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kikiiswashere · 2 months ago

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Children of Zaun Excerpt - Fisticuffs for Cigars

Silco and Vander show some rookie enforcers why two against three are terrible odds in the Undercity

Silco wove aimlessly through the Sump and the Lanes after dropping Katya off at her home. His body thrummed in a strange mix of tingly numb and fiery anger as he walked. His teeth ground and his heart pounded.

He was not surprised that his mother wasn’t happy about what he had to say. However, what did take him aback was her strategy for dissuading him.

Ungrateful . . .

As if he should be sated and at peace with how Piltover treated the people of Zaun. As if he should just accept that their negligence and greed cost the Underground lives – including hers. As if living as second-class citizens was more than enough.

And then . . . not wanting to look at him. A rock, jagged and heavy with shame, dropped into his stomach at her words. They had never spoken to each other about his . . . sire. Although, Silco could remember the first time he had spied Rynweaver and his young mind had made the connection.

He had been seven, and working alongside his mother in the mines. She seemed on edge that day and Silco could not understand why. Worried and disgruntled whispers stirred through the tunnels that the mine’s owner was visiting, leading a gaggle of Piltie shareholders through his underground empire.

He and Vander sneaked away to see if they could spy the highfalutin crowd, to ogle and point at them as if they were zoo animals; to snigger and make rude jokes to each other about their silly, pompous clothes and overdone coifs.

They spied them between a pair of stalactites, and even though they volleyed degrading and childish remarks between each other, the humor couldn’t tamp down the hate gently simmering in Silco’s young belly. He hissed a particularly scathing remark about one person’s choice of jewelry that sent Vander doubling over in a fit of silent laughter. While his friend recovered, Silco peered back to the group and his eyes landed on a tall, thin man clad in understated, but regal, dark clothing. By the way the others addressed and interacted with him, he appeared to be the owner of the mine.

A deep, unfounded knowing settled into Silco’s small body at the sight of him. Maybe it was the texture of his hair, the curl of its tips rebelling against the heavy, shiny pomade slathered through it. It reminded Silco of his own scraggly waves. Or, perhaps, it was in the severe and pronounced cut and hook of his nose. Despite his youth, Silco’s nose was already beginning to develop a similar distinct ridge.

Nothing in that moment confirmed it, but Silco knew.

His mother’s sharp cry for him and Vander to rejoin her pulled him from his complicated epiphany. Both boys scampered back to her side, each getting a swat on the behind when they were within arm’s reach.

He had thought to ask her about it, as a seven-year-old typically does with questions, but when he watched her stiffen as Rynweaver and the group past the mouth of their tunnel, when she adjusted her stance to shield him from their eyes, he knew well enough not to ask.

As he grew older, as his understanding of how the relationship between the Undercity and Piltover worked, Silco learned just how she became to be saddled with him.

Stalking down an alley, he pulled his cigarette tin from his pocket and plucked a pre-rolled one out. He tucked the end between his lips and began to attempt striking a match. He grumbled when it wouldn’t catch after the first couple strikes, and stopped to focus on the task. His teeth clenched the cigarette tighter and tighter as the match refused to light. The head of the matchstick snapped off and so did the rest of Silco’s cool.

He roared and tossed the book of matches at the dumpster to his side, before gripping the rim of its open mouth and viciously kicking it. Over and over again, switching legs when one got tired, the skin of his knuckles stretched white with his iron grip. The dumpster clanged noisily against his assault and he was distantly aware that he was snarling and cursing up a storm. He didn’t care if anyone heard or saw. He was too far gone for opinions.

Suddenly, a hand reached for his shoulder and pulled him away from the bin. Silco growled and flailed at his interrupter.

“Okay, okay. You beat th’dumpster. Ya won,” Vander sighed, lifting the smaller man as easily as a ragdoll.

Silco scrabbled briefly against Vander’s arm before relenting and harshly shrugging out of his hold. Vander huffed a laugh and ducked down to pick up the matchbook and cigarette. Annoyingly, he stuck it between his lips, lit a match in one strike, and lifted the small flame to the cigarette’s end. He took a long drag, the paper and tobacco leaves crackling merrily as the embers ate away at them in a sunset glow. Silco scowled as he blew a plume of smoke into the air above them before handing him the cigarette. He snatched it away and possessively tucked it between his lips.

“What’re you doing here?” Silco snapped, taking a sharp breath of tobacco in. The warm smoke slid intoxicatingly against his insides and loosened the angry knots in his mind. “I thought you were handing out free drinks at The Drop.”

“Annie n’ Becks were doin’ alright on their own,” Vander answered. “I wanted t’come n’ find you. Make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” was the grumbled reply, smoke being shot out like a dart from between thin lips.

Vander’s brows curled up and pinched together. “Sil – “

“It’s fine, Vander,” Silco hissed, voice strained and serrated.

After a beat, when Vander didn’t react or budge, Silco’s shoulders drooped. He took a slower, more thoughtful pull from his cigarette and sighed out the smoke, bringing his fingertips up to massage his forehead.

“It is what it is. We move forward.”

Vander stepped closer, and the arms that had twitched before finally lifted into an embrace. Silco half-heartedly wound his arms around his Brother, lit cigarette gently held between two fingers. He closed his eyes and leaned his head into the firm deltoid as if it were a pillow and Vander gently tightened his hold.

“’M sorry, Sil,” he murmured. “She’s – “

“Just scared,” Silco finished, patting Vander’s back and stepping out of the hug. “I know.”

He took one last drag from the cigarette before flicking it to the ground and stepping on it. Tar-thick disappointment encased his boots, but he still pressed on.

“C’mon. Let’s get back to The Dr – “

As he and Vander turned to continue down the alleyway, three imposing silhouettes greeted them. Enforcers barricaded their path, standing shoulder to shoulder in an intimidating wall of armor and glinting masks. The hair on the back of Silco’s neck stood on end, like the hackles of a cornered cat; Vander’s chest puffed and his back broadened as he stepped forward.

“Somethin’ the matter?” he growled.

“We were not fans of how you spoke to us and the Sheriff,” one of the Enforcers said. With their faces covered it was difficult to determine which of the three spoke.

Vander snorted. “I don’ remember speakin’ t’any of you. D’you, Sil?”

“Not worth the oxygen,” Silco remarked snidely. “Even if it weren’t so precious down here.”

The Enforcers agitatedly shifted on their heavy-soled boots.

“You Sump-rats are all the same,” one of the other Enforcers said. “Just dirty, little things forgetting their place.”

Vander felt Silco tense beside him and quickly threw a thick arm out to keep him from lurching forward. They couldn’t start a physical confrontation.

“So what?” Vander spat. “The Sheriff send you grunts back t’teach us some manners?”

The middle Enforcer took a step forward saying, “No. We’re just going to count this towards our volunteer hours at the E.A.”

“Three Enforcers against two Zaunites?” Silco mused. “Hardly seems fair.”

The two flanking Enforcers followed their peer, batons sizzling at their sides, the pronged tips crackling with blue electricity.

“That’s too bad, Sump – “

“I meant for you.”

Silco jockeyed to the left, spooking the rookie Enforcers and causing them to leap blindly toward him and Vander. The minute the center Enforcer’s hand curled around Vander’s collar, the beast that had strained against its leash in the presence of Sheriff LeDaird broke its chains. He gripped the Enforcer’s wrist and kneed him in the stomach. The man crumpled with a surprise cry, and Vander lifted and hurled him into the dumpster Silco had battled earlier. The Enforcer made to stand and was immediately knocked back into the bail by the heavy metal lid collapsing on top of him.

The right-side Enforcer launched after Silco, brandishing his baton. In a flash, Silco unsheathed the knife tucked into the inside of his waistband and swooped under the Enforcer’s arm. He rammed the hilt of his weapon deep into his assailant’s armpit. He grunted in pain and surprise, dropping his baton. It clattered away, sparks arcing and zapping through the air. Grabbing the Enforcer’s arm, Silco wove around his back and jerked it harshly, simultaneously kicking him behind the knees. There was a sickening pop from the Enforcer’s shoulder and a crack in his shins as he fell to the ground.

The third Enforcer hurdled toward Vander, baton aloft. The tall barman caught their forearm mid-swing and landed a punch in the center of their mask. The metal frame crumpled and the glass shades shattered. A muffled and pained wail mixed with the sound of metallic destruction echoed through the damp alley. Vander yanked their arm up higher and jabbed his fist repeatedly into their abdomen. From behind him, the first Enforcer finally flipped the lid of the dumpster. He threaded his baton around Vander’s neck and pulled back, choking him.

Silco thrusted his heel into the middle of his attacker’s back, effectively slamming the Enforcer to the ground. He leapt toward the loose baton that had rolled down the alley. As his fingers gripped its handle, a gloved hand shot out and grabbed his ankle. Silco tumbled to the ground, snarling and thrashing. He looked behind him and saw the Enforcer trying to clamber their way up his legs. He managed to yank his leg out of the Enforcers grip and kicked the heel of his boot through the left shade of their mask. They screamed and their grip lessened enough to let Silco focus on gripping the baton. Swinging it around, he brought the electrified tip to the open gouge in the mask and thrust it in. Sizzling flesh accompanied the screams. Silco watched in fascination as the threads of electricity rippled over the metal mask. He pulled the weapon back and swung the thick body of it across the Enforcer’s face, sending their mask skittering across the pavement. The Enforcer – a young man – groaned and flopped to the ground, his face blackened and bloodied.

Silco jumped up and drove the flickering end of the baton into the side of the Enforcer choking Vander. They cried out and the distraction was enough for his Brother to wrench free of the strangling hold behind him. Having full control of his body again, Vander put his height and weight to use. Both arms gripped at the Enforcer in front of him, lifting the surprised officer overhead and throwing him into the alley wall. The bricks and mortar cracked and crumbled, raining down on the tossed Enforcer in a dusty flurry.

The Enforcer in the dumpster swung his baton at Silco. The thin man crouched as the weapon whistled over his head. Before he could get away, the Enforcer reached down and took a handful of his hair in a painful grip. Silco waved his knife over his head, stabbing and cutting at the arm that held him. It wasn’t enough to keep the Enforcer from bringing the prongs of his baton to the junction of Silco’s neck and shoulder. He yelled as hot and sharp stabbing currents of electricity ripped through his frame.

It ended as quickly as it started – though the pain hummed through his body even after the prongs were pulled off his shoulder. Vander had swept in in a roaring fury. He shoved Silco aside and charged the last Enforcer. Gripping either side of the Enforcer’s helmet, Vander drove his head through his target’s. The Enforcer sagged in his bruising grip, clearly dazed, and Vander lifted him out of the dumpster and threw him against the same wall. His limp body tumbled on top of his peer and another shower of stone and cement dusted over them.

“Sil! Silco! You alright, mate?”

Vander sunk to his knees and hurriedly looked over his Brother. Silco grumbled and growled, propping himself up against the dumpster.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, rolling his neck and shoulders.

“Lemme see.”

Vander carefully peeled the collar of his shirt back and inspected the two puncture wounds and the burned flesh around it.

“It’s fine, Vander,” Silco insisted. “Help me up.”

He gripped Vander’s forearms and rose onto unsteady feet. An uncomfortable shiver vibrated through his skeleton and his stomach curdled. He grit his teeth and ignored it. Instead, he turned his attention to the beaten and limp Enforcers.

“Let’s search them over and stack them against the wall.”

Together, they sat the three officers against the bricks. They stripped them of their masks and saw that all three were young cadets. It didn’t surprise either of them; it was an unspoken rite of passage, and a favorite pastime, for rookie officers to jump and beat unsuspecting Undercity dwellers. Any concern Vander or Silco had about them reporting an assault was assuaged by the fact that no cadet in their right mind would admit to losing a tussle to a couple Sump-rats.

They also searched their persons for other valuables. Vander emptied their wallets, and took their badges and batons; Silco stripped them of any personal affects. He was most excited about the small packet of cigars and silver lighter he found on one of them. He thought the scuffle may have been worth the trouble as he tucked his finds into his trouser pocket.

“Good night, gentlemen,” Silco whispered, his tone sickly sweet. He pat the one he stole the cigars from on the cheek. The Enforcer groaned and a bloody string of drool oozed down to his chest.

“’M sure they’ll send someone out t’look for ya,” Vander added cheerily.

Satisfied, the two friends stole into the cold night.

They returned to The Last Drop through the back entrance and deposited their findings (save for the cigars and lighter) in the storage room. They could use the batons and Vander would take the badges to Augmentation Alley and have them smelted down into weapons. He put the coin away in The Drop’s vault.

“I’m going to head home,” Silco said once their boon was stashed away.

Vander was preparing to head back to the bar and finish the night. He looked down at his bruised and swollen knuckles, watching his skin pull and bunch achingly over them as he flexed his fingers.

“Y’can stay here if y’want, Sil.”

A long sigh escaped Silco’s nose and he shook his head.

“I’ll come back if I need to,” he replied quietly. “Spare key in its usual spot?”

Vander nodded and ignored the heavy disappointment in his chest.

“Right, well . . . punch Benzo in his leg for me.”

Vander couldn’t help the small grin that flashed across his face.

——————

The apartment was dark when Silco arrived home, his mother’s bedroom door shut. He felt caught between being relieved that she hadn’t waited up for him and hurt that she was still too angry to talk with him. To look at him.

He trudged towards the bathroom, dipping his head towards her door to listen for the wheezing whistle of her sleeping breath. He heard it, fought the urge to open the door and peek his head inside, and continued to the toilet.

He noticed the vial of medicine sitting on the rim of the sink. A wave of relief washed over him knowing that she had not behaved rashly and dumped it out. He couldn’t stand the thought of asking Katya for more help. Carefully picking the bottle up and holding it to the light, he swished the liquid inside. He didn’t know how many doses were left, hopefully several before he would have to bother the medic with it again. He'd rather his interactions with her didn’t hinge on him repeatedly asking for help.

He'd rather . . . He didn’t know. . . He’d rather just . . . interact with her.

Setting the bottle back down, Silco gently pulled the collar of his shirt down and inspected the welt on his shoulder. It wasn’t too bad. Sore, red, and angry, but if he cleaned it and patched it, it should heal without much fuss. He was pleased that it was far enough down the slope of his shoulder that it could be easily hidden under a shirt. His mother needn’t add this to her list of worries.

After tending to the wound and brushing his teeth, Silco shut himself up in his room. He stored his knives and whet stone away in their floorboard cubby and changed into patched thermals for sleep.

The pack of cigars and the lighter he had pulled from the Enforcer tumbled out of his trouser pocket as he went to fold them. He swiped them up and paused, gently feeling over the soft give of the book and the satisfying heft of the lighter in his hands.

He’d never smoked a cigar before. He had looked upon the few offerings his favorite tobacco shop had with curiosity when he went to restocked his cheap, loose tobacco leaf and papers. Even the ones in the Undercity were too expensive, but he liked how they smelled and his addicted tongue salivated with interest.

Fetching the smallest of his blades back out from their secret case, Silco settled himself in the sill of his bedroom window, Katya’s warning echoing in his ears.

“You may already know this but don’t smoke around your mother. It’s bad for her condition.”

He jostled the window open a sliver and the cold outside wasted no time bleeding the warmth out of his bedroom. Silco ignored it and pulled one of the cigars out of the packet. It was the color of well-lacquered wood and the tightly rolled leaves felt like the pages of an old, dense book. He remembered the tobacco shop proprietor saying that cigar ends needed to be trimmed before lighting. Silco carefully pinched the end between his thumb and small blade, slicing through the soft, dried leaves in a fluttering chunk. The smell that emanated from the cut leaves was pungent and thick. He couldn’t think of any other way to describe it but luxurious.

Tentatively grasping the rolled end between his teeth, Silco took up the lighter and ran his thumb over the spark wheel. A small orange flame flashed into existence with a quiet crackle. Nostrils flaring in disgust, awe, and jealousy he brought the licking, searching fire to the raw edges of the cigar. He was vaguely aware that smoking a cigar was different from smoking a cigarette.

Once the blunt end of it glowed ember warm, he delicately drew the rich smoke back into his mouth in small puffs. The warm spice of the smoke coated his mouth and tongue like a rich, fatty meal. Silco lifted his chin and blew the smoke out through the window. It was thick, dense, and white. It hovered and swirled much longer than the fumes his cigarettes produced. Only a couple times did he drag on the cigar too deeply, causing the smoke to scratch in hot pin-pricks down his trachea. He sputtered, clearing his throat, and readjusted his tactic.

Sitting there, bunched up on a rotting window sill, in his worn and patched pajamas, looking out over Zaun, smoking his first cigar, the steady, insistent feeling of injustice lapped at his insides. The truth that the people of Zaun deserved more than Piltover’s runoff weighed heavy in his heart like a guiding stone. The cigar between his fingers felt like a right – not a prize, not a trophy, not something he had to beat down sniveling Enforcers for. A right, just like he and his people had to clean air and fresh food. He would fight to get them that.

He promised himself that this would be his first of many, many cigars.

“You shouldn’t smoke anyway. It’s bad for you, too.”

Katya’s voice murmured through his head again once half the cigar was gone. He plucked it from his lips and blew the smoke out the window. Silco’s eyes roved over the smoldering roll between his fingers before he gently tamped it out on the outside of the building. He pulled the window shut, hid the cigars and lighter, and went to bed.

He dreamt of Zaun, cigar smoke, and a warm, satisfying weight in his arms.

#children of zaun #coz #arcane #arcane fanfic #silco #young silco #Vander #young Vander

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kikiiswashere · 14 days ago

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Children of Zaun - Chapter 38

Free Zaun

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Councilor Bone's Memorial

Content Warning: allusion to sexual assault, dead body, touching a dead body, p in v sex, police brutality

Word Count: 4.6k

Previous Chapter

News of Councilor Bone’s death reached Rynweaver just before the chimney was set to smoke. He’d stared at the assistant who delivered the message, long enough that they shifted uncomfortably. The squeak of their patent leather shoes drew Rynweaver out of his shock. He thanked and dismissed the grunt.

Once his office door snicked shut, he rose and strode for the wet bar by the fireplace. He poured himself a stiff drink and downed it before pouring another tipple.

The news soothed him. Rynweaver had barely slept the night before, his mind reeling from his visit to the Councilor’s office. Not that he feared any serious retaliation from Bone, but he did wonder if there would be any repercussions for his actions.

But even more so than that, what the old man had said as Rynweaver had been leaving the office had shaken him.

There is at least one. And he is angry, Thade. There is enough contempt in that boy to topple your whole bloody empire. It is not my policies that will be your undoing. It will be the consequences of your own actions.

Rynweaver sipped at his tumbler and walked over to the massive, ornate windows that overlooked the Mainspring Crescent, the Pilt just beyond that. And beyond that the Undercity’s Promenade. It was difficult to read from where he was, but Rynweaver could make out harsh strokes of graffiti that affronted Piltover with expletives and demands of sovereignty.

The liquor slid down his insides, its instant warmth loosening the squeezing grip of anxiety.

It had to be a lie. One last, desperate barb from a dying man. A horrendous blind guess that inexplicably hit a mark.

He hadn’t thought about that day in so long. He’d been young and stupid. Overwhelmed with the responsibility that had been mounted on his shoulders with his father’s untimely passing. And she - she had given him a demure smile as she had walked passed one day. And she had been very beautiful -

Rynweaver knocked back the rest of his drink, and set the tumbler down on his desk with a firm thunk.

No. It was a lie. If - if such a child existed, that woman would’ve come forward. Looking for handouts, trying to raise a fuss. That’s what those people did. He’d seen it a few times in his life. Destitute women coming after some of his peers, claiming their dirty little children were theirs. Such situations caused a kerfuffle in Piltover’s high society, but never reached the mass public-sphere. Houses’ lawyers were quick to shut the situation down. Most women were content with the paltry sum thrown at them to keep away; the others who continued to bellyache were threatened with institutionalization, or having their children removed from their care.

Thade looked out his window again, craning his neck in the direction of the Council building. He couldn’t see it from his office. But he could see the beginnings of dark smoke coming from its direction.

It was a lie. And Bone was dead.

Grayson sullenly looked down at Bone on the gurney. The mortician had done a nice job applying the make-up. He didn’t look as sickly as he had in life. She had powdered his pallor to a subtle peachy glow, and had expertly added a slight flush to the high points of his cheekbones. He really did look like he was merely asleep.

Her heart stuttered and she swallowed the lump in her throat. She reached out and grabbed his hand. It was cold.

She whispered, “I’m so sorry, Councilor.” A sigh rattled her chest. “I am so sorry we weren’t able to see your vision through. I –“

Grayson’s voice caught on a sudden hook of sadness. Tucking her chin to her throat, she breathed deeply, calling upon the lessons her enforcer training had taught her about staying sturdy in times of crises.

Eyes closed, she breathed in fully, completely; and released that breath in a steady, even exhale. She repeated the exercise until the tightness in her throat melted. Opening her eyes, she looked back down at Bone.

“I will do my best to see it through. I won’t let the people of the Undercity be destroyed.”

She squeezed his hand, ignoring how the dead muscle didn’t respond to her grip. She released it and looked at him once more. It would be the last time. Tomorrow he’d be lain into a casket, and it would be sealed and prepared for the memorial procession that followed any councilor’s death.

After a minute, Grayson turned on her heel and walked toward the mortuary door, boots tapping on the cold tiles. She thanked the mortician for the privacy she’d allowed her, and began the journey back to Enforcer Headquarters.

When Grayson returned, LeDaird called her into his office. Her brow scrunched at the large map on his desk, little metal pawns dotted across it.

Before she could ask, LeDaird said, “We will have extra security at Bone’s funeral procession.”

Leaning over the desk, Grayson saw that the map was that of Piltover. The route of the procession laid out in a thick red line. It was standard procedure to have security for such an event, but the number of extra enforcers and their placements were atypical. Grayson frowned.

“Sir?”

“We’re taking no chances,” LeDaird said. “All hands are on deck. Bone’s funeral would be a prime opportunity for the Children to try something.”

Grayson didn’t disagree. But she was concerned about how such a move would impact the increasingly tenuous relationship between the Undercity and Piltover. Guilt coiled in her gut. She wished that things had happened differently. She wished she’d been able to check in with Bone one more time.

“I understand your reasoning, sir. Are we at all concerned about the optics of that choice? Increased enforcer presence at an Undercity Councilor’s funeral? What if that incites the Children?”

“If it does, then we’ll already have officers at the ready.” A heavy sigh blew out through LeDaird’s nose, and his broad shoulders slumped a bit. “I am not making these choices lightly, Dora. It is our job to keep Piltover safe. You may need to make similar choices in the future.”

Grayson swallowed and nodded.

Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

That was the motto the Children took on in the days leading up to Councilor Bone’s memorial.

Escape routes through the sewers were mapped out and safehouses were solidified. Homes and businesses readied themselves to board up windows and doors if necessary. Alleys with dumpsters and other large items were scouted out and taken note of in case barricades needed to be erected. Weapons were taken stock of and distributed to those who wanted them. Along with a firm warning from Vander that they were not to be used unless absolutely necessary. An order Silco begrudgingly agreed with.

Kat and Sevika took to preparing and organizing all the medical supplies they’d been squirreling away in The Last Drop. It had been months since Kat had brought the first small cache with her, and the hoard of bandages and medicines had grown exponentially. Sevika smiled widely as she took in the bounty.

Kat felt less at peace with it.

It didn’t take long for resources to dwindle.

She just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Growing up, Papa had read Kat and Viktor fairy tales about people wishing on stars. They would wish for success, for change, for well-being, for loved ones. The stories always ended with their wishes coming true.

Kat couldn’t see any stars outside of Silco’s bedroom window. Just the buildings and bridges that surrounded his and Enyd’s apartment. She doubted the lights twinkling in nearby windows counted.

She sat on the edge of the bed, toes curling and straightening over the worn wood floor. Her hands sat in her lap, right index finger repeatedly running over her thumbnail. A small movement to give her anxiety an outlet. A featherlight touch appeared on the small of her back, and Kat started. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Silco peering up at her, eyelids heavy but gaze clear.

“Can’t sleep?”

Kat shook her head and murmured ‘No’ before turning her attention back to the window. The mattress shifted as Silco sat up. He curled himself around her, his legs bracketing hers as they draped over his bed. His arms wrapped around her upper body, his front melding against her back. A heavy sigh drifted through Katya’s nose at the warmth and weight of him. Silco kissed her neck before resting his chin on her shoulder.

They were silent, watching Zaun bustle before them despite the late hour.

Zaun is alive Silco had said. Kat was certain of that fact, too. As certain as she was of the duplicitous nature of life.

If Zaun was alive, it could be killed.

“I am scared. Scared of what might happen tomorrow.”

There was a nervous tightness in her jaw, afraid to voice such a thing out loud. Afraid that her concern would be misconstrued for uncertainty, regret, or wavering loyalty. She waited anxiously for Silco to respond.

Worry slid from her body when Silco kissed her neck again, and pulled her in closer. “I know. Many are scared. There is much to lose,” he murmured. Viktor’s face flashed in Kat’s mind. “But there is so much more to gain.” Again, Kat thought of her brother. Thought of freedom for the both of them.

“Are you scared?”

Silco was quiet for a long while. Kat could tell he was thinking by the way his fingers softly drummed against her skin.

“‘Scared’ doesn’t feel entirely accurate,” he finally answered. “Nor does anxious. It’s not excitement, either. There is a deep calmness in my bones. Not a calm that suggests all is well. Rather a carefully cultivated serenity. A sort of acceptance that there is no turning back now.”

Kat snorted lightly. “Calm before the storm, is that it?”

“I suppose.”

Silence fell between the pair, both watching the cityscape outside the window. Kat took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She smelled the soil and citrus scent of Silco’s room, felt his loose and heavy body envelope her. She imagined what it would be like to feel the way he did. Calm and ready.

Kat opened her eyes. The lights outside shimmered.

“Just so you know,” she quietly said, “my fear does not outweigh my belief and commitment to our people.”

There was a pregnant pause as Silco sat up straighter. His left hand reached up and gently turned Kat’s head to look at him. His blue eyes shone brightly.

“I know.” His thumb extended up to brush the beauty mark beneath her right eye. “Your courage is bigger than your fear. I’ll be at your side tomorrow. We all will. And you’ll be by ours.”

Kat’s chin dipped, heart tapping behind her sternum. Silco leaned forward and kissed her, hands sliding back down to wrap snugly around her. Kat melted into him, body settling even more comfortably into the security of his arms.

The kiss was slow. Their lips rolled over each other’s with unhurried smoothness, their tongues barely grazing in the space between. A kiss to seal promises spoken and unspoken. A kiss that tempered the fear in Kat’s chest.

Silco pulled her back fully onto the bed, laying her down gently, his mouth never leaving hers. The sheets were drawn up around them. Soft but determined hands slid their underwear down. Kat drew her legs up, Silco’s teeth dragged over the sensitive skin of her neck. They joined together, and Kat’s eyes fluttered shut.

There were stars behind her eyelids.

She wished on them.

The security huts on Piltover’s side of the Bridge were closed the day of Bone’s funeral, their gates left up. It was less a show of good faith, and more to accommodate the number of people pouring in from the Undercity.

Throngs of Undercity citizens lined the streets, dressed in dark garb, faces stony and eyes bright. They threaded between the insultingly low number of Piltovans in attendance, making their spines stiffen and palm their pockets and purses protectively. Though the people of the Undercity paid them no mind beyond an occasional connecting of eyes. Piltovans looked at them distrustfully; they looked back with restrained contempt.

But they did nothing else. They waited for the procession to begin. They waited for their signal.

Much of Bone’s memorial proceedings were traditional, and thus public knowledge.

In the morning, he would be interred in the Council Building’s Great Hall where the remaining Council and nobility would pay their respects privately. That is to say: sit performatively in front of Bone’s coffin until it was time to load it onto the caisson. Then he would be marched along Piltover’s streets to the Grand Cemetery, and be laid to rest in a public mausoleum.

Council, Guilds, and Houses had erected stands from which they would watch the funeral procession. Great, gilded boxes hung with heavy, black velvet drapes that kept those in power separate from the masses, and looking down on the recently deceased.

An increase in security was not announced, but it was unsurprising.

Silco, Vander, and Kat made their way across the Bridge mid-morning. Annie and Beckett would be crossing over shortly after them. Benzo, Sevika, and Nasha had already wheedled their way into Piltover. Other members of the Children traveled in throughout the morning, interspersing themselves through the crush of other Zaunites coming to pay their respects.

Enyd was unable to make the journey. News of Bone’s death walloped her already fragile immune system, and left her with a fever and a sore throat that exacerbated her preexisting condition.

She’d watched apprehensively that morning as Silco, Vander, and Kat prepared to leave for the memorial, a bony hand gripping her shawl tightly at her heart.

Vander and Silco folded Zaun’s flag up into a compact triangle, making sure that the grommeted edge was easily accessible. Silco carefully slid it into the secret compartment Kat had sewn into his jacket the previous day, along with the telescopic pole Mek had forged earlier in the week.

Silco slid his arms through the jacket, and Enyd shook - pride and fear warring inside her small frame.

“Remember,” she had said, voice a grating rasp, “hide your faces when it’s time.” She reached over and thumbed the black handkerchief strung around her son’s neck. Vander and Kat had matching ones. All the Children did at this point. “They can see us when they hand over our sovereignty.”

Silco pointedly ignored the enforcers dotted about the entrance into Piltover. Officers in reinforced suits and brass masks milling through the waves of incoming Zaunites under the pretense of security. Silco’s nostrils flared. It was subliminal intimidation. Meant to deter anyone from stepping out of line. Especially now that the line-holder was to be paraded through the streets of Piltover.

He rolled his shoulders, the movement adjusting the stiff frame of the flag and pole in his jacket. Kat slipped her fingers between his and squeezed. He squeezed back.

He was ready for this.

Zaun was ready.

They cut through the crowds lining the streets, occasionally spying other Children as they went. They would lock eyes for a moment, a resolute acknowledgement, a bolster of morale.

They passed box seats of Houses and nobility. When they spied Rynweaver’s crest, Vander jockeyed in front of Silco, accidentally butting against Katya as he went. He used his massive frame to shield his Brother from view. It was unlikely that Rynweaver would see them, but Vander would take no chances where Silco was concerned.

The number of Children was thickest near the massive square that interlocked the paths leading to the Council building, the Academy, Blue Winds Court, and the main drag to the Bridge. Where the caisson would be pulled past the enclosure the remaining Councilors would be seated.

Vander, a good head or two above most in the crowd, scanned around once they stopped. His heart was a non-stop rapid beat in his chest, his stomach churned, threatening to evict his meager breakfast. He eyed the enforcers lining segments of the road, armored and masked like those by the Bridge. His gaze lifted. More of them perched behind the parapets of buildings, offering a bird’s eye view.

Vander nudged Silco’s back.

“Lots o’ enforcers,” he whispered. “Some up top.”

Silco’s eyes flicked up. “We anticipated a heavy enforcer presence. It changes nothing.” Katya glanced over her shoulder at Vander. Their eyes locked, and while Vander was less than pleased with the woman, the flicker of concern in her face made him feel less alone.

Kat turned back to face the square, her eyes lifting to the massive clockface on the large, white marble tower to their left. The procession was due to begin within the hour. It would take the trussed up, black draft horses about ten minutes to pull Bone from the Council building to the square. Then . . .

Her eyes drifted toward the wide path that led up to the Academy. Classes had been cancelled for the day. She thoroughly searched the faces across from her, and relief bled through her insides when she didn’t spy Viktor.

She was glad he’d had enough sense to not attend Bone’s funeral despite their friendly report. Maybe Heimerdinger allowed Viktor into the Great Hall to say his respects in private. She hoped he’d been able to say good-bye.

A light hush rippled over the crowd as the Councilors appeared, walking in a line up the steps into their covered enclosure. Heimerdinger at least had the wherewithal to look somber. The rest of the Council - like the Houses and Guilds they’d passed on the way in - appeared disinterested.

“Who do you think they’re going to nominate to take Bone’s place?” a man nearby whispered.

All three of them glanced over. The speaker looked to be some Topside merchant. He was dressed in simple, but fine, fabrics tailored close to his portly frame. A ridiculous flat-topped hat made to resemble an Ionian benkan was perched upon his head.

“I am not sure,” his companion - a lanky man of about the same age, in a similar outfit - replied. “Surely not another Trencher. Not with all this mess going on.”

The other shook his head, hat drifting to one side. “Utterly ridiculous. Our imports of Ionian silk have already been delayed twice. I’m not sure how much more patience I have for this. They better appoint someone who’s willing to lay down the hammer on those Sump-Rats.”

The pair was hopelessly ignorant to the scathing looks being directed their way. Not only by Silco, Kat, and Vander, but by the other Children within earshot. Vander caught the eyes of a few of them and sent a warning glare their way.

Say nothing.

Do nothing.

“I thought they taught you lot better manners than to try and replace a man before he’s in the ground,” snapped Silco.

Vander winced. “Sil.”

His thick fingers stretched out to gently press against Silco’s back.

The pair of merchants turned to look at them. Their faces began to splotch with embarrassment, but managed to keep their expressions unimpressed and aloof. They eyed the three up and down before snorting and shifting down the street. Other Children held their ground as the pair went, making them have to awkwardly step around their uncompromising bodies.

Vander let a sigh blow out through his nose as he watched them go. His eyes scanned the buildings across from them, counting the enforcers on the roofs. He hadn’t seen Grayson since they’d crossed over. Not that he would know what to do if he had.

They were here to demand freedom. Not chat with the Enforcer Captain.

The clock tolled the hour. An uneasy ripple agitated the crowd. Bone would be leaving the Great Hall, held inside a coffin of thick, lacquered oak. A far cry from the thin, pine boxes Zaunites were put into - if they were put in anything at all.

The burial method was yet another microaggression Piltover would have the Undercity suffer. It was customary Below Ground to cremate the dead. It made no sense to bury bodies when that cost living citizens real estate and resources.

Keeping Bone’s body whole and interring him in a mausoleum felt like another denial from Piltover. An insult in death.

Kat loosed a long, steady breath through pursed lips. Her heart thundered and stomach felt leaden. Next to her, Silco straightened and gripped her hand reassuringly. Behind her, Vander shuffled in closer.

A few minutes later the lonely, hollow tone of a singular trumpet playing a dirge bled into the air. As it grew closer, it was accompanied by the clop of hooves and gentle surrusus of steady wheels.

Vander saw the procession first. The musician was in front, a lean, dark-skinned woman with locs pulled into a tumble atop her head. Her brass trumpet shone in the daylight as it crisply crooned its song.

Behind her two black draft horses with black plumes pulled the ornate caisson. Bone’s coffin, covered in a blanket of lilies, was displayed behind the glass panes of the carriage. He watched as the determined faces of the Children slowly turned to follow its journey.

Waiting.

Waiting for -

“It’s time,” Silco whispered.

Careful to not draw too much attention to themselves, Vander whipped out his knife and quickly sliced through the seam of the back panel of Silco’s jacket. Kat’s hands slid inside and withdrew the folded flag and pole. With practiced movements, she and Vander threaded the pole’s rings through the flag’s grommets. Silco tugged the black kerchief up over his nose, took hold of the flagpole, fully extended it, and held it aloft.

Later, superstitious and religiously-minded people alike would whisper about how a breeze picked up at that moment, and stretched the flag out in all its glory. The day had been relatively still up until Silco lifted the symbol of the Children’s dream up. As if Janna herself endorsed the movement.

The initial reaction to the flag rising was stilted. At first, it seemed like no one noticed or cared. Between the bodies of oblivious Piltovans, Children tied similar black handkerchiefs around their faces.

Just as the caisson rolled into the square, Silco strode forward, the flag a wide ribbon behind him. The Children began marching to the front of the crowds and into the street chanting ‘WE ARE THE STORM’S FURY!’

The Council sat up straight, leaning forward in their seats. Topsiders whispered concernedly, their heads swiveling around madly as if looking for someone to explain what was going on. Enforcers on the ground and above jostled, assessing if the situation was dangerous, waiting for any kind of order from the Sheriff or Captain.

The trumpeter stopped playing, and the caisson’s driver pulled the horses’ reins back as the Children poured into the street, converging on the carriage. The animals snorted and whinnied at the sudden direction, gagging on their bits and stamping their hooves. Both the driver and musician panicked at the sudden onslaught of bodies, and bolted. Before the horses could do the same, Annie and Nasha leapt forward and grabbed their bridles. Strong grips and solid energy helped to calm the unsettled beasts.

Silco climbed onto the caisson, followed by Kat. The Children surrounded the caisson, the outermost ring held together by their biggest and strongest: Vander, Beckett, Benzo, Sevika, and other broadly-built members meant to intimidate and protect.

Vander kept one eye on the churning crowd of Topsiders before him, and one on Silco behind him as his Brother stepped on top of the carriage’s roof. Kat stood off to the side on the coachbox, her eyes, gold and glimmering above her black handkerchief, stayed on the flag gently waving in the wind.

Silco held the flag and his free arm up high, as much a gesture to quiet the chanting as it was to show he held no weapon. He turned toward the Council’s enclosure. All six Councilors were on their feet. Enforcers had entered their box, prepared to pull the politicians down at a moment’s notice.

Behind his mask, Silco sneered.

“We are the Children of Zaun, the Storm’s Fury,” he called out. His voice was a blade through the air. “We are here to demand the emancipation of the Undercity - the Nation of Zaun. The city-state of Piltover has shown time and time again that it is unfit to govern our people. The man in this casket is but one small example that proves that. You brought an Undercity citizen onto Council - someone who had the expertise and experience to guide you into creating equitable change - and you did nothing.”

The black-clad crowd bellowed their agreement. The Councilors stared at them with wide eyes. Kat took great pleasure in seeing Heimerdinger’s fur stand on end.

As the crowd’s frustration ebbed, Silco cried out, thrusting the flag into the air, “Free Zaun!”

“FREE ZAUN! FREE ZAUN! FREE ZAUN!” The Children chanted, stamped their feet, and tossed their hands in the air.

Kat yelled through the cloth covering her face. Her insides vibrated. She’d never felt so certain, so alive.

Pride that threatened to tear Vander’s chest open swelled inside him as he cheered, as he watched Silco atop the caisson.

The stomping grew impossibly louder. The ground shook with it. The glass holding Bone’s coffin rattled. The horses, which had been reluctantly content during Silco’s speech, jerked their heads and stepped back. The carriage swerved slightly, knocking Kat to her knees, and causing Silco to widen his stance and nearly drop the flag.

Once sturdy, Silco reached out to help Kat up. She placed her quivering hand in his steady one. It sent a surge of courage through her, and she held tighter. As her gaze lifted to his face, she expected to see those blue eyes looking back at her, ablaze with righteousness.

Instead, his focus was out on the street. Over the tops of the Children’s heads. Instead of the zeal she anticipated, his eyes were sharp and reticent. Calculated.

Kat looked over her shoulder, and her insides dropped.

Marching toward them were a squadron of enforcers armed to the teeth, riot shields held out in front of them.

Topsiders lining the streets began to cry out and scatter, looking for any means of escape. The Councilors were whisked away without so much as a response to the demands made of them.

Above, enforcers on the roofs got into defensive positions, setting their rifles on tripods and hunkering low.

Vander’s head swiveled wildly, looking to Silco for some kind of instruction. They couldn’t stay like this. It’d be like shooting fish in a barrel.

By the time the enforcers on the ground were fifty feet from the Children, they had gone silent. But they did not shy back. They faced the line of brass and blue with equal assuredness.

The enforcers stopped, and after a moment the shields opened to let Sheriff LeDaird step out.

“Listen to me. We are going to give you one chance - one - to drop to your knees and surrender.”

The seconds that ticked by were agonizing. Vander willed Silco to look over at him. He didn’t. His Brother’s eyes, near rabid in their hate, stayed glued on the Sheriff.

LeDaird’s face deadened, and he sighed. He turned on his heel and disappeared back behind those brass shields. Before an order could be given, there was a tinny clank! as a canister was tossed out of a building’s window and hit the street. It rolled between the Children and Enforcers - and exploded.

Sorry not sorry about the cliffhanger 😘

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Coming Up Next: The battle for Zaun begins

#children of zaun #coz #arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane prequel #orginal characters #grayson #young grayson #silco #young silco #silco x oc #silco x katya #silkat #vander #young vander

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