Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I've seen devils in the hills
Angels, hands filled with pills
Eyes closed, breath held, holding still
(I've seen devils in the hills)
As not to stir, the purest morning fir
(Angels, hands filled with pills)

When It Was Good - Mother Falcon

Age 4: Powder

Soulmates were tricky business in this corner of Runeterra – with everyone having a slightly different opinion on the matter.

Topside, as predicted, find soulmates to be charming – those in the upper echelon less so with the weight of duty and business coming before the idea of a destined love, but… charming, all the same, much like a kid’s fairytale books. The typical topsider may doodle thoughts of who their soulmate may be, found in a coffeehouse meet-cute or in one of the Academy’s opening ceremonies, and purposefully graze their knee in front of their crush to see if they react with a quiet hiss or a wince. They had the time to do this – enough padding to know when a hurt is their own or someone else’s.

The denizens of the Undercity aren’t as lucky – with the idea of soulmates falling lower and lower into the list of priorities as children age. Going from a whispered bedtime story – held in as much reverence as Janna herself – to an offhanded inclusion in a quip every now and then for someone focusing on frivolous things, soulmates were neither despised nor revered. It simply wasn’t important when you had plenty of other things to focus on, such as the whispers in the street that something was coming, something was stirring, something was changing.

Powder wasn’t privy to the whispers that her parents shared about that, though – and she busied herself with much, much more important things: What kind of monster could finally beat Violet’s?

Her lip jutted out into a pout as she leaned forward, fluffy mane of pale hair blocking the dim lights in their little abode and casting long shadows over her face. Violet, of course, had a gap-toothed grin, hands outstretched into claws to emphasize her point. And, well – yes, Powder had to begrudgingly admit that a mangy cat with teeth longer than a rock and claws sharper than Dad’s cooking knife (that she was never, ever supposed to touch) was very scary. But, she knew she could do better.

Looking around, she worried her lip between her teeth in anticipation – searching for anything that might help her because Violet’s expression was growing more and more pleased with herself. Ah! A shaky giggle filled the dim space as she lurched forward, snapping her teeth together in a playful click right in front of Violet’s nose.

“Okay, okay, umm… I am… A… A shark! With, um, big teeth, that are WAY bigger than your cat’s claws and teeth, that… um…” She hesitated, wide eyes flitting around the room in one last sweep, brightening as they locked onto the corner of the room. “Oh! I have toxic, evil paint for spit. It totally kills you.”

Violet watched with thinly disguised amusement as she practically launched herself to unsteady feet, nearly stumbling in her haste to fetch the paint tubes in the corner. Small hands wielded the tubes as if they were a dagger, to which Violet laughed at. Which, by the way—Mean. Entirely boggled by Violet’s reaction, she could only squeal out peals of laughter when, in a flash of pink, she was suddenly being lifted to the ceiling. Powder dropped the paint in favor of scrabbling at Violet’s shoulders, kicking weakly at her stomach.

“Vi-o-let!” She whined, part distress and part begrudging amusement, shaking with the effort it took to drive her kicks into her sister.

“Powder!” A teasing croon is all she got from Violet; eyes crinkled into blue crescents.

Her pout came right back and she stopped kicking, just staring at Violet’s all too blue eyes with as much indignance as she could muster – which, of course, was met with even more laughter (and therefore, even more indignance) and, more acceptable, a tug into a hug.

Violet took her down to the ground with all the care she’d have for a tiny baby poro – and maybe that’s what she was to Violet, but she couldn’t really mind if it meant being blanketed with warmth like this. She nestled into the space Violet occupied, curling into her like a comma.

“You win,” Violet murmured into her hair, not moving away despite the way it tickled at her face. Powder, of course, takes the win with a cackle of laughter – a cheer of her own success.

“Well, duh! You couldn’t have beat that.” She giggled to herself, already thinking of her totally cool shark monster that would eat Violet’s less cool cat monster.

“Really?” Violet’s voice got that flippancy to it that predicts danger, but Powder couldn’t care less, still finding an endless amount of amusement in her own creation – simply humming a chipper ‘mhm’ in affirmation.

That, of course, was invitation in of itself for Violet to start poking and jabbing at her sides – a whine of betrayal escaping her as she tried to roll away, weakened by the laughter that was forcing its way out. Violet stopped her, of course, a hand clasped around her arm to bring her in close – but that just meant it really was time for war.

Rolling back into Violet, she bunched her legs up before pouncing onto her stomach – tiny knees driving into soft skin, prompting a choked out noise of pain that hardly stopped her. From there, it devolved into wrestling, with Violet letting swipes slide and purposefully casting her own a bit too much to the left, missing narrowly enough to not be construed (albeit correctly) as a purposeful miss.

There was only one thing different this time, though – and that was the way Violet suddenly yelped, hands flying to her head and releasing Powder.

Powder, who’s hands were nowhere near Violet’s head, thank you very much.

Scrambling off of Violet, Powder’s gaze frantically searched her expression – because, seriously, she didn’t even hit Violet in the head and now she was gonna get in trouble…! So, rather than waste time and let Vi call Mom over, she just did it herself.

“Mom!” Powder waited for a few moments, sparing a nervous glance to Violet who… wasn’t even crying, just staring at her hands with a vague sense of wonder – which only made her more nervous. Did she just break Violet? “Mom, I think – I think Violet’s broken!”

She waited impatiently, chewing on her lip as she glanced every now and then at Violet who was still staring with slack-jawed amazement. It wasn’t long before Mom practically flew into the room, hiding her worry behind a mask of indifference as to not worry Powder.

Mom assessed the situation, gaze flitting between Violet’s awed expression and her worried one. Crouching by Violet, Powder watched with bated breath as a warm, calloused hand smoothed over bright tresses, cradling the soft jaw of her sister.

It was then that things slot into place – Violet’s eyes wider than the moon when she whispered, “I think I felt my soulmate.”

Maybe Powder shouldn’t have been so relieved, but Mom explained that she wasn’t the one who hurt Violet, but that Violet’s soulmate must’ve just taken a rough tumble and was actually the one who hurt Violet. This, of course, led to a brief stint over the next few days of Powder finding reasons to hate Violet’s invisible soulmate – things like ‘they don’t even know how to play our game’ and ‘I bet they don’t like orange juice.’

Violet, predictably, didn’t care. She, instead, seemed over the moon – like any other Undercity sump rat looking for a hint of romance in the city of iron and glass. She floated through lessons with Uncle Vander with hardly a care in actually honing the technique and asked for books on soulmates, pretty please, if he could find them – asked Mom and Dad to ask around the mines for if they knew anybody her age who might’ve taken a tumble.

It was unbearable. Truly the worst week EVER of her life, because instead of talking scary monsters with Powder, it was a stint of soulmate this and soulmate that. For DAYS.

Powder was so tired of the word soulmate that she just started whining and hollering ‘la-la-la’s at the top of her lungs every time Violet would bring her soulmate up. This, because of course it did, only encouraged Violet to bring them up even more.

This was one of those times.

Powder had hoped she was safe at the table, stirring the pot of food idly since she wasn’t allowed to cut things with Dad’s kitchen knife like Violet was – Violet, who was chopping some sort of fish from the Pilt.

“Pow-Pow, what if they bring us lemon cake?” Powder groans dramatically. She was going to hate lemon cake by the end of this. Violet, unabashed, continued. “I bet they would be able to keep up with me. I have to have a cool soulmate, right? Pow?”

Powder stirred along, knees braced against the table while Mom’s hand against her back kept her steady. She still said nothing, hoping it would discourage Violet from just talking about her soulmate and maybe about cooler things, like her lessons. Instead, Violet tossed a glance and a grin behind her, slicker than the oily run-off they play near. “You jealous, Pow?”

She just scoffed, trying to hide her offense at the accurate accusation. That only made Violet’s grin stretch bigger and her own pout grow more pronounced. “Don’t worry, Pow-Pow, you’ll find your soulmate someday.” Psh. As if that even really mattered to her – all she really wanted from her soulmate anyways was a cool friend who would play with her and paint with her.

Mom just laughed, taking the stirring spoon from her hands and putting it off to the side before making Powder briefly airborne – picking her up just to put her down. Dad’s voice rung out from beside Violet, who he’d been keeping an eye on. Well. Maybe it was more accurate to say he was keeping an eye out on Violet holding his sharp kitchen knife that she, still, was never ever allowed to touch. “Bluebell, why don’t you set the table?”

Finally! An escape! Powder took that opportunity and nodded, scampering into the kitchen to dig around and find their only set of plates – a chipped, paintless set fired from clay – and haphazardly set four: Mom, Dad, Violet, and herself.

Dad dished out the meal while Mom got her and Violet settled into their shaky chairs, pressing a kiss to the top of their hair. She lingered, like she was pressing secrets into the space between them – like there were words she couldn’t speak. Powder didn’t care to press – for all she knew, it was Mom saying in her own secret Mom way that she knew she drew on the walls with Violet earlier.

Conversation happened as it usually did – Violet yapping about Uncle Vander’s lessons and how she totally will win against him one day and how she was going to hang out at the clubhouse with her friends later – the friends Powder didn’t really pay attention to, like Mylo and Claggor and Deckard – and Powder trying to talk around asking for more paints.

As they shoveled thin stew into their mouths, Mom and Dad shared a glance in the way they usually did – but it was different this time. It looked like the kind of look they usually had before they sat them both down for a Big Conversation – the same look Mom gave Violet before telling her about her soulmate and what it really meant, how it was different than the fairytales they were told as children.

“Bluebell, Vi – we may be home late tomorrow.” Mom started the conversation, thumb running along the edge of the spoon. Powder really didn’t think this conversation warranted The Look, but, whatever.

Violet, however, seemed to be in on some secret that she wasn’t in on, because her eyes narrowed in the way it did before she found out Powder stole her warm jacket. “Uh,” She hesitated in a way very unlike Violet. “Why? How late?”

Powder didn’t even think of asking why or how late – and apparently she still wasn’t privy to why Violet was on edge, because the nervous grip Violet had on her spoon seemed like she must’ve thought she was getting in trouble or something. Powder just kept eating the thin stew, glancing between Mom, Dad, and Violet like she might understand the secret second conversation if she just looked hard enough.

Dad’s answer was quick, voice taking on that soothing quality like it always did when Powder or Violet were upset at something. “Nothing bad, sweetheart,” He reached over their small table to cradle Violet’s jaw in his steady hand. “Just to the late afternoon. There’s something your mom and I have to check on at the bridge.”

Something about that caught Violet’s attention, eyes narrowing so briefly Powder was sure she imagined the expression. It was something she only got when plotting, usually when she was going to leave their shelter and find Mylo and do something dumb. That, or something fun. She wondered if this meant she and Violet would be sneaking out tomorrow.

She almost expected Violet to say something, but she just nodded – something jittery and quick. It was only after her gaze drifted to Powder that she softened, giving a brief nod. That definitely meant Violet was going to let her come too. She kicked her feet back and forth, biting her lip.

Dinner, of course carried on as normal, with Violet hesitantly bringing up her soulmate, how she thinks they must’ve tripped because her knee hurt earlier. Powder thinks about kicking Violet just so that invisible person could feel it too, but she wanted to make sure Violet didn’t take back bringing her wherever they were going to go, so she held back.

For now. Violet’s soulmate wouldn’t know what was coming!

“Pow-Pow, you have to listen to me, okay?” Violet’s words were light, an undercurrent of mischievous intent lacing them. She, having the freedom to play with the other kids on the street, had asked around – and not gotten solid answers.

“What’s going on?” Powder asked for what felt like the million-hundredth time, lip pursing into a pout. She had been excited to follow Violet until she realized how late it was. And, well, she was still excited. Just tired, too.

Violet grinned at her – excited. But perhaps a bit nervous, too. “Something big, I think. Mylo said his dad’s going too. That Claggor’s aunt is. Even Deckard’s brother. They can’t come, but they,” She paused in her movements, “say it has to be a big deal, ‘cause they aren’t allowed to go. And you know Mylo’s dad doesn’t care if he leaves their place. All days except today.”

Powder listened to Violet in awe – and the tiredness left her in a flash. Violet, she knew, was the smartest person in the world when she wasn’t thinking about her soulmate. Plus. Mom and Dad always say that if they weren’t home, Violet was in charge, and she would follow Violet when given the chance. Always. So, with an unintelligible chirp, she moved to stick to Violet’s side like a burr, grabbing her hand.

“We’re gonna go by the bridge, see what’s going on, and then come home. If I say jump...”

“Then jump!” Powder finished the phrase, eyes bright as Violet’s hand squeezed hers with approval. The grip didn’t loosen, tugging her along through the Undercity.

It was a longer way than she was used to going – Violet usually wouldn’t take her much further than the shops, and even that was on a good day or at the needling from Deckard. What she did notice was how much emptier it was than usual – even at the later hours, it was bustling.

Tonight, though – the streets were uneasy. Stirring, but in a way she was unfamiliar with. She thinks Violet was similarly confused, because her grip grew vice-like, as if trying to squeeze paint out from a stubborn, almost empty paint tube. Powder could feel the nerves radiating from her sister and extended her own olive branch.

“Have you, um,” She hesitated, “felt your soulmate anymore lately?”

Violet looked at her briefly, tugging her closer to her side – an action usually reserved for when the streets busy nature threatened to sweep them apart from each other. “I don’t think they get hurt a lot,” Violet hummed, almost thoughtfully, as if she had an idea where her soulmate was. “So, no.”

“Oh.”

“But,” Her sister began, blue eyes returning to scan the streets, following a path Powder wasn’t aware of. “I’m sure I’ll feel them more as we get older. And meet them.”

“Do you want to?” Powder looked up at Violet, trusting her to guide them wherever they needed to go.

“Uh, duh. More than that, I want them to meet you.” She smirked, something small and private just for her and Powder. She lowered her voice to something conspiratorial, like it was a secret. “That’ll be the real test.”

“Huh?” Powder didn’t know what she meant by that, exactly. Test? For what? She leaned forward, wanting to know what the secret was.

As if reading her mind, Violet leaned back, tapping Powder’s nose playfully. “For if they’re actually my soulmate. You think I’d take anyone who doesn’t love you too?”  

Powder beamed, twisting around to knock into Vi’s front and hug her – and rather than nudge her off and get them back on route, Violet hauled her into her arms. Powder curled into her with a pleased hum, and Violet moved her along. The bridge couldn’t be much further.

Plumes of black smoke ran like rivers into the sky, blanketing the sky with ash. Red flames reflected off the sooty clouds, rendering everything in a haze of crimson. That wasn’t the only thing red – fire didn’t run like water, and yet red water pooled with the smell of something burning.

Everything was loud.

Everything was burning.

It smelled like when Mom and Dad forgot to take the Pilt fish off the fire – seared and gross – and when she lifted her head, she was put down by Violet – but her hand was held tighter than Violet’s ever held it before.

Violet, shaking, in a very not-Violet way, whispered. “Pow, don’t – don’t look. Just…” There was something in her voice Powder’s never heard before, couldn’t recognize. It wasn’t awe – it was something more acrid than that. Not surprise, either, at least not the kind Violet had when Powder would grab her ankles from under the table – it was something heavier than that.

So, to try to help Violet through whatever she was thinking, she hummed in her high voice, singing the words Mom always sang to her and Violet. Violet grabbed Powder’s free hand with her own, tugging it to cover her eyes, and then walked them in a path she couldn’t see.

Powder let Violet guide them as she sang quietly – all until they stopped. Her voice faded, more interested in why Violet had gone rigid and still. Her hand fell from her eyes.

Then, they found Uncle Vander and Mom and the enforcers.

Violet stopped bringing up her soulmate after that.

Chapter Text

If you'll be my star, I'll be your sky
You can hide underneath me and come out at night
When I turn jet black and you show off your light
I live to let you shine

Boats & Birds - Gregory and the Hawk

Age 5: Powder

Powder isn’t sure if she likes living with Uncle Vander and Mylo and Claggor, yet. It’s weird for them to go from adult-that-is-Mom-and-Dad’s-friend and Violet’s-friends to so-called New-Dad and brothers. The more she thinks of it like that, the less she thinks she likes it – so, instead, she just thinks of it as an extended vacation. With Uncle Vander and people she barely knows. Great.

Mylo and Claggor are nice, she thinks, but not nice enough for her to want to have to cram into the same room as them for the rest of her life, and she wistfully thinks about when she can get her own room. She is, however, aware that you cannot get your own room if there is no other room. So. There’s that, she guesses.

Vi – not Violet – is quiet. Even months after what Mylo and Claggor are calling a revolution – as if they even know what that means – and what Vander is calling a mistake, Vi stays quiet. If she isn’t quiet, she’s sobbing into a pillow until Vander comes in and soothes her. If she isn’t sobbing, she’s showing Mylo and Claggor how to throw a punch like Vander showed her. If she isn’t punching things, she’s telling Powder stories about Mom and Dad, as if either of them will forget just a few months after they left. 

Powder still isn’t sure what happened, but she knows one thing: Piltover and its enforcers are bad news.

Like, really bad news.

Age 10: Vi

Vi knows three things to be true at the tender age of ten: The undercity will always be below Piltover, the enforcers are only there to reinforce that, and family is the most important thing she will ever both have and lose.

None of these are exactly new to her – she’d always known that Piltover and the Undercity were very… different. That when the older kids came back from Piltover with their haul, it was usually good stuff – things that got you lemon cake from Auntie Rosie’s (which no longer stood after the revolution took the namesake away) or the expensive paints that Powder would’ve killed for.

But it didn’t have to be new for it to hold a different weight. A weight carved from fire and ash and heavy guns and –

She breathed like Vander showed her to, even as her hands wrung together in tight, anxious motions – callouses scraping painfully against each other. She wondered if her soulmate could feel it – from whatever ivory tower they lived in, where the most of their injury was a skinned knee. Bitterness sank into her chest – something coiling and toxic, beckoning her to cause something, to do something, to break something.

The whining back and forth of her sister and Mylo brought her out of that much – the two playing some sort of game that Powder was losing. It looked like stacking small blocks of chipped wood – and, well, after the Revolution, it wasn’t like they could go out and play. Not right now, when the wounds carved into the city were still fresh. When the enforcers were still crawling and beating anything that breathed wrong in their direction.

It didn’t seem like they minded too much – Mylo grinning almost as wide as Powder was. He, much like Vi, hadn’t taken the loss of his dad well – so to see him smile with Powder was marked as a win today and meant she could instead turn her attention to other important people.

She searched the room for wherever Claggor might’ve hidden away – probably building and taking apart something in the room to see if it could be sold at Vander’s friend’s place. And – yep, she found him tucked away in the corner of the room, picking at some weird contraption. She wasn’t sure he knew what it was either – and she didn’t particularly care. With quiet movements, she swung her legs to the side and slinked off the couch’s back. She grinned – something wide and playful, aiming to capitalize on Claggor’s focus – and lurched forward, fingertips digging into his shoulders.

“Boo!” She yelled right into his ear – something she would do often to Powder to make her shriek.

Rather than shriek, Claggor just jolted – eyes widening as he whipped around as fast as possible. This time, though, he didn’t throw a heavy swing – just rolled his eyes once he determined it was Vi. His voice was thick with annoyance when he finally spoke, shoving her back gingerly with his elbow. “I’m busy, y’know.”

It was as much sass as a nine-year-old could give, and she grinned as she leaned her hands on his shoulders, pressing her weight down. “I know,” She drawled, kicking her heel lightly against the floor, “But I’m bored. What’re you doing?”

Vi tried to show interest in whatever her housemates did – they were family now, and family stuck together. Whether that meant pretending to pay attention to Mylo’s not-yet-there skill in picking locks or humming and hawing at one of Powder’s rambles – or, like now, bothering Claggor when he was trying to hole himself away.

He’d always make a show of being annoyed, but the way his shoulders dropped and he left room for her to sit next to him meant she was well aware it was just that: A show.

“I’m trying to take this apart,” He started, tapping the cog that seemed rather stuck in the piece. “But it’s not budging.”

Vi frowned, glancing briefly to where Mylo and Powder were getting loud in their stacking game. It didn’t look like an argument was going to break out, so she focused on Claggor. “Want me to try?” She held her hand out, waiting for it to be put into her hands.

“You can try, but it’s pretty stuck.” He muttered, pushing the pieces to her. “If you can’t, I’ll just ask Vander, but…” He trailed off – and really, he didn’t need to finish his sentence. He was, after all, the newest arrival of the four. Vi and Powder were the first, and they still weren’t inclined to ask Vander for help.

“Yeah, I get it.” She waved him off with a quiet hum, tapping at the interlocked cog and… whatever the rest of it was. She tried to spin it first, which clearly didn’t work. Then she tried to brute force it, which also didn’t work. And yet, he was still watching her expectantly – and she knew she had to get it done. For him.

This would be the first time she realized the others depended on her, even then. It wouldn’t be the last.

Vi gave what she hoped was a reassuring grin to Claggor and held up a hand. “Watch this.” She cleared her throat, shifted in her spot, and began to tug it apart as hard as she could – and she swore she felt some give between the two pieces. Almost there, almost there…

She jumped about five feet in the air, she swears on Janna, when Mylo screeched something loud and awful – a loud, maybe overdramatic crash from the corner he and Powder were playing in. Her head whipped around to take in the scene – and. Well. It isn’t what she expected.

What she expected what maybe an overreaction to the stacks of wood falling over – something Mylo was prone to doing when he was playing with Powder, hyping each other up to be more and more dramatic. He was usually good enough with Powder, occupying her when he would come over to play before the Revolution, not making fuss when she tagged along to the shops with them. This was different, though.

What she didn’t expect was whatever she was seeing.

Powder, face flushed an angry red – a color she’d only seen when Vi had taken their games too far and made her cry and scream, or when the house was too loud, or sometimes, lately, at night. Mylo, against the wall but quickly lunging forward to yell at Powder – for what, she didn’t know, until she scanned the both of them. Powder held a chipped wooden block, one of the ones they’d been playing with, in a vice grip, knuckles white – and Mylo had a decent gash cutting across his temple.

Vi stared from her spot beside Claggor, stock still, before realizing she needed to get this under control before Vander came to see what the yelling was for.

“Woah, woah – wait, guys, stop!” She whispered, but it came out much louder than intended. Despite that, it didn’t even work.

“I knew I shouldn’t’ve tried to play with you! It always ends the same, y’stupid crybaby!” Mylo touched gingerly at the wound on his face, whining loudly.

That, of course, only got Powder more riled up, tears keeping her face flushed and voice raw. “I’m not a crybaby, you’re jus’a cheater. CHEATER!” She was getting louder and louder – which only made Vi look nervously at the door.

“Mylo, maybe we –” Vi was cut off by Mylo hitting the table with a closed fist, his lips twisted into a snarl that was out of place for a nine-year-old.

“Shove off, Vi,” The hiss in his voice only served to annoy her. “Look at my face! Look what this brat,” He spat the word out like it personally offended him, eyes cutting to Powder, “did to my face! I didn’t even do anything!”

Despite the hostility sent her way, Vi was always going to have been the one to play peacemaker. Nobody ever said she was good at the diplomatic version of it, though. Puffing her chest out, she grabbed Powder by the shoulder, tugging her behind her. This barely worked, with Powder screeching like she was.

“Yes, you did!” Powder was so incredibly loud, and it had Vi glancing up the stairs again. Janna, Vander was going to clue in any time now. “You knocked it down, Mylo!”

Vi was quickly getting annoyed by both of them – this, of all things, was what they were fighting about? This is what Powder threw a block at Mylo for? She glanced at the corner she had left Claggor at, and he was just staring at the two pieces that were still stuck together because Powder and Mylo started fighting.

She shook Powder roughly by the shoulder, turning her to face her. “Powder, stop yelling!” She barked, cuffing her lightly over the ear – a swat more than anything else. “Mylo, stop riling her up.” She sent a scowl in his direction, her hands shaking as she tried to think of what Mom and Dad would’ve said.

But Mom and Dad weren’t here anymore, and she absolutely couldn’t get Vander for this of all things.

“And – uh – both of you apologize! Seriously, you two are fighting over, what? Some stupid blocks?” Her nose wrinkled up in distaste – and as the two tried to interject, she stomped her foot. Maybe childishly, but they were seriously starting to get on her nerves. “No – shut up! Shut up, shut up.” She hissed, “Both of you, shut up.”

Both of their faces seemed to crumple – Powder’s more so than Mylo’s – and she was hit with a wave of regret. “No – No, wait, I’m sorry.” Her hand came to cradle Powder’s jaw like Mom and Dad did for her, swiping under her eye with her thumb. “Bluebell, I need you to apologize to Mylo,” She cooed, forcing her voice into something light. Then, she turned to Mylo, keeping that softness about her voice. “And, Birdie, I need you to apologize to Powder, alright?”

The two still seemed sour – and Mylo arguably had the worst of it, deserving of more than an apology considering the strike across his face – but softened at the way she did. They all shared a glance – and Vi spared Claggor one as well, assessing his state. He seemed tense, still – but less. No longer pretending to work on the two pieces of whatever-those-things-were and instead warily looking over.

Mylo broke first. “I’m sorry, Powder.” Vi could tell by his tone he didn’t really know what he was apologizing for – and Vi didn’t either, really, but she was honed in on Powder’s distress. The distress she’d never seen blow up to that extent.

(Vi will wonder, later, if that’s where it all started. If it was a sign.)

(Vi will wonder if that was the first time she failed Jinx.)

(But for right now, it would be excused as a tantrum just gone too far.)

Powder shifted, scrubbing tiny fists across her red cheeks. She didn’t seem to want to fold, even if she’d softened, but a swipe of Vi’s thumb underneath her eye had her gaze moving to Mylo. “I’m sorry too.” She sniffed, turning around promptly to go bury herself under the ratty pile of blankets on the bed. Vi hesitated, already moving to follow – to soothe the feverish anger that had taken her by surprise. But then she looked at Mylo and his own red face, the blood across his temple, and made a choice.

Vi cooed a quiet goodnight to Powder, promising to check on her in a few minutes once she’s calmed down some – and went to dig around for the first aid kit. They’d gotten it after Claggor moved in when his aunt passed away from smoke inhalation – a byproduct of the Revolution – and filled it with a variety of supplies – bandages, gauze, and even a topical pain alleviant that Vander got for her when her knuckles started smarting, even without injury. Stupid soulmate.

Grabbing the first aid kit and banishing any thought of her stupid, idiot soulmate far, far away, she clambered over to Mylo, who’d found his way to the ratty sofa. She carelessly threw herself down by him, nudging his shoulder with her own. “Hey, Birdie.” She hummed, “Let me see your face, alright?” She tapped his jaw with her fingertips, angling his face so she could clean blood away from the injury with the edge of her sleeve.

He was clearly disgruntled, given the way he muttered and briefly pushed away – only to relax into her touch just as much as Powder did. He let her fuss over him, staying silent – stewing in a quiet anger. She supposed it had to boil over at some point – but she thought it would have been her and Mylo getting into a fight – definitely not Powder and Mylo.

Truthfully, it still set off alarm bells in the back of her head. Powder hadn’t reacted like that before to anything.

She didn’t know it wouldn’t be the last time – how it would become her new normal, gradually.

The next few weeks were tumultuous in the basement of The Last Drop. It was as if after that one shoe dropped, they just kept coming. Hordes and floods of shoes, that could no longer be stopped. If Powder had still been interested in playing their game, Vi thinks she would’ve used some sort of shoe monster because this was awful.

Now, obviously, it wasn’t actually shoes. No – it was Powder herself. After she had her fit a few weeks ago with Mylo, she’d been inconsolable at the littlest of things, reticent one moment and exploding the next. Violet felt like she was scrambling to prevent the next Revolution, but in their little room with Claggor and Mylo. And recently, the ire has even turned towards Vi – unprecedented.

And Vi, for once, was reaching the end of her rope and had to call in reinforcements: Vander.

Vander always knew how to settle each of them down – it was like he worked miracles: able to bring Claggor out of his shell, able to keep her tears at bay when the flames are all she can see, able to settle Mylo when he jumps at his own shadow. Most importantly, he was able to get Powder to calm down.

Usually.

Vi tried to remember what set Powder off in the first place – she doesn’t think it was Mylo, today. Mylo had been careful, if anything, to avoid setting Powder off. He never liked to see her cry, especially with it lately meaning she’d leave bruises on whoever had to pull her away from her source of ire. Vi had a pang of pity for any of their soulmates at this point – but especially hers.

In any case, it’s getting harder and harder to know what sets off Powder anymore – because it really could be the littlest of things – from too loud of a noise to a bad texture in her food, or even just Claggor looking away during one of her rambles. It has everyone on edge and Vander is their last hope. Unfortunately, even their last hope is scrambling right now.

Mylo murmurs low beside her, gesturing with a tip of his chin. “It’s been going on… what? An hour now?” That whining quality in his voice came back as he complained, “My ears are gonna bleed, I’m not even kidding.”

For once, Vi couldn’t blame him – just giving a cursory nudge with her elbow. Even if she agreed, she had to at least put a show of not. Despite the nudge, she found herself nodding. More than that, though, she was studying how Vander handled Powder with the intensity of a hawk – both to see if she could learn how to better settle Powder when she was like this and to ensure Vander was actually even helping.

Vander’s voice was soothing like Dad’s was – something low, lightly accented, and honeyed but not saccharine. Genuine. It made her sick to compare him to Dad so directly – but it was getting easier and easier to do that.

She refused to think about it for too long, instead listening to the back and forth Vander and Powder were having – unabashedly staring with Mylo. Claggor at least had the good sense to pretend to be busy – but he was trying to study to help as much as Vi was.

“Powder,” Vander started, a hand resting on her too small shoulder. Vi tensed up, involuntarily leaning forward in case she needed to step in – never mind that she called Vander in because she specifically couldn’t figure out what to do. Mylo glanced at her, though, and she settled back down – gaze intent on her sister and Vander.

“It’s too loud – It’s too loud!” Her voice was pitchy, like she was trying to hold back her tears. It didn’t help that she was knocking her palms roughly against her temples, rocking back and forth on her heels. Vi is pretty sure, even at her young age, that hitting yourself won’t make you cry any less.

Vi was also unsure what Powder was finding to be too loud – yes, the bar upstairs was louder than usual – boisterous and rowdy – but this seemed like an over-reaction. Then again, Powder always was more sensitive to things like that – bright lights and loud noises startling her. It’d only gotten worse recently. Idly, Vi wondered about finding some loud records to play for Powder so she could have loud noises she could control. Play it in the bar during the dead or closed hours.

She was knocked out of her thoughts by the sudden movement Vander made – him tugging gently at her wrists. When Powder flailed, it took Mylo’s hand on her shoulder to keep her from running in – and instead, she bit her lip nervously, shifting where she crouched. She didn’t realize she’d been so lost in her own head until Powder spoke again.

“It’s everything!” Vi cringed back some. What was everything? Clearly she’d missed something – but Powder elaborated soon after in the least helpful way. “I don’t – I don’t know.”

Vi supposed she was literally five years old, but. Still. She wished Powder could explain why she felt how she did lately, so she could help.

Vander seemed to understand where Vi could not, brushing his hand over Powder’s jaw and brushing away a tear. He looked like Dad doing that – gently carding a hand over powder blue hair and smoothing it down. Just like Dad did. Vi tore her gaze away, listening as intently as she had been watching earlier.

“Why don’t…” He paused, as if taking stock of something. “Here – why don’t we take some stuff, just you and I, down to Benzo’s place and you can help him put stuff up.” He seemed to hesitate again, and when Vi looked up, it looked like it was probably because Powder looked heartbroken, like she thought she was being sent away. But he recovered quickly, resting his hand back on Powder’s shoulder with as much gentleness one might use for a wounded bird. “You know he has a hard time reaching the bottom shelves, old as he’s getting.”

Just like that, Powder’s expression brightened – a wet, quiet giggle bubbling from her chest. Vi doesn’t know if she’s felt so much relief before, and finds it surprisingly mirrored in the way Mylo and Claggor’s shoulders relax right along with hers. She isn’t sure what part worked – what part helped.

Vander must’ve noticed what she didn’t, because he swiftly took that opportunity to sweep Powder up into a cradle, just as he did after the Revolution. “So, why don’t we get you over there so you can help the old man?”

Powder nodded – more determined and bright in one moment than Vi had seen her be over the past three cumulative weeks. Vi still didn’t know what caused the stark change, but she was just grateful it happened at all.

A few months later, after a routine of Vander taking Powder to Benzo’s every week to drop things off has been established, a few things happen.

Powder turns six and makes her first friend.

Violet turns eleven and gets her first job.

Both of these events are notable for a few reasons. Until now, Powder’s friends had only consisted of the same people in her house and, technically, Deckard. That’s to say, her friends were just Vi’s friends, and she didn’t pay attention to Claggor and Mylo until she lived with them. So, in blunt terms: Powder’s never really had a friend before.

Ekko, some new bright-eyed kid, changes this when he’s set to work with Benzo while his parents work day in and night out at the mine’s – to try to send him somewhere proper for an education, he says. Everyone knows that just means Piltover, which means it’s a pipe dream unless Inna and Wyeth strike gold. Regardless of the reason, he and Powder meet and immediately hit it off, which means Vi sees less of Powder as the days go on. It’s alright, though – the kid gets along with Powder, but also with Mylo and Claggor.

She should feel guilty for being relieved, maybe, but Vander tells her it’s a good thing that Powder isn’t having to rely on just her or just him so much anymore – that she has found a peer. But when Vi isn’t immediately needed, she gets antsy. Nervous. She’s used to being needed – has found her comfort in when Mylo or Claggor or Powder ask her for help – particularly with things she can solve.

Vander notices and sends her on her first job a few weeks into her turning eleven – nothing dangerous, of course. Just anything any typical sump kid would do on their own – but given as a purpose. She learns how to pickpocket and learns how to redirect – and one job becomes three, which becomes ten – until every week, she’s saving up enough coins to buy Powder her own set of paint and Claggor new goggles and Mylo a new lock-picking kit – something for all of them. Something to make them all feel useful.

A few months later, when the air getting just slightly more frigid is the only indication of changing seasons, something strange happens.

Vi feels her ankle roll and twist – but she had been walking straight. And as someone who’s fallen a lot, she immediately knows her soulmate hasn’t, because she quickly feels scrapes against her knees rather than the side of her thighs like she would normally fall. This, of course, doesn’t prompt worry – but a deep seeded bitterness.

Because of course Vi’s soulmate lives such a perfect life that they can’t even fall correctly. She huffs, brushes her palms against her knees, and chides herself. She doesn’t have time to think about soulmates when her family – tangible, real, and something that matters – needs her.

Vi gets back home to The Last Drop, not quite limping, and asks Powder to wrap her ankle for her, to use that topical pain reliever she nabbed from Vander’s stock. By now, Vi’s learned what it was that Vander realized Powder needed – to feel loved, but also to feel useful. Deserving. She thinks Powder must've gotten it from her or Mylo - or maybe it was always there. Either way, it wasn't like she could change it - so Vi may as well lean into it.

Vi doesn’t think Powder would believe her if she just told her how loved and cherished and worthy she is, so instead, she gives her little tasks she knows she can do – whether it’s helping her wrap her ankle or if it’s taking something to Benzo’s with Claggor. It’s helped as a preventative measure – and although every month there’s still some pent up blow up, it helps keep things at bay long enough for Powder to have some peace, as far as she knows.

She just hopes it’s enough to keep the cracks from spreading.

Chapter Text

And how am I expected to behave
Oh, when I'm alone with myself everyday
I never loved you enough, my love
And I'll never hold you close enough
Teach me how to love you like I wrote
And say it like I mean it when I don't

Teach me - Keaton Henson

Age 8: Powder

It’s been a while since Mom and Dad never came back from the fire. Since they died.

It isn’t so bad here, though. Powder’s getting used to the full house, starting to find family in the forgotten crevices of the bar’s basement. Vi is thirteen now, Mylo and Claggor are twelve, and she’s still a stupid baby at eight years old - but she’s old enough to play with them more, even if they don’t really care to play back anymore now that she shows her displeasure plainly.

Whatever.

Plus, Vi brings back books from her jobs - things to read both for herself and to Powder, and every now and then she’ll bring a book just for her or some expensive paints.

Which - okay, Powder doesn’t know if you are supposed to spend all your own money on things for your sister, but she can’t help the butterflies she gets when Vi gives her a new paint. It’s like being remembered – and even if she knows Vi would never forget her, it’s… Comforting.

Powder knows, compared to other Undercity kids, she is… a little spoiled. A fact that Mylo doesn’t let her forget, even though he’s almost as spoiled. She has a roof over her head, three siblings, and a new Dad. She even has a friend! A lot of other Undercity kids are lucky to have just one of those things, but she ended up lucky enough to have all of that and a little more.

It’s not like being Piltie-rich, but it’s almost better.

Violet was out on a job with the other kids - Mylo and Claggor and even Deckard got to go this time, picking at pockets on the promenade and ducking around the back of shops for any offcuts to stash away. Powder was still too young to go, leaving her at the bar with Vander as the music droned on.

She studied him, cheek flush against the top of the bar counter. She tapped her feet against the front to the slow tunes floating from the record - it wasn’t her and Vi and Vander’s song, but it was a close favorite. Her and Vander’s song, just for them.

Vander, who had deep pillows of violet carved permanently under his eyes, folds of age already showing in the corners of his eyes and mouth. When he turned to her, a rag thrown over his shoulder, he offered the smile he always gives her: Warm, creased with a hint of worry, and yet still managing to soft, turning his eyes up as well.

“Your usual, Miss Powder?” He leaned under the counter to tug out a tall cup - almost too tall for her still. But he always loved to make her feel like a natural extension of his life, starting by the way he treats her as a regular at a bar. Their own little game.

She giggles and plays along, leaning forward and unsticking her cheek from the bar, rolling her face so her chin rests on top. She barely peeked over the countertop as it was, sitting on the highest chair they had in the bar. Even so… “Yes, please!” It was a chirp more than anything else.

“Oh? ‘Please?’ Now, since when have you got manners, eh?” He tugged out the powder that made up her orange drink - something tangy that tastes good both cold and at room-temperature. More expensive than other products - but there was no expense he wouldn’t spare for her. Spoiled, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Mylo reminds her. If spoiled just meant loved, she’d wear that badge with pride.

She giggled again, cheeks flush with her amusement as pale eyes crinkled into half-moons, just like Vi’s. “Ummm,” She drawled it out, as if it were the beginning of a secret, “Since always? Duh.”

Vander scoffed at her, then - light and teasing, “Please, Powder. You’re the cheekiest kid in this part of the Lane’s, I swear.” Despite the words, it was all said with that familiar tenderness that reminded her of Dad.

She just gave a dimpled grin, watching Vander as he made her drink, greedily grabbing it once he’d slid it over.

“Careful, Pow.” He chided, watching for a moment to ensure she had a grip on the cup and wouldn’t spill it everywhere.

He always doted like that - in ways both familiar and unfamiliar to Dad and Mom. To Vi. But sometimes, when he got into these moods where he treated Powder like something precious, it also meant she had a better shot of convincing him to let her go on her own the short distance to Benzo’s.

She stirred her straw with a heavy hand in the drink, taking a long sip, before dramatically sighing. This was routine, by now – at least once a week.

Of course, he knew where this was going - a familiar game between the two. “Bored already? This old man not up to your speed?”

She shot him the same look she always did - unimpressed. But, well. He did ask, so… She nodded, something quick. “Yep!” Blunt and to the point, she sat up a bit straighter, trying to lean over the counter she could barely look over. “Vander?”

He turned away, but she could see the curve of his grin in the way his face seemed to lift. So, she pressed onwards, deciding it was in fact one of those common Good Vander Moods days. “Can I go to Benzo’s today? Ekko said he got something really cool!”

Which isn’t a lie. Last time they played together, he was bragging to Claggor about cool things Benzo just got traded that he could probably bring for Claggor to take apart and sell.

She had to beat Claggor to it first.

Vander didn’t seem to understand the critical importance that she leaves right now before she can risk Claggor getting there first, though, because he hums in a slow, deliberating way. “Well,” He drawled, glancing behind him at Powder, “I think you may be forgetting a word.”

Powder blanked. What does that even mean?!

Then it hit her, and she leveled Vander with a look that was even more unimpressed than before. “Oh, my— Janna, fine—! Please? Please can I go to Benzo’s place? Pleaaaase?” She wondered if three please’s were enough, because she was going to have to ask Vi to throw down with Vander and Claggor if it wasn’t. She would riot. She would –

It was. Enough, that is. He waved her off and tapped the rim of her cup gently. “Finish this and then you can go. Be back in time for dinner.”

She rolled her eyes - getting a light swat of the rag for that little show of disrespect. “Eghk- okay! Okay, I will!” Powder let her voice pitch into a whine, pouting as she finished the drink as quickly as she could.

Arriving at Benzo’s place always went the same way, with just two options for diverging paths: When she arrived with her siblings versus when she came alone. The former was way more common, but lately she’s been allowed to go on her own enough that she’s got her new routine for that circumstance.

It goes like this: Powder makes her way through the couple streets it takes to get to Benzo’s shop, avoiding any enforcers while she does that, and knocks. Then she remembers this is practically a second (or third, she guesses) home for her and opens the storefront’s doors.

Benzo greets her, and when she’s alone, he knows it means she’s here not for him (as much as she likes him) but for Ekko. He waves her off wherever Ekko is working today, and gets back to taking stock or whatever it is old men like him and Vander do when business is slow.

It happens like that today, nothing out of the ordinary.

It always took Powder a second for her eyes to adjust to the dim light of the room in the basement area, but she makes an effort to keep her footsteps light and quiet, just like Vi showed her. When she sees Ekko, working away with a wrench, the grin that slides on her face can only be described as the cat who’s caught the canary.

She launches herself forward, silent as she can be, and swings her arms around his neck, crowing loud into his ear. “Guess who!”

If it wasn’t obvious by now, of course.

Ekko shrieked, like he usually did - eyes wide and nervous even after it clicks who was here for him today - and he pushes her away some. “Eghk- Pow! You’re gonna choke me out!” He whined, making sure her arms were dislodged from his neck. He relaxed, though, returning the hug quickly before nudging her.

Oh! Right!

“What’cha working on?” Her eyes were wide and bright even in the dim light.

“Benzo had this music box come in for a trade,” He pouted, before his expression lifted with what could only be described as pride, “But it was busted, so Benzo’s letting me fix it up. Heh - cool, right?”

He nudged her with his elbow, his grin almost matching hers.

“I guess it’s cool - what’s broken in it, though?” She tilted her head, powder blue hair falling in her face.

He scooted over to give her a better look, letting the light from upstairs gleam over the metal box. “I think a gear or two are busted, so I gotta replace it.” He frowned - before his expression lifted right back up. He turned his gaze to her, something playful crossing his expression. “Wanna help?”

Powder always wanted to help.

She lurched forward, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Duh! Ummm, what do I have to do, though?” She looked around, whipping her head back and forth as if she couldn’t just turn normally. She couldn’t help it though - she was just excited to get to help build stuff. It isn’t like Claggor let her help much anymore, since he was usually helping with the boiler which was too dangerous for her according to Vander.

Ekko didn’t take any issue with it, though - just laughing and nudging her right back, just as hard. “Can you find me two of these?” He tapped at the pieces that looked bent inside the music box - like those little cog looking pieces Claggor messed with sometimes.

“Yep-yep!” Then she paused, looking around the room. “Where…?”

He shrugged. Great, Ekko. Very helpful. “Try around the shop, maybe? I gotta try to get these pieces out if I even wanna get to replace them.”

She rolled her eyes. Whatever. Any indignance left as quick as it came as she started on her job, bolting up the stairs.

Benzo, obviously, took notice. “Hey - hey, little lady, why’re you running in my shop like that? Where’s the fire?” He raised an eyebrow, looking around as if suspecting there might actually be a fire.

One time. Seriously, one time you accidentally drop a lighter and start a minor fire, and nobody lets it go!

“Uh! No- well, there’s no fire.” She grinned, something small and excited - forcing it into something sheepish. “But, umm, do you think you can help me with something?”

Just like Vander, Benzo would fold.

With a heavy sigh, he looked at her more closely. “Depends,” He said - but she knew it really didn’t. “What is it?”

This was a small request anyways - so she didn’t feel too bad when she lurched forward to make her way to Benzo. “Me and Ekko need –“

“Ekko and I.” He corrected her, when they both knew he didn’t really care about Piltie grammar like that. He was just making fun of her for asking for stuff.

Powder leveled him with her best unimpressed look – the same she’d sent Vander earlier. “Right. Me and Ekko need two of these, like…” She gestured vaguely, trying to make the cog shape how she can. “It’s a circle, sorta, but with teeth. Not sharp teeth, though. Oh! And it’s small.” She gestured the size as best as she could from what she eyeballed.

Benzo wasn’t too lost - he’d had the last couple years as practice with Claggor asking for parts and being just as poor an explainer as she was. He hums and brings out a box - small, likely just of spare parts for moments just like this, and passes it over to her.

“Will this work?”

She inspected the box and shrugged. “I dunno. I’ll come back if not.” She declared, determination steeling her voice. She gathered the box in her arms and pulled away from the counter, carefully taking the box with her downstairs. It wasn’t too big or heavy, but she tended to get clumsy at the worst moments.

“Ekko?” She bit her lip, a quiet sort of anticipation clear on her face. “I’ve got it. Uh, well - maybe got it. I dunno. It’s a lotta stuff, so…”

“Oh!” He chirped, as warm as ever, beckoning her over. “Well, c’mere then.” Shifting where he was seated to once again give her (and the box) room, he sent her a beam that she thinks would blind her if there was any more light coming into the room.

“Uh-huh.” She mumbled to herself, dropping the box (carefully!) and herself right by him, leaning into his space. “Sooo,” She nudged him lightly. “What now?”

He raised an eyebrow at her - something over dramatic and played up just for her. “Now, we work the magic. Duh.”

Powder couldn’t tamp down the excitement that bubbled up, eyes wide with amazement. Then, her own lips tugged into a smirk, leaning against him to see what he was doing better - committing every action to memory. “Well, then, mister - work the magic.” She poked him with a short nail.

And work magic, he did - twisting out the pieces that needed to be pulled out, settling the gears into the spots that had recently been emptied. She watched - gaze flitting between his hands and his expression, creased in focus.

She was getting bored. It was fun for the first few minutes to watch Ekko work, but now it was just the fine tuning, which she really wasn’t interested. She hummed, patting his shoulder before peeling away from his side. “I’m gonna look at the books!” She called, taking his noncommittal noise as approval.

Her fingers interlocked behind her as she scoured the small room for anything interesting - maybe she could convince Ekko to convince Benzo to let her take home a book or two if she couldn’t do it herself. She knows Benzo’s let Ekko take books home, so she figures she has a fair shot, especially if she plays up what Vi calls her ‘poro eyes.’ Oh! Now that’s a thought. Maybe she could get a book about how to take care of a poro and Vander would have to let her and Vi have one. Their plan was missing that part, so... not like it could hurt.


Her eyes scanned the covers for anything that caught her eye - she thought about the history book for a moment, something for Claggor - but then Mylo would whine that she didn’t get anything for him, and it would be a whole mess. Not that she even wanted to give anything to him right now - he’s been getting meaner and meaner the more he goes on jobs with Vi, and he would probably find an issue with anything she got him anyways. Ugh.

So, she left the history book behind for now, unless she could figure out a way to get it to him without it being super obvious it was her.

Which. She couldn’t.

Instead, her gaze traveled to a different book - something that seemed somehow even more academic than the history book. She stepped forward, glancing behind her where Ekko was still working. Judging him to still be preoccupied, she leaned forward to brush her fingers over the book’s cover.

She hissed at the same time Ekko did, who was quickly dropping the wrench he’d been working with. Her own finger smarted, and she figured there must’ve been some stupid bug or something pokey she touched trying to grab the book.

She shot Ekko a withering look - traces of amusement in her eyes. “You get your finger too close to the wrench or something?”

He rolled his eyes, shutting the music box’s door with finality. “Yup,” He snorted under his breath, returning her gaze with something that could only be described as severely unimpressed. “Not like you can make fun of me. How do you get hurt grabbing a book?”

Rolling her own eyes right back, she looked around the room before enacting sweet, sweet justice: flipping ‘the bird’ at him, just like she’s seen Vi do. “I didn’t,” She lied, glancing behind her as her hands dropped to her hips. “I’dunno,” Her eyes narrowed as she corrected herself, “Something sharp by it, I guess. Maybe you should clean up more, little man.”

Ekko waved her off, leaning back as if he were about to lay down - before shooting up to his feet. “Oh! Right! I had stuff for you, remember?”

She blinked owlishly, before - right! “Yeah! You said you did, ‘less you were lying.” She paused, suspicious. “You weren’t lying, right?”

It was as if she had personally pulled his ear and smacked a child and cat dead in front of him, the way his expression fell. “No! No, I wouldn’t lie. Not to you, Pow. Promise.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Okay.

“Uh. Sheesh, okay,” She gave a flippant thumbs up, but - well, the dedication was nice. Even if that was a bit much for an offhanded accusation. “Well, Mister-I-Would-Never-Lie,” She cooed, all playful like Vi does to her and Mylo when teasing them, “Go get me my stuff then!”

She was excited for the surprise, of course - whatever it was. As Ekko scrambled up the stairs to go get it, she looked at the book. Something about bombs and weapons. She thought about Vi and her jobs and the way enforcers had been crawling up and down the streets, and she took the book with her - stealing one of Ekko’s goofy looking totes he’d gotten from one of the topsiders. She needed something to put the book in, so.

Maybe she could finally start helping in the jobs, too.

It was paints - really, really expensive ones. Those were Ekko’s gifts to her, the ones he really didn’t need to give her and the thought had her practically bouncing in place – once again, to be remembered. To be loved. She just wanted to draw already, to convince Vi to let her draw on her wall rather than just her own.

But Vi wouldn’t be back from her job for a few hours at least, which meant Claggor and Mylo were with her too. Which meant she had literally nothing to do but try to find a spot she hadn’t already covered in color.

But then she remembered the book - and she knew she did have something she could do. She scrambled for the bag she stole from Benzo’s (that, predictably, he nor Ekko said anything about) and pulled the heavy book from it.

In the dim light of the bar’s basement, she was better able to read the cover and take in accounting what the book looked like. As she had thought, it was sleek and heavy. An off white colored front and back with a black spine - in big, bold red letters, it read: ‘A Guide To All Things Explosives and Artillery.’ She didn’t entirely know what artillery meant yet - she would just have to ask Vander later - but she knew what explosives were.

And. Well.

Wasn’t that a thought?

Reading that book felt like she was drowning in words and diagrams and plans - but all the same, it was thrilling. It felt like potential.

She already had ideas - ways to make them super cute. But still scary. She thought about the games her and Vi would play at their old house, with Mom and Old-Dad, how they would combine animals with scary things and — suffice to say, she had plenty of ideas.

She was learning plenty from this book, at least - and even if she couldn’t entirely understand it yet, the finer details, she was sure she could fill in the gaps enough to make some sort of working product - most Sump kids could. Most had to.

Her ears caught the heavy sound of footsteps and she quickly rolled off the bed, landing on her elbow with a quiet whine. Ignoring the ache that shot up her arm from the odd landing, she shoved the book under the bed, sitting up with a frazzled expression.

It didn’t seem like she even had to worry, though. Vi and Mylo and Claggor seemed preoccupied and angry with something else, faces creased into something of shadows and storm clouds covering their eyes. Powder sat up straighter as she searched Vi, only barely able to hold back a whimper at the plum colored bruise marring her jaw.

Scratch that - she didn’t hold it back, considering the way Vi’s eyes found her, softening and breaking like sunlight on the sea. “Hi, Pow. Did you have a good day?”

Powder thought she did, but - suddenly, it felt like she couldn’t call it one when Vi’s face looked like she ran into a fist five times. She neglected to answer, instead bolting up to her feet, worry bright in her eyes.

“Vi!” She was trying her best to not start crying - it wasn’t like she was the one who got hit, after all. “What happened?”

Vi waved her concerns off, shooting a glance to Mylo and Claggor for a moment. Mylo, of course, took this instead as invitation to tell her what had happened rather than the ask to stay quiet that it was.

“You know those kids, Pow?” He scowled, “The ones we used to hang with, Deckard and them?”

Powder wasn’t sure when it became a ‘used to,’ but she just nodded. She did remember them, even if she had barely paid any mind to him.

“Well,” He drawled, gesturing to Vi in a sharp motion, “Turns out they’re real dicks—!”

Vi cuffed him over the ear for that one. But it wasn’t like she didn’t use the same language.

Claggor finished for him, “They’re starting to just think they’re a bit too good for us, is all, Pow.” He moved past her to settle on the edge of the bed, resting a hand on the crown of her head - a comforting weight.

“But you got them half their jobs! You guys —!”

Vi interrupted her. As usual. “I know, Pow, but they don’t. Just…” She glanced between herself, Mylo, and Claggor.

“Just stay away from them, Pow.” Mylo muttered, brushing his hand on her shoulder as he flopped down by Claggor on the bed. “You’ll get yourself hurt if you don’t.”

She soured, face pinching. “I can help! Or - or we can tell Vander, he’ll help!”

Vi hissed under her breath. “No, Pow, listen - Bluebell,” Her voice took on that sweet, almost crooning tone it did when she would try to convince her to not tell Mom when they fought too hard. Except, this time, it was to keep Powder from helping Vi, from telling Vander. “We don’t tell Vander. We got it taken care of.”

Powder wasn’t convinced that it was very taken care of, considering the mottled look of Vi’s face, but… Vi’s voice was taking on that hard edge it did whenever she was serious, how it did more often than not lately.

Powder nodded, biting her lip - uneasy.

Vi offered a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was giving more of those too.

Powder knew she had to figure something out, and she had a feeling that book could help her out plenty.

Vander found out. He usually did, and this time it wasn’t even from her: Claggor spilled, like he usually did if Vander didn’t pull it from Powder first.

Vi and Mylo and Claggor weren’t allowed to go on their own anymore to jobs - not for a few weeks. And with Vander being busy with the bar and Deckard ‘still talking out his ass,’ as Vi put it, it meant the four of them were left without much to do. This meant Powder had a good look at Vi for more hours of the day than usual.

Powder saw Vi rub at her arm, as if she was bruised there too - but Powder could see that she was still the same tanned gold as ever, without any plum or forest green - or chartreuse, as her very expensive paints called it. This realization made her perk up - because it’d been months since Vi’s soulmate had been brought up - and years since Vi herself brought them up. Clearly, Vi was still feeling her soulmate, even if she’d stopped asking for those topical pain relievers. Even if she stopped talking about them.

So, Powder wandered over to the couch (very casually) where Violet sat, flipping through a book, and wormed her way to sit on top of her. She tipped her head over to catch a glimpse of the book Vi was reading, each letter upside down to her, before giving up - deciding instead to just mess with Vi’s shirt like she always did before asking for something big.

Vi noticed, like she always did, and sat up straighter, coiling the arm she had been rubbing at around Powder.

“What’s up, Pow-Pow?” Her voice was soft - pillowed by her comfort. Today was a good day for Vi.

Naturally, she promptly ruined it. “Was that your soulmate?”

The first sign should’ve been the way Vi tensed up. “No, Pow.” Vi’s voice lost the softness - settling into a quiet neutrality.

“But you aren’t hurt,” Powder pointed out, twisting slightly to tap at the arm that settled around her. “And still were hurting.”

Vi frowned, pale eyes darting down to where Powder had tapped. “It was nothing, Pow. C’mon,” She sat up so her back was ramrod straight, Powder settled in her lap. “How’s your paints? Made anything good lately?” Clearly, she was trying to redirect the conversation, and she didn’t get why.

Blue eyes narrowed - and if Mom or Old-Dad were there, she feels like they would’ve called her Vi’s little twin. “It was, wasn’t it?” She perked up, leaning forward. Vi’s arms went slack around her - and that should’ve been the second sign.

“No, Powder, it wasn’t. Just - leave it alone. Okay? Even if it was, what does it matter?” Vi scowled, an expression that Powder wasn’t a stranger to – but also wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of.

Still, Powder was caught up in her memories of when Vi had been excited to find her soulmate. Thrilled, even! Had wanted it more than anything. “Didn’t you wanna meet them, though?” She frowned.

The last sign, finally, was the knit in Vi’s brow. “No, Powder. Just - drop it. It doesn’t matter. Okay?”

“But—!”

Vi shoved Powder off of her, face twisted up in a hurt snarl - and clearly, Vi knew something she didn’t. “Soulmates aren’t made for people like us, Powder! They won’t ever understand, okay? What it’s like in the Undercity, what it’s like to be us. Those idiots in Piltover, and the kids across the world? They would never get it. The bedtime stories are just that - bedtime stories. You have to get lucky, and clearly,” Vi threw her arms to the side - all the blustering show she could give. “Clearly we aren’t lucky.”

A pause.

Powder wasn’t sure, exactly, where all that came from. She didn’t understand how Vi could suddenly go from only talking about her soulmate to never talking of them again. She stared at Vi, studying, until her hand cradled her jaw - gentle, like Mom and Old-Dad and Vander did to her and Vi alike.

“We aren’t lucky enough for that, but we are lucky enough to have each other. And that’s all that matters, okay? Even when we’re worlds apart. Soulmates can’t do that, no matter what the stories say.”

And - well. Powder thinks she doesn’t need a soulmate when it’s put like that. She’d rather have Vi, Vander, Mylo, Claggor, Ekko, and Benzo any day – than some invisible stranger that’ll just get her hurt – but if she could have her soulmate, too… well. She’d consider herself pretty lucky.

She does still wish she knew why Vi was so adamantly against soulmates all the sudden, though.

Chapter Text

Age 15: Vi

Vi remembers when she first felt her soulmate: she remembers everything going blank and the thrill that settled in her stomach - something warm and content. She had grown up with the stories every other Undercity kid grew up with, and Mom and Dad always made sure she knew it was a gift.

It’s the first thing Vi thinks they were wrong about. Soulmates weren’t a gift - rather, she would go further and say they were a curse. She should’ve expected it, really: what was so romantic about another being who only served to hurt you?

She knew her soulmate wasn’t like her from the start - but she hadn’t minded. How could she? In the haze of youth, she was sure it had to be a good thing that her soulmate didn’t get hurt - meant they were safe, or clever. Healthy, and content, and everything she wanted for herself and Powder. But then, she realized what it had actually meant.

It meant her soulmate wouldn’t understand. Vi had her suspicions - she knew they probably weren’t from Noxus or Bilgewater or Ionia. They didn’t seem to see enough strife for that to even be a possibility - and it certainly meant they weren't from the Undercity.

Instead, Vi decided they were probably a Piltie. Which — she wasn’t necessarily excited about, but it did mean she might actually be able to meet them, rather than it be some intangible possibility. Maybe she could be one of the lucky ones for once.

And then the bridge happened and she saw just what Piltover was capable of. She decided then that if her soulmate would be from Piltover, then the universe had to have something wrong in whatever process decided soulmates. 

All of that is to say: Fuck soulmates.

It isn’t just that, either - it isn’t just about the boot that Piltover keeps on their necks, how her soulmate is probably destined to keep up that status quo. No, it’s the little things that show they were clearly not made for her.

Now, her Piltie soulmate didn’t get hurt often - at least not in ways that mattered. The worst of it was that rolled ankle and knuckles that felt raw in quick swipes. But - all their wounds were temporary and gone within… say, five or ten minutes. All except when Vi is out on a job where she cannot stumble - where stumbling would mean Mylo or Claggor could get hurt or she would come back empty handed. 

When Vi needs her soulmate to chill the fuck out, it’s like they go out of their way to fall or run into something just a little too hard, or she’ll feel a jab or swipe at her ribs when she’s in the middle of a jump. Vi doesn’t falter anymore, but it’s that endless possibility. Worst of all is the churn of worry that she doesn’t want to feel, that she’s tried to tamp back as much as possible.

Then, of course, she’s pretty sure her soulmate is some Piltie kid who’s never seen the muzzle of an Enforcer’s gun before, or seen her own people thrown to the ground and spat on for rolling their eyes or lifting a small roll of bread without paying. Vi, instead, can count on one hand and have fingers left over how many times she’s gone to the promenade and not seen an Enforcer throw a trencher to the dirt, as if waiting for a lick to the boots to be the golden ticket to salvation.

For Vi, those aren’t just situations or the worst case scenario. It’s her whole life - it’s Powder’s life, and it’s the life for everyone in the Undercity.

How could a Piltie ever understand anything about that when all they’ve done is perpetuate it? When they benefit from it, refusing to look past their own noses and hoards of wealth?

Most importantly, Vi can’t stand her soulmate because she knows what the expectation will be if she met them: to choose them, to love them, to follow them. And she can’t do that - not when she has Powder - small, little Powder - to take care of. Not when Mylo looks at her like she’s hung the stars in his sky and helps him hold up the moon. Not when Claggor comes out of his shell just a little more every time she joins him in the dark corner of the basement.

Those bonds were forged, carved out of her own skin and marrow - settled like the heaviest weight she would choose to carry. They were hers - in a way a soulmate couldn’t be.

Instead of a soulmate, she would let her family settle into the spaces between her bones - become a second skin and home for them. She would carve spaces, make the world fit them rather than them fit the world.

If she had to breathe iron and glass in the rest of her life, she would make sure Powder didn’t have to.

It’s another one of those days where none of them have a tip for a job yet - and don’t really feel like picking pockets for the fifth day in a row. Instead, they decided that it was time to have their own little break for once.

The real question came down to whether or not this was the day they would finally bring Powder. Usually the clubhouse was reserved for Vi, Mylo, and Claggor - somewhere they would settle after a job gone wrong. Mylo would play that shooting game he loved and Vi and Claggor would take turns on the boxing machine, making it a game of who could best the others’ score, or using it to determine who would go do something the other really didn’t want to — like pickpocket near Babette’s place.

It wasn’t like it was busy, either.

The clubhouse, once where she and plenty of the other Undercity kids would fuck around, had been seeing less and less people. Falling more and more into disarray before it was entirely forgotten about. With the enforcers crawling around, it was risky - going in and out could paint you as ‘sneaky’ and lend you as a volunteer to a ‘standard random check.’ Most unwilling to take that risk, it became a memory held mainly just for them - and it felt almost sacrilegious to bring another face around, even if it was Powder.

But, of course, because it was Powder - Vi wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

The other question was if they would invite Deckard and his friends. Everyone had been getting along a little better with Vi pulling them all into lessons - Undercity kids have to stick together, make sure the enforcers can’t catch them by surprise - but it still was a little tense. Regardless of the camaraderie that their upbringing may leave them, it just as much left them competing for scraps with each other - and any job Vi and her siblings got meant one less job for Deckard’s gang.

So, it was a pretty clear no.

Now, it just became a matter of getting Powder to come along. Lately, she’d been back to having her fits more often, disgruntled any time Vi would go on a job. Inconsolable when it was only Powder left behind. It left something uneasy stirring in the pit of Vi’s chest - something wary and gnawing. Worry.

When she and the boys would come back from a job, Powder would have a bewildered expression painted across her face - tucked against the front of the bed and not on it. A glance behind Powder would show the sheets rucked up - and it was only out of courtesy that Vi didn’t look under the bed. She had a feeling her sister would tell her soon enough whatever she had been hiding - it only stung slightly that she didn’t seem to trust her anymore.

She hoped today would help that.

Mylo and Claggor were already at the clubhouse and waiting for them - probably doing… whatever is it the two of them do. Being idiots, knowing her brothers. This meant it was up to Vi to get Powder to come along - which she had a feeling would be an easy feat. It was harder to unstick Powder than a burr.

Powder’s been working on something lately - coming back with spare parts more than paints when she visits Benzo’s, picking up dirty nails when she would see them. Vi had to hold back making her drop them, worried about what diseases were probably on them. But, she didn’t want to discourage Powder from finding new hobbies. Even.. if those hobbies included playing with dirty nails. Eugh.

Even now, Powder was stretched out on the floor sketching out plans on a thin sheet of paper - something bulky, it seemed. Maybe Ekko and her had plans to build something? Or Claggor? But - Claggor would’ve spilled by now, she reasoned.

Vi tried to peer over her shoulder and glean insight into whatever she was drawing - parse out specifics. She couldn’t. So, she tried a tactic she hadn’t yet.

“Pow?”

“Mmh?” The most uninvolved noise she’d ever heard her sister make. Powder was never… nonchalant. If anything, she was chalant. The most chalant person ever!

“What’re you working on?” She sat, legs crossed haphazardly, by her sister.

“Bombs.” Powder said it so matter-of-factly - a little grin playing at the corner of her mouth.

Vi nudged her, murmuring, “I’m serious, Pow.”

The grin that had been on Powder’s face pinched into something more sour - sudden, like all her mood shifts were these days. “I wasn’t kidding!” She huffed - shooting Vi a glare.

Vi couldn’t help the crease between her brows, thinking very carefully of what to say next and still coming up blank. There wasn’t exactly a handbook for when your ten year old sister starts playing with bombs, and there definitely wasn’t one for when they started making them. Where did she even learn to make bombs? 

“Look — see?” Powder showed Vi the page more clearly. “It’s gonna have stuff in it. Like rocks! Sharp rocks. And, it’ll be like a rat. I was gonna name it Mylo.” She tapped the page impatiently - blue eyes shining like dull gems in search of approval.

Vi felt like the floor was very slowly falling out from underneath her. Powder wasn’t supposed to have to build anything - she was supposed to be able to stay safe, to not have to be melded into just another sump rat. But Vi couldn’t just - tell her to knock it off. 

Powder would take it as she did something wrong - and in theory, really, she didn’t. She was just… growing into the shitty shoes the Undercity gave her. Better, even, if she was building new things and using that mind of hers. Vi always knew her sister was brilliant - sharper than a knife.

Not for the first time, she wonders what Powder could have created if they were born to different parents.

And then, of course, that thought leaves Vi guilty. She loved her Mom and Dad - and they did their best. But knowing that doesn’t stop the what-ifs.

She jolted out of her thoughts when she noticed some of the light dimming from Powder’s expression - she’d taken too long to respond. Putting on the most genuine smile she could fake, she slung an arm around Powder’s shoulders, cooing low and proud, “It looks amazing, Pow. You’ll have to show me when you finish it, Okay? But.. name it something other than Mylo, alright?” She didn't even want to think about the war that would cause.

Powder brightened, a smile tugging at her lips and creasing her eyes with delight.

After a beat of silence, Vi glanced to the door. “Hey, Pow. The boys and I were gonna head out,” She hummed, sitting up slowly. When she noticed Powder’s mood already taking that nosedive, she hurried to elaborate. “Not on a job, or anything - we were just gonna play. We wanted you there, so… wanna come?” For good measure, she nudged her shoulder against Powder’s. Be the cool older sister, Vi, who can keep her from bursting into tears. “Or are you too cool and busy with your… bombs?”

Yeah, no, she was never going to get used to that - her sister and bombs. Seriously, what the fuck? 

Powder shot up like a bullet, nodding quickly - almost like she thought that if she didn’t answer quick enough, the offer would be rescinded.

“Go get your stuff, then.”

When they arrived to the clubhouse, ducking past enforcers and through throngs of people, it was generally what Vi expected: Mylo and Claggor being idiots.

Mylo was perched to the side, calling out bad plays to Claggor (who’d been working the fighting machine, she noted with approval) and then cackling when Claggor got predictably wiped out by a left swipe. Vi cringed - maybe she needed to drag Claggor to more lessons with her and Vander if he was going to actually listen to any advice on fighting that Mylo gave him. Mylo - twiggy Mylo, who's best weapon was how sharp his knuckles were. 

Rolling her eyes, Vi announced her and Powder’s arrival, “Claggor! It’s my turn, take a break!”

Claggor jolted (predictably) and took a step or two away from the machine, grabbing the roll of tape. He threw it to her - a clean arc that let her catch it. With a hum of approval, she patted Powder’s back - who looked lost on what to do. It wasn't like she'd been here before.

It seemed like Mylo took pity on Powder - an increasingly rare phenomenon for reasons even she didn’t understand - and beckoned her over to the shooting game. Vi supposed it could give her something to do - and it was always good to let Mylo stay in his good moods when he had them. Thus, she said nothing, instead quickly wrapping her hands in thick, messy swaths of tape in her eagerness to get started. She looked for the gloves, quickly spotting them - just as quickly putting them on and securing them.

She clapped her hand on Claggor’s shoulder as she pushed past him, bracing herself for the machine to start. Fighting always felt something like freedom - like she could really and truly change something about her environment, even if it was just through breaking it back down. Carving a path with her bare hands, because she knew nobody else would be able to do it for her.

Vander did his best, but he could only do so much when having to keep an eye on the Undercity.

He may not have said it — nobody would, but everyone knew something was stirring under the surface. And Vi had to be ready for it, whatever it was.

As the machine sent its right mechanical fist in a swing for her left, she lifted her own fist and ducked to the side - clean, just like Vander taught her. She lifted her arm to protect her face. She returned with a swing of her own right fist, sharply hitting one of the pillowed projections.

Two more punches from the hydraulics came, sharp and just as mechanical as before. She ducked, already huffing in exertion as she moved through the motions - there was no time to think, only act. Things were simpler - easier. She knew how to fight, how to protect - and she would let that remain a part of her for as long as it needed to. If fighting was all she would ever know, it would be for the ones she loved.

She was a canvas for mottled bruises, reds and chartreuses and sickly blues, because her love was painted on her. Visible in every scraped knuckle she got shoving a bully away from Mylo, taking a hit for Claggor, and making sure Vander’s names stayed out of the rats of the Undercity’s mouths. Making sure Powder would only have to wear acrylic paint rather than spilt blood.

Even if Powder was hurdling herself into their world - playing with explosives. Seriously. Bombs? Not anything less explosive than a literal bomb? 

Vi gasped out a breath as she was knocked in the temple by one of the gloved protrusions, sending her backwards into a stumble. Claggor watched evenly - this was hardly uncommon. Vi wasn’t exactly good at blocking - but even that was a surprising miss for her. He raised an eyebrow - a silent question on his face.

He always did understand how to read her best. She shook her head anyways, tugging the gloves off and rolling them towards him for his turn, offering a two-fingered salute. She scanned the clubhouse for her source of distraction - finding the choppy, blue hair off to the side with its brown counterpart.

Mylo was just finishing up his turn - gun held sideways and stance somehow both lazy and rigid at the same time. Vi couldn’t help the curling fondness in her chest as she watched him indicate to Powder where to shoot, how to shoot. He wasn’t moving much slower for her - and when his eyes caught hers, he seemed to straighten.

She wasn’t blind. Vi was well aware he wanted to impress her - just like Claggor wanted her to rely on him. He wanted family - and to be needed. To have someone proud of him. Vi just didn’t know how else to tell him she was always proud of him - even if he clawed at her nerves on a good day - than what she already does.

The first thing she notices is how he’s gotten better at the game. She hollered out a short ‘whoop’ or encouragement, raising a fist in the air briefly - a salute the two of them made a couple years back. He returned it - the grin growing wide on his face, just like she had hoped. He pat Powder on the crown of her head - which she flinched away from, catching Vi’s eye. Something uncomfortable twisted in her heart, but for the sake of good moods, she stayed quiet.

And then it’s Powder’s turn - and Vi braced herself for disaster.

The game was restarted and she watched something new shift into place. Powder fell into a stance that looked more natural than Mylo’s - clumsy by age but not lack of skill. Her gaze trained on each target with a steadiness Vi isn’t sure she’d ever seen on Powder before - comfort in the circumstance draped over her shoulders like a wool blanket. No - not even just comfort.

Anticipation. She knew Powder’s expressions like the back of her hand - and the bite of her lip painted a picture clearly for Vi that couldn’t have been more clear even if she’d asked her. Powder was having fun - and she was having fun with something she was good at.

Vi glanced to the side, noting Claggor had stopped messing with the machine in time to watch what felt like a monumental occasion occur - and she couldn’t tamp back the wide smile on her face, showing all her teeth. She moved away from the machine just as Powder finished her bout with the game - quick and accurate.

Powder looked at her first, and she melted. She always would for her baby sister - and she rushed forward to settle in front of Powder - sweet, little Powder who was apparently a prodigy with a gun. Her fingertips grazed Powder’s cheek with all the delicacy of handling glass, and she couldn’t help the soft coo she let out. “That was the best I’ve ever seen someone do that game, Pow.”

It was all worth it to see that smile split her face - the brightest thing she’d seen from her sister in  far too long. And, of course, that just meant Vi had to dote on her even more. “No, seriously,” She laughed, cradling Powder’s soft face in her hands. It had been sharpening as time went on, as she aged and as food got more evenly distributed. Even so, her fingers just laid against the sharper planes of her face. “You’re incredible. I’m so proud of you, forever and always.”

Powder’s face got that smug twist to accompany the delight - and that’s just what Vi was aiming for. If it was up to her, she wouldn’t let the world take her confidence from her.

“I bet I can do it better next time!” Powder chirped, eyes wide like blue moons and carrying only affection within the craters.

Zaun may not always have a visible moon, disguised by smog, but Powder more than made up for it.

Vi glanced to the window, humming. It seemed brighter, meaning it was likely getting to be about noon. Mylo, who’d been surprisingly quiet considering how wide he'd been smiling earlier, followed her gaze and practically bolted forward, shoulder clipping roughly against Powder as he moved past her.

“Doesn’t matter. We have to get back to the bar, anyways.” His voice was sharp - and Vi was particularly confused by the sudden change in the mood - he had just been in such a good one, too. She can't help but to compare him and Powder on that front - two constantly shifting individuals. Calm one moments, and brusque another. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to memorize them at this rate - and she wonders if they realize how much they're alike.

Powder seemed only marginally affected this time, still riding the high of praise and her success. Vi only hoped for her to have more of that - and she knew they would be visiting her much more. Plus - Vi remembered her bomb plans. Maybe, before it gets too late…

“Actually,” She met Mylo’s gaze - which had quickly averted in silent deference. “I was thinking we could go to the shops.”

They end up at the promenade, naturally. Claggor was more than happy to get out of… whatever Mylo’s mood was brewing, and Powder clearly was fiending for supplies that didn’t just come from Ekko’s arsenal. That kid might’ve had almost everything, but it was all contingent on whether Benzo would let him give Powder anything. Not that he didn’t just pilfer some things under the table, but he never wanted to rock the boat. He spent most of his time at Benzo’s shop to try to help his parents out - and even if everyone but him knew Benzo would never fire him, he would always toe the line of careful.

She should probably get the poor kid some lessons in throwing a punch.

For now, though, she was focused on getting through the sea of people in the promenade. She let Powder go off on her own - as long as she could see her hair and keep track of her, it should be fine, and she didn’t want to force her and Mylo to stay in close quarters if it would only lead to more strife.

Her and Claggor take turns tugging each other along to various shops - he, too, seems to look for spare parts like Powder does, but other things too. Trinkets for Mylo, she thinks - and supplies for her. Even little pretty things like glitter for Powder, who’s mane of blue hair she keeps track of in her peripherals.

It’s difficult, though, when she has to keep track of Claggor and Mylo alike and make sure there’s no heavy boots clunking their way towards them.

Mylo, currently, was hovering by the food stalls and swiping fruits or wilted vegetables where he could - occasionally getting bold and finding a skewer with some fish from the Pilt.

She can’t blame him - everyone knew their portions were getting smaller the older everyone got - opting for equal distribution. There was just less money to spread along for needs, and Vi knew she didn’t help much with that - they all spent some on each other rather than the necessities. But they couldn’t help it. It felt too much like living and not just surviving when they could pretend to be Piltie rich and give each other something so small as a gift.

Despite herself, Vi was nervous. The more she and Claggor and Mylo explored the strip, she realized just how much blue and gold was crawling about, hidden in the shadows despite the wide berth everyone gave them. Outside of the Lanes, it seemed like enforcer presence was even heavier - as if slowly encroaching. Perhaps the quiet was unsettling for Topsiders too.

Couldn’t get their pound of flesh as easily if they couldn’t pin the blame on an event - not that they wouldn’t just find a reason.

And what better reason than a little girl wandering a supposedly dangerous area all alone? Her heart lurched in her chest and her attention was ripped away from shopping when she realized she couldn’t see a lick of blue hair anywhere. Nor could she catch the glean of deep blue eyes anywhere.

Shit.

Fuck.

She ripped away from Mylo and Claggor with the panic of a rabid animal - and that’s how she felt in that moment. She shoved frantically past idiots who were moving in the slowest crawl possible. She thinks she might have pushed a kid down in the panic, but she didn’t care about those kids. She only cared about hers, her baby sister.

Her eyes scan with the intensity of a hawk, and she swears she can taste the ash on her tongue. Deep, clawing betrayal at her chest when she thinks about the hand the universe dealt her, in more ways than one - the deepest betrayals, and one she would never let come to fruition. If she lost Powder, too - if the universe really determined her so unlucky.

She can’t find Powder, and she wears her panic openly now. The only reason she doesn’t yell for her is the knowledge of how that would pull attention to her and her brothers, and she wouldn’t lose them either. She could keep her patchwork family together, even if she couldn’t keep her blood family strewn together. Even if it killed her.

It would kill her more to lose them, too.

After more panicked shoving, she finds her, cheerfully scouring in her little bag she stole from Benzo and Ekko. A flash of frustration strikes in her chest at how unaware Powder could be sometimes - and when Vi grabs her arm and she shrieks, it’s like touching a hot pan. She lets go quickly, hands flying up like she’s trying to tame a feral poro - and Powder calms easily.

She was just caught by surprise.

Being caught off-guard, Vi knew, was dangerous in the promenade - not to mention the Lanes. For a moment, it worries her. On one hand, she’s glad that Powder hadn’t been molded into a hyper vigilant mess… but she also wanted her to survive.

“Pow, did you finish shopping?” She tried to school her voice into something more appropriate and light, but judging by the slight narrow of Powder’s eyes, it didn’t work.

Maybe that’s why she didn’t fight. “Yeah, m’done. Are we—“

She was cut off by a ruckus in a crowd not too far away. Vi instinctually tugged Powder behind her, gaze searching for Mylo and Claggor. She beckoned the two of them over - only a touch frantic - as she tried to assess the situation.

Of course, it had been the enforcers.

It seems like they were doing their ‘random checks.’ How a random check consisted of shoving a trencher to their knees, bruising them over the arms to shake them side by side, and insist they’d lifted the necklace they just bought, Vi didn’t know. And despite her hands folding into fists - the urge to go up and spit in the enforcers face…

She couldn’t. It wasn’t her business - not when it wasn’t her family. More than that, she was stuck still - even if she had wanted to, she didn’t trust her legs to move forwards. Even now, she itched to move backwards - to get far, far away from the scene.

Ash coated her tongue and stung her eyes, flashes of white and the husky inhale of a mask.

She was broken out of her stupor when Powder touched her hand, tilting her head to the side where Mylo and Claggor were.

Vi inhaled like Vander had shown her long ago. Exhaled.

She needs to get stronger.

Vi goes to train with Vander more over the next few days, even a couple of weeks. It means she neglects going to jobs, but she trusts Mylo and Claggor to handle them well enough. Powder spent some time at Benzo’s, doing whatever it was 10-year-olds did. Knowing them, it was something dorky and too cute like painting dumb animals on bricks and throwing them from the roof of a building or helping out around the shop.

After a particularly grueling session which was filled with more criticism than usual, off her game since the promenade, she fell into her typical routine where Vander would tenderly wrap her knuckles in gauze. He made sure none split - if they had, it would mean a break in training - and that she was getting an extra portion of lunch, even if just by an extra slice of Pilt fish before the others came back. It would’ve been a war in itself if they had found out she got any extra scraps, even if she dished out pieces of her meal to the others more often than not when she didn’t have a training day.

When Vander asks her about how she’d been skipping jobs for training, she feels like she was caught red-handed despite not hiding anything.

“Uh.” She replied, dumbly. She recovered quickly, unable to help the truth from slipping. “I’m just… worried. I just want to make sure I’m prepared.”

His face creased with worry, and his hand cradled her jaw. She’d not felt so small in so long. His voice was low and soothing, “You’re a kid, Violet.”

She felt like she was going to crumple. Ever since the bridge, she’d made sure everyone knew to call her only by Mom and Dad’s short-name for her. Only Vander and Powder slipped up sometimes - they were the only ones allowed to.

The reminder had her thoughts drifting until a thumb brushed under her eye - seeking a response. “And so’s Powder,” She bit out. “And Mylo, and Claggor, and Ekko. If I don’t —!”

He hushed her, shaking his head. “Then we will. Benzo, me, S-…” He tripped over his words, leaving something unsaid in the space carved between them, “Some others, we… We are here to be the adults. Not you.”

It wasn’t judgement - but it felt like it, all the same.

Her face pinched into something sour, lip curling up into a scowl the same way Mylo’s did, eyes narrowing like Powder’s, hands curling like Claggor’s. What was she if not an amalgamation of those she loved? She couldn’t lose them. Even so, she conceded. “I know,” It was more of a breath than actual words. “But… Vander, she’s so small. Mylo, too. I don’t know what they would do if I couldn’t help them.”

It was true: the two were rail thin and only getting sharper. Lanky at best, though Powder didn’t even have that much going for her - seeming to already stagnate where she was in height. Again, Vi wonders who Powder could've been if things were different.

But… Almost flippantly, Vi turned her gaze to Vander’s. “Powder surprised me today.”

He raised an eyebrow, dropping his hand from her cheek. Even as she mourned the loss, she continued. “Yeah. You should see her shoot. Seriously,” She couldn’t help the pride that lingered in her voice, “I would consider her a natural. I’d almost think she’s been secretly practicing, but, no - she’s been too busy with her bombs to even think about sneaking out and playing with guns, too.”

Something crossed Vander’s face that almost looked like alarm - twisting and coiling into a strange expression before flattening out into an almost academic interest. Muted, but still there. “Is she, now?”

Vi nodded.

Vander seemed to think about this. “Well, if she’s going to be playing with… explosives, then maybe you can start taking her out on jobs.” His expression steeled - firm. “Small jobs, Vi. Baby steps. Like the ones you all started out with.”

That meant a loss in money if they had to dial themselves back, but she didn’t say anything about that - Vander would know that already. Plus, a few small jobs and Vi had a feeling Powder would be ready for bigger ones - she knew it. She was a quick learner - a natural.

What she does bring up is something that’s been gnawing at her since the promenade.

“Do you think we should see about getting her a gun?”

The answer was swift and more clipped than she’d heard Vander get in a while - especially with her. “No. Absolutely not. She’s a kid, Violet - and games are far different from reality.” Despite the clipped tone, his hand rest on her shoulder. He wasn’t mad — just setting a boundary as their dad. As Vander.

She nodded - feeling silly for even having asked.  “Right,” Her gaze drifted over the wood paneling of the floor. “I’ll take her on the next job, then.”

What was the worst that could happen?

The first job was something easy - something she had a feeling even an eight-year-old could do. Hell, it was something an eight-year-old did. Her. She did it. Plenty of Undercity kids did.

Pickpocketing.

By now, Vi and the boys were plenty good at it - in fact, this was the kind of job they only did when they wanted something easy, something supplementary.

Powder, though?

There was one very eloquent word that summed it up perfectly: Yikes.

It isn’t like they left her to the wolves, either. Mylo, Claggor, and her all took turns showing her various techniques - how to redirect someone’s attention and filch from their pocket all the same, how to use her wide eyes to throw them off her scent.

No, she just was awful at it.

The first time just got her a slap on the wrist, one that made Vi’s blood boil and hair stand up on the back of her neck. The second time had the other person spinning around and baring their teeth at her in a threat - and Claggor had to tug Powder away by the wrist to safety.

It was the third time that was a particular disaster.

Powder had chosen the worst possible target, all too trusting and bright-eyed, and went for it. Vi already felt alarm bells ringing as she approached slowly — too slowly, too obviously. She could see her blue eyes skate over the man (towering, donned in dark gray rags draped over a thick build) and Vi couldn’t feel anything but dread. Pure, encapsulating dread.

And then it happened. She saw Powder cringe into herself suddenly, tripping over her own feet in her haste to try to right herself back up - and pinching fingers tugged too hard at the pocket she was trying to search. Her target turned and didn’t give her a chance to stammer out half-baked apologies - swinging a closed-hand fist for Powder’s shoulder. It was something every Undercity rat had happen to them - but this was Powder.

Her baby sister.

Oh, Janna, her baby sister.

Vi ignored Mylo and Claggor’s panicked noise to rush in, tugging Powder with blunted nails behind her. She met the man’s gaze - flint meeting flint - and swung.

The first job was a failure that only ended in split knuckles and mottled shoulders.

The next job goes pretty well, considering how badly the first one went. This time, Vi spent longer at home showing Powder what to do - and when Powder had revealed why she cringed back, Vi was left cursing soulmates - again, again, and again - they prove themself to be a liability. She couldn’t let Powder get distracted - but there wasn’t much you could do when your soulmate gets hurt while on a job. Vi would know.

Vi and the boys took Powder to one of their favorite spots to loot - some old hoarder ladies half-abandoned home. She always manages to collect trinkets and rather than sell them, they just pile up. Really, Vi reasons to herself, they’re doing the old lady a favor by cleaning out the place every now and then.

They collect the loot - it’s afterwards that problems arise, because of course things were just going a little too well. While running along the rickety roofs, Vi forgot that the rest of them were far longer than Powder. And, of course, as the youngest she was delegated to also holding the loot - which meant she was bogged down by the small, but still additional, weight of the trinkets they’d pilfered with sticky fingers.

It was easy enough for her, Claggor, and Mylo to make the jump - and clearly Powder thought she would likewise be just as fine.

When Vi heard the loud thump and pained cry that came from her, everything else was quickly forgotten in favor of grabbing Powder and yanking her up to the roof. She heard Mylo’s indignant cry - but at what was lost in the sound of rushing blood in her ears. Powder must’ve tried to catch herself, because her wrist was swollen already - evidence of a sprain. It didn’t look broken, though - far from it. The only concerning part was a gash cutting across her palm, likely from catching a piece of metal.

It was only after her relief that she realized why Mylo wasn’t exactly pleased.

Their loot had tumbled off the side of the roof - and the jump down would’ve been too dangerous unless they walked further and doubled back. By the time she had finished wrapping Powder’s hand with a torn piece of her shirt, scavenging kids had picked their loot clean.

Shit.

Funds are running low. Everyone knows it - from Vi to Vander, it’s clear in the skimpier portions and the way Vander keeps the bar open for longer hours. He lets them know, one night, that the world won’t let them survive if they don’t make their way through it. That he can do his best, that he wishes they could just be kids - but in the Undercity, they would need to find a solution.

The solution that Mylo and Claggor decided on is one she doesn’t particularly like: Leaving Powder at home. At least so they can do bigger jobs - but Vi is already thinking ahead to the way Powder will react when she’s told she can’t come along.

As predicted, Vi was correct.

“But — I can help! I’ve been working on, uhm, this new bomb - and it’ll work, too!” Powder had an edge of desperation in her voice, something that pitched it high and sharp.

Vi put her palm on the crown of Powder’s hair, gently brushing through limp, messy strands of blue in a motion more intended to soothe herself than Powder, at this point. “Pow…” She couldn’t help the sigh - which only made Powder tear away from her like she just poured vinegar between them.

Vi heard the tears before she saw them - Powder always was expressive and loud, unable to hold anything back. The wounded sound that Powder made would sew itself into her skin, a reminder of how she couldn’t even help Powder, their family, without hurting her too.

(It wouldn’t be the worst thing she’d heard from Powder that would carve itself into the map along her heart.)

(Could she have done anything different?)

(Better?)

“But I can help!”

“Not this time, Pow.”

And that was that.

When the job was done - without a hitch, their best grab in weeks, it itched at her neck.

When Mylo looks at her and Claggor, expression easier than it’d been in weeks, and comments off-handedly, “It’s a good thing we didn’t bring our personal jinx, huh? Maybe we oughta give her to Deckard.”

It feels like something shifts out of place, then.

(That is the beginning of the end, and it all starts with her inaction.)

As if to prove something, Vi makes sure they take Powder on the next job. Mylo puts up a fight, and even Claggor looks mildly uncomfortable with the idea, but when Vi steels herself as if it’s another fight, they must not deem it worth the effort. Either the job ends up a bust or not.

The compromise, however, was that it would be a low-risk, high-reward job.

Unfortunately, enforcers are crawling along the promenade where their target is. It was a tip from Ekko who’d overheard Deckard’s people planning and told Claggor. Some rich (for the Undercity) guy was out to Piltover for a day or two for business - hoping to get an investment so he can find his way up top, she suspects - and his place would be ripe for the taking.

If it wasn’t for, you know, the enforcers everywhere.

This set them all on edge - even Powder’s shoulders were stiff. Vi exhaled, resting her hand on Powder’s back before running through the plan again.

“Mylo, you’ll run lockpicking duty. You need to stay low and out of sight - there’s supposed to be a good door on the far side, which means the enforcers shouldn’t be able to see you. When you’re done, find Claggor and stay with him.”

Mylo nodded, flicking the ring of picks and thin needles on his index finger. His gaze briefly darted between her and Powder, lingering with an emotion she could only describe as distaste. It left a bad taste in her mouth, but she couldn’t deny he had reason to be wary.

“Claggor,” She offered a curt nod, before tipping her chin to gesture to the building. “You’ll run along the backside of the building and find the exit Little Man mentioned. It has a more direct route to the Lanes where the enforcers don’t patrol, and will keep us hidden as long as they don’t change route suddenly. Have it ready.”

He returned the nod, and everyone’s eyes went to Powder.

“You’ll be on lookout duty.” It was different than what had been discussed - originally, she would come in with Vi to collect items. But the presence of enforcers changed that. This way, Powder wouldn’t have to touch anything.

“But—!” Powder’s face was pinched into something sour until Claggor’s hand rest on her shoulder. He quelled her protests easily - that steady weight, so much like Vander’s own.

“Trust me, Pow. You’ll be better off as lookout - if anyone starts moving along the back, you come inside and let me know. That’s it, okay? I know you can do it.” Vi hesitated, before letting a small smile tug at her lips. She went for reassuring, but it fell flat. “Plus, we need one. It’s a better idea anyways - you can help more like that.”

Powder seemed to relax, if only marginally, at that — even if her expression stayed muddled with uncertainty. But she always, always just wanted to help. Vi knew that.

It’s midway through when something goes wrong - and Vi isn’t sure what it was in the first place until Powder comes running in, nearly tripping over her own feet with hands red and slick with blood.

That takes a second to register.

She’s about to shake Powder down for answers to why she — Powder, her baby sister, her little girl — was red-handed with blood until what she’s yelling filters in too.

“Vi— Violet,” She sobs. Why is she sobbing? What happened? Vi is trying to force the words out, to cradle her cheek, but she can’t even get a breath out before Powder is pushing her, trying to get her to the door. “The enforcers! They’re coming — we need to go, I’m sorry — I’m so sorry—!”

Nothing is making sense, and it doesn’t help that red is smearing all over her clothes and skin, thin and plasmic.

She can always fall back on instinct, though. It has her gripping Powder’s arm in a vice grip - tight enough that bruises would be faintly painted across peach skin. Vi would worry about that later.

For now, she worried about bursting through the door with the loot just as she hears the shouts of the enforcers behind her - words filtering in through the churning haze in her ears. They’re talking about powder blue hair, blue hair, blue, blue, blue —

Not for the last time, her heart breaks.

Oh, Powder. What have you done?

(This isn’t the last time she would think that.)

Vi knows it’s only a matter of time before the enforcers catch up - and when she catches Mylo and Claggor’s eyes from just a few feet away, they already know to run. She tosses the loot to them - and they’re ducking away into the shadows like every smart Undercity kid knows to do. She tries to push Powder to follow them, but as brilliant as her sister could be — today was not one of those days.

Blue and gold burst through the door behind her - grabbing her and Powder by the shoulders and forcing them against the wall. Powder shrieks, and Vi can’t help the instinctual thrash that escapes her - swallowing the raw anger at the breathy sobs Powder was letting out.

Vi catches Powder’s eyes - wide, frightened blue moons - and finds herself sick with worry and anger alike. Why didn’t she run? Why didn’t she warn them earlier? Why were her hands red with blood?

She dropped her gaze to those hands — and a pit formed in her stomach. Shrapnel, embed into soft flesh. Vi wasn’t stupid - she had an idea of what happened. Powder got too confident - wanted to help.

The enforcers pat them down with a clinical professionalism - and when they found nothing of importance, left them with a cuff to the head and a stern warning to stay away from places they don’t belong - that if they had ended up stealing anything, it would’ve cost them.

“You’re lucky you aren’t worth the paperwork,” One sneers, and it takes all her will to swallow her rage to not make it worse on them — on Powder.

When they meet back up with the boys, Powder’s hands have stopped running red and are instead just raw. Vander would have to clean them and wrap them — infection in the Undercity was as good as a death sentence unless you had a good mender or apothecary, and Vander wouldn’t be able to afford their usual mender - never mind an apothecary’s drugs.

Mylo rounded on Powder with the ease he’s found too much of lately - morphing from brother to enemy within an instant.

“What did you do?!”

Vi and Claggor can only look on helplessly.

Powder shrinks into herself - as good an admittance as any. “I didn’t do anything, I just — I was just trying to help!”

Poison flings between bared teeth, Mylo’s hands creeping up, flinging to the side in exasperation. “All you did was jinx it! You didn’t help — if it wasn’t for Vi, you would’ve left me and Claggor to get caught, huh?”

Alarm flashed in Powder’s eyes - indignance rising. “What? No!” Her gaze flit to Vi - searching for help or approval, something to tell her she was okay, that she hadn't done anything wrong.

Vi couldn’t offer that to her this time.

It was only when Mylo put his hands on her, shoving her back, that Vi rushed to intervene. She grabbed Mylo by the collar, a snarl curling on her lips. “Do not,” She breathed out, low and purposeful, just like Vander, “put your hands on her. Do you understand?”

Mylo cowed quickly - and it was with held back anger that she let him go. He rubbed at his shirt collar where her nails dug into the fabric and frowned - something unreadable in his eyes. He glanced to Powder’s hands, lip curling up in distaste at the mess there. “Vander’s going to ask. And it’ll be us who get in trouble.”

Vi didn’t look at Powder — she didn’t want to see what expression she had at the hitch of breath she heard when she replied, “I know.”

Despite the mishap and the weeks of lectures they got from Vander after that mission, Vi kept taking Powder on jobs with a few caveats.

Powder had to show her every bomb she tried to make - and until they worked, they couldn’t be used on any of the jobs unless it was an absolute emergency. She didn’t want another case of Powder’s bomb backfiring on her and injuring her - they couldn’t afford it, and the more she could keep Powder safe was all the better.

Powder would come to every little fighting lesson Vi gave the other kids. This one got very little pushback, especially when she started to let Ekko tag along and watch when he wasn’t working at Benzo’s or home with Wyeth and Inna. Powder even engaged - didn’t roll her eyes or sigh - and would stay late to practice with Ekko, away from vicious eyes like Mylo’s.

And finally, Powder would never, ever stop believing in herself. Vi didn’t care how bad a job went or what the others had to say about it. If Powder lost that spark of hers - listened to what others had to say about her, she would just become any other Undercity kid. Vi couldn’t let that happen to her - the Undercity would not take her sister from her too.

A few months later, when Vi had turned sixteen and Powder was eleven, they got their biggest break.

Turns out, Benzo’s shop sees interesting people who have enough money to drop it without even haggling.

Chapter Text

I'm a bad liar
With a savior complex
All the skeletons you hide
Show me yours, and I'll show you mine

Savior Complex - Phoebe Bridgers

Age 10: Caitlyn Kiramman

Caitlyn Kiramman knew three things at the tender age of ten: Arithmetic was going to be the death of her, Jayce would always be her closest friend, and she wasn’t sure she would ever understand other people.

She sat in front of Mother, leaning into the soft bristles that carded through her hair gentler than a kiss - something soft and sweet, splitting strands apart like the sea breaking on the shore. Mother was always most tender in the mornings before she sent Caitlyn to tutoring with Mr. Jayce Talis and her actual tutor, William. It was no coincidence that her favorite time of the day was early morning where she could feel the sun split through her windows, casting a golden glow upon the room gilded with ivory and marble and wood panels. Everything was smooth and predictable - just like she liked it.

Despite her love for all things predictable, she was never going to be a fan of arithmetic. All the letters and numbers coming together left her swimming through what felt like molasses, trying to remember formulas - only to get distracted by other things, like the upcoming gala she had to get fitted for and how that was going to be a nightmare of scratchy fabric on soft skin.

And thus, she was not excited to go to tutoring today or to have William tap her knuckles with the blunt edge of the ruler.

She was excited to see Mr. Jayce Talis, though. He was a bright student at the Academy, sponsored by Mother for his ‘diligence’ and ‘intelligence’ and a lot of other words that meant Mr. Jayce Talis was worth the Kiramman money and name. Of course, it also meant he was obligated to help babysit her - it may not have been in his official duties, but it would be unheard of to say no to your sponsor.

It was those exact unspoken rules that left Caitlyn floundering in her daily life - unsure of what the right step was at any given moment. The other children found her manner of speaking to be a bit stilted and blunt - too cold. Even when she was doing her best to be friendly, she was described as having a ‘strange intensiveness’ about her, enough so that the other children’s mothers and fathers would tell her own. And as much as they found her odd, she found them confusing - why they didn’t just tell her she was odd and instead hid it in swaths and layers of hidden meanings and indirect slights, she did not understand.

Mother called it jealousy and pulling pigtails, but she wasn’t so sure. She was certain something was different about her - and she just hoped she could figure out what it was and make a friend that wasn’t her babysitter.

If there was one thing, one person, she was excited to meet, it was who she knew would understand her through every crack in the mask, and still want to peel it away. They would want her and understand her in a way the other children simply didn’t.

Call her a hopeless romantic, but she wanted her soulmate.

Anytime a peer would show interest in playing with her for longer than a day was tallied onto the list of her potential soulmate, a list that ran a few names shorter than she would have liked it to. But, really, could she be blamed? She just wanted to have that connection - effortless, something predictable, something she could count on.

If Father could come all the way from Ionia and find Mother, share their pain and know when to soothe each other’s fevers and nurse each other’s bruises, then surely Caitlyn would have a chance at a soft romance like theirs — a fairytale ending. If she didn’t, she supposed she could settle for an arranged suitor (suitoress?) or find someone soft and pretty to settle with, a life mate of choice. But, at ten years old, she really was hoping for that hopeful possibility.

What she hadn’t been expecting was her soulmate to be so reckless.

Caitlyn knew from a very early age that she had a soulmate, like a good portion of the population do, and that was solely because they couldn’t stop getting hurt. She didn’t know any child her age who ended up in so many scraps — though, that was to say she didn’t know any child her age who got into any scrap.

Her soulmate seemed to spend more of their life hurt than held. She wasn’t sure what to make of this yet, but every invisible bruise she felt blossoming under her skin that would never come to fruition on hers was another tally mark that had her thinking: What could she do to help?

Of course, she was just ten and there wasn’t much a ten year old could do.

So, Caitlyn lived on, pressing ice and love to every injury she felt mark underneath her, into her very soul, trying to let her soulmate know she was there for them - wherever they might be.

After the famous bridge riots, it was like the hurt had never stopped.

Caitlyn had both a begrudging respect and horror towards her soulmate. On one hand, she really didn’t know how they continued on always aching. She supposed it was a matter of acclimation - but it felt terribly unjust for that to be their reality. To have to settle for pain, enough so that the dull aches are pushed to the recess of the mind and ignored by the body.

Thus, Caitlyn did her best to not get hurt. She had a feeling her soulmate already had that covered enough for the both of them, and if there was one thing Caitlyn could try to do for the other half of her mind, body, and soul - it was to keep the both of them safe.

When they met, she could ask them about the hurt that settled into their marrow, and she would understand them just as they would understand her.

Until then, she would just have to wonder and daydream. She was certain her soulmate was of a valorous caliber, and these wounds they had accumulated under their skin and in the spaces between their knuckles were to protect and defend. Caitlyn couldn’t fault that. She just wished she could help.

When Caitlyn Kiramman is 13, she starts paying closer attention to the world.

She realizes that Piltover is illustrious and golden, tall towers of ivory and a speckling of life everywhere from the flowering buds on trees to the colorful shops. Everything is carefully portrayed as all things lovely, pristine, and the place to make it.

It’s the perfect gilded cage.

Sometimes, she misses when she could tug Jayce around under the guise of her simply lugging around her parents’ charge. If he wasn’t working on something for the Academy or locked up in that room of his, he always humored her. He would take her along the shops, or do her hair, or simply let her talk about how her new tutor had misrepresented her words again and called her disrespectful.

In short, her best friend was still her babysitter. Her best friend was also more and more busy, finding less time away from his research and studies as time went on.

It left a pit in her stomach - she was alone more often than not these days. Luckily, she still had target practice and the shooting classes to occupy her outside of etiquette classes and tutoring.

Unfortunately, this was not one of those times. Instead, she was with a collection of peers for some sort of political event - regrettably, Caitlyn didn’t pay attention when her mother was explaining. Some sort of security conference, she thinks. But she isn’t sure exactly what that meant.

It’s only when she listens to the others conversations float through hollow space that she understands. It’d been a few years since the bridge riots, and this was meant to commemorate the officers that had fallen. She hadn’t had much interest, still, but it made it easier to figure out who to listen to and who was talking about something unrelated to the event. She was only inclined to listen to relevant stimulus at the moment- something her parents may ask her about.

So, she listens for keywords: anything about the bridge, anything about the enforcers.

“I heard that the trenchers were trying to get to the council building!”

Caitlyn wasn’t sure that was true, considering how they could’ve probably just made an audience with Mother if that’s what they wanted to do.

“My father said they were trying to make a statement.”

Caitlyn supposed that could potentially have more merit to it, but she wasn’t too sure. Something about it still didn’t sound too right. She ran her fingertips along the rim of a clear glass, topped with a deep red juice that was made to have them feel fancy. It wasn’t wine, but a sparkling grape juice.

It was a bit too sweet for her tastes.

Her ears picked up on something interesting, letting a curtain of deep blue hair hide away her eyes so she wouldn’t be caught listening in so blatantly.

“The enforcers kept everyone safe, though. It’s why Piltover wasn’t run down into the ground.”

And. Wasn’t that interesting? Holding her flute to her lips, she pretended to be taking a sip - but really, it was just to further obstruct her expression.

“Mother said, without the enforcers, more people would’ve gotten hurt.”

“They’ve always kept the trenchers from getting too comfortable. My father was robbed by them once.”

“No! … Really?”

“Yeah. They got thrown into Stillwater for it.”

“For the best, really.”

And that’s where Caitlyn’s interest left the conversation - it was all too stilted for her, politics underlying every word. What had been interesting was the notion that enforcers protected.

Caitlyn only wanted to protect.

Caitlyn was fifteen years old when the decision was made for her. She’d counted the tallies of aches and blistering pains she had made in her journal and once she lost track at 50, with plenty more to go, she knew she had to do something. So, she approached her parents and asked them if she could start training to be a part of the enforcers.

They said no; So, she kept asking, every day, for months.

Finally, they relented.

Caitlyn Kiramman is still fifteen years old, going on sixteen, when her babysitter-turned-best-friend asks her to carry supplies from the Undercity to his apartment.

(She didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning of the end.)

Chapter Text

Age 11: Powder 

Powder can’t help but be excited for this job. It was one that they’d eagerly prepared for, throwing together all the meager supplies they had to ensure it’d be a success. She had a good feeling about this one - and she would be certain to not fuck it up. Not this time. 

Vi had said she was ready, after all - encouraged her to come along even as Mylo muttered under her breath that she would be too scared, before looking up and saying it directly to her face. 

“She’s gonna chicken out,” he muttered, as if he wasn’t looking right at her. “See a big jump, or have to get dirty, or something.” 

Vi hadn’t spared him a glance, though - her pale eyes trained on her flinty blue ones. Vi had always said they would get their color, that they would be just like mom’s - a deep, dark blue. For now, they would stay more gray than blue, hollow. Vi rested her hand on Powder’s cheek - something soft and warm and comforting despite the calluses that pressed against her skin. “You’re ready.”

Mylo groaned, but she didn’t care - repeating that sentiment in her head over and over again.

I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready.

“Hey, Powder,” Vi called, voice warm and beckoning. “Come take a look.” 

Powder struggled slightly climbing up the lip of the roof, but her eyes widened at the view. She wandered to Vi’s side, catching her expression for a moment - before following her gaze once again, letting Vi’s voice settle in her ears. It was easy to listen - Vi’s voice would always be one of her favorite sounds, soft and warm and affectionate. Where she couldn’t remember Mom’s voice, Vi’s took its place.

It was only all the more exciting when a loud, creaking noise settled above them in the wake of its warning hum. An airship - or blimp, maybe? She wasn’t entirely sure what the difference was, but either way, she imagined coasting along one of them - seeing the mazes of roofs dotting the ground beneath her. Maybe even one day seeing twisting forests and rushing currents of the ocean.

Mylo, of course, could be a jerk about it all he wanted. She’d get to ride one and he would just have to watch -- and who would be laughing then? Powder. That’s who. While he would sit and waste his life away picking locks, she would be a brilliant bomb-maker, one who other regions begged to see. She’d take Vi, Vander, Claggor, and Ekko - but Mylo would just have to sit and cry. Until she felt bad. Maybe. 

She held her tongue, but the conversation was quickly forgotten in favor of following Vi. 

Powder’s breath caught as she stared down the drop. 

Shit, she’d thought to herself - chiding herself for the language. 

And then, when she swore she was going to topple over - become nothing more than something crushed against the pavement of Piltover of all places --

Shit, she’d thought - marginally louder - to herself. She didn’t think anything about the language this time.

But Vi caught her anyways - and that panic immediately ebbed into a soft wash of warmth. Even though her heart beat quickly in her chest - she never was able to bite back panic well - it was easier to deal with when she had Vi there. 

“Thanks,” she breathed, still leaning back with gravity. Vi, could you please tug her up? Please? Her fingers curled - and at Vi’s half-smile, she relaxed, letting herself be tugged back up without any fight, careening into her. Vi’s hand coasted against her hair - just a brief touch, and she moved with her. 

She tried to not let it affect her when Mylo scoffed. What did he know, anyways?

I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready, she’d repeated to herself. Vi said so.

Vi kicking down the door punctuated the official start of the job - and despite her knowing there was a time limit, she couldn’t help but let hungry eyes wander over each gilded wall, every crevice that seemed to hold secrets and whispers of wealth. Despite that, it was clear it wasn’t just some Piltie who lived here, one who’d never let their hands form calluses.

No, Powder thought with a rush of excitement. This was an inventor.

Like her. 

She noted the various inventions and models that seemed to be strewn across the room - in, somehow, both a measured and an entirely uncaring manner. Copper metal rimmed everything, painted with the luster of gold but clearly intended to remain functional rather than soft and malleable. 

Some of the inventions looked to cater to a particular audience - carefully crafted to keep away from sharp edges or to resemble the teeth of cogs too much. Gold and blue was everywhere, everything seeming to lean to those two shades. 

Her eyes caught the board. 

Carved in chalk-dust were equations and diagrams that were meticulously written, geometric shapes characterizing some of the models. There was a cylinder - clearly something intended to hold something, maybe even suspend it in midair. 

It was all horribly out of her own grasp of understanding - but she could appreciate the work. Even if she felt it might’ve been too compact, too neat -- too measured. She’d always had a fondness for the big, bold, and beautiful. 

Even still, it was worth admiring. 

Vi, naturally, went straight for the books - looking both for something she could read for herself and things that may be good to trade or sell at Benzo’s. Meanwhile, Mylo and Claggor scoured the desks and drawers for anything that looked valuable. 

She only briefly glanced over when the others had started to argue, following the short hallway down to a different room. 

This room, like the other one, was filled with plenty of stuff. 

Like. Almost too much. Even for her.

That was swiftly forgotten when she saw two of the finest crafted sandwiches ever. Fresh vegetables, cheese, literal ham, bread that looked fresh and baked with enough of the too-expensive flour… Yup. She was living life like a Piltie now… and hopefully, with the spoils from the haul they were going to get, she could have another fresh --

Huh.  

Her eyes caught a chest hidden underneath some papers - and despite its heavy weight, she figured out the unlocking mechanism fairly quick, finding two slight protrusions that she pressed. The cranking of cogs and faint whirring was the only thing that indicated the chest was open. 

Inside were these strange, irregular crystals, of sorts. Rocks, maybe, considering the cracks and deep ridges that made them so malformed. She reached for one and tugged it free of its confines, looking it over. Her reflection scattered into pieces across the mirror-like surface. Huh. 

She admired it for a few moments - and then everything burst into motion.

She wasn’t sure what happened, but color exploded and knocked her and everyone else back, sending them careening into the ground and railings alike. Heat licked at her exposed skin - but in a strange way, it almost felt charged. Like a livewire waiting to be touched, buzzing against her skin in wait. 

Vi cried out in pain - despite being further away from the blast. Worry curled into her chest, wrapping itself into a pit that settled uncomfortably in her stomach. 

She couldn’t waste time in asking, though - because everything started to crumble at their feet, sending them straight into the eyes of the enforcers. 

As they ran, Powder couldn’t help but notice the way Vi’s breath was coming shorter than usual - pained, but when Powder tried to get a glimpse of any injuries marking Vi that would make it all make sense, she came up short. It made her movements clumsier than usual - catching the wall in her sharp turn when usually she would be the only one to make it without a blunder like that. 

Even as she tugged the sewage grate, Powder could see the involuntary spasm that racked through her sister’s body, her arms’ muscles twitching. She was sure that if she looked into Violet’s eyes, her pupils would be wide discs from pain - and yet, Violet pushed past as much of that as she could. 

Not that she had much choice, with the Piltie goons coming up behind them. 

Powder watched Vi and Deckard’s exchange with little interest - she mostly just wanted to get home and be done with it all. 

That’s what she thought before everything started to go downhill, at least. 

When the bag of their loot was tossed at her, she already had a bad feeling - and then everything started to go even worse. Rather than run, which was the sensible thing to do, or to hide nearby, which was also sensible, she chose the secret third thing: Stand right in eye-sight and cower against a wall.

When Vi is punched, it’s like everything bad that her presence predestined came into fruition. Sure, it isn’t like Vi hasn’t taken a punch before, but it’s different watching it happen. It doesn’t help that Vi is carrying herself strangely, a stutter in her step that shouldn’t be there.

Her heart hammers in her chest, so much so that she isn’t sure if she’s imagining her ribs creaking - just like how the blood rushing in her ears leaves her dizzy in her attempts to make out what it’s saying. 

Her eyes widened as she watched the carnage unfold, sinking lower into herself - even so, she held the bag of loot like a shield, though her grip was unyielding and white-knuckled. 

Then, Claggor throws one of Deckard’s friends straight at her feet - when their eyes meet, she explodes into motion. Maybe she still had a self-preservation instinct a little intact. 

She lost the loot. 

She doesn’t even have anything to show for it: Mouser didn’t work. She never does. 

“She jinxes every job,” Mylo says, and the worst part was how casual it came out. It wasn’t loaded like an insult - it was just stated as truth. 

She can’t say anything to that, so she just sends him a sharp glare.

When Vander told everyone to get out, his tone left no room for argument or questions - he was firm, and nobody wanted to press him when he was all they had besides each other. Mylo and Claggor and her all shared glances, and while they stayed by the door, she decided to flee, instead.

There was still a pit in her stomach - for too many reasons. Far too many. 

First, Vi got hurt.

Maybe she wasn’t telling anyone, but Powder knows the sounds of her sister like the back of her own hand -- and she never got that out of breath that quickly unless she was hurt. Not only that, but she had been running into walls that she normally could avoid, and every motion she made was followed by a furrow between her brows that wasn’t usually there. 

Second, her mistakes were laid out plain in her face.

Everytime Mylo says something about her jinxing it, cursing them, being a liability - she can’t even deny it. All she can do is bristle and burn, turn a glare on him that makes her feel hollow.

It didn’t use to be like this, she wants to cry out. You used to love me!

That’s the part that hurts the most. She remembers when Mylo used to play with her when they were both younger, and he used to take her blunt words like a badge of honor. Then, when she’d started to have her fits, when Vi and Vander had to soothe her more, when he became a target just because what she used to be able to take had gone down dramatically -

Well. She didn’t think he loved her anymore.

She shut her eyes tightly, feeling that well of forbidden anger rising up like a tide - threatening to swell and take her with it, merciless. It didn’t help that her stupid bomb didn’t work -- even with Ekko’s help, even the ones that worked when he detonated it only to then fail in her hands when they were from the same batch -- it really did feel like she was cursed sometimes. Like she could only jinx the job and blunder more than help. 

The weight in the pouch she carried was heavy on her hip, and it only frustrated her more - what did she even have in there? A few cogs she pilfered, rather than anything useful? While the rest of the undercity kids learned to use their sticky paws to grab things for trade or sale, she had the eye of a crow - shiny, useless things. 

She held back a scream of frustration, something that wanted to tear itself from her chest. Something buzzed in her ears, a noise that almost seemed as frustrated as she was, and she reeled around to kick the panels of wood nearby - which, of course, only led her to curl into herself in pain - hands gripping for her shoes.

It looked way less painful every time Vi did that. She mused the idea of suing her for false advertising.

Nursing the blunt pain for a few moments, Powder sighed from deep within her own chest, letting it unwind some of the tension in her shoulders. Why not be productive? Glancing around, she saw one of the pipes that led through the undercity, the above-ground ones, and decided there had to be something in there - plenty of people threw anything they had no use for down there, not realizing how any little scrap could be used to make a homemade explosive.

She learned that from the book. 

It was only when Vander and Claggor walked out of the bar -- and, yikes for Ekko, definitely towards Benzo’s shop -- that she found some sort of trap. An old one, she thinks, pulling it out. Looked like a locking mechanism, something that would bite down and hold - something that could chomp hard, if prompted with enough force behind it.

She already had ideas! So, so many ideas - including ways to decorate them and make them plenty cute. 

When she put the jaw in her pockets, she froze. 

Maybe she didn’t just have a few cogs. The rocks - the buzzing rocks - were heavy in her pocket and she pulled one out, staring at it. She didn’t lose it all - they still had something to use. 

Vi, She thought to herself, would definitely want to see this. Especially after being chewed out by Vander.

Powder couldn’t help the sting of betrayal that welled up every time she thought about how Vi had just agreed with Mylo - 

Twice the person at half her age.

Powder would show them - she would show them all. She hurried into the room she shared with her siblings, and debated for a vicious moment throwing a tantrum. Having a fit, as Vander called it, and throwing metal across the room, breaking things. She tamped back a howl of frustration, but the noise curled inside her chest. It ached to be released.

Instead, she looked for the chest that held all the spare parts that either came from trash heaps or her own failed inventions - or, the rarest kind, something fancy from Benzo’s that Ekko would give her. She set that near the bed, and grabbed her crayon box - the one that held the big, waxy ones that Vi got her after a job done well.

The thought made her lips curl up into a pitiful snarl, but nonetheless, she had it set aside as well. Sulkily, she grabbed a record - a gift from Claggor, this time - and put it in the record player. The tone was tinny and rumbled with age, but it was loud, it was furious, and it was hers. She set the needle to play and let the record spin on repeat.

Settling in the space under the bunk, the cramped area that was her little workshop, she pushed herself up against the furthest wall across from the entrance. Granted, it wasn’t very far at all, but it was the principle of it. She settled against the patch-work quilt and let the dull roar of the music and quiet hum of the strung up lights distract her from her thoughts.

At least this way, she could try to make something that might work. She tried to think about what went wrong with Mouser this time - it looked like the turning mechanisms and timing was fine, and the actual dispersion worked - just with much less ka-boom than she was expecting. 

She makes a potential list of what might’ve gone wrong, thinking about the book:

First, the detonator may not have made enough energy to trigger the charge -- or, maybe, the firing mechanism may not have been aligned right and didn’t let off enough force.

Second, the actual material was wrong. She gets her mixtures from whatever she can scrap up - which, unfortunately, isn’t much. But she doesn’t think that’s the problem here. It wasn’t a boom-boom bomb - it was more like… pshhhh-bomb, intended to send out shrapnel. 

Third, it was just a fuck up dud. That’s probably what Mylo would say, at least. 

She scowled, and decided to focus on the first option. This one would work. 

First, though, she had to make her nice and pretty. She drew a wide, open-mouthed smile with her bright pink crayon, scraping the wax roughly against the metal to make sure it would be vibrant enough to be seen and not get washed away. The sharp teeth came next - she had to still be a little intimidating.

It was after she reached for the darker pink crayon and lined the mouth that her sister’s voice surprised her. 

“What’re you calling this one?” Vi had leaned against the bed frame, smiling as if she hadn’t just a few minutes ago agreed with Mylo that she was a dud, just like her bombs.

But, this was Vi -- and Powder would always heel to her call. “Whisker,” she murmured, gaze trained hard on the bomb as she drew little hands on its body.

There was a weighted pause hanging in the air before Vi spoke, gaze cast over Powder. “You… wanna talk about today? What happened?” She moved to sit on the space beside her, sinking into the quilt under them, fingers briefly flexing over the scratchy fabric. 

She couldn’t help the scowl that made its home on her face - eyes narrowing. She pushed herself up to sit, curling into herself protectively. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she kept her arms tight around her legs, chin tucked just slightly. In her hands, she fidgeted with Whisker, idly twisting the head off and on. 

“Do you?” She bit out before she could stop herself - some bitter, dying animal stuck in her voice. Her throat felt like she had swallowed shards of glass - sounded like it too, choked up and miserable. She spared a glance at Vi, before training it back on Whisker. Head off. Head on. Head off -- “You got all hurt,” she choked out, “and didn’t say anything about it.”

Vi looked like she had been caught red-handed, her fingers flexing. The breath she took was labored, like her ribs were creaking under an invisible pressure, “You don’t need to worry about that, Pow.” Despite it all, her voice was still soft as ever. 

Powder shook her head, something small and curt. “That’s just another thing I ruin -- getting you hurt.” She would’ve taken the hit for Vi if she could. She didn’t care about bloody hands or explosions - relished in them, even - but she cared about Vi. Her voice was fragile like thin ceramic, “I ruin everything. I always do.”

Vi’s voice was just as quiet, but smooth and melty in its hope to console. “Nobody said that,” she had murmured, clearly unaware that Powder had heard her with Mylo, clearly unaware that Powder knew she was a big, fat liar. 

Powder’s face scrunched up, tossing the briefest of glances to Vi, lingering over anywhere she saw an injury. “No,” she’d agreed, “just that you were ‘twice the person at half my age.’” She caught in her peripherals Vi shaking her head, and it was as good of an admittance as ever. 

She clapped Whisker’s head onto her body, turning it roughly in both an attempt to clear her frustration and to make sure the mechanism would trigger properly next time. “I’m not a fighter,” she said, thunking her head against Whisker’s and leaning into the cold metal. 

“You don’t have to be. I’ve got these,” Vi curled her fist, and turned it upwards to brush against hanging bombs. “And you’ve got those.”

Powder looked at the hints of blood and scraping on Vi’s hands, and felt her heart ache more. 

What use was she if what she did have didn’t even work?

She shows Vi what she managed to keep from the explosion, and something invisible clicks into place - the cog of the universe twisting along. 

It’s another secret to keep from Vander, but the promise Vi gives her, that she’s stronger than she thinks --

Well. 

It’s a great motivator.

(S omething stirs in the Undercity. Something that’ll change their life.)

Age 15: Vi

They were at the clubhouse again in their efforts to lay low, out of topsides scopes. It wasn’t the most well known place anymore after years of them being the main people to even frequent it, which made it ideal to act as a safe haven. It was large, but without much in the ways to sell - which only further kept it safe from looters. Anything that could be sold would take time and a crafty hand to take apart - only one of which you would find in the Undercity.

Where Vi might normally be working and training - using the fighting machine to her advantage, she… wasn’t. She had the same stupid ball Mylo always threw at the wall when he wanted to be particularly obnoxious, and tossed it up and down. The inaction was gnawing at her - she was never good at staying still when there was a threat.

She just still couldn’t feel much more than an aching pain every time she even moved. It seemed focused around her ribs and arm, but everywhere held a bit of ache. Some were her own, like the smarting bruise that was deepening on her cheek - others belonged to a body she didn’t inhabit.

Whatever her soulmate got into, it was bad.

She would almost assume the other must’ve gotten a broken rib or two with how she had to carry herself and the way that the pain refused to leave, twisting into blunt heat when she breathed.

Seriously, it was like her soulmate was the one who had been caught in an explosion and not her — which, honestly, just kind of pissed her off.

Once again, her soulmate was getting hurt when that was the last thing any of them needed to deal with — when Vi had to be at the top of her game.

Of course, the side effect of this sickness meant she couldn’t even train when she had to lay low. Tossing the ball to the sky, she settled next to Claggor, who’d taken it upon himself to act as lookout as best one could from inside - he always was the wary one between all of them.

Mylo and Powder, of course, were lingering by their shooting game that they’d rigged up to be more and more complicated, with overlapping shots and different movements each time. Powder said even she wouldn’t know which way everything moved - Mylo was convinced she was lying.

If Vi didn’t know Powder so well, she would’ve thought the same thing.

“Why’re we even here?” Mylo groaned, lazily leaning against the counter as he fixed his gun, making sure the pellets were loaded. Powder had made these neat paint-y ones after the rubber pellets had ricocheted off a piece of metal plating and hit her in the shoulder.

“You know why, Mylo,” she grumbled, tossing the ball again. “We all know why. We don’t wanna get caught by enforcers and Vander wants us to stay out of trouble.” She frowned. “This is the easiest way to do that.”

The safest way.

Claggor nodded beside her - he was more than happy to stay out of the spotlight anyways. Never liked having to take the big risks.

What he would do is tease him. Claggor glanced between Mylo and Powder, who’d been behind the counter fidgeting with something. “He’s just scared,” he’d grinned. “Knows Pow’s gonna kick his ass.”

Mylo sputtered, knocking his gun against the counter. “Scared?!” He jutted his thumb back to where Powder had been hunkered away. “Of her? The pipsqueak?”

Vi tossed the ball, watching it rise and fall back into her hands. “I mean,” she drawled, “that sounds just like you, Birdie.”

Claggor backed her up with a faint chuckle, “Five cogs say Powder wins again.”

Vi grimaced. “Shit,” she hissed under her breath, “I ain’t taking a losing bet, Claggor. Keep your money, and I’ll keep mine.” They’d already shared the little coinage they had with each other, but it was just too funny to see Mylo’s face darken with embarrassment.

Powder took that opportunity to pop up from the counter with a grin, tugging together two halves of chemtech piping that would start up their rigging. Even better, the meerkat-like speed she had popped up with made Mylo jump back - prompting a huff of laughter under Vi’s breath.

“Well, Birdie,” Vi challenged, “beat Pow and I’ll give you ten cogs.”

He’d narrowed his eyes, tapping the barrel of the gun to Powder’s back as she scrambled over the counter. “ I’m not taking a rigged bet,” he muttered, making a face at Powder.

The ultraviolet light cast long shadows through their safe haven - and the sound of Mylo’s gun had only offered more comforting familiarity. She tossed her ball, bored as ever. Everything still ached.

Her heart did too, thinking of what Vander had to say.

“Hey,” she started, glancing to Claggor. “You’re okay, right? The job wasn’t too much?”

He’s been quiet, after all - and had been the most vocal about his nerves to even go on the heist. He hummed, something that told her an ‘I told you so, ’ would be coming her way.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Mylo spoke up instead, lazily holding his gun with a stiffness in his posture that betrayed his inexperience, “Please, that was almost the perfect job.”

Vi didn’t hold her breath hoping for that to be the last of what he had to say. It never was.

“Just…” He paused, almost for dramatic effect. “Shouldn’t have taken Powder, is all. Which, I did point out, thank you very much.”

Vi frowned, remembering how Powder had been in a horrid mood last night - when it came time to eat dinner, she’d barely picked at her food, worse than she’d ever been in years. She gave Vi everything on her plate after a few bites before leaving the table like it had been set on fire. Usually, she would at least give it a try. 

She opened her mouth to speak up, but Powder had that rigidity in her shoulders that told her it would be better to be quiet. Instead of speaking, she watched Powder draw up the gun and bite her bottom lip in the way that Vi knew meant she was focusing - and it just made affection curl up in her chest.

Powder, contrary to what some of the other urchins on the street thought, was prickly, too. Willing to fight back, wanting to.

Vi just wished she didn’t have to.

She turned away, watching the fighting machine hungrily - a deep seated bitterness taking root. If she couldn’t fight now against a machine, what would she be able to do if a monster showed up?

Despite her intense focus on the machine, she didn’t miss the faint noises of arguing outside - but, well, it was the Lanes. You couldn’t go a day without hearing some sort of scrap outside, especially recently. The only interesting part is it seemed particularly venomous in a way that it usually didn’t. The kind of venom usually reserved for —

Powder, too close to the window, spoke up. “Hey, guys? You should see this—!”

And just as quick, Piltover reminded the Undercity of their ruthlessness. It may be hidden under a guise of cobalt and gold, but they were all crafted of the same cruel hands.

A man, rail thin and lanky and clearly a trencher, was sent through the window with purpose. It wasn’t like he had been pushed through thin glass - no, it was an action made to hurt, and the enforcers did it easily, without even breaking a sweat. No chiding, no yells — it was their normal.

Unfortunately, it was the Undercity’s normal, too — except, the enforcers usually didn’t come into the Lanes.

They had their batons drawn before even being given the command.

“Search them,” one ordered. The enforcers stalked forward, predatory and practiced.

Vi felt her shoulders stiffen despite herself, brows knitting together into a deep ridge. She was reminded of fire and the bridge, of how easily the enforcers bared their fangs and sharpened claws.

Mylo leaning back despite his bravado and Powder’s nervous glance only made her more on edge, before —

Shit, Vi realized suddenly. She’s got the crystals.

Her hands flexed as she tried to run through what her options were here, and she tried to back up toward the fighting machine - maybe something could be useful off that, but—

“Hey!” One of the enforcers barked her way, baton drawn and stopping her in her tracks.

She caught Claggor’s eye, and he pulled the lever to turn the lights off - an ultraviolet skull being lit up by the black lights that remained. It cast the enforcers in a harsh light, and when Powder took off running and Mylo pulled some — admittedly impressive — acrobatic move, she didn’t waste time in hauling ass to the fighting machine.

Her ribs ached as she pulled at the metal plate that held Mylo’s scribbled face on it - and she threw it, the muscles in her arm jumping with pain. She grit her teeth, so hard that she thought they might crack under the pressure.

Focus, Vi.

She took off running, feeling flames lick at her ribs. She couldn’t even tell if it was the bone deep pain that had settled in her body or if it was her remembering. As the shooting game’s figures moved back and forth, she used them as her shields.

A shriek, high and sharp, made her heart stop, and as she got closer, she realized Powder had gotten herself out of whatever situation with that enforcer — pride welled up, but she couldn’t waste time and think too hard about it.

“Come on,” she urged, voice a touch too frantic. Vi grabbed Powder by her thin arm, grip tight along her wrist - unyielding, in case one of those bastards got too close again to her little sister. She could hear her brothers’ footsteps as well, only urging her to move quicker.

It’s only when they’re cornered that she can think again - but luckily, for some reason Ekko is there — and he drops the ladder. She tries to jump and grab it down, but she can’t help the noise of pain that escapes her when she stretches too far out, stumbling to the side. Instead, Claggor reaches for it and tugs it down.

It wastes precious time though, and even as Claggor helps her up with a worried glance and follows, Mylo close behind, she hears Powder gasp. She manages to get out of the enforcers grip, but then —

Vi hears the click of a gun, aimed for Powder.

(It is not the first nor the last time she is afraid, but it is the one she remembers for far too long.)

She rushes to get Powder up the ladder, staring down the enforcer that held the gun - challenge in her eyes. She pushed the ladder down that held the climbing goon, and let it crash, hoping it would land on the gun-holder.

She relished in the scream.

Vi, despite what everyone seemed to think, was not a fighter. But to threaten her family? She would split skull bone by bloody bone if she had to.

She turned to Powder, voice firm despite the pain creeping in her tone, “You need to hide those crystals.”

Powder’s snarky ‘no shit,’ hardly registered.

(Had she even cared that a gun was pointed at her?)

(How did it go so wrong, so quickly?)

When Ekko tells her that Vander has a deal with the enforcers, voice hesitant, she can’t help but feel a little betrayed. 

It’s something she will never tell Vander. Not beyond a quick spat of anger beyond the bridge, not where they could really make it make sense.

Not because she didn’t want to,

(She just never got the chance.)

They’re all in the basement, thinking about the idea of what a deal could mean — what Ekko had told them. Vi just… sat on the little sofa in the room, practically rubbing a hole into her temple.

A deal.

With the enforcers.

The same ones that cocked a gun at Powder?

Her gaze inadvertently flit to her baby sister, where she had been showing Ekko that new bomb of hers, Whisker, with a small smile tugging at her lips. Seeing Powder smile usually could get her own started - but this time it never came. She and Ekko weren’t talking in anything but quiet tones, offering improvements and going back and forth on the design.

Ekko had a few ideas for increasing the charge and improving the timing mechanism, while Powder explained she hoped to get new paints or some glitter, if she could find some she could actually afford. Ekko looked at her with the most puppy-love eyes she’d ever seen, and promised her with a grave seriousness that he would get her the glitter, mark his words.

It would be funny if it weren’t for the fact that Vander was making deals behind their backs with the same people who’d killed her and Powder’s parents. Claggor’s aunt. Mylo’s dad.

Claggor looked like he had been trying to seem unaffected, but although he had a book open, it didn’t seem like he was actually reading any words. Vi glanced at him, and he didn’t glance back.

She would ask him if he was okay later, when things were better.

Then, one of Powder’s monkey alarms went off - cymbals crashing together in a cacophony of noise as its winding pin in the back ticked on. It was rigged up by Powder and Vander in one of their days alone at the bar, born partially out of Powder’s paranoia — but also of Vander’s.

Maybe he knew all along that this was a possibility, making deals with the devil.

Everyone knew what the sound meant, though — hide.

They almost saw Powder, she wants to scream.

What would they have done if they did?

Vander says that nobody wins in war, but maybe there doesn’t have to be one at all. She would give anything for her family to live, and if it meant not fighting —

She would do that, too.

Vi throws rocks for hours until she finally knocks that bunny down.

It starts with her catching it in the corner of her eye while she’s still making a plan, putting together pieces of what she even could do. She thinks she has a plan, but the hard part is doing it right. She knows she can get the pneumatic tube without a hitch, as long as she’s quick enough about it.

She decides to push that deadline back, though — this was more important. Not for the object itself, but for who it would go to.

So, she lobbed heavy rocks, small pipes, anything she could at the hanging bunny. Her chest ached, but this time she thinks it was her own heart that was collapsing. Not her soulmate’s lungs.

As if summoned by thinking of them, a muscle in her arm jumped, and she couldn’t help the cry of pain — she was alone, after all. She could afford, finally, to break down.

She sank down to the ground with a whimper - quiet, even though nobody would hear. She didn’t know how things went so wrong, when Vander became so ready to give up. And for what?

For the enforcers? For the lost memory of those who died on the bridge?

Vi still remembered that day, even if it only lingered for Powder in the shadows of the room or in the embers of a flickering flame. For Vi, it was imprinted on the backs of her eyelids and in every uncovered rock in the city. It was in every click of a gun and every story that a trencher came back with of their encounters with the boys in blue and gold. It was in every body bag sent over the sump or into the Pilt - the only funeral rites being quiet prayers.

If they even got that much.

She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, biting hard into the flesh of her cheek.

What would Powder do without her? It wasn’t like she wanted to leave — no, she knew Powder wouldn’t take it well. But did it really matter how Powder would take it? At least she would be safe. At least she would be alive.

Dropping her hands to the ground, she searched for more rocks and threw until the bunny came down - the thump it made being more unceremonious than she felt it had any right to be.

What a fighting end — not with a bang, but a whimper.

At least Powder would have something to remember her by.

Later, when she meets up with the boys and Powder in the basement of The Last Drop, she brings gifts for them.

A book she’d pilfered in her stupor on the way back for Claggor, something about history or botany - he’d always had such big plans and ideas. If he could make something grow down here, it’d be a miracle — but it’d be her brother.

A few newer sets of clothes that looked nice and a thin set of picks for locks — she knew it wasn’t much, but Mylo always liked to look good and it was hard to come by decent clothes down here that weren’t already passed down a few sets of siblings and friends.

Finally, a pack of crayons and that damn bunny for Powder.

When Powder leaned into her hand as she brushed her cheeks — too sharp, despite the soft padding of flesh that covered them, — it felt like the birth of a dying star.

“What makes you different,” she stated, unable to keep the shake out of her voice, “is what makes you strong.”

She sent the pneumatic tube and waited for the end.

Something is stirring outside the front door of her prison, a sickly light streaming through green stained glass windows. It’s as Vander and the enforcers leave that it picks up, muffled yelling breaking its way through the skylight.

It’s the uncertainty that leaves the hair on the back of her neck standing - the way everything felt too still and silent and yet loud all the same. Something was wrong.

And she was locked in the basement by the hand of her own dad, the one she was trying to protect —

Who would protect Powder and the boys now?

Put food on their table?

Soothe their fevers?

Her breath caught in her chest, something tight coiling around the bones. She tried to tamp the fear down and peer through the skylight, the murky glass making it harder than it needed to be.

She saw the shape of an enforcer backing up near the skylight, weapon drawn at an invisible enemy. She tried to lean closer, to get a better look —

It was in a flash that everything changed - the threads in the tapestry becoming unwoven.

(Every carefully laid out plan had been turned to dust.)

Crimson colored the sickly green glass, muddling it with thick, viscous ichor. The light that streamed through was no longer an unsettling chartreuse, but something more sinister - casting her in red light.

It felt like her breath was stolen from her chest, a sharp noise escaping her throat as she looked for the spaces that blood didn’t cover, trying to get a view of what was going outside.

She couldn’t do anything but watch.

She couldn’t scream anymore. There was nothing left — no fire licking at her heels to move and to run. Everything was hollow. Instead, she curled up, bathed in the red light that filtered through. With her legs tucked up to her chest, she had to teach herself how to breathe again without thinking too hard about Benzo and Vander —

When the lock rattled, it took her a moment to realize something was happening around her.

She could only hold Ekko close to her, letting him rest his face into the crook of her shoulder and brush a calloused hand over the back of his neck, soft and as soothing as she could be. She rested her hand along the back of his skull - cradling, like she would do for any of her brothers, and pressed a kiss into his hair.

She didn’t promise that things would be alright.

But he gave her new hope all the same — they could find Vander and make things right.

Chapter Text

Oh, in Pine Point, nothing but memories
The abandoned cemetery
Where we buried our family
And I hope you know, what you're doing
Up in Pine Point
Where I kept my eye on the prize
And it was you,
It was you.

Pine Point - PUP

The End: Powder

From the beginning to the end of her life, Powder would be known as a star child - bright and burning, but destined to fade out and be forgotten. Her death would not be quiet, but instead would consist of flames licking up to the sky as windows shattered, howls of agony sent into the sky like a warning call for all who dared come near.

From her ashes, claws would sharpen on bone and poison be dripped from her marrow as shadows twisted into new form. Fangs would be bared and thorns raised as a protective barrier around what was, hiding what could have been.

The end started in deep crevices of the underground where the light didn’t kiss the ground, and she wouldn’t have been able to do anything but burn into absence.

It starts like this:

When Vi had planned with Mylo and Claggor, she didn’t even think to ask — it was a given, wasn’t it? Powder scrambled to her side of the room, peering for her deadliest (newest) bombs to bring for the fight. She knew she had more than enough to go around.

Sure, Mouser might’ve been put into retirement for her failures — there was no room for failures beyond Powder in this family — but she had Whisker. With Ekko’s help and even a bit of guidance from Benzo — before… whatever happened today — well, she knew she would work.

Grabbing the case from the ground, she put Whisker in there, a couple of her less-impressive ones, and just in case she needed to do a few touch ups on the go, a waxy red crayon. She told herself what Vi did a few days ago, turning it over in her head like a badge of honor — she’s ready.

Powder snapped the case closed, brushing an affectionate palm over the paneling of the front. This was hers — and they would work this time and the enforcers and the monsters would stay away. She grabbed the case by its handle and stood patiently at the ready, even as Vi continued to debrief, and waited for what her role would be. Lookout? Bomber? She couldn’t wait — she wanted to show everyone she could do it.

When Vi looked at her, she could feel the way her gaze flicked down to the case of explosives she was holding up to her wide-eyed, expectant look. Something shifted in Vi’s gaze and left it flinty, reminiscent of how Vander would look when he knew he had to say something and it wouldn’t go over well.

“I need you to sit this one out, Powder.”

Vi had said it kindly, but she couldn’t help the lurch in her chest as she registered the words. What did she mean by that? Vi hadn’t asked her to sit out in weeks, and when she did, it was usually after Mylo begged her too.

Like, genuinely begged. Hands and knees.

“What…?” Anyone could hear how fragile her voice was, all shattered glass held together by tape.

Vi thought she was afraid, maybe — so she said she wasn’t, that she wants to fight, that she wants to help—

(She only wanted to help —

She promises, she swears, it was a mistake.)

— but Vi pushes it aside. Her aside.

“You’re not ready,” Vi’s tone left no room for an argument, and it warred with what Vi had said yesterday.

(You’re stronger than you think —

— Liar, liar —

You’re ready —

— You’re a jinx —)

Nobody can say she didn’t try, though — she looked at Vi’s expression, looked for anything to say this was just another test.

It wasn’t. Her sister —

(She jinxes every job —

— Liar, liar, she left me, she’s not my —)

Vi had no such leniency. It wasn’t a test. Her expression softened, though, gaze gentle as it roamed her face, across every feature they shared. The thin slope of their nose, the hollowness that their eyes sat in, the sharp cut of their cheeks.

“You’re all I have left,” Vi says, and Powder isn’t sure if she’s seeing Mom or if she’s seeing Dad, trying to preserve the last piece of them.

(She’s not my —

She’s left me —

I only wanted to help—)

When a familiar, calloused hand brushes against her cheek — as gentle as holding a wounded bird — and aims to wipe a tear away from her face, she leans into it. Just as quickly, her chin jerks away as faint, unhappy static buzzes in her ears and causes her to flinch away.

Vi’s face falls in the way only Powder has memorized; a little downturn to her lip and a furrow in her brow. She tries not to feel guilty.

(Liar, liar —

She left me —)

Vi hands her a flare and tells her to run if the invisible and unknown ‘they’ come for her.

“Wherever you are, light it up, and I’ll find you, I promise.”

(That promise will haunt her in the future.)

(But it’ll haunt Vi, too.)

(Liar, liar—)

She cradles the back of Powder’s head and rests their temples together, soft and symbolic all at once.

It feels like a goodbye.

Fire burns behind her, and she doesn’t see the silver point sliding into thin, spindly fingers. The man is dressed like a shadow, followed by more apparitions donned in black and crimson - some solid, some ichorous - that lay in wait behind him with bated breath.

He’s an angel of death, but an angel all the same — bathed in the same halo of flames that would promise salvation. His face was familiar, a long forgotten memory that was buried with her parents, but one that slid into focus slowly. Safety.

He pinned butterflies on display, and what better one was there than the forgotten daughter of the man he sought to destroy?

She would be a loose end. The girl had to die.

She paced the basement of the bar impatiently, her fingers brushing along every familiar surface with the familiar sense of panic buzzing in her ears, something sharp and high pitched. She tried to run through what just happened — and why Vi had left her.

She curled up on the bed with a whimper, back smacking against wood panels. She drew her knees up to her chest and tucked her chin against the gulch formed by the valleys of her kneecaps. She wound her arms around her legs and held herself close, trying to breathe.

It worked for a little bit, the self-soothing techniques that Vander had taught her.

(You did this? —

— I only wanted to—!)

She stared unblinkingly at the quilt beneath her, picking erratically at the seams of each patch pressed and stitched together until the spools unwound, until each stitch was frayed.

(I told you to stay away!—)

It was when she recognized that she had torn the stitches apart and the quilt started to split, rather than just fray, that Powder hadn’t been able to listen to Vander anymore. His soft voice, guiding her through her breathing, had dissolved into faint murmurs that melded into hisses with the blood rushing in her ears.

(You did—)

(I told you—)

(Bluebell—)

She tried to do what she would usually do when the breathing exercises didn’t work — fix things. Make them better, make herself better. If she could just make something that would definitely work… Maybe she could still help.

She remembers, then.

Vi’s hurt — not just her usual bruised knuckles and scrapes along her arm, and not even just a mottle of colors that were making a kaleidoscope against her cheek. No. She'd been cradling her ribs like it’s the only thing keeping herself in one piece, her arm gingerly as if it’s layered with invisible blisters.

She won’t be able to fight, Powder realizes - and it sets a blaze of panic alight in her heart.

Something deep in Powder knows that this man is dangerous, that he must be related to everything that just happened. She can feel eyes layered on her, her ratty clothes - and she thinks they may be wondering whether they need to slit her throat or just dump her in the Pilt with plenty of the other dead bodies that layer the depths.

But the fire rages onwards, and as she sobs and sobs and sobs, it feels like a piece of her has died. Hollowness took its roots and gutted her of everything good when her family — when Vi — left her. Fingers curl into the dirt and she begs for death to be sweeter than life. What use was living when everyone she’d made her home with was dead?

That’s why she couldn’t fault him for being involved in some way — he hadn’t dealt the killing blow. She did.

(It would be too long before she finds out his full involvement.)

(But by then, she was his crow — with an eye for shiny, useless things.)

(And what was shinier than a father’s love?)

Powder realizes one morning that she can’t remember her parents beyond fuzzy and murky images, and it’s something she feels flashes of guilt for every day. For her, their faces are hard to come by - thought of only in terms of how she can see them in Vi. She thinks Vi has Dad’s strong nose and chin but Mom’s lips, while Vi tells her she has Mom’s dark eyes, the hollowness of her lids, and her perpetual pout — the only thing of Dad’s she shares is his soft jaw and cheeks, but even that fades in the wake of the Undercity’s slim pickings.

You look just like her, Vi whispers into her shoulder once, tears in her eyes.

Vi braids her hair every day after that, small twists that grow bigger and more refined every day. She thinks it’s Vi trying to bring something back from the dead, even if it’s just in her image.

Powder can’t blame her.

Powder tugs the chest over to the bed with heaving, quick breaths that escape her like snakes thrashing out. Tugging everything into its rightful place, she lifts the chest and dumps it onto the bed, looking around with wild eyes.

Where is it?

She feels her fingers flex in the way they always do when they want to take control. If Vander were here —

(— I told you to —)

— he would have cradled her hands into his, brushing small shapes into sharp knuckles. But he isn’t here, and Vi isn’t here, and nobody is here but her and her own thoughts—

She shrieks, loud and full of broken glass that she’s been forced to swallow as if it were honey instead. Powder feels like a rabid animal, something pacing holes into the ground at its enclosures and wanting— begging to be let out

She tears the room apart in her search for the bunny Vi had given her, the one she knows now was all along her goodbye. She wants to tear it apart, but more than anything else she wants to cry into its ratty fur, look into its eyes for a promise that Vi would never keep — to stay with her, to never leave her alone, to stay, to stay, to stay —

(I told you to stay —

— stay away —)

She finds the bunny and something in her shoulders unwinds, the tension that had been knotting itself into every muscle fading away. She was still weeping, too many tears left in her eyes and her skin buzzing like it was too small to fit her, but at least she had this. This couldn’t leave her.

Vander liked to tell them stories about a lot of things - Janna and how she saved the city, Benzo and his tall tales of pirates from Bilgewater… but most of all, he made sure that they would always know what Mom and Dad were like, so that even if they forgot their faces they would never forget their hearts.

He told them how Mom would always tuck them in at night and hum the familiar folk song— not for her own sake, but because she always focused through music, and she wanted to have something they could use to calm down, to focus. If they ever felt lost or scared, they could remember that song.

(Dear friend, —)

(— across the —)

He told them how Dad always looked for the best books for Vi and the nicest crayons for Powder, and the way he would cook even after a long shift at the mines so they would have something on their plate.

You two were all he ever talked about, Vander said once.

His girls, his best girls.

(— my hands —)

(— cold and bare—)

Then, after each story of Mom and Dad he told, he would remind them: they always loved you. No matter what, you will always be theirs. He would press his palm to their cheek, and Powder always thought he was just like Vi — bringing something back from the dead.

(He couldn’t bring everyone back, though. Not even the ones that were still alive.)

The bunny is in the chest with the rest of her spare parts and broken toys, and she is wailing as she tries to fix what is broken — she just doesn’t know where to start. Herself? Her bombs?

Her bombs would be easier, wires rather than flesh, and so — she starts there. She sits on the bed with her knees tucked up against her chest, curled into herself like that would keep everything in, all but the vile parts of her that made everyone —

(Why did you —)

— leave her. Her chin wobbled as she drew into herself tighter, reaching to put pieces of her bomb together. The head of the monkey alarm she had set up offered too much resistance, rage and betrayal welling up in every tense, corded muscle that ran through her. She tugged and tugged and tugged until she broke it, throwing it to the side.

The sound of it falling to the ground was loud, loud, loud —

(— jinx, do you hear me, you’re a —)

— and left her screaming, hands curling into fists before threading into her hair. She tugged at blue strands until all she could feel was prickling down her spine and the back of her neck, like she was being watched, and tugged harder. She let go with one hand to knock knuckles harshly against her temple, trying to get rid of every poisonous thought that lingered.

It was only when she realized what she was doing — suddenly, she was lifting her case, high into the air — that she crumbled to the ground, despair rather than anger sinking into her marrow. Curled up on the ground, she only realized after hearing the faint crackle of static — of pure energy — that she could do something.

It felt like a second chance.

When she looks up at a face bathed in flame, it’s not death she sees.

It’s redemption.

Vi isn’t fighting — at least, not well. In another universe, Powder knows her sister wouldn’t even be struggling to take these guys dow. It was her sister, after all — big and bold and beautiful, every inspiration she had for her inventions following in her image.

But in this universe, Vi is one split seam away from the quilt that made up her skin unraveling, and she is losing. She is losing, but it doesn’t stop her from fighting. Powder sees the glint that comes from the next fighter trying to take on Vi, and she knows it’s a knife.

She whimpers and has to hold back a scream when it catches Vi’s arm, splitting skin in a smooth motion and leaving a deep cavern that runs red.

Everything loses focus as she sees Vi on the ground, almost ready to run in, herself, when —

A banshee’s wail rings out, and it takes all her focus to pull herself back in the recognize from who - rivers of shimmering pink running across his skin, trails weeping into cracks that make him look like a plate that’s been poorly put back together. He was almost unrecognizable, but Powder remembers everyone who’s made her feel afraid, and she knows by the dip between his brows that this is Deckard.

He’s ruthless and tears through what has to be his allies in order to get to Vi.

Vi, who runs in.

The rain soaks into her clothes and hair, and her braid already feels matted irreparably, thick tangles knotting at the base of her neck and coiling together. She heaves out breaths as she studies the face of the man that kneeled in front of her.

All sense of danger she has washes away when she sees the softness in his posture, practiced and poised. Her gaze doesn’t leave his until she makes a decision.

She presses her forehead to the armed bomb, whispering a soft word of praise to it. When she sends it in, she bites her bottom lip, hands cradling her ears.

It hasn’t gone off, yet - and she turns her head to try to catch site of it —

Suddenly, she’s in the air, pushed back by the crackle of pure energy that erupted.

It worked, she thinks to herself.

When she finds Vi, she’s cradling her arm and hunched over as if to prepare to strike and lunge. She figures Vi must just still be on guard after fighting, and announces her presence.

“Vi, it worked!”

She doesn’t understand why Vi doesn’t seem happy to see her, why she asked, you did this, like it physically pained her — until her gaze travels beyond Vi and lands on a body that looks hauntingly familiar and strangely unfamiliar all the same.

Every inkling of pride she’d had fell into pieces.

She only wanted —

“— to help, I only wanted to help—!”

The open hand landed on her cheek, with none of the kindness Mom or Dad or Vander had always shown her, the kindness the Vi usually held for her. She yelped like a dog who’d been kicked, high and pitchy.

When Vi’s hand cradles her face, it is not to hold — but to dig angry claws into her jaw. Vi’s forehead pressed against hers briefly as she got close, as if to punctuate her words.

“Because you’re a jinx,” She’d said.

Powder had to watch as she left, her back turned —

She was crumpled into herself when a voice greeted her — deeper and smoother than Vi’s, and so unlike Vander’s that she looked up. When he asked her where her sister was, everything slipped out of place - almost tangibly so.

She made her decision, launching into him — he held a faint familiarity that took the tension from her shoulders, his gaze hard and unyielding but at least someone was looking at her, at least she wasn’t alone.

She curled into him like a comma — and it wasn’t as perfect of a fit as it was with Vander or Vi or Claggor or Mylo, but a bird with a broken wing needed a soft place to land.

“She left me,” she forced out, a quiet whimper leaving her throat. “She is not my sister anymore.”

The words felt heavy and awkward in her mouth, settling with the bitterness of a lie.

“It’s okay,” he’d pressed the words into her hair, uncaring of how much poison she had that drove everyone else away.

“We will show them. We will show them all.”

But maybe it was because he was born of the same rotten roots that he understood.

Later, he would use those same dangerous hands to unwind the mats and tangles from her hair, promising that he would get her a pretty butterfly pin to keep the tangles at bay and out of her face.

From twisted roots and bitter poison, someone new was born.

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