Back to the Depths
Chapter 13: Back to the Depths
The air grew heavier the closer Vi got to Stillwater Hold. The infamous prison loomed on the horizon like a jagged wound in the ocean, its cold, metallic spires piercing the sky. The gray, stormy clouds above seemed drawn to the prison, swirling as if caught in an unending vortex of despair. Waves crashed violently against the prison’s base, sending up sprays of saltwater that clung to the sheer cliffs surrounding the structure. From the outside, it was as oppressive as Vi remembered—a hulking mass of stone and steel that seemed to devour the light.
Vi’s boots scraped against the damp stone as she made her way along the narrow path leading to the entrance. The journey to Stillwater was as unforgiving as the prison itself. A small boat had brought her across the churning waters, its crew silent and unwilling to meet her eyes when they realized her destination. Now, standing before the massive iron gates, Vi felt a familiar knot tighten in her chest.
She hated this place.
Stillwater was a fortress of torment, its design coldly efficient. Its sharp, angular architecture mirrored the harshness of its purpose: to contain, to punish, and to break. The metal beams that made up its structure jutted out like teeth, their edges rusted from years of exposure to the salty air. The narrow windows were barred with blackened iron, and faint screams or the clinking of chains could sometimes be heard over the relentless crash of waves. The very walls seemed to echo the misery of the souls trapped within.
Vi had vowed never to return. Stillwater wasn’t just a prison to her—it was a graveyard of her past. It was here that she had been stripped of her name, her identity reduced to a single number: inmate 516. The guards never called her Vi. To them, she was nothing more than another criminal to subdue, another soul to break. “516, step forward,” or “516, get in line,” was all she ever heard. Her name—the person she had been—became a distant echo in her mind, swallowed by the cold, unyielding walls of Stillwater.
The warden made sure she knew just how powerless she was. The “chats” weren’t conversations—they were punishments. Beatings delivered in her cell by the guards, sanctioned and often orchestrated by the warden himself. They’d drag her into the corner of the room, far from the watchful eyes of anyone who might care, and rain down blows until she could barely stand. The warden would stand by, his voice cold and detached. “Defiance doesn’t last long here,” he’d say, watching her with a twisted mix of amusement and authority. “This place grinds fighters like you into dust.”
And Stillwater had nearly done just that. Every day blurred into the next, an endless cycle of monotony and pain. The roaring ocean beyond the walls was a cruel reminder of freedom just out of reach. She clung to the thought of Powder, the only thing that kept her going. Saving her sister from Silco had become an obsession, a lifeline. But seven years of isolation and brutality had taken its toll. The walls of her cell felt like they were closing in on her, and she could feel herself slipping further away from who she once was.
The rare moments of human connection came like cracks of light in the darkness. One of those moments had been Caitlyn. Vi hadn’t known her name back then—just a young enforcer with a determination that set her apart from the others. Caitlyn had been the first person in Piltover to look at her as something more than a prisoner, more than inmate 516. It hadn’t been much—a few exchanged words, a fleeting sense that someone saw her—but it had been enough. Caitlyn’s presence had reminded Vi of the world beyond Stillwater, a world that might still hold a chance for redemption, even for someone like her.
Now, years later, Vi found herself standing at Stillwater’s gates once again. No one in Piltover or Zaun had told her where Ambessa was being held. They didn’t have to. Vi wasn’t ignorant; she had learned to observe, to listen, to piece together fragments of conversations she wasn’t meant to hear. Whispers about “the imprisoned general,” the subtle shifts in tone whenever Ambessa’s name came up—it all pointed to one place. Stillwater. A fortress for the dangerous and the damned.
She had spent weeks debating whether to come. Her stomach churned as she stared at the imposing structure, memories clawing at the edges of her mind. This wasn’t just where she had been imprisoned—it was where her freedom, her youth, and her hope had been stolen. This place had been her tomb, and stepping through its gates again felt like walking willingly into a nightmare.
Yet, despite everything, she was here. For answers. For closure. To confront the woman who had shaped so much of her torment. Vi tightened her fists, her scars faintly glowing beneath the light of the overcast sky. She inhaled deeply, steadying herself, and stepped forward, ready to face the darkness she thought she had left behind.
A guard approached, his boots striking the stone path with sharp, deliberate steps that echoed in the still air. His uniform was immaculate, the polished badge on his chest catching the dull light that filtered through the gray sky. His expression was unreadable, a practiced mask of indifference as he stopped a few feet in front of Vi. “State your business,” he said, his tone clipped and authoritative, his gaze flickering briefly to the scars that crept up her neck and the faint glow of her mechanical arm.
“I’m here to see Ambessa Medarda,” Vi replied, her voice steady, though the weight pressing against her chest threatened to crack her composure.
The guard’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze lingering on her arm for a moment before meeting her stormy blue and black eyes. There was a flicker of recognition, but it was quickly buried beneath his professional detachment. “Do you have clearance?”
Wordlessly, Vi reached into the inside pocket of her jacket, pulling out a folded document bearing Piltover’s official seal. It had taken weeks of effort—gritting her teeth through endless bureaucracy and navigating channels she had no patience for. She had fought every instinct to avoid involving Mel or Caitlyn, unwilling to risk their interference. The paper was her ticket in, her proof of purpose.
The guard unfolded the document with deliberate care, his eyes scanning the contents. He gave a curt nod, folding it back and handing it to her without a word. With a sharp motion, he signaled to another guard stationed at the gate. The massive iron doors groaned as they began to part, the sound scraping against her nerves like nails on stone. It was a sound she hadn’t heard in years but would never forget.
As the gates swung open, Vi stepped forward, crossing the threshold into Stillwater Prison. The air was colder here, as if the place itself was devoid of warmth or humanity. It felt heavy, oppressive, pressing down on her like an invisible weight. Her boots echoed against the polished stone floor, the sound swallowed by the vast, hollow silence of the entryway.
The corridor stretched ahead of her, dimly lit by flickering overhead lights that cast harsh, uneven shadows on the walls. The faint buzz of electricity filled the silence, accompanied by the distant clatter of chains and the low murmur of prisoners’ voices echoing from somewhere deeper within. Guards moved with practiced precision, their hands resting on the batons clipped to their belts. Their eyes darted to her briefly as she passed, curiosity mingling with wariness, but none dared to speak.
Each step forward unearthed memories Vi had buried deep. The chill of the air felt like the cold stone of her cellblock, biting against her skin during those long, endless nights. The faint scent of damp stone and metal brought back flashes of the chains that had chafed her wrists raw. She could almost hear the warden’s voice echoing in her mind, sharp and cutting as he reminded her of her place. This was a place designed to crush hope, to grind down even the strongest until they were nothing more than a shadow of who they’d once been.
Vi clenched her jaw, her fists tightening at her sides as she forced herself to keep walking. The walls felt closer with every step, threatening to close in, but she pushed the sensation aside. This wasn’t about her. It wasn’t about what she’d endured here, about the seven years this place had stolen from her.
This was about Ambessa.
Each step brought her closer to a chapter of her life she had fought to close and yet couldn’t escape. The faint hum of electricity overhead mingled with the distant clanging of metal, a grim symphony that seemed to mock her resolve.
Vi’s scarred fingers flexed at her sides, brushing against the smooth purple plating of her mechanical arm. The faint glow from the gemstone embedded in its surface pulsed steadily, a grounding rhythm she focused on to steady her fraying nerves. She had spent weeks preparing for this moment, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality of being back in Stillwater—this time, by choice.
At the end of the corridor, a guard waited, his hand resting on a heavy keyring clipped to his belt. As Vi approached, he studied her with a mixture of curiosity and caution, though he wisely chose not to voice either. Wordlessly, he unhooked the keys and handed them to her, the weight of the cold iron settling heavily in her palm.
“She’s in there,” the guard said gruffly, nodding toward the reinforced steel door. “Take your time.”
Vi didn’t respond, her eyes fixed on the door. She slipped the key into the lock, her hand steady despite the torrent of emotions swirling inside her. The lock clicked, the sound sharp and final, as the door creaked open.
Vi stepped into the cell, her boots echoing against the cold, unyielding floor. The room was as stark and unforgiving as she remembered—stone walls, and a cot bolted to the ground. Ambessa sat on that cot, her back straight and her hands resting on her knees, as though the cell were a throne room and she its reigning queen. Her presence was as commanding as ever, even in the dim, claustrophobic space. She didn’t look up immediately, her golden eyes focused on some distant point, but the faintest smirk tugged at her lips.
When she finally turned her gaze to Vi, her expression shifted. For a moment, her composure faltered, her eyes widened slightly in surprise. She studied Vi in silence, her gaze lingering on the glowing scars that etched her arms and neck and the sleek, purple plating of her mechanical arm.
Ambessa’s voice broke the silence, smooth and deliberate. “Violet,” she said, her tone laced with a mix of recognition and amusement. “I had no doubt you’d survive. I expected nothing less from the woman I call my own. But I must admit, you’ve… changed.”
Vi’s jaw tightened at the sound of her voice, her body stiffening instinctively. She stepped further into the cell, letting the heavy steel door close behind her with a resounding clang. She didn’t sit immediately, didn’t speak, her gaze locked onto Ambessa as if trying to unearth answers from her expression alone.
Ambessa’s smirk softened, her eyes narrowing slightly as she leaned forward. “You’ve come a long way, haven’t you?” she said, her voice quieter now but no less imposing. “More scars, a stronger arm, a sharper presence. But there’s something else…” Her gaze flicked to Vi’s face, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “You’re not here to ask if I ever doubted you, are you? You already know the answer.”
Vi moved to the stool across from Ambessa and sat down, her hands resting on her thighs. Her gaze never wavered, though the tension in her shoulders betrayed the storm raging beneath her calm exterior. Ambessa had cut out her tongue eleven years ago, and yet Vi had found her voice again—rebuilt it from the shattered pieces Ambessa had left behind. Speaking now should’ve been easy, but it wasn’t. The words caught in her throat, tangled with anger, pain, and something she hated to name: longing.
Instead, Vi raised her hands, her fingers moving in sharp, practiced motions as she signed. Why? Why everything?
Ambessa’s smirk deepened, her expression softening into something that could almost be mistaken for pride. “Why?” she repeated aloud, leaning back against the wall as though savoring the question. “Because strength is forged, Violet. Because the world doesn’t give power to the weak. It takes it. I did what I did because I saw what you could be. You weren’t just strong—you were perfect. A weapon, a leader.”
Vi’s hands moved again, the movements sharper this time, her fingers slicing through the air with a precision born of anger. You didn’t make me stronger. You broke me. You cut off my arm. You cut out my tongue. You made me a monster. Her gaze burned with restrained fury as her hands stilled, the tension in her body radiating through the small cell. I survived in spite of you. Not because of you.
Ambessa tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as they roved over Vi, taking in every detail. The glow of her scars, the sleekness of her mechanical arm, the strength that practically emanated from her posture—it was all there, undeniable and unyielding. Ambessa’s voice was calm, deliberate, as she finally replied, “And yet, here you are. Better than before. That’s resilience, Violet. That’s why I’m proud of you. You didn’t just survive—you thrived. You became everything I knew you could be.”
The word ‘proud’ struck Vi like a hammer to the chest, knocking the air from her lungs. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides, the scars tracing her skin glowing faintly as her emotions surged, heat pooling beneath the surface. Anger coiled in her stomach, sharp and venomous, intertwining with an unwelcome ache she hated to name. Betrayal churned in her mind, clashing against the faintest whisper of longing she couldn’t suppress.
Her fingers moved again, slower this time, her hands trembling slightly as they formed each word. ‘You don’t get to be proud of me. Not after everything. Not after what you took.’ Her chest heaved with the effort to restrain the storm building within her, her gaze unrelenting as she stared down the woman who had taken so much.
Ambessa leaned forward more, the movement deliberate and calculated, her piercing gaze never leaving Vi’s face. “You can hate me all you want, Violet. But that doesn’t change the truth. I gave you the tools to survive, to live. And you used them. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you’ll always be a daughter worthy of my name.”
The word ‘daughter’ sliced through Vi like a jagged blade, raw and unforgiving. Her chest tightened, the air in the cell growing stifling. The hum of her mechanical arm grew louder, the faint pulse of the gemstone embedded within it thrumming in sync with the anger coursing through her veins. She felt the stool beneath her scrape against the floor as she abruptly pushed herself to her feet, the screech of metal against stone breaking the charged silence.
Ambessa didn’t flinch. She didn’t recoil from the intensity of Vi’s presence, nor did she shrink beneath the weight of her fury. Instead, she watched her with a quiet intensity, her golden eyes locked onto Vi’s as though daring her to deny the bond she claimed. “Running won’t change who you are, Violet,” Ambessa said, her voice softer now, almost gentle. “It won’t change the fact that you’ll always carry a part of me with you.”
Vi’s breath hitched, her hands trembling at her sides, her nails digging into the flesh of her palms. The weight of Ambessa’s words pressed down on her, suffocating and infuriating all at once. She stepped back, her boots hitting the ground with heavy, deliberate thuds, each movement laced with defiance.
She stared at Ambessa, her eyes burning with a mixture of anger and something deeper—something harder to define, something she refused to acknowledge again. The silence between them stretched taut, filled with the unspoken truths and fractured ties that had brought her here.
Vi’s shoulders rose and fell with each ragged breath as she fought to steady herself. She had come here for answers, for closure, but sitting in this cell, looking into the eyes of the woman who had shaped so much of her pain, she realized she didn’t need them. She didn’t need Ambessa’s explanations, her justifications, or her pride. She already knew who she was—who she had become—and Ambessa Medarda didn’t get to claim credit for that.
As she turned toward the door, her hand resting on the cold steel of the frame, Ambessa’s voice cut through the silence, calm and certain. “You’ll always be my daughter, Violet.”
Vi froze, her entire body stiffening as the word ‘daughter’ reverberated through her mind, each repetition cutting deeper than the last. The weight of it was unbearable, pressing against her chest like a vice, twisting something raw and unhealed deep inside her. Her mechanical arm twitched at her side, the faint hum of its gemstone growing louder, pulsing in sync with her pounding heartbeat. Slowly, deliberately, she turned her head, her black-and-blue gaze locking onto Ambessa’s golden eyes with an intensity that seemed to make the air between them crackle.
Her voice, when it came, was rough and jagged, barely more than a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything Ambessa had done, everything Vi had endured, and everything she refused to let define her. “No,” she said, the single word cutting through the charged silence like a blade. Her next words came slower, deliberate, each syllable laced with pain and defiance. “I’m not your daughter.”
The room seemed to still, the air heavy with unspoken tension. The words hung in the air, sharp and final, as if they had carved a chasm between them that could never be crossed. Ambessa, so composed and unshakable, faltered for the briefest of moments. Her eyes widened slightly, the faintest flicker of surprise breaking through her otherwise impassive expression. It wasn’t often that she was caught off guard, and Vi’s voice and defiance struck her like a blade.
For a moment, Ambessa opened her mouth, as though to respond, but no words came. The silence was deafening, the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on both of them. Vi’s jaw tightened, her hands balling into fists at her sides as she turned away. Her boots struck the stone floor with deliberate force as she crossed the threshold, each step reverberating with the finality of her words.
She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. The air in the cell felt suffocating, heavy with the ghosts of everything Ambessa had taken from her. As the steel door swung shut behind her, the sound echoed through the narrow corridor like a gunshot, slamming with a finality that left no room for argument.
Inside the cell, Ambessa remained seated, her gaze fixed on the closed door. The faint trace of surprise lingered in her eyes, but as the seconds stretched on, it faded into something unreadable. Alone in the oppressive silence of the cell, she let out a quiet exhale, her lips curling into the faintest, almost imperceptible smile. “But you are,” she murmured to herself, her voice low and steady, the pride in her tone unshaken.