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The Last Drop was quieter than usual, a faint haze of smoke lingering in the dim light, curling in lazy tendrils around the low-hanging lamps that had flickering bulbs in desperate need of replacement.
Vander stood behind the bar, a rag in hand, wiping down the counter out of habit more than necessity. Silco sat to one side, leaning back in his chair, his sharp eyes following the lazy spin of amber liquid in his glass, his pen twirling through his fingers as he scratched idle notes on a pad in front of him. Beside him, Felicia rested her elbows on the bar, one hand absently brushing over her swollen belly. The other tapped against the counter, keeping time with the faint melody playing on the jukebox. The tune echoing through the closed bar was familiar, an old worker’s ballad from the mines, now slowed into something softer and bittersweet.
"Connol not swinging by tonight?" Vander asked, nodding toward the door. "He owes Silco a drink, doesn’t he? Fool thought he could beat that bozo at cards."
Silco chuckled, a rare sound that escaped him like a knife slipping from its sheath. "Benzo tried to warn him, but you know Connol. Stubborn as a mule and twice as foolish."
Felicia smirked, swirling her drink idly. The straw circled the rim in lazy arcs, her eyes following it as she shook her head. "No, he’s pulling extra shifts," she said. "I can’t work the mines like this." She gestured lightly to her stomach. "Obviously. And... we need the money. Benzo’s watching Violet tonight - he owed me a favor."
Silco and Vander shared a glance, their expressions tense.
"If you every need anything, and I mean anything..." Vander reached out, his hand resting on the counter beside Felicia's, "you know we're here for you, Silco and I. Anything."
Silco didn’t speak, but his sharp gaze flickered up briefly, a silent echo of agreement. His brow furrowed as he glanced at her belly, then back at the pad in front of him, his eyes tracing the notes and drawings that laid out their dreams for something better.
"We know." Felicia said softly, her smile warm but tinged with weariness. The dark circles beneath her eyes betrayed a constant, bone-deep exhaustion, the kind that all Zaunites knew too well - a feeling that plagued them all. "I know."
It fell silent again, a comfortable silent that was tinted with the weight of everything they were trying to achieve - the hope of escaping the miserable lives Piltover's oppression pushed onto them, the fear of failing and the cruelty only growing worse.
They weren’t just sitting in a dimly lit bar - they were sitting in the shadow of Piltover’s skyline, dreaming of a future that felt almost out of reach, the weight of everything weighing heavy upon their shoulders.
"I miss the rhythm of it, sometimes." Vander said, breaking the silence. His voice was rough but low, like the comforting scrape of steel against rock. "The steady crack of a pickaxe hitting stone, how the gauntlets felt on my hands. The songs we would sing while we worked. Always knew where I stood in the mines. Wasn't nothing nice, but... it was consistent."
Felicia chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Don't lie. You hated it back then, used to curse every swing of that pick. I think you taught me more curses than I even knew existed."
"Aye, I did," Vander admitted with a grin. "But there was a peace to it, too. Just you and the earth. No politics, no schemes. Every man and woman beside you doing the exact same thing, just digging deep, looking for something valuable."
Silco snorted, swirling his drink as he rolled his eyes. "Valuable to Piltover, maybe," he said, his voice as sharp as broken glass. "Not much of it ever makes its way back to us. It's always politics."
The mood shifted slightly, the air growing heavier. Felicia cast a glance at Silco, her lips twitching into a faint smile. "Can't reminisce around you, can we, Silco? You always are the one to remind us of the unfairness of it all. The spark for our fire."
"Someone has to." Silco’s voice was quiet but cutting, his jaw tense, fingers tapping against his glass. "The mines aren’t just a job. They are a leash. A tool that Piltover uses to beat us into exhausted submission, a reminder of our status beneath them, nothing more than filth beneath their polished boots."
"Still," Felicia said, leaning back, "they give us a foundation." She looked at Vander. "You always said we built something good down there. Even if Piltover gets the majority materials, we find what we can use. The scraps they throw away turn into the foundation for our everything. Without the mines... we'd have nothing."
Vander nodded, his broad shoulders easing. "Aye. Found a way to make it work for us. That’s what we do, isn’t it? Take what we can from the rubble and build somethin’ solid."
"That’s the key to all of this," Silco said, his voice taking on a sharper edge. He leaned forward, the glass in his hand catching the light, his eyes bright. "It’s not the chem, the materials, or anything like that that matters. It’s the powder."
Vander raised an eyebrow. "The powder?"
"The crushed rock, the dust, the grit," Silco elaborated, his voice gaining momentum - this has always been his element, finding inspiration in the oppression they suffered. "The byproduct of everything Piltover rejects - that's what we are. We will shape our nation of Zaun, but you can’t shape the earth without breaking it down first. Powder is the foundation. You mix it, mold it, and it binds everything together. That’s how you create something enduring. Something that lasts. That is how we build our Nation of Zaun. Our home, free from Piltover, build from the powder of the earth we've broken."
Felicia tilted her head, her hand moving over her belly as she considered his words. "Powder..." she murmured.
Silco turned his sharp gaze on her, his lips quirking into a smile. "Yeah?"
Her expression softened, her fingers resting still over the life growing inside her. "That’s a good name. Powder."
The room stilled. Vander froze, his rag pausing mid-swipe as he turned his head to look at her. Silco blinked, clearly caught off guard, before his mouth, slowly, curved into a rare, genuine smile.
"Powder?" Silco mulled over the word, "well," he said after a moment, "I’ve certainly heard worse."
Vander’s laughter broke the moment, low and rich. He set the glass down with a solid thunk and reached for a bottle, pulling out another that wasn't alcoholic for Felicia, before pouring them all a drink. "Indeed. To Powder, then."
Felicia and Silco each raised their glasses, the three of them clinking them together gently.
"To Powder," Felicia whispered, her gaze distant, full of quiet dreams of a world where her girls wouldn't need to fear being called to the mines or the factories, a Zaun where her children could grow up as children and nothing more. "Violet and Powder. The foundations of our new world. Our Zaun."
Silco’s smile faded slightly, his expression growing thoughtful. He swirled his glass one last time, then lifted it higher. "To Zaun," he said firmly.
Their voices echoed his.
To Zaun.