#I would have three coins which isn't much but it's strange that it happened three times

[queer-cartoons-quotes]

[thesorcerersapprenticeu]

Chapter 11: It Comes Back to You

Now the time has finally come, you're back.

The once shy little boy who lived in the underworld with Vander and the others. But you are no longer that, a figure filled with guilt, consequences of his actions and a mixture of everything bad.

But now with magic, a part of the Corpse and more knowledge so far.

---

Here I am again! Even with a double update!

Yes, it hasn't been that long, but here's the next chapter in the story. I've been procrastinating, taking care of documents for my job and doing all sorts of things apart from sitting down at the computer and writing.

I hope the hype from Season Two (which I still haven't seen) isn't over yet, because now it's really starting with this story!

Have fun reading!

---

"A ticket for the Progress Day."

So there you were.

It felt like half a lifetime, and yet it had only been five years. Five years since that day that ended your old life, three years since you had found a home - or at least a place - with Singed.

And now you were back.

Back in Piltover.

The city had changed, or maybe it was you who had changed. You had grown - not much, but enough to no longer look like a child. Your body was slimmer, but your gaze was sharper. Strength had settled in you, not that of a fighter, but that of a survivor. Not through muscle, but through the mastery of your magic.

Piltover, with all its shiny facades and dark shadows, felt strange and yet familiar. And on this day, Progress Day, when the whole city was buzzing with life, you were here again - not as a child, but as someone who carried secrets that this city would never understand.

"Of course!" shouts the little man at the counter in front of you with exuberant energy. His movements are frantic, almost exaggerated, as he fishes around in a chaotic pile of papers and tickets. Finally, he triumphantly holds up a small, shimmering golden ticket in his right hand, while his left hand waves towards you. "That'll be five coins!"

You already had the coins to hand. It was no secret how much a ticket cost - you had just heard the price when the person in front of you had paid. So, with a steady hand, you reach into the hidden pocket of your black coat and pull out the appropriate coins.

Your coat was unmistakable, a constant in your life. As a child, it hung off your shoulders like an oversized robe, its hems almost dragging on the floor. But now, after all these years, it fits perfectly. The dense fabric hugged your slim, lithe figure and finished just above the floor - an understated elegance that made you stand out from the crowd.

With the hood pulled low over your face, you are little more than a silhouette. Hidden in the shadows, your face can only be guessed at, even on closer inspection. You have learned to conceal yourself, and in this crowd it was only right for you to remain anonymous.

In case anything unforeseen happened on Progress Day - and that could happen in a town like Piltover - you were of course prepared. In the deep pockets of your cloak you carried everything you needed: your two Steel Balls, carefully polished and ready for use, plus your two spellbooks and a few home-brewed potions.

The potions were simple but effective - designed to release smoke instantly when needed. It was a safe way out in case you needed to disappear quickly. Caution wasn't just a virtue, it was a necessity when going your way.

Over the years, you had visited countless places, gathered knowledge and learned from a wide variety of people. You were a wanderer, always on the move, always looking for the next thing that could take you further. Other countries, unexplored territories, ancient ruins and vibrant cities - you had left a mark everywhere as you tirelessly progressed to become stronger.

But no matter where you were, it never felt like home. No place could fill the emptiness that grew inside you or erase the guilt that seeped through your mind like a poison. It was as if you were constantly haunted by a shadow, a silent witness to all the things you couldn't undo.

At night, when you were alone and lying in your bed, it was the worst. You stared at your hand - the hand that had thrown the Enforcer gadget at the bomb. Powder's bomb.

The memory of it was like an endless, burning movie that played before your eyes. It didn't matter how far you had traveled or how much time had passed. That one decision, that one movement of your hand, had set off a chain of events that you couldn't stop.

Over the years you have gathered knowledge, visited many, many different places and wandered. Other countries, unexplored territories, you've been everywhere to get ahead, somehow

The sound of the ticket clerk's voice barely registered in your mind, his words dull and distant.

"There are still three coins missing," he murmured, holding out his hand expectantly.

You stood still, mind a haze, the scene in front of you blurring into a whirl of memories and half-formed thoughts. It wasn't as though you hadn't heard him. You had. But at that moment, you weren't really there.

And then it happened.

A man brushed past you from behind, his footsteps quick and deliberate, the brush of fabric and a sudden lightness in your pocket snapping you back to reality. Your instincts kicked in too late - a single golden coin, pinched effortlessly from your mantle, vanished into the man's greedy palm.

Normally, you might've let it slide. The streets were alive with noise and motion, and making a scene wasn't exactly in your best interest. But as your eyes tracked his retreating figure, you spotted something that stopped your passive dismissal cold: a pistol, holstered at his hip, its polished surface gleaming in the light.

Your breath hitched.

He wasn't just some petty pickpocket. And that gun? It was too real, too dangerous to ignore.

The guy has a gun. And stole from me.

That alone might have been enough to let him go. It was Piltover - pickpocketing was almost an art form here, and you'd seen worse. But there was something about him that gave you pause. It wasn't just the smarmy way he moved, or the confident swagger in his gait, but more importantly the gun dangling from his hip.

Your instinct screamed the alarm.

He wouldn't just disappear. Men like him never did. No, he was the type to cause problems later - maybe not immediately, but eventually. And somewhere in this event, he would cause a ruckus.

The idea made your fingers run restlessly over the spheres in your coat pocket. Part of you wanted to look away, ignore the risk and just let the day go on. But you knew better. You'd gotten too used to the kind of chaos that people like this brought with them over the past few years to ignore it.

The man stops behind you for a moment, just long enough for the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. Your instinct screams in your face: he wants to steal the coins on the table.

You remain calm - at least on the outside. But when you see his hasty movements out of the corner of your eye, his fingers already reaching out for the vendor's coins, your body starts moving of its own accord.

Your hand slides into the inside pocket of your coat. Without hesitation, you wrap your fingers around one of your steel balls. A brief whisper of your magic sparks the rotation in your palm, a buzzing, controlled tingle pulsing at your fingertips.

You turn slightly towards him, your movement fluid, unobtrusive - and yet faster than he can realize what is happening. In a lightning-fast moment, you touch his right hand with two rotating fingers, just as he is about to reach for the coins.

His skin twitches and crackles, a pulsing tingle spreading from your touch. The echo of the rotation sends waves through his nerves, not strong enough to do any damage, but intense enough to throw him completely off balance. With a strangled sound, he stumbles backwards and slumps to the floor.

He gasps. "Hah... hah..." His breathing is ragged, full of panic. His left hand clutches his right arm as he stares at you, his eyes wide. You can see a mixture of fear and confusion reflected in his gaze - he has no idea what just happened.

As soon as the man lies panting on the ground, two enforcers grab him with a quick, routine grip. One of them pulls him up roughly by his jacket, and for a moment the weapon attached to his belt dangles dangerously in the air before being pulled back by the belt.

"Come on! Come on!" one of the enforcers yells in the thief's face, while the other heaves him off the ground and onto his feet without a word. The thief still looks too shocked to fight back, his eyes flicker nervously and he mumbles something unintelligible that is lost in the general commotion.

Behind you, you hear a stifled gasp. The sales assistant, who is still holding your ticket, has noticeably retreated. His features are white as a sheet, his breathing shallow and frantic - as if he himself had just survived a robbery. "Oh you..." he finally utters, almost choking on the words as his trembling hand clutches the counter.

"Should I call more enforcers?" He casts a frantic glance in the direction of the crowd, then back at you as he finally hands the ticket over the counter. "A man with a gun... I can't believe it! I've never seen anything like it!"

You take the ticket calmly and don't answer him. Your hand, which has just touched the steel ball covertly, remains relaxed at your side. But inside you are alert, the whole scene has put you on alert. The thief is taken away, the weapon safely under the eyes of the enforcers - but something about the way it all happened leaves you with the feeling that this is not the end of events for today.

Nobody should have noticed that I used magic, let alone rotation. Maybe I shouldn't have done it after all, but the guy would be a danger to the other people here.

You step down from the small wooden structure that connected the kiosk to the ground and feel the creaking of the old wood under your boots. With your ticket in hand and a short, controlled breath, you set off.

The crowd stretches out in front of you, packed and full of life, as the hustle and bustle of Progress Day reaches its peak. Voices buzz through the air, accompanied by the crackle of machines starting to move and music playing from somewhere in the distance.

Your destination is clear: the big stage, the centerpiece of the entire event. The banners waving above it bear the symbols of Piltover - cogwheels and progress, as they proudly call it.

"IT'S NOT OVER, MAN!" the voice behind you echoes through the alleyways. You pause and turn around reluctantly. There he is: the man who just tried to rob you. His arms are being held by two enforcers, but he wriggles like a fish on a line, angry and desperate.

His face is red with exertion and his cries echo in the cold morning air.

"TURN AROUND! YOU THINK YOU'RE SO BIG OVER THREE COINS?" he shouts again. His words are shrill, full of anger and shame, and although you don't want to pay any further attention to him, your attention lingers on him for a moment.

You shake your head slightly and turn away again. You don't want to make a scene, you don't want to attract attention - especially not here, especially not today.

But his voice cuts through the air again, even louder and with a venomous bite: "IT WAS A THRILLING TRICK, YOU DAMNED BITCH!" The hissing of soles on the pavement reaches your ears, a sign that he is still fighting desperately against the Enforcers.

"THEN KILL ME WITH YOUR WEIRD TRICK!" The man screams at the top of his lungs while you simply stand still. Your hands rest calmly at your sides, but your mind has already drifted off into other worlds - a thousand thoughts, memories and scenarios that separate you from reality.

"JUST KILL ME WITH YOUR TRICK, HUH?" His voice continues to echo through the street, shrill and full of defiance, as if he is really hoping for an answer - or perhaps even a reaction that will restore his dignity.

"HEY, SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP AND WAIT FOR THE LEADING ENFORCER!" One of the enforcers holding him loses patience and shouts back. His voice is deep and authoritative, making it clear that he has no interest in the thief's shouting.

The crowd was still and silent. Not one person let out a breath - not a single murmur broke the tense quiet that had bubbled up and threatened to spill over.

And then, just as you are about to continue running, your step falters. Something is different - the air is charged, your instinct sounds the alarm. You see it, as if in slow motion, out of the corner of your eye: The gun pointing at you. You feel it in your magic - the danger is palpable, like an electric tingle on your skin.

Abruptly, the thief twisted in the Enforcers' grasp and reached for his holster - triumphantly, he grasped the gun, and the crowd froze in place.

How could he reach for the gun?

"AH!" he yells right behind you, the words piercing the silence like a knife. "HA! YOU'RE DEAD!"

A moment of rigidity. Your body wants to react, but you are frozen. Your mind races - how could this happen? The enforcers who held him stand rooted to the spot. Perhaps paralyzed by surprise, perhaps overwhelmed.

"DAMN!" yells one of the enforcers as he hastily swats away the arm of the thief whose gun was pointed at you. "HE GOT A GUN!" The alarm in his voice is unmistakable, and they reach out together to restrain the man again. The grip is harder now, tighter, almost desperate - they know he's more dangerous than they first thought.

"HYA! HAHA!" The thief laughs, a shrill, piercing sound as he continues to thrash around in her grip, struggling to free himself. "IF I FELT LIKE IT, HYAHA! YOU'D BE DEAD NOW! YOURE-! SUCH AN EASY KILL!"

The words penetrate you like a cold sting.

An 'easy kill'.

It's as if someone has deflated the air around you. The words echo in your head, mingling with memories that you would have preferred to bury deep down. Back then, in the ruins, when the world looked down on you - a child, lost, alone. You can see the ruins in front of your inner eye, feel the cold that enveloped you.

"You're NOT ready!"

Vi's voice thunders through your head, like an echo from a time long past but never forgotten. You hear her so clearly, as if she's right behind you, as if she's ready to tell you again to your face how wrong you are, how out of place you are.

The words tear at you, pulling you back into the shadows of the past. The moment flickers before your inner eye: You and Powder, the two little siblings, armed with nothing but hope and childlike determination. Vi had tried to protect you, her voice then a mixture of anger and despair.

"You're NOT ready!" she had shouted at you, the words were like an order - and yet a plea.

And then you did go. Into the cannery. Into the abyss.

The memories come like a tidal wave, unstoppable and merciless. Images flash through your mind: the smoke, the thunderous explosions, the sound of screams, the stench of blood and burnt metal. You remember the trembling in your fingers, the freezing fear that almost suffocated you, and the stares that threw you what you thought was the judgment of the world.

"YOU DIDN'T CATCH ME! RIGHT WHEN I TOOK THE COINS FROM YOU!" he roars, his voice hoarse with rage and despair. The enforcers press him further into the ground, but he doesn't give up.

"YOU LISTENING TO ME, YOU BASTARD?!"

You are still standing there, motionless, your gaze fixed on a point in the distance. It's not that you can't react - you could. But your mind refuses to deal with the noise behind you. It pulls you back, deeper into your thoughts, deeper into the pain you've tried to ignore for too long.

"I WON'T SETTLE IT LIKE THIS!" he continues to scream. You hear the crunching of the floor as he writhes desperately. "YOU HUMILIATED ME... I'M GOING TO STALK YOU DOWN..."

An enforcer puts his hand on the man's face, but even that can't stop his torrent of threats.

"I'M GONNA ENTER THE EVENT AND BLOCK YOU!"

His words are meaningless. They fade away in your head like the echo of a storm that has already died down. The world around you seems to fade away, the voices, the movement, the sounds of the crowd. Everything becomes quieter until only one thought remains:

I have to take care of this guy.

You feel the weight of the steel ball in your pocket. A reminder that you are no longer the helpless person you once were. You are here, in control, and ready to do whatever it takes to continue your journey.

"I'M SERIOUSLY THINKING ABOUT KILLING YOU! KEKE!" he mumbles, half-suppressed by the pressure of the enforcers still forcing him to the ground. But he speaks loud enough for both you and the assembled crowd to hear every word clearly.

You hesitate for a brief moment before turning backwards. Your gaze falls on the thief, who continues to be pinned to the ground by the enforcers. Maybe it's the shadow falling over him, or the hand pressing his face down - but for a moment he looks like Silco.

And his laughter, his tone of voice, this burning contempt - it sounds like him.

That's enough.

Your gaze sharpens, your steps firm and purposeful as you turn around completely. Your voice, clear and unwavering, cuts through the oppressive silence:

"If you're done talking, give him the gun back. "

The enforcers, surprised by your announcement, pause. Their hands, pinning the man down, tremble slightly before looking up at you in confusion. The crowd, which has been holding its breath, turns to you - astonished, disbelieving, as if someone had issued an order that goes against all logic.

As if your words had cut the air themselves, the crowd steps back as if on an invisible command. They make room, retreat a few meters from the scene and form a huge circle.

Muttering struck through the crowd - varying degrees of 'what?' threaded through the disbelieving, until the writhing mass of bodies turned as one to watch the showdown. Even the Enforcers - inexperienced in matters like this - gave each other confused glances, as if they didn't know what they were hearing.

"You heard me. I won't charge the man - in fact, I'll let this slight go. Give him the gun back," you spoke with such intense authority that the guard who held the gun slowly - but surely - placed it back on the dusty floor. It lay beside the thief's bulging eyes, then by his knees as he sat up on them. He stared at the lethal weapon, then back at you who wore a neutral expression on his face.

The older of the two enforcers blinks, his lips quivering briefly as if he wants to protest. But your gaze - firm, unwavering, penetrating - silences him. It is not a threat, not a sign of violence, but pure authority that speaks from your stance.

There they were again, your eyes full of determination. No flickering, no hesitation, just a blazing fire that sent goosebumps down the spine of everyone present. It was the same fire you had once seen in Vi's eyes when you fought the world together - a fire that radiated unshakable strength and an indomitable will.

But this time it was burning inside you. Where once there was the shimmering light of your curiosity and childlike innocence, there was now this ember. Clear, hot and unstoppable.

"Pick it up," you commanded once more. Not a single ounce of hesitation traced your voice: no tremble, no unwarranted twitch of facial muscles. You are so certain of yourself that the crowd stilled at once. A duel - a duel - was about to take place. "That'll be the signal - if you're truly serious about killing me." 

The thief, still kneeling, hesitated with his palm on the ground - but ultimately, he didn't pick it up. His hands, instead, were held up in surrender and his uncertain smile was lined with sweat. 

"H-Hey," he stammered out. "It's just a joke - I'm just a pickpocket, I swear, so don't look at me with that scary face - everything I said was a bluff, nothing more! Have fun on Progress day, I mean..."

Silence was broken by the stirring of the crowd as the leading Enforcer barrelled his way through, his heavy boots thudding against the dirt. For a brief moment, your attention flickered to his arrival-a figure of authority cutting through the chaos.

But then, it hit you.

That familiar sensation.

The thief's aura spiked, sharp and jagged like a blade drawn from its sheath. It was faint, barely noticeable to the untrained, but to you-someone who had honed their magical senses over three years-it was as clear as a ringing bell.

"You two! What's going on here?"

And in that split second, the thief grabbed the gun and held it up - for the second time this day, you are turned away from your impending death.

You didn't even turn fully toward the thief.

Faster than anyone in the crowd could register, you moved. Before a single person could grasp the situation, your hand darted into your mantle's depths with practiced precision.

A millisecond-no more, no less.

In that sliver of time, you charged the steel ball with magic and rotation. The energy hummed at your fingertips, a power you had mastered through tireless practice. And then, with an effortless flick, you threw it.

The steel ball cut through the air like a shooting star, its trajectory unerring. The impact was swift, precise-it struck the thief square in the shoulder.

The gun bent down as the flesh of his arm rippled: twisting and driving itself into his clavicle. Then, the blue sphere rebounded straight to your waiting hand - it crackled and pulsed with such faint energy that only you were able to see. 

Did he really think that just because I was looking at the Leading Enforcer that he could shoot me down? Just because I have a blind spot in front for a second, if not less? What an idiot.

A building crescendo of horror erupted as the flesh of the thief's arm spiralled into trembling, meaty ripples - yet the climax hadn't even been reached yet.

"I'm not a nice guy," you said, your tone devoid of inflection, carrying no weight of malice or mockery-only an unshakable certainty. "Let go of that gun, and see a doctor... Before lunch, preferably."

Once more, you turned away. But the thief, who had his pride trodden on enough, raised the gun once more - ready to shoot.  His trembling fingers clutched the gun, and with a burst of desperation, he raised it once more.

"YOU BASTARD!"

As the thief pulled the trigger, his arm shifted so the barrel was pointed straight to his own forehead. 

He shot. 

The aftermath crashed down on the gathered crowd around you - yells, screams rang out in the seconds following the bang. But all you could hear was the roaring silence in your ears; transfixed, you thought about what terrible gun smoke was pouring from the barrel, and the poor dead fool lying in his own blood.

He should have just not shot, swallowed his honor and done nothing.

All people could see as you made your way to the huge stage of the event was your coat. Not even your hair, as it was covered by it, nor anything about you.

"-just a duel. No laws were broken-"

"-threw that steel ball. Then it accidentally bounced back-"

Whispering voices broke through the silence, everyone tried to interpret what had happened for themselves. The events that had just taken place were too much, too fast - and yet they seemed to be indelibly etched in the minds of those around them.

You knew exactly how the situation would end. When he got loud and heated, when he threatened that he was "SERIOUSLY THINKING ABOUT KILLING YOU", the verdict was in.

From this point on, it was no longer just a moment of instinct or self-defense. No, it was an echo of the past. The cannery, the smoke, the screaming - it was all back, burned into your mind like a brand. You had made up your mind then. You had learned then that a moment's hesitation could cost you everything.

Because Ties are to be severed...not forgotten.

Your hatred and Determination are Second to none. And now, You...Are completely disconnected from the Human race.

---

You stroll through the alleyways of Zhaun, where the light of Progress Day barely casts a shadow.

The contrast between the heights of Piltover and the depths of Zaun has never been more palpable. At the top they cheer, celebrating their progress, while down below children rummage through piles of rotting garbage with hungry eyes.

Your thoughts revolved around Jayce Talis, this man who was a hero to many. To you, however, he was nothing more than a ticking time bomb - a symbol of the ignorance of the privileged. You remember the spellbook with the Corpse Parts, which you once saw as a curse but now use as tools.

And today you have created your own weapon from them, your Steel Balls.

But Jayce embodies a dangerous mixture of naivety and power for you. He had the opportunity to make this world a better place - or to plunge it into chaos. His radiant presence on stage at Progress Day didn't fool you. You heard the empty optimism in his words and recognized the small flaws in his logic.

And you thought of Viktor, the man in the shadows. He may be the real genius behind the Hextech revolution, but he too carries the stigma of idealism. His vision of a "better future" could just as easily lead to disaster if it is overtaken by reality.

The world is a fragile balancing act, and people like this 'Jayce' tend to dance on that line without realizing how many lives depend on their next move.

A few hours later, you find yourself in a run-down hotel room in Piltover. It's not a particularly large room - a narrow corridor leading to a simple bed, a bedside cabinet next to it, and a small bathroom whose tiles are long past their prime.

The key you received on arrival is lying on the table. You have already paid for the next two nights - anonymously and without attracting attention.

As you close the door behind you, you take a deep breath and then slowly exhale. The day has been grueling. The scene with the thief, Progress Day, the crowds and finally the rumors of a mugging you picked up from the conversations in the crowd. It feels like the whole town is conspiring against you, even though you know it's not true.

You take off your coat and throw it over the back of the only chair in the room. You run a hand through your long hair, which has been in your way for months, but you've never found the time to cut it. It feels damp and heavy, like the rest of your body, exhausted by the weight of the last few hours.

You carefully place your steel balls on the bed, along with the spell books and documents you have collected. On the bedside table, you arrange your home-brewed potions in a neat row - a small comfort in a chaotic world.

With another deep breath, you move into the bathroom. The light is harsh and unpleasant, and the water in the shower takes an eternity to heat up. But when it finally flows over your back, it seems to wash away the heaviness of the world for a moment.

As the water hits your skin, the memories come flooding back. Every bad decision, every wrong turn in your life hits you like a wave. For a moment, the weight threatens to overwhelm you and you cling to the edge of the sink to keep from sinking to your knees.

But you force yourself to take a deep breath. You can't give in now.

When you finally step out of the shower and see your face in the mirror, you wish you hadn't looked. Your ribs are clearly visible under your skin and your eyes - sunken and tired - look like those of a half-dead person.

But you are here.

You're back in Piltover.

And an unshakeable feeling grows inside you, a certainty that drowns out any uncertainty:

I'll find Powder, Vi and Ekko, and then everything will be fine.

Oh, how wrong you are.

---

That's it for the next chapter!

Yeah, it wasn't necessarily that much action, but I have to say, you turned out pretty damn cool, just with the encounter with the thief, wow!

So in a nutshell: Two years after the incident in the Cannery, you were with Singed, learning various things like biology, chemistry and physics under his guidance, and you were happy. After you realized that he was just using you to turn Vander into a weapon, you disappeared.

Disappeared in the sense of: Visited different countries, educated yourself further and most importantly; you searched for the Corpse Parts.

And now you're here, in the same town as Ekko, Jinx (Powder) and Vi. Ekko has become some kind of freedom fighter, Vi is in prison and Jinx is Silco's daughter... What a mix.

This chapter will come in a double update with my "Rat" story, from then on there will be nothing for the first time. But don't panic, that's because I'm writing the Christmas chapters that each of my stories gets. When exactly they will come, absolutely no plan.

Thank you for reading (including the notes) and leave a comment and kudos.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

I am so sorry, but I truly must be the one to ask this. What do you think the Cullens and Volturi’s a/b/o alignments/secondary genders are within the omegaverse? How do you think venom effects heats/rut patterns? Is it that upon turning only males have them as they’re the only ones capable of reproducing via hybrid? (Lol not a fic writer just want to know your thoughts)

...

Anon.

Come on.

Bold of you.

But come on.

I also like how you're weasling out of writing your own fic to answer these questions. Really, anon, your guess is as good as mine here.

Do You Have an Answer, Muffin?

No.

And it's not because I'm weaseling out or because this is an entirely made-up fanfiction concept: it's because it is entirely dependent on the porn the author wishes to write.

But What Do You Mean?

A/B/O gender alignments in fics is entirely dependent on who the author wants to be on top. The ageless question in slash fanfics and the cause of many a heated internet debate. BUT WHO IS ON TOP?!!!! WHO IS THE SEME?!!!!

Authors want whoever they want "on top" and then we get alpha characteristics on top of other slashy slashness to justify why this character is totally for realz on top.

It has nothing to do with anything.

Just how the author wants the porn to go down and who they want to get pregnant.

I could try to guess based off of fandom tropes and fanon cliches except, if you take a gander at the Ao3 shipping stats, the canon heterosexual pairings in Twilight are in the lead. When we do expand outside of them it's to the very Cullen pairings of things like Jasper/Bella and if we're getting really spicy Alice/Bella or Rosalie/Bella. Now we could do the wild and bold move of having heterosexual/female slash pairings that are ALSO somehow how A/B/O but it's well known that A/B/O has its lifeblood in male slash.

So, we're looking at... Jakeward? Pretty much? In which case if we go with what fandoms usually do... Edward's the omega and having the baby due to being shorter and skinnier and prettier than Jacob.

Beyond that it'd be me pontificating on who wins the coin flip of A/B/O to get whatever gender they get. Or, I could be that ass and say "oh but they're all Beta, you see" as Beta is generally in omegaverse statistically more likely (except when it isn't for strange reasons and what even is beta for in those fics? Honestly)

But How Would You Do It?

If you're forcing me to be in some alternate Twilight universe where they're also omega...

Well, caveat, this depends on if I'm doing this for a fic or not which may change things in service of the greater plot. Yes, even in an A/B/O fic, people, three should be at least some semblance of a plot. Somewhere. Somehow.

I'd decide via coin flip who gets what. It's a random genetic thing where a vampire is more likely than not Beta with relatively few Alphas or Omegas. It has nothing to do with personality or sexuality, it's just a weird genetic coin toss that affects relatively few people.

In terms of the Omega pregnancy thing... well, this would dramatically change the world of Twilight. Either these children would be known about and be illegal for being immortal children or else it'd be very well known that Omega vampires can produce offspring. Omegas would be desperately sought after by covens wanting children or covens with Alphas who are gifted. And I imagine many more humans might be turned on the off chance that they could end up a highly valued Omega.

Regardless, the Renesmee debacle would likely not happen or not in the same manner as children are a known quantity in Twilight. Now, I'm sure they didn't expect human Bella to get pregnant via Edward (who is statistically likely to be Beta here) but life is full of little surprises like that, isn't it?

And much of the plot of Twilight would be spent in angst as no one could guarantee that Edward and Bella will be compatible sexually due to the random coin flip of A/B/O that occurs upon turning.

Bella, I'm sure, assures Edward that her love is so strong it doesn't matter. Now, this may work out and it may... not.

Otherwise in terms of heat/rut patterns...

Nope, I can't even pretend to care, man.

Followers, you get to decide, which porn floats your boat best.

[metvmorqhoses]

As someone who has never read the books how exactly does Alina lose her powers? The whole idea of it just seems so cruel and absurd tbh. In nearly every fantasy world magic for the most part (with characters we love anyway) seems to be something intrinsically apart of them. As much a part of their soul as their heart is. Sooooo why??? lol and if Alina and Darkling are each other’s balance (i.e. different side of the coin re their power) something which has been described as destined, wouldn’t he lose his powers as well?

okay, obvious spoilers ahead lol

so, i'm gonna simplify things a lot, during the entirety of the grisha trilogy finding all the three mythical beasts/amplifiers is capital to alina because owning the power of all three (stag, sea whip and firebird) would guarantee her enough strength to both defeat the darkling and bring down the shadow fold. therefore she and her friends/allies go on a quest to find all of them (the darkling wants them too). other things happen, but the key point of the story is that in truth the last amplifier is not the firebird, but mal (yes, i know), because he's a descendant of morozova (yes, the darkling's ancestor). long story short, alina has to stab mal and absorb his power to save the world. when she does, her power is divided among many different people, creating many sun summoners all around the country. she’s therefore not special anymore. actually, she loses her power and immortality entirely. mal obviously survives the killing (of course!) and they live happily ever after in their old orphanage, while the darkling is first obviously devastated by the loss of alina as sun summoner and his balance/soulmate, then killed by alina (who actually always tries to kill him every single time she sees him). yet, he’s not really dead, in the following books he’s brought back to life in strange ways, only in order to sacrifice himself to eternal agony to perpetually hold together a tear in reality the fold and its destruction had created and basically save the world. in the upcoming books zoya and co are planning to go and put him out of his misery for good, or so it seems.

now, i think the mother of all problems here is the simple fact that the author is against the relationship between them, no matter how much she knows the public enjoys or is interested in it. reading the books, i constantly had the feeling she was using the relationship, rather then developing it in an organic, deep way. she knows the darkling is the character that makes the books sell, but i don't think she has any real love or sympathy for him. that's why, throughout the entire saga, you have the constant feeling that there's something always working against darklina, even if they are written as literally meant to be in every possible way and single aspect. alina has always superficial reactions, always makes irremovable choices when he is involved, she constantly silences her feelings towards him and constantly glorifies her really superficial ones when mal is the object of them, she knows she is destined to immortality and solitude as well, but very strangely doesn’t want to put herself in the darkling’s shoes and is not even curious to know his prospective... you know, the list of improbable things goes on and on. and this doesn't happen just because she is the hero and she acts according to her morals, you can literally feel there's something "other" making things impossible for them, while just a little change of perspective, a right word, a moment of understanding on both parts, could have lead the story in a very different direction. we as readers always feel an opposing deux ex machina and we feel one because there is. the author isn't super partes and it constantly shows. i confess i found it wildly annoying in every single book, among other things.

[thesorcerersapprenticeu]

Chapter 11: It Comes Back to You

Now the time has finally come, you're back.

The once shy little boy who lived in the underworld with Vander and the others. But you are no longer that, a figure filled with guilt, consequences of his actions and a mixture of everything bad.

But now with magic, a part of the Corpse and more knowledge so far.

---

Here I am again! Even with a double update!

Yes, it hasn't been that long, but here's the next chapter in the story. I've been procrastinating, taking care of documents for my job and doing all sorts of things apart from sitting down at the computer and writing.

I hope the hype from Season Two (which I still haven't seen) isn't over yet, because now it's really starting with this story!

Have fun reading!

wc: 5k

---

"A ticket for Progress Day."

So there you were.

It felt like half a lifetime, and yet it had only been five years. Five years since the day that ended your old life, three years since you had found a home - or at least a place - with Singed.

And now you were back.

Back in Piltover.

The city had changed, or maybe it was you who had changed. You had grown - not much, but enough to no longer look like a child. Your body was slimmer, but your gaze was sharper. Strength had settled in you, not that of a fighter, but that of a survivor. Not through muscle, but through the mastery of your magic.

Piltover, with all its shiny facades and dark shadows, felt strange and yet familiar. And on this day, Progress Day, when the whole city was buzzing with life, you were here again - not as a child, but as someone who carried secrets that this city would never understand.

"Of course!" shouts the little man at the counter in front of you with exuberant energy. His movements are frantic, almost exaggerated, as he fishes around in a chaotic pile of papers and tickets. Finally, he triumphantly holds up a small, shimmering golden ticket in his right hand, while his left hand waves towards you. "That'll be five coins!"

You already had the coins to hand. It was no secret how much a ticket cost - you had just heard the price when the person in front of you had paid. So, with a steady hand, you reach into the hidden pocket of your black coat and pull out the appropriate coins.

Your coat was unmistakable, a constant in your life. As a child, it hung off your shoulders like an oversized robe, its hems almost dragging on the floor. But now, after all these years, it fits perfectly. The dense fabric hugged your slim, lithe figure and finished just above the floor - an understated elegance that made you stand out from the crowd.

With the hood pulled low over your face, you are little more than a silhouette. Hidden in the shadows, your face can only be guessed at, even on closer inspection. You have learned to conceal yourself, and in this crowd it was only right for you to remain anonymous.

In case anything unforeseen happened on Progress Day - and that could happen in a town like Piltover - you were of course prepared. In the deep pockets of your cloak you carried everything you needed: your two Steel Balls, carefully polished and ready for use, plus your two spellbooks and a few home-brewed potions.

The potions were simple but effective - designed to release smoke instantly when needed. It was a safe way out in case you needed to disappear quickly. Caution wasn't just a virtue, it was a necessity when going your way.

Over the years, you had visited countless places, gathered knowledge and learned from a wide variety of people. You were a wanderer, always on the move, always looking for the next thing that could take you further. Other countries, unexplored territories, ancient ruins and vibrant cities - you had left a mark everywhere as you tirelessly progressed to become stronger.

But no matter where you were, it never felt like home. No place could fill the emptiness that grew inside you or erase the guilt that seeped through your mind like a poison. It was as if you were constantly haunted by a shadow, a silent witness to all the things you couldn't undo.

At night, when you were alone and lying in your bed, it was the worst. You stared at your hand - the hand that had thrown the Enforcer gadget at the bomb. Powder's bomb.

The memory of it was like an endless, burning movie that played before your eyes. It didn't matter how far you had traveled or how much time had passed. That one decision, that one movement of your hand, had set off a chain of events that you couldn't stop.

Over the years you have gathered knowledge, visited many, many different places and wandered. Other countries, unexplored territories, you've been everywhere to get ahead, somehow

The sound of the ticket clerk's voice barely registered in your mind, his words dull and distant.

"There are still three coins missing," he murmured, holding out his hand expectantly.

You stood still, mind a haze, the scene in front of you blurring into a whirl of memories and half-formed thoughts. It wasn't as though you hadn't heard him. You had. But at that moment, you weren't really there.

And then it happened.

A man brushed past you from behind, his footsteps quick and deliberate, the brush of fabric and a sudden lightness in your pocket snapping you back to reality. Your instincts kicked in too late - a single golden coin, pinched effortlessly from your mantle, vanished into the man's greedy palm.

Normally, you might've let it slide. The streets were alive with noise and motion, and making a scene wasn't exactly in your best interest. But as your eyes tracked his retreating figure, you spotted something that stopped your passive dismissal cold: a pistol, holstered at his hip, its polished surface gleaming in the light.

Your breath hitched.

He wasn't just some petty pickpocket. And that gun? It was too real, too dangerous to ignore.

The guy has a gun. And stole from me.

That alone might have been enough to let him go. It was Piltover - pickpocketing was almost an art form here, and you'd seen worse. But there was something about him that gave you pause. It wasn't just the smarmy way he moved, or the confident swagger in his gait, but more importantly the gun dangling from his hip.

Your instinct screamed the alarm.

He wouldn't just disappear. Men like him never did. No, he was the type to cause problems later - maybe not immediately, but eventually. And somewhere in this event, he would cause a ruckus.

The idea made your fingers run restlessly over the spheres in your coat pocket. Part of you wanted to look away, ignore the risk and just let the day go on. But you knew better. You'd gotten too used to the kind of chaos that people like this brought with them over the past few years to ignore it.

The man stops behind you for a moment, just long enough for the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. Your instinct screams in your face: he wants to steal the coins on the table.

You remain calm - at least on the outside. But when you see his hasty movements out of the corner of your eye, his fingers already reaching out for the vendor's coins, your body starts moving of its own accord.

Your hand slides into the inside pocket of your coat. Without hesitation, you wrap your fingers around one of your steel balls. A brief whisper of your magic sparks the rotation in your palm, a buzzing, controlled tingle pulsing at your fingertips.

You turn slightly towards him, your movement fluid, unobtrusive - and yet faster than he can realize what is happening. In a lightning-fast moment, you touch his right hand with two rotating fingers, just as he is about to reach for the coins.

His skin twitches and crackles, a pulsing tingle spreading from your touch. The echo of the rotation sends waves through his nerves, not strong enough to do any damage, but intense enough to throw him completely off balance. With a strangled sound, he stumbles backwards and slumps to the floor.

He gasps. "Hah... hah..." His breathing is ragged, full of panic. His left hand clutches his right arm as he stares at you, his eyes wide. You can see a mixture of fear and confusion reflected in his gaze - he has no idea what just happened.

As soon as the man lies panting on the ground, two enforcers grab him with a quick, routine grip. One of them pulls him up roughly by his jacket, and for a moment the weapon attached to his belt dangles dangerously in the air before being pulled back by the belt.

"Come on! Come on!" one of the enforcers yells in the thief's face, while the other heaves him off the ground and onto his feet without a word. The thief still looks too shocked to fight back, his eyes flicker nervously and he mumbles something unintelligible that is lost in the general commotion.

Behind you, you hear a stifled gasp. The sales assistant, who is still holding your ticket, has noticeably retreated. His features are white as a sheet, his breathing shallow and frantic - as if he himself had just survived a robbery. "Oh you..." he finally utters, almost choking on the words as his trembling hand clutches the counter.

"Should I call more enforcers?" He casts a frantic glance in the direction of the crowd, then back at you as he finally hands the ticket over the counter. "A man with a gun... I can't believe it! I've never seen anything like it!"

You take the ticket calmly and don't answer him. Your hand, which has just touched the steel ball covertly, remains relaxed at your side. But inside you are alert, the whole scene has put you on alert. The thief is taken away, the weapon safely under the eyes of the enforcers - but something about the way it all happened leaves you with the feeling that this is not the end of events for today.

Nobody should have noticed that I used magic, let alone rotation. Maybe I shouldn't have done it after all, but the guy would be a danger to the other people here.

You step down from the small wooden structure that connected the kiosk to the ground and feel the creaking of the old wood under your boots. With your ticket in hand and a short, controlled breath, you set off.

The crowd stretches out in front of you, packed and full of life, as the hustle and bustle of Progress Day reaches its peak. Voices buzz through the air, accompanied by the crackle of machines starting to move and music playing from somewhere in the distance.

Your destination is clear: the big stage, the centerpiece of the entire event. The banners waving above it bear the symbols of Piltover - cogwheels and progress, as they proudly call it.

"IT'S NOT OVER, MAN!" the voice behind you echoes through the alleyways. You pause and turn around reluctantly. There he is: the man who just tried to rob you. His arms are being held by two enforcers, but he wriggles like a fish on a line, angry and desperate.

His face is red with exertion and his cries echo in the cold morning air.

"TURN AROUND! YOU THINK YOU'RE SO BIG OVER THREE COINS?" he shouts again. His words are shrill, full of anger and shame, and although you don't want to pay any further attention to him, your attention lingers on him for a moment.

You shake your head slightly and turn away again. You don't want to make a scene, you don't want to attract attention - especially not here, especially not today.

But his voice cuts through the air again, even louder and with a venomous bite: "IT WAS A THRILLING TRICK, YOU DAMNED BITCH!" The hissing of soles on the pavement reaches your ears, a sign that he is still fighting desperately against the Enforcers.

"THEN KILL ME WITH YOUR WEIRD TRICK!" The man screams at the top of his lungs while you simply stand still. Your hands rest calmly at your sides, but your mind has already drifted off into other worlds - a thousand thoughts, memories and scenarios that separate you from reality.

"JUST KILL ME WITH YOUR TRICK, HUH?" His voice continues to echo through the street, shrill and full of defiance, as if he is really hoping for an answer - or perhaps even a reaction that will restore his dignity.

"HEY, SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP AND WAIT FOR THE LEADING ENFORCER!" One of the enforcers holding him loses patience and shouts back. His voice is deep and authoritative, making it clear that he has no interest in the thief's shouting.

The crowd was still and silent. Not one person let out a breath - not a single murmur broke the tense quiet that had bubbled up and threatened to spill over.

And then, just as you are about to continue running, your step falters. Something is different - the air is charged, your instinct sounds the alarm. You see it, as if in slow motion, out of the corner of your eye: The gun pointing at you. You feel it in your magic - the danger is palpable, like an electric tingle on your skin.

Abruptly, the thief twisted in the Enforcers' grasp and reached for his holster - triumphantly, he grasped the gun, and the crowd froze in place.

How could he reach for the gun?

"AH!" he yells right behind you, the words piercing the silence like a knife. "HA! YOU'RE DEAD!"

A moment of rigidity. Your body wants to react, but you are frozen. Your mind races - how could this happen? The enforcers who held him stand rooted to the spot. Perhaps paralyzed by surprise, perhaps overwhelmed.

"DAMN!" yells one of the enforcers as he hastily swats away the arm of the thief whose gun was pointed at you. "HE GOT A GUN!" The alarm in his voice is unmistakable, and they reach out together to restrain the man again. The grip is harder now, tighter, almost desperate - they know he's more dangerous than they first thought.

"HYA! HAHA!" The thief laughs, a shrill, piercing sound as he continues to thrash around in her grip, struggling to free himself. "IF I FELT LIKE IT, HYAHA! YOU'D BE DEAD NOW! YOURE-! SUCH AN EASY KILL!"

The words penetrate you like a cold sting.

An 'easy kill'.

It's as if someone has deflated the air around you. The words echo in your head, mingling with memories that you would have preferred to bury deep down. Back then, in the ruins, when the world looked down on you - a child, lost, alone. You can see the ruins in front of your inner eye, feel the cold that enveloped you.

"You're NOT ready!"

Vi's voice thunders through your head, like an echo from a time long past but never forgotten. You hear her so clearly, as if she's right behind you, as if she's ready to tell you again to your face how wrong you are, how out of place you are.

The words tear at you, pulling you back into the shadows of the past. The moment flickers before your inner eye: You and Powder, the two little siblings, armed with nothing but hope and childlike determination. Vi had tried to protect you, her voice then a mixture of anger and despair.

"You're NOT ready!" she had shouted at you, the words were like an order - and yet a plea.

And then you did go. Into the cannery. Into the abyss.

The memories come like a tidal wave, unstoppable and merciless. Images flash through your mind: the smoke, the thunderous explosions, the sound of screams, the stench of blood and burnt metal. You remember the trembling in your fingers, the freezing fear that almost suffocated you, and the stares that threw you what you thought was the judgment of the world.

"YOU DIDN'T CATCH ME! RIGHT WHEN I TOOK THE COINS FROM YOU!" he roars, his voice hoarse with rage and despair. The enforcers press him further into the ground, but he doesn't give up.

"YOU LISTENING TO ME, YOU BASTARD?!"

You are still standing there, motionless, your gaze fixed on a point in the distance. It's not that you can't react - you could. But your mind refuses to deal with the noise behind you. It pulls you back, deeper into your thoughts, deeper into the pain you've tried to ignore for too long.

"I WON'T SETTLE IT LIKE THIS!" he continues to scream. You hear the crunching of the floor as he writhes desperately. "YOU HUMILIATED ME... I'M GOING TO STALK YOU DOWN..."

An enforcer puts his hand on the man's face, but even that can't stop his torrent of threats.

"I'M GONNA ENTER THE EVENT AND BLOCK YOU!"

His words are meaningless. They fade away in your head like the echo of a storm that has already died down. The world around you seems to fade away, the voices, the movement, the sounds of the crowd. Everything becomes quieter until only one thought remains:

I have to take care of this guy.

You feel the weight of the steel ball in your pocket. A reminder that you are no longer the helpless person you once were. You are here, in control, and ready to do whatever it takes to continue your journey.

"I'M SERIOUSLY THINKING ABOUT KILLING YOU! KEKE!" he mumbles, half-suppressed by the pressure of the enforcers still forcing him to the ground. But he speaks loud enough for both you and the assembled crowd to hear every word clearly.

You hesitate for a brief moment before turning backwards. Your gaze falls on the thief, who continues to be pinned to the ground by the enforcers. Maybe it's the shadow falling over him, or the hand pressing his face down - but for a moment he looks like Silco.

And his laughter, his tone of voice, this burning contempt - it sounds like him.

That's enough.

Your gaze sharpens, your steps firm and purposeful as you turn around completely. Your voice, clear and unwavering, cuts through the oppressive silence:

"If you're done talking, give him the gun back. "

The enforcers, surprised by your announcement, pause. Their hands, pinning the man down, tremble slightly before looking up at you in confusion. The crowd, which has been holding its breath, turns to you - astonished, disbelieving, as if someone had issued an order that goes against all logic.

As if your words had cut the air themselves, the crowd steps back as if on an invisible command. They make room, retreat a few meters from the scene and form a huge circle.

Muttering struck through the crowd - varying degrees of 'what?' threaded through the disbelieving, until the writhing mass of bodies turned as one to watch the showdown. Even the Enforcers - inexperienced in matters like this - gave each other confused glances, as if they didn't know what they were hearing.

"You heard me. I won't charge the man - in fact, I'll let this slight go. Give him the gun back," you spoke with such intense authority that the guard who held the gun slowly - but surely - placed it back on the dusty floor. It lay beside the thief's bulging eyes, then by his knees as he sat up on them. He stared at the lethal weapon, then back at you who wore a neutral expression on his face.

The older of the two enforcers blinks, his lips quivering briefly as if he wants to protest. But your gaze - firm, unwavering, penetrating - silences him. It is not a threat, not a sign of violence, but pure authority that speaks from your stance.

There they were again, your eyes full of determination. No flickering, no hesitation, just a blazing fire that sent goosebumps down the spine of everyone present. It was the same fire you had once seen in Vi's eyes when you fought the world together - a fire that radiated unshakable strength and an indomitable will.

But this time it was burning inside you. Where once there was the shimmering light of your curiosity and childlike innocence, there was now this ember. Clear, hot and unstoppable.

"Pick it up," you commanded once more. Not a single ounce of hesitation traced your voice: no tremble, no unwarranted twitch of facial muscles. You are so certain of yourself that the crowd stilled at once. A duel - a duel - was about to take place. "That'll be the signal - if you're truly serious about killing me."

The thief, still kneeling, hesitated with his palm on the ground - but ultimately, he didn't pick it up. His hands, instead, were held up in surrender and his uncertain smile was lined with sweat.

"H-Hey," he stammered out. "It's just a joke - I'm just a pickpocket, I swear, so don't look at me with that scary face - everything I said was a bluff, nothing more! Have fun on Progress day, I mean..."

Silence was broken by the stirring of the crowd as the leading Enforcer barrelled his way through, his heavy boots thudding against the dirt. For a brief moment, your attention flickered to his arrival-a figure of authority cutting through the chaos.

But then, it hit you.

That familiar sensation.

The thief's aura spiked, sharp and jagged like a blade drawn from its sheath. It was faint, barely noticeable to the untrained, but to you-someone who had honed their magical senses over three years-it was as clear as a ringing bell.

"You two! What's going on here?"

And in that split second, the thief grabbed the gun and held it up - for the second time this day, you are turned away from your impending death.

You didn't even turn fully toward the thief.

Faster than anyone in the crowd could register, you moved. Before a single person could grasp the situation, your hand darted into your mantle's depths with practiced precision.

A millisecond-no more, no less.

In that sliver of time, you charged the steel ball with magic and rotation. The energy hummed at your fingertips, a power you had mastered through tireless practice. And then, with an effortless flick, you threw it.

The steel ball cut through the air like a shooting star, its trajectory unerring. The impact was swift, precise-it struck the thief square in the shoulder.

The gun bent down as the flesh of his arm rippled: twisting and driving itself into his clavicle. Then, the blue sphere rebounded straight to your waiting hand - it crackled and pulsed with such faint energy that only you were able to see.

Did he really think that just because I was looking at the Leading Enforcer that he could shoot me down? Just because I have a blind spot in front for a second, if not less? What an idiot.

A building crescendo of horror erupted as the flesh of the thief's arm spiralled into trembling, meaty ripples - yet the climax hadn't even been reached yet.

"I'm not a nice guy," you said, your tone devoid of inflection, carrying no weight of malice or mockery-only an unshakable certainty. "Let go of that gun, and see a doctor... Before lunch, preferably."

Once more, you turned away. But the thief, who had his pride trodden on enough, raised the gun once more - ready to shoot. His trembling fingers clutched the gun, and with a burst of desperation, he raised it once more.

"YOU BASTARD!"

As the thief pulled the trigger, his arm shifted so the barrel was pointed straight to his own forehead.

He shot.

The aftermath crashed down on the gathered crowd around you - yells, screams rang out in the seconds following the bang. But all you could hear was the roaring silence in your ears; transfixed, you thought about what terrible gun smoke was pouring from the barrel, and the poor dead fool lying in his own blood.

He should have just not shot, swallowed his honor and done nothing.

All people could see as you made your way to the huge stage of the event was your coat. Not even your hair, as it was covered by it, nor anything about you.

"-just a duel. No laws were broken-"

"-threw that steel ball. Then it accidentally bounced back-"

Whispering voices broke through the silence, everyone tried to interpret what had happened for themselves. The events that had just taken place were too much, too fast - and yet they seemed to be indelibly etched in the minds of those around them.

You knew exactly how the situation would end. When he got loud and heated, when he threatened that he was "SERIOUSLY THINKING ABOUT KILLING YOU", the verdict was in.

From this point on, it was no longer just a moment of instinct or self-defense. No, it was an echo of the past. The cannery, the smoke, the screaming - it was all back, burned into your mind like a brand. You had made up your mind then. You had learned then that a moment's hesitation could cost you everything.

Because Ties are to be severed...not forgotten.

Your hatred and Determination are Second to none. And now, You...Are completely disconnected from the Human race.

---

You stroll through the alleyways of Zhaun, where the light of Progress Day barely casts a shadow.

The contrast between the heights of Piltover and the depths of Zaun has never been more palpable. At the top they cheer, celebrating their progress, while down below children rummage through piles of rotting garbage with hungry eyes.

Your thoughts revolved around Jayce Talis, this man who was a hero to many. To you, however, he was nothing more than a ticking time bomb - a symbol of the ignorance of the privileged. You remember the spellbook with the Corpse Parts, which you once saw as a curse but now use as tools.

And today you have created your own weapon from them, your Steel Balls.

But Jayce embodies a dangerous mixture of naivety and power for you. He had the opportunity to make this world a better place - or to plunge it into chaos. His radiant presence on stage at Progress Day didn't fool you. You heard the empty optimism in his words and recognized the small flaws in his logic.

And you thought of Viktor, the man in the shadows. He may be the real genius behind the Hextech revolution, but he too carries the stigma of idealism. His vision of a "better future" could just as easily lead to disaster if it is overtaken by reality.

The world is a fragile balancing act, and people like this 'Jayce' tend to dance on that line without realizing how many lives depend on their next move.

A few hours later, you find yourself in a run-down hotel room in Piltover. It's not a particularly large room - a narrow corridor leading to a simple bed, a bedside cabinet next to it, and a small bathroom whose tiles are long past their prime.

The key you received on arrival is lying on the table. You have already paid for the next two nights - anonymously and without attracting attention.

As you close the door behind you, you take a deep breath and then slowly exhale. The day has been grueling. The scene with the thief, Progress Day, the crowds and finally the rumors of a mugging you picked up from the conversations in the crowd. It feels like the whole town is conspiring against you, even though you know it's not true.

You take off your coat and throw it over the back of the only chair in the room. You run a hand through your long hair, which has been in your way for months, but you've never found the time to cut it. It feels damp and heavy, like the rest of your body, exhausted by the weight of the last few hours.

You carefully place your steel balls on the bed, along with the spell books and documents you have collected. On the bedside table, you arrange your home-brewed potions in a neat row - a small comfort in a chaotic world.

With another deep breath, you move into the bathroom. The light is harsh and unpleasant, and the water in the shower takes an eternity to heat up. But when it finally flows over your back, it seems to wash away the heaviness of the world for a moment.

As the water hits your skin, the memories come flooding back. Every bad decision, every wrong turn in your life hits you like a wave. For a moment, the weight threatens to overwhelm you and you cling to the edge of the sink to keep from sinking to your knees.

But you force yourself to take a deep breath. You can't give in now.

When you finally step out of the shower and see your face in the mirror, you wish you hadn't looked. Your ribs are clearly visible under your skin and your eyes - sunken and tired - look like those of a half-dead person.

But you are here.

You're back in Piltover.

And an unshakeable feeling grows inside you, a certainty that drowns out any uncertainty:

I'll find Powder, Vi and Ekko, and then everything will be fine.

Oh, how wrong you are.

---

That's it for the next chapter!

Yeah, it wasn't necessarily that much action, but I have to say, you turned out pretty damn cool, just with the encounter with the thief, wow!

So in a nutshell: Two years after the incident in the Cannery, you were with Singed, learning various things like biology, chemistry and physics under his guidance, and you were happy. After you realized that he was just using you to turn Vander into a weapon, you disappeared.

Disappeared in the sense of: Visited different countries, educated yourself further and most importantly; you searched for the Corpse Parts.

And now you're here, in the same town as Ekko, Jinx (Powder) and Vi. Ekko has become some kind of freedom fighter, Vi is in prison and Jinx is Silco's daughter... What a mix.

This chapter will come in a double update with my "Rat" story, from then on there will be nothing for the first time. But don't panic, that's because I'm writing the Christmas chapters that each of my stories gets. When exactly they will come, absolutely no plan.

Thank you for reading (including the notes) and leave a comment and a Fire thingy.