Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

War has begun.

As you cut into the fray, the smoke clears with the rush of Zaunites passing through the thick screen. You can see Piltover clearly now from above the plated skies, the chemical filled fissures. Blood and corpses decorate it like the arena you remember growing up in and you see people dressed in navy fight. Elegant Piltovans, marked Zaunites, none of these origins matter anymore when you clash against the wolf's chosen.

Rippers of white and maroon staining the City of Progress with their sins, picking apart sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers and children alike with no discrimination. It's a grueling sight, to look at death right in its ugly maw, to see hell crack open beneath your feet and its demons crawling out. Mannequins crawling and rushing like beasts, Noxians attacking like feral animals.

Yet no matter how strong they are, how much they decimate, Piltover and its army holds strong. And so will you.

You see eyes widen as you rush to attack, soldiers clearly thinking of you as one of their own at first due to your red clothing and weapons, realizing too late that their fate is sealed by your hand. But after a couple of enemies downed, they realize your position and get back to their feet, targeting you as another victim to be claimed.

You won't let them.

Sparks fly as you block, the weight of your metal arm overcoming the strength of muscle no matter if scratches are delivered, no matter how hard they push back. With your new limbs you push back harder. Quickly planting the blades in a Noxian's foot you knee the fool with your mechanic leg, twisting painfully to punch at another before taking back your weapons, slicing the both of them.

From the side you see Silco, red, black and silver flashing as he expertly dodges, daggers whipping in the cracks of the dark armors surrounding him while he delivers blows with a strength unlike anything you've seen from him. He isn't the industrialist anymore, fighting with words and influence, or the young and foolish rebel he once was, no he is a revolutionary, a warrior forged in the fissures by chemicals and blazing determinations. By blisters and bedrock.

You nod at one another, smiles softly ripping through your faces before you get back into the fight.

He'll be alright.

He has to be.

So you fight with that knowledge, heart stabbed at each new corpse dropping from your side, at each Zaunite and Piltovan sacrificed in this senseless war. And no matter how it came to be, you'll end it. Today, here and now.

You get thrown to the ground, punched, kicked, stabbed, sliced, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters but the mission. You will give Jayce time, you will fight for humanity, and you will win. There is no backing down now, not now, not ever.

"I thought you tin cans were better than this!"

You taunt, blades slashing against armor and tearing through flesh. Your expertise as a pit fighter coming in to let you zero in on the soldiers' weaknesses even through their armors. Every living being has a weak spot, and unluckily for them you know them all, and you play dirty like the Sump rat you are. Just like Keradon taught you all these years ago, carved into your flesh and mind with each scar.

It's painful, your nerves screaming at the metallic limbs swinging and moving with such vigor so early in your journey to recovery, your body groaning with each new cut delivered to you.

But will not falter.

Even when a Noxian pierces you with his spear, you walk the length of the pole, the metal sliding in the piercing wound as you cut their head off, pulling away the last of the weapon from yourself. The bleeding is intense, could be fatal if you don't cauterize.

So you get an idea.

You slide one of your knuckle blades back into its sheathe at your waist, letting the knowledge of your new limbs come back to mind.

And you hold the rev of your wrist to heat the fist up.

The metal glowing orange in no time as cyan blue travels through the intricate plating, your eyes closing before you place your fingers in the wound, front and back. Your teeth grind in pain and the smell of burnt flesh makes your stomach cry out, but when your gaze snaps back open to grasp at a white construct and you squeeze, you're thankful to realize that no more blood escapes you and that the ceramic like body seems to melt and crack against the power of heat.

"Okay. Alright, I see you Powder."

Your groan animates you as you continue marching, rushing to another band construct snapping and attacking your brethren. Blade hooking around their pristine bodies before you punch and melt your way through their chests, fist now white hot and blinding. You don't have the time to respond to the thanks of those you've helped before you're thrown away, a giant armored beast making you clash against stone rubble.

Your blade cuts flesh and your arm melts through metal but the hold he has on your neck is enough to make you fear for a crack and sudden inescapable darkness.

Think. Think. Think.

Your vision blurs as a hit is delivered to your stomach. Legs suddenly feeling heavier as you're hoisted off of the ground.

Your leg.

You twist your ankle and hit the sole of your metallic foot against the building behind you, a rattling shaking through your body before you hit again. Your knee shoots up and collides with the beast's chin, sending it reeling backwards and you down and back to the ground. But you do not take a moment to breathe, no, you rev up your leg once more, struggling as you shoot upwards and bring it into the armored chest with gusto. Blood splatters all over you as you pull your foot out.

But you do not falter.

You are not allowed to.

I won't let myself be beaten.

You run like a fowl rushing instead of learning to walk, the speed granted by the new limb almost impossible to register as your flesh leg follows it. So your left arm holds up its blade, braced against your chest, and you slam against a group of Noxians, unleashing your weapon at the last second, hemoglobin flying like a grotesque tableau while bodies topple down from the mechanic force.

So much for an army of war forged nut jobs.

But they haven't got anything on an oppressed people with centuries of accumulated rage.

You stomp through the corpses for good measure, footprints caving in their chests as you continue forwards. Navy and earthy tones fight side by side in a dance against red and white, and your heart swells at the unity. Hard earned and unexpected in this newer, more dangerous war, one where so much more is at stake than your two nations.

But unity nonetheless.

"Fuck!"

You're held back by constructs, agile, quick, deadly, and much stronger than they look. Humans made into mindless killing machines. Unfortunately for them, no matter how much your bones groan under their claws, you're a killing machine too. And your mind and human desperation makes you much more dangerous and unpredictable.

Knock.

I need to knock.

You rev up your leg once more, the rush pushing some of the gilded ceramic beings enough for your fist to be freed and knock through the air. With the motion comes a blue shield, arcane in nature yet solid, sending some constructs flying back and cutting through the others unlucky enough to find themselves beneath its edge.

A homemade guillotine.

A chuckle escapes you as you knock once more, using your leg's propulsion ability you rush forwards, hot fist slicing through the air like a comet raining down on the arcane angels. They resist but the white hot metal is a weakness against the softness of their bodies, material unable to withstand the heat.

"Out of my way, freaks. Once human or not, I'm not letting that shit stop me. You're not winning today."

You pant, hand seizing the last one's neck, fist melting through the cold webbing.

"Humanity will prevail."

The head rolls on the ground, claws once upon a time tearing at your flesh now inert as you throw the body away.

To your left you see Sevika and a band of navy clad soldiers hold their own while surrounded by Noxians. So you rush.

One.

Two.

Three.

And you shoot up. The world smaller when you're high up in the air only takes your breath away for a second as you remember the last ability given to you by Power's amazing craft. You twist your wrist and bring your arm down, colliding like a meteor on top of the group, soldiers knocked back as you hold yourself up.

"Sev, go!"

"So you can have all the fun?" She smirks and you get into position, your other blade following its brethren in its holster.

"Yeah, and so I can flaunt my new fucking body mods you hyena!"

Enemies rush at you and you wait until the last second to jump up and knock, bodies cut and others thrown back before you let your leg send you flying to them, jumping high up before your arm's jet pulls you down, metal melting through metal as you shoot through Noxians like a knife through butter.

The last thing you see in their eyes is something you never thought you'd see. Reverence.

"Do it then. Take it. Take your life back from me, child." Had said the wolf.

And you fucking did. Who cares about a beast, you're the wolf now.

A whistle rings from behind you. "What did you call that one?" Your head turns at the tease and you smirk.

"I don't know, Sev. But it probably hurts like a bitch and it kills, so that's enough for me."

"Atta girl."

"Oh fuck off." A noise whips through the air and you turn around, pushing Sevika out of the way before you unleash your shield once more, lances clattering against the arcane barrier. "Now get back to fighting because if you die stupidly I'll mock you for the rest of eternity."

Chuckles escape the both of you as you part ways, her flesh finger flipping you a very lovely bird as she punches her way through the fray.

The movement of propulsion gets easier to handle as you fight more and more, the hextech powered limbs never tiring with use. You think back to Jayce and Viktor, of all the years they've put into perfecting that technology, and to Powder who cracked it like it's a child's math problem. All of the blood sweat and tears used to create a better world now ruined and sullied by greed and pride, powered by hatred.

Humanity's greatest sins.

But as you shield yet another group from near death and punch your way through the enemy, you realize one thing.

That as ugly as you can be, you can learn, you can grow. That no matter how unsightly you can be, you are. You think. You exist. And even better yet, you feel. And that all that breeds corruption also brings upon greatness and unity.

Humanity's greatest weakness and strength is itself and its capacity for free will, sentience, science, emotion and creativity.

Humanity is humanity because as beautiful as it can be, as much as it can do great things, it's imperfect, it has flaws.

And no one will take that, not even over my cold dead body.

You swear to yourself while you continue. You re adapt to your body, stance low and animalistic as you take back your marks, fists of flesh and metal knocking against their kin, mechanical claws ripping, heated alloy burning through skin and melting armor. Your body soars high and dips low, it rushes forwards and evades back with unkempt balance but so much power that your steps leave their permanent marks carved into the floors of Piltover.

Your momentum is stopped by chains, arms trapped backwards in a vice while hands pull at your limbs. Digits claw at your flesh, leaving indents in the muscle and skin, blood shining black even on the dark armor as you're dragged to your captor. So once they've got you, you brace yourself, revving your leg against theirs as you flip backwards, your arms using the chain keeping them tied as a noose around the Noxian's neck before you pull down, knocking the back of the armored skull against metallic knee plating. You melt through the binding, hand shoved onto the enemy's face and melting through it, a cry muffled by death all too soon.

You see from afar a familiar frame, lithe, sporting a large backpack and tonfas as he fights a duo of constructs to protect a group of people.

You nearly make your way there on all fours, punching the ground to flip up before your leg's jet makes you spin mid air, knocking the robots with a well placed kick.

"You're from the strike team aren't you?" He nods and you tongue at your cheek. "Thought I recognized you." You rev up your fist, punching through the two evolved before you turn back around.

"How are you faring?"

He points to the wounded he is keeping safe, eyes concerned at their wounds and a deep breath makes your bruised ribs sing in sweet agony.

"I'll protect you while you get your shit done, so do your best." His eyes widen, scales shifting intricately before his face hardens in determination. "Good, wouldn't have accepted no anyways. Do you got a name…" You stare at his beret to determine his rank, finding the pin adorning it. "..lieutenant?"

"Steb." He says roughly, apparently unused to talking. The aquatic vastaya keeping his eyes trained on you intensely while you turn back around to prepare for incoming enemies. You tell him your name, fists bunched as you raise your shield, swinging it at a couple of opponents before you rush their way.

You don't know how much time it takes, sweat already dripping from before now washing away the blood crusting at the cuts covering you. But then a hand clamps on your shoulder and before you can raise your arm to attack you spy teal skin from your side and relax.

The man pulls you away, letting the others return back to the fight before he sits you down, your body heavy with exhaustion but still the war doesn't seem to come to an end. More Noxians. More constructs. More death. All happening before your eyes as Steb cleans and sews up your wounds, dressing them tightly with expert hands as he chews on his lips.

"I forgive you, you know."

His head lifts after knotting the last bandage, surprise coloring his face.

"That bitch Ambessa was poisoning everyone topside, and while I hate Piltover and what they've done to my people, I know that her presence here raised the war banners from the second she set her filthy foot on our land. Her and her army of glorified murderers." You sigh, getting back up through the screams of protest your body delivers you.

"I also know grief is one hell of a fucking thing, and that when in proper conditions anyone can be a monster. Plus, you didn't seem enthralled to be doing what you've done either, so I forgive you Steb. We're all probably gonna die anyways, even if we're not allowing death to be our last word on this earth. So let's let bygones be bygones and focus on fighting for a unified future, yeah?"

Your flesh hand stretches to his in a peaceful gesture, a truce that may be symbolic after what's currently happening, but one that motivates the man before you. His own gloved hand gripping yours with gusto and a solemn nod.

"Don't die on us lieutenant. You're a good guy and we need more people like you to show the new era a peaceful way forward."

You tap his shoulder with a friendly smirk before turning around, throwing a wave over your shoulder before rushing back into the fight.

No rest for the wicked.

Blood flies and sparks light up your way as white hot metal and blue glowing mechanisms pierce through the enemy. Your body covered in wounds every new moment that the gods make. You are made to kneel, kicked, punched and slashed but nothing stops you, rage fueling your steps as you claw your way through Noxian lines.

You twist and turn, body like a feral animal's while others fight as humans as if the beast wasn't them, ruining a land and its people for the sake of greed and unknown machinations.

But you'll show them a monster alright, fight like the wolf they venerate, make them see fear and pain like they never have before. You'll make them regret taking the choice of free will and life away from you by ripping theirs apart. That'll show them what hundreds of years of oppression does to someone, what their plans do to those the use once they unshackle themselves from the Noxian chains of fate.

You're angry, fighting as such. But terror racks through you. Where is Silco? Is he alright? Is he dead? If so, where is his body? What will you do if or once you find it? Will you lose this fight?

Is this war meant to be lost?

No it can't be, it shouldn't be. Right? Nothing is ever foretold, prophecies are placebos, fate is a shackle created for the masses, destiny is a myth.

But you can't help but to worry. Where is the man you love? Will you hear his voice again? Will you laugh with him, taste his lips or hold him ever again? Will you die before him? Will you suffer? Will he? Will all of them?

Will you die before you can know what being "Mrs. Silco" is truly like?

Will more of your people suffer needless deaths? Will Jayce succeed? Will Viktor?

Will Piltover and Zaun crumble to let the world come down next, or will you win against all odds? Because everything seems ugly right now, and no matter how many you kill, more come to replace them. An endless supply of meat and metal puppets for an army straight from hell.

Where is Powder? Is she with Ekko? What are they planning? Are they safe? Did they make it here or were they stopped before being able to do anything? Are the Firelights okay? Will you get the promised air support? Will she be okay? Will he? Will they? Are they?

So many questions. Yet no matter how many what ifs, no matter how much horror and doubt fill your mind, you keep on going.

I have to.

A dagger flies past you and through a construct's head as you finish off a soldier, head tilting up to see familiar feet.

"Fancy seeing you here, dove. I might say, murderous is a look that fits you quite well."

You turn and bring your shield down on the arcane angel's neck, severing it from its body.

"Ah, my savior. Always the charmer, aren't you my love?"

When you get back up arms wrap around you and spin you, lips soon finding yours as you melt into the embrace. Blue and teal soon finding your eyes, terrified, exhilarated and exhausted.

"Gods I've missed you." You chuckle, stealing another kiss from Silco.

"And I, you." You spin the both of you around, heating your fist to melt a blade before Silco slams a knife in the Noxian's neck, still holding you close.

"How have you been?"

"Sticky, exhausted and fucking angry. You?"

"Just about the same, terrified for you as well."

"Then that makes two of us." He sways you from side to side in a tender dance before letting go, holding you at arm's length to look at you. "Don't worry, the vastayan medic patched me up."

Your eyes rake through him, beaten black and blue, bursting with hot blood where his flesh is split.

"I should see him too, then."

"Please do Silco, I don't think I can handle you getting hurt already. So I don't want you bleeding out in my arms at the very least."

"Better there than in one of theirs." He spits out, his forehead gently knocking against yours, lips turning up softly. "How can you still look beautiful even now? You never cease to surprise me, my dove."

His voice is low, whispered against the chaos of the world around you but so much louder than anything else you can hear. His eyes search yours, filled with adoration and devotion, concern and determination. He soothes your aching body and soul, suddenly feeling all too light even through such a pivotal moment of history.

"I think you're one to talk, darling. You are the most beautiful sight in all of Runeterra, always have been in my eyes." You mutter back.

His hair is wild, strands coming undone from his bun, silver and ink whipping in the wind. His scars are healthy, his eye shining bright blue instead of the orange that reminds you so much of your forge, the new tone bringing you clarity.

Blue like the sky when the clouds part and the sun is high.

Blue like the water that cradled your bodies that day.

Blue like what powers your limbs and helps you fight to reclaim what's rightfully yours.

Blue like the bruises blossoming on your bodies.

Blue like the polar opposite of the bloody Noxian red, waving its warring banners at you like a toreador taunts the bull in a corrida.

Blue, changing the violent orange hue once healed from his trauma. From his pain. From his dependence to visions that destroyed him, clinging to ghosts that dragged him to hell with them and corrupted his loving heart.

A calm, peaceful, loving and cooling blue that shows you nothing but endless affection.

White hands grip at Silco and try to pull him back before you throw him behind you, raising your shield. The man sliding before you to slash at the construct after you retreat. Your own form attacking after his with a heavy, jet powered punch.

"Back off from my man you glorified puppet freaks!"

And the attacks continue, the two of you working in tandem, in the perfect cadence you've worked on for months during missions. Heavy punches followed by graceful cuts, your body a jumping pad for his lithe form as he slides from side to side and you throw yourself up and down. Your aggressive style and power matching his swiftness and agility in a terrifying waltz.

"Your man, huh? Laying your claim already?"

He pants as you two twist and turn, switching places back and forth as you two try to cover all of your sides.

"I don't hear you complaining-"

You groan as you get stabbed through the stomach, head tilting in disdain at the soldier before you as you break his arm and slam him to the ground with your hand around his throat and a well timed rev.

"-you were mine the second you confessed, you fossil." You snap the Noxian's neck, getting back up to your feet to see Silco staring at you intently.

"Gods. Possessive? A woman after my own heart."

He throws a dagger behind you, landing right between an unguarded enemy's eyes, his voice once more ringing in your ears. "Good. Because anybody that looks at you, and let alone touches you, will have to face me. I like that we're on the same page."

He kisses you once more, breathless, needy, desperate. His tongue meets yours and teeth clash and lips sting but you don't care when you finally fully taste all that he has to offer. Salt and metal from blood, sweat and tears mix with faint traces of tobacco ingrained in his flesh from years of smoking.

"You plan on making love to me me on the battlefield, Silco?" You push back, smirking at the man before his hand finds your chin and brings you into another searing kiss.

"As good as that sounds, no one gets to see what's mine but me. Especially with how much I want to love you with the entirety of my being." His tone is soft yet softly veiled in soft hunger when he pulls away, letting go of you to take back his breath.

You feel a pang of desire course through you at his words, shaking your head to rid yourself of the images he is currently painting in your mind.

Messy, sweaty. Both of you groaning and moaning in pleasure as you become one. The feeling of finally being full in every way possible. Marks covering the both of you as you move, electricity shaking you to your core as you come once more around him. Feeling him spill himself within you yet never once stopping, wishing to remain as one forever. In fear of either of you disappearing as if in a dream. A proof of your love as your mouths meet tearfully, sharing all of what words cannot say with desperation and adoration on your lips.

Not the moment.

You chastise yourself.

"How can you think of that at such a moment?" You laugh incredulously, blinking away the last of your previous thoughts.

"What can I say? It's hard to stay impassive in front of you."

"Flirt."

"Minx."

You sigh as he chuckles, levity appreciated in such a moment, yet quickly replaced by your determination once more. Back sticking to his you look around, constructs climbing from all over to surround you. A lot of them, more than the tiny groups you could handle up until now.

A hiss leaves you as you count.

One, two, three…More than a dozen.

Shit.

You pull Silco in your arms, revving up your leg and jumping as high as you can, using your shield with a well timed propulsion of your arm to slam down on some of the constructs, crushing them.

The man in your arms is rattled but quickly understands, climbing onto your back. He's heavier than he looks, your diet and lifestyle having clearly put some more weight and muscle on him. But through sheer will and the help of your mechanical limbs you manage to hold him up in a piggy back, flying up once more before you use your fist to direct yourself somewhere safer.

But nowhere is. Constructs now flooding the city as you land right in their grip, the machines ripping Silco away from you, the last thing holding the both of you together being your interlaced fingers. Desperately gripping onto one another as you're pulled apart.

Your vision blurs and darkens from the sudden rush of pain and the lack of oxygen, arm and leg kept away from any position letting you take back your advantage.

That's not how I die.

You keep on gritting in your head. Again and again as your hold on Silco weakens. He calls out to you weakly through the pain and dizziness, but you can't hear through the loud pounding of your heart.

That's not how I die.

You pull and pull, clenching your jaw as you try to escape the humanoid monstrosities holding you in their gilded clutch. But your eyes roll back, darkness veiling your eyes and leaving only the soft blue glow of Silco's healed eye in your sight. The light at the end of the tunnel, soft and warm, welcoming you to the afterlife.

That's not-

Explosions resound and the hold on you suddenly disappears, constructs either pierced by bullets or escaping them.

And as your vision returns and warm arms hold you up, you see it.

Colored smoke.

Hearing returns to you then, music loudly blasting from all around you while the corrupted angels rush to it, and to you.

"You little shit." You chuckle, remembering Powder's comment about aerial support.

The girl sure has a sense of timing and drama, just like her father.

Wind flows past you with an electrical hum as hoverboard mounded Firelights appear from all around, helping your troops rid themselves of constructs and Noxians alike.

You gaze at the flashes of green zipping through the air, then further up at the giant balloon flying over Piltover. The aerial support is finally here.

"Your daughter sure knows how to make an entrance, my love." You chuckle, getting back up to your feet and dusting yourself.

"Our daughter, dove." He calls out and you find yourself smiling, heart softly thrumming at the implication of finally having a family together.

You turn around and grasp him tight, a gentle peck delivered to his lips before you pull away, determined and assured, dipping to retrieve Silco's daggers from the ground and handing them back to him.

"Now let's go, our people need us."

"Yes ma'am." He teases back, yet finality punctuates his tone. No matter what levity you bring to the table, war is war, and you have to win this. So with a last kiss you go your separate ways, lips interlocking sweetly and lovingly. "Stay safe."

"You too, my love."

You jump up, using your arm and leg to shoot through the battlefield like a comet, swatting away at the constructs trying to grab onto the hoverboard mounted Firelights. The Zaunites rush forward into battle, protecting their brethren and those who were once their enemies to secure a better future.

It all happens quickly, one moment your people are fighting and the next the sky opens. Dark clouds swirling to let light breach their center in a terrifying halo, unsanctified and unholy. In the center of it, Viktor.

Jayce needs help.

And he needs it now.

So you run, using your revving to climb onto a passing hoverboard, your legs barely escaping the constructs' suddenly much more violent behavior. You slam your shield down on them, using the jet on your arm to swat them away before you cling to the man flying the machine you're on.

"I'm going up, think you can get me close?"

White hair shifts as the boy looks to you, a white hour glass marking around his face.

"Sure thing, Mrs. Silco."

Fuck.

So that's Ekko.

You smirk, looking up ahead at the Hexgates, growing taller and bigger the closer you get.

"Powder's rubbing off on you, Ekko."

"And you're rubbing off on Silco." He snorts and you chuckle back, tapping his shoulder.

"Family dinners are bound to be fun at the very least."

The thought occurs to you as you speak it, Sundays with Powder, Ekko, Isha, Violet, Caitlyn and Silco. An unlikely family composed of many clashing personalities, yet loving all the same, even if not made by blood but forged by trust.

It would be messy and soft, cooking with the girls and the boys, sharing topics that make the lot of you laugh, playing games.

It's a brilliant thought, the one to be part of such a beautiful patchwork of a family.

"Tell me about it. Was already one mess and a half with Vander, Benzo and the boys. Can't imagine the new layout."

You keep on hanging tight to the boy who turns the hoverboard upwards, the two of you now sailing vertically. To your left and right you see constructs climbing, catching up and chasing the two of you. Even with the current speed you're going at, you know that the ceramic beasts will eventually reach you.

"Ekko?!" You call out from behind him.

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna drop for a sec. You take the left, I take the right, catch me so I don't die!"

The boy has no time to react before you eject yourself from your spot, the energy rattling his hoverboard as you soar to your right, using your arm to slam at high speed against the arcane angels, knocking to bring your shield down while you rev up your leg and cut downwards.

Through all of them.

You're free falling, no fail safe but the hope that Ekko will come by soon because the ground seems to be getting closer. And that's when you see it.

Tendrils of light coming from the sky like strings tying to a puppet's limbs. And from the blurry landscape you see you're not too far off.

People, standing still, held by constructs, seem to be kept in place by the treacherous light, as if a pike pierces them. The sight much too angelic and silent, much too deceiving when you know for sure it's the kingdom of the damned painting your world in shades of blood red, mocking white and rotten gold. Summoned from the depths of hell and raining down from the heavens.

"Shit."

You devise a plan, trying to keep yourself high enough. Your shield springs forth, your left ankle landing on it as you rev it up as far as you can, flying up to see a familiar face reaching out for you. You twist your wrist, soaring closer to the boy before raising your arm, seeking for his outstretched hand.

"I got you Mrs. Silco! Sorry for the wait!"

You whip to behind him, one hand holding him as you brace for the sudden change in trajectory, the downward motion quickly switching to its opposite.

"You're good kid, but a few more seconds and I was fucking toast. Either evolved or a splatter on the pavement."

"Nah. I promise I wouldn't let that happen." He looks to the cylinder at his waist, something you haven't paid attention to until now.

It's a machine of some sort, small monkey figurines in a circle inside the glass case, wires and cogs surrounding the center of the creation which holds-

-a very strange, very alive and very scary thing.

Something arcane in nature. Like Hextech but not at the same time.

Like the hexcore.

"What the fuck is that Ekko?!" You try not to panic as the clouds grow darker, the light tendrils brighter and more numerous.

"It can rewind time!"

What?

"Rewind? How long?!"

"Four seconds, plenty of time to restart anything, you can believe me."

Four seconds exactly if you fail to retry, again and again. Hoping that the machine doesn't take too long to recharge between fails. But his tone sounds assured, determined. He's used this contraption more than once, he can calculate the necessary timing and he can definitely know when to or not to use it.

Very well then.

"We'll need it for up here probably! It's ready to withstand this many tries? Because I feel like it ain't gonna be a walk in the park!"

"It's our only chance!"

And it really is.

So you squeeze at the boy's waist, a shaky sigh escaping you as you close your eyes, steeling your resolve. "Count me in. Let's give them hell kid."

He nods and the two of you are nearly blinded as you reach the top of the Hexgates, an army of constructs standing at the top, waiting, still as death.

Fuck it. It's now or never.

You share a glance with Ekko and turn your gaze to the scenery before you, determined as he rushes into the fray. You summon your shield, revving your arm to slam violently against the gilded puppets, sending them flying like glorified flies. Then your head is hit.

What is this? You feel like your body is being pulled backwards, atom by atom.

You share a glance with Ekko and turn your gaze to the scenery before you, determined as he rushes into the fray. You summon your shield, revving your arm to slam violently against the gilded puppets, sending them flying like glorified flies. The hoverboard sliding upwards in a curve, as if surfing through a wave. You jump up, your fist heating up as you use your arm's propulsion to slam into the crowd of puppets like a a hammer from the sky, striking hot iron with strength and precision.
Then puppets claw at you, catching your body in their lithe grip.

Didn't this happen before?

The hoverboard sliding upwards in a curve, as if surfing through a wave. You jump up, your fist heating up as you use your arm's propulsion to slam into the crowd of puppets like a a hammer from the sky, striking hot iron with strength and precision. But you rev your leg up and soar, quickly descending back with the power of another comet like punch then soaring back up. Like the cadence of your work in the shop, your arm hot as the crucible which holds the metal you mold, slamming down as if the world is your anvil.
A hand grips at your head from behind and your consciousness slowly fading as silence rings loud through your mind.

Your eyes widen in recognition and a smile grows on your face as the world goes white, your last sight being Ekko reaching back and pulling on his contraption, eyes determined.

Let 'er rip kid.

But you rev your leg up and soar, quickly descending back with the power of another comet like punch then soaring back up. Like the cadence of your work in the shop, your arm hot as the crucible which holds the metal you mold, slamming down as if the world is your anvil. Revving yourself as hard as you can, you fly one last time, catching Ekko's hoverboard with one hand, flipping yourself up on it.

"Kid watch out!" You call out for Ekko, shifting your weight to turn the flying machine around, slamming your shield against the enemy.

But the hand slams through it, purple, metallic. Your cheeks are held, eyes rolling back as you reach out for the white haired boy in panic. You don't wanna die, but you're ready for it. What terrifies you is becoming a mindless killing machine for a cause whose only goal is to reduce the world to ashes and blood, ceramic mannequins silently populating its surface while one man plays god.

"All you need is a bit more time." Your lungs clench in your chest as the pressure on your jaw tightens, teeth gritting in pain and chest heaving in exhaustion and fear, tears flowing freely from your eyes like downpour from the sky. "So take it." You choke out before white overtakes your vision.

"Be not afraid, blacksmith." A voice rings, echoing through vast emptiness yet feeling restrained to the confines of your skull. "You will be safe and forever satisfied within the glorious evolution. Nothing will hurt you or your loved ones anymore and you will be given total peace from the shackles of mortal emotions and conflicts. Accept your fate, and all will be much easier for all of us. I wish not to fight against someone as goodhearted as you."

You scoff, the scenery around you changing to that of a starlit sky, painted in hues of indigo and teal, gold bursting from behind a giant terrifying form like a wildfire. It's thin, skeletal almost, face a crude mockery of a human's as a beast rips it apart, skin tinted purple and an indigo and blood red scarf swirls around it in a way you can nearly call divine.

But all it is, is a vision of a demon calling itself an angel to charm mortal hearts. And the white hot pain searing your face at his grip reminds you of that.

"Viktor. I see you've gotten stupid since we've last seen one another. Nothing is ever foretold, prophecies are placebos, fate is a shackle created for the masses, destiny is a myth." You narrow your eyes, stinging with more tears at the sight of a man you respect and appreciate, one of your own and someone who saved Silco stooping so low, being corrupted so far that his philosophy all but changes sides to its direct opposite. "Fuck off."

You spit out, the voice in your mind sighing in disappointment as the last of your consciousness fades and all that is left is…blank.

"I truly wished for this to be peaceful. I am sorry."

"Are you?" Your feelings and memories fade after you utter these words, hatred and panic gone just like the rest that makes you yourself.

You see faces in your mind disappear, the names linked to them disappearing soon after.

Your friends, who are they? Blue and magenta, indigo and white or even dark brown, the colors hold no meaning anymore. Chipping away from your mind like the paint does on houses in Zaun, eaten away by time and humidity. Your head pounds, willing itself to remember and forget all at once, the metal in your body heavier than ever. As if the weight of your sins is finally catching up to you.

The man you love, what is his name? Ink black and silver fade away, teal and blue glowing as they dissipate like paint in water. The smell and taste of tobacco, the velvety voice, they all pull themselves apart like a broken tapestry. The last thing you feel from his presence being warmth, squeezing you, brushing against your forehead or your lips as you try to chase for it, to remember. But it all escapes you like water from a broken cup that you still try to fill, even as it erodes in your hands.

Your body doesn't feel like itself anymore, it holds no weight, no structure, movement is impossible and thinking gets harder.

Who…are you again exactly?

Should you know?

No.

The Herald knows better, follow him.

Obey him.

Obey the Herald.

Obey.

Obey

And it all fades.

When you come to, you're gasping for air on the roof of the Hexgates alongside many others, your eyes feel sewn shut and you think you'd rather it be the case when you finally manage to pry them open. Bright light flooding your vision, suddenly reminding you of the burning feeling of fingers on your jaw, squeezing your face so tight you feel like it might explode. The feeling of your lungs crying out for air, trying to breathe in through the panic.

Then comes your hearing. Screaming and crying rattle through you, shaking you to your very core as you cover your ears, trying to muffle the sounds.

Then the smells.

Everything smells like blood and smoke.

Your stomach churns and you curl your body to your side, trying so very hard to rid yourself of the nausea coming along with the flurry of overwhelming feelings.

Memories flash in your mind, the emptiness now all too full. Sand, blood and cement. Metal tools and metal skies. A man and the bright orange glare of his disfigured left eye. Water and warmth. Red smoke and navy blue uniforms. Green smoke and bright blue blasts. A cyan eye and mechanical limbs.

Then gilded white creations and armors of black and maroon, earthy tones fighting against the dark grey skies. A glowing cerulean eye and multicolored dyes. Green neons and white hair.

Brightness then darkness.

Your lungs gulp down air and release it just as soon as you reminisce of names and faces. Of moments spent together.

Of feelings.

Those come crashing into you, crucifying you, painfully filling the last cracks in your mind as you remember heartache, terror, anger, envy, dejection, determination, love crowning them all.

Silco.

I have to find Silco.

So you crawl, panted groans escaping your lips as your sore body drags across the tower, the edge soon nearing your feet while you get up, swaying from side to side. Vertigo overtakes you, hundreds of bodies litter the streets of Piltover, enemies and allies alike, in a grotesque fresco.

Your stomach nearly gives up at the sight. But you do not as you take one step further, planning to rev yourself up in order to climb down the Hexgates and find Silco.

"Woah, woah, woah Mrs. Silco. Let's not get suicidal over here." A hand grabs your left wrist, pulling you back off from the edge.

You turn around to see Ekko, breathing heavily with his eyes wide in fear, some of his hair is singed and he looks horrible to say the least. Exhausted and in pain, just like you.

"I wasn't about to jump, kiddo." You sigh but bring him forward, embracing the boy tightly, shakily, trying to remain poised even through the overwhelming amount of…everything, you feel. "God it's good to see you. Everything's a mess."

"You can say that again."

The joke comes to mind, but you choose to nuzzle closer. The familiar presence helping you with finding an anchor for yourself amidst the current chaos.

"Since you don't wanna let me get down by my own means, can I hitch a ride?" You pull away, keeping Ekko at arm's length. "I need to see Silco, I need to find him. I need to see if-"

If he's dead.

The thought brings bile to your throat. What will you do if he did die? Carry on? Move on? Both of these options seem more awful the more you think about them. How is his body going to look like? Will he even look like himself, or will he be a mangled mess?

He can't be dead.

No matter if you both, if all of you, were ready for death. You can't fathom a life without him, a life where he isn't by your side to observe the Zaun you fought for, that he fought for, so hard finally come to fruition. The culmination of his life's work slipping from his lithe fingers isn't how he should end.

He has to be alive.

"Hey, hey. Calm down, he'll be okay. You know the man, he can't die. He's the type of Zaunite that Piltover has always described us as. Ingenious, sly, and unkillable. Plus, with you around, I doubt he'd let himself die from anything but old age by your side." The boy reassures, his hands gripping at your arms and caressing them with his thumbs. "Let's go."

You let yourself be pulled to the hoverboard, the vehicle much slower than in your rushed pace during battle. Easier on your stomach and your soul as you get closer to the body covered pavement, eyes wetter by the second and stinging with unshed tears.

Hoping to gods that your friends are still here, that you'll be able to hold them close and live life with them once more.

Hoping to the gods that you won't find his corpse within the sea at your feet.

Ekko let's you step off, asking if you need help to find Silco but you shake your head, you need to be alone for a bit. Screams still filling your head as you wobble your way through the morbid scenery, dust settling from the lack of movement in the city. As if a hurricane passed by.

"Silco?" You call out, walking to nowhere in particular, your raw voice breaking with choked up tears and exhaustion the more you walk forwards.

Where is he?

You scream in your mind, terror once more overcoming all of your senses, your heartbeat deafening you, blood covering your sense of smell and pins and needles rendering each movement impossibly uncomfortable to make.

"Silco?" Rubble falls, you see people helping others up. Navy, earthy tones and red ass working in unison to honor the dead and save the living.

From afar you see a familiar figure, rushing to it before you crash onto its back. Metal arm clashing against metal arm as you give Sevika a once over. Her surprised face melting into fondness before she takes you in her arms.

"Gods, smithy! You're here. Fuck." She sighs. "I was terrified you'd be gone. Saw you fly up with Benzo's kid and then everything just stopped. Thought I'd never see you again."

You grip her tightly, head shaking. You can't believe she's alive, and you're happy of the news. Relief immediately washing you once more as you check off another person in your mental list.

Ekko and Sevika, check.

"Sev. Gods. I'm so glad to see you." Your voice is muffled in her shoulder, trembling just like your body is. "I need to find him. I can't-" You take a gulp of air. "If you're alive, he has to be. He has to."

The woman pulls back and nods, her forehead gently knocking with yours before she pulls away, going to help the survivors with cleaning.

You don't know how long you scream his name, people looking at you with growing pity while tears escape you. Willpower dwindling while the streets are cleared little by little of the cadavers decorating them.

It's long, your body begs for you to rest, to eat, to drink. Anything but to continue searching. Your heart bleeding painfully each time Silco's name brokenly escapes your dry, bitten lips.

"Dove?"

Your head whips and you find the man leaning against rubble, breathing heavily, his hair disheveled and coiling around his shoulders gracefully no matter how messy he looks.

Your body cannot help but rush to him and take him in your arms, his weight and heat familiar and comforting before you crumble. Silco holds you up when your knees buckle, softly sliding down to rest on the road beneath you before you settle yourself on his lap. Clinging to him like a lifeline while broken sobs leave you, rattling your body to its very core.

Nothing leaves you but babbled speech, your nails clawing at Silco while his arms comfortingly rub at your back.

"Shhh. It's okay, I'm here my dove. It's all over. We've won."

It's all over.

Your heart squeezes. The tension imposed on you since long before your birth and your bubbling rebel blood sing in joy. The fight mechanism built into your cells, the one that has been used against you all your life, can finally rest, letting the softer parts of yourself unravel without the fear of vulnerability. The war is over, Piltover and Zaun, no, the whole of Runeterra is free. And although that brings you so much pride and joy, what brings more relief is that the fight is over. The one that you've been forced into like a caged poro since the topside's creation.

We've won.

Your tearful eyes crack open, while the bodies are getting cleared you can still observe traces of blood staining the greys and white of the City of Progress. The blood on its hands now far from metaphorical and hidden but tainting its shirt sleeves, forever ingrained in the fibers. You've lost so many to Piltover's control. Chemicals eating away at everybody through the air and water, mines and factories burning through the populace just to further the gilded city's selfishness for Progress, for itself alone.

But you've also lost so many in this battle. One that reminds you just how little the differences are between the Undercity and its sister. One that reminds you that beneath it all, blood is red, no matter the attire, the origin or appearance. That all of you are Runeterran, sharing the same world while selfishly fighting to remain above water and others drown.

Gods, and even through this. You've made it.

After the centuries of blood, sweat and tears. After the decades of suffering you've had to grit your teeth to survive. After the mistreatment, the failed revolutions, the growing civil unrest, horrible working conditions and restrictions.

All it took was the prospect of losing it all for your world to change. Yet you are not mad, just glad that it's finally over. That the violence is over, towards yourself and others.

So you thank them all, in your heart you thank all of the lifeless brothers in arms you've shared for but a moment in time, a blink in the vastness of existence. Yet who made a difference in this world, one so big that it could change Runeterra as you know. Gold and marble, iron and glass, coming together to create something greater.

Something made with the bond that both cities share.

Your sobs slowly come to a stop as you take shaky breaths.

"Gods, I was terrified."

"I know, dove. The last thing I saw was you, climbing up the Hexgates with Ekko. I was terrified of what would happen to you." His hands cradle your face, taking you in as if every second can be the last.

"I couldn't see you at all. I thought I lost you. I….the Herald made me forget about you. And when I woke up and remembered, I felt sick at the thought that you-"

You choke up, blinking tears away, swallowing the knot in your throat, your own hands reaching up to caress him. Metal thumb catching onto the healing scars on his face, you approach hesitantly, your lips meeting Silco's with fear of him being a mere figment of your mind. A ghost or a machination from the herald.

Yet he is neither of those.

And his mouth molds to yours, kissing away any worries you might have had, your hands sliding to his hair to hang on to the raven black locks. It's desperate, urgent, filled with so much emotion that you feel yourself melting into Silco's body. Your soul merging with his while the sights, smells and sounds around you fade away. This time in a way that brings comfort instead of fear, all that is left for you to feel is him and him alone.

Gone is the war.

He says.

Gone are the days of suffering.

His lips carve into your soul.

Lay your worries to rest, my dove.

His eyes exclaim.

And so you do, throwing yourself into the kiss with abandon, pouring your soul into the way you twist and wrap around Silco's mind, body and soul. Taking over every part of him, savoring him, treating yourself with the taste and feel of him, turning your mind off and breaking away at the tension in your exhausted body. You let his touch chip away at the weariness, picking at it like he always knows how to do, like he is chipping stone in the mines he and the rest of your people would never return to under obligation.

"Are you hurt?" He whispers, panting as his breath licks your lips, his forehead knocking against yours.

"I don't care if I am. But I don't think I'm more hurt than you. We need to get you checked out, my love."

"I will be alright. We need to help the others."

"Not before I know you're fine."

Your eyes rake over him, noticing the crusting blood and the wetter spots, taking notice of bruises and wounds, remembering how when he stands he seems to slouch in pain. So you turn your head, searching for anyone competent to help him. Hopping out of his lap you stand, gaze focused on the throngs of people mourning and moving around you, a familiar teal skinned vastaya soon appearing, also getting up from his position on the ground.

"Steb!"

He turns, eyes wide and scales trembling at the sight of you, his steps quickly bringing him closer before he takes you in his capable hands, checking you for injuries.

"No, no I'm fine. Any bruise or wounds I got are not important at the moment. Please, can you look at him?" You step to the side, Silco struggling to get to his feet before Steb gets down on his knees, nodding at you.

He's quick, checking Silco for concussions, cleaning his wounds and assessing his state. Your lover has to resign himself to take off his top and jacket to allow the medic to bandage him up and your eyes shoot up to the sky, suddenly finding the golden sunset more interesting.

"Oh please, my dove." Silco teases, voice warm and low, a bitter twang of pain eating through it. "You can kiss me like you want to eat me alive but not look at me when I'm undressed although you've already seen it all? You need to check your priorities."

"Steb, if he isn't dying make sure that when you're done he is." The two men chuckle at your words as your face grows hot. "Don't join him, Lieutenant fish sticks. Or I'll show you more creative ways to use those tonfas of yours."

"Hey, don't shoot the medic. He's taking good care of me after all."

"And I'm already regretting it." A smile cracks on your face, your eyes slowly trailing down to where Silco's form is sitting, breath catching in your throat as your eyes feast on the sight of lithe muscle, scarred from years of fighting, of working hard for his people. Your people.

He's right, you've already seen it all.

At this moment you remembered the state he was in when you first found him, the fear you felt at his life slipping away like his blood was slipping through your fingers. You remembered the softness of him as barely there breaths escaped his lungs, sickly pale and cold skin shivering under your warm touch as you pulled away the bullets and stitched the wounds back together, ointment and bandages following soon after. You remembered sharing your blood with him.

And in a way this might be what links you together, your blood flows through him, pumped into his body by his heart. His beautiful, warm, loving heart. A treasure amongst treasures in a world where cruelty fuels so many. A man of devotion and adoration who gives without counting and has been left without anything, his cup empty and stolen from him while he continues to live, no, to exist for love.

And even as his world grew colder and his body grew older, even as poison from the vipers around him seeped through his skin to corrupt him. Leaving him a shell of his former self as his ideals remained but his ethics, his morals were stripped away from him, an angel having his wings ripped away by the cruelty of demons disguised as his peers.

It had been a long time since you saw what lies behind the layers of clothing. The bullet wounds now adding to the scars, new ones soon to follow from the cuts and scratches delivered to him by Noxians and constructs alike during the battle. But Steb is gentle, making sure that Silco is not uncomfortable, gentle hands slower and softer around the bruised ribs painted in blues and purples, his hands soon sliding to your lover's legs to check for any broken bone while you approach.

Your eyes, who were hiding Silco's sight from you just mere moments ago, were now fully trained on him.

Your fingers caress the raised marks on his skin, sliding through the softness of his chest and stomach with practiced yet shy motions. The need to keep him alive above all now out of your hands, you feel like a teenager discovering her first boyfriend's body.

When you first discovered him, his body was thinner, malnourished, dehydrated and muscles slightly atrophied from years of work at a desk. But with the time and care you gave him over nearly two years, he had grown stronger. Gaining in mass, filling his clothes better, the muscles healthy and strong as if back to their prime although they were past it.

"You're about to make an old man blush, darling."

You sigh and look up to his face, it's warm, soft, a flash of something close to fear flashing behind the shades of blue coloring his eyes.

"You're beautiful. Who would I be to deny myself such a sight?" Your metal hand cradles his face and he smiles, leaning towards the touch.

"To be called that by you is an honor. You've made this body, this man, who he is today. You only have yourself to thank for what you see."

"No." You correct gently. "I have to thank the man before me for staying alive, for keeping on fighting even against all the odds. Because who would I have to love if he wasn't there?"

Your forehead knocks against yours gently, one hand holding his, the other on his face for moments, gods know how many, before Steb taps your shoulder.

"Diagnostic, doc?" The man nods, taking a notepad from a pouch on his pack along side a pencil before he begins writing, soon enough handing you a slip of paper.

You huff affectionately, observing the elegant cursive. The man probably learning to write well, even as a medic, to make up for his lack of a voice.

He has a handful of broken ribs, luckily none seem to have perforated anything. His ankle is swollen so quite probably twisted. What I recommend is to keep it off the ground, use crutches to walk, ice it to keep the swelling to a minimum. The ribs are the same, but do try not to dress them too tightly to avoid them healing crooked or to make them point inwards. He will be fine, do you want me to check you too?

You nod, playing it safe and letting the aquatic vastaya check you, replacing the bloody bandages, patching up your newer wounds, looking through your reactions as he touches you. His eyes snap to your side ever so often, to Silco, and from your peripheral you see the man pulling his meanest glare. Slipping back into his industrialist persona while Steb cares for you.

"You know the man is just doing his job, right?"

"I know." Yet his voice is slightly gritted and you smirk, the possessiveness unusual yet welcome. After today you feel that his usual protective nature will only get stronger, with reason, and you fully embrace it.

Enjoy it even.

"Don't shoot the medic, he's taking good care of me after all." You tease, parroting Silco's words from earlier and he chuckles, his head leaning back on the rubble supporting his back.

"Right. Thank you for keeping my woman alive, Lieutenant."

When Steb is done with you, you're not surprised to learn that you have broken ribs as well, that every cauterized wound has to be thoroughly cleaned so avoid any risk of infection due to the unwashed, bloody metal you used to close your own wounds in battle. And when your body is dressed with new bandages, the vastaya takes his leave, holding your hand in a firm handshake before he rushes back to help.

"Heave ho, fossil. We have to help." You groan, putting your shirt and coat back on with difficulty, your sore body screaming at your movements, back arching painfully as you try to avoid touching your ribs.

No noise comes from Silco, so when your head is through the collar, you slide your eyes to the side, noticing your lover eyeing you from your peripheral.

"Come on, don't tell me you're the blushing virgin now?" His gaze snaps to yours before he scoffs at the smirk slicing through your face, an eyebrow raised in defiance.

"Oh trust me, the thoughts I'm having are not a virgin's. But as you said, we have to help, so instead of parading yourself to me, keep on moving. Unless you like being undressed for me out in the open? In which case I'll have a few lessons to teach you for exposing what's mine to the world." His hands reach for his own shirt, the turtleneck ripped and bloody, red darkened where he has been hit, before his leather jacket follows.

His eyes are dark, staring at you as you slowly get back up to your feet, your hand pulling him up when he is properly dressed once more. Gone is the sight of the deceptive strength hidden beneath velvet skin and you have to make peace with that and clear your mind before getting to work.

Thus start days upon days of hard work, tired bodies, survivors dragging themselves to clean the death from the streets, to prepare the city for the flood of civilians slowly trickling in. Nothing is said of politics, Piltovan eyes glossed over with tired resignation, with guilt, with acceptance. Pedantic hatred long forgotten because of the sudden yet long awaited war, the battle much different and much more terrifying than what had been brewing before.

The atmosphere is heavy, not because of two rival cities coming together after years of one oppressing the other, but because of the realization that none of it should have happened in the first place.

That you all could have been spared had greed not overtaken Piltover, forcing it in a cycle of self-centered "progress" used to make itself greater and Zaun smaller, using it as a stepping stool for its own gilded pride, hiding profound rot that grew as topside grew more cruel, more demanding. Master to slave that was her sister.

All could have been avoided had Zaun been treated right.

All the pain you've suffered in the fissures, fighting for scraps in a dog eats dog world that could have easily been bettered with the flick of a wrist, was senseless. Meaningless. Progress bringing nothing but pain when built upon the unstable foundations of self-importance.

And with how each Piltovan grew softer each day that passed, you know that they all realized that. The errors in their ways letting Ambessa thrive upon the tension and plant herself like a nefarious seed, watered and fed by fears, anger, haughtiness. Thriving like vines, seeping through the cracks and breaking through the already cracked walls of the house of cards the topsiders have built.

But as the city returns to a livable state, clean streets welcoming all of those standing in their perimeter, you feel a shift. A good shift. One that have your children mingle with theirs, Isha enjoying the sun as she plays with others, not judgmental of her lack of voice. The poor girl needing the company after Powder's disappearance.

You had spent days, trying to find her at the bottom of the Hexgates, mourning Vander's evolved beastly body with Silco as tears escaped you. The man still losing more of himself, no matter how many times he died, no matter how great he was when he was himself. Isha had wanted to say goodbye to him too, holding your hands while silent tears left her, sobs racking through Silco as he begged his brother for forgiveness like many had begged for their loved ones all around you. Vi and Ekko joining you, the girl clinging to her father while the boy tried and failed to hide just how the sight broke his soul. Sevika shakily breathing as she tried and failed to contain her pain, a drink poured from her flask and onto Vander as a libation, a farewell from a brother in arms that you reciprocated with Silco, trading sips before emptying the alcohol you kept on yourselves for medical emergencies.

The hound of the underground was gone once more, his body desecrated by greed.

Powder's disappearance was counted as a death. The lot of you searching far and wide through Piltover and Zaun only to find no trace of her. Sisters and father mourning the loss of a part of their soul, the grief of a lover holding onto the memory of the girl he has always loved, you and Sevika feeling a churning emptiness within your hearts. Painful longing at the loss of the blue haired teen leaving a Powder shaped hole in your existence, forever thankful for the life she allowed you to have, the fight she gave back to you with her inventions.

Now decorating your body like badges of honor, you'll use them to fight the good fights. You'll keep this part of her alive through you, marching forward with the girl by your side, out of sight yet never out of mind.

And all of you had to pick up the pieces and pick yourselves back up. For him, for her, for Zaun, for all of those whose names and faces you don't know. For all of those you fought alongside you, suffered alongside you, lived alongside you.

Who gave their lives so all of us could live and create a better world.

Ekko and his Firelights decorate the walls of Piltover, painting frescos of the faces of each deceased civilian on the walls of the gilded city. Zaunite or Piltovan, no matter the age. No one is forgotten.

Even less when the streets are filled with candles one night, paper slips piled in wicker baskets before they're burned away. Names written in ink, forever burned into the fabric of the world, engraved in the history of the two cities. That night you write the names of all of those from the Children of Zaun you've lost, counting that solely one quarter of your group remains.

Kenda.

Brell.

Mellias.

Jhess.

Raban.

Rihannon.

Tears stain the paper, ink diffusing on the paper with each new name written. Your wrist hurts as you write, your heart does even more with the last four names you add.

Vander.

Powder.

Jayce.

Viktor.

Jayce wouldn't have held hope for his partner had the man been a bad person. The councilor was known for being many things, but loyal was at the top alongside his intelligence. You believe, with how kind and helpful Viktor had been to you, how selfless his offers had been, how he tried to better Zaun, that whoever tried to destroy your world was not him.

The man of Progress mentionned the hexcore being sentient, calling out to Viktor, saving him. And although you don't know much about it, you can bet that the Herald was more hexcore than man. All parts of Viktor but his ideals discarded, twisted into something nefarious, a conduit to let the chaos of the arcane run amok in Runeterra. And insidious presence using the downtrodden, too goodhearted yet desperate to notice the changes within themselves until it is too late.

You had asked around for informations on who Viktor was, once upon a time. Before his death.

The consensus was that he was a man worth his place at the academy. Not only for how intelligent he was, a genius born in the bedrock of Zaun and rising despite the odds, but that he was also a good man. A man capable of great things.

Now he wouldn't be remembered. His history erased by his end, by this war, by the system. And you couldn't let that happen, not now, not when things were finally looking up for your people. Neither could you let that happen in memory of Jayce, the man that sacrificed himself to let the world live, so that he could remain by the side of the one he loved so dearly.

Like hell you're going to let the blood, sweat and tears of your people and the friends you've lost go to waste.

So here you are now, in the council room alongside Councilor Shoola, Mel Medarda, Caitlyn, Violet, Silco and Sevika, a couple of members from noble Piltovan families joining you. The room filled with many others of both cities, civilians, standing together to hear what the great council will decide on.

A decision that will change history in the greatest of ways.

"I thank all of you, for fighting for our nations. United by our common enemy after being separated by our greed." Mel Medarda begins.

"Zaunites." She breathes shakily. "I am beyond sorry for the treatment you have been dealt since the creation of Piltover. This city, as glorious as it may be, has been built on your backs. Using your efforts, that we have imposed, to create a better life for ourselves. To evolve."

You have half a mind to scoff. The excuses nearly seeming fake, but you look intently at her. Mel Medarda's face is screwed, pain painting her features and guilt filling her green eyes with glossy tears as she trembles.

This is not the Councilor you have lived with, not the one that kept Zaun under a thumb.

This is not a proud woman no, she feels shame. She feels vulnerability. And as she bows before you, so do the other Piltovan nobles and civilians. Some bending ninety degrees, others nearly crawling on the ground. Trembling with grief and feeling the full force of Zaun's pain, of your pain, over the past centuries. The loss caused by war a shock that seemingly woke them all up from their illusion of grandeur.

"We wish to show the extent of our shame, of our accountability in this situation, we give you, Sevika, Silco-" Her gaze turns to you as she utters your name in the list, nodding in respect, in greeting, in solemn apology. "- places on the council, as representatives of Zaun."

Caitlyn walks forward, her eyes trailing over the room, softening as she goes.

"Due to a previous discussion between my brother and dear friend, Jayce Talis, and Silco. We have accepted the terms proposed by Zaun and it shall be granted blanket amnesty, free access to the trade routes and Hexgates as well as…"

Her voice trails, eyes trailing to the three of you Zaunite rebels, head held high, bodies tense at each word uttered as if they are lies.

"..You will be granted sovereignty. Zaun will become a nation of its own, unexploitable by Piltover or any other. A city state authorized everything that us topsiders always have been granted."

Your eyes widen. It can't be. This is truly it.

We've…we've won?

No. This can't be that easy right? Centuries of persecution ended in a couple of months? It seems…nearly wrong.

"Piltover will also provide help for reparations. Money, men and machines will be lent to Zaun to clean the air, the water, to make the infrastructure more comfortable and efficient. We will also open schools, clinics and help develop agriculture within the Herald's old commune due to its soil proper for growing crops. It will also be studied so Zaun can rely on itself and grow local economy."

Continues Councilor Shoola.

"And what's in it for you?" Sevika asks, wary of the influx of good news. As are you, as is Silco, as all of your brethren.

You hear chatter, Zaunites agreeing with the question.

"We want you on the council, this proposal being more of a formal request. To assure that you keep Piltover in check, keep it from repeating the errors of the past. The three of you know Zaun in all of its ways, all of its levels. You have fought for it for years, you've been loyal to your people, to your ideals. And no one else is as qualified for this as possible."

Caitlyn's words spread warmth through your soul. Your work being recognized for what it is, the years Sevika, Silco and yourself have poured into bettering your nation finally being accepted. Seen and understood. Respected.

"We also want you, both for your safety and our own, to dismantle the Chem-Barons. You have dealt with our ways for too long, you don't deserve a price for freedom. You have paid it for far too long and now we will balance the ledgers."

It's a lot to take in.

Nearly too much, if you weren't so elated at all you are hearing.

"This is my last action as Councilor, as I will be stepping down to return to Noxus to take on my mother's mantle as matriarch of the Medarda family. I know that with this, our cities will be held in good hands. I know that we will finally evolve and thrive, make our way towards real progress. Progress made together, not in spite of one another."

The woman, cloaked in red and wearing black armor, gold embedded in her flesh, advances. Walking around the cog shaped table before holding a hand out to each of you.

"So. Will you accept this proposal?"

"We've fought for this, Councilor Medarda. Ate chemicals, lived in soot, dug through metal and rock, even had to kill our own. But we still held our nation dear, dreaming every night of seeing it free from the troubles we've grown up with."

Your voice begins.

"We have scraped the lowest of lows, nearly dying for our cause. Simply for better lives. We've rebelled for years, pushing back even during the worst of times. We've fought tooth and nail, made it by the skin of our teeth each time only to be thrown off the deep end and restart, over and over again."

Sevika stands tall, looking down at Mel Medarda after Silco finishes his words. His drawl elegant, menacing, wary yet full of hope. The one that all of this is more than a mere dream.

"So tell us. Do you think we would not accept the proposal to make our people live better lives if we can help it?"

But instead of the indignant look you expected, the regal woman smiles. Councilor Shoola, Caitlyn, Vi and the other two new Piltovan councilors find themselves in front of you, bowing in front of you before shaking each of your hands. Eyes filled with gentle resignation, guilt, but also pride.

This is it.

You think as you walk around the dark marble, hand caressing the gold plated cracks.

"My dove." Silco pulls your chair for you before taking his place to your left, Sevika to your right on the cog like desk.

A paper is presented to you, signed with Piltover's councilors' signatures. Three spots left to be signed. Your spots.

"Sevika. You should be first." You hand it to the woman, her shoulders lifting high with each baited breath.

"It's crazy. I've dreamed of this but it feels….as wrong as it feels right." Her voice resonates and you nod, understanding her fears.

"You three have earned this, Zaun's earned this. I may not be appointed councilor, but I'll be fighting the good fight with you all." Vi finally utters stepping close to you, a hand on your shoulder. "We've been in the shadows for too long and what happened two months ago….it was wake up call violent enough to rip the status quo apart. This isn't a trap guys, we're free."

Her voice carries so much emotion, eyes glossy, a soft smile illuminating her face as Caitlyn wraps an arm around her waist. The glow in her gaze enough to reassure you.

You did win. Through centuries of blood, sweat and tears. After years of rebellion.

We won.

Sevika doesn't hesitate to sign after those words, scrawled and slanted but intelligible. The page soon handed to you, your hand gripping Silco's tightly as your mechanical limb taking the fountain pen and signing your own name in your messy handwriting. Silco following with his elegant cursive.

"Thank you, Councilors for your understanding and patience. I apologize once more for for our actions and hope you find it in your heart to forgive us someday. Although you do not have to."

"I believe that after what we have seen and lived through as brothers in arm, your actions are already somewhat forgiven. Now it all depends on you. Let's thrive as sister cities and not as master and slave."

Your voice carries in the room, cheers erupting from the crowd as the newly reformed council makes its way to the center of Piltover. Walking next to one another in unity while your people walk behind you, both cities mixing as you walk up the stage that has previously been set for the Remembrance Memorial Day.

Vi rushes Silco, Sevika and you forwards, walking close behind as bodyguard but mostly to act as support. As an anchor in such a tumultuous time, although this time rather than being from of hardships, it is because the war is finally over.

The war to gain back your independence, your humanity, your nation.

You, Shuriman refugees from the fall of the Great Empire.

You, descendants of Osha Va'Zaun.

You, kin of Kha'Zhun.

You, the Nation of Zaun.

Your fellow councilors from Piltover stand behind you, leaving the stage to the three newly appointed Zaunite members of their congregation so you can break the big news to the hundreds of thousands currently awaiting your words.

You trail your eyes to Sevika, who is tense, her shoulders solid and tall but her chest puffed in pride, a small smile curling her lips upward. Silco, to your left and holding your flesh hand comfortingly, holds his head high, gentle eyes trailing over the crowd, yours are burning with unshed tears.

The dream of a lifetime, carved in every single one of your atom, is finally within reach.

Faces shine bright with joy, with relief, the energy is warm, you feel like a sailor that finally escapes the storm tormenting him. Your boat is shoddy, you're exhausted, but as the sun appears, piercing through the thick blanket of dark clouds, you can see the path ahead. The Blue Bird allowing the gale to direct you on the way home.

Home.

You've finally freed your home.

Your lungs grow as you take a deep breath.

"Kha'ma akhas, kha'ma ukhtas! Kha'a akhyraana hura'a naa!"

My brothers, my sisters! We are finally free!

Cheers echo at your voice, loud, permeating the stone and metal surrounding you, shaking Piltover and Zaun to their very core.

"We have fought for so long in the shadows. Suffering from unwelcoming land, from slavery, from torture, from our very own brethren using us. But no more! No more will we be stuck under someone else's thumb, no more will we dance by anyone's drum but ours. We reclaim our land, and we will fix it. And we will grow and thrive! We, leaders of the Zaunite revolution movements of the Lanes and the Children of Zaun, announce Zaun's official independence from Piltover in state and our place within Piltover's council to maintain the peace and a good relationship between our cities!"

The crowd grows loud, and a smile grows on your face. Not only at seeing your people rejoice, but at seeing them being embraced by Piltovans. Wishing them the best luck in the world, handing out smiles and love like in the dreams you've held dear since childhood.

"We will be equals! Partners in progress, in morals, ethics and in trade. None shall be taller or brighter than the other anymore. This new council, the one we now sit within, will change our cities for the better. We will clear Zaun of toxicity, dismantle the Chem-Barons, and fund for research for better infrastructure and agriculture so that our people can be self sufficient and maintain local economy while remaining in good health! "

Sevika's voice growls in pride, a smile stretching her face much brighter than anything you'd expect from her. She looks younger, the child within finally reaching her dream. The sound of cheering getting louder with every word, bodies jumping in elation, eyes glowing in joy.

"We have suffered. But we will not fight, not anymore, not like this. We have won this war because of unity, and in union we shall remain! Zaunites and Piltovans will now be at peace, ripping the status quo apart and rebuilding a bridge to connect our people. A true bridge of Progress. Through our projects, and with the help of our co-councilors we will also create safer working spaces, build schools, clinics, and opportunities for any and all Zaunite to come study to Piltover, without judgment. Outreach programs will be created so that researchers, doctors, surgeons, teachers and more can come to Zaun and help it grow, help it heal. The fissures are the wounds of our people, but with everyone working together, we will make it into a scar. A reminder of an obstacle, of a past, that we have finally cleared from our way!"

A velvet veil covers you as Silco's voice utters his speech. Eyes shaking with emotion, his breathing so heavy that you can see the rise and fall of his shoulders, his body shaking with apprehension.

"We were kept from living." You begin. The electric energy shaking the city enough to let you articulate the words you once upon a time thought you would never be able to say.

"From loving." Your eyes trail to Silco, your hand holding his squeezing to seek out reassurance. "But my brothers, my sisters. Rejoice. Be happy of your hard work, of your spirit, of your will, of your heart and of yourself as a Zaunite. Because of you, all of you who stand with us now. Stand proud, we are free because of you!"

Your fellow councilors finally step to the stage, thanking everyone who fought with valiance, everyone who helped anyone, everyone who is alive now. They thank Silco, Sevika and you, bowing once more in front of the crowd, in front of you. To show humility and that they take responsibility for their past actions. You are given badges, the symbols of Zaun and Piltover intertwined on their gilded surface.

A token for a new future.

That night, and for many nights during many weeks and for many years to come, the streets are loud with fanfares, with people dancing and drinking, children laughing, singing and playing. The frescos catch the light, letting Piltover explode in millions of colors, like a flower garden surrounded by golden gates. But these do not keep you out, no, they protect you. An embrace instead of a shackle. A celebration of unity, never ending, incorruptible.

A new statue is erected, copper figures of Jayce and Viktor in their academy clothes, taken from pictures their mothers have of their sons, are placed on the Bridge of Progress. The taller one holding his great hammer and a glowing crystal in his other hand, the thinner one with his crutch holding him up holding a notebook and sporting a harness with a third arm on his back. The both of them with their eyes shining bright with determination.

"The Men of Progress."

And the notes, blueprints and other papers they have created during their years of partnership, previously censored by the council now harbored two names:

Viktor and Jayce Talis.

As per your request. Your heart still twisting at the thought of the man who helped so many in Zaun being seen as nothing but a monster, his life's work ruined by circumstance and ancient magic, by legacy and origins. But you'll forever remember him as someone good, someone unlucky enough to hold the weight of the world on his shoulders despite his stature, despite his humanity. Or maybe, because of his humanity.

Next to Vander's statue, one of Powder has been made. Standing proud next to her father as her arm holds a flare up high. The two of them inextricably linked as the symbol of Zaun. The father and the daughter, the hound and the shark, the body and the soul. Both of them intertwining in meaning to compose the heart of your nation.

Life had been hectic. Making Zaun into the heaven it deserved to be proved to be as difficult as you'd hoped it to be. Paperwork, council meetings for the sister cities, fundraisers, research, overseeing your people. Your hands were full. But you had Sevika by your side, loyal and steadfast. You had Vi, energetic and true to herself. Caitlyn, knowledgeable and determined. And you had Silco, the queen in your chess board, the leader and guide, the soothing force, your anchor. With them, for them, no matter how hard it could get, you'd move forward and brave storms and fires.

For them, for all of your brethren and for all of those whom you've lost. For now and forever.

You sit atop the Old Hungry like many other nights, watching the festivities in the fissures, noise muffled from your height but some more coming from the top, the fringes happily partying the night away. Rejoicing at the growing betterment of living conditions.

The taste of tobacco of your cigarette soothes you, the time bringing so many positive emotions yet such an abundance of goodness in your life is so surprising, so new, that you can't help but feel overstimulated. Needing some time away from papers, duties and festivities for the time being.

"I knew I'd find you there, my dove. You're quite the sentimental aren't you?"

You chuckle, the voice taking the shape of Silco as he sets himself besides you, your head dropping to his shoulder.

"You're one to talk. You remember that this is a place I'd think of as important to us."

"Touché." Lips touch your temple.

"I still can't believe it. It's like…all of this is a dream that I'll wake up from, alone. Without you, without a free Zaun, back to zero. This all feels like I've gone crazy from overworking, or that I'm still in the Herald's made up fantasy." You shake, a sigh raking through you. "Please tell me you aren't a dream."

A hand grazes your jaw gently, cradling your cheek before soft lips take yours. The kiss is slow, deliberate, but deep with devotion and adoration. When he pulls away and lays his forehead on yours you see the soft glow of the blue in his scarred eye, a reminder of how far you've come.

From sinner to saint.

From dog to man.

From man to angel.

Your angel. Your man. Your saint.

"Do you still think I'm a fantasy?" And you smile.

"I don't think I'll ever stop believing that you are. You're a waking dream."

His nose rubs against yours and you sigh. Your eyes closing as you bury your hands in his hair, free from its usual updo, wild and free, the tendrils of onyx laced with silver thread.

Your silver lining.

One that tarnishes, but never rusts. One that may crumble but never corrupts.

"What are you thinking about, my dove?"

"About how far we've come."

And you know he does too with the ways the shades that compose his gaze shift and shine in the neon lights.

How far we've come indeed.

Two lowly beings, a demon that wished to soar high in the sky and an angel whose wings had been clipped. You had thought once upon a time that your beastly nature would forever taint all that you touch, forcing you to remain alone while you tried to repent for an existence you've never asked for. He had thought that he had to stain his heart black and let his love turn rancid and dead for his dreams of happiness to ever happen.

Two sides of one coin, fighting for the same ideals.

Then you found one another. A chance meeting bringing salt and sugar together, similar in color and shape but different in nature while your purposes remained the same. To move forward, to fight, to live. Surviving was all you knew how to do, absolution was all you sought. And you've found it within one another.

Copper and iron, fusing into a reliable alloy. The sun and moon bringing forth the day and night, both important in their own way for the world to turn.

Impossible to separate.

He holds the key to what you do not possess, and you to what escapes him.

You expected nothing but his heart beating in his chest when you saved him. But you had gained a companion, a friend, then a lover. Someone who helped you in your fight against the world, but also in the one against yourself. One more silent and insidious, one that ravaged you from the inside out. And you know you've done the same, the proof staring back at you in the form of healed scars and the blue of the tides that licked away at the blaze of the hearth his eye held.

A crucible of pain quenched by your presence in his life, your advice, your care.

"We've done it, Silco." Your voice cracks. Not only meaning the liberation of your people, their happiness still thrumming within you even from where you stand now. But also your paths as humans, souls ripped apart by a cruel world now sewn back together into a patchwork. A tapestry more beautiful than you could have ever imagined.

"We have." His lips graze yours again. "And we've done it together. I don't think I'd have been able to change, to be good, to be better, to be important, had it not been for you. You've made me matter."

You shake your head in refusal. "You always mattered, my love. Even if it didn't seem that way. You're a good man that did bad things, a man whose pursuit of great led to ignore to do what is good. But a man nonetheless, and man makes errors. He is led astray, he loses himself. But he always finds his way back home, even if he sometimes needs help. You didn't have to fight alone anymore, and I made sure that you knew as much."

"And you neither. You never have to be alone ever again. You've never had to be since you took me in your arms to bring me into your home. You've guided me like the North star, but I'll always hold you up. A crutch for when life gets exhausting, to soothe your pain, to keep you on your feet and moving forward. You'll never have to make it by the skin of your teeth anymore, my dove."

"None of our people ever will."

"Because of us."

His eyes twinkle with love as they stare into yours, his arms wrapping around you tight .

No matter how hard it'll get. No matter if you have to grind your teeth and clench your jaw. You'll do it, all over again for your people. For him. Through sun and rain, heat and cold, you'll move forward. You will sign as many papers as necessary, make your voice be heard, work yourself to the marrow.

All of that so no one ever has to deal with the pain of their existence being written off as a nuisance.

All of that so that no one ever feels hunger, fear, cold or dejection from merely being born on the wrong side of the fence.

All of that so that people can live and love without being terrified of tomorrow.

All of that for your young self who wished to reach for the stars, for the youth and the elderly, for the mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, for the lovers. For your lover, for Silco.

You'll do anything. Even if it means going through hell again, losing more limbs, you'll climb back up the fissures with bare hands and feet.

Even if it means fighting wars again against mad gods and overzealous warriors. Even if it means suffering heartache and wounds.

If it means that you'll get to see your people thrive, sing, dance, eat and rejoice again. If it means you'll make friends that fix your broken body and soothe your aching soul again. If it means you'll be able to save brilliant young minds with hearts of gold from the brink of madness again, no matter if they disappear. If it means you'll give people the lives they deserve, unshackled and unabashed again. If it means you'll forever be granted Silco in your life.

You'll do anything, and you'll do it all over again.

But as tears escape your eyes, Silco wipes them away. Washing you of your pain with his tide, licking away at the nostalgia and leaving nothing but promise.

"Yeah. Because of us. All of us."