Chapter 3

The second her hand closed around mine, I knew there was no escaping this. Her grip was firm, steady, and undeniably rough—like she'd worked with her hand her entire life, or used them for... other things. My smaller fingers felt swallowed up in her calloused palm, and it made me feel even more out of place.

"You don't say much, huh?" Sevika asked as we started walking, her tone light but with an edge, like she wasn't sure if she was making small talk or testing the waters.

I hugged my bunny closer. "I didn't know I had an aunt," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. It sounded more like an accusation than I intended, but I didn't take it back.

Sevika snorted, a short, humorless laugh. "Not surprised. Guessing your mom never mentioned me."

I hesitated, glancing down at the worn ears of my bunny. "She doesn't… she doesn't talk about a lot of things." My brow furrowed. I hadn't really noticed before, but it was true. Mom always talked about Dad, about me, about little things like garden arrangements or recipes, but never about herself.

"Smart woman," Sevika muttered, her voice tinged with something heavy—bitterness, maybe? Anger? "Figured she left me behind when she ran off topside. Guess I wasn't 'clean' enough for her new life."

Her words hit like a gut punch, making my stomach twist. Left behind? Ran off? What was she talking about?

"You're from Zaun?" I asked, though the answer seemed obvious now. But hearing it from her felt like peeling back a layer of a picture I thought I knew.

She snorted again, giving me a sideways glance. "Born and raised. Didn't she tell you? Thought she'd at least own up to that part."

I shook my head, my thoughts spiraling. My mom—who polished silverware until it gleamed and insisted on folded napkins even for sandwiches—was from Zaun? The gritty, smoke-filled undercity? That made no sense. Mom would wipe flower petals clean if she could.

"You're lying," I said sharply before I could stop myself. The words spilled out, more defensive than I intended. She had to be lying. Because if she wasn't… there was a whole can of worms waiting to be opened, and I wasn't sure I could handle it.

Sevika stopped mid-stride, turning to face me fully. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, and for a second, I thought she might laugh in my face. But she didn't. Instead, she crouched down to meet my eye level, her expression steady and serious.

"Look, kid, I don't know what your mom told you—or didn't tell you—but I don't have a reason to lie. That woman ran from Zaun like it was on fire, and she left me in the ashes. You can believe it or not, I don't really care." Her voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it, and her eyes… they were colder than I'd ever seen.

I stared at her, my chest tight and burning. This was too much. Too big. Too messy. My mom—a woman who spent her mornings pruning rose bushes and her afternoons baking pies—had left someone behind? In Zaun, of all places?

"You're lying," I said again, softer this time, my voice trembling. "Mom doesn't leave people behind. She's… she's too caring for that." Even as I said it, the words felt weak, like I was trying to convince myself as much as her.

Sevika sighed, a deep, tired sound that made my heart squeeze uncomfortably. "Think whatever you want, Puppet Master. Let's keep moving."

That stupid nickname made my eye twitch, but I didn't argue. I followed her in silence, my legs moving automatically even as my brain spun like a broken record.

Sevika didn't look back at me, but I caught the faintest flicker of something in her posture—regret, maybe? Or just exhaustion.

"Why do you call me Puppet Master?" I asked finally, breaking the silence.

"Because it gets under your skin," she said simply, not bothering to look down at me. "And I like to see what people do when they're uncomfortable. You learn a lot that way."

I frowned, glancing at the back of her head. "That's… mean."

She let out a low chuckle, but it didn't sound cruel. "Yeah, well, Zaun's not exactly a place for nice people, kid. You've gotta learn to stand your ground. Might as well start now."

I didn't answer, my grip tightening on Bunny as the static in my head grew louder. I wanted to ask more, to dig deeper, but every question felt like it was balancing on the edge of a knife.

By the time we reached the puppet show, I was too overwhelmed to care about the performance. I slumped into my seat, clutching Bunny like it was a lifeline, while the characters on stage pranced around with their stiff movements and hollow smiles. The puppets' jerky motions and overly bright costumes grated on my nerves, their exaggerated gestures more unsettling than entertaining.

Sevika dropped into the seat next to me with a huff, arms crossed and boots resting firmly on the floor like she was bracing herself for a fight. She scanned the stage, her expression a mix of irritation and disbelief.

"This is what they call entertainment up here?" she muttered under her breath, her voice dripping with disdain.

I glanced at her, startled. "You don't like it?"

"Do I look like I'm having fun?" she shot back, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

I bit my lip, fighting the urge to laugh. "No."

"Good," she said, leaning back and stretching out her long legs. "'Cause this is torture."

Despite myself, I snickered. "It's not that bad." I hated these shows, but Mom never let me skip them. She always said they were "an important cultural tradition," though what culture involved puppets dancing to bad music was beyond me.

Sevika tilted her head, giving me a pointed look. "Sure it is. Look at that one over there." She gestured toward a puppet in a silver helmet that wobbled with every step. "That's supposed to be a knight? My grandma could take them in a fight. And she's dead."

A loud laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it, and I clamped a hand over my mouth, eyes wide. "You're mean," I whispered, still giggling.

"I'm honest," she corrected, smirking. "Big difference, Puppet Master."

Her commentary didn't stop there. Every overly dramatic line, every clumsy puppet stumble, Sevika had a sharp remark ready.

When one of the puppets tripped over its own strings during an intense monologue, Sevika leaned in close, muttering under her breath, "Oh yeah, real intimidating. Nothing screams 'villain' like face-planting mid-'I'll destroy you all!' speech."

I tried to stifle a giggle, but she caught me and smirked. "What? Am I wrong?"

As the show went on, her commentary grew bolder. When the puppet prince dramatically declared, "I shall fight for honor!" while striking a pose that looked more like a cramp, Sevika snorted so loudly that a few heads turned. She rolled her eyes, whispering, "Honor my a—uh, butt. Who fights for honor these days? Fight for money or revenge. That's how you get results."

I gave her a wide-eyed look, half-scandalized, half-amused. "Language," I whispered, trying to keep a straight face.

She held up her hands, feigning innocence. "What? I said 'butt.' That's kid-friendly, right?"

"Barely," I shot back, unable to hide my grin.

Another scene featured the heroine sobbing over a fallen comrade—a puppet that had lost an arm mid-battle. Sevika let out an exaggerated gasp, clutching her chest. "Oh no, poor... uh... Wooden Steve. What will the kingdom do without him? He was so important!" She didn't even try to lower her voice this time, and I nearly choked trying to muffle my laughter.

When the climax finally arrived, complete with the villain puppet being comically yanked offstage by an oversized hook, Sevika leaned over again, muttering, "Guess even evil overlords can't escape stage management. Next time, they'll really learn not to mess with the hook-wielding union."

I gave up trying to stay annoyed. Each sarcastic jab chipped away at my frustration until I was giggling helplessly beside her, tears in my eyes from laughing too hard. Sevika, ever observant, smirked smugly at my reaction.

"See? Told you this would be fun," she said, her voice tinged with victory.

By the time the show limped to its cheesy finale, with the puppets all holding hands and singing some overly saccharine anthem about hope and friendship, I was grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. Sevika joined in mockingly under her breath, her raspy voice mangling the tune.

"Hope and blah blah blah, we're all so la di da... wow, this is terrible," she whispered, her tone deadpan.

I nudged her, barely able to breathe through my laughter. "Stop, you're going to get us kicked out."

"They should be thanking me," she muttered, folding her arms. "I'm adding value to this disaster."

As the curtains closed and the applause started, Sevika clapped exactly twice, slow and sarcastic. "Bravo. Truly a masterpiece of..." She paused, glancing down at me. "What's a fancy word for 'trash' that's still kid-appropriate?"

"Junk?" I offered, giggling.

"Perfect. A masterpiece of junk." She gave a mock bow toward the stage.

I shook my head, still laughing as we stood to leave. The world outside felt brighter, more alive, as we stepped into the bustling streets. The air was filled with the mingling scents of fried food and machine oil, and the neon lights of Piltover hummed softly against the darkening sky.

"You're ridiculous," I said, my voice light.

"And you're too easy to entertain," Sevika shot back, though her smirk softened the words. She ruffled my hair as we walked, her earlier sarcasm fading into a comfortable silence that felt... nice.

Maybe this world wasn't so bad, I thought, glancing up at her. At least, not when you had someone like Sevika to make you laugh through it.

Sevika surprised me by leading us to an ice cream cart. She handed over a few coins with a grumble about "daylight robbery" and passed me a cone, its soft-serve swirl already melting.

"Thanks," I said softly, taking a lick. The cold sweetness was a welcome distraction, though I couldn't stop my eyes from wandering. People stared at us as we walked—at her, really. Their gazes lingered like she was some kind of oddity.

"Do people always look at you like that?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could second-guess them.

"Pretty much," Sevika replied casually, not even glancing at the onlookers.

"Why?"

She glanced at me, her expression unreadable. "Because I don't fit their picture of 'nice and neat.'"

"What does that mean?" I pressed, frowning.

"It means I'm not what they want me to be," she said simply, taking a bite of her cone like she hadn't just dropped a truth bomb. "And that scares them. People are scared of what they don't understand."

I chewed on her words, letting them settle. They felt heavy, like a rock sitting in my chest. "That's stupid, your funny and nice, and as a plus your part machine" I said finally, licking the side of my cone where it was starting to drip.

"Welcome to the world, Puppet Master," she said dryly. "It's full of stupid."

I hesitated, glancing down at my bunny. "I'm sorry I called you scary," I said quietly.

Sevika paused mid-step, looking at me with an unreadable expression. Then she smirked. "I take it as a compliment."

She reached out and poked my arm, frowning dramatically. "You've got toothpicks attached to your shoulders. What are they good for? Decoration?"

I sucked in an offended breath. "They're good for lots of things! I can—uh…" My brow furrowed as I struggled to think of an example. Truth be told, I'd never considered the possibility that I might actually need muscle someday.

She laughed, a low rumble that was surprisingly warm. "Relax, kid. I'm messing with you. Jeez."

"I know that," I muttered, my cheeks flushing hot. I didn't know. Not really.

The rest of the walk home was quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way. The city hummed around us—the distant clang of machinery, the murmur of voices, the faint whir of gears turning somewhere high above. I focused on the rhythm of my footsteps, the cool air brushing against my face, and the steady presence of Sevika beside me.

She didn't try to fill the silence, and I didn't feel like I had to, either. For the first time all day, everything felt… okay. Maybe even a little less overwhelming.

When we finally got back to the house, my parents were waiting. My mom looked relieved when I told her about the puppet show and the ice cream, but she barely let me finish before she started fussing over me, brushing my hair back and checking for imaginary scratches.

"See?" Sevika said with a smirk. "I didn't break her."

My mom shot her a look but didn't respond. Instead, she ushered me inside, leaving Sevika standing on the porch.

"Thanks for today," I said quietly, glancing back at her.

For a moment, she just looked at me, her expression softening in a way I hadn't expected. Then she ruffled my hair, her smirk returning. "Anytime, kid."

I watched her walk away, my mind spinning.

My mother was from Zaun.

And Sevika was my aunt.

What the hell was I supposed to do with that?

By the time I was six, Sevika had become a regular part of my life. Every week, like clockwork, she'd pick me up for what my parents called "date night," though I suspected it was their chance to escape from me for a while. At first, the arrangement was awkward. Sevika wasn't exactly nurturing—she treated me more like an annoying sidekick than a kid—but over time, our routine of puppet shows, ice cream, and quiet walks became… normal. Comforting, even.

One day, we were sitting on a park bench, sharing a bag of peanuts with the pigeons that gathered at our feet. I watched her toss a peanut to a particularly brave bird, my curiosity bubbling over.

"Why did Mommy leave Zaun?" I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Sevika froze mid-chew, her sharp eyes snapping to mine. Her jaw tightened, and for a second, I thought she wasn't going to answer. "She doesn't want me telling you that," she said flatly, her voice carrying a warning.

"I won't tell her," I said quickly, leaning in as if we were sharing some kind of forbidden secret, my voice dripping with fake seriousness.

Sevika sighed dramatically, tossing another peanut to the pigeons. "You're a pushy little thing, aren't you?"

"It's your story to tell too, not just hers," I countered, crossing my arms.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she gave me that look—the one grown-ups always give when they're trying to decide if they should humor you or tell you to scram. I didn't back down, staring at her with wide, unblinking eyes. It was a trick I'd mastered long ago, and it usually worked.

Eventually, Sevika exhaled heavily and leaned back, running a hand down her face. "Fine," she grumbled, fixing me with a pointed look. "But if this comes back to me, I'm telling her you made me talk."

"I solemnly swear to keep this conversation classified," I said, placing a hand over my heart like I was taking an unbreakable vow.

She snorted, shaking her head. "You're too much, kid."

She tossed another peanut, watching as a particularly scrappy pigeon darted forward to snatch it. After a moment, she started. "She met Roger—your dad," Sevika began, her voice low and steady, though there was a flicker of something deeper there. "Fell for him, hard. And it wasn't just love. It was… different. I don't know. Maybe she thought he was her ticket out. He had this whole 'topside dream' thing going, and she bought into it."

"That's it?" I blurted, my disappointment seeping into my words. "She just... left? Because of a dream?"

Sevika raised an eyebrow at me, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "What, you were expecting dragons and a tragic sword fight?"

"No, but, like... a good reason," I said, throwing up my hands. "Not just 'Oh, he's dreamy, let me leave everything behind.' That's lame."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Yeah, well, welcome to the real world, Puppet Master. People do lame things for love all the time."

"Still, sounds like a pretty bad trade," I muttered, kicking at a loose pebble. "Zaun for... what, Piltover and some guy?"

Sevika grinned at that, clearly enjoying my sass. "You saying your dad's not worth it?"

"I'm saying my mom's way too cool for that kind of nonsense," I shot back, crossing my arms again.

"Spoken like a true momma's kid," Sevika teased, tossing another peanut to the pigeons. "But, hey, I didn't say it made sense. People are messy. They think a change of scenery's gonna fix everything, like their problems don't pack themselves into the suitcase too."

I tilted my head, mulling that over. "So, what, she thought Piltover was magic or something?"

"Something like that," Sevika said with a shrug. "Everyone's got their fantasies, kid. Hers just happened to involve... him."

I frowned, clearly unconvinced. "Still sounds lame."

Sevika snorted, her lips curving into a bitter half-smile. "You think it's that simple? Zaun's not the kind of place people leave without a good reason. It chews you up, spits you out, and laughs while it does it. Your mom wanted more—for herself, for you. Can't blame her for that."

I frowned, chewing on her words like they were stale bread. "But she left you."

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, her eyes looked like steel—hard, sharp, and unyielding. Then something shifted, softening them just enough to let a sliver of vulnerability peek through. "Yeah," she admitted quietly. "She did."

I hesitated, the weight of her words settling into my chest like a stone. "Do you miss her?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

Sevika didn't answer right away. Her gaze drifted to the window, where the city's mechanical heart pulsed in the distance. Pipes exhaled clouds of steam, their breath rising into the murky sky. The dim glow of neon signs painted everything in shades of blue and green, their light flickering like they were struggling to hold on.

"Sometimes," she said finally. Her voice was softer now, like she was admitting it more to herself than to me. "But missing someone doesn't change what they did. Or what they didn't do."

I nodded, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable, like an itch I couldn't reach. The air felt heavy, weighed down by things unsaid.

"Can you take me to see it?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. The words tumbled out, clumsy and desperate.

Sevika turned to me, her brows furrowing. For a moment, she just stared, like she was trying to figure out if I was serious. Then she sighed, long and heavy, like she was carrying the weight of the entire Undercity on her shoulders.

"No," she said, her voice firm.

"Why not?" I pressed, my disappointment bubbling to the surface. "I just want to see it—Zaun, I mean. Just for a little bit."

Her eyes narrowed, her jaw ticking. "Zaun's not some sightseeing tour, kid. You wouldn't last a day down there. Not in your current state."

The words stung, even though I knew she was right. I wouldn't survive. Not with how soft and sheltered I was. But still, the idea of getting even a glimpse of Vi and Powder tugged at me, the thought of them so close yet impossibly out of reach.

"Fine," I muttered, staring at my lap.

Sevika didn't say anything, and for a moment, the silence between us felt suffocating. I picked at a loose thread on my sleeve, guilt and frustration churning in my stomach. Why did I ask? Why did I always have to push?

Finally, Sevika stood, brushing off her pants with a deliberate motion. "Come on, kid," she said, her tone lighter now. "We're going to do something fun."

I blinked, startled. "Like what?" I asked, scrambling to keep up as she started walking toward the door.

"Something better than feeding birds," she said with a smirk, her pace quick and confident.

We stepped outside, the world buzzing with life. The streets were alive with the hum of machinery and the clatter of footsteps. A group of children darted past us, laughing as they chased a makeshift ball. Vendors shouted their wares from crooked stalls, the air thick with the smell of fried food and engine oil.

"Where are we going?" I asked, trying to keep up with Sevika's long strides.

"You'll see," she said, her smirk widening.

I followed her, my earlier disappointment fading into curiosity. Whatever Sevika had planned, it was bound to be more exciting than sitting around feeling sorry for myself. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself feel a spark of anticipation.