Fractured Loyalties
[Sometime before the explosion at Kalstead]
The faint buzz of electric bulbs cast harsh white light across the grimy walls of the jail. The lifeless body of the jailer lay crumpled in the corner, blood pooling on the floor. Vi sat against the bars, her gaze cold and calculating, while Caitlyn stood with her arms crossed, her black eyepatch hiding the scarred left eye.
The soldier responsible for the murder wiped his blade on the jailer’s uniform before sauntering toward the cell. He spun the blade lazily in his hand, his armor splattered with blood. His smirk widened as he stopped in front of the women, his eyes lingering on Caitlyn first.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he said, leaning casually against the bars. “What’s a classy lady like you doing in a place like this? Don’t tell me Demacia’s standards have dropped so low they’re locking up their own royalty.”
Caitlyn didn’t respond, her visible eye narrowing in contempt.
“Oh, come on,” he pressed, his voice taking on a mockingly sweet tone. “Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to make your stay here… memorable.” He tilted his head, his smirk turning sharper. “You know, I’ve always had a thing for strong women. Even with that little eyepatch, you’re quite the looker. Adds a bit of danger, don’t you think?”
Vi barked a short laugh from her seat. “Careful, slick. You might cut yourself on all that charm.”
The soldier shifted his attention to Vi, raising an eyebrow. “And what about you, huh? You’re a little rough around the edges, but I’m not picky. Tomboys can be fun. I bet you’re hiding some fire under all that muscle.”
Vi leaned forward with a mocking grin. “Fire? Oh, sure. Enough to burn you down to the little pile of ash you already are. And FYI—” she gestured between herself and Caitlyn with a smirk, “—we’re a package deal. But something tells me you’re not exactly our type.”
The soldier’s smirk faltered, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and confusion. “Wait, you mean—oh.” He blinked, then recovered quickly, waving a hand dismissively. “Whatever. You’re both locked in here anyway, so what you do in your free time doesn’t matter to me.”
Behind him, the other soldiers had disappeared down the dimly lit hallway, heading toward the back of the jail where Mireya had been held. The faint echo of their boots faded into the distance, leaving the tension in the room unbroken.
The soldier leaned casually against the bars, his blade still faintly stained with the jailer’s blood. He smirked as he watched Vi and Caitlyn. “You know,” he began, his voice taking on a dark, almost playful tone, “this jail has some history. When the real mercenary guild ruled Kalstead, this wasn’t just a place to lock people up. It was… let’s call it their home turf.”
Caitlyn remained silent, her visible eye narrowing as she watched him. Vi, on the other hand, leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, feigning indifference.
“Oh, don’t look so bored,” the soldier continued, his grin widening. “This city wasn’t always a battleground for warring factions, you know. Back in the day, it belonged to the mercenaries—real ones, not like the cheap knockoffs we see now. They were ruthless, smart, and damn near untouchable. And this place?” He gestured around dramatically at the jail walls. “It was their stronghold.”
Vi raised an eyebrow, leaning against the bars. “So what? This is just some relic of a bygone era?”
The soldier chuckled, his tone darkening. “Not just a relic. This jail was their fortress. You see, when Kalstead was in chaos, those mercenaries ran the show—controlled the streets, the docks, everything. Even when they faced resistance, they always found a way to stay one step ahead. Demacia was an ally to this city back then, fighting to take them down. But the guild? They were slippery. Always had a way to vanish when the fight wasn’t going their way.”
Caitlyn’s eye narrowed. “And I’m guessing you’re about to make this more relevant?”
The soldier smirked, tapping the bars with his blade. “Patience, lady. Just setting the stage for you. See, those mercenaries were smart. They built themselves a few… conveniences. Escape routes, hidden caches, places no one else could find. And this jail? It was more than just a holding cell. It was a nerve center—a place where they could regroup, plan, and, when necessary, disappear without a trace.”
Before Vi could respond, the sound of heavy boots echoed down the corridor. The soldier turned his head slightly as Mireya appeared, leading a horde of armed mercenaries and the two Demacian soldiers. They were carrying heavy explosives, the crates straining in their grip as the group moved with purpose.
Caitlyn’s visible eye swept over them, her gaze narrowing as she observed the explosives. “Guess she wasn’t here to stay,” Caitlyn remarked dryly.
Mireya stopped a few feet from the cell, her gaze cold and calculating. “Funny,” she said, her voice calm yet cutting. “I didn’t expect to see you two still breathing. But I suppose that’s how things go around here.”
Vi frowned, eyeing Mireya with suspicion. “Do we know you?” she asked, her voice sharp.
Mireya’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “No, but I know enough about you.” She glanced at Caitlyn, then back at Vi. “The Piltover sheriff and her... enforcer. Not the type I’d expect to see in a place like this.”
Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, her tone icy. “And you are?”
Mireya’s expression remained neutral, her gaze briefly flicking toward the mercenaries moving the crates of explosives. “Does it really matter?” she replied flatly, turning her attention back to the women. “I’ve got my own reasons for being here. Let’s just say I’m not a fan of Kalstead or its people.”
Vi stiffened, glancing at Caitlyn before speaking. “So, you’re just another one of the city’s enemies? Is that it?”
Mireya’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Something like that,” she said coolly.”
The sound of crates being moved echoed down the hall as one of the mercenaries passed by, giving Mireya a brief nod.
“Done with the explosives,” the mercenary muttered.
Mireya gave a sharp nod. “Good. Let’s move out.”
Before she turned to leave, Mireya glanced back at Vi, her voice colder than before. “You’ve chosen a very wrong time to be in Kalstead. This city’s not what it used to be. You wouldn’t want to be around when it all starts to burn.”
Vi scowled. “What do you mean by that?”
Mireya smirked, her eyes glinting with a knowing look. “Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean. You came here looking for someone. Your sister, isn’t it? I’ve seen her around... Powder, she calls herself now. She’s... made quite a name for herself.”
Vi’s breath caught at the mention of her sister’s new name. “Powder?” she whispered, gripping the bars harder. Her mind was a storm of emotions, memories of the past crashing against the reality of the present. “Where is she? What’s she doing?”
Mireya’s gaze hardened, and she shrugged nonchalantly. “You’ll find her. She’s not hard to track down.” She turned away, motioning for the soldier who had been speaking to them earlier. “It’s not my problem anyways.”
Mireya and her mercenaries, along with the soldiers, exited the jail, leaving Vi and Caitlyn alone in the dim light of the cell.
Vi stood still, her mind reeling from the unexpected news. “Powder…” she repeated softly, the name a painful reminder of the past.
Caitlyn watched her partner, sensing the mix of shock and determination in her. “Vi, you okay?”
Vi took a deep breath, her expression softening as a quiet smile tugged at her lips. “I’m just glad she’s okay.”
Mireya emerged from the grim confines of the jail, along with the mercenaries trailing. The cool evening’s air was thick with anticipation. She turned to a group of soldiers carrying crates of explosives, her voice sharp and decisive.
“Take these to all the important locations,” she ordered. “Plant them well and make sure they blow as planned.”
The mercenaries nodded and hurried off, disappearing into the shadows. Mireya then turned to the rest of her forces, her gaze cold and resolute.
“The rest of you, with me,” she commanded, drawing her blade.
With a sharp motion, Mireya led her forces deeper into Kalstead, weaving through the narrow alleys until they reached the outskirts of the town square. Fires burned low in the surrounding lamps, casting flickering light over the relaxed Demacian soldiers stationed there.
Quinn stood at the edge of the square with Kara, her hawk, Valor, perched nearby. The soldiers chatted amongst themselves, their weapons resting idly at their sides as they regrouped after earlier skirmishes. Kara, however, wasn’t one to let her guard down. Her sharp eyes scanned the area, one hand resting lightly on her longbow.
“Doesn’t this feel a little too quiet?” Kara muttered, her tone half-joking but edged with caution.
Quinn gave her a sidelong glance. “Relax, Kara. We’ve got this under control.”
Kara snorted, rolling her shoulders. “Yeah, sure. Nothing says ‘under control’ like standing in the open with zero backup.”
Before Quinn could respond, Kara stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she caught movement on the far edge of the square. Mireya and her mercenaries emerged from the shadows, their movements swift and deliberate. The firelight glinted off their weapons as they fanned out behind Mireya, positioning themselves for the attack.
Quinn followed Kara’s gaze, her heart sinking as she met Mireya’s cold, calculating stare from across the square. For a moment, the world seemed to still as the two women locked eyes, the unspoken challenge passing between them.
“Sound the alarm!” Quinn’s sharp voice shattered the quiet, her hand already reaching for her crossbow.
The Demacian soldiers jolted to attention, but it was too late. Mireya raised her dagger, her commanding voice ringing out. “Attack!”
The mercenaries surged forward as one, breaking from the shadows and rushing the square. Their war cries echoed through the air, and the ground seemed to quake beneath their charge.
“Form ranks! Shields up!” Kara barked, snapping into action as she unslung her bow and loosed an arrow in one fluid motion. “Move it, people! This isn’t a drill!”
Quinn, already firing her arrows with practiced precision, shouted, “Don’t let them take this place!”
The two sides collided in a storm of chaos and steel, the once-quiet square erupting into a maelstrom of shouts, clashing blades, and the thunder of boots on cobblestones. Kara stayed close to Quinn, her arrows finding their marks as she shouted orders to rally the Demacians.
Kara’s dry humor slipped out even amidst the chaos. “See? Told you it was too quiet.”
“Focus, Kara!” Quinn snapped, her eyes scanning for Mireya. The battle had begun, and it was clear neither side would back down easily.
As the clash of steel and the screams of battle echoed around them, Quinn and Kara fought with all their might. But the weight of the fight was starting to press down on them, more than either of them had expected. Their backs were to the walls, surrounded on all sides by Mireya’s mercenaries, and the overwhelming sense of exhaustion was beginning to take its toll.
The town square was a symphony of chaos, lit by the low-burning fires that cast eerie shadows over the cobblestones. The clang of steel on steel echoed through the narrow streets, each strike a testament to the desperate struggle unfolding between Demacian forces and Mireya’s mercenaries. But the most dangerous weapon in this battle wasn’t a blade—it was betrayal.
Quinn moved like a predator, her arrows slicing through the chaos with practiced precision. Valor screeched overhead, circling the battlefield as her sharp eyes scanned for weak points in the enemy’s lines. But something was wrong. The tide of the battle felt unnaturally heavy, the mercenaries advancing too easily against what should have been a strong defense.
“Kara!” she called, her voice strained as she loosed another arrow. “Something’s not right. We’re being outmaneuvered!”
Nearby, Kara was a force of her own, her braided hair whipping around her face as she swung her sword with relentless fury. Her stocky frame held firm as she pushed back wave after wave of mercenaries. “We’ve fought worse odds!” she shouted, gritting her teeth as her blade locked against an enemy’s.
But as Quinn’s arrows continued to fly, her gaze caught something that froze her mid-motion—a glint of familiar armor among the enemy. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw one of her own, a Demacian soldier, turn his blade against a comrade.
“Kara!” Quinn’s voice cracked. “Look! It’s—”
Kara’s eyes followed Quinn’s line of sight, her movements faltering as she saw it too. A Demacian soldier drove his sword into another’s back without hesitation, his face devoid of remorse.
“No,” Kara whispered, her voice shaking. Her grip tightened on her sword as anger replaced her disbelief. “No! This can’t be—”
“It’s them,” Quinn said, her voice grim, the words tasting like ash. “They’ve turned on us.”
The realization hit like a thunderclap. Not all, but enough Demacian soldiers had been compromised, their betrayal shattering what little cohesion the defenders had left.
Mireya’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade, her tone cold and commanding. “Your lines are broken. Your allies have turned. How long will you fight for a cause that’s already lost?”
She moved through the battlefield with lethal precision, her sword cutting down anyone who dared stand in her path. Her mercenaries surged around her, their confidence bolstered by the betrayal that had tipped the scales in their favor.
Quinn’s jaw clenched as she loosed her final arrow, her quiver empty. She drew her dagger and turned toward Mireya, who seemed to glide through the chaos with unsettling ease.
Mireya’s smirk widened as their eyes locked. “You’re strong,” she said, almost as if in admiration. “But strength without unity is nothing.”
Quinn lunged, her dagger aimed for Mireya’s heart, but Mireya sidestepped effortlessly. Her blade flashed, striking Quinn’s arm and sending the dagger clattering to the ground.
Nearby, Kara fought with everything she had, her sword a blur of motion. But the tide of betrayal was too much. A heavy blow to her side sent her staggering, her knees buckling as blood seeped through her armor. She forced herself back to her feet, her breaths labored.
“Kara, we’re being overrun!” Quinn shouted, desperation creeping into her voice as a mercenary forced her to her knees.
Kara swung her blade one last time, cutting down another foe, but the sight of Mireya advancing with her mercenaries and traitorous Demacians left her with no illusions.
“It’s not just the mercenaries,” Kara said hoarsely, her voice breaking. “Our own people... they’ve turned on us.”
Quinn struggled as her hands were roughly bound behind her back. “Kara! Get out of here!” she shouted, her voice raw with desperation. “That’s an order!”
Kara hesitated, her heart torn. Her eyes locked on Mireya, who stood at the center of the battlefield like a dark queen surveying her conquest. The sight of Quinn, bound and surrounded, nearly broke her resolve.
“I’ll come back for you,” Kara promised, her voice trembling as she turned and fled. Blood dripped from her wound, marking her path as she disappeared into the darkened streets of Kalstead.
As the dust began to settle in the square, Mireya turned her attention back to Quinn, who glared up at her with unyielding defiance.
“Take her,” Mireya commanded her men, her voice steady and assured. “We’ll need her alive. For now.”
With Quinn captured, Kara on the run, and the battlefield littered with the fallen, Mireya stood victorious. Kalstead had begun to fall, and the weight of betrayal had shattered the Demacian defense.