Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The energy of life—the essence of creation itself—was a force both sacred and infinite, a fundamental thread woven into the very fabric of existence. It had shaped the world as it was known, sculpting landscapes, breathing life into civilizations, and forming the foundation of reality. Yet, for all its brilliance, it was also unpredictable, a volatile power capable of bringing as much ruin as it did wonder. Those who so much as brushed against its currents found themselves standing before boundless possibilities, for to wield such a force was to hold the keys to both genesis and oblivion.

On the world of Runeterra, this energy was known as the Arcane—magic in its purest, most unrefined state. It was an ever-present force, elusive yet intrinsic to the very nature of their reality. For those who sought to control it without bearing the gift at birth, there was one conduit above all others: crystalline formations known as Hexcrystals, the solidified remnants of magic itself. These stones pulsed with untamed potential, capable of fueling inventions beyond imagination, reshaping matter, and defying the very laws of nature.

Yet, far beyond the skies of Runeterra, in the deepest reaches of space, another kind revered the same power and saw it as their own. To them, it was not simply an energy to be harnessed but the very essence of their existence, the lifeblood that coursed through their mechanical veins. The source to them was called the Allspark—the heart and soul of their God, the very core of their planet, the source from which all their kind was born. To these beings, the Allspark was not merely a tool or a phenomenon to be studied—it was life itself, an energy that granted form, thought, and purpose.

Each of the two sides unaware of the other's existence, unaware of what Runeterra houses, and of its true potential.

But ignorance is never eternal.

All were unaware, until an explosion in the city of progress, Piltover.

———————————————

Clank

Clank

Clank

CLANK

Vi exhaled sharply, breath ragged, chest heaving. Sweat dampened her brow, mixing with the fine dust that filled the air, but she didn’t stop. The iron gauntlets weighed heavier with each swing, her arms burning as fiercely as the anger roiling in her gut. Her body begged for rest, muscles screaming, lungs aching, yet she pressed on—striking again and again against the stone walls before her. The fury inside her matched that which burned her lungs.

Through the dust and the damp rot of the abandoned mining rig, she kept going.

She was furious. Fuming didn’t even begin to cover it. The rage in her veins was electric, burning hot enough to set every nerve in her body on edge.

She couldn’t believe it.

She hadn’t believed it when Ekko first told them. Wouldn’t have, if not for the damn canister she found. That single, damning piece of proof that shattered everything she thought she knew.

Vander—the Hound of the Underground, the man who raised her, the so-called protector of the Undercity—her father—had betrayed them all. The very same man who once led the rebellion, who taught her to fight, to stand up for their people, had struck a deal with the Enforcers.

The Enforcers. The same bastards who crushed them under their boots. The same ones who murdered her parents, the very same people who almost turned the Undercity upside-down looking for them because of that stupid explosion.

It made her sick. It made her angry. And, gods, did it hurt.

Her mind reeled with a thousand questions, each one twisting the knife deeper. For how long? Why? Had it all been a lie? Every lesson, every speech about loyalty, about fighting for what was right—was it just meaningless drivel from the mouth of a coward?

Logic and emotion clashed, tangled together in a suffocating storm that left her spiraling. She needed an outlet.

She couldn’t lash out like this back in the Arcade—not with her siblings watching, not when she had to be strong for them. She couldn’t pick a fight in the streets, either—that would only draw unwanted attention, if not a body count. So, she did what she always did when the weight of it all became too much.

She sought solace.

Deep into the fissures, past the ruins of their old home, to a place long abandoned.

The old mining caves.

The same ones her parents had worked themselves to the bone in. The same ones they died fighting to free their people from, to prevent the future where they had to follow and slave away in the mines under the order of Piltover.

Slaughtered by Enforcers no less.

The thought made her stomach twist, her vision blur. Vi wasn’t sure how long she had been crying, or when the tears had even started. Maybe it was the dust in the air, stinging her eyes, giving her an excuse. Maybe it had been from the moment she first threw a punch at the rock wall, long before she realized what she was doing.

It didn’t matter.

She grit her teeth and swung again. Except, she hadn’t noticed how far she had gotten until the wall crumbled and she fell from the momentum of her own blow. She stumbled forwards and rolled without thinking to avoid the collapsing rubble.

She let out an exhausted breath, unable to move for a moment as the adrenaline made her limbs feel too cold to move. It was in that brief moment did her body gain the upper hold and let itself collapse to the ground, exhaustion overwhelming her.

———————————————

Vi stirred at the faint sensation of something tugging at her pants. Half-asleep and irritable, she swatted lazily in the general direction of the disturbance, only to smack the cold floor instead.

The tugging didn’t stop. It grew more insistent, and with a groggy groan, Vi pushed herself up ever so slightly.

"Powder, can whatever this is wait till later? I'm still tired," she muttered, cracking her eyes open just enough to glance around—only to be met with unfamiliar surroundings and an odd, flickering blue glow.

Confusion lingered for a breath before memory came crashing down.

Oh.

She was still in the old mines, not in the comfort of their hideout or home.

That realization had barely settled before her instincts kicked in, and she scrambled upright, heart pounding, mind already jumping to what the hell was tugging at her leg?

But before she could fully rise, she froze, catching sight of the eerie blue light shining through the fabric of her pocket.

Carefully, she tied the gauntlets to the side of her pants before she dug into it, fingers brushing against something jagged and solid. The moment she pulled them out, her breath hitched.

Two of the stolen blue stones.

And they were moving.

They vibrated against her palm, shifting as though alive, almost slipping through her fingers. Vi barely managed to keep hold of them, cursing under her breath as she tightened her grip. Whatever these things were, she really didn’t want to drop them—not when the Enforcers had put so much effort into looking for them after they took it.

If they were that valuable, breaking them was not on her to-do list.

Curiosity overpowered caution as she turned them over, watching how they pulsed, how they tugged—not randomly, but in a single, deliberate direction.

Vi hesitated.

The smart thing would be to head home, stash them away, deal with this later.

But then, she remembered who was waiting at home.

Her stomach twisted, and suddenly, returning didn’t seem all that appealing anymore.

Jaw tightening, she shook off the thought and exhaled.

Fine. She’d follow the damn things.

Just for a little while.

For the most part, the glowing stones led her deeper into the tunnels, their eerie light flickering against the damp rock walls. What unsettled her most wasn’t their glow, but the way they moved—how they adjusted their pull at each turn, never once leading her into a dead end. They were aware, somehow mindful of the tunnels' layout, navigating the space like they knew exactly where to go.

It was as fascinating as it was unnerving, and Vi’s curiosity only grew. How the hell did they work? Where were they taking her?

A rough cough escaped her lips, but she pressed on, ignoring the growing dampness in the air. She had no idea how deep these caves ran, and the further she descended, the more the idea of getting lost became a very real, very stupid possibility.

The deeper she went, the stronger the pull became. The light of the stones grew brighter, yet the world around her only darkened. Her grip on them wavered with each insistent tug, their force nearly yanking them from her grasp. When an abrupt pull nearly sent her stumbling forward, she cursed under her breath, steadying herself against the jagged rock wall.

She had long since lost track of time. Her legs ached, though whether from the trek or from her exhaustion earlier, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. She was in too deep to turn back now—not when the stones were practically dragging her toward something.

And then, as she rounded a final bend, her breath hitched.

She froze, a sharp gasp tearing from her lips.

There, tucked within a fissure of crumbled rock, lay a metallic giant.

Even in the dim glow of the stones, she could make out its smouldered silver frame sprawled lifelessly across the cavern floor. Its head shaped almost like a flattened miner’s helmet, bore a face—one that seemed frozen in stillness, its eyes shut as if in deep slumber. One of its arms extended outward, an odd, unidentifiable contraption affixed to its top.

And the spikes—there were so many of them. Not puncturing its body, but deliberately built into its very design, jagged and protruding along its shoulders. Its frame was oddly proportioned: broad in the chest, narrowing at the lower half, as if designed for power rather than balance.

But what made Vi’s stomach twist was the gaping hole in its chest.

Now call her crazy for thinking this about some giant machine, but it almost looked like an injury to her, an empty void carved into its core. It almost looked like an energy chamber, though for what, she had no clue. And deep within—just barely visible against the shadows—was a faint purple glow.

Vi swallowed hard, gripping the stones tighter.

What the hell had she just found?

Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to ruminate on the question.

The stones suddenly wrenched themselves free from her grasp, flying toward the metallic figure with startling speed.

Wait, what—

Vi barely had time to yelp before the stones halted midair, hovering inches from the gaping hole in the giant’s chest. They pulsed, their steady glow flaring into an intense, near-blinding radiance that cast harsh shadows against the cavern walls. Then, like molten metal poured into a forge, the light bled into the cavity. It swirled and pulsed, seeping into the jagged edges of fractured metal, not just illuminating but reshaping.

Vi could only watch, her breath caught in her throat, as the eerie luminescence moved like something alive, filling in the void where rust and ruin had hollowed the giant out. The corroded metal blackened, then crumbled away like burnt parchment, vanishing into wisps of nothing. She swore she could hear it—faint, crackling whispers told in by eerie glow

The giant’s body began to stir. The once-lifeless frame twitched with faint movement, and where time and wear had once left scars, the metal slowly healed. The cracks along its limbs mended, dented plates smoothed, though the process was sluggish when compared to the gap or what was a gap, as if whatever force had reawakened it was struggling to work fast enough.

And then—without warning—red eyes opened and the world went blue.

———————————————

Deep in the vast emptiness of space, aboard a fleeting warship adrift among the stars, a lone screen flickered to life.

The pulse of its signal cut through the hum of the ship’s systems, a single disruption that sent a ripple through every mechanical being aboard. A moment of silence followed, then a wave of movement—every mech stopped what they were doing, optics locked onto the screen.

At the centre of the room, seated upon what passed for a throne, a tall, silver-plated figure stiffened. His wings twitched, his digits curled into tight fists, but above all, his expression betrayed him. Even he, the ever-calculating Starscream, could not fully mask the flicker of shock in his optics. “By the Allspark…”

But appearances had to be maintained.

Quickly schooling his features into something more composed—aloof, even—he turned toward another figure standing just a short distance away. Unlike the others, this one had no visible mouth, only a dark, sleek faceplate and a monitor for a visor, its dim glow unreadable.

“Well, Soundwave,” Starscream drawled, his voice strained with forced indifference. “It seems you were right after all.” His wings gave an involuntary twitch before he exhaled sharply. “Set the coordinates to the planet transmitting the signal. Our master awaits.” The word left his vocalizer like something sour, something he wished he could spit out entirely.

Soundwave didn’t acknowledge him with so much as a nod. He didn’t need to. Orders or not, he would have carried out the task regardless. His servos moved in practised precision, inputting commands before Starscream had even finished speaking.

Around them, the bridge erupted into a flurry of noise. There were whispers, chatter, and hurried clicks of metal against metal as the crew reacted—some with barely contained excitement, others with apprehension, perhaps even dread. The name that had haunted them for nearly a thousand years had resurfaced at last.

Starscream, however, remained rooted in place, optics narrowing as he reread the words flashing across the screen with a scowl on his faceplate.

Signal Discovered: Lord Megatron.

Chapter Text

Violet was known to be many things—stubborn, reckless, too trigger-happy for her own good. But above all, she was brave. She had led her siblings through dangerous stunts, each one riskier than the last. The latest escapade—the one that had landed her here—was barely a week old, yet it already felt like a lifetime ago. Many thoughts she didn't know about fear. They are wrong; she wasn’t fearless, and she wasn’t immune to fear. She had learned long ago that fear could be useful. It kept her sharp, made her cautious when she needed to be, forced her to plan ahead and always—always—have a way out. Vander had told her once, "Fear is a motivator to the brave."

Yet right now, It was an iron grip tightening around her throat, rooting her to the cold stone floor.

The cavern stretched around her, vast with jagged walls. Strange, now glowing minerals jutted out of the rock in scattered clusters, casting eerie shadows that danced with every flicker of light. The air was damp, thick with the scent of earth and something else—something metallic, almost electric, as if the very air itself hummed with static. The deeper tunnels stretched into unfathomable darkness.

And then, in the heart of it all, a pair of red eyes ignited, now the front and center of attention.

The deep, mechanical groan that followed was not a simple noise but a tremor, shaking the cavern walls, rattling the loose stones beneath her feet, pressing against her ribs like an unseen weight as the very air she breathed shook within her lungs. Violet’s breath caught in her throat, her heartbeat hammering like war drums in her ears.

The massive form, once still and lifeless, shifted. Metal groaned against metal, rock and dust crumbled away as ancient joints twitched back to life. The figure was immense, impossibly tall even while slumped against the cavern floor. Its armor was silver, but dulled with age, streaked with grime and scorched in places where time had worn it down. Thick, jagged plates layered its form, some areas adorned with sharp protrusions, almost like battle-worn spikes. They still looked worse for wear even after it got ‘fixed’.

And then there was its face.

Broad and angular, with ridges that made it look carved from war itself, the metal contours twisted into a scowl that looked disturbingly human. The mouth—a jagged maw lined with sharp, almost fang-like metallic teeth—opened, but no words came. Only static. A rasping, crackling sound, punctuated by the occasional burst of electrical energy, like a machine struggling to find its voice.

Violet’s breath hitched.

It was staring at her.

A thick, suffocating silence stretched between them, the only sound the faint hum of electricity and the slow, shuddering grind of metal shifting.

Then it moved.

The massive frame lurched forward, sudden and unbalanced, as if it had forgotten how to control its own weight. The cavern trembled beneath the impact as it crashed to the ground, its own momentum betraying it. Dust and debris kicked up in a cloud, momentarily obscuring its form, but through the haze, Violet saw its fingers twitch—long, clawed digits flexing as it adjusted.

It did not stay down for long.

One of its arms lifted, the clawed hand digging deep into the stone floor. The ground beneath her trembled as it found purchase, forcing itself up with slow, deliberate movements. Some kind of device was attached to one arm, its design foreign and ominous, and though she had no idea what it was, her instincts screamed at her that it was dangerous.

Violet could barely think. Barely breathe.

This thing—this thing—was getting up.

And it was looking right at her.

Her body screamed at her to run, but her legs refused to move. It wasn’t just fear—it was something deeper. Something primal. A feeling she hadn’t experienced since the bridge, when she was a child staring at the lifeless bodies of her parents, surrounded by devastation she had been too young to comprehend.

Back then, Vander had been there to pull her away. To tell her to close her eyes, to move forward.

Now, she was alone.

No Vander. No Sevika. No one.

Just it, and her.

And it was getting up.

Or so she thought.

Just as before, the massive figure was unsteady, its own weight betrayed it again as it tumbled down. The shriek of grinding metal tore through the cavern as it collapsed, the impact rattling the stone beneath her feet. This time, the noise was unbearable—a high-pitched, earsplitting screech of metal scraping against itself.

The sound jolted Vi out of her frozen state, not with instinctual fear but with sheer agony. Hands flying to her ears, she winced, the vibration of the noise reverberating through her skull. It felt less like a sound and more like a force pressing against her, a static-laced howl of something ancient and struggling.

But the assault on her senses didn’t stop there.

A second, more visceral noise tore through the cavern—a crackling, electric roar, unlike anything she had ever heard. It came from deep within the mech’s throat—or whatever it was for giant robots—vibrating through the air like a barely contained storm. Sparks danced from its jagged maw, tendrils of energy flickering between sharp metallic teeth. It made it look like the machine was roaring in rage.

Vi didn’t know what possessed her to move.

Looking back, she’d call herself an idiot. A reckless, absolutely thoughtless idiot. But in the moment, in the dim glow of the underground, with nothing but the hum of unseen energy crackling in the cavern walls and the shallow, labored breaths of the metal giant before her, stepping forward felt inevitable.

It was hard to remember why she had been so terrified just moments ago. Sure, it had roared loud enough to rattle her ribs, its frame towered over her like some nightmare dredged up from the depths, and it had just tried—and failed—to rise, it's mere size was a constant reminder of how dangerous it could be. I mean, don't get her wrong, the thing was massive—larger than any machine she had ever seen, its sheer size making the narrowness of the cavern feel even more suffocating. But more than that, it was hurt.

Badly.

Even as she approached, her boots hesitant against the uneven stone, she could see it clearly now. The damage stretched across its body in deep gouges and melted edges, as if it had been through hell and barely crawled out. Scorched plating, torn metal, whole sections missing—some revealing the intricate web of mechanisms beneath, others just… empty. Hollow spaces where something should have been.

Whatever magic the blue rocks had worked—as miraculous as it was—wasn't enough to fix the thing.

Was it even still functional?

She hadn’t forgotten the way it had tried to rise earlier, only to collapse again, the ground trembling beneath its weight. It was still dangerous, still a thing of sharp edges and merciless design, but its inability to even stand dulled the terror she had felt before.

And despite herself, despite everything she should have been feeling—Vi felt… sorry for it.

It?

The thing was alive, or at least as close to it as any machine could be. It acted alive, moved alive, looked around like it was thinking. She didn’t know if it was intelligent enough to hesitate before turning her into paste, or too intelligent to bother with such a thing in the first place.

Her thoughts clouded her focus, her attention locked on the mech rather than the rugged ground.

Her foot caught on a jagged rock.

She barely had time to curse before gravity took hold, sending her stumbling forward with all the grace of a thrown brick. She hit the ground hard, the breath forced from her lungs in a sharp grunt.

For a few heartbeats, all she could do was groan, pushing herself up to check for injuries. Nothing broken, nothing bleeding—aside from her pride, anyway. But as the sting of the fall faded, a different realization clawed its way into her mind.

She had been loud.

Vi froze. Her throat tightened as a weight settled in her chest, the distinct, gut-wrenching sensation of being watched.

Slowly, carefully, she turned her head.

Two burning red eyes were locked onto her.

Not a glance. Not a passing moment of acknowledgment. A true, measured look.

For a long, stretched moment, neither of them moved.

Its gaze narrowed—not in aggression, not yet, but in calculation. Like it was registering her in a way it hadn’t before.

The same way someone might regard an insect that had wandered too close.

Vi’s stomach twisted. What was she supposed to do? What could she do? There was no script for this, no past experience to draw from. As far as she was aware, no one had ever been in a situation like this before. Except perhaps who made it.

Now that she thought about it, who in the world made that machine? It looked like it's been here for years but Vi had never seen something like it. Sure Piltover had a lot of fancy machinery but they certainly weren't that far ahead of them? Was it a Pilty invention? It looked like it belonged in the fissures more than it ever did Piltover, so maybe that was it? Could it?

But before she could even attempt to make a choice, the mech took initiative, and moved.

Not sharply, not with hostility. Slowly, carefully. Its massive arm lifted, servos groaning, cables flexing under the strain of motion.

Then, its clawed servo—she remembered with Powder’s voice in her head—unfurled, palm facing up—an open, deliberate gesture.

Vi blinked, caught between instinct and reason.

Was it… offering?

The absurdity of the moment almost made her laugh. A giant, ancient war machine—because there was no way this thing was just a machine—was holding out its hand like a stage performer inviting her to step up.

Her breath hitched. Every logical part of her brain told her this was a terrible idea. That climbing into the grasp of something that could snap her like a twig was the height of stupidity.

This was stupid.

This was beyond stupid.

And yet…

Vi had never been good at listening to the voice that told her not to do stupid things when more could be had.

She hesitated only for a breath. Then, with the kind of reckless courage that had always gotten her in trouble, she stepped forward and placed her boots onto the metal of its palm…plus if it meant her harm, she wouldn't be alive to make that decision anyway.

The second her boots met the metal of its palm, the mech lifted her with a surprising steadiness. The speed was faster than she expected, forcing a sharp “Woah!” from her lips, but it was controlled, precise. She was brought eye-level with it now, close enough to hear the faint hum of its internal workings, the rhythmic clicks of gears shifting, the occasional sputter of something wrong beneath its surface.

Something in its systems was failing. She spent enough time with Powder to hear the sound of wrong when it came to machinery, even if this was no ordinary machine.

And for the first time since this began, Vi wasn’t the most vulnerable thing in the room.

The mech regarded her, and she, in turn, regarded it.

She looked down at the source of the loud sound, at the chest that was a gaping hole not even 10 minutes ago. It was the most polished area of the mech. There embedded in the middle of it was a weird insignia. Was that the symbol of who made it? Him?

Then, without warning, the mech’s optics flickered, loud enough to grab her attention as they moved.

They darted away from her, scanning their surroundings as if seeing them for the first time.

And then its expression changed.

The scowl deepened, something hard and unyielding settling into the angles of its face.

Vi frowned. It didn’t like being here.

Which raised the question—why was it here at all?

It looked old, like it had been buried for years. It raised the question of where did it come from? again. She had never seen anything like it, not in Zaun, not even in Piltover with all their fancy machinery. Was it some kind of forgotten invention? A relic from some lost age?

Her intrigue swelled, enough to finally push past the lingering remnants of fear.

And before she could stop herself, she spoke.

“You don’t look too pleased to be here, do you?”

Instantly, those red optics snapped back to her, shifting, refocusing. The gears within spun faster, their whirring growing louder.

The scowl was gone.

And in its place was something else.

Curiosity.

After a moment of stillness, the mech gave a short nod, its massive frame shifting with the motion. An electrical grunt followed, sharp enough to make her clutch her ears again, before it lifted its free service and made a sharp, deliberate motion upwards.

Vi watched, trying to piece together its meaning.

It was frustrated—she could see it in the way its clawed digits flexed, in the narrowed slant of its optics. It was trying to communicate, but the lack of speech made it difficult. For both of them. She knew it understood her—there had been enough recognition in its gaze for her to be sure of that—but whatever damage had rendered it unable to move properly must have affected its ability to speak, too.

And she doubted it knew Fissure sign language.

Vi waited, hoping it would try again. Hoping for more.

But as the silence stretched on, the mech did nothing except continue to stare, and a slight shift in a metal plate above the optics—just enough that, for a ridiculous moment, she thought it looked like it was raising an eyebrow.

Which shouldn’t have been possible.

Vi exhaled sharply through her nose and crossed her arms. “You gotta help me out here, big guy. I can sort of guess you want to go up, but unless you’ve got a way to make that happen, I don’t see how that’s possible.”

The mech remained still for a breath.

Then, its optics flickered.

The deep red glow dimmed—

And in its place, green light flared to life.

Vi barely had time to react before a thin beam shot out, striking her dead-on.

She flinched, her entire body locking up on instinct. It wasn’t an attack—not exactly. There was no pain, no searing heat, but the impact was felt. A force, a pulse, like something brushing against her with weight.

She staggered back a step, cursing as her vision was momentarily overwhelmed by the brilliant green flare.

And then when her eyes adjusted, she saw it.

The light hadn’t faded. It had shifted.

A projection hovered in the air, cast from the mech’s still-glowing optics. A shifting grid of translucent green lines, tracing shapes—highlighting something.

Vi’s stomach twisted as she followed the light’s path.

It wasn’t scanning her. Not really.

It was scanning her gauntlets.

They were strapped loosely to her pants, old and battered but still holding together. The light pulsed across them, outlining their shape in sharp detail.

The mech wasn’t looking at her.

It was looking at them.

For a long moment, it remained locked onto them, the glow intensifying ever so slightly—analyzing, studying, committing something to memory.

Then, as if only just remembering she was even there, it adjusted the light.

And suddenly, the same scan swept over her entirely.

Vi tried to open her mouth—to speak, to move, to do anything—but she was frozen. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to put distance between herself and the massive, damaged machine before her.

But she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

And then, before she could so much as breathe, the mech moved.

Its massive clawed servo moved, lowering her back to the ground with surprising care, metal plates whirring as its joints adjusted. Vi barely had time to steady herself before—

Before the world stopped making sense. Why you might ask? Because the damn thing was transforming.

She could only stare—gape, watch in absolute disbelief—as its entire frame began to shift, metal grinding and clicking, layers folding in on themselves in an impossibly fluid, impossibly fast motion. Its towering form rearranging piece by piece.

And it was shrinking.

Smaller, smaller, smaller.

Gone was the sheer enormity of the figure that had loomed over her. Gone was the torn plating, the humanoid shape, the scowling face lined with a presence too intelligent to be mere programming.

By the time it stopped, by the time the last panel clicked into place, Vi was no longer standing before a mech at all.

She was staring at a gauntlet.

A single, lone gauntlet, resting on the ground where the mech once stood. Jagged, angular, and impossibly intricate.

Despite its new shape, Vi could still see it—the remnants of the machine that had loomed over her just seconds ago. The sharp angles, the cold precision of its form, the subtle ridges that echoed the design of its original plating. It wasn’t just some random piece of tech.

It was still him.

But now it was small. Compact. Something she could hold. Something meant to be held, something that she could wear. It even looked her size, leaner than the gauntlets tied to her side, almost exactly the size of her hand and arm.

Vi swallowed hard, pulse loud in her ears. Dumbfounded for a moment as she was alone again (maybe?)

“…The hell am I supposed to do with this?” she asked hoping that he could still hear her.

For once, Vi’s prayers to Janna were actually answered.

Because the gauntlet—if it could even be called that—opened.

The plated exterior shifted with mechanical precision, panels splitting apart, exposing an interior shaped unmistakably for a hand. The message was clear.

It wanted her to wear it.

Vi stared.

She wasn’t a genius—never claimed to be—but even she knew that, no matter how much it had shrunk, the thing had to weigh more than she could even dream to lift. The sheer density of its plating, the raw power packed into its previous form—it shouldn’t be possible.

And yet…

She stepped forward anyway.

Sometimes, even she didn’t understand herself.

Her fingers hovered just above the open gauntlet, hesitation gripping her. If she did this—if she slid her arm inside—she was putting herself in an impossibly vulnerable position. The damn thing could snap shut in an instant, could take her arm clean off if it wanted to.

But wasn’t that the point?

She had come this far. She had stood before a walking giant war machine and lived.

Vi sucked in a breath—then plunged her hand inside.

The second her fingers met the interior, an odd warmth surged up her arm. Not heat, not cold—something else. Something she could only describe as strange.

Then, with a final, resounding click—

The gauntlet closed with a sharp pain of a hundred needles hitting her at once.

Vi yanked back on instinct, muscles tensing, trying to rip herself free—

And immediately regretted it.

Because for a single, horrifying second, the sheer weight of the thing dragged her forward, nearly wrenching her shoulder out of its socket.

Then—

The weight was gone.

Not lessened. Not halved. Gone.

One moment, it felt like a hunk of solid metal gluing her to the floor, and the next? It was light. Almost natural. No, it felt natural.

Which meant that instead of toppling forward, she stumbled back, barely catching herself before she hit the ground.

Vi gasped, her breath hitching as she stared at her arm—or what had become of it.

The machine encased her limb from the elbow down, an unnatural yet eerily seamless extension of herself. It felt no different from her own skin—warm, responsive, real. The air of the caves brushed against it, and she felt it. Not metal. Not entirely.

The emblem—that strange, sharp sigil—now sat proudly on the back of her hand, positioned like a crest meant to be seen. A symbol of something important.

She flexed her fingers, slow, deliberate, watching in silent fascination. They weren’t quite claws, not as they were when the gauntlet was much more, but a series of sharp protrusion like nails hinted at something more—something waiting, ready. A hidden edge, subtle but unmistakable.

She wanted to know—to understand this thing that had willingly bound itself to her.

But then—

Her chest tightened.

A sharp, unwelcome reminder of where she was.

The caves. Shit.

The weight of reality crashed down on her, and Vi shook herself from her trance, turning on her heel. She needed to move.

The path back was rough, and maze-like, marked only by scattered rubble and the faint glow of a half-spent lightstick she forgot she had on her person. Each step carried her closer to the surface, closer to why she had come down in the first place.

And yet, something made her pause.

Before, her plan had been clear.

But now…

Vi clenched her fist—the metal one—and frowned. She had this… thing now. That mech.

She thought about him. About the silent trust placed in her.

But she also thought about them.

The people waiting above. The ones who needed her to see this through.

She couldn’t ignore them. She wouldn’t.

This mech—whatever it was—needed help. But so did they.

And if the rich folk of Piltover saw worth in the mech—if they had more of those blue stones, the kind that had already worked to mend him—then maybe, maybe, this could be the right choice.

They would have resources. They would have answers.

And the rest of the stones they stole? Powder could use them. For her inventions. For her future.

Yes.

Vi took a steadying breath, steeling herself.

She was doing the right thing.

She had no idea what consequences awaited her.