that Isha felt, but a dull ache pulsating weakly through her fragile frame, as though her very bones were slowly dissolving, unmoored from the body that had once held them together. 

So... she wasn't gone? Not yet, anyway. Isha mentally suppressed the internal whimper of longing and forced her consciousness past the paralysis threatening to overcome her. She focused on the steady pulsing sensation, willing it to grow, to evolve into something else; something warm, something solid, something she had only recently felt, wrapped in the safety of Jinx's arms. Her very own 'best feeling in the world'. 

"Isha?" 

Was that the buzzing? Her name, two fuzzy and distorted syllables, calling out in a familiar, pleading cadence. Yes, this must be the buzzing. Her mind trembled under the weight of that voice.

"ISHA!"

If the child registered any ability to move her body, she might have recoiled from the sensed proximity and raw emotion in the call. She did not. Could not. Nor did the shout deafen her as it should have. Instead, her ears registered nothing but a sharp, insistent buzz, as though her world was being drowned in static.

Despite the numbness creeping through her ice-cold fingers, the aftereffects of the explosion paled in comparison to hearing the despair tangled within the final utterance of her name:

"Isha..."

Jinx?

Though Isha could not consciously respond or move her deteriorating form, the flicker of hope ignited by Jinx’s surprised gasp spread through the younger girl like wildfire. She clung to each passing flame with every ounce of life she had left, praying—no, begging—that somehow, some way, Jinx knew she had heard.

"I'm gonna need you to open those big, golden bug eyes right about now, kid." 

It was Jinx, alright. The distress in her voice tore at what remained intact of Isha's insides. She couldn't move, couldn't spring her resilient little body into action as she had so effortlessly many times before. The weight of this inability set every nerve ending that still clung to life alight with pain, like a million pinpricks all over her body, each one a reminder that she was slipping further from herself. From Jinx. The knowledge that she couldn’t fling herself into the teen's arms, like she had after the rally, felt like a cruel injustice. Isha needed her—needed Jinx to hold her, to pull her from the deathless abyss she was sinking into.

"C'mon, you really want Sevika to take over as Scuttle Butt's handler in the next battle?" The teasing drawl returned, more like the Jinx Isha knew, but the words only broke her further. The playful tone, the familiar rhythm of Jinx’s voice... Was this the last time she would ever hear it?

As much as she cared for Sevika, the thought of the woman's heavy, giant feet stepping into her place—taking over their games, their battles—was salt in a wound Isha hadn't realised existed. She ignored a sharp twinge in her chest, the creeping fear blooming there, and strained against the invisible forces immobilizing her, holding her captive.

"Kid, wake up. I saw your lashes flutter so stop playing with me."

There was a shift in Jinx's voice then. Less tearful teasing, more deranged desperation. It sent a sharp spike of panic throughout Isha's frozen body, overpowering the ever-spreading numbness for a moment and pulsing through her in waves. Why couldn't she open her eyes? Why couldn't she move? Why, why, why! 

"Isha, please?"

Isha was young, impulsive, but not foolish. From the moment she saw Jinx crumpled on the ground, injured and vulnerable, with the no-longer-Vander-beast looming over her like a nightmare made flesh, Isha had known. She had known, deep in her gut, that there was no other option but what she had in mind. Jinx would never truly defend herself against Vander— not while she still believed her father was trapped inside the beast. Isha knew it with a certainty that burned hotter than the flames the beast emitted, flames that couldn't be smothered.

If their roles had been reversed—if Jinx had been the one who was 'lost'—Isha would never have had the strength to hurt her. Never. So, this was her duty. She would protect Jinx, just as she always had, just as the older girl had protected her since the moment they first crossed paths, in a world that had never been kind to either of them.

"Don't leave me." 

How could she leave? Did she even have a choice? 

The fuzziness distorting Jinx's voice answered her clearly enough: "I need you, kid." 

Isha grasped at that voice, held onto it with everything she had left. She was slipping, she knew it. What had seemed so simple in the heat of battle—the choice she had made—was now an impossible burden, one she couldn't undo. 

With Jinx's desperate cries echoing in a low buzz throughout her mind, Isha felt a rush of memories flood her, dreamlike and bittersweet. She recalled the instant wonder that had surged her veins the day they met, a spark of life amidst endless days of fear, hunger, and loneliness, hiding from chem-barons and barely surviving. Watching Jinx shoot her pursuers dead had terrified her, yet left her feeling the most alive she had felt since days long lost to her. 

Since the day she'd stopped talking.

Since she stopped feeling anything but the terror of being alone.

"Isha, c'mon, you're my family."

Family. The word clutched Isha's heart like a vice, squeezing tighter with every beat. It was a word she had never truly understood, not until Jinx. Family had been a distant, elusive concept for so long, a puzzle with too many missing pieces, and now it held more meaning than she could fully comprehend. She longed for the helmet she had lost, for the safety and security that had been ripped from her too many times for a child of her age to bear. Her shield. Her armor. Her protection. Perhaps Jinx could take its place, if only Isha could wake up. Her tightened eyes stung as what might have been a tear escaped down her pale cheek, stinging her skin. A drop of acid.

For the first time since the deafening boom sent her flying through the air, a broken bird left to fall, Isha felt regret. True regret—not for the choice she had made—but for being unable to find another way. A way that meant she wouldn't have to leave the blue-haired teen. That she wouldn't slip away like this. 

Jinx considered her family. 

That last conversation, the one that had initially startled Isha as they had looked out over their potential new home, came back to her in fragmented flashes. "I had some time to think lately..." It was in that moment she realised how inadvertently attached she had become, emotionally tethered to Jinx. A nauseating doubt had triggered within her. What if Jinx would abandon her? What if she had finally realized that Isha was no one? Not her child, not her sister, not her anything. She was no one’s anything.

She shouldn't have doubted. What she hadn't had the chance to communicate then was that, as much as Jinx had expressed how positively she'd been impacted by Isha, the truth was, Isha was forever changed by the blue-haired girl. Her protector. Her big sister. Her mother-figure. Her family. 

"Hey... Isha? Can you hear me?"

An involuntary shudder rattled Isha's frame. She no longer possessed the strength to fight against her paralysis, but battled her eyelids as fiercely as she had battled Vi in the mines...

Still got all your insides?

Jinx was her family. 

Another shudder. 

Focusing on that—on Jinx—was enough, Isha decided. It had to be. As the buzzing became overwhelming, as Jinx's distanced cries became tortured screams, it had to be enough.

Chapter Text

What the hell happened last night?

Stirring faintly, Jinx expelled a low groan thick with grogginess, while lifting a trembling hand to the back of her head. Her pale fingers shook not only from exhaustion but from the residual memory of the events she wasn't yet ready to confront. Wincing against her own touch, the throbbing headache eclipsed every one she'd endured during even the most harrowing hallucinations. 

"Hey, kid? You there?" Her voice rasped, hoarse and weak, before a violent cough tore through her, leaving a sharp, irritating sting in its wake. Jinx’s consciousness clung to fractured thoughts of safety, desperately trying to persuade her she was home, but something felt wrong. Her lair sure smelled different this morning, thick with the cloying stench of dust and blood. She forced her head up, barely lifting it an inch before the world lurched, and she collapsed back onto the surface beneath her. It scraped against her, jarring and cold, a stark contrast to the softness she'd convinced herself to expect. Restless fingers brushed against something rough... Earth, dirt, not the familiar cushions of her couch. 

A delayed realisation, repressed and denied, fought for dominance within her pounding head. Then, the creeping memories slipped through. Bloodshot, magenta eyes snapped open. 

The commune... The explosion... Isha.

"Kid?" Jinx called again, her voice shrill now, a wild cry laced with renewed anguish. She felt it before she could fully comprehend it; the weight of absence pressing down on her. No. She didn’t want to remember. She couldn't. But the truth was already gnawing at her brain, memories pushing past the haze, each one more vivid and painful than the last. Isha's tearful smile, her gentle face... Each image pierced at her like shards from her shattered mirror. The shock of it struck her with the force of another hextech explosion. 

The tortured teen screamed, nearly a roar, thumping her skull against the hard ground once, twice, three times, hoping if she struck hard enough, she could go too.

Locked in a waking nightmare, as though it had been tailor-made just for her, the blue-haired girl scraped her chipped nails against the earth. Her wails grew louder, rising in intensity as the thick haze of smoke and dust gradually thinned, just enough for a small, limp body to materialise ahead.

Jinx's wide eyes latched onto the form. It was Isha. 

The older girl's breath hitched as she pushed forward, dragging her body through the dirt and debris, her vision narrowing into a tunnel that led only to Isha.

Reaching for the child, brushing away ash and scraps from the wreckage, her pulse quickened. She wasn't ready to face what she might find. How could she ever be? The reality of the moment threatened to unravel her brittle psyche further. 

"Isha?" The name escaped her lips in a cracked whisper, barely audible over the ringing in her ears. Jinx thrusted herself onto her elbows, tilting unsteadily over the child's body. Holding her weight on one side, her free hand lifted, hesitating mid-air. Slowly, delicately—more gently than she thought herself capable of in this moment—her fingers brushed against the girl’s messy hair, curling around strands dusted with ash and powder-blue paint.

Her touch shifted, firmer now, as she brushed and then pressed against Isha's arm. It was warm. Warm meant alive, right? It had to. She clenched her fist in the fabric of Isha's shirt, her knuckles whitening. 

"ISHA!" 

Her voice broke on the shout, ricocheting around them. Her scraped knees bit into the jagged ground as she heaved herself upright, barely balancing on them. The pain in her chest amplified with every second of silence. 

"Isha..." 

The name dissolved into a sob. Was Isha still breathing? Jinx couldn't tell; tears blurred her vision. Her braids fell forward, shrouding the girl's body, their loosened ends splayed across the ground in a lopsided heart. Tilting her head, she leaned closer until her ear hovered just above Isha's nose. For an everlasting moment, there was nothing—nothing but the pounding of her own heart reverberating through her thin frame. Then, soft and faint, but undeniably there: a breath. A whisper of air tickled her exposed earlobe. A wave of relief slammed into her so fiercely it hurt. She drew a sharp, shuddering gasp. Isha was alive. Somehow, against all odds, her kid was still breathing. 

Hot tears spilled onto Isha’s dirt-encrusted skin, mixing with bright blood. "I'm gonna need you to open those big, golden bug eyes right about now, kid." Her hands trembled as she cupped Isha's face, her thumb brushing against the grime on her scarring cheek, reassuringly warm to the touch.

The renewed hope restored some of her teasing prowess. She sniffled, trying to steady herself, and offered, "C'mon, you really want Sevika to take over as Scuttle Butt's handler in the next battle?" Her laugh came out hollow, a pale imitation of her usual manic energy.

Jinx's deranged chuckles lost themselves in salty tears as quickly as they'd began, and her body suddenly went rigid. She saw it—a faint, almost ghostly flicker of Isha's lashes. Her wide, bloodshot eyes bore into the girl's face, unblinking, manic. Did she really see that? Her gaze stuck on Isha's face, willing the movement to return.

"Kid, wake up," she croaked as her hands moved instinctively to grip Isha's wrong-looking shoulder. Was it dislocated? The thought hit her too fast to process. She gently gripped the other shoulder, hesitating before shaking it—lightly at first, then with growing urgency, her fingers accidentally digging into wounds with frantic force. "I saw your lashes flutter." Shallow breaths came in irregular bursts. Her nails, torn and damaged, scraped Isha's skin, leaving crescents behind as she wordlessly begged her to open her eyes. "So stop playing with me," Jinx snapped, her tone teetering on the edge of hysteria. Her desperation was unraveling, twisting her actions into something reckless. She began pawing at Isha’s broken body, shaking as she prodded the girl’s cuts and fractures, her movements erratic and thoughtless, driven by a deep, spiraling need for any sign of life.

"Isha, please?" Crashing down from the surge of intensity, her plea broke raw and uneven, drained of strength. Whimpers gurgled within her throat as she slowed, no longer prodding at the girl, as if coming to her senses. Her fingers twitched, curling and stretching as if unsure whether to reach out again or pull back. Where could she touch? What would cause the least harm? Might she only curse the girl further?

"Don't leave me." Her voice wavered, a plea laced with panic. "I need you, kid." She slumped—gently now—across Isha's body.

"Isha, c'mon, you're my family." The final word broke apart, splintering under its own weight. Her head fell against Isha's unresponsive form. Her arms gathered the child close, possessing renewed care, as if holding on tightly enough could keep her tethered to this world. Tethered to the fantasy they were building together. Jinx didn't want their 'good thing' to end.

The sounds of her muffled sobs smothered the quiet, punctuating Isha's stillness.

"Hey... Isha? Can you hear me?"

She realised then; the few untarnished, soft parts of Isha's exposed skin had turned clammy, cooler than before. An a unnatural shudder rippled through the form beneath her, and then another. It felt wrong. The frail hope she clung to fragmented to nothing. Her mouth opened in undeniable horror, a guttural scream tearing free. 

Jinx had never felt more alone, more vulnerable, than she did in that moment, howling into Isha's lifeless form. Violet was gone, Vander was gone. The crushing uncertainty tormented her. Where either of them alive? Had they survived? It hadn't crossed her mind before, not while she was consumed with cradling Isha's lifeless body. Now, faced with possible endings, she longed for her big sister to hold her like she had once held Powder, and for a parent to take care of her, as she had tried—and failed—to do for Isha. It was a childish wish, perhaps, but it was growing, overpowering. She held Isha closer. 

"Everyone who gets close to me dies," she whimpered, her voice breaking as the words spilled through sobs. 

"The little one is not dead. Not yet."

Jinx gasped tearfully, her breath catching as a low, controlled drawl reached her ears from behind. Mid-sob, she tensed, her slim body stiffening with sudden, cold recognition. Lifting her head from Isha's chest, her pink eyes watched as the withered, decrepit form of the Doctor emerged from her peripheral.

"You..." The word left her lips in a breathless whisper. Realisation clicked through her fogged mind like an old, rusted clock coming to life. Her hesitant gaze flickered down to her child's fragile form, then slowly, almost unwillingly, to the doctor. 

Chapter Text

“She’s alive… for now, but without intervention, she will die.”

A bitter taste of blood clung to Jinx’s tongue, the sharp, metallic sting mixing with the gnawing dread coiling in her gut. Her jaw clenched so hard it felt like her teeth might crack. Her fingers dug into her palms, blue and pink-painted nails twisting into the skin. She knew all too well the aftermath of the doctor’s "interventions," the twisted horrors they wrought, and what that might mean for the endearing girl before her. Yet, even as part of her screamed to tear the doctor apart before he set one foot closer to the child, a vivid image of Isha's smile flashed in her mind— bright, alive, innocent. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let that light go out.

“Then fix her!” Jinx's voice cracked with a pain that felt too vast to contain, heartbreak thinly veiled behind wild, glossy eyes darting between Singed and Isha. “You patched me up, didn’t you? You’re the freaking doctor , right? Just make her better!”

Singed’s gaze remained impassive as he stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. He met Jinx’s pleading eyes with cold precision.

“I have the means,” he began, his voice low, “But this will not be like your procedure. She is not you, and her wounds… they are many. If I proceed, the process will test her to her limits. The pain will be excruciating. She might survive, but she may not be the same.”

The words hit Jinx like a physical blow. Her windpipe tightened as a tremor skittered through her limbs, a silent echo of the agony she had felt in the doctor’s lab. She clenched her fists harder, the sting of her nails digging into her skin a welcome distraction from her gut-wrenching reality.

“What are you talking about? What’s with all the riddles?” she snapped, panic bubbling. “Just say it! You can fix her or you can’t, but don’t underestimate Isha. She’s a hell of a lot stronger than me.”

Singed’s lips curled slightly, but there was no humour in his expression. “You endured it,” he started, flatly, “Because your mind was already fractured. It allowed you to adapt. She is a delicate thing. The process may break her entirely.”

Jinx’s brow furrowed, a furious flicker of doubt crossing her mind. Isha wouldn’t like being called ‘delicate’. The retort formed on her lips, but it dissolved as her gaze fell on the unconscious girl, her heart sinking with an all-consuming sorrow. She could still picture Isha trailing behind her, a little lost puppy with eyes full of wonder, a shadow too stubborn to fade. What would the procedure do to her—to her mind? Isha had always been the one to pull her back from the brink of darkness time and time again, and now here she was, lying on the edge of death herself. 

Jinx’s thoughts crumbled under the weight of an impossible decision. What was kinder? Letting the kid slip away—her bright spirit, preserved as the innocent, sweet soul she’d always been? The bile that rose in Jinx’s throat at the thought said no, but the alternative was no easier: letting Singed step in. A gamble for survival, yes, but at what cost? A life uncertain, riddled with sickening possibilities, and no promise of who Isha would become.

“She sacrificed herself,” Jinx ground out, her voice tight with emotion. “For me. Twice. She’s strong enough to survive any procedure. You don’t know her like I do.”

Singed’s frosted gaze flickered, just for a moment. Jinx saw something beneath his cold exterior, something almost human, before it vanished like a wisp of smoke.

“No,” he murmured, “But I know my work.” He straightened slightly, his tone taking on an unsettling precision. “This will require a touch of… experimentation.” 

The word sent a ripple of revulsion coursing through Jinx’s frame, a visceral reaction that made her stomach churn. 

“Don’t you dare!” she snarled, each syllable thick with fury, “Don’t you even think about using her like some kind of… lab rat!”

Singed raised a single eyebrow, unperturbed. His reply came cool and measured, “Lab rats are expendable. She is not.” He paused, his eyes far away. “She reminds me of someone. Someone… dear. I failed once before. I will not fail again.”

Jinx recoiled, her pulse spiking with unease. “What are you even talking about? You’re just saying this because you want to cut her open, aren’t you?” Her voice wavered, strained with disbelief, “You want to turn her into another one of your sick experiments, like whatever else goes on in your lab?!” 

Singed didn’t even flinch. He regarded her in silence for a long moment, then turned his gaze to Isha. “Every subject brings us closer to understanding,” he explained, evenly, “Each success illuminates the path forward, not just for her, but for… others.”

Jinx’s blood boiled. “Isha’s not your… your 'subject,’” she spat, venomously, “She’s—” She stopped, her sentence dissolving before she could finish. Jinx struggled for air. “She’s… family.” 

The word hung heavily in the air between them. Saying it aloud, this time, felt like a betrayal. It didn’t fit, not in the way it should. Family implied strength, safety—things Jinx couldn’t provide. She wasn’t a protector. She hadn’t kept Isha safe. She hadn’t kept anyone safe.

Her magenta eyes drifted to Isha’s battered, motionless form. What were they to each other, really? A lost girl latching on to someone who could never deserve her? Or something more? The answer eluded her, lost in the tangled mess of guilt, fear, and longing.

“Family?” Singed’s tone was contemplative as he stepped closer again, his sharp gaze dissecting her, “Perhaps, but family comes in many forms. Does she see you as such? A protector? A guide? A sister… A mother, perhaps?”

Jinx's wide eyes blinked in disbelief, her throat closing around a strangled laugh. “No! I’m not… I’m not like that!” she stammered, unable to dislodge an unyielding lump in her throat. It felt near-impossible to breathe. “She’s just—I mean, I try to look after her, okay? That’s it! I’m not—” Her voice buckled beneath all she couldn’t articulate, “I’m not that. She followed me, and I didn’t stop her... What’s it to you, anyway?”

Singed observed her in silence for a long moment, before replying, “I saw you both, in the prison. She fell into you as a child would her mother. You may not return the feelings, but in her eyes, you are more than her companion. You are essential.”

Jinx’s breath hitched. The words "you may not return the feelings" settled into the hollows of her chest like stones, crushing her. She shook her head, jerky and desperate. Helplessness crawled up her throat, as bitter as poison. 

“I’m not her anything,” she hissed. Something hot clawed at her eyes, burning her lashes. She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting to keep the tears from spilling, her face tightening with the effort. “I can’t be. I’m just the one who keeps her alive, okay? That’s it. Couldn't even get that right.”

Singed hummed, a sound that seemed to acknowledge her turmoil, but he didn’t offer comfort. Instead, his voice remained steady. He had easily made his peace with the harsh reality.

“Well,” he started, firmly, “That is yours to decipher. But remember this: her body is beyond natural healing. Without intervention, she dies. Tonight.”

Jinx’s stomach dropped, air rushing from her lungs. “She doesn’t deserve this. None of this is her fault…”

Singed stepped aside, his gaze sweeping over Isha’s body—a scientist appraising a specimen. “Fault is irrelevant. All that matters now is whether she will live. You must decide.”

The weight of Jinx’s impending decision threatened to end her. She’d have welcomed the end, if Isha weren’t depending on her.

“She’ll hate me," she murmured, a single tear slipping down her cheek, stinging as it traced the blue veins below her eyes. “If you do this… if she has to go through that… she’ll hate me forever.”

Singed’s rigid expression softened for a heartbeat. “Perhaps. Or perhaps she will understand. In time.”

Jinx gently slipped her arms beneath Isha, lifting the girl’s head onto her lap. Her fingers brushed against two blue-brown braids as they fell softly over her knees. “I don’t want her to suffer—like I did. You don’t know what it’s like, surviving that.”

Singed’s eyes darkened, “No, I do not,” he agreed, “But I know what it is to lose. To watch while life fades. It is unbearable.”

Jinx’s head bowed. She knew that feeling all too well—the helplessness, the guilt, the ache that never truly eased. Could she endure that again if Isha slipped away? Could she survive knowing she'd had the chance to act and didn’t? Would she even want to survive?

“Then why ask me?” she bit out, “If you’re so certain, why don’t you just… do it,” her tone hardened, the bitterness almost daring him to take the choice out of her hands.

Singed paused, his calculating eyes unblinking. The silence stretched out, taut. Then, his voice dropped to a menacing murmur: “Do not assume I would not…”

Jinx scoffed.

Her mind scrambled in chaotic, tangled pieces—fragments of anger, confusion, and terror crashing together, each one snapping at her, demanding her attention. She had little time left to decide. A decision that was not truly hers to make.

Singed’s words sliced through the tension as a final, irrevocable verdict, “Prepare yourself. The girl will scream as you did. She will fight, if she is able, and perhaps she will hate you for it, but she will live. That is the only promise I can make.”

Jinx’s fist slammed against the ground. “Stop talking like it’s a done deal!" she shouted, "I don’t want her to suffer. There’s got to be another way. Something that doesn’t destroy her.”

Singed’s response remained unyielding, “There is no life without suffering. You know this. The question is: can you bear it if she cannot?”

Jinx collapsed forward, her body folding over Isha's as her arms protectively cradled the girl close. She pressed her forehead against the child’s, the slight warmth there providing a speck of hope. “I don’t know... I don’t know what to do…”

Singed’s presence loomed closer, his footsteps unnervingly quiet. “Indecision is a choice all the same," he said, an ominous whisper at her ear, "But time is not on her side. Further hesitation will cost her—cost me—everything. She needs you strong…” An uneasy pause settled between them. “Sleep now, child. When you wake...”

Jinx’s head lifted too late—his hand already moving with precision. The needle pierced her skin, the sharp sting sudden.

“You will be what she needs,” Singed continued, his words disembodied, as if echoing from a distant place, “You'll be her tether to sanity. The pain will blind her, but your presence will steady her, as it always has.”

The drug hit her bloodstream with a rush. The clearing, Isha's body, all spun as the edges of reality blurred into a haze of disorienting numbness. Her limbs grew heavy, too heavy to hold herself properly, and her conflicted thoughts began to scatter, flying further out of reach.

“The little one sees you as more than you realise…” Singed’s voice warped and distorted, blending with the swirling chaos in her mind. “Perhaps more than you can accept... That bond may save her yet.”

Jinx's vision faded, and her breaths sounded too loud in her ears. Her unhinged mind slipped, the maelstrom within her easing into a numb, suffocating void.

Her last conscious thought was of Isha—the little girl who had shielded her time and again, the one who sacrificed everything to protect her. Jinx's fingers, trembling with the last remnants of strength, curled weakly around Isha’s arm.

And as the world vanished, Jinx made a silent promise. It was, once more, her turn—to protect, to be exactly what Isha needed.

Chapter Text

The gentle, flickering glow of a lantern swayed faintly from the low ceiling of their tiny home, casting dancing shadows across the wooden walls. The faint scent of smoke and oil lingered in the air, while Papa’s workbench sat in the corner, cluttered with tools and scraps awaiting his touch. Isha sat cross-legged on the worn floorboards, her scuffed boots tapping softly as she fidgeted with restless energy. In her small hands, she cradled her beloved toy, Bunny. The once-white stuffed rabbit had faded to a muted grey, its fur worn thin in places from years of cuddling and adventures.

The rabbit bore the marks of their shared escapades: a crooked patch on one leg where Papa had stitched it up after their “battle” in the junkyard, scavenging for treasures he could repair and sell. Its left ear was frayed at the edges, flopping in a way Isha had confidently declared made it "one of a kind." Despite its battered appearance, Bunny was irreplaceable. Isha's best friend. Every night, she clutched it close, unwilling to sleep without it.

“Papa, it has to be perfect,” she insisted, thrusting Bunny forward, her pleading golden eyes shimmering. “She’s going to the grand party, and everyone will laugh if her bow is all messy.”

Her father knelt in front of her, his large hands dusted with grime from the day’s work. “The big party, huh? This Bunny of yours sure keeps busy. Last week, she was climbing cliffs, and now she’s off to fancy parties?”

“She can do both,” Isha replied matter-of-factly, swiping a stray strand of light brown hair from her forehead. “But tonight, she’s a hero and a guest of honour. So her bow has to be perfect.”

Her father chuckled as he took the weathered ribbon between his fingers. “Alright, let’s see what I can do. No promises, though... I’m better at patching up bunnies than dressing them for parties.”

“Papa, you’re supposed to be good at everything,” she quipped, kicking her boots against the floorboards, her legs stretching out in front of her. Scooting closer, she fixed him with a mischievous grin, her spirit as infectious as ever.

Her father paused for a moment, his fingers stilling on the ribbon as he looked up at her with a fond, knowing smile. “Well, I’m good at keeping you safe,” he replied, his voice dropping into a gentler tone, the playful edge softening. He focused back on the knot, tying it with deliberate care. “And I think that’s what matters most.”

Isha watched him intently, her brow furrowed as if judging his work. “Bunnies need someone to keep them safe too, right?” she asked, her voice small but firm, far too serious for her age.

Her Papa paused, meeting her gaze. His eyes retained all of their softness, but there was something unsettling about the way he was looking at her now, like he knew something she didn't, “They do. And you know what’s so special about bunnies?” 

Isha blinked, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the worn seam of Bunny’s ear. “What?”

“They don’t just survive on their own. They find a whole warren to look out for them. Other rabbits, strong ones, who’ll protect them if they’re lost or alone.” He reached forward, tapping her nose lightly with his finger, coaxing a smile from her, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “They find someone they can trust. Like you’ve got me. Right, kiddo?”

Isha stared at her father’s face; the affection in his eyes, the reassuring smile. But underneath the comfort, a cold knot began to tie in her stomach. The warmth she usually felt when he spoke wasn’t there anymore. Her Papa’s smile never wavered, steady as always, but something felt wrong. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the world around her had shifted somehow.

“Right,” she agreed, nodding solemnly, though it didn't seem to reassure her.

“There,” he said, holding up the bunny with its bow finally in place. “Ready for the grandest party in all of Zaun.”

Isha grinned, pushing the unease aside as she snatched the bunny back, hugging it tight. “Thanks, Papa! You’re the best.”

“And don’t you forget it,” he said, reaching out to ruffle her hair.

“Papa,” she said suddenly, her voice quieter now, “What if… What if bunnies get scared sometimes?”

Her father sat back on his heels, studying her. “Even brave ones get scared, kiddo. That’s why they need someone to protect them.”

“But what if they lose that someone?” Isha asked, her voice barely a whisper. She couldn’t quite understand why she needed to ask.

He hesitated, then pulled her into his arms, the bunny squashed between them. “Then they keep going, and someone else will come along. Someone who loves them just as much.”

“Like me,” she murmured into his chest. “I’ll keep Bunny safe.”

“And you’ll be the best protector there ever was,” he said, his voice warm. “But for now, that’s my job.”

Abruptly, the room warped, the lantern's glow flaring violently as shadows stretched and twisted into unnatural forms. Isha clung to her father. She gripped the fabric of his shirt, holding on as though he might never leave if she grasped tightly enough, but his voice began to fade, growing distant. “Isha…” The sound of her name drifted, echoing emptily.

No, no, no—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

Desperation raked at her as she clung to the fragments of memory, for that’s what they were, she realised with a cold jolt. The joy of laughter, the warmth of their cozy home, the sense of security woven into their days of play and make-believe. It was slipping away. The room unravelled into a surreal haze. She fought to hold on to the moment, anything to escape the dull, relentless thrum of pain creeping back into her consciousness.

The room quivered around her, and her beloved Bunny vanished—heartbreakingly so—before her father’s workbench followed, its familiar shape dissolving to ash. She pressed her head against her father’s chest, seeking solace, but the fleeting comfort began to erode. A glimmer of something cold and sharp intruded, one illusion slicing through the other. Then, a flash of steely eyes, vivid and stark amidst the chaos. Rugged figures loomed closer, towering and menacing, their presence suffocating, numbers tattooed across their foreheads. Then came the crack of gunfire. Once. Twice. A third shot shattered the tenuous scene.

Isha’s heart slammed against her ribs, and the world tilted violently. She lifted her chin upward, her gaze searching, pleading, but her father’s form began to dissolve into the encroaching void. The memory had been too perfect, too safe, too fleeting to hold on to. In her heart, an icy truth took hold, merciless.

It’s not real. He’s not really here.

A raw, shrill sob tore from her throat, shaking her small frame. 

'Papa… please,' she thought, her mind reaching out as though it could bridge the distance to wherever he might be. 'Don’t leave me. Please… not again.'

But his face melted away, dissolving into an empty loneliness. The echoes of his voice felt so distant now, remnants of a half-forgotten dream. 

Panic tightened its hold around her heart. 'I have to remember, I don't want to forget.' The thought flared in her mind, urgent. But before it could take root, a sharp, searing pain surged from her neck, spreading like wildfire through her small body. Her muscles tensed, her breath caught. Just as she opened her mouth to scream, she realised she was no longer in her memory-father's arms.

Another figure held her now. Slender, pale, with wild, electric blue braids whipping in the air like a living storm. Jinx.

Clinging to the fragile hope that this could be real, Isha reached for the same solace she had felt with her father. Jinx’s cool arms encircled her, and her voice, strange yet familiar, sliced through the fog of pain. Despite everything, Isha’s chest jolted, a fragile warmth blooming within her as Jinx’s grip firmed. It was protective, almost comforting, much like her father’s had been.

But something was wrong. The feeling, though grounding, didn’t quite fit. It wavered, tinged with an edge she couldn’t understand. Jinx’s voice, both sweet and unsteady, wove through the haze.

“I’m not going anywhere, Isha,” Jinx murmured, her high-pitched tone wavering on the edge of madness. Yet, beneath the unhinged lilt, there was something achingly sincere. A strange, fractured promise.

Isha’s lashes fluttered, her chest rising and falling with shallow, rapid breaths. The weight of Jinx's words pressed against her fragile hope. She wanted to believe them. She did believe them. Yet, even as Jinx’s arms wrapped tightly around her, they felt hollow, like an echo of comfort that couldn’t quite reach her. Torn between fear and trust, Isha’s heartbeat stuttered, quickening as her small hands clung tighter to Jinx’s dark clothes.

"Don't worry kid, I'm gonna get you through this." 

The promise felt like it should have soothed her, but before she could draw strength from it, Jinx vanished in a blink. Isha gasped, her arms encircling only air. She stumbled back, disoriented, as Jinx reappeared, crouched before her.

But this wasn’t right.

As if feeding on her deepest fears, the vision twisted. Jinx’s once playful and protective demeanour hardened into something unrecognisable. Her braids unfurled, loose and wild, framing a face steeped in chaos. Neon-glowing eyes burned with untamed energy, her mauve lips pulling into a manic grin that steered towards madness.

“You think you’re the protector now, huh?” The hallucination—because deep down, Isha knew with a sinking heart that that’s all it could be—sneered, her voice sharp enough to cut. The warmth Isha had clung to moments before was gone, replaced by an icy menace. “You died, kid. You died for nothing. And now... Now, maybe I should just go poow too.”

Jinx lifted her hands, a monkey-faced bomb resting in her palms, its sickly grin mirroring her own.

Isha staggered, shaking her head violently as she pressed her hands over her ears. But it didn’t matter. Her hallucinated tormentor’s laughter was deafening, a jagged, unrelenting sound that tore through her thoughts, her heart. All-too-real pain lanced through her side, sharp and blinding.

She tried to scream, but her voice was locked away, trapped behind the rising tide of panic and confusion. The edges of her vision curled inward, smouldering.

And then, the explosion came.

It wasn’t real, but it felt real. The sound consumed everything, the shattering force breaking her make-believe world apart. The ground beneath her cracked, crumbling as she fell into blackness.

Isha’s body jolted as her vision snapped back, reality crashing into her with the force of a brutal punch. Agony surged through her, a relentless reminder that she was somehow alive, every nerve alight with pain.

The hum of machines filled the air, a low vibration. Something hard pressed against her arms, pinning her in place, while a harsh light bore down, too bright, too blinding. The pain surged, sharp and consuming, as though something deep within her had been ripped apart. A moment later, she became aware of her own voice, raw and hoarse, joining the cacophony. She was screaming, the sound spilling out in desperate, fractured waves.

As the searing pain ebbed, leaving her dazed and half-conscious, Isha turned her head sluggishly. A figure loomed above her, indistinct. For a fleeting moment, she thought that it was her father, but the shape was wrong, distorted by the harsh lights overhead.

Then, her vision sharpened just enough, and she saw her. Jinx. Unmistakable. Real. Her pale, drawn face hovered just at the edge of her perception, her chapped lips moving soundlessly, the words lost to Isha’s disoriented mind.

Isha’s frantic pulse slowed, if only slightly, her trembling body shuddering against the aftershocks of agony. Her mind was momentarily at peace, cradled by the comfort of that bond, the unwavering connection she felt to Jinx. She couldn’t move, couldn’t utter a sound, but for a moment, Jinx’s presence was enough. The stark sterility of the lab blurred, softening under the fragile relief blooming in her chest. This was Jinx—real, alive—and so was she. They hadn’t been lost to death or despair, not yet, and the faint comfort of that truth settled in Isha’s chest. Jinx was still here, still hers, and in that certainty, Isha found something to hold onto.