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cosmiclily · 7 days ago

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❝ First Love/Late Spring ❞

(part three)

• vi x f!reader

summary: y/n rebuilt her life in piltover, burying the trauma—and the love—she lost in the undercity.

but when vi reappears, alive and changed, the memories she buried begin to claw their way back.

some ghosts don't stay dead. and some wounds never heal.

wc: 4k

cw: canon type of violence, talking about injuries, blood etc.

notes: 🕺🏻 how are you guys? hope everyone is okay !! part four is already on the way!

masterlist - part two

You couldn’t breathe.

It was like you were back in that burning building—smoke filling your lungs, blood trickling down your temple. Caitlyn was speaking, her lips moving in front of you, but the sound didn’t reach your ears. Everything was muffled, distant, like the world had slipped underwater.

“This was a waste of time. Let’s go, Y/N” she said, placing a hand on your arm.

You didn’t resist. You just let her guide you away.

“Couldn’t have put it better” Vi muttered from behind the bars. “Hey—give Silco a kiss on that winning eye of his, will you?”

Her voice sounded like it came from miles away.

Your head spun, like when you were a kid and used to twirl until the world blurred around you. But there was no laughter now—just nausea and dread bubbling in your throat.

Then Caitlyn stopped, flipping open the folder she’d brought, and turned back toward the cell. “Does this mean anything to you?” she asked, holding it up.

In the blink of an eye, Vi was at the bars, gripping them tightly—her face inches from Caitlyn’s… and yours.

She didn’t even look at you.

What is going on? Does she not remember me? Is she just pretending because I’m with an Enforcer?

“Where did you get this?” Vi asked, her voice low and sharp. There was anger in her tone—but confusion in her eyes.

“My question first,” Caitlyn replied coolly. “Did he work for Silco?”

Vi scoffed. “Uh, they all do. How can anyone not know that? Even your weird mute friend over there probably knows it.”

She nodded in your direction—finally acknowledging you—and it snapped you out of the trance you'd been stuck in.

“Where did you find this?” She asked again.

“There was an attack,” you answered before Caitlyn could. “This was part of the evidence left behind.”

You didn’t know what this was anymore—what any of this meant. But you couldn’t just stand there and be useless.

So you swallowed the bile rising in your throat, ignored the aching pit in your chest, and kept your voice steady.

“Oh, so she speaks” Vi drawled sarcastically.

You rolled your eyes. “We need proof of what you’re saying about Silco.”

“I could get it for you,” Vi said with a smirk. “Just not from in here.”

You recognized that tone immediately—the snarky, manipulative charm she used when trying to get her way.

And for a flicker of a second, you almost smiled. God, you missed her voice.

Caitlyn scoffed. “In what mad world would we trust someone like you?”

“Someone like me?” Vi’s voice sharpened, her brows drawing together. “You Enforcers are all the same. Just assholes in fancy uniforms pretending you’re better than the rest of us.”

You saw Caitlyn flinch. That one landed—because if there was anything she prided herself on, it was not being like the others. She wanted to change the system from the inside.

And Vi had just called her bluff.

“You know what? Find Silco yourself” Vi said flatly, stepping away from the bars.

“I will. Thank you” Caitlyn snapped, turning to leave and tugging you along.

“Hmm… Undercity’s gonna eat you alive” Vi called after you.

The elevator ride back was silent—tense. Caitlyn was already flipping through her notes, planning the next move.

But you weren’t there.

You were stuck in the past, hunted by memories you’d tried so hard to bury.

“Do you really think Silco has something to do with this?” Caitlyn finally asked, glancing at you. Her folder sat open in her hands, full of scribbled notes and arrows.

“If he does…” You hesitated. Then forced yourself to lie. “I think it’s even more dangerous to keep digging. We should just go home. Let it go.”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on with you? You don’t sound like yourself. And you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You looked away. “It’s nothing, Caitlyn. I just… I don’t think this is safe.”

“Well,” she muttered, closing the folder with a sharp snap, “that’s a shame.”

Talking to her felt like trying to reason with a wildfire—stubborn, determined, and impossible to contain. You weren’t going to change her mind. Not now.

So you focused on what you could control: making sure she stayed safe.

“Stay here” Caitlyn said, heading toward the guard at the front desk.

You didn’t argue. Any chance to step away and process this was a mercy.

You pinched your arm, hard—just to make sure.

“Okay… this is real” you whispered to yourself.

If this was real—if Vi was really here—then why was she acting like she didn’t know you?

Did she… forget?

Had you spent the last seven years mourning someone who didn’t care? Someone who could just erase you from her memory like you meant nothing?

“He gave me the keys. Let’s go get her out,” Caitlyn said, suddenly reappearing at your side, a ring of keys in one hand and her folder in the other.

──────────────────────

In broad daylight, there was no denying it—that was Vi.

Older. Taller. Broader. But still Vi.

She stood at the edge of the city, wind tugging at her pink hair, her expression calm—so unlike the wild anger you'd seen back in the prison cell. She looked peaceful. Free.

And all you could do was stare, desperately trying to piece together the girl you once knew with the woman standing in front of you now.

“Do you…” you started, your voice barely audible—but before the words could fully form, Caitlyn cut in.

“I heard the bathysphere has a good view,” she said, nodding toward it. “Might be a smart way to get a lay of the land.”

But before either of you could move, Vi was already vaulting over the ledge, sprinting across the rooftops like she’d never stopped.

“Wait!” you shouted, taking off after her without thinking.

You didn’t check if Caitlyn was following, or even if she knew where to go.

You just ran.

You caught fleeting glimpses of Vi’s silhouette ahead, her shadow dancing over rooftop edges and vanishing behind crumbling walls. For a moment, it felt like you were kids again—racing through the Lanes, competing to see who could climb faster or laugh louder.

“Vi! Wait!” you yelled again, lungs burning, legs aching.

And for the briefest heartbeat, she hesitated—just long enough to glance over her shoulder.

But then she kept going.

By the time you caught up, she was standing beside a rusted trash can, shrugging on a red jacket as a low groan echoed from somewhere inside it.

She looked infuriatingly calm, not even out of breath.

You doubled over, panting hard. You’d almost lost your touch.

“Didn’t think you’d keep up,” she said, smirking as she leaned back against the wall. “The other Piltie sure couldn’t.”

Other Piltie?

“You…” you began, voice shaking as your brows drew together. “You really don’t know me?”

Vi straightened, the smirk faltering. “Should I?”

Her tone wasn’t mocking. It was cautious. Genuine.

Like she truly didn’t recognize you.

And your stomach dropped.

Because it wasn’t denial.

It wasn’t a game.

It was the truth.

She didn’t remember you.

You blinked at her, the words caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat.

Should I?

You wanted to scream at her.

Yes. You should. You should remember the nights we curled up together in your too-small bed, whispering secrets in the dark. You should remember the way you looked at me when you asked if we should run away together. You said I was the only thing that made the noise in your head stop.

But you didn’t say any of that.

Because the Vi standing in front of you now looked at you like you were just another stranger in the crowd.

And maybe… to her, you were.

“I—I guess not,” you whispered.

Vi shrugged, like it meant nothing. Like she didn’t keep cracking open the box you’d spent years burying.

You felt it all rise—the ache in your throat, the sting behind your eyes, the pressure in your chest. Every feeling you’d locked away in the darkest part of yourself came clawing back to the surface once again.

But you clenched your jaw, swallowed hard, and held your breath.

You’d already fallen apart once today.

Not again. Not in front of her.

Vi glanced sideways at you but said nothing, her jaw tightening.

A loud thud broke the silence, and Caitlyn landed awkwardly beside you, dirt streaking her skirt and frustration all over her face.

“There you are,” she panted, brushing herself off. Her gaze bounced between the two of you, instantly picking up on the tension. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly—too quickly.

Vi tossed a bundle of clothes at both of you, cutting off any further questions. “Welcome to the Lanes.”

She stepped off the wall and walked toward you. Caitlyn gave you a sharp look before turning to Vi.

“You almost got me killed,” she snapped.

Vi scoffed. “My little sister could do that when she was seven. All us fissure folk can. Don’t you want to blend in?”

Then, with a tilt of her chin, she nodded toward you.

“Besides, your little friend here got the hang of it pretty fast.”

Caitlyn stiffened. “Well, yeah. That’s because she’s from here,” she said, like it explained everything.

And maybe it did.

Vi’s eyes narrowed, her focus shifting to you fully now. You could almost see the gears turning behind her eyes, like she was trying to solve a puzzle she didn’t even know she had.

After a pause, she said flatly, “Go change.”

You swallowed hard and took the clothes without a word.

──────────────────────

As you followed Vi through the Undercity, you finally had the chance to take in your surroundings. It had been seven years since you'd last walked these streets, and somehow, everything had changed—and yet, nothing had.

The buildings still leaned at odd angles, pipes still hissed from every direction, and the air still smelled like smoke, rust, and desperation. But there was something different now. A heaviness. Like the soul of the place had shifted.

Caitlyn clung to your side, wide-eyed and stiff, like a deer dropped into a wolf den. You couldn’t help but snicker.

“What?” she whispered, catching your smirk.

“Nothing. You just look terrified. It’s kinda funny.”

“It’s not funny. Where is she even taking us?”

Before you could answer, Vi made a sharp turn and stopped at Jericho’s—some hole-in-the-wall food stall that looked like it might collapse if you sneezed too hard. She claimed she needed to “gather information,” but really, she just shoved food into her mouth, grinned at the greasy owner, and mumbled something about how she’d missed “this slob.”

You rolled your eyes. Typical Vi.

As you kept going, you passed near the Last Drop. And just like everything else, it was familiar and foreign all at once. The same chipped walls, the same drunk regulars slumped on the steps—but the vibe was wrong. Muted. Empty. Even with the new bright neon sign glowing, it felt hollow. Like something important had died here and no one had noticed.

Caitlyn threw a suspicious glance at the building, then turned to Vi. “Well, that place looks like it has bodies buried in the basement.”

Vi stiffened. “You don’t know anything,” she muttered before storming off, putting distance between the three of you.

You recognized that tone.

And judging by the look on Caitlyn’s face, she was starting to connect the dots.

“So,” she whispered, voice low, “are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to figure it out myself?”

“There’s nothing going on,” you said quickly, arms crossing in defense as you stared straight ahead.

“Y/N…” Her voice softened. “The moment you saw that board in my room, you looked like you’d seen a ghost. At first I thought it was the explosion—trauma, or something. But ever since we got her out of prison, you’ve been different. And now this?”

She gestured vaguely toward the Last Drop.

“The way she reacted. The way you reacted.”

You looked at her—and all you saw was concern.

“It’s complicated, Caitlyn,” you murmured. “If we have time, I’ll explain.”

Before she could press further, Vi stopped in front of a tall, garishly lit building.

A brothel.

On any other day, Caitlyn’s expression alone would’ve been comedy gold—horrified, scandalized, deeply uncomfortable. But you weren’t in the mood to laugh.

“The one place all the secrets spill” Vi said casually, making her way into the building like she owned the place.

The scent of incense, sweat, perfume, and cheap liquor hit you all at once. Laughter echoed from somewhere deep inside. Music played, low and pulsing, like a heartbeat.

You walked through the dim hallway, past open doors and soft voices, some moaning, some laughing. Caitlyn looked like she might bolt at any second.

“How exactly is a brothel supposed to help us?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at Vi.

Vi turned on her heel, surveying you both before her gaze locked onto Caitlyn.

“Let 'em think she works here.”

“Excuse me?” Caitlyn gasped, drawing herself up indignantly. “I will not!”

Vi just smirked.

“You know what your problem is?” she said, circling Caitlyn slowly. “You expect everyone to give you what you want. But if you really want people to talk, you have to let them think you’ve got something they want.”

“And what do I have?” Caitlyn asked, confused and visibly offended.

Vi stepped in close, crowding her space, one hand braced beside her head as she pinned Caitlyn to the wall. “You’re hot, cupcake.”

Caitlyn’s jaw dropped, scandalized.

“So,” Vi smirked, voice low and teasing, “what’ll it be—man or woman?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t pretend it didn’t sting.

The way Vi looked at her and how Caitlyn looked dazed, flustered in a way you didn’t want to think too hard about. That bitterness coiled in your chest like acid. You wanted to walk away, leave them both there, but instead you just snorted, forced a laugh, and turned your eyes to the hallway.

After a short, awkward transaction with a man in a clown mask and “Matilda”, Vi disappeared into a back corridor—and, of course, you followed without question.

“She’s not a bad person, you know?” you said softly, your voice echoing in the dim hallway. “She’s genuinely trying. You could cut her some slack.”

Vi didn’t slow down. “She’s an Enforcer,” she said with a shrug. “Doesn’t really matter how much she’s trying.”

You frowned but didn’t push it further.

The conversation fell quiet as you reached the door to the back office. Babeth, the brothel’s madam, looked up from behind her cluttered desk. Her painted eyes widened in surprise, and a slow, knowing smile curled her lips.

“Would you believe it?” she said with a chuckle. “The two of you. Together again.”

Vi shot you a look—confused, almost wary—but didn’t say anything.

──────────────────────

The conversation with Babeth was brief. She talked about how much had changed since you’d left—How Silco now ruled the Undercity with an iron grip. Vi asked about Powder, her voice strained with something between hope and fear.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. That Powder was gone. That she went by Jinx now. That she worked for Silco.

Babeth either didn’t know—or pretended not to. She kept it short and to the point, finally telling you that Silco’s second-in-command had been visiting the brothel regularly. She promised to have her runner, Miguel, find out where the woman had gone next.

“I owe you” Vi muttered to Babeth before you turned to leave.

As you made your way back through the hall, you passed one of the open rooms. Caitlyn was still inside, lounging confidently beside a masked woman who looked thoroughly entertained. Her posture was relaxed now, her earlier panic long gone.

You couldn’t help it—you giggled.

“So,” Vi said as she fell into step beside you, shooting a glance your way. “What did she mean by ‘the two of you together again’?”

Your smile faltered.

There it was—the door you weren’t sure you were ready to open.

You kept your gaze ahead, feet moving even though your chest tightened with every step.

“When we first got here,” Vi continued slowly, her voice softer now, “you asked if I really didn’t know you. And now this?”

She stopped walking.

You turned, and found her watching you closely—eyes narrowed, brows drawn.

“Who are you?”

The hallway felt smaller now, like the walls were pressing in, waiting for you to answer.

“We knew each other,” you said quietly. “Before…”

Your voice trailed off. Knew was too small a word for what the two of you had been. But saying the truth—what it really was—felt like standing too close to a flame you’d spent years trying to put out.

“I worked at the Last Drop,” you continued, forcing your voice to steady. “Back when Vander was still alive. At first, I was just another kid trying to get by—cleaning tables, scrubbing floors. But toward the end, it wasn’t really about working anymore. It was just… spending time with you.”

A small, sad smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

“And Claggor. And Mylo. And Powder.”

Vi’s expression shifted at the mention of her sister. Her brows drew together, lips parting slightly, like she was trying to summon a memory she couldn’t quite grasp. You could almost see it—the flicker of something behind her eyes, just out of reach.

“Why don’t I remember you?” she asked, more to herself than to you.

“I don’t really know,” you said, a quiet sadness in your voice. “At first, I thought you were messing with me. That I showed up with an Enforcer and you were pretending not to know me just to piss me off.”

You gave a breathy, humorless laugh.

“But… you’d never be that cruel.”

She stared at you, face unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of it hung between you, heavy and brittle.

“Seven years,” you whispered. “That’s a long time to forget someone.”

Vi’s jaw tensed. She didn’t speak—just watched you like she was willing herself to remember. Like the truth was on the tip of her tongue but refused to come out.

“I was there that night,” you said, your voice soft but steady, despite the weight of the memories pressing on your chest. “When everything went to hell. When they died.”

The shadows of that night flickered across your eyes like ghosts.

“I thought you were dead. I woke up in the rubble. I found Claggor… and Mylo. Just their bodies. I thought maybe you were buried underneath the debris. I looked everywhere. I looked for hours before I even dared to leave.”

The tears burned, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.

Vi’s brows furrowed, a deep line forming between them. She looked… lost. Not just confused—haunted.

“I remember that night,” she said slowly. “I remember the smoke. The panic. Vander. Powder. All of it. But you…”

She shook her head, almost angrily.

“If everything you’re saying is true—if you were there—how can I remember everything else and not you?”

The ache in your chest twisted like a knife. You didn’t know the answer. Maybe you never would.

Before either of you could say another word, Miguel appeared at the end of the hall, slightly breathless but eager.

“She’s at the Last Drop,” he announced. “Sevika. She's there now.”

The atmosphere shifted instantly. Vi’s confusion melted away, replaced by something sharp and deadly. Determination. Purpose.

Her body tensed, fists already clenched at her sides.

She didn’t say anything else.

She didn’t need to.

You could see it in her eyes—she was going after Sevika, and if she had to rip through half of Zaun to get to her, she would.

And you would follow. You always did.

──────────────────────

Things could’ve gone worse.

Well—technically, they also could’ve gone way better. But if Caitlyn had shown up even three seconds later, you weren’t sure Vi would still be breathing.

So yeah… definitely could’ve gone worse.

Your fighting skills were rusty—too many years spent lurking in shadows, dealing in whispers and favors instead of fists. You used to be better than this. Used to be sharper, quicker. But that part of you had dulled with time. And Vi… well, Vi had always been the fighter. That was her role.

“You don’t need to learn how to throw a punch,” she used to say, smug and soft in the same breath. “I’ve got you. Always.”

And once upon a time, you’d believed her without question.

Now she was bleeding out in your arms, and all you could do was try to keep pressure on the wound and curse under your breath.

“Goddamn it, Violet,” you muttered, jaw clenched as your shaking hands pressed against her side. “Still charging into shit without thinking. Still reckless.”

Vi winced, coughing weakly as she tried to shift. “Nice to know my near-death brings out your sunny side.”

“I’m serious,” you snapped, your voice raw with fear and frustration “This wasn’t a bar fight. Sevika gutted you.”

Vi groaned again, eyes fluttering. “I’ve had worse.”

You looked down at her, torn between disbelief and heartbreak. “You always say that.”

She blinked slowly, unfocused. “How would you know?”

You hesitated. Your hands didn’t.

You keep forgetting she doesn’t know you anymore.

“Lucky guess,” you muttered, avoiding her gaze.

Caitlyn dropped beside you, eyes quickly assessing the wound. “We need to move. Fast. She’s losing too much blood.”

Vi’s head lolled toward her. “Why’d you let Sevika go?”

“I had a choice,” Caitlyn said, sounding more tired than angry. “Chase her—or save you. You’re welcome.”

Vi tried to push herself up, groaning, but you shoved her back down firmly. “Stay still, for fuck’s sake.”

“Do you ever say thank you?” Caitlyn muttered, more to herself than to either of you.

Vi let out a weak, breathy laugh, blood on her lips. “He’s gonna know we’re here now.”

“And whose fault is that?” Caitlyn shot back, already holstering her gun.

Vi’s bravado faded as her strength drained. Her body slumped against you, the weight of her heavier now. You adjusted your hold, steadying her, and for a moment—just a moment—her eyes met yours.

And something flickered there.

“Why do you look at me like that?” she asked suddenly, her voice fragile, almost afraid of the answer.

You swallowed, the lump in your throat nearly choking you. “Because I knew you. Before all this.”

She frowned, studying your face like she was still trying to solve a puzzle but the important pieces were missing. “I feel like… I should remember you.”

“I know,” you whispered, brushing a blood-matted strand of hair away from her cheek. “I wish you did.”

You didn’t dare say more. Not now. But Caitlyn glanced at you then, something shifting in her expression—like maybe she’d finally figured out why you’d been acting so strange. Why the way you looked at Vi wasn’t casual. Why your anger and fear had bled into something more personal.

“You’re an all-right shot, cupcake,” Vi mumbled, voice slurred, trying to lighten the moment even as she drifted in and out of consciousness.

“I’m an excellent shot,” Caitlyn replied, looping Vi’s other arm around her shoulder. “And stop calling me that. My name is Caitlyn.”

Vi groaned as the two of you began to lift her out of the alley. “But you’re so sweet… like a cupcake…”

You let out a tight laugh—sharp, breathless, laced with exhaustion and something that hurt far more than the cuts on your skin.

“Let’s get her out of here,” you said quietly, steadying your grip on Vi’s side.

“I know a place... just take me there” Vi mumbled, still mostly out of it.

“God, here we go again” Caitlyn muttered, but she followed Vi’s directions anyway.

──────────────────────

part two - masterlist - part four

🏷️: @riotstemple29 @ellielover69 @autisticratbagtm @alex-thegiraffeboyy @arahiraaai @vxtanne31 @culuvr @luvg1s3l1e

#vi x reader #lily writes #arcane #vi arcane #vi x y/n #vi x you #arcane x female reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x reader #arcane x you

117 notes · View notes

cosmiclily · 11 days ago

Text

❝ First Love/Late Spring ❞

(part two)

• vi x f!reader

summary: y/n rebuilt her life in piltover, burying the trauma—and the love—she lost in the undercity.

but when vi reappears, alive and changed, the memories she buried begin to claw their way back.

some ghosts don't stay dead. and some wounds never heal.

wc: 4.6k

cw: talk of trauma, a slight description what you could read as a panic attack.

notes: …. it’s me …. yeah i got too into the request and wrote more than i should again ….. but fear not! part three is already on the way (and probably part 4 lol i don’t know anymore), i just think the idea is neat and i don’t want to wrap them up too soon and it ends up feeling incomplete. (if you want to be tagged on the next parts leave a comment or send me an ask!!!)

part one - masterlist

You weren’t running away from Zaun—you were crawling out of the wreckage of everything it had taken from you. Your childhood. Your sense of safety. Your family. Vi.

And now, what was left behind felt too heavy to carry.

Piltover was cold. Polished. Indifferent.

But at least it didn’t know your name. It didn’t whisper their names in every alleyway. It didn’t echo with the sound of her laughter. It didn’t haunt you with memories that felt too close—and yet impossibly out of reach.

You didn’t need kindness. You didn’t even need peace.

You just needed somewhere you weren’t being hunted by ghosts.

You found a room above a narrow alley near the Academy—no windows, no questions. The landlord didn’t care about your age, your scars, or where you came from, as long as the rent was paid on time and you kept your head down.

You worked whatever jobs you could find. Delivering sealed scrolls between upper house meetings. Sorting archives in a dusty professor’s attic. Organizing shipment records for vendors who didn’t ask questions as long as you moved quickly and stayed invisible.

But Piltover noticed everything—even the ones trying not to be seen.

That’s how she found you.

At first, you thought it was a coincidence. A councilor’s scroll slipped into your hands during a late-night delivery. You were waiting in the marble corridor outside the Council chamber when she stepped out—gold earrings catching the light, posture effortless, silk robes gliding like water over stone. She didn’t look at you—at first.

But when her eyes did meet yours, there was something there.

Not suspicion. Not disgust.

Recognition.

Surprise.

The next day, another delivery. And then again. And again.

Eventually, you realized it wasn’t chance. She was asking for you.

One afternoon, she stopped you just outside the chamber doors, her voice soft but deliberate.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she said, her accent velvet-wrapped steel. “You’re the one who’s never late. Never speaks unless spoken to. Always gone before anyone notices you were even there.”

You stood frozen for a moment, then dipped your head. “Just doing the job.”

But she didn’t let you go. Her gaze flicked over you—not cruelly, but with sharp interest.

“Tell me something,” she murmured, eyes narrowing slightly, “what does a child like you do here, in a city that doesn’t tolerate ghosts from the Undercity?”

You should’ve been afraid.

But you weren’t.

You lifted your chin, quiet and defiant. “As I said—just doing my job.”

A pause. Then, a slow, thoughtful smile tugged at her lips. “A rare talent,” she said, stepping closer. “And one I find…valuable.”

At the time, you didn’t know what she saw in you—what spark made her keep you around.

Did she see you as a survivor? A tool? Was it curiosity? Or maybe she simply saw a girl with nothing left to lose.

From that day forward, Mel Medarda gave you a place in her orbit. Quiet at first. A room in a part of the city where no one clutched their purse at the sight of you. Real meals. Clean sheets. Slowly, deliberately, she tried to gain your trust.

Then came the shift. Subtle. Expected.

You’d always known that earning her attention came with a price.

She began to train you—honing your natural ability to slip through shadows, to remain unseen, to notice everything without being noticed.

She brought you into spaces where no Zaunite had any business being—art exhibitions, military briefings, private dinners full of the city’s most powerful.

She wasn’t showing you off.

She was getting people used to seeing your face.

And you let her.

Mel didn’t pity you. She didn’t press with questions you didn’t want to answer.

And she never underestimated you.

She challenged you. Taught you how to speak in ways Piltover would hear. How to listen in rooms full of lies. How to play the long game. When to be silent—and when not to be.

And in her own way, she protected you.

If she needed information, you got it.

If she needed someone’s weakness, their secrets, their worst fears—you were the one she sent.

Mel wasn’t soft. She wasn’t comforting.

But she made you feel real again.

And real was better than hollow.

──────────────────────

With time, Piltover became a version of home. A gilded, artificial one—but home nonetheless.

You adapted, carved yourself into the city’s structure. From the way you spoke to the way you dressed, no one could tell you weren’t from there. You never let anyone see the real you.

Except maybe Caitlyn.

You met her by accident—quite literally. She bumped into you in the Archives Hall, scattering a stack of ledgers across the floor.

“Oh, shit—sorry, I wasn’t looking,” she said, already kneeling to help.

“It’s fine,” you replied, bending down to gather the papers.

She blinked, studying your face. “You’re Medarda’s… assistant?”

You tilted your head slightly. “Something like that.”

She gave you a once-over, like she was trying to figure you out—then smiled, as if deciding not to press.

“I’m Caitlyn Kiramman. You’re usually gone before anyone notices you were even there.”

You raised a brow. “That’s the idea.”

Caitlyn laughed softly. And from that moment on, she kept looking for you.

She sat next to you at formal dinners, taught you how to shoot with precision at the private range, even snuck you onto a rooftop during Council fireworks one night—her smirk lit up in the glow, making her feel more Zaunite than Piltover.

In her, you found something you didn’t expect: a friend.

Someone who didn’t just see what Mel had crafted—but the pieces still hurting underneath.

Sometimes, Caitlyn asked questions.

Sometimes, you answered.

But never about them.

And especially, never about Vi.

That name stayed buried.

Because you were rebuilding yourself.

Because there were wounds you’d rather not reopen.

──────────────────────

Caitlyn was having a hell of a week. Her mother was driving her insane—interfering with her work, shielding her from the real world like she was still a child instead of a trained officer. So, you did what you always did when she needed to vent.

You made tea.

Caitlyn brought pastries from an uptown café. And the two of you collapsed on the floor like always—legs tangled over a pile of open books and half-scribbled notes, boots kicked off, jackets tossed aside.

Her uniform was draped over your desk chair, and her hair was tied back in a loose braid, strands falling free to frame her face. There was a calm between you—easy, familiar. The kind you only shared with her.

She took a sip from her mug, her eyes lazily scanning the minimalistic shelves in your room.

“You keep this place neat,” she said casually, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Everything’s exactly where you left it last time.”

You gave a light shrug. “Easier that way. Less noise in my head.”

Caitlyn glanced back at you, thoughtful. “You always talk like someone who’s ready to disappear at any moment.”

You didn’t respond.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—but it was heavier than before. She shifted slightly, propping her elbow on the windowsill and gazing out at the drizzle painting Piltover’s rooftops.

“Can I ask you something real?” she said softly, still not looking at you.

You turned your head toward her, cautious. “You always do.”

She smiled faintly at that, but her eyes were distant now, serious.

“This place, the Council, Mel… you’ve built a life here. But you never talk about where you’re from. You don’t even slip up. It’s like you’ve erased it completely.”

Your heart thudded. You held her gaze, jaw tight, the air suddenly too still.

“I’m not trying to dig,” Caitlyn added quickly, her voice gentler now. “I just… I care. And I want to understand you. Really understand.”

Your fingers tightened around your mug.

You’d said no so many times—to her, to yourself, to the memories clawing at the edges whenever the scent of smoke drifted too close or the city went too quiet. You’d locked those parts of you away.

But Caitlyn wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t trying to pry or get something out of you. Even with all your guards up, some part of you recognized when someone was truly being honest.

So you set the mug down and leaned back against the sofa, your eyes tracing the patterns on the ceiling like they might shift and move.

“There were five of us,” you said finally, your voice low and rough. “Well, at first it was just me. I survived the only way I knew how—took whatever work I could find, kept my head down, always quiet—until I met them. We grew up in the Undercity. We stole when we needed to. Ran when we had to. We weren’t heroes. Just kids trying to stay alive.”

Caitlyn stayed quiet, her eyes fixed on yours.

“Mylo was loud—always had something to prove. Claggor was the kindest person I've ever met. Powder… she was this sweet, terrified little thing, always desperate to be useful.” You paused, your throat tightening. “Vander took them in. I came later. At first, I didn’t want to get attached. When you grow up the way I did, you learn that being alone is safer. Hurts less.”

You picked up your mug again, taking a long sip, trying to swallow the knot forming in your throat.

“But they became… something like a family to me.”

Caitlyn furrowed her brows slightly. “Vander… the old barkeep from the Last Drop?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Him.”

“And… the fifth?” she asked gently, voice even softer now.

You didn’t say her name. You couldn’t.

“She was… everything,” you murmured instead. “Stronger than any of us. Braver. Stubborn as hell.” You smiled faintly, remembering sharp quips and rooftop chases. “She thought we could change things. That Zaun could be better. She believed in it. In us.”

Caitlyn leaned in slightly, eyes full of quiet concern. “What happened to her?”

You swallowed hard, chest aching. “There was an explosion. Mylo and Claggor didn’t make it. I… I don’t really know what happened to the others. When I woke up, everyone was just… gone.”

The silence that followed wrapped around the room like a heavy blanket. Caitlyn didn’t try to fill it.

Instead, she shifted closer, her hand brushing lightly against yours—tentative but steady.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, and meant it.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

Because she didn’t know. She didn’t know that some nights, you still woke up to your name being screamed, to the blue light of the blast flashing behind your eyelids, to the phantom weight of rubble pinning your chest.

She didn’t know how often you wished—achingly—that you could hear Vi’s voice again. Just once.

Caitlyn didn’t say anything more after that.

She just held your hand, thumb brushing gently over your knuckles in quiet understanding. No questions. No hollow apologies.

Just presence.

And for the first time in years, you let yourself be with someone in that silence—without pretending, without keeping everything inside like a weapon ready to go off.

Eventually, the tea went cold and the streets outside fell still. Caitlyn yawned, leaning back with a tired smile.

“You should get some sleep,” she said gently. “Progress Day is tomorrow. Big city. Bigger expectations.”

You nodded, eyes drifting toward the window. “Yeah… can’t have a breakdown and be late to Council protocol.”

That got a soft laugh from her. “Piltover would never recover from the scandal.”

You walked her to the door, standing in the threshold as she adjusted her coat. She looked at you then, something unreadable in her expression.

“I’m glad you told me,” she said quietly.

You didn’t answer—not with words. But something in your eyes said me too.

The door shut behind her.

You leaned against it, exhaling slowly, eyes drifting to the city lights blinking beyond your window.

You weren’t sure if it was healing… or just peeling back the scar.

But either way, it was something

──────────────────────

The morning arrived too quickly.

Piltover came alive in gold streamers and mechanical fanfare. The streets thrummed with excitement, vendors calling out over each other, gears spinning, children laughing. From every corner, the city was celebrating itself—its brilliance, its pride, its progress.

You stood beside Mel that morning, dressed in the most neutral palette you owned, trying your best to fade into the marble and gilded opulence of it all.

Mel, of course, was breathtaking as always. Gold accents adorned her dress like armor, and every step she took was calculated elegance. Her presence alone could silence a room.

“You’re quieter than usual today,” she said without looking up, fingers arranging a centerpiece of shimmering orchids and crystal. The final touches for the Council’s private gathering.

“Didn’t sleep much,” you replied softly.

She hummed in response, a thoughtful sound that didn’t push.

“Well, there isn’t much left to do in here,” she said after a beat, adjusting the angle of the champagne flutes for what must have been the third time. “Go on—enjoy the fair, if you like. Just make sure you’re back before the party starts. I need you to keep an eye on... things.”

Her tone hinted at more than she said. It always did.

“Okay,” you nodded, already stepping toward the exit, grateful for the out.

The air outside was crisper than you expected, buzzing with energy. You needed something to take your mind off things—off Vi’s name still echoing somewhere in your chest, off the way your voice cracked when you talked to Caitlyn last night, off the way Mel’s gaze lingered on you longer these days, sharp and unreadable.

Maybe Caitlyn would be doing something better than watching Mel obsess over floral symmetry or waiting for the council to pat themselves on the back.

You found her standing guard outside her family’s grand tent, looking every inch the model enforcer—back straight, eyes scanning, jaw tight. She looked good like that. Grounded. Sharp. Untouchable.

“Looking from the outside,” you called out as you approached, “it might seem like you’re a very serious and prepared enforcer.”

“I am a very serious and prepared enforcer, thank you very much,” she replied without missing a beat.

You snorted. “You’re patrolling outside your family’s tent.”

She sighed, exasperated. “My mother won’t let me do my job. Thinks it’s too ‘dangerous.’ Her words, not mine.”

“I can’t even imagine the political gymnastics she pulled to keep you under her wing.”

A familiar voice cut in before either of you could respond.

You turned to see Jayce strolling toward you, knocking Caitlyn’s officer cap clean off her head with a smug grin.

Caitlyn groaned as she snatched it back, but the familiar way she shoved his shoulder told you she didn’t really mind. They had that sibling energy that always made you ache a little inside—reminded you of something lost. Something buried.

They tussled for a moment, laughing when they finally stepped apart.

“You know it’s your fault she hovers like that,” Jayce teased. “You’re the one who didn’t choose a career more... befitting your station.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “Right. Can’t have the family heir seeing how the world actually works.”

Jayce chuckled. “At least you'll have front row seats for the big speech tonight.”

That caught your attention. You glanced between them.

“Speech?” you and Caitlyn echoed in unison.

Jayce looked smug. “I’m giving the Progress Day address. The council insisted.”

Caitlyn arched a brow. “And you agreed? That’s bold.”

He shrugged. “Someone has to remind Piltover how brilliant we are.”

You snorted. “I’m sure that’ll be a real challenge.”

Jayce ignored your sarcasm and turned to Caitlyn. “You should come early. I’ll save you a seat. You too,” he added, nodding toward you before disappearing back into the crowd.

Caitlyn gave you a look, one eyebrow raised. “Saved seats. Aren’t we special.”

You smiled faintly, but your chest felt tight again. Something about today felt off.

Or maybe it was just you—too many ghosts in too many places.

You glanced back toward the Council tower, its tall silhouette looming over the city like a crown of steel and glass. Always watching. Always listening.

“I better get back before the party starts,” you said, nudging Caitlyn’s shoulder playfully. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

She gave you a crooked smile. “No promises.”

You left her there, boots crunching against the polished cobblestones as you turned toward the tower—toward the role you agreed to play, the mask you hadn’t taken off in months.

──────────────────────

“I need you to blend in,” Mel had told you before the guests started arriving. Her tone was velvet-wrapped steel. “Not seen, not heard. Watch everything. If you hear anything useful, report directly to me.”

The fire in the hearth was already lit, casting flickering shadows across the high, polished walls. Waiters glided past in crisp uniforms, balancing trays of wine and sparkling water. The room smelled of polished marble, expensive perfume, and smoke from the balcony lanterns.

So you did what she asked.

You slipped between groups like a shadow, weaving through conversations and laughter, listening where you weren’t meant to be heard. But all you gathered was noise.

Someone had purchased a new penthouse near the Sump entrance. Another claimed their skin had never looked better thanks to a serum imported from Noxus. Empty words. Empty people.

You made your way back to Mel, who stood near the balcony edge beside Elora, poised and calm as ever, a half-empty glass of wine in her hand. The city glimmered behind her like a jewel box on fire.

“Your mother would be proud,” Elora murmured, admiration soft in her voice.

You waited quietly until Mel turned and noticed you.

“Y/N,” she said, eyes sharp but unreadable. “Is there something I should know?”

“Nothing useful,” you replied. “Just vanity, gossip, and everyone obsessing over how great Jayce is.”

You barely kept yourself from rolling your eyes.

“Oh yes,” Elora chimed in, her lips curling with faint amusement. “The golden boy. Piltover’s darling.”

As if on cue, Jayce entered the room, all charisma and polish, chest puffed slightly with anticipation.

“Can I steal you for a minute?” he asked Mel, offering a smile that was a little too perfect.

Mel gave you that look before following him—the one that meant: Stay here. Keep watch. Handle it.

So you did.

The conversation was brief, whatever political dance they needed to perform already rehearsed. Soon enough, Mel returned, expression unreadable, just in time for the flow of guests to shift—everyone drifting toward the grand platform where Jayce would deliver the Progress Day address.

You lingered by the doors, eyes skimming over the crowd as they filed out.

You could’ve followed. You could’ve stood with the others and pretended to care while Jayce sang Piltover’s praises to a city already drunk on its own ego.

But your feet didn’t move.

Instead, your mind drifted back toward Caitlyn.

Maybe she was still stationed nearby, still fuming over her mother’s interference. Maybe she had something real to say—something grounding.

Without a word, you slipped away from the crowd, taking a back exit from the tower and melting into the edges of the fair, eyes scanning for blue and silver.

The once-bustling plaza was strangely quiet, emptied out by the draw of the speech. It looked nothing like it had that morning—no laughter, no chatter, just the hollow echo of your footsteps on stone.

And then, as you moved toward a distant voice, something shifted.

The air grew tense—subtle at first, like the whole city holding its breath.

And then—

BOOM.

The ground shook beneath your feet. Lights flickered, and the world tilted.

A massive explosion tore through the skyline, flames cracking the sky as glass rained from above. Screams followed, sharp and panicked. Then another blast—closer this time—ripped through the streets, smoke billowing upward like a living thing.

You stumbled back, heart pounding against your ribs.

And then you saw her.

Through the haze and chaos, a flash of light blue hair—a figure dancing through smoke, laughter curling off her lips like a nursery rhyme turned wicked.

Your breath hitched. For a moment, the world froze around you.

People began spilling out of buildings and into the streets, screams multiplying, chaos spreading like fire. You grabbed the nearest railing to steady yourself, eyes scanning frantically through the crowd.

Caitlyn. Where was Caitlyn?

But even as you searched, all you could hear was that laugh.

All you could feel was the floor shifting under your feet, like the past had cracked open beneath you.

Vi’s name burned in your throat.

And everything you thought you’d buried started clawing its way back to the surface.

──────────────────────

Jinx had stolen critical documents—blueprints, research notes, possibly even Hextech components—from Jayce and Viktor’s lab. No one was entirely sure how she’d done it, or what exactly she’d taken.

Jayce and Viktor had just finished presenting to the Council, stiff and visibly shaken as they explained the breach and the danger it posed.

But your mind wasn’t in the Council chambers. Not really.

It was still stuck in the smoke. On the scream of metal tearing through the sky.

On her.

Jinx.

You had heard the stories—of chaos, destruction, instability. But none of it prepared you for the blue-haired figure you saw running through the smoke. For the way your breath had frozen when you realized who she really was.

Powder.

A broken version of her, yes. But still her. Still someone tied to memories you never let yourself revisit.

By the time the meeting ended, Jayce had been formally appointed as a councilor. You were dismissed without ceremony, already halfway out the door before anyone noticed.

Your legs carried you through the streets, almost on instinct, until you reached Caitlyn’s house.

She was on the floor when you entered, maps and city schematics spread out around her. Pins and colored string marked patterns only she understood. She looked up briefly, then went right back to her notes.

“I’ve been reviewing patrol reports all morning,” she mumbled, tapping a spot on the map with the end of a pen. “The attacker came from the east quadrant, then disappeared into the smoke. No trace left. No witnesses who could give a clear ID.”

You stood in the doorway, still caught between dread and disbelief.

“I don’t think you should be looking into this.”

She blinked, then finally met your eyes.

“You don’t usually say things like that,” she said, frowning. “Why?”

You hesitated. “Because it’s dangerous. Whoever did this... they weren’t just looking to make a statement. They wanted casualties. They planned this.”

“I know,” she said quietly, sitting back on her heels. “But no one else is doing anything about it. Marcus barely looked at the reports before brushing them off. The Council’s too busy talking about security optics and public image.”

She sighed and pushed her hair back from her face.

“I’m not trying to play hero, Y/N. But I can’t just sit around while people get hurt and we don’t even try to figure out who’s behind it.”

You took a breath. “What do you think you’ll find?”

She glanced at her notes, then at the map.

“I’m not sure. Smuggling routes, maybe. There’s been movement in the Undercity—patterns I can’t quite trace yet. Someone’s pulling strings down there, but I don’t know who. Not yet.”

Her fingers paused over a small mark near the river docks.

“I was thinking of starting here. Stillwater Hold. One of the guys involved in the Hexgate attack yesterday morning was taken there. Maybe if I could talk to him, he’d give me some information.”

You stepped further into the room, your pulse picking up.

You didn’t want her anywhere near this mess. You knew what lay beneath the surface—what name she was inching toward without realizing.

And you knew what would happen if she kept digging.

“I’m serious, Cait,” you said, softer now. “If you go down this path, you might not come back.”

She looked at you again, surprised by the weight in your voice. Then her eyes softened.

“I’m not afraid,” she said.

“You should be.”

But as she turned back to her map, you knew one thing for sure:

If she was going down there, you’d go with her.

Because the past was catching up—and you would do anything to delay the inevitable.

──────────────────────

“I need to speak with one of the inmates,” Caitlyn said to the guard at the front desk. The man looked down on you, clearly wondering what the two of you were doing in a hellhole like Stillwater.

“Folks in here aren’t usually very talkative,” he replied, tone flat and dismissive.

“This one was hit by friendly fire,” Caitlyn explained. “He’s got reasons to talk. Must’ve been brought in today?”

“Oh, Inmate 2135,” the guard said, scratching at his jaw. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Why not?” you asked, already growing impatient. You just wanted Caitlyn to talk to the guy, get her closure—or get frustrated enough to drop this entire mess. The idea of her chasing Silco was a death wish waiting to happen.

“Uh, well… there’s been an incident,” he muttered.

“What kind of incident?”

“The not-so-pretty kind.”

You rolled your eyes at his vagueness. “You don’t understand. She has to talk to him,” you added, your voice firmer now as Caitlyn stepped closer to plead her case.

“Look, just let her go down there and speak to the guy, yeah?” you said, forcing a smile, tilting your head as you batted your lashes. If charm was the only way through, so be it.

The guard considered it for a moment, then sighed. “Well, you can talk to him. He’s the one who won’t be saying much. Got his jaw busted—bad.”

“And who assaulted him?” Caitlyn asked sharply, and you could already see the gears turning in her head.

“You can go see for yourself,” the guard said with a shrug, finally standing from his chair. He handed Caitlyn a clipboard and gave her brief instructions on where to find the cell.

Your patience was wearing thin, anxiety buzzing beneath your skin like static.

The elevator ride felt endless. You couldn’t tell if you felt more trapped in that steel box or in the long corridor that followed. The sound of someone punching the wall ahead echoed down the hallway—never a good sign.

As you arrived at the cell, all you could see was a broad, tattooed back. The inmate turned slowly toward the light—

—and your world flipped upside down.

You could hear the blood rushing in your ears, feel your heart pounding in your chest, and for a moment, you were certain Caitlyn could hear it too.

No.

It couldn’t be her.

This had to be a hallucination. Your mind, fractured by stress and trauma, playing cruel tricks on you.

But the pink hair—the same strands you'd once spent countless hours running your fingers through—was unmistakable.

And those blue eyes. The ones you had tried so hard to forget now stared at you with an expression you’d never seen from them before: pure, unfiltered anger.

When she spoke, her voice was cold and rough.

The same voice you'd once begged any god, any higher power, to let you hear again—just one more time.

“And who the hell are you?” Vi spat, eyes locking on you and Caitlyn like a predator sizing up its prey.

──────────────────────

part three

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