Behind Blue Eyes

The Last Drop in daylight was a place stripped of its power. Without the cloak of darkness, the cracks in its walls and the stains on its floors were laid bare by the unrelenting light streaming through dusty windows. The bar, usually alive with raucous laughter, the clinking of bottles, and the chaotic hum of patrons, felt muted and hollow in its emptiness. Every scratch on the wood, every scuff on the floor, was exposed in the harsh daylight, as if the bar itself were naked and open.

Vi stood behind the counter, her movements precise and practiced as she wiped glasses. Her milky light blue eyes, unseeing, stared ahead, their gaze unfocused yet purposeful. Her hands moved with the kind of efficiency that came from years of repetition, but it hadn’t always been that way. She didn’t need to see the bar to know it like the back of her hand, but that knowledge had been hard-won, carved out of frustration, pain, and sheer stubbornness. Every inch of the bar was etched into her memory not by sight, but through countless nights of mishaps, missteps, and sharp-edged determination.

She could trace the bar’s layout in her mind, a mental map built from touch and sound. The groan of a loose floorboard by the door, the sharp corner of the counter that had more then once bruised her hip until she’d learned to step wide, and the uneven legs of the third stool from the left; all of it was familiar now. But getting to this point hadn’t been easy. The early days after the accident had been a constant struggle, her once-fluid movements reduced to awkward stumbles and second-guesses. She’d knocked over chairs, shattered bottles, and cursed herself for being too proud to ask for help. Every mistake felt like a blow to her pride, a reminder of how much she’d lost.

Vander had watched her struggle through the years, his quiet presence both a comfort and a source of irritation. He’d offered to help more times than she could count, but Vi had waved him off, determined to figure it out herself. She’d spent long, silent hours in the empty bar, her fingers brushing over surfaces, her ears straining for every sound that could guide her. She’d learned to listen, to the faint hum of the broken neon sign above the door, the soft clink of bottles shifting in their racks, and the way sound echoed differently near the walls. Each discovery was a small victory, a step toward reclaiming control over her surroundings.

Even now, twelve years after the incident, the effort of maintaining that mental map was exhausting. A single misplaced stool or a forgotten rag left on the counter could throw her off, sending her back to the days when every step felt like a risk. But she refused to let it show. Her movements were smooth and confident, a deliberate act of defiance against the challenges she faced. To anyone watching, she looked perfectly at ease, every bit the capable woman she grew to become. But beneath the surface, every motion was a calculation, every step a reminder of how much she’d had to adapt.

In the silence of the daylight hours, the bar felt almost like a companion, its imperfections and quirks as familiar to her as her own scars. The Last Drop wasn’t just a place where she worked or even lived, it was a testament to her resilience, a space she’d mastered on her own terms. And in that mastery, there was a kind of pride, even if she’d never admit it out loud.

“She’s late,” Vi muttered, setting down a glass with more force than necessary. The sharp clink against the counter echoed in the stillness of the empty bar, a sound that matched her growing irritation.

“She’ll show,” came Vander’s gravelly voice. He leaned against the far side of the counter, his massive arms crossed over his chest. His looming presence was a constant in her life, as solid and unshakable as the bar itself. It wasn’t just protection he offered—it was a silent reassurance, a reminder that someone always had her back, even when she refused to admit she needed it.

“She’s always late,” Vi replied, her tone dry but edged with tension. “One of these days, I’m locking her out.”

Vander chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest like distant thunder. “You wouldn’t do that, and we both know it.”

Vi didn’t answer right away. Her fingers traced the edge of the counter, the familiar grooves worn into the wood grounding her. She didn’t need to say it Vander already knew. Powder might have been late, but it wasn’t the waiting that made Vi’s nerves bristle. It was what came next.

Leaving the bar.

Vi hardly left the Last Drop these days, and when she did, it was never without reluctance. The bar was her fortress, its familiar cracks and creaks a shield against the vastness of the world outside. She’d carved out a life here, as limited as it might be, and the thought of stepping beyond its walls always left her uneasy. She had adapted to the bar, to its predictable noises and solid familiarity, but Piltover? Topside was unpredictable. Dangerous.

The last time she’d gone up to Piltover, she’d lost everything. Her sight, her confidence, her sense of control, all stolen from her in an instant. She could still hear the echo of the explosion in her nightmares, feel the searing heat and the overwhelming darkness that followed. It wasn’t a fear she’d ever voice aloud, but it clung to her all the same, heavy and unrelenting.

Everyone knew. Vander knew. Powder knew. They didn’t say it, but she could hear it in their careful tones when they asked her to come along, hear it in the hesitant way Powder spoke to her since, fidgeting nervously.

Before Vi could respond, the front door creaked open, and hurried footsteps echoed across the bar’s worn floor. “Sorry, sorry!” Powder’s voice rang out, high-pitched and breathless. “I got… uh… caught up with some last-minute tweaks.”

Vi tilted her head toward the sound of her sister’s approach. “Tweaks, huh? That your new excuse for everything?”

Powder flushed, her rapid steps faltering as she reached the counter. She placed a thermos in front of Vi, her fingers twitching against its lid. “I made you hot chocolate.”

“That supposed to make me forget you’re late?” Vi smirked, unscrewing the lid and letting the steam rise. Her expression softened despite herself. “You’re lucky I like it.”

Powder smiled nervously, twisting her fingers together. “You’re still coming, right? To the competition? Ekko, Mylo, and Claggor are counting on you too.”

Vi sighed heavily, leaning her weight on the counter as if the act of agreeing would drain her completely. “I’ll go. But only because I want to hear Mylo embarrass himself in front of the Pilties.”

Powder’s smile widened, the relief almost palpable in the way her shoulders relaxed. “You won’t regret it.”

Vander, still watching from the sidelines, gave Vi a small nod of approval, though knowing she hadn’t seen it. “Good call.”

Vi rolled her eyes, though the faintest of smiles tugged at her lips. “Don’t start.”

Even as she said it, her stomach twisted. The thought of leaving the bar, of facing Piltover’s gleaming streets and unyielding skies, made her chest tighten. Her fingers curled briefly against the edge of the counter, her knuckles whitening with the force of her grip. She didn’t want to leave. The Last Drop was hers, it was safe. It didn’t demand more of her than she could give. But she wouldn’t let them see that. She’d never let anyone see that.

“Let’s get this over with,” she muttered under her breath, finishing her drink in one last gulp. She set the thermos down with a clink, her grip lingering on it for a moment longer than necessary before letting go. Her steps were slow as she walked from behind the bar, her movements smooth, though her chest felt tight with dread.

Vander followed her without a word, his heavy boots scuffing softly against the floor. As they reached the doorway, she paused, her fingers brushing the edge of the frame to orient herself. She hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping out into the bright streets of Zaun, the transition from the bar to the open air like a punch to her senses.

She hated how exposed it made her feel, how the rush of sound and scent overwhelmed her. She could hear the buzz of distant machinery, the faint calls of merchants, and the occasional clatter of metal being worked. The streets of Zaun were alive in a way that felt suffocating, its unpredictability gnawing at her nerves.

Vander walked alongside her, his gaze steady and warm as it flicked between her and the path ahead lead by Powder. He knew she’d never ask for help, Vi’s pride wouldn’t allow it. Instead, with a practiced ease that came from years of knowing her, he gently looped his arm through hers. It wasn’t a question or an offer, but a quiet, unspoken insistence.

Vi tensed for a moment, her jaw tightening as if ready to protest, but she didn’t pull away. She hated needing the guidance, hated how it reminded her of everything she’d lost. But Vander didn’t push, didn’t make a show of it. His touch was firm but subtle, a grounding presence she couldn’t refuse. Together, they made their way through the uneven streets toward the lift.

Ahead, Powder waited, her small frame almost vibrating with a mix of nervous energy and guilt. She watched her sister’s slow, focused steps, her expression clouding with sadness. No matter how much time passed, the sight of Vi struggling to navigate the world without her sight never failed to prick at the deep well of guilt she carried.

Her chest tightened, and she opened her mouth as if to say something, but Vander caught her eye. One kind look and a gentle shake of his head silenced her. His message was clear: Don’t.

Powder pressed her lips together and nodded, swallowing her guilt like she did most days. She pushed it down, shoving it into that same dark corner of her mind where all her regrets lived. She couldn’t let it show. Not today. Instead, she forced a smile and took a step forward as Vi and Vander reached her and the others by the lift.

Ekko, Mylo, and Claggor were already waiting, their inventions carefully packed and ready for the trip topside. Ekko greeted them with his usual quiet confidence, while Mylo and Claggor bickered over the logistics of their presentation. Powder slipped in beside them, her smile growing more genuine as their chatter filled the air.

Vi, however, remained silent, her shoulders stiff as she stood by Vander. She felt the lift’s vibrations through her boots as it prepared to carry them topside, a reminder of where they were going and everything she wanted to avoid. She took a steadying breath, her face impassive, her fear buried deep beneath a mask of stubborn determination.

“Ready?” Vander asked softly, his arm still looped with hers.

Vi gave a short nod, though the tightness in her jaw betrayed her unease. “Not like I got a choice,” she muttered, her tone gruff.

Vander squeezed her arm briefly in response, a small gesture of reassurance, before leading her toward the lift. Together, they stepped on, leaving the Last Drop and the safety it offered behind.

The lift that connected Zaun to Piltover groaned as it climbed, its worn mechanisms straining under the weight of its passengers. Each jolt and creak of the machinery echoed through the narrow shaft, a reminder of its age and overuse. The air grew cleaner and thinner the higher they ascended, a sharp contrast to the oppressive haze of the Undercity below. Over the years, even that haze had lightened somewhat. The Piltover council, after decades of ignoring Zaun’s plight, had finally agreed to stop dumping their industrial waste into the depths of the Undercity. It wasn’t an act of generosity but a reluctant concession during the negotiations that followed the explosion and its fallout.

In the months after the catastrophe, tensions between Piltover and Zaun reached a breaking point. The leaders of both cities pushed by Vander’s steady pragmatism and Silco’s sharp, unyielding rhetoric had come together to negotiate a fragile peace. For the first time, Zaun’s independence was officially recognized, a historic moment born from years of struggle and loss. Vander had advocated for compromise, his focus on unity and survival, while Silco had demanded more, his passion and charisma driving the negotiations to a boiling point. The two had clashed often, but their combined efforts had forced Piltover to acknowledge Zaun as an equal. It wasn’t perfect, not yet, but it was progress.

For most Zaunites, the changes were undeniable. Cleaner air, a reduction in enforcer raids, and the first hints of infrastructure projects designed to improve living conditions were tangible signs of progress. But for Vi, it was all just talk. She had heard the stories, the cautious optimism in Powder’s voice and the frustration in Vander’s, but none of it mattered to her. She couldn’t see the cleaned streets or the new bridges that spanned the chasm between the cities. For her, Zaun remained the same: a dark, unchanging world filled with memories she couldn’t escape.

Powder chattered excitedly with Ekko, Mylo, and Claggor at the front of the lift, her voice a mix of nerves and enthusiasm. The energy of their conversation was palpable, filled with hope for the future and excitement for the competition ahead. Vi, however, stood near the back of the lift, her head tilted slightly as she listened to the rhythmic creaks and hums of the machinery. Every groan of the lift’s mechanisms was another reminder of how far they were climbing, how far she was from the safety of the Last Drop.

Vander stood close, his arm no longer around hers but his presence unmistakable. His large frame loomed beside her, a steadying force without needing to touch. She could feel him watching her, his quiet support a comfort she refused to acknowledge out loud. He didn’t speak, but his silence was enough, an unspoken reassurance that no matter what waited for them at the top, she wouldn’t face it alone.

Still, as the lift shuddered and climbed higher, Vi couldn’t shake the unease that coiled in her chest. Independence, peace, progress, these were just words to her, empty and weightless in the face of everything she’d lost. No amount of political change could give her back what she’d left behind.

“You good?” Vander asked quietly, his voice low enough not to carry to the others. It was soft, but there was weight in it, concern wrapped in the gruff tone of a man who had carried more than his share of burdens.

“Fine,” Vi replied curtly, brushing off his concern. She hated needing to rely on him, hated the way his presence, as comforting as it was, reminded her of how much she couldn’t do. There had been a time when she wouldn’t have needed anyone’s help, when she’d been the one leading the charge, fists swinging and fire in her veins. She had been a fighter—still was, much to Vander’s dismay.

He didn’t understand her need to fight, didn’t see it the way she did. To him, it was reckless, dangerous, a refusal to let go of a life she could no longer live. To her, it was the only way to feel alive, to prove to herself that she wasn’t as broken as she sometimes felt. She still won, most of the time. She didn’t see the problem. But Vander, ever the father figure, always did. He was protecting her, as he had from the moment she was first dragged through the bar, blind, hurt, and furious at the world. His watchful eyes had been on her ever since, and she knew he wouldn’t stop. Not until he was sure she was safe, and even then, probably not.

But it wasn’t just protection. It was more than that now. Vi was the only one of his kids still living at the Last Drop. Mylo and Claggor had moved on, building lives of their own in the Undercity. Even Powder had left, sharing a small place with Ekko. Vi, though, remained. The Last Drop was her world now, and it frustrated her more than she could put into words.

Sure, there was part of her that feared the world outside. She wouldn’t admit it, but the thought of navigating the unpredictable nature of Zaun or the cold, towering streets of Piltover made her stomach twist. It wasn’t just her blindness, though that played a part. It was the sense of vulnerability that came with it, the feeling of being exposed in a world that had already taken so much from her. The Last Drop was safe. It was familiar. But that safety felt more like a cage with every passing day.

And it wasn’t just her own mind that kept her trapped. It was her family, too. Vander’s constant hovering, Powder’s sad glances she knew were there, even Mylo and Claggor’s cautious questions whenever they visited; it all made her feel like they were holding her in place, as if they thought she’d shatter the moment she stepped outside, even if she felt like that herself. It grated on her, the way they walked on eggshells around her, the way they tried to protect her from a world she still wanted to fight. She didn’t need their pity. She didn’t want their help. But as much as she told herself that, she couldn’t deny the truth that sat heavy in her chest: without them, she didn’t know where she’d be. Dead in the gutters more than likely.

“I’m Fine,” she said again, sharper this time, as if trying to cut through her own thoughts. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the lift’s wall and tilting her head toward the groaning machinery. Vander didn’t push, didn’t argue, but she could feel the weight of his gaze, steady and unyielding. He didn’t believe her, and maybe he was right not to.

But Vi wouldn’t give him, or anyone else, the satisfaction of seeing her doubt herself. Not now. Not ever.

Ekko’s voice cut through the group’s chatter, steady and brimming with quiet confidence. “This is our chance to show them what we can do. They won’t be able to ignore Zaun after today.” His words carried a weight that silenced the others, a reminder of why they were here and what was at stake. Ekko had always been the dreamer of their group, but his dreams were rooted in action, in plans and blueprints that turned ideas into reality.

“Unless Claggor forgets how to talk when they ask questions,” Mylo quipped, breaking the brief solemnity with his usual sharp tongue. He grinned, clearly pleased with himself, but the grin quickly turned into a grimace when Powder jabbed him hard in the ribs.

“Shut up, Mylo,” she snapped, her glare fierce despite the faint flush of nerves on her face.

Claggor muttered something under his breath, adjusting the strap of the plant container on his back. The weight of it made his steps slower, more purposeful, and he couldn’t help fidgeting with the straps to make sure they were secure. “I’ve got it under control,” he said, though his tone carried a hint of uncertainty.

Vi smirked faintly, her arms remained crossed as she leaned against the wall of the lift. “Relax, Claggor. If Mylo can survive five minutes without sticking his foot in his mouth, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Hey!” Mylo protested, his voice shooting up indignantly. He turned to Powder for backup, but her withering look silenced him before he could say more.

Laughter rippled through the group, cutting through the tension and replacing it with a flicker of ease. Even Claggor cracked a small, reluctant smile as the others teased Mylo further. The camaraderie, however lighthearted, was a balm to the nerves buzzing just beneath the surface.

Vi leaned her head back, letting the conversation wash over her as she focused on the creaks and groans of the lift’s mechanisms. Every sound was familiar to her now, a reminder of how many times she’d been here before everything, and yet each ascent brought a fresh wave of unease. She tilted her head toward the others, listening to the faint shuffle of feet and the occasional clink of Ekko’s gadget as he adjusted it on his wrist. Powder’s voice rose and fell, animated and bright, but Vi could hear the underlying nervousness beneath her words.

When the lift jolted to a halt, Vi’s body reacted before her mind caught up. Her hand shot out instinctively, brushing against Vander’s arm. He steadied her immediately, his grip firm but gentle, a silent reassurance that she hated needing but couldn’t refuse. Vander didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance at her; he just gave her the moment she needed to regain her balance.

Together, they stepped off the lift and into the bright, prestigious world of Piltover. The shift was jarring, even for Vi, who couldn’t see it. The air was cleaner, crisper, carrying the faint metallic tang of industry and wealth. The distant hum of machinery was softer here, muffled by layers of order and refinement. It was a stark contrast to Zaun, and even without her sight, Vi could feel the difference in the way sound echoed off the smooth, pristine surfaces.

The others stepped out ahead of her, their chatter fading slightly as they took in the sights. Powder’s voice grew softer, almost reverent, as she described the towering spires and polished walkways, but Vi didn’t ask for details. She didn’t need to know how shiny the buildings were or how clean the streets looked. To her, Piltover was the same as it had always been—a world apart, a place that didn’t belong to her and never would.

Powder looped her arm around Vi’s without hesitation, her grip light enough not to feel overbearing. There was a quiet determination in her movements as she gently steered her sister toward the bridge that stretched between the two cities. The bridge itself was a marvel of engineering, a symbol of the fragile connection between Zaun and Piltover, but for Vi, it was just another step in a journey she didn’t want to take. Powder stole her away from Vander as they crossed, though she could feel his eyes on her the entire time. His focus wasn’t on the bridge or their surroundings; it was on her, watchful and protective as always.

Vi didn’t noticed the tension between them. Her focus was elsewhere, on the cacophony of sounds and sensations that assaulted her. The faint hum of the bridge’s mechanisms beneath her boots felt amplified, vibrating up through her legs and into her chest. The distant rush of wind against metal, the soft chatter of passersby, and the sharper clangs of industry all melded into an overwhelming symphony that pressed down on her like a weight. The air itself felt charged, almost electric, sharp and foreign compared to the thick, smoggy atmosphere of Zaun. It was cleaner here, lighter, but somehow suffocating all the same.

“Almost there,” Powder said brightly, her voice deliberately cheerful as if trying to cut through Vi’s silence. She tightened her grip on Vi’s arm, her smaller frame leaning into her sister for support. She knew the stairs up to the Academy building would frustrate Vi, that every uneven step would be a test of her patience and pride. Powder talked quickly, her words spilling out in a stream of chatter designed to distract her. She pointed out little details—things Vi couldn’t see but might still appreciate: the faint clink of a decorative wind chime hanging from a nearby post, the soft whistle of steam escaping a vent, the way the sunlight caught the metal of the bridge’s rails. Anything to keep Vi’s mind off the climb ahead.

Vi didn’t respond. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her jaw tight as she let Powder guide her. Her silence wasn’t anger—though she felt plenty of that simmering below the surface—it was the weight of everything pressing down on her at once. The world around her was too loud, too bright in ways she couldn’t even see. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a sharp reminder of how far she was from the safety of home. She hated it, every second of it, but she kept it to herself.

This wasn’t about her. It was about them—her family. She was only here for them, for Powder. She could feel the excitement radiating off her sister in the way her grip trembled slightly, in the way her words stumbled over themselves as she tried to fill the silence. Powder had worked so hard for this, and Vi wasn’t about to let her down.

Her breaths came shallow and quick, but she forced her feet to keep moving, her steps steady despite the noise threatening to drown her. She could feel the stares of passersby, the way they lingered just a moment too long before moving on. She didn’t need to see their faces to know what they thought—a blind woman in Zaunite leathers, being half-dragged toward Piltover’s pristine Academy. She bit the inside of her cheek, swallowing her frustration. Let them stare.

Powder paused at the foot of the Academy steps, hesitating for just a moment before tugging Vi forward. “We’re here,” she said, her voice softer now, tinged with a mix of pride and nervousness.

Vi’s fingers twitched at her side, her only outward sign of the tension coiled in her chest. She nodded once, curt and sharp, and followed Powder up the steps without a word. Her focus narrowed, her senses tuning out everything but the sound of Powder’s voice and the feel of her sister’s arm looped through hers. She wasn’t here for Piltover or its fancy buildings. She was here for Powder, and that was enough to keep her moving. She’d be damned if she didn’t come through for her.

Once they made it inside, the Academy’s grand hall assaulted Vi’s senses in a way that made her pause, her boots scuffing against the marble floor. The space buzzed with an overwhelming cacophony of sound and motion. Machines hummed and clicked in synchronized rhythms, the sharp hiss of steam punctuating the air as gears turned and levers shifted. Voices overlapped in animated discussion, a blend of Piltover’s crisp, formal tones and the rougher, more passionate cadences of Zaunites. The air carried the faint metallic tang of oil and polish, mixed with the warmth of too many bodies packed into one space. It felt alive, almost oppressive, like the very walls vibrated with the energy of innovation and competition.

Powder guided Vi carefully through the masses, her smaller frame pressed close as she described the scene in hushed, excited tones. “There’s a massive clockwork contraption over there,” she whispered, her voice tinged with awe. “It’s… I think it’s a model of Piltover itself, with moving parts. Oh, and someone’s got a chem-powered automaton—it’s walking, Vi, like actually walking!” Her descriptions came fast and breathless, her words tripping over each other in her excitement as she tried to paint the picture Vi couldn’t see.

Vi listened, her lips twitching into a faint smile at Powder’s enthusiasm. She didn’t need to see the grand hall to understand what it represented—Piltover’s polished pride and intellectual vanity on full display. Still, she let herself be led, focusing on the sound of Powder’s voice and the occasional vibrations beneath her boots as they passed closer to some of the larger machines.

Ekko’s booth stood out immediately. His time loop device—a sleek, wrist-mounted gadget—drew a crowd almost as soon as he started his demonstration. Powder’s voice grew more animated as she described how Ekko confidently explained its purpose, his words drawing gasps of amazement from the audience. “He just rewound a vase!” she exclaimed softly, gripping Vi’s arm. “It fell and shattered, but then—boom—it’s back, like nothing happened.”

The crowd pressed closer, murmuring with awe as Ekko demonstrated the device’s potential for safety and precision in mechanical work. His calm, steady demeanor commanded attention, his passion for his invention shining through. Vi couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride—Ekko had always been brilliant, but seeing him captivate Piltover’s elite was something else entirely.

Not far from Ekko’s display, Mylo and Claggor’s project drew its own curious audience. Their plant—a carefully engineered greenery designed to filter toxins and thrive in polluted environments—sat in a small, clear container. Mylo explained the science behind it with his usual exaggerated flair, gesturing wildly as he spoke, while Claggor kept the technical details grounded. “It’s not just a plant,” Mylo insisted loudly, his voice cutting through the room. “It’s a revolution for places like Zaun. Imagine breathing clean air down there.”

Claggor added in his quieter tone, “It’s resistant to toxic exposure and needs minimal sunlight. We’ve made sure it can survive where nothing else will.”

Piltover’s scholars, dressed in their pristine lab coats and fine clothes, tilted their heads and murmured among themselves, their curiosity sparked despite their initial skepticism. One even leaned forward to inspect the plant more closely, muttering something about its potential applications.

Powder squeezed Vi’s arm as they moved toward her own booth, her excitement tinged with nerves. “It’s my turn,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the room. Vi nodded, her grip tightening briefly on Powder’s hand in silent encouragement.

When it was Powder’s turn to present, she took a deep breath and stepped forward, her trembling hands setting up her compact energy-efficient device on the small podium. Her invention—a small but powerful generator designed to provide clean, sustainable energy for Zaunite homes—looked modest compared to some of the more extravagant contraptions in the room, but it drew the attention of nearby judges and onlookers.

Powder’s voice, though shaky at first, grew steadier as she explained its purpose. “This device runs on minimal resources and produces no harmful byproducts,” she said, her words careful but clear. “It’s designed for places like Zaun, where access to clean, affordable energy is limited.”

Vi stood at the edge of the crowd, listening intently as Powder fielded questions from the judges. Despite her trembling hands, Powder answered each inquiry with surprising confidence, her knowledge and passion shining through. Vi felt a swell of pride rise in her chest, the kind that tightened her throat and made her smile faintly. For a moment, the overwhelming noise and chaos of the grand hall faded, and all she could hear was her sister’s voice—strong, determined, and full of hope.

As the judges nodded their approval and the crowd murmured in interest, Powder stepped back from the podium, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of relief and exhilaration. She turned toward Vi, her eyes bright and searching for her sister’s reaction. “Vi?” she called softly, her voice hopeful.

Vi gave a small nod in Powder’s direction, her expression softening into something that was almost a smile. It wasn’t much—barely a flicker—but it was enough to let Powder know she’d done well. The younger girl’s face lit up, her nervous energy giving way to pride as she returned to the group.

Vi lingered at the edge of the crowd, her faint smile fading as the overwhelming noise of the grand hall crashed back into focus. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms in a desperate attempt to ground herself. The hum of the mechanics, the overlapping voices, the sharp clicks of shoes against the floors, it was all too much. She felt the tightness in her chest growing, her breaths coming shorter and faster despite her best efforts to keep them steady.

She could feel a headache starting to form, the dull throb pulsing at the base of her skull. Each sound felt sharper, louder, as if the room itself were closing in around her even if she can’t even see it. Her senses, so finely tuned from years of adapting to her plight, now betrayed her, amplifying every noise and movement until it was unbearable. The air felt heavy, electric, as if it were pressing down on her chest, squeezing the breath from her lungs.

Her family’s voices blended into the chaos, Powder’s excited chatter and Ekko’s steady tone just distant enough to feel unattainable, like she was listening to them from underwater. She needed space. She needed air.

Without a word, Vi slipped away from the bustling hall, her steps slow and cautious. Each movement felt like dragging herself through quicksand, her head pounding as she tried to block out the noise. She kept her face impassive, refusing to let anyone see the panic clawing at her from the inside. She couldn’t fall apart here—not in front of them, not now.

Vander stayed behind with the others, but she could feel his watchful gaze as she left. Even when he wasn’t by her side, she could sense his protective presence, his unspoken worry. It only made her shoulders tense further, the weight of his concern pressing against her already-frayed nerves.

Her fingers brushed the smooth walls as she walked, mapping the unfamiliar space in her mind. The texture of the smooth stone was cool under her fingertips, a small anchor in the storm raging inside her. She focused on the pattern of her steps, counting them out in her head to keep herself grounded. One, two, three…

The sharp sound of boots echoed down the near empty corridor, precise and measured, cutting through the haze in her mind. Vi paused, tilting her head slightly toward the approaching footsteps, her muscles tensing instinctively. She made no effort to move out of the way, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

The collision was brief but jarring. The other person stumbled back slightly, catching themselves with a huff of annoyance. Vi, unprepared and unbalanced, landed flat on her back, the floor cold against her skin as the air was knocked from her lungs.

For a moment, everything stopped. The noise of the grand hall faded, replaced by the sound of her own ragged breathing as she struggled to get air back into her chest. Her fingers splayed against the floor, seeking something solid to hold onto as her panic threatened to take over. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to focus, to push the fear back down where it couldn’t be seen.

“Watch it,” she growled, her voice low and pointed, more out of habit than real anger. Her pride stung more than anything else, and the last thing she wanted was pity from whoever had knocked her over.

The other person, her annoyance shifting to something closer to concern, hesitated. “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” Vi snapped, cutting the woman off as she pushed herself upright, her movements stiff and delicate. Her hands trembled slightly as she brushed herself off, but she masked it with a scowl, her milky blue eyes unfocused but intense.

The stranger lingered, her presence looming like a shadow in the quiet corridor, the polished floor amplifying the echo of her boots as she shifted her weight. Vi’s jaw tightened as she stood, every muscle in her body tense and coiled like a spring ready to snap. Her eyes stared forward, unseeing but sharp in their intensity. The moment dragged on, the air between them thick with tension and unspoken words.

“You just gonna stand there, or what?” Vi muttered, her tone biting, the sarcasm laced with irritation. She didn’t care who this was or what she wanted—Vi just wanted the moment to end.

“Excuse me,” the voice replied, crisp and formal, though tinged with both irritation and what sounded like slight regret. The woman’s tone was measured, soft, as if she were carefully choosing each word to mask her annoyance.

Vi raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sharp smirk. “You always walk into people, or am I just lucky?” There was a challenge in her voice, a deliberate poke at the stranger’s composure.

The woman stiffened visibly; Vi could hear it in the pause that followed, in the sharp inhale that betrayed her rising frustration. “You were standing in the middle of the hallway, might I point out.”

“Yeah, and?” Vi’s smirk widened, her posture shifting into something almost casual, though the tension in her frame betrayed her. She could feel the stranger’s discomfort, the careful restraint in her words, and it only fueled her need to needle her further.

The woman exhaled slowly, clearly trying to maintain her composure. Her voice, when she spoke again, was level but edged with steel. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Vi replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm, her smirk still firmly in place. “But maybe next time, try looking where you’re going.” She tilted her head slightly, her unseeing eyes narrowing as if daring the woman to respond.

The stranger’s tone hardened, the formal politeness giving way to something colder. “Perhaps you should consider the same.”

Vi barked out a laugh, the sound cruel laced with utter disgust. “Good one.” Her smirk vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a blank expression that was somehow more unsettling. She tilted her head again, as if sizing the stranger up. “You always this friendly, or is today special?”

The woman hesitated, the silence stretching between them as if she were debating whether or not to respond. When she finally spoke, her tone was measured and deliberate, but her irritation lingered just beneath the surface. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Sure thing,” Vi replied, brushing past her without a second glance. Her movements were slow, her steps steady despite the faint tremor in her hands. She could feel the stranger’s gaze lingering on her as she walked away, her hand sliding against the wall. “Try not to plow into more people”, Vi called without looking back. Not like she would get the satisfaction of a facial expression.

The woman stood there for a moment longer, her posture rigid, her jaw clenched as she watched the other woman’s retreating figure. Something about the interaction left her unsettled, not only did she knock a blind woman over, she fairly rude about. With a faint shake of her head, she turned and walked away, her boots clicking against the polished floor with precise, measured steps. “Shit,” she muttered to herself.

Vi, meanwhile, kept moving, her chest tight and her mind racing. The adrenaline coursing through her veins from the confrontation left her hand twitching at her side, and she clenched her fist to stop the tremor. She hated moments like this—hated how exposed they made her feel. But as always, she buried the feeling deep, replacing it with a sharp edge of indifference that she wore like a blanket.

Vi’s steps grew slower as she moved further down the long, echoing hallway, her hand brushing the smooth, cool wall to guide her. Her breathing was shallow, her chest tight as she tried to push down the storm of emotions threatening to boil over. Each step felt heavier, her usually focus clouded by the lingering echo of the encounter. The stranger’s voice, crisp and precise, still rang in her ears, mixing with the distant hum of the grand hall and the soft whir of unseen machines. It was too much—everything was too much.

She stumbled slightly, catching herself against the wall before sliding down to sit on the cold floor. Her back pressed against the corner where the hallway turned, the empty space offering a semblance of comfort. She pulled her knees up, as she pressed her hands to her ears, trying desperately to block out the overwhelming noise.

The hum of distant voices, the faint clicking of shoes on the far end of the hallway, the low rumble of mechanics—it all blurred together into a relentless cacophony. Her pulse pounded in her ears, each thud reverberating through her skull as she squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers digging into the sides of her head. She hated this. Hated how the world seemed to close in on her, how her own body betrayed her with its reaction. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and the walls around her felt like they were closing in, suffocating her. Years of darkness and she still felt claustrophobic.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible over the chaos in her mind.

Footsteps approached from the direction of the hall she came from, heavier and slower than the ones that had passed earlier. She didn’t hear them at first, too lost in her own panic, but as they grew closer, a familiar weight settled over her. The air shifted, the faint scent of oil and smoke filling her senses, and she didn’t need to speak know who it was.

Vander.

He stopped a few steps away, his large frame casting a long shadow over her. For a moment, he didn’t move, his kind eyes taking in the sight before him. His heart clenched at the image of her sitting there, hunched over with her hands pressed to her ears like she was trying to shut out the world. She looked so small, so unlike the Vi he raised—the Vi who would pick fights with men twice her size without flinching, who faced every challenge with fire in her veins. Seeing her like this broke something in him as it did every time he caught her in rare moments like this.

“Violet,” he said softly, his voice low and steady, the way it always was when he spoke to her during her worst moments.

She didn’t respond, her shoulders tense and her fingers trembling against the sides of her head. Vander crouched down beside her, his knees creaking slightly as he lowered himself to her level. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before settling gently on her arm.

“It’s me, kid,” he said, his tone calm and familiar. “I’m here.”

Vi flinched at the touch, her head jerking slightly as she pulled her hands away from her ears. Her breathing was shallow and uneven, her jaw tight as she fought to regain control. “I’m fine,” she snapped, her voice rough and defensive, though the quiver in it betrayed her.

Vander didn’t move his hand, his grip firm but not overbearing. “I know you are,” he replied gently, his eyes softening as he studied her.

Vi’s lips pressed into a thin line, her face turning away from him as she leaned back against the wall. Her chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, the weight of her pride warring with the comfort of his presence. Finally, she exhaled, the tension in her shoulders loosening ever so slightly.

“Too loud,” she muttered, barely audible.

Vander nodded, his hand squeezing her arm briefly before he sat down beside her, his back against the wall. “I know,” he said simply. He didn’t push her to talk, didn’t try to fix anything. He just sat there, his presence steady and grounding, a quiet reminder that she wasn’t alone.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The distant hum of the Academy’s activity continued, but it felt less oppressive with Vander beside her. His calm steadiness seeped into her, helping to steady her own racing heart.

Finally, Vi let out a long breath, her hands falling to her sides as she tilted her head back against the wall. “You’re not gonna let me live this down, are you?” she muttered, her voice carrying the faintest trace of dry humor.

Vander chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Not a chance, kid.”

But his smile faded as he glanced at her again, the ache in his chest still lingering. No matter how strong she pretended to be, no matter how much she tried to push him away, he’d always see her for who she was—his kid. And he’d never stop being there for her, even when it hurt to see her like this.

Vander’s large hand extended toward Vi, his steady presence unwavering as he rose slightly and crouched beside her. “Come on, kid,” he said softly, his voice firm but gentle. “Let’s get you up.”

Vi hesitated, her pride bristling at the idea of needing help, but the pounding in her head made it hard to summon her usual resistance. She gritted her teeth, muttering a barely audible, “I’m fine,” as she reached blindly for his hand. He grabbed it gently before pulled her up with ease, his strength effortless as he steadied her on her feet. Her legs felt shaky, but Vander’s solid grip on her arm was enough to keep her upright.

“We’re heading home,” Vander said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Vi opened her mouth, ready to protest, but the throbbing in her skull made her bite back the words. The headache had settled behind her eyes like a vise, tightening with every passing second. Arguing wasn’t worth it—not when her body felt like it was betraying her at every turn. She gave a small, reluctant nod, leaning slightly against him for support as they started down the hallway they came from.

As they approached the main hall, the noise returned in a wave, muted only slightly by the distance. Vi flinched at the rise in volume, her grip on Vander’s arm tightening instinctively. He didn’t say anything, just adjusted his pace to match hers, his steps slow and measured.

When they reached the others, Powder was the first to notice them. Her excited chatter with Ekko and the others faltered as her eyes landed on her sister. Concern flickered across her face, her brows knitting together as she took in Vi’s pale complexion and the tight set of her jaw. “Vi?” she asked softly, taking a step forward.

Vander shook his head subtly, his gaze meeting Powder’s with a silent message: Not now.

Powder hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line as she stepped back. She forced herself to focus on the others, though her worried glances kept drifting toward her sister. She wanted to say something, to ask if Vi was okay, but Vander’s look had been clear. Now wasn’t the time to push.

Vi, meanwhile, barely acknowledged the group. Her head throbbed with every sound and movement around her, the ache radiating down her neck and into her shoulders. She leaned more heavily into Vander’s side without a word, letting him guide her away. Her steps were slow, stumbling, and heavy with exhaustion, her free hand occasionally brushing against the wall to steady herself further.

“We’ll catch up later,” Vander called back to the group, his voice calm but resolute. “Take your time. We’re heading out.”

Powder nodded reluctantly, watching as Vander led Vi toward the exit. Her heart twisted at the sight of her sister, usually so strong and untouchable, leaning on Vander for support. She clenched her fists at her sides, forcing herself to swallow the lump in her throat. ‘Not now,’ she repeated to herself, pushing the guilt and worry aside as she always did.

The noise of the grand hall grew fainter as Vander and Vi moved further away, the cool air of the hallway a small relief against the suffocating heat of the crowded space. Vi kept her head down, focusing on the sound of Vander’s footsteps and the steady rhythm of his breathing. She hated how much she needed him right now, hated how vulnerable she felt, but she couldn’t deny the relief his presence brought.

As they reached the doors leading out of the Academy, neither of them noticed the sharp, concerned gaze that followed them from a distance. Caitlyn Kiramman, newly Sheriff of Piltover, stood near one of the grand hall’s displays, her arms crossed as she watched the pair leave. Her earlier annoyance with the woman had dissolved, replaced by a growing unease as she took in her strained expression and unsteady movements.

Her mind raced with questions she didn’t have answers to: ‘Who was she? What happened to her?’ She had only encountered the woman briefly, but something about her lingered, pulling at her curiosity in a way she couldn’t ignore. Caitlyn’s jaw tightened as she watched the two disappear through the exit, a flicker of determination sparking in her chest.

She didn’t know who this woman was, but she intended to find out. If only to apologize properly.

The lift groaned and rattled as it descended, the worn mechanisms echoing in the silence. Vander stood beside Vi, his bigger frame looming, a steadying presence in the cramped space. He didn’t say anything, but she could feel his gaze on her, watching as she leaned heavily against the wall, her fingers gripping the rail like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Vi’s head was bowed slightly, her milky blue eyes fixed on nothing, her expression unreadable. The ache behind her eyes had grown sharper, radiating down her temples and into her neck. Every jolt of the lift sent another pulse of pain through her skull, and her grip on the rail tightened, her knuckles white.

“You good, Vi?” Vander finally asked, his voice low and gentle, though it carried an edge of concern.

“Fine,” Vi muttered, her tone clipped and brittle. She didn’t lift her head, didn’t elaborate. The word felt hollow even as she said it, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit otherwise. Not to Vander, not to anyone.

Vander didn’t push. He just shifted slightly, his shoulders brushing against hers, a silent reassurance that he was there. It wasn’t enough to steady her, though. Her chest felt tight, every breath shallow and strained. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sound of the creaking machinery, the faint hum of the mechanisms, the lack of silence only seemed to amplify the pain in her head.

Her mind replayed the events of the day in relentless loops. The noise of the Academy, the overlapping voices, the overwhelming press of people. The stranger in the hallway—the curt, prim tone of her voice, the way she’d lingered as if debating whether to say something else. It all grated on Vi’s nerves, a reminder of how exposed and out of place she’d felt from the moment she’d stepped topside.

The lift jolted suddenly, and Vi flinched, her free hand darting out to grip Vander’s arm without thinking again. The contact was brief—she pulled away almost immediately, a scowl tugging at her lips as she muttered, “Damn thing’s gonna fall apart one of these days.”

Vander didn’t respond, He didn’t say it, but she could feel the worry radiating off him like heat. It only made her chest tighten further. She hated this—hated how much he saw, how much she couldn’t hide from him.

When the lift finally screeched to a halt, Vi let out a shaky breath, her hand releasing the rail reluctantly. She hesitated for a moment, her fingers hovering over the cool metal, before Vander’s voice broke through the haze.

“C’mon,” he said softly, his tone calm but firm. “We’re almost home.”

Vi nodded stiffly, her legs feeling heavy as she stepped off the lift and into the once familiar streets of Zaun. The air here was thick and damp, the scent of oil and rust clinging to everything. Normally, it would have been a mere inconvenience, a direct contrast to Piltover’s sterile cleanliness, but tonight it felt oppressive, the weight of the day pressing down on her with every step.

Vander walked beside her in silence, his steps slow  to match her uneven pace as he held her arm. She didn’t speak, her jaw clenched tightly as her free hand remained balled into a fist at her side. Her head throbbed with every sound around her—the distant clang of metal, the hiss of steam escaping a nearby pipe, the low murmur of voices from the alleyways. It all blurred together into a dull roar, each noise grating against her already frayed nerves.

As they approached The Last Drop, Vi’s steps faltered slightly, she counted her steps, she knew they were close. Her chest still tight with the lingering remnants of her panic. Vander noticed, as he always did, and his hand moved to  her shoulder, squeezing gently as they reached the door.

“You’re home now,” he said quietly, pushing the door open for her.

Vi didn’t reply, but the moment she stepped inside, the tension in her chest began to ease. The familiar hum of the bar greeted her, its warm, dim light wrapping around her like a blanket. The smells—stale beer, wood polish, and smoke—were comforting in their predictability, a sharp contrast to the chaos she’d just left behind. Her boots scuffed against the uneven floor as she moved toward the bar, her hand brushing over the familiar grooves in the counter.

It wasn’t until she sank onto one of the stools, her elbows resting on the worn wood, that she finally let out a slow, shaky breath. Her head dipped slightly, her fingers tracing one of the deep scratches etched into the surface as she let the noise of the bar wash over her.

Vander stood beside her without a word, his presence steady and grounding. He didn’t ask if she was okay, didn’t push her to talk. He just waited, his quiet support enough to let her catch her breath.

For the first time that day, Vi felt like she could breathe.

A few hours later, the bar was alive with noise and life. The familiar hum of chatter and laughter filled the space, blending with the occasional clink of glasses and the shuffle of chairs across the floor. The dim lighting, warm and flickering, softened the edges of the room, making it feel smaller, cozier. Powder and the others were at one of the larger tables near the center, their voices rising in excited bursts as they recounted their success. Their enthusiasm was infectious, their laughter spilling out in waves that seemed to make the room itself feel lighter.

Vi  still sat at the bar, her elbows resting on the worn wood as she absently traced one of the deep grooves etched into its surface. A glass of water sat untouched in front of her, the faint condensation pooling around its base. Her head no longer throbbed as it had earlier, though a faint ache lingered, dull and persistent, like a distant storm waiting to break. She stared forward, her milky blue eyes reflecting the dim light but betraying nothing of the thoughts swirling in her mind.

The encounter with that topside snob lingered like an itch she couldn’t scratch, replaying in fragments—the sharp edge of the woman’s tone, the measured way she spoke, the faint irritation laced with something almost like guilt. Vi shook her head slightly, trying to shove the memory aside. “Pilties,” she muttered under her breath, her tone low and disdainful. The faintest scowl pulled at her lips as she let out a slow exhale, her fingers tightening briefly against the edge of the bar. She told herself she didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Nothing about that interaction mattered.

But it did. Everything mattered.

Vander slid onto the stool beside her, his large shoulders taking up more space than seemed possible. His presence was as steady and grounding as always, a quiet reassurance that she didn’t even have to ask for. He glanced at her, his eyes studying her profile as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low and familiar, the question simple but carrying more weight than the words alone.

Vi shrugged, her posture stiffening slightly. “Just tired,” she replied, her tone clipped. It wasn’t a lie, she was tired, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. She didn’t feel like unpacking everything else, not now.

Vander studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering as if trying to read what she wasn’t saying. He nodded slowly, his expression softening. “You did good today,” he said, his tone quiet but firm, a steady conviction behind the words.

Vi huffed out a breath, the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Doesn’t feel like it,” she muttered, though the slight warmth in her tone betrayed her.

“It will, in time,” Vander replied simply. He didn’t push her, didn’t try to pry or fix anything. He just stayed, his quiet presence enough to fill the silence between them.

Vi sat back slightly, her fingers loosening their grip on the bar. She tilted her head, letting the sounds of the room wash over her; the laughter of her family, the faint hum of the neon sign above the entrance, the soft clink of glasses being set down. Since they’d left the Academy, the tension in her chest began to ease, just a little more.

She reached for the glass of water in front of her, her fingers brushing the cool surface as she lifted it to her lips.