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Caitlyn is convinced the Kiramman house is haunted by ghosts.
The empty halls of her family mansion betray no changes to the recent events in Piltover. The grand portraits of Kiramman ancestors remain still, frozen in time, oblivious to the shocking martyrdom of one of their descendants. No footsteps echo on the plush carpet. In fact, no sounds can be heard at all save for the occasional soft tinkle of a chandelier when a breeze passes through. Somewhere down the hall, a broken man mourns the loss of his wife.
Caitlyn has never been one to wrestle with inconsistent sleep but ever since her mother’s death, every night, she is plagued by dreams. Dreams of the ancestors in the portraits, ones she has never met before. They have the same sapphire blue eyes framed by the same severe lilt of eyebrows. Most of all, they hold her last name–Kiramman. Gathering around her in swarms, they whisper in her ears, a cacophony of scoldings and praises for her recent actions.
“You did good, dear. The Undercity has been left unruly for far too long. You gave them an inch and look how far they ran away with it!”
“Spraying the Grey into the vents to weed out one individual while endangering hundreds of innocents is not what they were built for. Your mother entrusted you with the Kiramman Key before she died and this is what you do with it? Perhaps you were right to question your worth to the Kiramman name.”
“Your mother was killed by those vermin. This is what happens when you get close to one of them. That girl has the same blood as your mother’s killer. You made the right choice to abandon her.”
“How foolish of you to take on the mantle of leadership when you're barely worthy of the name of the house you're representing. That Noxian warlord is not to be trusted and you allowed yourself to be led with the shackles of your grief.”
“Zaun must be crushed. Jinx’s head will be on a spike. Only then will your revenge be complete.”
“You're smarter than that, Caitlyn. You know better than to let your emotions control you. Don't make the wrong choice.”
“Mother!” Caitlyn jolts awake with a start, breath heaving in short, stuttering pants, bright blue eyes wide open and alert. Once her brain registers the familiar darkness of her bedroom, she slowly calms down, bringing trembling hands to her face. Her night clothes, slick with sweat, stick uncomfortably to her back.
She could've sworn that the last thing that was said to her before she woke up was from her mother.
Cassandra Kiramman telling Caitlyn not to make the wrong choice.
At this rate, these goddamn dreams will kill her before a stray Zaunite rocket gets the chance to.
Judging from the total darkness of her room and the cool breeze that sifts through the curtains from the open window into her sheets, it's still nighttime. It won't dawn for another couple of hours.
Caitlyn rubs her bare arms and shuts her eyes tight in an attempt to clear her head. These dreams always disorient her, leaving her feeling lost and vulnerable more than ever. She always hears the same voices, the same Kiramman ancestors whispering in her ears. But not once, did her mother's voice pay a visit among the hordes of strangers who had passed long before Caitlyn ever learned of their names.
Today was the first time.
“You're smarter than that, Caitlyn.”
She almost wants to laugh. Even in death, Cassandra has to patronise her with the same tactics she used to get Caitlyn to fall in order ever since she was a child.
One time when she was in her teens, she ditched one of her mother's elaborate social functions in favour of practising shooting out in the field. Her mother was furious at her for discarding the dress she chose for her father's worn-out breeches and even more so when she found Caitlyn meddling with a rifle when she was supposed to be socialising with the elite families of Piltover as a representative of the Kiramman clan.
“Your hobby is endearing, Caitlyn, but it is not something you will pursue when you're older. As a councillor’s daughter, your actions reflect the entire body. You're much better off forming connections with the best of what Piltover has to offer. Perhaps you’ll find a better suited career path that will reflect well upon the Kiramman name rather than wasting time with something that will not benefit you in the future. You're smarter than that, dear.”
With a firm grip on Caitlyn’s shoulders, she directed Caitlyn away from the target on the field, the rifle slung over her own shoulder, fully intending on locking it away for good. Caitlyn can still remember–almost feel– Cassandra’s long nails biting into the skin of her clavicle.
Caitlyn always knew she was intelligent but she hated the way her mother weaponised it to antagonise her from pursuing her own path. For years, it made her doubt herself and the legitimacy of the real goal she had been chasing ever since she was young–
To become an Enforcer and find a way to make peace with the Undercity.
Much to Cassandra's disappointment, Caitlyn ended up stealing the rifle from where it was hidden and went on to becoming an Enforcer. But that didn't stop her mother from getting in the way of her career, using her influence to demote Caitlyn to only being in patrol positions.
It frustrated Caitlyn to no end at her mother's constant meddling. “I only wish to keep you safe, dear.” was Cassandra’s defence whenever Caitlyn demanded an audience from her mother in her office. “The war between Piltover and the Undercity is a decades long conflict that has long since been at the crossfire. Many lives are lost from both sides. I simply do not want your name to be added to the list of victims caught in this war.”
“You know better, Caitlyn and it will do you good to give up your foolish dream of peace.”
Caitlyn shivers when a particularly strong gust of wind blows from her window, stirring her loose hair and the mixed feelings in her heart. Why is she so adamant on forging peace with Zaun? Is it really because she wants to rebel against the strict regime she was raised in by her parents in Topside? Part of her believes that it was one of her driving forces when she was younger.
Until she saw the state of Zaun herself. The filthy streets, the starving people, children with hollow, empty eyes devoid of anything but the darkness they were raised in, gangs and violence everywhere.
Even the air was stifling. Reeking of stagnant water, hardworking bodies, and sweaty clothes. A stark contrast to the crisp, fresh air of Piltover she was used to breathing in. Taking it for granted. She hadn't realised how much of a privilege it was to wake up to blue, sunny skies and clean air everyday when the people of the Undercity reside in cold darkness, far away from the warmth of the sun.
She swore to herself she would never become an entitled, self-absorbed Piltovian, that she was better than that. But, was she? Was she really mindful of her privilege when she used the very same vents her mother built to spray the Grey into the Undercity, endangering the lives of hundreds of innocents, in hopes of weeding out her mother’s killer? Was she really better than the average Piltovian who trampled over the lives of innocent Zaunite civilians just to get what they want?
Grieving for a mother was a privilege hundreds of people from Zaun never had the opportunity to have.
“Up again?” Caitlyn feels a hand rubbing soothing circles on her back, startling her out of her thoughts. She had almost forgotten about the body that resided on her bed.
Ever since the failed attack on Jinx, the chilliness of the Undercity clung to her very bones. It lingered whenever she addressed the council, caressing her in a way that prickled goosebumps under her new commander uniform. Ambessa’s watchful gaze from the sidelines only served to further exacerbate the cold.
Bedding a body was one way to dissipate the chill, even if it was only a temporary measure. It always returns as soon as she puts on the uniform.
“Are you feeling alright?” the hand doesn't stop rubbing her back, making its way to her shoulders, clinging to her in reassurance. Caitlyn has half a mind to push it away but decides against it. It doesn't make a difference anyway. The touch was meant to be comforting, but it only sharpens Caitlyn’s sense of emptiness.
To Caitlyn, Maddie’s body was about as warm as the dying embers of a campfire left outside in the wilderness for hours. A mere tease that barely satisfies her ravenous craving to be set ablaze.
Everything in Piltover is cold , she realises.
“It’s nothing to be concerned about,” Caitlyn answers curtly, keeping her tone even. “I was simply feeling restless.”
Maddie hums in reply behind her though Caitlyn could tell she did not really believe her. Yet the ginger-haired enforcer knew better than to press further. Caitlyn always made sure that these “professional entanglements,” as Ambessa aptly put it, remained as such– professional . She was careful to never expose her vulnerability to the enforcer which included her persistent nightmares.
Like everyone in Piltover, Maddie has expectations. Their entanglements in bed are not an excuse to let the mask fall loose.
Caitlyn can almost hear her mother's voice in her ears, “You are a Commander now, Caitlyn. You must behave as such. Be strong for the people who look up to you. Falling short of their expectations will lead to chaos. A Kiramman never falters.”
Caitlyn’s lips twitch into a humourless smile. Even in death, Cassandra Kiramman clings to her like a shadow.
“It is not yet dawn. You have a meeting with the Council in the morning. You need the rest.” Maddie now wraps her arms around Caitlyn’s waist, resting her head on Caitlyn's shoulder blades.
The familiar feeling of goosebumps erupts on Caitlyn’s skin, causing a shiver to run down her spine. But she ignores it and joins Maddie in bed, the enforcer curled up beside her, fast asleep in seconds.
As Caitlyn closes her eyes and begins to drift off to sleep, she wonders if her mother would be proud of her for handling the exchange with Maddie just now.
She awakes less than an hour later, bed freezing, the body beside her a block of ice pressed to her skin. For a moment, she allows herself to grieve for the warmth of the person she truly wants beside her but had abandoned in an underground sewer along with her discarded dreams for peace.
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As soon as she locks eyes with the person trying to sneak into the camp outside Victor’s commune, Cailtlyn immediately registers the familiar powder blue irises.
Several months have passed between them, enough for her to see plenty of physical changes. Face covered in dirt and grime, more bandages wrapped around bloodied knuckles, once vibrant pink hair now an–
“Angry oil slick.” Caitlyn finds herself saying, tone curt and haughty.
Vi chuckles, flicking her black hair to the side. “Don't sugarcoat it, Cupcake.”
There is no touch between them but Caitlyn can feel the beginnings of the fire she had craved for months begin to ignite in the pit of her belly.
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The flames of that fire ignite when she feels Vi kissing down the expanse of her neck. She barely registers the cold concrete of the prison cell against her back.
No, nothing feels cold. Everything is warm. Hot. Deliciously so.
Her arms cling desperately onto Vi’s broad, muscular shoulders, chasing that fire, that delicious burn coursing through her veins. Fumbling hands and shared chuckles give way to that final push she so ravenously craved when Vi gets her trousers off as she envelops her with the hot skin of her body.
I’ve missed your warmth, Vi.
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The aftermath of the battle left wounds both physical and mental on each other.
Caitlyn still struggles to adapt to her new field of vision. Her blinded left eye, now covered with an eye patch, hurts but she bears through it. Her days are spent in her mother’s office with the Kiramman Key, noting down the events of what had transpired, going through old records, sending teams to search through the wreckage of the city. all in hopes of catching a glimpse of bright blue hair.
Forgiveness is too simple of a word to condense what Caitlyn feels towards Jinx. Her mother’s death cannot be so easily forgiven. But she will cross that bridge when she finds Vi’s sister first.
Because if there is no body to be found, it means she’s surely alive somewhere.
Vi hasn’t made an effort to aid in the search for her sister, choosing to lock herself up in her room and grieve alone. Caitlyn understandingly gives her the space she needs. She knows Vi needs moments to vent out her grief by herself in the presence of no one before she joins Caitlyn in bed for the night. She clutches onto Caitlyn, the only person in her life left, like a lifelines in sleep. Caitlyn doesn’t mind. She lets the warmth of her lover’s trembling flesh warm her bones as she places soft, gentle kisses on her forehead.
Healing is a process they’ll have to go through together. What is left between Piltover and Zaun is still far from unresolved. Fights over territory still break out, albeit not as often or severe with the number of losses on both sides, but there’s still a lot of work that she and Mel, the only Council members left, have to do.
There’s much she wants to say to Vi too, but she waits for when Vi is ready to talk. The future is uncertain but on this particular night when Caitlyn cradles her lover’s head against her chest in bed, she silently promises herself to fight by her side, no matter the cost.